Читать книгу My Lady's Honor - Julia Justiss - Страница 13

“Oh, I see Colonel Haversham—with Colonel Howard!” Lady Alice exclaimed.

Jolted back to the present, Gwennor watched Aunt Alice wave across the room at the gentlemen. “Excellent!” she said as the men approached. “Two eligible suitors already this morning, and only our first day!”

Gwen’s trepidation at meeting one of the prospects her aunt expected her to attract faded as soon as the two men arrived and she perceived the lines of suffering that marked Colonel Howard’s too-thin face. Her ready sympathy immediately activated, as soon as the introductions had been performed and Lady Alice, with a wink at Gwen, sent the two off to procure a cup of the waters, Gwennor set about trying to put the colonel, who seemed rather shy and diffident for a military man, more at ease.

“My first cousin, Major Harry Hartwell, was in India before transferring with his unit to the Peninsula,” Gwen said as she took the colonel’s arm. “He wrote us there were any number of dreadful maladies that plagued Englishmen there. Did you happen to meet my cousin on the continent, Colonel?”

“‘Heedless Harry’ is your cousin? A fine lad, full of enthusiasm, an exemplary rider and marksman besides. I fear he’s correct—there are any number of diseases, each one more noxious than the last, as my pitiful frame can testify. I’m sure Wellington is glad to have your cousin with him in Spain!” The colonel grimaced. “How it grates me, knowing the import of the business going on there, and being forced to remain here so far from the action.”

They reached the basin, where a waterspout delivered a continuous stream of the heated, faintly sulfur-scented mineral water from a natural spring beneath the pump-house floor. “Aunt Alice tells me you are much improved of late,” Gwennor said as he filled two glasses. “Perhaps before long you shall be able to rejoin your unit.”

“So I keep trying to tell myself! If I could just shake this curst fever…” He sighed and, glasses brimming, turned back to her. “Malaria, they tell me. But so young and lovely a lady cannot wish to hear of pills and potions. Nor is it comforting to a man’s pride to demonstrate how thoroughly he’s been defeated by his own constitution.”

Her sympathy increased a notch as they walked together back toward her waiting aunt. So much of a man’s self-esteem, she knew from observing her father as he battled his final illness, derived from his sense of having mastery of the responsibilities given into his charge. For a military man accustomed to command, it must be especially galling to have been invalided out of his post. Perhaps here, too, was a man who could understand and exhibit a tolerance for infirmity.

“I should suppose a malady is no more discerning than a bullet in battle, nor any more avoidable,” she replied.

Surprise lit the eyes that glanced over to her. “I never thought of it in quite that way, but I imagine you are correct.” His assessing gaze lingered on her face before he murmured, “You are a perceptive young lady.”

She flushed a little. “Only a practical one, I fear.”

“As lovely as she is practical, then. Though I understand that you are in mourning, I am happy to note you do not intend to completely shun society gatherings. I haven’t previously visited the local assembly, but I’m told the affairs are quite enjoyable. Should…you and your aunt be planning to attend next Friday?”

“I shall have to inquire, but I would presume so.”

“Good. You must save me a dance, then—or at least promise me a stroll about the room.”

Before she could reply, they reached her aunt, and a few moments were occupied in the transferring of cups and a discussion of the benefits to be obtained from sipping the warm, heavily mineral-flavored water.

Just as, noses wrinkling against the taste, Colonel Haversham and Lady Alice finished sipping their glassfuls, Mr. Masterson hurried back in. After scanning the room to locate them, he walked over, the smile of delight mirrored by one on the beaming face of Lady Alice.

The men exchanged bows, and Gwennor sensed the colonel’s warm manner chill abruptly.

“Colonels Haversham and Howard I know, Lady Alice,” Mr. Masterson said. “Please, will you not present me to your charming companion?”

The introductions duly made, Mr. Masterson promptly requested Lady Alice to allow her charge to take a turn about the room with him. Her aunt’s smile, if possible, grew even broader as, permission granted, she walked off on Jeffrey Masterson’s arm.

