Marchington Scandal Page 3

  “No. I believe I met him once, but—”

  “He would storm up to London and take us both home at once. Everyone would know, and we should never be allowed to forget it. We would both be in disgrace forever!”

  “But, Elinor, surely you would not—”

  “He would blame me,” Elinor interrupted hysterically. “He thinks the family is all the woman’s responsibility. I have heard him say so! Oh, Katharine, promise you will not tell Sir Lionel.”

  “Very well. Don’t put yourself in a taking. I simply thought that he would be able to deal with the situation far better than we. But if it is impossible, then we shall have to think of some scheme on our own.”

  Elinor clasped her hands tightly in front of her and gazed at Katharine with huge anxious eyes. “Oh, yes, please, Cousin Katharine,” she replied.

  Seeing the trust and dazed helplessness in her face, Katharine sighed inaudibly. What could she do about this tangle? She had no more idea than Elinor of any “scheme.” But the younger girl continued to look at her with such touching relief she had to offer her something. “I must…ah…look over the situation,” said Katharine. “Perhaps I will get an idea then. Do you go out tonight?”

  “No. But there is Lady Sefton’s ball tomorrow. Tom means to go; he said so.”

  “Lady Sefton? Yes, I have an invitation to that. I refused it, but I shall write a note. I shall see you there, Elinor, and we shall try to make a plan.”

  “Oh, thank you!” The other girl heaved another great sigh and shook her head. “It is all so horrid. But I feel better now that you are helping me.”

  “Yes, well, I shall do what I can.” Katharine felt very uneasy. It seemed wrong to give Elinor hope when she had no notion how to rescue her.

  “Everything will be all right now,” answered Elinor, vastly increasing her cousin’s discomfort.

  At this moment, the drawing-room door opened, and Mary Daltry came in. Elinor rose, saying, “I must go. I promised Tom’s great-aunt that I would call. I am sorry to run away, Cousin Mary.”

  Mary Daltry excused her amiably, and Elinor took her leave. As soon as she was gone, Mary said, “Whatever has cast you into the dismals, Katharine? You look as if you had lost your dearest friend.”

  Katharine grimaced. “We are going to a ball, Cousin Mary.”

  Her despair was so comical that the older woman laughed aloud.

  ***

  As she dressed the following evening, however, Katharine could not help but feel a twinge of excitement. She had not been to a ball in more than a year, and though she disliked society, she was very fond of dancing. She surveyed herself in the long mirror over her dressing table as she fastened her mother’s amethysts around her neck. Though she was still in half-mourning, the clear lavender of her gown became her, and the trim of silver ribbons was very fine. With the amethysts and matching silver slippers, she looked very fashionable indeed, and she could not resist making a face at her reflection in the mirror before pulling a gauze wrap around her shoulders and starting downstairs to find her cousin.

  Mary was waiting in the drawing room, somberly dressed in gray silk, and she smiled when she saw her charge. “You look lovely, dear.”

  Katharine wrinkled her nose, and her cousin thought, not for the first time, that she really was beautiful. Her pale glittering gown accented her dark hair and warm glowing skin, and her amber eyes lent a piquant flavor to the whole.

  “Are you ready for the gauntlet?” asked Katharine. After considering the matter, she had told Mary Elinor’s story, so that the older woman was fully aware of the reason for their outing tonight.

  “I am,” she replied. “I shall do my best with the chaperones. I don’t know any of them well, but gossip never waits for close acquaintanceship. I shall hear whatever is being said about Tom, if anything is.” She shook her head. “I cannot help but hope that Elinor has made a mistake.”

  “No more than I do,” was the positive reply, “for all our sakes. But let us go and see.”

  They arrived at Lady Sefton’s town house about ten, threading their way through a great press of carriages and linkboys with flaring torches and ascending the staircase with a crowd of other guests. Their hostess greeted Katharine effusively, twitting her on her avoidance of society since her return to England. Fortunately for Katharine’s temper, the crowd was such that she could not keep them lingering long, and in a few moments the two cousins entered the ballroom and looked about them.

