Lady Elizabeth's Comet (26 page)

I jumped.

The dark-haired dasher strolled over from a clump of matrons, brows lifted.

"Elizabeth, I believe you are acquainted with Arabella Forster--Mrs. Digby Forster,
Bella Haverford that was."

Light broke. Of course. She had changed somewhat--grown more beautiful. I ought to
have recognised her at once. Bella Forster. I gulped. She was not only beautiful. She had every
possible qualification to be Countess of Clanross--breeding, wealth, wit, exquisite taste, and a
wide acquaintance among the Ton. What was worse, I liked her.

I composed myself and held out my hand. "How pleasant to see you again. It's been an
age."

"So it has, Lady Elizabeth. How splendidly you look."

I met her guileless blue eyes. We both smiled. "I think we were on easier terms than
that, Bella."

"So we were, Liz. I'm very glad to see you, for I don't mind admitting I'm lost in a sea of
strangers. Excepting Willoughby, of course."

"And he doesn't count?"

Willoughby made an indignant noise.

Bella cast him her famous smile. "Willoughby's presence must guarantee the worth of
any social gathering. Dear Lady Whitby, shall you pardon us? Liz and I have several years'
gossip to catch up on."

We wandered down the wide steps. The lawn was dotted with bright silk tents,
marquees, topiary phantasies, and handsome people, and looked rather like a panel from a
tapestry of the Ancien Regime--a scene from Aunt's prime. One half expected to encounter
Marie Antoinette (with her head, of course). It was a tribute to the force of Aunt's character that
it was the guests' modern dress that looked out of place, not the decorations.

In the middle distance a bewigged orchestra played an Italian air. Aunt's staff were
serving up punch, and the great marquee sheltered a linen-draped table laden with sallats, whole
salmon in aspic, fancifully arranged platters of cold meats and fowls, caviar (red and black),
puptons of jellies, flans, and every conceivable sort of pastry case, savoury and sweet. Huge
silver tureens of chilled soups dripped beads of moisture on the white cloth. There were also, I
believe, two enormous bridecakes and an entire vintage of champagne. It would be wonderful if
half the guests did not conclude their afternoon by falling in the river.

We sat. After a constrained moment I asked, "What brings you to Briarlea? I wouldn't
have supposed you and Cecilia Conway-Gore to be bosom bows."

She wrinkled her perfect nose. "Cecilia has every amiable quality, and she makes a truly
delectable bride, but she is rather, er..."

"Slow?"

"Your word. I was going to say young--for my taste in friends."

"Diplomatic."

"Yes."

Our eyes met, and this time we laughed. Bella said frankly, "I came to meet Lord
Clanross. According to Lady Whitby he is looking about for a wife, and besides, I have a great
curiosity to meet him. I'd thought to at Sarah Tyrell's wedding, but Mama took ill at the last
moment, and I was foiled. Do you like his lordship?"

I contrived to say yes in suitably dispassionate tones. After a moment, I added, my voice
ringing hollow in my ears, "So you mean to have another try at matrimony, after all." That was
not tactful. Bella had been auctioned to the highest bidder at the end of her second Season. Her
marriage to Forster cannot have been pleasant.

She said coolly, "I think so. On my terms, this time."

"And you believe Clanross will accept your terms?" I wondered if I were going to be
sick.

She laughed. "Don't rush your fences, Liz. I've not met the man. I daresay I shan't like
him, and I won't wed where I've no liking. There's no need. This time."

A grim note underlay her light tone, but she looked far from grim. She had grown into a
true beauty, and she had the vivacity to make her beauty interesting. I uttered a small prayer that
Bella should loathe Clanross on sight. Otherwise I was lost.

Arabella Forster had been two years a widow. Old Lord Haverford, her father, a baron
of antique lineage and antediluvian debt, had indulged expensive habits in his youth. When it
became clear that Bella would be handsome, her mama had groomed her to retrieve the family
fortunes by marrying on the most generous terms possible a very wealthy man--it did not greatly
matter whom.

At the end of her second Season, Bella had been sold to Mr. Forster. That Forster was a
Nabob, sixty if he was a day, with a yellow complexion, a sly eye, and, it was said, peculiar
tastes, did not signify. He was also rich beyond the wildest dreams of Haverford avarice. The
marriage lasted seven years, it was childless, and, in the end, Bella copped everything. She
deserved her good fortune.

