Dancing the Maypole (52 page)

“James adores
Agnes.” Isabel pursed her lips as if laying down a winning card,
“He’d die for her.”

“Exactly! How
could any sane man fall in love with Agnes? I’d rather share my bed
with an ice sculpture than freeze my…er…limbs on that ice
maiden.”

“At least Agnes
won’t catch your pox.”

“I don’t have
the pox,” hissed Robert. “The symptoms cleared up years ago!”

“Your countless
lovers who haven’t yet died must find that comforting.”

“Forget my
lovers. They don’t mean anything. Marry me and I’ll build you a
palace that will make the Regent green with envy. What can that
Smirke offer; a refurbished closet? A new bed? A garden folly? I
can cover you with diamonds.”

“Why would I
want to be covered in diamonds?”

“Fine! Forget
jewellery!” snapped Robert. “I’ll let you publish your romantic
scribblings.”

Isabel pursed
her lips in contempt, “How generous of you.”

“That’s nothing
to sneer at. Most men wouldn’t allow their wives’ private fantasies
be passed from hand to hand. I’ll even let you publish them under
your own name. With a few words in the right ears, I could make it
the done thing to publish silly romances.”

“You’ve finally
persuaded me Robert…” He smiled thinking he’d won her over. “I’m
persuaded that you’re a big heartless cow. Excuse me…” She tried to
walk away, but he moved to block her path causing several heads to
turn in their direction.

“I have your
interest at heart,” said Robert through his teeth.

“Which
interest? My personal honour, or the accruing interest on my
fortune?”

“You know I
don’t need your money. Come with me to the music room.”

“Why? Has it
been half an hour since your last conquest? Are you hoping I’ll
faint and hit my head on the piano so you can have your evil
way?”

Blue eyes
chilled to ice. “Why would you think that?”

She dropped her
voice to a hissing whisper. “Why would Adderbury accuse you of
ravishing some nameless woman? I hope your father hasn’t heard of
it; it would break his heart.”

The beautiful
face paled, “I didn’t! That lying Smirke knows I didn’t ravish her.
It was a mistake. A bloody miserable misunderstanding. I tried to
save someone who didn’t want to be saved. I admit I was wrong, but
I didn’t ravish her.”

“You look
guilty to me,” said Isabel.

“She brought my
blood to the boil. I was trying to help the little fool…”

“Trying to help
her conceive your twenty-ninth daughter?”

“I didn’t
ravish her! That pompous Smirke is a liar if he said I did.”

“Whatever you
did or didn’t do, stay away from me. I don’t want Pierre to think
I’m in danger. I don’t want him to kill you and end up hanging for
murder.”

“Pierre?” The
name was spat onto the floor. “You call him Pierre?”

“It’s his name.
If you’re desperate for a wife Robert, I suggest you find one of
your pregnant unmarried lovers and marry her. At least she’ll know
what to expect on your wedding night…if you can wait till dark to
re-consummate the blessed union. Think how happy your mother would
be to find she only had to wait three months to hold the
long-desired grandchild.”

“I thought you
were kind and sweet. I must have momentarily lost my mind. Why
would I want to chain myself to an old maid who wasn’t even
handsome in her youth?”

Blinking back
tears, Isabel ignored the flickering white stars warning her to use
her smelling salts. “The fact you haven’t noticed the spine running
down the middle of my back doesn’t surprise me. Every time we meet
your gaze becomes focused on my chest. Adderbury may admire my
charms, but at least he has the courtesy to occasionally look me in
the eyes and admire my face.”

“That should
ring a warning bell. Your father has probably threatened Adderbury
with a painful death if he doesn’t romantically drag you off the
shelf. Good riddance! Not even a bullet would persuade me to marry
you now.”

“The relief is
mutual! I hope the woman who captivates the remains of your heart
has the sense to look past your beautiful facade, and realise
there’s nothing else to admire.”

Robert snorted
in contempt, “It seems I’ve had a blessed escape!” Her cousin bowed
out of habit and walked away. Holding her head high, Isabel found
her designated seat, a white garden bench decorated with its own
swag of greenery and flowers. Collapsing onto the bench, she
flipped open the lid on her ring, and inhaled her smelling salts.
If anyone overheard the conversation, it would become the next
embellished ondit to amuse the haut ton. Ladies had been trying to
snare her cousin Robert since he was old enough to shave, but none
of them had succeeded in winning a proposal. A woman who chose a
Smirke over Robert Neilson would be condemned as a lunatic.

