Once Again a Bride (10 page)

“I reckon she can’t forget
being
hungry,” said Ethan. He rose. “I’ll go and make sure she’s back in Miss Lizzy’s room.”

It took awhile to corner Callie. Once he had, and returned her to her place with only two or three scratches to show for it, Ethan got an idea. He lingered in the back hall, waiting for Lucy to come up from the kitchen, praying she’d be alone when she did.

His luck was in. Some while later, she appeared on the stairs, alone. He pretended to be just returning from his errand. “She’s a handful, that cat,” he said.

“Did she bite you again?”

“No, we’ve reached a better understanding.” As Lucy started past him, he added, “It’s a fine night.” He hoped it wasn’t too cold, anyway. “Care to step out for a breath of air?”

“I need to…”

“Lovely moon out there.” Lucy gave him a look, and Ethan acknowledged it hadn’t been his smoothest approach. “Where’s your favorite place to see the moon?” he added before she could leave.

That made her pause and think. “In the gardens, back in Hampshire, there was a whole patch of white roses. I was out there once when they was blooming, and the moon was full. It was right beautiful.” Her voice had gone softer.

“Mine’s the forest.” Ethan edged her toward the back door, and she went. They turned right and walked into the small garden behind the house. “’Course, the forest is pretty much my favorite place for anything.”

“Like, the woods, you mean?” Lucy wondered.

“‘Woods’ says small to me,” Ethan answered. “The Wyldes keep a good bit of land in trees, for timber mostly. And it’s good for some of the steeper bits, keeps the soil down. You get deep in that forest, and it’s… a different world.”

“Different how?”

Moonlight poured over the neat flower beds as Ethan struggled to put it into words. “The light’s all green, coming through the leaves, and the air like to… smells green. Sounds are softer, some of ’em, or sharper. Crack of a twig can seem like a gunshot. And there’s no sign of another person, anyplace; you might be the first ever to step in that particular spot.”

Lucy stared up at him as if she hadn’t really seen him before. “Don’t you worry about getting lost?”

“You could; it’s that big. But old Elkins taught me how to find my way about.”

“Elkins?”

“He’s the forester. He trained me. That’s what I mean to do—take his place now he’s ready to leave it.” The words just slipped out of him. He’d never told another soul about his plan for the future. But once started with Lucy, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Forester gets a cottage of his own, out at the edge of the trees. It’s all I’ve wanted—to look after a piece of land, and maybe a family, someday.” Ethan had never cared for possessions; he wasn’t like his sister, always longing for new things. “My dad’s going to see it as a step down for the family. He already thinks I’m feckless, and this’ll properly enrage him.” Why was he telling Lucy? It seemed he had to, that she had to hear it.

“Your dad doesn’t know what you mean to do?”

“Nobody knows. I haven’t told anybody… else.” What if she talked about it, Ethan thought? “Appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it.”

Lucy stared up at him with parted lips. Was she amazed, or just bewildered? Ethan couldn’t tell. All he knew was—the world had fallen away. He couldn’t see anything but her face, silvered by moonlight, familiar and strange, wildly appealing. He stepped closer, reached for her. He bent his head to take those lips for his own.

She tasted of cider and cinnamon. Her body was supple and yielding under his hands. Ethan pulled her close, and closer as her mouth softened under his. Desire and response flashed between them and set him afire. He pushed the kiss, wanting more.

Lucy stiffened, struggled, pushed away from him, and backed up. She raised a hand to her trembling mouth. “I almost believed you weren’t…” She sounded near tears. “I reckon you’re right pleased with yourself now. You can brag to your friends that you got round me after all. Another conquest to add to your long list.”

“It isn’t like that, Lucy. I’d never…”

She turned and ran.

Now he’d done it. Ethan cursed himself for a fool. He’d behaved like the bad sort she thought he was. And no way to make her believe that kiss had been different from any other in his life, that he flat out hadn’t been able to resist her. Worse, they’d both be in big trouble if anyone found out what had happened tonight.

