Elizabeth Mansfield (25 page)

He sensed her embarrassment, though he couldn’t explain it. “Where
is
the lucky dog, anyway?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him here.”

She sighed in relief. Now that he’d asked, it would be perfectly proper for her to tell him that Tris was just where he ought to be, with this betrothed, Cleo Smallwood. “He’s not here,” she said eagerly. “He’s spending the evening with—”

The music began at that moment. Peter placed his arm round her waist, causing her voice to fail her completely.
I’ll tell him after the dance,
she promised herself.
There’s plenty of time.

They quickly got into position and started to dance. They’d taken no more than three steps, however, when the music stopped abruptly. After a brief pause, the musicians struck up the “Rule, Britannia.” Peter looked down at her, his face showing real chagrin. “Dash it,” he muttered, “that means the prince has arrived. We shall have to—”

He was cut short by the arrival of a young woman who’d run across the floor to him in a flurry of jade-green flounces and who now grasped his arm. Julie recognized her as the same young lady he’d met at the Fenton. She now looked even more spectacularly beautiful. “Peter, he’s here!” the lady cried excitedly. “You promised you’d introduce me! Come quickly!”

Peter’s look of chagrin deepened. “Julie, this is Miss Catherine Marquard. Kat, I’d like you to meet Miss Juliet Branscombe. The Branscombes are my neighbors in—”

“A pleasure, Miss Branscombe,” Kat Marquard said in breathless and uninterested dismissal, not even giving Julie a second glance. “Peter, please!” She pulled at his arm urgently. “If we don’t hurry, he’ll be surrounded by a crowd and we won’t get his attention!”

Peter looked down at Julie miserably. “Excuse me, Julie, I must go.”

“Yes, of course,” Julie said numbly. “Good-bye.”

With one backward look, he let the girl hurry him away. Julie was left standing alone on the now-deserted dance floor. Her knees shook as she started back to where her mother had been seated. But her mother was on her feet and approaching her, looking white-faced and agitated. “Were you just conversing with Lord Canfield?” she asked Julie tightly.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Why?
Why?
”
Her face reddened in agitation. “Because he doesn’t deserve your attention, that’s why!” She looked about her to make certain no one was close enough to overhear, but the area where they stood was completely deserted. Everyone who hadn’t managed to squeeze out to the reception area to greet the prince was crowded round the door. “Canfield is an unprincipled scoundrel and shall henceforth be beneath our notice.”

“How can you say that, Mama? He is a neighbor of ours, is he not? And a friend.”

“He is no friend of mine! And not of yours, either.”

Julie was baffled. “I don’t understand you, Mama. Not more than a fortnight ago you said that he was handsome and wealthy and charming—a gentleman a girl could dream about.”

Lady Branscombe waved her hand dismissively. “You must have misunderstood me.”

“Come now, Mama, your words were perfectly unambiguous. You sounded as if you would have liked him to
offer
for me. And now you say he’s unprincipled. How can you make such a complete about-face? And how, may I ask, can you say he’s unprincipled?”

“He
is
unprincipled. He told me in Amberford that he was a suitor for your hand. Now I’m reliably informed that he’s about to be betrothed to someone else.”

This caught Julie off guard. “B-Betrothed?” she stammered, her chest contracting as if from a blow.

“Yes, betrothed to a Miss Marquard. If that isn’t unprincipled, I know not what is!”

Julie, shaken as she was, nevertheless felt impelled to defend him. “He was never a suitor for my hand, Mama,” she said, trying to speak calmly despite the fact that her throat burned and the floor seemed unsteady under her feet. “It was all a pretense to entrap Tris. Lord Canfield has every right to attach himself to Miss Marquard... or to anyone else who suits him.”

“Well, if he’s not to attach himself to you, there’s no point in giving him any further thought. Besides, if he’s foolish enough to leg-shackle himself to that flibbertigibbet, I’m glad to be rid of him! Did you
see
the girl in that vulgar jade-green costume? I’d wager she damped the underdress, the ostentatious creature! I would have thought the man had better sense.”

