Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (12 page)

However, as the evening advanced, it began to be borne in on him that Arabella had allowed him to escort her as much for who he was—the latest sensation in a Season that already promised to be sadly flat—as for the pleasure she might be expected to derive from his company. It was true that she stood up with him for more than one dance and that she had laughingly accorded him, from among all the eager admirers clamoring for it, her hand in the waltz. But as he whirled her around the floor he was aware that as much as she gazed meaningfully into his eyes, she was constantly glancing around the room to see just how many people were aware of how very devoted the wealthy and extremely eligible Ned Mainwaring was to the lovely Arabella Taylor.

Just as this slightly cynical thought entered his head she looked up, cheeks flushed, dark eyes alight with happiness, a bewitching smile beginning at the corners of her mouth, and sighed. "Ned, you waltz divinely. Why, not even Sir Brian Brandon dances as well as you and he is acknowledged to be one of the best."

Ned, who had not the slightest wish to cut a dash either on the dance floor or in society, did not know whether to be flattered or concerned at being favorably compared to so notable a Corinthian. His dark blue eyes twinkling with amusement, he raised one mobile black brow remarking sardonically, "I am certainly now set for life, for surely no one could aspire to greater heights of glory than that."

Arabella nodded. "Oh no, certainly not, she agreed seriously. For he is top of the trees, you know," she assured him.

Ned's amusement faded as he realized that she was entirely in earnest. "I collect this means you now consi
der me to be an eligible parti”
he commented ironically.

His acid tone was completely lost on Arabella, who looked up in astonishment. "But of course!" she exclaimed in some surprise that he should even be in doubt of such a thing.

Finding himself at a loss, he soon escaped to go in search of refreshments, leaving her in the eager hands of young Ponsonby, who was quite desperate to lead her in the quadrille. As he crossed the ballroom he found himself wishing that Cassie were there. He could just picture the way her big blue eyes would brim with amusement when he told her that he'd been adjudged a worthy member of the Corinthian set by no less a social devotee than Arabella. He could even hear the laughter gurgle in her throat as she protested, "Oh Ned, not even Arabella could be such a gudgeon!"

"And what has put such a cynical expression on the face of one so young and debonair?" a voice at his elbow inquired. Ned looked down into the dancing eyes of Lady Jersey. Here, at least, was someone witty enough to see the amusing side.

His teeth gleaming in his tan face, he replied. "I have just been informed that I can now consider myself a Corinthian."

Lady Jersey's eyes wandered to the other side of the room, where a besotted Ponsonby was gazing adoringly at Arabella. "But most assuredly, mon brave, "she murmured wickedly. "Surely you don't think the fair Arabella would allow herself to be led in a waltz by anyone less than a nonpareil?" she inquired.

It was truly turning out to be an evening of revelations. Ned had never before viewed himself in this light, but he could tell from the alacrity with which his invitations to dance were accepted that he was apparently the last person in this ballroom to realize that he was an extremely desirable partner.

Arabella, who was keeping as eagle an eye on Ned's conquests as much as she was counting her own, was flushed with pride. So pleased was she at his success and the glory his attentions reflected on her that she allowed herself to squeeze his hand as he helped her into the carriage. I told you that Sir Brian would have to look to his laurels with you around," she cooed delightedly.

Meanwhile, Cassie was undergoing an equally revelatory experience that evening at the theater. Horace, having heard her express a wish to see Kean's Richard III, had escorted her and Frances to Drury Lane. At first, Cassie had thought the famous actor to be somewhat melodramatic, but as the play progressed, she fell more and more under his spell until she became totally immersed in the action of the play, only to be brought rudely back to earth by Horace's whispered comment that he thought Kean a frippery fellow who rolled his eyes too much. Forgetting her first reaction to the actor, Cassie protested, "How can you say so? I think it is a most sensitive interpretation."

"My dear Cassandra," Horace began in a tone that to Cassie sounded almost patronizing, "the entire performance is sensational in the extreme. Shakespeare's language is overblown enough as it is, and this fellow exploits it for all he is worth. I am astonished that you can like it. For my part, I find it to be quite vulgar."

