by Mary Balogh
Oh, how she hated this, she thought as she took up her shawl and fan and made her way downstairs to where her mother and Alex and Wren were waiting for her, looking, the three of them, as though they were steeling themselves to accompany her to the gallows. They all smiled as though on cue as they spotted her descending the stairs. She hated feeling as self-conscious as she had as a young girl making her debut into society. But she knew this evening would be many times worse than that had been.
No, it would not. She was thirty-five years old, a mature woman of experience who could face down any embarrassment or outright attack. She was Elizabeth Overfield, and her conscience was clear. She had done nothing of which she was ashamed. Oh, there would be those who would be only too eager to make much of the haste with which they had become betrothed, a mere few days after the ball to celebrate her betrothal to another man. Those people would argue that they had just proved Sir Geoffrey had been right about them. But they had done nothing wrong. Why should they wait a month or two months or a year before making their announcement just to give the appearance of a proper decorum? People must believe what they would. If the ton was about to give her the cut direct or worse, then that was their business. Hers was to attend a ball to which she had been invited with her betrothed—who had offered for her because he wanted to and whom she had accepted because she had wanted to. Not that those facts were anyone’s business but their own.
She smiled her genuine, easy smile, though it cost her a great deal of effort to do so.
Just minutes later they were inside the carriage on their way to the Ormsbridge mansion, and very soon after that the carriage drew up before the house. A footman opened the door and set down the steps, and they descended onto the red carpet and entered the hall, which was all bustle and noise. The people lined up on the stairs to greet their host and hostess before passing into the ballroom turned almost as a body to gaze downward upon them.
Well, Elizabeth thought, it was not as though she had not expected it. And it was too late to change her mind and dash homeward to hide beneath the largest down bedcover she could find. She smiled instead and drew upon all her inner resources of serenity.
Colin was awaiting them in the hall, looking youthful and long-limbed and golden-haired and stunningly handsome in his black and silver evening clothes. He stepped forward, smiling, and took Elizabeth’s hand in his, bowed over it, and raised it to his lips. There was an almost audible sigh from the direction of the stairs.
“It still astounds me,” he said, his voice low, “that you are going to be my wife.”
It was astounding to her too.
“Is that a compliment?” she asked, her eyes twinkling at him. “Please do not answer if it is not.”
He straightened up, her hand still in his, and took his time about answering. She might have felt anxious if it had not been for his slow smile. “How can I find the right words?” he said. “There is something about you that is not just beautiful but is beauty itself. I can scarcely believe my good fortune. I realize that I would never have won you in a million years if circumstances had not allowed me to rush you off your feet.”
Oh. And the wretched man looked quite sincere.
“How long,” she asked him, “did it take you to rehearse those words? You are quite absurd.”
“Agreed,” he said. “Make it a million and a half years, then.” He cocked his head to one side. “Nervous?”
“It is a good thing women wear long skirts,” she told him. “My knees are knocking. And never tell me you are as calm and relaxed as you look.”
He laughed softly and turned to kiss Wren’s cheek—always the one with the birthmark, she noticed—and greet the other two before offering Elizabeth his arm and leading her toward the staircase.
The very young Mrs. Ormsbridge was flushed with a very obvious excitement as she stood in the receiving line at the first ball she had hosted. But when she caught sight of them as the majordomo was announcing their names, her face lit up with an even greater pleasure.
“Lady Overfield,” she said, clasping Elizabeth’s hand and proceeding to speak very quickly and breathlessly. “Michael and I were at the Duchess of Netherby’s ball last week and I must tell you that I felt for you. What happened then and what has happened since has been unbelievably unfair to you. I hope you realize how many people agree with me on that. The people in the other camp do seem to make the most noise, but they are to be ignored, even despised, by anyone of sense. I was terribly pleased when Michael read me the announcement of your betrothal in this morning’s paper. Pleased for you and pleased for Lord Hodges, whom I consider a friend.” She flashed a smile at Colin. “And I was touched to receive your note this morning. It seemed so very like what I know of you to be so thoughtful. You are going to make my ball the most talked about of the Season, which is lovely for me but not so much for you, I would guess. It was very brave of you to come and I honor you. Michael, look who is here.”
Mr. Ormsbridge bowed to Elizabeth and said all that was proper while his wife turned her attention to Colin and, after him, to Elizabeth’s mother and Alexander and Wren.
And the moment had come. Colin offered his arm and Elizabeth took it, and they proceeded into the ballroom, where the hubbub of conversation noticeably changed tenor, first sinking to a near hush and then rushing back with renewed vigor. It was obvious to Elizabeth that word of their arrival had preceded them upstairs and everyone had been eagerly awaiting this moment.
It was, she thought, surely the most dreadful moment of her life. But even as she thought it, she knew how ridiculous that was. There had been far worse moments. And why should this be so dreadful? What had she done that she need feel this way? She turned her head toward Colin and found that he was looking back at her, his eyes steady on hers and very blue and smiling and filled with . . . what? Pride? His arm was firm beneath her hand.
