Fallen (13 page)

Gradually, after numerous bracing pots of tea and trips to the sideboard, the conversation grew from a few mumbled comments to a lively dissection of the previous evening's event. Smiling, Izzy filled a fresh cup and joined the sisters at table.

"I shall never be able to wear that gown again! Not only did Mr. Atkins spill that terrible wine on the skirt, but the floor was so crowded that the hem is completely ruined."

"Truly awful. I do not know when I have had a worse time."

"I do. The Ridgingtons' ball, last week." This sally was met with groans from those present and a list of disasters and terrible cuisine.

Izzy merely listened, sipping at her tea and watching the sisters argue and agree. How lovely it must be with always someone to listen to you, always someone to confide in. Even to argue with, in a sisterly way.

Lady Greenleigh entered the room and smiled fondly at her daughters and Izzy. Izzy felt warmed by that motherly benediction. Fetching her own tea from the sideboard, Lady Greenleigh seated herself at the head of the long table. Unlike her daughters, she had breakfasted in her rooms hours ago and was wide awake.

Smoothly assuming control over the escalating chatter, she serenely redirected one budding argument and gently chided another pair for unbecoming gossip.

Izzy smiled at her, thinking wistfully of her own mother presiding over their small table so long ago. Lady Maria had been lively and mischievous rather than serene, but the loving shelter of her presence was the same.

This past month had been a lovely time. At least the days had been. The Calwell ladies attracted an educated crowd, for not one of them suffered a fool, though they were invariably kind to those less in wit. When the family was "at home," the sitting rooms were full of eager suitors and sharp young ladies. Izzy found it all quite delightful.

Then came the tedious evenings.

She had tried to like the opera, truly she had, for her mother had dearly loved it. But she could scarcely hear the music for the loud talking of the crowd, and the theater was so stuffy that she was forced to fight sleep.

She adored dancing, so the balls were tolerable enough, although the conversations were artificial and pointed. Who was having an affair with whom was of no interest to her, nor was the sly gossip of competitive maidens on a husband hunt.

By the complaints from around the table, she could tell that the others were no more enamored of the recent entertainment than she. The eldest two of the beauties, Meg and Katie, were even now lamenting the need to attend a dinner at the home of one family with an assortment of similar sons.

"It is as if one is surrounded by mirrors. One cannot tell if the Lord Stafford one was speaking to a moment ago is the same that one is speaking to now."

Katie laughed at that and added, "It would not bother you if they were handsome."

"It would not bother me if they had one single distinguishing aspect, but the lot of them are lacking in personality. It is as though one is surrounded by just-risen dough. You give it a poke and it simply collapses away."

Christine, a slender beauty who fell somewhere in the middle in age, leaned forward to taunt her more full-figured sister good-naturedly. "You think of everyone in terms of food," she teased. "Last week I heard you refer to Mr. Leslie as 'a perfectly done roast.' "

Meg blushed a bit, shooting a wary glance at her mother, but she needn't have worried. Her less-than-ladylike assessment of the young man's physique was roundly confirmed by all at the table, including Lady Greenleigh and Izzy.

"But do be certain that no one else hears such a statement," warned her mother. "I should hate to have anyone think my offspring are less than respectable. It is our darkest secret that you lot are hoydens all."

Smiling, Izzy wondered what would happen if the men of society knew they were being judged on a serving platter.

"You look happy, Izzy. Do not tell me you are looking forward to hearing the combined verse from the entire Stafford contingent?" teased Grace, who sat one seat down from Abigail. "Not a one of them could talk a cat from a brook, yet you manage to listen for hours. How can you bear it?"

Oh, dear. More poetry? Izzy had not thought of that. Her smile disappeared, wiped away in dismay. Suddenly, the night looked even less appealing.

"Let us not go," she blurted.

Her words were greeted with blank puzzlement.

"Of course, we must go," Hannah assured her. The vivacious middle daughter spoke gently, as if to a child.

"Why?" Izzy questioned bluntly.

"Well, because we have accepted."

