Someone to Trust

by Mary Balogh

  And how . . . desperate.

  “I shall miss waltzing with you,” he said, echoing her thought of a few minutes ago.

  “You are not going to dance with me after this evening, then?” she asked.

  “I do not believe Sir Geoffrey would approve,” he said.

  “Oh, but he was joking just now,” she protested.

  “Was he?” He was still looking at her. His eyes yet held traces of his smile.

  “Yes, of course he was,” she said. “But perhaps you are tired of waltzing with me, which might be just as well. For soon I will be an old married lady, and you perhaps will be a . . . young married man.”

  “It is not a possibility,” he said. “It is a definite impossibility, in fact. I could never grow tired of waltzing with you, Elizabeth.” And he swept her into a double twirl, causing them both to laugh while she concentrated upon her steps. Not that it was necessary. He was a superb dancing partner. He proceeded deliberately to show off for her with fancy footwork, drawing her with him and laughing down into her upturned face. And she was reminded, as she so often was when she was with him, of Christmas Day and all the carefree, joyful outdoor activities he had pretended to resist while she had somehow been set free by the snow to revert to girlhood exuberance.

  Ah, it had been a good time, a precious little cameo to last a lifetime, for it could never be repeated.

  She felt like weeping.

  “That snowball was intended for my face, was it not?” she asked.

  He looked startled for a moment and then grinned in comprehension and chuckled outright. “I would not confess to such a dastardly deed even under torture,” he said. “Would a gentleman deliberately hit a lady in the face with a snowball when she was not even looking?”

  “But are you a gentleman?” she asked.

  He answered with another grin and some eyebrow waggling and twirled her again.

  She must stop looking back. She must look forward instead.

  “You are still planning to make Roxingley Park your home, are you?” she asked him.

  “It is time I confronted a few ghosts,” he said. “Perhaps when I go there I will discover that after all they are without substance.”

  “Perhaps,” she agreed. “But ghosts can exert a powerful influence.”

  “Say it is not so.” He smiled, but his eyes searched hers. “Have you not rid yourself of yours entirely, then, Elizabeth?”

  “I am not sure one ever does,” she said. “One accepts them, makes peace with them, and stops paying attention to them.”

  She still could not believe she had told him about her miscarriages. She never spoke of them. She guarded her thoughts so that she never thought of them either. Even her dreams had been ruthlessly purged of them. But she had spilled it all out for Colin, or enough anyway for him to fill in the missing pieces. Her son would have been seven years old now, the other child three years older.

  “And how does one make peace?” Colin asked.

  “By . . . forgiving oneself,” she said. If that was the right word.

  “Even when one was not in any way to blame for whatever happened?” His smile had turned to a puzzled frown. His head had moved closer to hers.

  “Yes,” she said. “For we always do blame ourselves even when we know we are innocent. Instead of hoarding a secret sense of guilt, it is better to forgive ourselves. And to forgive the guilty one too, or at least recognize that except in very rare circumstances we were not the victims of pure evil, only of wrongs done against us by people who were themselves hurting when they hurt us. I do not mean we must excuse those wrongs that were done us, only that we must . . . understand why they were done and then forgive. We must do it for our own sakes. Resentment and hatred and grudges are a poison that harms the person who harbors them far more than it harms anyone else.”

  And oh goodness—it was only as she finished speaking that she realized how very inappropriate was the sudden turn the conversation had taken. In just a couple of minutes they had gone from warm laughter to . . . this. It was at the same moment that she realized they had stopped dancing. Everyone had, in fact, and moved off the floor, for the waltz had ended. But the two of them still stood a little way onto the dance floor, holding each other in waltz position, their heads almost touching, totally absorbed in their conversation.

  But there was no chance to smile, even to laugh off their earnestness. There was no chance to move apart and leave the floor as everyone else had done. A voice spoke from just behind Elizabeth, pitched—surely unintentionally—at a volume that drew instant attention from numerous guests standing nearby.