Bella was too adept at easing social awkwardness to let the silence lengthen on her last
remark, and presently we were exchanging innocuous chitchat about old acquaintances as easily
as if we had met the week before. I began to relax.

As I did so I spotted Clanross making his unhurried way toward us from the direction of
the formal garden. He had some distance to cover, so I had time to rehearse several possible
greetings and to order my disordered pulse, if that were possible. Fortunately, Bella was deep in
an account of the Princess Charlotte's latest tribulations, and she did not spy Clanross until he
was upon us.

"Hullo, Elizabeth. I hope I see you well." He looked wonderfully well himself--still on
the lean side but brown and fit and moving with the ease of an athlete.

I gulped, I hope unobtrusively, and held out my hand. "Clanross! So you decided to
honour us with your presence after all. Do you come now on a mission from my aunt?" That was
taking the bull by the horns.

"No, on my own initiative. Gore did suggest you and your companion might care for
refreshment."

"Are you hungry, Bella?"

"Not in the least."

They were both visibly waiting for me to do my duty.

I swallowed my chagrin and put as good a face on it as I could. "Clanross, allow me to
present Mrs. Arabella Forster. She is an old friend. Bella, Lord Clanross, to whom we are all
very attached." The last remark was meant to sound cousinly and came out patronising.

Clanross shot me a baffled look. He did not have time to brood upon my words,
however, for Bella held out her hand.

"My lord, I've been looking forward to meeting you for some time." The phrase was
conventional, but she spoke with intensity.

Clanross bowed over her hand, uttering something polite and noncommittal. I could see
he had transferred his bafflement from me to Bella.

"Haverford is my father," she added, as if in explanation.

He straightened and, after a moment, said gravely, "Then you're Jack Haverford's
sister."

"Yes," she said, still intense.

Clanross smiled. "I'm relieved to see he didn't exaggerate. I placed considerable reliance
on Jack's judgement."

Bella cocked her head.

"He said you were the handsomest woman in England."

Oh God, I thought. That's torn it. I muffled a moan.

They were gazing deep in one another's eyes, and Bella had actually summoned a blush.
"You flatter, my lord."

"Jack's words, not mine."

Bella blinked hard. Oh dear, I thought, she's going to cry. However, she merely said,
"Then you must make some allowance for the partiality of a relation. What a dear boy he was. I
must thank you, sir, for the letter you writ my mother when Jack was killed."

I drew a sharp breath.

Clanross grimaced. "It was my duty."

"Even so, it helped Mama, for the others were writing the most dreadful Drury Lane
heroicks. I think she didn't believe Jack was dead. Then you writ a plain account we could
believe. When she admitted to herself that he was gone, she could grieve properly. Oh dear."
And she did begin to weep but in a restrained way.

Clanross did not look wonderfully happy himself.

"What the devil are you up to?" Willoughby's irritable voice.

I gave a nervous start. Willoughby stood almost at Clanross's elbow bearing empty
glasses and an uncorked bottle of champagne, which smoked with cold.

"Upon my word, Clanross," he said, juggling the glasses, "have you no address at all? I
sent you to amuse the ladies, and I find the one Friday-faced and the other a watering pot."

I was never more glad of Willoughby's company. I watched, fascinated, as he contrived
to pour a glass of champagne.

Clanross took it from him. "Very timely. Here, Mrs. Forster, drink up or Gore won't
forgive me."

Bella took the champagne and sipped, dabbing at her eyes. "Dear Willoughby, always
the right impulses." By now we all had champagne and she raised her glass to Clanross, smiling
tremulously and most beautifully, "To you, my lord."

"To Jack's sister." Clanross returned her gesture and tossed off his glass.

I took a healthy swallow myself. Perhaps if I were foxed, the pain would deaden.
Damnation to Aunt and her pug and her diabolical plans--my toast, if I'd been asked for one.

"Now, if you mean to sample the bridecake..." Willoughby gestured toward the
marquee.

Bella shook her head and dabbed again at her eyes.

"I believe Mrs. Forster and I ought to take a turn by the river." Clanross held his hand to
her and she took it, rising. "If you'll pardon us, Elizabeth."

"By all means," I said through my teeth. He met my eyes. I contrived a feeble
smile.