Knowing her aunt was envisioning a courtship of rivals with competing offerings of flowers, books and invitations, Gwen was hard put not to smile, too. If either of these gentlemen came calling the next day, Lady Alice was going to be in alt.

“What brings you to the city?” Mr. Masterson asked. “Certainly not, given the bloom of health on your cheeks, a need to sip the waters. You are paying your aunt a visit?”

“Y-yes. Although seeing my aunt is always a pleasure, as you can tell by my dress, I’ve recently lost a kinsman—my father. With my cousin now taking charge of my old home, I wished a…change of scene.”

“My condolences on your sad loss.”

She nodded briskly, refusing to let her thoughts stray to such doleful ground. “I understand you are attending your ailing grandfather. How kind of you to leave the attractions of London to succor a sick relation.”

He smiled slightly. “Much as I should like to boast that noble purpose was my sole reason for quitting the city, honesty forces me to confess that, though I was truly concerned about the recent decline in grandfather’s health, there were…other considerations.” His smile faded. “I, too, recently suffered a…disappointment, and felt the need for a change.” With a shake of his head, he summoned back the smile. “But enough of that! Does your mourning permit you to attend the assemblies and the theater?”

“I expect we shall attend both.”

“Would you permit me to call tomorrow? Perhaps we could arrange a theater party.” His clear green eyes gazed into hers appealingly.

A shiver of both anticipation and trepidation rippled through her. Firmly suppressing the latter, she replied, “I should like that very much.”

As it turned out, she saw him again sooner than expected. Early the next day as she and Parry took their morning walk, they encountered Mr. Masterson near the park, riding a handsome chestnut gelding. Drawing rein, he dismounted and came over to greet them.

Gwennor had a moment of satisfaction upon noting his obvious relief that she presented Parry as her brother.

He, of course, was more interested in the new four-legged arrival. “What a fine beast, Mr. Masterson.”

“We were…not able to bring our horses with us,” Gwennor said, “and have not as yet had time to hire any. Though the walk is pleasant, we miss our morning ride.”

“I’m afraid Vulcan is a bit too spirited for a lady’s mount, but until you’ve made other arrangements, you are welcome to borrow him, Mr. Wakefield,” Mr. Masterson replied promptly. “I must warn you, he dislikes strangers. ’Tis the reason I ride early, before the streets are full…”

His words trailed off and his expression turned to amazement as Parry approached his horse, murmuring softly. Vulcan alerted, his ears pricking up, and extended his head to nuzzle Parry’s outstretched hand.

“Why, ’tis amazing!” Mr. Masterson exclaimed. “Truly, I’ve never seen him react like that! In fact, he still nips at my groom if Nichols approaches unexpectedly.”

“Parry has a special affinity for animals,” Gwen replied. “They sense and respond to it.”

Her brother turned from crooning to Vulcan, as if suddenly reminded. “Can we return by the stables, Gwen? I want to show you what I’ve found.”

“Oh, not already!” Gwen said with a groan. “My brother also has a knack for discovering lost and injured creatures wherever he goes. At Southford we possessed an ever-changing menagerie of rabbits, fawns, ducks, even wolves he found and healed before setting free again.”

“I have to help them, Gwen,” Parry said.

“Of course you must,” she agreed. “What is it now?”

“Only a kitten. Come see him! His coloring is almost exactly the shade papa was seeking in our rabbits.”

“My father was attempting to produce a stronger strain of domestic rabbit,” Gwen explained. “Parry was directing the breeding experiments.”

“We must go see what he’s found then, mustn’t we?”

Heartened by Mr. Masterson’s congenial response to her brother, as they strolled back, Gwen tried to draw out her potential suitor.

“How do you occupy your time while your grandfather is resting, Mr. Masterson? I imagine there are rather few pursuits here for a gentleman accustomed to London. Though there is, my aunt tells me, a fine lending library.”

