Amanda Scott (20 page)

The grand ballroom measured some forty feet by ninety in size and sported gilt columns and pilasters, not to mention glittering medallions on every wall and a host of mirrors and pier glasses that multiplied everything, making the crowd seem larger and yet somehow, at the same time, less pressing.

Bridget said confidingly, “Miss Carlisle told me that these rooms will accommodate seventeen hundred dancers. There is a tearoom, as well, where Mr. and Mrs. Almack will serve supper, and other rooms for lectures and concerts.”

Lady Marsali, having parted from the duchess, said, “Don’t chatter, dear. Kintyre, escort us to those spindly chairs against that wall, if you will. I do not want to stand any longer than I must, and if we do not claim our chairs at once, there may not be enough to accommodate everyone when the dancing begins.”

The din was awful, and the smell none too pleasant, either. Body odors, unsuccessfully masked by heavy, cloying perfumes and laden with more acrid odors from myriad wax candles, stirred a renewed yearning for the fresher scents of the Highlands and the sea. Heather, pine, and peat moss—just the thought of open country blowing fresh with the salty tang of good sea air calmed him again.

The orchestra had already begun tuning their instruments, and soon strains of a grand march sounded above the din and trills of a flute competed with occasional bursts of feminine laughter.

As Lady Marsali took a seat, a light touch on Michael’s left arm turned his attention swiftly and firmly from his reveries to the present.

An elegantly dressed young matron said to him with a smile, “Forgive me, my lord.” He stared blankly at her for the few seconds it took to remember that she was Lady Molyneux, one of the lady patronesses to whom Cousin Bella had presented him some days earlier.

“Certainly, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head as he took in the fact that a familiar-looking, foppish youth accompanied her. “How may I serve you?”

“I beg leave to present Mr. Terence Coombs as a desirable partner for Lady Bridget, my lord. For the grand march, at least, and perhaps for the first minuet.”

Michael glanced at Bridget to see that she was blushing rosily. She curtsied to Mr. Coombs, thanked Lady Molyneux prettily, then accepted the young man’s arm when he proffered it.

Watching them walk away, Lady Molyneux said with a flirtatious smile, “I thought it would be easier if I presented someone to her, my lord. You were looking thunderous enough to frighten off all but the most intrepid partners, you know.”

“Was I, indeed?”

“You were,” she said firmly. “You should be dancing also, you know.”

“Should I?”

“Yes, indeed.” Lady Molyneux gestured imperiously to a young woman who appeared to have been hiding behind her, and said, “May I take the further liberty, sir, of presenting Miss Laura Pettibone as a desirable partner for you?”

“No, thank you,” Michael replied curtly. The look of shock on Lady Molyneux’s face and the flushed dismay on Miss Pettibone’s forced him to collect his wits sufficiently to add more politely, “I am engaged for the march and the first dance, ma’am. I thank you, however, for recalling my attention to their immediacy.”

Hastily making his escape, he had the grace to hope that neither lady would note his absence from the grand march, now forming at the center of the room. Glancing back a moment later, however, he saw that Lady Molyneux stood beside his aunt’s chair, her gimlet gaze still fixed upon him.

Feeling hard-pressed, he looked around and soon spied Miss MacCrichton talking with Lady Balcardane and the dowager near the wall opposite the one where his aunt sat. Without a second thought, he walked straight across to Miss MacCrichton and said, “You are not engaged for the minuet, are you?”

Turning from the other two, she blushed a little but raised her eyebrows and said, “If that is your notion of the proper way to ask a lady to dance with you, my lord, I cannot wonder why you have not yet found a partner. I take leave to tell you, sir, that your manners leave much to be desired.”

“I don’t want to dance. That’s why I’m here.”

“Dear me,” Lady Agnes said, regarding him with surprise. “I cannot imagine why one would come to a ball if he does not wish to dance, my lord. I must tell you—quite confidentially, don’t you know—that I should be utterly delighted to dance if anyone should be so kind as to ask me. It does seem most unfair that I should have had to wait all this time to visit London, and now, to be thought too old to want to dance—to be expected, in fact, to sit on these tiny chairs against the wall and watch young persons cavorting about—Well, it is just too utterly devastating to one who would much rather be enjoying such terpsichorean delights oneself.

