“Now, Sir Richard is a good catch, too, my dear,” Aunt Bettina went on. “Much more on your level. Quite satisfying accounts, I understand.” Aunt Bettina cast a sly look at her niece in the glass. Elspeth schooled her expression into one of bland interest. Poor Sir Richard! Passed every year from one wallflower to the next, and still no one would take the doddering old widower seriously. There were benefits to being single, indeed.
“Mama, this dress will not do at all!” came a shriek from the hallway. Caroline burst into the room, a whirl of shimmering rose satin.
“Why, it’s beautiful, darling,” said Aunt Bettina, rising hurriedly from her dressing table, spilling hairpins across the floor. Elspeth bent to pick them up, casting a surreptitious eye on her cousin. Indeed, the dress was stunning, although Caroline was loudly detailing a dozen fatal flaws in its design and execution.
“But she’s the best modiste in Bath, Caroline. I declare the seams look straight as an arrow to me. And it’s quite the prettiest dress that’s finished. It brings out your perfect complexion. I do so want you to make your very best impression tonight. It’s the first ball of the Season, after all.”
Elspeth rose and placed the pins in their rosewood carved box on the dressing table. In the sudden silence she raised her eyes to the glass, to find her cousin carefully perusing her.
“Will I do?” Elspeth asked, turning so that Caroline could get the full effect. Elspeth had learned over the past few days that Caroline must assure herself on every occasion that her cousin would present no competition. Indeed, Elspeth’s dress, the midnight blue satin, while exquisite in her own eyes, was merely passable and spinsterish in the eyes of her cousin. “You’ll do nicely.” Caroline smiled, not bothering to hide her smug and satisfied expression, “Just see to it that you don’t go haring off after Julian Thorpe. You must not make an ass out of yourself tonight. Your conduct reflects on me and Mama, after all.”
“Of course,” Elspeth murmured. She turned back to the dressing table and busied herself with the pins, keeping her eyes down, so that no one would see the anger smoldering. She’d had about enough of such insults. In a month or two she could take Harry and go home, she consoled herself, the grand experiment over and done with.
“My pearls would look nice with that neckline, Elspeth,” mused Aunt Bettina, moving toward the dressing table.
“Mama, whyever does she need pearls with that dress?” Caroline asked.
“Sir Richard has a fine eye, my dear. He’ll notice the little elegant touches.” Aunt Bettina rummaged through her drawer, pulling out a simple strand of pearls.
“Of course,” Caroline purred, looking smug again.
It was all Elspeth could do not to emulate Harry’s gagging routine.
* * * *
The large room was beastly hot and beastly crowded. Everyone who was Anyone, and some who were Not, was here, the usual great triumph for Lady Dowling, a grand doyenne, who prided herself on giving the first and the most elegant ball of each Bath Season.
“Lovely pearls, Miss Quinn. Very tasteful,” murmured Sir Richard, too close for comfort.
“Thank you, sir. My aunt lent them to me,” replied Elspeth, grateful that said aunt had taken herself to the punch bowl yet again, and was thus not on hand to hear her ploy savaged by an ungrateful niece.
“I see,” said Sir Richard, a trifle more coolly, although he did not, unfortunately, pull away. They stood together and alone against the wall while the others danced. Elspeth could occasionally catch a flash of rose satin as Caroline swirled by. She danced with a nice-looking man, one whom Elspeth had not yet met. The peacocks, Thomas and Robert, were here in full splendor, tittering and mincing about the room, although Elspeth was not yet sure which was which. Neither of them danced, but both had plenty to say regarding the style and grace of those who did. Of Julian Thorpe there was no sign, and Elspeth felt curiously deflated about that, considering that she never intended to exchange a word with him again.
Elspeth glanced rather desperately around the room, but there was no rescue in her blurred sight. It could be no accident that she had been abandoned here with Sir Richard. Those very few people whose acquaintance she had made in the last few days would not approach her now. Sir Richard, Elspeth was fast learning, seemed to be no one’s cup of tea.
“I’m quite sure you promised this dance to me, Miss Quinn,” came a voice at her elbow.
