Miss Lindel's Love (7 page)

“They have written to me with such an invitation but it’s impossible, of course.”

“Why so?” She met her mother’s gaze in the mirror. “Don’t hasten back to town on my account, I beg you, or we shall have both Sophie and you on the invalid list.”

“I can’t leave you in town alone. Especially not now, with your first steps to be taken into society at the marchioness’s ball.”

“I won’t be alone. Mrs. Paladin will be here. I’ve taken a great liking to Lilah and her mother will guide my steps.”

Mrs. Lindel was visibly torn between her desire to protect and succor her youngest child and her wish to be at hand for her elder daughter’s debut, an event toward which she’d worked tirelessly from the day of Maris’s birth. Maris wanted to make her mother’s decision easier, though she wished with all her heart that both Mrs. Lindel and Sophie did not have to leave so soon. But if Sophie’s health required it, Maris would urge an earlier departure.

Standing behind Maris, running her hand aimlessly over the stiff bristles of the brush, Mrs. Lindel seemed to be falling into one of her reveries. She’d been giving her undivided attention to the business of preparing Maris for London, as well as caring for Sophie, and had hardly drifted off in her thoughts since their arrival in town.

“Mother?” Maris asked, looking at her mother gazing at herself in the mirror, but not as if she really saw herself. “Mother?”

“Yes, dearest?” Mrs. Lindel blinked as if coming out of a faint.

“You looked so strange for a moment.”

“Did I? So much to think about.” She put the tortoiseshell brush down on the dressing table. “Elvira ...that is, Mrs. Paladin tells me that you met Lord Danesby in the cathedral today.”

“Yes, I did,” Maris said, meeting her mother’s gaze squarely. She hoped no telltale blush had crept in to stain her cheeks. “He was most pleasantly spoken.”

“I hope ... it was difficult to tell from her accounting. You may have noticed a certain dryness in her tone when she speaks. It makes it quite difficult to know when she is joking one and when she is not.”

“I have noticed something of the sort,” Maris admitted. “It seems to be one of those little tricks of speech you have so often warned us against.” She did not mean to criticize an older person and her mentor, but it was true about Mrs. Paladin’s acerbic tone.

“I hope you were not too coming with his lordship. He is said to be a great stickler for propriety. His father certainly had that reputation and, as you know, the apple does not fall far from the tree.”

“If I follow your example, dear Mother, I shall find myself happily married to the man of my dearest imaginings before the month is out.” Maris couldn’t help hoping this was true. How wonderful, how miraculous, if this meeting in the cathedral should lead somehow to marriage.

Maris rose from the stool and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Please don’t worry,” she added, wending her arm about her mother’s waist and leaning her head somewhat awkwardly on her shoulder. “Lord Danesby found me only slightly amusing even before I told him I am the daughter of his tenant.”

“Elvira seemed to feel that you had plotted to meet him there.”

Maris stood bolt upright at that. “How could I have done so?”

“Elvira did say it was very clever of you.”

“Very kind of her, I’m sure. But I don’t aspire to that kind of cleverness. I did not know he would be at the cathedral. Nor did Mrs. Paladin know it. Our paths crossed by the merest coincidence. He was gentleman enough to escort me to my friends and nothing else of moment occurred.” She thought it would not be worthwhile to mention how she had laughed and how that, apparently, had brought Lord Danesby to speak with her.

“That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Lindel said, apparently relieved to find she wasn’t raising a cuckoo in her little wren’s nest. “And so I told Elvira.” She smiled. “In your private ear, I could believe Sophie might maneuver so but not you. No matter how much you might admire a gentleman, you’d never sink to subterfuge. I only ask you to guard your heart. There are many men in this world—even well-born men—who would take advantage of your sweet nature.”

“You need not worry about me. I’m too sensible to throw my heart away on someone unsuitable.” Maris had no illusions about her blush now. It spread like strawberry jam from her décolletage to her hairline.

Now it was Mrs. Lindel’s turn to give her daughter a squeeze about the middle. “Every girl falls in love with someone unsuitable at least once. It’s as commonplace as rain.”

Maris didn’t want to think of herself or her feelings as commonplace. “So someone like ...say, Lord Danesby would be wrong for me?”

