by Julia London
Twenty-five
G rif finally broke away from the ladies and spent the better part of the late afternoon pacing his room, his thoughts in turmoil with the unexpected appearance of Lady Battenkirk.
Everything had fallen into place so easily before this—he’d never imagined he’d face something so daunting. What would Fynster say about Lady Battenkirk’s arrival? He’d tried so hard to help Grif find her friend Amelia. He’d undoubtedly be anxious to introduce him to Lady Battenkirk and ask after her friend Amelia, a question that would lead to disaster.
Even worse, what if Lady Battenkirk mentioned the beastie, or the Englishwoman from whom she had bought the blasted thing? She’d already mentioned the beastie once, and he feared she had almost mentioned it again—he would never know for certain, because he had stopped her by changing the subject when, after the game, she had begun to catalog all the goods from Scotland she’d ever purchased. It was obvious Drake Lockhart was suspicious of him—the slightest suggestion from Lady Battenkirk might aid him in putting all the pieces together.
This was a bloody nightmare.
Grif was still pacing when Hugh appeared, carrying the formal suit of clothing Grif was to wear to the evening’s ball, which he carelessly tossed on a bed. He put his hands on his hips, glared at Grif. “Have ye any idea how the English treat their servants, then?”
“I’ve a feel for it, aye.”
“It’s abominably inhumane!” Hugh groused, and walked across the room, fell into one of two leather wing-back chairs that faced the hearth. “They’ve forced me into a room with a bloody valet,” he said disapprovingly. “Mi Diah, what these fops expect to be done to their clothing!”
Grif shrugged, looked absently at the clothes Hugh had tossed aside, his thoughts elsewhere.
Hugh frowned at the window. “And to add insult to me injuries, I lost two hundred pounds to the English bastards.”
That certainly caught Grif’s attention. “Ye did what?”
Hugh waved a limp hand, and dropped his head back against the chair. “Cards,” he said simply.
“Cards!” Grif bit out, incensed. “Bloody hell, MacAlister, how do ye suggest we return to Scotland if ye lose every coin we have?”
“Ach, we’ve coin enough to return home, Grif. Dudley’s already gone—”
“How dare ye gamble it away?” Grif spat, stalking to Hugh’s side. “That is money me father borrowed!”
“Diah, I’ll repay ye with me share of the beastie!” Hugh said angrily. “And as to that, when is it that we shall possess the wretched thing? I am sick unto death of living like a bloody prisoner!”
Grif sighed. “Sooner than ye think,” he answered morosely.
“How soon, then?”
“I donna know precisely. But we’ve a wee spot of trouble,” he said, and proceeded to explain the dilemma they suddenly found themselves in with Lady Battenkirk’s arrival.
Hugh listened thoughtfully. “There’s no more time,” he said at last. “Ye must demand the lass return it at once.”
“Aye,” Grif said. “Aye.”
Hugh cocked his head, looked at Grif a long moment. “Ye donna want to demand it.”
“Of course I do,” Grif said with a disdainful shake of his head.
But Hugh clucked. “Aye, ’tis just as I gathered, then. Ye are in love with her—”
“Diah, but ye are a man of enormous exasperation!”
“And ye think ye are no’?” Hugh returned. “At the very least, admit what’s true! Ye love her, ye do!”
Grif groaned to the ceiling and shook his head wearily. “I’ll speak to her tonight,” is all he would say.
It was true: the Featherstone ball was plainly an event that was not to be missed. Nothing had been left undone; the ballroom was lined with giant vases of yellow and white flowers—wood sorrels, daffodils, primroses, cowslips, daisies, and coltsfoots. Beeswax candles, cut to uniform height, were lit and glittering against three crystal chandeliers. The carpet had been rolled away and the pine dance floor polished with beeswax to a high sheen. Embroidered armchairs lined the walls, and in a far corner an impressive eight-piece orchestra played.
There were, Grif guessed, almost three hundred people already in attendance that evening, and still more arriving.
