Lady Pamela (19 page)

The Lincolnshires’ ball was the most sought-after invitation of this autumn. ’Twas appropriate, thought Milly, that it might be the occasion of the most important decision of her life. Desperate to avoid any more talk of a marriage to Lord Castlereaugh, she had mentioned the Marquess of Leight to her father, and the earl had professed himself dubious, but otherwise amenable to the...the transaction.

If the marquess would offer for Lady Millicent, Lord Chambers was not averse. Otherwise . . .

“Ha’penny, penny!” came a shrill cry, and she winced, glancing involuntarily at her father. Nothing that had happened in the past few days had allowed her to forget the sight of the small form lying motionless in the dirt of the street. The rules and expectations of the
ton
, as she had known them, still shuddered under the weight of her father’s violence.

Milly sighed. Would Lord Peabody be at the ball? she wondered. What was she to say to him? The earl was adamant that she marry nearly at once, and this might be a terrible blow to someone of Clarence’s sensitive nature.

“Goodness, Millicent,” said her mother, “stop this fidgeting. And sit up straight. Lord Castlereaugh will take the dinner dance, you know, and I don’t want your fiancé to find you slouching at the table.”

Fiancé
? Millicent bit her lip, holding back tears. She would have thought her mother able to understand her feelings.

“This is a
marriage
,” she had protested to the countess, just the day before. “You cannot wish me to live with someone I cannot love!”

But Lady Chambers had only replied that one male was very like another, and that falling in love with a gentleman of great wealth should be as easy as falling in love with a someone of more modest means.

“But why must I marry so soon?”

The countess had no answer for this, and Millicent had given up searching for one. ’Twas as if her parents had washed their hands of her the moment she turned eighteen.

At least she was in good looks tonight. The countess’s taste was faultless, and Millicent was outfitted in a slim, high-waisted gown of rose silk, with a lace inset at the neckline. The tiny cap sleeves displayed the smooth lines of her arms to advantage, and the gown enhanced her figure, which was pleasantly but not extravagantly curved. Her hair had again been coaxed into a soft top-knot, and fell around her shoulders in smooth waves.

The carriage finally inched forward the last ten or so yards needed for it to be deemed acceptably close for the earl’s family to alight. As her father handed her down, his words broke in unpleasantly on Millicent’s thoughts.

“Don’t forget, young miss,” said the earl, “that I am to see Lord Castlereaugh on the morrow.”

Milly looked up at him cautiously. Her father’s expression was set and hard.

“Lord Castlereaugh?” she repeated. “But–”

“I’ve little hope of this nonsense about Leight.” The earl shrugged. “But if the marquess can somehow be convinced to extend a
satisfactory
offer, then I shall inform Lord Castlereaugh that your affections have been directed elsewhere. If not–”

The ground seemed to swim underneath Milly’s feet. She reached one foot out, then the other. What was her father saying?

“And if not, I will accept Lord Castlereaugh’s proposal on your behalf.”

Lady Millicent stared at him. Even after the weeks of pressure from the earl, only then did she truly comprehend, in the depths of her heart, that he was serious. Her choices had been pared to two men–one of whom she had yet to meet–and the time remaining for a decision reduced to one night. She was to be married to a rich man, not of her own choosing, and soon.

* * * *

 The footman handed Lady Pamela into the carriage. She arranged the skirts of her gown, smiling at Amanda and Maximilian.

“My brother is in town,” she told them, “and Jonathan has given me his solemn promise to attend.”

“I can’t imagine Celia would have it any other way. Maximilian,” said Lady Detweiler, “don’t tell me you are planning to bring a
saber
into the Lincolnshires’ ballroom.”

“ ’Tis all the crack,” said Max. “Lord Cholmondeley says–”

“Lord Cholmondeley?
Terence
Cholmondeley?”

“Well, yes.”

“The very same Terence Cholmondeley who convinced you that ’twas a fine joke to use a pistol to knock a tri-cornered cap from Lord Bagshot’s head?”

“Exactly. Now–”

“I do not wish to hear it. Don’t worry,” she added, with a glance at Lady Pamela, “the young idiot survived.”

“Idiot–”

“Heavens, Maximilian,” added Lady Detweiler, “will you
please
remove your Hessians from the hem of my cape?”