  “Forgive me for interrupting such a touching tête-à-tête,” Sir Geoffrey Codaire said, “but you have spent quite enough time with my affianced wife, Hodges. Enough for tonight and enough for a long time to come. I would be obliged if you would unhand her so that I may escort her to her proper place at her mother’s side.”

  Eleven

  Good God!

  Colin released his hold on Elizabeth and looked incredulously at Sir Geoffrey Codaire, who was standing a couple of feet behind her, solid and righteous.

  “For God’s sake, will you keep your voice down, sir,” he said softly and urgently, though he was aware of a sort of hush falling upon the people close to them and a few shushing noises from others farther away. He took a step back as he smiled and bowed to Elizabeth. “Thank you for honoring me with a dance, Lady Overfield.”

  He would have turned and strolled away, though he realized that considerable damage had already been done. Within minutes almost everyone in the ballroom would have learned of that brief exchange. It would be the subject of drawing room conversations and endless speculation tomorrow. He was prevented from moving away, however, when Sir Geoffrey spoke again.

  “Am I to be subjected to censure by a mere puppy for admonishing him when he has subjected my betrothed to unwanted attention?” he asked, his voice vibrating with barely leashed fury. “It was indeed an honor that was granted you, Lord Hodges, one you have abused by making a spectacle of the lady.”

  “Geoffrey.” Elizabeth had turned to set a placating hand on his arm. She too spoke softly, but by now it was far too late to prevent a major scandal. There was a spreading ocean of silence surrounding them, and more and more heads were turning their way to see what had caused it. “You are embarrassing Lord Hodges, and you are embarrassing me. Do let us go and join Mama.”

  “And you think you have not been embarrassing me?” he asked, turning his glare upon her.

  Colin saw Elizabeth close her eyes and opened his mouth to speak.

  “A slight misunderstanding, is there?” a languid voice asked almost on a sigh, and all attention turned—as it always did when he spoke—upon the Duke of Netherby, who was resplendent in silver and dove gray and white, rings upon almost every well-manicured finger, jeweled quizzing glass in hand and halfway to his eye. He was neither a tall nor a husky man, and Colin had never known him to raise his voice or become agitated upon any provocation. He had once overheard a gentleman describe His Grace as a man too lazy to step out of his own shadow. But he had a presence more magnetic than Colin had known in any other man. The three of them and everyone else within earshot turned to gaze upon him.

  “I must confess,” he continued, “that I too thought you were about to monopolize the company of Lady Overfield for another set, Hodges, and I was a trifle put out for the next dance is mine, I believe, Elizabeth?”

  She stared at him for an uncomprehending moment. “So it is, Avery,” she said.

  “Quite so,” he said. “But of course I realized my mistake the moment I thought it. You were merely finishing your conversation with Lord Hodges.”

  “Netherby—” Colin began.

  “My betrothed—” Codaire said.

  “I was,” Elizabeth agreed. “And—”

  The
y all spoke simultaneously.

  His Grace moved the quizzing glass an inch closer to his eye. Light from the candles overhead winked off the jeweled handle.

  “Lizzie?” Alexander too had appeared on the scene. “What—?”

  “And I believe her grace is waiting for you to partner her in the next set, Hodges,” the duke said. “Elizabeth, Codaire, let us forget about dancing the next set and take a stroll into one of the salons to partake of a glass of wine, shall we? Dancing is thirsty work. Riverdale, will you join us? And your mother too, perhaps?”

  And thus he brought a precipitate end to a scene that had been on the brink of turning ugly. Or uglier. It was already ugly. Even Netherby could not work miracles. There could be no erasing what had been seen and heard. Nothing could prevent the gossip that was sure to follow. Had he made a spectacle of himself during that waltz? More important, had he made a spectacle of Elizabeth?

  But even as the conviction grew on him that indeed he must have, he remembered her saying that we tend to blame ourselves for bad things that happen even when we know we are innocent. Neither of them had done anything deserving of Codaire’s disastrous outburst.