Moving much more slowly, Ethan made his way back inside. He’d have to go back to the kitchen, joke about the cat, pretend he was carefree and heedless and hadn’t a thought of Lucy Bowman in his head. It was going to be damned hard. But he’d do it. He’d do just about anything to protect Lucy, he realized.

***

Alec’s anticipation of the second interval was dashed from the beginning when Edward Danforth stepped through the curtains at the back of their box. “Mama sent me over with salutations,” he said with a graceful bow. “She’s holding court, of course.” He indicated a box to the left, where Alec discovered his Aunt Bella entertaining several older gentlemen. She must have been fashionably late. He hadn’t seen her come in. Politeness required that Alec bow. She gave him a little wave that seemed to epitomize everything he disliked about this branch of his family—their unshakable air of superiority, their careless amusement at those who could not match their social ease, their taste for malicious gossip. But most of all it was his aunt’s impervious self-regard; her baseless lawsuit had outraged the whole family. Yet she sat there as if she’d done nothing wrong; indeed, he knew she maintained she was in the right, despite the unequivocal verdict of the law courts.

Edward leaned over the back of Charlotte’s chair. “Are you enjoying the play? Ravished by Kean’s genius?” Alec wanted to dismiss his cousin as a posturing coxcomb. Only, he wasn’t. Three years older, he had always outstripped Alec in the social graces.

“We are finding him a little… excessive,” Charlotte replied, smiling up at Edward. Alec became conscious of a desire to toss his cousin over the rail into the pit.

“Do not let anyone hear you say so!” Edward pretended shock. “He is all the rage, ma’am, I assure you.” They exchanged a twinkling look. What did he mean by calling her “ma’am”? It was ridiculous, though Charlotte appeared to be enjoying it.

“Hamlet is becoming rather annoying,” offered Lizzy.

Edward gave her a lazy smile, but otherwise ignored her. “Kean’s death scene is much admired,” he told Charlotte. “Perhaps that will sway you.”

“Does he die?” said Lizzy. “I shouldn’t be glad, I suppose…”

“You’re looking very pretty, cousin,” Edward said to Anne. “Next year, you’ll have a broad acquaintance and more interesting supplicants in your box than a mere relation.”

Anne flushed and returned a shy smile.

“Don’t let us keep you from your friends,
cousin
,” Alec couldn’t help saying. “I know you find family gatherings tedious.”

“Less so every day,” Edward responded, sharing out a smile between Anne and Charlotte. “Indeed, I think I must pay far more attention to my family… obligations.”

He said the last word as if it meant something quite different. Yet there was nothing one could object to in the sentiment. He’d been a slippery creature since he was eight years old, Alec recollected. “The play is about to start up again,” he said. He didn’t care whether it was true. He just wanted Edward gone.

The latter met his eyes, laughing at him. “A few more minutes, cuz. Pray don’t turn me out.”

There was no answer to that, and he knew it. Alec was forced to watch him flirt expertly with Charlotte and Anne for ten long minutes before the interval finally ended. And by then even Lizzy looked charmed. It was Edward’s gift—without a doubt—easy charm. Alec had never envied it quite so much as tonight, and he refused to ask himself why this should be so.

The play wound up to its gory conclusion. Alec held cloaks and recovered gloves as his charges chattered about the cascade of deaths and, in Lizzy’s case, how Hamlet might have avoided his serial mistakes. As they waited in the press of patrons searching for their carriages, he noticed that Frances looked tired. “Let us walk a little,” he suggested. “I told Thomas to wait down this way.”

Thus, they found the carriage much sooner than otherwise, though no one seemed to notice his forethought. Lizzy had turned the conversation to Edward Danforth. “It will be a great help to you next year, Anne,” she said. “He can present you to all his fashionable gentleman friends.”

“His set is not suitable for Anne,” Alec couldn’t help replying.

“Why?”

“Never mind, Lizzy. Just be assured that I know what is best for Anne and for you.”

“That sounded very like your Uncle Henry,” Charlotte commented.

“Nonsense!” The insult left him rigid with anger. And the snap of the word rang loud inside the carriage. The resulting silence lasted all the way home.

