by Abby Gaines
She relaxed a fraction.
“So you’ll take her for the five thousand?” the stranger asked. “Miss Granville, I mean?”
Lord, let Beaumont say he doesn’t care, Serena prayed.
But everyone cared about fortune, everyone in that ballroom tonight. With the exception of her parents. Very well, so he’ll care. But let him make it plain it’s not the most important thing.
“Nice girl, too,” Beaumont said, briefly raising hopes on the sofa. Then he chuckled, and the sound grated on Serena’s ears. “But, yes, it’s a pretty sum. Not to mention the brother owns a parcel of land my family would very much like to see restored.”
Marianne’s fingers curled tighter around Serena’s wrist.
“Ah,” said his companion, as if that explained everything. “But a word of advice, my friend. Before you make her an offer, ask yourself if you can stare at that face across the dinner table every night for the rest of your life.”
Silence.
Then Beaumont said abruptly, “I wouldn’t be the only gentleman to leave his wife in the country while he partakes of the city’s pleasures.”
“But would she stay in the country? She’s here tonight, isn’t she?” the friend pointed out.
Beaumont ignored that. “With the Season, and then Brighton, and then hunting parties, a man could contrive to be away half the year.”
Serena wished with all desperation that Dominic was present. He would surely kill Beaumont, a fate far too good for the scoundrel, but satisfying nonetheless.
Marianne stared down at her lap, her famous shade of scarlet spreading up from the neckline of her dress.
The second man laughed. “Very true. I wish you luck, my friend.”
They heard the thud of a glass hitting the desk.
“Shall we return to the ballroom?” Beaumont said. “I have some wooing to do.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Marianne, I’m so sorry,” Serena said, knowing it was inadequate.
Marianne sat stiffly on the sofa, as pale as Serena had ever seen her, her color concentrated in two bright spots on her cheeks. “I suppose we were fortunate to hear the truth,” she said shakily.
Serena pulled her friend into her arms, hugged her close. But Marianne didn’t allow the connection for long. She drew back, fumbled in her reticule for a handkerchief and blew her nose.
“You knew he’d be here tonight, didn’t you?” Serena asked.
“We’ve been corresponding.” Marianne reached into her reticule again. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it over.
“You don’t have to—” Serena began.
“Read it,” Marianne ordered.
Serena unfolded the note. And found a coded message: “BxE7.”
“It’s the chess move I planned to give him tonight,” she said. “My bishop to E7 would capture his queen. He hasn’t seen it coming.”
“So, you’ve been writing chess notes to him?”
“It started that way,” Marianne said. “At home, we were corresponding sometimes once or twice a day by messenger.”
“Once or twice a day!” Serena was shocked.
“Depending how quickly each of us could decide on our next move, of course,” Marianne said. “We got into the habit of sending a note back with the messenger. Sometimes about chess, but sometimes about other things. I think I would have won this game,” she said wistfully, “but I can’t be sure.”
“This isn’t the same game you started that day in the woods?” Serena demanded.
Marianne nodded. “We both like a long game. We’re both what I’d call wary players. Geoffrey wrote to me when he arrived in London, and we continued the game,” she said. “He had his housekeeper address the letters, as no one would suspect a letter written in a woman’s hand. Then he mentioned that everyone was talking about the Spenford ball, so when we were invited...” The memory of the past few minutes seemed to rush back at her and she gave a convulsive sob.
“Serena, Beaumont always talks of how much he loves the Season, and London. I thought, if I proved to him my willingness to attend such events... I didn’t realize he’d be embarrassed to be seen with me!”
“He didn’t say that,” Serena argued, without much conviction.
“He didn’t need to,” Marianne retorted. “His friend said it for him, and Beaumont didn’t disagree.”
“My dear, I wish I could do something to lessen your pain.”
Marianne squeezed her hand. “I know Beaumont isn’t the most upright of gentlemen—his faith has required him to change his ways, and that doesn’t happen instantly. But I love him with all my heart. I was prepared to accept his liking and his respect, and to take a chance that we could build a strong marriage. That one day he would realize he loved me. But a man who plans to abandon me at every opportunity...”
