Just as she worried about her own problem, the mystery of her father's antipathy for the Charltons. That was why she'd sent a note to her aunt earlier and asked to meet with her privately. Her aunt had consented to meet for a few minutes at eight o'clock.
Fearing she was late, Fifi opened both doors of the library with a whoosh. And there was her friend, Lady Di, in the arms of Lord Collingswood as they bent over the map table! Di's day gown of French chocolate gros de Naples sat low over her breasts, as he kissed her ear.
Fifi halted, her mouth open.
Collingswood lifted his gaze to hers.
Diana, dreamy-eyed, frowned at him, then followed his line of sight and yelped.
Fifi put a finger to her lips and melted backward, closing the doors quietly before her.
Well! She swallowed. Diana was a widow with two children, one of Fifi's oldest friends, and if she welcomed the attentions of this gentleman, then no one and no rules should deter her.
Fifi turned and sought a footman, the family butler...anyone! She must stop her aunt from entering the library. But preparations for the ball to begin at nine meant she traversed the length and breadth of the first floor and found absolutely not one soul.
Finally unable to go on with her ankle throbbing, she sank into a comfortable chair in the main salon. She pulled the bell, told the footman who appeared that she wished to meet her aunt here. Then she put up her foot on a stool...and fretted like a fishmonger's wife.
Chapter 9
“There you are!" Her aunt sailed into the salon as the hall clock struck the half hour. "I've looked everywhere!"
"But I told a footman I awaited you here."
"He didn't find me. No wonder, I've been everywhere." Her aunt brushed a hand over her coiffure. "I'm atwitter with this ball!"
"I'm sure. Did you go to the library?" Fifi asked, her voice squeaky with concern Diana might be discovered in a compromising position.
"I did. Northington was there. He told me he saw you in here when he passed by." She chuckled. "The poor man is pacing."
Diana and Collingswood must have gone elsewhere. Fifi exhaled.
"He is also quite grumpy." Her aunt rattled on. "But that's allowed."
"Grumpy. Is it?" How much did her aunt know about her daughter's reluctance to marry the man tomorrow? "Shouldn't the groom be happy? Eager?"
"Each reacts to their nuptials differently. One of my husband's brothers fainted the day before. Hit his head. Wore a bandage to the altar. A friend of his mixed so much port with champagne, he forgot his own name."
That unappetizing combination made Fifi wince.
"The vows weren't legal until he said his own name of his own accord. Had to do the ceremony twice."
Fifi sat forward. She had to get to the issues at hand. ”Do you like Northington, Aunt?"
She stared at Fifi as if she had two heads. "Of course. Why do you ask?"
"Does Uncle Courtland like him, too?"
"Ah. Well. You know men."
"I'm afraid I don't."
"What?"
"I don't know men. Most men. I knew best my father who, I must say, was not a regular sort of fellow. Where men are concerned, I go by instinct only."
Her aunt sank to the opposite chair. "I'm confused, dearest. Your note was vague. What is it that you wish to discuss? Northington or weddings...or your father?"
Fifi marshaled her forces. "You may have noticed that I am drawn to the Earl of Charlton."
"I do!" she cried, her lovely face wreathed in a smile. "And I am delighted that you have found him so charming. I invited new men this year. Just for you and all of Esme's friends. The war is over and we must have fun. So I... What is it, Fee?" She took her hand in her own. "Tell me, dearest."
"What do you know of the nature of my mother's and father's marriage?"
Her aunt's coffee brown eyes were so like Esme's. Mother and daughter could have been twins with twenty years age difference. The umber shadows that crossed her aunt's gaze were not to be denied. "Your parents were an unusual pair."
Fifi said nothing, only waited.
Her aunt snatched a breath. "They knew how to irritate each other."
Irritate. So mild a word for the chaos they had rained down upon each other.
"When they married, they tested each other. Equal to equal. But as years passed, your mother succumbed to his..."
