Elizabeth Mansfield (22 page)

Charles saw nothing wrong in these arrangements, but Madge was no fooL It was plain to her that her daughter was not the most constant of females. If things were left as they were, the prospect of another broken betrothal loomed large.

But she need not have worried. Young William Quiddington was too eager a suitor. There was no challenge for Deirdre in capturing him, and she quickly became bored. If Harry had put any hope in the blooming of that particular flower, he was soon to learn it had shriveled.

When four days had passed without a sign of Harry's return, Madge decided to take matters into her own hands. "I think Deirdre and I should spend a few days in London," she told her husband. "We need to do some shopping for bride-clothes."

Charles was glad to let them go. They arrived in London at mid-afternoon, and as soon as they'd checked in at Fenton's Hotel, Madge went to call on her friend, Mrs. Compton, who knew everyone in London worth knowing. Mrs. Compton promptly procured for Lady Quigley and her party an invitation to a ball to be held that evening at Lady Landers' home. "It's for Gussie," Mrs. Compton informed her friend with a smirk. "She's found herself a beau at last. I think you may know him—Percival Greenway?"

The fact that Percy would be present at the affair did not trouble Madge. He would not be so foolish as to approach any of her party, but if he did, they had only to give him the cut direct. She promptly dismissed him from her mind.

With the invitation in her possession, Madge's next object was to let Harry know that she and Deirdre were in town and were expecting his escort that evening for the Landers' ball.
This will be Deirdre's first London ball, but she will have little pleasure in it if you are not with her,
she wrote in the missive she sent round to the Ainsworth town house.

Harry, hiding away in London to escape constraints of a betrothal not to his liking, should have been irritated by this peremptory summons from his mother-in-law-to-be. But in fact he was not at all perturbed. As he read the invitation, a smile slowly dawned in his eyes and soon spread over his entire face. He'd been spending his time making escape plans. This too-peremptory summons might fit into them perfectly.

When Madge read Harry's affirmative answer, a smile lit her face also. Even Harry was bound to be overwhelmed tonight, she thought, when he glimpsed her beautiful daughter bedecked in the magnificent ball gown Madge had brought for Deirdre to wear for just such an occasion.

Deirdre, under her mother's supervision, spent the rest of that afternoon and most of the evening preparing herself for the ball. Her abigail used the better part of two hours dressing her hair. It was curled and piled up atop her head, with one long, thick curl left hanging over her left shoulder. The gown Madge had chosen for her was a green Florentine silk, gathered tightly just under the bosom with a knot of white flowers, and then left to flow in graceful folds to the floor. It had short puffed sleeves that started well below the shoulder, leaving so low a decolletage that Deirdre herself was surprised. "You've told me time and time again that I'm too young to wear a gown cut so low," she said to her mother.

Madge shrugged. "You're betrothed now, so it's permitted."

At the appointed hour of nine, a footman appeared at the door of Madge's rooms and announced that a gentleman awaited them in the foyer downstairs.

Madge studied her daughter with a proud smile. Her eyes traveled from Deirdre's golden tresses, past her light-blue eyes (the lashes enhanced by just a touch of eye-blacking), past the swell of her breasts over the green silk bodice of her gown, past the slim waist and the elegant long white gloves, to the swirl of the full skirt.
If Harry doesn't lose his head over this vision,
Madge thought,
I
know nothing of men.
"Go ahead and greet your Harry, my love," she ordered, smiling to herself at the prospect of the couple enjoying a romantic reunion alone together. "I'll follow shortly."

Deirdre, positively aglow, flew down the stairs to meet him.

There was no sign of Harry in the foyer. But after a few moments, a gentleman appeared from behind a pillar and came up to her. It was not Harry, but he was not a stranger, either. "Leonard?" she gasped, shocked.

"Good evening, my dear," Leonard said smoothly, lifting her gloved hand to his hps. "You look absolutely smashing!"

"Thank you," the bewildered girl murmured, "but where's Harry?"

"Harry had a minor injury to his leg and won't be able to dance tonight. He sent me to escort you in his place. I hope you won't mind. We can be partners for one evening, can't we? For old times' sake?"

Deirdre cocked her head, eyeing him carefully. With his wild red locks slicked back, his black coat fitting his broad shoulders and slim frame without a wrinkle, his white neckcloth folded into a perfect
trone d'amour,
and his red vest made even more dashing by the spectacular gold stripes, he looked complete to a shade. More impressive, perhaps, than Harry himself would have been. "Very well," she said, smiling and taking his arm. "For old times' sake."

