Rhonda Woodward Read online

  Marina soon found her sister, not in the attic helping the servants look for glassware and punch bowls, but in the small parlor looking through one of Marina’s copies of The Lady’s Magazine.

  “Oh Marina, how exciting! What do you think of Mr. Sefton coming to call this way?”

  “I think his manners are everything they ought to be. And I think him very handsome.” She could not resist this last bit.

  “He is. Although he is fortunate that he possesses that cleft in his chin, or he would be rather pretty, don’t you think? In any case, he is nothing to Lord Cortland.” She flipped a page.

  Marina stared at her sister, hardly believing that she had heard her right. “Lord Cortland? Your brain box has been rattled if you think that. Mr. Sefton is a thousand times more charming than Lord Cortland! Lord Cortland looks at nothing and no one unless it is to find it wanting and to poke fun. He has little to recommend him save his family name.”

  “Don’t forget above ten thousand a year and reputedly the largest estate in all of Gloucestershire, Jane says.”

  “Well, Jane Willingham says a great deal too much!”

  Deirdre raised her eyes from a detailed illustration of a bit of Vandyked lace. “Goodness, Marina, it’s unlike you to get in such a pet with me, after all I’m agreeing with you that Mr. Sefton’s attentions are flattering. But I’m certainly entitled to my opinion on Lord Cortland. And there is not a young lady in Parsley Hay who is not already half in love with him.”

  Completely vexed, she said, “I do not know why I bother,” and left the room, stifling the urge to slam the door behind her.

  Chapter Eight

  The Buckleighs did not have to wait until the ball to meet Lord Cortland’s relations, for Lady Meredith and her daughter attended church that Sunday.

  After the service, despite a chill wind and low dark clouds, the Buckleighs lingered in the churchyard visiting with their neighbors.

  “Indeed, Lord Buckleigh, the weather has turned unseasonably cold. Perfect for the hunt,” replied the Vicar to Papa.

  Marina, hands warm in her velvet and down muff, chatted politely with Mrs. Ralston, the Vicar’s wife, while she kept a casual eye on those exiting the church. Finally, she saw Mr. Penhurst emerge, along with his sister, Mr. and Mrs. Langford and two ladies Marina had not seen before.

  “Ah, the Brandon ladies,” Deirdre whispered.

  Mama immediately approached the group, all graciousness and warm smiles. After some bowing and curtsying, Mama gestured the girls over and presented them.

  Marina immediately saw the resemblance between the Marquis and his aunt. Lady Meredith had the same proud carriage and grand, rather aquiline nose. However, she did not have his look of cool boredom.

  Miss Eugenia Brandon was cut from a very different cloth. Fair-haired, with large blue eyes, and a curvaceous figure, her beauty was only marred by the peevish expression she presented to them from beneath her modish blue bonnet. With a cousin like the Marquis, Marina didn’t wonder at her cross expression.

  “I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Brandon,” Marina smiled. “And I do hope we will see you at our ball.”

  “I suppose so.” Her tone could only be described as glum.

  Marina shared a quick, speaking look with her sister when it became clear that Miss Brandon had nothing more to say.

  From the corner of her eye, Marina saw the Willinghams, including Henry, and felt the inevitable stab of guilt at the sight of him. She had not given him a thought since the other day when Mama mentioned him after Mr. Sefton’s visit.

  Another moment and the Willinghams were introduced to the newcomers. Miss Brandon showed them the same enthusiasm.

  After a few more attempts at conversation with Miss Brandon, Jane Willingham said, “I do hope we will also see the Marquis and Mr. Sefton at the Buckleigh ball.”

  “I hope so, too,” Miss Brandon replied, showing the first signs of enthusiasm. “Mr. Sefton dances beautifully.”

  Marina gazed at the girl, arrested. Miss Brandon’s face was transformed. She positively glowed at the mention of Mr. Sefton. Marina wondered how well Miss Brandon and Mr. Sefton knew each other. Obviously, since they were guests at the same house party there would naturally be some previous connection.

  Mama, Lady Darley and Lady Meredith exchanged a few more pleasantries, until Papa called for them not to keep his cattle standing. They took their leave with the promise to resume their conversation at the ball.

