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FOLLOWING THE SPLENDID performances and lavish supper, Tessa was abandoned by Deirdre, who went off on her husband's arm to dance. Tessa was not alone for long, however, before she was asked to dance by none other than Lord Penwyck. She was certain it was he, for he had removed his mask during the supper hour and only after speaking with her did he resume wearing it.
They climbed the stairs to the fourth-level landing, which had been designated as the ballroom for tonight's gala. Already the area, as brilliantly lit as the tiers below it, was crowded with noisy revelers who had grown considerably more festive as the evening progressed and their consumption of strong spirits increased.
Tessa and Lord Penwyck took their places as the set formed for a quadrille. When the steps of the lively dance brought them together the first time, the earl said, "Mother informed me you have decided to return to America and that you are soon to be wed. Allow me to say how delighted I am for you, Miss Darby."
Although Tessa longed for him to say something that would prevent her from going, she nonetheless thrust her chin up and willed a bright smile to her lips. "Thank you for your well wishes, sir. I am quite looking forward to returning home and to becoming the wife of a United States Senator."
"Your betrothed is a politician?" the earl asked with some interest.
"Well, he is not yet a congressman, but make no mistake, he shall be one day."
The earl nodded. "Your confidence in the gentleman is commendable. I am certain he must be a brilliant young man."
"Oh, he is that, indeed!" Tessa enthused. "Quite brilliant. And handsome," she added for good measure.
She thought she noted something akin to a scowl cross the earl's face, but could not say for certain. The steps of the dance soon separated them, and, for the nonce, a view of his face was lost to her. They exchanged no further words during the overlong quadrille, and when, at last, the trying ordeal . . . trying for Tessa, that is . . . drew to a close. Lord Penwyck silently returned his still-smiling partner to the sidelines.
He stood stiffly by Tessa's side for what seemed an interminable length, then abruptly announced, "As it happens, I, too, am planning to be married."
"Oh?" Tessa again feigned enthusiasm. "And which young lady have you selected to become your bride, sir?" She smiled sweetly. "I fear Mr. Ashburn was unable to keep to himself the fact you have been diligently searching for a mate."
Penwyck cocked a dark brow. "Which hardly surprises me." He glanced about, as if looking for someone.
His intended, Tessa wondered?
"I managed to narrow the field to two," the earl told her in a matter-of-fact tone, "but, as it turned out, one young lady has recently become affianced, so it appears my mind has been made up for me."
"I see," Tessa murmured, still wondering who the lucky young lady was, although it was beginning to appear the earl did not mean to tell her. "Well then, I wish you every happiness, sir." She worked to keep her own agitated feelings tamped down and her tone light and airy.
Penwyck nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Miss Darby."
Tessa thought the gentleman seemed oddly discomfited, but she couldn't think why he should, so she did not remark upon it or question him further about his plans.
Presently, he said, "If you will please excuse me."
"Of course," Tessa murmured.
She watched the tall, handsome earl stroll deliberately away, and continued to watch until his strong back disappeared into the noisy throng. Suddenly, all the pent-up anguish and grief that had plagued her for days came to the fore and it was all she could do not to run after him and tell him that she did not wish to leave England, that she loved him more than life itself and that she wished to become his bride!
Instead, shaken to the very core by the unruly thoughts swirling inside her, she flung a wild gaze about for a quiet corner where she might regain herself. Spotting no such place, she hurriedly retraced her steps back down the sweeping staircase and ducked out a side door on the ground floor.
Inhaling a deep breath of the fresh night air, Tessa ripped the feathery mask from her face so she might breathe more freely. Unable to halt the hot stinging tears that had gathered in her eyes, she at last gave vent to the agony that had built up within her.
How was she to live the rest of her life without her beloved by her side? How was she to return to America and marry another so soon after her heart had been shattered into a million pieces?
Wrapped in a private cocoon of grief, Tessa stumbled down a narrow pathway. At length, she emerged into a tidy, moonlit courtyard situated at the rear of the immense theatre.
With tears streaming down her flaming cheeks, Tessa sank onto a cool stone bench and wept bitterly, her hands covering her face.
Some moments later, her unruly tears having subsided somewhat, she lifted her flushed face to gaze about. She was quite alone in the secluded garden and she felt a bit chilly. Just as she was hugging her bare arms about herself in an attempt to ward off the cool night air, she suddenly felt a blanket of warmth descend upon her.
Jerking about in alarm, Tessa spotted the tall figure of a man half hidden in the shadows behind her. Springing to her feet, she backed away from him as he stepped forward into a dappled pool of moonlight. Because he was wearing a mask, Tessa was unable to ascertain the gentleman's identity.