“My dear child. The two of you are from such different levels of society. You could never be happy with the role his bride will have to play.”

“I could learn. I am not so very base.”

“You are a gentleman’s daughter, true. But he is a Danesby. He may look as high as he chooses for a bride,”

“Then it is I who am unsuitable. As I know very well.”

Her mother’s smile held much understanding and the tenderest maternal love. “I think I can go north now with a clear mind. I know you will be a good and sensible girl. Mind what Mrs. Paladin says and stay close beside her and Lilah. They’ll show you how to conduct yourself. When I return to town, we shall have all London at your feet and I shall enjoy your triumph.”

Marls found it difficult, two days later, to say farewell to her sister and mother without tears springing to her eyes. Suddenly London, to which she’d been growing slowly accustomed, seemed just as huge, forbidding, and empty as it had on her first day. As their loaded carriage drove away, a handkerchief fluttering from the window in final farewell, her tears overwhelmed her efforts to keep them back.

As Maris turned toward the red brick town house, a wind of loneliness seemed to swirl about her. She’d never been alone like this before. With her mother and sister gone, not for the hour or the day, but for a week or more, London seemed so big and lonely that Maris wanted nothing other than to retire to bed, pulling the covers over her head until they should return.

Though Mrs. Paladin and Lilah were kind, they were not family. She could not open her heart and expect to be understood almost without words. She knew she would miss her mother and wished she’d had the opportunity to talk about the strange ways of society in greater depth. But how cruel it would have been to have demanded all her attention when Sophie needed her so badly.

She rested on her bed for an hour, recruiting her strength for tonight’s ball. Maris wondered at her own lack of enthusiasm. Her mother should have been there to assist her, rather than a bored lady’s maid hired for the Season. It should have been her mother’s eyes, bright with tears, not Mrs. Paladin’s narrowed with criticism, watching her come down the stairs.

Even so, she felt a quiver of excitement as their hired carriage crept through the press striving to reach the Marchioness of Bevan’s ball. This was to be the great inaugural event to open this social season. All London would be there—at least all those who mattered, as Mrs. Paladin explained with a titter.

“Do you know the marchioness?” Maris asked.

“We met often last year. Lilah became quite good friends with one of her daughters.”

Lilah was looking particularly charming in a crepe gown of palest lilac, her hair beautifully dressed in waves, a Psyche knot at her crown. Yet at this comment, the blank expression came once more into her face. “Hardly friends, Mother. Mere acquaintances.”

“Nonsense, nonsense. Didn’t she invite you to her birthday picnic at Richmond? I’m sure she wouldn’t have done that for just anyone. So many single gentlemen ...including Lord Danesby. He’s bound to be here tonight and you in quite your best looks, Maris.” Mrs. Paladin patted Maris’s cheek with her kid-gloved hand. It was like being touched by a ghost.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Maris said, and thought it time to disabuse Mrs. Paladin of one or two notions. “But Lord Danesby is nothing to me.”

“Come, come,” Mrs. Paladin said archly. “When every time you meet you gaze into each other’s eyes without so much as noticing that there is another living soul to be found?”

“Mother,” Lilah said, moved to protest. “Don’t tease Maris. If she is attracted to his lordship, that’s hardly wonderful. Half the girls in the
ton
have thrown their handkerchiefs in his direction.”

Though grateful for the defense, Maris wasn’t sure she liked the tenor of it. “I have never done so.”

“Oh, no?” Mrs. Paladin was still smiling roguishly. “What about St. Paul’s then? A man does not arrive to an encounter with his mistress only to walk off with another girl unless she is of a great fascination.”

“Mistress?”

“Why, yes. Mrs. Armitage. All the world knows of their intrigue.”

“Not I, ma’am.”

“Oh, la,” Mrs. Paladin said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “There’s no use in being missish, my dear. You’ll hear more scandal than that old news tonight.” She looked out the window. “Here we are. My dears! Look at all the flowers on the walkway. A hundred guineas’ worth at least! The flower girls won’t have to purchase stock tomorrow; all sales will be by the grace of the marchioness!”

