Rhonda Woodward Read online

  Lifting her chin a bit, she smiled as graciously as she could muster, intent on conveying that she was above his boorishness. Then she returned his nod before turning to attend Mrs. Denney, who, as best as she could tell, was regaling everyone with a story about a cat.

  She determined to look no more in Lord Cortland’s direction. And despite her still unpredictable heart rate, she also refused to allow herself to look for Mr. Sefton.

  Goodness, she could not trust herself not to blush bright red if she did happen to meet his gaze.

  “Are you well, Marina? You’ve hardly said a word since we sat down.”

  “Perfectly well, Mama. I’m just enjoying the lively conversation.”

  Deirdre leaned over and whispered. “The Marquis of Cortland is quite the most dashing man I have ever seen, so dark and full of mystery. I would swoon if he asked me to dance.”

  Marina gave a dismissive shrug. “Looks to be rather dull to me. And bent on casting a critical eye upon all of us.”

  “Well, I dare say that he’s probably used to more sophisticated company, but I don’t think that detracts from his appeal,” Deirdre replied tartly.

  Marina refrained from rolling her eyes.

  Pushing the stewed pears around the dish, Marina grew anxious to return to the ballroom, where she hoped to see Mr. Sefton.

  However, until the doors opened again, she would force herself to smile and pretend to listen to her neighbors.

  ***

  Marina stood in the ballroom, next to Mama, her thoughts still in quite unaccustomed disorder.

  In the last hour she had gone through such a whirlwind of emotion, she hardly knew what to think.

  Her earlier sense of wonder had left and now, it horrifyingly occurred to her that, against her upbringing and against her nature, she had acted in a shocking fashion—so lacking in her usual common sense. She had no doubt given two gentlemen, completely unknown to her, a false impression of her character.

  Even so, she could not prevent herself from scanning the room for the golden-haired man whose beauty had set her heart to flip-flopping in a most diverting way. He was nowhere to be seen and disappointment rose up to diminish her pleasure in the ball.

  Prelude music trilled and couples began to form lines for the next set. At least Deirdre found herself partnered with the obliging Mr. Fairdale, whom Marina had danced with earlier.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she froze in shock to see Mr. Penhurst approaching with the Marquis of Cortland at his side. Marina’s heart sped tempo as she schooled her expression to one she hoped conveyed cool politeness.

  She kept her gaze on the dancers still finding their places, but sensed Mama check her posture and noticed the way her neighbors watched the Marquis in a way they did not watch other men in the room—not even their host.

  “Lady Buckleigh, Miss Buckleigh. I have been remiss! It has been made known to me by my friend here, that he has not had the pleasure of an introduction. Lord Cortland, it is indeed my pleasure to present Lady Buckleigh and her daughter, Miss Marina Buckleigh.”

  Marina dipped into a deeply elegant curtsy, as befitted his title, if not his character, and Mama did the same. Keeping her smile slight, Marina met his gaze as he completed his bow.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Buckleigh, Miss Buckleigh. With your leave my lady, perhaps Miss Buckleigh would honor me with this dance?”

  A wave of near panic rushed over Marina. Spending more than twenty minutes in such close proximity to Lord Cortland was the very last thing she desired—but there was no polite way of extricating herself from such a fate.

  Just as Mama opened her mouth to no doubt give her leave, Marina spied Henry Willingham, not far beyond Lord Cortland’s shoulder, gazing at her.

  After a split second of hesitancy, wondering if she dared, she lifted her hand in Henry’s direction. She smiled as radiantly as she could and said over Mama, “Oh, I am so sorry I must decline, Lord Cortland, but my partner is here. There you are, Mr. Willingham.”

  To her vast relief, Henry only looked slightly surprised at hearing her words and took her outstretched hand.

  She could not help glancing at Lord Cortland as Henry led her to the floor. The Marquis had the most galling ability to keep his expression—aided by that very aristocratic nose—positively bored, while laughing at her with knowing dark-lashed, golden-hazel eyes.

  Clearly, commandeering Henry had not fooled him, and he didn’t seem the least put out. How utterly annoying.

