by Sandra Heath
The sun was low in the western sky and the fading light glowed beyond the magnificent oriel window. The solar was already lighted by a great number of candles, the gentle light bringing the tapestry scenes to life, as if a pageant of medieval ladies and gentlemen moved in silent concourse around the walls.
It was all so quiet that she almost started from her seat when the long-case clock next to the harpsichord in the corner began to chime the half-hour; a second later she did start to her feet, for without warning the solar doors were flung open to admit someone. Her pulse began to race until she realized that it was only Kathleen, hastening to bring her forgotten shawl.
“You will need this, Miss Bryony,” she said, “for it will be cool after sunset.”
“You gave me such a shock,” said Bryony, taking the proffered shawl. “I thought the others were coming in.”
Kathleen glanced suddenly at her hair. “Oh, no, some of the pins are coming out already!”
In dismay Bryony put up a hand to test, and as she did so a long curl tumbled down from the knot.
Horrified, Kathleen immediately began to repair the damage, and she was thus engaged when the doors were opened again and Delphine was admitted. She was alone. She looked breathtakingly lovely in a gown of delicate cream-colored muslin, its long train dragging richly over the floor behind her. The muslin was stitched with countless tiny golden spangles which shimmered and flashed at the smallest movement, and the tall white plumes fixed to the side of the circlet on her head streamed as she walked toward them.
Smiling at Bryony, she waved her fan at Kathleen to continue with what she was doing. “A catastrophe already?” she inquired.
“Unfortunately.”
“But you look very lovely, Bryony. I think you should wear your hair up all the time.” She sat down on the sofa, her fan held neatly on her lap. “You are very prompt, Liskillen must indeed be a brisk establishment.”
“Prompt? But is this not the time I should be here?”
“Dear me, no, no one comes down on time. A delay is positively expected. When my maid told me she had seen you coming in this direction, I could not believe it, and then I thought I would be angelic and hurry so that you would not have to sit alone, dreading what lies ahead. We can dread it together.”
Bryony smiled. “And what have you to dread?”
“Well, I told you that the last time I saw Sebastian we had an argument, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“It was rather a singular disagreement and we parted somewhat acrimoniously. I know that I was right and he was wrong, but it will still fall to me to be agreeable and conciliatory tonight, even though I do not feel in the least like being nice to him. However,” she went on more briskly, “I did not only come down to be an angel, I came down to be selfish, as is my wont. I thought that as there would be at least half an hour before anyone else put in an appearance, you and I could chitter-chatter. As I said, I have been positively starved of female conversation of late. One doesn’t converse with Mother, one pays attention, and there is only Petra, who is otherwise occupied for the most part.” She blushed suddenly. “Forgive me, I should not have said that.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You did but state what is fact.”
“It should have been left unsaid, for all that. Let us talk of something truly agreeable instead—the summer ball, for instance. By then you will have your Colbert gown and you will glide before the eyes of the curious like a vision.”
Bryony smiled. “No doubt with my hair still coming loose from its pins.”
“Oh, that is not important. I will have my maid, Richardson, show your maid how it is done. I’m so looking forward to the ball, Bryony, for it is always an occasion. I do wish there were some new dances, though.” Her eyes suddenly brightened. “Perhaps you know some!”
“I doubt if we dance anything different in Liskillen.”
“Do not be so pessimistic, for I am convinced that you know absolutely hundreds.”
Bryony laughed in spite of her continuing nervousness. “If I know one new one, you will be fortunate.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“Well, there’s La Belle Catherine, the Bastille, the White Cockade, La Marlbro’, Nottingham Races ... I can’t think of any more.”
Kathleen cleared her throat timidly, fixing in the last pin. “Excuse me, Miss Bryony, but there’s Captain Mackintosh’s Fancy.”
“Oh, yes,” admitted Bryony slowly, “but that can become a little rowdy and will not be at all suitable for the Polwithiel summer ball.”
