The Bridal Season (20 page)

Letty reached the chorus and sang, “For my name is Champagne
Charlie!” and held her hand to her ear, as though listening. The guests didn’t
hesitate but sang the refrain back to her with gusto, “Champagne Charlie is my
name!”

She threw back her head and laughed with pure, unadulterated
gaiety. She was still laughing when she looked into the crowd. Abruptly she
stopped. Her eyes grew wide. Elliot turned in his seat. There was nothing in
the direction in which she’d stared as though seeing a ghost.

She touched her temples and gave an unconvincing smile. “I’m
so sorry. I’ve forgotten the next lines.”

A universal sound of disappointment arose from the exuberant
crowd.

“No, no. Really, you are too kind, but I must decline.” She
stood up, bobbed a quick curtsy, and scooted toward the back of the drawing
room.

Who was she? Oh, yes, he knew her name: Agatha Letitia Whyte.
Letty to her intimates. But even though each day he learned more about Letty,
he had the oddest feeling he knew less about Lady Agatha.

Letty scooped Fagin up in her arms. That had been close. She’d
been having a right jolly good time of it when she’d suddenly seen the little
beggar standing dead in the middle of the aisle that separated the audience’s
chairs.

Only he was standing on his back legs, his front legs tucked
close to his body in preparation for his hop down the aisle to her side. Worse,
he would be hopping with Catherine Bunting’s reticule clamped in his mouth. She
should have realized he’d pull something like this.

An actor’s need for attention was nearly insatiable, and Fagin
was a true son of the bards. He’d only needed to hear applause to launch into
his routine. A routine she’d taught him. As she’d taught him to nip lady’s
purses in the audience. She’d never imagined he’d combine the two skills. Thank
God no one else had seen him.

She dropped the purse and kicked it under a row of chairs. The
servants would find it later when they cleaned up. She turned, Fagin wiggling
in her arms. A little crowd was gathering behind her.

“What a lovely voice you have, Lady Agatha!”

“I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in months.”

“You have such talent, Lady Agatha, don’t you think so, Sir
Elliot?”

“Extraordinary.”

She turned her head. He stood beside her.

“Lady Agatha,” he greeted her.

“Sir Elliot.” Could that breathless whisper be hers? “Sir
Elliot.”

“May I compliment you on your performance? It was enchanting.”

Oh, Lord. He really must stop looking at her that way. It made
her feel light-headed and muzzy and...

He stepped back and another gentleman took his place. When
next she looked, he was gone. It was fifteen minutes before she could break
free of her well-wishers. She moved through the crush, smiling her thanks as
appreciative comments followed her, looking for him.

She finally found him in a crowded anteroom. He was seated by
the window, one elbow on the arm of his chair, his knuckles pressed to his lips
as he listened gravely to a thin whippet of a man. As Letty watched, another
gentleman approached Elliot from behind and touched his shoulder.

Elliot lifted his hand, forestalling any interruption, and the
man left. There would soon be another to take his place. Wherever Elliot was,
he drew people like steel tailings to a magnet.

As if he felt her studying him, Elliot lifted his eyes and met
her gaze. For a second it was as if they were the only two people in the room.
She couldn’t hear anything except the thudding of her heart. His mouth
softened, curved into the promise of a smile.

“Lady Agatha?” Someone touched her elbow. She blinked, coming
up from the dense, all-pervading awareness of him, of what he did to her with
just the hint of a smile.

“Yes?” She turned to face the gentleman. It was Mr. Jepson and
he was brilliantly red in the face.

“Ah, er, you weren’t thinking of coming in here, were you,
Lady Agatha?” he asked unhappily.

“Of course not,” Letty said with a regal sniff. “Why wasn’t
I?”

“Because, ah, this is the, ah, smoking room.”

Of course it was. Any idiot could see that. Smoke hung in a
thin blue blanket in the air. Of the twenty or so men, half held cigars while
the other half held brandy glasses. The women—There were no women. Oh.

“Do excuse me. I was looking for the ladies’ room.” Pray God
there was such a thing.

“Of course!” Mr. Jepson said. “Down the hall and the first door
to the left.”

