Cry of the Peacock (43 page)

She appeared to regret. She was looking at him now, as if searching for some sign of his lingering ailment. As if she wished to ask after it.

“I’m perfectly well,” he said. “I’ve had a bit of a concussion, but I’m better now.”

“I’m glad to know that,” she said, and was apparently sincere.

“Mariana. I am sorry for my behavior. I regret I handled your news with so little grace. It was a bit overwhelming just at first. It is an obstacle, certainly, but not in the way you must think.”

“An obstacle,” she said. “To what, pray?”

No doubt she had not intended it as encouragement, but he would take it at any rate.

“My feelings have not changed, Mariana. I realize you cannot give up your responsibilities. Perhaps you do not wish to. But I do hope there is a chance for us. I’m not quite prepared to give up hope of it, at any rate.”

“You are ashamed of me.”

“I’m ashamed of myself. What you do here is necessary, though I regret that there is a necessity for it.”

“What of your parents? What will they think?”

“To be honest, I really do not care.”

She did not say anything for a very long time, only focused her gaze upon a stack of papers on her desk. Were those tears he saw?

“I did not mean to upset you,” he said at last.

She merely shook her head.

“And I did not come to apologize alone. I thought you would want to know…your sister has been told of her part in the will.”

Mariana looked up at him then. There
were
tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

“David told her, though it was under my father’s supervision. It is Ruskin or no one, it seems.”

“Unless she is prepared to fight for it.”

“Is that likely do you think?”

“No,” Mariana answered, “I don’t.”

“If she were to meet someone…”

“With your brother standing watch over her every movement?” she demanded of him.

“David is from home.”

“It was Ruskin, I meant,” she said, clearly confused by his answer.

“Yes, I know what you meant.”

They were both silent for a moment, but for a moment only.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he said at last, but was not allowed to finish.

“Yes,” Mariana answered, interrupting him.

“He will not throw Katherine over.”

“I would think much less of him if he did. But if he were somehow to find himself in a position to pay her his own addresses, what then? Do your parents realign the chess pieces and begin the game anew?”

“David would never allow it.”

“So it is out of the question.”

“She has admirers already,” he reminded her. “It is not impossible to believe she might make more. I wish you would accompany your sister to the Christmas ball.”

“And what good could I possibly do there?”

“Well, you’d keep me company for one thing.” He smiled. He could not help it. “Will you forgive me, Mariana? Can you?”

She hesitated to answer, but looked down again at the papers on her desk. Her fingers rolled a pen about upon the surface of it.

“Mariana. I love you. I think you know that. Is it possible you might learn to love me in return?”

Still she did not speak, and it was some time before she even dared to look at him. But at last she did, the tears, now, were rolling down her cheeks. He covered the last distance between them.

“I mean to make a place for myself at Holdaway. And for you, should you ever wish to return there.”

“This isn’t the time, James,” she objected. “Why must we speak of these things now?”

“Tell me how not to speak of it, Mariana, when it’s all I think about?”

“I’m not in a position to consider you. I’m sorry. My aunt is desperately unwell. I have this charity to run, and I have Abbie’s happiness to think of before I can ever stop to think of my own.”

“Tell me at least that you will forgive me,” he pressed. “Even if you cannot do it quite yet.”

“Yes, of course I forgive you,” she answered, at last relenting and seemingly completely.

Grateful for this, he pressed her hand to his lips. She did not object.

“What are we to do about Abbie?” she asked him. “Have you any idea?”

“Well, I mean to introduce her to every semi-honorable gentleman of my acquaintance, I mean to place every obstacle I can assemble in Ruskin’s path, and I mean to buy Abbie every single minute possible to make her decision, and to make it according to her own conscience.”

“I may be able to help with that,” Mariana said, looking more optimistic than he had seen her this half hour. “Mr. Meredith has spoken to me. If Abbie decides she must marry Ruskin for my financial security, she needn’t. My aunt has left me the house, everything she has, and a fortune that will leave me quite independent. I needn’t tell you that what is mine is my sister’s as well.”

This was good news. In many ways it was. It was good for Abbie, at any rate. What would it mean for himself and Mariana? If all her aunt possessed was one day to be hers, would she ever be in a position to leave any part of it behind?

