Together the two girls exited the house arm in arm.
“What a sweet girl Miss Spencer-Kimberly is,” Lady Elsie said to the dowager duchess. “Why, she has put our Isabelle right at ease with whatever she said to her. How kind! What a pity our Willie is so young. She will certainly make some man a fine wife. Have you thought of any prospects for her?”
“No,” the reply came. “Aurora is a young woman of definite likes and dislikes. But she does have good sense. I shall allow her to find her own mate, and she will, I am certain, make a good job of it.”
Then together the two women went into the drawing room where George and the vicar were awaiting them. Sir Ronald had a broad smile upon his face.
“My dear,” he said to his wife, “Mr. Spencer-Kimberly has requested my permission to ask Elizabeth to marry him. I have, of course, given him it. I think we can be certain that Betsy will not be unfavorable to his proposal, eh?” He chuckled broadly. The vicar was a tall, full-figured man with a ruddy complexion and sandy hair.
“Oh, my dear boy!” Lady Elsie cried, dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.
“Go and find the chit, George,” the dowager said sharply, “and get it over with before we are all prostrate with the excitement.”
Grinning, George bowed to the trio and hurried off to find his intended, who was in the hallway, directing the unloading of her family's baggage coach with particular emphasis on the trunk that held the ball gowns.
“Come along, Betsy!” he told her. “Peters will see that everything is perfect, I promise you, won't you, Peters?”
“Indeed, sir” was the reply. “I shall have the gowns unpacked immediately, and pressed, Miss Bowen.”
“Thank you,” Betsy called as she allowed George to drag her out the door into the sunshine. “Where are we going?” she asked him.
“You'll see,” he said, leading her through the house's beautiful gardens, past the lake, and into a lovely marble summerhouse that overlooked the water. Seating her upon a marble bench, George knelt upon one knee. “Miss Bowen,” he began, “er, Betsy. Will you do me the honor . . . the supreme honor, of becoming my wife?”
“Yes,” said Betsy Bowen.
“We cannot remain in England,” George continued earnestly. “I must return to St. Timothy very soon. We would have to make our life there in the western Indies, not that we couldn't occasionally visit England.”
“Yes,” replied Betsy Bowen.
“It is a very isolated life, as I have previously explained. You will have little female company but for my mother and the servants. Of course we can go to Barbados, and Jamaica, to socialize whenever possible.”
“George, get off your knees,” Betsy Bowen told him. “I love you. I will most certainly marry you. I understand that life on St. Timothy will not be anything like life here in Herefordshire, but I know I will be happy because we will be there together.”
He stumbled to his feet. “You will marry me?”
“Yes, George, I will,” she replied. Men were so dense. “Where is my betrothal ring? I wish to wear it tonight and dazzle all the girls who have come to cast their nets at you. They will be most disappointed. Shall we have Papa officially announce our engagement? When will we marry? It must be fairly soon, I expect.”
“We don't have to return to St. Timothy until late autumn,” he said. “From June until then there is danger of severe storms. We should leave probably in early November. That way we will be home in time for Christmas. That would please my mother very much,” he told her.
“Do you think your mama will like me?” Betsy wondered.
“I know she will!” he said happily, and then he drew forth a ring from his pocket and placed it on her finger. “It isn't very large, for I am not a rich man,” he explained.
Betsy looked down at the round pink pearl which was surrounded by diamonds. She held her hand out, admiring the ring. Then, looking up at George, she smiled through her tears. “It's beautiful!” she said.
“You're crying,” he exclaimed, quickly sitting next to her and placing a comforting arm about her shoulders.
“I am so happy,” she said. “Will you not kiss me, George? I believe it is the traditional thing to do under these circumstances.”
Gently he brushed the tears from her cheek, and then George tenderly kissed Betsy Bowen's pursed pink lips. It was not the first time they had kissed, and he always enjoyed it greatly when their mouths met. This petite young woman with her dark blond curls, and her big gray-blue eyes, had the most astounding physical effect upon him. She was sweet as sugar water, and as warm as whiskey going down his throat. He had chosen well, he knew. Betsy would be a good and loving wife. Standing, he raised her up. “Let us go and tell your parents and my sisters of our happiness,” he said to her.