Lady Pamela grinned at the cousins, thinking that even Maximilian’s Hessians could not dampen her spirits tonight. The ongoing tumult in her heart, the tumult engendered by the weeks of constant contact with the duke, had indeed–as Amanda feared–brought her to the breaking point, but the effect of this was not what Lady Detweiler might have imagined.

 Now that she was finally and completely broken, Lady Pamela felt her spirits soar.

What did it matter? What did any of it matter?

She had enjoyed herself before, she had enjoyed herself with the Earl of Ketrick–how could she ever have denied it!–and she was going to enjoy herself again. Tonight, at this ball.

No more self-recrimination and doubt. No more trying to pretend that she was someone she was not. She had been Lord Tremayne’s
mistress
, his
chère amie
, and if that left her a fallen woman in the eyes of Lord Torrance, so be it. ’Twas not a single thing she could do about the matter now, and there were many gentlemen in the
haut ton
who took a similar view. She would dance with them. She would dance with all of them.

Lady Pamela’s eyes glittered as she stepped from the carriage. She did not see Lady Detweiler give her a worried glance. She saw nothing but the bright lights of the ballroom shining above her, and the sounds of the orchestra beginning to tune.

* * * *

Lady Millicent managed to find Annabelle in the crush, after insisting to her parents that she be allowed a few minutes to socialize before the dancing began. Her father had frowned, but said nothing else, and Milly and Belle were now skirting the edge of the ballroom, looking for Lady Annabelle’s brother and, hopefully, the Marquess of Leight.

A tall man with cropped blonde hair caught Belle’s eye. He was dressed in an elegant coat of grey superfine, and was standing slightly apart from the crowd, talking to Jonathan Sinclair, the Marquess of Luton.

“Goodness,” she said to Milly, “who is that gentleman? He’s
gorgeous
.
”

“I don’t know...” said Lady Millicent, her attention only half paid to what her friend was saying. She was looking for Lord Peabody, hoping to have a word with him before the earl could intervene.

If she could only explain what had happened, thought Milly. Clarence would understand, she knew he would. He would fight for her hand. Lady Millicent had a brief vision of Lord Peabody standing up to her father and demanding that Millicent be his, of Lord Peabody challenging Lord Castlereaugh to a duel.

She said as much to Lady Annabelle.

“Good heavens,” said Belle. “Do you want to kill him?”

The two girls continued circling the room, ducking behind one of the large potted palms whenever the earl’s attention threatened to turn in their direction.

“Belle! There he is!” said Lady Millicent excitedly. “There’s Lord Peabody!”

Lady Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Milly, we don’t have time–”

“Oh, but I need only a moment!” Lady Millicent protested. “I must tell him that I am being forced to marry Lord Castlereaugh! I’m sure if Clarence only knew–”

“There’s Jason,” said Lady Annabelle, catching sight of her brother. “Perhaps he has news of the marquess.”

Belle caught Lady Millicent by the hand and pulled her forward, trying to catch Jason’s attention as they moved through the crowd.

“Clarence!” cried Lady Millicent.

Lord Peabody was suddenly in front of them, smiling nervously.

“Lady Millicent,” he said, extending one thin leg. “Lady Annabelle.”

“Oh, Lord Peabody, I’m so glad you’ve arrived,” said Milly. “I
must
speak with you.”

“Er...” managed the viscount. He reddened, and his attention shifted suddenly to a point behind her. She turned around.

Lady Millicent’s father stood there, and with him, Lord Castlereaugh.

* * * *

The strains of a waltz floated over the waiting couples, and Lady Pamela smiled up at Viscount Carroll.

“I’d be delighted,” she said, extending her hand. She felt light-hearted. She felt at her ease, even knowing that Peregrine Carroll was a rogue and a rake-hell, and famed in the
ton
for his collection of high-born mistresses. Even though he had once tried to add
her
to that collection. He was, in fact, a gentleman whom she had rarely favored before this evening, but he was also handsome and good fun.

Why not? thought Pam. And it had taken so little effort on her part. A smile in the viscount’s direction, a lifted eyebrow, and it was done, he was at her side within moments.

So easy.

“My dear Lady Pamela,” said the viscount. “To what do I owe this unexpected honour?”

“Lud,” replied Pam, tossing her head. “Whyever not? ’Tis been an age since we danced.”

Lord Carroll merely smiled. “As you say, my lady,” he replied, and he swung her into the waltz.