"Forgive my intrusion," the powerfully built man quickly said, "but you appeared to have caught a chill." A gloved hand indicated his own coat, which he'd gallantly draped about her bare shoulders. His white silk shirt now gleamed like a beacon in the moonlight.
Her eyes round with fright, Tessa said, "I was not aware I was being observed, sir."
With a start, Lord Penwyck realized Miss Darby did not know that it was he, that with his mask again in place he was quite unrecognizable to her. In his own troubled state, it did not occur to him she would wonder for long.
"I mean you no harm, Miss Darby," he said in his normal tone of voice.
But his words did nothing to dispel her alarm.
"How is it you know my name?" she cried. She took another step back from him, her alert blue eyes regarding him suspiciously.
Penwyck swept off his plumed hat and was about to remove his mask when something stopped him. A moment ago when he'd left Miss Darby on the dance floor, he'd felt there was a great deal left unsaid between them. Until his mother had told him of Miss Darby's impending marriage, he had thought . . . nay, believed . . . she might be coming to care for him, a little.
True, he'd come to the soiree tonight determined that before the evening drew to a close, he would settle on one of the young ladies whose names remained on his list. Tonight, in his customary methodical fashion, he had set about conducting the final interviews with each young lady.
But he'd only got halfway through his business when his mother delivered the unsettling news about Miss Darby. It had come as quite a blow to Penwyck. He had thoroughly enjoyed every afternoon in her delightful company the previous week. In fact, their time together had elevated her considerably . . . perhaps even more considerably than he had realized . . . in his mind.
He wasn't certain why he'd followed her here just now, or what he wished to say to her. He had not had sufficient time to assemble his thoughts, much less draw up a list. Without that necessary crutch in hand, he felt quite lost, even befuddled, much like a little boy who'd had his favourite toy snatched from him and had no idea how to retrieve it.
He hadn't expected to feel such wrenching jealousy a moment ago when Miss Darby had not only confirmed the stunning news of her marriage, but declared she was quite looking forward to it, and that her future husband was brilliant and handsome.
The news had so overset Penwyck that after wandering away from her, he'd found himself in no frame to approach another young lady to talk or to dance. He'd snapped at both Ashburn and his mother before he'd chanced to spy Miss Darby hurrying down the staircase. On impulse, he had run after her.
But because he rarely did anything on impulse, he hadn't a clue what to do now that he had successfully cornered her.
She was still staring at him in alarm.
"I mean you no harm," he said again. "I wondered if we might sit and talk a bit?"
"We have not been properly introduced, sir," she pointed out.
Remembering she did not yet know it was he behind the mask, Penwyck determined anew to keep his identity to himself a bit longer. Perhaps the subterfuge would buy him time while he properly collected his thoughts. "A gentleman known to both of us told me your name," he said, this time attempting to lower his voice in order to disguise it. "Please look on me as a friend, Miss Darby"
Because she was not wearing her mask, it was child's play for Penwyck to determine what she was thinking. He watched her lower her guard a bit. For the first time, she glanced down at the maroon brocade coat that engulfed her shapely form, then at the lemon-coloured breeches he was wearing.
"Are you Mr. Kelly?" she asked. "Or perhaps Mr. Randall's friend Sir Reginald?"
"No, I am neither of those gentlemen." In a perverse way, he was rather enjoying the little intrigue. Perhaps if he played his cards right, he might extract a bit more knowledge from her before his perfidy came to light. "Will you sit with me for a spell?" He indicated the empty stone bench that stretched like a chasm between them.
Miss Darby tilted her head up. "I do not think I should, sir. We are unknown to one another," she primly reminded him.
"Spoken like a proper young lady," Penwyck declared, his lips twitching behind his mask.
Hers formed a straight line of disgust. "Not everyone thinks I am proper."
"Whatever can you mean by that? What could anyone possibly find to fault about you, Miss Darby? I confess I find you . . . exquisite." Suddenly, Penwyck realized his concealed identity had the odd effect of loosening his tongue. Suddenly, the words he longed to say to her flowed like honey from his lips. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met." Even to his own ears, his tone sounded a trifle raspy.
Indeed, she did look like the very mythical goddess she was portraying in her long flowing gown, with sparkles of moonlight glancing off her copper-colored curls and the golden ribbons intertwined through them. Miss Darby's loveliness tonight quite took his breath away.
But his candor seemed to fluster her.