Snapping open
her fan, Isabel cooled her burning rage with the smell of lemon
verbena. Peter would soon arrive. They’d dance, and then sneak off
to the garden for a walk in the moonlight. She wouldn’t think about
having to say goodbye, or the prospect of returning to her cold
lonely room. With luck, he’d kidnap her, and they’d disappear into
the night, shadows running from the moon. The noise of the warming
musicians faded as she imagined herself in a moving carriage,
rocking back and forth as the horses galloped through the night.
Across from her, Peter Smirke sat tensely upright holding two
loaded pistols. Any highwaymen fool enough to halt their journey
would be sleeping in a pauper’s grave.

“Isabel!” Torn
from the arms of her imaginary Pierre, Isabel lifted her gaze to
see her mother standing next to the flesh and blood man. The
expression on his face made Isabel’s heart freeze; it was the look
of a man who’d just been told that his house was a smouldering
ruin, his cornfields flattened by hail and his life’s savings
misplaced by his bank. Her chest painfully compressed with fear as
small blinding white stars flashed a warning that she needed her
smelling salts.

Had Pierre
changed his mind? The man who’d kissed her hand and then placed it
over his heart at their last parting wouldn’t have changed his mind
willingly. What if he only thought his wife was dead? What if the
woman had faked her death and run away? What if she’d come back to
claim her place in Pierre’s bed? A shimmering vision of her mother
leaned over and held the smell of ammonia against Isabel’s nose,
banishing the stars. A more realistic vision of her mother handed a
vinaigrette to Pierre. “Isabel has smelling salts in her ring, but
be ready to aid her. Isabel! Lord Adderbury wishes to have a
dance…don’t you my Lord?”

“Oui.” The man
sounded like he was choking.

“Isabel, what
is the matter?” Her mother’s voice was far away. “You look ill. You
haven’t been eating oysters have you?”

This time it
was a masculine hand holding the smelling salts. “Non!” said Isabel
shaking her head.

“That’s a
relief. You don’t want to die of gripe before you can dance with
Lord Adderbury. Not after your father has gone to the trouble of
devising and supervising the decorations. The servants danced at
least five times around each maypole without complaining. I think
they were terrified he’d shoot them if he wasn’t pleased with their
efforts. I suspect Marie has been talking in the servants’
quarters. I’ll have a word with her before… Well, I hope her
flapping tongue causes fewer problems in Adderbury’s house. My
Lord, if you escort Isabel into the garden for air I wish her to
return within ten minutes. Her borrowed dress will remain
pristinely white. Comprends?”

Pierre visibly
winced with embarrassment, ”I understand p-p-perfectly.”

“Bon! And don’t
allow Isabel to persuade you to attempt the maze. It’s a giant
lover’s knot with endless dead ends. If you get lost, Monsieur will
search it with a lantern in one hand and a pistol in the other. It
would make the evening the latest on-dit for all the wrong
reasons.”

“Quite,” said
Peter.

“It’s a relief
to know Isabel will marry a man of sense. Enjoy the ball!” Madame
de Bourbon winked at Isabel and then disappeared into the crowd
looking pleased with herself.

Isabel’s fan
lay forgotten in her lap as she watched her hero tug
self-consciously on his white waistcoat complemented by his black
suit. Her eyes were drawn to straining buttons and then elegant
black birds and baroque swirls embroidered on white silk. Her heart
began to beat faster with hope. It was the waistcoat he’d been
wearing that first dance. Had he remembered?

“May I share
your seat Mademoiselle?” Adderbury’s words were stiff and
formal.

“It would be an
honour my Lord.” Her equally formal reply seemed to deepen his
misery. Sitting down beside her, he stared at the open fan at rest
in her lap. “Have you had bad news my Lord? Your wife is dead,
isn’t she?” He stared at her as if she’d proclaimed herself the
queen of the Moon. “Has something bad happened? You look
upset.”

“Upset?” His
expression of misery returned as he clenched his fists. “I couldn’t
find an important document. I’m so angry I could k-k-kill
someone.”

