A Regency Charade (24 page)

“Ball?” Ariadne gave a small shake of her head. “It is certainly not to be a
ball
. Just because the Earl is arranging for a few musicians to be present—”

“Don’t quibble,” Ferdie interrupted. “Even if it is not quite a ball, it is to be a fine party. I understand some of the local gentry will be invited, too. Therefore, young Sir Longshanks here wants to insure that your hand will not be snapped up by some unknown Lothario—”

“Mr. Sellars,” Ariadne said in her matter-of-fact manner, her knitting needles clicking steadily, “please be good enough to release your hold on Mr. Danforth’s collar. There, that’s better. Now, Garvin, I’m sure you know perfectly well that there’s no need for a formal application for my hand for a dance. It is to be a quite informal party, and none of the ladies will have cards. I shall be quite delighted to stand up with you whenever you wish to ask me. And now that
that’s
said, I’m certain you’d prefer browsing about in the library to standing about here making nonsensical conversation. Mr. Sellars and I are quite willing to excuse you.”

“Th-Thank you, ma’am,” the red-faced Gar said gratefully. “I do find dancing, especially as it’s done nowadays, rather … er … too uninhibited to be quite proper. Not … er … in my style, you know. But one of the country dances …” He backed to the door. “I’m certain we’d enjoy …” And he went awkwardly from the room.

Ferdie looked after him, shaking his head hopelessly. Then he turned to frown down at the placid girl in considerable annoyance. He placed his hands on his hips, his elbows akimbo, and studied her for a few silent moments. “What on earth is the
matter
with you, Miss Courdepass?” he asked at last.

“I’ve told you, Mr. Sellars, to call me Ariadne.”

“Ariadne then. Though it’s a deucedly ridiculous name. Wherever did your mother get it?”

“From the Greeks. Ariadne was King Minos’s daughter who led Theseus out of the Labyrinth by marking the way with a ball of yarn.”

He looked down at her fingers, with the yarn wound between them, and grinned. “Very appropriate, I see. Wise of your mother, after all. But I was inquiring, ma’am, what is
wrong
with you?”

“Not a thing, Mr. Sellars, as far as I can tell.”

“Do you care nothing for your
future
? Can it be that a lady of your obvious attributes for marriage and motherhood has no interest in fixing on a potential suitor?”

“Are you speaking of Garvin Danforth? I should have thought, sir, that a man of your intelligence would have realized by this time that he was barking up the wrong tree.”

“Wrong tree?
Danforth
is the wrong
tree
? Why?”

Ariadne shrugged. “The answer should be obvious.”

“Not to me. Perhaps you’ve not paid sufficient attention to his many fine qualities. He is tall, handsome and in good health. He has, I understand, a more than adequate competence from his father’s estate, in addition to great expectations from his uncle and employer, Lord Hawthorne, who is childless and loves Gar like a son. And, most important of all, he is well-educated, scholarly, and as serious and high-minded as yourself.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Sellars, I am not as serious and high-minded as you suppose.”

He blinked. “Aren’t you? I would have said those were your most noticeable attributes.”

“If the character of a person were so easily read in his outward demeanor, matchmaking would be a much simpler art than it is.”

He cocked an offended eyebrow at her. “Are you saying, with your usual unaffected directness, that I have no talents as a matchmaker?”

Her mouth curved up in a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile. “You might interpret it that way, if you choose.”

“Very well then, ma’am—”

“Ariadne, please.”

“Very well then,
Ariadne
, I retire from the matchmaking business as of this moment. I give you up. I withdraw from the fray. I hope you will not have cause to regret, later, that you chose to dispense with my services. Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Before you march off in your high dudgeon, Mr. Sellars, I wonder if you might be willing to give me a moment or two of assistance.”

“What?” he asked turning back with a triumphant smile. “Have you reconsidered? You’ve changed your mind, and you wish me to try my matchmaking skills once more?”

“No, thank you. I only want you to hold this skein of wool for me while I wind it. If you sit down there on the ottoman and hold the skein between your two hands, thus, I think we shall contrive …”

Trapped, Ferdie sank onto the ottoman holding the skein stretched between his two hands. For a few moments he watched silently while she rapidly wound the wool into a growing ball of yarn. After a while, he cocked his head on one side and eyed her speculatively. “If Gar is too serious for you, Ariadne, what sort of fellow
would
you find suitable?”

