A Regency Match (22 page)

Therefore, when Sophy returned from her talk with Marcus, she found her grandmother already reconciled to remaining for the duration of the allotted fortnight. Each was quite surprised at the other's sudden change of mind, but they each decided to refrain from asking questions which might disturb the equilibrium. It was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Their unspoken accord was the beginning of a new phase of this unpredictable adventure. It presaged two days of unalloyed pleasure. The weather and everyone's disposition turned uncommonly sunny. When the other guests realized that Lady Wynwood and Marcus did not hold Sophy responsible for his accident, the atmosphere cleared. The air rang with laughter and good will. Even the children frolicked on the lawn without dispute as their elders strolled the grounds, flirted and sported with renewed zest, and smiled in satisfaction at everything around them.

There were only two clouds darkening the bright horizon, and even they did not appear to be threatening. One dark cloud was Marcus's infirmity. But even though his sprained ankle prevented him from partaking in sport, his headaches had all but disappeared and his spirits seemed to be as high as always. The other cloud was the mystery of the reappearing face in the window. Like a ghoulish apparition, the pallid face would be discovered at the onset of darkness in the window of whatever room had been selected as the evening's gathering place. But even this cloud did not seem to betoken a storm, for the apparition caused no harm and would promptly disappear as soon as it was noticed. It soon ceased to be a cause for hysteria. It became, instead, a puzzling but minor nuisance.

Of course, since even Wynwood in June was not quite heaven, not everyone could be expected to be happy at all times. Little Fanny Carrington was not always happy. She was not faring very well in her efforts to attach Dennis Stanford. It was inexplicable to her, and to her sympathetic sister, that the otherwise-knowing dandy could prefer Miss Edgerton to Fanny. The sisters spent hours studying Fanny's face in the mirror with critical objectivity and were agreed that Fanny had by far the better face; Miss Edgerton's nose (being too small and inclined to turn up ever so slightly at the tip) was markedly inferior to the straight purity of Fanny's. Miss Edgerton's hair, too, was unremarkable, being not really red but quite brown in most light, while Fanny's glinted with golden highlights at all times. And Fanny's hair had the added advantage of being quite long and straight, which permitted her to dress it in an infinite variety of styles, while Miss Edgerton's short curls could merely be brushed into a single, simple, unstylish mode. Cissy pointed out in fairness that Miss Edgerton's eyes were “speaking,” but she was quick to add that her mouth was much too full to give her any pretensions to real beauty.

Thus the girls were at a loss to account for Mr. Stanford's preference. The only possibility that presented itself to them was that Miss Edgerton was old enough to wear her gowns cut enticingly low at the bosom. Therefore, in order to enter into a more equable competition with her rival in matters of bosom-display, Fanny proceeded to pull her dress down as far as she could, tucking the neckline into the top of her stays. But her mother would invariably yank the dress up almost to the neck, a height that Fanny and Cissy considered childishly prudish.

The tug-of-war between mother and daughter grew more violent with each passing day, until one of the dresses tore under the strain. Mrs. Carrington (who had at first found the battle somewhat amusing) lost her temper, slapped her daughter soundly and warned her that the next time Fanny lowered her neckline, she would be banished from all adult society for the remainder of their stay.

This ended Fanny's attempt to compete with her rival in matters of décolletage. Sophy was acknowledged to have the bosom-advantage, but the sisters declined to accept as inevitable Sophy's untimate victory in the battle for Mr. Stanford.

Bertie, whose mild attempts at flirtation were remarkable only in the lack of notice that was taken of them, nevertheless managed to maintain his natural amiability. Mooning about after a “petticoat” was not his style, and further discussion with Sophy on the nature of “serious attachments” convinced him that what he felt for Fanny could not be very serious. So he continued to admire her golden skin, perfect nose and coltish movements from a safe distance, gave her an occasional, extravagant compliment, and accepted her arrogant disdain with a complacent disregard. For his cool-headed acceptance of the situation and his praiseworthy lack of self-pity, he was complimented highly by his observant host. Marcus had regarded the boy with affection and interest since the night at West Hoathly, and often sought out his company. Bertie was highly flattered by the attention he received from Marcus. He had achieved a highly-valued place in the select circle of Marcus's intimates. He might be considered a failure as a beau, but that failure was more than mitigated by his having gained a friend.

