Dancing the Maypole (54 page)

Isabel’s eyes
lit up with pleasure, “Will this feverish limping man be dressed
like a highwayman in an old black tricorn and patched full skirted
overcoat?”

“Non.”

“Pity! Then
I’ll have to dance until I collapse into your arms. I hope you have
the strength to carry me to my chamber. You should know which room
this madman may try to climb into tomorrow evening after dark.
Please arrive early so you can protect me.”

“A more
sensible option would be to meet me at the moonlit gatehouse with
as many ensembles you can stuff into two hat boxes so we can elope
with sound limbs.”

She looked
around to make sure no ears were close enough to overhear. “I
understand sound limbs are rather useful on a honeymoon.”

“Very.”

“Then, I shall
be waiting to hear you call my name…my Lord. We shall escape our
cursed helpful relatives and head northeast. We’ll avoid Gretna
Green and marry in some eastern seaside Scottish village. Papa
won’t expect us to drive so far.”

She didn’t need
to crook her finger. Wherever she went, he’d follow like an adoring
shadow. Proprieties and consequences be damned. Taking her hand he
bowed and pressed his lips to her glove. “Dansons!”

Watching the
dancers, Cecil Smirke couldn’t relax and enjoy the music or search
for a dance partner; not with his father acting like a lunatic.
During the entire journey from Bath, Lord Adderbury had raged and
snarled like a chained bear being poked with sharp sticks.
Inexplicably, his father was now laughing and smiling like an
inebriated fool. Cecil was still waiting for an opportunity to
speak with his father, who was dancing with Mademoiselle for the
third consecutive dance. For a couple to dance three times in the
same evening was considered a public declaration of a private
understanding. Cecil had never heard of any couple sharing three
dances in a row. It was rude for a man not to partner different
ladies; or so his father had been lecturing since Cecil’s first
dance lesson.

Pasted over a
mental blur of colour provided by dancing ladies, Cecil could see
the chilling faces of the two stone madmen reclining atop the gates
guarding the infamous hospital for the insane. He wouldn’t let
anyone he loved end up in Bedlam. The inmates, often naked and
chained to the bare stone walls, were gawped at by people who paid
for the privilege. His first visit to the human zoo, to see the
inmates suffering the last stages of physical and mental ruin
caused by the pox, still gave Cecil nightmares. The
sexually-transmitted affliction made casual sex a deadly roll of
the dice. The numerous women who offered to end his celibate state
were as tempting as the plague. The thought of being chained to a
wall, physically and mentally separated from friends and family,
terrified him. Cecil was in desperate need of a wife, but Cupid had
either used up his arrows or was taking an extended holiday in
sunnier climes. Lucius had counselled him to settle for a pleasant
beauty brought up to oversee a large household, but Cecil wanted
his wife to be a friend; someone he’d want to talk to every day,
someone who’d help create conjugal bliss.

Suddenly aware
of someone standing beside him, a creeping sensation over Cecil’s
neck warned him they were staring at his face. As one of nature’s
perfections, it was a sensation as familiar as breathing. He turned
to see the top of a woman’s head crowned with plaited blonde hair
held in place by three realistic yellow-enamelled iris-shaped
combs. His polite smile faded as he stared into large dark blue
eyes framed by two short matching cascades of curls.

Having won his
attention, Iris Bedingfield snapped open her fan, wafting the smell
of wild honeysuckle up his nose. She casually lifted her wrist
embellished with her dance card. “The music is delightful. Don’t
you think?”

The woman
wanted him to ask her to dance. She’d probably snubbed a dozen men
so she’d have an empty card to dangle at him. He ignored her card.
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed. What are you doing here? I thought this a
family affaire with a few locals dragged in to make up the numbers.
Isn’t your coven up north? You must be having a painfully dull
summer to rush down here for a last minute ball.”

For a long
moment, the blue eyes stared up at him as if attempting to
communicate the secrets of the damned. “Your Aunt Agnes was born a
Bedingfield. She’s my second cousin. Aunt Gwen was desperate for
people to fill the ballroom for her niece, if only to expedite
Monsieur de Bourbon’s visit. There’s no love lost between them, but
then he is French.” The young woman smiled, obviously pleased with
herself.

