Rhonda Woodward (9 page)

Next, he will be asking the exact amount of my portion
, Mariah thought cynically, affronted at his unsubtle attempt to find out just how fond her papa was of her.

It was not only his blatant fishing about her dowry that made her dislike Lord Stothart; his pasty face and pudgy fingers caused her a definite shiver of revulsion.

“I am sure my father is no fonder of me than most fathers are of their daughters.”

The look of disappointment that came over his bloated features gave her a small measure of satisfaction.

At that moment Mrs. Spence-Jones distracted Lord Stothart’s attention, leaving Mariah relieved to be free of his pointed questions.

Mr. Elbridge, seated on her left, addressed her politely and briefly before turning back to Mrs. Ingram.

Picking up her wineglass, Mariah saw that Steven again sat next to Lady Davinia. Smiling to herself, Mariah looked farther up the table and saw handsome Lord Mattonly gazing at her mama with an enthralled expression.

Good heavens,
she thought with some alarm beneath her amusement. Mrs. Thorncroft certainly did not appear to notice the effect she seemed to have on the young man.

The doors opened, and the servants brought in the first course. The volume of chatter softened, and Mariah decided to concentrate on her food.

After cutting into her grouse, she became aware of a prickly sensation and could not prevent herself from glancing at the head of the table. For an instant she felt the disturbing intensity of the earl’s gaze on her.

A moment later his gaze became shuttered, and the polite smile he sent before he turned away caused her rapidly beating heart to lurch to its normal pace.

Returning her attention to her meal, she wondered why the evening suddenly seemed so flat.

***

Almost three hours later, Mariah took her place opposite Lord Stothart for the first dance, a quadrille, and allowed her attention to wander around the lovely room. Garlands of fir boughs draped the heavily carved mahogany mantel. The rugs had been removed, and the floors gleamed with an almost mirrorlike finish. In the far corner, the members of the six-piece orchestra sat tuning their instruments. She could not imagine a more pleasant room in which to spend an evening. Some of the other guests were forming another set at the other end of the floor. It did not surprise her a bit to see her brother standing up with Lady Davinia. Mariah watched as the young woman laughed at something Steven said and suddenly realized she was glad, for Steven’s sake, that they had come to Heaton. Anything could develop from the spark so evident between her brother and the beautiful, petite blonde. Mariah owned that the enveloping beauty of Heaton could easily inspire romance in almost anyone. The music began and Mariah crossed in front of Lord Stothart. Hearing a familiar musical laugh, Mariah glanced around to see her mother, among the dancers in the other set, crossing in front of Lord Mattonly, who beamed down at her. A vague alarm again went off in the back of Mariah’s senses. Back home, everyone knew that Mama was a practiced, but innocent, flirt. None of the gentlemen at the assemblies and other parties had ever taken her subtle flattery and eyelash batting seriously—until now. No, surely she mistook young Lord Mattonly’s attention toward her mother, Mariah thought, tamping down her concern. Lud! He could not be much older than Steven! The music pulled Mariah’s attention back to the steps of the dance. Though keenly aware of Lord Stothart’s gaze continually upon her, she refused to pay him any heed. Despite her mother’s entreaties, she did not intend to show him any particular consideration.

In her desire to avoid making eye contact with Lord Stothart, she kept her attention on the other guests as she performed the steps of the quadrille.

As she moved through the line of dancers, she noticed the earl standing by the fireplace with Lord and Lady Walgrave.

Lord Walgrave, despite his paunch and receding hairline, still managed to appear proud and superior.

Mariah wondered if he had the slightest notion that his wife was having a liaison with his good friend.

Lady Walgrave, golden hair swept up
a` la Grecian,
looked stunning in a gown of carmine silk. Mariah’s chest tightened as the blonde smiled intimately up at the earl.

The beau monde was certainly a different world from her own, she mused. Most of the time she found its modes and manners confusing and hard to follow.

All the people born to the
ton
seemed to know the unwritten rules instinctively. Discretion, it seemed to her, was considered one of the essential morals among the beau monde. Therefore, it would not surprise her if Lord Walgrave did suspect his wife’s betrayal—and thought little of it.

