Читать книгу Courtship In The Regency Ballroom: His Cinderella Bride / Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss - Энни Берроуз, ANNIE BURROWS - Страница 13

‘What on earth has come over you, Lensborough?’ Stephen enquired on Wednesday evening as he put the finishing touches to his neckcloth. ‘If you were to meet a cur like that in town, you would give him the cut direct.’

‘You wanted an excuse to visit the vicarage, did you not? I have provided it.’ Lord Lensborough had been so determined to prevent Snelgrove from getting anywhere near Hester that he had ridden over to Beckforth vicarage at first light the past two days and kept him hacking round the local countryside till all hours.

He had not repeated his foolish attempt to get her alone and flirt with her either. No. The way to win the trust of any nervous colt was to demonstrate that he posed no threat.

‘Since when did you put anyone else’s interests before your own?’ Stephen scoffed. ‘It strikes me you’re trying to prevent him from getting at Cinders. I saw the way he drooled over her in the library on Monday.’

‘Astute of you.’ Lensborough smiled. He was looking forward to this evening’s entertainment. Dancing would provide him with a legitimate opportunity to hold her in his arms.

‘You’re really going to make the poor relation an offer?’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? She will suit my purposes as well as either of her cousins.’

Stephen selected a ring, threaded it on to his finger and paused to admire the effect.

‘I hate to burst your bubble, Lensborough, but have you not noticed that she doesn’t like you?’

‘She doesn’t dislike me as much as she dislikes Snelgrove,’ he pointed out.

‘But you cannot want to marry a woman who does not like you.’

‘You talk a deal of nonsense at times, Stephen. What has liking to do with marriage? In fact, I would find it tedious to marry a woman who liked me too well.’ She was an intelligent woman. Even if she did not like him much, she would certainly like to become a marchioness.

‘I have a great deal to offer her,’ he reassured himself. ‘Instead of acting as unpaid housekeeper to her aunt, she will be mistress of her own establishment. And she will become a mother. She adores children.’

Stephen regarded his fingers steadily for several moments, before remarking, in a voice devoid of all inflection, ‘You know I wish you well, Lensborough. But marriage is…well, it lasts a long time. Not like taking a mistress whom you can pay off when you’ve had enough of her.’

‘If you are intending to say anything derogatory about Lady Hester, then I strongly advise you—don’t.’

For some reason this outburst brought the smile back to Stephen’s face. ‘Then I won’t,’ he said. ‘We’ll go down to dinner in silence if you like.’

And they did.

‘What is the matter, Hester?’ Em and Hester were standing by the piano, which had been moved to the Great Hall, sifting through the sheet music while the ladies waited for the gen-tlemen to join them. Hester had been pleased with the atmosphere the servants had managed to achieve at such short notice. There was fresh greenery everywhere, the pots and containers swathed with every kind of red material they had been able to lay their hands on. They had even resurrected several old-fashioned flambeaux and stuck them in iron wall sconces or the gauntleted hands of the suits of armour.

She had unearthed the primrose-satin ball gown left over from her Season in honour of the occasion, though she had taken the precaution of tacking a fichu into the indecently lowcut bodice. She had even taken pains to make sure all the accessories matched. The cream kid gloves and gold satin slippers she had bought in Bond Street were as good as new, since they had been packed away in tissue paper after only one outing. Mary, the head housemaid, had helped her pin up her hair with a matching set of gold-and-amber combs. The ensemble was not as up to date as her cousins’ creations, of course, but then she was not the one trying to attract the notice of a marquis.

‘You hardly spoke a word at dinner, and you still seem strained. Is the house party not going well?’

‘In some ways,’ Hester mused, ‘it is going better than I expected. Aunt Valeria is so overwhelmed by Lord Lensborough’s magnificence…’ she stuck one hand on her hip, flicking an imaginary coat tail out of the way in the process, and looked down her nose at Em, raising one eyebrow in mimicry of Lord Lensborough at his most haughty ‘…that she hasn’t thrown a single tantrum. And Mr Farrar,’ she confided, dropping her pose, ‘who I at first thought was nothing but a dandy, is in fact doing his level best to put my cousins at ease. Not entirely successfully, I might add.’

