A Heart Too Proud

by Laura London

  And, as Lady Anne had promised, it did seem that all the world had come to Lady Catherine’s on the next evening. Never before had I dreamed that so many spangled ladies and carefully tailored gentlemen existed. And the names of the guests! We hadn’t been there for half an hour before Lady Anne had introduced me to so many notables that my head was swimming. As if it were a mere nothing, Lady Anne had made me known to distinguished generals, intimidatingly famous peers of the realm, and even a royal duke. I was grateful, though slightly overwhelmed, that Lady Anne herself supervised my preparation even to the finishing touch of adding one of her own heart-shaped diamond pins to the shimmering cascade of curls that my ladies had lovingly arranged. The gown I wore was the heavenliest creation of semitransparent silk, smoky topaz with a demitrain. I wore my first pair of long gloves, too, and I was glad to have them for, as I ruefully told Christopher as he led me out for the first dance, my wrists were the only part of me decently covered.

  “You mean the neck of your gown? Of course it’s decent,” Christopher replied reassuringly. “You can depend on m’sister to send you out just right. The girl’s got excellent taste, even the Beau says so and everyone knows how finicky he is. ’Sides, it’s the style to look as naked as possible. It’s considered classical—that should please you. Even the men’s trousers are skintight in emulation of nude Greek statues.”

  “I hadn’t noticed any men’s trousers,” I managed to shoot back primly, if slightly untruthfully, before Christopher and I were separated by a movement of the dance.

  It was some time before I was returned to Lady Anne. Christopher had a cadre of his own to introduce me to. Dozens of cheerful, friendly young people swarmed around us in between sets, eager to talk with Christopher after his absence from London. So many of Christopher’s friends led me out to the dance floor that at last I had to beg for a rest.

  Lady Anne was seated on a crocodile-footed Egyptian sofa set picturesquely near a potted palm. She appeared to be immersed in earnest conversation with a foppish young man, but as I arrived she ousted him promptly and installed me in his place.

  “Ah, there you are, Elizabeth. Richard, do run and find Elizabeth some refreshment. I vow this room has become horridly close.”

  The crowd separated then, and across the room I saw Lord Dearborne. The marquis was beautiful by daylight but there ought to be a law against him in candlelight. The effect is devastating. The gleaming brass buttons of his satin waistcoat seemed almost dull in comparison to the shining highlights of his curling shoulder-length hair. I ascertained with amusement that I was not the only female to notice. A number of ladies cast languishing glances at my “guardian.”

  I watched in fascination as Lady Catherine came to press herself against the marquis in an unconvincing stumble. “Dreadful!” I ejaculated in an undervoice that Lady Anne, who had followed the direction of my gaze, was able to hear. Then I flushed brightly with the shocked realization that I would have liked to try much the same thing myself.

  Lady Anne, thankfully misinterpreting my blush, returned confidentially, “Dreadful is the word for it. But it’s not a view that we will have to put up with much longer. Lady Cat’s star is definitely on the wane. Already Nicholas is losing interest in her full-blown purring.” She tapped her ivory fan on her palm several times before asking casually, “Tell me, what do you think of Nicky?”

  I saw Lady Doran say something that produced one of Lord Dearborne’s most alluring smiles.

  “I think of him as little as I can possibly manage!” I realized that this was scarcely a proper sentiment to express about the man who is at least legally one’s guardian. “Oh dear, that makes me sound like the most ungrateful beast in nature and I am fully sensible of all that Lord Dearborne has done for my sisters and me. I don’t know what would have happened to us if Lord Dearborne hadn’t gone on supporting us after Admiral Barfreston died. Sometimes Lord Dearborne can be the most charming of companions. And then there are times…” I stopped. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about those times to anyone. Lady Anne regarded me strangely. “Times when he scarcely notices me,” I finished lamely.

