Corey McFadden

by With Eyes of Love

  “Ah, I believe Mr. Thorpe has an announcement to make,” rang out the viscountess’s powerful voice. Elspeth could feel her heart start to pound and she was glad of his arm supporting her.

  “Indeed, I do, your ladyship,” Julian said. He had not yet taken his eyes from Elspeth’s own, but his hand tightened on hers. “Allow me to announce that to my undying joy, Miss Elspeth Quinn has consented to be my wife.”

  The collective “ahhhh” from the ladies was music to Elspeth’s ears.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I thought this moment would never come, Elspeth,” Julian said, holding her as tightly as he dared. They spun through the room to the lilting strains of a waltz. He had never much cared for the dance before—always made him feel as if it gave the lady unrealistic expectations with regard to his intentions—but tonight, his intentions had never been clearer. And never more beautiful and welcome was the lady in his arms.

  “Everyone is staring, Julian,” she said, looking about with some apprehension.

  “Let them stare,” he pronounced grandly. “I am dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room, so naturally the men are envious and the women jealous.”

  “Promise me you’ll never get stronger spectacles, Julian,” laughed Elspeth.

  “Are you suggesting that I see you with eyes of love, my heart?”

  “I am merely saying that I should be very unhappy if you came home one day with new spectacles and found yourself feeling sadly abused by your wife’s appearance.”

  “Impossible. I could look you over, head to toe, attired in Praxitelian fashion, with a magnifying glass and find every inch of you exquisite.”

  “Julian!” she giggled, her face turning pink. “Someone will hear!”

  “In fact, I believe I will do just that, first chance I get,” he vowed. He bent his head down to gaze upon her, as thoughts of her naked and exquisite rose in his mind. The music slowed to a halt, and for the first time in his life, Julian was sorry that a dance was ending.

  “There’s Mr. Randall, Julian,” Elspeth said as they left the dance floor. “He’s looking truly miserable.”

  “Well, he should be,” Julian snapped, changing their direction abruptly so their path would not intersect with that of Edgar Randall.

  “He’s really quite contrite, Julian,” she said. “And I’m under the impression he’s gone to great lengths to set things right. I had Harry sit down and tell me everything he remembered from this afternoon’s remarkable events. He told me Edgar came to Caroline first, this afternoon, and begged her to call off the whole thing. Even threatened to expose her at his own risk.”

  “But why would he do that to me in the first place, Elspeth?” Julian asked. “When have I ever been anything but a good friend to him?”

  “Harry said Edgar told the viscountess he is quite without funds. Not really enough to live on at all.”

  “Good God, is that all? He knows I would bail him out at the drop of a hat. All he needed to do was ask.”

  “But, Julian, don’t you see? That is the most difficult thing of all. You don’t know this. You have never been in such a position, but, truly, when one is poor, all one has is one’s pride. And that becomes very hard to give up.”

  “He betrayed me.”

  “He did. And then, almost immediately, he realized what a terrible thing he’d done and he set about fixing things.”

  “You have a kind heart and good soul, my darling,” he said. “I suppose you’ll want me to forgive him?” They had reached the double doors that gave out onto the staircase. He led her down, enjoying the cool breeze that wafted up.

  “Oh, we really must, Julian,” she replied. “We cannot go through life bitter and angry about this. After all, things have turned out remarkably well, considering. We have each other, and Edgar has... well, Edgar has nothing very much, has he?”

  “Well, when you put it that way….”

  “I say, aren’t you Julian Thorpe?” A toff coming up the steps stopped and peered closely at Julian.

  “I am he. And you’re Rokeby, aren’t you?” Julian said.

  “I say, I heard you were set to marry the Quinn gel. Is that right?” Rokeby asked, a bit bluntly.

  “I am, indeed,” Julian said. He had an idea where this was going and found himself amused. “May I present my affianced, Miss Elspeth Quinn? Miss Quinn, this is Lord Rokeby.”

  “Oh, er, I say, how d’ye do, and all that,” Rokeby mumbled, looking confusedly at Elspeth. “But I thought...well, the gel’s name is Caroline, isn’t it? And she’s not you, is she?”

