“I pray you two will not allow concern for me to interfere with your own enjoyments,” Nessa continued, with a meaning glance at her sister. “I find myself quite able to take care of myself. In fact, I hope that I'll not have to impose upon your hospitality for much longer. I believe it is high time I set up my own Town establishment.”
Prudence's strangled protest was cut short by the arrival of the carriage. Once they were all ensconced inside, however, she turned horrified eyes upon her sister.
“You cannot be serious about living alone in Town, can you, Nessa? Only think of the talk that would ensue. Propriety demands—”
“Oh, you needn't worry, Prudence. I will engage a suitable companion when the time comes. And it is not as though I intend to move out in the morning.”
In fact, the idea of setting up her own household in London had only just occurred to her—but it suddenly seemed an excellent one.
“Move out!” Prudence was plying her fan again, leaning weakly back against the squabs. “But you have nowhere to go! Promise me you will not even think of such a thing, Nessa.”
“I can scarcely impose upon your hospitality for the rest of my life, Prudence. Surely you must see that.”
But Prudence shook her head. “I see no such thing. You may stay with us until you decide to return to the dower house at Haughton—or remarry. There will no doubt be several eligible and respectable gentlemen at the Plumfields'—far more respectable than that cardplayer, Mr. Galloway. I will endeavor to introduce you.”
Nessa smiled at her sister, but said firmly, “I have no plans to return to the country in the near future. That dower house is positively grim, I assure you. And I do not intend to remarry, in even the distant future. I simply wish to settle in Town for the present.” And live on my own terms, she added silently.
“While I understand your feelings, Sister, remember that your cousin would have to authorize the release of your funds for such a move,” Lord Creamcroft reminded her. “In any event, I hope you will let no thought of inconveniencing us cause you to hasten such a decision. We are more than happy to have you with us for as long as you will stay.”
“Thank you, Philip,” Nessa replied warmly, though she cringed at the thought of what Cousin Filmore's response to such a request would likely be. She'd quite forgotten that her small fortune was under his control, as he'd been generous with her allowance. “I'm sure I can convince my cousin—” She broke off, noticing that her sister appeared to be on the verge of a faint. “I, er, believe Prudence requires your attention.”
Turning, Lord Creamcroft perceived his wife's distress and took both her hands most tenderly in his own. “There, there, my dear. It'll all work out for the best, you'll see.” As she was unresisting, he dared a quick kiss on her cheek.
That brought Prudence to her senses immediately. “Philip! I mean, my lord! I mean—”
Nessa began to chuckle, earning a reproachful glance from her sister. “Oh, never mind me. I'll just watch Mayfair go by.” She directed her gaze resolutely to the carriage window and was gratified to hear her sister's indignant exclamation suddenly muffled by what could only be a kiss. Yes, there was hope for true happiness there yet.
But what of her own?
~ ~ ~
“WHERE TO NEXT, Jack?”
Lord Peter still sounded remarkably chipper, but Jack favored him with a sour look. They'd gone first to the Plumfield ball, but the Creamcroft party had not arrived, though they were generally expected—a fact that took some forty-five minutes to ascertain. Then they'd gone to the Trumball card party, only to discover that Lady Haughton, her sister, and brother-in-law had left twenty minutes earlier.
Next they'd stopped in at a ridotto at the Peckerings, which Peter had suddenly recalled, but with no luck. The Creamcrofts had neither been nor were they particularly expected, though they had been invited.
Miranda Dempsey, the vivacious, redheaded widow with whom Jack had dallied in Paris, had been there, however. She was clearly more than eager to rekindle their brief, torrid romance, and he had only extricated himself with some difficulty.
“Let's go back to Plumfields',” suggested Jack, now that he and Peter had made their escape. At the moment, he was far more inclined to head back to the club, or even home, but it was not in him to give up—not yet.
“Just what I was going to suggest myself,” agreed Peter cheerily. “Off we go, then!”
