by Gayle Buck
Now, however, she knew that he was indeed just so proud. He had been utterly scandalized. He had so taken her in disgust that his entire perception of her had undergone a complete reversal.
It was the single most devastating blow of her entire life.
Chapter 15
Belle woke with one thought in her head. She could not fathom how she was to bear the remainder of the weekend. The day stretched interminably before her, and she longed to be gone from the Moorehead estate, though she knew that was not possible. She and her aunt and uncle were situated for the entire period of Lord and Lady Moorehead's hospitality.
She quite decided that she detested house parties, for one was always meeting the personage that one least wished to see. It seemed that everywhere she looked and wherever she went, she was forever running into Lord Ashdon. And every time she saw him, she had the most lowering inclination to cry.
It was not her way to dissolve into a watering pot. Rather, she was more inclined to throw up her chin and meet adversity with a defiant gleam in her eyes and a laugh on her lips. So it was that by that evening she had become the life of the party. It was she who was ever eager to accede to whatever entertainment was proposed by the host and hostess. Never would anyone, watching her, have discerned that she was hiding a bruised heart.
By evening coffee, however, Mrs. Weatherstone observed her niece with some misgiving. "She is too lively, too exuberant, Phineas," she remarked to her spouse from behind her fan.
Mr. Weatherstone looked over at the loose group of young people, where his niece was the center of attention. He bent forward a trifle to reply quietly, "Quite. Belle has eclipsed Miss Carruthers and Miss Moorehead. I don't think there is a gentleman here worth the name who has not sought out her company."
'There is one," murmured Mrs. Weatherstone, her gaze going thoughtfully to a small group of gentlemen standing in front of the windows. Lord Ashdon had his broad back to the room, and his head was bent courteously as he listened to the conversation of his peers. The viscount's omission bothered Mrs. Weatherstone more than she could say. His lordship seemed all of a sudden to have become indifferent toward her niece, and she misliked it.
Lady Moorehead suggested that the evening be wound up with a musicale and called upon her daughter and her son to begin the program. "Clarice has a very pretty voice, and Angus's is quite tolerable," she said complacently.
"Who will play for us?" demanded Angus, in rather obvious hopes of not being held to the task. "I cannot hold a tune without some music, ma'am, you know mat I cannot."
"Oh, really, Angus!" exclaimed Clarice, tossing her head.
"I shall play," said Millicent Carruthers a little breathlessly, rising from her chair. She blushed when she found herself the object of all eyes. "I-I am a bit out of practice, but I think that I can manage."
"Of course you can, my dear," said Mrs. Carruthers encouragingly.
Angus's frown disappeared like magic. "I am certain of it, Miss Carruthers." He offered his hand to the young lady and escorted her to the pianoforte, solicitously finding the sheet music for her.
Lady Ashdon watched the byplay between Mr. Moorehead and Miss Carruthers with a rather thin smile. "It is a pretty match," she remarked, glancing up at her son, who had come to stand beside her chair.
Lord Ashdon had regretted that the impromptu musicale demanded that his own group join the others. He would far rather have remained talking politics than to be obliged to listen to a musical performance. When he was standing beside the windows, engaged in conversation, he could put his back to the room and so not be treated to the sight of Miss Weatherstone enjoying herself so thoroughly.
At her ladyship's remark, he glanced down. He grinned suddenly, quite able to read the speculation in her gaze. "Yes, it is a very good match. I like both Mr. Moorehead and Miss Carruthers. They will deal handsomely together."
"And what of Miss Moorehead?" asked Lady Ashdon.
"Sh, my lady. They are beginning," murmured Lord Ashdon, determined to give nothing away that could possibly feed her ladyship's curiosity.
At the end of the number, the trio was handsomely applauded. "Well done! Well done!" exclaimed Lord Moorehead. "Who else have we with us tonight? Of course! Miss Weatherstone, will you not favor us with a piece as well?"
Lord Ashdon unconsciously stiffened, while he looked across at Miss Weatherstone's obviously shocked face.