* * * *

The earl had found them. Lady Millicent looked up into her father’s red, angry face.

Oh, Clarence
, she was thinking.
Clarence, say something
. But Lord Peabody seemed to shrink under her father’s narrowed-eyed gaze, and he began to back away, making a series of muttered and nearly inaudible apologies to Milly and Annabelle.

“Your pardon...must be off...promised a dance to my sister, you know...”

The earl caught Lord Peabody’s arm. Clarence yelped.

“Oh, stay a moment, my dear boy,” said Milly’s father. “Do stay. Can’t have you running away without a good chat, now can we?”

Millicent’s eyes widened. Her father had never admitted to Lord Peabody’s existence before this very moment, let alone made claims to talk with him. But the earl’s attention now turned to her.

“My darling girl,” said Lord Chambers. “Lord Castlereaugh has asked for the honour of the next quadrille.”

Lord Castlereaugh extended his hand. His eyes raked Millicent from head to toe, and the sense of discomfort she always felt with this gentleman increased. Lady Milly dared not look in Lady Annabelle’s direction, knowing that Belle was outraged on her behalf, and liable to say something shocking.

“Oh, but–” began Milly. She had promised the next dance to Lord Peabody. Or, she had intended to do so, if Clarence had only asked.

But he had not asked, had he?

“Oh, heavens, Lady Millicent pledged the quadrille to Lord Peabody
ages
ago,” said Annabelle.

Lord Peabody did not look happy at this information.

“I’m sure the young gentleman won’t mind,” said Lord Chambers, with a nod in Clarence’s direction. “Will you, Lord Peabody?”

“Oh. No. No, of course not,” stammered the viscount.

And Lady Millicent discovered Lord Castlereaugh’s hand under her elbow. She repressed a shudder as his grip tightened, and she felt his fingernails dig into her skin. At least it would not be the waltz. If she danced with him now, perhaps she could avoid the waltz.

As Lord Castlereaugh continued to tug on her arm, leading her out onto the dance floor, Lady Millicent saw her father turn to Clarence.

“Lord Peabody,” the Earl of Banbridge said. “A moment of your time, if I may.”

* * * *

Lord Torrance was becoming more and more aggravated. He had yet to exchange a word with Lady Pamela, who had not taken a moment’s respite from dancing. He had seen her sweep by on the arms of a caddish-looking fellow, and heard her voice, her laugh, floating above the crowd.

This, thought Benjamin, was not the way friends treated each other. She should have stopped, at least, to say her good evenings, to see if he was well... The draperies for the music room had arrived just that morning, and she’d not seen them, he’d wanted her advice as to how they should be hung.

He and Lady Pamela had spent nearly the whole of the past month together, and now ’twas as if she barely remembered who he was. Did she even mark his attendance? Benjamin had known the moment she entered the ballroom, had expected to find her before him momentarily, or whiling away her time at the edge of the dance floor, awaiting his request for the waltz.

But he would not go running to her like a love-sick puppy. He would not. Lady Pamela was the darling of London, she was the one familiar with the whims of the
haut
ton
–she should be the one to greet him at this benighted society ball.

“Good heavens,” came a voice at his side. “Whatever are you waiting for?”

Amanda Detweiler stood there, her regard quizzical.

“Lady Detweiler, forgive me, I’m in no mood–” began the duke.

“You may save the righteous protestations and claims to indifference,” said Amanda. “You are no farther above the fray than the rest of us.”

“I cannot imagine what you mean.”

“Poppycock,” said Lady Detweiler. “And Lady Pamela’s dance card will be full three times over if you do not extend yourself.”

Benjamin felt his temper begin to fray and, suddenly too annoyed to pay the usual guard to his words, he risked speaking openly to Lady Detweiler. “I have extended myself, as you say, for the whole of this past month. If she does not know my feelings by now, there is nothing more to do.”

Lady Detweiler raised her eyebrows. “I do not believe,” she told the duke, “that your feelings were ever in question.”

“Well, then–”

“But your esteem, on the other hand...” She trailed off, and shrugged.

Why was he so angry? Why were Lady Detweiler’s words so infuriating?

“My esteem? My
esteem
?” retorted Benjamin. “Does she fancy herself a miss from the schoolroom, swooning at the first harsh word? She has been out in the world, and my regard for her, which is exceptional, seems able to change nothing.”