"I understand, but why did we accept? Why do you accept any but the most interesting invitations?" Warming to her subject, Izzy went on. "Why do any of this, if you do not enjoy it? Night after night of obligations, evenings of boredom or worse. The men strut, the women preen, the food rots uneaten. What is it
for
?"

Abigail's jaw hung, Katie's eyes widened, and Grace fell back in her chair dramatically. Yet not one of them was able to answer Izzy.

Lady Greenleigh set her china cup and saucer on the table and rose. "I believe the garden is quite lovely today. Won't you join me for some air, Izzy?"

Izzy jumped up and followed her immediately. She had not meant to disturb the others so. She had only thought perhaps they had an answer to such a simple question.

Stepping to the graveled path outside the glass doors, Izzy walked quietly behind Lady Greenleigh. The garden was lovely, indeed, today. The sky was bright with the first sun of summer, and the bees were hard at work in the fragrant blooms surrounding them.

Like Izzy, Lady Greenleigh favored bright, varied plantings that more resembled a village cottage garden than the formal grounds cultivated by most of society.

"Do you enjoy dancing the quadrille, Izzy?" Lady Greenleigh asked idly.

Izzy was surprised by the odd question. "Not particularly," she answered honestly.

The quadrille was an exercise in tedium, to be perfectly frank. The long succession of steps, or figures, might be entertaining were they performed at a lively pace. However, done at a stately walk, the quadrille meant that all dancers were sentenced to half an hour in the company of their fellow couples.

Most people found the dance an excellent opportunity to catch up on their gossip, which Izzy found tiresome, or spout devotion to the object of their courtship, which sometimes descended to downright nauseating.

"Quite. No one enjoys the quadrille, my dear. Yet, no ball is begun without one. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Because it is traditional, I suppose."

Nodding, Lady Greenleigh smiled and cut a large pink rose for Izzy. "Tradition plays a large part in it, of course. We love nothing so much as tradition. But there is more.

"The quadrille is a dance that anyone may dance, be they noble or not, slim or round, witty or dull. It is a ground on which many people may meet."

Cutting a group of yellow blooms for herself, she continued. "Nations have been raised and vanquished, dynasties have been merged, and futures arranged during the quadrille."

As they once again approached the door to the townhouse, Lady Greenleigh turned to Izzy and smiled.

"Think on it, my dear. You are an intelligent woman, for all that you are rather unsophisticated." She turned an unexpectedly sharp look on Izzy. "It quite stuns me that anyone could truly consider you a seductress."

Izzy's alarm must have showed, for Lady Greenleigh patted her hand in reassurance.

"But then, foolish people can be inclined to believe the worst of one. You must have had a good reason for your falsehood. I simply hope you and young Blackworth know what you are about."

Izzy could not answer her. Oftimes, she had to wonder if she and Julian did know what they were doing with this ruse. Lady Greenleigh gave her wrist an affectionate squeeze.

"You need say nothing, my dear. However it has come about, I believe you and that boy a good match. I remember your mother, although I was too busy in the nursery in those days to know her well. She was known for her fire and her verve, and I see the same in you.

"As for Eppie, I've watched over that boy since he came to holiday with us, home with Eric from school. A bit wild and a lot lonely, with so much need and defiance in those magnificent eyes that none of us could resist him.

"You'll have your work cut out for you, my dear. Then again, you have grit, and you've already proven you have your own mind."

The countess placed her hand on the door handle, giving Izzy one last conspiratorial wink. "I should like to hear if my girls have managed to come up with an answer for your challenge. It was lovely, that moment when all six were utterly silent. Why, it must have lasted a full minute." She sighed wistfully. "I haven't heard that sound in years. Ah well, 'the grave's a fine and private place,' after all."

Izzy followed her into the house. What should she do? Well, Lady Greenleigh wasn't likely to mention her conclusions to anyone. Perhaps there was nothing to worry over. She nodded to her hostess and thoughtfully made her way to her room to prepare for an evening of bad poetry.

Soon she would be back at her cousins'. Oddly, it did not feel as though she was going home. Still, it was where she belonged: she had spent enough time in high society thanks to Julian and his friends. But the time would come when their charade would end.