She nodded, and hand in hand they walked back to the house, where the dowager had already gathered together her grandson, Aurora, Calandra, the Bowens, and Isabelle in the drawing room in anticipation of the announcement to come. Mary Rose Hawkesworth was very pleased with herself. She had engineered George's introduction to Elizabeth Bowen quite well, and it had all turned out exactly as she had hoped. Now, despite her protestations to the contrary, she intended to have a hand in picking a husband for Aurora, but she would be very clever again so the girl would not know of her interference.
The drawing room door opened, and George and Betsy entered. “We have something to tell you all,” George said with a wide smile, and he put his arm about Betsy, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind what his revelation was to be.
Chapter
7
C
arriage after carriage pulled up the torchlit drive leading to Hawkes Hill Hall, stopping before the main entry to the house. Footmen raced forward to open the coach doors and draw down the steps. Gloved hands were offered to each vehicle's occupants, steadying them as they dismounted from their transport. Ball gowns were shaken free of wrinkles, real or imaginary. Hairdos were patted to assure perfection despite the ride from home to hall.
Within the front door of the house, in the large main hallway, servants hurried forth to take capes and cloaks. The guests ascended the wide main staircase of the house to where the Duke and Duchess of Farminster were awaiting them, along with the dowager, Aurora, and George. The visitors passed along the receiving line, and finally into the ballroom, gasping at the beauty of it. The crystal chandeliers sparkled. There were flowers everywhere in large stone urns. Usually a ballroom had its corners blocked by painted screens behind which were commodes, should the call of nature make a visit necessary.
“Not in my ballroom,” Calandra had declared. “By evening's end the entire ballroom will stink to high heaven.”
“You must provide for your guests' comfort,” the dowager said.
“There are two large cloakrooms on either side of the ballroom,” Calandra said. “I have thoroughly inspected them, and both are quite suitable. We shall use them as necessaries, one for the gentlemen and one for the ladies. We shall have lady's maids and footmen attending to our guests, and the ballroom shall remain free of noxious odors.”
“What an excellent idea!” the dowager approved. “The cloaks and capes can be put in the main closet room in the front hall. Very good, my girl! Very good indeed! That's the kind of thinking we need from a Duchess of Farminster.”
And so it had been arranged. Footmen and maidservants were stationed about the ballroom at discreet intervals so those in dire need might inquire as to the location of the commodes. At one end of the ballroom a dais had been set up for the musicians, who were currently playing light music. The dancing would not begin until the duke and duchess had greeted their guests. It had been decided not to have a pre-ball dinner for specified guests. Only the family and the Bowens had eaten in the dining room that evening.
Calandra was on her absolute best behavior. She had never given a ball before, but she had closely observed the London hostesses who had, and envied them. Now she was the one giving the ball, and everyone was saying how beautiful everything had looked, and how elegant it all was. Well, of course these country people would be impressed by the simplicity of her arrangements, but if she were in London, it would have been so much better. A tiny wave of nausea swept over her, and she closed her eyes a moment. She should definitely not have eaten the prawns this evening.
“I believe all our guests have arrived, dear,” the duke said to her. “It is time for us to open the ball.” Taking her by the arm, he led her into the ballroom.
“Let the vicar make his announcement first,” Calandra said. “If he does not, there will be a great deal of tittle-tattle about the attention George is paying to Betsy.”
The duke nodded, agreeing with his wife, and spoke softly to Sir Ronald. Then in the company of the vicar they made their way to the dais. The conductor signaled to the guests with a flourish of music, and then the duke held up his hand.
“My friends, before we begin the dance, the vicar has a word or two to say to you all.”
Sir Ronald cleared his throat, and then without further ado said, “Lady Elsie and I are most happy to announce the betrothal of our eldest daughter, Elizabeth, to Mr. George Spencer-Kimberly, elder brother of her grace, the Duchess of Farminster. The wedding will be celebrated in late October, as George must return to the Indies shortly thereafter. I hope you will be as pleased for the happy couple as my wife and I are.” He then bowed to the assembled audience and stepped down.