“Do you mean to tell her?” James asked. “You had best do it soon if you do.”

“I was rather hoping you might do it. You will know how and just when to do it, I think.”

He did not answer right away, but contemplated the charge she had given him. Would it truly be best coming from him, or was there not another, a better, solution?

“Will you, Mr. Crawford? James.”

James took Mariana’s hand once more. “I think I have a better idea,” he said.

Mariana smiled. It was considerably brighter than the last she had offered. “I trust you,” she said.

He could not help it. They were the words he wished most in the world to hear from her. Drawing her to him, he kissed her quickly and tried to be gentle about it. And when he left her, a moment later, she was looking teary-eyed, red of face, and pleasantly bewildered.

B
ECKY CUT THE last of the threads and stood to examine Abbie as she examined herself in the mirror’s reflection. Becky’s time as a dressmaker’s assistant had taught her a great deal. There was no recognizing this dress now as one made ready-to-wear. It fitted her perfectly, as though it had always been meant to be hers, and she was pleased, very pleased by the results.

“You have worked a miracle, Becky. Thank you.”

“It’s thanks enough to see you looking so well, miss. I think you have much to look forward to tonight.”

“Yes,” Abbie said, and was thus reminded of the anxiety that threatened any minute to make her too ill to go out. She had much indeed, to look forward to, and much to dread. What if her sister’s secret was now known? What if Society should refuse to accept her? She hated to admit it, for it truly seemed the epitome of ingratitude, but she prayed for a savior tonight, someone who might make her decision to refuse Ruskin not just a possibility, but a necessity. She wished for an easy decision, or, at least for something to make the risks she ran in making it, one way or the other, worth it.

She studied the mirror once more, turning so that she could see herself from every angle. In this dress she would appear, not as a product of Crawford charity, but as herself. In this dress she would make an impression. Upon some, perhaps, it would not be a good one, for Lady Crawford would no doubt be put out to find Abbie had defied her orders once more. But this was the dress someone wished for her to have, and no doubt, to wear. Who had given it, however, remained a mystery. Perhaps it was the idea of solving that mystery that encouraged her, more than anything else, to wear it.

The idea was prepossessing, and yet it was impossible to forget the obligations before her. To reject Ruskin’s offer, to defy the family’s expectations would mean to refuse, as her mother had, all that they might offer her. Was following her mother’s example the right thing, after all? She was not so certain. Her mother had been happy, but she had married for love. Abbie had not that alternative. Not at present, at any rate. To refuse Ruskin for nothing, out of pride and little more, was that enough? Were the consequences, to the family, to David and Katherine, to all involved really worth the exercise of her right to refuse?

If she could only find something in Ruskin to love and admire. He had good qualities. He did. So why were they so eclipsed by his faults?

She could not see so far ahead as the decision she must make. She knew she must make it. She knew time was running out. She had a few weeks more, however. A few weeks more of socializing and acquainting herself with those who would determine the level of her success or failure here. Of, just perhaps, presenting an alternative to Ruskin’s offer. Was it possible she might prove the sort of enticement a man might risk anything for? For without Ruskin, she had nothing of her own to her name. With him she had everything, every recommendation, save her freedom.

Great day! It did seem impossible, didn’t it?

“My cloak,” Abbie said to Becky. “Before I lose my courage.”

It was retrieved and placed around her, and Abbie went downstairs. She was late, too late to join the family in the drawing room. Too late—as she had planned it—to be examined by Lady Crawford, who was always so anxious about the time. And as she had planned, she was the last to enter the carriage. A place, predictably beside Ruskin had been saved for her. David would arrive with the Barnwells, of course. James would remain at home.

*   *   *

It was Ruskin, too, who handed her down when they arrived, and seemed to make a great presentation of it. Together they entered the Dunstable’s grand townhouse, and it was there, in the entrance hall, the family and fellow guests gathered around them, that Abbie was made to bear the first of the evening’s necessary obstacles. Her cloak was drawn off, and Lady Crawford, red of face and standing stock still, studied her with disapproval, and perhaps a hint of contempt. Ruskin and his father were too busy speaking with the others of the guests, now arriving, to pay any mind.