  Taking her place amongst the other dancers, she sent Henry her most serene smile, thankful the remaining dances were spoken for.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, the Marquis of Cortland joined Mr. Penhurst and John Fairdale in the well-appointed library. All three wore buckskins, riding coats, and boots that had lost some of their luster after an early morning ride around Mr. Penhurst’s newly acquired estate.

  They had enjoyed their breakfast before any of the other members of the house party showed signs of stirring.

  “I freely confess that I have no intention of reading these books, but I do like the idea of having them. A gentleman should have a creditable library.”

  Pen, as his friends called him, proclaimed this with such fervor Cortland could not let it pass. “Indeed, Pen, it’s clear your consequence has grown just by being in this room.”

  “Ha, just because you and John here while away your time reading doesn’t mean I’m of the same bent,” he responded cheerfully. “So what think you two of my party last eve? I find my neighbors quite congenial.”

  “Too many silly girls if you ask me,” John replied. Yawning, he leaned back in the deep leather sofa. “Lud, Pen, why would you subject us all to a gaggle of giggly, eager-eyed girls?”

  Pen shrugged carelessly. “Can’t be helped. M’sister, you know. She thought a ball the best way to establish ourselves here. Besides, there were a few pleasing misses last night. Baron Buckleigh’s girls are good-looking and had a bit of polish.”

  Cortland tossed the newspaper aside, recalling his unexpected, and in some ways surprising, encounter with Miss Buckleigh. “The company was unobjectionable, I suppose, although generally provincial,” he drawled. “I will own the eldest Miss Buckleigh is attractive even if she is much too aware of being the reigning belle of this backwater.”

  Pen, looking faintly hurt, said, “Backwater, you say? I’ll have you know this is some of the best foxhunting country in the land.”

  John, pushing a thatch of fair hair off his forehead, grinned. “Well, nothing else matters then, does it? But I agree that the eldest Miss Buckleigh is a fetching baggage, if a bit tall for my taste. But tell me, Cortland, the tension between you and Sefton was thick as soup last night—I suspect you are not satisfied?”

  “You mistake the matter, I am quite satisfied.” Cortland didn’t care to say any more on the subject of Nigel Sefton and allowed his thoughts to return to his unexpected encounter with Miss Buckleigh.

  Years ago, he had developed a healthy suspicion of beauty in moonlight; it could hide too many flaws and enhance ordinary features. However, he saw that was not the case with Miss Buckleigh.

  Despite the abhorrence of dancing with giggling misses that had kept him in the billiard room all evening, his curiosity had brought him to the ballroom after supper.

  He had stood at the edge of the floor with Vanessa Darley, whom he had known his whole life. At five and thirty she was eight years his senior and the closest thing he had to an older sister, and thus they were on easy terms with each other.

  “Ah, I see that your eye is on the beautiful paragon of Parsley Hay. I will own that her gown is quite stunning. I wonder how the Buckleighs manage it so far from London? Since arriving, I’ve heard nothing but raves about Miss Marina Buckleigh’s flawless behavior. She’s much too proper a miss for your tastes, Cortland.”

  There was no sting in the words and she smiled, turning to watch Miss Buckleigh who stood with her equally elegant moth
er between two standing candelabras.

  In the stronger light, he could see her beautiful bone structure, luminous complexion and tilted gray eyes. Tall and slender, the sophisticated gown she wore enhanced subtle yet alluring curves. He gave her credit for her tranquil expression, which gave no indication of their recent encounter, when her clenched fists and flashing eyes had convinced him she fought the desire to hit him.

  “Paragon?” he said with secret amusement. “Isn’t it a universal truth that paragons in the fashion of Miss Buckleigh end up in scandal?”

  Vanessa gave a delighted laugh at this, but Pen having missed most of their exchange, said, “Miss Buckleigh is a paragon. Rarely have I met a young lady who is so beautiful, yet with the most unaffected and gracious manners.”

  Always willing to do whatever it took to find amusement, Cortland grinned at his friend. “In that case, Pen, you must make the introductions. I rarely have the opportunity to stand up with such a shining example of proper young womanhood.”

