by Mary Balogh
“Oh look,” Miss Dunmore said, pointing to the road Codaire had just taken. “It looks like a fairy coach.”
And Colin knew himself trapped. His mother was out driving in the park for the second day in a row, and she was about to join the crowd. It was going to be impossible to avoid her. He could hardly spring his horses when other vehicles and people on horseback were close packed about them. And there would be no hiding in the crowd. It soon became clear to him and to a few dozen other people that the white carriage was making its deliberate way toward his curricle. Despite its size and the presence of four outriders accompanying it—or perhaps because of those facts—everyone gave way before it. It would have been quite extraordinary if it were not for the fact that this sort of thing happened all the time with his mother.
And so he came face to face with her for the first time in eight years. One slender white-gloved hand rested upon the window, which had been lowered. Her head and face were covered with a fine white lace veil. She was alone in the carriage.
“My dearest,” she said in the sweet little-girl voice he remembered so well. “What a delightful surprise to find you here in the park on the very day when I came to take the air. You may present your young lady to me.”
It was, of course, not a surprise at all. She had planned this. But how had she known? Foolish question. His mother always knew everything, though some mistake must have been made to bring her out yesterday.
“Miss Dunmore,” he said with the greatest reluctance, “Lady Hodges, my mother.”
Miss Dunmore was blushing and saucer-eyed—and looking lovelier than ever—as she acknowledged the introduction.
“Very pretty,” his mother said, her eyes fixed upon the girl through the veil. “Exquisitely lovely, in fact. And the daughter of Sir Randolph Dunmore, whose lineage is quite impeccable as is that of his wife. You must bring Miss Dunmore to see me, dearest. Come for tea one day soon. It is gratifying to discover that you have an unerring eye for beauty, but it is only what I would expect of my son, of course.”
Good God. Oh good God. He could think of not a blessed thing to say. And of course the crowds were packed closely enough around them that any number of people would have overheard every word—and would gladly share with those who had not. This would keep drawing room conversations lively for the next day or two.
“I will not keep you longer, my dears,” she said when neither he nor Miss Dunmore spoke. “Young couples must be left to each other’s company.” She tapped her hand against the outside of her carriage, and it moved off, a path again opening like magic before it, with a little help from the outriders.
Colin closed his eyes briefly. His mother had come to this very public venue, then, to place her stamp of approval upon his courtship of Miss Dunmore. To force his hand. To raise expectations in her bosom and that of her mama when the incident was reported to her. His mother had always been expert at manipulating people in whom she had a certain interest, and she was doing it now, after having been seemingly content to live without him for eight years. She had decided to step into his affairs before he could step into hers.
“How beautiful she is,” Miss Dunmore said, sounding awestruck as the carriage disappeared from sight. “But I do not understand how she can possibly be your mother. She must have been awfully young when she had you.” She did not know, it seemed, about his four older siblings, three of them considerably older.
My dearest.
. . . your young lady.
It is gratifying to discover that you have an unerring eye for beauty.
And the voice. Oh, the youthful, honeyed voice.
* * *
• • •
The opening set had already begun when Colin arrived at the ball that evening. He was late, thanks to lively dinner conversation with friends at White’s. Well, and perhaps there had been a bit of avoidance involved too. He had somehow managed when he took Miss Dunmore home earlier not to allow himself to be maneuvered into soliciting her hand for the first set and so sending an even more pointed message than he had already sent. He had left her excitedly recounting to her mama their meeting with his mother.
He danced the second set with a young lady introduced to him by Lady Arbinger, and the one after that with Lady Jessica Archer, who always seemed delighted to see him while it was clear she was in no way romantically attached to him—or to anyone else for that matter. She talked to him about the marriage mart with some disgust.
“I resent been looked upon as a commodity, Lord Hodges,” she said. “And I am vastly relieved that you do not look at me that way. Or anyone else as far as I have observed. You are a true gentleman.”
The first waltz of the evening came next. He had seen Elizabeth as soon as he stepped inside the ballroom, wearing her primrose ball gown again and looking as fresh as springtime, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling as she danced with Codaire. Colin had felt a bit ashamed of expressing his doubts about her choice yesterday when he had taken her walking. It was really none of his business whom she married. How was he to know what or who would make her happy?
She was standing now over by the French windows with her mother and an animated group of people whom Mrs. Westcott introduced to him when he approached as her brother and sister-in-law and her niece and nephew with the niece’s husband. He already had a nodding acquaintance with the latter two gentlemen. Elizabeth was still sparkling, though it seemed to Colin that some of her animation dimmed when he turned to her and asked if he might have the honor of the next set.
Perhaps he really had offended her.
“Yes,” she said. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“I have looked forward to this moment all day,” he told her quite truthfully when they had stepped out onto the dance floor.
She smiled at him. But . . . was there a little restraint in the smile? Or was he reading something into it that was not there?
