Only Enchanting (37 page)

“I paid a call earlier today,” he said. There was a longish pause, during which she raised her eyebrows. “On your mother.”

She wished then that she had not stood up. She reached behind her with one hand to clutch the edge of the dressing table.

“My mother.” She fixed her eyes on his.

“She was remarkably easy to f-find, actually,” he said. “Divorces are rare and always a bit scandalous, and people remember them. I did not expect, however, to discover her whereabouts so easily. She lives not too f-far from here.”

Agnes took a step back until she felt the dressing table bench with the backs of her knees. She sat down heavily.

“You went looking for my mother,” she said. “You
went looking
for her against my express wishes.”

“I did.” He was regarding her with hooded eyes.

“How dare you,” she said. “
Oh, how dare you!
You
know
that she has been dead to me for twenty years. You
know
that I do not want to hear
of
her or
from
her. Ever. I do not want to know her name or her whereabouts or her circumstances. I
do not want to know
. Oh, how dare you go asking about her and finding out who she is and where she is. And how
dare
you call upon her.”

She was alarmed to realize that she had raised her voice and was shouting at him. If she was not careful, she would be attracting the attention of her mother-in-law and the servants. She got to her feet and hurried toward him.

“How dare you!” she said more softly, thrusting her face close to his.

He did not move, even though she had come too close for comfort.

“Do you not
think
,” she said, “that if I had wanted to know more about her or to find her anytime in the years since I grew up, I could have done it? Do you not think
Dora
could have done it if
she
had wanted? What my mother did to Dora was ten times worse than what she did to me. She destroyed Dora’s whole
life
. And she must have caused our father unbearable pain and
embarrassment. She must have hurt Oliver dreadfully. Do you think we could not have found her if we had wished? Any of us? We did not wish.
I
did not wish. I
do
not wish. She
abandoned
us, Flavian. For a
lover
. I hate her.
Hate
, do you hear me? But I do not enjoy hating. I choose rather not to remember her at all, not to think of her, not to be curious about her. I will never forgive you for finding her and
going to see her
.”

She was gasping out her words, trying not to let her voice rise again. She stopped talking and glared at him.

“I am sorry,” he said.

“How
could
you?” She brushed past him and went into her bedchamber. She stood at the foot of the bed, clutching the bedpost.

“Blocked memories, s-suppressed memories, memories we do not even know we are supposed to have—they all damage our lives, Agnes,” he said. “And our relationships.”

“This is about you, then, is it?” she asked him, whipping her head about to glare at him.

He had turned, though he still stood in the doorway. He looked broodingly at her.

“I think, rather, it is about
us
,” he said.

“Us?”

“You were the one who s-said more than once that we did not know each other,” he reminded her, “and that if we w-were to marry, we needed that knowledge. We married anyway, b-but you were right. We
need
to know each other.”

“And that gives you the right to pry into my past and seek out my mother?” she asked him.

“And we n-need to know ourselves,” he added.

“I know myself very well,” she retorted.

He did not say anything. But he shook his head.

His words repeated themselves in her head and left
her feeling shaken. His knowledge of his own past, and therefore of himself, was marred by an uncertain memory. But that was not the same thing as a memory one had deliberately chosen to turn off for very good reason, was it?

“I will help you remember, if I can,” she said. “And we will work on our marriage. I am determined that we will.”

“
You
are determined,” he said. “
You
will help
me
r-remember. So that I will be all better, and everything will be well with our marriage. By all give on your part, all take on mine. Because you need nothing. Because you have never needed anything but a little quiet c-control over your world. You gave in b-briefly to the wonderful chaos of life by marrying me against all your better instincts, but now you can control your m-marriage by helping me remember—if there
is
more to remember.”

She turned suddenly to sit on the side of the bed, though she kept one hand on the bedpost.

“Is that why you went?” She was almost whispering. “To
do
something for me?”

“I thought perhaps you n-needed to know,” he said. “Even if what I discovered was no more savory than you expected. Even if the knowing did not change anything. Even if you never w-wanted to see her for yourself. I just thought you needed to
know
. So that your mind would no longer keep touching upon the wound that has been festering deep inside since you were a child.”

“Is that what has been happening?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I just thought it was something I could do for you.”

She gazed at him, and their eyes locked on each other’s.

“By the time I w-went, though,” he said, “there was another, more urgent reason.”

She continued to gaze.

“Divorces applied for by petition to Parliament are rare enough and p-public enough to be remembered,” he said. “Someone wanting to know more about a Mr. D-Debbins of Lancashire and asking a few questions would almost inevitably discover that
he
had once m-made such a petition and had b-been granted his divorce.”

Her eyes widened.

“I do not know to how many p-people you have mentioned your father’s name,” he said. “I m-mentioned it the afternoon I called upon Frome and his lady and Velma. I am sorry. It did not occur to m-me that—”

Agnes had jumped to her feet. “My father’s identity is no secret,” she said. “I am not ashamed of my father.”

“If the search for information was m-malicious,” he said, “then more will be discovered. It was easy enough for
me
to discover, Lord knows. There could be gossip, Agnes.”

Lady Hazeltine had done this, she realized. And, oh, her motives would be malicious. Agnes felt no doubt about that.

“Tonight?” she asked.

“Unlikely,” he said, “though even the fact that your father was d-divorced from your mother will cause talk, even among my family. I am sorry, but I had to w-warn you. If you would rather not go tonight but stay at home—”

“Stay at home?” She glared at him. “
Cower
at home, you mean? Never. And we are in danger of being late, which I understand is fashionable in town. I am
not
of London, however, or of the
ton
. I prefer to do my hosts the courtesy of being on time when I am expected or even early. Where are my shawl and my reticule?”