The following Thursday, Charlotte tripped down the stairs of the Wylde town house to find Lady Isabella waiting for her in the drawing room, making desultory conversation with Frances Cole. Charlotte suspected that she had come in from her carriage because she wanted to check Charlotte’s appearance, and smarten her up if necessary, before shepherding her into society. For the first time in more than a year, however, Charlotte was feeling confident. Frances’s high-toned dresser had not only taught Lucy to do her hair in a becoming new way, but she had also directed them to shops and markets where everything from hats to slippers could be bought on the cheap. Charlotte had used a small amount of money to great effect, so that even though she had on the same velvet gown she’d worn to the play, she was pleased with the result. She was also very grateful for the warmth of the April evening. It allowed her to carry a new shawl rather than the embarrassment of her tired old cloak.

Lady Isabella, in a floating gown of sea green satin that matched her eyes, surveyed her from top to toe. She gestured. Obedient, Charlotte turned in a circle. She felt thoroughly evaluated, from the knot of silver ribbons in her hair to the new evening slippers on her feet, and briefly, her nervousness returned.

“Very nice,” said Lady Isabella finally. She sounded a bit surprised, and Charlotte couldn’t blame her. Her dreadful blacks had probably given the impression that she had no fashion sense at all.

“You look lovely,” added Frances, who had stood aside for the examination.

Charlotte gave her a broad smile, knowing that Frances wished her well despite whatever frictions existed with Lady Isabella. “Will we be late?” Charlotte worried as they went out to the carriage.

“My dear, only nobodies turn up before nine.”

The invitation had said eight; left to herself, Charlotte would have arrived with the nobodies. Of course, she was a nobody, she reflected. But being of little importance in society’s scheme of things had its advantages. It was one reason she could ignore the conventions of mourning dress. Too, she didn’t expect to be much noticed tonight; she would keep to the sidelines and learn about how to go on at a first-rank
ton
party.

Their destination proved to be a huge house in Grosvenor Square. The buzz of conversation rose and rose as they climbed the stairs—exhilarating and intimidating. The atmosphere positively crackled. It was just as she had dreamed when she first knew she would be living in London. It was gaiety and color and life—all the things she had been missing because of Henry.

Lady Isabella greeted the formidable woman at the top of stairs, and they exchanged uneffusive smiles. She murmured a name, which Charlotte missed, then said, “And this is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Charlotte Wylde.”

The name jarred. She’d somehow forgotten that she must be presented in that way, but there was no help for it. She bobbed a curtsy under the hostess’s raised brows—whether at her youth or her existence or some other cause, Charlotte didn’t know. “Very pleased to meet you.”

Passing that first hurdle, they moved into a spacious reception room full of chattering people, servants gliding through the crowd with trays of goblets filled with golden champagne. This was to be a musical evening, no dancing. Not that Charlotte cared. It was all just as she had imagined—the rainbow of silks and satins, the glitter of jewels, the rise and fall of sophisticated talk. She followed Lady Isabella into the press, watching her nod right and left as they passed acquaintances, envying her sure knowledge of this new geography.

She seemed to have a clear destination in mind, and did not stop to speak to anyone. Her goal turned out to be two ladies of around her own age and equally fashionable, posted in a corner, scanning the room. They greeted her with airy kisses and murmurs of, “Bella, dear. You look stunning.”

She returned the compliments and introduced her friends to Charlotte as Mrs. Reverton and Mrs. Prine, not making it clear which was which. Both had crimped brown hair, solid figures under their modish ensembles, and the eyes of raptors. They scanned Charlotte like canny shoppers considering a purchase, and immediately turned their attention back to the party.

“I declare, if Sara Lewis continues to damp her gowns in that shameless way she’ll catch a chill and expire one day soon,” said either Mrs. Reverton or Mrs. Prine.

Following their gaze, Charlotte observed a young woman whose gauzy pink gown clung to her like a second skin, revealing a surprising lack of… anything underneath.

“She imagines it will bring young Thornton up to scratch,” replied either Mrs. Prine or Mrs. Reverton. “A peek at the goods, so to speak.” She tittered. “Look at him, practically drooling on her.”

