Candice Hern (13 page)

Clarissa giggled.

The sound of the gentlemen returning to the box caused both of them to turn away from the boisterous crowd below and return to their chairs. Lord Hopwood, looking somewhat frazzled, handed Marianne a glass of wine and helped her to her seat.

"I am sorry to have been so long," he said, "but I have had distressing news."

"Oh, dear. What has happened?"

"As you may know, I have an estate near Higham in Suffolk. I have just learned that the recent rains have caused the Brett to overflow and the area is badly flooded. For all I know, my home may be underwater."

"Good heavens. How dreadful."

"Yes, I am afraid I must leave early tomorrow morning. I want to get there as soon as possible and discover the extent of any damage."

"Yes, of course."

"I am afraid that means I will not be able to escort you to the Missenden rout, after all. I am terribly sorry. I was looking forward to it."

"So was I, my lord, but I understand perfectly. You must not be concerned on my account."

"You are too kind. But more than missing the rout party, I'm afraid I cannot even stay for the end of this performance. I really must take my leave at once to begin preparations for the journey. I trust you will forgive me."

He rose, took her hand, and bowed over it. "Your servant, madam."

When the box curtains had closed behind him, Marianne gave a frustrated sigh, then caught Penelope's eye. Her friend raised her brows in question. Marianne shook her head. One more disappointment. Would she ever find the right man? Would she ever truly be a Merry Widow?

As she turned back toward the stage, she happened to catch a glimpse of Adam. He wore a disconcertingly satisfied smile.

"Look at her, Rochdale." Adam stood against the wall in the glittering grand salon at Ellenborough House, which had been converted into a ballroom for the second Benevolent Widows Fund ball of the Season.

"I am looking," Rochdale said, "and I am suitably impressed. Your bride-to-be is a vision. The prettiest girl at the ball. Every man in London is aware of your good fortune. You need not gloat about it."

Clarissa was being led through the steps of a country dance with Lord Ushworth, and she was positively beaming. "But see how happy she looks. See how easily she laughs. Why can she not be as carefree with me as she is with that young puppy?"

Rochdale cast him an appraising glance. "Good God. Are you acting the jealous bridegroom already?"

"I am not jealous. Not exactly. I just wish she could be more comfortable with me. She has shown more vivacity with every other partner than she did during our set. More than she ever does with me, in fact."

Rochdale arched a brow. "Are you worried she will throw you over?"

"No. Clarissa is too well-bred to do something like that. But I begin to worry if I can make her happy. Am I too old for her?"

His friend groaned. "Not too old, but possibly too stupid. You both knew what you were getting out of this bargain — you when you offered, she when she accepted. Do not start second guessing the match now. It is too late for that."

"I am not second guessing it."

"But you are getting cold feet, I think."

"I'm just feeling old, that's all. Even Marianne is radiant on the arm of a younger man. Look at her out there with Sherwood."

Marianne was in the same line as Clarissa, standing right beside her, in fact. Certain figures of the dance required them to cross one another and switch partners. Both ladies were clearly enjoying themselves. Marianne smiled and laughed with Lord Julian Sherwood just as easily as Clarissa did with Ushworth.

"And that is the real problem, isn’t it?" Rochdale said. "You are still vexed over Marianne taking a lover. That smile for her young man is all the more provoking because you know where it could lead, whereas you have no fear of betrayal from Clarissa."

Was he doing that? Was he inventing problems with Clarissa because he was still irritated over the whole business of Marianne with a lover?

There was probably a germ of truth in what Rochdale said. Sherwood was still in the running, and Marianne appeared to favor him. Adam hated the idea, thought it would end badly, though there did not seem to be a damned thing he could do about it.

"Marianne is not my problem," he said.

"Indeed, she is not."

"But Clarissa is. I am hoping she will warm up to me eventually, but I have no experience with innocent virgins."

Rochdale lifted his hands and held them palm out at his shoulders in a gesture of protective dismissal. "Don't look at me," he said. "Innocent girls give me a bellyache. Never go near them. Still a bit twitchy, is she?"

