Bething's Folly (7 page)

“This is Princess,” she said fondly, holding out an apple, “another of our thoroughbreds. This will be her last foaling, and then she will be retired. She’s earned a rest.” Elizabeth looked up at the Marquis happily. “She is the Pride’s dam.”

“The Pride?” Carleton asked, not having seen any such horse.

“Folly’s Pride, and our hope, too! He is from Princess and Moonlight, the match my father kept trying for and kept getting fillies! The Pride will take over the stud in a few years, after he has raced—and what a record he’ll have! Robbie says he is better than Moonlight ever was and has stronger bones besides. We have him entered in the Ardsley Cup in a few months. Even a
good
showing will be enough, for his maiden race, to show everyone Papa was right. And if he wins, the price for Moonlight’s service goes up, and the price of Princess’s new foal! Oh, I wish you could see him,” she said excitedly, all awkwardness between them forgotten for the moment. “Robbie has to keep him over by the cottage because it upsets Moonlight to have him nearby. We train him in the morning—we have our own practice oval; you can’t see it from here. Perhaps some morning next week you would—” She caught herself, but it was too late. “That is, perhaps you might be interested in seeing him.”

There was no chance for the Marquis to reply as Ferddie entered the stables with Lady Burke just then; there was no need, either, for his pleased smile was answer enough.

NINE

The weather on the day of Margaret’s second engagement party was not promising. Rain had fallen heavily the entire day and night preceding and was only now subsiding to a steady drizzle. The roads would be mired, difficult for horses and coach, uncomfortable for passengers. Fearing that her niece would use this as an excuse to stay home, Lady Burke kept herself out of Elizabeth’s way. She did not come down to luncheon, sending a message that she wished to be well rested for the evening, and Elizabeth would do well to follow suit. She was relieved when her maid returned with a tray and a reply, merely Elizabeth’s wishes for her undisturbed relaxation and the thought that perhaps they should be ready somewhat earlier than planned to allow extra time for the trip. Now Lady Burke’s rest could indeed be peaceful; nor did she have qualms over meeting her niece at tea.

Elizabeth was totally resigned to attending the dance, with no intention of backing out. The thing she had dreaded most about the ball at Carlyle itself, being up for appraisal by some profligate son, had already occurred. The second worst thing which could have happened—and did—appearing backward over the waltz, was now resolved. Any resentment which might still linger was overshadowed by the promise of pleasure that the evening brought. She saw no reason why she could not simply enjoy herself as other girls her age did. She might have single-mindedly determined to remain unmarried for the Folly’s sake, but she was learning to appreciate male company for her own! She was woman enough to take pride in the compliments, and girl enough to desire friendships among her own age group, something sadly lacking in her day-to-day life. If she would not admit to actual eagerness, at least she was not showing the defiant anger of a week ago, her aunt was pleased to see. Lady Burke was further reassured when Elizabeth dimpled prettily over the parcels just delivered from Carlyle Hall. One was a small nosegay of tiny wild violets, to match her lilac gown. The card simply read, “Yrs., Carleton.” The second package was a satin-covered program book, with “As promised, F. Milbrooke” written in for the first dance. Lady Burke was too busy delightedly opening the third, a lovely orchid corsage with both gentlemen’s compliments, to pay further attention to her niece. Elizabeth was turning the pages in the program and finding them curiously empty, as though Carleton was not going to ask her to dance. Perhaps the roads would be too treacherous for travel, after all, she thought.

The rains stopped, the sun broke through just long enough, and the ladies from Bething Manor arrived in good time. Lady Burke was swept off to the card room where earlier arrivals were waiting to make up a hand. Elizabeth was greeted warmly by Margaret with a kiss on the cheek, then drawn upstairs to freshen herself. Other young ladies were already there, laughing and gossiping happily. They hurried to Elizabeth, begging to know if rumours were true, if she really was on friendly terms with two such Nonpareils. Margaret laughed at her blushes and told the other girls not to tease. Elizabeth knew almost all of the young women, but none closely. They had attended each other’s birthday parties at an earlier age, until most were sent off to be educated and only had school holidays in which to keep up with old friendships. Later they were all taken to London for their debutante balls and Seasons, widening the gap even further. Elizabeth had started out with them, even attending a fashionable seminary for young ladies, but she had missed her father terribly, and he was lonely without either his wife or his daughter, so she returned to be educated at home. Then came all the horses and more to interest the Bethingames at home than out visiting, and less money for entertaining, until Elizabeth hardly knew her childhood friends. She might have rekindled some old friendships when she reached the age of dances and parties, but her father’s death and the year of mourning only isolated her more. She had found that she had very little in common with other young women her age when they did happen to meet—until tonight, when they were all exclaiming over each other’s gowns and hair styles and beaux. She was delighted when her gown was complimented and gave Ellie’s—Mademoiselle Elena’s—direction to anyone who was interested with the highest recommendation. The gown itself would have been reference enough. Of pale lilac in a soft crepe, it had the same elegant simple lines which molded Elizabeth’s figure so becomingly. The décolletage was daringly low, with Carleton’s violet nosegay pinned at the V, lending a curious touch of innocence to the gown’s sophistication. It was the envy of the other girls, all in beribboned, sequined confections. They glittered, but Elizabeth glowed! In fact, between her dress and the attention of the two most eligible bachelors in the neighbourhood, it seemed as though some old-time acquaintances would not develop into new-found friends. Others managed to hide their jealousy, hoping that some of Elizabeth’s luck, as they called it, would rub off. One girl even asked if Elizabeth could introduce her to one beau or the other, for it was not fair for her to monopolise both! Miss Bethingame laughingly denied any rights of possession to either gentleman, gave a final pat to the curls piled luxuriously on the top of her head and descended the stairs with the rest.

