by Brenda Hiatt
"I see you were able to recall my name, my lord," she finally said, glancing up at him. She would not let him see how he unsettled her!
His brows rose. "Are you implying that I had forgotten it?" he asked, the glint in his eyes daring her to pursue the topic.
"In the Park this morning, I could not help but notice how studiously you avoided addressing me directly," she told him. "I found it more comfortable to suppose you had forgotten my name than that you found me such an antidote that you could not bear to look at me."
The Earl regarded her in surprise for a moment, then began to chuckle. "I can scarcely deny it now, can I, Miss O'Day? Very well, I confess. Your uncle had just refreshed my memory before I led you out. Are you satisfied at forcing me to admit to such a faux pas as forgetting a lady's name?"
"Perfectly," she replied, grey eyes twinkling. He gazed down at her speculatively for a moment, the beginnings of an answering twinkle in his own deep blue eyes, but said nothing.
They danced in silence for a few moments, then, "Who is that Bellamy fellow?" asked the Earl abruptly.
Ellie blinked up at him. "Sir George? He is the squire of the district in Warwickshire where the Winston-Fittses live, on the outskirts of Birmingham."
"Ah." Lord Dearborn nodded. "Miss Winston-Fitts seemed deuced glad to see him," he commented after a brief pause.
Ellie regarded him cautiously. Would the thought of a rival cool his ardour for Rosalind, or increase it? she wondered. And which ought she to hope for? "He is a great friend of the family," she said noncommittally. "Rosalind has known him since she was a child." He might draw what conclusions he would from that; she would neither confirm nor deny his obvious suspicion.
"I see." The Earl said nothing more for the remainder of their waltz, beyond politely expressing his pleasure in dancing with her at its conclusion.
"And I thank you, my lord," said Ellie in response. "It was kind in you to take pity on a wallflower."
"Never that, Miss O'Day, surely," he replied, with another searching look at her. "Perhaps you will honour me again before the evening is over."
"Perhaps," said Ellie, lifting her chin. Surely, she thought in sudden alarm, he did not think she had been angling for another dance? If he did ask, she doubted her ability to refuse him.
The Earl merely bowed, however, and moved off in search of whatever young lady he was promised to for the next set. Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. What was it about Lord Dearborn that caused her wits to go a-begging?
* * *
As the evening progressed, Ellie was surprised to find herself by no means without partners. Though she had no doubt that most of them offered to lead her out only upon discovering that Rosalind's card was full—as it was by the fifth set—she nevertheless enjoyed herself immensely.
It seemed no time at all had passed before the supper dance arrived at midnight. Glancing at the card dangling from her wrist, Ellie was amazed to discover that all her remaining dances were spoken for. Sir George had requested the supper dance, she recalled, after finding that Lord Dearborn had already engaged Rosalind for that set.
"Miss O'Day! Here you are," puffed Sir George, hurrying up at that moment. "It is so crowded in here that one can scarce breathe, let alone find anyone."
Not surprisingly, the orchestra struck up another waltz for the couples who would be going in to supper together. Though he concealed it quickly, Ellie noticed the regret that passed fleetingly across Sir George's face and knew that he was wishing that it were Rosalind instead of herself he held in his arms. The thought did not offend her in the least, however; as a matter of fact, on catching sight of Rosalind and Lord Dearborn dancing together on the far side of the room, she found she heartily shared his wish.
"I hear that Lady Sefton is famous for her supper table," she said in an attempt to divert Sir George's thoughts, as well as her own. "I vow, I am quite famished after all this exercise."
Sir George made a courteous reply, and they determinedly conversed on that topic and others equally safe until the music ceased. Passing through the archway to where the tables for supper were set out, they found most of the seats already taken. Glancing around in hopes of spotting someone she knew, Ellie saw Rosalind seated alone at a table for four, motioning eagerly to them. Without stopping to consult her escort, Ellie moved at once in her direction.
"Do please join us, Ellie, Sir George," said Rosalind eagerly as they drew near. Ellie noticed that her colour was unusually high. "Lord Dearborn has already gone to fetch plates from the buffet."