"I-I am sorry, my lord. I do not play the pianoforte or sing," said Miss Weatherstone in a stammering fashion that was quite unlike her usual confidence.
"Belle plays the harp," announced Miss Moorehead. "And very beautifully, too!"
There was a perceptible groan from most of the gentlemen. The harp was almost universally disliked.
"Yes, yes, that is right. My niece is quite accomplished," said Mrs. Weatherstone quickly. She urged her niece with a flip of her fan. "Do go on, Belle."
In a lowered tone, Miss Weatherstone said, "Aunt, I don't think—"
"Pray do not be so bashful, Miss Weatherstone," said Lady Ashdon in her forthright manner. "We are all your friends here."
A murmur of agreement rose, and now others added their persuasions.
Lord Ashdon watched silently as Miss Weatherstone hesitantly rose and approached the instrument that Lady Moorehead had signaled a footman to bring to the forefront. The cover was taken off of it, revealing a splendid gilded harp with ribs curved like angel wings.
Miss Weatherstone stood and stared at it, awe on her face. "It is quite beautiful," she said.
"It was my mother's," said Lady Moorehead. "I am sure that I have not heard it played since she passed away a little over two years ago. I have had it kept in tune in memory of her."
"Play it for us, Belle," urged Miss Moorehead.
Belle sat down on the wooden stool that was positioned behind the harp and placed her fingers on the strings. She plucked experimentally and a perfect chord sounded. She smiled and looked across at Lady Moorehead. "I hope that I can do it justice, my lady."
"Yes, and so do I," muttered a gentleman at Lord Ashdon's elbow.
Lord Ashdon looked around quickly. It was Lord Darlington, who had been one of the gentlemen he had been in conversation with. Earlier, the marquis had told him in a private moment that he wanted to accept his offer to put him in the way of earning a post in Vienna, with an eye to getting onto Wellington's staff.
"One could almost wish one was a little deaf whenever one of those instruments of torture is brought out," murmured Lord Darlington.
Lord Ashdon did not say so, but he heartily agreed with his companion. He had never yet heard a harp played that did not wreak havoc on the eardrums. He began to turn away, unwilling to watch Miss Weatherstone's humiliating performance. The gathering would be civil, of course, and applaud her efforts with their faces frozen in polite expressions. For once, Miss Weatherstone must suffer a check in her popularity, and however much he was disillusioned in her, he still did not want to see her fall on her face.
However, when the first chords were struck, all murmuring died away and the gathering began to listen in earnest. Miss Weatherstone's supple fingers gracefully worked the harp's strings, drawing from the instrument a charming piece that was familiar to them all.
When it ended, the applause was instantaneous and sincere. "Bravo, Miss Weatherstone!" bellowed Lord Moorehead. "I have never heard better."
Lady Moorehead had the sheen of tears in her eyes. "Quite, quite true. For an instant, I thought that my dear mother was playing for us again, but I do think that your skill quite put hers in the shade, Miss Weatherstone."
Miss Weatherstone’s face was aflame as she glanced about her. "Th-thank you. You are all very kind, indeed."
Her hazel eyes chanced to meet Lord Ashdon's and wavered.
He smiled at her, still applauding. He was glad that she had come off so well.
"Miss Weatherstone has a bit of talent, doesn't she, Adam?" inquired Lady Ashdon, looking up at him.
Lord Ashdon instantly conditioned his expression to one of only civil interest as he turned to his parent. "Yes, I suppose one could say that," he replied. When he glanced up again, Miss Weatherstone had turned away and gone to sit down again.
"One must stand in admiration of such dash," said Lord Darlington. He smoothed his sleeve, his eyes fixed on the young woman who was sitting across the room. "Yes, I really must become better acquainted with the Belle of London. I suspect that we may very well be of a kindred spirit."
As Lord Ashdon watched the young gentleman saunter off in Miss Weatherstone’s direction, he experienced an unusual burning in his breast. He decided that the oysters he had eaten at dinner had not agreed with him.
