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“The damask rose? Or the violet?” Titania asked, as much to herself as to Sarah and the undermaid who was assisting in the all-important task of getting Miss Stanhope prepared for the evening, a party that seemed to be the most important event of the season.
“The damask is lovely on you, miss,” Sarah said, “but I think the violet brings out your eyes, and of course you can wear your mother’s amethysts with them, too.”
Titania smiled, remembering seeing her mother stop by her room before she went out when Titania was just a young girl. “Yes,” Titania said, “I do believe you are right, Sarah. The violet is the best choice.”
Titania had not yet worn this particular gown, finding it so delicately lovely she was afraid of ruining it by spilling something or tripping. But if she never wore it, what was the point of having purchased it? And what better time to wear it than tonight, when her very life hung in the balance? She needed to play her hand with as many advantages as she could muster, and this violet gown represented a veritable pair of aces. She eased into it, taking a long look in the glass as Sarah adjusted the hem.
The gown was molded to her figure, enhancing her bust and slim waist, revealing the subtle flare of her hips as it cascaded down to her feet. Just under her bust, a darker-hued purple ribbon encased her ribs, and the straps that held the gown up were made of the same material. Hopefully the gown would provide her with the confidence she knew she would need to speak to Edwin.
The soiree was already an overstuffed, hot, uncomfortable affair when Titania and Miss Tynte arrived.
Titania looked for Edwin immediately, knowing she would be in agony until she spoke to him. Not spotting him, she found a footman bearing champagne and discreetly sipped it until it was gone, then found herself another glass.
And then she saw him: Edwin, sumptuously attired in a black evening coat, a black waistcoat picked out with gold embroidery, and a black cravat. The black and gold drew attention to his sun-darkened skin, the tawny lights in his hair, and the emerald green of his eyes. He was a breathtaking sight, and Titania could almost hear all the susceptible females in the room heave a collective sigh. He seemed unaware of the effect he was having, heading directly for the gaming room.
“Quite a display, is he not?” Alistair said in her ear, startling her so much she spilled some of her champagne. He gestured quickly to obtain her another glass—her third, she counted in surprise—and continued, “It seems the boy has taken my advice and gotten himself some decent clothing. You would think he would have done so upon arrival—he would have saved himself a lot of idle speculation.”
“Idle speculation? What do you mean?”
“Oh, only that my friend is not nearly as impoverished as he appears,” Alistair replied. “The estate he inherited, although apparently in need of some attention, will yield a healthy per annum, and he had already gained a small fortune while in exile. So although he wished to give the appearance of a pauper, for reasons known only to himself, he is actually quite flush in the pocket.”
Titania felt in her pocket for the small of piece of wood she still carried. She dug the sharp end into her palm until she felt the urge to scream subside.
Edwin was as wealthy as any of her other suitors. She would never be able to convince him she loved him before discovering the truth about his fortune. The perfect man, in intellect, looks, and, yes, fortune, despised her.
“Are you all right, Miss Stanhope? Perhaps you need to take a turn on the balcony to get some fresh air?” Alistair escorted her quickly to the balcony entrance and led her outside, taking care to refresh both of their champagne glasses.
“Here,” he said, returning her glass to her limp hand, “drink this, you will feel better.” She drank it down unprotestingly, noticing that the world seemed a little fuzzier and she was having slight difficulty figuring out where she was. “Are you all right, Miss Stanhope?” he repeated. “You are so pale, should I summon your cousin?” Titania held up her hand to stop him.
“No, no. A slight dizziness, that is all. Please, do not trouble Miss Tynte, she would worry, and it is nothing. If I could just ask you to sit with me for a moment, I will be fine.”
“Of course,” Alistair replied, seating himself next to her on the stone bench. It was a warm night, and a light breeze brought some temporary relief, although Titania barely noticed, since her insides were completely frozen.
“Miss Stanhope,” Alistair said, looking more serious than Titania had ever seen him, “I realize now is perhaps not the most appropriate time, but I’ve lost my nerve so many times that I just must talk to you now.”
“What...what is it, Mr. Farrell?”
Please do not propose right now. Please let it be anything else but that.
“Miss Stanhope, I know you believe me to be nothing but an empty-headed fop, and perhaps I am, but I am also someone who believes that a man can change if he has the right person to help him. I want you to be that person, Miss Stanhope. I want you to marry me. Will you do me the honor?”
She had no honor. Not anymore.
“Mr. Farrell, I am aware of the great honor you do me, but...”
“But you will not,” he finished. “I suppose it was too much to hope that you would wish to be married to someone as brainless as I am.” His glum expression wrung Titania’s already sore heart.
“Mr. Farrell, do not think my refusal has anything to do with any presumed lack found in you. My...my affections are already engaged. But you are my friend. And, Mr. Farrell,” she said in a low aside, “you might want to make sure your bride is someone who will not be overwhelmed by your sartorial splendor.”
“Oh, but Miss Stanhope,” Alistair said with a quick return to his normal, urbane mien, “no lady could possibly compare. I pledge that whoever finally accepts this elegantly attired ex-soldier will be a drab wren so as not to compete with her devastatingly gorgeous husband.”
Titania chuckled, as she was meant to, giving Alistair a friendly smile. She felt her insides warm as well. She laid an impulsive hand on his arm, turning to look directly into his dark brown eyes.
“You must know I respect, admire, and trust you. You can depend on me if you need help.”
