Mr. Vane’s ‘tragic accident’ rated only one small paragraph in the
Morning Post
.
Belinda’s downcast looks were understood by Lord and Lady Burfield to be a result of the ordeal she had gone through, but Lizzie and Miss Trumble fretted and worried about her.
‘So what do you think?’ demanded Miss Trumble of Barry. ‘Is Gyre lost? He is still in London, I believe, and would normally be expected to be at the ball, but I fear he will not, and we will return to the country and that will be the end of that.’
‘We could call,’ said Barry slowly.
‘I cannot even believe we tried to do that before. He is quite grand and I think he would regard it as the height of impertinence.’
Barry scratched his sparse grey hairs. ‘Reckon it was my impression that his lordship rated you highly. Very open and frank he was with you, too. We could call and sound him out, like.’
‘And yet I cannot understand why he did not promptly propose to Belinda. The man was head over heels in love with her, else why did he return to Town and follow her to
Hammersmith?’
‘We’ll never know unless we ask,’ said Barry. ‘No,’ agreed Miss Trumble, ‘we won’t, will we?’
Lord Gyre would indeed have proposed marriage to Belinda Beverley, the very day after he had rescued her, had not his friend, Gurney Burke, decided to intercede. As soon as he heard the story, Gurney realized that Belinda was going to secure his best friend as husband.
‘For a nearly dowerless heiress, she is lucky,’ said Gurney. ‘And think of being allied to that family. Such a mother-in-law. Mannerling is to be sold and they will never leave you alone until you buy it.’
This brought forcibly to Gyre’s mind all the burning ambition that had possessed Belinda. He remembered how Lizzie and Lady Beverley had behaved to him at the opera.
How could he be sure that Belinda wanted him for himself alone?
Still, he would have set out to at least call on her after another day’s hard thought had not Gurney told him that it was well-known the Beverley family were waiting for a proposal because Belinda Beverley had failed at the Season and Gyre was their last hope.
Had the marquess any vanity about his
looks, he might not have believed this fiction, but he had become accustomed to being valued for his lands, wealth, and title. And so he continued to avoid the Beverleys or any place he might meet them, and yet he could not bring himself to leave Town.
When Miss Trumble’s card was sent up to him, he almost told his butler to inform the lady that he was not at home, but he pulled himself together when he remembered that the eminently sensible Miss Trumble had disapproved of the Beverley plots.
‘Send her up,’ he said.
Miss Trumble entered wearing a dark-gold dress of taffeta, an elegant bonnet, and a Norfolk shawl draped around her shoulders, carefully arranged in just the right modish folds.
She curtsied low to him, refused refreshment, and sat primly on a chair, her head a little on one side, her bright eyes studying him, he thought, with all the curiosity of a blackbird.
‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit, Miss Trumble?’
‘I am come to thank you for saving the life of Belinda Beverley.’
‘That is kind and thoughtful of you, but Lord and Lady Burfield sent me a most charming letter to that effect.’
‘And so Saint Clair is to marry his Mrs. Ingram. Highly sensible. It will be the making
of that young man.’
‘I think the most amusing thing that came out of the whole sorry affair,’ said the marquess, ‘was that Saint Clair did in fact get a substantial inheritance from his relative.’
Then followed a long silence while Lord Gyre studied the governess curiously. ‘Why did you really call, Miss Trumble? It is…er…unusual for a lady to call on a gentleman at his home.’
Miss Trumble smiled. ‘I am protected from scandal by age. Do you go to the ball tonight?’
‘I am not sure whether I will or not. Why?’
‘I just wondered…Oh, this is ridiculous!’ exclaimed Miss Trumble. ‘Those wretched Beverley girls. Why should I care? But I do. Belinda Beverley is eating her heart out for you.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Why?’
‘I was informed that the Beverleys expected me to propose marriage to her because I was their last hope.’
Miss Trumble frowned and looked down at her gloved hands. Then she gave a little sigh. ‘They say all the world loves a lover, but I have never found that to be the case with a man’s friends. The minute some gentleman contemplates marriage, his friends panic. So, do tell me, at which door was Mr. Burke listening when he overheard that?’