  Colin turned away abruptly as Elizabeth moved off on the arm of her brother and Codaire followed while Netherby strolled toward a dismayed-looking Mrs. Westcott and led her off in the same direction. Good God, he wished a large hole would suddenly appear in front of him to swallow him up. He had not been invited to go too, and he supposed Netherby had been wise to exclude him. But he would dearly like to plant Codaire a facer. How dared he so publicly humiliate Elizabeth?

  As he turned, he came face to face with a smiling duchess.

  “I wish the next set were a waltz too,” Anna said as she slid one hand through his arm. “You dance it so very well, Lord Hodges.”

  She drew him unhurriedly away from where he had been standing, and conversation began again behind them, though there was surely an extra buzz of excitement about it. Colin smiled.

  “I have been informed by His Grace that I reserved the next set with you,” he said. “But will you mind terribly if I leave you standing, so to speak?”

  “In order to rush away never to be heard from again?” she said. “Yes, I am afraid I do mind, Lord Hodges, unless you have already reserved the set with someone else. Sir Geoffrey Codaire has caused dreadful embarrassment for Elizabeth. I do not know what got into him. It seems so unlike him. Jealousy, perhaps? You are a very good-looking man, you know, and years younger than he.” Her eyes laughed into his. “Come. Join the set with me for the Roger de Coverley. I must insist. I will not be a wallflower at my own ball.”

  He danced with her. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, aware as he was at every moment of speculative eyes upon him. He knew it was difficult for the duchess too. This was her home and her ball. Her husband was at this very moment trying to quell possible scandal, an impossibility even for him. Neither he nor any of the other four people who had left the ballroom had reappeared.

  What the devil had he done? Had any of it been at least partly his fault? What could he do now to put things right? Continue to dance and smile? Leave? But he had not yet danced with Miss Eglington, and he had told both her and Ross when he met them this morning on Oxford Street that he would. But would she still want to dance with him? Would Ross want it? And he had reserved the second waltz of the evening with Miss Dunmore. Would her mother still want him to honor his promise? Would Miss Dunmore?

  Good God, this was all dashed nightmarish.

  And it was hideously unfair to Elizabeth. In a few weeks’ time she was going to marry Codaire. And she had such high hopes about it. What sort of a marriage was it likely to be? Was it going to be any better than her first marriage? Was it going to be worse? If the man was capable of losing his temper and humiliating her publicly as he just had, what might he be capable of in private?

  It was really none of his business.

  Except that somehow it was. He was the one who had been the inadvertent cause of a scene that would be played and replayed in fashionable drawing rooms for days to come. And the gossip had already begun. A single glance about the room made that perfectly obvious. Everyone was careful to avoid his eye.

  He danced from instinct, without giving the steps and the figures any conscious attention. He horribly neglected his dancing partner. Though he was smiling, he realized when he checked.

  “Thank you, Lord Hodges,” the duchess said, taking his arm at the end of the dance and leading him in the direction of Wren, who had also been dancing.

  Colin fixed his eyes upon the sister he loved, tall and beautiful and elegant. But when he was still a short distance away from her he switched his perception and saw also the purple birthmark all down the left side of her face. Most of the time he was unaware of the blemish, as he believed all those who loved her were. He looked at her and saw only Wren. But he wondered now if she still had to muster all her courage every time she stepped outside the safety of her own home to face people who might stare or grimace or outright turn away from her.

  It was terrible to feel conspicuous.

  “Ought I to stay?” he asked his sister after the duchess had moved away.

  “Yes, I am afraid so,” she said, slipping an arm through his. “And so must I. Take me to the refreshment tables, Colin.”

  “Was it my fault?” he asked her. “Was I embarrassing her? Was I making a spectacle of her?”

