Chapter Fifteen

IF HARRY’S WORDS had left Nell with doubts about his happiness in his betrothal, his subsequent actions dissipated those doubts completely. Lord Thorne’s behavior toward his promised bride was more than exemplary. He was completely devoted. The story of their long-protracted courtship and its happy outcome was the talk of London, and many a dowager dripped sentimental tears over it, even after hearing the tale for the third time. The couple was much in demand, and they were forced to make a choice every evening from among dozens of invitations. They were much admired and fussed over, and Harry began to feel as if he were drowning in a sea of cloying sweetness.

The only outward sign of his distaste, however, was his suggestion to his betrothed, after a few weeks of constant socializing, that Edwina attend some of her parties without him from time to time. Understanding that it was the strange way of men to prefer exclusively male company occasionally, Edwina was sweetly agreeable. Thus it was that, one evening in late March, Harry sat in the library at Thorne House, bent over a chessboard with only Roddy for company. They both had removed their coats and neckerchiefs, and Harry had indulged himself in the luxury of resting his weary leg on a hassock pulled up before him. “Let’s call it a draw,” he said to Roddy after studying the pieces that remained on the board with a rather bored scrutiny.

“May as well,” Roddy agreed. “You don’t seem to have your mind on the game anyway. You could easily have taken my queen with your knight a few moves back.”

Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Too easy by half. It’s no sport to win from a man who leaves his queen so carelessly unprotected.”

Roddy shrugged and busied himself with replacing the beautifully carved chessmen in the velvet-lined chest which housed them. “Nevertheless, old fellow, something is on your mind. You’ve hardly spoken a dozen words tonight.”

“It’s only that I’m deucedly tired. I’m unaccustomed to the round of social engagements that seems to be required of a prospective bridegroom. I don’t see how Edwina stands it. I’m worn to the bone.”

“Oh, women thrive on such stuff,” Roddy said with assurance. “A woman can be prostrate with any complaint from the headache to influenza, but the moment someone suggests a party, she will fly from her bed like a bird dog to a scent.”

Harry chuckled. “And how have you become such an authority on women, you mooncalf?”

“I’m an observer,” Roddy grinned. “Merely an observer. But you must admit that I’m a persistent and astute one.”

“I’ll admit to only half of that. You, like all healthy males, are a persistent observer, but very few of us are astute about the sex.”

“Speak for yourself, Harry, old man. Which one of us was astute enough to avoid matrimony, eh?”

“The only reason you’ve avoided it so far,” Harry rejoined, “is because you’ve never found a female who’d have you.”

Roddy laughed, but he recognized the fact that Harry’s quips lacked their usual spirit. Brushing his mustache with his index finger, he studied Harry closely. “Are you perhaps feeling some regret about the impending nuptials?” he asked.

Harry gave him a quick glance. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve heard that misgivings before the wedding are a quite commonplace symptom in males.”

“I suppose they are,” Harry said noncommittally.

“I didn’t suppose that you would be inflicted with those misgivings, however. Your Miss Manning is a diamond.”

“Yes, she is.”

“A lady of the first stare. She never behaves in that silly, giggly way some girls have. She always appears just as she ought. Pretty as a picture and always says just the right thing.”

Harry leaned forward and fixed his eyes on Roddy’s face. “Do you think, perhaps,” he ventured slowly, “that she is a bit too perfect?”

“Too perfect? I don’t understand,” Roddy said, brushing his index finger on his mustache again. “How can a woman be too perfect?”

Harry leaned back and stared thoughtfully ahead of him. “I don’t know, quite. But don’t you think it would become irritating to live with a woman whose hair was never tousled, whose temper was never unchecked, whose impulses were never spontaneous, whose words were never ill-considered?”

Roddy peered at Harry with sudden understanding. “Is that your impression of Miss Manning?”

Harry bit his lip guiltily. “No, no, of course not. I’m just offering a hypothesis.”