“Did I say anything to offend you yesterday?” he asked her. “Forgive me if I did. I am sure you know better than I what you ought to do with the rest of your life.”
“I was not offended,” she said. “But I apologize for what I said too. You must choose whom you wish to marry, Colin, without being besieged by advice from someone who presumes to think she knows better who will suit you.”
“My mother came to the park again today,” he told her. “She came deliberately to see me—and to express for my ears and those of a significant number of the ton her approval of my courtship of Miss Dunmore.” Over her shoulder he could see that Codaire had joined Mrs. Westcott and her brother and sister-in-law. Presumably he did not intend to waltz himself. “How she knew about us or the fact that we were going to be there today, I have no idea. I wonder if she expected to find us there yesterday.”
“Oh, were you there today?” she asked. “I saw Lady Hodges. I was with Sir Geoffrey Codaire.”
“Yes,” he said. “You were driving away as we were arriving.”
“But are you courting Miss Dunmore?” she asked.
“I very much fear I may be now,” he said.
“You fear?” She raised her eyebrows.
But the orchestra played a decisive chord at that moment and he took her in his arms and ignored the question. For the next several minutes he did not want to think about Miss Dunmore or marriage or his future as a more assertive Lord Hodges. They moved into the steps of the waltz.
“I have longed for this since the last ball,” he said after a minute or two had passed. “Dare I hope you have too?” He was smiling, trying to recapture the usual comfort he felt with her. Somehow it was eluding him. She seemed a bit . . . absent.
She hesitated slightly before answering. “Yes, I have,” she said. “You are lovely to waltz with, Colin.”
“And would you miss our dance if ever you were at a ball and I was not?” he asked her, persisting in foolishness.
There was definite hesitation now.
“Colin,” she said as he twirled her about one corner of the ballroom, “it is unofficial at the moment. No announcement will be made until after Alex and Wren arrive in town within the next day or two and a few letters have been written. But I am betrothed.”
He felt a bit as though someone had taken a hammer to his heart. He actually lost his breath for a moment. But of course she was. This was why she had come to town for the Season, and the Season was already a few weeks old. He had known. He had been expecting it.
“Codaire?” he asked.
“Sir Geoffrey Codaire, yes,” she said. “He asked me this afternoon and I said yes.”
This afternoon.
He forced himself to smile. “And you are happy?”
“Yes, I am,” she said. “It is what I have wanted.”
“Then I will wish you lifelong happiness,” he said. “With a man you can trust to care for you as you deserve to be cared for.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I will wish you the same, Colin. With Miss Dunmore, if it is she whom you choose. Or with someone else. I hope you will find the happiness you deserve.”
“Do we always get what we deserve?” he asked her before drawing her a little closer in order to avoid a collision.
“No,” she said. “Life is not always so tidy. But Alex and Wren have the happiness they deserve, and now I have. I am confident you will too.”
“You are able to foretell the future, then, are you?” he asked.
“Oh, by no means,” she said. “Thank goodness. But I am ever hopeful for the people I love.” An arrested look came into her eyes then, followed by obvious embarrassment and a deepening of the flush in her cheeks.
. . . the people I love.
“I do love you, you know,” she said. “I could not love you more if you really were my brother, Colin.”
Ah. He smiled at her a little ruefully, and she smiled back as they fell silent and enjoyed the rest of the waltz. Determinedly enjoyed. Did not really enjoy at all. Perhaps it was their last. He was not sure she would want to do this again. He was not sure he could.
I could not love you more if you really were my brother.
Why did the words hurt just a little bit?
Codaire was still with her mother and family group when the dance was over. Colin extended a hand to him. “I understand I am to congratulate you,” he said. “You are a fortunate man.”
Codaire took his hand but did not return his smile. “I am indeed,” he said. “Our news is to be shared with just a select few, you will understand, until Lady Overfield’s brother and my family have been informed.”
Too late Colin realized he should have made no mention of the betrothal since he could not lay claim to being one of a select few.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he said.
“Lord Hodges is Wren’s brother,” Elizabeth said simultaneously, “and therefore very nearly my brother too.”
Codaire released Colin’s hand.
“The announcement will be made soon, Lord Hodges,” Mrs. Westcott said. “It cannot be soon enough for me. There must be a betrothal party, of course, and there will be the wedding to plan. I have already informed Sir Geoffrey that his preferences will scarcely be consulted. Wedding preparations belong exclusively to the bride’s family.” Her eyes were twinkling, and she looked for the moment quite like her daughter.
“And I have informed you, ma’am,” Codaire said, “that you will hear no argument from me, provided Elizabeth will be my wife at the end of it all.”
Colin felt distinctly out of place as the family members all laughed and gazed fondly from Elizabeth to Codaire and back again. He made his bow and walked away. Actually he did not stop walking until he was outside the ballroom, and then he paused only long enough to decide that he had no wish whatsoever to step back in there. He proceeded on his way downstairs, early though it still was, retrieved his hat and cloak from a footman, and left the house. He was thankful that he had walked here and did not have to wait for a carriage to be brought around.
