The Coachman's Daughter (11 page)

Stepping out into the hall, he heard the
orchestra that had arrived this morning. The usually closed
ballroom was smaller than the one in London, but was decorated and
polished, gleaming beautifully under his mother’s eye. White silk
and brocade chairs were along the inside wall, the windows on the
other side draped with tasseled gold and white silk drapes. Tables
were laden with every sort of delicacy and sparkling wines.

Eccentric or no, his mama had excellent
taste.

At the bottom of the stairs, he saw his
friend Lord Montgomery enter the foyer with the lovely Juliette,
who had her full figured body in cream and emerald silk. Her hair
was drawn up with diamond pens. Elbow length gloves were on her
arms, over which she sported diamond bracelets.

“Monty.” He welcomed them, and ignored
Juliette’s snort when he bowed over her hand and kissed it.

“Deme. Juliette wanted to arrive early to see
to Lisette.”

“She’s still in her rooms.” Deme told her.
“May hide out there all evening, if someone doesn’t drag her
down.”

“I’ll go speak with her.” Juliette lifted her
hem and headed for the stairs.

“When she came over to Wolford,” Monty told
him chuckling, “it was all Juliette could do to convince her to
come back home. As much as I like your sister, I don’t think I
could survive helping her play hide and seek with the Viscount.” He
added, “I have known Marston for some time, not intimately but we
have some mutual interests. I daresay, Lisette is being a bit
extreme in her judgment of him.”

“She’s certainly determined to avoid him.”
Deme led the way into the sitting area just before the ballrooms,
both sets of doors opened and others already inside talking and
partaking of the sweets and wine.

“The Duchess isn’t set on him, I
understand.”

“No. but Lisette isn’t hearing it.”

In his formal black and white also, a diamond
pin in his cravat, Monty leaned against the mantle and regarded
him. “You look sharp tonight. I hope the transformation I have
observed in you is indeed permanent, my friend. I always detested
the way you wasted your intellect and opportunities, Deme. I would
love to see you actually enjoying your life.”

“I don’t know about transforming. However, I
declined father’s invite to take over Wimberly. This is his home;
all of the younger ones love it here. He and mother do also. I have
asked instead, that he give me one of the minor properties. I’ve
hardly proved myself.”

“And do you intend to do that. Prove
yourself?” Those brown eyes regarded him.

Deme shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Why? His grace would hand you everything, in
any case. I know why I— have always wished you would, but why do
you feel you must.”

Deme eyed the decanter, wishing he could
drink the whole bloody thing. “One must do something when idleness
loses its appeal.”

His flippant answer did not sway or fool
Monty, but all the Marquis said was, “It never suited you, Deme.
You had to work too hard at it.”

Deme grunted but was saved from further
unease by his mother coming out of the ballroom to greet them.

She amused Monty by offering her cheek, which
he dutifully kissed. Dressed in black and silver gown, she was
quite a vision in her pearl and diamond pumps and silver
crownlet.

She took their hands. “Come, you must keep
the Viscount company. He has been surrounded by Little John and
James for a half hour and I fear their tales of Lisette’s exploits
might put him off.”

“Better he knows she is a woman with spirit.”
Monty told her, “And enjoys it. Otherwise, they certainly will not
suite.”

“Oh, I’ve already determined that Lisette
will put no effort into such a notion. However, I know my boys and
they will exaggerate where the truth is enough, and I would not
have Marston think us completely uncivilized.

Once the Duchess left them, they exchanged a
look and laughed, considering the Duchess had her “pets” in the
ballroom—parrots in a lace ruffs and pooches in their canine
formals. The rabbits were hopping in and out of chairs, their
diamond collars sparkling. The only one banished was the rooster,
and Deme was certain that Marston had made its acquaintance as it
crowed for an hour on the banisters this morning.

Deme stopped by a refreshment table, long
enough to hand Monty wine and collect one for himself.

“He looks ready to flee.” Deme observed the
tall formally dressed man standing between the brothers on the
other side of the ballroom.

“I would be too. There’s no telling what
those lads are up to.”