"Yes, for the most part, though very occasionally she will let her guard down a bit. I am learning that when dealing with young innocents, one must move slowly, and with caution."

"Or perhaps not."

Adam turned to Rochdale. "What do you mean?"

"You have something of a reputation with the ladies. It is possible that reputation is intriguing to Clarissa. For all you know, she could be secretly hoping you will pounce, secretly panting to discover if everything said about you is true."

"Pounce?" Adam chuckled. "I suspect if I pounced, poor Clarissa would fall into a dead swoon."

"Are you certain? You might be reading her all wrong."

Adam watched Clarissa glide through the figures with Ushworth, smiling happily. He found it difficult to believe Rochdale's theory. If she wanted him to pounce, she would have at least smiled at Adam like that. "I don't think so, but perhaps I should attempt a bit more aggressiveness just to be sure. Not a full pounce, but more than a chaste salute on the cheek."

He continued to watch his betrothed, wondering what she would do if he really kissed her, thoroughly kissed her. His eyes drifted to Marianne, stepping gracefully through a swing corner, then a double turn. She wore a dress of emerald green in a silky fabric that alternately floated and clung as she moved, providing provocative hints of the body beneath. Once again, she had dressed for seduction, and Sherwood did not bother to hide his appreciation.

"She is a beautiful woman."

Adam turned to find Sidney Gilchrist at his side. Good God. Another man from Marianne's list to plague him.

"Yes, she is," Adam replied.

"Can't keep your eyes off her, can you?" Gilchrist gave a wry chuckle. "Well, you will have her all to yourself soon enough, Cazenove. Stole a march on everyone by managing a betrothal before the Season began, you sneaky devil."

Adam lifted his brows in interest. He should have realized the man would assume he was staring at Clarissa and not Marianne. "Forgive me if I interfered with any plans you may have had involving Miss Leighton-Blair."

Gilchrist gave a bark of laughter. "No such thing, I assure you. I only meant that you spoiled a bit of the Season's sport by removing one of the prettiest girls from the field. Besides," he added with a conspiratorial wink, "I've got my eye on another filly." His gaze traveled to the dance floor and Adam stifled a groan.

"You are hoping, then," he said, "to follow my lead and announce your own betrothal this Season?"

Gilchrist's brows shot up to his hairline. "Good Lord, no." His eyes darted left and then right as he quickly scanned the room. "Please, I beg you, do not even
whisper
such an idea at a gathering like this. Some girl's mama is certain to hear you and decide I am the perfect match for her bracket-faced charge." He gave a horrified shudder.

"Sorry," Adam said, biting back a grin. "I gather you have something else in mind with a certain lady."

"Indeed I do. And it ain't marriage, I can assure you."

"A bit of sport, then."

Gilchrist gave another wink and clicked his tongue. "Just so."

"I wish you good luck in the chase, old boy. And who is the lady, if you don't mind telling?"

Gilchrist leaned in closer and nodded toward the dance floor. "The beautiful Mrs. Nesbitt."

Adam pretended to look shocked. "You're not serious?"

"I know, I know. You will say she is a pattern card of propriety and the least likely woman to engage in a brief frolic. But I tell you, she has changed this Season. I have a very good hunch she is ready get back in the game."

"Do you think so?" Adam pulled a thoughtful face. "I suppose it is possible she has been too long without Nesbitt and wants to replace him in her bed. I would not be surprised to hear that she misses it. Nesbitt was ... well, let us just say his replacement will have very big shoes to fill."

Gilchrist's eyes widened. "You mean ..."

Adam nodded. "He and I were friends since our Oxford days, and I had more than one occasion to observe ... his assets." He leaned close to Gilchrist and lowered his voice. "The man was hung like a stallion."

Gilchrist paled. "He was?"

"Never saw a man to match him," Adam said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Knew what to do with it, too, I'm told. At Oxford, everyone called him 'The Rod'. Oh yes, his widow will be missing him, to be sure. It will take the right sort of man to replace him, though, as her expectations are bound to be rather ... high. You're a better man than I am, Gilchrist, if you mean to even try."