‘Oho! What has the monstrous marquis done?’

‘Oh, hardly anything worth mentioning,’ she replied airily. ‘Apart from sneering at Phoebe’s watercolours and yawning over Julia’s embroidery, depressing Aunt Valeria’s pretensions and taking up with Lionel Snelgrove so that he does not have to go out riding with my uncle.’

Em giggled. Dinner had been one of the most strained occasions she had ever attended at The Holme, which was normally one of the most informal of venues. Julia and Phoebe, Hester had told her, were becoming increasingly agitated as the allotted week drew to a close and neither felt any nearer knowing which was likely to receive the formal offer. The marquis himself had not spoken a word throughout the entire meal, but sat with his mouth drawn into a line as though he were biting back scathing retorts. He even raised his haughty left eyebrow at Stephen Farrar for repeatedly provoking Phoebe into fits of giggles.

‘Has he ever spoken about running you down that first day? Or apologised for just taking off afterwards?’

‘Oh, that.’ Hester fanned herself with a sheet of music with a languorous air. ‘He has quite forgot all about that. I dare say he runs so many women off the road he cannot differentiate between all his victims. When he deigns to speak to me at all, which is not all that often, I promise you, it is on the subject of politics.’

‘P…politics? Oh, dear.’ Em laughed. ‘Does he try that with Julia? Or Phoebe?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’ She glanced at where they stood by the fireside, heads close together in a frantically whispered conversation. ‘The one good thing to come from his insufferable attitude was my uncle’s decision that I need not be a part of any entertainment that involved him. Except…’ she heaved a sigh ‘…for tonight. Since you and Mr Snelgrove are technically my guests, I may not withdraw until you have gone home.’

Em drew herself up, giving Hester a direct look.

Hester could have kicked herself. ‘You know if it were just you I would gladly put up with…I mean, I would have had a tray in my room and we need not have even…oh, you must know it is Lionel. I do not know what I shall do if he should ask me to dance.’

Impulsively she reached out to clasp her friend’s hand. Em patted it, but her tone of voice was brisk.

‘Really, Hester. What harm do you think would come from dancing with him in your own home, with all your family about you? I fail to understand how you can march into a gypsy camp and confront that dirty ruffian Jye one minute, then quiver like an aspen leaf at the prospect of taking part in a perfectly civilised pastime with a relative of mine.’

Hester hung her head. ‘It is not because he is your relative. It is the way he—’ She blushed crimson.

Em pursed her lips. ‘I know he is rather a flirt, Hester, but don’t you think you are overreacting?’ She sat down firmly on the piano stool. ‘Now look, the gentlemen are coming in, and the first set will be forming soon. His marquisness will no doubt solicit the hand of one of your cousins, and Mr Farrar the other. The other men will dance with their wives, so Lionel is bound to ask you to stand up with him. And you must.’

Hester blenched.

‘Don’t be a goose. It is only a dance. You’ll feel better once you’ve got it over with.’

Em’s words were prophetic. In moments, Lionel was the only man without a dance partner, and he was bowing over her hand. And standing far closer than she liked. So close that she could feel his body heat through the flimsy barrier of her primrose gown. She backed into the piano, shivers of revulsion coursing through her limbs.

‘A pretty show of reluctance,’ he teased. ‘But you will not refuse me this dance. Another couple is entirely necessary to complete the set.’

With a sudden flash of clarity, Hester saw that when they got on to the dance floor, Lionel would only be able to touch her hand briefly, when the movements decreed it. He would not at any time be able to stand as close to her as this. She levered herself off the piano, and walked, stiff legged, to join the bottom of the set.

Em struck the first chord, the gentlemen bowed to the ladies, and the dance began.

It seemed to go on for ever.

