A Season for Love (24 page)

~ * ~

At the end of her waltz with Sir
Chetwin, Caroline escaped Lady Worley’s eagle eye with the excuse
of finding the ladies’ retiring room. Blindly, she made her way
through the crowded ballroom, uncertain of where she was going.
Away, simply away, from the conversation, comments, sly looks, and
giggles from behind young ladies’ fans.
How
could he? How could he lean against that column and stare at her
so?
There was not a person in the entire ballroom who
had missed the viscount’s display of pique, she was certain of it.
His marked attentions were already the
on
dit
of the Season. Since neither she nor Tony had made
their views on marriage a secret, some had dismissed their
companionship on the basis of family connection. But, tonight,
there could be no other explanation for Tony’s conduct than the
role of jealous suitor. It was mortifying, Caroline told
herself.
He
did not want to
marry.
She
did not want to
marry. Why could not people leave them alone?

And yet her feet—no, her heart, disregarding
her head—had brought her to the tall door where she had caught a
glimpse of Tony striding onto the terrace as if the hounds of hell
were after him. After a furtive glance around to make sure no one
was watching, Caroline turned the knob and walked out into the
blessed cool of the early June night. He was still there, standing
with his hands flat against the parapet, gazing at the Grantley’s
garden, whose colorful beauty was displayed under the light of a
dozen or more tall torchères.

In a soft rustle of silk and tulle, Caroline
moved to stand next to him, her hands clasped nervously around her
fan. “Tony, I am sorry” she heard herself say, even as she had
thought to scold. “I did not think you would mind.” The viscount
never moved. It was as if she were no more than a ghost come to
haunt the terrace, whispering phantom words into the night. “Am I
being forward?” Caroline ventured softly. “Have I misinterpreted
that awful glare? Were you thinking of robbers and not of me at
all? Tony?”

“
You knew very well I minded.” He
tossed the words like bullets, while keeping his eyes straight
forward. “Women always understand these things. It is men who are
left in confusion.”

Had she been testing him? Caroline
wondered, suddenly ashamed. The past few days had certainly been
tumultuous. Laurence’s tantrum over going to Eton, last night’s
attempted robbery, her own uncertain feelings. Tony’s startling
challenge to her long-held beliefs about love and marriage. And,
behind it all, haunting her thoughts, were her regrets that her
courage had failed on the Dark Walk.
That
was where she had planned to experiment,
where she had thought to explore the grown-up world of men and
women with a few moments of delicious closeness. Perhaps, even, one
little kiss.

Yet foolish, frightened Caroline, the
country-raised mouse, had snapped to the fore, destroying all her
daring intentions as fast as the spring on a trap. After escaping
the Dark Walk with her emotions in tatters, she was able to
recognize that her mind had transformed enticing swirls of passion
into fearsome gargoyles ready to swallow up an unwary maiden.

In essence, she had panicked.

And now, tonight, she had shut Tony out,
making him pay for what was no one’s fault but her own, with
perhaps a small assist from Fate. For how could encountering her
father and Jen on the Dark Walk be anything other than sheer ill
luck?

And yet . . . how could she forgive
Tony’s public sulks? He had made a laughing stock of them both,
making her wish to disappear into the woodwork. Yet her father’s
rank, the old scandal of her mother’s desertion, the sensation of
Laurence’s existence, and her own reappearance in society made her
the cynosure of all eyes. The
ton
tabbies scrutinized her every move—the slightest smile, a
saucy look, a mis-step of any kind—waiting with baited breath for
just such a moment as this. Caroline shuddered.

No! She was a duke’s daughter, Caroline
reminded herself sternly. She had apologized to Tony, but no
further explanation would be forthcoming. Indeed, there
was
no explanation. She was wandering
through a maze created long ago, nurtured by misunderstanding,
fear, and love turned to hate. Errant branches within the maze
reached out to grab her; the uneven path seemed to heave beneath
her feet. Was that Safety standing there a scant few inches away?
Or the Devil come to make her life unbearable, as her mother’s had
been?

What to say . . . what to do?

Nothing. Avoid the slippery
slope
. Surely, this was a puzzle that must wait for
another day.

“
Speaking of men’s confusion,” Caroline
said with what she could only hope was cool composure, “did you see
papa at supper? He was positively languishing over that dreadful
Lady Pomfret. Has that woman no shame? I was quite certain she was
going to pop out of that crimson satin at any moment. Your poor
sister . . . the moment her back is turned, papa turns into a
flirt.”

“
I assure you, he would not do so in
Jen’s presence,” the viscount responded stiffly.

“
But if he cannot be
trusted—”

“
Believe me, Caroline,” Tony snapped,
“it is a game, nothing more. At the end of the evening Marcus will
go home to his wife.”

“
You cannot say the same of the others
here,” Caroline countered.

“
Caroline,” Tony said, speaking slowly
and with considerable emphasis, “I do not care what the others do.
I care only about my family, my friends, and myself. Your papa
enjoyed his years of freedom, but I do not doubt his loyalty to Jen
now that they are married—even if, as I suspect, they are presently
caught up in a quarrel. And if I myself should marry, I, too, would
be faithful to my wife. I admit youth is a time for high-jinks,
particularly among men, but marriage—a lifetime companionship—is
too precious to be jeopardized by philandering. I, like Marcus,
might have a wandering eye on occasion, but I would not go farther
than that. And I would expect my wife to be faithful as
well.”

For the first time Tony turned and looked
Caroline full in the face, appearing more earnest than she had ever
seen him before. “On occasion, we may all indulge in admiration for
an object of great beauty or vivacious appeal. It is part of what
makes us human. But a true gentleman or lady will stand by the vows
they made before God—”

“
Which is why they must be so very
careful to choose well before they make them,” Caroline interjected
tartly.