Turning, she beheld the very object of her thoughts, Julian Thorpe, looking every bit as handsome as she’d pictured him these last few days. “I did?” she managed to say, mortified that her voice sounded like a squeak.
“Indeed, ma’am. I am wounded that you would so easily forget,” he said smoothly, but his eyes danced with amusement. He held out his gloved hand. Bemused, Elspeth placed her gloved hand in his, stiffening her fingers to keep them from trembling. “Sir Richard, please excuse us,” Julian said, not waiting for Sir Richard’s sour-sounding “harrumph” before whisking her away.
“I’m quite sure I did not promise you a dance, Mr. Thorpe,” Elspeth began, thoroughly at a loss.
“Indeed, I lied, Miss Quinn. One of my many character flaws. Shall I return you to the devotions of Sir Richard?”
“Heavens no!” she exclaimed, then felt herself blush scarlet. “That is, I know so few people here, and I’m sure he’ll appreciate the opportunity to chat with his other acquaintances.”
“I’m sure he will not,” replied Julian. “In fact, he’s still glowering at me,” he went on, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll bet he’s jealous.”
“Oh, I do hope not,” said Elspeth with a shudder.
“Do you really want to dance?” Julian asked. “We can’t talk if we have to parade around and bow to each other.”
“Not particularly,” she admitted. “I find these steps rather intricate and I fear for your toes. At home, our dances seem simpler, more of a jig than a promenade, really. Not terribly dignified, but we all enjoy them.”
“Ah, yes, you’re a country lass, aren’t you,” he replied. “Would you like to take a turn about the library? Lady Dowling has a splendid collection, although on dit has it she’s never read a word herself.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure my aunt said I shouldn’t…that is, I’m not supposed to...oh, dear,” she broke off, embarrassed at her foolish stammer. Was there no end to the number of ways she could humiliate herself in front of this man?
“Quite right. You’re not to wander off alone with a roué and cad such as myself, particularly not into the shrubbery. Very proper.” He kept right on walking, though, leading her toward the wide double doors that led into the grand hallway. “However, the library is quite liberally sprinkled with some of the ton’s most formidable dowagers, each trying to bleed the next one dry over a round of cards. Your honor will remain quite intact, I assure you.”
Again Elspeth felt eyes upon them, and her aunt’s warnings echoed through her thoughts. A furious whirl of pink satin came close to knocking her over and she caught a glimpse of angry eyes before the dance steps carried her cousin off again.
“Caroline is dancing with Ledbetter, I see. Good fellow. Seems quite taken with her.”
Elspeth cast a glance up at Julian, trying to read his thoughts. Caroline and Aunt Bettina had taken great pains to assure her that Mr. Thorpe’s attentions were entirely engaged in Caroline’s favor, but for the life of her, she couldn’t find anything but a benign bonhomie in his tone. Either he wasn’t jealous at all, or he was very good at hiding it.
They had left the grand ballroom, and the rush of cool air felt wonderful on Elspeth’s overheated skin.
“Here we are, one of the finest libraries in Bath, Miss Quinn,” Julian said, as he escorted her through the portal. Where the library in Aunt Bettina’s leased home was very fine by Elspeth’s standards, this one was remarkable by any standard at all. Elspeth turned her enraptured gaze on row upon row of beautiful dark mahogany shelves, up and down the length of a very large, su
mptuously appointed room. Someone, mercifully, had opened the French doors at the far end and a refreshing breeze blew through the room. Oh, how she wished for her spectacles, not, of course, that she would dare to don them in front of Mr. Thorpe. She’d certainly made an ass of herself in front of him enough times without that.
“And chaperones to your heart’s content, Miss Quinn. There will be no compromise to your virtue this evening.” Indeed, small card tables crowded the center of the room, each inhabited by a fierce foursome, dowagers and dukes, cads and ladies. There was little sound but the sharp snap of the cards, and an occasional shout of triumph or cry of angst. Actually, seeing their concentration, Elspeth rather felt Mr. Thorpe could seize her in a passionate embrace right here in the center of the library, to no one’s notice. The idea brought a wicked smile to her face, and she dropped his arm precipitously, lest her very touch communicate to him her most unmaidenly thought.