He and Fynster had made their way down, were standing in the ballroom watching the dancers who floated past on the strains of music. Along with Fynster, Grif admired the women who filled the ballroom; mostly in pale pastels and varying shades of white and ivory, they blended well with the delicate flowers.
And there was the brightest of all the flowers, the one in pale green. Anna was engaged in a quadrille with a ruddy-cheeked young man who could not stop smiling.
She looked, Grif thought, absolutely radiant. Her green brocade gown was cinched tightly beneath her bosom, covered with the sheerest of silk, and gathered in folds high on her back. Her dark auburn hair was affixed artfully to the back of her head, and it appeared as if she had helped herself to some of the flowers in the ballroom and put them in her hair. Her arms, encased in gloves, were slender and long, and her smile…he could feel the force of it from where he stood.
From his vantage point, Grif could quietly watch her and manage to avoid Lucy’s gaze altogether, as she was caught up in conversation with two young gentlemen who looked as adoring of her as a pair of puppies. Lockhart was across the room with his smiling brother, who was holding a small crystal glass. His sobriety, Grif thought, would be short-lived.
It seemed to Grif that Fynster was always watching the dancers. “What is it, man,” Grif asked him, “that keeps ye from joining the others?”
Fynster smiled ruefully. “I’m a dreadfully horrid dancer, Ardencaple,” he said cheerfully. “I would trample a lady’s feet black and blue!”
“Come on, then,” Grif said, nudging him lightly on the shoulder. “Ye canna be so clumsy as that.”
A sheepish grin spread across his friend’s face, and he shrugged. “If you must have the truth, I’m afraid that my heart’s attached itself to someone and there it has remained, steadfastly unchanged in its devotion. But I’ve not found the courage to declare my esteem…or to dance.” He glanced at Grif from the corner of his eye. “You’d not understand the feelings of a man such as myself in this regard, I’m afraid.”
“Aye, but I would, Fynster, more than ye can know.”
“You?” Fynster snorted. “A man who enjoys his reputation as a libertine, who toys with debutantes as if they were mice and he the cat? Come now!” he laughed. “You’ve no regard for matters of the heart, Ardencaple.”
That frank assessment startled Grif. “Do ye truly believe this of me, Fynster?” he asked in all earnestness. “That I have no desire to love or be loved?”
Now Fynster laughed and shook his head. “You are teasing me, sir, for it is plainly obvious to all who know you that your desire to love or be loved would not extend beyond the linens of your bed!” He laughed again, shaking his head, as if he enjoyed a good joke.
Grif supposed he could hardly blame Fynster for that: he’d not really had an affair of the heart before now. How trifling he must have seemed to a man of integrity such as Fynster, how very cocksure and unrepentantly randy.
He sighed wearily and shifted his gaze to the dance floor again. “I’ll have ye know, Fynster, that I have greatly appreciated yer friendship. By any measure, ye are one of the finest acquaintances a man could hope to have.”
With a sound of surprise, Fynster looked at Grif. “Why, how very kind of you, sir! I very much appreciate the sentiment, and the feeling is entirely mutual— a better Scotsman I’ve not had the pleasure to meet.”
“There are better Scotsmen, lad, far better than me,” Grif said, trying to smile. “My only hope is that one day ye’ll know one.”
Fynster chuckled fondly and clapped him on the shoulder. “I do know it. Why, I’ve—”
“Mr. Fynster-Alll-len!” a familiar voice trilled behind them.
“Oh, Wales, how lovely it is, sir.” Lady Battenkirk sighed. “I discovered some very interesting artifacts there. They’re quite unique. I don’t know how to describe them, really—do you recall the pieces I purchased in Cambridge last year?”
“No,” Fynster said, trying to turn her toward Grif.
“No? Oh dear, I must have given them all to Amelia before I showed you—”
“Lady Battenkirk, forgive my interruption, but I’d very much like to introduce my friend, Lord Ardencaple,” Fynster managed to squeeze in.
“Oh!” Lady Battenkirk exclaimed, seeing Grif now. “Lord Ardencaple, we meet again!”
“What? You’ve met, then?” Fynster asked, confused, his gaze darting between the two of them.
