To Rescue a Rogue (34 page)

Mara buttered bread and spread jam on it. “Prepare for the ball.”

“You know what I mean. Everything is in disorder.”

“It could be worse,” Mara pointed out. “Madame Clermont is not dragging a terrified Delphie off to Belgium. Dare isn't facing Berkstead at pistol point. Tonight, the ton will swarm into Yeovil House, thus attesting that they believe Dare to be brave, honorable, and true.”

“You're sure of that?”

“I met Lady Cawle. I'm sure.”

“I don't know how you can be so calm!” Jancy exploded. “You know how rumors stick. People will have written letters, spreading the story, but they won't bother to write a retraction. Especially if there isn't one.”

Mara covered Jancy's anxious hands. “They'll write about the ball, too. Jancy, I'm trying to look on the bright side.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Jancy left and Mara remembered she'd been promised a ride.

She wrote a note to Dare and summoned Ruth to find her habit. Poor Godiva hadn't had a ride for a week or more. Mara was only just ready when Dare was announced, and she ran down, truly feeling full of bright spirits.

Instead of going outside immediately, however, he drew her into a reception room.

Her bright spirits fled. “What? What's happened now?”

“Nothing bad. I'm sorry for frightening you. I wanted to give you this.” He produced a ring—a clear, faceted topaz circled by small cabochon rubies, then by tiny diamonds, and slid it onto her finger.

“It's perfect. How did you find it?”

“I commissioned it last week, before we left Town. The rubies protect the topaz,” he said, tracing the stones, “and the diamonds protect both.”

She searched his eyes. “No lingering thought of marrying Madame Clermont?”

“None.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “What good would a dead husband do her or Delphie, and how could I live without you?”

Mara went into his arms and simply held him, encircled him, never wanting to let go. She felt him kiss her hair and was complete, as she was now only when with him.

“We should go,” he said reluctantly. “The horses are waiting.”

So they kissed, left the house, and rode to Hyde Park. They talked, but only of tranquil plans, and they didn't talk much. In the park, they cantered and then indulged in a galloping race in the wilder areas, deliberately bringing it to a dead heat. It was good. It was normal. It was a pattern for their life together.

M
ara took lunch with Jancy and knew how she should spend the rest of the day. A young lady planning to attend a ball, especially one at which she would be a center of attention, should rest, then spend hours in preparation.

She, however, had something to do.

She summoned a carriage and, accompanied by Ruth and an armed footman, went to the jewelers in Bond Street. The young man recognized her. “You require more beads, ma'am?”

“No,” Mara said. “I wish to commission a ring. Can it possibly be made for tonight?”

The clerk's brows rose, but he summoned the master jeweler. The square-jawed, sharp-eyed man emerged in a working apron and was immediately intrigued by the challenge. He studied Mara's ring. “You want the same but with a ruby at the center, ma'am, surrounded by topaz? But gentlemen do not wear such rings these days. A cravat pin, perhaps?”

“It must be a ring,” Mara said, “but I see what you mean.”

“Perhaps, we could adapt a gentleman's ring?” He produced a heavy gold one with a smooth oval top ready for engraving. “The stones could be inset in one corner—very small—and the rest engraved.”

Mara considered, then nodded. “Yes, that would be best. It can be done for tonight?” She gave him her best and brightest smile. “For my betrothal ball, you see.”

His eyes twinkled. “It will be done for tonight, ma'am, but I will need the gentleman's size.”

Mara hadn't thought of that, but said, “You shall have it within the hour, sir.”

Once back at Marlowe house, she sent a message to Salter, instructing him to send Dare's ring size to the jeweler. Then she tried to do the expected things, but even the choice of gown fretted her. She summoned Jancy to help.

“They're all lovely,” Jancy said. “I can't believe you're in such a twitch over it.”

“I'm going to be the center of attention. And it's so important!”

“Whether you wear white, blue, or yellow will hardly affect anything.”

“I know, but I need to do something to shape fate. Will you read the cards again?”

“No. They're not to be consulted again and again, and what they told you was good.”

“More or less.”

“None of us can expect a completely smooth path.”

“We can wish for it, though. Work for it.”

Then Jancy noticed the ring. “Mara, it's lovely! So unusual.”

“It's Dare, protected by me, and by the Rogues. There are twelve small diamonds, see? I've ordered something similar for him, but it hasn't arrived yet.”

Jancy was summoned to her bath and Mara studied the gowns again. Yellow would catch the color of the topaz.