“Impossible,” Serena agreed. She stood and almost fell, thanks to her left foot having gone to sleep. She pressed hard into her dance slipper, flexing her ankle until sensation returned. “You wait here. I’ll tell Dominic we need to leave.”
Marianne stood in turn. “Serena, I’m not leaving. I’ve been a fool, but I’m not going to be chickenhearted, too. Mr. Beaumont needs to see that while he might find me an embarrassment, I know that I am more than my complexion.”
Back in the ballroom, Serena led Marianne over to talk to her sister Isabel, who’d just finished dancing with the Marquess of Severn, the friend of Dominic’s who’d written to him about Beaumont. There was something about Isabel that drew men in droves. She had a classic beauty, almost flawless features and a calm, kind intelligence that never made anyone feel inferior.
“Quite the handsomest man in the room,” she agreed blandly, when Serena congratulated her on her dance partner. “But he’s the most frippery fellow. I couldn’t engage him on anything serious.”
Since Isabel took life rather seriously, that was far from a compliment. As for the Marquess of Severn being the handsomest man here...Serena considered Dominic far better looking. She murmured polite but unenthusiastic agreement. As did Marianne, who was doubtless thinking that good looks had little to say about a man’s character.
As Isabel chatted with them, she turned down at least a dozen requests to dance.
“Don’t feel you have to talk to us,” Marianne assured her. “This could be your best chance at falling in love with an eligible bachelor.”
“They’re few and far between in Piper’s Mead,” Isabel agreed. “But I’m not looking to fall in love. If I marry it will be for more practical considerations.”
Serena and Marianne exchanged a glance. Serena chose not to inform Isabel they were both heartily weary of practical considerations. Beaumont with his land and his money, Dominic with his aspirations for a “convenient” marriage. Instead, she said, “You’ve turned very unromantic at the tender age of eighteen, Izzy.”
Her sister snickered. “I hope I am unromantic. With the exception of our parents, romance causes a great deal of trouble, from what I’ve observed. Couples who marry on the basis of respect and mutual support stand a greater chance of contentment.”
“You think that should be our ambition? Contentment?” Serena asked. “Where does that leave joy? Contentment sounds dreadfully...”
She was going to say “dull,” but she saw Dominic approaching, and her heart set up such a ridiculous thumping, every beat proclaiming this man to be the exact opposite of dull, she half expected Isabel to ask what the noise was.
“Will you dance with me, Serena?” he asked. “I believe there’s to be a waltz.”
“Thank you, but Marianne needs—”
Her friend gave her a little shove. “Go, you goose. I want to talk to your sister some more about her fascinating views on marriage.”
“I haven’t waltzed at Almack’s yet—I’m not sure I can do so here,” Serena said. What a blow! The rules of the waltz for young, unmarried ladies were strict. While it might be acceptable to waltz at an impromptu dance at a country house
, to waltz in London without having been granted permission by the venerable patronesses of Almack’s assembly rooms would be social suicide.
“Lady Jersey—” one of the patronesses “—is here tonight,” Dominic said. “I’ve spoken to her and she says that since this is your sister’s home, you may waltz.”
A few seconds later, Serena found herself in Dominic’s arms, closer than she’d been even when he’d kissed her. His right hand slid around her waist to rest lightly against her back. His left hand clasped her fingers, strong but gentle. And when he swept her along to the tempo of the music, Serena wanted to weep.
Which made no sense at all. Except that it felt as if everything was upside down. Bitter and sweet.
She’d dreamed of this, of waltzing with Dominic, and now she couldn’t enjoy it. He seemed equally preoccupied. Probably with thoughts of Miss Lacey.
“Serena, is there a problem?” he asked.
She found herself blinking away tears.
“Tell me who’s hurt your feelings,” he demanded.