‘How did you know it came from Gurney?’
#x2018;Who else would invent such a fiction? And it is a fiction. Use your common sense, my lord. When did Lady Beverley ever favour your suit? Lord and Lady Burfield are not schemers or plotters. They themselves married for love. When you hear bad news, always study the person who brings it to you. Mr. Burke once overheard an unfortunate conversation between Belinda and Lizzie and embellished it. Have you not always found Belinda painfully direct? Are you afraid she will ask you to buy Mannerling for her? This is Belinda Beverley we are discussing. Can you imagine her receiving a proposal of marriage and accepting that proposal only if you buy her Mannerling? I assure you, my lord, her declared intention is never to go near the place again. Oh, and in case Mr. Burke comes around with any more stories, I assure you he has not been near us, nor has he been at any function at which we were present. But if you tell him you are to go to that ball tonight, I am sure he will invent something else. Last night, we were all at home. We did not go anywhere, and today none of us venture out until the ball. I am telling you this so that if he says, ‘Oh, I was at the opera last night and I overheard…,’ that sort of thing, you will know he is out to make trouble.’
‘Gurney has been my closest friend for many years. He did not try to interfere in my liaison with Mrs. Ingram, for example.’
‘That was an affair, not marriage. Come, my
lord, where are your wits? If Belinda Beverley wanted Mannerling so much, would she ever have let Saint Clair go free?’
He looked at her with veiled eyes. How could he explain, to this prim spinster, the burning passion he felt for Belinda which addled his wits, his fear that his feelings could never be matched?
But almost as if she had read his thoughts, she said quietly, ‘If you do not go to that ball tonight, my lord, you will never know and you may find too late that you have lost something of value.’
‘I will think about it,’ he said, suddenly formal. ‘Thank you for your call, Miss Trumble.’ He rose to his feet to show the interview was at an end. She rose as well, feeling suddenly as if she had failed.
‘I did my best, Barry,’ she said as they jolted their way back in a smelly hack.
‘You can’t do more than that, miss,’ said Barry.
* * *
Miss Trumble herself arranged Belinda’s hair for the ball, putting aside the Prince of Wales feathers that Lady Beverley had suggested and pinning silver roses in Belinda’s hair instead. ‘Feathers are so difficult to manage,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘Your gown is very fine. You will break hearts tonight, Belinda.’
Only my own, thought Belinda sadly. I will watch the door of the ballroom, waiting for him to arrive, but he will not come and the Season will be over.
‘I wish you were coming with us,’ she said instead.
‘Barry and I are going to enjoy a pleasant game of whist,’ said Miss Trumble.
‘If only I could stay with you! I am weary of balls and parties.’
‘This is the last one. A fine evening for it, too. A full moon. The Hadshires have a pretty garden at the back of the house where guests may stroll about the trees. So romantic. Why, I remember in the old duke’s day, there was an evening…Well, never mind. You don’t want to hear an old lady prattling on. Courage, Belinda. You must shine tonight. Society will expect you to look sad because you have lost Saint Clair.’
‘But I told
him
I could not marry him.’
‘The Beverley ambitions to claw back Mannerling are too well-known. It is believed he did not want you, and so you must give the lie to that by looking as beautiful and happy as possible.’
‘There is something evil about that house.’
‘Mannerling? Yes, I would like to see the place razed to the ground.’
‘Well, my good Miss Trumble, I shall try my best to shine this evening. Do you…do you ever hear of Lord Gyre?’
‘Only that he is still in Town,’ said Miss Trumble calmly.
‘We should have thanked him for saving my life.’
‘Did Abigail not tell you? She and Lord Burfield wrote him a charming letter of thanks.’
‘No, they did not. Mama would not, for she blames him for my turning Saint Clair down.’ ‘He has been thanked, so do not worry about it.’
He will not come tonight, thought Belinda, and all hope is gone.
* * *
Gurney called at Lord Gyre’s town house to find that gentleman in full evening dress and placing a sapphire stickpin carefully among the snowy folds of his cravat.
‘What’s this?’ he demanded. ‘Are you going to the ball?’
‘Yes,’ said the marquess casually, ‘I thought I might drop in.’