How was Dare passing the time before this important event? Would the plan work, or would people stay away? What if Berkstead appeared in the ballroom to tell the sorry saga of her foolish adventure?

No. He was stopped. She truly believed that.

For the first time she worried that one of the men at the ball might recognize her from that gambling hell. She didn't think the patrons had been aristocratic, but it hadn't been a low dive, either. She studied herself in the mirror, remembering the mask and the turban-style headdress that had concealed her hair. The room had been dim and fogged with pipe smoke. Surely no one would know.

Then, as she sank into her bath, she was assailed by images of empty rooms, of the ton simply staying away. How could they if Lady Cawle had let it be known she would attend? Who would want to offend the Yeovils? Apart from their high rank, people liked them, especially the duchess.

She made herself stop running round and round these things like a dog in a spit and applied creams and a hint of color to her lips and cheeks.

Then the coiffeur arrived to begin his endless fiddling with her hair, chattering all the time. It gave her a headache, but the effect was lovely, she admitted, and exactly as innocent as she'd wanted. She was crowned with a mass of curls in a bandeau of yellow roses.

She put on the gown, which had a yellow satin underdress and an overlay of white spider net set with tiny crystals. The bodice was very low. She remembered Almack's, when Dare had admired her breasts. And Brideswell, where he'd worshipped them.

“What are you blushing for?” Ruth demanded. “Shocking, those bodices are, but you've worn them for years without a tremor.”

“I'm nervous,” Mara said, and Ruth seemed to believe her.

With the addition of pearls, she was ready. They would dine here, including the Yeovils and their family, then all go on to the ball at nine.

But where was Dare's ring? It would be his talisman. He must have it!

“Sit down, milady,” Ruth said, “before you wear yourself out.”

“I'm expecting something.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Ruth tidied up, muttering.

But then there was a knock at the door, and a footman presented a small box. Mara thanked him, opened it, and there was the ring, exactly as she'd hoped with the circles of jewels set in one corner, and an engraved entwined
D
and
M
. She'd decided on Mara, not Ademara.

The bell sounded, and Mara went down with the ring in her hand. Dare was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Sudden awareness of the body beneath dark evening clothes flooded heat and hunger through her. The look in his eyes as he kissed her hand echoed her thoughts. Their hands tightened one on the other, seeking.

“I have something for you,” she said.

“Heaven.” It was a statement.

“Something else for now.” She slid the ring onto his right hand.

He looked at it, then smiled. “This is perfect.”

“As everything will be.”

Their shared smile was a kiss, and became a kiss.

“Now, now. None of that!”

She broke free to look up at her parents coming down the stairs. It was her father who had spoken, but his eyes twinkled.

“I never would have believed it possible,” Dare murmured.

Nor would Mara. Her parents looked every inch the Earl and Countess of Marlowe. She hadn't known her father owned such elegant evening clothes, or her mother such a grand gown.

“Father looks so long-suffering,” Mara said, “but I suspect Mother is rather enjoying herself.”

“And why not? She's a beautiful woman, still.”

He stepped forward to flatter Amy St. Bride and even steal a kiss.

Mara realized with surprise that he was right. The sapphire blue suited her mother and the fashionably low bodice revealed the swell of generous breasts. The Marlowe diamonds, including a tiara, glittered in the candlelight, completing the effect. Amy St. Bride's eyes twinkled as she smiled at Mara.

“What will the world come to?” Mara said as she linked arms with Dare and took him to meet her uncle, Sir Algernon St. Bride and his wife, and her godparents, the bishop and his lady. Dare introduced her to his brother Gravenham and his wife. They were just like their portraits, and seemed both dull and pleasant.

Lady Dorothea Debenham also looked like her portrait, but she seemed more like Gravenham than Dare. Her welcome to the family was warm but compsed. Mara was swept on to enormous Sir Randolph Dunpott-Ffyfe and Lord and Lady Verwood. Then she smiled with true delight to see Lord and Lady Vandeimen and Serena and Francis.

“Isn't the aristocracy a tangled web?” Serena said. “We're here to give Dare moral support, but we have credentials. Maria Vandeimen was a Dunpott-Ffyfe, and Francis is a twig on the Debenham family tree through his mother. She's not in Town, but her sister is.”

“Miss Hurstman,” said Dare, looking across the room. “We'd better go to her, Mara, or she'll hit me with her umbrella.”