  After a moment she spoke again, though sadly. “It’s very tragic that someone with the enormous potential that Nicholas has for real happiness gets caught up in so many meaningless affairs. I’ve known Nicky since we were children—our families were very close. If you could have seen him as a boy, Elizabeth… He was full of life and so idealistic. Then one summer, his family didn’t come to visit us as they had every year before. We got a scribbled note from Nicky’s mother that said they wouldn’t be able to get away from London that year. Later, of course, the whole story came out. Nicky had had an affair with a married woman more than twice his age. Apparently her husband found out and made a bungled attempt at suicide—he even tried to bring a divorce action against his wife, naming Nicky as her lover. Nicky was only sixteen at the time. Nothing ever came of it, and it’s ancient history now by London standards of gossip. But when I met Nicky after that he had changed. I mean, he didn’t withdraw from the world into embittered seclusion, he had just sort of soured on life. He was harder and there was a streak of cynicism that hadn’t been there before. You see, the whole affair wasn’t unusually scandalous by society standards, but it was all so sordid. Any woman who cares about Nicky will have to be very patient with him while he learns how to love all over again.”

  Lady Anne gave me a sidelong glance, then continued: “When it was over, society welcomed Nicky back with open arms—they were willing to accept far worse youthful peccadillos from anyone with Nicky’s title and wealth. Naturally, Nicky was well aware of the reason for their broad-minded leniency toward him and that did nothing to improve his opinion of the human race. He has such contempt for women—he’s used to taking what he wants without needing to ask first. I think that it would do him an enormous amount of good to care enough to ask.”

  I thought of Lord Dearborne on those few occasions when he had unbent with me and his smiles then—as they were without mockery or contempt. Had this been what he was like as a young man before world-weary boredom had eclipsed the sweetness? I wished suddenly, passionately, that he could regain whatever it was that he had lost in the process of growing up. For no apparent reason I suddenly recalled the time he had caressed me in his arrogant, loveless fashion under the honeysuckle bush, and again flushed to the roots of my hair. I was glad to have my wayward thoughts interrupted by Lady Anne, who drew my attention to a young man elbowing his way impatiently across the crowded floor.

  “Oh Lord, Elizabeth, look. ’Tis Godfrey Woodman coming toward us. Kit says that he’s developed the most profound crush on you while staying in Kent. I suppose there’s nothing for it but you will have to dance with the tiresome fellow. Au revoir, my dear.”

  To be honest, I didn’t think Godfrey a tiresome fellow in the least. True, he had less sense of humor than a nesting osprey, but then he is a very good poet for all that he hasn’t caught the public fancy. And I was glad to see a familiar face in the vast sea of unknown fashionables.

  After we danced, Godfrey led me over to a vacant seat and we exchanged ecstasies over Lord Elgin’s marbles. He was about to quote me a stanza from the epic poem he was sweating over at present when, very much to my amazement, we were joined by Lady Catherine Doran herself.

  “Ah, Godfrey, prosing on about your poetry again? Dull work for Miss Elizabeth, you may be sure… Run off now and let us chat a bit,” said Lady Catherine, gifting Godfrey with a smile that robbed her words of offense. “Elizabeth, my dear, I hope that you don’t mind my informality but we hardly need stand upon ceremony, do you think? Nicky and I are such old friends. So, how do you find London?”

  “It’s very… big,” I replied foolishly. There was something so intensely suave about Lady Catherine that it left me feeling remarkably gauche.

  Lady Catherine laughed as though I had made the cleverest witticism she had heard in days.

  “Ah, to think that Nicky
has undertaken your guardianship. How delightfully… paternal of him! But tell me. My cousin, dear Mrs. Macready, told me that you’ve had some excitement since Nicky arrived, with the death of the French cook, no less! Here, my dear, let me refill your wineglass and you can tell me about it.”

  I was so flattered that Lady Catherine was interested in talking to me that I was rendered inarticulate for a few moments. She was so warmly encouraging, though, that I soon lost the shys and gave forth with the full tale of Henri’s death, or what I knew of it, anyway. Lady Catherine hung on every word. I finished by telling her that I should dearly love to solve the riddles that I was sure still existed in connection with Henri’s death.

  “Perhaps you shall, my dear. But how is this? You don’t drink! Have another glass of wine. There now. We may be comfortable again. Let me tell you a tale in exchange for that fascinating one you told me.”

