The Waltzing Widow (16 page)
Lady Cecily laughed and shook her head at him. “Oh, no, Robert. You shall not browbeat me so easily, I assure you. Now, do as Abigail has bidden you and you shall have your curiosity answered."
Lady Mary settled beside her daughter on the ground cover, a smile curving her lips for Abigail's barely suppressed anticipation. “One would think it is your own surprise that you are awaiting, Abby,” she teased.
"But I have already peeked, so it is not at all a surprise to me,” Abigail confided in a loud whisper.
"Miss Abigail, surely you did not!” Miss Steepleton exclaimed, astonished at such forwardness.
Lady Cecily laughed and reached over to pat that lady on the shoulder. “It is quite all right, Miss Steepleton. You mustn't scold, for I invited Abigail to do so. It is so much more fun when one can share the excitement of the moment,” she said.
Miss Steepleton uttered an incoherence, completely overset by Lady Cecily's kind condescension. But her lack of sophistication was generally overlooked in the wake of the earl's arrival.
"Well, Cecily? What is this mystery?” he demanded.
Lady Cecily signaled the carriage driver, who had been standing patiently to one side ready to serve. With a flourish the man opened a picnic basket and brought out a finely iced and decorated cake. Lady Cecily grinned at her brother. “Have you an inkling yet, Robert?"
He stared flabbergasted at the cake. “You never brought it with you!” he exclaimed. “I thought myself safe at least until the evening."
Lady Cecily pealed in laughter, swiftly joined by the other ladies when they saw the earl's expression. “Yes, Robert, I brought your cake with me. Surely you did not expect me to forget your birthday, even with this convenient little outing, which, by the by, was most suspiciously proposed by you for this date,” she said.
"I should have expected it, of course,” Lord Kenmare said, grinning in acknowledgment.
"Many happy returns,” Lady Mary said sincerely. Miss Steepleton and Abigail added their voices to hers, though Abigail quite confounded her mother and former governess by inquiring his lordship's age. “Abigail, pray!” exclaimed Lady Mary in rueful amusement.
Lord Kenmare waved aside Lady Mary's intervention. Quite soberly he said, “I am all of six-and-thirty, Miss Spence, a great age indeed."
"That is not such a very great age. Why, Mama is herself four-and-thirty,” Abigail said. She at once flushed, realizing that she had committed a definite
faux pas.
“I
do
apologize, Mama!"
Lord Kenmare regarded with intent interest the becoming color that flew into Lady Mary's face. He smiled faintly. “I might possibly have doubted your word on that before, Miss Spence. But now that I have seen her without her caps, your mother appears just as youthful as her years."
"My word!” Miss Steepleton exclaimed faintly. The earl's compliment had rendered Abigail momentary speechless and had made a surprised but satisfied smile appear on Lady Cecily's face.
As for Lady Mary, she gravely thanked his lordship for his compliment, richly warmed by the fact that he had noticed after all. She glanced up at the sunlight above. The bright blue sky was completely devoid of clouds.
Lady Mary and Abigail attended a party at Lady Conyngham's on Wednesday evening. William, looking very smart in his regimentals, was their escort. They arrived early, but already there were several people who were known to them in evidence. William glanced about and predicted, “It will be a proper squeeze tonight."
William found chairs for his mother and sister before wandering off to find his own cronies, assuring himself that his filial duty was done for the moment. He had no doubt that his mother and sister would soon have a score of partners and would hardly need him to entertain them.
Indeed, it was not many minutes before Lady Mary and Abigail were noticed and several acquaintances came up to greet them. The ladies’ dance cards were soon filled, but they had arrived in the middle of a set and so were able to visit and to observe those already indulging in the exercise. Abigail directed her mother's attention. “Look, Mama, there is Michele. Does she not look stunning tonight?"
Lady Mary looked in the direction of Abigail's interest. Michele du Bois was dancing with Viscount Callander and the couple were easily the most magnificent on the floor. They seemed to have eyes for no one but each other as they whirled past, completely unheeding of Abigail's wave.