“She can't have an umbrella here,” Mara protested as they crossed the room.

“I wouldn't put it past her.”

Nor would Mara. Plain-faced Miss Hurstman was only marginally dressed for this occasion and looked as if she thought all the finery ridiculous. Her gown was silk, but of a dull, dark brown fabric. It was high in the neck and long in the sleeves.

“This way I won't need to manage gloves and a shawl,” she said to Mara, as if reading her mind. To Dare, she said, “Don't worry about that ridiculous story. Maud and I have put paid to that.”

They moved on to greet other people, but Dare murmured, “That does seem to settle it. Miss Hurstman is not a power in society like Lady Cawle—she avoids society as assiduously as your father does—but she's connected to nearly everyone and knows everything that's going on.”

Mara relaxed, for the atmosphere here was so pleasant that it was impossible that anything go wrong.

 

Nerves returned when they moved on to Yeovil House. The house was ready, decorated and beautiful, but only a few servants met them in the hall. The place felt so empty that it was possible to believe it would remain so. Music could be heard from the distant ballroom, but it played only for faery dancers.

“Let's slip up to the schoolroom,” Dare said. “I promised Delphie that you'd show her your gown.”

“Good, for I have something for her.”

Delphie fluttered excitedly over Mara while Madame Clermont glowered. How was this going to work?

It wouldn't need to, Mara remembered, if Delphie wasn't the woman's child. Mara studied the girl's pretty face. She
did
have Napoleon's cleft chin.

“See, Mara,” Delphie said. “Mariette is ready for the ball
aussi
.”

Indeed she was, in a new skirt of pink velvet and a sash of gold.

“How pretty,” Mara said, looking a question at Dare.

“Thea provided some scraps.”

Mara had brought a gilded belt for Pierre, complete with a proper hanger for his sword, and a bandeau of roses for Delphie, similar to the one in her own hair.

Delphie admired herself in the mirror in dazed delight and then kissed Mara so enthusiastically she almost undid all the lengthy preparations. Pierre marched around, drawing and sheathing his sword. Then the footman came to say guests were arriving and they raced down the stairs to see the Rogues coming in en masse.

“Dashing Deb,” Nicholas said with a laugh.

Mara finally met Lord and Lady Arden—the glittering marquess flirted and his wife scolded him, a twinkle in her eye—and Lord and Lady Amleigh, who seemed sensible country people. But then other guests poured in, becoming a never-ending torrent. Some of the glittering throng were avid and probably hoping for a scandalous event, but most seemed truly warm and ready for a pleasant evening. Mara began to believe the ball would be a tremendous success. The crowd alone was a triumph.

But eventually Mara said to Dare, “No Lady Cawle.”

“If she stays away, so be it.”

“It matters, Dare.”

“Only you matter,” he said and she rolled her eyes even as she blushed.

Then, with the dancing about to begin, Lady Cawle made a grand entrance in golden satin and a tiara enhanced by her escort—the Duke of Wellington himself. Mara went breathless as all attention turned to the meeting between the duke and Dare.

The duke gave one of his rare smiles and shook Dare's hand. “Glad to see you recovered, Debenham. Fine job you did. Fine job.”

Mara could almost have fainted with relief. When the duke bowed to her, she gave him her most brilliant smile. She could swear he blinked.

There was only one other missing person of significance, Blanche, but she'd been supposed to arrive late.

The Beaumonts arrived a moment later, Blanche looking stunning in a celestial blue gown to match her eyes, sewn with pearls to match her hair, which was mostly concealed by a swirling confection of blue, silver, and white fixed with a diamond pin.

Her training enabled her to move with sublime grace looking happy and at ease, but her eyes couldn't quite play their part.

“I'm shaking in my slippers,” she whispered to Mara. “Stage fright. Me!”

“It's the first time you've played the part of Mrs. Hal Beaumont in such company.”

“Do I look all right?”

Mara laughed. “You're stunning and you know it.”

“But I'm not sure I should be. I wanted to try mousy, but Hal would have none of it.”

“He was right.”

Hal interrupted. “Blanche, if we don't go to pay homage to my godmother, she'll leave in high dudgeon and wreck everything.”

“Oh, Lord,” Blanche muttered, but added, “At least Wellington's with her. He's an admirer of mine from back when he was Wellesley.”

Mara felt rather faint at the implications of that, but the ball commenced then with the formal announcement of the betrothal, to universal applause. Then Mara and Dare walked out to begin the line for dancing.