“One would think that Mr. Almack would know as much, too,” she went on without so much as drawing breath, “for he’s as much a Scotsman as any of us, for all that he’s gone and changed his name from MacCall—to please the Londoners, you know, who still think we Scots are a lesser breed of some sort. He cannot be one of those stuffy puritanical Scotsmen, either, or he would never have engaged in such puritanically forbidden pursuits as cards, dicing, and dancing in the first place. So he, of all men, ought to know what great pleasure we Scotswomen take in dancing. Why, when I was a lass, I can tell you, we found many occasions when we would dance the whole night through and think nothing at all about it. Why—”

“Mama Agnes,” Mary interjected swiftly, “here is Duncan. I know you must be starving for some supper, as am I,” she added in a carrying tone, dearly for her husband’s benefit.

“Supper! Why, my dear Mary, we only just finished our dinner an hour ago.”

“Nevertheless,” the countess said firmly, “since Mr. Almack and his pleasant wife have promised that the supper room will be open from the very outset of the evening and straight on through, so as to accommodate everyone’s convenience, I think we ought to take early advantage, don’t you? Or we can simply walk about for a bit if you are not quite hungry now. In any event, we can safely leave Pinkie in Kintyre’s care, for I know he will restore her to us safely at the end of the first set.”

With a smile at Michael, she bustled her two reluctant charges away, although not before he had encountered an enigmatic look from Balcardane. He made no effort to avoid or interpret it. Neither did he look away until the older man did. When they had gone, he said with relief, “Good, now I can talk to you.”

As he guided her to a chair, Pinkie said, “What have you done with your female charges, sir?”

“Bridget is dancing, Aunt Marsali is sitting in a chair yonder, and I don’t know where Cousin Bella has got to. Before you send me to find her, however, let me point out that she has been looking after herself quite well for some time.”

“I expect that she has, sir, but that does not mean that she or your aunt would reject your protection amidst this crowd tonight.”

A smile twitched on his lips, and suddenly he felt better than he had since entering Almack’s. “If we are to exchange inquiries about family members,” he said, looking into her eyes, “may I ask where your devoted brother might be?”

“He, too, is dancing,” she said. “One of the lady patronesses collected him at the outset, saying that she had a desirable partner for him. No one offered to perform the same service for me, however,” she added.

“That is my good fortune,” he said, thinking that she had spoken sadly.

Her mobile eyebrows shot upward. “Gallantry from you, my lord? You amaze me, particularly since you asked me earlier today to save you a dance and now have announced that you do not wish to dance with me.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” he said gruffly. “I do want to dance with you, but not now. First, sit down and talk with me. I must ask your advice about something.”

“Now you are certainly flattering me, sir.” Nonetheless she went obediently to sit in one of the little harp-backed chairs against the wall and patted the unoccupied one beside her invitingly.

Sitting, hoping the fragile-looking chair would bear his weight, he said, “I rarely offer flattery. I would not offer it to you, in any event, but I would welcome your advice. Indeed, I meant to ask you this morning, but somehow it went out of my head. You see, my sister is much enamored of your brother—”

“You are blunt, sir.”

“Don’t interrupt. I must be blunt. I have decided that you are one to whom I must speak only the truth, and I feared this morning that…Well, that is neither here nor there. You will not accept half-truths or let platitudes sway you, I know, and I doubt that you would respond well to subtle hints, either.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “I confess, sir, I cannot imagine you offering anyone a subtle hint. Would you even know how to phrase such a thing?”

“Now you are being impertinent. Must I remind you of my rank and stature?”

She chuckled. “What do you think I can do about your sister’s infatuation with my brother, sir? I scarcely know her, and from what I have seen, I doubt that she would listen to me. Surely, you must have more influence over her.”

“I do not want you to try to influence her. I am sure you could not.”

“Then…” Her eyebrows flew upward again. “You want me to influence Chuff—Charles—that is, MacCrichton—to offer for her? I promise you, sir, I could not, and…and…” She fell silent, looking wretched.

