Lady Roma's Romance (20 page)

“Hmmm, ideal for folly and romance,” he answered, trying to sound severe as befitted a father, but a giddy smile kept breaking through as befitted a lover. “D’you smell snow in the air?”

“Gracious, I hope not!”

Some fifteen minutes were lost at the Keanes’ house while Livia sought for a ribbon and Mrs. Keane gave some rather disjointed final instructions to her servants. They seemed rather prone to giggle at his lordship, but he was giving sincere compliments to his bride-to-be and paid no mind. Sabina looked lovely, not so much because of the fine feathers she had from Roma, but the blushes and shy looks called forth by her fiancé became her so.

Roma tried to sort out some way of transporting seven in two carriages so that her father and Sabina could journey alone. But the math defeated her. The only way she could think to do the trick was to proclaim a headache. Dearly as she loved her father, and as much as she sympathized with Sabina, she had her own interests. She salved her conscience by reminding herself that they would have a sufficiency of time alone once they were married.

She compromised by forestalling her father when he would have left the carriage to knock on Lady Brownlow’s door. Roma hoped they improved their few moments of solitude.

“Good evening,” she said to the butler. “Is her ladyship ready?”

“Is that Roma?” Lady Brownlow called from her usual haunt. “Come in, come in. Let me see your gown.”

“You’re too impatient,” Roma laughed. “You’ll see it at the . .. oh!” Lady Brownlow was not only not ready; she wasn’t even dressed. “Aren’t you coming? Don’t you feel well?”

She laughed a little and eased herself in her chair. “I’m in fine fettle, my dear, barring my pulse being a trifle tumultuous. I know I should have sent you a note, but I kept hoping it would pass off. The truth is I’m just too lazy to go lacing myself into a tight gown more than once a week. Now, throw back that cloak and let me see .. . ah! There’ll not be a man standing when you appear. They’ll all fall down at your feet like ninepins.”

Roma sank into a curtsy. “A thousand thanks, my lady.” With a segue that gave away more than she wanted, she added, “Have you heard from Bret?”

“This morning. A note which made me laugh, proposing to dance the night into the dawn with me. Give him my love, if you’ve none of your own to offer.”

“Mother Brownlow...”

“Go on, girl. With my blessing.”

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my heart.”

Roma’s own heart was light enough that she nearly danced out to the carriages. “She isn’t coming, Father,” she said to the dim figures seated in the first one. “I’ll travel with the Keanes, if you don’t mind.”

“Won’t you find it too crowded?” Sabina asked softly.

Roma appreciated her making it seem as if she would not mind if she went with them. It showed her sweet nature. “No, I shall enjoy their companionship.”

And she did, though Julia hardly troubled to hide that in her opinion both Roma’s and Sabina’s dresses were far too plain and simple. Her own gown was the lilac sarsenet, adorned with a double trimming of dark purple Vandyke braid and small purple tassels swinging from the puffed sleeves. Mrs. Keane looked a quiet matron, and Livia was blooming like a pink rose, her bosom crossed with green ribbons.

Roma fell into a reverie as they departed the streets of Bath, hardly noticing when the view beyond the carriage window became the gently rolling hills of Somerset. The ride was as smooth as though the horses had wings. They soon made up the lost time. Roma made a mental note to ask her father to be especially generous when it came to tipping the drivers.

“We’re here,” Livia squealed as the carriage slewed around a corner. The Morningstreet home, Ravensby, added a golden touch to the silver evening. Of the same Cotswold stone as most of the buildings in Bath, the candlelight beaming through every window seemed less like candlelight than the glowing heart of the stone itself. The front door stood open as other guests arrived.

Roma swallowed a lump in her throat that felt suspiciously like her heart. Now that the moment was upon her, she wanted nothing more than to order the driver to take her home at once. Had Cinderella felt like this? If so, it was a wonder to her that the story didn’t end with the girl devoting herself to poverty and good works. A life of drudgery was preferable to attendance this evening.

She was glad of her gloves when she shook hands with Mrs. Morningstreet and Jasper, for her palms were unaccountably damp. “Good evening. What a marvelous house!”