“Well, it’s a pretty silly hypothesis. There never was a woman in the world whose temper was never unchecked or whose words were never ill-considered. But if there were, I should snatch her up at once!”

Harry smiled, but Roddy noticed it was strained. “Would you indeed? I’d have thought you’d prefer your females a little wild and impulsive.”

“Like your ward, Miss Belden?” Roddy grinned appreciatively. “Yes, now you mention it, I would like a girl like that.”

Harry’s laugh burst out. “Is there a type you would not like, you mushroom? By the way, may I remind you that Nell is not my ward?”

“Well, your niece then.”

“She is not my niece. She is Charles’s ward and not related to me at all.”

“Good,” Roddy said with a glint. “Then I need never find myself in the position of having to come to you for permission to pay my respects to her.”

Harry turned to Roddy curiously. “Is there some seriousness behind that jest? Do you have designs in that direction?”

“Do you mean in regard to Miss Belden? Yes, indeed. I find her completely charming. You’d see it too, if you weren’t so bemused by your Edwina. But Miss Belden has no eyes for me, I’m afraid, except as a friend. I think she’s fixed her affections elsewhere.”

“Do you?” Harry asked, elaborately casual. “And where do you think she has fixed them?”

“On you,” Roddy suggested, after a slight hesitation.

Harry looked away quickly. “Rubbish! She regards me as an uncle … or an older brother …”

“Does she? Are you certain?”

“Of course. Just as I’m certain that I regard her as a delightful little sister.” The words were barely out of his mouth when the recollection of a kiss again flashed across his mind. Sister, indeed! He shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

Roddy was observing him shrewdly. “Yes, of course,” he said agreeably, rubbing his mustache with his finger in that irritating way of his. “How else can you regard her, when you’re pledged to Edwina so irrevocably?”

“You’re hinting at something quite nonsensical,” Harry said irritably. “You sound like a gabbling old busybody. If this is the extent of your conversational talents, let’s set up the chessboard again.”

But Roddy’s conversation was not so easily put out of Harry’s mind. He knew that his feelings for Nell were far from brotherly. He lay awake well into the night wondering why he’d found it necessary to try to convince Roddy that Nell was like a sister to him. Was he ashamed of his feelings for her? And if so, why? Carefully and dispassionately analyzing the situation, he reasoned that there was something in his attachment to the girl that made him feel unfaithful to Edwina. But the only way that could make sense would be if he loved Nell …!

Suddenly it all seemed blindingly clear. What a fool he’d been! He’d been in an emotional turmoil ever since he’d laid eyes on the girl in her bedroom at Thorndene as she’d stood staring at a ghost, her nightcap askew and her eyes sparkling with intrepid amusement. Only a complete gudgeon would have taken so long to diagnose the trouble. What he’d felt for Edwina before he’d gone to the Peninsula was a boyish fantasy compared to the breadth and depth of what he now felt. Love had come to him at a time of personal suffering and bitter loneliness, and it had been unrecognizable because it had been neither romantic nor particularly soothing. It had hurt, and it had mixed itself up with all his other pains.

Nell was lovely, but, objectively speaking, Edwina was more beautiful. Edwina was more gentle, more steadfast, more serene. Edwina would never have entertained a ghost in her bedroom, nor asked rude questions about a man’s private feelings. She would neither have nagged him nor quarreled, nor kissed him when she knew he was promised to another (out on the cliffs in a driving rain). And she would never have broken three betrothals. She would not break even one. Edwina was sensible and thoughtful and fair and fine. And he didn’t want her at all. He wanted the stubborn, rude, impulsive, foolish little chit who’d pushed and coaxed and irritated and cajoled and dared him back to life when he’d felt almost dead.

Good God, what had he done? To prove to Nell that he had the courage to face the world, he’d tied himself to Edwina in a betrothal he no longer wanted. And, as Roddy had put it, a betrothal was an irrevocable pledge. Ladies, of course, had the right to change their minds, and if they were capricious (as Nell had evidently been in the past) they cried off carelessly and frequently. But a gentleman had no such privilege. He could never cry off.