THIRTY-SEVEN

When they arrived at the Landers' town house, Deirdre was surprised to see such a great crowd milling about the entrance. Carriages blocked the street in front of the house, and, inside, the stairway up to the ballroom was all but impassable. When she expressed her surprise to Leonard, he shrugged. "It's a typical London fête," he explained. "A London hostess doesn't consider her ball a success unless it's described as a crush."

When at last they made it to the top, a footman in full livery announced their arrival. "Madge, Lady Quigley," he intoned, "Miss Deirdre Quigley, and Sir Leonard Tyndale." Just inside the doorway, they passed along the receiving line consisting of Lady Landers, her elder daughter Emily, Emily's husband Sir Martin Redmond, and her younger daughter, Gussie. Madge gave Lady Landers a quick thank you for the invitation and passed on with just a nod to the elder daughter. But Emily caught her arm. "I say, Lady Madge," she whispered, "since Sir Leonard is with you, I suppose the rumors that your daughter is no longer attached to him are not true?"

"They are true," Madge said shortly, not pleased at what she felt was vulgar curiosity. "Leonard is merely escorting us tonight." And she walked on, coldly nodding to Emily's husband as she passed him. But she did take note of little Gussie. The girt was not beautiful, that much was true. Her nose was too prominent and her chin too receding. But there was a happy, excited glow about her this evening, which made her seem almost pretty. This surprised Madge. Gussie Landers did not look like the wallflower she'd been led to expect.

As the Quigley party passed on into the ballroom, Emily Redmond began to spread the news to every unmarried girl she greeted that the very attractive redheaded gentleman in the red-and-gold striped vest was unattached.

Deirdre expected to have her dance card filled in very short order, and she was not disappointed. What upset her, however, was the astounding number of gentlemen who came up to Leonard to introduce their daughters to him. Even before her own card was filled, Leonard was engaged for at least a dozen dances.

Madge watched her daughter step out on the dance floor for the first dance with Leonard and then took a seat on the sidelines. Not having forgotten that Percy was to be a guest, she kept a wary eye on the doorway, but the evening was well advanced before the footman announced "Sir Percival Greenway." Many an eye in addition to hers was attracted to his entrance, for he posed in the doorway for a long moment to give the assemblage the opportunity to admire him. He was indeed admirable, from the curls of his hair (some of them plastered firmly against his forehead) to the rosettes of his dancing shoes. The lapels of his evening coat were of velveret and wider than those of any other coat in the room. His shirtpoints reached up to his cheekbones, and, most remarkable of all, his waistcoat, cut stylishly short, had wide orange and yellow stripes and sported at least three fobs hanging by ribbons from the pockets. "Will you look at that cock-of-the game?" Madge heard a gentleman sitting behind her remark sardonically. "Nugee, who outfits all the young fools these days, seems to have outdone himself this time."

It belatedly occurred to Madge that she should perhaps have warned Leonard and her daughter that Percy would be present this evening. She turned nervously on her chair and searched the crowd to see if she could spot them, but she could not.

Deirdre was dancing with a round-faced young gentleman who was awestruck at her fairy-princess beauty. That awe made him tongue-tied, an affliction that troubled a number of the young men she met Tongue-tied partners were not particularly interesting to her, so when she became aware of a slight commotion in the crowd and saw Lady Landers hurry across the floor to greet someone, she turned her head to see who had caused the stir. "Oh, my heavens!" she exclaimed aloud. "It's Percy!"

"What did you say?" her partner asked.

"Oh! Nothing," Deirdre mumbled and tried to keep her mind on the dance. But she could not. She couldn't help glancing over her shoulder toward Leonard. She knew just where to find him; curious to see how he reacted to each of his partners, she'd kept a sharp eye on him all evening. She saw at once that he'd recognized the new arrival. His look of surprise was immediately overtaken with one of fury. As Deirdre watched, Leonard made a bow to his partner and left her standing deserted in the middle of the floor.
Dear God,
Deirdre prayed,
don't let him make a scene!

