by Mary Balogh
***
Lord Kincade was dressing for dinner and feeling remarkably cheerful, too cheerful, he thought with a frown as his valet finally succeeded in tying his neckcloth to the satisfaction of both. For the best part of a week life had been relatively free of problems. And embarrassment.
Judith had been true to her word and written to Powers after their talk at Gunter’s. She had received and read his reply the following day, and had shown it to him when he called to see Julia. She had even smiled rather ruefully when he had suggested that Powers’ easy capitulation must mean that he had another poor rich innocent on a string. And he believed that the affair—if it could be called that—really was at an end.
Judith had been quiet and biddable ever since, driving out only once with Rose and Arthur and once with him. Although she had attended a ball two evenings before and had smiled and danced the night away, she had taken a different partner for each set and had not seemed to favor any one of them. She seemed preoccupied, and Lord Kincade rather hoped that it was Colonel Appleby who was causing the somewhat absentminded expression, so uncharacteristic of his younger sister.
The colonel was coming to dinner, as were Daisy, Hetty, Rose, Arthur, Judith, and Peter. Daisy had suggested the day before that he not invite Sir Phillip Corbett.
“What?” he had said. “You have failed to net him, Daisy? I am amazed that you have given in without a fight. And yet I see no visible bruises.”
“Oh,” she had said, coloring up prettily, “he offered for her, you know. He came to speak to me yesterday and asked if he should write to Mama or go and visit her. But I said no, that Mama would be delighted with anyone that Rose and I approved of. I sent him to talk to Rose.”
He had raised his eyebrows and grinned at her before turning to concentrate on the tricky business of guiding his phaeton through the park gates while someone in a curricle was trying to come at a gallop in the opposite direction. “Never tell me that Rose has rejected the brilliant suitor you cultivated for her,” he had said when he was able.
“Well, she did,” Daisy had admitted. “And can you imagine anything more silly? I found her in tears afterward and quite inconsolable for all of ten minutes. I thought Sir Phillip must have insulted her dreadfully and was all prepared to go running after him with my umbrella. But the silly girl was crying because she thought she had let me down.”
“And she had not?” he had asked.
“Well, what do I have to say to the matter?” Daisy had said. “I am not the one who would have to spend my life with him. It seems that Rose cannot feel enough affection for him to wish to marry him. If I had only known that, I would not have been pushing them together at every turn. But the foolish child has been trying desperately to develop an affection for him because she thought her refusal would grieve me.”
“So, Daisy,” Lord Kincade had said, “you have to begin all over again. Perhaps we can invite any stray dukes or marquesses we happen to find at Vauxhall tomorrow to join us in our box. They are all bound to be young and handsome and rich, you know. It is an essential qualification for such high rank.”
“Oh, what nonsense!” she had said before laughing gaily. “But you are quite right. We must begin again. Rose surprised me, though, by telling me that she does not want anyone grand or anyone who will be always wanting to live in London or at one of the spas. She wants to live in the country, she says, and lead a quiet, comfortable life. How strange! I never thought to ask her before we came to London. Not that she could have made an informed decision at that time, of course, having never been in town to know how well she would like it. I think perhaps it will be wise for me to let Rose choose whom she wants to show interest in. Do you not agree?”
“Decidedly,” he had said, smiling down at her before being alerted by her suddenly fixed stare and change of expression.
“Stop!” she had commanded, and the phaeton had swayed alarmingly as she had tried to jump to her feet and he had had to calm the horses with one hand while his other was busy holding her down in her seat.
“No, Daisy, I absolutely will not,” he had said firmly. “There are at least half a dozen gentlemen rushing to the rescue of the poor girl. I am sure that her dress will be ruined after getting itself caught so firmly in the wheel of that carriage, but perhaps the sensation she has created will be compensation enough. She certainly does not need your assistance, my dear, when she has six— no, seven—men to choose among.”
“You are quite right,” she had said, relaxing in her seat again. “Poor girl. She was doubtless not looking where she was going and did not realize how close she was to the passing carriages. Now she will be embarrassed to have drawn attention to herself. Poor girl.”
Lord Kincade had grinned, partly in relief. A mere week or so before and he would not have reacted in time to prevent Daisy from vaulting out of the very high seat of the phaeton, doubtless giving a few dozen people in the vicinity a delightfully shocking display of legs and ankles and petticoats in the process.
“Do you realize that Rose’s very single state forces us into an extended betrothal?” he had asked, wondering why the thought amused rather than exasperated him. “Perhaps she will decide to go to her grave as an octogenarian old maid. Have you thought of that? This could be the longest betrothal in history, Daisy.”
“Oh, nonsense!” she had said. “We will end it when the Season is over whether Rose has a beau or not. Indeed, we might as well do so right now. I am sure everyone has forgotten that silly kiss in the Riplinger salon.”
“Ah, but I have not,” Lord Kincade had said. “And you have wounded me beyond all bearing, Daisy. I have kissed a number of females in my time and received not a few compliments on my expertise, as well as one or two stinging slaps at my presumption. But never have my kisses been called silly before.”