Her companion nodded, and Charlotte gave up trying to differentiate them. There was a gawky young man bent over the girl in pink. He was nearly a foot taller and so thin he looked like a scarecrow in evening dress. He also looked as if he could scarcely believe she was smiling at him.

“She underestimates his mother,” Lady Isabella commented.

“Don’t they always?” The three exchanged knowing looks. “How often does a girl without money or connections have any wits?”

“Very rarely.” Lady Isabella’s tone was bone dry. “Oh, my, there’s Teddy Symmes.”

The others gave small gasps. “No, where?”

“Over there, near the garden doors.”

Their heads swiveled. “He has the cheek to appear in public?”

“There weren’t any charges filed,” Lady Isabella pointed out.

“But, my dear, everyone knows. Caught with his footman! How can he show his face?” They stared at a stocky man near the French doors as if he were a bizarre zoo animal. Charlotte almost asked what was so shocking about being in the company of one’s servant, but decided not to reveal her ignorance. She didn’t want that battery of eagle eyes turned on her.

The three women’s conversation continued in this vein. They had forgotten all about Charlotte, seemingly, and she learned much more than she wanted to know about a number of people in the crowd. She began to wish that the musical part of the evening would begin, so that they could turn their attention to something else. It took her another half hour to understand that the quartet playing on the small balcony
was
the promised entertainment. An occasional run of notes threaded through the din of conversation, never enough to decide what they were actually playing.

She grew just a little weary of standing in one place. Lady Isabella was clearly too occupied to introduce her to some lively young people, as she had promised. Edward did not seem to be present, as she had thought he would be, and she didn’t know anyone except the Danforths. One couldn’t just speak to people without an introduction, even if she’d had the nerve. Of course, she was enjoying herself immensely; she took care to show it with a bright smile. She sipped from a glass of champagne. It made her cheeks even hotter in the rising heat of the room, and then she was left with the empty glass and no servant in sight.

“May I take that for you?”

Charlotte started, turned, and found Sir Alexander Wylde at her side. Surprise made her blurt the first thing that came into her head. “How did you find me?”

“I had my own invitation for this evening.”

Charlotte’s cheeks grew hotter still. Of course he didn’t inquire where she was and follow her to this gathering. Why would he? He belonged to the
ton
, belonged at this party, whereas she was here on sufferance.

He looked very elegant in evening dress, with an air, a way of holding himself, that was quite different from his manner at home. Charlotte was reminded, suddenly, of the moment when he had rescued her from Holcombe in one slashing sentence.

He drew her a little away from Lady Isabella and her friends. They were so deep in their dissection of some hapless deb that they didn’t notice. He took her empty glass and somehow made it go away. People passing nodded cordial greetings, and he acknowledged them. “You are enjoying yourself?”

“Of course.”

He bent closer. “What?”

Like Lady Isabella and her friends, he seemed to know how to pitch his voice to be heard above the cacophony. Charlotte felt she was practically shouting when she repeated, “Of course.”

“Good.”

The single word, his expression, made her feel defensive for some reason. “It is a lovely party, is it not? Very interesting to see a bit of society.” She was aware of a stubborn set to her chin, but she didn’t care. His green eyes met hers with what looked like sympathy, but she must be mistaken. There was no reason for that.

“Has Aunt Bella been helpful, told you something of the
ton
?”

“Oh, yes.” Charlotte prayed he wouldn’t ask for examples.

One corner of his mouth curved up, as if he heard much more than she’d said, but he merely turned toward the crowd. “You see the fellow by the entrance, the one with the striped waistcoat?”

Charlotte’s heart sank. Did people in London society talk nothing but scandal? She looked and had no trouble picking out the man he meant. The stripes were inches wide, and of a truly startling yellow and green.

“Percy Gerard, a prime example of the dandy set,” he added. “Padded coat, you see, and rather a lot of… ornamentation.”

The young man seemed in danger of choking on his massive neckcloth. His coat was so pinched in and padded out that he looked rather like a frog, one with a gleaming array of fobs and chains across its stomach.