Delphine looked indignant. “And why not? I’ve never heard of it before, but if it becomes lively, then it sounds the very thing. We are not always sedate here, you know. Even Mother unbends a little after a glass or two of iced champagne. She has even been known to smile.”
“The last thing she would do is smile if she knew I’d brought such a dance to her ball,” said Bryony, laughing a little. “I rather think she’d grind her teeth instead.”
“Then we won’t tell her if she’s being disagreeable,” replied Delphine. “We’ll blame Felix and say he discovered it at the Argyle Rooms or some such Cyprian haunt where Mother would never dream of setting foot. You must show me the steps, Bryony, for it sounds a splendid dance.”
“Of course, if that is what you want.”
“There is no time like the present.”
“Now?” gasped Bryony, taken aback.
“Why not? We’ve time enough.”
Bryony was appalled at the thought of being caught demonstrating such a gallop as Captain Mackintosh’s Fancy. What if the others should come in? Oh, no, the prospect was too dreadful. “I couldn’t possibly,” she said firmly. “I’d be too afraid of someone coming in.”
“There isn’t anyone to come in. Felix has barely returned from his wretched swords, Mother has changed her mind again about which dress to wear and how to do her hair, and Petra will keep Sebastian waiting for simply ages, she’s notorious for it. So you see, we have ample time and I’m simply dying to see the steps. Oh, please, Bryony, I promise you we won’t be caught cavorting around like something from Astley’s amphitheater.”
Bryony was loath to give in, even to such pleading. “I can’t dance without music,” she said, anxious at all costs to avoid anything which might upset the duchess.
But Delphine was equally determined. “Music? Your maid knows it. She can hum or sing the words or whatever.”
Kathleen’s eyes widened. “Me, your ladyship?”
“Is there another maid present?” demanded Delphine a little acidly.
“No, your ladyship.”
“Then I must mean you,” said Delphine coolly, her tone making Kathleen blush.
“Yes, your ladyship.”
“Do you know the tune?”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
“Then the problem of music would appear to be solved,” replied Delphine triumphantly, smiling at Bryony. “You are trapped, you have no option but to let me have my way.”
Bryony smiled reluctantly. She truly didn’t want to demonstrate the dance, she thought the moment most inopportune, but at the same time she liked Delphine and was grateful for her kind friendship; besides, going through the steps was not so very much to ask. “If you are sure no one will come in yet.”
“I’m quite sure,” replied Delphine, glancing at the clock.
“All right, then, I’ll show you the steps.”
“Excellent,” cried Delphine, beaming, “and I swear that I will have perfected it by the night of the ball and everyone will think how clever I am!”
Bryony laughed, moving to a fairly clear portion of the floor and putting her shawl and reticule upon a chair. Delphine got up from the sofa. “If that is where you are going to do it, I will move, for I wish to have the very best possible view.” She sat on the chair, putting Bryony’s things carefully on her lap.
When Bryony was ready, Kathleen cleared her throat nervously and then began t
o hum, keeping the rhythm decorously slow. Bryony went through the sequence of steps, her skirts raised just a little so that Delphine could follow. When she had finished, Delphine made no secret of her disappointment. “That was hardly rowdy! It was almost sedate.”
“It should be danced much more swiftly,” explained Bryony, “but then you would not be able to see the steps properly. It really is quite complicated, with many different sequences, and that is why things are apt to become a little chaotic at times.”
“Oh, couldn’t I see it at the proper pace?” begged Delphine. “I promise you that no one will come in yet.”
“I would rather show you properly tomorrow,” suggested Bryony tentatively.
“Mother is set upon commencing your tuition tomorrow and she will keep you busy all day, of that you may be sure. Oh, please show me the dance, Bryony, humor me.” Delphine smiled disarmingly.
