A Question of Impropriety

by Michelle Styles

  Brett fumbled with his neck cloth, swearing at his own in competence. He then took up another piece of starched linen and began to do the intricate folds. Concentrated. This time, the neck cloth fell into its accustomed shape. All was right with the world.

  Tonight he would put the final pieces of his scheme into place, and he would strike. It would be the end of it. A pang of something went through him. Regret? Sorrow? Brett did not stop to analyse. He had enjoyed Diana Clare’s company. That was all. Her wit and her refreshing conversation. He frowned. The neck cloth was slightly skewed to the right and looked as if he was still at Eton. His hands went to straighten it. Spoilt it. He tore it off and began again.

  ‘The neck cloths appear not to be holding their shape this evening, sir, as well as they normally do. Shall I ask for more starch next time?’

  ‘They are fine as they are.’ Brett ignored the growing pile on the ground. Seven at the last count. ‘I was…at tempting a new fold.’

  ‘And, my lord, if you do not mind me saying, a woman is not worth fretting over. Fickle, they are. Changeable.’

  ‘I have never fretted over a woman, Vrionis.’ Brett lifted his chin, and completed the last precise folds. He stepped back, slipped on the black tail coat. ‘Ever. Remember that.’

  ‘I know that, sir. I was just saying, like…in case you had forgotten it. The air up here in Northumberland.’ His valet brushed a speck of dirt from the coat. ‘Only the other day, I caught myself looking at a piece of skirt, wondering, like, what it would be to have little ones with her. Nearly frightened me out of my breeches. I have given the woman in question a wide berth since then. A very wide berth.’

  ‘The air has nothing to do with it. I know what I want. I know why I am going to this ball.’ Brett closed his eyes. His first glimpse of Miss Clare at Vauxhall Gardens all those years ago rose before him. A vision in white, her eyes spark ling as she looked around her with great eagerness. Her laughter as the fire works had sparkled overhead. A woman in love with life. Innocent but with promise. He shook his head, willed the image to be gone. ‘I am only going tonight to ensure Miss Clare carries out the terms of our wager. She failed to negotiate the last set of hurdles. I will not have her going back on her word.’

  ‘As you say, sir, you never fret about a woman.’

  Chapter Nine

  Everyone who was anyone in the Tyne Valley and Newcastle—from the Grand Allies who owned the coal mines and ran the north of England to the various serving officers and their wives—appeared to be at the Bolts’ that evening. From joining the queue of carriages to reaching the Bolts’ door had taken the Clares’ carriage a half-hour, a journey that normally took but a few moments.

  Diana adjusted the neckline of the deep rose ballgown. Thankfully her figure remained unaltered from London and Rose had been able to work miracles with her needle and thread.

  Lady Bolt’s mouth visibly tightened when she and Simon greeted her. However, as Diana took her customary place at the side of the dance floor, she knew that it would take more than an elegant dress to make her the belle of the ball. The men’s eyes slid over her and she became in visible as time after time she saw the bright gold en ness of the Honourable Miranda being led out on to the dance floor. It was foolish to even hope that Brett might be attracted to her. He had merely sought her out as a distraction from the boredom of being buried in the country. Simon had been correct. She had been foolish even to hope and even more foolish to allow that kiss to happen.

  Obviously he had removed himself in order to allow the situation time to resolve. Sensible but ultimately disappointing.

  Diana forced her mind to concentrate on exchanging plea san tries with various neighbours. Hopefully, after tonight’s disappointment, he would stop invading her dreams, filling her with an intense longing, a longing so great that when she woke, her lips ached and her body burnt. It was an affliction, but one from which she would recover in time.

  Diana clenched her hand and redoubled her efforts to listen intently to Mrs Sarsfield’s explanation of how she had managed to cure her grandchildren’s fever with little more than a cold compress. Mrs Sarsfield’s cap with its many ribbons positively quivered as she related each detail with increasing animation. Diana felt her eyelids begin to slide shut and struggled to contain her yawn. It would be hours before Simon would want to leave.

  A shadow fell across her face and her nerves instantly became awake. Without even looking, she knew who approached. Even Mrs Sarsfield fell silent and her withered cheeks pinkened.