Almost immediately Betsy, George, and Lady Elsie were overwhelmed by congratulations from the other guests, difficult for many mamas with eligible daughters. They had all come in the hope that their darlings could attract the attentions of Mr. Spencer-Kimberly. Now, here was that Bowen girl, with her modest dowry, snapping up the finest prize to come into the neighborhood in years, and before anyone else even had a chance. It was really most unfair!
But the music began, and the duke and duchess led off the ball with a minuet, which would be the most sophisticated dance danced all evening. Mostly they would dance the merry and lively country dances. Cally had hired a dancing master to teach her, George, and Aurora so they would not seem backward; but for now she tripped brightly to the sprightly music of the minuet with her husband, and for a brief moment she was happy and content again.
Valerian glanced at her, and thought how lovely she was. If only her heart had not been so cold, he might have loved her. He saw George dancing with Betsy, and thought how happy they looked. He saw Aurora, in the gown that matched her lovely eyes, dancing with Justin St. John, a childhood friend and distant cousin. Even his grandmother was dancing with old General Tremayne, who was now master of the local hunt. It had been well over a year since his grandfather had died, and it was time she began to socialize again.
The evening wore on, and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time despite the disappointment of George's unavailability. A buffet was served in the dining room, and the guests wandered in and out, the older folk settling themselves on the available chairs and settees, leaving the floor to the younger members of society.
Calandra was enormously popular with the gentlemen, and had danced every dance, as had Aurora, who was now dancing with the duke.
“You are the most beautiful girl in the room tonight,” he told her. “How clever of you to choose a fabric for your gown that matches your lovely aquamarine blue eyes.”
“Thank you,” Aurora said softly, “but I am not certain that you should be speaking to me this way. Besides, your wife is the most beautiful woman in the room, I think.”
“The most beautiful
woman,
yes,” he agreed, “but you are the most beautiful
girl.”
He smiled down into her eyes.
Damn him, Aurora thought as a wave of dizziness swept over her and she stumbled in the dance. His arm tightened about her waist as he swung her around in the romp, a dance peculiar to the area. Regaining her balance, she glared at him. “You are clever, Valerian. Be certain that you do not outmaneuver yourself with your quick wit.”
Before he could reply, the music ceased, and Justin St. John was at their side. “I believe the next dance is ours, Aurora,” he said with a rakish grin. He was a tall, lean man with chestnut-colored hair and eyes the golden brown hue of excellent sherry. He was nowhere near as handsome as his relative, but he was attractive.
“It seems to me, St. John, that you have danced several times tonight with my sister-in-law. You will, I fear, compromise her reputation,” the duke growled, his blue eyes growing darker with his irritation.
“Why, Hawkesworth,” his cousin mocked him, “you sound like an overprotective papa, or a rival suitor, but, of course, as a married man you could hardly fill the latter position, now, could you?” The look he shot at the duke was challenging.
“Gentlemen,” Aurora said coldly, “you both insult and embarrass me with this public display of bickering.” Then she turned and left them, going to the dowager's side, her color high.
“They were rivals from the time they were born,” the dowager remarked quietly. “At family gatherings, at school.” She sighed. “Who began it this time, my girl?”
“I would say they both did,” Aurora replied. “Valerian accused Justin of dancing too much with me, and Justin said Valerian sounded like an overprotective father or a jealous suitor. How dare they both behave as if I were some
thing
whose possession was to be quarreled over. I censured them both, and both deserved it! How are they related?”
“They share a great-grandfather on the Hawkesworth side,” the dowager said. “You did well to put them both down, my girl.”
Suddenly a commotion erupted at the far end of the ballroom. “The duchess has fainted!” they heard someone cry.
Aurora jumped up and ran quickly down the ballroom, almost colliding with the duke as they both hurried to reach Cally's side. She lay in a crumpled heap of rose and gold silk upon the polished floor. The duke picked up his wife and lay her on a nearby settee.
