Cynthia Bailey Pratt (10 page)

The newly promoted earl had no eyes for her, anyway. His gaze followed Berenice. Her golden hair shone even more brightly under the upside-down pyramids of the chandeliers and her gracefulness belied the immaturity of her mind. As though he were a beetle nudged by a schoolboy’s pin. Lord Framstead changed direction to walk parallel to Berenice but at a distance. Danita sighed and shook her head as she noted all the symptoms of another of Berenice’s instant victims.

“Sir Carleton!” the girl suddenly said as the big man materialized out of the press.

As he stopped to bow to the young lady, Danita caught up to her charge. Looking at once toward Mrs. Clively, she saw that lady frown hideously. “Come along, Berenice,” she said. “Your grandmother wants ...”

“Yes, yes, Danita,” she said, freeing herself. “In a moment. Dear Sir Carleton, I am so pleased you decided to come. How did you like the dancing?”

“I have not yet found a partner. Miss Clively. I see, however, that you don’t suffer from this malady. Good evening, Miss Wingrove.” He bowed to her, too, his hand on his heart. Danita felt herself blush. He must notice the spots on her gown. What did those clear eyes ever miss?

When a cough exploded in her ear, she turned to find Lord Framstead standing by her shoulder. His eyes fixed on Berenice, he said, “How do you do. Sir Carleton, won’t you introduce me to your charmin’ friend?”

“Certainly.”

When his name was pronounced, Edward Stowe stepped closer to the beautiful blond girl. Berenice was too much of a flirt to pass up the chance to bat her smoky lashes, but even as she conquered another heart, she turned toward the unattainable. “Sir Carleton, you know such pleasant people. I’m sure you must never be bored a moment.”

“I used to find myself dull often, but not since coming to Bath.” His eyes sought out Danita’s, though Berenice wriggled at the compliment.

Danita was afraid Sir Carleton would turn Berenice’s head completely. Remembering her promise to Mrs. Clively, she said, “Berenice, your grandmother is very anxious to speak with you.”

“But they are starting to play again. Won’t you begin your evening with me. Sir Carleton?”

Lord Framstead’s youthful face wrinkled in a frown. Sorry for him, Danita said once more, “You must see your grandmother first, Berenice.”

“Well, where is she?”

As Danita indicated the Dowager’s Corner, a rather stern male voice said, “Are you forgetting. Miss Clively, that you have written me down for this quadrille?”

“Oh, Mr. Newland. I suppose I did write it.” The lovely face swiftly recovered its charm.

Danita studied the newest arrival with curiosity. It is not every man whose grandfather had romped at Medmenham Abbey. Mr. Newland’s height was not extraordinary, though he had the advantage of Lord Framstead. Danita knew, however, that no man would ever seem tall beside Sir Carleton. Mr. Newland’s hair, though fair, had not the richness of Berenice’s, but his face was as close to beauty for a man’s as her face was for a woman, with well-set eyes and a firm, curving mouth.

Endeavoring once more to fulfill her commission, Danita said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Newland, but Berenice’s grandmother wants her.”

“Then I will escort her there,” Mr. Newland said, holding out his arm.

Berenice’s eyes darted from side to side as though seeking an escape. A dainty foot in a silver silk slipper stamped upon the smooth floor. “Very well,” she said with a toss of her head that sent one white rosebud swirling to the floor. “Perhaps later, then. Sir Carleton.”

“I look forward to our dance, eagerly.” After the girl had simpered away, he added, “Miss Wingrove.”

He caught Danita’s elbow in one strong hand and prevented her from following Berenice and her suitor. “I look forward eagerly to dancing with you.”

“That’s impossible.” She saw Lord Framstead stoop for the rose that had fallen from Berenice’s hair. But she was distracted by the intense sensations aroused in her by Sir Carleton’s stroking fingers on the sensitive inside of her elbow. Danita only just realized that Carleton wore no gloves and it was his naked touch alone that set the ballroom reeling around her. “I mustn’t talk with you,” she gasped.

“Are you so soon smitten with that walking statue’s looks that you can’t spend a moment with an old friend?” Carleton said, releasing his hold while his eyes sought hers.

“I promised,” she said miserably, pleading for understanding as she backed away.

Reaching the cold refuge of her great-aunt’s chair, she took her place again among the old maids against the wall. She felt as if she’d been burned, and put her cool hand over the hot place on her arm. Some of the others looked at her curiously.