“Please, Mama,” Julie begged, her emotions stretched to the breaking point, “have done. She seems to me to be a lovely young woman.” Her knees gave way, and she sank down on the nearest chair. “He c-calls her Kat,” she added miserably.

Her mother peered down at her, taken aback by those pathetic words. Only now did it occur to her that her daughter was truly smitten with the fellow. Her heart was stricken with sympathetic pain. But she knew that if she showed it, they would both dissolve in tears. In this public place, that would not do. They had no choice but to be strong. She squared her shoulders. “Come, my love, I think we should go home... that is, back to the hotel.”

“I wish we could go home,” Julie muttered under her breath as she got to her feet. Home in Devon was where she wanted to be. Home was the best place for nursing wounds. But this was not the time for self-pity, she reminded herself. They’d come to London for Tris’s sake, and here they would stay until their duties were over. She too squared her shoulders. “What about Phyllis and Lord Smallwood?” she asked her mother. “I can’t see them in that crowd, can you?”

“Let them stay. We can go home in a hack.”

She glanced at her mother curiously. “But don’t you want to see the prince? I thought that was why we came.”

“It’s not why
I
came. But I’ll stay if you wish. He’s the reason
you
came, after all.”

“I suppose he is,” Julie said dully, “but I find I’m not as eager as I was earlier. You’re quite right, Mama. Let’s go home.”

35

Madge Branscombe was almost ashamed to admit to herself that she had little stomach for the wedding breakfast that Saturday morning. After learning that Lord Canfield was to be betrothed, her enthusiasm for London and everything in it had considerably waned. Although she was glad that Tris was embarking on what would undoubtedly be a happy marital voyage, he was leaving her Julie behind, alone on the shore of spinster-hood. It was enough to dishearten any mother.

Nevertheless, Tris was like a son to her and Phyllis her closest friend. She had to put a good face on it for their sakes. That being the case, she dressed herself that morning in a new tiffany-silk gown in imperial purple and topped it with a silver turban bearing half-a-dozen plumes in a color that matched perfectly. When Julie saw her, her eyes lit with admiration. “I say, Mama, you look positively regal.”

“Thank you, my love. And you are looking very fine as well. I might not have chosen sprigged muslin for so important an occasion, but it does look charming on you. And it is almost summer, so I suppose you may be forgiven.” With that motherly compliment Julie had to be content.

The betrothal breakfast was already in progress when Lady Branscombe and Julie joined the party in a private room on the hotel’s main floor. The room was bright with sunshine and so massed with greenery it looked like a conservatory, its white walls and green-and-white painted chairs adding to the cheery atmosphere. A long buffet table had been set up along one of the walls, and a few of the guests were already partaking of the hot cheese buns, smoked salmon, lobster au gratin, scrambled eggs with truffles, tiny apple soufflés, tomatoes hollandaise and all sorts of pastries, jellies and creams. In the center of the table a large fountain gave forth a steady stream of champagne. It was a sparkling sight, but not nearly as sparkling as Cleo, who stood near it. Her curls bounced, her cheeks glowed, and her gown—a soft, filmy rose-colored creation twinkling with gold threads and tied just below the bosom with a wide gold band—set off her figure and her eyes to perfection. Tris, standing beside her, beamed with pride. “I think, Mama,” Julie whispered, “that I’ve never seen Tris looking happier.”

Phyllis came up to greet them as they entered. “Julie, my love,” she said as she embraced the girl, “how very lovely you look. That sprigged muslin couldn’t be more perfect for the occasion.”

Julie threw her mother a taunting grimace before going off to greet those guests she knew and to meet those she didn’t. Two hours passed with much eating, drinking and merriment. Finally, however, Lord Smallwood tapped on his wineglass for order. “I believe it behooves me at this time to make a toast,” he said in his precise, scholarly way. “I shall save my wittiest bon mots for their forthcoming nuptials, but for now it will suffice for me to say: here’s to my beautiful, foolish and headstrong daughter and the charming scoundrel she loves. May they always be as happy as they are today, and may they present their devoted parents with many bouncing grandbabies!”