  “Er, no, she’s my cousin, Lord Rokeby,” Elspeth said. It was obvious she was trying very hard not to laugh.

  “So you’re not marrying...er, Caroline, then?” Rokeby asked Julian.

  “No, Lord Rokeby, I am marrying her cousin, Elspeth,” Julian replied, enjoying himself immensely. He had forgotten what a muttonhead Rokeby really was. “But Caroline is inside, possibly dancing with a Mr. Ledbetter, who, if I may say so”—he leaned in and lowered his voice, as if to share a great confidence—“seems quite smitten with her. If you are inclined in that direction, I suggest you hurry along.”

  “Er, well, I’m not sure...well, I suppose I should see...well, evening to you, Thorpe, and...er, felicitations and all that.” With the barest of abstracted nods, Rokeby turned his attention to the ballroom, from which emanated the lilting sounds of a quadrille.

  By tacit mutual agreement, Julian and Elspeth held their silence until the man had disappeared through the double doors and was beyond earshot. Then they exploded in laughter.

  “Oh, Julian, you are not going to tell me that that clodpoll is the magnificent Lord Rokeby, of the burned stables, are you?” Elspeth finally asked, between gasps.

  “I am, indeed. I think his horses are more intelligent, actually.”

  “One almost has to feel sorry for the man,” Elspeth said.

  “Oh, I don’t know. He managed to get away at the last moment last year. And Ledbetter is bound to put up a fight.”

  “Well, as to that, I’d rather see Rokeby take the prize. Mr. Ledbetter is simply too nice a fellow for my cousin,” Elspeth said.

  “Indeed. This will be amusing to watch.”

  He took her arm and they continued down the stairs. The air freshened with every step.

  “Let’s talk about weddings, my darling,” Julian said, as they reached the lower rooms. He steered her toward the doors that led out to a small garden. As crowded as the Assembly Rooms were this evening, there was no hope of getting Elspeth alone somewhere for a kiss or two. “Do you want a large one, or small, or something in-between?”

  “Oh, small, please, Julian,” Elspeth said. “Unless, of course, your family would prefer something more elaborate.”

  “My mother and father would be happy to see me hie off to Gretna Green, so happy will they be to get me married off,” he replied. It gave him something of a pang to think about his father. He heard regularly from his mother, and the news was never encouraging. They could not travel to his wedding, but he and his beautiful bride would have their love and best wishes wherever they decided to wed.

  “Bath or Weston-under-Lizard, then?” he asked.

  “Oh, well, I’d love to have the wedding at home. People...well, people there are really my friends. They wish me well all the time, not just when there’s something in it for them,” Elspeth said with a slight shudder. “But it’s terribly rustic. Not at all elegant. If you prefer Bath…?”

  “Weston-under-Lizard will suit admirably, my love. And I long to meet people who value a real friendship.” He felt the twist in his heart again as the thought of Edgar’s perfidy rose again. “Let’s sit here, and plan the wedding. I must say, I never thought I’d enjoy speaking those words, but I find that I do.” He sat her on a small iron bench in the corner of the garden, far enough away from the paths to give them some privacy, but not enough, alas, to allow him to kiss her madly for hours on end. Nevertheless, he lea
ned over and touched his lips gently to hers. Let people think what they would. He wanted no mistake about whom it was he really loved.

  * * * *

  Edgar was truly having a miserable evening. It had been fun spinning the tale to the biddies and dragons. Edgar loved the game, enjoyed the balancing act, and, if he admitted the truth to himself, he reveled in making fools of these vapid denizens of the ton, who were manipulated so easily, yet so certain of their own infallibility. But of all his set, it was Julian he really respected; he could see that now. And, of all his set, it was Julian he had sought to ruin. It made no sense at all, now. It was easy enough to blame his own poverty for his astonishing behavior, but that was no excuse at all. Better he had starved in a ditch than sought to ruin all happiness for his best friend.

  And to have thought to leg-shackle the man to Caroline Quinn, of all women! He could, at least, give himself a small credit for not having known how truly evil she was at the time they had embarked upon their misbegotten plan. But now that he knew, it was hard not to look at Caroline and see the face of Medusa, snake-haired and malevolent.