She had looked at him, startled, before giving vent to such a merry peal of laughter that Lord Kincade could have wished that he had chosen to say what he had, if at all, in some place other than the middle of Rotten Row at five o’clock of the afternoon.
And so, Lord Kincade thought, allowing his valet to help him on with his tight-fitting evening coat of dark-green velvet, the days had gone by with remarkable ease. He could trust Judith, he felt. Indeed, it seemed altogether likely that the colonel would choose that very evening to declare himself and Judith to accept him. And he could almost believe that Daisy had settled down to town life and knew now just how to comport himself in order not to draw attention either to herself or to him.
Almost! But perhaps not quite. He would always feel like a coiled spring when Daisy was close by. One never knew when she was likely to charge off on some self-appointed and quite unnecessary crusade. He was going to have to be especially watchful at Vauxhall. It was a place of unusual revelry, a place for high and low bom, a place for romance and intrigue and plain enjoyment. It could be a veritable paradise for someone like Daisy—not that there was anyone else like Daisy. She would doubtless see a dozen injustices to be put instantly right. He must stay very close to her.
And that would not be quite the death sentence he would have found it a week and more before. It was true that his opinion of Daisy Morrison had not changed. She was an independent, managing, interfering, impulsive, and downright irritating baggage. And life was going to be indescribably tranquil again at the end of the Season when he was finally rid of her. But for all that, he was finding her amusing. One never knew quite what she might say or do in a given situation, and he could enjoy the surprise, provided it was not one of her famous disasters.
He found her sense of humor refreshing. She did not mind laughing at her own expense. And she certainly did not try to guard her dignity by tittering and simpering behind a hand. Daisy Morrison threw back her head and laughed out her amusement for the whole world to hear no matter where she was or who present. And she always succeeded in looking quite impossibly pretty when she was doing so. And yet there was nothing posed or self-conscious in any of he
r words or actions or gestures. She seemed to have no conception whatsoever of her own attractions.
And he was attracted. He found himself, at first unconsciously and then quite deliberately, touching her whenever he could do so without being too obvious. And he was always pleased if she was at Julia’s when he made his daily calls, for then he had an excuse to kiss her as he kissed his sister. He would like to have one more opportunity to kiss her properly before their betrothal came to an end. He would have to be careful not to go too far, of course. It would not do to find that he was honor-bound after all to insist upon marriage. But just once more to hold her slim and supple form fully against him, to possess himself of her mouth instead of merely pecking her on the cheek.
Once more to feel her response. Because she did respond to him. She was as attracted to him as he to her.
Perhaps tonight at Vauxhall, he thought, realizing suddenly that he must have been staring into the mirror and smoothing the lace of his cuffs over his hands for several minutes. He looked around him rather consciously, but remembered in some relief that he had already dismissed his valet. He got to his feet and went downstairs to await the arrival of his guests.
They would approach Vauxhall Gardens by water, Lord Kincade announced, since it was far more enchanting, if more inconvenient, to do so than to cross the river by carriage on the new iron bridge.
It was doubtful that Judith and Rose would have noticed if they had been lifted into a hot-air balloon and conveyed to the pleasure gardens that way. They had had their heads together whenever they could snatch a moment of privacy since they had arrived at Lord Kincade’s for dinner.
“He was back this morning,” Judith had said when they had retired for a few moments after dinner. “He must have flown like the wind to Bath and back again. And he came this afternoon far too soon after luncheon for a normal call.”
“And?” Rose had prompted.
Judith’s eyes had become dreamy. “And he said...Oh, he said such wonderful things. Rose. I cannot tell you, truly I can’t. His words would sound silly if said aloud now.”
“And you accepted him?” Rose had asked eagerly.
“No.” Judith had looked stricken for a moment. “But I did not say no either. I just could not bring myself to say either. I was in love with Lord Powers just a few weeks ago, and now I love the colonel. How can I trust my feelings, Rose? I am so fickle. But this has crept up on me unawares. There has not been the romance that there was with Lord Powers, and no intrigue. But, oh, I do love him. I do. I want to say yes.”
“And you still have the chance?” Rose had asked.
“Oh, yes,” Judith had assured her. “He took my hand and told me with the greatest show of kindness that he would not rush me, that he would wait and ask me again. Oh, Rose, I do love him so. Does he not have quite splendid looks? And have you noticed the trick his eyes have of crinkling in the corners when he smiles? And his military bearing? And I think it matters not at all that he is twelve years my senior.”
And when they had climbed into the boat and begun the crossing, Judith remembered that her friend had had a less happy experience in the last two days. She squeezed her hand. “Have you felt any regret about rejecting Sir Phillip?” she asked. “He is so very handsome, Rose, and was so very attentive.”
But Rose assured her that she felt only relief that she had been able to put an end to the unwelcome courtship before she could hurt the gentleman too greatly. “For he is very charming and kind,” she said.
Lord Kincade took Daisy’s arm firmly through his when they entered the gardens, and listened indulgently to her exclamations of delight. A beautiful evening had brought out revelers by the score. And he had chosen a night when there was to be dancing and fireworks, always more popular occasions than those evenings when there were concerts.
