Cry of the Peacock (44 page)

Mr. Wilhelm Maybach was the chief designer for a very promising motor company. He was forward thinking. He was controversial. He was a genius. And when the foreign gentleman, in intelligible if uncertain English, suggested that they might have a use for him, David began to listen all the more attentively.

Such proceedings as these had served him admirably in his efforts to keep his mind, and his eyes, off of Abbie. He had so far been successful, save for upon first entering the house. Lady Crawford, just on the brink of admonishing her for her disobedience, had been stopped by Lady Barnwell’s approbation. It was then, with all eyes upon her, that he took the opportunity of admiring her. She looked as well in that gown tonight as she had when he had first seen her in it. She would certainly make the impression she had come—and which she deserved the opportunity—to make. More than anything, though, he appreciated the rebellious spirit, which was a sign to him that she was not to be manipulated into making any decision, material or matrimonial, that was not her own. What would her rebellion, should she choose to refuse Ruskin, mean to himself? Of that he was not yet certain. But, until he was face to face with the consequences, he refused to give them much thought. Neither did he intend to give Abbie another thought tonight.

It was proving a desperate struggle, for she was there, still, standing on the balcony above him, looking radiant and distracting in that gown of grey and black silk. And companioned by that libertine. David could have continued the dialogue all evening, but when the pair were no longer in sight—which was what he had wanted all along, wasn’t it?—he found he must break off the conversation and go in search of Ruskin, conveniently companioned by Katherine, to whom he was attentively listening.

Upon David’s joining them, Ruskin was apparently awakened to his other interests. He looked to the balcony. No doubt he had placed himself here strategically to watch them. But, finding her no longer within sight, he excused himself to go in search of Abbie and her dubious companion.

“Are you hungry?” David asked Katherine.

She smiled up at him with eyes that seemed a little sad.

“Come, let’s feed you,” he said, “and then maybe you can wake me up a bit. I’m beginning to bore myself.”

She laughed and smiled a little brighter, which comforted him a great deal.

*   *   *

“Lord Dunstable.”

Abbie and her companion turned to find Ruskin approaching. She was actually glad to see him, for Lord Dunstable’s manner was growing increasingly pointed.

“Mr. Crawford, how do you do?” Lord Dunstable said to him. “I’m glad you could come. And I’m glad you brought your charming sister.” He smiled impishly.

“She is not my sister,” Ruskin said and looked annoyed.

“I suppose you’ve come to retrieve her.”

“I have, actually. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Moderately. But the dancing, I believe, is soon to commence. I hope,” he said, turning then to Abbie, “that you’ll save one, at the very least, for me.”

“If you wish it so much, I suppose I can afford you just one,” she said. “You might have the very first.”

“If you will excuse us,” Ruskin said, and led her, safely, and at long last, away. He was not pleased, however, and he took no pains to hide it.

“You don’t think it a little forward of you to offer him the first dance?” he asked her.

“I could not help but agree, you know. You may not like it, but I cannot be rude to my host. And, after all, it’s sure to be a polonaise. I could not give him the satisfaction of choosing a waltz. The likes of Lord Dunstable are best reserved for figured dances, where partners change frequently and any conversation undertaken must, by necessity, be very short.”

Ruskin looked at her, and the stern and disappointed look he had been casting upon her gradually changed to one much warmer. “Are you reserving your waltzes, then?”

“I might be,” she said, and colored a little. Was she actually flirting with him? It had not been her intention, but if he considered it so, perhaps it could not hurt.

“How might I secure one for myself?”

“Well, I think you get one at least for rescuing me from him, and since you must rescue me again after the first set, then it seems natural that you should have the first waltz as well, which is sure to follow.”

This answer he appeared to like very much, though he was no doubt disappointed in having the promenade denied him, which was, after all, the public showing of partnership. But it had been her plan to avoid that too, and she had managed it all in one stroke. She was better at this than she could have supposed.

T
HE MEAL WAS an informal one, taken from a buffet, over which the guests grazed at their leisure before dividing off into rooms set up specifically for music and conversation, or smoking and cards for the men. At the moment the great hall was for general talking and mingling, but as the guests began to congregate toward the tables, the musicians moved in and began to set up for the dancing. When the strains at last pierced the air, and the call to form figures came, those who did not wish to dance found chairs, where they could watch, or where they could chat loudly or quietly with others who desired to do the same, and where those who did wish to dance—or were obliged to—gathered.

The promenade was accomplished by Abbie with a great deal of affected indifference, but with a smile and a little color that were both quite sincere. How grateful she was to have learned these steps so well that she did not now have to think about them. How much use would all those lessons prove to be, however, if she did not accept all the Crawford’s meant to offer her? At the moment, it was a question she was not prepared to answer.

When the polonaise had finished, she was ready to part ways with Lord Dunstable, but found herself, instead, pulled tightly into a waltz position. The music began, he led her a step forward, which was for him backward, of course, and ran into Ruskin, who, with a polite word, managed to secure the prize. Lord Dunstable, as he was obliged to do, bowed and relinquished his partner.