She brushed past him back into the dressing room, but he caught her by the arm as she passed. He was, amazingly, grinning.

“That’s my girl,” he said softly. “That’s my Agnes.”

And he kissed her hard and openmouthed on the lips before letting her go.

“Who
is
she?” she asked briskly as she picked up her things. “Just in case I should need the knowledge tonight. And where does she live?”

“Lady Havell,” he said, “wife of Sir Everard Havell. They live in Kensington. And he is
not
your father.”

She felt a little dizzy. Lady Havell. Sir Everard Havell. They were strangers to her. And she wished they might remain so. Kensington was very close.

She nodded and looked at him.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Flavian.”

He offered his arm and she took it.

. . . He is
not
your father.

Flavian would not have added that if he was not sure.

. . . He is
not
your father.

21

I
t had always amused Flavian that any
ton
party described in advance as “small” and “intimate,” even one given before the spring Season proper began, almost invariably filled several rooms with guests. Anything larger was a “squeeze” and was the very ultimate in success for any hostess.

Marianne’s small evening party looked to be just that when he arrived with his wife and mother, for of course they were early despite the delay his confession in Agnes’s dressing room had caused. Flavian suspected, with an inward, half-amused grimace, that he was fated to become notorious for always arriving early to any social gathering. It hardly bore contemplating.

It did not take long for Shields’s drawing room to fill, however, and for the guests to spill over into the adjoining music room. The dedicated cardplayers among them soon discovered the salon across the hallway, where tables had been set up for their convenience, and the refreshment room next to it did not go long undiscovered.

Of course, any house except perhaps the largest mansion could be filled quite respectably just with his family members. Not that all of them had come to town yet, but there were enough, by Jove. And all of them wanted to
pump Flavian by the hand, even if they had seen him during the past few days and already done so. They also wanted to kiss Agnes’s cheek, and say all that was proper to the occasion, and—in the case of a few of the younger male cousins—a few things that were improper, for Flavian’s ears alone, to the accompaniment of bawdy guffaws that brought frowns from the uncles, reproachful glances from the aunts, and the fluttering of fans from the female cousins, who suspected they were missing something interesting.

There were other guests who were not family, of course. Marianne took it upon herself to introduce Agnes, who looked lovely enough and dignified enough to be a duchess, Flavian thought with considerable pride, though this evening must be a severe trial to her. And this was only the beginning.

Perhaps, he thought after a while, his warning to her had been unnecessary. Even if word had spread about her father and his divorce, no one seemed inclined either to remark upon it or to shun the man’s daughter.

Even as he thought it, he heard Sir Winston and Lady Frome and the Countess of Hazeltine being announced. He was halfway between the drawing room and the music room, talking with a group of relatives and other acquaintances. Agnes was on the other side of the drawing room with Marianne, who was leaving her side to hurry toward the door, her right hand extended, a smile of welcome on her face.

Well, of course they had been invited. They were not even mere acquaintances, after all. They were neighbors in the country.

And was it his imagination, Flavian wondered, or had the buzz of conversation faltered slightly while people glanced from the new arrivals to him and to Agnes? But it was over in a moment, and the Fromes and Velma
proceeded farther into the room to mingle with the other guests.

Though it had
not
been his imagination. Mrs. Dressler had set one gloved hand on his sleeve.

“I daresay your mama was disappointed, Lord Ponsonby,” she said, “when you married before you could meet Lady Hazeltine again this spring. It was a very sad thing when your betrothal to her came to an end all those years ago. You were
such
a handsome couple. Were they not, Hester?”

The lady applied to—Flavian could not at the moment recall her last name—looked a trifle embarrassed.

“Indeed they were, Beryl,” she said, “but Lady Ponsonby is really quite lovely, my lord.”

His mother and Marianne and Shields, as well as the Fromes and Velma, had been in London for a few days before he arrived with Agnes, Flavian recalled. He wondered, belatedly, whether during those days they had kept their matchmaking plans to themselves, all of them, or whether they had divulged their hopes to a select few of their acquaintances.

He would wager upon the latter.

Velma caught his eye across the room, smiled warmly, and raised one hand in greeting. But she did not approach him. She mingled with the groups around her, looking poised and lovely.

He forgot about her. He did what one did at such parties. He mingled and talked and listened and laughed. He kept an eye upon Agnes, but she did not appear to need his support. She was always occupied when he glanced her way and always smiling graciously, a becoming flush in her cheeks.

Dash it all, he thought at one point in the evening, as if he had been struck by some earth-shattering revelation, he was
glad
he had married her. He would not be
married to anyone else in the world. Not for any consideration. Inevitably, he wanted her. But that thought, in the middle of a party while they were surrounded by at least a few dozen of his family members, was unworthy of him. His feelings for her went beyond the sexual. He was deucedly
fond
of her. He was beginning to understand Hugo and Ben and Vincent and how they must feel about their wives.

There was to be no formal supper, but the refreshment room positively groaned with delicacies both savory and sweet, and even offered a few tables at which guests might sit while they ate, if they so chose.

Flavian was sitting at one of the tables, eating more than his fair share of lobster patties, while Miss Moffatt was giving a brief recital on the pianoforte in the music room. He was with his cousins Doris and Ginny, and young Lord Catlin, who appeared to consider himself the latter’s beau, though Ginny was giving him no noticeable encouragement. Flavian was relaxed and enjoying himself.

Yes, the warning had been unnecessary, but he was glad he had given it, glad he had told her. It was over with, and tonight he would make amends.