By the time it was over Hester’s head was spinning with the effort of pretending she was unaffected by the taunts he whispered into her ear whenever they drew close enough to converse. Her entire body was trembling from the effort she had expended in taking mincing little steps when all she wanted was to hitch up her skirts and run a mile. The only thing that had prevented her from doing just that was her refusal to let him triumph. She would never let him beat her again!

While everyone else was applauding Em’s playing, Lionel sidled up behind her.

‘You look delightfully flushed.’ His voice oozed down the back of her neck. ‘Let us sit the next one out, while you recover your breath. I have something I particularly want to say to you.’

She was ready to drop; she needed to sit down and recover, but not with him.

Before she could collect her wits enough to make some excuse, he had taken her by the elbow, and was steering her towards a shadowy alcove beneath the minstrel’s gallery.

And then Lord Lensborough was blocking their path, he was bowing, and through the roaring in her ears she heard him ask if she would do him the honour of being his partner for the next dance.

Hester had never dreamed a day would come when she would seize at the opportunity to dance, let alone with Lord Lensborough, but it had come now with a vengeance.

She could not yet control her voice, but when she tugged her arm from Lionel’s grip, decorum decreed he had to relinquish it. She stretched her hand out to Lord Lensborough; wordlessly he took it, and with a profound sense of relief Hester walked back to the dance floor.

‘I believe you do not care for dancing any more than I do myself, my lady,’ he said softly as they took their places in the new set that was forming. ‘Convention demands that we appear tolerably amused, however, lest a shadow be cast over the pleasure others take in the exercise.’

Why had he asked her to dance, then, if he really had noticed she did not enjoy it? Did he take some kind of perverse pleasure in making her uncomfortable?

She glared straight ahead at the tiger’s-eye pin that nestled in the deep black folds of his silk cravat. As for taking pains not to cast a damper on others’ enjoyment…well, what a plumper! He didn’t care if his mood cast a shadow. He’d had the whole household on edge ever since he’d arrived.

‘And I shall not be offended if you do not make any attempt to speak to me.’

Well, that she could believe. Whenever they had spoken they had come to cuffs, and for the last two days he had been as much at pains to avoid her as she had been to avoid him.

Then he confounded her by finishing, ‘I do not wish to make this more of an ordeal for you than it need be.’

Hester stumbled through the opening sequence in a perplexed silence.

‘You are doing well,’ he said as he took her raised hand and turned her. ‘I have often found myself that going through some dull, repetitive task enables me to restore my composure when I have been sorely tried by some idiot or other.’

Hester gazed up at him in frank astonishment. Was he saying that he had noticed how badly Lionel affected her, and was deliberately trying to help her recover? Could this be the same man who had subjected her to a torrent of oaths, less than a week ago, when she had got in his way?

He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I am capable of behaving as I ought, though I have not so far given you reason to believe it.’

Heavens, was he reading her mind now? Before she could respond they moved apart again. But perhaps it was just as well. She could not have framed a fit reply to that remark to save her life.

‘At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that dancing with me is preferable to being drawn into a tête-à-tête with that crass suitor of yours.’

Without thinking, she snapped, ‘Well, anything would be preferable to that.’

Lord Lensborough let out a bark of surprised laughter, a sound so astonishing that everyone, or so it seemed to Hester, turned and stared. It was the first indication he had given during this visit that a sense of humour might lurk beneath that stern façade.

Hester tilted her face up towards him in surprise, and made the discovery that with those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his mouth turned up with genuine, rather than sardonic, humour, all the harshness had melted from his sombre features.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she apologised, heat flooding her face.

How could she have been so rude? And how could he possibly find her rudeness amusing? She supposed it must have some novelty value to come across a person, especially a female, with so little regard for his rank that they would dare say exactly what they thought.

Did he appreciate the unconventional? Was that why he favoured the tiger’s eye, whose swirling bands so exactly matched the varying shades of brown that twinkled in his own eyes, rather than a diamond, or even just a plain gold pin?

He had not responded to her apology before they moved apart again. Really, it was vexing trying to hold a conversation during a dance. The figures separated them at the most inopportune moments.