  Lady Catherine went on to relate several very funny pieces of London gossip, what Beau Brummell had said to Lord Alvenley the other evening at dinner, and who Lady Caroline Lamb had tossed a plate of orange peels at during Lady Jersey’s al fresco picnic.

  It is a very special type of flattery that Lady Catherine uses. She is so attentive, and so involved with everything you say that it gives you a marvelous, though false, sense of your own importance. Truthfully, my hostess was a little too attentive. She refilled my wineglass so many times that I was beginning to feel fuzzy. Wine is not my favorite beverage, but I was afraid to offend her by refusing to drink, which just shows you what a wimp I was at the time. The candlelit scene became a soft twinkling blur with Lady Catherine dominating the center. I don’t recall how it was that we came to be joined by Lesley Peterby. I only remember Lady Catherine smile up at him in greeting.

  “Ah, my dearest Lesley, how charming you are, as usual. Elizabeth, surely you know Lesley Peterby. I can see that Lesley is feverish to have some little chat with you, Elizabeth. You have met before, have you not?” I made an effort at a polite smile which Lady Catherine promptly, if erroneously, interpreted as a signal to play least in sight. There I was, talking to Lord Peterlyn. Peterley? Petersby? The simplest name can become a tongue-teaser if you’re tipsy enough. Oh well, choose one and forge ahead.

  “How are you this evening, Lord Petersy?”

  His rather nasty one-sided grin became even nastier. “Peterby. But why not dispense with formalities? My friends call me Lesley.”

  I was far from sure that I wanted to dispense with formalities. What I would have liked was a few minutes of country air to clear my head.

  “I’m not one of your friends. I’m only your acquaintance—officially at least. So I don’t want to call you by your first name, Lord Peter… thing. Furthermore, I don’t feel like talking, so if you want to sit here, then either you will have to do all the talking or put up with silence.”

  I was hit by the horrid suspicion that I was even more intoxicated than I thought. Imagine snapping like that at a man I hardly knew, and at a high society ball, at that. Far from minding, my companion threw back his head and laughed.

  “Very well, then, charmer. You have merely to sit back and relax while I attempt to carry on the conversation for both of us. Let me see, what can two people discuss on such shallow acquaintance? The weather, perhaps? And do you find the climate to your liking, Miss Cordell? Yes, thank you kindly, Lord Peterby. ’Twas a trifle sultry yesterday, was it not, Miss Cordell? Decidedly, Lord Peterby. But not unseasonably so, I think.” He paused to take a quick swallow of wine. “There. You see, there is no need for you to enter the conversation at all. In fact, it would be quite superfluous.”

  I found myself giggling. “How absurd you are! I’m afraid that I was awfully rude.” I leaned toward him confidentially. “You see, this is my first night in London society.”

  “Excellent. Rudeness is an essential ingredient for a long and successful reign in polite society. Witness the triumphs of Beau Brummell, Lady Jersey, and Lord Dearborne.”

  The triumphs of Lord Dearborne were not my favorite subject. I drew myself up and said with dignity, “Lord Dearborne is my guardian.” I thought this over a moment. “Sort of,” I added conscientiously.

  “Indeed?” He had a smile like a cat. Do cats smile? Oh, how I wished that I had refused those last three glasses of wine. I rose to my feet with resolution, if not equilibrium.

  “I am sorry to have to part company with you, Lord Peterness, but I intend to walk in Lady Catherine’s flowers… among Lady Catherine’s flowers, that is.” The carpeted floor tilted slightly beneath my feet and I was glad to grab hold of Lord Whatever’s arm, as he had risen with me.

  “Then you must let me accompany you, my fair acquaintance. I know my way around this garden well.” He took my arm and escorted me across the room as I muttered crossly, “Well, all right, if you must.”

  I felt a wonderfully sweet breeze from the large glass double doors at the end of the room, but before we reached there, we were intercepted by my sort-of guardian.

  The marquis, at his most urbane, charmingly but firmly dismissed Lord Peterwhat, who left after honoring me with one more predatory glance.

  “But I wanted to go out into the garden,” I squawked unhappily up at the marquis.

  “And so you shall, infant.” He led me out onto a lantern-lit stone veranda. “But not with Lesley Peterby.”