It was
pointless wishing Iris Bedingfield away. The woman had the tenacity
of bindweed. “My grandmother’s French. That means I’m French. It
didn’t stop you from sending your father to demand I marry
you.”

“If you were
French, you’d have a French accent.”

An
uncomfortable silence made the music sound far away, as if the dark
blue eyes had silently ordered all happiness from the house. “Is
there something you wish to say Miss Bedingfield or are you
attempting to stare me into submission?”

The mask of
sweetness evaporated as she leaned forward with a scowl. “I was
waiting for you to explain your refusal. I’m beautiful, not
unintelligent, and I inherited a fortune along with good teeth and
rude health. I’d make an excellent wife.”

“For a dead
man.”

Iris blinked in
confusion, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“The dead don’t
eat. I couldn’t enjoy my morning toast with you sitting opposite
gnawing on someone’s reputation or casting one of your spells…”

Her eyes
narrowed with displeasure. “If you were a gentleman Mr Smirke,
you’d have the courtesy to overlook my faults and address me as a
young lady of breeding.”

“What breed
would that be? Scandalmonger?”

Standing on her
tiptoes, she looked into his eyes as if hoping to mesmerise him.
“If I were a witch, I’d cast a spell, and make you fall in love
with me. You’d beg me to marry you. You’d do anything I asked to
hold me in your arms. Are you blind? They don’t call me a diamond
of the first water because I wear diamonds; I’m a beautiful
woman!”

Cecil sighed in
irritation, “Madam, if all it took was a beautiful face to turn my
head I’d be mesmerised by my dressing mirror. Unless the black
plague decimates the English-speaking race, and you survive one of
the few females with large breasts and good teeth, you won’t find
me on my knees begging you to be my wife. You have the humanity of
a puddle and the bleeding heart of a diamond.”

“That makes no
sense. Puddles have no humanity. Diamonds have no blood.”

“Exactly.
You’re the human equivalent of a porcelain shepherdess. Visually
pleasing in the drawing room, but otherwise of little use. I can’t
imagine your children will ever skip for joy when called down from
the nursery to see you, if they ever see you.” Her eyes widened in
shock. His truth had finally offended the lady.

“That is a
heartless thing to say!”

“Not as
heartless as entertaining select company by mocking my father’s
stammer. What do you do when a one legged acquaintance leaves a
room; hop about on one foot? That would be a sight. I must admit
seeing you jump up and down until one of your lovely breasts popped
out of your dress would amuse me. Knowing how much you enjoy
entertaining people, I’d be sure to recount the scene in detail to
anyone who’d listen. It would fill your drawing room with rutting
bucks. You’d thank me I’m sure.”

Blue eyes
burned as she pursed her lips in irritation. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about. I’ve never mocked your father’s abnormality.
Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m practically a saint. I don’t
even kick my dog when he chews my hairbrush.”

Cecil’s
laughter rolled out of his chest, drawing envious eyes. “You missed
a calling on the stage Miss Bedingfield.”

“My father’s
offer of my hand in marriage was better than any Smirke deserves.
And don’t think I instigated the scheme, I have no burning desire
to be your wife.”

Cecil snorted
in amusement. “Liar. Your eyes find my face like a ship at sea
searching for safe harbour from a threatening storm. My disinterest
in your person must be a stone in your dance slipper. Take off your
slippers, and throw them at one of the many nincompoops in love
with your money. Forget your dream of ruining my life before you
end up an old maid. What are you now, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-six?”
Her eyes bulged in horror making him laugh again. “We came out the
same year. Idiot! I’m younger than you by nearly three years.”

“You are? I
don’t remember, but you clearly do which proves my point.
Thankfully, my brother was forced to give me one of his properties.
I can afford a wife with a heart.”

“I have a
heart!”

“In there?”
Cecil glanced at her chest and raised a single eyebrow. “If you
possess such an organ, you’ve enshrined it in a gold reliquary and
hidden it away in a bank vault.”