"Lord Darlington seems quite taken with our Miss Weatherstone," said Lady Ashdon. She was looking at her son. "Why, Adam, are you feeling quite the thing? You looked quite sour for an instant."
"I am very well, ma'am. It was only the oysters at dinner," said Lord Ashdon, annoyed.
Chapter 16
On the last day of the Mooreheads’ house party, the weather was very fine. A light breeze was blowing, and the blue skies were mostly clear, with just wisps of cloud. When Lady Moorehead suggested a picnic, the younger set voted unanimously in favor.
"I should like to picnic at the ruins. Mama," said Clarice. "If that might be arranged?"
Lady Moorehead smiled and nodded. "Dining al fresco is always so amusing. I shall have some baskets made up for you to take with you."
"Oh, I say! What a splendid notion, Clarice," said Angus approvingly. He turned to Millicent Carruthers. "The ruins are the remains of an old Gothic church just a few miles from here. There is a pretty view to be had of the surrounding countryside. We would have to ride, of course."
"I think it sounds perfectly delightful," said Millicent, smiling shyly.
"I am all for a riding party," said Belle with quick interest. "It will be wonderful to be out-of-doors, especially on such a gorgeous day."
"When would you not wish to go riding, Belle?" teased Clarice gaily.
Belle laughed and shook her head. "I honestly cannot say, Clarice! When I was at home, I was forever in the saddle."
"I will be happy to make one of the company," said Roland White.
Lord Darlington smiled across at Belle. Lounging at his ease in his chair, he drawled, "I am very willing to offer my escort, as well, ladies."
"It is settled, then," said Clarice, in greatest satisfaction. She turned to the viscount. "Are you joining us, too, Lord Ashdon?"
Ashdon had been on the point of crying off from the pleasure ride, but he instantly changed his mind when he saw how Lord Darlington glanced at Belle. It occurred to him that the marquis was exhibiting greater interest in the young lady than before. In fact, ever since yesterday evening's musicale, the marquis had been making himself very agreeable to her. And she did not appear to be displeased by his lordship's attentions.
"It would be a pleasure, Miss Moorehead," said Lord Ashdon.
It was scarcely an hour later before the party was gathered outside and mounted on horses from Lord Moorehead's stable. Three full picnic baskets had been securely fastened to the ladies' saddles. Angus led the way down the drive and across the fields.
They passed through a quaint village with neat houses and cobblestone streets, over which the horses' hooves clopped with a loud noise. Belle liked the picturesque inn and the wild arbor adjoining it.
The only circumstance that marred her unalloyed pleasure in the outing was her mount. She really wished that she had her own gelding, Rolly. Though the mare she was on was not precisely a slug, she quickly discovered that it had no fire, for it would produce nothing faster than a gentle, ladylike canter.
Clarice had lost little time in apologizing to her for the mare. "She is a sweetheart but scarcely up to your usual style, I fear."
"It is no matter, for we are not racing," said Belle graciously. "Besides, if I were to go careening off with this very nice basket, everyone would accuse me of stealing away part of their luncheon!"
Belle noticed at once that Lord Darlington was well mounted, and she found herself envying his lordship the spirited animal. The marquis ruled his horse with an iron will, she noted approvingly, but, she thought with frowning curiosity, that was quite uncharacteristic of his lordship's languid style.
Lord Ashdon, too, had managed to procure one of the better animals from Lord Moorehead's stables. He was a horseman par excellence, as Belle already knew, and he managed the stallion's little show of defiance with a firm hand.
Belle thought their company very fair indeed. She and Millicent Carruthers had riding habits of almost an identical cut, except that hers was russet corded with gold and her friend was all in green. Clarice Moorehead was stunning in a royal blue habit, her glossy copper locks topped with a blue hat that sported a floating veil. Angus Moorehead looked every inch the country squire, while Roland White proved an amiable counterpoint with his exaggerated shoulders and splendid red coat.
Lord Ashdon, of course, appeared most pleasing to her eyes. Mounted on a big gray, he rode with shoulders well back and perfect posture. There could never be any doubt that he had been soldiering.
