The Bridal Season (11 page)

Lady Agatha Whyte, standing in the reception line beside Anton
and Eglantyne Bigglesworth, did. And had before, as evinced by the easy way she
quaffed the ale from a ceramic mug and licked the froth from her upper lip.

Sir Elliot arrived with his father and greeted the
Bigglesworths, and tried with only moderate success to keep his eyes from
straying toward Letty. But her eyes were alight with private laughter and her
dark auburn hair blazed in the bright afternoon sun. She’d dressed in a
swirling, close-fitting gown, her every movement exaggerating the ripe—

He gave himself a mental shake and bowed over Eglantyne’s
hand. Then Eglantyne turned toward Lady Agatha, saying something about having
introduced him yesterday, and he was before her, carrying her hand to his lips.
He lifted his eyes as he kissed the back of her hand. Her eyes darkened, her
lips parted. He heard her inhale softly.

He straightened, smiling calmly though his pulse had begun
racing. She returned his smile with equal aplomb and equal duplicity; the thin
material covering her breasts shivered and his body reacted instinctively. It
had been years since a woman had had such a physical effect on him.

Then he and Atticus were moving down the line and from there
out onto the lawn toward where Paul and Catherine Bunting stood. Atticus was
silent, and for this Elliot was glad. Was Lady Agatha the lady she claimed to
be or an imposter? He did not trust his own judgment.

“Lady Agatha is a most handsome young woman,”

Atticus said as they approached the Buntings. “Quite lively.
It’s the red hair, you know.” His father nodded sagely. “It invariably decries
an ardent nature.”

“I suppose.”

“I suspect it’s why she’s unmarried. Too volatile.”

“Hm.”

Atticus glanced at him in surprise. “You take a different
view?”

“I suspect it has more to do with a lack of ready than a
superfluity of passion.”

“Superfluity? Passion?” Atticus’s brow furrowed.

“Vivacity, then. And I was being ironic, Father. One could
hardly be too alive, could one?”

His father smiled. “You’d be surprised at the odd notions some
men entertain regarding the fairer sex. I have little doubt that there are men
who would consider Lady Agatha’s, ah, joie de vivre disreputable.”

“Then they’d be fools,” Elliot said shortly.

He made his obeisance to Catherine, kissing her hand before
shaking Paul’s. Catherine, warmhearted and affectionate by nature, linked her
arm through his.

“Who’s a fool, Elliot?”

His father answered. “Men who do not understand Lady Agatha’s
charm.”

Catherine looked surprised. “You think her charming, Elliot?”

He had never been the sort of man to easily disclose his
feelings, and he wasn’t even sure what they were in regard to Lady Agatha. “The
Bigglesworths obviously find her entirely delightful.”

“Ah!” Catherine said, smiling kindly. “The Bigglesworths are
such dear, undiscriminating people.”

Before Elliot could answer, she’d tapped him playfully on the
cheek. “And you are entirely unworldly where women are concerned. Come, Elliot.
Let us find a glass of punch and I shall explain to you about the wiles of the
average
woman.”

She’d secured his arm and he had no choice but to escort her
to where a servant was dispensing punch.

Paul watched them go without any appreciable interest, as Lady
Agatha approached him in company with Dr. Beacon and his wife. She greeted Paul
and Atticus, looking about with unfeigned interest.

“Ah, drat,” Beacon said. “I missed Elliot.”

“I suspect he’ll be back shortly,” Paul said. “Went off on
some errand of Catherine’s making.”

Atticus glanced at Lady Agatha. Should he, or shouldn’t he? He
should.

“Does that a lot, doesn’t he?” Atticus said mildly.

“All the time,” Paul answered. “Still feels something of the
old tenderness I should imagine,” he added proudly, “and Catherine always goes
out of her way to make sure she shows him a little extra attention. She’s so
tender-hearted.” He glanced at Atticus. “Not that I’m suggesting that Elliot’s
feelings aren’t entirely honorable.”

“Of course not,” Atticus agreed at once, and noted with satisfaction
the chill expression on Lady Agatha’s face. “It’s fortunate for Elliot that
Catherine doesn’t feel uncomfortable being at the center of an old swain’s as
well as a loving husband’s attention.”

“She always says it’s important that Elliot feel welcome,”
Paul said.

