Learning to Waltz (39 page)

Elizabeth broke in. “Papa, you were saying there have been previous incidents? Why have none of us noticed? Why have you not told us?”

Mr. Haverfield clearly did not want to discuss the subject. Who would? He must have known Elizabeth would not let it go, however. “None of you live here, that’s why you haven’t noticed. And there’s been nothing like this, merely a certain vagueness. She occasionally has forgotten about some social event or which neighbor she’s going to visit, little things like that. Nothing that’s not easy to remedy or gloss over.”

It explained a few peculiarities of the visits they had paid and received, Deborah thought.

“How did she seem to you, Deborah?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

Deborah looked at her doubtfully and then glanced at Mr. Haverfield, who seemed inexplicably absorbed in a glass paperweight he held in his hands. Everyone else in the room was watching her. “I don’t want to—”

“Please, Deborah,” Elizabeth cried. “Was she well? Sick?”

Deborah shook her head. “Not sick in any obvious way—in any way that I could recognize. She was not herself, though. Her hair was untidy, her shawl trailed on the floor—I met her only three weeks ago, but I have never seen her looking less than perfect. I thought perhaps she awoke disoriented from a deep sleep, as one sometimes does.” She thought back for a moment. “The sofa that’s in the schoolroom? It looks old, but she seemed to think it belonged in the morning room.”

The countess looked her amazement. “That old thing? It’s been upstairs for ten years, at least.”

“She’d forgotten your name, I gather,” said the earl.

Deborah looked up at him earnestly. “The name itself is nothing. What disturbed me was that she didn’t know me at all—that Evan and I were to…  Why would she say such things to someone she thought to be a stranger? And with a servant in the room?”

Elizabeth waved that away. “She was never as discreet with the servants as you thought she should be, was she, Papa? She always said they knew everything anyway, it was silly to think we could keep secrets from them.”

“What did you do after the events in question, Mrs. Moore?”

“I went to see my mother. Then I rang for our trunks.”

“You did not tell Evan about your conversation with his mother?”

She shook her head unhappily. “There didn’t seem to be any benefit in doing so. But if I had, it might have spared everyone… all this.”

The earl shook his head. “It’s been more unpleasant than it might otherwise have been, that’s all. But I’m curious,” he continued. “If you were persuaded that Mrs. Haverfield was not in her right mind, then you must know that she intended no personal insult to you. Why then are you determined to leave us?”

She spoke to her lap. “I was not persuaded, at first.” She swallowed hard and looked up at Lord Witney, at Evan, and back again. It was safer to talk to the earl. “But don’t you see? It doesn’t matter. Whomever she thought she was talking to, she meant what she said. I’ve been alone for a long time. It doesn’t frighten me. But how could I detach Evan from his world and expect him to…”

“How sacrificial of you,” Theo said drily.

Deborah eyed him indignantly. “Not at all, my lord. When his—whatever he feels for me turns into resentment because of all he’s lost, how does that help me? In any case, why on earth should you try to talk me into staying? This is the only happy family I’ve ever known. I walked in the door three weeks ago and already it’s falling apart. The sooner I leave, the better it will be for everyone.”

A few quick strides brought Evan to stand in front of her. “For everyone, Deborah? How about you?”

She opened her mouth, but he forestalled her.

“How about Julian?”

She bit her lip.

“How about me, Deborah?”

She looked down and spoke with difficulty. “I told you from the start you would do better without me.”

He started to speak again, but his father rose from his chair and touched Evan’s arm, enjoining his silence. Philip stood, surrendering his seat beside her.

Mr. Haverfield seemed a smaller man than he had been. He sat quite close to her, and mostly what she felt was sadness. What was it she had found so intimidating?

“I want to apologize, my dear, for the rather Turkish treatment we have meted out to you. We have always prided ourselves on our hospitality at Northridge, but we have certainly failed in your case.”

“Sir, I—” Deborah tried to object, but he took her hand and patted it.

“Let me have my say, if you will. It’s seldom enough I admit to my own inadequacies, as my children will no doubt attest.” He spoke very quietly. The rest of the room was silent. “I concede that we—Cecily and I—were not best pleased with Evan’s news. Does that seem unnatural to you?”

“No, sir.”
Heavens, no.

“No. Well. I must also confess that after your arrival, I said some things—in private conversation with my wife—that would have been better left unsaid. That she should remember those unkind words yet forget far more important things…” He sighed. “Be that as it may, my opinion of you has undergone substantial change since those first days. I thought Cecily’s had, also, but it seems I was mistaken. All this is just to say that, my dear, I hope you will find yourself able to forgive us. And that you will reconsider your decision. For my son’s sake, of course, but for the rest of us as well.”

There were tears in her eyes by the time he finished. She wanted to say something but couldn’t seem to formulate a reply.

“There, there.” He patted her hand again. “There’s no hurry, no hurry at all.”

Of course there was! Guests would begin arriving tomorrow, and the wedding was only a week away. If there was one.

“Oh, Papa.” Elizabeth wiped away tears of her own. “If I could get up, I’d come over there and hug you.”

Mr. Haverfield gave her a tight little smile. “Alberta, perhaps you would ring for Forby. Ask him to move dinner to the breakfast room and serve as soon as it can be accomplished. We will
not
dress for dinner. Mrs. Moore, let me take you down.”