“Quick,” one said, “take a whiff of this. My stepmamma swears by it.”

“No,” said another. “Fan her head.”

“Do both,” said an odd little lady with hair like unraveled gray wool. “It’s far too warm in here. The Master of Ceremonies oughtn’t to allow it. Oh, my. Cousin Phrenelia is looking at me. I hope you feel better, dear.” She scurried away to fetch a glass of ratafia for a much younger, lazy relative.

After a few moments of being fussed over, Danita thanked her colleagues. “You are very good to take such pains.”

 “It wouldn’t do for you to faint,” a shy girl whispered, shrinking at her own bravery.

“No, indeed,” a sharper-faced maiden in deep black added. “No one will be pleased if a companion falls ill. Then the nurse might need nursing, you see.”

“Have you been a companion long?” Danita asked her.

“How long is forever? Five years of Lady Milkleworth’s crochets. That’s she, in the crimson satin.” She wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead with a mittened hand. “Coming, ma’am,” she said. With a queer gesture, composed of a wink and a shrug, the sharp-faced lady went to do her employer’s bidding, only to be scolded for wasting her time in gossip.

Left alone, Danita took herself in hand. She told herself a sometime schoolmistress should have more sophistication than to be carried away by the caress of a man who was, by his own confession, only a sometime gentleman. Really, her foolishness exceeded all the examples set by years of observing silly girls.

Danita glanced up to see if Mrs. Clively needed her. Berenice remained by her grandmother’s side, but looked more mutinous by the minute. Mrs. Clively had apparently dismissed Mr. Newland, no doubt still holding his ancestor against him. “But why can’t I?” Danita could hear Berenice saying.

“I see no eligible gentlemen,” Mrs. Clively said.

“I don’t want to marry them. I only want to dance.”

“Don’t be impertinent. If that is how you wish to behave, we will go home.”

“Oh, no. Grandmamma, not yet. I’ll be good, I promise.” And for five whole minutes, Berenice sat with her hands in her lap, gazing blankly out at the dancers. Then, with an obvious renewal of interest, she sat up.

Danita raised her eyes from the two Clively women to follow Berenice’s gaze. Sir Carleton leaned against one of the thick marble pillars, directly across from her. He seemed part of the building, as though, should he move away, the whole edifice would collapse like the temple in the Samson story. He was definitely looking this way. But was he admiring Berenice, defying Mrs. Clively, or perhaps...Danita’s arm began to throb where he had touched it. The color again flooded her face. He grinned and walked away. Berenice sat back with a pout.

Carleton did not know what he meant by flirting with Danita Wingrove. Perhaps it had only been that he liked her, enjoyed the flashes of dry humor he sometimes glimpsed beneath her stern exterior. He knew her life had been hard, was hard still. She had been crying when he’d come upon her in the Gardens. He’d wanted to make her laugh, but during those moments when he had played too rough, he had seen something of a hurt child that fears another blow, peering out from the tear-marked gray eyes.

In the ballroom, he had seen only the woman. A beauty, badly dressed. And she deserved to wear beauty that would match her own. A quiet beauty made up of perfect bones, smooth skin flushed with health and the eyes that seemed almost foreign in their shape and depth of color. That silly chit she guarded could not offer anything so fine to a man of discernment, no matter how exquisitely she dressed. For a moment, Carleton imagined Danita’s creamy skin above the low bodice of a fashionably sheer gown.

Sir Carleton stopped and shook off his preoccupation with Danita. He didn’t need her. That had been, as he said, a momentary aberration. She had nothing to do with his winning streak. He alone determined the quality of his play. He could prove that now, in the first establishment he came to.

The many gardens of Bath could not show so fine a crop of flowers as Mrs. Clively’s morning room two days after the Assembly Ball. Needless to say, none of the bouquets, tussy-mussies, or arrangements were to Danita’s address. She could not have hoped for any. Yet she could hardly restrain disappointment, though she did not name, even to herself, the signature she would have liked to see on a piece of white pasteboard.

To pay for the single bud he’d collected at the Assembly, Lord Framstead had sent an armful of white roses. Even as Berenice buried her face in them, she said, “Sir Carleton is so...”