“Thank you, Lady Roma,” Mr. Morningstreet said, rising from his bow. “It lacked only your presence. Mrs. Derwent asked me to tell you that she was unable to join us this evening.” He delivered this information impassively, but his eyes were hard. She wondered how much of their conversation Dina had related to him. If Mr. Morningstreet blamed her for their division, this evening would be even more awkward than she anticipated. She could only hope that in time, he’d see that Dina had never been serious about marrying him.

Her father and Sabina were waiting for the greetings to be over before proceeding. Roma caught Sabina’s eye and hoped she didn’t look as frightened as her future stepmother. Though exquisite in a gown of silver net, chosen to play up the coin in her necklace, rather than the chain, her cheeks had quite lost their pink, replaced by a hint of green like pale seawater. Roma went to her. “Come to the cloakroom,” she said, taking her arm. “We’ll return directly, Father.”

“Is everyone looking at me?” Sabina whispered, leaning on Roma.

“No, no one.”

“Oh, but they will. That dreadful notice appeared in the
Gazette
yesterday and everyone will know that Roger and I... Oh, I wish I hadn’t come!”

“A glass of champagne, please,” Roma murmured to the mob-capped maid in the cloakroom. The girl nodded, hurrying away. Fortunately, the guests who had arrived just before them were already divested of their cloaks and had gone out. The other Keanes hadn’t yet come in.

“Sabina, you’re not taking full advantage of the situation,” Roma said in answer to another of those ghostlike moans. “Just think of the triumph you’ve achieved!”

“Now you sound like Mama. I don’t care about triumph.”

Roma let the insult pass. “You should care. Think of all those snubs you’ve had over the years. All the times your mama has said, ‘oh, never mind, it’s only Sabina.’ All the times your sisters have sneered at your art.” That brought her head up. Already she looked less like a dying duck. “Now you’ve done what they couldn’t. You’ll have such position, such pin-money, such affection ...”

“Affection?”

“Never mind the rest. Do you think Mr. Martin feels about Julia the way my ... Roger feels about you?”

“Oh, no. He’s always making rude comments to her. I wouldn’t stand for it if I were her, but she just shrugs.”

“Very well, then. If you can’t be proud of the fact that you have captured the Earl of Yarborough, then be proud that you have captured his heart. No other woman can make such a claim.”

The maid returned with the sparkling wine. Sabina frowned at it. “I’ve never had champagne before.”

“There’s no better remedy for a case of the collywobbles,” Roma said, wishing she’d had the foresight to order a glass for herself. “Now, you look like a princess. I know my father thinks so. Go out there and hold your head high.”

Sabina sipped doubtfully from the crystal glass. She wrinkled her nose but thankfully said nothing about it tickling. After a quizzical second, she sipped again. The tinge of green faded from her cheeks, replaced with carnation. There was a sparkle in her eyes not entirely caused by champagne.

“Mama spoke of my triumph over other girls, but she forgot to mention my sisters. I suppose I should be ashamed to even think such a thing, but you are right. They have made it perfectly plain over the years that I would never find a husband.”

And undoubtedly sabotaged every chance she had, Roma thought. Aloud, she said, “You may tell your conscience, Sabina, that it was all my idea. You never would have thought of it if I hadn’t said it. You are too sweet natured.”

“Sweet natured I may be, but you thought of the champagne, I don’t like it very much. You are right, though, it does something to you,”

The other Keanes came in. “Oh, here you are,” Mrs. Keane said, shrugging off her wraps. “Really, what on earth are you doing? Dear Roger is standing out there as though he’s lost his dearest friend.”

“He has, Mama. But I’m going now. No, Roma. It’s all right. I can manage.”

Roma felt more maternal than Mrs. Keane as she watched Sabina sail out of the cloakroom like a full-rigged ship that feels the tug of the wind. She saw her father’s reaction as his bride-to-be gave him a dazzling smile. After an instant, he returned it, and they walked toward the ballroom arm-in-arm, a regal couple, the focus of all eyes.

Roma, entering in a cloud of Keanes, wished that it were as easy to give advice to oneself as it was to give to others. And even if one knew all the right words, how difficult it was to get oneself to take it.

