Elisabeth Kidd (21 page)

At least the impending disaster was not being spoken about under Lyle’s very roof, the arrangements having been made very discreetly by Carl and Sir Gavin and discussed solely within the confines of the latter’s apartments in Half Moon Street. Cedric had not been informed, on Sydney’s insistence—she felt it would be nearly as difficult to tell him as to confront Lyle—and since Dolph was in the dark as well, the affair was unlikely to be bruited about, at least not until it was over. Sydney shuddered at the possibilities this conjured up, but keeping Lyle’s presence securely in mind, she screwed up her courage and went off to make herself as presentable as possible for the evening’s merriment.

She gave herself up to Daisy’s loving ministrations, and as a result emerged later in a pearl-trimmed primrose three-quarter dress over an ivory satin underskirt, looking far more than merely presentable. However, since Lyle had sent around a note saying he would be somewhat delayed and that they should set off without him, Sydney was deprived of articulate masculine admiration when she came downstairs in this confection. Dolph alone remained to escort the ladies—Cedric having unaccountably not been heard from the entire day—and he confined his admiration to awestruck silence, which prevailed until they were set down at the Bridlingtons’ ornate Cavendish Square mansion.

There they were greeted by their hostess with effusive curiosity and by the Honourable Angus Bridlington with an appeal to Miss Archer to stand up with him for the first country dance. Sydney smiled politely, thanked her hostess, wrote the Honourable Angus down in her programme, and immediately sought out Janine Forsythe as the only sympathetic person present (Sir Gavin having elected not to risk an appearance, and Robin having been ordered not to do so).

Lyle was still among the absent at the end of dinner, during which Sydney found both her spirits and her conversation flagging perceptibly. Happily, it was followed quickly by the dancing, in the course of which her lack of volubility went unnoticed by those determined to enjoy themselves, and a general appearance of gaiety was maintained.

Lyle did not, in fact, turn up until nearly midnight, by which time Sydney had convinced herself once again that he had somehow discovered everything and had conceived such a disgust of her that he had no wish to set eyes on her again. When she suddenly caught his eye, therefore, just as he was descending the three steps into the ballroom and Sydney was waltzing around it with Lord Bridlington, she missed a beat and nearly propelled his lordship—who was fortunately quick on his feet—into a marble table. She apologized to her partner and looked again for Lyle, only to find him smiling at her in what under any other circumstances she might have considered a friendly manner. She mistrusted it.

She was made even more uneasy when Lyle was approached by Sylvie de Lamartine, who engaged him in a conversation that had every appearance of capturing his entire interest. Had Sydney managed to overhear it, however, she would have been astonished at Lyle’s part of it.

Having been cool to his immensely flattered hostess, who found it necessary to comment on his unprecedented attendance at her affair; having observed with wry amusement Sydney’s absurd clumsiness when she saw him; and having directed an icy look at several young men who were about to speak to him but suddenly thought better of it, Lyle was actually caught off guard by Sylvie. Draped in amber gauze and topazes, she approached him unseen from the rear and, securing his attention by laying her hand firmly on his sleeve as if to prevent his escape, she bestowed her most seductive smile on him and proceeded to fill his ears.

Lady Bridlington (Sylvie let drop ever so carelessly into a series of inconsequential observations on other members of the company) had invited Sydney—who was considered to be, despite Lyle’s patronage, rather an ordinary girl—only because she thought it would guarantee Lord D’Arcy’s presence as well. Apparently, however—Sylvie said—D’Arcy had lost his fascination with Sydney as rapidly as he had acquired it, for he had not deigned to attend after all.

“Do you find Miss Archer ordinary, Sylvie? You surprise me,” Lyle remarked, disregarding what was obviously the point of her discourse.

“Naturally, my dear Lyle,’’ Sylvie said, plying her ivory fan languidly, “any child who is honoured by your patronage cannot be considered ordinary in the—well, the ordinary sense of the word, but even you cannot deny Miss Archer is somewhat—shall we say, common?”

“Common?” Lyle’s eyes narrowed ominously, but Sylvie took this as indicating an interest in what he said and blundered on.

“She is exceptionally pretty, of course, but then so many of these country bumpkins are. I expect it is all the milk they drink. But what are her accomplishments, after all?”