"I shall do likewise, then," said Sir George, after a courtly bow to Rosalind.
"Thank heavens you are to sit with me, Ellie," whispered Rosalind as Sir George trotted off in the direction of the heavily laden buffet tables. "I was ready to sink at the idea of trying to think of things to say to Lord Dearborn all through supper." Then, after a slight pause, "Sir George is looking well, don't you think?"
"He certainly is," agreed Ellie, hiding a smile. "Many of the young ladies here tonight have seemed to think so." She watched her cousin closely as she made the seemingly offhand remark.
Rosalind paled slightly, causing Ellie to despise herself at once. "Have... have they?" Rosalind asked in an almost stricken voice. "Has he danced with very many of them, then?"
"No, dear, I was teasing," said Ellie quickly. "He has danced very little, that I could see, and seems to have spent most of the evening following you with his eyes." It was a mystery to Ellie how her cousin could possibly prefer the plump, prosaic Sir George over the dashing Lord Dearborn, but that she did was plain. Rosalind's next statement enlightened her.
"I feel so... so safe around Sir George," she confessed, her eyes revealing her relief at Ellie's words. "He never teases, or flirts, or says things that I have to decipher for double meanings."
Ellie had to agree that there was certainly nothing the least bit threatening about Sir George. Feeling safe with a man was not precisely the same thing as being in love with him, however. Before she could put that thought into words, the gentlemen returned to the table bearing plates overflowing with delicacies. Lady Sefton's reputation was well deserved, it appeared.
Lord Dearborn had struck up a conversation with Sir George on the way back to the table in hopes of discovering more about his unlikely rival. He had not been deceived by Miss O'Day's vague answers to his questions earlier. It had been patently obvious that Miss Winston-Fitts regarded the man as more than an old family friend. He wondered for a moment about Miss O'Day's motives in hiding her cousin's tendre for the squire from him. Most likely, they were the same as her aunt's —to secure the better match, namely himself, for the beauteous Rosalind.
In spite of his intention to dislike Sir George Bellamy, the Earl quickly found that the man was perfectly pleasant and polite, with none of the toad-eating tendencies he might have expected from a country squire newly arrived in Town. Sir George's manner was natural and his conversation sensible, if not particularly stimulating. Lord Dearborn decided to probe deeper.
"Do you make a lengthy stay in London, Sir George?" he asked.
"I may stay out the Season," came the reply. "In truth, though, I find London as noisy and crowded, and full of pretensions, as I remembered from my last visit some years ago. I look forward already to returning to the simpler country life."
Forrest could hardly disagree, as Sir George mirrored his own sentiments to a great extent. Still, he doggedly tried again. "Perhaps I might be able to introduce you to some Town pleasures that are generally lacking in the country," he suggested. "One of the finer gaming establishments, for example, where the stakes are high enough to be exciting and the other, er, entertainments most delectable." If Sir George could be distracted by such amusements he would have less time for pursuing Miss Winston-Fitts, he reasoned.
However, Sir George declined the bait, as Lord Dearborn had somehow suspected he would. "I think not, my lord," he replied with a perfect blend of graciousness and regret. "I discovered
in my youth that such pleasures are generally hollow." Though he could not be more than a year or two the Earl's senior, Sir George spoke as though offering fatherly advice. "The simpler joys are more lasting, as you will no doubt find for yourself one day."
Forrest gave it up.
"I see you took me at my word that I was famished, Sir George," said Miss O'Day as they set the loaded plates on the table. "But whatever will you yourself eat?"
This drew a general chuckle, and the slight tension that had begun to develop between the two gentlemen dissipated. Supper was a surprisingly merry meal, with Ellie and the Earl trading quips, assisted in a quieter way by Sir George and even, surprisingly, by Rosalind on occasion.
As a matter of fact, Forrest had to admit that he had never seen Miss Winston-Fitts so animated, though she still appeared quiet in the extreme in comparison to her more outspoken cousin. He was enjoying himself immensely, whatever the cause, and it was with some regret that he left the group to claim his next partner when the orchestra signalled the end of the supper hour.