Looking around the room, brilliantly lit by two lustrous chandeliers, Roma saw many people that she knew but who she’d not realized were visiting Bath. She realized that it had been several days at least since she’d attended to her mail or to the cards that had been left. Though she had excuses enough, they were not of the sort that could be explained. Perhaps the notice of her father’s engagement in the
Gazette
would serve to make matters plain to her friends without her having to elucidate.

As she anticipated, questions were showered upon her head. The things that no one could ask the bride or groom were apparently permissible to ask her.

“Yes, quite suddenly.”

“No, I believe they’d met in London.”

“Yes, I was at school with her sister.”

“No, indeed not!”

“Yes, quite, quite suddenly.”

“Naturally, I’m delighted.”

Then a male hand was under her elbow, and she was whirled away into a waltz. She smiled up at Bret. “Thank you a thousand tunes.”

“The quizzy ones are out in force, I see.”

“There’s not a gossip left in Bath tonight. They’re all here and all with a list of impertinent questions longer than the Doomsday Book.”

“You’ll have to tell me what you’d say to them if you drank from the cup of Truth.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly. I don’t know any words bad enough.”

He laughed as he swung her around in cadence with the other dancers. The tune the small orchestra played conjured memories for Roma, memories of her days in London, of a summer not so very long ago, though it seemed a remnant of some other age. She put those memories aside, determined to build anew. The next time she heard that piece she wanted to remember only tonight and the heightened regard in Bret Donovan’s eyes.

Bret made it easy to begin gathering new memories. “I don’t need a drink to tell you that you are the most beautiful woman in the room tonight. I told Jasper that you would be.”

“What did he say in answer to such a claim? I cannot say anything to it if I would spare my blushes.”

“What could he say? Dotard in love he may be, but he can trust his eyesight. So can I. I’ve never seen a woman to match you, not even in my dreams.”

“I shall have to visit your dreams,” Roma said lightly.

His arm tightened for an instant. Then he smiled as he returned to the proper form. “You’ll have me stepping on your feet if you’re not careful. A man can’t keep to business when you smile at him like that.”

For good measure, she looked deeply into his eyes without a hint of a smile. “I’ll be more cautious.”

The music ended before Roma was ready for it to do so. With a hollow feeling in her heart, she acquiesced when Bret offered to return her to her father’s side. “We stopped to collect your aunt,” she said, “but she did not wish to accompany us.”

“Is she ill?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so. She seemed a little tired, though she said it was sheer indolence that kept her away.”

“I did forget that she has a hatred of uncomfortable clothing. The trip to the theater tried her severely.”

“So she said. I confess I wish I had her excuse. It is easy to look beautiful when you have the right clothes, but very few fine feathers are comfortable feathers.”

“You look perfectly at ease.”

“Early training tells, Mr. Donovan. Why, when I was little, I was the despair of my nurse. I wouldn’t sit in a chair if the floor was available. I refused to wear a backboard under any circumstances. My favorite activity was climbing trees, and I’d invariably come home with torn stockings, ripped hems, and skinned knees.”

“I wish I’d seen you then.”

“No, indeed. A mere ragamuffin. I looked as if I had too many teeth. Even my nanny despaired of my ever becoming presentable. Come to think of it, she still sighs when she sees me and declares I’ll never be the beauty my mother was.”

“Purchase her a pair of spectacles,” he said, nodding off to the side as though he’d seen someone he recognized.

They reached Lord Yarborough just as he took Sabina’s hand for the set now forming. He greeted Bret with absent-minded friendship, as if he were someone his lordship only vaguely recalled but with a remembrance of a certain liking.

Roma wanted to think of some way to keep Bret beside her. Her usual gift for society nothings had deserted her. Nor could she allow her tongue to run away with her, as before in his company, because there was only one thing she wanted to say to him. Impossible, however, to blurt it out in the middle of a ballroom. He’d made her promise to go out onto the terrace with him. Why didn’t he ask her?

“My, it’s warm in here,” she said, despising herself for this typical female stratagem.

‘Yes, isn’t it? Lady Roma, may I present Mr. Vedeman, late of the Bengal Tigers.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Vedeman.”

She danced with him and with several other of his friends, all of whom seemed to either be serving officers or recently retired. Two, oddly enough, were naval officers, though Bret claimed he did not hold that against them. “Of course, Hyde had some luck with prize money, and Robey is connected on his mother’s side with the Duke of Harronby.”