Brutality.
"Requests. He did not respect her for that and his cruelty went from verbal to..."
"Physical."
"Yes. She began to accept his assaults on her person as proper punishments for whatever transgressions he accused her of."
"You noticed this." Not a question, it was a request for answers.
"I did. How could I not? She had bruises. After one miscarriage, she had a broken arm. I couldn't stay silent. I talked with your mother about it and she told me never to speak of it. 'This is not your marriage. Not your husband,' she told me." Her aunt shifted in her chair, her complexion pale, her lips quivering. "Your father threw me out of your house."
"You never spoke of it with me." That was not an accusation but a statement of fact.
"If you remember, you would come here to us for holidays and for summers between school sessions. I was careful to monitor your health. He did not touch you."
"No." When I was ten, I picked up an andiron from the fireplace and threatened him with harm if he ever came near me. "He did not. I was taller than he."
"He didn't like anyone who tested him."
So true. "And your view of my mother's mind since his death?"
"Oh, Fee. He was the focus of her life. Mad as it was. Now that he's gone, she pines for him. I have no rules of nature to understand it, but she is quite lost without him and his punishments."
Fifi's stomach coiled in disgust. "She weeps to have him back."
"Hideous as that sounds, I would rather have her weep than feel the impact of his fists."
"So would I."
Her aunt blinked. "You are quite...circumspect about this. How can that be, Fee?"
"I lived with it, Aunt. Ashamed as I was of what they did to each other, it is over. And I too am glad he's dead and gone. She may take it as she wishes. I know I cannot reason with her or cure her."
"You are so wise."
Yet you never asked how I survived. Nor opened the subject to help me. I had to find my own solace. And I did. ”I wish to live my own life now. Free of him and the past."
"Marvelous. Wonderful." She clasped Fifi's hand warmly and tears welled up in her brown eyes.
"So I have one question for you, Aunt.”
"What?" She sniffed back her sorrow.
"Why did my father have a so-called list of enemies?"
"A what? A list?"
"Did you know of it? Hear of it?"
Her aunt shook her head. "Never."
Frustration rolled through her. "You have no idea what the cause might be?"
"Your father was very private. He had to be. Such actions as he took with your mother are not the norm in society. Of his friends or his enemies, I have no knowledge. Nor does my husband. We did not ask about their lives, nor did we wish to. We cared only that you were safe. And often with us. Away from him. Given his nature, I would guess, Fee, that he had many enemies. But why or how or who, I do not know."
"Thank you." That was the end of her search.
Without reason to believe her father's list affected her or her attraction to the fine man that Rory was, Fifi accepted her aunt's apology for years of silence on the subject of her parent's cruel union. There was nothing to be gained by resenting her aunt for her failure to act any more on her behalf than she had.
When her aunt excused herself to tend to the final preparations for the ball, Fifi accepted her embrace and told her she appreciated her help in the past.
But now, Fifi was ready to embrace her own future. In her own way. With a man she did value and who valued her.
* * *
"G
ood evening, my darling," Rory bowed before Fifi in the crowded ballroom. He'd searched for her everywhere, but seen her arrive minutes ago to take a chair near her friends, Ivy and Grace. Not wishing to stir gossip, he waited a few minutes more before approaching her. "How enchanting you look."
"Thank you, my lord." She nodded from her chair as he raised her hand to drop a kiss upon her white glove. "I'm pleased you like it."
"I like you." He grinned and the twinkle in her sky blue eyes added a heart-pounding need inside him to sweep her up and take her to the floor. Once more, he could not believe his good fortune that this woman was his. She'd become his wife very soon and so the disturbing tale he'd learned this afternoon from a friend of hers had to be resolved. "You didn't wait for me to assist you down the stairs."
"I wished to meet my aunt earlier and so I navigated the stairs myself."
"So I see. Are you better?"
"Much." She grinned. "Due to your care."
"You give me more credit than I'm due." He tugged at her hand. "Come dance with me."