‘You should have told me,’ said Gurney. ‘I must go home and change.’
‘Why bother? You were the one who persuaded me that all these events were curst dull and I would be better off in the country.’
‘Still…I was at the opera last night…’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Belinda Beverley was there with her
mother, looking rather plain. I heard her demanding petulantly as to whether you had gone to the country or not. You had a lucky escape there.’
So what Miss Trumble had said was true, thought the marquess, his heart flooding with gladness. How could he have been such a fool?
He looked at Gurney with affection.
‘Why don’t you run along, Gurney? I am sure you will find that a quiet evening at the club would suit you better.’
‘But I shall accompany you!’
‘I don’t need a nursemaid. Go away.’
‘Oh, all right.’ Gurney made for the door.
‘Oh, and Gurney.’
‘Yes.’
‘I had one duel in my life. Do you remember? With Captain Johnson?’
‘Yes?’
‘You will remember it was because he told me lies about Mrs. Ingram being unfaithful to me. I do not like people who lie to me. Nor do I want to put a bullet through your heart. Do I make myself plain?’
Gurney turned dark red.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’
‘Oh, yes, you do, my friend. You understand very well.’
* * *
Mindful of Miss Trumble’s instructions,
Belinda danced with grace and smiled and chatted to her partners, keeping her eyes away from the doorway, and so she did not see the marquess arrive, did not know he was there until he was suddenly before her, asking if he might take her up for the waltz.
She turned red and then white. Her gloved hand in his trembled and as he swung her into the steps of the waltz, she gazed firmly at his chest. He tried to converse with her, asking whether she had recovered from the attempt on her life, but she answered in monosyllables, always keeping her eyes firmly on his chest.
He looked over her head to the gardens, spread out in the moonlight beyond the French windows, and made a sudden decision. He piloted her in the direction of the windows and, taking her hand, led her out into the gardens.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Belinda.
‘Oh, so you
can
put one sentence together! We are going to talk, Belinda.’
They walked along a path under the moon. Little Chinese lanterns were strung through the trees and behind them, from the ballroom, came the sweet strains of the waltz.
‘We will sit here,’ he said, indicating a rustic bench.
They sat down together. The leaves of a sycamore tree above their heads sent moving patterns of light and shadow across his face.
He took both her hands in his and studied her bent head. ‘Why do your hands tremble in
mine, Belinda?’
‘I am nervous, being alone here with you.’
‘But I never made you nervous before, my bold minx.’
‘I am still overset because of the attempt on my life.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘I thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving my life.’
‘And from the bottom of my heart I curse myself for a wasted romantic opportunity. Like a knight of old in the story books, I should have taken you in my arms and said, “Be mine!’”
Her lips quivered. ‘Do not mock me.’
‘I do not mock you.’ He gathered her into his arms, and she gave a weary little sigh and leaned her head against his chest. He put a firm hand under her chin and pushed her face up. His head blotted out the moving leaves above, the Chinese lanterns and the shining room. And then his lips met hers and they plunged into a dark and private world of passion, holding on to each other, spinning together round and round into deeper, darker passion, deaf and blind to the sounds of the ballroom.
At last he raised his head and said huskily, ‘How soon can we be married?’
Belinda clutched the lapels of his coat and gazed up at him with drowned eyes. ‘As soon as you like.’
He fell to kissing her again while the orchestra in the ballroom struck up a lively country dance. And then somehow that dance was over by the time his wandering hands had
found the delights of her breasts and the music from the ballroom was replaced by the chattering of many voices and the clatter of dishes from the supper-room.
He drew back at last. ‘I go too far and too fast,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I have not even asked your mother’s permission. What do you think she will say?’
‘She will no doubt ask you to buy Mannerling.’
He stiffened. ‘And you must tell her,’ Belinda went on dreamily, ‘that I hate the place and never want to see it again. I fact, I do not know what you are about, wanting to marry into such a mad family.’
‘Because I am mad myself—about you.’
‘But why did you stay away from me for so long?’ asked Belinda. ‘I was so lost and miserable.’
He hesitated. If he told her about Gurney, then it would be the end of a long friendship, for he felt sure Belinda would never forgive Gurney.