Jack settled back into the carriage for the fourth time that evening, reflecting, as they clattered along the streets of Mayfair, that his friend was enjoying this mad search far too much. Blast it, did Peter want him leg-shackled for life? His own enthusiasm for the plan was waning rapidly.
Lord and Lady Plumfield had abandoned their posts at the head of the stairs by the time Jack and Peter returned, so at least they were spared immediate comment upon their odd schedule for the evening. Harry, however, had arrived in their absence, and spotted them at once.
He accosted them reproachfully when they were but a few steps inside the ballroom. “Devil take it, Jack, I thought you meant to come here first. I've been cooling my heels here for half an hour, at least.”
“It appears you've been well rewarded for your time.” Jack nodded toward the glass of fine champagne in Harry's hand. “Do you never purchase your own spirits?” The cut was beneath him, he knew, but the evening's fruitless hunt had set his temper on edge.
Harry appeared positively cheered by his remark, however. “Not if I can avoid it, old boy!” He drained the glass that had been recalled to his notice and signaled a passing waiter for another. “Oh, your quarry is in the dance at the moment, I believe.”
Jack experienced an inexplicable lightening of his mood. “Lady Haughton is finally here, then?”
“Oh, so you were here before? Wench leading you a merry chase, is she? Quite an active social life for a widow just out of her weeds.”
Jack's mood became just a shade less light.
Harry now turned to his companion. “You were right, by the bye, Pete. She is a taking little thing. Begin to understand Jack's determination, though given her current course, I'm not sure he need go so far as parson's mousetrap. Offer her a slip on the shoulder first, Jack,” he advised his friend kindly.
Though he glared at Harry, Jack couldn't keep his lips from twitching slightly. “You forget the point, Harry. The idea is for Lady Haughton to repair my reputation, not for me to ruin hers.” He couldn't deny, however, that the notion held more than a modicum of appeal.
“You'd best hurry, then.” Harry indicated the near lefthand side of the ballroom with a motion of his head.
Jack followed his glance and then stiffened, an odd mixture of vexation and elation welling up inside him. There stood the object of his quest, resplendent in deep rose silk. Flowers of the same shade adorned her chestnut curls, which she wore loose to her bare shoulders. Though her gown was cut no lower than most of the others here, its contrast to the high-necked black dress he'd last seen her wearing made it seem outrageously seductive.
Momentarily rendered speechless by the vision before him, Jack merely observed—only to realize abruptly that Lady Haughton was surrounded by no fewer than six gentlemen, with all of whom she seemed to be conducting a flirtation! Excusing himself from his companions, he strode toward her.
~ ~ ~
NESSA WAS CERTAIN she had never enjoyed an evening so much in her life. The Westercotts' soiree on Saturday had been but a trial run. In fact, she had dared only two dances there, so severe was Prudence's disapproval—and so rusty were her skills. Though her parents had permitted their daughters to learn all of the approved dances, they'd been afforded very few opportunities to practice in public—and after her marriage, Nessa had danced only thrice, at small country gatherings.
Tonight, she had a mind to throw caution to the winds. Winning at whist while tentatively flirting with Mr. Galloway had been a highly entertaining novelty, and now she had just concluded her third dance, with the pr
omise of several more to come.
And such attentive young men! She turned a blind eye to Prudence's reproachful looks from across the room, just as she had earlier turned a deaf ear to her sister's strictures on which gentlemen were respectable enough to be worthy of her notice. Respectability was the very last thing she was seeking tonight!
“Why, what a charming thing to say, Sir Lawrence,” she responded to a particularly outrageous compliment, flitting her fan experimentally. The fan was something else she needed proper instruction on, she realized. Else she might send signals she did not intend. But so what if she did? she asked herself with sudden recklessness.
“No more than the truth, I assure you, Lady Haughton,” said her young cavalier. “You outshine every other woman present.”
“Indisputably,” agreed Mr. Pottinger, a handsome man of more mature years but with a decided lisp. “You have given new life to the Little Season, my lady.”
It was nice, Nessa reflected, to know that not everyone disapproved of her as Prudence did. Resolutely, she squelched the twinge of conscience that threatened to assail her.