No matter the conventions of the
ton
, Mariah mused, she could never tolerate her husband being unfaithful to her. The thought was unbearable. Unless, of course, she did not love him.

Casting a quick glance at Lord Stothart as they made a turn, Mariah wondered if he were her husband, would she care if he had a mistress? No, she decided instantly, it would not bother her at all. However, she could not imagine being married to Lord Stothart.

She knew herself well enough to be certain that if her emotions were engaged, the thought of her husband so casually breaking their marriage vows would be devastating.

But what choice would she have if she married someone like the earl?
No choice but to become a shrew, that’s what,
she thought honestly as she made another turn. No, it would be better to become an old maid than to become the nagging, embittered wife of a man who saw her only as a means to fill his coffers and nursery.

She met Lord Stothart in the middle of the set and sent him a polite smile.

He smiled back, his gaze lowering to her bosom. She swung away from him with a feeling of disgust.
He may be a gentleman by birth but certainly not by nature,
she thought with scorn.

When the quadrille finally ended, she swiftly crossed the room toward her mother, uncaring whether Lord Stothart escorted her or not.

Before she had the opportunity to speak to her mother, Mr. Elbridge approached and bowed.

“I understand that several waltzes will be played this evening. Will you do me the honor of dancing the first one with me, Miss Thorncroft?”

Mariah looked at the sturdy young man with some surprise. She could not help noticing how stiffly he spoke, his dark brown eyes barely meeting her gaze. They had scarcely shared a dozen words, and here he wanted to waltz with her! She found it rather strange.

Finding no polite way to decline, she smiled graciously. “I would be delighted, Mr. Elbridge.” Besides, she loved to waltz.

Without a word, Mr. Elbridge bowed and strode off.

When he was far enough away, Mama turned to Mariah excitedly, with shining eyes. “Oh, Mariah, did you know he is heir to an ancient baronetcy! Wouldn’t that be lovely? I am becoming quite chummy with Lady Walgrave. I will quiz her about Mr. Elbridge’s circumstances.”

Mariah looked at her mother in mortification and put a staying hand on her arm.

“No, Mama! Please do not! Especially not Lady Walgrave.”

Mrs. Thorncroft halted, looking at Mariah with surprise. “Why ever not? She is a most charming lady and seems to know everything about everyone. Who better to ask?”

Casting about desperately for something to say that would make her mother reconsider her plan, Mariah stammered for a moment. “Please trust me on this. What if Lady Walgrave carried tales back to Mr. El-bridge about your questions? He might think it odd, and we have not even had our dance yet.”

Mama sent her a doubtful look. “Well, maybe you are right. I will wait to see how your waltz goes before I make any discreet inquiries.”

Thinking that it would be the first time her mother had ever practiced discretion, Mariah said, “That makes sense.”

“But do try to be agreeable.”

“I will do my best,” Mariah said, intending to do nothing of the sort. “Excuse me, Mama. There is Lady Davinia, and I wish to have a word with her before the next set begins.” It was the first thing she could think of to escape her mother’s presence.

As she moved across the room, from the corner of her eye she saw the earl separate from Mr. Woburn and Lord Mattonly and approach her. Taking in how his dark hair and light eyes showed to advantage in his black evening clothes, her heart again clutched in that strange way.

She stopped. Obviously, he intended to speak to her.

“So you shall give Elbridge the honor of a waltz.”

Startled, she said, “Yes, why?” instantly suspicious of his tone.

A half-smile curved his lips, and he shrugged slightly. “Although your virtue won’t be in any danger, I advise you to be careful of your toes and your dowry.”

Gasping in shock, she stared up into his amused eyes.

Beneath her sputtering, startled anger, Mariah felt a stab of hurt. Even though she had no interest in Mr. Elbridge, the earl could not know that. Was he suggesting that the only thing a man like Mr. Elbridge would find attractive about her would be her dowry? This attack took her completely by surprise. After all, despite her awareness of his rakish ways, she had begun to feel that she and the earl had an understanding, even the beginnings of an odd sort of friendship.
Good heavens,
she chided herself,
my judgment must have gone begging to think such a thing.

Lifting her chin, she tried her best to appear disdainful and strove to say something cutting. “My toes, dowry, and virtue are none of your affair.”