So Elizabeth was betrothed to the man of her choice.
He was happy for her.
Miss Dunmore was at that ball. So was Miss Madson. He paused on the pavement for a moment. But no, he had not solicited the hand of either in advance for a set at tonight’s ball and therefore was under no obligation to stay. There was a difference, of course, between obligation and expectation, and he was in no doubt that Lady Dunmore in particular expected him to dance with her daughter after what had happened in the park this afternoon.
Ought he to go back, then?
There was no reason on earth why he should not. Elizabeth had told him about her betrothal because he was a close family connection, and it was surely perfectly natural that he should congratulate Codaire after the set was over. The man’s obvious annoyance was understandable, perhaps, but not something dire enough to send Colin scurrying away as though he had committed some unpardonable social faux pas.
So she was betrothed. He was happy for her. He really was.
And he had his own courtships to pursue. Plural? Or had they now become singular? What powerful beings mothers were—his own and Miss Dunmore’s.
Yes, he really ought to go back.
He walked away.
Ten
Alexander and Wren arrived in town the following day, and for several minutes, as might be expected, all the focus was upon the baby, whom Mrs. Westcott had not seen since a week after his birth and Elizabeth had not seen at all. But finally he was taken up to the nursery for a well-earned rest and Elizabeth was able to tell her brother and sister-in-law of her engagement.
Wren, who had never met Sir Geoffrey Codaire, declared with a warm hug for Elizabeth that if he had won her heart, then she was going to love him as a brother. But Alexander remembered that his sister had rejected Codaire just last year and wondered why she had changed her mind this year.
“I was not at all sure at the time that I wished to remarry at all,” Elizabeth explained. “But I gave it careful thought through the summer and over the winter, particularly at Christmas when all the family was together at Brambledean. And I decided that I did. I thought about Geoffrey then and his many good qualities. I thought I could not do better—if he renewed his addresses this year, that was. But he had told me he might.”
“Then I am pleased for you, Lizzie,” her brother said, though he still did not look quite convinced.
The official announcement of the betrothal appeared in the morning papers the next day, and it brought a stream of visitors during the afternoon—all of them family except for Sir Geoffrey himself. Elizabeth’s Aunt Lilian and Uncle Richard Radley, her mother’s sister-in-law and brother, came with Susan and Alvin Cole, their daughter and son-in-law, though they had all already heard the news at the Arbinger ball. The Dowager Countess of Riverdale came with Lady Matilda Westcott. Like Alexander and Wren, they had arrived in London only the day before. Thomas and Mildred, Lord and Lady Molenor, came—without their three boys, who were away at school. So did Louise, Dowager Duchess of Netherby, with Jessica, and Avery and Anna, Duke and Duchess of Netherby.
“I warned you the family would be in full evidence as soon as word was out,” Elizabeth murmured to Sir Geoffrey when he arrived, the last to come. Her eyes twinkled in amusement.
“It pleases me,” he told her, keeping his voice low too. “For your sake and for mine too. There is less likelihood that you will change your mind again.”
Again? Had she changed it before, then? She supposed she had. Last year’s no had changed to this year’s yes. “Have I been so fickle?” she asked him.
“If you have,” he said, his eyes looking very directly into hers, “those days are fortunately over.”
They were permitted no more private words. The family took over, and Elizabe
th sat back to listen. She had always been amused when the Westcott family gathered to plot and plan as she described it to herself. It had started with Anna three years ago, when she had arrived from Bath, summoned from the orphanage where she had grown up and then taught. She had been greeted by the announcement to both her and the entire Westcott clan simultaneously that she was not only the daughter of the recently deceased Humphrey Westcott, Earl of Riverdale, but was also his only legitimate child. He had, they all learned, secretly married Anna’s mother and then left her, but she had still been alive when he married Viola. The rest of the family had heard the news that Viola’s three children were all hence illegitimate at the same time Anna had.
Consternation on that occasion had quickly given place to numerous plotting and planning sessions as the family grappled with the twin gigantic questions of what to do about Anna and what to do about Viola and her children. Avery had solved the problem of Anna by marrying her, while Viola and her children had solved—or would solve—their own problems. But none of that deterred the family from gathering when anything new, either happy or potentially catastrophic, appeared on the horizon. For while they perhaps did not provide actual solutions for anyone, their mere assembly seemed to offer what everyone needed most in these situations, mutual support and understanding.
Now it was Elizabeth’s turn, and the Westcott family numbers were swelled by her maternal relatives, who all had opinions too. She sat back to await developments. She did not particularly want a betrothal party, but she had no real objection either. She did not particularly want a grand wedding at St. George’s, but if that was what would make everyone happy, then she was prepared to give them what they wanted. A large wedding did not seem quite appropriate, perhaps, when this would be her second marriage, but she must remember that it would be Geoffrey’s first.