“You are all very kind,” she assured the small cluster of gentlemen surrounding her. “As new to the social scene as I am, it is most pleasant to have made so many friends already.”
A clamor arose as they all attempted to convey how very honored they were to be counted among her friends, and Nessa positively basked in the attention. Surely, enjoying such harmless flattery could not be so evil as she'd always been led to believe.
The orchestra struck up the opening strains of the next dance—a waltz. At least three of her gallants stepped forward to lead her out, but before she could formulate a suitable excuse, another voice spoke from behind her.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but I believe the lady has promised this particular dance to me.”
Whirling, she found herself transfixed by the piercing blue eyes of Lord Foxhaven. Why her heart should leap so at his appearance she had no idea, unless it were sudden fear that now she was wearing colors he might recognize her as the masked Monique. Bemused, she allowed him to take her hand in his. As he led her toward the assembling dancers, however, sanity abruptly returned.
“I… I fear I cannot oblige you, my lord,” she stammered.
He gazed down at her, his expression unreadable. “Engaged to someone else, are you?”
“Yes. That is, no. That is…” Nessa gave it up, realizing that glib excuses would not work on this man—not that she was precisely managing glibness. “I'm afraid I do not waltz, my lord,” she finally said in a small voice.
To her surprise, Lord Foxhaven broke into a wide smile. “Do you not indeed? Then, my lady, it is high time you began.” Ignoring her inarticulate protests, he whirled her out onto the floor, then placed one hand lightly on her waist.
Nessa quickly moved from under his hand. “My lord, you do not understand,” she whispered frantically. “I do not know how to waltz! I never learned.”
For the barest moment the marquis looked surprised, but then he gave her a reassuring smile. “'Tis really a very simple dance: three steps repeated, in time to the music. Just follow my lead. I promise not to attempt any of the fancier movements—not until you've learned the basics.”
A half-wink gave his words a deeper meaning, and Nessa felt herself flushing. The sensation was not unpleasant, however. “Very well, my lord. I shall hold you to your word.” She let added meaning color her own words as well, and saw his eyes light in response.
He again placed his hand at her waist, its warmth seeming to spread in all directions. Though the dance was not quite so easy as he had implied, Nessa found that with some concentration she was able to overcome the distracting effect of his touch enough to follow his steps. Occasional, surreptitious glances at the other dancers assisted her as well.
Still, she could not deny that this particular dance was a disturbingly intimate experience. No wonder her father had so strongly disapproved of the waltz! Though Lord Foxhaven took no liberties, she was acutely aware of the placement of each long finger against her body, pressing and releasing as they moved to the music. By the time the music ended, she believed she could cautiously claim to be able to waltz—a gratifying accomplishment—but she would never look upon the dance in the same way again.
“I thank you for the lesson, Lord Foxhaven,” she said breathlessly as they twirled to a stop.
He shook his head. “The lady does not thank the gentleman for the dance, Lady Haughton. I see you are more unschooled in the ways of polite Society than you pretend. The honor, by the dictates of custom, must be mine.”
Placing her hand on his arm to accompany him from the floor, she regarded him uncertainly. “By the dictates of custom?” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.
But then his eyes smiled into hers, warming her again. “Not only by custom,” he said, his voice silken. “I enjoyed the experience of instructing you exceedingly. It is an experience I look forward to repeating, perhaps in other areas.”
Nessa's face flamed as she read a meaning into his words that was doubtless far more lascivious than he had intended. Why did her mind always seem to run along such paths when she was near this man?
“Thank you, my lord,” she managed to murmur as they reached the crowd surrounding the dance floor. Prudence was waiting for her, looking thoroughly shocked.
“Lady Creamcroft.” Lord Foxhaven executed a respectful bow. “Might I procure refreshment for you both? Ratafia, perhaps?”
“Thank you, no, my lord,” replied Prudence stiffly. Nessa stopped herself on the verge of requesting a lemonade, and instead shook her head, but accompanied her refusal with a smile.