“
Exactly.”

She wanted to touch him, lay a hand upon his
arm, but, instead, she clutched her fan so hard the carved ivory
sticks imprinted her fingers. Tony had just given her a gift of
great significance. Unless, of course, his words had been prompted
by the green monster of jealousy combined with too many trips to
the punch bowl.

She must say something . . . but what?

Caroline was still searching for words when
Viscount Frayne reverted to his most polished social tones. “Come,
Caroline, you must be getting cold. And your next partner will be
searching for you.”

Meekly, Lady Caroline allowed him to lead her
back inside the ballroom. She was conscious of a frisson of relief.
Further moments on the Grantley’s terrace might have proved
fatal.

On the morning following Lady Harriet’s
come-out ball, Malvinia, Lady Worley, called upon her daughter, the
Duchess of Longville. Her air of suppressed excitement lasted only
a scant few moments after Sims departed the drawing room, leaving
her alone with the duchess. “My dear,” she cried with no
roundaboutation, “can it be you are you
enceinte
?”

Jen, who had anticipated the question, kept
her countenance. “What, mama, no inquiries after my headache? No
assurances that my presence was sorely missed last night?”

“
Abominable, Eugenia, to leave me on
tenterhooks. Come, child, do not gammon your poor mama. You have
not had a day of illness since you contracted the measles at age
four. What else am I to think but that a happy event is in the
offing?”

The duchess, whose temperament generally
matched her sturdy frame, wrung her hands and burst out, “Oh, mama,
if only it were so!”

“
Merciful heavens,” declared Lady
Worley, instantly ready to defend her child, “do not tell me that
you and Longville have quarreled. Is he pressing you for a child,
the beast? Why, you’ve scarcely been churched.”

“
No, no, ’tis nothing of the kind,” Jen
protested in accents so faint compared to her customary decisive
tone that her mother’s concern elevated to alarm.

“
Surely he cannot be up to his old
tricks,” Lady Worley declared in accents of loathing.

“
No! That is, I do not think so.” Jen
paused to consider. No, she truly thought she could acquit Marcus
of womanizing. “‘Tis something else entirely, mama. Something so
seemingly simple that it’s a wonder it has become such a issue.”
Briefly, she explained the problem of Laurence being sent off to
Eton. She did not, however, include just how far their quarrel had
gone. Locked doors were a private matter solely between the duchess
and her duke. Or so she thought.

“
Oh, my dear,” Lady Worley breathed
when the tale was finished, “surely it cannot be wise to come
between the duke and his heir?”

“
Perhaps not wise, but necessary,” Jen
stated firmly.

“
He is not an easy man, of course,” the
countess sighed, “but I thought that if anyone could manage him,
Jenny, you could. Amy Carlington was a fool. You are
not.”

“
I wonder,” the duchess murmured
enigmatically. “I have spent most of my adult life in a world of
men. I fear I was too puffed up with my supposedly superior
knowledge of their fits and starts. For, truthfully, I have
approached this, our first contretemps, in a most childish manner
and am not sure, now, what is to be done about it.”

Malvinia Norville fixed her sharp gaze
on the daughter. “Eugenia, what
have
you done?”

“
I spent most of last evening
considering it,” Jen whispered.

An unsatisfactory reply that brought
her mother’s wrath to a boiling point.“
Tell
me you have not rejected him?” she demanded.
“You could not have been so foolish, so childish. That is exactly
the sort of nastiness the first duchess was famous for. ‘Twas
scarcely a secret,” she continued, correctly reading the shock on
her daughter’s face. “The spoiled chit told the whole world. If you
but think of how blatant Caro Lamb was about Byron, you may picture
Amy Carlington spreading her woes about Longville. I assure you, it
was a positive blessing when she ran off. Longville had suffered
quite enough.”

Jen, although ready to sink, could not let
the argument go. “But, mama, what other weapon does a woman have
against a man of such great power?”

“
Abstinence is not a weapon,” Lady
Worley retorted. “It is a two-edged blade that cleaves husband from
wife.”

“
A blade is a weapon,” Jen felt obliged
to point out.

“
You know quite well what I
mean!”

The duchess hung her head. “Yes, mama, I
understand. But someone must defend Laurence. Caroline agrees with
me, as does Miss Tompkins, but even the three of us together are
powerless. What else am I to do?”

“
Eugenia,” declared Lady Worley most
awfully, “only Prinny himself could gainsay Longville. You are
foolish even to try and can only bring his wrath down upon your
head. Do not throw this marriage away, my dear, because of the
uncertain emotions of a boy who has snatched the title from any
child of your own.”

“
Mama!”

“’
Tis true, Lady Worley sniffed.
“
You
should have been mother
of the heir.”

“
An unlikely prospect, as things now
stand between us,” Jen commented drily.

“
Unlock your door at once,” Malvinia
Norville commanded, “else all is lost.”

“
I shall not,” Jen declared, chin set
in a stubborn line. “The boy is miserable, even terrified. He needs
more time at home before being sent off to live among
strangers.”

“
Then find another way,” counseled her
mother. “You yourself have called your actions
childish.”

“
I fear I have trapped myself in a
corner, mama. If I concede the bedchamber, I concede Laurence’s
welfare along with it.”

“
Oh, my dear,” Lady Worley whispered,
dismayed. “Surely you have not forgotten that honey catches more
flies than vinegar.”

The duchess heaved a long-drawn sigh. “No,
mama, I have not forgotten. I promise I will think on it.”

Malvinia Norville, who had come to call
buoyed on wings of joy at the hope of becoming a grandmother, took
her departure with a heavy heart. History was repeating itself. In
her own way, the second Duchess of Longville had turned as
intransigent as the first.

That night, Marcus Carlington also indulged
in a repeat of history. He kicked in his wife’s door.