Lord Dearborn's Destiny

by Brenda Hiatt

  "Why?" he asked.

  "Because he is not here," she replied simply.

  Lord Dearborn chuckled. "A most logical young lady, I see. No doubt that quality serves you well at whist."

  "I like to think so," she returned with a smile. "Tell me, my lord, do you play? You seem inordinately interested in my level of skill but have revealed nothing about your own. I suspect you are no novice at it yourself."

  "I am found out!" he said in mock despair. "I had hoped to engage you in a game for outrageously high stakes and win quite a fortune before you discovered that."

  Ellie had to laugh. "I am not so green as that, my lord. Nor would I gamble more than I can afford to lose, so I fear that the stakes would be a sore disappointment to a gentleman like yourself —on the order of a penny or two." She spoke lightly, not stopping to consider that her extreme poverty could hardly be considered an asset.

  Forrest did indeed note what her words revealed, but was chiefly struck by her utter lack of embarrassment as she admitted to it. When he had referred to her as "valiant" yesterday, he had seemingly been more right than he knew. Miss O'Day obviously faced an uncertain future, but she did so cheerfully, with both eyes open. Courage was a quality Forrest had always admired, wherever he saw it, and his respect for this young woman rose even higher.

  He had just boasted of having a certain amount of influence, he reflected. Perhaps he could use it to benefit Miss O'Day. The Earl had never been one to play the matchmaker, but he could not help but think that a good marriage might be just the thing for a girl of her mettle. Mentally, he went over some of the eligible bachelors he knew, but found none that met the standards he felt such a sprightly, intelligent girl deserved. Clearly, this plan would require more thought.

  "A skillful player may parlay a penny or two into pounds, I have found," he said with a smile. "I look forward to facing you across the cards, Miss O'Day, even if the stakes are imaginary." To his surprise, he found that he meant it.

  Though Forrest's original intent in engaging Miss O'Day for a waltz had been to discover more of Miss Winston-Fitts through her, the dance somehow ended without her name ever arising between them. Curiously, he did not realize it until long afterwards, when he was again dancing with the beauteous Rosalind.

  "Your cousin is very amusing," he commented, breaking their customary silence.

  Rosalind smiled, a breathtaking sight. "Oh, yes! Ellie is quite the cleverest girl I have ever known," she agreed at once.

  "She seems remarkably content with her lot in life," he hazarded.

  "Oh, Ellie is almost never blue-devilled, whatever demands my mother makes upon her," Rosalind informed him. "I believe she could be happy working as a scullery maid."

  Forrest quite failed to notice that Miss Winston-Fitts had just favoured him with more words together than she had ever done before. Instead, he was struggling with the disturbing picture of Miss O'Day toiling as a servant to the autocratic Mrs. Winston-Fitts.

  "Surely she has prospects open to her?" he asked.

  "She has made some mention of removing to her grandfather in Ireland," said Rosalind. "I have tried to convince her that she would be happier married, but she seems to think that unlikely, though Lord Pelton has been quite attentive."

  The Earl missed the speculative look Rosalind directed at him as she shared this bit of news. The thought of Miss O'Day in Ireland cheered him no more than that of her married to Lord Pelton, a man whose reputation made his own appear pristine by comparison. "Pray do not press her to encourage his suit, Miss Winston-Fitts," he finally said. "I am persuaded that a young lady of Miss O'Day's capabilities can do better."

  Rosalind said no more, well satisfied with the progress of her plan.

  On the far side of the room, Ellie was sitting out her first dance of the evening, grateful for the chance to catch her breath. She was finding it more difficult tonight to convince herself that the gentlemen who had danced with her did so only because they could not engage Rosalind. Indeed, at least two or three had asked her first. While she was gratified by her apparent success, a feeling of incompleteness, of something not quite right, marred her usual cheerfulness. Gazing out across the room from her chair near the wall, she caught sight of Rosalind waltzing with Lord Dearborn and her vague discontent suddenly took on a recognizable form.