“Any help except agreeing to be my bride, correct?” Alistair said with a sly grin. She laughed again, removing her hand from his arm to cover her mouth.
“Yes, anything but that. Is it a bargain, then?”
“Indeed it is, Miss Stanhope, indeed it is.”
And without warning, with barely a second to register what was happening, he swept her up into a huge embrace, nearly enveloping her with his long arms. She stayed there for a moment, shocked, while he breathed deeply into her hair.
“Excuse me,” a clipped voice said. Drawing back, Titania saw that Edwin was on the balcony, regarding the two of them—his best friend and the woman he’d been indecently caressing not twenty-four hours before—with undisguised disdain.
“It appears I am interrupting. I had hoped Miss Stanhope would oblige me with a few moments of her time, but I believe that will now be unnecessary.
“Excuse me,” he repeated, striding quickly back into the ballroom. Titania felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.
Alistair continued looking at Edwin’s retreating form, then gave a heavy sigh and twisted his neck to regard Titania with a piercing gaze.
“Miss Stanhope, you are terribly pale again. Judging by your face, it appears you have just informed me of the object of your affections. As if I did not already know. If you want me to speak with him, to explain the situation...”
“No!” Titania burst out. “No, thank you,” she said in a milder tone, “I will do whatever explaining is to be done.”
He must think she was the loosest woman of his acquaintance, going from man to man in some sort of mad rush. And how wrong was he? In the course of one day, she had received proposals from no fewer than three men, and turned them all down.
She rose stiffly, feeling as if she were one hundred and twenty-three instead of just twenty-three. “Thank you, Mr. Farrell, I believe I would like to be alone for a little while, if you do not mind.”
Alistair bowed. “Of course. Please, Miss Stanhope, if I may repeat what you just said—please, call on me if you need any help.” Titania gave him a slight nod of her head, then took several weary steps back into the ballroom. As she passed through the doorway, she squared her shoulders and threw her head back. A good bluff, her father used to say, is better than a good hand.
The problem, she realized a few hours later, was that you needed someone to play with, and her chosen partner was proving maddeningly elusive.
Titania watched in frustration as Edwin danced and flirted with any number of ladies, all of whom who were either married or otherwise unattainable. He danced a languorous waltz with Lady Carteret, a woman whose passions were only slightly less discreet than her cleavage, a quadrille with Mrs. Jennings, a widow who had just come out of mourning with an ample fortune and no desire ever to let it out of her control again, and the young Miss Jane Ellingsworth, who was in the unfortunate position of being the younger sister of a girl who could not seem to enter a conversation with anyone without disagreeing with them.
“Titania, my love, you should stop staring.” Miss Tynte’s voice interrupted just as Titania was willing herself not to march over and remove Edwin from the woman who seemed to be gripping him as tightly as Lord George with a sugary tidbit. She tilted her head to stare at the ceiling, thus avoiding Miss Tynte’s eyes.
“No, I was just admiring the chandeliers. Have you ever seen such a lovely fixture?”
Her friend’s tone was as dry as Plutarch. “No, I have not. I do admire a good fixture.”
“Well, I see my next partner arriving. Mr. Ramer, I believe this is your dance?” Titania smiled brightly at Miss Tynte as her partner whisked her away with a brisk twirl. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to be discussing the last person she wanted to talk about.
“The Earl of Oakley, he is a bit of a dark horse,” Mr. Ramer said with an admiring nod. “First he returns to town, no one knows he’s got anything—fact is, most everyone thinks he’s still the dog in the manger—then he shows up dressed like a prize rooster on the strut! Turns out he’s got gobs of money.”
“Tell me, Mr. Ramer,” Titania asked, “does your family estate feature a wide assortment of livestock?”
“Yes, Miss Stanhope, it does; why do you ask?”
“No reason, Mr. Ramer. No reason.”
***
“THANK YOU FOR THE DELIGHTFUL dance, my lord. I do not think the marquess minded that much when you stepped on his toes.”
“Thank you for the exciting dance, Lord Yorksley. I have never performed the cotillion quite that way before.”
“And thank you, my lord, for asking me. It was wonderful.”
At last it was over. The evening wore the unmistakable signs of age: portly lords, their corsets creaking, were gathering their winnings from the gaming room while their ladies fanned themselves with some poor unfortunate’s notes of hand. More unfortunates were obsessively going over each hand with one another, certain they could discover the one play that turned their luck bad. Young misses were yawning in fatigue, their white gowns almost as tired, showing the marks of having been whirled around the room at least a dozen times, scraping by the refreshment table, the potted plants, and some slightly inebriated fellow’s wineglass; Miss Tynte was conducting a tête-à-tête with the same shortish fellow she had danced with the other evening.
Miss Tynte looks so happy, Titania thought as the two ladies waited for their carriage to arrive. It would be selfish of her to burden Miss Tynte with her troubles right now.
I wonder if even now he is with that widow. I hate her. I hate him. Well, I wish I did. I will work on that tomorrow.
Miss Tynte paused on the steps, looking with a guilty start into her reticule. “Oh, my dear,” she exclaimed, “I must have left my handkerchief inside. I know I had it when I was waiting for you while you danced with Lord George—perhaps it is still near that chair. Let me just go and check. You go ahead into the carriage, I will follow presently.”
She scurried inside, and Titania caught just a glimpse of Mr. Short Man (she really should get his name) before turning to enter the carriage. It was dark, and she fumbled for a moment before sitting on something hard and unyielding, not at all the comfortable cushions she was accustomed to.