During a lengthy recitation by Miss Adams on the trials she had endured in her quest to obtain dancing slippers of exactly the right colour to match her new ballgown, Forrest had ample time to reflect on the evening thus far. Although he had danced twice with Miss Winston-Fitts, and the second dance a waltz, he could not say that he knew any more about her than he had at the start of the evening. Indeed, he had learned more about the lovely Rosalind from her cousin, Miss O'Day, than he had from herself.
Rosalind's retiring nature was part of her charm, he reminded himself. He could never be happy with a prattler like Miss Adams, whose conversation had now progressed to the selection of the ribbons for those elusive slippers. As he nodded politely and made some complimentary remark about her footwear, his thoughts went involuntarily to Miss O'Day. She seemed able to achieve a sort of happy medium between silence and chatter, trading barbs with ready wit or carrying on a sensible conversation without resorting to gossip or endless palaver about fashions. It was almost too bad that she was not in his style, as Miss Winston-Fitts so assuredly was.
His thoughts went again to Rosalind's greeting of Sir George Bellamy and what Miss O'Day had said about him. To be sure, there had been nothing resembling flirtation between them at the supper table, beyond the fact that Miss Winston-Fitts had shed some of her habitual shyness. Perhaps that was attributable to the fact that she simply felt more comfortable in the presence of a trusted family friend. Still, he was suddenly glad that he had not, after all, been able to obtain a third dance with her.
The music ended and Lord Dearborn, on impulse, sought out Miss O'Day for the next set. He told himself that she was probably his best source of information about Miss Winston-Fitts, though he could not deny that the prospect of matching wits with her again held a certain attraction, as well.
"Miss O'Day!" he called out, shouldering his way through the crowd of silk-and-satin-clad revellers to reach the diminutive brunette. "Might I induce you to honour me with that second dance we spoke of?"
She smiled but shook her head. "I'm sorry, my lord, but my card is quite full. Perhaps at the next ball we both attend."
Forrest was conscious of an unexpected pang of disappointment. "I was right, I see. You are certainly no wallflower. Do you go to Almack's on Wednesday?"
"My aunt has not spoken of it, and I don't doubt that if she were in possession of vouchers all the world would know it." She appeared not in the least downcast at the prospect of being denied access to those exalted portals.
The Earl would have prolonged his dialogue with this rather unconventional young lady had her next partner not arrived at that moment. Why could Miss Winston-Fitts not learn her little cousin's art of conversation, he wondered irrelevantly, catching sight of Rosalind going down the dance with Viscount Strathcliffe. She was lovelier than ever, he thought, though she appeared no more at ease with the Viscount than she had with himself. No, Bellamy seemed the only man outside her family with whom she was able to relax.
Lord Dearborn retired to the sidelines, contenting himself with watching Miss Winston-Fitts with her remaining partners —an enjoyable pastime. He was pleased to note that she favoured none of them with more than an occasional word or smile. By the time the evening ended, Forrest had convinced himself that the task of charming Miss Rosalind into trusting him as she did Sir George could well be a very pleasant one, indeed.
* * *
CHAPTER 6
WHEN ELLIE awoke the next morning, she was astonished to discover that it was almost noon. Of course, she and the Winston-Fittses had not returned home until after three o'clock in the morning, but she could not recall ever having slept so late in her life. Bouncing out of bed, she went first to the window to revel in the brightness of the spring day.
Reaching to pull a serviceable morning gown from the clothespress, her hand hesitated over the new riding habit. It would be a glorious day to ride in the Park, but she very much doubted that Rosalind would wish do so again today after such a late night—or even if she had been in bed by nine, for that matter. Besides, Lord Dearborn had probably completed his morning ride already.
Ellie was brought up short at the thought. Was that the real reason she wished to ride? Did she merely hope to see the Earl in the Park again? Of course, he had been most obliging last night at Lady Sefton's, not only dancing with her once but actually asking her a second time. The vexation she had felt at being forced to refuse pricked at her again.