The movement of the dance forced her to turn away. When she was able to look back, she saw that Leonard had already reached Percy's side. Percy's face paled to an ashen hue and, as if under a spell, he allowed Leonard take his arm and lead him away from his hostess and across the floor. Deirdre, knowing Leonard had somehow coerced Percy to walk off with him, could not bear to continue dancing. "Please excuse me, sir," she said to her bewildered partner, "but I must leave. There's a young lady standing not too far away behind you who would be most grateful, I'm sure, to take my place and finish the dance with you." And blundering through the startled dancers, she made her way off the dance floor.

Leonard was pushing the ashen-faced Percy out a side door. Deirdre restrained herself from running after them, for she did not want to attract any more notice than she already had. She walked purposefully but at a dignified pace to the side door, opened it, and found herself on a terrace surrounded by a stone balustrade. Leonard, clutching Percy by his neckcloth, had backed him against one of the balustrade's posts and was preparing to take a swing at him. "Leonard, don't!" Percy was begging, holding up a hand to protect his jaw. "Haven't you done enough to my poor face?"

"Not by a long shot, you chinch!" Leonard said with enraged relish. "Did you think that merely one blow was enough to make me forgive what you did to Deirdre?" He pulled back his arm and readied himself to swing.

"No, Leonard, please!" Deirdre cried.

Leonard looked over his shoulder at her. "Go back inside, Deirdre," he ordered. "Stay out of this. I was afraid I'd never have the chance to let him feel my fives, but now that I have, I intend to make good use of the opportunity."

"No, don't let him hit me, Deirdre," Percy pleaded. "At least, not yet."

"What do you mean, not yet?" Leonard barked. "Do you expect me to let you make an escape, as you did from Bath when you knew I'd be coming after you?"

"I won't escape from here," Percy said. "I did a fool thing abducting Deirdre, I admit that I know I deserve a proper beating. But if you would only wait a bit—"

"Why on earth would I be idiot enough to wait a bit?"

"You see," Percy mumbled, rubbing his jaw tenderly, "I wouldn't want them to see me all mauled about."

"You mean, you don't want to be seen with your foppish shirtpoints all wilted and your neckcloth bloody," Leonard sneered.

"No, I don't," Percy admitted in a plaintive whine. "And you know how my jaw swells up. How will that look when they announce my betrothal in half an hour?"

Leonard lowered his arm. "What balderdash is this?"

"It ain't balderdash. Lady Landers is going to announce it right before the doors open for the buffet. Positively!"

"I don't believe a word of this. You'd say anything to keep from—"

But Deirdre cut him off. "Wait a moment, Leonard. Let him speak. Are you saying, Percy, that you're going to be married?" Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. "Good heavens! Not to Gussie Landers?"

"Yes, to Gussie Landers," Percy muttered defensively. "Why not?"

Leonard turned to Deirdre in amused surprise. "Is that the chit with no chin?"

"She may not be a beauty like Deirdre," Percy said angrily, "but she's pretty enough for me. At least she's completely devoted to me and won't be falling in love with every man who passes by, like some females I know."

Leonard wheeled round to him furiously. "Apologize for that slur, you bobbing-block!"

Deirdre put up her chin. "Never mind, Leonard. Percy has good reason for what he said. And, Percy, I'm sure Gussie's a fine young woman, and I hope you'll be very happy. Let him go, Leonard. Under the circumstances, we can put the mistakes of the past behind us."

"As you say, my dear," Leonard agreed, finding his anger dissipated by this turn of events. "Go on, old man, to your betrothal announcement." He patted down Percy's disordered neckcloth and pushed him back toward the door. "I'll even wish you well."

After Percy scurried off, Leonard, about to offer his arm to Deirdre to take her back inside, noticed that she was gazing up at him with a strange expression. "What is it, my dear?" he asked in concern.

"It's you," she said, remembering a bit ruefully that he was no longer her betrothed. "You are so... so heroic. Positively!"

THIRTY-EIGHT

The invitation came at last. Isabel read it over several times, although the message was perfectly clear: The pleasure of their company was requested for a costume ball to be held at Ainsworth Park, Surrey, on Saturday, the fifteenth of April at nine in the evening. An additional card was enclosed in the beige-colored vellum envelope, giving the information that, as family members and close friends, their presence would be welcomed during the week preceding the event, and that a response giving the date and time of their arrival would be appreciated. Scrawled at the bottom in a less formal hand than the invitation itself were the words
Remember your promise! LA.