  Jealous? Am I actually jealous of Rosalind? The idea was distasteful in the extreme. Surely, she loved her cousin and only wanted what was best for her. But there it was. Seeing Rosalind with Lord Dearborn, she felt a welling of unpleasant emotion that could only signal the advent of that hateful, green-ey'd monster, as Shakespeare had named it. Unhappily, she watched the two of them moving about the floor and realized with a fresh pang that Rosalind was actually speaking to the Earl, showing far more animation than had previously been her wont with him.

  Ellie chided herself fiercely for her foolish infatuation with someone as unattainable to one in her circumstances as the Earl of Dearborn. He was enjoyable to be with, of course, but that was no excuse for her silliness in fancying herself in love with the man. Perhaps, if she could stifle her inappropriate feelings for him, they could at least be friends. Yes, that would surely be her best course —the only one that might offer her any peace of mind, any future happiness at all. For it was increasingly apparent that Rosalind was beginning to return his regard, in which case their marriage could not be far distant.

  She nodded determinedly to herself, and when Mr. Mulhaney stepped up a moment later to claim her for the next dance, she favoured him with a brilliant smile. Ellie refused to allow any ridiculous infatuation to spoil her first visit to Almack's, or her one London Season.

  * * *

  "When are we to hear the happy announcement?" asked Lady Jersey of Lord Dearborn as the evening drew near to a close. "It must be a powerful inducement that has brought you back to us after so long an absence, and I believe I can guess what it is." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at him and nodded in the direction of the entrance, where the Winston-Fittses were waiting for their carriage.

  Forrest smiled. He knew that Sally Jersey's tongue could be acerbic when she chose, but he had never been on the sharp end of it himself and held her in some affection, as did his mother. "Miss Winston-Fitts is undeniably lovely," he admitted, "and I'll not deny she comes closer to my ideal than any lady I've met for the past six or seven Seasons."

  "Which is all you've spent in London," rejoined Lady Jersey, nodding wisely. "Of course, there is more to an enduring match than a pretty face, but I'm sure you are aware of that. Doubtless the young lady has additional charms to recommend her?"

  "Indubitably." She was blatantly fishing for more information, but Forrest deflected her question with one of his own. "What do you know of the cousin, Miss O'Day? I presume you discovered something of her background before inviting her here." If he was to help the girl, he must know a little bit about her, he told himself.

  "Yes, isn't she a treasure?" Lady Jersey exclaimed, momentarily diverted. "She has quite taken the gentlemen by storm, though I doubt that she realizes it yet. Her humour and wit more than make up for her lack of the more obvious sort of beauty. And her family is positively ancient! Winston-Fitts through her mother, of course— quite a toast twenty or so years back, Maria Sefton tells me. And her father was Lord Kerrigan's second son, one of the oldest Irish titles. It is a pity she has not the fortune to complement such impeccable bloodlines."

  Lady Jersey was waxing eloquent, and Forrest had no particular desire to stop the flow.

  "I daresay she will make a creditable match even without it," she continued. "The more thoughtful gentlemen are already commenting on her cleverness and cheerful disposition, traits not to be despised in a wife, surely."

  "Indeed not," agreed the Earl. "Do you mention any gentleman in particular?" He found himself hoping it would not be Pelton.

  Lady Jersey shot him a penetrating glance. "Mr. Mulhaney has made no secret of his admiration, but of course he has
n't a feather to fly with and cannot afford to marry where there is no money. I noticed also that both Lord Pelton and Sir Martin Coates danced twice with her, and neither of them needs to marry a fortune. I daresay she will have many suitors to choose among— nearly as many as the dazzling Miss Winston-Fitts."

  "Thank you, ma'am," said Forrest. While it was what he had hoped to hear, her disclosures did not give him the satisfaction he had expected. "Since my future is likely to include Miss Winston-Fitts, I thought it would behoove me to discover what I could of her connections. She appears to hold Miss O'Day in great affection. I had thought to do something for the girl, to please Miss Winston-Fitts, but from what you say it may prove unnecessary. I appreciate your candour." Bowing, he took his leave.

