Chapter 14

 

It was a short drive to the Moorehead estates from town. The Weatherstones made an early arrival and were greeted with pleasure by Lord and Lady Moorehead.

Miss Clarice Moorehead in particular was delighted to see them. She hugged Belle and drew her swiftly aside, while the servants look the Weatherstones' wraps. "Oh, I cannot wait for you to see the ballroom tomorrow. It will be so grand, Belle!"

"I am anticipating it already," said Belle. "May I help Lady Moorehead with any of the arrangements?"

"Oh, no! Mama's staff is handling every detail," said Clarice airily. Dimples appeared in her cheeks as she smiled, and her green eyes sparkled. "Besides, it is to be a surprise."

Since Clarice was the youngest and the last daughter, her parents were universally known to be indulgent of her whims. Never was that more evident than in the decor of the grand ballroom for this affair.

The ballroom was completely mirrored so that it appeared fantastically large. The high ceilings and walls were draped in white gossamer fabric and massive garlands of sweet-smelling flowers. Countless expensive wax candles were lit, and their hot brilliance was reflected over and over again in the mirrors with marvelous effect. The result was overpowering.

The following evening when the Weatherstones were ushered into the ballroom, Mr. Weatherstone looked around with a stunned expression. "My word!"

"It quite takes one's breath away, does it not?" asked Lady Moorehead complacently. "The notion was one of Clarice's, and I must own that it turned out quite well."

"Very pretty," approved Mrs. Weatherstone, shooting a warning glance at her husband. "Clarice, you are to be congratulated for your creativity. I can foresee that you will be a prominent hostess one day."

Clarice blushed with pleasure. "It is most kind of you to say so, Mrs. Weatherstone."

"Why don't you take Belle over to the refreshment table? I am certain that she would like an ice, for it is already quite warm in here," said Lady Moorehead, plying her fan.

"Yes, Mama," said Clarice obediently. She slid her gloved fingers around Belle's arm and led her friend off, leaving the older generation behind to fall into their own deep conversation.

As soon as she was certain that she was out of earshot of her parents, Clarice said in a low tone, "Belle, I have something terrible to tell you, something utterly awful!"

Belle was startled by her friend's intensity. "Why, Clarice, what is it? Are you in trouble of some sort?"

"Oh, no! Of course I am not! It is nothing to do with me," replied Clarice. "It has everything to do with you, however!"

"Then tell me quickly!" said Belle.

"It—it is Lord Ashdon, Belle. He mentioned something about you to Roland, and Roland told Angus, and Angus told me," said Clarice in a tragic tone.

Belle set down the ice and took hold of her friend's agitated hands. "Clarice, tell me this minute or I shall shake it out of you!"

"Oh, dear! I don't think I can, now," said Clarice, looking stricken.

Belle let go of her friend's hands and took hold of her slim shoulders instead. "I am warning you, Clarice."

"Belle! You wouldn't dare do so right here in the ballroom!" exclaimed Clarice, her green eyes widening.

"Oh, wouldn't I just!" Belle gave her friend an experimental shake. "Now, pray do not tease me any longer! What did Lord Ashdon say about me?"

Clarice capitulated. "Roland said that he was just talking to his cousin, the viscount, you know, and your name came up. Lord Ashdon said that he thought you were spoiled and shallow and frivolous." She spoke in an increasingly hurried fashion, as though she had to get everything out at once or choke on it.

Belle released her friend and half turned, so that Clarice was not able to see her face. She feared that if her expression was any mirror of her emotions, then Clarice would certainly know how deeply she had been wounded.

Belle drew a shuddering breath and pinned a smile on her face as she glanced fleetingly at her friend. "I see! Well! That is something, to be sure!" She opened her fan and waved it to and fro, scarcely noticing the effect of the breeze on her heated face, so turbulent were her thoughts. So this was to be the outcome of her rebellious desire to attend the masquerade. She had forfeited the respect of the one gentleman who had come to mean something to her.

"I am sorry, Belle! You are upset. Oh, I knew it would upset you. I shouldn't have said anything," cried Clarice, genuinely dismayed.

Belle gave a light laugh, though she had rarely felt less like it in her life. "Why, I am glad that you did, Clarice. It is better to know how one stands with someone, don't you think? I shan't need to waste my time on the viscount anymore, which is a very good thing."

Clarice regarded her in some amazement. "Why, Belle, I thought that you liked Lord Ashdon. That is why I was so torn about telling you what Roland said, though I knew I should."

"Oh, I rather thought that I liked Lord Ashdon, too, for a little while," said Belle blithely. She snapped her fan shut, tired of the silly toy. Her knuckles whitened on the fan's ribs as she attempted to maintain her nonchalant appearance. It was vitally important to her that no one, not even her good friend, should realize how her heart was shattering. "But truly, what is his lordship to me? He is only one of my several admirers."

Clarice heaved a sigh. "I am so very glad! I was afraid that you would be quite, quite cast down."

Belle forced another laugh. "Why should I be?"

Clarice squeezed her arm. "If it is any consolation, Belle, the Crockers and Miss Fairchilde will not be coming this weekend. Mama received a message. Miss Fairchilde has the spots, and so she is to be sent home before the Season is over."

Belle stretched her mouth once again in a semblance of her usual smile. With effort she turned her mind to the other young lady. "Poor Miss Fairchilde. I do feel for her."

"Well, and so do I, naturally. But let us be practical, Belle. At least Lord Ashdon will not be able to make up to her anymore," said Clarice.

Belle wished that her maddening friend would be quiet. "Do let us forget Lord Ashdon! We have the whole evening ahead of us, Clarice, and I, for one, intend to enjoy every moment of it."

Later that evening, Belle had occasion to put her brave boast into practice. Lord Ashdon arrived, escorting Lady Ashdon, and paused to survey the crowded ballroom.

Belle watched him surreptitiously, anxious to see whether he would acknowledge her. His eyes passed over her without stopping, and her heart dropped to her toes.

She had been hurt by Lord Ashdon's sudden coolness toward her. That he had been the one in all the world to catch her cavorting in an unacceptable place had been disastrous. She had looked for him without success in the early morning after the masquerade at the park, hoping to offer an apology to him; but he had not appeared. Nor had he any other morning that entire week.

Never one to allow setbacks or obstacles to throw her for long, Belle nevertheless was depressed by Lord Ashdon's desertion. She had come to look forward to seeing him as she exercised Rolly. Indeed, those hours had come to be her favorite times in the viscount's company. She had learned a great deal about him and his hopes for the future and even his odd insistence that Napoleon Bonaparte would once more appear on the world stage.

Now she wished that she had known more about Lord Ashdon's personal character. She was certainly aware that he had taken offense at what she had done. That had been transparently obvious from the way he had spoken to her that night. She had hoped that their friendship was such that she could apologize and assure him that she did not habitually divert herself with scandalous behavior. She had hoped that Lord Ashdon was not so high in the instep that he could not forgive a stupid lapse in propriety.

Now, however, she knew that he was indeed just so proud. He had been utterly scandalized. He had so taken her in disgust that his entire perception of her had undergone a complete reversal.

It was the single most devastating blow of her entire life.