by Hale Deborah
“I’m sorry, Leonora.” Abruptly he backed away, breaking all contact with her. “I shouldn’t have done that. It isn’t fair to Frederica and it isn’t fair to you. I have a positive talent for doing the wrong thing.”
Not daring to look into his eyes, lest she see genuine regret, Leonora patted her hair and adjusted her spectacles. Surely the sweet storm of emotion that had raged through her must have left her appearance as disheveled as her heart.
“We must get home.” She spoke in a breathless rush. “I believe we are engaged to dine with Algie’s aunt this evening.”
They spoke not a word on the walk back to Laura Place. And whenever their eyes met in a tentative sidelong glance, both quickly looked away.
Why had Morse kissed her? Leonora puzzled all the way home and as she dressed for the evening. It could have nothing to do with her small fortune, since he had now secured the hand of a truly wealthy heiress. If they had been discovered in their embrace, it might have cost Morse his advantageous match, and perhaps their wager, as well.
Why, then?
Not her beauty. That much was certain. While she could not ignore the improvement in her appearance the past months had wrought, Frederica Hill was much closer to the contemporary ideal of feminine perfection.
Leonora’s logical mind could not ignore the obvious conclusion. With his engagement to the rich and comely Miss Hill secure, Morse Archer could have no motive for holding and kissing another woman.
Unless, perhaps, he had genuine feelings for her?
The thought continued to haunt Leonora as they dined with Algie’s aunt—a querulous old dowager, far too sharp-witted for the good of their wager. Lady Jerrod’s interrogation of Morse about his invented pedigree gave Leonora several moments of serious alarm. Fortunately, Morse’s charm carried the day. He soon had the old girl fawning over him like some wet goose making her Society debut.
Was she just as silly? Leonora wondered. Dreaming up wishful nonsense on the basis of a kiss that had probably meant no more to him than the shallow compliments he heaped upon Algie’s old aunt. After all, if Morse truly cared for her, why had he rejected her offer of a relationship outside marriage? Rejected it with such a show of indignant anger.
Like a thunderbolt, the truth struck her. Leonora’s sorbet spoon slipped from her slack fingers and dropped onto the saucer with an explosive jangle. They all turned to stare at her.
“Something the matter?” asked Algie.
“It’s nothing. Please excuse my clumsiness.”
“Perhaps you are unwell, Miss Freemantle.” Lady Jerrod looked down her patrician nose with frosty disapproval. “You’ve been very backward in conversation this evening.”
“Be fair, milady,” Morse cajoled their hostess. “I’ll take the blame for monopolizing our table talk, but you must share the responsibility. If you did not have such a fascinating history, I’d be less compelled to pester you with questions and let no one else get a word in. Can you blame Miss Freemantle for hanging on your every word until she forgot herself and dropped her spoon? Now, pray continue what you were saying. How can you be certain Mr. Sheridan modeled the character of Lady Teasel upon you?”
Jollied back into good humor, Lady Jerrod kept them entertained with story after story, never again questioning Leonora’s silence.
Though she dropped no more silver and went through the proper motions of a dinner guest, Leonora could not govern her thoughts as easily as her actions. Like messenger pigeons, they flocked back to Morse at every opportunity.
She recollected all he’d told her of his illicit romance with Lady Pamela Granville—this time concentrating on Morse’s feelings instead of her own foolish jealousy. When he’d accused her of playing dog in the manger, hadn’t he also said she considered herself too good to marry him?
Did Morse think she’d refused to wed him because of his birth? Try as she might to deny the possibility, reason led Leonora back to it again and again. Her own proposition, meant only to test his motives, must have echoed the humiliating offer with which Pamela Granville had broken his heart.
You have managed to avoid your mother’s mistakes, life seemed to mock Leonora. Gullibility was poor Clarissa’s downfall. Carefully cultivated suspicion may have been yours.
“Morse, what’s wrong?” Leonora’s words broke in on his anxious preoccupation. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, “Did Mrs. Hill recognize you?”