"You do not know me, sir," she declared, her long lashes fluttering self-consciously against her silken cheeks.
"I know enough to know that I . . . " Penwyck caught himself before he candidly blurted out I love you.
"I really must be going, sir," Miss Darby said firmly.
No! Penwyck cried to himself. "You have nothing to fear, I assure you. Please." He again indicated the bench. "I promise to mind my manners and shan't tell a single soul you agreed to sit here with me. Most especially I shall not tell Mr. Ashburn."
Her vivid blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "So it was he who told you my name?"
"I did not say that. What I meant was no secret is safe with Mr. Ashburn."
Although she still eyed him warily, Penwyck was pleased when she edged onto a corner of the bench. He parked his large frame at a respectable distance beside her.
Because the shocking news of her impending marriage was still uppermost in his mind, he began with, "I understand you are soon to be married, Miss Darby."
Her auburn head jerked up. "You have, indeed, been speaking to Mr. Ashburn, or perhaps . . . " her tone lowered, "to Lord Penwyck."
Penwyck said nothing.
"They neither one know the whole truth," she added softly.
Penwyck leaned forward. "The whole truth?"
Her auburn curls shook. "I cannot imagine why I am being so very candid with you, sir. I do not know you."
He shifted a bit on the bench, turning his body toward her. "Let us make a pact, Miss Darby. Since it is unlikely we shall ever see one another again after tonight, let us both agree to speak openly and honestly with each another. You may tell me anything you like, and I shall do the same."
He was gratified when the look on her face told him the idea intrigued her. A charming smile appeared on her lips as she looked straight into the dark slits of the mask he was hiding behind.
"Very well, sir." She looked away. Then, in a small voice she admitted, "I've not been able to tell anyone the whole truth since I arrived in England, and I have quite longed to do so."
"Are you saying that you have been forwarding an untruth?" he probed, quite pleased with the way his little impromptu charade was working.
"No." She shook her head. "There are simply certain things that. . ." She glanced up again, a pained look on her face. "I confess it is difficult even for me, at times, to acknowledge . . . the truth."
"Shall I begin, then?" he offered. Without waiting for her to reply, he said, "The whole truth, Miss Darby, is when I watched you alight from your carriage tonight in the company of your sponsor, Lady Penwyck, and the earl, I was quite enchanted by you. Your rich auburn hair and sapphire blue eyes quite charmed me. I wished to follow you then, but felt it unwise to do so. Instead, I kept a distance. At one point, I thought to approach Lord Penwyck to learn your name, but as he can be somewhat of a prig . . . " He paused, wondering how she might react to that candid observation.
He studied her from the corner of his eye and grinned inwardly when he noted a slight upturning of her pink lips.
"Lord Penwyck is not a prig," she said. "Perhaps a bit . . . uppity, but he merely attempts to be all that is proper. He is a gentleman, and I do not fault him for that."
"What do you find about the gentleman to fault?" Penwyck boldly inquired.
Suddenly, Miss Darby startled him by springing again to her feet and darting into the shadows. Alarmed, Penwyck leapt to follow her.
"It was not my intent to overset you, Miss Darby," he said hastily.
Hearing her soft whimpers told him she was sobbing. He felt wretched. Coming up behind her, he could not resist encircling her lovely body with his arms and drawing her close against him in a warm embrace. When he felt the distraught young lady melt into his strength, he fought the urge to lift her chin and kiss away her pain and sorrow. Instead, he tightened his arms about her. "Why are you crying, my dearest?" he asked hoarsely.
"Because I . . . love him," she confessed in a fitful whisper. "I love him, and he does not love me. He thinks I am . . . improper."
Penwyck's eyes squeezed shut behind his mask. He had never meant to hurt her when he offered to show her how to go on. At the outset, he thought she needed . . . but what did it matter now? He had hurt her, and he felt like a cad for his thoughtless words and deeds. "Surely you are mistaken," he said softly. "You are a perfectly lovely girl."
With a disdainful huff, Miss Darby pulled away. On her own accord, she flounced to the stone bench and sat down.
"No, I am not. I do not know how to simper and fawn, and I do scandalous things, like read newspapers and attend reform meetings. Lord Penwyck was livid the night he rescued me from a meeting that got quite out of hand. But it was none of my doing!"
"Indeed, it was not," Penwyck said, having regained his place beside her.
"I cannot remain silent when I find things about the British government that need improving." She sniffed with outrage. "Did you know, sir, that hundreds of defenseless women and children have been put to work in England's mills and factories? Mr. Cobbett says England's industrial supremacy depends entirely upon the efforts of thirty thousand little girls! I find that appalling, sir!"