Mr. Masterson chuckled. “A claim whose truth I’m not likely to discover! I’m an indifferent scholar, I must confess, and works of literature are more likely to put me to sleep than amuse me. Had it not been for my best friend Gilen—now there’s scholar for you—I would never have survived Oxford.”

Books being one of her chiefest pleasures, Gwen felt a mild disappointment. But there were other interests they might share. “My aunt tells me you came by way of your home at Wilton Park, where you maintain a large stable,” she continued. “Horses are your particular pursuit?”

During the rest of the walk, she coaxed Mr. Masterson to describe his stock and his estate, which he did with so much enthusiasm she concluded both must be extensive, well-maintained and lovely. Once they’d reached the mews and Parry had tied the docile Vulcan to a stall, he led them to a manger half full of fragrant hay.

He clucked softly and a small, malnourished kitten popped out from under the straw. The little creature ran to Parry, purring lustily.

“Isn’t he lovely?” Parry asked.

“Very pretty,” Gwen agreed. But when she reached out to pet the animal’s back, the kitten whirled around and bit Gwen’s finger before burrowing back under the straw.

“Sorry, Gwen,” Parry said. “I forgot he is still shy of strangers. I think he was mistreated.”

“Why don’t you get him some milk from the kitchen?” Gwen suggested. As her brother, after a bow to Mr. Masterson, trotted off in that direction, she turned to give Mr. Masterson a rueful smile. “Obviously, I haven’t my brother’s skill.”

“No, he is quite special,” Mr. Masterson replied.

Gwennor’s eyes flew up to his. He returned her steady regard, his gaze open and friendly. In his tone and manner, she could discern neither mockery nor disdain.

He accepts Parry. The realization filled Gwennor with such a sense of joy and relief, she could have wed Mr. Masterson on the spot. Despite his dislike of scholarship, if further acquaintance confirmed her initial impression of Mr. Masterson as a kind, congenial, sympathetic gentleman of sufficient means, Gwen felt she might be able to develop for him not just a fond regard, but a lasting affection.

An affection that might be coupled with a more measured attraction than the frighteningly intense desire that had swept her for the stranger at the gypsy camp.

If Mr. Masterson found her as appealing as she was finding him, perhaps she’d not have to hunt for an enfeebled octogenarian after all.

Ten days later, grimy and out of sorts, Gilen de Mowbry gritted his teeth as he unpacked clothing from his equally dusty saddlebags.

Weary from six days spent nearly ceaselessly in the saddle, he did not want to hear about the lovely, fascinating creature Jeff had just met. As Alden had predicted, he thought with disgust, only half listening to Jeff’s rapturous flow of rhetoric, it appeared the distraught friend whom he’d felt compelled to come support had already fallen in love again with some other chit.

Though how he’d found someone in Harrogate under the age of fifty to fall in love with, Gilen couldn’t imagine. If he’d known, he concluded sourly, longing for a bath and a glass of strong ale, that he’d find his supposedly inconsolable friend so irritatingly cheerful, he wouldn’t have prematurely called off his search.

After the shock of finding the gypsy encampment deserted, he’d ridden back to Lacey’s Retreat and questioned the staff, trying to determine the band’s normal route. He’d wasted three days riding west after them before learning that instead of proceeding as usual, they had wandered north. When he finally found them, their leader at first refused to speak with him, then kept him waiting a day while he considered the generous sum Gilen was offering in apology for his previous intrusion.

At last the gypsy lord agreed to meet him, an old woman serving as translator. But to Gilen’s infuriated exasperation, the man denied any knowledge of the violet-eyed wench who’d danced for him. He was almost positive the man was lying, but as it was already nearly two weeks past the arrival time he’d indicated in his last letter to Jeffrey, he felt compelled to give up the search for the present and make for Harrogate with all speed.

Only to arrive and find his supposedly brokenhearted friend waxing eloquent about some new female.

“Despite your stops, ’tis a tedious journey and you must be longing for a bath,” Jeffrey was saying. “I told grandpapa we’d dine with him—he retires quite early—after which we shall still have time to attend the assembly. There you can meet Miss Southford for yourself. I’m sure you’ll find her a delight!”

