“Why? I’d think he would be most grateful to discover that so many people were willing to look out for his interests.”
“Grateful? A man that proud? That’s not likely. So if you please, do not say anything to him about it. If we’re fortunate, he’ll never know how many of us—including you, my dear—stood up for his cause.”
Dahlia glanced at the door.
Would he be angry? Truly angry?
She turned back to Lady Charlotte. “Thank you for your advice. I shall heed it, of course.”
“And you’ll win the tournament?” At Dahlia’s nod, Lady Charlotte added, “And if you could possibly win by at least five points, I’d be extremely grateful.”
Why would the number of points matter?
Dahlia wondered. Still, she inclined her head. “Of course.”
“Excellent, my dear! Excellent!” Lady Charlotte beamed. “Now, off with you, for I’ve no doubt you’ve preparations to make.”
“Thank you.” Dahlia curtsied and made her escape, aware of the oddest feeling, as if her feet weren’t touching the floor. Even after being interrupted by a dog, being importuned by Lady Charlotte, and being quizzed about the coming tournament, she still felt the effects of the kiss coursing through her veins.
When she reached the hallway, she found it blessedly abandoned and, finally, she was alone. She slipped beside a huge, ornate wall clock which hid her from view, and leaned against the wall, pressing her fingertips to her lips.
So that was what a kiss was supposed to be.
Her entire body still quivered, wildly alive and energetic, as if she were ready to run up a hill or take on a monumental
task—
anything
to answer this flush of power that trembled through her.
She trailed her fingertips from her lips to her throat where her pulse beat wildly. She was still panting slightly, her breasts oddly heavy, her nipples strangely sensitive. It was as if no part of her body were the same.
All from a kiss.
She pressed her hands to her heated cheeks.
I had no idea a simple kiss could be so . . . significant.
Her only regret was that her sisters were not here to discuss this amazing discovery, something they probably already knew. If only—
The sound of voices approaching made her smooth her gown and hair. She composed her expression to one of polite civility and stepped into the hallway, glancing at the clock face. She was late for her meeting with Lord Dalhousie in the portrait gallery, but she was in no frame of mind to hear about the Roxburghe portraits today. She’d send a footman with a note bearing her apologies, and reschedule for a better time.
With that in mind, she hurried to the foyer and gave instructions and a coin to one of the footmen waiting there, and then hurried toward the staircase. But just as she placed her foot upon the bottom step, an entire gaggle of women swarmed out of the salon.
“Ah, there’s Miss Balfour now!” called a matron wearing a purple turban adorned with an ostrich feather held in place with an emerald pin. Mrs. Selfridge
came to slip her arm through Dahlia’s. “This is so fortunate, for we were just discussing your coming battledore match.”
“My— Oh yes. It’s not for some hours yet.”
“Yes, but we were just wondering about your
skills
.”
“In battledore? Well, I’ve played with my sisters quite a bit.”
They all looked at her expectantly.
“And?” Lady Hamilton, her wiry carrot-colored hair pinned with blue flowers, leaned forward. “Surely you’ve played in some tournaments?”
Dahlia shook her head.
Miss Spencer shook her head. “Don’t believe a word she says; she’s just being modest. Come, Miss Balfour, let’s retire to the Blue Salon and discuss this further.”
Dahlia tried to resist, but they’d have none of it, demanding “only a moment” of her time. Then they were carrying her into the Blue Salon, leaving her feeling like a leaf swept away by a flooding stream.
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Just now, whilst on my way to change into something suitable for viewing the battledore tournament that my guests have suddenly developed a madness for, I realized that Charlotte was right and everyone is too distracted to decorate their assigned portions of the house. I shall have to be vigilant in making certain the castle is in full holiday bloom when the time comes for the ball. In the meantime, I must hurry to the battledore courts, for—as Charlotte and some of the other guests have taken to calling it—the Battledore of Honor begins shortly . . .
* * *
Half an hour later, Dahlia was still caught in the salon, trying desperately to make her escape. The worst of her captors were Mrs. Montrose; her chattering daughter, Miss Slyphania; and the indomitable Mrs. Selfridge. They’d all quizzed her relentlessly about her battledore experiences, the number of
games she’d played with her sisters, and her “strategies,” which they apparently assumed to be many and complex.