"You are quite right, Miss Darby. It is appalling."
"I did so wish to write an essay for Mr. Cobbett's newspaper, The Political Register. Now I never shall. Instead, I must return to America and marry a man I do not love."
Suddenly, she covered her face with her hands and burst again into tears.
Penwyck did not know what to do. That she'd confessed she did not love the man she was set to marry, but did love him, lifted his spirits considerably. That she was crying again and he could not comfort her as he would have liked without revealing that he had shamelessly tricked her into the confession left him quite perplexed. He did not know what to do or say next.
Because he could not bear to see her so unhappy and ached to comfort her, he draped an arm over the back of the bench and sympathetically patted her shoulder with one hand. With the other, he handed her a crisp white linen handkerchief he'd extracted from his pocket. "Do dry your tears, Miss Darby," he said gently. "Everything will turn out . . . "
"No, it will not!" she cried. "To return to America feels to me like . . . like returning to prison."
"To prison?" Behind his mask, Penwyck's brows pulled together with concern. "Whatever do you mean, Miss Darby?"
Her glistening lashes fluttered as she dabbed at her nose with the handkerchief. "My stepfather is a . . . an evil man."
Penwyck longed to draw her into his arms again. Instead, he probed gently, "Are you saying your stepfather has hurt you?"
His jaws ground together angrily as the beautiful young girl beside him slowly nodded her head.
His nostrils flared. "How?" he ground out. "How has he hurt you, Miss Darby?"
He waited an interminable length as she silently dabbed at the moisture lingering on her lashes. Finally, in a constricted voice, she said, "He . . . imprisoned me in my bedchamber, and . . . and he flogged me, like one of his slaves, with a leather strap. There were times when I was younger . . . when he tried to force me to do things that . . . cannot be thought proper for a man to do with a very young girl."
White-hot rage twisted Penwyck's insides, but he managed to remain silent as yet another sob escaped her.
"I was able to deter him from inflicting further harm of that nature on me by threatening to tell my mother. I was only thirteen, but I knew my stepfather's career was very important to him, and it would be ruined if my mother left him . . . which she would have, I am quite certain!"
She glanced up. "I can be quite pigheaded, sir. The truth is I never would have told her, for she truly loved him. My mother was not as strong as I am, and she needed him. But she is gone now and there is no longer anyone for me to hide behind," she concluded sadly.
Penwyck shuddered. Were Senator Darby in England today, he would kill the wretch! He had been prepared another time in his life to kill in order to protect a loved one, despite the fact that his brother Joel did not deserve the consideration. But, Miss Darby did. Yet all he could do now was tell her how very sorry he was for all she had suffered at the hands of her stepfather.
"Is it imperative you return to America?" he gently probed.
She nodded firmly. "I cannot stay here."
Oh, but she could! It was perfectly clear to Penwyck now that he wanted, more than anything, for her to stay right here in England and to become his wife. "So you are determined to return to America and marry a man you do not love?"
Without looking at him, she nodded again. "I have no choice. The man I wish to marry does not love me." Her sobs had ceased altogether and she now seemed resigned to her fate. She turned a soulful look on Penwyck. "Thank you for being so kind to me, sir. I have wished for so very long to confide in someone, but I felt as if I had no one to talk to, especially after my friend Deirdre was married. You would like Deirdre. She is a great deal like me. We are both a bit . . . out of the common way."
His eyes behind his mask locked with hers for a long moment. Then he said, "I think you are perfect, Miss Darby."
Smiling shakily, she stood and, after tucking the crumpled handkerchief he'd given her into one of the pockets of his maroon coat, she removed the wrap from her shoulders. "I must go in now."
Penwyck had risen to his feet and stood watching her. He longed with all his heart to tell her more, to say he loved her dearly, that he had not realized how deeply he cared until he thought he might lose her. Yet he held back. "I have enjoyed our talk immensely, Miss Darby. We have each told the other a secret, and now we must go our separate ways."
The smile Miss Darby directed at Penwyck both melted his heart and made it ache. She was not smiling at him, but at an unknown stranger she believed to be far kinder than he.
"I will never forget you, sir. Thank you for listening and for lending me your coat."
She handed the garment to him. When Penwyck reached to take it, he managed also to grasp her bare hand in his and brought it all the way to his lips. With only a few days remaining for him to find a way to gain her trust, all he could do now was gaze deeply into her eyes and will her to know how very, very much he loved her.
"We will meet again one day, Miss Darby," he said firmly. "You may be certain of that."