Margaret’s mother welcomed her kindly, telling Elizabeth that they must see more of her. Then there was Ferddie, waiting to claim her for the first dance. He looked marvelous in his evening clothes, putting all the local boys to shame trying to be fashionable with their ridiculously high shirt collars and glaring waistcoats. When Milbrooke told Miss Bethingame how enchanting she looked, she could only say, “And so do you!” which had them both smiling.

Margaret and Captain Hendricks took the floor and so the dance began. Elizabeth could not help glancing around to see if she could spot Carleton, but if he was present, he was not dancing. At the conclusion of the set, having bespoken the first dance after supper, Ferddie returned Elizabeth to her hostess, where Robert Carleton instantly asked her to stand up with him. She had vaguely known Robert all her life, too, so conversation was not difficult. He even recalled a visit to the Folly with his father once and remembered a tomboy in pigtails, to her embarrassment. She had a quick glimpse of blond curls atop a broad back—Margaret’s partner—and had to have Robert repeat his question about the stables. Her next partner, also waiting at the hostess’s side, was Captain Hendricks, so Elizabeth was able to congratulate him on his engagement and ask about plans for the wedding. She had the odd feeling that since this was such an informal party, the other girls were not being so strictly chaperoned, yet there was nothing she could say. Next came a country dance, with each successive partner only having a few minutes to introduce himself and utter a polite phrase. As Elizabeth turned to meet the next gentleman on her right in the rearranged figures, she looked up to see glittering blue eyes laughing down at her surprise.

If Ferddie’s good looks put the other men to shame, Carleton made them look like farm hands, with his coat of blue superfine stretched across his broad shoulders, his white knee-breeches fitting just so, diamond stickpin accenting the gleaming white folds of his cravat. Even with
her limited experience, Elizabeth knew the Marquis would be outstanding in any crowd of men. His eyes were so blue, his nose so straight, his chin so strong—he could be dressed in rags and still hearts would flutter, hers for one.

The figures of the dance were changing; they had hardly exchanged “good evenings” when they separated, but Carleton did ask for the next dance.

He was waiting for her at the sidelines and made a low bow as the supper dance was announced. A girl’s partner for this set was obliged to escort her through the buffet. Elizabeth wondered if the Marquis had known it would be this dance, remembering how just last week he had fled to the library rather than face it. He did not seem disconcerted by the announcement, and she could think of no graceful way to excuse him from the dance without leaving her to go to supper alone, so she merely smiled, returned a curtsy and allowed him to lead her to the floor.

“I must apologise, my Lord,” she began, “I did not thank you for the lovely violets you sent.”

“Didn’t you?” he asked, looking at the nosegay nestled against her breasts, somehow making her feel the bouquet was the only thing she had on! As if he could sense her embarrassment, he went on in a different tone: “I hope you appreciate them fully. I had to go pick them myself, in the rain!”

“What, couldn’t you send someone?”

“And have the whole estate know how romantic I was being? No, it would ruin my reputation!”

“Did you really go in the rain? It was unnecessary, I’m sure...”

“So am I, but it was worth it!” he answered. “Tell me, are you enjoying yourself?”

His tone was serious, as if he honestly cared. She had no hesitation in answering that yes, indeed, she was having one of the most pleasant evenings of her life. They sat with Ferddie and a Miss Faversham, a frothy blonde damsel who chattered through the meal. It did not pass anyone’s notice that Lord Carleton and Miss Bethingame were on easy terms; they were a topic of interest which became a Thing as the Marquis led Elizabeth to his mother at the conclusion of supper. Luckily Miss Bethingame was unaware of the connotation of the honour, for she was able to converse with the Duchess unaffectedly. She was pleased at the likeness the Duchess saw in her to her mother, and proud when the Duchess noted that the Duke had always thought highly of her father. Whatever else Miss Bethingame might be, she was not shy and did not merely stand gawking at the exquisite beauty of Lady Carlyle, who was equally pleased that her old friend’s daughter had turned out so charmingly. Somehow they had become the centre of a group of laughing young men—the Marquis had excused himself—and peculiarly enough, the Duchess nonchalantly undertook to sort them out and make introductions—the functions of a chaperone. Elizabeth was worrying over this when Millbrooke came for their second dance together.