‘Don’t mention it.’ He smiled down at her when next they came together. ‘I think we both owe each other roughly the same number of apologies now. Shall we just cry quits?’

She nodded as she twirled away, reflecting that perhaps she did not need to pity her cousins. After all, they kept on saying they wanted to get married. And she was beginning to suspect Lord Lensborough might be the kind of husband Uncle Thomas was to her Aunt Susan. Blunt of manner and speech, more used to the society of men and sporting men at that. Yet for all his lack of address in company, his preference for the hunting field over the drawing room, her uncle’s rough exterior cloaked a kernel of solid decency.

She was faintly surprised to find that the dance had come to an end, and Lord Lensborough had led her the full length of the room to where his friend Mr Farrar was standing.

‘I will leave you in Mr Farrar’s capable hands.’ She heard the smile in his voice, though she did not see the accompanying warmth in his eyes. She was gazing in perplexity at her hand. He must have held it in his own, all the way across the room, and not for one second had she felt the least bit intimidated by his superior masculine strength.

‘I assure you,’ he continued, ‘you have nothing to fear from him.’

She darted one astonished glance at him before placing her hand on Mr Farrar’s coat sleeve and meekly following him into the next set.

She had to concede that Mr Farrar was not so bad either. As soon as he had noticed how uncomfortable his flirtatious manner made her, he had dropped it with her, though he continued paying the most outrageous compliments to Julia and Phoebe.

She wondered why he felt the need to bother with her. In her experience, men of his and Lord Lensborough’s sort got far more enjoyment from making sport of a shy, clumsy creature like her. Yet they were both displaying the same tolerance of her gauche mannerisms as her uncle and her cousin’s husband, Peter, did.

She frowned as she watched Lord Lensborough dancing a stately minuet with the ponderously large Henrietta and making her laugh at some comment he had made. She shook her head, thoroughly bemused. Ever since she had fallen foul of Lord Lensborough’s single-minded determination to beat Stephen in that race to The Holme, she had written them both off as boors. But now, here was Stephen being kindness itself, and there was the marquis…

And hadn’t he just referred to Lionel as an idiot? She had thought when they met in the library Lord Lensborough had found a kindred spirit, and that was why they spent so much time out of doors together. Could it possibly be true that all this time he had been taking steps to shield her from Lionel’s unwanted attentions?

At that very moment, as if he was aware she was thinking about him, he turned his head and his eyes locked with hers. For a breath, a heartbeat or two, it was as if there was nobody else in the room. She had never felt anything like it before. The physical distance between them faded to nothing as she connected with him in a way that was beyond rational explanation.

She blinked, determined to free herself from the spell Lord Lensborough’s obsidian eyes had cast over her. She stumbled, Mr Farrar gently corrected her false step and the contact with Lord Lensborough was broken. She could hear the music again, the babble of conversation of the other dancers.

‘Mama,’ Julia trilled when that dance came to its courtly climax, ‘would it be improper to have a waltz next?’

Hester felt her hard-won composure shatter. A country dance was bearable when the only contact was brief, confined to the holding of hands, and the gentleman who partnered you was as considerate as Mr Farrar, or his lordship. But a waltz, when a man held the woman in his arms and forced her to submit to every manoeuvre he cared to make? It was a vile public demonstration of male domination over womankind in which she would never participate.

‘I see no reason why not.’ Impervious to the message Hester’s entire body was silently screaming, Lady Susan gave her blessing to the enterprise. ‘This is just a private family gathering. There can be no impropriety in it.’

Having caught the horrified expression on Hester’s face, Em rose from the piano stool. ‘I beg to differ, my lady. Not all present are members of the same family. We have here three single gentlemen quite unrelated to your daughters or your niece.’

‘Don’t be such a prude, Emily,’ Lionel drawled. ‘Must I sit out watching, while others enjoy themselves, because of your antiquated notions of propriety?’

‘By no means. You could waltz with me, I suppose, since we are cousins of a sort. Lady Hester may take my turn at the piano, since it would be unfair to put her in the position of having to refuse any of the guests in her aunt’s house.’