  When they were settled in the warmth of the closed carriage, Deirdre said, “Well, I will say that Miss Brandon is rather pretty, but I find it difficult to account for why Jane Willingham said she was all the rage in London last Season.”

  ***

  Marina stood on the edge of the crowded dance floor, wondering if anything could make the evening more perfect.

  By the look on Mama’s face as she formed the figures of a cotillion with Mr. Ralston, she couldn’t be more pleased with the success of her ball.

  The evening had certainly not started with the promise of perfection. First, her ball gown had arrived only two hours before the ball! After anxiously glancing out the windows for days, Mama had been about to send a groom posthaste to Mrs. Birtwistle, when the gown had finally arrived.

  Rushing up to her room, Marina had quickly opened the package and was not the least surprised to see a gown in a fabric she had never seen before; a heavy smoky violet kerseymere. As with everything else from the clever woman, Marina was inordinately pleased with it once Dora helped her put it on.

  She had gazed at her reflection in the cheval mirror and marveled at the beautiful, original design. The neckline was low, square and nearly, but not quite, snug. The fabric across the bust was a vertical row of very fine pleating and the short, full sleeves echoed the same delicate details. A pair of long chamois gloves, died to match, had arrived with the dress, and as Marina pulled them on, she decided the gown was even more elegant in its cut and fit than the beloved moss-green gown she had worn to the ball at Ridgeton Abbey.

  Even the weather had finally cooperated with Mama. For the last few days, it had been raining off and on in hard pelts, causing Mama no end of complaining and beseeching the skies. Finally, today, the sky had cleared and the moon rose full and bright to help guide the guests as they made their way up Buck Hill’s torch-lined drive.

  The mansion’s grand reception room was rectangular in shape and boasted a massive fireplace on either end. Through Lady Buckleigh’s creative vision, it had been transformed into a woodland haven. Boughs of greenery draped every available surface. Hundreds of beeswax candles and three chandeliers, hung from the coved ceiling all in a row, cast a golden light on the guests, all happily enjoying themselves.

  Three sets of French style doors, leading to a wide stone balcony, were thrown open to relieve the room of its stifling warmth, with the added benefit of more room to dance outside. Marina had thought this a particularly inspired idea on her mother’s part, as she had directed the servants to set up numerous torches around the balcony, making it an extension of the ballroom.

  For the first set, Marina had taken the floor with Mr. Sefton and it had been nearly as perfect as their waltz at Ridgeton Abbey. They made the intricate figures, weaving in and out and around the other dancers and every time they came together again, he gazed down at her with such warmth in his beautiful eyes that she scarce knew where to look.

  However, yet again, Lord Cortland had spoiled the beautiful moment. He stood by himself in the open doorway that led to the balcony, gazing at her with that vexingly bored expression, though his eyes somehow still managed to convey mocking amusement.

  Feeling faintly self-conscious and mindful of her brief chat with Mama about not losing her head, Marina kept her expression serene. Even so, her heart fluttered in a most diverting manner.

  As Mr. Sefton led her in the promenade, Miss Brandon caught her attention. She looked beautiful in a deep rose-colored gown, with pearls woven in her curls. Howev
er, despite the exquisite quality of the satin and embroidery, Marina thought that there was a great deal too much of it for one dress, making the lovely Miss Brandon look decidedly fussy.

  She partnered Mr. Penhurst, but her attention was so fixed on Mr. Sefton that she was late in making a turn, causing the other dancers to hold up in an awkward manner.

  Marina recalled the way Miss Brandon had behaved in the churchyard, when Mr. Sefton’s name was mentioned and it stirred her curiosity.

  Looking at Mr. Sefton, she could not perceive that he took any notice of the attention he was receiving from Miss Brandon. Marina wondered at Miss Brandon’s marked behavior, especially considering the animosity between Mr. Sefton and Lord Cortland.

  After another few moments, the forthright part of her nature asserted itself. When they met again for another promenade, she said in a light tone, “May I ask, Mr. Sefton, how long you have been acquainted with Miss Brandon?”