They drifted off. Willoughby and I watched them.

"God, how revolting." Willoughby split the remaining tipple between us. "Can the man
have known every deceased officer in the Peninsula?"

"So you heard that." I was too dispirited to continue.

"Bella Forster..."

"Do you dislike Bella?"

Willoughby's brows shot out of sight. "Of course not. Unexceptionable. She is
everywhere received."

I was not given leisure to brood over Aunt's stratagems. She required reinforcement at
once. She dragooned Willoughby and me into chitting and chatting with a whole division of
county worthies, most of them antique. It is an art Willoughby practices with better grace than
I.

Clanross restored Bella to the company within a socially acceptable limit of time--at
least he wouldn't
have
to marry her--but they'd been gone long enough for the tabbies to
remark their absence. Aunt listened to the gossip with a smug expression on her basilisk features,
but she forbore adding coals to the fire. I was congratulating myself on keeping my temper when
Mrs. Chacton greeted me shyly from a clump of lesser personages.

"How do you, my lady?"

I assured her that I did very well and asked after her school.

It was still building, as I knew from Charles's reports, and she spent some time
describing the amenities. Her garnet brooch quivered with the force of her enthusiasm, and her
eyes sparkled. I had begun to feel almost at ease when she broke off her discourse on infant
education.

"I'm glad to see his lordship looking so well. Quite a new man, as I was just saying to
Mrs. Reynolds here."

I stiffened.

She looked up at me trustfully. "Will you tell me, my lady--is it a match?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You must have remarked Lord Clanross's attentions to a certain Dark Lady. I do
hope..."

"Dark Lady?" I heard myself say in my haughtiest tones. "My dear Mrs. Chacton, you
can't mean Bella Forster?" Another tinkle of artificial laughter rattled in my throat. "Clanross is
merely an old friend of Bella's brother. I daresay they're talking over old times."

Mrs. Chacton's face fell. I think she was hurt as well as disappointed.

I turned to find Aunt regarding me with a look of sardonic amusement. My face flamed.
There was no doubt she had heard the whole shaming exchange.

I crept away, feeling, like Shakespeare, that love is a disease.

How I survived the rest of the afternoon I know not. Clanross, having restored Bella to
my aunt, behaved with such stultifying decorum for the balance of the time that I couldn't hope
for a moment's speech alone with him, even if I'd known what to say. Both knights of the shire
and the Chacton borough member were among the company. Clanross did his political duty,
listening to their verbal hand-wringing over the state of the nation with polite attention and
allowing himself to be drawn by Mr. Chacton into a spirited discussion of the Usefulness of
Canals to Commerce.

Bella's manners are superb. I watched as she circulated on Willoughby's decorous arm
among the elderly dowagers in their old-fashioned wigs, among the tongue-tied young men and
the slightly dowdy matrons, and I envied her address. She would make a splendid countess. I
hadn't felt so gauche since I turned sixteen and spillt sauce on my gown at my first grown-up
dinner.

Just as I sank to my ears in a slough of self-pity, my sisters made their appearance from
the direction of the terrace. They looked suspiciously tidy. I caught Miss Bluestone's eye.

"Margaret slipped on a patch of damp ground and stained her frock," she said briefly. "I
took them up for refurbishing."

"Bless you."

"Where's Clanross?" Jean, pert and overloud.

I frowned. "In conversation with Mr. Chacton, Jean. Pray do not interrupt."

She made a face.

"We want to tell him about our rocks," Maggie piped. "I say, Liz, did you know there's a
grotto, with moss and waterfalls and a rustick seat, at the edge of the woods?"

"I've heard of it."

"Did someone mention rocks?"

It was Clanross, behind me. I jumped. Again. Such was the state of my nerves, I had not
even seen him approach. The girls' faces (and Miss Bluestone's) lit like tapers.

They surrounded him instantly, my sisters chattering like daws and Miss Bluestone
smiling benignantly, and once more I couldn't edge in a private word. I wondered at Clanross's
patience. I wondered at my own impatience--and selfishness. Not only were they delighted to
find themselves in his company, but I saw, though he made no vulgar demonstrations, that he
was very glad to see them, too. Presently, he observed that we were attracting attention.
Willoughby had sauntered over and was listening openly, a sneer on his well-bred lips.