  Lady Jersey watched him speculatively as he made his way to the door. She did not doubt for a moment that Lord Dearborn might be able to do something for Miss O'Day— perhaps far more than he intended at present. For now, however, she would keep her own counsel. The Earl was quite a favourite of hers, and not even for the sake of being first with so extraordinary an on dit would she jeopardize his future happiness with an untimely word.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 8

  MABEL WINSTON-Fitts looked about her in satisfaction. All was in readiness for her dinner party, Rosalind's formal introduction to Society. The flowers were delivered and arranged, the parlour polished and dusted to a fare-thee-well, and the dining table set for twenty-four with the best china and crystal. What did it matter that her daughter's debut was not to be a ball? After two balls in three days, she had convinced herself that a more intimate grouping was far preferable and more conducive to prompting a certain gentleman to declare his feelings for Rosalind.

  That he was intending to do so she could no longer doubt. Why, that very day she had received an invitation from his mother, the Countess of Dearborn, for the family to attend a house party at his estate. Surely that indicated a desire to introduce his intended to his mother as well as to give Rosalind, and her parents, a glimpse of her future home! Yes, Mrs. Winston-Fitts was in very high spirits, indeed.

  "We are dressed, Mama. Is there anything you wish us to do?" Rosalind asked as she and Ellie descended from their bedchambers.

  "Just be your lovely self, my angel," replied Mrs. Winston-Fitts, turning to regard her daughter fondly.

  Rosalind looked superb in her new evening gown of silvery white sarsenet. Her golden hair was piled high on her head and interwoven with tiny white orchids, making her look like a virgin goddess.

  Mrs. Winston-Fitts's smile faded slightly as she turned to inspect her niece. That lilac silk was to have been Rosalind's, but when they had received the vouchers to Almack's, Elinor had come up one dress short. Unwilling to have even a poor relation disgrace them at that hallowed establishment, she had directed her niece to wear Rosalind's yellow silk, necessitating hurried instructions to the dressmaker to have this lilac one made to fit Elinor's dimensions rather than Rosalind's. With her shining dark curls gathered into a loose, fashionable knot on the top of her head, she looked more attractive than her aunt would have thought possible for such a little dab of a thing.

  "You'll do, Elinor," she finally said, earning a startled glance from her niece at the unexpected praise. "Pray try to comport yourself with dignity, and refrain from fidgeting or bouncing about. And speak as little as possible —this is to be Rosalind's night, remember."

  Ellie nodded obediently. "I shall do my best, Aunt Mabel," she said. Truly, she had not the smallest wish to detract from Rosalind's debut.

  "I have noticed one or two gentlemen paying you marked attentions," continued her aunt. "Lord Pelton will be amongst the guests, and I have seated you by him. Mind everything I've told you and you may be lucky enough to receive an offer." Her smile soured, as though she found the thought of her niece as a baroness somehow distasteful.

  Ellie tried to show a proper enthusiasm at the prospect. At least as Lady Pelton she would no longer be subject to Aunt Mabel's whims. "I'll be everything that is proper, ma'am," she promised with tolerable cheerfulness.

  "I take leave to doubt that, but I do hope you will try. Ah, Emmett, here you are at last! Let us go down to the front door at once. Our guests will be arriving at any moment."

  "You look very fetching tonight, Ellie," her uncle informed her in an undertone before descending. "Our little dark horse may yet win the race this Season." Leaving Ellie to ponder the meaning of that remark, he followed his wife to the ground floor.

  * * *

  "Lord Dearborn, do try this turbot —it is Cook's specialty," cooed Mrs. Winston-Fitts to the Earl, who was seated on her right. "And will you not have a bit more breast of veal?" She motioned to the footman to bring the platter back to that end of the long table.

  "Thank you, no, ma'am," responded Lord Dearborn, negating her order to the footman with a quick shake of his head. "I am endeavouring to ration my appetite that I shall be able to partake of every delicacy you offer." He turned to smile meaningfully at Miss Winston-Fitts on his other side as he spoke.

  Rosalind kept her eyes on her plate, but her mother seized upon the compliment at once with a trilling laugh. "Oh, la! How clever, my lord. Of course, nothing I have planned for the table can match my daughter, but you are wise not to stuff yourself just yet. There are still two more courses, with three or four removes to each. I dare swear our Cook is amongst the finest in London, though temperamental as all these Frenchmen are." She spoke proudly, and at sufficient volume for the majority of her guests to hear.