Bryony was filled with grave misgivings, but she nevertheless felt she had to give way before such an entreaty. Very much against her better judgment, she nodded at Kathleen, who reluctantly began to hum again, this time at the correct speed. Bryony began to dance once more, her raised hem fluttering and the lace on her train dragging richly over the floor. Her ankles flashed in and out as she twisted and turned with her imaginary partner, but then she was suddenly aware of Kathleen’s horrified gasp and immediate silence.
Lowering her skirt, Bryony turned slowly in the direction of the maid’s gaze, and her heart almost froze with dismay, for there, looking on in shocked amazement, were the duchess, the Countess of Lowndes, and Sir Sebastian Sheringham. To make her mortification complete, Bryony’s willful curl chose that moment to tumble down once again from its pins.
Chapter Nine
Delphine gave a horrified gasp and began to toy very nervously with her fan. The duchess looked furious, her whole figure bristling and the fringes on her gray taffeta gown shivering. Kathleen gathered her skirts and fled, barely pausing to drop a hasty curtsy, and the duchess bestowed upon her a look which would have frozen Beelzebub himself.
Petra seemed a little bemused, glancing almost quizzically at Sebastian before suddenly taking matters into her own hands by advancing toward a startled Bryony, her citrus-yellow silk gown rustling and her emerald necklace glittering. “My dear Miss St. Charles, what a splendidly spirited dance! I’m sure Lady Delphine sought to steal a march on us all by learning it secretly, but we are now more than alert to her schemes.” She took Bryony’s hands in a gesture of seeming friendship.
Bryony still felt very much at a disadvantage, but as she looked into Petra’s beautiful smiling face, she felt suddenly angry, remembering what this woman had written and what position she held in Sebastian Sheringham’s life. Coolly and abruptly she withdrew her hands, a deliberate act which did not go unnoticed by anyone present. Petra could not conceal her surprise, glancing again at Sebastian. There, said the glance, did I not tell you this creature will be a disaster?
Sebastian crossed the room toward his future wife, the expression on his face hard to gauge. He wore an indigo velvet evening coat and white knee breeches, and in spite of the tension she felt at that moment, Bryony could not help noticing that the diamond pin in the folds of his neckcloth was the same one he had worn in his portrait. He took her cold hand and raised it to his lips. “Your servant, Miss St. Charles,” he murmured.
“Sir,” she replied, again drawing her hand away, but slowly this time. She was still embarrassed, but in spite of this she was aware of her unexpected reaction to him. It was a strange feeling to look up into a face which until now she had seen only in a portrait, and it was oddly unsettling to meet the gaze of eyes so blue and so piercing that they stirred something within her which had never been stirred before.
But even as she acknowledged that he was a man toward whom she was disconcertingly drawn, memories of his mistress’s letter flooded over her, making her look sharply away to break the spell which had so suddenly begun to coil around her. She must not allow herself to fall prey to an attraction so sudden and strong that its effect passed through her like a shock; she must remember the truth about this man and face the fact that the elegant and attractive book known as Sir Sebastian Sheringham must not be judged by its handsome binding, but rather by the telling pages within.
If he would have said more in that moment, she did not know, for Delphine suddenly got up and glanced at the evening sky beyond the oriel window. “It’s lovely outside now. I think we should walk by the fountains for a while before dinner. What do you say, Sebastian?” She seemed anxious and ill-at-ease, and Bryony remembered then that this was the first meeting between the two cousins since their bitter argument.
He gave no hint of any ill feeling. “I think that an excellent notion. The evening is perfect.”
Petra smiled brightly. “Yes, I agree, a walk would be the very thing.” She took Delphine’s arm. “My dear, you simply have to tell me where you procured that delicious gown, for I swear that I’m green with envy that you should be togged up so handsomely when I’m clad only in this yellow rag.” They proceeded from the room in the wake of the duchess, who had dispatched a footman to bring her wrap.
For a moment Bryony was alone with Sebastian. She looked reluctantly into his eyes again, and then quite suddenly he smiled at her. It was a smile which, had it not been for the revelations of his mistress’s letter, would have made Bryony St. Charles of Liskillen House, County Down, the happiest of creatures. He offered her his arm. “Shall we go out, Miss St. Charles?”