He looked down at her as they approached the tiered boxes, one of which he had hired for the night. “It is all rather splendid, Daisy, is it not?” he said. “One cannot come to London, you know, and not spend at least one night at Vauxhall.”
“It is like a fairy tale,” she said, clinging obediently to his arm and walking with a spring in her step.
But she had been unusually quiet during dinner and the journey to Vauxhall. Suspiciously quiet. And quite unnaturally docile. If one did not know better, one would assume that Daisy was a perfectly normal young lady of the ton. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he knew Daisy Morrison better than to think that for a moment. Considerably better. He imprisoned her arm more firmly against his side.
Daisy was looking about her, trying to envision the route Lord Powers had described to her so that she would not miss their rendezvous later. She thought she would be able to find the spot. But just a few details teased at her mind. Daisy was not a creature of forethought. She could act with great resolution when an urgent situation presented itself to her. She was not a very effective planner.
Exactly how was her plan going to secure Judith’s safety for all time? She was almost convinced that she had ensnared Lord Powers in the last few days with her tales of wealth, real and pretended. But could she be quite sure? What if he were as good an actor as she hoped she was? And what if he was a man who hedged his bets? What if he had assignations to meet both her and Judith at Vauxhall? And what if his meeting with Judith was to precede his meeting with her? There was only one solution to that particular problem: she would have to keep her eye on Judith for every moment that ensued before it was time to effect her own disappearance.
And how long must she stay with Lord Powers? Her own desire would be to meet him, laugh in his face, spit in his eye, or preferably punch him in the eye if she had the chance—and return to her party with an account of all that had happened in the last several days. The news would be painful and humiliating for Judith, it was true, but Daisy thought that only so could she show the girl beyond all doubt just what her beloved Lord Powers was really like.
But would such a brief meeting be enough? Would she be believed? Would she have to drive around with him for an hour, as he had suggested, so that her absence would be noted and her explanation of that absence seem more credible? But how could she support the thought of driving in a closed carriage with Lord Powers for an hour? What on earth would she talk about for that long? Would she have to invent an uncle in Ireland and a godfather in Wales?
One idea that she was toying with was to listen to Lord Powers' proposal again, cry a little, or rather dab at her nose and sniff a little, hesitate, gaze meltingly at him, allow him a kiss...No, not that! Even the idea of saving Judith could not induce her to make that sacrifice. She would ask him to call on her the following morning for her answer. And she would have them lined up—Judith, Giles, and anyone else who cared to enjoy the show—listening to the man as he repeated his vows of undying devotion and as she, at last, and with enormous satisfaction, unleashed on him the full force of her true sentiments.
It was a very satisfactory idea—the best, she thought. But of course, she would then have to keep Judith under watch for the rest of the evening in case Lord Powers decided that a bird in the hand was worth a little more than a better-feathered one in the bush.
And so Daisy allowed Lord Kincade to seat her close beside him in their box, danced with him, talked with him, smiled at him, warmed to his closeness, thought absently how she would enjoy stealing down one of the shaded paths with him until they were quite alone with the night and the darkness and the music and each other, and scarcely took her eyes from Judith.
Lord Kincade, after a waltz during which he had drawn Daisy rather closer than he would have dared to do in a ballroom, and held her firmly with a hand at the small of her back, and breathed in the scent of her hair, and gazed down at her pretty, bright-eyed face, also felt the urge, even the need, to take his betrothed onto one of those more secluded paths. Yet, when he suggested almost against her ear that they walk for a while, she glanced hastily about her, said no, she would prefer to return to their box, and t
hen grabbed his arm more tightly and said yes, indeed it would be delightful to walk.
Yet she proceeded to confound his intentions and frustrate his desires not a little by quickening her pace, dragging him in her wake, and hailing Judith and Colonel Appleby, who were ahead of them. She had about as much sensibility as a boulder, Lord Kincade thought, trying not to grind his teeth quite audibly. It was perfectly clear to him that Appleby had been about the same sort of not quite proper business as he had been contemplating. And Judith did not look altogether pleased to glance back over her shoulder and find a brother wearing a wide and artificial smile walking along behind her, almost close enough to breathe down her neck.
He felt that old familiar urge to feel Daisy’s neck between his two hands.
The two couples strolled on, conversing amiably about nothing in particular, while at least three of them, Lord Kincade thought, were doubtless dreaming of how they might have been using their time to better advantage. He felt progressively less charitable toward the fourth, who chattered brightly on and seemed neither to know nor to care that she might have been deep in a very improper and satisfactory embrace with him by that time.
Chapter 16
Rose felt sad about Sir Phillip, for she knew that her rejection of his offer had disappointed him, and she liked him. However, it was a relief to be free again, and to know that she had not hurt Daisy as much as she had feared to do. Although the future did not look particularly bright, consisting as it must of a return home during the summer and probably marriage to one of the local gentry whom she had known all her life, she felt more relaxed on this evening at Lord Kincade’s and at Vauxhall than she had felt since before she had left home with Daisy. She was with her sister and the people who had become her friends since her arrival in London, and she was happy.