“Where did you get this dress, Arabella?” Lady Crawford asked, hissing the question into her ear.

“You said I might choose something for myself when I went to the dressmaker’s. This is what I chose.”

“But you knew I wanted you in wine tonight. You knew it! Why did you defy me again?”

“If I had known you would be so displeased…” She detested lying, and though the circumstances warranted it, she liked herself no better for it.

“You did know. You must have known. And I am very—”

“My dear, Margo!” It was Lady Barnwell. “Will you look at her!”

“Precisely!” Lady Crawford answered. “I was just telling her how very—”

“She is a sight to behold,” Lady Barnwell continued unheeding. “I have to tell you, I was worried you would overdo it. But this, no this is perfect. She is understated yet elegant. She enters making a statement, to be sure, but no loud and blaring one. You chose well, my friend. You chose very well, indeed.”

Which silenced Lady Crawford completely. She was still red of face, but a smile appeared, as did an air of tentative pride. She gave Abbie a warning look, but turned to greet Lord Barnwell who had now joined them. David and Katherine entered after him, and though Katherine glanced in her direction and did not smile, David did not appear to see her at all. She could not help it. She was disappointed. Why had she thought the dress might have come from him? It was preposterous!

Well, it did not matter. It could never have mattered anyhow. She would make the most of this evening. She would make the most of this dress and of the confidence she was now being encouraged to feel. Ruskin, with a smile of proud admiration, took her arm and together they entered the reception room as they were announced by the footman.

“Mr. Ruskin Crawford and Miss Arabella Gray!”                  

A newcomer was a spectacle enough. A newcomer such as she, with a family to back her and a story to accompany her, with a supposed fortune tucked away somewhere and with noble gentlemen already plying their suit, well, all heads raised and all eyes—and ears—were wide open to receive her, and to make of her what they could, great or small, as the occasion afforded. No doubt all that could be made of her appearance on Ruskin’s arm would be. There was tittering and talking, several long and appraising stares, and before long everyone returned to their former occupations. The worst, or so she supposed, was over.

Lady Crawford and Lady Barnwell, with heads together, led the way, while Abbie and Ruskin followed. Introductions were made. Abbie could only hope to remember a few of the more important names, but she had never been good with names, and there were simply too many of them.

Lord Barnwell and David broke away from the party to attend to their own business, and it was business for them, make no mistake, for if Abbie was to make her value felt tonight, so was David.

It was just the ladies now, and together they were brought before their hostess. She was presented as if Lady Dunstable were the queen herself. Abbie even dipped a curtsey, which she was afraid was all a trifle too obsequious to be believed. But, to her relief, it was received with the respect intended, and Abbie, in return, was greeted with the fluttering of a smile.

“You are most welcome, my dear,” the woman said, and continued to contemplate her. At last she finished her evaluation and offered an approving smile and three fingers of her right hand, which Abbie took in her own. She had heard that there was a sort of code to these handshakes. One finger was a bad omen. Two was merely passable. Three… Was this a mark of enthusiastic acceptance?

“You have not met my son, I think,” Lady Dunstable said, and, putting a hand out, gestured toward a gentleman, who, before receiving the summons, required a sharp nudge by one of his companions. Having at last awoken to the call, he approached. Without looking, without, in fact, taking her eyes off of Abbie, Lady Dunstable hooked her hand in the crook of his arm, and drew the young man forward. He was tall and very handsome. Almost as handsome as—

“Freddie, this is Lady Crawford’s young charge, Miss Arabella Gray. Perhaps you might give her a tour of the rooms?”

“With pleasure,” he said. Offering an arm and a look a trifle warmer than was expected, he led her away.

Ruskin, predictably, did not appear to approve of the separation. It was as if his favorite toy had been snatched by a playmate. But Abbie felt a little thrill of excitement in consequence of this apparent mark of acceptance on her host, and hostess’s parts. She was consequently encouraged to believe she might indeed make a great deal of the opportunities afforded her this evening.