"Oh, I never dance."
"Why ever not?" He didn't believe her.
"I'm terrible at it. I have no ability to keep time."
"I find that odd."
"Ha!" She unfurled her fan. "You are not the only one! Besides,"—she lifted her slippered foot with its tight bandage and lifted her hem an inch to show him—"I am incapacitated."
"Rubbish." He pulled her to her feet and put her fan to her chair. "It's a waltz."
"My feet are clay!" She clutched his arm. "Truly. I do not dance. When I was young, I had four different music teachers and not one could teach me how to count."
"You've not had the right instructor at the right time. So now, as in much else, my sweet, I am your man."
She threw back her head to laugh as he slipped an arm around her waist and led her to the edge of the chalked floor. There, he bowed once more, a devil possessing him, then he settled her torso ever so close to his. Her warmth intoxicated him. "Now, move with me. Slowly. There, you see. There."
She choked on laughter. "We move at a snail's pace, Rory. Everyone else whips past."
He grinned at the ceiling, then at her. "We dance to our own music."
She moved with him, in a flowing elegance that made him desire her more. But her lovely mouth was tight with concern. "Oh, Rory, I wish I could kiss you."
"Here?" He arched a brow in mirth. "Do."
She chastised him with a look. "We mustn't."
"Why not? Kiss me, if you wish. I shan't stop you."
Her cheeks turned bright pink. "We'll be the talk of the town."
"I don't care." He led her away to the far corner where no others stood. A raw desire for her had him cursing the need to clear the air on this one issue."I must talk with you. In private. Will you walk with me in the hall?"
She looked alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"Please, Fifi."
He led her across the room to slip into the hall. Others were about. Far too many in fact and he led her to stroll toward the orangery.
"I have a friend who fought in the wars who attended this very party years ago. He fell in love at first sight."
She sent him a smile. "It seems to be the very thing to do at Courtland Hall. Perhaps it's in the water!"
He smiled but did not feel joy in it. "They parted quickly. A prank tore them apart."
She froze, a look of despair crossing her features. "No, no.”
”My friend suffered wounds at Quatre Bras and was sent home to recover. He lives in seclusion. And in anger."
She paused before the doors to the orangery. "Another issue to be solved here," she murmured and made no sense to him. “Another mess.”
He pulled open the doors, led her inside and closed them. “A mess? Nigh unto a tragedy, it is. You’re not pretending with me, are you?"
She gasped. "No!"
"Six years ago in London, you didn't pretend to care for me?"
"Pretend? No! I thought you the most charming creature."
"You promised to meet me in Green Park the next afternoon."
"I was there!"
He shook his head. "I never saw you."
"Of course you didn't!"
"Now you make no sense, Fifi."
"Ohhh! I thought you were another man. I looked for him!"
"What? Who?" he demanded.
"That does not matter!" But the expression on her face said it had mattered and she was sorry it had.
"It matters to me, Fee."
"Oh! You wore a mask that night. A rather large one! I remembered your hair and your mouth. But it was dark in that ballroom."
"And in the card room too where you won my two hundred pounds?"
"Yes! Fairly! I won that money fairly. You, dear man,"—she pushed a finger into his chest—"are an incompetent card player."
"I know that!"
"Oh, I must sit down." She clomped across the tiled floor. "Ahh. There. Better. Yes, that night I did not have a clear view of you."
He followed her, bewildered. "We sat across from each other. I kissed you!"
"Yes! And I wear glasses for a reason, sir!"
"Really?" He snorted. "When? They are off more than on!"
She ground her teeth. ”I wear them often!"
"So you're blind?"
Fifi grumbled. "Not entirely. But...yes!"
"How can you play cards if you can't see? Why play cards if you can't see without your glasses?"
She mashed her lips together.
Damn it, he loved her. Was he wise or foolish to do so?