“Aye, in a game of battledore and shuttlecock,” Grif said, taking her hand and bowing deeply over it.
“Indeed!” Fynster exclaimed, obviously delighted.
“Oh yes,” Lady Battenkirk said, folding her hands over her belly. “Lord Ardencaple is a formidable opponent! Would that you had joined us, Mr. Fynster-Allen.”
“But…I was not aware you’d come from Wales. I was quite assured you’d not return until the late summer,” Fynster said, clearly confused. “In fact, I explained to Lord Ardencaple that you’d not be back to London for quite some time, as he desired an introduction—”
“Which I have been fortunate to receive,” Grif said quickly, and bowed over Lady Battenkirk’s hand. “It was indeed me great pleasure.”
“Oh?” Lady Battenkirk trilled, clearly pleased as Grif let go of her hand. She coyly patted her ringlets. “You sought an introduction, my lord?”
“Aye. I’d heard of yer interest in old…cathedrals,” he said, trying desperately to ignore the frown of confusion on Fynster’s face.
Lady Battenkirk’s face beamed with delight. “A fellow enthusiast! Indeed, my lord, I attended an archaeological dig,” she informed him, putting her hand to her bodice, which, he noticed, was a peculiar shade of green, particularly against the burgundy cuff of her sleeve.
“I am certain it was fascinating.”
“Oh, indeed, it was quite fascinating. They found some pottery of some sort, which I suppose was all well and good for the men of science, but I have rather a lot of pottery and didn’t see the significance of it, really. I was so hoping for something a bit more exciting. Bones, perhaps.”
“Bones would be far more exciting,” Fynster politely agreed.
“I rather suppose that at the end of the day I much prefer traveling about and picking up trinkets here and there,” Lady Battenkirk said gleefully. “I do adore a bargain, my lord. Speaking of bargains, I have traveled as far as Scotland and found some very interesting trinkets.”
“Did ye find any bones?” Fynster asked with a wink.
That made Lady Battenkirk laugh in a sort of wheezing guffaw. “Nary a one!” she cried through her laughter before catching her breath. “But there truly are such wonderful knickknacks to be had from Scotland—not at all like the markets in London. Frankly, England’s north country has quite interesting pieces, too, and many of them are from Scotland. All those border wars, I suppose, back and forth and back again.”
Grif smiled thinly.
“Oh!” she cried, laying a finger next to her nose as she peered into space. “I know something that might interest you, my lord! One day last year, I happened into Cambridge and I had the chance to meet a lovely young woman from London, who was selling a gold statue of a beastie of all things!”
“A what?” Fynster asked, wrinkling his nose a little while Grif felt his heart sink right to his toes.
“Bea-stie, darling,” Lady Battenkirk said, articulating carefully. “A creature of some sort. Reminds me of an angry lion with his great gaping mouth and red glass eyes. I honestly can’t say what it is, but it made for such an unusual piece of art! Well, I paid the poor miss for it, as it was clear she desperately needed funds, although I would have sworn by the look of her that she was Quality. Nevertheless, my mission in life is to help those who cannot help themselves, and I helped that poor dear by purchasing her statue and giving it to my friend Amelia. And do you know that Amelia faithfully displayed that unique creature on her mantel until the day she died?”
Grif had the overwhelming urge to put a finger in his collar and loosen it for some air. He risked a glance at Fynster who was looking at Lady Battenkirk in confusion.
“You’ll not find such unusual art in London, I assure you,” she said with a snort and a shake of her head. “Southern England has her treasures, too, you understand. Once, in Cornwall, I found the loveliest amulet. Do you know what an amulet is?” she asked Fynster.
“I can’t say that I do, really,” he answered absently, and frowned curiously at Grif.
“I beg yer pardon,” Grif said, quickly interrupting before she could pin him in with another long-winded tale, “I am certain I promised the next dance.”
“Then you must run along, my lord! You’d not want to keep a pretty young miss waiting. Perhaps you might like to view my various treasures when we are next in London?”
“I would indeed. I shall call on ye, if I’ve yer leave.”
“Of course you do, sir!” she said, beaming happily.