“Quite a few Pinks of the
ton
here tonight,” Sir Alexander pointed out, without of course actually pointing. Now that she knew what to look for, Charlotte discovered a liberal sprinkling of similar, extreme ensembles in the crowd. “Most of their attention goes into their tailoring. And outdoing one another in setting new fashions.”

“What is that… instrument Mr. Gerard is holding?” He was surveying his fellow guests through a sort of lens on a stick.

“Quizzing glass. Meant to make you wonder if you have a smut on your nose or an outmoded gown. But I’ve always suspected the fellow can’t see two yards without it.”

Charlotte laughed. Sir Alexander’s comments felt different from Lady Isabella’s spiteful snipes; this was more like a road map for unfamiliar territory.

“Now, Lord Wraxton there is an altogether different type.”

Charlotte followed his subtle nod and discovered a tall, saturnine gentleman leaning against the wall. His coat was plain and dark, his waistcoat and neckcloth austere.

“One of our leading Corinthians,” Sir Alexander said. “His set goes in for athletics, boxing, hard riding, and expert driving, an ostentatious lack of excess. Chancy tempers, too. Wraxton is famous for his crushing set-downs.”

“Of whom?” said Charlotte, fascinated.

“Just about anyone who crosses his path.”

“So, they’re rather alike then—dandies and… Corinthians.”

He raised his eyebrows. “How so?”

“They both have an inflated opinion of themselves.” He laughed. “And what are you, Sir Alexander?”

He looked startled. “I? I… hope I am simply a gentleman.” He went on before Charlotte could reply. “You can spot young ladies in their first or second seasons by their…”

“Age, surely,” she interrupted, wanting to show that she had good sense, at least.

“Not necessarily. A young woman may be married…” He paused briefly at this near approach to her own unfortunate situation. “The debs wear simpler gowns, no satin or velvet, plain jewelry and not much of it.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to notice fabrics,” Charlotte joked, to cover the brief awkwardness.

“A man on the town must learn to recognize the difference.”

“Between…?” For a moment she was confused. “Ah. Married and unmarried young women,” she concluded. The married ones had far more freedom and far more… possibilities, if they chose to see it that way. If she hadn’t already known that, Lady Isabella’s conversation would have made it perfectly clear.

“Indeed. The debs come with dragons, which…”

“Dragons?”

Sir Alexander looked down at her and seemed to recall himself. He reddened. “Got carried away, picking apart a situation. Anne says it’s one of my besetting sins.”

“But what do you mean, dragons?”

“Mother, duennas, chaperones,” he muttered quickly. “The hovering tribe who makes certain the debs don’t get into trouble.”

“Unlike the young married women, who can get into as much trouble as they wish?”

“No. I didn’t mean… Nothing of the kind!”

She couldn’t resist. “So, you gentlemen need these clues to sort out who you can get into trouble with?”

Sir Alexander glowered at her. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was true; she didn’t—precisely. But she wanted to. And it turned out to be such fun teasing him. There was a heady freedom in the knowledge that she didn’t have a host of critics watching, eager to tell her how to behave. She was so very tired of being told what to do. “I suppose the dragons would be the ladies in the chairs,” she said to divert him. Gilt chairs lined the walls, nearly all occupied by older women. They looked as if they were chatting, but Charlotte had noticed that their sharp eyes swept the room like lighthouses above rocky shoals.

He gave one brief nod. “You have misunderstood me if you think…”

Charlotte felt a hand brush her arm. In the next moment, it was drawn into Edward Danforth’s. “Hullo, cuz,” he said to Sir Alexander. “I believe this young lady is promised to me.” His tone made it a jest, almost. “Said I’d make her known to a few friends of mine,” he added carelessly.

Sir Alexander looked thunderous as Edward pulled Charlotte away. “Wasn’t that rather rude?” she said. It had been rather exciting as well.

“Cousins, no need to stand on ceremony,” he replied.

Which was nonsense, but Charlotte let it go. “You are very late to the party.”

“On the contrary, I am precisely on time.” He gave her a smile to melt hearts.

“Fashionably late?”

“Timed to a nicety.” He laughed at himself, and she had to laugh with him. “Come and meet my friends.”