“Oh, think nothing of it, Miss Bethingame; didn’t she say she knew your mother? I am sure she won’t mind all your beaux, especially with the Duke not present.” Milbrooke laughed. “He said Carleton and I were all the escort any woman could want ... Incidentally, I’ll be saying goodbye, leaving for London in the morning, you know.”

“No, I hadn’t known. I’m sorry to hear it; you’ve been so kind.” She meant it, and Ferddie was touched. “I’ll be seeing you shortly, at any rate.”

“What a peculiar notion, Lord Milbrooke. How could you be seeing me? I do not go to London.”

“No?” He looked
a little confused. “Well, um, Carleton is staying on, so I shall likely be visiting again soon. I’m down often, you know.”

Elizabeth gave an immediate invitation to call on his return, meanwhile wondering how much longer the Marquis was planning to remain in the country, away from all the entertainments of London. She also wondered if now, having had two dances with Milbrooke, she could expect Carleton to ask her again also. He was not among the crowd around the Duchess, however, when Ferddie led her there without any hesitation after the dance. She was overwhelmed at first at the compliments waiting for her and the number of young men wishing to dance. The Duchess laughed at her confusion over the clamour, then kindly intervened.

“Come, my dear, you must get used to being the belle of the ball! Here, I’ll decide. Mr. Rivington, you shall have the honour of this dance with Miss Bethingame, only because your father was a beau of mine.”

After two or three partners, pleasant, friendly young men from the neighbourhood, were selected for her in such a fashion, Elizabeth began to feel a little uncomfortable. The other girls were chatting among themselves between dances, flirting with a few young men and accepting their own partners. The only explanation she could think of was the suspicion that she was to be kept busy—away from the Duchess’s own son. But no, he was standing with a group at the other side of the room and had not even approached her, or the Duchess. Besides, her Grace was truly being kind; perhaps it was just her sense of propriety, knowing Elizabeth’s aunt to be such a slipshod chaperone. Still, Miss Bethingame was uneasy, especially when the Duchess’s manner underwent a change at the next introduction.

“Miss Bethingame, here is Sir Edwin Harkness, who swears his night would be ruined without a dance with you.” Her voice was an icicle dripping disapproval. Elizabeth would have asked for an explanation, fearing she had committed some social blunder, but Sir Edwin made such a laughable picture in his exquisitely flourished bow that all her attention was drawn to him. Here was a true Tulip of fashion, and proud of it, right from his neckcloth, tied so high he could barely nod, to the rhinestone buckles on his shoes. In between was a checked velvet waistcoat crossed with enough fobs to keep an entire village from losing its timepieces! There were rings on every finger and lace dripping everywhere Elizabeth looked. She was amazed no, dumbfounded. She could only murmur slight appreciation as Sir Edwin began a strain of flattery as elaborate as his dress. Right there in front of the frowning Duchess and a handful of young men from the country, he likened her brown curls to the rivulets in a stream, flowing in the sunshine. Her skin became gardenia petals, her eyes those of a gentle doe. This was becoming ridiculous, she thought, comparing these inanities to Ferddie’s sweet compliments, Carleton’s smiles of approval. The music was beginning, and she heard snickers from James Rivington, for one; Miss Bethingame was growing embarrassed, indignant and in danger of losing her temper. “Sir Edwin,” she began hurriedly when he had finished a description of her swanlike neck and was staring intently at the cleavage her gown revealed, “I am neither a dumb animal nor a babbling brook. Incidentally,” she added mischievously, looking him straight in his watery blue eyes, “I am not an heiress either. Do you still wish to dance?”

It was Sir Edwin’s turn to be embarrassed as he quickly led her to the dance floor to escape the laughter bubbling up around him and the bravos shouted for Elizabeth’s wit. The Duchess looked across the floor to her son, who was glaring furiously, out of hearing. The Duchess smiled at him confidently. There was no need to worry about Miss Bethingame on
that
score; she was well able to take care of herself!

Nevertheless, Carleton was at the Duchess’s side at the completion of the dance, when Elizabeth returned. He did not offer for the next set, though, nor the following, but only chatted amiably with the new beauty’s admirers. Elizabeth could not help but note that most of the others were younger than Carleton and seemed more subdued in his presence. In fact, they no longer seemed so anxious to stand up with her! No one said one nice thing about her dimples or her turned-up nose! Perhaps Carleton sensed the effect he was having, for he soon wandered off, saying that perhaps now it was safe to meet the chit Robert was interested in.