Harry tossed fitfully on the pillow to relieve the feeling of imprisonment which overwhelmed him. He shut his eyes and urged sleep to come, but, like a willful girl, it eluded him. Surrendering at last to sleeplessness and utter dejection, he lay staring up into the darkness. “Oh, Nell,” he muttered miserably, “what a mull we’ve made of it, between the two of us!”

Hoping to avoid seeing Nell until the shock of his new discovery had been subdued into resignation, he came down to breakfast an hour earlier than usual, and of course came face to face with her. He reddened, mumbled an unintelligible greeting and sat down. Quickly he occupied himself in reading several innocuous messages with avid attention. Nell offered him tea, which he accepted with a grunt and without meeting her eyes. When at last he looked up from the note which he’d reread three times without understanding, he found her looking at him curiously. “Is something amiss?” she asked. “You seem a trifle out of curl.”

“I’m fine, perfectly fine. Will you be good enough to pour a cup of tea for me?” he asked, looking quickly down at his letter.

“Of course, if you wish it, although you’ve barely touched the tea you have.”

Harry had forgotten that he’d already accepted a cup from her, and he stared at the cup in front of him embarrassedly. “Oh, yes. Well, it’s probably cold,” he said awkwardly.

She handed him a fresh cup, and he took a hasty gulp. Since it had just been poured, it was quite hot and scalded his tongue. “Aah!” he gasped helplessly, setting the cup down precipitously and sloshing the steaming liquid over his hand, causing another uncomfortable sting. “Damnation!” he muttered, his ears reddening.

“Are you sure you’re quite up to snuff today?” Nell asked in some amusement. “You do seem to be in an odd humor.”

“There’s nothing at all wrong with my humor,” Harry growled irritably, “except for the fact that I don’t enjoy an inquisition at the breakfast table.”

“An inquisition!” Nell repeated, half astounded and half offended. “Really, Harry, of all the unjust remarks! I was only showing a mild concern—”

“I don’t need your concern, thank you,” he muttered, feeling very foolish.

“Very well, then, I shall not question you further. I certainly didn’t intend to cause you to take a pet for no reason.” And they lapsed into silence.

As soon as Harry felt he could take his leave without seeming abrupt, he rose from the table. Nell looked up from her teacup. “I was wondering, Harry, if you and Miss Manning plan to attend the Caldicott masquerade this evening?”

“We most certainly do not,” he answered curtly. “Why do you ask?”

The fact of the matter was that Sybil had importuned Nell to accompany her to the affair, but Nell had been reluctant to agree. Henrietta Caldicott’s reputation was unsavory, and her parties always seemed more than a little disreputable. If she could have enlisted the company of Harry and Miss Manning, however, Nell felt that she could, in good conscience, make an appearance; otherwise, she intended to refuse. In answer to Harry’s question, she launched into an explanation. “Sybil has asked me to accompany her, and I was wondering—”

But Harry, irritable and impatient to be gone, did not let her finish. “You needn’t have wondered. Anyone with sense should realize that a masquerade at the Caldicott ménage is bound to become a boisterous rout. But why do you bother to ask me? Surely you have no need for my permission. If you and my aunt are determined to amuse yourselves at such unsavory gatherings, it is not my place to prevent you. I will only add that, if you were hoping for Miss Manning’s and my company to add a touch of respectability to your outing, you were fair and far off! It’s the very last place I would dream of taking a lady of her refinement!” And with that he slammed out of the room.