The air in the gardens was very scented and warm, the perfume of roses and honeysuckle seeming to fill the evening as they strolled toward the cascade of fountains. The sound of the dancing water was everywhere and the setting sun flashed through it as if upon a thousand diamonds. Far out on the estuary a red-sailed schooner was beating toward the south, while high above, white-winged gulls soared against the deep blue heavens. It was a perfect evening in a perfect setting, but Bryony felt only sadness.
She had never imagined that her first meeting with Sebastian would be easy, not even when first leaving Liskillen. After the business of the letter she had known it would be very difficult, in fact almost impossible, but she had never for one moment believed she would also have to suffer the added pain of being so inexorably attracted to him. It was so unkind, and she wished with all her heart that fate had made her immune.
He stopped suddenly by one of the fountains. “Why have you agreed to marry me, Miss St. Charles?”
She stared at him, caught unawares. “Why ... why, because of the pledge, of course. Is that not why you have agreed to marry me?”
“My reason is of little consequence at the moment. I am asking you because it has come to my notice that you have left behind in Ireland a certain gentleman who appears to think he has prior claim upon you.”
She was stunned, both with shock and with anger. She was shocked that he should speak so bluntly about something so delicate, and angry that he had the gall to say that his reason was of little consequence! How could a vast inheritance be spoken of so lightly? Her eyes were bright and her cheeks a little pink. “I am surprised at you, Sir Sebastian, for I thought a gentleman would refrain from such discourteous inquiries.”
“Discourteous?” He stiffened a little. “Madam, I fail to see how it can be termed discourteous. I am naturally concerned to know if you return Mr. Carmichael’s feelings, for it is not particularly desirable to take as a wife a woman who is in love with another man!”
“I am not in love with anyone, sir. There isn’t, and never has been, a liaison between myself and Mr. Carmichael. I do not know why he should have written as he did to the duke, for I swear that he had no right, and as far as I am concerned, no reason so to do. As to its not being particularly desirable to take a wife who is in love with another man, am I to presume from that that you believe it perfectly in order for a husband to marry, knowing all the time that he is in love with another woman?”
“Miss St.
Charles, I hardly think this is the time to discuss the morals, or lack of them, of mankind!”
She was goaded into recklessness. Oh, he was so superior, so very sure that he would not be found out! Well, she would show him! She began to search in her reticule for Petra’s letter. “You appear to think me compromised by a letter, sir, but perhaps you should also be feeling a little compromised, for ...” Her voice died away as she remembered suddenly that she had left the letter in her apartment. Frustrated and close to tears, she tried to close the strings of the reticule, but instead she only succeeded in fumbling so much that she dropped it onto the path. The contents spilled everywhere.
Choking back a sob, she stooped to retrieve them, but was forestalled by Petra, who appeared from nowhere to rescue them first, helping her to put everything back into the little bag. She looked curiously into Bryony’s flushed face and overbright eyes. “Is something wrong, Miss St. Charles? Are you unwell?”
“I’m quite all right, thank you,” replied Bryony in a low voice, only too aware of how foolish she had made herself appear by reacting as she had.
At that moment Delphine joined them, followed almost immediately by the duchess and by Felix, who had at last condescended to grace the party with his presence. Even in the midst of her frustration and confusion, Bryony noticed that Sebastian bowed and acknowledged Felix’s presence, but Felix steadfastly ignored his cousin.
Delphine glanced down suddenly and saw something on the path, and she bent to retrieve it from beneath the vivid starflowers of a mesembryanthemum. “Oh, you didn’t pick up everything, Petra,” she said, holding it out to Bryony. It was the little silver-framed miniature of Sebastian—at least, that was what Bryony initially thought, until quite suddenly she saw that the portrait in the frame was no longer that of the man she was to marry; instead, it had been changed to a likeness of Anthony Carmichael!