Lady Mary noted that Sir Lionel Corbett, though he had come up to greet them and lingered beside Abigail, was always faced so that he could keep a jealous eye on Mademoiselle du Bois. She thought the young cavalry officer seemed rather possessive of a young lady whose affections were generally thought to have been firmly engaged by another.
Monsieur and Madame du Bois joined Lady Mary and her circle. “A pleasant evening, non?” Monsieur du Bois said, after making his bows.
"Quite pleasant indeed,
monsieur,
after the day's heat,” Lady Mary said. “Why, Helen, you look as satisfied as a fat cat with a bowl of cream. What has occurred?"
Madame du Bois looked particularly gay that evening. She glanced after her daughter and the viscount as they danced past. “I suppose it will do no harm to make an informal announcement among friends, will it, Francois?"
Monsieur du Bois raised his shoulders in a Gallic shrug. “I do not see why that it should. All the world will know tomorrow."
Madame du Bois laughed and said, “This very evening Michele and Lord Randol have plighted their troth. I was never more happy in my life than to see their genuine happiness."
"Why, that is wonderful news indeed!” Lady Mary exclaimed.
Abigail clapped her hands and exulted. “I knew that it could not be long before Lord Randol offered for Michele. They are such a perfect couple. Why, one can see it in how wonderfully they waltz together. I cannot wait to tell her how happy I am for her!"
The du Boises accepted the congratulations of the others. Sir Lionel Corbett, once he had said all that was proper, excused himself and swiftly strode away. His face was white and stiff with shock, and as Lady Mary watched him go, she could not but pity his acute disappointment.
The Duke of Wellington arrived and as usual was immediately surrounded, much like a candle flame is by moths. For two days rumors had circulated that the French had crossed the border into Belgium, and someone inquired anxiously of his grace for the truth of the matter.
"Yes, it is so,” he said gravely. There was instant consternation, for it was understood that Bonaparte's forces completely outnumbered the allied troops. The duke disregarded the gloomier statements, saying that he would trust his fellows to do the job. “When other generals commit errors, their armies are lost by them, and they are sure to be beaten. When I get into a scrape, my army gets me out of it,” he stated firmly. His witticism sparked general laughter and the tension at once faded.
While Lady Mary was still smiling over the duke's answer, Captain McInnes approached to request permission to stand up with Abigail. She looked upon him warmly, appreciating his respectful manners. It was one of the things that she particularly liked about the officer. She knew that his name was scrawled on her daughter's card more than once and that he actually had no need of her permission. “Of course you may do so, Captain."
Abigail gave her hand to Captain McInnes. “I am most honored,” she said. Without hesitation she went with the young officer, her spirits at their most sparkling and vivacious. She had learned to like Captain McInnes very much; indeed, more than any other of her admirers.
From across the room Viscountess Catlin saw that her granddaughter was singled out by a young officer unknown to her. Upon inquiring, she learned the officer was a Captain McInnes, who was said to be a laird of some sort. The viscountess was not blind to the radiant expression on Abigail's face when the girl looked at the Highlander, and warning bells went off in her head.
Viscountess Catlin's thin lips tightened as she watched her granddaughter and the upstart go down the set. She decided it was urgent that she drop a small word of guidance into her granddaughter's ear. It would not do to have the girl take it into her head that she had fallen in love and toss aside all of her brilliant chances for a splendid match so that she could throw herself away on some obscure Scottish laird, she thought. Her nails dug into her palms with the strength of her determination. Abigail must be prevented from making the same mistake that her willful mother had.
Viscountess Catlin awaited her opportunity. Since the debacle over the Comte l'Buc and Lady Mary's resulting fury, she was more careful in how she approached her granddaughter. So she waited impatiently for the set to end, poised to intercept Abigail and her partner as they left the floor and before they had returned to Lady Mary's vicinity.
Captain McInnes and Abigail slowly neared, their conversation and laughter meant only for each other. The viscountess swept down upon them. She caught her granddaughter's arm. In the process, the viscountess had managed to draw the girl a little apart from Captain McInnes so that he had perforce to allow Abigail's hand to slide away from his arm. “My dearest Abigail! How perfectly lovely you look this evening. That rose pink is truly one of your better colors,” she said, completely ignoring the young officer.