Grif smiled at a clearly perplexed Fynster, wishing that he had the luxury of truth to explain to his friend what he was about. But there was nothing to be done for it—a man of Fynster’s character could not rest without telling the truth to the Lockharts, Grif was certain—so with a bow for Lady Battenkirk, Grif took his final leave of his good friend.
He walked outside onto the terrace so that he might breathe some air and get his thoughts together. Between a pair of torchlights, he gripped the railing and stared out into the black night, his insides as jumbled as his mind with nerves and regret and a whole host of things he could hardly name. He’d never bargained for this. He’d never thought his journey would result in such an upheaval in his life, of lies and betrayals and even love…
“Ah… there you are.”
Speak of the devil, Anna’s voice drifted behind him, and Grif closed his eyes. The good Lord was punishing him, surely. He opened his eyes, made himself turn around. Anna leaned forward and peered up at him. “Are you quite all right? No bumps or bruises from the game?”
“No’ from the game,” he said evenly.
Anna lifted a brow, walked to the railing and looked around. “I thought perhaps you might do me the honor of standing up with me,” she said, lifting her arm and jiggling her dance card. With a conspiratorial look about, she whispered, “I know you don’t approve, but I’m anxious to demonstrate that I have indeed learned quite a lot from you, sir. I no longer feel compelled to lead.” She smiled softly.
In spite of himself, in spite of his anger, Grif couldn’t help smiling a bit. “I donna believe you.”
“It’s true,” she said, nodding. “I’m quite cured of it. Come, and I’ll show you.”
Grif shook his head.
Anna touched his hand. “Come, please come, Grif. I don’t want to leave things as we did last night,” she said softly. “Come then, just a waltz. And then you may hie yourself to whomever.”
In the ballroom, the orchestra began to play the waltz, and Anna smiled warmly at Grif. “They’re starting.”
He knew he shouldn’t do it. He didn’t want to do it. He should have told her then and there that he had to leave, leave tonight, but as usual he felt powerless to resist her, and the thought of holding her once more…
“I’ve yer word ye’ll no’ lead?”
Anna laughed and crossed her heart. Grif offered his arm, escorted her to the dance floor, and stood back, bowing deeply as she curtsied. “Oh my,” she said as she carefully placed her hand in hi
s, “how very formal of you.”
He said nothing, just swept her into the rhythm of the waltz, pulling her closer with each turn, closer than he should, as close as a man would hold his wife. She felt so perfect in his arms, so right, and he had a small, treacherous desire for that dance to go on forever.
“Will you go on dancing without so much as a smile?” she asked him. Her head was tilted back so that her face was upturned to him like a flower to the sun. “You handed me a rather sound beating at battledore and shuttlecock, and here you are, given the pleasure of leading this dance, and still you frown.”
“Do I?” he asked absently, momentarily lost in the copper depths of her eyes.
She laughed, her lips full and dangerously kissable. “You do! All right, then, you really must smile. You’ll be done with me soon.”
A feeling of sadness swept through him and he put his mouth near her head, taking a breath of her. “Sooner than ye know, lass. I must go,” he whispered.
“Honestly, Grif, it’s only a dance!” she said with cheerful exasperation. “As soon as it ends, I swear I’ll leave you at peace, for I shouldn’t want to stand in the way of your many admirers.”
He smiled sadly, pulled her closer to avoid a collision with another couple, let his hand slide up her trim back and down. “No, Anna…I mean that I must leave here. Before dawn’s light.”
The smile instantly faded from her face. “Tonight?” she gasped. “What are you saying? You can’t leave tonight! There is the ball, and they’ve gone to great lengths to have chess on the east lawn on the morrow, and what shall Bette think, and besides, everyone is leaving tomorrow afternoon, so why must you hurry away?”
She looked so confused and so hurt that he couldn’t help but pull her closer and hold her there, propriety be damned. “I canna remain here, Anna. Lady Battenkirk has returned, and surely ye can understand the potential jeopardy she brings. She has already mentioned the beastie and her Amelia. It’s only a matter of time ere I’m found out,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.