  Forrest smiled politely and murmured another pleasantry about the food before turning back to Rosalind. "Have I mentioned how lovely you are looking tonight, Miss Winston-Fitts?" he asked, though he clearly recalled complimenting her on her appearance when he had arrived. His only choice, however, was between conversing with her or her mother, and this seemed as good an opening remark as any.

  "Yes, thank you, my lord," she replied, not quite meeting his gaze. Forrest saw with regret that her unwonted volubility of the night before had apparently subsided already.

  "Have you been to the theatre yet?" he then asked, still unwilling to submit himself to his other dinner partner's discourse.

  "Not yet, my lord. We go next week."

  "Ah. I have no doubt you will enjoy it immensely." For it will require no conversation whatsoever, he added silently.

  Instantly berating himself for the disloyal thought, he tried the subject that had spurred her last night to become more communicative. "I see your mother has placed Miss O'Day next to Lord Pelton. Is she trying for a match there, do you think?" He kept his voice low, though it was unlikely that his hostess, enthusiastically extolling the virtues of the stewed eels to Lord Ellerby, on her left, would overhear him.

  Rosalind followed his glance to where Ellie sat near the middle of the table, between Lord Pelton and Sir George Bellamy. "My mother may wish it, but I think Ellie may favour someone else," she confided, looking sidelong at him.

  Forrest missed the look, watching Miss O'Day as she spoke animatedly to Sir George. Something she said made him laugh, and the Earl frowned. Could it be the squire that she preferred? Perhaps he had misread the signals and it was Miss O'Day rather than Miss Winston-Fitts who held more than a friendly affection for Sir George. Certainly, the man seemed to treat her with exceptional kindness. No doubt that would be an admirable solution to two different problems, he thought discontentedly.

  "I am glad to see that she is not encouraging Pelton, at any rate," he remarked, wondering why he was not more pleased at the thought of a match between Miss O'Day and Sir George. "The man has a rather unsavoury reputation, I am afraid."

  "Oh! I... I shall warn her of it, my lord," Rosalind assured him, with a half smile at this promising show of concern.

  "That might be wise," he agreed, turning his full attention back to his intended. What a bewitching smile Miss Winston-Fitts had.

  "Lord Dearborn, it was vastly obliging of your mama to
invite us to her house party," broke in Mrs. Winston-Fitts at that moment, in a voice that could doubtless be heard in the kitchens. "I vow, I am quite agog at the prospect of seeing your estate. Huntington Park it is called, is it not?"

  He assented that it was, and was subjected to a lengthy treatise on what his hostess had been able to discover about his ancestral home for the remainder of the first course and most of the second.

  When the ladies adjourned to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to their port, Rosalind went at once to Ellie's side. "I had a rather enlightening conversation with Lord Dearborn," she said conspiratorially. Involuntarily, Ellie winced at her words. Rosalind appeared startled by her reaction and Ellie endeavoured to cover her distress with a smile.

  "That is wonderful, Rosie," she said so cheerfully that Rosalind's face cleared at once. "I am so pleased that you and he seem able to converse comfortably now. If you can bring yourself to be easy in his presence, I have no doubt that the two of you will go on famously together." At that point, they were joined by Mrs. Millworth and Lady Ellerby, a pretty young matron with hair of the same bright gold as Rosalind's and the conversation perforce turned to more general topics.

  Ellie was determinedly merry after that, exchanging quips with her aunt's guests or listening sympathetically to whatever tales of scandal or woe they cared to share. Never before, however, had she had to work so hard at the gaiety that normally came so naturally to her. She kept reminding herself that if she loved Rosalind as a cousin and Lord Dearborn as a friend, she should in truth feel the happiness she was trying so diligently to project, and by the time the gentlemen joined them she had almost managed to convince herself that she did.

  Thus, she was able to smile brightly when the Earl approached her, her cousin's name the first words out of his mouth. "Miss Winston-Fitts tells me you all go to the theatre next week," he said. "Will Sir George perchance be a member of your party?"