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and moved to where Lady Davinia stood with Mr. and Mrs. Spence-Jones.

Feeling flushed and upset, Mariah concentrated on the light chatter circling around her. Praying that no one would notice her flustered demeanor, she deliberately avoided looking in the earl’s direction again.

By the time the notes of the first waltz filled the room, she felt so tense and troubled that she had lost her desire to dance. Thank goodness Mama was not close enough to notice something amiss.

She scoffed at herself for being so upset over the earl’s comment. After all, what did she expect? She knew very well that he was an insensitive rogue. But such a charming one, her heart betrayed in a whisper.

As Mr. Elbridge approached, Mariah straightened her shoulders and took her wayward emotions in hand.

Silently, he led her to the middle of the room. As he put his arm lightly around her waist, Mariah experienced a hint of alarm. He began to lead her, a half step behind the tempo, without lifting his gaze from his feet.

Feeling a bit panicked, Mariah glanced around the room. She caught sight of her mama on the other side of the room, staring with her mouth slightly agape. From the corner of her eye, she saw the earl dancing with Lady Charlotte at the opposite end of the floor. A moment later, Mr. Elbridge—still concentrating on his feet—almost pushed her into Lord and Lady Walgrave.

Valiantly, Mariah struggled to follow her partner’s lurching steps, with little success.

Her cheeks burning with mortification, she watched the other couples giving them a wide berth as they circled the impromptu dance floor.

“Do you like dogs, Miss Thorncroft?”

Startled that Mr. Elbridge had finally taken his eyes off his feet long enough to address her, she took a few measures to answer him.

“Dogs, sir? Why yes, I do.”

Evidently Mr. Elbridge could not speak and dance at the same time. He lost completely what little sense of rhythm he had and now just moved her around in a swaying two-step.

“I have one of the finest kennels in all of Leicestershire. No one breeds finer foxhounds than I do.”

Mariah could not help smiling at the pride so evident in his voice. “That must be quite gratifying,” she offered, not knowing what else to say.

He must have realized that they had stopped dancing, for he suddenly pushed her into a turn and trod squarely on her left foot.

“M’apologies,” he mumbled, helping steady her balance.

Trying to ignore the pain, Mariah sent him a tight-lipped smile. “Quite all right, Mr. Elbridge.”

They resumed their awkward attempt at waltzing. “I am making plans to expand my kennels.”

“Ah. That must keep you very busy.”

“Yes indeed. Breeding foxhounds is much more complicated than you could imagine.”

“No doubt.” She winced as his knee bumped into hers.

“It takes a lot of capital to maintain a first-rate kennel.”

“I am sure it does,” she replied, praying the dance would end before she found herself bruised from head to toe.

“Your father owns a woolen mill.”

It was a statement, not a question.
Mama!
Mariah thought in silent accusation.

Suddenly she recalled the earl’s warning to be careful of her toes and her dowry. He had predicted Mr. Elbridge’s behavior.

“Yes, he does,” she said flatly.

“Does he like foxhounds?”

Good heavens! How was she supposed to respond to that? Mariah wondered a little desperately. While she wracked her brain for a reply, they continued to sway clumsily on the floor for some moments. To Mariah’s eternal gratitude, the music finally ended. She immediately stepped back from Mr. Elbridge and sent him a bright smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Looking a little disappointed, Mr. Elbridge began to escort her back to her mother. To her dismay, Mariah again saw the earl approaching, his black brows pulled together in a fierce frown.

The earl stepped in front of her before they had reached Mrs. Thorncroft. Ignoring Mr. Elbridge, he said to her in a firm tone, “Miss Thorncroft, since you so enjoy history, I would like to show you a painting on the wall over here. It is a rendering of how Heaton looked more than a century ago. I believe you will find it interesting.”

Solemnly, Mariah looked at the earl and realized that unless she wanted to be unspeakably rude and give him the cut direct in front of most of his guests, she had no choice other than to go with him.

Thanking Mr. Elbridge again, Mariah took the earl’s arm.

He led her to the far side of the long salon. As the other guests appeared to be occupied with conversation or dancing, they found themselves relatively private.