The rumor mill had caught the tone of her conversation with Lady Mary and Miss Stewart, and Lord Kirk’s name was mentioned more than once, although Dahlia managed to avoid any direct comment. But the realization worried her. Was Lady Charlotte right in predicting that Kirk would be furious with Dahlia for interfering in something he might see as his own personal business?
Whatever he thought, she couldn’t back down—not now, not with so many people involved. She was at a loss to know why everyone seemed so enthused about the tournament, for she was certain no one cared about Lord Kirk’s honor the way she did. But they all seemed deeply engaged with the potential outcome, one way or another.
Dahlia felt relief when Miss MacLeod stuck her head in the door and brightened on seeing her seated amidst the group. “Miss Balfour! Just the person I wished to see.”
Dahlia almost leapt to her feet. “Ah, Miss MacLeod! I was just leaving. I—I’m to meet Viscount Dalhousie for a tour of the portrait gallery.”
Miss MacLeod crossed the room in a rustle of pale green jaconet muslin, gathered with a lemon-colored ribbon and matching slippers. “Don’t worry about Dalhousie. I saw him wandering about the gallery
like a lost soul and explained that you must have been held up.”
“He’s not angry, is he?”
“Lud, no. Miss Stewart was with me and she kindly offered to take your place. Dalhousie was explaining the portrait history to her as I left.”
All eyes turned to Dahlia as a silence fell over the group.
Goodness, they wish to see me react to that, and ask even more questions. Well, they’re to be disappointed.
“How pleasant for them both. I was sadly worried that he’d be bored, left alone. I’m glad Miss Stewart was available.”
“Just what I thought.” Miss MacLeod slipped an arm through Dahlia’s. “Now come, I must speak to you about the match. Dalhousie and I have much of it planned, but there are still a few details that must be addressed.” With a wave to the protesting ladies, she led Dahlia out of the room.
As soon as they reached the foyer, Miss MacLeod led Dahlia into the dining room.
“Miss MacLeod, I really should rest before—”
“Yes, but this won’t take long.” Several footmen, setting up tables for a cold luncheon and arranging festive springs of mistletoe and red candles down the center of the table, stopped what they were doing on seeing the two young ladies, but a friendly “Carry on” from Miss MacLeod freed them to continue their duties.
Miss MacLeod pulled Dahlia to a windowed alcove where they might not be overheard.
“I vow, but every guest at the castle has become enamored of this one match,” Dahlia said.
“I know. It seems odd to me. And you can’t tell me they’ve all suddenly developed a fondness for Lord Kirk and are glad someone is standing up for him, for I’ve seen their reaction when he enters a room.”
“They scatter like fish before a crocodile.”
“Exactly. I wish the motives of our fellow guests were more noble, but I fear they are concerned with something far more base: they all wish to win.”
“Win what?”
“Their wagers.”
Dahlia blinked. “Wagers? On me?”
Miss MacLeod chuckled. “Yes, some of them. Some of them, not.”
Dahlia saw nothing to laugh at. “I can’t imagine her grace would countenance such a thing.”
“Then you don’t know her grace well. The Duchess of Roxburghe is quite a gambler. In her heyday, it was the fashion for women to wager at high stakes. Look at the Duchess of Devonshire.”
“Who brought one of the greatest fortunes in the history of England to its knees? I hardly think she is a good example. I can’t imagine my godmother throwing away a fortune.”
“And she never would; she’s Scottish and knows the value of a coin. So while there is to be gambling, her grace has limited all wagers to no more than a
guinea—so you won’t see any fortunes changing hands. The enthusiasm you see is for bragging rights rather than fortune, but it’s enough. I believe every guest present now has a finger in the pie.”
“Oh no.” Dahlia pressed her hands to her cheeks. All of her earlier euphoria was now gone. “Good God, this has gotten out of hand. It was just to be a friendly wager between the three of us—”
“Friendly? Miss Balfour, I was there. Lady Mary and Miss Stewart deserved a challenge.”
There was no mistaking the plain look Miss MacLeod sent her way. Dahlia frowned. “You are their friend.”
“No, I’m not. I know them, yes. But friends?” Miss MacLeod shook her head. “Sadly, one cannot truly be friendly with Lady Mary. If there is anyone I would count as a friend, or would wish to, it is Miss Stewart. She has always been very kind to me, although she’s far too ready to please Lady Mary.”