They crossed the room. Deme did
introductions, seeing that the Viscount indeed knew Montgomery. He
complimented Monty on his publications about Egyptian artifacts and
mentioned a lecture they had both attended.

Those silver eyes and that craggy visage gave
little away, but Deme nearly spewed wine when the Viscount leaned
down and that seldom heard voice drawled, “There would not by
chance be whiskey served tonight, would there?”

“Only the finest.” Monty waved toward a door
past two columns at the end. “The card room is usually well
stocked.”

When the Viscount excused himself and headed
that way, Monty grinned and told Deme, “I’ll join him.”

Deme wanted to. However, he made himself
mingle, getting to know the men James and Aiden would serve with,
and used a bit of his wit and charm to have them laughing before he
stood with his father. They spoke about the estates on a casual
level.

Deme spied the women when they entered,
Lisette holding onto Juliette as if she were entering a lion’s den.
The chit looked lovely. Straight hair done up in some weaved with
pearls, a fat curl over her shoulder. Aqua blue silk gown,
sleeveless, banded under the breast with white velvet. Her pumps
were dyed silk and beaded with pearls.

like Mulhern, she preferred trousers or
comfortable skirts, but his sister knew how to put on the
shine.

“You look ravishing.” He took her hand and
kissed it, and then winked at Juliette before the Lady went to join
his mother. “Monty is with the Viscount Marston.”

Hearing Lisette groan, he told her, “I’ve
never known you to be so anxious. Enjoy yourself; I believe mama
has finally realized you two would never suit.”

“I hope so.” She replied and then looked over
his shoulder. “I have made every effort to highlight how absolutely
opposite we are.”

Deme turned, seeing Monty and the Viscount
had emerged.

He knew what Lisette’s expression was—utter
dread, but Marstons was harder to read as the man spied her, and
stopped in his tracks.

Lisette pulled her hand free, did an about
face, and was soon over with her brothers, too obviously fawning
over the gents in uniform and ignoring the Viscount.

With the man again, and Monty, Deme thought
he heard Marston mutter, “baggage” but was not sure, since his own
attention went to the entry and remained there.

To Haven.

He watched her enter on her father’s arm,

Patrick looked like a man swelled with pride,
dressed in formal black and white that oddly suited his tall
frame.

He had good reason to feel that pride.

Deme could scarcely breathe when he looked at
her.

Her blood red hair was drawn back in a twist
he saw when she curtsied to his father, and it was decorated with
amber gems. Semi full Lips were glossy, her lashes darkened. Drop
earrings of sparkling diamond and topaz were in her ears and with
her hair up, it enhanced her slender neck. The gown—quite the
loveliest thing he had ever beheld, edged her shoulders and showed
her surprisingly delicate collarbone. Sheer lace sleeves, matched
the wispy lace over topaz silk gown. The bodice was low and
gathered. The lush jewel tone gown fit her lithe form to
perfection.

When Patrick released her arm, he saw her
move to kiss the Duchess’s cheek. Her pumps were cream satin with
gold heels. Small bows glittered on them. She did a perfect
curtsy.

It came to him as he observed her greeting
Juliette and others, as she was being teased and obviously
complimented by his brothers—that she knew how to move and carry
herself in that gown as well as she did in trousers. Staring at her
profile when she sipped champagne, he suddenly saw it, the proud
nose, high cheekbones, and the fine arch of her brow.

By God, he laughed at himself, at his utter
blindness. She was the very picture of a blue blood.

Deme jerked from his trance when catching a
signal from his mother.

He crossed the room and met her.

“Madam?”

“You are going to partner me. His grace has
been promised the fist waltz by Haven.”

“My pleasure.” He swept her out onto the
floor with a grand gesture that made her laugh. The music
commenced. He went through the steps, but Deme could hardly keep
from glancing a few feet away, watching with envy whilst his father
waltzed with Haven. She had grace, a light step, and when his
father chuckled and twirled her, she laughed full and throaty.

“She’s lovely.” The Duchess sighed.

He attended his mother. “Yes.”

Her blue eyes twinkled back at him. “Shall we
change partners?”

“Yes.”

She stopped. He freed her to go to his
father, realizing that everyone was watching the two couples. No
one joining them yet.