She fumed. "Oh! I can count cards, calculate who has what and estimate my odds without donning my ugly spectacles!"
"Oh, Fifi." He ran a hand through his hair and cursed. He couldn't blame her for wanting to be like others and not have to wear spectacles. "Sweetheart. I am so sorry."
She sniffed. "I am, too, you terrible man."
He reached to take her in his arms.
"Charlton," she whispered. "I love you. I have always from that first night."
"We are simply meant to be," he crooned. "Forgive me. I feared you did not care for me and I have cared for you for so very long. Maybe it was not logical, but I dreamed of you, needed you in the darkest hours." He kissed her lips. Then he lifted her chin. "Fee, I love you beyond reason."
"Oh, Charlton." She hugged him close. "Rory, my darling. I'm so sorry. Say that again, would you?"
"You are deaf as well as blind?" he asked on a laugh.
She chuckled. "I have many short-comings."
"Not to me. Never to me." He squeezed her close. "I love you, Fee. I do. I had to learn if you could really care for me."
She searched his eyes. "Why would you think I hadn't?"
"I spoke with Millicent Weaver earlier today. She told me that Lady Mary helped her fool a friend of mine into thinking she did not care for him."
"Your friend. The one you speak of? Is it James Carlisle?"
"Yes. An excellent soldier. Once captain of the 69th Foot.”
* * *
She sucked in a breath. "That incident with Millicent Weaver. I remember it. Mary regrets it."
"She should. Does she do that often?"
"No, no." She clasped her hands.
"What's the matter?" he asked her.
"I just worry."
"About what?"
"That she's pretending to care for Lord Bridges."
He stiffened. "Why would she do that?"
"Because she used to make matches and—"
"What? Why?"
A rustle came from one corner of the room.
They both turned to see the tall, stern form of Lord Bridges emerge from a cluster of palms.
"Pardon me," he said to them, his expression taut with shock. Then he strode from the room.
Mary emerged from the palms, pausing a second to face him and Fifi. Without a word to excuse herself, she followed Bridges.
"Oh, no." Fifi stepped toward the door.
/>
Rory caught her arm. "They must resolve this themselves."
"I would not hurt her for the world. Not him either."
"I know. But your presence now won't help them. Wait."
"This is awful. I began to think this afternoon that what happened at this party was a new beginning for Esme, Diana, me...and you!"
He cupped her cherubic face. "It is for you and me. I know nothing of what's happened for your friends, but you and I have found each other. We'll have the rest of our days together."
Hopelessness dimmed the blue of her eyes. "I want to believe that."
She had a fatalism to her nature that he wished he might help banish. Her humor, her strength of character were the assets that he valued and wanted to encourage in her. And he had to do that now, tonight, before the pain in her gaze overtook every lovely part of her. He took her lips and branded upon them his hopes for all their tomorrows. When he opened his eyes again, she swayed in his embrace. God willing, he'd keep her enchanted all the days of her life. "I will prove it."
Chapter 10
At the turn in the hall for the ballroom, he continued to the central stairs. But Fifi stopped and tipped her head in question.
"Let me show you," he whispered, his voice gruff with promise, "that I value all the lovely things you are and that our tomorrows are ours to share."
She wanted that. Desperately. Stepping into his arms, she stretched up on her toes and sealed her hopes to his with a tender kiss.
He caressed her cheek. "Come then."
The melodies of the orchestra in the ballroom drifted up as they climbed and for the first time in her life, Fifi thought she floated on dreams that could come true. She'd remembered him for years, his spirit, his nature and his tenderness. Though she'd assigned him another's name, he was the one she identified as her perfect mate. No matter the lag in all those years, no matter the mistaken identity, no matter this brief time together, she loved him. All the ordinary rules of courtship had never applied to their relationship. Why should they now?
She would remove the last vestiges of social dictums just as she removed her clothes. To make love to him would be the joy of her young life.
Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly: Four Weddings and a Frolic, Book 1 Page 8