“Perhaps she enjoys the attention?” Lady Agatha suggested.

Paul shrugged. “Maybe.”

His answer, as well as his obvious unconcern, had the effect
of making Lady Agatha’s eyes flash with annoyance or disapproval. She smiled
brittlely. “Dr. Beacon, isn’t that your lovely sister over there? I would so
like the opportunity to know her better.”

Somehow Atticus kept from grinning until after Lady Agatha and
Jim Beacon were gone. But it was an effort.

Having gotten Catherine her punch and returned her to her
husband, Elliot was about to join Lady Agatha’s party when he noted Elizabeth
Vance and her father sitting by themselves at a table under an awning. He went
to them at once.

“Miss Vance, would you and the Colonel mind terribly if I
joined you for lunch? There are some matters about the current Boer situation
that I would like the Colonel’s opinion on.”

“Of course. Of course, m’boy!” Colonel Vance thumped the empty
chair next to him with his cane. “You’d best go off to some of your women
friends, Elizabeth. Sir Elliot wants my advice. Nothing of interest for you
here, I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid not,” Elliot agreed apologetically. Elizabeth all
but leapt to her feet and, after making a breathless promise to return soon,
fled.

Elliot settled in to listen. Though he was usually content to
hear the old man’s tales, today his gaze kept straying to the lawn outside,
where the sun danced between newly minted leaves and women and men strolled
beneath the branches, laughing, chatting, and flirting.

He was thirty-three years old. At one time he’d been as easy
and careless as those around him, but then obligation had required him to don a
mantle of authority and purpose.

Bad luck, a horrific miscarriage of military justice, and a
dervish’s blade had aided that transformation. In a zariba seven miles from the
Nile, he’d caught a sword in the leg but, made oblivious to pain by the sheer
fury he’d felt at a dishonorable and spurious piece of injustice he’d stumbled
into the night before, he’d managed to keep his company together. They’d
rewarded him by shipping him home and giving him a knighthood. He’d vowed never
again to presume justice was available to all men, and to henceforth do all in
his power to see that it was.

Since then, he’d subordinated everything in his life to
fighting to make the legal system a viable and honorable one. Now it looked as
though the care with which he’d led his life and the scrupulousness with which
he performed his legal duties would be rewarded in the premium he had sought.
The Prime Minister himself verified it; come New Year’s Honors, Elliot would be
made a peer.

He should be elated. He should be taking this opportunity to
prioritize a laundry list of reforms and concerns. But his attention kept
wandering. Lady Agatha sat on a large rug, finishing her luncheon along with a
group of picnickers that included John and Rose Jepson, Jim Beacon and his
sister Florence, and Squire Himplerump’s scion, Kip.

“Don’t you agree, sir?” Colonel Vance’s voice grew steadily in
volume.

“Most definitely, sir,” he avowed, not having a clue as to
what he was swearing.

John Jepson hadn’t said a word since Lady Agatha sat down. He
kept grinning at Rose, both of them pink-faced with pleasure over finding
themselves in such august company. Jim sat beside Lady Agatha, chivalrously
plucking daisies for the necklace she was weaving for her dog’s necklace, while
Kip lolled on his stomach, his broody good looks marred by an insolent smile.

As Elliot watched, Lady Agatha called out for Angela to join
them. Angela started over, but abruptly changed her mind, begging off and
turning away. Kip pushed himself to his feet and hurried to catch up to the
girl.

Elliot wished the boy luck. Perhaps he could find out what was
troubling Angela. The two had been friends since the cradle. Indeed, Angela was
one of the few people—besides Kip’s doting parents—who insisted the boy was
good at heart.

Like a magnet, Elliot’s gaze had returned unerringly to Lady
Agatha, when a sudden lull fell on the conversation. Into that brief stillness
Colonel Vance’s voice boomed like a foghorn, “I’d be staring, too, if I could
see half as well as I used to! Quite an eyeful, by God! Makes one’s mouth
water.”

Elliot closed his eyes and wished himself a thousand miles
away. Someone tittered nervously. He opened his eyes. Archibald was leaning
across the table, regarding him with insistent inquisitiveness, his eyes as
bright and black as a malevolent crow’s and just as oblivious to the commotion
he’d caused.