“I see her waltzing very well at this moment,” Lyle said. “She also speaks several languages, plays the pianoforte with an understanding of the art that any professional musician would envy, and has the ability to make lasting friends of most young ladies, as well as of their not unnaturally more susceptible brothers. I will concede, however, that she is no match for you, Sylvie, in—ah, the art of making polite conversation.”

Understanding that she had gone too far, Sylvie smiled sweetly and answered that doubtless Miss Archer could master that art as well, with a little practice.

“I sincerely hope not!” was Lyle’s repressive response. “Particularly since she seems to have managed quite well thus far by merely bumbling along in her own artless, unaccomplished manner. You must not think, Sylvie, that my lack of attendance upon Miss Archer betokens a lack of interest in her—ah, career—or any lack of confidence in her abilities. I possess both, I assure you.”

With that, he came to the end of his tolerance of Sylvie de Lamartine and her ilk, and bowed to her, saying, “I am convinced you do not wish to neglect your chaperone’s duties, Sylvie, and I must likewise give some visible attention to my ward. If you will pardon me—”

He slipped away, leaving Sylvie looking crossly after him and tapping her closed fan irritably into the palm of her hand. Lyle had intended to ask Sydney to dance with him—less out of duty than because he had suddenly been seized with the notion that he had something to make up to her—but before he could reach her, Sydney, who had been sitting with Janine Forsythe, got up and went off to dance with Dolph Whitlatch.

Lyle had the impression that Dolph had not asked her to do so, and that Sydney was deliberately avoiding coming face to face with her guardian. He shrugged and instead asked Miss Forsythe to dance, having no prejudice against her on her mother’s account—possibly because Sylvie had long ago recognized the unlikelihood of Janine’s attaching Lyle and had therefore not thrust her in his way, with the result that he found her more amiable than any of her contemporaries.

Some time later, Sydney caught up with her friend again and whispered, “What did he say to you?’’

“Who?” Janine asked, having spoken to several other gentlemen in the interim.

“Lyle, of course! You danced with him.’’

“Oh, yes. He is really a very graceful dancer, Sydney. I can’t think why he doesn’t come to Almack’s occasionally—or at least to more private parties, for I can understand why some gentlemen find Almack’s a little tedious.”

“But what did he say to you?” Sydney insisted, knowing very well how gracefully his lordship danced.

“Let’s sit down here, shall we? There’s plenty of room for three or four if anyone should see us and care to join us.” Janine sat on a round velvet sofa, spread her pale green skirts artistically over it, and invited Sydney to sit beside her, which that damsel did by plopping herself down sideways and glowering at her friend.

“Well, I’m sure I don’t remember what he said,” Janine told her finally. “The merest trifles, I’ve no doubt. He seemed quite at ease and didn’t mention anything of the—tomorrow morning, that is—but why should he, even if he knows about it, which I am convinced he does not?

“Sydney”—Janine took Sydney’s hand and looked at her imploringly—”dearest, why don’t you tell him? Oh, I know he’d ring a dreadful peal over you, but if anyone could stop it, he could!”

For a moment, it seemed that Sydney was seriously considering this action, but at last she shook her head and said, “No, he must not know. I—I have another plan.’’

Janine was instantly curious. “Oh, what is it? Do tell me!’’

Fortunately for Sydney, who had in fact been racking her brain with no success in devising a wiser plan than telling Lyle the whole story as Janine begged her to do, Carl approached them at that moment and asked with a smile what secrets they were discussing.

Both pairs of feminine eyes flew to Carl’s face, Janine’s with a warm glow in them reserved solely for him, and Sydney’s with an anxious look that her cousin immediately understood and answered with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Neither will back down, then?” Sydney whispered, clasping Carl’s hand.

“Not as yet. But don’t look so fearful. We shall contrive something.’’

“Lyle should be told,” Janine repeated. “I have said so to Sydney. Do you tell her so too, Carl. She will listen to you.’’

Carl smiled ruefully. “I don’t recall that she has ever done so before, and I have known her for a long time! However, I will speak to Lyle myself, if you wish, Sydney.”

Sydney’s blue eyes widened in horror. “Oh, no!”