“Hear, hear!” his friend Lord Chalmondeley shouted, and as Tris kissed his blushing betrothed, everyone cheered, applauded and downed more champagne.

Lord Smallwood tapped his glass again. “May I have your indulgence for another announcement? It is only a small bit of news, but a very happy one. I think it will surprise you all. Two days ago, a very lovely lady and I were married quietly by special license. Therefore I would be obliged if you would lift your glasses to my wife, the erstwhile Lady Phyllis Enders.” While everyone gasped in astonishment, he crossed the room to where Phyllis stood smiling at him and raised his glass. “Phyllis, my love, to you!”

Shock had frozen everyone into immobility. The room was absolutely silent. Suddenly there came a sound between a groan and a gasp, followed by that of a glass crashing to the floor, and Lady Branscombe, her purple plumes waving madly, took a step forward, declaring, “This is... too much!” in a strangulated voice. Then, with everyone’s eyes fixed on her in horror, she stalked across the room and out the door.

“Mama!” Julie cried, appalled, and started to run after her.

But Phyllis stopped her. “No, dearest, let me,” she said quietly. “Please, everyone, go on with the party.”

Phyllis found Madge in the lobby, leaning on the back of a chair, breathing heavily. She came up behind her and laid a soft hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me, Madge, dearest. It’s all my fault. I should have told you. Prepared you.”

Madge threw her an angry look over her shoulder. “Yes, you should have. I thought we were friends. I never had an
inkling
of something like this going on between you and Smallwood.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought it would be a happy one, I should have realized how difficult the news would be for you.”

“Difficult is hardly the word,” Madge said, turning her back on her friend. “I am flabbergasted.”

“I know. I’ve said I’m sorry. But when the shock is over, you will be happy for me, won’t you?”

Madge wheeled about furiously. “Happy for you? How can I be?”

Phyllis looked stricken. “But, Madge, you
must
be. Henry and I love each other, you see, although we didn’t admit it until just a few days ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know.” Phyllis, troubled by the realization that there was some justification for Madge’s anger, sank down upon the chair Madge had been using to support her. “It was all so ridiculously sudden,” she admitted, half to herself. “I thought ... I suppose I was afraid you would disapprove.”

“I
would
have disapproved,” Madge retorted sullenly. “I
do
disapprove!”

Phyllis turned in the chair. “But why, Madge? Do you think Henry and I won’t suit?”

There was a silence. “I have to think about that,” Madge said slowly, her mind switching from consideration of her own offended feelings to those of her friend. “I suppose, on consideration, that there’s no reason you and Smallwood shouldn’t get on together,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Then can’t you forgive me, and be happy for me?”

“How can I?” She walked round the chair and looked down at Phyllis more calmly. “Even though, now that I’ve had time to think about it, I can see that Smallwood may be right for you, the fact remains that I’ll be losing you.”

“Losing me?” It was Phyllis’s turn to be surprised. “Why on earth do you think that?”

“You’ll be living here in London, won’t you? In Smallwood’s town house?”

“Heavens, no! Henry loved living in Amberford. He’ll be moving into Enders Hall as soon as we return from our wedding trip. Tris and Cleo may be intending to settle in London, but Henry and I are not.”

An expression of real relief brightened Madge’s face. “Is that true, Phyllis? You’re not just offering a sweet to a bawling baby, are you?”

“Madge, you idiot,” Phyllis scolded fondly, jumping up and taking her friend into a warm embrace, “after all these years, how can you think I could ever move far away from you?”

Madge returned the embrace, surrendering to the necessity of accepting and adjusting to those changes with which life is ever surprising us. The two women sat down together, and Phyllis told her dearest friend every detail of her husband’s astounding five-minute courtship. “And now,” she concluded, “we are off for a honeymoon in Scotland, where we will come to know each other while admiring the lochs.”