  But then she had turned him down with the trumped-up apology of having a previous partner. He could still laugh aloud at the look on the lad’s face when Miss Buckleigh had sent him such a speaking look and the pup, flattered beyond speaking, had rushed to the paragon’s side.

  Yes, the evening had taken several unexpected turns.

  “I say Cortland,” Pen’s plaintive tone interrupted his musings. “If I had had any idea you would actually accept my invitation, I would never have asked Sefton. Would much rather have you here anyway. Never my intention to cause any awkwardness.”

  “Nor mine, Pen. But you actually did me a service by bringing us together. Saved me the effort of hunting him down. Now, I intend to take in the village later, shall we invite the ladies?”

  “Yes,” Pen nodded vigorously. “Although my sister mentioned a picnic or something equally dreadful. But if you suggest an excursion to the village, she will no doubt agree in a flash.”

  Cortland appreciated Pen dropping the matter of his acrimony with Sefton. It was not his intention to cause his host and oldest friend any discomfort and Cortland intended to keep his addresses to Sefton as private as possible. That was why he had followed Sefton when he left the billiard room last night.

  Unfortunately, Miss Buckleigh had been there as well.

  Apart from his amusement over Miss Buckleigh, he found his present situation profoundly irritating. And he wasn’t quite sure how he came to find himself in this position. Despite his fondness for Pen, he never accepted invitations to house parties, preferring the comfort of his own estate, Swangrove Court, in Gloucestershire, where all was to his liking and he was not obliged to make polite conversation with anyone.

  However, he had received a letter from Aunt Meredith some weeks ago. A very long letter, full of pleadings and fears of dire consequences.

  To his dismay, a dormant feeling of familial protectiveness had stirred within him—and wouldn’t leave despite his every effort to distract himself.

  Because of his estrangement from his grandfather, and perforce the rest of his family, he rarely saw his relatives, but he owned that he still held affection for his aunt Meredith, uncle Octavius and their daughter, his cousin, Eugenia, who was a good six years younger than himself.

  In his younger years, he had spent many a holiday with his father’s sister and her family in Derbyshire, and recalled those times with a good deal of fondness. Although his hoyden of a cousin had made herself a nuisance by following him everywhere, because of her high spirits, he had found her less irksome than most members of his family.

  The fact that Eugenia now professed herself in love with Sefton had come as the greatest surprise to Cortland. He’d always thought his cousin had a bit of sense. But during her come-out in London last spring she had proved to be just as giddy and silly as most girls her age.

  He knew Sefton from school days and their circles overlapped on occasion in Town. Yes, he knew Sefton well enough.

  Sefton would not do for Eugenia.

  “So, Cortland, when do your aunt and cousin arrive?”

  “Two days’ time, I believe.” That had been part of his rush to arrive here yesterday, to see Sefton before Eugenia had the chance.

  “Yes,” Pen affirmed, “M’sister will be most pleased for she was as thick as thieves with your aunt when we were last in London. Also fond of your cousin, from what I understand.”

  “That is my understanding as well.”

  Cortland felt little concern that Sefton would continue his caddish behavior—not following the one-sided discussion they’d had after finding him dancing with the haughty Miss Buckleigh last night.

  No, Sefton had turned tail quick enough, but Eugenia was another matter. Cortland hoped she had gained a little sense since he had seen her last spring. The whole family was counting on her giving up this ridiculous notion of believing herself in love with Sefton.

  Cortland rose from the sofa, saying, “Surely, the ladies will have had breakfast by now. Shall we leave for the village in, say, two hours?”

  He intended to change his riding clothes and have a bath, then respond to a letter or two before the outing.

  “Two hours should be good. And as the day seems fine, I shall have the chaise made ready for the ladies.”

  ***

  Lord and Lady Buckleigh were at that moment enjoying their breakfast in the company of their eldest daughter—their youngest had not yet risen from her bed.

  Marina had not begun to exhaust the topic of Mr. Penhurst’s ball, when Mama said between sips of chocolate, “I must commend your good sense, my love, in so deftly yet politely declining to dance with Lord Cortland. You set a very good example for your sister.”

  Papa, who had been paying little heed to their review of the ball, now set his newspaper aside. “Not dance with Cortland? What do you mean, my love?”