Returning home from separate social engagements, he had just got in and removed his coat when she arrived with Algie. If he had not grown so fond of him in the past months, Morse might have envied Algie bitterly for sharing an evening with Leonora. Too few evenings stretched between now and the time they must part. Morse grudged every one spent without her.
Shaking his head in mute answer to her question, he glanced toward the sitting room door, hoping she would understand that he must talk to her.
As soon as Algie had toddled off to bed, she hurried to join Morse. “There is something amiss. I knew it.”
With a curt nod, he bolted back a drink of his brandy. “I’ve managed to keep out of Pamela’s way, though it hasn’t been easy. Fortunately, Frederica isn’t a suspicious creature.”
“Very fortunate,” replied Leonora, though she looked as if he had struck her.
Morse hadn’t time to ferret out what was wrong with her. “I’ll be in for double the trouble, soon. Nothing will do for Frederica’s father but we announce our engagement on the evening of the fete for Colonel Maxwell. Of course, Pamela will be on hand for that. I’m not certain Maurice Archibald can pass muster with one person who’s met Morse Archer, let alone two.”
“Oh, my.”
“What will we do?” Morse wasn’t certain what had rattled him so. He hated feeling all churning belly and clammy palms, like some raw recruit getting his first taste of enemy fire.
Leonora laid her hand on his. “Buck up, Sergeant. You’ve been in worse straits than this and managed to turn things around. Let’s approach it as a battle to be won, and plan our tactics accordingly.”
Twisting his hand so it met hers, palm to palm, Morse gripped her fingers. “I can’t say it often enough. You’d make a fine general, Leonora Freemantle.”
Without question, she had conquered his heart. No matter who he wed or did not wed, it would belong to her. He could bear the situation easier if she was free and celibate. As much his as any man’s. For that reason, more than any consideration of fortune or material advantage, Morse was doubly determined to win the wedding wager.
“Don’t you worry, Morse. We’ll win this wager, yet.” As Leonora cast an approving eye over him, her heart seemed to wrench within her breast. Privately, she blessed Uncle Hugo for suggesting they walk the short distance from Laura Place to the Guildhall. Anything for a few minutes alone with Morse.
She savored the look in his eye. Clement sunshine of admiration that had enticed the blighted bud of her confidence to blossom. Like a banked fire, the heat of her longing for him had kindled her womanly desires. If she was not careful, she might melt into a useless puddle of sentiment. Neither of them could afford that now.
“You’re not still worried, are you?” She tried to suffuse her tone with confidence and faith in his abilities. “Tell me, how did you used to calm your nerves before battle?”
He blinked rapidly, as if her question had suddenly drawn his thoughts from someplace deep within him. “Concentrate on being prepared for action, I suppose. Make certain your powder’s dry. Review the lay of the terrain.” He thought for a moment. “Trust that your comrades will watch your back.”
Thinking of a military action in the Guildhall banquet room made Leonora chuckle, though her heart felt leaden. “I’ll watch your back, Morse, I promise. You keep your pretty fiancée on the dance floor and I’ll keep Mrs. Hill away from the pair of you, by hook or by crook.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Sir Hugo called back as they crossed Pulteney Bridge. “We’re better off to walk on such
a fine evening. Carriage traffic is so thick, it’s at a standstill. We’ll be there far earlier than the fools who drive.”
“Congratulations on your very wise idea, Uncle.” Leonora could not resist baiting him a little. “Though you needn’t talk as if you had to haul us down Pulteney Street kicking and screaming. Algie, Morse and I have enough sense to recognize a good idea when we hear one.”
She let her voice drop to a whisper. “Being early to the ball will give us an opportunity to scout the terrain for the advantage of position, will it not, Sergeant Archer?”
“Uh-uh.” He cast her a sidelong smile that made her want to sing and cry at the same time. “That’s Captain Archibald. Let’s not get careless so close to victory.”
Leonora stifled a sigh. She did not feel victorious in the least.
As they joined the throng of guests entering the magnificent Guildhall, she snapped open her fan like a soldier cocking his rifle. Behind cover of it she whispered to Morse, “Make your way to the other end of the banquet room and find some gentlemen to engage in conversation. I’ll keep a lookout for the Hills and let you know when they’ve arrived.”