  “Well,” said Mary, “it certainly is lovely. I have never seen so many flowers.”

  Katharine was suddenly aware of the fact that her cousin had never before attended a real London ball. She felt ashamed of having deprived her of this treat, and almost glad that Elinor’s plight had dragged her out. Mary, at least, should enjoy this evening. “It is beautiful,” she agreed. “And there is Elinor.”

  The girl was indeed hurrying toward them, with such a woebegone expression that Katharine nearly exclaimed her annoyance aloud. Did the girl wish everyone to know her feelings? She would cause no end of gossip by looking so unhappy. When Elinor joined them, Katharine could not help repeating these thoughts, and the younger girl hung her head and looked even worse. “I cannot smile,” she murmured. “It is all so horrid. Look, they are there.”

  Katharine followed the direction of her glance and saw Tom Marchington leaning over the back of a sofa by the wall. On it, a glittering figure reclined, and it was obvious that Tom was fascinated by her. Katharine surveyed the Countess Standen with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. She was certainly lovely, tall and commanding with a stunning figure clearly outlined by a clinging gown of green gauze. Her neck and shoulders rose out of this proudly, her blond hair was a cloud of ringlets, and her features were classically perfect. At that moment, the countess looked up and met Katharine’s gaze. Her eyes were a brilliant green, visible even across the room. She raised one exquisitely arched eyebrow, then smiled a charming, crooked smile. In spite of herself, Katharine was almost lured into answering it with a smile of her own. She looked away, as if merely scanning the ballroom for acquaintances, but she was far from feeling the unconcern she tried to put in her expression. However was she to combat a woman such as this? She had no doubt now that Elinor’s suspicions were correct; one had only to look at Tom to see that he had lost his head. But what could she do?

  “Oh, dear,” murmured Mary Daltry, “she is…ah…so very…ah…”

  “Exactly,” replied Katharine dryly.

  “What shall we do?” whispered Elinor.

  “For now, nothing. There is nothing we can do at a public ball, and I must think, in any case. Try to at least seem to enjoy yourself, Elinor. Dance, or go and talk to some of your friends. The less concerned you appear, the less talk there will be.”

  “But, Katharine, I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. Make an effort.”

  Ruthlessly she sent the younger girl off to join a group of her contemporaries. Elinor went, but anyone looking at her must have seen that she was extremely uneasy.

  “Poor girl,” said Mary. “Perhaps you were too hard on her, Katharine.”

  “No, sympathy would only have caused her to break down entirely. And that would have gone round the ton in a trice. How I hate their petty little world! No, Mary, she must try to put on a brave show, and we must do what we can to help her.”

  “Yes, dear.” The older woman sighed. “I shall go sit with the chaperones.” Katharine nodded, and Mary walked away, leaving her charge sorely puzzled. What ought she to do? Would a serious talk with Tom Marchington solve the problem, assuming, that is, that she could muster the effrontery to interfere in that way?

  “Katharine Daltry!” exclaimed a male voice behind her. “What incredible luck. I can’t believe my good fortune in finding you here, and alone.” She turned to face a slender young man with brown hair and an impish expression. As soon as she met his dancing eyes, he took her hand and bowed over it. “I kiss your hand. I worshi
p at your feet.” He dropped gracefully to one knee for a moment, then stood, grinning.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” said Katharine.

  “Alas, is this the way you greet an old friend after years and years? When I think of the way I pined for you, unable to eat or sleep, almost putting a pistol to my head.”

  “Still telling outrageous bouncers, I see, Mr. Tillston. I had several correspondents in London during my absence, you know. They never mentioned your misery.”

  “I kept it all locked away in my heart,” he replied, putting a hand on his chest. “Too precious for the eyes of the world.”

  “Oh, Tony, take a damper. You know I hate these transports.”

  The man grinned again. “Well, I do, but as you were calling me ‘Mr. Tillston’ in that frigid way, I thought you deserved some punishment.” In the corner, the orchestra struck up the first set. “Come and dance,” he added.