For Sophy, the peaceful hours had the quality of convalescence. Her sensibilities had long been rubbed raw by the awareness of his lordship's scornful disapproval. But now she felt so comforted by that last talk with him that her spirit was suffused with a healing, if melancholy, serenity. She moved through the hours in a haze of bittersweet contentment, at the center of which was the delicious secret that he cared for her a little—a secret edged on the outer fringes of her consciousness by a wistful acceptance of the knowledge that he never could be hers.

Even the moment in which he'd discovered her playing with the dogs did not shake her euphoric composure. He and Iris had come strolling through the field behind the stables and had discovered Sophy romping with two of the hunting dogs. “I see your pathological fear of dogs does not apply to hunters,” Marcus had remarked drily, the twinkle in his eyes the only sign that he remembered their last intimacy.

“I am embarked on a program of self-improvement, my lord,” she'd responded, grinning guiltily. “I'm slowly building up my courage to face Mrs. Carrington's Shooshi.”

Since the hunting dogs were twice the size of Mrs. Carrington's spaniel, Marcus emitted a hearty guffaw. Iris, who didn't know that Sophy's scene with the Carrington dog had been a pretense, didn't understand this exchange at all. But she chose not to ask for enlightenment; she merely smiled politely and passed by on Marcus's arm. Neither Sophy nor Marcus noticed the strained quality of that smile.

After dinner on the evening of the second day of the new, harmonious
entente
, while the usual card games were being organized in the drawing room, Mrs. Carrington sat down at the piano in the adjoining music room and played a few light airs for her own amusement. She played quietly, not wishing to distract the card-players from their concentration or the young folk from their flirtations. But the music carried her away, and before she knew it she was playing a little French dance tune with lively gusto. Dennis, who was holding a very unpromising hand in a game of Hearts with Cissy Carrington, perked up his ears. “I say, Mrs. Carrington,” he called to her, “is that a waltz you're playing?”

“Yes, it is, Mr. Stanford. It's called
Valse Gracieux
. It's only recently been published. Do you like it?”

To Cissy's annoyance, he dropped his cards and went to the music room doorway. “It's charming. Would you play it again? Perhaps I can find a partner and dance to it.”

“Oh, do you know the steps?” asked Iris with interest. “They say that the waltz is the rage in Paris.”

Lady Alicia looked up from her cards long enough to comment acidly that Paris had ever been the center of vulgarity and debauchery, and that the popularity of the waltz in that city only proved its unacceptability.

“Oh, pooh, Grandmama,” Sophy put in. “Even the patronesses at Almack's have given their approval to an occasional waltz. Don't be so old-fashioned.”

Lady Alicia shook her head in disapproval. “At Almack's too? Shocking! What
is
the world coming to? Such gyrations would never have been permitted in my day.” With a grunt, she turned back to her cards.

Dennis came up to her chair and put an arm around her shoulders. “But, Lady Alicia,” he pleaded with his most polished smile, “surely you'd have no objection to our indulging in a little waltz here in the privacy of Wynwood?”

She pushed his arm away playfully. “Coxcomb, don't think to cut a wheedle with
me
! I'm not a simpering miss. But go ahead and dance, if you want to. What does it matter what
I
think? If the patronesses at Almack's have given the dance their sanction, there's precious little difference
my
opinion will make. So go away and leave me to my cards.”

There was a burst of approval from the younger set at Lady Alicia's “permission,” and an area in the center of the drawing room floor was cleared. Mrs. Carrington agreed to play for them. “Now,” Dennis asked, standing in the middle of the room with arms outstretched, “who will waltz with me?”

“Oh, let me!” Fanny volunteered, running up to him.

“Have you ever danced the waltz?” Dennis asked suspiciously.

“Well, no, but … I can learn it quickly, I'm sure.”

“I'm sure you can, my dear, but I think you should sit and watch it for a while before you try. Isn't there anyone here who has tried it before?”

There followed a moment of silence. Fanny returned to her chair and Iris looked at Sophy questioningly. “Didn't you say you had danced it at Almack's, Miss Edgerton?
Do
show us how to perform it—I would
so
much like to learn.”