“What sort of reading do you most prefer, Miss Quinn?” Julian asked, steering her to the shelves.
“Oh, I read whatever I can get hold of, sir,” she responded, eager eyes on the rich leather spines of the books. “I suppose I like history best of all, although I enjoy poetry and the occasional scientific work.”
“Yes, I recall you were perusing a botanical treatise when I first came upon you,” he said, reaching for one of the books.
“Oh, yes, Ethridge’s. Wonderful illustrations,”
“Ah, here we are, Miss Quinn,” he said, pulling a book from the shelf, “Ramsey’s History of Troy. Care to take a look?”
Elspeth reached eagerly for the book. She loved the feel of soft leather in her hands, the smell of it, and the old parchment paper. If only she could see more than a blur this close.
“Let’s sit down for a few moments. I’m rather enjoying the quiet,” he said, leading her over to a brocaded settee in a far corner. He sat her down, then sat next to her. The settee was large enough to accommodate them both, and she noted that he made a point not to sit touching her in any way. Chivalrous indeed, but why did she feel a bit disappointed?
“Would you care to read to me from the preface, Miss Quinn? I cannot remember whether I’ve ever read this one.”
Read it to him? She only knew it was a book by the feel of it. “The light isn’t very good here, I’m afraid,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“Let me fetch a light then,” he replied, then rose and made for a table a few feet away, on which perched a perfectly adequate branch of candles.
Oh no! She took the opportunity to open the book and peer at it, hoping against hope that the print would be large enough to make out. No such luck. If anything, it was worse than usual, an old book with ink faded to brown, and old-fashioned curlicues that were hard enough to decipher under the best of conditions.
“Now then, Miss Quinn, I think this should be light enough for you,” Julian said, placing the candelabrum on a small table right next to her. He sat again and looked at her expectantly.
“I...I find I still cannot make out the words, Mr. Thorpe,” Elspeth said, looking helplessly at the book.
“Hah! I knew it,” he said, laughing. “Never met a Quinn yet who cared a farthing for being anything except decorative. Admit it now, you do watercolors and needlework, but you never could set your mind to reading. Nothing in that pretty little head of yours except what to wear to the next fete, eh?”
“That’s not true!” she sputtered. “I most certainly can read. In fact, I’ll have you know I read in Greek and Latin as well as English!”
“Shall I fetch you Cicero’s Oration Against Catiline? I know it’s here somewhere.”
“No! That is...I am not a trained monkey, sir! I do not wish to read to you.”
“Ah,” was all he said. He gazed at her with great equanimity. She glared back.
“Perhaps you’d like me to read to you?” he asked, finally, as the frosty silence lengthened. He took the book from her hands.
Elspeth did not deign to reply. Needlework and watercolors, indeed! Actually she was a dreadful watercolorist. Never touched the dratted, runny things.
Julian settled the book on his lap, then reached into his waistcoat pocket, drawing out a pair of spectacles. Elspeth could barely suppress a gasp. They looked for all the world like her lost pair, not that any one pair of spectacles was so very distinctive from any other.
He settled them elaborately on his nose, then made a great show of opening the book to a specific page. “No, no,” he muttered to himself, “light’s not right.” Then he leaned over her and drew the candles an infinitesimal distance toward him. He peered at the book, then brought it closer, peered again, then pushed it a long arm’s length away, and peered yet again. “No, that can’t be right,” he muttered, then made a great display of taking off the spectacles, squinting carefully at them, putting them back into his waistcoat pocket, then pulling another pair from his other pocket. These he settled carefully on his nose, then brought the book up. “Ah,” he said, “perfect. Here we are: ‘Few mysteries from the dim and distant reaches of time so fascinate our intrepid historian as does the majesty of Troy, so mighty, so glorious, so tantalizingly elusive....’ ”
“Excuse me....”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That first pair of spectacles you were using. What was wrong with them?”
“What an odd time to introduce a new topic of conversation, Miss Quinn,” Julian replied, in an aggrieved tone. “I am trying to better your mind.”
“Bother my mind, Mr. Thorpe! Are those your eyeglasses or are they not?”