And she realized something about him at that moment. She knew he could easily have avoided this. All of it. He had not needed to offer for her, either the day after the debacle of her betrothal ball or yesterday. He had done nothing to compromise her, nothing to make it necessary that he sacrifice himself for her sake. And, even having done so, having offered and been accepted, he had not needed to face the ton with her in quite such a public manner. It could not be easy for him, after all, to be seen with the most notorious woman in London, however unjust the charges. It could not be easy for him, after such an abrupt announcement in this morning’s papers, to come here to face some of the young ladies who must have hoped he was beginning a courtship of them. If Miss Dunmore or her mother had had any inkling of what this morning’s announcement might have been, and if they were here this evening, they might make things very difficult for him.
But he had done it all. For his own sake? Surely not. For hers, then. Because he was kind and honorable and a rock of stability and uprightness and kindness. When he had seen himself at Christmastime as an immature young man, he had been mistaken. She recalled his saying on Christmas Day that he needed to become a man. But he was a man. One of the very best. And he was utterly trustworthy. She had wanted, above all other consideration, to marry a man she could trust, and quite despite herself she had found him.
They smiled at each other, and if she had been resisting the knowledge ever since Christmas that she was deeply, irrevocably in love with him, well, she could deny it no longer. And why should she? He was to be her husband.
Her mother and Wren and Alexander had come to join them. But Colin moved his head closer to hers and spoke for her ears only.
“The Westcott and Radley families are about to close ranks about us like an impenetrable shield,” he said. “Shall we wait for them? Or shall we stroll across to the other side of the ballroom to talk with the group that includes Ross Parmiter?”
She looked across the room to see his friend gazing back at them and raising a hand in greeting. Why could th
ey not wait for him to come and speak with them? But that was not the point, was it? And when had she ever been afraid to walk across a ballroom floor?
“Let us stroll, by all means,” she said.
* * *
• • •
And so the great ordeal of the evening was under way. Everyone was, of course, fully aware of them almost to the exclusion of all else, though many were too well bred to stare openly. Normally Colin felt perfectly comfortable in large gatherings in the sure knowledge that he was not fascinating enough to draw more than his fair share of attention. Even this year, after interest was piqued at the Dunmore ball and word had quickly spread that he must be in search of a wife, he had not felt unduly uncomfortable. For the extra interest had meant that his search was made easier for him. Eligible young ladies had been brought to him without any effort on his part.
Tonight he felt distinctly uncomfortable. And conspicuous.
It helped to know that Elizabeth must be feeling worse and that really tonight was all about her, not him. Her hand was light and steady on his arm, and when they had smiled at each other a few moments ago, he had found just what he had expected to see—calm dignity, a smile of warm sociability, slightly twinkling eyes, a woman perfectly at home in her body. And he had felt a rush of affection for her, as well as a great welling of pride that this woman was his betrothed and everyone knew it.
He understood now, as he had not at Christmas, how hard she had had to work over the years to achieve this poise, which was more than skin-deep, for there was nothing brittle about it. Yet for all that, there was a fragility deep inside her that he found endearing, for she was not a marble woman but one of deep feeling. He had always admired her serenity. Now, in her fragility, he saw the promise of a relationship. From a perfect, controlled Elizabeth he could only have taken. With a vulnerable Elizabeth, he could also give. The age gap between them had somehow narrowed. No, it had closed. It was irrelevant.
He concentrated upon giving and thus lost his self-consciousness.
They stopped a few times as they made their leisurely way about the ballroom to where Ross Parmiter was standing with his group, watching them. They spoke briefly with friends and acquaintances who made a point of speaking with them, congratulating him and offering their good wishes to her. No one openly denounced them, but he had gambled upon that. For though the ton could gossip quite viciously among themselves, its members rarely displayed open bad manners in public. That was why Codaire’s words at the betrothal ball had been so shocking. Even some of the highest sticklers nodded formally to them as they passed and made no concerted effort to keep out of their way or give them the cut direct.
But how could anyone ostracize Elizabeth Overfield? Seeing her tonight, elegant, dignified, warmly smiling, surely all but a very small minority must realize how ridiculous the stories about her had been. Surely the vast majority must realize they had been deliberately set in motion by someone who meant her harm.
There was in some way more discomfort for him than for her. Miss Madson was at the ball, and his path about the ballroom floor with Elizabeth took them directly past her. She had a faction of relatives and friends and young gentlemen gathered protectively about her, all of whom were intent upon making it perfectly clear to him and everyone else in attendance that she had never been in any way interested in him. Colin did not hear more than a few stray remarks from the group, but it did not take any great effort of imagination to understand the intent of its members.
Miss Dunmore was also present and unfortunately close to Ross Parmiter’s group. There was an even larger faction gathered about her, led by her mother, who ostentatiously turned her back upon them as they drew near and made a comment, just audible, that the nasty smell must be coming from the French windows, which were some distance away and were shut fast. Other members of the group raised their voices just sufficiently to be heard commenting upon the plainness of someone’s gown and the unbecoming style of her hair, upon how she had driven one husband to the grave and would surely not be happy until she had done the same to a second. There were quips too about cradle snatchers. And on and on while Miss Dunmore herself looked pale and bravely tragic. It was interesting that they were all attacking Elizabeth rather than him. Unless, that was, the bad smell comment had been aimed at him.