Cassie's mouth, which had dropped open in astonishment, shut with a snap as she turned her attention to the stage, totally ignoring Horace, who had been about to launch into a dissertation on the superiority of Greek tragedy. He subsided into hurt and angry silence. Frances, an interested bystander to the scene, was not sorry that he had revealed this side of his nature to Cassie. It would do her good to see just how stubborn and opinionated Horace Wilbraham could be. For her part, Cassie had never felt so out of charity with her companion. She was quite glad when Horace finally deposited the ladies at Grosvenor Square and she was free to discuss the performance with a more open-minded and stimulating conversationalist. She and Frances agreed that while Kean did tend toward the histrionic, his sensitive rendition of the hunchback had made them view the play and the characters in a slightly different light than they had before.

The next day when Cassie arrived at the comte's, her acknowledgment of Horace's greeting was rather frosty, but she was almost immediately mollified by his next words. "Cassandra, I had not the least intention of offending you last evening," he apologized. "I realize that I am inclined to be carried away by my enthusiams. You must forgive me if I react so strongly, but drama, and tragedy in particular, is one of my ruling passions and I find I cannot be lukewarm about it."

Cassie smiled as she replied, "Think nothing of it. I certainly shall not."

He heaved an obvious sigh of relief before turning back to the marbles he had been examining. Cassie was fast becoming an obsession with him. He had never been able to converse with a woman who comprehended what he was saying and could therefore truly appreciate him. That someone as lovely as Cassie paid attention to him and understood him was quite wonderful. Lately, he had begun to contemplate asking her to marry him. The more he thought about it, the idea of spending his life with this exquisite creature who would cherish his work and admire him made him quite drunk with happiness. Her coldness the previous evening had threatened this beatific vision and struck terror into his heart. Without understanding the cause of it, he was determined to overcome her displeasure. Her gracious acceptance of his apology convinced him once more that he was truly blessed in his friendship with her and he was more determined than ever to make her his.

Cassie, moving over to the materials she had been working on, was contemplating a less rosy picture of the future than was her companion, for it had occurred to her that while he had apologized for upsetting her, Horace did not in the least comprehend what he had said to do so. It was not that she was made uncomfortable because he did not completely share her opinions. After all, she and Ned had disagreed times out of mind and had spent many happy hours arguing with each other over an entire range of subjects. What bothered her was Horace's utter lack of appreciation for the myriad and conflicting emotions which Kean's performance, overdone through it may have been, revealed, as well as his total obliviousness to the sympathetic emotional response the actor managed to elicit from the audience. That he could be so caught up in the mechanics of the play s presentation as to ignore completely and absolutely its fundamental drama revealed a rather unsympathetic side to his character of which she had previously been unaware. This, coupled with his obstinate refusal to appreciate any of the good points at all in the performance simply because he had one criticism of it made him seem slightly narrow-minded.

To top it off, he had entirely misunderstood the cause of her displeasure. That he should assume that she would naturally be in complete agreement with any opinion of his and ascribe her distress merely to the fact that he expressed his opinions with such ardor thoroughly annoyed her. The more she thought about it, the more Cassie was angered by his blatant disregard for her individual critical faculties and taste. She remained in a most pensive mood for the rest of the day despite the fact that she was working on a truly exquisite section of frieze.

Over in his corner of the library, the comte, observing the angry set of Cassie's jaw, nodded sagely and thought to himself. She has spirit, that one. It will take someone with a stronger and more adventurous nature than Horace Wilbraham's to appreciate someone such as she. He is a good lad, but something of a dull dog and his mind is no match for hers. He certainly lacks the quick wit and charming conversation. We must see what we can do to find Cassie an intellectual companion worthy of her.

Much the same thoughts were going through Lady Kitty Willoughby's mind as she observed her brother and Arabella Taylor. Arabella had called at the Willoughbys on the slimmest of pretexts. She and her maid were on their way shopping and she simply had to know the name of the shop where Kitty had procured the perfectly ravishing ribbons for the bonnet she had been wearing in the park the other day.