Danita waited to hear the girl’s latest rapture on the Irishman. Thus far, she had listened to her praise his height, his size, his boldness, the cold shivers she felt when he looked at her, before returning, once again, to the thrills of his profession. Danita was tired of the entire subject. She didn’t care if she never heard his name again. The keeping of her promise to Mrs. Clively would be no hardship, she reminded herself.

“He is so ... what?” Danita asked.

“Just so ... wonderful. Don’t you find him attractive?” Not letting Danita go to the trouble of answering, Berenice went on, “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive Grandmamma for calling me away just when he was about to ask me to dance.”

This was not the way Danita remembered the incident but she let it go. “Of course, you must forgive her. She didn’t know, and besides, it isn’t right for a girl to hold a grudge.”

“Danita, you just don’t know what it is to be in love.”

“In love?” With alarm, she almost squeaked the words.

“Yes, from the moment I gazed into his deep green eyes, I knew...”

“Sir Carleton’s eyes are not green.”

“They’re not?”

“No. Lord Framstead’s are, however.”

“Anyway, from that self-same instant, I knew that it was meant to be. Ah, the paradise of love!”

This high-flown language sounded strangely familiar to Danita. “Berenice, what have you been reading?”

“Why, nothing. Just those books Grandmamma ordered from the subscription library.”

“Berenice ...”

The girl leaned close to her chaperone. “Mrs. Rivington loaned me the most thrilling book. All about corpses, mad monks and true love. The heroine’s name is Florentia; she just escaped from the bagnio of the wicked duke.”

“You give it back to Mrs. Rivington. I’m surprised at her loaning you something like that, and just as surprised at you for reading it.”

“Don’t be an old schoolmistress. Cousin Danita. If you won’t tell Grandmamma, I’ll loan it to you when I’m through. I’ll be done with the first volume in a week, maybe less if I can keep my candle burning after Grandmamma is asleep.”

There were so many moral failings in this speech that Danita hardly knew where to begin. On the other hand, she reflected, she mustn’t sound like a schoolmistress too often. Berenice’s failings were part of her charm. Danita thought she should probably harden her heart, but she did not want to alienate her cousin by continually correcting her.

“Does the hero remind you of Sir Carleton?” Danita asked, and then mentally berated herself for bringing up the cursed subject again.

“No,” Berenice said, her expression disgusted. She took up another sweet and popped in into her mouth. “Adolfo looks more like Mr. Newland,” she said, sucking noisily.

“Mr. Newland is quite handsome.”

“I suppose. But all he wants to do is talk about Latin or Greek, or something. Mrs. Rivington says he’s studying to be in the House of Commons.”

“A worthy pursuit.”

The girl lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “That’s what he says.” After a moment, she said, “I must tell you what I heard yesterday...only you don’t like me to repeat gossip, so I won’t.” And Berenice busied herself once more with the flowers.

“That’s right. I don’t want to know.” She could imagine, however, that Mrs. Clively already knew what it was. Taking up a bundle of peonies that a Mr. Purbright had sent, Danita clipped their stems before handing them to Berenice. Despite her grandmother’s dislike of flowers, Berenice enjoyed making lush arrangements to fill every tabletop.

“All right,” the girl said, as though Danita had been urging her to speak. “I’ll tell you. It’s about
him.”

“You don’t have to repeat it if you don’t want to.”

“He went and lost three hundred pounds the night of the Assembly, and another five hundred last night. The groom said Sir Carleton walked home and on the way, gave a sweeper boy a sovereign as you or I might give him a penny.”

“You mustn’t listen to the gossip of the grooms,” Danita said, hardly listening to herself. She’d never had eight hundred pounds in her life. No one she knew had...with the possible exception of Mrs. Clively, and that was probably her income for a year. To sit at a table and lose the entire year’s income of a well-to-do family was inconceivable to Danita. Half that sum would render her independent of all relations and employers, for her needs were few. How could anyone simply throw away that kind of security?

Chapter Six

A messenger arrived from Roselands late in the night. Danita heard the servants whispering in the hall, arguing whether to disturb the mistress so late, and after an evening out. Finally, however, Mrs. Clively herself came to the door, already in a towering temper.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded with a scathing glance. “Have you no better sense than to—William Etter, is that you?” Looking down over the railing, Danita saw Mrs. Clively’s lace-bedizened head turn toward a dusty man. He recoiled, but Mrs. Clively had apparently peered closely enough to be sure she knew him. “What is it? Why have you come?”