“I’ve noticed that.” Dahlia was silent for a moment. “So they sent you to speak to me as their second. I don’t suppose they wish to offer their apologies and ask for the whole thing to be forgotten. If so, I am quite ready to—”
“Oh no. They asked me to bring you their compliments and to inform you that no quarter will be given.”
Dahlia stiffened. “That was hardly necessary.”
“I thought so, too.” She shook her head. “Miss Balfour—”
“Please, call me Dahlia.” She sat upon the window seat and patted the cushion beside her, feeling drained. “Pray join me. I cannot stand another moment.”
Miss MacLeod did so, smiling a little. “I hope you regain your energy before the match.”
“Oh, I shall. I will order some luncheon on a tray delivered to my room, and will be right as rain with a little quiet.”
I hope.
Miss MacLeod tilted her head to one side. “I hope you don’t find this forward, but I feel that we shall know each other quite well before this is over.”
“That would be nice. I don’t know many of the guests.”
“It
will
be very nice. And you should call me Anne. I’m here because Lord Dalhousie asked me to speak to you and explain a bit about Miss Stewart and Lady Mary.”
“You’ve come to help me?”
“If by ‘help,’ you mean ‘assist in winning,’ no. I am still their second. Besides, I’ve never played a game of battledore in my life, so I wouldn’t know where to begin in offering assistance. Dalhousie thought you should know why Lady Mary and Miss Stewart are the way they are.”
“Why does he wish that?”
Anne smiled. “I suspect he believes it will assist you in your efforts, although I’m not so certain.” She adjusted the folds in her skirts and said in a thoughtful tone, “The viscount is a good man, you know. Better
than most. And he’s known Lady Mary since he was in short coats.”
“I had no idea.”
“Oh yes. Lady Mary’s father, the Earl of Buchan, and the late Viscount Dalhousie were great friends.” Anne plumped a pillow and leaned against it. “I think they’d always hoped that Lady Mary and Lord Dalhousie might make a match of it, but it never came to fruition. Lady Mary is quite wealthy and her family is significant, which I’m sure you know, for she cannot take more than two breaths without mentioning that she can trace her lineage all the way back to William the Conqueror. But despite her bravado, she’s an only child, and was sickly for most of her life. That has shaped her character, and not always for the best.”
“You’d never know it to see her now, for she’s in the bloom of good health.”
“She cast off the remnants of her childhood ailments when she left the schoolroom. I believe it is because of the riding we did at our boarding school. Miss Latham, the headmistress, is an accomplished horsewoman and she was determined that all of us would be, too. However, Dalhousie thinks it is because the countess, Lady Mary’s mother, was no longer able to coddle her daughter so.”
“I’m sorry to hear of Lady Mary’s misfortunes.”
“It’s good to know your opponents. Miss Stewart, on the other hand, is far from Lady Mary’s equal.
It’s been rumored that Miss Stewart’s only claim to society is Lady Mary’s sponsorship. Some people say Miss Stewart’s father was once”—Anne glanced at the footmen, and then leaned closer and whispered—“Lady Mary’s head groom.”
“She dresses very well for someone without funds.”
“Lady Mary’s castoffs. Every one. Lady Mary loves to lord it over Miss Stewart, and reminds her of it frequently. I feel for her, I truly do.”
Dahlia’s heart had been sinking as Anne revealed more and more.
Had I known all of this, I would never have challenged either of them, Lady Mary because she’s not worth the attention, and Miss Stewart because her life is difficult enough without my complicating things.
“Miss MacLeod—Anne, do you think I should step back from the challenge?”
“Lud, no! Everyone is going to be there, so it’s too late for that. Besides, to be honest, Lady Mary could use a good setdown. Since yesterday, she has been relentless in mocking Lord Kirk. Just this morning she said that Lord Kirk’s manners were no better than a groom’s, although she doubted that such a maimed and lame man could even ride, being nearly an invalid. Naturally her comment cut both Lord Kirk and, to some extent, poor Miss Stewart.”
Dahlia’s jaw tightened.
How dare that woman? I should—
“Ah! There’s Dalhousie now, peeking through the doorway.” Anne waved. “He must wish to confirm our arrangements for the tournament and— Oh
dear.” She lowered her voice. “Lady Mary and Miss Stewart are with him.”