Maris felt as she once had as a girl when her father had held her by the elbows and swung her around so fast that her feet had left the ground. Everything went by in a dazzling blur, faster and faster, green grass and blue sky flowing together, the horizon dipping and rising as she spun. So did the people and things of the ball appear to her, one great twirling blur in which she could distinguish little for long.

Her hostess wore a rich purple gown which suited her nearly Italian coloring. Amethysts as big as half crowns encircled her throat and, interspersed with cameos, clasped both wrists. She shook hands when Maris came up from her curtsy and nodded at Mrs. Paladin over Maris’s shoulder. “A pleasure, Miss Lin-del. The dancing won’t begin for quite half an hour yet. I’m sure so charming a girl will have no difficulty in finding a partner.”

Maris hardly had time to murmur her thanks before Mrs. Paladin had her by the elbow and another guest was being greeted by her hostess.

Their cloaks were left in a small room that seemed good enough for a party itself, judging by the flowers everywhere and the beauty of the maids. Lilah saw her gazing around and helped her doff her mantle. “Wait until you see the ballroom,” she said in a whisper. “The Marquess of Bevan is one of the wealthiest men in England and it is said he can deny his wife no whim.”

“She is certainly very beautiful.” “With whims a-plenty, if all they say is true.” Maris laughed a little. “If I had the fortune,
I
might learn to have the whims.”

“As would I. But come, my mother is waiting.” The noise and heat of the ballroom stunned Maris for a moment. She’d never seen so many people together in one place at one time. There seemed to be thousands, all laughing, chattering, drinking champagne, nibbling dainties, exclaiming in greeting, and growing louder by the moment. Across the glossy wooden floor, every brilliant color was represented from dark blue to scarlet and that was only the men. The women were more splendid than the glittering tiles in some great kaleidoscope. When the music began, they formed into patterns, crisp and constantly changing.

Mrs. Paladin brought two shy young men over to her charges. Before Maris could ask him to repeat his name, missed among the noise and music, she was dancing, having much to do to mind her steps. Though she tried to keep her head up and smile as she’d been taught, Maris would have been hard-pressed to recognize again any of the men whose hands she touched in passing. But it was so exhilarating that she laughed merrily as she spun around, hands linked with her partner.

As she passed to another pair of hands, he missed his timing and she looked up into Lord Danesby’s face. “Sir,” she said with a smile. But, driven by the tune, there was no time for more.

After the next dance, her young partner returned her, breathless and laughing, to Mrs. Paladin, who had another cavalier waiting. This one was older, the next blonder, the next taller, the next...

“I must beg to be excused for a moment, ma’am,” Maris said.

“Nonsense. As young as you are you should be able to dance the night through without a rest.” Mrs. Paladin seemed to be speaking as much, or more, to the next gentleman than to Maris. “Sir Rigby was just telling me how much he admires your complexion.”

“If the young lady is tired, I shall be happy to fetch her some refreshment,” said the young man, rather bulky through the middle though his coat was well designed. Between the tips of his highly starched collar points, his round face wore a high-spirited smile. His reddish hair bore a line of perspiration along the hairline and he seemed to be breathing hard. She rather thought that he would rather slip off for a quiet glass of something cool than hurtle through the rigors of another reel.

“You’re very kind, sir. I would bless you for a glass of lemonade.” He smiled in thanks as he bowed, turning to do her bidding.

Mrs. Paladin looked like Hera in a temper, magnificent and frightening. Her tones were soft but biting. “Are you mad? Sir Rigby has a thousand a year, and very likely more. Plus, he is the only son, since his brother died in the Peninsula, and his mother cannot wait for grandchildren. You’ll never marry if you whistle such prospects down the wind.”

“Need I ask to see a man’s accounts before I decide to dance with him?” Maris’s color brightened.

“Besides, my underlace is torn. I shall return in a few moments.”

“Oh, my dear girl, I had no notion. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly. Shall I come with you?”

“No. I’m sure the maids where we left our cloaks can help me. You stay here and accept Sir Rigby’s refreshments.”

As she stood patiently holding up her gown while a maid fixed the lace
,
Maris felt guilty that she’d spoken so sharply to Mrs. Paladin. After all, it was her duty to guide her through the labyrinth of the social niceties. In the absence of her own mother, she should show Mrs. Paladin the same courtesy, if she couldn’t manage the same affection.