No one. But you could, so easily. “It’s Marianne’s feelings that are the issue,” she said. She didn’t want to tell him, but he needed to know. “We overheard Beaumont talking to a friend.... He made it plain he’s after Marianne’s fortune and cares nothing for her. He’s not, after all, a reformed character.” That was an understatement. Time enough later to give Dominic the details.
He bit off an imprecation. “Is Marianne all right? Perhaps we should leave.”
“She won’t go.” Serena explained his sister’s resolution.
Dominic was momentarily speechless. “I admire her courage,” he said at last.
Which had the absurd effect of bringing a lump to Serena’s throat.
Unwittingly, she’d tightened her grip on his shoulder. In response, his hand moved farther across her back, drawing her closer. She wanted to burrow into the shelter of his arms.
Miss Lacey might have something to say about that. Serena eased away.
The sounds of a commotion reached them from the doorway, where a small crowd had gathered.
“What’s going on?” Serena asked, glad of the distraction.
“Probably some young man who’s drunk too much.”
“I hope it’s not Beaumont,” she said. “He seemed to be drinking only water, but it’s not as if he can be trusted.”
Dominic twirled her in the direction of the doorway. As they approached, they could hear a young man engaged in heated discussion with the butler. The voice wasn’t Beaumont’s...but it was familiar. Then a gap in the crowd gave them a clear view.
Serena cried out.
Startled, Dominic released her. “Serena?”
With a sense of dreaming, of past and present colliding in a way that simply wasn’t possible, she walked toward the doorway. The young man trying to gain entry wore regimental colors; his red coat with green facings emphasized shoulders considerably broader than when she’d last seen him. Above them was a face thinner and more mature than the one she’d known.
He saw her. Joy burst across his face. “Serena!”
“Alastair?” she whispered.
Then she sank in a slow, swaying motion to the floor.
Chapter Fifteen
Serena became aware of the buzz of anxious voices around her. Hard on the heels of that awareness came a strong desire not to open her eyes. She couldn’t remember why, but she knew it was a bad idea.
Then her mother mentioned summoning a doctor, in tones of great urgency, and the bliss of oblivion was no longer an option. Serena didn’t intend to utter a groan as she tried to open her eyes, but somehow one slipped out, silencing her audience.
She was in the library, where she’d sat so recently with Marianne. As her vision cleared she saw Dominic standing at the end of the sofa—yes, the same sofa. His face was pale, almost ashen, and his mouth grim.
“Darling, you’re awake,” her mother said, squeezing her fingers. Serena turned her head to see her. “Thank you, Mr. Granville, for having the presence of mind to send that footman to fetch me. Serena, dear, I’ve sent him to find your father.”
Serena tried to move, but not only did her mother have a firm grip on her left hand, someone else was holding her right. She looked in that direction.
Oh, gracious. The swoon came over her again, but she fought it off.
“Alastair? Is that really you?” Silly question, when he stood right there, leaning over the back of the sofa, clutching her hand. In the flesh, not a romantic dream or memory.
Back from the dead.
“It is I, my love.” His voice throbbed with emotion. “Serena, I—”
“That’s enough, sir.” Her father spoke from the doorway. “I don’t know who you are, but you may not talk to my daughter in that familiar manner.”
Serena had never heard such iron in her father’s voice.
Alastair sprang back. “Reverend Somerton, sir, I beg your pardon. But don’t you remember me?” He bowed. “Lieutenant Alastair Givens, at your service.”
“Givens?” Reverend Somerton advanced into the room, pulling off his glasses. “Adam Givens’s youngest? The one who...?”
Alastair smiled. “Indeed, sir, the one long ago given up for dead. Lost, but now found.”
The two men shook hands, then her father trained his gaze on Serena. “My dear, you’re as white as chalk.”
“Yes, Papa, but it was just a faint.” She struggled to sit up, and her mother helped her. “The shock of seeing Al—Lieutenant Givens.” And now? Now she was terrified of what Alastair might say. She sent a pleading glance to Dominic, not even sure what she was asking. His expression was achingly distant.