  Speaking of whom...Caroline whirled by in a flash of blue satin. It still amazed him how the face of evil could be so beautiful. The Viscountess Alderson, Herself, had waylaid Caroline upon her entrance, and given the girl fair warning that her planned betrothal to Julian Thorpe had unraveled completely, and that, if she knew what was good for her future, she would embrace the new tale with a mischievous grin and a shrug of the shoulders. Edgar had watched this exchange from a distance, noting as Caroline’s face became a dark and angry red, her thin-lipped scowl visible from across the room. At least the chit was smart enough to know defeat when it stared her in the face. She had then, obviously on command, smiled sweetly at the viscountess, curtsied prettily, and taken herself off in the direction of a clot of her contemporaries. Edgar had been relieved to watch her go through the motions this evening, regaling one friend after another with the naughty escapade and how her mother had so deserved the jest.

  And, indeed, they all seemed to accept the tale. It did not hurt that Thomas and Robert had embraced it as their very own, mincing about the room, entertaining and embellishing to their dear hearts’ content. He, of course, had avoided Caroline all evening as if she carried the Plague, but, then, Caroline had made no effort to seek him out either. It seemed their little association was at an end. Gad, how he hoped so.

  But none of that would help Edgar as far as Julian was concerned. He knew Julian had seen him here this evening. Their eyes had met several times across the room, Edgar’s hopeful, Julian’s icy cold. Elspeth, gentle soul that she was, had forgiven him, although it had taken some persuasion. Julian, now, Julian would be far more difficult....

  Edgar stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes could not be deceiving him. No, they were not. Lord Rokeby, himself, had just come through the double doors into the Assembly Room. What a delicious turn of events! He watched as the man scanned the room, squinting at the various clots scattered about. It was obvious when the man spotted his quarry. He made his way purposefully, like the nodcock that he was, over to where Caroline now stood with a group of their set. It was equally obvious when Caroline spotted Lord Rokeby bearing down on her. Too clever to let it show, her flare of satisfaction was quickly suppressed, and replaced with a bored lack of recognition. She turned back to her friends, offering the man the cold shoulder as he approached the group. Oh, this was too good to pass up. Edgar took up a post close enough to catch the exchange and settled down for the second-most entertaining part of the evening.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Elspeth heard Harry squeal, and with force of longstanding habit, turned to see from what mischief she needed to extricate him.

  “Allow me, Mrs. Thorpe,” Julian whispered at her ear. “I intend to be a good influence on the little scamp. Someone needs to be. The women in this family have spoiled him dreadfully.”

  Elspeth snorted at that, and watched as Julian waded into the thick of the fray, separating Harry from the flailing flock of nine- and ten-year-olds. Mothers hastily set down plates of refreshment and came running through the grass, ribbons and bonnets bouncing, each to claim her own miscreant from the noisy pile.

  “Oh, dear, Elspeth, I had so hoped he would behave,” came Margaret Quinn’s breathless voice at Elspeth’s side. “I explained to him quite carefully that this was your wedding and that he mustn’t spoil it.”

  “Julian will settle it, Mama,” Elspeth replied, looking fondly on the mayhem. “Harry thinks Julian is the center of the universe. If Julian tells Harry to behave, he will. You watch and see.”

  Indeed, it was miraculous to watch the transformation. No sooner had Julian snagged Harry from the writhing pile of trouble, and had a short whisper in the boy’s ear, than Harry drew himself up, dusted himself off, and stepped away, casting a disdainful look back at the naughty children who still scrambled and squealed in the dust. Julian laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair, earning himself an exasperated look from his disciple. But Julian now had eyes only for his bride. He turned a smile on her and headed back in her direction.