Abbie rewarded Ruskin with a sigh of relief. Yet he was almost as forceful, which she perhaps ought to have expected, however gently and patiently he had so far behaved tonight. He meant to make a point, and since he had missed out on the first set, he intended now to make up for lost time and missed opportunity. She made the most of it, however, and tried very hard, to relish the sensation of his arms around her. Still, however she tried, she could not escape the very obvious fact that she had been in arms far more comfortable, and comforting, than these. Would she always be comparing Ruskin to the man who might one day, and possibly soon, be her brother? The very idea infuriated her—and made her want to cry.

The waltz at last slowed and ended, and Ruskin returned her to her former place, to find that James had come. Which surprised her very much.

“What are you doing here?” she said to him. “You should be home resting.”

“I’ve rested enough for an army. Good heaven! Look at you. You are exquisite!”

“Thank you, James,” she said and felt encouraged by the compliment, though she was not so certain his exuberance was necessary, particularly since it seemed to grate upon Ruskin’s already fraying nerves. “You are well, then?”

“Entirely. You will save me a dance, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Any one you like. Except the waltzes of course, for Ruskin has claimed them.”

“Yes, but he’s only allowed three, remember. There’s sure to be one left over for me.”

Ruskin grumbled and turned away.

“If you wish,” she said to James. “I’m very pleased to see you so well recovered.”

“You came,” David said, joining them, Katherine on his arm. “I wasn’t sure you could manage it.”

“Yes,” James answered, “and I’ve brought a friend. Now where did that fellow get off to?” James looked around, and then: “There he is,” he said and waved the gentleman over. “You’ll all remember my good friend William Meredith.”

“What the devil-” This from Ruskin who suddenly became quite rigid as he stood beside Abbie. She thought she felt, for the briefest instant, Ruskin place his hand protectively, perhaps territorially, on the small of her back, but, remembering himself, he removed it.

“Miss Gray,” Mr. Meredith greeted her with a very respectful nod, and then he turned to Katherine. “Miss Barnwell,” he said.

“Mr. Meredith,” Katherine returned and smiled awkwardly.

“Mr. Crawford,” he said then to Ruskin, and put out his hand.

Of course Ruskin didn’t take it.

“Mr. Meredith?” Abbie returned, and took the arm he still held out. “Would you think it very forward of me if I suggested you ask me to dance?”

“It would be my very great privilege.”

They left the others behind and reached the dance floor. It was another figured set, and they took their places.

“I would be a cad if I neglected to say how very beautiful you look. Seeing you out of mourning black is almost like seeing you for the first time.”

Abbie laughed. “That’s a very pretty speech, Mr. Meredith.”

“Is it too much?”

“Well,” she blushed and made her turn, and then joined him again. “Not if you meant it.” Another turn, and then: “And if you had played the cad, then I’m afraid so did everyone else in the room. James is the only one to even mention it. I do thank you for the compliment. If you meant it.”

“I may be a lawyer by trade, Miss Gray, but in my private life, I rarely say anything I do not mean.”

“Don’t disparage your trade, Mr. Meredith. It’s a necessary one, after all.”

They moved through several changes of partner then, and when they had rejoined, Abbie had nearly forgotten what she had last said.

“Does that mean you have decided you need me?” Mr. Meredith asked her.

“I’m sorry?” She felt a little anxious by the question.

“In my professional capacity, I mean. Do you find, after all, that I might be of some use to you?”

“Oh, that. Well, yes,” she said, but was not quite sure what she meant by it. “That is, I might. You came to me one day last week with something very pressing you wished to speak to me about. You were not allowed to do it.”

“No, but I’ve since been told that others have done my work for me. David, I believe, has told you about your part in Sir William Crawford’s will.”

“Yes. He did.”

“And do you understand it?”

“It’s not so difficult to understand. I marry Ruskin or ruin the family, David’s happiness, James’ future, perhaps my sister’s as well, everything.”

“Not quite everything,” Mr. Meredith said, but another turn in the movement made it impossible for him to continue right away. “I do feel it my duty to tell you,” he said, when they had come together once more, “that the will does not name Ruskin Crawford specifically.”

“No, it only says the eldest—”

“I’ve seen the will for myself, Miss Gray. A suitable marriage is all that is required of you. Though what that means precisely, it is difficult to say. Are you quite all right?”

She was awakened by the question.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

“As I said, it may not matter, after all, but it’s right you should know. If you should find an alternative to Mr. Ruskin Crawford, and you wished to fight for what might be yours, that course may be open to you.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, and yet still felt slightly dazed by this information. A
suitable marriage
. If that was all that was required, then…”

“Whatever it is you decide,” he said, recalling her once more, “you have my word I will do what I can to help you. I am to assure you, as well, that you are not to worry for your sister’s well-being. She will be taken care of. Your aunt has provided for her generously.”