Nell stared at the door openmouthed. She had no idea what she’d said or done to cause such a violent reaction from him. The blood rushed to her cheeks as his last words echoed in her ears. Miss Manning was a lady of refinement, he’d seemed to say, and she was not! How dared he speak so to her! The more she reviewed his words, the more furious she became. As if she needed his presence to achieve respectability! She’d had no desire to attend the masquerade, but now her feelings changed. She sprang up from her chair with her eyes blazing and stormed into Sybil’s room to inform that surprised lady that she would be delighted to join her that evening and to ask for assistance in contriving to find a suitable costume for the occasion.

A costume could not be devised in time, and Nell appeared at Mrs. Caldicott’s party in a simple hooded domino. To her chagrin, she could recognize not one of her acquaintance among the roisterers who thronged the rooms. Lady Sybil had left her side almost immediately upon entering, and Nell felt a bit frightened and quite alone. The dancing was already in full swing, and the attitudes of the dancers—their too intimate closeness and their raucous laughter—gave ample evidence that Harry had been right in his assessment of the quality of the evening. She pulled her hood as far over her face as she could and retired into a corner where she hoped she would be unnoticed until Sybil was ready to return home.

Harry was spending the evening in the very opposite kind of company. The Mannings were giving a dinner to present him to an elderly aunt and several other relations. The conversation was at best insipid, but because the aunt was somewhat deaf, almost every remark had to be repeated into her ear trumpet. Insipid remarks, when repeated, become inane, and Harry was feeling very bored indeed. His mind began to wander, and he found himself remembering with disturbing clarity his diatribe of the morning. He could see Nell’s face looking up at him in pained astonishment as he berated her for her plans. That he had grossly overreacted was apparent. He didn’t like the idea of her attending such a party, but he needn’t have spoken so rudely. He began to itch to make amends.

It didn’t occur to him that Nell would attend the Caldicott masquerade in spite of his objections, and he hoped that he would return home early enough to see her before she retired for the night. He was therefore taken by surprise when, after leaving the Mannings so early that some eyebrows were raised, he learned from Beckwith that Miss Belden had indeed accompanied Lady Sybil to the masquerade. The news caused his temper to flare again, and he stormed out of the house and into his carriage with his fists clenched and his mood chaotic.

He arrived at Mrs. Caldicott’s residence with his temper unreconciled. The fact that he didn’t immediately see Nell infuriated him even more. Before he could begin his search for her, his presence was noted with jubilant enthusiasm by the hostess, who came rushing to his side. “My lord!” she cooed, “What an honor! I had no idea, when I sent you a card, that you would deign to attend. You have quite made my evening, I assure you! May I ask your indulgence for a few minutes and make you known to some of my friends?”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ve come merely to escort Lady Sybil and Miss Belden home. If you but tell me where I may find them, I shall not take up your time.”

Mrs. Caldicott, chewing her underlip in vexation, said that she hadn’t seen Miss Belden, but she led the way to a side room where she thought his aunt might be taking a bite of supper. In the room was a long, well-laden table surrounded by noisy, gluttonous merrymakers. There he found his aunt, her mask dangling from one ear and her cheeks flushed with high color from an overabundance of wine. Controlling his voice with heroic effort, he said softly, “Good evening, Sybil. I’ve come to take you home. Where’s Nell?”

She waved him off airily. “Don’ wish to go home jus’ yet, dear boy,” she said woozily. “Can’t go home wi’ you in any case—I’ve brought m’ own carriage.”

Not trusting himself to say another word, he took her firmly by the arm and, ignoring her objections, propelled her firmly to the hallway. There he instructed a butler to call her carriage and see to it that she was conveyed home. Then he returned to the ballroom to continue his search for Nell.

To his dismay, he found her in a curtained alcove, struggling in the arms of a masked gallant in the costume of a Venetian gondolier. “Let me go!” she was crying breathlessly. “If I would not dance with you, you cannot expect me to permit this!”

The would-be beau did not answer. He suddenly found that both his arms were pinned behind his back in an iron grip. “I am quite tempted,” Harry muttered into the fellow’s ear, “to tip you a settler you won’t soon forget. But it’s your good fortune that I’ve no wish to kick up a dust in this place. I advise you, however, to take yourself off before I change my mind.” He released the fellow, who took one quick look over his shoulder to evaluate the man who stood glowering over him, and ran quickly out.