  He looked at her with some surprise. “Miss Brandon? For years, I should guess. The families have been acquainted for ages. I believe she is quite an accomplished young lady.”

  Marina considered his words for a few measures of music. Despite Miss Brandon’s behavior, Mr. Sefton did not seem aware of the attention she directed his way. He was so handsome, it was no doubt a common occurrence for him to receive such regard. She recalled her own reaction to him upon first seeing him. It did him credit that he seemed oblivious to Miss Brandon’s doe-eyed stares—it showed a pleasing lack of conceit, and she liked him even more for it.

  Deciding to think no more of Miss Brandon, Marina allowed herself to get lost in the rhythm of the steps. It truly was a most magical evening, she thought as Mr. Sefton gazed deeply into her eyes as they held hands during the turns.

  “Miss Buckleigh, please allow me to tell you that I have never met a lovelier or more graceful lady in my life. And though we have only just met, I take leave to say that I look forward, most eagerly, to dancing with you many more times.”

  So taken aback by the low intensity of his words, Marina could not speak over the thudding of her heart. The movement of the dance separated them, and a moment later, when they met again, the dance ended.

  With not another word spoken between them, he escorted her back to where her mother stood conversing with Mrs. Hollings.

  To her pleasure, Sefton had engaged Deirdre for the next set and had danced every dance since, evidently determined to rectify his lapse in dancing at the Ridgeton ball.

  With Mama’s beaming approval, Marina danced the second with Henry Willingham, whose manner had been uncharacteristically subdued.

  “Is the music not to your liking?” she had asked.

  “It is excellent. It’s just that . . . well, I hoped to have the honor of standing up with you in the first set.”

  At that point, the steps separated them and Marina was saved from making a reply. And for the remainder of the dance, Henry remained serious, barely responding to her inroads. Marina decided she didn’t care, and that, really, he should have outgrown his annoying habit of pouting long ago. If Henry Willingham was upset because she had not danced with him first, it couldn’t be helped.

  They parted politely and her next partner, George Halbury, his brown hair and eyes familiar, claimed the next dance. He did indeed look grown up in his fine evening clothes. And because he was cousin to Mrs. Birtwistle and Major Fielding, she was prepared to think well of him.

  “How very good to see you, Mr. Halbury. It must be four years since we last met.”

  “At least,” he replied, smiling warmly.

  They danced a few measures in silence and she was gratified that he knew all the steps and performed them with manly grace.

  “Miss Buckleigh,” he said as he guided her through the arch of arms made by the dancers before them, “you were always a pretty girl, but you have grown into a great beauty in the years we’ve been apart.”

  “You are too kind,” she replied, feeling a little uncomfortable at such overt flattery.

  Thankfully, he said no more and once the set ended, he proved a most obliging guest by standing up for every dance since then.

  The ball proceeded in a lively fashion, and now Marina stood with Deirdre, Jane Willingham, and Lydia Hollings, waiting for the next set to begin. The chatter of the excited girls saved Marina from having to make conversation, for which she was relieved.

  She caught sight of Lord Cortland again. She had done that a vexing amount of times this evening. Every time she vowed to never look in his direction again, she would meet his golden-hazel gaze, and be startled anew.

  He stood across the floor with Mr. Penhurst and Mr. Langford. Surprisingly, he had not immediately taken himself off to the billiard room upon his arrival. Instead, he had taken Lady Darley on the floor for the first set, then Mama for the next, and his aunt for the following.

  As it had been at the Ridgeton ball, the Marquis garnered a great deal of attention from the other guests. He was not only the highest-ranking gentleman in the room, he was quite the most imposing.

  And despite his willingness to take the dance floor tonight, she could not help thinking, by something in his expression, that they would all end as part of an amusing anecdote he would share with his friends at a later date.

  Deirdre and the other girls were growing more and more huffed up by his avoidance of dancing with any of them. “He has only danced with married ladies. It’s too bad of him!” they each said in their turn.

  Espying the very regal Lady Darley standing with Mrs. Langford nearby, Marina excused herself from the grumbling girls. She determined to circulate amongst the guests, ensuring their contentment, as befitted the eldest daughter of the house.