“Why do you ask? I don’t believe there are any
other
candidates on the premises that you can dredge up for me, are there?”

He laughed. “No, I’m afraid there aren’t. Just for my own edification, however, I’d like to know what sort would suit you.”

“
Your
sort, I think,” she said placidly, her hands steadily and rapidly winding the yarn.

Ferdie choked. “
My
sort! Are you mad?”

“You must keep your hands steady, Mr. Sellars, or you’ll tangle the yarn,” she cautioned mildly.

“Have you never heard what a wastrel and rake I am? Has no one ever told you that I’m thoroughly reprehensible? I’ve a well-earned reputation for indulging in all sorts of dissipation and profligacy, besides being past thirty and not at all plump in the pocket.”

“Yes. I’ve heard all that.”

He shook his head in bafflement. “And to
think
I had taken you for a woman of remarkable sense.”

“And so I am. I’m really the only sort who could
manage
a profligate rake like yourself.”

A snorting laugh was surprised out of him. “I almost believe that you could!” he declared admiringly.

“Please, Mr. Sellars, you
must
keep your hands up,” she cautioned again.

“I think, Miss Ariadne Courdepass,” he said, fixing her with a look of sudden and interested speculation, “that if we’re to continue this very interesting conversation, you’d better begin to call me Ferdie.”

At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened again. “There you are, Ferdie,” Clio said, ignoring Miss Courdepass with her usual thoughtlessness. “I’ve been looking for you. Priss has asked me to help her decide which of the rooms would be most suitable for the dancing on Saturday, and I need your advice. The ballroom in the east wing is much too large, but there’s a room on the second floor, just beyond the gallery, that I’d like you to come and look at. I can’t make up my mind if—”

“Clio, I wish you’d go away,” he said, not taking his eyes from Ariadne’s face. “You are interrupting a very interesting conversation.”

Clio gaped. “Well! I’m very
sorry
, I assure you! If a conversation with Miss Courdepass is more important than the choice of rooms for the dancing, I’m sure I can manage without your advice!” And she turned on her heel in offended dignity.

Ariadne’s needles continued to click steadily away. “Why don’t you ask Gar to help you, Clio, my dear? You’ll find him in the library.”

“What,” Clio demanded, slamming the library door behind her in fury, “is the matter with Ferdie?”

Gar, perched on top of the library stepladder, a copy of Aristotle’s
Metaphysics
open on his lap, started at the sound of the door slam, causing the stepladder to wobble dangerously. “Can’t you come into a room with less noise?” he demanded querulously as soon as the ladder had reestablished its equilibrium.

Clio flounced across the room and dropped into an easy chair. “Don’t
you
shout at me, Garvin Danforth! I’ve had enough high-handedness for one day. Did you know your so-called friend Ferdie is sitting in the drawing room making sheep’s eyes at your
innamorata
?”

“I have no
innamorata
. If you are referring to Miss Courdepass, Ferdie is probably only trying to persuade her to save the first dance for me on Saturday night,” Gar explained uninterestedly, returning his attention to the book on his lap.

“Hmmmph! If that’s what he’s doing, he’s certainly going about it strangely. If you’re not careful, you’ll find that he’s snatched her right from under your nose.”

“He’s welcome to her. If you don’t mind, Miss Vickers, I’m more interested in Aristotle than in Ferdie’s flirts.”

“Oh, don’t be such a grind, Gar. Come down from there! Are you going to sit up there and
read
, while Ferdie takes the exciting Miss Courdepass for himself?”

“What a lot of balderdash! You know perfectly well that Ferdie is not going to turn sheep’s eyes at Miss Courdepass while you … that is, while there are other ladies about who are so much more … more …”

Her petulant expression cleared. “More
what
, Garvin, my dear?” she asked with a sudden twinkle.

“Nothing.”

She got up from the chair and went to the foot of the ladder. “
What
have I more of than Miss Courdepass?”

Gar turned a page ostentatiously. “You know perfectly well what your charms are,” he said, his eyes fixed on the book.

“No, I don’t. Please come down. If you don’t, I’ll shake this ladder until you topple off.”

He didn’t look up or bother to answer.