Stop it at once! she told herself sternly. Another dance would only have made it that much more difficult to subdue her growing attraction to the man, an attraction she could in no way afford to indulge. No matter that Rosalind appeared to prefer Sir George to the Earl; her mother intended her to become Lady Dearborn, and Ellie had seen the results of Aunt Mabel's determination on enough other occasions to have no doubt that Lady Dearborn Rosalind would become. She herself would simply have to quell any silly longings before they became strong enough to undermine her happiness.
Determinedly, she remembered the names and faces of some of the other gentlemen she had danced with at the ball. Mr. Mulhaney had been pleasant, and quite attractive, as well, with his curling dark hair and green eyes— every bit as Irish as herself, she thought. Then there was Lord Pelton, a baron, if she remembered correctly. He had danced twice with her and flirted quite outrageously, declaring her the belle of the ball, which she had enjoyed even while she knew it to be pure gammon. And Mr. Wilshire... oh, drat it! Instead of Mr. Wilshire's thin, clever face, Lord Dearborn's bronze hair and blue eyes arose before her mind's eye.
Ellie let out her breath in exasperation. Surely it must be some perversity of her nature that made her think only of the one man she could never have. Any one of the others would be a perfectly reasonable object for a tendre, not to mention a better match than she had ever dared to hope for. So why in blazes couldn't she concentrate on one of them?
Without another glance at the habit, she quickly buttoned herself into the morning dress, pulled a brush through her short curls and left the room to go in search of breakfast. Not surprisingly, she was the first one downstairs, but a tempting array of ham, eggs and kippered salmon had already been laid out on the sideboard in the dining room, so she helped herself. She was nearly finished when Rosalind entered the room, yawning widely.
"Gracious, you are up early, Ellie!" she exclaimed. "I vow, I don't know when I have been so tired as I was last night."
"No doubt you will get used to it," replied Ellie sagely. "Everyone keeps such hours in London, Lord Pelton told me."
"Mama says so also, but I far prefer country hours, where breakfast is in the morning, dinner by five and bedtime well before midnight," Rosalind said decisively.
"If you become a Town hostess, you will have to change that preference, I fear," Ellie pointed out. Rosalind merely sighed and proceeded to fill a plate.
Mr. and Mrs. Winston-Fitts joined them a few minutes later, he complain
ing that the day was already half wasted and she full of plans for the afternoon.
"We have made an excellent start," she declared, pouring out the tea. "Peters tells me that already this morning, nearly a dozen bouquets have been delivered for Rosalind." She beamed fondly on her daughter. "Doubtless we shall be swamped with callers this afternoon, as well. It will not do, however, to rest on our laurels." She looked around the table as though daring anyone to disagree. "At five, when all the world goes to Hyde Park, you, too, must be seen there, my dear."
Rosalind's face fell. "Must I ride?" she asked plaintively. "I fear it was quite obvious to Lord Dearborn yesterday that I do not do it well."
Mrs. Winston-Fitts regarded her for a moment, then made her decision. "No, walking will do just as well," she said. "Perhaps better, for then you may take brief rides round the Park with any eligible gentlemen that offer. It is quite an accepted practice and an excellent chance to increase any fledgling attachments."
Ellie unwisely interrupted her aunt's battle plan at that point. "How many attachments ought Rosalind to be encouraging, ma'am?" she asked innocently.
Her aunt swivelled round to pierce her with a gimlet eye. "The greater the number, the more offers she will have to choose from," she snapped. "Rosalind's happiness is my first concern, as it should be yours, miss." Ellie successfully managed to keep her expression serious. "Besides," continued Mrs.Winston-Fitts, "if Dearborn sees that she is greatly sought after, it is like to bring him to the point all the more quickly, for fear of losing her to another."
Ellie half expected Rosalind to voice some protest at this presumptuous ordering of her future, but her cousin remained silent. Could it be that her feelings about Lord Dearborn were beginning to change? It seemed only too likely after the attentions he had showered on her last night. Not that it would affect Ellie herself in the least, she reminded herself quickly. If Rosalind were becoming attached to the man her mother had chosen for her, it was all to the good.