“Well, actually,” he said, taking them again from the pocket, “I suspect they are not mine. Quite the wrong sort of lenses for me. I must have picked them up somewhere.” He held one lens up to his eye. “The rightful owner must be walking into walls without them, I must say.”
“May I see those, please?” Elspeth held out her hand.
“Well, if you don’t appreciate my reading, you might just say so, Miss Quinn,” he replied, handing over the spectacles.
She settled them on her nose, then reached for the book. “Ha!” she cried, peering at it, “‘...so tantalizingly elusive,’ indeed. You filched my eyeglasses. I’ve been blind as a bat for days!”
“I did not filch them.”
“Then why had you got them in your pocket?”
“Well, now I seem to remember you dropped them in the library, and I picked them up to return them to you.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Well, it rather slipped my mind.” He sat back and regarded her carefully through the lenses of his own spectacles. “You know, you actually are rather pretty when I can see you clearly. A man could drown in those great big green eyes of yours.”
“Oh, well, they just look bigger behind the lenses,” Elspeth replied, coloring at his remark. “Actually, Harry calls me ‘Owl Eyes,’” she finished hurriedly. Now why had she told him that? The man had just paid her a compliment, although, to be sure, he didn’t really mean it, and she just had to say something stupid in response!
“Owl Eyes. How utterly enchanting,” he said, smiling at her.
“Elspeth!”
She froze at her aunt’s trumpeting tone. Of all the bad timing! Why couldn’t she just have a few more minutes with Mr. Thorpe? He wore spectacles. He said she was pretty, even though he didn’t mean it.
“Elspeth, I am very disappointed in you,” said Aunt Bettina, bearing down on her like a ship of the line. “Imagine monopolizing Mr. Thorpe’s time like this. Do let me apologize for my niece, Mr. Thorpe. She was raised in the country, you know,” her aunt went on, simpering a bit, “and I’m afraid we quite have our hands full teaching her the finer points of deportment.”
“It’s not Miss Quinn’s deportment I find wanting, ma’am,” replied Julian, unfolding himself and rising, just a little too slowly. He put out his gloved hand to Elspeth and she took it, rising as well. The forgotten book clattered to the floor as she did so.
>
“Clumsy gel, now see what you’ve done!” snapped Aunt Bettina.
“No harm done, I assure you, ma’am,” said Julian, bending over to retrieve the book. “And I must apologize to you, Miss Quinn, for monopolizing your time.”
“Oh, of course you did not, sir.”
“That’s quite enough, gel,” Aunt Bettina interrupted, taking her arm abruptly. “Sir Richard is most provoked that you disappeared.” Hard fingers dug into Elspeth’s arm and she felt herself being pulled away. “I know Caroline has all her dances promised, Mr. Thorpe,” her aunt threw over her shoulder, “she’s so very popular, you know—but I’ll warrant she’ll make room for you if you hurry. Take off those ugly spectacles, gel!” she hissed to Elspeth. “Don’t you understand anything we’ve tried to teach you?”
Elspeth threw one quick glance over her shoulder as she was fairly dragged to the door. She could see well enough to note that Mr. Thorpe stood staring after them, his mouth a thin slit.
* * *
“Why, Julian, I wondered where you’d got off to.” Caroline’s voice pierced the noise, close to his ear. She had come up behind him. Had he seen her coming, he’d have made a quick getaway.
“Good evening, Miss Quinn,” he said, as she floated into his path. “You’re looking particularly lovely this evening.”
“Liar! You haven’t so much as looked at me,” Caroline said, pouting. “And I wore this dress because I thought you’d like it.”
“Of course I’ve looked at you. And your dress is lovely,” Julian said, scanning the comers of the room for Miss Elspeth Quinn.
“Well, you’re just the knight in shining armor I’m looking for to rescue me, Julian,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.
“How may I be of service, my lady?” he asked absently. Ah, yes! There was Elspeth in the corner, seated between her aunt and poor old Sir Richard Sommers. Hardly any escape for her there. Still, she was safe enough for a few moments. Certainly none of the other young swains would dare approach her in the lion’s den, as it were. And when he did ride to the rescue, she was certain to be undyingly grateful.
Corey McFadden Page 6