  She could not tear her eyes from him. Step by step he neared. He was as handsome a man as had ever walked the face of this earth, she was quite sure of it. Even for his wedding, he would not bedeck himself in the gaudy nonsense that passed for fashion among gentlemen these days. He was simply clad, as always, with impeccable, understated elegance. His breeches of fawn-colored kerseymere clung to his muscled thighs in a way to bring a blush to her cheeks, knowing as she did, and should not, what they covered. His frock coat of hunter green was cut superbly to his broad shoulders that, she knew from private moments, needed no padding. His fine lawn shirt was dazzling white, and the neckcloth of infinite complexity suggested a valet beyond price.

  By contrast, Thomas and Robert stood in a clutch of friends from Bath, true friends, whom she was genuinely happy to see. The peacocks had left no color untried in their remarkable outfits, and, if the macaronis of London were losing their grip on the most outlandish of men’s fashions, Robert and Thomas would certainly be the last to give up the fight. As it was, every flower in Margaret Quinn’s garden must hang its head in shame for being so eclipsed.

  Not, of course, that women’s fashions were any less alarming. Elspeth had seen more turbans and ostrich feathers today than Weston-under-Lizard usually could boast in any given year.

  Julian had reached her side again, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. In the month since the Viscountess Alderson’s ball, they had scarcely seen one another. She and Harry had deemed it wise to return to Weston-under-Lizard from Bath as soon as the conveyance could be arranged. Thank heaven for the thick-witted Lord Rokeby, whose appearance in Bath had blunted the edge of Caroline’s rage, and Aunt Bettina’s frosty, ungracious acceptance of Elspeth’s betrothal. The last few weeks had been a whirl of preparation. Margaret Quinn had insisted that the proprieties must be observed, the banns posted, and a decent amount of time allowed to elapse between the announcement and the wedding, so that no one would make unkind speculation regarding Unseemly Haste.

  A London modiste had arrived in Weston-under-Lizard in the first week of Elspeth’s return, and had made it plain that she was a wedding gift from Elspeth’s soon-to-be mother-in-law, and was not to take ‘go away’ for an answer. Elspeth had submitted to fitting after fitting, as the most astonishing fabrics and laces were spread out before her eyes. Letters of protest to Julian as to the expense were ignored, and now she stood in a wedding dress of elegant perfection, a light and airy confection that seemed more Belgian lace than silk, although, to be sure, there were yards and yards of it all.

  Well, at least she had the satisfaction of knowing that as a bride she did not disgrace her elegant, magnificent bridegroom. And the wedding itself had been wonderful, simple and lovely, in the small chapel that served most of the village’s population. The vicar, who had christened all of the Quinn babies, Elspeth included, had p
erformed the ceremony, with tears in his eyes, and a very old prayer book in his hands.

  “We can leave soon, I hope,” Julian whispered in her ear. He had placed his gloved hand on hers and now he gave it a squeeze. “I want to kiss you. I want to rip off your dress and kiss you all over. I’m tired of silks and cotton between us. I want to see you as Praxiteles would.”

  “Oh, Julian,” she whispered back, her stomach doing Catherine wheels. The past month had been maddening. Julian had been able to come to Weston-under-Lizard only once, a day after she had arrived, to ask Mrs. Quinn for her daughter’s hand in marriage. A stolen kiss or two then was all they had managed. After that, they had had to content themselves with letters back and forth, letters that had to remain reasonably circumspect, since, with a houseful of younger siblings, most especially Harry, it would not do to pen anything that couldn’t be shared with prying nine-year-old eyes and adolescent sisters.

  Her dreams this past month had only added to the frustration. Julian kissing her, Julian lying next to her, Julian...well, Julian doing things most brides did not know enough to contemplate. She, too, longed for this day, lovely as it was, to end. They would leave this afternoon, journeying to his estate in the country, where his father clung to life in hopes of meeting his son’s bride and the future mother of his grandchildren, and where his mother fussed about the house so that all should be welcoming for her wonderful, long-awaited daughter-in-law. But it would take several days to get there—two nights spent in what Julian assured her were among the finest inns in England. Alone with her beloved at last....

  “Julian!” Edgar Randall’s excited tones pierced her reverie. “Splendid wedding, dear boy, just splendid. Brought a tear to my eye, I declare. I shall never wed, now that you’ve gone and married the most beautiful girl in all of England.”