Isabel blinked
in horror, “Anyone in particular?”

“Whoever stole
my p-parchment!”

“What
parchment?”

He lowered his
voice to an agonised whisper, “The parchment I purchased in London
from the Archbishop of Canterbury. I was hoping we c-could sneak
away tonight and marry in Bristol. When I returned to Bath, I
locked it in my travelling desk, put the only key on a ribbon, and
put the ribbon around my neck. This evening I unlocked my desk to
bring the parchment; it was gone.”

“Are you sure
you put it in your desk?”

“Yes, I’m sure!
It meant I could take you to the nearest port and hire p-passage to
sail up the coast. We could have d-disembarked in the Lake
District…”

“You’d have
started our married life by being violently seasick.”

“Yes, well…it
seemed the least p-painful option.”

Isabel felt her
chest expand with warm pleasurable air. “Only for me. I don’t want
you to suffer for one of my whimsical adventures. I had a French
cousin who died of seasickness crossing the Channel in bad weather.
The first hour it was the remains of his dinner, the next seven…
We’ll take the long road.”

Anger faded
from Pierre’s eyes. “I want you to have a romantic honeymoon. I
don’t want to make the same mistakes. I’m afraid I’ll bore you from
my…life”

Isabel snapped
her fan closed and lightly touched his cheek. “You may snore me
from your bed, but you’ll never bore me.”

He visibly
relaxed as he leaned towards her. “If only I had that c-c-cursed
parchment. The thought of another eternal night without you makes
me feel seasick.”

Snapping open
her fan as if to cool her cheeks, Isabel narrowed the distance
between them enough to whisper against his ear, “That’s very
romantic.”

Pierre remained
silent for a long moment breathing hard as if he’d just raced the
length of the ballroom. His gaze slid down her neck to her bosom
before returning to her face. “The drive back to Bath will be hell.
Agnes told my brats that I’d introduce them to Ma Belle tonight,
curse her!”

Isabel
shrugged, “They might as well learn tonight. I can hardly show up
at your breakfast table in Adderbury wearing a nightcap and my
dressing gown without comment. You should have told them weeks
ago…”

“I
c-c-couldn’t! Not after letting slip the existence of my dream
mistress. I don’t want them to know…” Pierre’s cheeks flushed
salmon pink as he groaned in horror. “And now I’ll have to tell
them.”

“We can’t turn
back the clock.”

“If I could
turn back time, I’d listen to my mother and wait for a lovely young
maypole to dance into my life.”

Isabel pursed
her lips. “You’re assuming you’d be endowed with wisdom you didn’t
previously possess. One of the pretty little creatures who smiled
up at you would have made you feel big, and you’d have married her.
You’d have adored her.”

“Yes, until I
overheard my wife telling her aquaintences that I bored her nightly
with my monotonous…planting schedule.”

“If I need to
complain, you’ll be the first to hear. If you sit up half the night
deciding which fields to leave fallow I’ll come downstairs, insult
you in French, throw your important papers into the fire and then
run back to your chamber. If you don’t follow at my heels, catch me
in your arms, and devise a new planting schedule you’ll wish you
had. Wait too long and you’ll find me throwing your linen
unmentionables out a window.”

“Promise?”

“Mais oui!” The
music faded into the distance; she stared into smiling eyes leaning
closer. Pierre’s lips were only an inch away when he stopped
abruptly. His breath warmed her cheek as he loudly exhaled. He’d
nearly kissed her. The thought made her want to jump up and swirl
in circles. Had he lost his heart a second time? Bright flashing
lights threatened to send her into a swoon. She could see herself
falling off her seat, whacking her head on a plant pot and falling
into a pool of blood. Her abundant charms would fall out of her low
cut dress, and the scene would be written in hundreds of diaries.
Her shame would cause titillating amusement for decades. With her
smelling salts pressed to her nose she fixed her gaze on a muscular
thigh dressed in tight black silk. If her heartless parents hadn’t
intervened… The next thought required another lungful of ammonia to
keep her upright. Forcing her gaze upward she saw the man of her
dreams staring at her with longing. Clearing her throat, she fanned
her heated face. “Did you enjoy spending time with Cosmo?” Pierre
stared back as if he’d never heard of his fourth son. “You said you
were hoping to take Cosmo to the seaside.”