“As delightful as Davinia?” Gilen shot back.

Jeffrey’s genial face sobered, and Gilen immediately felt ashamed of his churlishness. “Sorry, Jeff, that was unkind. Been on the road so long, it’s made me snappish.”

Jeffrey mustered up a smile. “I deserved that, I suppose. She is delightful, but nothing like Davinia. Lovely, though not as striking, and—I’m not sure how to describe it—so forthright and appealing. The sort of lady who not only encourages a man to talk, as they all do, but truly listens to what he says, and offers some intelligent comments in return. I’m sure you’ll like her.”

“If she has intelligent conversation to offer, she is unusual!” Gilen declared, only half jesting.

Jeffrey took a swipe at him and Gilen ducked. “At least I have the discernment to develop tendres for well-bred ladies of sensibility,” his friend declared. “If you spent less time among mercenary females out of London’s Green Rooms, your opinion of the sex might be higher.”

“Perhaps,” Gilen acknowledged, “though I doubt it. At least a female from the Green Room gives you an honest return on your investment, rather than false devotion and flattering lies.”

“I admit, my judgment on this score has not always been accurate, but I assure you Miss Southford’s honor and integrity are beyond reproach,” Jeffrey asserted.

Gilen raised a skeptical eyebrow. “We shall see. Let me get near some hot water and a warm dinner, and then I shall be most interested to meet your new paragon!”

While Tilly looked on, sighing her approval, Gwennor inspected herself in the pier glass. At Aunt Alice’s urging, she’d expended a bit more of her precious reserves on a new ball gown that, with its expert cut and flattering fit, would equal in elegance and sophistication any of the more colorful gowns being worn to the assembly tonight.

“You be ready, Miss,” Tilly said, reaching up to make a final adjustment in the curls she’d pinned in atop Gwennor’s head. “Lucky for you that dusky gray goes so good with your pale skin and dark hair. Indeed, ’tis so pretty on you, folks might think you’re wearing it not ’cause you is in mourning, but for it becomes you so well.”

“Thank you, Tilly,” Gwen said, gratified.

“And with two handsome gents awaiting you tonight, ’tis fitting that you’re in looks! Mistress will be that pleased. Go on and dazzle them, now, Miss!”

Gwennor took her evening cape from the woman with a wry grin. As quietly as she’d been living, ’twas more likely the company would dazzle her.

Still, Gwennor felt a pulse of excitement as she descended to the parlor to meet her aunt. She was wearing the most stylish gown she’d ever owned, her tempestuous hair had been tamed by the fingers of an artist, and with her well-respected aunt here to introduce her to the society of this small resort community, Gwennor had every expectation of both enjoying herself and progressing one step closer to obtaining the safe haven she sought.

Suitably enthusiastic over Gwen’s appearance, Lady Alice hastened her to the carriage. “So lovely you are, I’m sure your dance card will be filled to overflowing!”

“Surely it is too soon after Papa’s death to dance.”

Lady Alice patted her hand. “Ordinarily, I would agree. But I’ve made the sad facts of your circumstances known to the hostesses here, and all of them understand you need to attract a suitor as quickly as possible. Unless you find yourself unable to countenance dancing, which of course I could understand, even though I should be most disappointed, for there is nothing that can more quickly engage a gentleman’s interest than holding a lady close in the shocking intimacy of a waltz! If you are not set against it, then, I should strongly advise you to indulge, and assure you that Society here will not think it unseemly, even given the recentness of your bereavement.”

Gwennor had to smile through that long speech. Her gentle father, loving of life and mostly indifferent to its social rules, would have considered the notion of her refraining from one of her favorite social activities in respect for his passing quite ridiculous. “No, aunt, I should be quite happy to dance, if you think it proper.”

“Good. Oh, we shall have such a lovely evening!”

They arrived at the assembly rooms soon after, and once they’d proceeded through the reception line and her aunt had introduced her to several matrons whose approval was essential to her acceptance in Harrogate society, they walked on to the ballroom. As Lady Alice had hoped, they discovered all Gwen’s potential suitors already present.

