| |
MEMORIES OF THE BALL filled her mind as Marisa sat propped up in bed the next morning, sipping her hot chocolate. The decorations, the lights, the lovely music, the press of people all in their most splendid dress.
Finally meeting Viscount Allersdale had proved him not to be the insensitive ogre she had imagined. She was even encouraged now that he could be a friend and an ally, though she prayed she’d not given him false hope.
She had met a number of other people as well, including a young army lieutenant named Farrington, whom Lyvia seemed most partial to, and Lady Sarah Tildesdale, a soft-spoken young woman who was Lieutenant Farrington’s cousin.
Marisa had danced with a number of other young gentlemen the previous evening, all of them relatives in some degree to the Wycliffe’s friends, many in uniform still. Her head spun when she tried to recall their names, as there were so many. She was thus engaged, marvelling at her own laziness at the hour of ten in the morning, when there came a light tap on her bedroom door.
“Come in,” she called and Lyvia appeared, already dressed.
“What? Still abed?” she asked, surprised. “You are usually the early bird.”
“I don’t often stay up until two of the morning dancing, either.” Marisa set her empty cup on the tray at her bedside table and stretched. “But you’re right. Last night was wonderful, the most I think I’ve enjoyed myself in years, but it is a particularly fine day, and I shall not waste it asleep.” She threw back the covers and set her bare feet on the soft rug.
“Oh, it is a grand day, isn’t it, Mary?” Lyvia crossed the room, pulled the curtain aside, and sighed as she gazed out the window at upper Mount Street. “I believe it’s the grandest day I’ve ever seen!”
Marisa glanced at her in surprise. Lyvia smiled brightly, her eyes sparkled, and her face glowed with excitement. “You seem in rare form today, Liv. Tell me, do, which one was he? Did I meet him?”
Lyvia turned back. “Am I that obvious? Oh, Mary, yes, he is wonderful, and you did meet him. He is Lieutenant Farrington... Lieutenant Richard Farrington.” She sighed. “When I was in his company last night, I felt so deliciously dizzy.”
“Liv! You seem completely smitten by this fellow.” Marisa laid her hairbrush aside and took her friend’s hand. “Is it so absolute, then? Surely you only met him for the first time last night?”
“We actually met several days ago, that afternoon you and Will visited the museum. He brought his cousin, you know...Lady Sarah?” When Marisa nodded, Lyvia continued, “He accompanied Lady Sarah to call on Mama, because their mothers were friends as children. They stayed only the proper half-hour, and we exchanged nothing but common pleasantries. Still, I liked him so well that I asked Mama if we might invite them to my ball. She said she would do so immediately, for she had been unaware that they were even in London until they called.”
“So your mother did remember the acquaintance?”
“Oh, yes, certainly. Mama wrote often to Lady Deldon, right up until she died five years ago. So when Lieutenant Farrington received leave from his regiment and went to see his uncle, he asked him to bring Lady Sarah with him to London. She was to have made her own debut years ago but her mother fell ill and died, and after that she had not the heart, she said, to enjoy polite society, so she stayed on in Kent.”
“So has she not been presented, then?”
“She was, only last week. She also did have a minor Season in Bath, I believe. Lieutenant Farrington agreed that she deserved to enjoy a London Season after her years of dedication to her family. He is such a devoted young gentleman, don’t you think?” By the look on Lyvia’s face, it was clear that whether Marisa thought the lieutenant was devoted or not really did not matter in the least.
“I am certain you are right. But here you are dressed to go out and I am still in my nightgown. Have you an engagement this morning?”
“The lieutenant has asked to drive me through the park. Though I didn’t mention it, I’m sure he would never mind if you came along, as well.”
“Oh, no, I shall not put myself between two such promising lovebirds.”
“I dare say Lady Sarah will be in that position.” Lyvia sighed. “The lieutenant insisted she come along as chaperone. Imagine! She is less than ten years our senior.”
“He thinks of your reputation, as you should, dearest. But, with his cousin along, I pray they arrive in either a town coach or a barouche, or else you shall be terribly crowded.”
“I don’t think I would mind sitting very close to the lieutenant,” Lyvia declared.
“Well, then.” Marisa laughed. “Do as you must, but pray help me pick out a morning gown before you go.”
The young ladies proceeded to sort through the wardrobe. In addition to the outfits she’d brought with her from Dorset, a dozen new ensembles had been fitted and delivered since their arrival, including ball gowns and walking dresses and two neatly-tailored velvet riding habits. They had just made their selection, a rather sedate morning dress of apple green, when there was another rap on Marisa’s door.