  Katharine hesitated. Though she was not in deep mourning, it had been less than a year since her father’s death. But the sound of the music, and the knowledge that her father would have roared at the idea that she should refrain from dancing for his sake, finally made her nod, and Tony led her into the set forming nearby.

  She enjoyed the dance. Tony remained, as she remembered him, an amusing, scatterbrained companion. And it was pleasant to move and turn in time to the music after such a long time. When the set ended, Katharine encountered several other old acquaintances, and she was soon the center of a chattering group. The novelty of her reappearance, combined with her very real charm and others’ memories of her earlier success, made her an object of interest for many of the ton. Katharine herself was soon feeling bored, but whenever she thought of slipping away, she turned her eyes to the corner where Tom Marchington was now competing with several other gallants for the attention of the Countess Standen, and her chin came up.

  The second set had ended, and the third was not begun, when a deep voice behind Katharine said, “Miss Daltry.” She turned and looked up, an unusual thing in itself, for Katharine was a tall woman. But the man who stood before her was a good six inches taller. His height alone would have made him striking, but it was combined with a dark handsomeness and a commanding air so pervasive that it nearly obscured his other attributes. His assurance was so complete that many, meeting him for the first time, wondered at it audibly.

  He said nothing further, seeming to scorn the platitudes usual in such a situation. He simply held Katharine’s eyes with a bland expression in his very dark blue ones.

  Katharine, coolly surveying his impeccable evening dress, did not look as pleased as one would have expected a young lady addressed by an extremely attractive man to look. She bowed her head slightly and replied, “Good evening, Lord Stonenden.”

  He raised one dark eyebrow. “I came to beg the honor of a dance. I see you are not engaged.” And before Katharine could reply, he had put an arm around her waist and pulled her onto the floor, where a waltz was just beginning.

  His action was so abrupt that she was speechless for a moment. He guided her firmly and expertly down the ballroom as she angrily framed and discarded a number of caustic remarks. Finally she said, “You haven’t changed, I see.”

  Lord Stonenden laughed. “Nor have you, Miss Daltry. Your eyes still glitter when you’re angry. I had nearly forgotten those amazing amber eyes. But not quite.”

  “I withdraw my statement. You have changed. You are worse than ever.”

  “Worse?”

  “More insufferably arrogant and, if possible, even less careful of others’ feelings.”

  “Miss Daltry! You can’t have forgotten that your feelings, at least, were once of the greatest concern to me.”

  “Nonsense!” Katharine’s reply was so emphatic that a gentleman dancing near them turned in surprise to look at her. “You never cared a straw for anyone or anything but yourself. Why did you force me to dance in this absurd way, merely to be irritating?”

  Lord Stonenden’s dark blue eyes flickered, but he said, “Of course, Miss Daltry. Have I not said that your eyes are extraordinary when you are angry?”

  Katharine looked up at him, an equally sharp retort on her lips, but before she could speak, a picture out of memory intruded between her and the man in whose arms she circled. She saw Lady Eliza Burnham’s drawing room as it had been five years ago, and herself, a thin large-eyed girl, sitting on the sofa with folded hands. This man stood before her, looking much the same, and he was saying, “You are everything I desire in a wife, Miss Daltry. Will you do me the honor of becoming Lady Stonenden?” And before she had said a word in reply, he had stepped confidently forward and taken her hand.

  He had looked positively stunned when she had pulled it away again and stood up, refusing him in a few curt phrases. “What?” he said when she finished.

  “I cannot accept your offer,” Katharine repeated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I believe I spoke very clearly.”

  “You are refusing me?”

  She had merely nodded, very annoyed.

  “But why?” Stonenden’s incredulity had obviously outweighed his disappointment.

  “I do not return your regard,” Katharine had begun.

  “Nonsense. I can offer you every luxury. And I know myself to be far from repulsive. What is your true reason?”

  Goaded by his manner, Katharine had spoken her mind perhaps too freely. “You are the most odiously arrogant man I have ever met!” she had snapped. “I have been trying for weeks to let you see that your proposal was unwelcome, and you have been impervious to the most blatant hints. You care only for yourself, and that is not the sort of husband I look for.”