  “Absolutely not to your first two questions,” she assured him. “Though I was not really watching. I was waltzing with Alexander. But Elizabeth is a spectacle tonight—in the best possible way. It is the whole point. This is her betrothal ball, and it would be strange indeed if all eyes were not upon her. Anna and I persuaded her to wear the gold and bronze gown because it draws attention to her beauty. Now I wonder . . . Colin, is it wise for her to marry Sir Geoffrey? I have been a little concerned since meeting him, I must confess. Or perhaps disappointed would be the better word, for he seems to be staid and serious and . . . well, dull. I have understood why Elizabeth chose him, but I have thought that maybe she ought to have chosen someone with more . . . What word am I looking for? Light? Joy? Humor? Someone who can bring out the sparkle that is there at the core of Elizabeth and shows itself all too rarely. I have thought that perhaps she deceives herself when she believes that a life of quiet decorum is what will suit her best. Only she knows what will make her happy, of course, but . . . But now, Colin? What did he mean by going after you like that, and so publicly?”

  He took two glasses of punch off a tray and handed one to her.

  “I don’t know,” he said, but his sister’s words only underlined his own uneasiness for Elizabeth. “But if Netherby had not arrived on the scene when he did, I might have forgotten myself sufficiently to slap a glove in Codaire’s face. It does not bear thinking about, does it? But he accused Elizabeth of embarrassing him. How? By smiling and even laughing as she waltzed with me? By openly enjoying herself?”

  “I am very glad, then, that Avery did arrive on the scene,” she said.

  The dancing had resumed, Colin saw, but still none of the five absentees had reappeared. But he did notice his friend Ross was dancing with Miss Eglington.

  “What is happening out there, Wren?” he asked. “Ought I to go and find out? Apologize? But to whom? It would go much against the grain to apologize to Codaire, but if it will make things easier for Elizabeth, I—”

  But now he spotted Netherby strolling into the ballroom and stopping to look languidly about him for a few moments before moving off to mingle with some guests who were not dancing. Alexander appeared a few moments later, saw them almost immediately, and came briskly toward the refreshment tables, smiling cheerfully.

  There was no sign of either Elizabeth or Mrs. Westcott.

  Or of Sir Geoffrey Codaire.

  * * *

  •
• •

  Avery directed them past the salons that had been opened for the use of guests and on downstairs to the library. Two footmen hastened inside ahead of them to light candles, then closed the door behind them as they left.

  Avery offered Elizabeth’s mother one of the comfortable leather chairs beside the fireplace before crossing the room to seat himself in the far corner, as though to distance himself from the confrontation he had set up. Alexander took a stand before the unlit fire. Elizabeth stood inside the door, having shaken her head when Avery indicated the chair across from her mother. Sir Geoffrey strode to the middle of the room. He held up a hand before anyone else could speak.

  “I have something to say,” he said. “It is for Elizabeth, but I am happy to say it in front of the present company, since Mrs. Westcott and Riverdale are personally concerned and this is Netherby’s home, and he and the duchess have been good enough to host this event in celebration of our betrothal.”

  He paused, though no one seemed inclined to interrupt him or to offer to leave him alone with Elizabeth.

  “I am deeply sorry,” he said. “I was concerned about appearances and was unfortunately unaware that I was speaking loudly enough to be overheard by other people in addition to the one I was addressing.”

  “And yet,” Elizabeth’s mother said, “Lord Hodges asked you to keep your voice down, Sir Geoffrey, but you did not.”

  “I was overwrought, ma’am,” he said. “But however it is or was, I apologize most sincerely to you, Elizabeth.” He turned to look at her, a frown between his brows. “What I said was unpardonable. I do, nevertheless, beg you to forgive me.”

  “Is there any good reason why she should?” Alexander asked when Elizabeth did not immediately respond.

  Sir Geoffrey rubbed one knuckle across his forehead as though to erase the crease line between his brows. “None whatsoever,” he said. “I have held you in the deepest regard for many years, Elizabeth. Last year I hoped you might be prepared to reward my long patience. I was bitterly disappointed when you refused my offer, but I was encouraged too by your hesitation when I asked if it was your final answer. When I offered again this year and you said yes, I was overjoyed at the realization that you were to be mine at last. My wife. My own treasured possession. But the delay until we marry, even though only as long as it takes for the banns to be read, has been irksome. I am afraid that tonight I tried to claim what was my own before I was entitled. In doing so, I have offended your family and caused you distress and embarrassment. I do assure you that it will never happen again, even after we marry. I will never again expose you to a public spectacle.”