Belle's gaze turned to study the newest member of their company. Lord Darlington was immaculate in his riding costume. The white uppers of his glossy black boots were almost dazzling to the eye. There was never a fault to be found with his appearance, his manners, or his dress. His lordship was invariably courteous, yet something else, something that Belle could not quite put her finger on, sometimes flashed out.
She wasn't certain whether she liked Lord Darlington or not. He was so different from the other gentlemen whom she had met. A drawling dandy, certainly. On the surface, he was a shade too finicky for her taste. Yet Belle sensed some undercurrent in his nature. There was almost a hint of danger attaching to the marquis that she found appealing, perhaps because he was so self-controlled. She well knew what it was to rein oneself in, for she had constantly experienced it since coming up to London and placing herself under her aunt's guidance. It was an unseen but nevertheless strong commonality between them, she thought.
Lord Ashdon, even while listening politely to Millicent Carruthers, caught snatches of the conversation that sprang up between Belle Weatherstone and Lord Darlington. He grimly observed what was seemingly a growing friendship between the two. He thought that as soon as he returned to town, he would do something on Lord Darlington's behalf. The gentleman was far too idle.
Belle was curious about the country through which they rode. "I have hunted all of my life, and these fields and woods certainly look as good as any fox country I have ever seen," she commented.
"Yes, we see awfully good sport," said Angus.
The conversation as a whole then turned to hunting, proving a lively topic even among the ladies, all of whom had hunted.
The ruins proved to be farther than anticipated, and after the long ride all agreed that they were ravenous. The three wicker baskets were unlashed, and the luncheon was set out on some conveniently flat stones, which proved to be parts of a broken and fallen wall of the old church. Cold chicken and meat tarts, cheeses and a variety of fruit were greeted with approbation. Lady Moorehead had thoughtfully supplied a bottle of wine as well.
After picnicking, the party began to explore the ruins. Belle climbed to the top of a pile of stones, shaded her eyes, and looked out on the countryside, stretching far and green before her. "How beautiful it is," she remarked aloud.
"Quite," said Lord Ashdon.
Belle turned in surprise. She had resigned herself that he seemed to prefer anyone's company to her own, and now here he was. She could see Millicent walking about with Angus and Lord Darlington, and she could hear Clarice's bright laughter, as well as Roland's exuberant shout. She could not help but wonder why Lord Ashdon had sought her out.
"I did not hear you come up, my lord," she said.
"I saw you climbing and realized that yo
u might wish a hand on your descent. These stones appear to be rather slick in places," replied Lord Ashdon.
Belle smiled at him. '”Thank you, my lord. That was thoughtful." She turned once more to admire die view. "How I long to gallop across those greens!"
"Do you? Do you yearn also to travel, Miss Weatherstone?" asked Lord Ashdon.
Belle glanced across at him quickly. "How ever did you know?"
Lord Ashdon smiled. It was the wide smile that began with a crinkling at the corners of his eyes, warming to encompass his face. "It is not difficult to guess, Miss Weatherstone. I can easily imagine you tramping through the Alps or boating your way down a broad river."
Belle chuckled and slanted a gleaming glance at him. "Perhaps. But I think that wherever I went, my heart would remain in England."
"As will mine, ma'am," said Lord Ashdon, his smile fading a little as he continued to look at her.
Belle was suddenly discomfited. Now there were not the shouts and calls that she had heard previously, and she could see no one else of their party. "Shall we go, my lord?"
"Of course," said Lord Ashdon, offering his hand lo her as they descended over the rougher of the stones.
When they had returned to the main ruins, it was to discover that the others were discussing the advisability of starting back. Lord Ashdon concurred, and Belle also murmured her agreement. Lord Ashdon had again withdrawn from her, becoming as distant and civil as before. For an instant—just for an instant—at the top of that incredible view, she had seen the flash of his former friendliness. He had smiled at her with such warmth. A thousand pities that it had not lasted.
They had lingered longer at the ruins than they had meant to and that, coupled with the picnic and the leisurely pace of the riding party, put them late in returning.