Dinner was the very last thing Deborah wanted. She would gladly have bowed out entirely, but Mr. Haverfield gave her no opportunity, escorting her downstairs to the drawing room to wait until the cook had everything ready. No one laughed, and they spoke in undertones.

Evan had been sent to fetch her mother, so she perched on the edge of the sofa beside Elizabeth. “What happened to your foot?”

“I fell chasing Evan.” Deborah bit her lip. “Don’t worry about me, it’s just a little sprain.”

By the time her mother made her way downstairs, Forby had announced dinner. Evan’s father led Deborah into the dining room and made her sit in the place of honor at his right hand. Evan wound up on the other side of Philip in the only chair Deborah could not see. She could see his plate, however—he ate little, though the footman refilled his wine glass at frequent intervals. And he said no more than she did.

Dinner could not be conducted in silence, of course, but neither could they discuss the topics most on their minds. So it was fortunate that Lord Witney and his family had arrived so recently. They were introduced to her mother, and then there were all sorts of logical subjects to pursue with them: their doings in London, the children, the earl’s activities in the House of Lords during the session just ended. As all these topics dealt with persons and matters largely unknown to her, Deborah allowed her mind to absent itself while her eyes observed the family she might—or might not—become part of.

Philip and Mr. Haverfield asked most of the questions, though they had little enough to say otherwise. Even Elizabeth, that habitual chatterbox, was preoccupied. Lord and Lady Witney responded quite naturally, or so it seemed to Deborah. She supposed Society leaders might need masks as much as she did, though theirs would show a different expression. Her mother, who had kept aloof from most of the afternoon’s upheaval, earned Deborah’s gratitude by contributing more than usual to the conversation.

Since Elizabeth could not leave the table without assistance, the men did not stay at table when the ladies withdrew, and the whole party drifted apart. Elizabeth professed herself ready to retire; Philip and the countess escorted her upstairs. Evan’s father went to check on his wife and doubted that he would make any further appearance that evening. When Evan followed him, Deborah was torn between pique, relief, and a feeling of abandonment.

“Ladies?” Left alone with Mrs. Moore and her mother, Theo gestured toward the drawing room with well-hidden reluctance.

Deborah repressed a shudder. “What was that word, my lord—‘sacrificial’? Thank you, no; we are in the midst of packing.” She frowned. “Or possibly unpacking. Good night.”

Theo bowed. Deborah felt his eyes follow their slow progress up the stairs.

Evan looked rather desperately at Deborah, but her head was bent to hear something her mother was saying. Whatever happened, she would not be going anywhere until morning. He would rouse her from her bed if need be. He chased his father up the stairs.

“Sir!” he called softly.

Mr. Haverfield stopped, his hand on his bedroom door. “Well?”

“I need to see her too.”

“You don’t think you’ve done sufficient damage for one day?” The words were caustic, but his tone was milder than Evan felt he deserved.

“I owe her an apology.”

“You do indeed. But you’ll probably get away without one. My guess is that she’ll remember nothing of it in the morning. So I will accept your apology on her behalf, and you will make amends to
her
in another way. And though
she
may not know why, I will.”

Evan waited.

“You will remain at Northridge, Evan. If you will not stay without Deborah, then you must persuade her to stay as well.”

“I fully intend to do so, sir. I wanted to thank you for—what you said to her earlier. I know it must have been difficult.”

“Yes. So you will give up this notion of renting another house. It’s a ridiculous expenditure. And your mother’s going to need help running this place. It will be the perfect way for your wife to adjust gradually to her responsibilities here.”

“Ah.” Evan deflated a bit. He knew how much Deborah was counting on their separate space.

His father grasped his arm for a moment. “You’ll make it work, son. We could not stand to lose you; you know that.”

Returning downstairs, he found Theo and Philip in possession of the brandy. His need being acute, he joined them.

“How is your mother?” Philip asked.

Evan shook his head. “Sleeping. I didn’t see her.” It took him but a moment to down half a glass. “Father seems to think she won’t remember any of it.”

“Well, that’s a blessing,” said Theo.

Evan grimaced. “If you call losing your mind a blessing…”

“When my memory goes, I certainly want to forget the unpleasant things first.”

“I’m trying,” said Evan, and drained the glass. Theo poured him another. “How is Lizzy?”

Philip frowned into his own drink. “Don’t recall when I’ve seen her so upset. Alberta is—er—applying balm.”

“Laudanum for her too?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s as bad as that.” Philip poured another round for all of them. “Have you talked to Deborah?”

Evan’s jaw clenched. “Not yet.” He lifted his glass. “Fortification.”

“He made her a nice speech upstairs.”

“My father? Yes, he did. But he wants us to give up the idea of hiring a house in the neighborhood. She won’t like that at all.”

“Advice from Iago.
Honesty’s a fool and loses that it works for
,” offered Theo. “Deal with it after the wedding.”

Philip was not so sure. “Come back to haunt you.”

Theo had a riposte, of course. “
Honesty is praised…  and starves.”

Philip’s advice won the day, despite his lack of erudition. Evan knew some quotes too:
That soul that can be honest is the only perfect man.
Well, he could make no claims of perfection, especially after today. But surely one should aspire to it?

Deborah opened the door promptly but would not let him in. She was fully dressed, except that she had removed her shoes and taken the pins out of her hair. A very familiar desire rose within him; he shoved it firmly to the back of his mind. They talked in the doorway in near whispers.