“I think you underestimate your powers of persuasion,” he said gently.

She remained silent, her usually forthright gaze avoiding his.

In the same gentle tone, he added, “This is important to me.”

She looked at him then, and her tone remained even when she said, “I believe you, sir. I do not think you would ask such a thing of me if it were not prodigiously important to you, but I cannot oblige you.”

People walked past, glancing curiously at them, but if she noticed them, she gave no sign. The music of the grand march had changed to that of a minuet, but Penelope paid no more heed to the dancing than she did to the passersby. Her attention was all his, but he saw nothing in her expression to encourage him.

Memory of Glenmore’s letter stirred in his mind, presenting him with an image of his reputation lying at his feet like a shredded cloak. How, then, could he ever persuade the members of the House of Lords to alter the law of exclusive ownership? He could think of no credible way to prove that he had not trained Cailean to run, and the charge alone, if it became known in London, would ruin him. His supporters might pity him, but if he were named cheat and disgraced by scandal, most members would laugh or sneer. If Sir Renfrew Campbell learned—

Wrenching his thoughts back to the present, he said urgently, “You must help me. If I cannot arrange an advantageous marriage for her, I do not know what I shall do. Balcardane said that your brother is free to marry where he chooses, and he does not seem to be wholly uninterested in Bridget. Indeed, I have seen signs that he admires her. Surely good marriages have blossomed from smaller seeds than that.”

“Even if he were as infatuated with her as she is with him, sir—and I promise you, he is not—I would not press him to marry anyone. He is too young.”

“Nonsense,” Michael said. “He would be less likely to fall into trouble if he were safely married. He has been associating with questionable characters since he first arrived in town, visiting clubs that he ought not to visit, allowing himself to be influenced by fops and popinjays. Marriage would settle him straightaway.”

“Oxford should do that, as well,” she said. “His education—”

“He need not give up Oxford. Marriage wouldn’t interfere with his studies. Indeed, he might concentrate better if he had less cause to carouse with his friends. Look, I know you don’t realize how important this is, but you may believe me when I say that it is, and that…” He broke off when she began shaking her head.

“I believe that you think it of the utmost importance, sir, but…”

She hesitated for a long moment, and when he did not speak, she looked directly at him. Gathering herself visibly, she said with a new firmness in her tone, “I do not want Chuff to marry Bridget. I think she would make him a dreadful wife. No,” she added, putting a hand on his arm when he would have argued more, “do not urge me to do what I cannot, sir. I do not want to be uncivil, but I must tell you that if you encourage her to continue making such a cake of herself, I will do what I must to protect him. There, I can be no plainer than that without being unforgivably rude.”

So sure had he been that he could enlist her assistance that her blunt refusal rendered him speechless. He felt sick.

Her hand twitched on his arm, drawing his attention back to her.

“Are you unwell, sir?” Her expression was anxious.

He fought to keep his voice calm. “I…I should not have approached you about this. It was unseemly. I hope you can forgive me.” He got to his feet, pictures of ruin swirling darkly through his mind, clouding rational thought.

He did not realize that she, too, had risen until she touched his arm again.

Startled, he said, “I beg your pardon. Did you speak?”

Her lips curved, softened—not a smile, not quite—but the expression eased the darkness in his mind, making it bearable again. “I hope you do not mean to stalk off and leave me here by myself, sir. You have already created a stir by sitting here so long, talking with me.”

“Oh.” He looked around, aware that people continued to glance their way. He did not know most of them. Probably she did not, either, but doubtless most of them knew who he was, and she. To provide more grist for the always active rumor mills would be unkind. He offered his arm, saying, “Walk with me to the supper room. We’ll find someone from your family either there or along the way.”

Obediently she took his arm, and they walked silently toward the supper room. Glancing at the top of her headdress, which was almost level with his shoulder, Michael wished that its cheerful yellow ribbons could lift his spirits.

Shifting his gaze downward, he tried to read her expression. He could not tell if she was distressed or only thoughtful. Then, suddenly, her face cleared, and he saw that her gaze had focused on some point ahead. Following it, he saw Balcardane and his lady strolling toward them.