“Is Dr. Michaels still here?” he asked.
Aurora knelt by her sister's side, patting her hand and calling softly to her. “Calandra! Calandra! Are you all right?”
Cally slowly opened her eyes. “What happened?” she asked.
A ruddy-faced man pushed his way through the guests. “Now, what has happened to her grace?” he said in brusk tones, taking Cally's hand and checking her pulse. “Someone fetch her maid,” he said.
“It was the prawns,” Cally told the doctor. “I knew I should not have eaten them. Very little has agreed with me lately, but they looked so very delicious, and I was so desperately hungry.”
“I could not help but notice your grace's appetite at the buffet this evening,” the doctor responded, feeling her forehead.
“I know it is so indelicate of me,” Cally told him, “but of late I cannot get enough to eat, yet I feel constantly empty and queasy.”
Sally had been fetched, and now came to stand by her mistress's side. She had a decidedly worried look about her. “Is she all right, Miss Aurora?” Sally asked nervously.
“This is her grace's maid,” Aurora told the doctor.
He turned and beckoned to Sally, and when she stood next to him, he whispered something to her. For a moment Sally thought, and then she murmured low to the doctor. The doctor turned to them.
“It is as I suspected,” he said quietly to the duke and Aurora. “Her grace is undoubtedly with child. Your lordship will, I can happily say, be a father before the year's end. May I offer you both my congratulations.”
Cally began to cry softly.
“Tears of happiness,” Dr. Michaels pronounced. “I've seen it many times. Dry your eyes, my dear lady, your prayers are answered.”
“If you say one word to embarrass Valerian, I shall kill you,” Aurora murmured softly to her sister.
“Do not leave me!”
Cally begged her sister.
“I will remain at Hawkes Hill as long as you want me to stay,” Aurora assured her sister. “Now, smile at your husband.”
Cally obeyed her sister, smiling tremulously at the duke, who had a stunned look upon his handsome face.
Aurora arose to her feet. “Is this not what you wanted, Valerian?” she asked him quietly. “My sister is giving you an heir.”
“Yes! Yes!” he said, and then turning to his guests, he told them, “The duchess has just fainted. It would appear, according to Dr. Michaels, that my wife will give me an heir by year's end!”
The room erupted into a cacophony of congratulations.
“Well,” the Dowager Countess of Kempe said to the Dowager Duchess of Farminster, “this has been a most exciting and fortuitous evening for your family, my dear Mary Rose. A betrothal and the impending arrival of a Hawkesworth heir. Certainly you must be happy.”
“Indeed,” the dowager said, smiling broadly. “I am delighted I have lived long enough to see a great-grandchild. Well, I shall,” she amended with a chuckle. “Valerian,” she called, “I think it is time that we sent everyone home so that Calandra can be put to bed.”
The duke did not have to say anything, for the guests heartily agreed, and were already taking their leave of their host and hostess. Calandra was now seated demurely upon the settee, accepting their compliments and their thanks for a wonderful evening. Valerian stood by her side. George and Betsy had been out on the terrace when Calandra had swooned, and had only just come in. Aurora quickly filled them in on the events that had taken place while they had sat beneath the moon, planning their future. They added their congratulations to the many already received.
“Mama will be absolutely delighted to learn she is to be a grandmother,” George said.
“Remain until the baby is born,” Cally begged him.
“I cannot, sweeting. I must be home to oversee the harvesting of the cane. It is with apprehension that I have left the planting of the Kimberly fields to their foremen under Mother's direction. And Mama should not be alone on St. Timothy with only servants for company for any longer than necessary. I would leave England earlier, Cally, but that the storm season is practically upon us, and I don't want Betsy to experience a rough voyage if I can avoid it. Aurora will be with you, and you will be just fine, little sister.”
The guests were all gone now, and Valerian Hawkesworth picked up his wife in his arms and carried her upstairs to her bedchamber. Setting her down in a chair by the fire, he said quietly, “You are now free of my attentions, Calandra. You have my gratitude for what you are doing. Deliver my heir safely, and my generosity and tolerance will be almost boundless,” he promised her.