  ‘Miss Clare, how delightful to see you again.’ The purr of Brett’s voice flowed over her. ‘I had wondered if you would be here.’

  Diana turned her head. She had forgotten how devastating he looked in evening clothes. His broad shoulders neatly filled out the black tail coat, his pristine white neck-cloth was tied to perfection and his black breeches clung to his thighs.

  She remembered when Algernon had once pointed Brett out at the masquerade they had attended the evening after they had become engaged. He had been surrounded by a bevy of beauties, but had lifted a glass of something in her direction and she had looked away, cheeks glowing with heat, desperately confused by her reaction. The same sort of nervous anticipation filled her now. Only this time, she knew it for what it was—desire—and knew what it was like to be held in his arms.

  ‘Lord Coltonby.’ She kept her voice cool, but tightened her grip on her fan and forced her gaze upwards to where the many crystals of Lady Bolt’s imported chandelier twinkled. When she felt she had regained her sense, she looked directly into his ever-changing grey eyes and discovered that she had forgotten the multitude of colours therein. She swallowed hard and strove for a normal voice. ‘I see you have returned from your journey? Did you discover every thing you desired?’

  ‘Most things, but I hurried back for the dance. The evening festivities have been on my mind constantly.’

  ‘Constantly?’ She ignored the sudden fluttering of the butterflies in her stomach.

  ‘I even let several farmers believe they had got the better of me in order to be here.’

  ‘Hopefully, that does not mean you made any mistakes in purchasing your horses.’ Diana at tempted to keep her voice light, to remember that this conversation was purely for show, but she wanted to believe that he had returned to see her. ‘I would hate to think that, in your haste, you had mistaken the horses’ form.’

  ‘My eye for line and form remains undiminished, even when attempts are made to disguise them.’ His eyes travelled slowly down her face and came to rest on her neckline. ‘Definitely undiminished.’

  Diana forgot to breathe as she resisted the urge to pull her lace higher up. She should never have let Rose alter the bodice this low. Her only hope was that he would think the pink of her cheeks was down to the warmth of the room.

  ‘Are you two acquainted?’ Mrs Sarsfield enquired, raising her quizzing glass. ‘I am not sure I have had the pleasure…’

  ‘Lord Coltonby,’ Diana said quickly in an under tone. ‘He has recently acquired the Park.’

  ‘Oh, I have heard about him. And you. Old friends, Miss Ortner said. And I said that there was more to it than that, but my daughter-in-law refused to believe it.’ Mrs Sarsfield gave a distinct nod and smacked her lips together as if she had chanced upon a particularly juicy piece of gossip. ‘Wait until I tell her I have actually met the man in question.’

  ‘But Mrs Sarsfield…’ Diana began.

  ‘The introductions, if you please, Miss Diana,’ Brett commanded.

  Diana swiftly made the introductions as Mrs Sarsfield beamed and her ribbons quivered. The elderly woman gave a little titter as Brett bent over her hand, treating Mrs Sarsfield as if she was the most important per son age in the room. Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks.

  ‘I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Clare in London many years ago and made it a point to renew our friendship when I moved up here,’ Brett said smoothly as Mrs Sarsfield’s effusive gree
ting died away.

  ‘My daughter-in-law dismissed my notion out of hand as fanciful. She swore that you two could not possibly have met. And that…well…never you mind.’ Mrs Sarsfield stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, I am going to enjoy this.’

  Without giving Diana a chance to protest, Mrs Sarsfield hurried away, moving more quickly than Diana had thought possible in a woman of her stature, pausing only to hurriedly whisper to another group of elderly ladies.

  ‘I believe you have made a stir,’ Diana commented. ‘One smile from you and she melted.’

  Brett merely lifted one eyebrow. ‘It is you have made the stir in that dress. All I hear is the men asking them selves who the vision in deep rose is and how can they beg an introduction. I came over to stake my claim before there was an insurmountable queue.’

  ‘And pray, when will this queue develop?’ Diana gestured at the empty space in front of her. ‘I have yet to see any sign.’

  ‘After we dance.’ He held out his arm. ‘Shall we? One small cotillion?’