She glanced at Elliot before she left, but he was now
thoroughly engaged in conversation with the thin, gray man. She left and
retraced her steps toward the drawing room before thinking better of it. A
chitchat with some of the local tabbies might prove entertaining. With that
thought, she followed Mr. Jepson’s direction, finding the door to the ladies’
room slightly ajar. She approached half expecting a cloud of perfumed talc to
come wafting through the opening. Instead, she heard Catherine Bunting’s voice.

“Of course, one would not say ‘vulgar.’ "

Letty stopped.

“No, but one
could
say ‘common,’ " came the response.
It was Squire Himplerump’s wife, Dottie. The woman had never spoken to Letty
beyond muttering, “How’d y’ do?”

“You know what people are saying?” Dottie asked in dramatic
tones.

“You know I don’t listen to gossip, dear,” Catherine replied,
without the slightest reproach.

“Of course not, but this is really more in the order of
speculation, not gossip.”

“Oh. Well, then. What do people speculate?”

“They say Sir Elliot is, and I put this in the vulgar parlance
in which it belongs, bowled over by her.”

Letty smiled.
They do?

Catherine laughed. Letty’s smile faded.

“Elliot? ‘Bowled over’? Ridiculous!”

“He certainly acts besotted,” Dottie replied.

Hear, hear!

“My dear, need I remind you that I was engaged to the man? Not
to be unkind, but Elliot isn’t the sort who’s ruled by his emotions. Supposing
he has them.”

If that was Catherine trying “not to be unkind,” Letty would
hate to run into her when she was feeling nasty. She began to turn away,
certain that if she stayed much longer she’d do something impulsive.

“You really don’t see what’s going on, do you?” Catherine
asked Dottie.

“Well,” Dottie said, “I think he thinks she’s got a nice shape?
My son certainly does. He says she—”

“No,” Catherine clipped out. “That’s not what Elliot is
thinking.” She sighed. “It seems so clear to me. I would have thought that a
woman of perception such as yourself, Dottie, would see it, too. Well, if you
don’t, you don’t, and I shan’t say a thing. But I think Elliot is making a
grave mistake.”

“Oh, tell!”

“No. It’s too poor of me even to think.”

“I’m sure you only have Sir Elliot’s best interest at heart.”

“Of course I do!”

“What do you suspect?”

“Well,” Catherine said comfortably, and Letty could just
imagine her scooting her skinny bum closer to where Dottie sat. “Elliot’s
rather come up in the world over the past years, hasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And he has always been ambitious, and since his return from
the east, quite keen on politics. Believe me, he won’t be content with a
knighthood.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed, no. And what better way to assure his rise in status
than to marry a duke’s daughter?” Catherine paused a second before remembering
to gasp. “There. I’ve said it and now I feel just
terrible!
You must
know I wouldn’t have said
anything
to
anyone
but you, dear Dot.”

“Of course not,” Dottie answered solemnly.

“I just hope he knows what he’s getting into with a woman like
that. And,” Catherine continued quickly, “you must believe that my concern is
not all for our dear Elliot.”

“Of course.”

Of course,
Letty thought grimly.
And if you believe
that, Dottie, you’ll believe that son of yours will be the next Prime Minister.
Which you probably do.

“Lady Agatha can’t possibly appreciate an intellect like
Elliot’s. Brilliant men seldom experience deep emotional bonds with others.
They give all their resources over to higher faculties. Which would be fine for
a like-minded sort of lady, but very difficult for a... a... a perfervid
creature like Lady Agatha.”

Perfervid? Letty thought with a little inward cringe. She
tested the unfamiliar word. It sounded very like “lecherous.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Dottie whispered in the delicious tones
of the confirmed gossip. “A hot sort of woman. Why, when she’s with Sir Elliot
they fair singe the air, what with the looks passing back and forth. Fair puts
me in the vapors,” she finished piously.

“Hmm. I daresay the looks are passing much more in the
direction from Lady Agatha toward Sir Elliott than vice versa.” Catherine’s
voice had taken on a notable chill. “I rather pity her, if truth be told.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, she’s obviously given to female hysteria,
being a spinster and all. Poor dear.”