  We descended several steep steps onto an uneven flagstone walkway. I took in a deep breath of floral-scented air and exhaled slowly, feeling my nausea dissipate slightly, though the dizziness remained. I didn’t relish the idea of Lord Dearborne telling me whom to go into the garden with.

  “Is there something wrong with Lord Peterby?”

  “Not if you’ve a taste for coupling under the shrubbery,” he said bluntly.

  I wasted about thirty seconds on a choking fit before grinding out, “You are the one with the taste for coupling under the bushes, not I! Of all the hateful, degrading things to insinuate…” I returned to choking.

  “Gently now, I wasn’t questioning your behavior, only Lesley’s. He isn’t always—let me see, how to put this delicately enough for your ears—shall we say, very gentle with women that interest him.”

  “You may say anything you like. Anything at all. Pray don’t bother to consider delicacy—I’m sure that it would seem dreadfully provincial for you to do so.” I stopped and lifted my hands to my swimming head, shutting my eyes tightly. “Lord Dearborne, I think I’m drunk.”

  The hands that supported my shoulders had comforting strength.

  “Here. Just behind you is a stone bench. That’s right. Good heavens, you foolish child, it’s nothing to cry about.”

  “Oh yes, it is! If Mrs. Goodbody could see me now, she’d never speak to me again. And think of my sisters, how will I ever face them?” I recited a melancholy catalogue of all the people that I could never again face. At one point I heard what sounded like a quickly repressed laugh from Lord Dearborne, but when I turned to look up suspiciously at him he was a study in straight-faced sympathy. Sniffing dolefully, I accepted his proffered handkerchief.

  “Now listen, my charming little nitwit, there is no need to panic. You’re not roaring drunk by any means. You drank a little too much too fast. It happens to everyone occasionally. You are just not experienced enough to know how to hide it.”

  “You’re saying that I can’t hold my liquor like a man,” I exclaimed. To my helpless surprise, the chill of the night breeze was banished by the warmth of the marquis’s arm, which pulled me close against his hard body. The moment lasted forever, as though some giant hand of a time clock had stopped. A concerned call from Christopher brought it screeching back into motion.

  “Elizabeth, there you are. I saw her looking a little tippy inside, Uncle Nicky. Need any help?”

  “Would you sit here with her for a few minutes? I’m going to slip discreetly into the kitchen and bring a cup of coffee.” The marquis grinned at Christopher. “I’m afraid that your protégée
isn’t yet used to unwatered wine.”

  Lord Dearborne melted into the darkness. Christopher took his place beside me and I lay my head rather heavily on his shoulder.

  “Oh Kit, I feel so utterly wretched.”

  “I know exactly how it is,” commiserated Christopher in a kind voice. “Too much wine can make one feel sick as a sewer dog.”

  “Christopher!” I said, rallying at this surprising information. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve been inebriated?”

  “Lord yes,” he said cheerfully. “Been half seas over dozens of times. But you’re barely fuzzled, Princess. Never fear, Uncle Nicky and I’ll have you right as a trivet in no time.”

  The marquis returned and, plying me with coffee and comfort, he and Christopher slowly revived me. Lord Dearborne had somehow found my shawl inside and now draped it round my shoulders. Christopher carefully wiped my face with his handkerchief, dampened in the fountain. While I shivered at the touch of his fingers, Lord Dearborne tucked some errant strands of my coiffure back into place.

  Finally, Christopher stood back to survey their repairs. “She looks good as new, eh Uncle Nicky? If they ever abolish the aristocracy in England then you and I can become ladies’ maids, don’t you think? How do you feel now, m’dear?”

  “As good as one can who’s spent the evening sacrificing on the shrine to Bacchus. I—I want to thank you. You’ve both been very kind…”

  “The child’s in worse shape than we suspected, Kit,” said Lord Dearborne, shaking his head in mock dismay. “ ‘Thank you’ are two words I never expected to hear from Elizabeth.”

  “Of all the detestable conceited…!” I gasped.

  “There. Now you sound much more like yourself. May I have the honor of escorting you back inside?”