  Diana let out a little breath. So it would not be a waltz after all. It was probably safer this way, but she had wanted to feel his arms about her again, however briefly. She refused to let idle compliments turn her head. She was the sensible Diana Clare. The débutante who lived for parties and who had hoped to make a splash in the ton had vanished long ago. Her dreams had turned into a nightmare and it was only her rules that now kept her safe.

  ‘I might step on your feet.’

  ‘No one will be watching my feet. All eyes will be on my partner.’

  ‘I had not realised that you had returned,’ she said. In another moment, she would follow Mrs Sarsfield’s example and melt under his gaze. ‘I had wondered if your business would keep you out of town.’

  ‘My note said I would appear. Trust me when I say that I keep my promises.’

  ‘I would have under stood.’ Her hands curled tighter around her fan, waiting for the signal that they should go out on the dance floor. ‘I would have under stood if you’d thought better of our rash arrangement. It seems foolish now that I think about it. This dance will certainly fulfil the terms of our wager.’

  Brett’s jaw tightened and he slowly looked her up and down. ‘You only think you understand, Miss Diana, but I wonder if you actually do.’

  ‘Like you, I keep my promises, but I am glad that I came.’ Diana dropped her voice. ‘Miranda Bolt gave me black-daggered looks as I entered, but she soon cheered when it became apparent that I was in my customary place, speaking with Mrs Sarsfield.’

  ‘There is to be a change to your customary place.’

  ‘You need not worry about that.’ Diana made a little gesture with her fan. ‘Simon will look after me once he has finished speaking with Mr Hedley and some of the other Grand Allies. They are discussing the merits of engines.’

  ‘I promised you a dance. I have come to claim it.’ He held out his gloved hand, beckoned to her as the orchestra struck the first notes. ‘A waltz. I did guess correctly after all.’

  ‘Mrs Sarsfield considers the waltz to be immoral,’ Diana said quickly to banish the thoughts of Brett’s hand on her shoulder and their bodies moving in time together. ‘She predicts it will never be accepted by society. Her daughters-in-law all agree. She has been most vocal on the subject.’

  ‘And I predict that it will be danced at Almack’s in the very near future. Its popularity is growing on the Continent.’ His fingers curled around hers, pulled her towards the dance floor. ‘The time for speaking has ended. Now you can show me how you practised in my absence.’

  ‘I know the theory from our lesson.’

  ‘But as in life, the practice is very different. Relax and let the music be your guide. I shall go wherever you wish. Even out into the moon light, if that is your fancy.’

  ‘I believe I shall decline at present.’ Diana drew a deep breath. This was flirtation for the benefit of others. She had to remain calm and offhand, no matter how much the feeling of warmth was enveloping her.

  ‘When the opportune moment arises, you must try it.’ His hand tightened on her waist, burnt against the silk. ‘I believe you will find the experience quite rewarding.’

  A warm shiver went down her spine. Ruthlessly, Diana sup pressed it. She was never going to dance with Brett in the moon light.

  ‘Shall we concentrate on this dance, rather than speculate on others?’ Diana nodded towards the dance floor where several couples, led by Miranda Bolt and a red-coated officer, were assembling. At the sight of Diana, Miss Bolt’s face took on a petulant expression. ‘Miss Bolt does not appear at all pleased with the turn of events.’

  ‘Wait until she sees how you dance.’ The corners of his mouth twitched. Diana swallowed hard and at tempted to remember the intricate steps as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Her whole being was aware of him.

  She managed to get through the first few steps without treading on Brett’s toes. Gradually her feet appeared to remember the steps he had taught her and she grew in confidence. His hand seemed to burn a brand on her waist and his fingers gently held hers. Their limbs moved together in time to the music.

  ‘Your mastery surprises me, Miss Diana,’ Brett said as they slowly circled the room. ‘I fear your days warming a chair will have ended with this dance. Already I see several soldiers lining up to usurp my place. You will have to be careful to keep your feet on the ground.’

  ‘Not all of my life was spent as a wall flower, Lord Coltonby.’ Diana kept her chin up. ‘I know the perils of giving credence to compliments.’