At least Codaire was not present.
Ross looked curiously at Colin when they came up to him, but he bowed to Elizabeth and wished her well and reserved a set of dances with her for later in the evening.
And then the opening dance was announced and Colin led Elizabeth off to join one of the lines. He smiled at her as he took his place opposite, and she smiled back. No one shunned them. Indeed, the lady next to Elizabeth, a plump young matron, turned to congratulate her and inform her, with a giggle, that she was the envy of all the unmarried ladies in town and very possibly some of the married ones too.
Michael Ormsbridge and his wife joined the head of the lines and the dancing began.
They had done this thing, Colin thought sometime later as he and Elizabeth reached the head of the lines and took their turn twirling down between them while the other dancers stood back and clapped their hands. And, wonder of wonders, they had survived intact. She was flushed and bright-eyed and looked as though she might be genuinely enjoying herself.
Mrs. Ormsbridge would have her wish. Her ball would surely be declared the grandest squeeze of the Season so far and the one most talked about for the whole of the spring. She dazzled her guests with her beauty and smiles, and Ormsbridge looked fair to bursting with pride and happiness. They did not really need the added allure of two notorious guests.
Radleys and Westcotts prepared to rally around them after the opening set was over. Colin was aware of Louise, Dowager Duchess of Netherby, stately in purple with tall hair plumes to add height to her already impressive figure, bearing down upon Mrs. Westcott and Wren and Alexander from one side and of Sidney Radley coming from the other direction with Susan and Alvin Cole. But Elizabeth, who seemed not to have noticed either group, caught his arm before they reached her mother and nodded in the direction of the door.
“Oh look, Colin,” she said, and her face lit up with a warm smile.
For the second day in a row he found himself looking upon Blanche and Nelson. He could not recall ever seeing them at a ball before—or ever seeing them anywhere without his mother until they had appeared in his rooms yesterday. A quick glance assured Colin that she was not with them now.
“Do let us go and meet them,” Elizabeth said, slipping a hand through his arm. “They must have come on your account.”
His sister and Nelson watched their approach, both striking and elegant figures, neither of them smiling. Colin wondered if they had received a formal invitation.
“Lady Elwood,” Elizabeth said when they were close, her voice warm and welcoming. “Sir Nelson. How lovely actually to meet you at last.” She held out her right hand to Blanche as Colin realized the two had never been formally introduced.
“Lovely,” Blanche murmured, her voice chill. “Mother said you would be pleased.”
And of course there were a dozen or more people close enough to hear the brief exchange and only too eager to do so, and there were many more than a dozen who had a clear view of what was happening—Elizabeth smiling with warm charm and offering her right hand, Blanche cold-faced and ignoring it, Nelson poker-faced with his hands clasped at his back, Colin no doubt looking like a grinning idiot.
Was he grinning? He checked. No, actually he was not.
What the devil? Just yesterday they had come quite unexpectedly—and quite out of character—to warn him that his mother was about to trap him into an engagement to Miss Dunmore. Tonight they had come . . . why?
To embarrass him?
To embarrass Elizabeth?
Eighteen
Elizabeth understood almost immediately. Of course
they had not come here to offer support for Colin’s choice of bride, as had been her first thought when she spotted them standing just inside the ballroom doors. How naïve of her. They had gone to his rooms yesterday, unknown to Lady Hodges, to warn him about the way he was about to be trapped into marrying Miss Dunmore. But that did not mean they had come tonight to celebrate his betrothal to her. Indeed, they were probably as horrified by it as Lady Hodges must be.
Tonight they had come as her emissaries. They had come to cause trouble, probably in an effort to set Colin free to choose a bride more acceptable to his mother. Was she to be subjected, then, to two ballroom scandals within a week and the ending of two betrothals—to different men? It was too bizarre to contemplate. And bizarre was a benign word. Indeed, the whole situation would be worthy of farce if it were not also horrifying. How could all this be happening to her? She had been so very ordinary and nondescript until a few days ago, her life of no particular interest to anyone except her and her family. Yet now . . .
How was it possible to be so out of control of her life—again?
But the very thought of losing control of what happened to her, as she had when she was much younger and more foolish, stiffened her spine. It was simply not going to happen. She flatly refused to wilt and wither beneath the cold scorn of people who did not even know her.
Was every eye in the ballroom upon them? Normally it would be conceited to imagine such a thing, but these were not normal times. Of course everyone was watching, even those who went to some pains to pretend otherwise. Attention had been focused upon them even before the arrival of Sir Nelson and Lady Elwood. Now it must be riveted upon them. When had these two last appeared at a ton event? She could not remember ever seeing them. Had they even been invited to this ball? It must be as obvious to the ton as it was to her that it was the sudden announcement of Colin’s betrothal in this morning’s papers that had brought them here.