Kitty was nobody's fool and was thus not the least surprised when Ned walked in, obviously dressed for a ride in the park, that a girl who not two minutes before had been determined to unearth the exact duplicate of Lady Willoughby's ribbons now had no thought in her mind beyond a refreshing stroll through Hyde Park.

Glancing coyly up at Ned from under the brim of a charming cottage-shaped straw bonnet, she laid one lavender kid-gloved hand on his arm, begging, "Do join your sister and me in the park. I had been planning to make some small purchases in Bond Street, but it is far too fine a day to

waste. I should infinitely prefer taking the air and sharing some elegant conversation with some charming companions."

Kitty, far too well bred to reveal the least dismay at this abrupt change in plan, yielded to superior strategy as gracefully as she could, adding her voice to Arabella's. "That is a delightful idea. I shall just go and fetch my bonnet." And that, she fumed as she quitted the drawing room, leaves that scheming little hussy with Ned all to herself. No doubt she is counting on having the good quarter of an hour alone with him that it would take her to primp herself to perfection. Well, she shan't have it! Snatching a bonnet with more haste than usual, Kitty slapped it on her head without even consulting the mirror. No doubt I shall look the perfect quiz, she thought, but I won't leave poor Ned in her clutches a minute longer than necessary.

"Poor Ned," in fact, was tolerably amused by the entire situation. Knowing that Arabella bore no great friendship for his sister, who, as a dashing young matron, was apt to offer more competition than Arabella liked to encounter, he had surmised as he entered the drawing room that Kitty had been the victim of some stratagem.

It only remained to establish the exact nature of the vague excuse Arabella had invented to explain her unexpected visit. Ned had been too aware of the possessive light in Arabella's eyes as they had lighted on him to doubt that he was her real quarry. Watching her take in the significance of his attire and change her plans accordingly had been a very real entertainment. Consequently, he leaned his broad shoulders against the mantel, awaiting developments.

Arabella looked admiringly at these same shoulders, noticed that they were shaking suspiciously. Tilting her head at him coquettishly, she inquired, "Are you laughing at me?"

Unable to contain himself, Ned burst into laughter. "You enchanting little witch! Confess, you had not the least notion of going for a walk when you came here."

An uncertain look flitted across her features before she gurgled merrily and admitted, "Of course not, you silly creature. But you men are so elusive, we poor women are forced to adopt the feeblest of excuses in order to win your escort."

He heaved himself from the mantel and strode over to capture one small hand. Raising it gracefully to his lips, he murmured, "I should be loath to put you to such trouble and I doubt very much that so beautiful a creature as you is at all familiar with the shifts there ordinary women are put to."

His tone was earnest, but Arabella saw the quizzical gleam in his blue eyes. "You are a dreadful creature to tease me so," she said, pouting.

He smiled at her. "And you know your pout is as enchanting as your smile, so I refuse to feel the least compunction at causing it to appear. But come, I hear my sister on the stairs."

As they sauntered along in the sunshine, Arabella chattering happily of this musicale and that ridotto, of the shocking quiz of a turban that Lady Ullapool wore to the opera and the truly ravishing riding habit Amanda St. Clair had ordered. Kitty saw the boredom begin to creep into Ned's eyes. She noted the mechanical responses that appeared to satisfy Arabella while her escort appraised the points of Lord Alvanley's hack, cast an experienced eye over the showy chestnuts drawing the barouche of a noted barque of frailty, and generally kept his mind occupied while leaving Arabella under the impression that he was attending solely to her.

This won't do. Kitty told herself. No matter how besotted he had been in the past, or how attracted he is now, he would be bored with her within a week and ready to strangle her within a fortnight. Confronted with a situation similar to that of the comte's, she arrived at the same conclusion—such intelligence and wit should not be condemned to pass the rest of its existence with mediocrity and self-centeredness as its companion.