“Yes, come in.”
Lady’s maid Rose entered, bobbed a curtsey, and announced that a young military gentleman was calling for Miss Lyvia. “He be waitin’ in the front drawing room with young Mr. Wycliffe, miss.”
“Oh, Mary, that would be Lieutenant Farrington. Can you come downstairs and meet him again with me?” She seemed uncharacteristically nervous, and Marisa realized just how much this young man must mean to her friend. Still, Marisa was a long way from being prepared to greet company, and she had not even yet had breakfast.
“Not unless he is willing to wait quite a long time, which I doubt. Go on, Liv, for Will is there. Don’t be anxious. He is only a young man, after all, I dare say much like the ones we know back home.”
“Oh, he is not at all like the boys in Dorset,” Lyvia said. “He’s so interesting and worldly, due to his years in the army, no doubt.”
Marisa recalled the lieutenant’s mention that he’d served in the military only one year, but she chose not to remind Lyvia of it. “He and Will should have much to discuss then. Though I have never heard you describe your brother as either ‘interesting’ or ‘worldly.’”
“Well, he’s my brother. You just never think such things of your brother, I suppose. Oh, goodbye, Mary. I mustn’t keep the lieutenant waiting too long.”
* * * *
HALF AN HOUR LATER, properly dressed and her hair brushed and pinned in place, Marisa descended to the breakfast room in high spirits, humming a nameless tune. She saw no one on the way, save Rivers. Lyvia and her young lieutenant must have departed, and there was no sign of the rest of the Wycliffe family.
She had just helped herself to a thick slice of tender ham, a generous portion of breakfast cakes, and a cup of steaming tea with milk and sugar when Will appeared at the door.
“’Morning, Marisa.” He nodded and poured a cup of coffee. “I trust you enjoyed yourself last night.”
“I did, yes. It was lovely.” She took a seat at the table, determined to remain calm, even though her heart had begun to beat a little faster at his presence.
He looked particularly fine that morning, with his dress immaculate and his face showing no fatigue from the previous late evening. Marisa had seen him leave the ball just after midnight, and he hadn’t returned by the time the last guests departed at two. Had he indeed enjoyed only an evening of cards, or had he also spent time in some female’s company, as well? The idea stung, and her food, which had seemed perfect a moment ago, was suddenly unappetizing.
“You looked to be having a grand time when Jamie and I left for White’s,” he continued. “You were just about to dance with Geoffrey Pogson, were you not? No, wait, I believe you had just put off Pogson because your dance card already held the name of Viscount Allersdale.”
Marisa frowned at his sarcasm. She had indeed promised a country-dance to the viscount when he’d returned with her lemonade. Just before it began, a young man named Pogson had been introduced to her and had asked her to be his partner for it. She had denied him, of course, but had promised him the next dance.
“That’s right. The viscount is the son of Lord Dulverton, a particular friend of Sir Gerald’s, whom he most especially wished me to meet.”
“Well, you were definitely a success with him. I noticed how long the two of you sat and talked. Now, let me think... Ah, yes, Dulverton. So, the viscount will one day become a marquess. Yes, I’m sure you’ll make him a very suitable marchioness.”
Marisa tried to calmly return to drinking her tea. “I’m not about to become his marchioness or anyone else’s, for that matter,” she said, a bit more peevishly than she intended. “A few moments of conversation and one dance don’t mean we’re mated for life, you know.” She was more frank than polite conversation would have tolerated, but in the same honest fashion that had always prevailed between them.
“No, indeed.” He set down his coffee cup and went to stare out the bay window, his hands clenched into fists. There was silence for several moments, during which she ate a few bites of the now tasteless ham and cakes and sipped her tea. Why was he acting so perversely?
Will spoke again at last, as if only a few seconds had passed. “One dance means nothing at all these days, it seems. Girls who are ‘on the catch’ wish to dance with every eligible man, so they may be sure they are missing nothing.”
Is he implying that I’m a flirt?
The very idea made her angry. She’d danced with a dozen young gentlemen last night but not more than once with each, so as not to encourage any one overmuch. But he might very well be speaking out of jealousy, and if so, he was beginning, however unconsciously, to regard her as his own.
She controlled her temper as she took another sip of tea. “I suppose a man dances purely for the woman’s pleasure and none his own?”