*   *   *

Frederick Dunstable was charming and handsome. Frederick Dunstable was connected and rich. And, as Abbie soon began to realize, Frederick Dunstable was a shameless flirt. No doubt Abbie was not the only young lady to have been subjected to his charms, but thanks to her time at Newhaven House, she understood something of the ways of the idle and unscrupulous. He flattered and boasted, offered compliments by the spades and introduced her to no one of his acquaintance. When each of the reception rooms had been visited, and the library and the gardens, when all the paintings had been explained and the portraits, too, when all these had been seen and still he wished to show her one room more, a private room, she began to suspect that he wished to improve the acquaintance beyond reasonable bounds. Was this what a fortune recommended her for? No doubt it was that which kept the gossips busy tonight, and would continue to do. But she was not such a simpleton as that, and though she wished for an alternative to Ruskin’s suit, not quite anyone would do. She thanked Lord Dunstable for his kindness and politely excused herself. Breaking away from him, she stood to look out over the balcony. From here she examined the assembly room below, and the guests who had gathered and were gathering still.

In one corner of the room, she could see Lady Crawford chatting animatedly with a group of other well-respected Society matrons, examining their fellow guests and commenting on their appearances, and characters—always in complimentary terms, of course. Nothing less was permitted.

A little distance off, near the room wherein the refreshments were arranged, stood Ruskin listening attentively to Katherine. How good he was to her. How kind and sympathetic. How at ease. Even in his attempts at patience, he had rarely been at ease with Abbie. Might he ever learn to be? And could she bring herself to be so with him?

Lord Dunstable joined her at the balcony rail. “You must find it all very exciting, this.”

“Yes, of course I do,” she answered, and did not say what she thought, that it was all a little overwhelming. She could quite easily imagine herself enjoying the occasional party, but to do it three nights a week, and then the opera and the theatre besides…it seemed a very great deal to adjust to for someone accustomed to quiet country life.

Below, Abbie observed David, who was in conversation with a gentleman of seemingly foreign origin, with a pointed beard and curious whiskers. The subject was clearly of great interest, for David was listening attentively. He glanced up and saw her, and smiled almost impulsively, but he stifled it and turned back to his companion.

“Mr. David Crawford is as good as a brother to you, I suppose,” Lord Dunstable said.

He asked the question as if it were one of personal interest to him. But it wasn’t for this reason alone that the suggestion made her uneasy. David as her brother, to meet with him so often, to improve her acquaintance with him, to increase in familiarity, and to know she could not love him as her heart had already learned to do… Such would be agony.

“Forgive me for my impertinence, but is it not true you are expected to marry the Crawford heir? That would make you brothers with David and James, I believe.”

“I suppose it would,” was all she could think to say in answer.

“Is it possible you do not wish to marry the heir?”

She looked at him and saw him glance back in the direction of David and his bearded, foreign friend. “I wonder,” he said, “what
does
the charming Miss Gray want?”

She did not answer, but looked back down at the crowd, at anyone, anywhere but where she had previously looked before.

He considered her a moment more. “Perhaps she does not yet know.”

“Perhaps I don’t, Lord Dunstable.”

His reply consisted of a nod of his head and a foxlike grin.

*   *   *

David had made his own round of the rooms, and Katherine, finding his acquaintances and conversations boring—he could not blame her—had gone off with her father to search out those of the elder gentleman’s political peers whom it might be deemed useful for David to know. They had not yet returned, and he was grateful for the reprieve.

From the Earl of Sansbury he had drifted to Lord Hightower, they had spoken briefly of the day’s parliamentary proceedings, of poor Mr. Peel, whose wife was declining quickly, and whether the deputy speaker was quite prepared to continue on through mid-December on his own. David thought so. Lord Hightower thought not. But then Hightower was generally a disagreeable fellow.

When Mr. Maclure joined them the conversation turned to the new railroad, which, to David’s interest and annoyance, was to be delayed again in its public opening, but beyond that, the company had submitted a new bill for the extension of the route from King William Street to Islington. The route was growing before it had already started. Was this not the very best of omens for the enterprise? David thought so. He’d lately put a little money of his own into it, and for reasons that were not entirely selfish, he looked forward to the day when the ‘tube’ would prove a smashing success. Talk of electric engines soon turned to combustion engines, and Mr. Maclure proposed to introduce David to someone who was purportedly an expert on the subject.