"Grandmama! I did not know you had come tonight. Where is Grandpapa?"
"Your grandfather has decided to take a turn at cards. I do not understand why, for he is too easily bored to enjoy it. But then, he is easily bored by every amusement.” Viscountess Catlin still had not glanced at Captain McInnes, and from the corner of her eye she saw a dawning expression of understanding cross his craggy face. The Highlander was not a complete fool, then, she thought with satisfaction.
But Abigail did not fall into the proper place in the viscountess's little game. She put out her free hand to the young officer and he automatically caught her fingers. Abigail smiled radiantly at him and said, “Grandmama, I should like you to meet Captain Bruce McInnes. He is of the Ninety-fifth and has become a particular friend of mine."
The viscountess was forced at last to acknowledge the officer's presence. She smiled brightly, but her eyes did not reflect a friendly light. “Ah, Captain McInnes. I have not met you previously, I believe.” Without waiting for his reply, she turned her head again to her granddaughter. “Abigail, there is a most interesting gentleman that I wish you to speak with. I think that you will find him quite eligible in all degrees."
Abigail was bewildered by her grandmother's rude manner. She looked up at Captain McInnes, who had lost his former laughing expression and whose face had become closed against her. He met her eyes and smiled. “I shall call upon you tomorrow. Miss Spence,” he promised. Lifting her fingers to his lips, he took gentle leave of her. He spared a cool glance for the viscountess, and instead of making a respectful bow, he saluted her in a negligent fashion that was calculated to incur her wrath.
The viscountess's eyes flashed at the young officer's audacity. But he was already striding away and therefore safe from her haughty set-down. “Come, Abigail. We shall find a settee and compose ourselves for a private chat,” she said.
Abigail hung back. “But I thought you wished me to meet someone,” she said.
"That was just a ruse, my dear. You must see that it was necessary in order to pry you loose from that most inopportune gentleman."
Abigail freed herself from her grandmother's fingers. “What do you mean? Captain McInnes is decidedly one of the nicest gentlemen I have met this Season."
"Abigail, I would prefer to discuss this in a more private fashion,” Viscountess Catlin said, aware that Lady Mary was not so distant that she could not read her daughter's expression and feel obliged to join them. Certainly she did not need interference from that quarter, she thought.
"No. I wish to hear now what you have against Captain McInnes. Why, you have only just met him. How could you treat him so rudely, Grandmama?” Abigail asked, very much bewildered and hurt and angry.
"Oh, very well. It is of no great moment, after all,” Viscountess Catlin said, giving away with a petulant gesture. “It is only my concern for you that motivates me to speak to you at all, Abigail. I but wished you to understand that gentlemen such as Captain McInnes, while very charming and amusing, are not at all those upon whom you should bestow your attentions. My dear, it is the middle of June! I have yet to be informed of your engagement, when I had held such high hopes for a wedding. The Season is almost over, Abigail. And you have thus far failed to attract the offer that will guarantee your position in this life.” She smiled pityingly at her granddaughter, whose eyes had filled with startled tears. “Think over what I have said, Abigail. You are a clever and ambitious girl. I suspect that when you have thought about it, your mind must rule that too-romantic heart of yours."
The viscountess swept away, leaving her granddaughter stunned by her cruelty. Abigail's mind was in a confused whirl. She did not know what to think. Her grandmother's lecture had rung true in her ears. It was true that she had not received the brilliant offer that she had been led to covet. Oh, there had been a few offers, but for one reason or another she had decided against each. It was true that the Season was almost done. The return to England suddenly loomed before her, a journey that she realized now must be made either in triumph or in disgrace. It was unthinkable that she should return without a glittering ring upon her finger and jewels about her neck. She, Abigail Spence, the prettiest girl of the county, to return home in ignoble defeat. Abigail shuddered.
But Captain McInnes ... She could not shake the memory of his laughing eyes or the gentleness of his smile when he gazed at her. He appealed to her in ways that no other gentleman had ever come close to doing. She suspected that if he had offered for her, she would not have thought twice about her answer.