Abbie thanked him sincerely, and schooled her thoughts to remain upon the present, not upon what might be, or could never be, on what was utterly impossible and even foolish—certainly wrong—to consider. His last words gave her some cause for worry. “Is my aunt better this week?”

He looked at her very gravely, and she almost regretted having asked, but before he could answer her, the music ended and Ruskin was before them once more.

He smiled stiffly. It was little more than a flinch. His manner frightened her. “Would you mind, sir, if I took your place as Miss Gray’s partner?”

Of course Mr. Meredith could do nothing but relinquish her.

“He spoke to you,” Ruskin asked of her, when the music began again. It was another figured dance.

“Of course he did. We are friends.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. “I hardly remember.” She wished, at least for the moment, that she didn’t.

“His words were very earnest. You appear to have been rather moved by them. It would seem to me that such speech as that would be difficult to forget.”

“Well, you are mistaken then,” she answered, and said no more.

They danced in stiff silence. Ruskin completed the movements with a sort of resentful zeal that she found distasteful, and when at last he put his arm around her and took her hand in his for the turn, she told him so.

“I do not like you like this, you know. Jealousy does not become you.”

He looked at her, very piercingly for a moment. “Forgive me,” he said. He practically ground out the words, but it was evident he tried to mean them. “You are right, of course. I seem to forget my manners when I am with you. I hope you know it is not a habit of mine.”

She did know it, at least she had seen examples enough of his better manners as he had been accustomed to practicing them with Katherine, but she resented his weakness the more because she was excluded from the benefit of them. They made a few more passes of partner before he returned to her.

“You have not told me how well I look,” she said, meaning to press the point, and to confirm the fact, if she could, that it had not been Ruskin who had given her the dress.

“I am a scoundrel,” he said. “You are quite simply stunning.”

It wasn’t quite the moving sentiment Mr. Meredith had expressed.

“Though the gown is an interesting choice,” he added.

“Does that mean you do not like it?”

“It is not to my taste, but it looks very well on you.” He looked at her, observed her troubled expression, which she had ceased to disguise. “You are a silly, vain little thing, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” she asked him. She did not feel silly, and she certainly had not asked in vanity. It was a serious question, with serious implications. As serious, perhaps, as Mr. Meredith’s words had been. But what could they mean to her now? Nothing? Something? Everything?

“I have disappointed you,” he observed. “You are angry with me.”

“I’m not,” she said. It was another lie. “It’s just that—”

“It’s just…?”

She was tempted to tell him, right there and then, that she could not marry him, but she feared his response, feared causing a scene. And she feared losing her chance to find among this crowd, or even another like it, someone who could make her as happy as she had begun to believe she might one day be. She knew now as she had perhaps never known before, that happiness might one day be hers truly, were she to choose wisely, and very carefully, who it was she would give her heart and hand to. She knew, with absolute certainty, and despite the consequences, that she could not give either to Ruskin Crawford.

“Nothing,” she said and could not be persuaded to say more.

When the music ended, Ruskin returned her to her former place. James had gone. Meredith too. Ruskin would not dance with her again. He would take the last and make his point at the end of the evening, but in the meantime, it seemed, he meant to stay very near her side. She needed some time to herself.  An opportunity to consider the consequences to the decision she had made—and must stand by—and an opportunity to consider what Mr. Meredith had told her.

“I need some air,” she said, “The room is growing quite close with all the movement.”

“May I—” Ruskin began to offer but was stopped.

“No,” she answered too abruptly. “No, I’m sorry. I-” But what excuse could she make? She could not cross the room unaccompanied, even to rest in a private one, unless… “Katherine will take me. Won’t you?” she asked of Katherine herself, who was returning from the floor on David’s arm.

“Take you where, dear Arabella?”

“I need a rest. Will you go with me?”

“I need one too, if you want to know. Do you mind?” she asked of David.

“Go,” he said with a nod in the direction of the lady’s private chambers, and with a pleasant smile that was meant for Katherine, but which he shared with Abbie, too.

She found she wanted very much to return it. And so didn’t.

“I just need a moment. Away from the crowd. Away from…the men.”

Katherine laughed. “I understand you,” she said, and led Abbie out onto the outdoor balcony, which looked over a winter garden, sparkling and shining in the frosty moonlight.

“You don’t seem yourself tonight,” Katherine said observing her.

“Neither do you, if you want to know.”

“It’s only a mood. It will pass.” Katherine was silent, brooding for a moment, and then, “He really is trying very hard, Abbie. If you would only—”

“Don’t, Katherine. I don’t want to hear it. Don’t tell me what more I should do. It’s all I can do to stand here as it is.”

“Abbie,” she said, shocked.

“Never mind. I dare say it’s only a mood and it too shall pass.”

An uncomfortable silence descended, and Abbie regretted her abruptness. She placed her hand upon Katherine’s and gave it an apologetic squeeze. “I’m a little jealous sometimes, you know?”