The gentlemen soon spotted them. After greetings all around, Mr. Masterson bowed to Gwennor’s aunt.

“May I solicit your niece’s hand for the first waltz?”

“Miss Southford has just agreed to sit out the waltz and dance the next set with me,” Colonel Howard said.

“You do not think the waltz inappropriate, surely?” Mr. Masterson appealed to Lady Alice.

“Certainly not! Indeed, ’tis my hope—oh, but of course, Colonel Howard did—” her aunt stuttered.

“Good,” Mr. Masterson inserted with a grin. “To accommodate the colonel, I promise to return the lady before the next set begins.” After a quick bow to her aunt, he took her arm and urged her onto the floor.

“Are you kidnapping me?” Gwennor protested, laughing.

“Nothing so violent. But there didn’t seem a tactful way to suggest that though Colonel Howard may not feel up to a waltz, I am quite capable.”

His delicacy in preserving the colonel’s pride further impressed Gwen. “That was most kind.”

Mr. Masterson’s smile deepened and his green-eyed gaze fixed on her with notable warmth. “Besides, I’ve dreamed all week of waltzing with you in my arms.”

Mercifully, the music began, since Gwen was too flustered to reply. Acutely aware of his hands at her waist and shoulder, she let him sweep her into the dance.

Her enthusiasm at the prospect of dancing soon soothed her agitation, and she gave herself up to the delight of swirling with the music.

As they came to a halt at the end of the dance, their position and proximity inevitably called up memories of an even closer embrace that had progressed to a much less proper activity…one in which she’d also participated with great enthusiasm. Her face heated guiltily.

She half stumbled in her eagerness to quit the dance floor, as if by leaving the spot that had invoked them she might banish the disturbing recollections.

“Miss Southford, are you quite all right? You seem fatigued,” Colonel Howard said as they returned. He cast Mr. Masterson an aggrieved glance.

“’Twas a bit warm,” she replied, seizing that excuse to explain her overheated cheeks.

“Let me get you a glass of wine,” Mr. Masterson said.

“Colonel, if you do not mind, could we postpone our dance? I believe I would like a glass.”

While the men squabbled over who would bring wine and who the lobster patties and tea cakes, Gwennor took the colonel’s arm, glad for the respite.

The interlude in the refreshment room did much to restore her calm. She was able to dance several sets, and even welcome engaging in a second waltz with Mr. Masterson. He really was a very pleasant gentleman, she concluded as she listened to him expound on his plans for enlarging the horse-breeding operations at his estate.

Horse breeding. Parry would love that.

Dreamily contemplating her brother passing his days crossing bloodlines to produce steeds of particular colors or attributes, at the termination of the waltz she followed Mr. Masterson off the dance floor. And nearly ran into him when her escort suddenly stopped.

“At last!” he exclaimed. “Miss Southford, you must allow me to retain you a few more moments. My good friend Gilen has just arrived and I wish to introduce you.”

Gwennor murmured her assent, smiling a little to think how delighted Aunt Alice was going to be if this friend turned out to be another eligible gentleman. Curious, as Mr. Masterson led her forward, she scanned the people crowding the room beyond the dance floor, but out of the press of guests she could not discern which particular gentleman he seemed to be seeking.

As it happened, the man they approached had his back to them. Mr. Masterson reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Gilen! I was beginning to think you’d not attend after all! Miss Southford, allow me to present my dear friend, Viscount St. Abrams.”

The tall blond man turned. “Ah, Miss Southford—how delightful to meet you at last.”

Those dark blue eyes. That chiseled jaw. Gwennor’s knees nearly buckled as she sank into a curtsey with more speed than grace. When Lord St. Abrams reached to grasp her suddenly nerveless fingers for the obligatory salute, a wave of dizziness swept her. For one awful moment she thought she might faint.

About to bow over her hand was the taunting, tempting stranger she’d kissed at the gypsy camp.