  Mama poured them both more chocolate, and said, “Mrs. Willingham confided in me that Lord Cortland, despite being from a fine and ancient family, has a shockingly ramshackle reputation.”

  Papa stirred himself to frown. “What’s this? Mrs. Willingham is suddenly an expert on the character of young gentlemen after spending all of a few weeks in London last spring?”

  Mama was unfazed by her husband’s scoffing tone. “Evidently he was all the gossip in Town. Lord Cortland’s grandfather, the Duke you know, will not see him. And the grand hostesses no longer have his name on their guest lists, so beyond the pale is his behavior. He’s connected to every kind of scrape and bad behavior. Mrs. Willingham even said he was under threat of exile for dueling.”

  Marina was not sure why Mama felt the need to whisper the last word, but she was quite riveted by this gossip. Parsley Hay had never seen a reputed rakehell. No wonder all the neighbors had so curiously watched his every move last night.

  Papa waved a dismissive hand. “Bah, as is often the case with gossip, you may learn over time that these stories are an exaggeration. Spent a good deal of the evening with the young man, and found him everything a gentleman of his rank ought to be—knowledgeable on all the sports and skilled with a cue.”

  “Gracious, my love, I find your measure of a gentleman rather wanting. Sports and billiards, indeed! Not good enough to recommend him to either of our girls, I don’t care if he is the heir to a dukedom.”

  “Well, he impressed me. By the by, what was that on Mrs. Willingham’s head last night? The bright thing with all the jewels and feathers sticking out of it.”

  “A turban, my dear. Quite the thing in London, I understand.”

  With a disdaining sniff, Papa picked up his cast-aside paper. “Dashed queer thing to wear just because it’s considered fashionable.”

  Recalling the turban, Marina could not argue with her father’s opinion. She picked up her cup again, having forgotten to drink at the mention of Lord Cortland and hoped the oddity of Mrs. Willingham’s headgear had diverted the conversation away from the Marquis.

  Even now, she could not think
with ease of those moments on the terrace, when he had called her silly—silly! Such galling nerve! Or the way he had laughed at her with his eyes when she declined to dance with him. Should she see him again she would know how to behave.

  The paneled doors opened and Deirdre swept in, wearing a morning gown of parsnip merino and a triumphant smile.

  “Good morning Papa, Mama. What a lovely day. I hope you slept well, Marina.”

  “During what was left of the night, I did,” Marina replied.

  “Oh, good.” Deirdre crossed the room to serve herself from the chafing dishes on the sideboard. Once seated, she smiled widely at each of them. “I am so hungry, no doubt from all the dancing I did last night.”

  Marina hid a smile at her sister’s obvious delight and pride in leaving her wallflower status behind.

  “Was there ever such a ball,” Deirdre continued with an ecstatic sigh, “and so many congenial gentlemen to dance with. Though, it really was too bad of you, Marina.”

  Marina froze, holding a corner of toast halfway to her lips. How could her sister have known? Had she followed Marina out to the terrace and was only now exposing her imprudent behavior? No, that couldn’t be it. Marina considered a moment. Her sister would have been unable to wait until this morning to tattle on Marina if she had discovered something so shocking.

  “What did I do?” she kept her tone light and even.

  “The only one Lord Cortland danced with was Lady Darley. You were the only other lady he asked to dance.”

  Marina thought for a moment but could not make sense of the words. “So?”

  “After you declined him he went back to the billiard room.”

  “So?” Marina and Mama shared a baffled look while Papa stayed behind his paper.

  “We all thought—Jane, Phoebe, Lydia and me—that if you had danced with him, he would have been more inclined to stay in the ballroom and dance with us as well.”

  Marina surveyed her sister’s face to make sure she was serious. “You have a long history of saying silly things, but this has to be the silliest.”

  “You’re mean,” Deirdre said, but without much heat. “None of us can understand how you could not dance with him. He is quite the most handsome man I’ve ever beheld. With that dark hair and golden eyes, Phoebe says he’s like a leopard. And those shoulders! He’s the most dashing gentleman I’ve ever seen.”