  His handsome face had frozen as she spoke, and when she finished, he bowed. “I beg your pardon,” he had said then, and left the room without another word, to Katharine’s vast relief. As soon as she had spoken, she had been frightened at her own temerity, and at the flash her words had brought to Stonenden’s eyes. She might despise his arrogance, but that did not prevent a healthy respect for his tongue. She had seen him give more than one unlucky offender a blistering set-down, for affronts much slighter than hers, and she had expected something of that sort herself.

  But to her amazement, Stonenden seemed to blot out the incident entirely. She had seen him again, of course—it was inevitable that she should, in the small world of London society—and she was astonished to find that he acted just the same. He asked her to stand up with him and chatted at parties as if nothing unusual had passed between them. Indeed, he seemed, if anything, more amused by her company. To Katharine, this had appeared a further example of his utter disregard for others. She had no idea what he felt about their changed relation, but she did know that he cared nothing for her embarrassment and awkwardness. This had made the whole affair much worse. She could not have endured it for any length of time, but, soon after, she had left the country with her father, never thinking of Stonenden again until this moment.

  The memory fading, Katharine looked up, again wondering what thoughts passed behind those inscrutable dark blue eyes. It was no good asking him, of course. He would not say, and he would take malicious amusement in her curiosity. It was not worth thinking about. Smiling slightly, she shook her head. “In that case, my best defense is to refuse to be angry, is it not? So, I am all compliance.” Her smile broadened with false sweetness.

  “Bravo! Still an opponent worth one’s steel, I see.”

  But Katharine had abruptly ceased to attend and was looking over her partner’s shoulder with a frown. Her expression held such unmistakable concern that he glanced quickly back to see what she was looking at. “What is it?” he asked.

  “What?” answered Katharine, clearly distracted.

  “Whom are you watching with such a black look? I pity the poor soul from the bottom of my heart.”

  Katharine sniffed. She wished there were some grounds for pity, but she had been looking at Tom Marchington waltzing with the C
ountess Standen, holding her much closer than was customary or proper, and though she could easily believe that her look had been black, she was only too aware that the countess had nothing to fear from her. She continued to gaze at them, and Lord Stonenden now isolated the subject of her stare. “Are you wondering at Elise Standen’s new flirt? We all are, I promise you. He is quite the country bumpkin, and not at all in her usual style.”

  The condescending amusement in his voice so infuriated Katharine that she snapped, “That country bumpkin happens to be newly married to my cousin!” As soon as she said it, she could have bitten her tongue in irritation. After urging Elinor to be discreet, she herself had just exposed the whole matter to one of the most sardonic critics in the ton.

  “Ah,” replied Lord Stonenden. “So that’s it, is it?”

  Katharine struggled to cover up her slip. “Yes, isn’t it amusing? He is indulging in a bit of light flirtation, quite unlike him. My cousin is delighted to find he has such skill.” She looked down as she finished, her excuse sounding lame even in her own ears.

  “Is she?” answered her partner dryly. “What an unusual girl she must be, to be sure.”

  Katharine raised her eyes and tried to frame some light reply.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t look so stricken,” he said. “I promise not to tell anyone what you have said, if that is what you are worried about. Do you think me a gossip too?”

  Katharine was too surprised to answer him, and at that moment the music ended and they were surrounded by couples moving to the edge of the floor. Lord Stonenden escorted her to a chair and was about to speak when they were joined by Lady Eliza Burnham.

  “Katharine!” she said. “The very person I wanted. I must speak to you.” She took the chair next to the girl. “Go away, Stonenden,” she added, waving him off with her hand. The gentleman smiled wryly and walked away.

  “How utterly insufferable he is!” exclaimed Katharine when he was out of earshot. “I truly cannot abide him. And why he asked me to dance, I shall never understand.”

  Lady Eliza looked surprised. “Stonenden? Don’t you like him? Why, he is the chief object of every girl in London. They have begun to call him Stoneheart, you know, because he is never caught by any of our beauties, though he flirts with them all.”