As the two girls crossed the room to swap positions, Lord Lensborough’s brow arched in the gesture with which Hester was becoming all too familiar.

‘You do not waltz, Lady Hester?’

Throwing him a defiant look, she shook her head. Well, now she would see him in his true colours. He would be bound to sneer—the decency she had thought she could discern beneath that haughty exterior would prove to be nothing more than a mirage after all.

‘Well, I see nothing wrong in waltzing either,’ Julia declared. ‘When I was in London, I waltzed with all manner of gentlemen to whom I am not in the least related.’

‘Then you must certainly waltz with me.’ Lord Lensborough ceased his contemplation of Lady Hester, and walked to Julia’s side. But his voice was gentle as he remarked, ‘And we will have the pleasure of hearing Lady Hester play, for the first time during my visit.’

Hester sank down on to the piano stool. Once Stephen had asked Phoebe for the dance, each lady who wished for it had a partner, and Hester struck up a waltz.

Her fingers caressed the keys softly as she followed the printed notes across the page. She was not mistaken, not this time. By upholding her decision to play the piano, Lord Lensborough had enabled her to avoid dancing without looking ridiculous.

Poor Em seemed to be suffering for her generous impulse to rescue her, though. She did not appear to be very good at waltzing. From time to time she heard Lionel mutter an oath as she stepped heavily upon one of his feet, and once, as they passed by her station at the piano, ‘Em, I swear you have all the grace of a performing elephant.’

‘I never claimed you would enjoy dancing with me,’ she retorted. ‘You cannot suppose I get a lot of practice at this sort of thing at the vicarage.’

‘You will never get much practice, wherever you go. No man would risk dancing with you a second time without the protection of hobnailed boots.’

As his back turned towards Hester, she could have sworn Em winked at her over his shoulder. Stifling the urge to giggle, Hester brought the piece to a conclusion.

The dancers applauded her playing, and negotiated for new partners. Lord Lensborough, having waltzed with one sister, quite properly asked Phoebe for the next one. Hester decided to perform a piece she could play from memory. For some reason she wanted to see how Lord Lensborough behaved with Phoebe, now that her opinion of his character had shifted somewhat.

How strange. He did not appear to be making much attempt at conversation. He looked, if anything, faintly bored. She frowned. Perhaps that tension about his mouth was not indicative of boredom, but something else. When he had danced with her, he had seemed far more relaxed. Even with Henrietta he had been more animated than this. It was only with Phoebe and Julia that he seemed so brooding.

Of course. He was on the verge of taking an irrevocable step, one that would affect his entire future. Though he had initially approached her cousins through a third party, he did now appear to be weighing the pros and cons of each prospective bride most carefully. Perhaps he took his duty to marry far more seriously than she had previously suspected.

As she watched the dancers swirling about the Great Hall, she noted with a frown that Em did not appear to be faring any better with her next partner, Mr Farrar. She had not stepped on his toes; indeed, he had her gliding about the room with a grace that seemed effortless, their steps perfectly matched.

But she was not enjoying herself. Her face was flushed. Knowing her as she did, Hester deduced Em was on the verge of losing her temper. Oh, dear, she hoped Mr Farrar was not teasing her in the manner he adopted with her cousins. They found it endearing, but Em detested flirting almost as much as Hester did. Moreover, she had very strong views about the dandy set, men, she had often stated vehemently, who lavished money on so shallow a thing as their own appearance, when there were families on the verge of starvation begging, unheeded, at their doors.

That waltz ended, but since her young cousins were clamouring for another, and Lady Gregory gave her permission, Hester struck up a third waltz tune.

Lord Lensborough became Em’s partner, and to set the seal on Hester’s confusion, promptly set about soothing her ruffled feathers, while Lionel managed to coax a smile out of Phoebe, who had come from Lensborough’s embrace looking thoroughly downcast.

The waltz, Hester concluded, was a dance that appeared to have the effect of turning everybody’s feelings upside down.