Thinking of the day when she would leave the Marchwells behind forever, it occurred to Izzy that perhaps she ought to write to her parents' solicitor to learn the status of her inheritance. It should have earned a tidy bit of interest after having been left alone all these years.

How she wished she could use it immediately to leave Hildegard, Melvin, Millie, and Sheldon far behind!

The best thing about staying with the Calwells was that Eric visited often and that Julian was never far behind. With the two of them for company amid the constant stream of callers, Izzy had found herself part of something she had forgotten existed.

Jolly games of charades and skits were assembled with the spontaneity of children. Laughter and foolery filled the evenings, and Izzy had never felt so light of heart. Full of wit and gentle teasing, it was play of the most enjoyable sort.

Tonight, Eric and his eldest sister Meg portrayed a couple they claimed were well-known to all present. Eric lounged comically on a chair before them, legs stuck out impossibly far, while Meg fussed with everything within reach, arranging and organizing the ornaments.

"Oh my dear, my dear, how are you today, my dear!" Eric fawned.

Meg bustled about him as if he was part of the furnishings. Eric mooned at her every moment her back was turned, but when she faced his way, he affected unconcern.

This sent most of the audience into giggles, but Izzy was mystified. She became more so when Julian jumped up, scowling at the play before them. His laughing mood had disappeared, and Izzy was surprised by the irritation on his face.

"Julian?"

He shot her a look she couldn't interpret. She returned it in puzzlement. Oddly, that seemed to make him relax somewhat, although he still didn't smile.

He bowed perfunctorily over her wrist.

"Sorry, my—I am sorry, Izzy. I seem to have forgotten I've another commitment this evening." He turned to leave.

Izzy put out one hand, but stopped before touching his sleeve. He wasn't quite as touchable as he had been a moment before. The easy camaraderie of the evening was gone.

"But I shall see you tomorrow?"

Julian hesitated. "It really isn't necessary. We needn't see each other every day to keep up appearances."

This direct reminder of their personal charade hurt. Why was he suddenly distant, when just a short time before he had been warm and cordial? Izzy managed to smile a farewell as she walked him to the door, but her animation faded as she reentered the parlor. Eric must have seen something in her face, for he came to where she stood and led her back to her place.

"Don't worry, Izzy. Julian will come around soon."

Izzy shook her head sadly. "No, I do not believe he will. And we had planned to ride in the morning—before I go home."

"Izzy—"

"What is it, Eric?"

Eric pursed his lips. "Never mind."

"We shall ride with you," Meg declared.

"There you have it, then," Eric said. "Nothing like an early jaunt in the park."

"Early?" Abbey said with alarm. "How early?"

Her sisters shushed her. Izzy summoned a smile for them all.

"You are sweet. I look forward to it."

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Julian felt like clouting himself as he rode Tristan through Hyde Park the following morning. In his rush to escape last night, he had quite forgotten his appointment to ride with Izzy.

He still wasn't sure why his collar had suddenly become so constricting and the parlor so airless last evening. He should have laughed at Eric's exaggerated portrayal of Izzy and himself. There had been a certain accuracy to Meg's comic portrayal of industriousness, for Izzy was rarely still, but he was certain his own demeanor bore no resemblance to Eric's cow-eyed longing.

It didn't merit thinking about, really. So the room had been too warm and the entertainment a bit irritating. There was nothing unusual in such an evening. By the time he had made it home, he'd been quite comfortable with the insignificance of it all.

It wasn't until he was breaking his fast this morning that he'd remembered his date with Izzy. Guiltily, he had arrived late to the Calwells' house only to learn Izzy was already in the park.

The poor mite was likely very disappointed in him right now. It was good of the Calwell ladies to console her…

The grounds were near deserted so early in the day, and Julian had no trouble discerning the couple ahead on the path.

They stood close, heads bent over their clasped hands. The watery morning sun glinted clearly off Eric's hair, and there was no mistaking Izzy's upraised face as she gave her companion a warm smile.