“Oh, H-Harry,” Nell breathed, attempting awkwardly to compose her hair and adjust her mask, “how can I th-thank—?”

“Never mind!” he muttered tightly. “Just take my arm. We’ll say goodnight to your hostess and leave.”

He uttered not another word until they were seated in his carriage and on their way home. Even then, it was she who broke the silence. She was eager to express to him her intense gratitude for his rescue, but before she opened her mouth to speak, she glanced covertly at his face. He appeared tight-lipped and strained, and she suddenly realized the extent of his anger. “I don’t know why you should be so furious,” she said at last, looking down at her hands which were demurely folded in her lap. “I did not ask you to come to rescue me.”

He fixed her with a look of utter disdain. “And what would you have done if I hadn’t come?” he sneered.

She lifted her chin. “I could have managed him,” she declared.

“No doubt you could have,” he said in scornful agreement. “Your behavior tonight convinces me that you’ve endured many such experiences.”

Nell’s feelings of gratitude dissolved instantly. “Yes, I have!” she said belligerently. “Most women have. But you needn’t look so shocked. I don’t suppose your so-perfect Miss Manning has ever found herself in such a fix. She has too much refinement to be thus accosted.”

Harry turned away from her in disgust. “You are quite right. And she has better sense than to permit herself to be taken to a secluded alcove where such scenes are more likely to occur.”

Nell sputtered in indignation. “I did n-not permit myself to be taken there!” she cried in vehement denial. “I had gone there to hide from him. But the wretch followed me.”

“Oh, I see,” Harry said, some of the wind taken out of his sails. “I beg your pardon. Nevertheless, you could have avoided the entire situation had you refrained from attending in the first place. After all, I did warn you—”

“I don’t care to discuss this any further, my lord,” Nell said coldly. “Please accept my gratitude for coming to my rescue. I suppose you meant well. But I shall be a great deal more grateful if, in the future, you refrain from meddling in my affairs. I can handle them quite well without you.” With that, she turned to stare out the window, and they did not exchange another word.

When they entered the house, Nell, her head proudly erect, made straight for the stairway. Harry, standing at the foot, looked up at her retreating back and found that all his anger had melted away. “Nell—!” he called after her, not knowing quite what he wanted to say, but instinctively attempting to end the estrangement between them. But Nell did not turn, and he couldn’t tell if she had not heard or she’d chosen not to answer.

Nell marched up the stairs without a backward glance and went straight to her room. Gwinnys was waiting up for her, but Nell, on the verge of tears, told her in a choked voice that she would not be needed and urged her to the door. “But won’t ’ee need some help wi’ your buttons?” Gwinnys asked, looking over her shoulder at her mistress’ troubled face with sympathetic anxiety.

“I’ll manage them myself. Goodnight, Gwinnys,” Nell told her and shut the door with finality.

Assured of her privacy, Nell sat down at her dressing table and opened her jewelry box. From a back corner she withdrew a little wooden box and opened it. There, resting on a bed of padded satin, was a long-shafted key on a silver chain. It was the key to the entrance of a secret passageway. Nell looked at it with a tremulous sigh. Not for the first time did she wish fervently that she had never discovered Harry’s identity. If she had let matters rest, they might still be living happily in Cornwall, with Harry making nightly ghost-visits to her room.

She removed the key from the box and fondled it affectionately. Those early weeks in Cornwall had been the happiest time she had had since her childhood. Remembering the lighthearted, diverting, titillating relationship that had existed for a few weeks between a girl and a ghost, she felt a painful homesickness for a place which had been her home for less than two months. With the key clutched in her hand, she threw herself across the bed. Perhaps, with that talisman in her hand, she might return to that time and place in her dreams.