Sir Thomas declared that three waltzes on top of a set of energetic country dances was quite enough excitement for one evening, and that it was high time they removed to the drawing room, where light refreshments had been laid out.

Hester automatically began to tidy up the sheet music that was strewn across the piano lid.

It was only when Lionel materialised at her side she realised how careless she had been. With everyone else heading for the exit, she had given him an ideal opportunity to catch her on her own.

‘It is no use trying to avoid me, Hetty,’ he hissed ‘You know full well why I am here. I told you when the time was right I would come back and marry you.’

Marriage? No, not that. She would rather he blackmailed her!

He laid one hand on top of the piano, leaning over her seated form like a vulture hunched over its prey.

‘And here you are, still single, waiting for me.’

She fought the urge to cringe away from him, determined not to betray the sickening feeling of helplessness that roiled in her stomach.

‘Please move away from me,’ she managed to gasp.

Lionel laughed. ‘Why, Hetty, if I did not know you better, I would think you did not like me.’

‘I don’t.’ She forced the words between lips that were stiff with outrage. ‘And I won’t marry you.’

For an instant, as he straightened up abruptly with a curse, Hester feared he was going to strike her. It took a second or two to register that he had responded to the fact that Lord Lensborough was standing not five feet from them, with Em on his arm.

‘Miss Dean wishes to go home, Mr Snelgrove.’ His voice was icily polite. ‘She is not easy about leaving her father too long alone.’

‘It is quite a long walk across the park,’ she explained, her voice somewhat higher than usual, and far louder than it needed to be. ‘Papa will be worried if I return too late.’

Hester realised that the words were not intended so much for her, as Mr Farrar, who was standing behind the couple, looking every bit as furious as Mr Snelgrove.

‘Of course,’ Lionel replied, bowing stiffly to Hester. He escorted Em from the room, Stephen Farrar trailing moodily along behind them.

It was only once he had gone that reaction set in, and Hester began to tremble violently. She could not have got up and left the piano stool had her life depended on it. Head bowed, she waited till the trembling subsided, and it was not till she looked up that she discovered Lord Lensborough was waiting patiently some few feet away.

‘I…’ Her face flushed. She felt she owed him some explanation, but he curtailed her, shaking his head and merely holding out his arm with a rueful smile.

‘No explanations necessary. Allow me to escort you to the drawing room. You look as if you could do with a refreshing glass of lemonade.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ She placed her hand on his arm, and rose shakily to her feet. ‘That would be most welcome.’

Lord Lensborough contented himself with walking Hester along the passage to the supper room in sympathetic silence. It would be crass to allude to the exchange he had overheard, unfeeling to talk of anything else as if he was unmindful of her emotional state.

They paused on the threshold, and he watched her face intently as she scanned the occupants of the room, her fingers tightening convulsively on his sleeve.

She looked at Julia and Phoebe, giggling together in a corner, cock-a-hoop because they had each waltzed with their intended. How little it took to set them in alt! There sat Henrietta, gazing up at her husband with foolish, untrammelled devotion, basking in the glow of impending motherhood.

Even her aunt and uncle were locked in a little world of their own, side by side on a sofa, sipping tea from matching china cups.

Never had she felt so excluded, so utterly alone.

She sighed, exhaustion washing over her. She was glad that her family were all too content to probe into her life. If any of them were to guess what lay beneath the carefully maintained mask she wore…She shuddered. Pray God nobody would ever guess the secrets she harboured.

‘Will you excuse me, my lord?’ She looked full into eyes that once she had thought were dark with menace. They held no fear for her now. He might not want anybody to know it, but Lord Lensborough could be kind.

‘I find suddenly that I am very tired. It has been a busy day.’

She needed her sanctuary. She would feel far less lonely up in her attic than down here with people who were oblivious to her lacerated feelings.

Lord Lensborough hesitated for only a fraction of a second before bowing and bidding her goodnight. He was content with the progress he had made tonight. Snelgrove had played right into his hands. Twice the fool had pushed her too far, and she had accepted his offer of help. Before long she would be eating out of his hands.