She shook the ladder, but not enough to trouble him. “
You
don’t think I have any charms at all. I’ve had the decided impression that you disapprove of me.”

“Your impression is correct,” Gar said, turning another page with excessive deliberation.

“Then what did you mean by saying that Ferdie would not look at Miss Courdepass while I’m present?”

“I did
not
say that, although it’s probably true. Ferdie is not a man of particular discrimination.”

This time she really did shake the ladder. “I hope you fall and break your neck!” she said with venom.

“Stop that! This is not at all amusing, Miss Vickers! A fall from this height could lead to serious injury!”

She turned away and walked thoughtfully to the fireplace. Staring at the flames, she asked in sudden seriousness, “Why don’t you approve of me?”

He shut the book and turned himself around to look at her. “It is not my place to say, ma’am.”

“But I give you my permission. I truly want to know.”

“If I say anything, you’ll only lose your temper and—”

“I shall be as meek as a lamb, I promise.”

“Well, then, for one thing, your mode of dress is too flamboyant.”

She whirled around. “Aha! I
knew
you’d have something to say on that score. But I hope you don’t think I’d take the word of someone who insists on wearing a ramshackle, seedy, ill-fitting coat like
that
! I’ll have you know, Garvin Danforth, that I am considered to be
all the crack
in London!”

He turned around on the ladder again so that his back was to her. “Nothing at all the matter with my coat,” he muttered, opening his book again. “Knew I shouldn’t have started—”

“Well, what else?” she demanded.

“I have nothing else to say to you, ma’am,” he said, trying to read.

“I might have known you’d lack the courage to speak your mind,” she said disdainfully, crossing back to her chair and throwing herself into it. “You’re nothing but a long-legged and bookish
jellyfish
!”

“Is that so?” he replied with a sneer. “I’d like to point out, my dear Miss Vickers, that the sea-creatures to whom you refer can not be long-legged or bookish, jellyfish having neither limbs nor libraries.”

“
That
is just the sort of response I might have expected! I was convinced from our first meeting that you were a spineless mawworm!”

“And
I
knew from our first meeting,” he retorted, stung to the quick, “from the way that you permitted yourself, in that horrendous and shockingly gaudy pink dress, to call at the apartment of a gentleman—and a married one at that—without escort, and the way that you flirted—and continue to flirt—with every male who comes your way, whatever his age, station or marital situation, that
you
, ma’am, are not a
lady
!”

“
Oh
!” she gasped. “Of all the insulting, degrading
calumnies
—!” She jumped up and stalked over to the ladder.

“Now, Clio,” he said, watching her fearfully, “you promised that you wouldn’t—” And he made a hurried attempt to scamper down.

But he was too late. She pushed against the ladder with all the strength that anger had stirred in her. It toppled over with a kind of slow certainty, sending Gar bumping against the bookshelves. It was only by grasping at them in his inexorable descent to the floor that he was able to break his fall. When he at last lay sprawled on the floor, a heap of books cascading down around him, he cried out in vexation, “You addle-brained
baggage
, you could have
killed
me!” But she had already stormed out of the room.

Chapter Eighteen

Alec did not make an appearance until tea time, by which hour Priss and the entire party were wondering what had become of him. He gave only a terse explanation of his absence, saying he’d been riding in the rain. He was polite and attentive to all the guests, but Priss had the uneasy feeling that he was avoiding
her
. In addition, there was something in the set of his jaw that made her distinctly uneasy. But since he disappeared into his dressing room as soon as he could make an escape, she had no opportunity to learn what it was that had disturbed him … not, that is, until much later that evening.

When she knocked at his dressing room door to indicate that she was dressed and ready to be escorted down to dinner, she had almost forgotten that anything was amiss. She was wearing her favorite dress, a lilac crepe half-robe worn over a deeper purple round-gown trimmed with lace, and was feeling in a particularly hopeful mood. Each day had moved her into closer intimacy with Alec, and after the incident on the terrace the evening before, she felt some justification for permitting herself to dream that matters might yet work out between them. Ariadne’s comments that afternoon had supported her own feelings and added to her cheerfulness. So it was with particular dismay that she noticed, when Alec emerged from his room, that his face was stiff with controlled fury. “Good heavens, Alec,” she couldn’t help exclaiming, “what has occurred to upset you?”