  ‘We agreed—Brett.’

  ‘But Lord Coltonby feels safer,’ Diana returned, and concentrated on a point over his left shoulder rather than the intent expression in his eyes.

  ‘Does he?’ Brett expertly spun her around so she was once again forced to look him in the face. An unholy light danced in his eyes. ‘Would you care to wager on this, Miss Clare?’

  Before Diana could think of a suitably crushing reply, the music stopped. Diana breathed deeply and smiled. Before she could escape from the floor, a queue of officers had formed, all begging for the favour of a dance. Diana found she had little option but to accept. And all the joy and pleasure she had once had in music and ballrooms came back to her. Once or twice as she circled the ballroom floor, she was certain Brett’s eyes were on her, but each time that she looked, he appeared deep in conversation with someone else.

  ‘Ah, Lord Coltonby, you are here. My sister thought you had departed from the district.’ Simon Clare blocked Brett’s view of the dance floor. ‘But I knew you would not miss this dance.’

  ‘Clare, it is good to see you again.’ Brett kept his eyes on Diana, who was dancing yet another cotillion, laughing up into the face of some red-coated soldier for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. A surge of white-hot anger coursed through him. ‘The ball is very pleasant.’

  ‘Quite a change from the fare you are used to in London, I would imagine.’

  ‘A welcome change.’

  ‘As you may have heard, I have been working on a travelling engine. It is showing real promise. But it is an investment that I cannot miss.’ Simon Clare pulled a tightly folded sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his coat. ‘I have some papers here, if you wish to glance at them. A number of the others have expressed an interest. Of course, Sir Norman pro claims that his will go better, but I fear he is mistaken. It will never run.’

  ‘In the middle of a ball? Are you mad, man?’ Brett swung around to face Diana’s brother. The man would never change. Business, always business. ‘You may send the papers over in the morning.’

  ‘If that is what you wish…if you think you cannot make sense of them tonight.’ Clare returned the papers to his pocket. ‘I naturally bow to your wishes.’

  Brett regarded him through narrowed eyes. Exactly what was his game? Was he simply inept at social conversation or was there something more sinister? He would give Clare the benefit of the doubt. ‘My he
ad is perfectly clear.’

  Clare’s cheeks flushed slightly. ‘Sir Cuthbert always encouraged me to bring the papers to any function we might be attending. It saved time. He preferred the hurdy-gurdy of the dance for pushing the pen.’

  Brett thinned his lips. The look in Clare’s eyes said it all. He considered Brett to be a fop, a macaroni like Sir Cuthbert. It was time that he learnt they were different. Very different. He looked forward to delivering the final blow tomorrow, to seeing Clare crawl.

  ‘I conduct my business in the proper venue. Balls are for pleasure, not negotiation.’

  ‘Never let it be said that I didn’t offer. I thought we could discuss the land at the same time.’

  ‘See to it that you do not make the same mistake again.’ Brett turned on his heel, shaking with anger.

  ‘My sister appears to be enjoying herself on the dance floor,’ Clare called after him.

  Brett halted. What new game was Clare playing? Why was he bringing his sister into this? ‘She does, rather. I was lucky to discover her sitting amongst the widows. It would appear I have in advertently brought her to the attention of some others.’

  ‘I know and I wanted to thank you for it. She took the notion somehow to wear a new ballgown. Dressed up. More fancy than I have seen her for…for years. I had thought it was going to go wrong and then you stepped in and danced with her.’

  Brett stared at the man, astonished. He was actually thanking him. His shoulders tensed and the muscles in his arms clenched—the same reactions he always had before the start of a race or a high-stakes game of cards. He should say something, start the process of explaining to Clare what he had done and why. But the words refused to come. ‘I was pleased to help. We are friends.’

  ‘There is now a queue twenty deep for the honour of dancing with her. Some of them have come to me, begging to hear about the engine. I do worry that it will go to her head, but she does deserve some hap pi ness.’ Clare pointed towards where Diana was laughing at some sally a red-coated officer made. Brett forced his shoulders to relax. ‘I trust her implicitly, of course, but as one Cantabrigian to another, I do worry.’