Her father greeted Dominic. Dominic and Alastair exchanged cool glances. Serena could see her father taking it all in. She wondered which of the two men had carried her in here. Dominic?
“No doubt there’s a long and interesting story behind your miraculous reappearance, Lieutenant Givens,” her father said. “But that must wait for another day and another place. My daughter is unwell.” He walked around the sofa to stand in front of the empty fireplace. “Serena, is there a reason for this excess of sensibility in a girl I know to be levelheaded and not prone to swooning? And is there also a reason that Lieutenant Givens should consider he has the right to hold your hand?”
Just the question she didn’t want to answer.
Dominic looked away from her, past her father, to that awful painting. The Kill.
Nausea surged in Serena’s throat. She considered a relapse, but if Marianne could walk back into that ballroom to face Beaumont, then she herself couldn’t be so craven. “Papa, perhaps Mama and I could talk privately.”
“Sir, please don’t reprimand your daughter for my own presumption.” Alastair jumped in. “I’m afraid I owe you and Mrs. Somerton both a confession and an apology.”
Identical expressions of apprehension settled over her parents’ faces.
“Perhaps,” her father said, “Mr. Granville could leave us.”
No matter that Dominic knew everything already, Serena didn’t want him to hear it again. So why this urge to beg him to stay within her sight?
“I intend to remain, Reverend Somerton,” he said. “Nothing Lieutenant Givens says will be news to me.” One eyebrow rose slightly in inquiry as Dominic at last looked directly at her. She shook her head. No, there was nothing else.
Once again her parents exchanged glances. It now appeared their eldest daughter had reached undesirable levels of intimacy with not one man, but two.
Alastair looked shocked. “Who are you, sir?”
Dominic’s gaze held Serena’s.
A simple question...no easy answer.
She licked her dry lips. “Mr. Granville is my employer.” Was it her imagination, or did Dominic’s eyes grow shuttered? “I’m companion to his sister, Miss Marianne Granville.”
“Miss Somerton lives at my home near Melton Mowbray,” Dominic said, almost as if staking a claim.
Reverend Somerton rolled his eyes, showing a rare lack of patience. “Let us get back to the matter at hand. Lieutenant Givens, proceed.”
“You’re aware that Miss Somerton and I were, er, friends before I left to join my regiment,” Alastair said.
“Call a spade a spade, please, Lieutenant,” her father said. “You asked my permission to court my daughter.”
“Yes, sir,” Alastair said.
“I refused that permission.”
Shame washed over Serena.
Alastair cleared his throat. “I don’t doubt, Reverend Somerton, that you and Mrs. Somerton will be disappointed to know I didn’t heed your refusal. I asked your daughter to marry me. She said yes. We were betrothed.” He rushed out those last three words.
But there was no skimming over them.
Her mother turned so reproachful a gaze on Serena, she wanted to sink through the sofa, through the floor.
“Serena, is this true?” her father asked. “Did you act in a manner that went beyond everything you were taught about what is proper and right?” He held himself very still, in a way she’d never seen before.
“It’s true,” she muttered. “At the time, I—I couldn’t wait.”
Her father’s face whitened. “Did Lieutenant Givens compromise you?”
“No!” she said, at the same time as Alastair. “Papa, I promise he didn’t.” Thank God she hadn’t allowed him to do more than kiss her chastely on the lips. If she had, she’d be walking down the aisle on a special license before the week was out.
Her mother gave a sob of relief. Her father’s shoulders eased slightly. Oh, this was awful, every bit as bad as Dominic had said. She couldn’t read his expression. He wouldn’t be shocked, having heard it before, but surely he must think her the worst kind of girl.
“It obviously didn’t occur to you that you were putting not only your reputation at risk, but the security that would underpin any future marriage,” her father said.
“It has occurred to me since,” she said.
“Reverend Somerton, neither I nor my father would have used the betrothal to force your hand in a marriage settlement,” Alastair protested.