With an intense gaze that called a blush to her cheeks, Morse discharged a nod that looked strangely like a salute. “I’m yours to command, General Freemantle.”
Quickly she turned away, so he would not see the rogue tear that escaped her eye. If only she dared command him as she wished. If only Uncle Hugo’s innocently enticing wager had not snared them both in its sticky web. If only she’d had the courage to accept Morse Archer when he proposed to her.
Overhead the magnificent chandeliers glittered brilliant candlelight on the gathering. The soft floral hues of the ladies’ gowns and the mingled perfume of rose and lavender water put Leonora in mind of a spring garden. A noisy garden, where the songbirds of the orchestra competed against a chorus of gossiping ravens!
Just then, Leonora spied the Hills, none of whom looked in a very festive mood. Mr. Hill scowled. Mrs. Hill plied her fan languidly, as if already bored beyond bearing. Frederica Hill gnawed her lower lip, while Lady Fitzwarren looked daggers at her husband and stepmother. As for Sir Eustace, Leonora had never seen anyone who appeared so desperately in need of a drink.
Perhaps their carriage had gotten delayed in the traffic and they had fallen to quarreling amongst themselves. Having suffered the ordeal of an uncongenial family, Leonora hated the thought of sentencing Morse to such a thing. But what choice did she have?
Squelching her reservations, she threaded her way through the crowd and greeted Frederica Hill warmly. “I believe you’ll find your fiancé in the far corner, entertaining the beaux of Bath with more war stories,” she whispered.
“Trust you to know where he is every moment of the day,” snapped Frederica.
Jolted by her ungracious reply, Leonora watched as the heiress made her way through the company in search of Morse.
Taking Mrs. Hill by the arm, Leonora steered her in the opposite direction. “What a great pleasure to see you again, ma’am! Shall we go in search of some punch? I declare, every visitor in Bath must be here tonight.”
Pamela Hill cast her a look brimming with jaded amusement. “Good evening to you, Miss Freemantle. Yes, do let us get out of this press of humanity and find some refreshment. We had better slip away quickly before my husband takes it into his head to drag me around the room for introductions—his captive dowager viscountess. I declare, if I predecease him, Herbert is likely to have me stuffed and mounted like a prize Highland stag he can show off to visitors.”
Behind a forced smile, Leonora bit her tongue. You should have thought of that when you married Mr. Hill for his money.
They found a somewhat less crowded spot in the cavernous room and managed to commandeer two glasses of punch from the tray of a circulating waiter.
After several caustic remarks about some other members of the company and a scrap of salacious gossip, Mrs. Hill swept Leonora a glance from head to toe. “Your costume this evening is very becoming, Miss Freemantle. I’m surprised not to find you surrounded by a bevy of swains. Are you aware that my stepdaughter is insanely jealous of your friendship with her fiancé? I hope she has good reason to be.”
Before Leonora could protest, she added, “You must keep an eye out for this mysterious Captain Archibald and introduce him to me. I believe Frederica is intentionally trying keep him from me, and that will never do.”
Just then Sir Eustace passed close to them. Mrs. Hill handed her punch glass to Leonora and caught the young man’s arm. “Make yourself useful, my son, and squire your dear mother-in-law for a turn on the dance floor.”
Though he turned a shade of red that clashed furiously with his ginger hair, Fitzwarren did as he’d been bidden. Catching sight of Lady Fitzwarren’s ashen face in the crowd, Leonora guessed why Frederica might have become their unwitting accomplice in protecting Morse from meeting her stepmother.
After passing the empty punch cups off to a waiter, Leonora hurried toward the ballroom. As the music concluded, she approached Morse and Frederica. “So you were able to find the captain, after all, Miss Hill. Dancing is such thirsty work. Why don’t the pair of you come back to the banquet room with me and take a cup of punch?”
Frederica clutched Morse’s arm tighter. “Thank you for your concern, Miss Freemantle, but I am resolved to enjoy one more turn on the dance floor before we stop to take refreshments.”
“In that case—” Morse glanced around “—perhaps I can find Algie Blenkinsop to deputize for me. Much as I wish to oblige you, Frederica, my leg is beginning to protest the exertion.”