He turned from the window, and the muscle in his jaw tightened. “Did you find so little pleasure, then, when we danced?”
Marisa’s gaze met and held his. For the briefest of moments, everything else faded away except for the confusion clear on his face. But he’d said nothing about loving her, and she couldn’t profess her feelings till he had spoken his. She looked away, rose from the table and moved toward the open door, almost running into Rivers in her haste to leave.
“I beg pardon, miss, but Lord Rockwell has called.”
“I won’t keep Will from his friend.”
“No, miss, he specifically asked if you were receiving this morning.”
She glanced at Will and then back to Rivers. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Shall I say you are not at home?’”
“No,” she replied. “I...I will see him, of course.”
Rivers held the door to allow her to pass. “He waits in the front drawing room, miss.”
“Thank you, Rivers.”
She walked down the wood-panelled passageway and then into the front hall, pausing to take a calming breath and collect her thoughts. She entered the room with composure but was immensely grateful, after giving Lord Rockwell a perfunctory curtsey, to sink into a soft chair by the fire, afraid her knees wouldn’t have supported her much longer.
“...most sorry to call on you so early, Miss Landon,” Lord Rockwell was saying, sitting opposite her. “I would not have done so at all, except that I happened to meet Miss Wycliffe driving with a young officer in the park, and she assured me you would be at home for a caller.”
“I don’t believe in lying abed until noon, my lord. I feel it wastes the best part of the day, don’t you agree?” She tried to put Will’s uncharacteristic bad humour out of her mind, though it wasn’t an easy task.
“When I’m in the country, I do subscribe to that idea, yes. But late hours at the club or some entertainment here can make arising with the rooster’s first crow a bit difficult.”
“Do you prefer country life, my lord?”
“Yes, indeed. As a child, I spent a great deal of time on my late uncle’s estates. He had two daughters but no sons, so he treated my cousin, Roger, and I as his own. He instructed us in riding and hunting and the judging of horses.”
“Forgive my asking, but did your parents approve?”
“Oh yes, to be sure. My father, you see, died when I was but eight years of age, and my mother had no idea how to properly rear a boy. So when my uncle suggested I come to him on my holidays from school, she readily agreed.”
They talked more about country life, Rockwell skilfully manoeuvring the conversation until it seemed she’d known this pleasant and darkly handsome young nobleman for years instead of only a week. They were discussing the Enclosure Laws and their effect on the small farmers when Will came into the room. He greeted his long-time friend with a warm handshake, but he was otherwise quiet and withdrawn and said very little.
He spoke not at all to Marisa.
Lord Rockwell stayed no more than the usual half-hour, then rose to take his leave. “You will inform Sir Gerald and Lady Craethorne then, Miss Landon?” The purpose of his morning call had been to extend an invitation for her and her parents, when they were arrived and settled, to be his guests for a night of theatre in his private box at Drury Lane.
“Yes, my lord. I’ll tell them of your kind offer at my earliest opportunity, though I don’t yet know, of course, exactly when my mother will be able to travel.”
Lord Rockwell repeated his pleasure at seeing Marisa and Will again then acknowledged that, regretfully, he had another appointment. He briefly bowed over her fingers, nodded to Will, and was gone.
Marisa was agitated beyond what she could reasonably endure with Will lounging against the mantle and ignoring her, so she went to stand at the window, watching as Rockwell climbed into his waiting curricle. His young tiger sprang up behind him as he urged his animal forward. Then, just as Marisa was about to turn away and plead the headache to leave the room, a strange man emerged from the shadows of a doorway across the street where he seemed to have been hiding.
She could see very little of him, for he had a driving cape pulled around him and a tall beaver hat tilted over his face, obscuring his features. As she watched, he signalled to another man, who came from farther down the street, riding one horse and leading another. The man from the shadows mounted, the two riders exchanged a few words, and then both set off at a fast pace in the same direction taken by Lord Rockwell.
“Something most fascinating must be occurring outside this window for you to give it your undivided attention.” Will’s voice close behind her made her jump. “What could possibly be so interesting?”
She looked again and was relieved to see Lyvia and Lieutenant Farrington pulling up in front of the house.
“Why, Lyvia has just returned from her outing with her young lieutenant and his cousin, Lady Sarah.” Marisa refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how greatly his perverse behaviour vexed her. “I must hear how their drive was. Pray, excuse me?”
She brushed past him without another word and made good her escape.