Iris
Bedingfield’s beautiful mask crumpled into a furious scowl of
failure. “So I made light of your mad father’s stammer and made a
few people laugh. What of it? We had to endure his stammered hourly
weather forecasts as if we couldn’t look out of a window.
Mademoiselle de Bourbon must be desperate if she’s contemplating
spending the rest of her life listening to your father read the
nearest barometer every five minutes. One afternoon, I nearly died
of boredom waiting for him to finish saying, ‘A picnic by the sea
with so many beautiful ladies would be quite pleasant’. It took all
my willpower to resist the urge to ask him to row me out to view
the castle from the sea, so I could tip the boat over in the hope
we’d both drown. That afternoon, death seemed preferable to hearing
another weather forecast. It wouldn’t have been so bad if my
hostess hadn’t kept throwing us together, as if I’d marry a man old
enough to be my father. As for Lord Adderbury’s saintly reputation,
every time I looked up from my tea I found him ogling my
breasts…”

“If you don’t
want men staring at your breasts cover them up.” Cecil felt a
familiar hand on his shoulder announcing one of his brothers.
Turning his head, he groaned at the sight of Cosmo smiling at Miss
Bedingfield with a worshipful expression.

“Good evening
Miss Bedingfield,” said Cosmo, “you’re looking particularly lovely
this evening, like a rare iris I’d be honoured plant on one of my
two properties. The only thing I need to make my comfort complete
is a beautiful wife…”

“My brother is
not asking you to marry him,” interrupted Cecil.

“Shut up Cecil!
Don’t mind my brother Miss Bedingfield. Cecil often speaks without
thinking, if he ever thinks at all. He wouldn’t recognise a diamond
in a bag of diamonds.”

Cecil watched
the lady’s angry eyes sparkle with poisonous amusement as she
fanned her face. “Don’t be fooled Cosmo. The lady makes a
performance by Sarah Siddons seem inept. If you’d joined the
conversation several minutes earlier you’d have heard her demand to
know why I refused her father’s urgent plea to take her off his
hands. The only place Iris longs to plant herself is in my bed.
She’s a vain, self-centred harpy who thinks every male longs to
lift her skirts.”

The blue eyes
shimmered with repressed rage. “They say it takes one to know one,
but I find it hard to imagine you as one of those men who enjoy
dressing as a lady.”

“Hark!” said
Cecil, “the lady unveils. Cosmo, stop scowling and look at her cold
eyes. No decent man deserves to end a pleasant day by finding Miss
Bedingfield in his bed.”

“The lady is in
distress Cecil…if I may be of service Miss Bedingfield?”

Cecil felt his
heart sink as he watched the lady eye his younger brother. He could
almost see by her shifting expression that she was thinking if she
couldn’t hurt him for refusing to marry her, she’d hurt someone he
loved. Cosmo’s grip tightened in shock as the lady gave him a look
of contempt. “And what sort of service could I possibly need from a
boy who can’t even plan a wedding without his father’s permission?
A father whose attempts to win my regard were a phenomenal failure.
Smirkes!” With her nose held high in the air she turned and walked
away.

Cecil watched
his brother as the lady vanished into the crowd. “Ignore the
heartless witch. She wouldn’t know a good man if he rescued her
from a burning house after she spat in his eye and kicked his most
cherished possessions into a raging river. What’s the matter?”

Cosmo’s face
visibly contorted from outrage to bafflement. “Something odd is
going on. Every time I ask Aunt Agnes to introduce me to Mabel she
gives me that marble smile and says, ‘You’ve already been
introduced.’ The woman is infuriating. I hate riddles! Why can’t
she just say the woman’s name? Why does she have to make me feel
like an oyster about to have my innards slurped down by a poxed
rake hoping to invigorate his manhood?”

“Ignore Aunt
Agnes. Be grateful you’ll never have to bed the woman…unless the
two of you are cast up on a desert island. Imagine having to choose
between celibacy or bedding Aunt Agnes. It makes drowning at sea
almost seem a treat.”

“Ugh!” The
younger man visibly shivered. “Why did you have to say that? I’m
sleeping in the woman’s house. Now I’ll have nightmares, and
Charles will accuse me of disturbing his sleep again, as if my
sleep weren’t already disturbed by… If you’d seen what I’ve
seen…Never mind!”

“You’ve seen
hangings, freak shows and Bedlam. What could be worse than seeing a
naked madman chained to a wall singing love songs to his chamber
pot?”

Cosmo winced,
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you and if I told you I’d be
forced to remember it. Curse my eyes, now you’ve made me remember…
I wish I could scrub the image from my brain. It’s happening again.
Out there!”