“Your leg? Oh, dear, of course! I should have remembered, but you have been so light of step, this evening, Maurice. Do let us go find you a place to sit and rest.” Turning pointedly away from Leonora, the heiress towed her fiancé off to safety.
Algie’s voice piped up from nearby. “Dare to venture a turn ’round the dance floor with me, Leonora?”
Trying to stifle a pang of longing as she watched Morse and Miss Hill retreat to the banquet room, Leonora took Algie’s arm. All the better to keep a watchful eye on Mrs. Hill.
“Did I overhear you telling Morse that you’re acquainted with Sir Eustace Fitzwarren?” she asked.
“Knew him from school,” replied Algie as the musicians struck up a leisurely tune. “Play cards with him now and again since we’ve been at Bath. He used to be not such a bad fellow in the old days, but he’s got a bit sour since. Drinks rather more than he should.”
They managed the entire minuet without him once treading on her toes.
“Will you do me a favor, Algie?” Leonora trained her gaze on Mrs. Hill. “The next time you’re talking to Fitzwarren, could you find out how he gets on with his wife’s family?”
“I suppose so, but why on earth…”
Leonora wandered off before he could finish.
For the next two hours she managed to keep Morse and Mrs. Hill apart. Sometimes more by good fortune than by dedicated application. Once or twice her concentration lapsed dangerously as she became caught up in watching him. Or spinning fruitless fantasies of how magical this evening might have been, if only she, not Frederica Hill, had attended as Morse’s bride-to-be.
Were those blunders truly accidental? Leonora chided herself as she foisted Algie upon Mrs. Hill for the next dance. Or was she trying to sabotage her whole future—and Morse’s?
From somewhere in the crowd, she heard him laugh. For an instant it warmed her. Then she shivered to think how soon she might never hear his laughter again.
When Leonora looked up to survey the dancers, she could not see Algie and Mrs. Hill anywhere in the ballroom. The music played on, but they had clearly left the floor. Slipping through the crowd, she looked this way and that for Algie’s head topping those around him.
Suddenly the throng parted before her, like the Red Sea before an astonished Moses. She saw Algie leading Mrs. Hill directly to Morse and Frederica.
&n
bsp; “There’s the fellow, now.” Algie’s voice rang out heartily. “Archibald, old chap, there’s someone here frightfully keen to meet you.”
Morse glanced up, then froze for a moment. Leonora froze, too. Unable to look away as disaster bore down upon them in the shape of Pamela Granville Hill.
Chapter Nineteen
“I say, Archibald, old fellow. Here’s someone frightfully keen to meet you.”
Morse heard the words—loud, slow and slurred, as if he and Algie were fathoms deep under water. His thoughts and limbs moved sluggishly, too. Staggering to shore under the weight of sodden clothing and his own exhaustion. He’d been desperately treading water for so long, he almost wanted to drown and be done with it. Except that would pull Leonora down with him.
At the thought of Leonora, all Morse’s training came flooding back, together with a reckless aplomb born of having nothing left to lose. He fixed his former mistress with a pleasant but vacant smile, as if he’d never laid eyes on her before this moment.
“Mrs. Hill,” proclaimed Algie. “It gives me great pleasure to present my dear friend Captain Maurice Archibald. I feel certain he’ll make Miss Frederica a devoted husband.”
Pamela Hill assessed Morse with her eyes. Eyes still seductive after all these years. Her look implied the hope that he would not prove too devoted to her stepdaughter. Though time had given her a face more in keeping with her character, she was still an alluring creature. Particularly in a scarlet gown with the briefest bodice modesty allowed, and an exotic-looking turban of scarlet and gold.
As he stared, overwhelmed by still-potent memories, an unasked question furrowed her brow. Had she perhaps seen him somewhere before?
Trying to recover his composure, Morse bowed low over her hand, so she might not get too long a look at his face. His voice had deepened since the old days and he deliberately deepened it further still. “Mrs. Hill, this is a pleasure, indeed. We have missed each other so often, I wondered if someone might be trying to keep us from meeting.”