"Well, I, um, haven't yet entirely decided to approach her."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, old chap. She is too refined a lady to remark upon any comparisons. Besides," he said, giving him a friendly pat on the back, "I'm sure you would measure up to the task."

Gilchrist gave an awkward chuckle. "I have no worries on that score, I promise you. But there are other women I have considered. May go after Lady Morpeth instead. Both are beautiful women. Haven't made up my mind."

"I wish you luck with whichever lady you choose," Adam said.

Gilchrist soon made his excuses and beat a speedy retreat to the cardroom.

Lord Rochdale, who'd heard the whole exchange, let out a cackle of laughter. "You blackguard! That was downright cruel, you know. The Rod?"

Adam grinned, feeling rather proud of himself. Another player had left the field. He did not believe his late friend would mind having his assets exaggerated.

I am only looking out for her, David, just as you requested.

"While it is a brilliant maneuver in discouraging interest in the fair Marianne," Rochdale said, "I have to wonder if you have not entirely lost your mind."

"Not at all. I have merely steered away a few gentlemen who are unworthy of Marianne's attention."

"A few? This is not the first man you've bamboozled into abandoning the chase?"

"There were two or three others. None of whom would have suited her."

"And you used the same ploy with each, warning that she might find them unequal to the task?"

Adam smiled. "No, that one was a spur-of-the-moment invention. I did not like the way he ogled her on the dance floor and called her a filly. I employed different tactics for the others."

"It may be amusing to you, but she will not thank you for this." The merriment had faded from Rochdale's eyes. "In fact, I rather imagine she will have your head on a platter if she ever finds out. She will hate you for it, and then where will you be?"

"She will not find out."

"Damn it, Cazenove, this is madness. Do you have any idea how childish your behavior is? And selfish. What gives you the right to interfere in her life like this?" He shook his head in disgust. "You have a bride to see to, for God's sake. Tend to her and leave Marianne Nesbitt to someone else." He turned on his heel and walked away.

Adam's glow of smug triumph dimmed in his friend's wake. Rochdale was right, of course. Adam was being ridiculous and selfish and outrageously presumptuous, and that damned promise to David was merely an excuse. It was his newly acknowledged attraction to Marianne, and the impossibility of acting on it, that was the motivating force behind his idiotic behavior. It wasn't simply a matter of not wanting another man to be Marianne's lover. In the deepest, most secret part of his heart, he knew that if things had been different, if he had not offered for Clarissa, he might have been that lover.
Might
have been. He could not even be certain she would have accepted him, but he was fairly certain now that he would have offered.

For the sake of might-have-beens, he'd escaped into folly, treating the whole business as a lark, as a game. It was not a game. It was her life. If she sought to add a little pleasure to it, he should be happy for her. He should be.

But it was so damned hard.

* * *

"Are you as devastated as I?" Adam whispered as he and Marianne stepped through the figures of a country dance. "The smiles of my bride-to-be are turned on your favorite beau. Will they throw us both over, do you think?"

Marianne glanced to the other line where Lord Julian Sherwood danced with Clarissa. They danced well together and the girl did look radiant. But Marianne had often noticed that Clarissa seemed more comfortable with young men closer to her own age.

"Perhaps we will both have our poor hearts broken," she said with a smile when the figure brought them together again.

"Aha. That must mean Sherwood is still in the running, if he has the capacity to break your heart."

"I still have hopes in that direction," she whispered, "but my heart is not involved."

"But certain other parts hope to be?"

Marianne hid an explosion of embarrassed laughter in a little cough and glared at Adam as he crossed the line in a set-and-change-sides figure. She was unable to look him in the eye during the rest of the dance for fear of dissolving into giggles — unspeakable behavior for one of the patronesses of the ball.

By mutual agreement, they abandoned the dance floor before the last dance in the set commenced, and instead took a turn about the room.

"What a beast you are to tease me so in public," she said. "You will destroy my aura of aristocratic reserve."

"You may be one of the patronesses, but I know you to be neither aristocratic nor reserved, so you must forgive me." He looked toward the dancers still engaged in a longways set and said, "My betrothed is still smiling at Sherwood. Are you jealous?"