Sophy edged back into her chair. “I … I
have
performed it once or twice, but I'd rather not …”

“Why not, Sophy?” Dennis demanded.

Sophy cast a quick look at Marcus who was sitting on the sofa next to his betrothed. “I'm not very expert,” she said lamely.

Marcus smiled at her encouragingly. “Don't be shy, Sophy. We will not be a critical audience.”

Sophy made a face at him. “No, I'm sure you won't. You'll all be sitting here waiting for me to take a tumble, or to charge into a lamp table. Well, I won't do it! I've turned over a new leaf, and I shan't do
anything
that can even
remotely
lead to disaster.”

This new outspokenness on Sophy's part was a refreshing change, and they all laughed. But Marcus didn't let her excuse go unchallenged. “I'm perfectly sure that no catastrophe will result from a bit of waltzing,” he said with a grin.

“And as soon as you've demonstrated the steps, you may stop if you wish,” Iris suggested. “Would that be agreeable?”

Other voices joined to urge her to agree. Sophy couldn't refuse without appearing curmudgeonly. So she nodded to Dennis, who promptly crowed with success. With pomp and ceremony, he offered Sophy his arm. Mrs. Carrington played an amusing little fanfare, and Sophy was led to the floor.

For several minutes, she and Dennis demonstrated the movements of the waltz to a very slow piano accompaniment. They kept at arm's length while Dennis explained exactly what they were doing: step, together, back, step, together, turn … It all looked quite simple and very decorous.

“Now show us what it looks like when you're really doing it full tilt on the dance floor,” Bertie suggested.

“Oh, yes,
do
!” Iris urged. “Now that we've learned the nature of the movements, we shall truly appreciate a look at the finished performance.”

“Of course,” Dennis agreed with alacrity, ignoring Sophy's hesitation. “Music, please, Mrs. Carrington—loud and lively!”

The music started briskly, and Dennis swept the reluctant Sophy into his arms. They swirled into the dance with graceful elegance. Dennis was a polished dancer, holding his partner with a strong guiding hand at her back and tilting her so that she leaned back on his arm at just the right angle. They whirled into their first turn to the sound of an admiring gasp from the onlookers.

But their pleasure in the waltz was to be short-lived. The dancers had barely executed the second turn when there was a loud rattle at the windows. Two of casements burst open—they had been pushed in from outside. There was a frightening crash of breaking glass, and a male figure tumbled in through the flying debris. While the women screamed in fright, the intruder scrambled to his feet and made directly for Dennis. “
Unhand
that girl, you cad!” he cried, swinging his fist at Dennis's jaw and sending him sprawling to the ground.

The women shrieked even louder. Sophy, paying no attention to the wild intruder, dropped to her knees beside her fallen partner. Sir Walter and Julian jumped up from their cards, overturning the card table with a crash. Mr. Carrington rose so hastily from the chair in which he'd been reading that it, too, fell over, bringing down with it a nearby end-table and triple-branched candelabrum. While he stamped out the flames, Sir Walter and Julian rushed toward the miscreant, followed closely by Bertie and the limping Marcus.

Sir Walter and Julian reached him first and, without much trouble, wrestled the fellow to the ground. There he lay on his stomach, with Sir Walter twisting the fellow's hands behind his back in an iron grip, while Julian perched astride his rump. “It's the Peeping Tom!” Mr. Carrington chortled, his pince-nez falling off his nose in his excitement. “We've caught the Peeping Tom!”

“Turn him over,” Marcus said, “and let's have a look at him.”

Julian obligingly got to his feet. The men formed a defensive circle around the intruder, while Sir Walter released the fellow's hands and turned him over. It was a tall, lanky dark-haired youth who stared up at them, his eyes blinking in terror from a pallid face. “Good God!” Bertie exclaimed aghast. “It's
Dilly
!”

Sophy, who was attempting to revive Dennis without success, froze. Dilly? Lawrence Dillingham? What on earth was he doing
here
? But Dennis groaned and stirred, and she turned her attention back to her patient. Fanny had, by this time, come to her aid and knelt on Dennis's other side, moaning and wringing her hands.