“You’re a saint, Catherine.”

Letty pushed her knuckles into her mouth and bit them hard to
keep from erupting into a string of West End profanity. Sounds of movement came
from the room. Letty lifted her satin skirts and dashed around the corner and
from there headed for the drawing room.

Catherine was lying. Elliot
wasn’t
paying her attention
because he thought she was a duke’s daughter. He was just as passionate as she,
not
perfervid
—damn Catherine for putting the word in her head! Nor
hot!
He
did
feel the same irresistible pull as she. He couldn’t have
feigned that. No one was that good an actor.

But if he found her so damned irresistible, why hadn’t he
kissed her again?

No one ever fell in love gracefully.

ELLIOT LOOKED UP AND FOUND HER watching him from the billiard
room doorway. Their eyes locked, and for a moment he had such an acute sense of
her that she seemed much closer. He could have sworn he saw the dark pools of
her pupils dilate, the soft flush spread up her throat, the light spangled in
her hair.

After she left he had a hard time returning his attention to
Will Macalvie. Even now he didn’t know what he’d promised he’d do, but it must
have been enough to satisfy Macalvie for he’d gone away mollified.

Henry Smith immediately filled the vacant chair. But Elliot
wasn’t about to make any more rash promises, and arranged to meet Smith at his
office Monday next. From there he went in search of Letty.

He found her in the drawing room, surrounded by
people—primarily male people, he noted with grim amusement—being scintillating.
Which she did with amazing ease.

He paused, rethinking his course. If he were wise, he would
keep a nice, safe distance from her, because dressed in buttery soft satin, her
white bosom swelling above the shimmering fabric, her eyes flashing, her
laughter teasing... Well, frankly, he didn’t know whether he was up to the task
of resisting her tonight.

One more hour of wanting her and forcing himself to obey
Society’s rigid rules of courtship, and he would likely be driven to his knees.
She didn’t know that, of course. She had no idea how viscerally she affected
him.

Not that that was any excuse. He was more than willing to
exercise every bit of willpower he owned on her behalf, though it would be a
good sight easier if she gave some slight indication that she understood and
appreciated his efforts. She didn’t, though. She didn’t seem the least bit
flattered by his restraint. Mostly she seemed confused. Even a bit irritated.

She looked up and caught his eye. Something was wrong. He made
his way to her side, where she acknowledged him with a bright, false smile and
continued to charm the men standing three deep around her. He studied her
profile. Though her playfulness was general and her coquetry without a specific
target, he was definitely being excluded. He disliked it.

The dinner bell sounded, signaling that the buffet was ready.
The group around Letty melted away as the gentlemen left looking for their
dinner partners and the ladies positioned themselves to be found. Letty was
left standing beside him in strained silence.

“Are you going in?” he asked.

“Perhaps in a while. I’m a bit overheated.” For some reason,
as soon as she said this she blushed profusely.

“May I wait with you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

He frowned. Surely, he’d heard her wrong. “I assure you, it
won’t be a matter of necessity on my part. I’d be indulging myself.”

She turned a hard gaze on him. “I owe you an apology, Sir
Elliot.”

“How so?” he asked in surprise.

“When I arrived, I thought the residents here would be quaint,
provincial, and uncomplicated. But you, sir, are as adept with words as any
cit.”

He regarded her closely. “Adept or facile?”

She lowered her eyes. “I would not judge.”

“But I think you do and I think you have and I would very much
like to know on what grounds I have so tumbled in your estimation.”

“Tumbled? You’ve risen in my estimation, sir. I am most
impressed by your eloquence.”

“It’s not your estimation of my eloquence to which I’m
referring, Letty.”

Though he’d never yet seen her shy away from candor, she did
now. “I don’t know what you mean. We barely know one another. In fact, I don’t
really know you at all.”

He stared at her, confounded. He felt he’d known her all of
his life, that he’d simply been waiting for her to appear to give a face to the
woman he’d been seeking his entire adult life. It had never occurred to him
that she might not feel the same.

“I am most eager to rectify that,” he assured her.