When both Carl and Janine stared at her, she added, “Oh, good heavens, Carl, if he must be told, I can do it—indeed I must be the one—but I fail to see that he need ever know about it. I hope he never does!’’

“Am I to understand you are reluctant to confide in your guardian?” Carl asked interestedly. “An odd state of affairs, it seems to me.”

“It would not seem so if you knew him better!” Sydney informed him roundly. “He cares nothing for my affairs, guardian or no.”

“Why, how can that be?” Carl asked in a voice that Sydney recognized from long experience as being designed to tease her out of a fit of the sullens. “From what I have heard, he cares very much for your affairs. Indeed, he called on me this afternoon expressly to enquire after your welfare, and he was perfectly civil. This evening, I have been given to understand—although I do not generally credit gossip—that he has turned away no fewer than two offers for your hand, and those only the latest of them.”

He had certainly caught Sydney’s attention now, but the look she leveled at her cousin gave even Carl pause. From a rather listless, distracted demeanour, she had rapidly reverted to a more characteristic intentness.

“Who told you that?” she demanded.

“Why, I don’t think I ought to mention a name,” Carl said, with a cajoling smile. “Discretion is said to be the better part of valour, and judging from your expression, you might well challenge poor—But I expect it is all a hum anyway, as Robin would say.’’

Sydney stood up to look her tall cousin more nearly in the eye. “I suppose you won’t tell me either who these gentlemen are who have so kindly offered to marry me?”

Carl glanced at Janine, who shook her head warningly. “I’m sure Lyle would tell you, if you asked him,” he said. Janine winced.

“I believe I shall do just that!” Sydney announced, and with no more ado she went off in search of the Marquess who, since she had been studiously avoiding him all evening, looked understandably surprised when she ran him to earth just outside one of the French windows, where he had retreated to enjoy a cigar. Seizing on this sudden opportunity to divert Lyle’s attention away from any hint of the duel or her own iniquities, she did not stop to think where her diversionary tactic might lead and demanded of Lyle why he had not yet asked her to dance.

“I shall be delighted to do so,” he said, after a pensive moment. “May I finish my smoke first, or are you in a hurry to display yourself?”

“Oh, never mind!” Sydney said, closing the windows behind her and stepping out onto the balcony. “What I really wanted was to talk to you, and I suppose it would be better done here than on the dance floor anyway.’’

“Dear me,” Lyle said, crushing his cigar out in a potted plant that took up a large part of the small balcony. “I wonder which—what the matter can be? I can only hope it’s important, for although private enough, this is scarcely a comfortable place for a lengthy discussion.”

“I won’t be long,” Sydney told him. He raised one eyebrow at her and waited for her to go on. She was finding it difficult to meet his steady but somehow challenging gaze and blurted out, “You have refused offers of marriage on my behalf, my lord!”

“So I have,” he replied. “What of it?”

“How dared you!”

“It may have slipped your mind, Miss Archer, but believe me it is firmly fixed in mine that I am still your guardian. The word implies a certain duty on my part to look out for your best interests.”

“You might have told me about these offers! Am I to have no say in the matter at all? Your guardianship, happily for us both, will end with my marriage—which I would have thought you eager to bring about for that reason—but it will be only the start of a long future for me. May I have no choice as to what that future will hold?”

“A point well taken. However, although I have attempted to make polite conversation with you since I arrived in London, meaning thereby to lead you by conventional means to discussion of these more weighty matters, you have cut me short at the very start of my attempts.” He smiled, clearly inviting her to declare a truce. “May we now perhaps begin again?”

“Who has offered for me?” Sydney demanded, no longer open to conciliation. Lyle named two gentlemen only slightly known to her.

“Oh.”

“Did you wish to marry either of these worthy suitors? I would not have expected it of you, but—”

“Who else?”

He appeared to think for a moment and then reached into his pocket, extracting some slips of paper which he turned over in a maddeningly deliberate manner. “Let me see—Mr. Frazier, Sir John Gray, Mr. Bromley—really, Sydney, I fear you have become something of a flirt—”

“Let me see!” Sydney said, snatching at the letters. Lyle snatched them back. “They are addressed to me, madam!’’