When the Duke had his mother in his arms,
Deme watched Haven walk toward him. He would swear his knees went a
bit weak.

She curtsied, and he bowed, and then he was
taking her in his arms and husking, “You are breathtaking.”

“Thank you.” She skimmed his face then looked
somewhere over his shoulder. Though both of them moved well
together, he could feel her tension.

“When are we leaving?” she asked after a
turn.

His hand flexed against hers. “May as well go
in the morning.”

That got her eyes on him. “The others heading
back to London?”

“Yes, sometime during the day.” His gaze
dropped to her mouth then moved back up. The waltz was nearly over.
“You nervous, about meeting your Aunt?’

“Yes. Not really nervous…I don’t know.”

He breathed in her perfume; a heady scent of
rain washed flowers, and watched a pulse beat in her throat. “Just
don’t get any ideas about staying in York. You’ve promised
Lisette.”

“Yes, I have promised Lisette to attend her
birthday ball. In London.”

The last strains were playing.

Their eyes met, clung for those seconds, and
seconds before he let her go, Deme husked, “I want you.”

He saw the slight widening of her eyes before
Haven was stepping back, and then leaving the dance floor.

Deme wanted to follow her. He wanted to drag
her off somewhere private.

He turned and crossed to join Marston, who
murmured, “Who was that woman?”

“The coachman’s daughter.” Deme found himself
smiling. He glanced aside and saw Marston was observing her as
James and Aiden embraced her. The man murmured, “You are in love
with her, obviously.”

The drink of wine did not quite go down, and
when those silver eyes turned to his, Deme rasped, “No—”

A smile teased on that craggy face. The
Viscount offered, “You may not know me, but I know you very well,
my lord.” Then, before he stepped away, presumably to attend a
dance with Lisette—Marston offered, “You are half way tolerable
when you are sober—but lie less convincingly.”

Watching him indeed walk over and take
Lisette’s hand, rather expertly leaving her no chance to deny him a
turn on the floor, Deme muttered under his breath, “So it seems.”
and knocked back the wine.

His eyes found Haven again, now moving from
the top of her head to the toes of her slippers—lingering on a
smile she wore while listening to something Juliette was saying,
“Bloody hell.” He swallowed and mentally shook his head. How the
hell did this happen?

* * * *

Haven had a lovely evening. Between dancing
with Jude, James, Aiden, even the Viscount Marston—and talking,
laughing with Juliette and Lisette. She had a dance with her
father, and saw her father’s fluster when the Duchess took a turn
on the floor with him. She was not sure how Patrick learned but he
also danced a reel with Lisette and his laughter made him look
years younger.

Haven was also amused watching Lisette dance
with everyone and try to avoid Marston. She did have to dance with
him once and far from silent, Haven knew he said something to
Lisette, because the young woman was frowning oddly.

The Viscount seemed amused. True, he did not
reveal a lot, and true, his eyes were silver grey, but Haven was
starting to think there might be more to Lisette’s protestations
than met the eye.

It was a wonderful party. Her sort of come
out, even if it was in a small group and among family. It was the
perfect sort of evening. Nevertheless, under it all hummed a
smoldering tension every time she caught a pair of green eyes on
her. They were on her, nearly every time she looked Deme’s way.

Her last planned dance was with the Marquis
of Wolford, Monty. And, that was almost as uncomfortable, as he
said, after complimenting her, “Deme is more than meets the eye.
More than even he takes credit for.”

“I’m sure he is.” She cautiously looked in
his warm brown eyes.

“He seems almost tamed of late.”

“Everyone must mature at some point. He has
perhaps reached that point.”

“Um” The Marquis searched her face then held
her gaze. “The two of you can hardly keep your eyes off each
other.”

She flushed.

That gloved hand squeezed hers comfortably.
“I’m happy to see him looking at any woman like that.”

“Meaning, you do not mind my low birth.” She
came to a stop.

Monty was nothing if not a seasoned man.
“Meaning—that Deme has viewed the world through a brandy soaked
haze for too long and used women as much as they have used him. I
wouldn’t care if you were a scullery maid, Haven, so long as Deme
felt something real for you.”