  “Ah, Miss Buckleigh, you are just in time to clear up a mystery for us,” Lady Darley said with an arch smile.

  “Certainly, if I can.”

  “That woman over there,” Lady Darley gestured with her folded fan.

  Marina looked over to see Mrs. Birtwistle standing by a pillar. Her ball gown was a lustrous shade of cranberry, flattering her figure with its expertly styled simplicity. Around her neck was a simple gold chain and garnet pendent. She was the loveliest Marina had seen her in a very long time.

  “That is Mrs. Birtwistle.”

  “Yes,” Lady Darley nodded. “Whilst in the village she was pointed out to me as a mantua-maker. Yet, this evening, she was presented as the sister of the charming Major Fielding, whom we have met after church last week. This is most singular, Miss Buckleigh.”

  Marina felt at a complete loss for words. Of course, Lady Darley and her friends had never mingled with anyone they considered so far beneath their social status, yet Mrs. Birtwistle, by birth, was their equal.

  Marina looked at Lady Darley, and the others, gazing back at her with questioning, faintly censorious eyes. How could Mrs. Birtwistle’s unique situation be explained?

  Glancing again to the lady in question, she instantly perceived, by her frozen expression, that if Mrs. Birtwistle could not actually hear Lady Darley, she certainly perceived that she was being discussed. Marina’s heart went to the woman, dismayed that she would be so discomfited in a home she’d been welcome in all of her life.

  Anger simmered along with her compassion. Mrs. Birtwistle may not be her social equal, but how dare Lady Darley express disdain for any guest Lord and Lady Buckleigh chose to invite to their home.

  Lifting her chin, Marina turned back to Lady Darley and spoke as gently as she could. “Mrs. Birtwistle was Miss Fielding before her marriage. The Fieldings are a very old family here and much respected and admired. Mr. Alistair Fielding, Mrs. Birtwistle and Major Fielding’s father, was our vicar for more than thirty years. He died shortly after Mrs. Birtwistle’s husband, Captain Crispin Birtwistle, died with honor at Salamanca.”

  Lady Darley exchanged a look with Mrs. Langford that showed, for an instant, surprise. “Indeed? I am sure I do not know how I came to be so grossly misinformed, I—”

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p; “And yes,” Marina interrupted someone other than Deirdre for the first time in her life, “she is the artist who designed and created this gown. Most of my wardrobe, in fact.”

  The look of surprise that crossed their faces might have amused Marina, if she hadn’t been so upset.

  Sweeping a curtsy, not too deeply, she excused herself and moved through the crowd to Mrs. Birtwistle. She drew near and smiled brightly. “Doesn’t the orchestra sound in fine form this evening, Mrs. Birtwistle?” She didn’t intend to embarrass the good woman by acknowledging that she’d been the discussion of gossip.

  “Oh, Miss Buckleigh, I should not have come. I know I shouldn’t have,” she whispered with a pained smile and the suspicion of tears.

  So much for brazening through. “Of course you should have! I don’t care if Lady Darley was the wife of a viscount. Mrs. Birtwistle, they are the newcomers, not you! We have known you all our lives and understand your circumstances. Why, this evening would not have been the same without you.”

  Mrs. Birtwistle bit her lip, and she looked even more distressed. “No. You are very kind, Miss Buckleigh, but things are no longer as they were before. I don’t really belong anymore, and should not have presumed upon my old acquaintance with Lord and Lady Buckleigh.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Birtwistle, please do not say such a thing. We are all your friends here.” Marina cast about for something to say that would ease the lady’s distress. Still grasping for words, she saw from the corner of her eye Lord Cortland approaching.

  The man had the most uncannily poor timing. He took his time crossing the room, and although she didn’t look his way, she was keenly aware of him. What had Deirdre said about him? He looked like a leopard. That was it. He did look like a leopard amongst all the tame birds in the room.

  Well, she most certainly was not a tame bird for him to play with.

  She gazed at the ceiling for a moment in sheer frustration. If she declined to dance with him without the excuse of already having a partner, then it would be unspeakably rude to dance with anyone else the rest of the evening.