Lord Foxhaven bowed again and left them.
“Nessa, what can you have been thinking?” Prudence demanded the moment he was out of earshot. “And where on earth did you learn to waltz? Not in Lord Haughton's household, I'll take my oath.”
Nessa suddenly found her sister's overbearing propriety almost amusing, where a month ago she'd considered it the norm. “Actually, Prudence, you just witnessed my first lesson. Was it not kind of Lord Foxhaven to offer to instruct me?”
“Kind?” Prudence was obliged to fan herself vigorously before she could continue. “I'll have you know that I myself have never waltzed—not even with my husband! You know what Father always—”
“Father said a great many things,” interrupted Nessa. “But we are adults now, Prudence, and must make our own decisions. Truly, you should try the waltz. It is really quite easy. I'm sure Philip would be more than happy to teach you.”
For a moment Prudence appeared to waver, but then she frowned. “I should never be able to bring myself to ask such a thing of Phil—that is, Lord Creamcroft. What might he think of me?”
“He might think his wife was becoming a living, breathing woman, instead of the stone statue her father raised,” Nessa suggested.
“Nessa, really!” Prudence's eyes reproached her. “I begin to think you must always have harbored these… irregular propensities. Did Lord Haughton never suspect?”
Nessa shook her head. “If I have always harbored them—and I don't believe they're in the least irregular or unnatural—then I managed to hide them almost as well from myself as from the rest of the world. I begin to see that it was the strictures laid upon us by our father—and upon me by Lord Haughton—that were unnatural. I wish that you could see it too, Prudence.”
But Prudence merely clicked her tongue and hurried away to her husband's side, to put an end to what was clearly becoming a most disturbing conversation.
Nessa watched her sister's retreat with mingled pity and amusement. So much happiness awaited poor Prudence, if she would only reach out her hand to grasp it! If she herself were married to a man of her own generation, one who actually loved her…
No. Marriage was a trap, a cage. Five years' experience had made that abundantly clear. Her own happiness must lie along a different path from her s
ister's. But when she saw it offered, she was determined that she would not hesitate to seize it.
SIX
NESSA CAME DOWNSTAIRS rather later than usual the next day, to find her sister awaiting her in the drawing room.
“So there you are, Nessa! I'd begun to fear you meant to sleep the day away,” Prudence greeted her. “I wished to have a word with you before your first caller arrives.”
Nessa's heart sank at the prospect of another lecture. But— “My first caller? Am I expecting callers?”
“After your tremendous success last night, I would be most surprised if you did not have several. Three bouquets of flowers have already arrived, as you can see.”
Nessa regarded the elaborate arrangements her sister indicated with wide eyes.
Prudence continued. “You are still very innocent of the ways of Society, I see. Therefore, I wished to, ah, advise you with respect to some of the gentlemen you met last night, and who might possibly come to call.”
“Advise me?” Nessa asked suspiciously. “Why did you not do so during the drive home?”
“With Lord Creamcroft in the carriage?” Prudence was aghast. “'Twould have been most unseemly. However, now that we have a moment alone, I consider it my duty, as your sister and as one more acquainted with those who make up London Society, to put you on your guard. It is quite possible that some of the gentlemen with whom you danced last night do not intend marriage.”
Despite her sister's serious expression, Nessa laughed. “Marriage? Prudence, did I not tell you last night that I have no desire to marry again? Perhaps you can warn me about the ones who do intend marriage, so that I can avoid them in the future.”
“But… but, surely you weren't serious? You've made it amply clear—” she indicated the cerulean blue round dress Nessa wore— “that you are not pining for Lord Haughton's memory. A widow as young as yourself… What respectable alternative is there?”
Nessa hesitated a moment before speaking. “I wish to explore my options, Prudence,” she finally said in as reasonable a tone as she could manage, “and not be rushed into anything I could regret for the rest of my life. I had no choice in the matter of my marriage to Lord Haughton, but now I have. If I choose not to marry, that is my concern.”
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