“Well, Elliot?” Archibald demanded. “Ain’t that toothsome? Or
have you no appetite for a fancy piece of work like that?”

Dear God, could it get any worse?

“Father!” Elizabeth, arriving just in time to hear her sire’s
comments, covered her mouth. Her face bled of all color. “Oh, Sir Elliot!” she
whispered from behind her hand. “Please, I pray, forgive him, us. Me. I should
know better than to leave—”

She was near to sobbing. And her father was regarding her in
hurt befuddlement. And if Elliot didn’t do something immediately, Elizabeth,
whose social life was already as severely curtailed as genteel poverty and
dutiful daughterhood could conspire to make it, would never be able to bring
herself to accept another invitation.
If
she ever received another one.

He looked directly at Colonel Vance. He must take the onus for
the Colonel’s words but, if he was to pull this off, everyone must think he was
unaware that they’d become the center of attention. He smiled— though he
doubted the stretching of his lips bore much resemblance to anything remotely
pleasant— and in a loud, distinct voice said, “Ah. Then you did hear me, sir.
As I remarked earlier, she is, indeed, most delectable.” A female gasped. He
steeled himself and plowed on. “Not the usual find at a country picnic. You
retain an excellent eye.”

Well, Elliot thought, so much for becoming better acquainted
with the mysterious Lady Agatha now. She’d shun him like the swine he’d acted.
For him to speak of her as if she was some consuma—

“Well, really, Colonel Vance,” a throaty voice cut across his
thoughts. “It
is
Colonel Vance, is it not? And Sir Elliot.”

He froze upon hearing her voice, but his training stood him in
good stead and he rose to his feet and turned. She’d every right to personally
deliver the set-down he so richly deserved.

“Lady Agatha.” He inclined his head, his voice betraying none
of the self-disgust he felt.

Her clever, angular face was tilted to the side, one brow
cocked, her wide mouth ripe, richly amused, her eyes dancing in perfect
comprehension. In her hands she held a glass bowl filled with cake and
strawberries.

“I could not help but overhear your conversation,” she said,
glancing at Archibald. At least the old roué had grace enough to avert his
eyes. Her gaze released him and swung back to Elliot.

“Your
entire
conversation,” she said in a voice that,
though carrying clearly, somehow gave an impression of intimacy so that anyone
listening—which nearly everyone within shouting distance was—would think she
spoke to him alone. Nice trick, that, and for a second he wondered where she’d
learned it, but then she moved closer.

“Forgive me for eavesdropping, but that is how I learned how
delectable both you gentlemen find
strawberry trifle.
I also noted that
your table doesn’t seem to have been set with one, and so confided to my fellow
diners.”

She gestured graciously to the doubtful-looking group behind
her. “Generous souls that they are, they simply could not enjoy this one
knowing you were without, Colonel Vance. Oh,” she batted her eyelashes
innocently, “and you, too, of course, Sir Elliot.”

He stared.

She knew full well they hadn’t been speaking of any cake. It
was there in her eyes, in the teasing tilt to her smile. She also knew that
since she’d claimed to have heard their conversation, no one could say they
hadn’t been speaking of cake without calling Lady Agatha a liar.

He smiled, grateful for her generosity, but on seeing the
amused arch of her brow, realized, as she already had, that he was also now in
her debt.

Charm is getting people to say “yes”

without ever having to ask them a question.

“HERE,” SAID LADY AGATHA, OFFERING HIM the bowl.

“You are too generous, Lady Agatha,” he mumbled.

“Aren’t I just?” she replied smoothly.

“I thought you disliked strawberries, Elliot,” Catherine said
from beside him. He hadn’t even seen her approach.

“Perhaps at one time; not anymore,” he said, looking across
Catherine at Lady Agatha. “Quite recently I’ve developed a veritable passion
for them. Amazing the things one can discover about oneself. And under the most
unusual circumstances.”

Lady Agatha stifled a laugh.

“Piffle,” Catherine said severely. She took the trifle and
placed it in front of Archibald Vance who, in a rare instance of prudence, had
decided to stay mute.

She linked her arm through Elliot’s and gave it a little hug.

“Remember when we were young and Cook used to give us bowls of
strawberries as a treat? You always gave me yours. Come to think of it, I
wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you
have
always liked them. You have
always been chivalrous to me.”