Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress (8 page)

Constance started, then shook her head.

Joanna looked around. Jack Townsend was paired with one of the other girls; his father had gone back to his chair; Sir Rollin was nowhere in sight. She turned back to the group in the corner. “I know,” she said, “I shall get Gerald. You can tell him that you remember his prank with the horse.” And she started forward without hearing the slight sound Constance made.

Gerald Rowntree was standing beside his father, both listening to another young man hold forth. Like Mr. Rowntree, Gerald was tall and thin with light brown hair and blue eyes. He wore his evening dress negligently, but his face glowed with interest as he heard his friend's argument.

“Gerald,” said Joanna, tugging at his sleeve.

He turned impatiently and looked down at her.

“Come and dance, Gerald. Here is Constance Williston; you remember.”

Her brother did not glance at the slender blond girl who winced slightly as Joanna spoke. “I have no time for such nonsense, Joanna. We are having an important discussion here.”

“This is an evening party, Gerald,” insisted Joanna, “not a meeting of Papa's society. Come and dance. You know Mama wishes you to.”

This last point seemed to have some effect, and to Joanna's surprise, her father turned and added his support. “Yes, go and dance a bit, Gerald,” he said. “It will please your mother.”

With a resigned shrug, Gerald gave in.

By this time, Constance was blushing furiously. Joanna led her brother up to her and repeated, “You remember Constance Williston, Gerald.”

“Of course,” said Gerald, bowing politely. But it was not at all clear that he did. He was four years older than Joanna and had been away at school for most of his life.

Constance's flush deepened. “Come along,” said Joanna impatiently. Gerald was impossible, and she was beginning to be sorry that she had inflicted him on her new friend.

They joined Jonathan Erland as the music started, and the four began to dance. Joanna was frowning. “What are you thinking of so grimly?” asked her partner.

“Brothers!” exclaimed Joanna, in strong accents of disgust.

He smiled, raising his eyebrows.

“They are the most infuriating things in nature,” added the girl by way of explanation.

“Are they? Having no brothers, I had not noticed.”

“Well, they are.” Joanna turned to look at Gerald. To her surprise, he was talking animatedly to Constance, even missing steps in his eagerness. “Why, how funny,” she said.

“What?”

“My brother.” Joanna shook her head. “It is just like him. I had to positively drag him from his discussion to dance, and now he seems to be having a fine time. There is no understanding him.”

Erland laughed at her disgusted expression. “Perhaps he found Miss Williston charming, after all.”

“Oh, yes, but Gerald would not care for that. He is interested only in Latin and Greek and fusty old poetry. I only hope he is not boring Constance about Virgil. The last time he came for a visit, he went on about him all through dinner.”

Looking at the other couple, Mr. Erland doubted that either party was bored, so he was able to dismiss this worry from his mind without difficulty. “You will be interested to hear, I hope, that I am getting on very well with my plan for a picnic,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Absolutely. 'Tis to be in two weeks' time. I mean to send out the invitations tomorrow.”

“And Mrs. Smith did not object?” asked Joanna teasingly.

“On the contrary. I have hopes of making her leave my service over the issue. She is outraged.”

Joanna laughed. “And may I tell about your scheme now?”

He nodded. “Have you really kept it secret?”

“Of course I have.” Joanna was indignant.

Erland apologized, and the rest of the set was taken up with talk of his plans—where the tables were to be, what was to be served, whether there should be games. He asked her advice about each detail, and by the end of the dance Joanna felt very superior and knowledgeable.

Mrs. Rowntree had had a cold supper laid out in the dining room, and the young people soon followed some of the older ones there. Joanna was surprised to see Constance and Gerald go in together and sit down, still talking eagerly. She grimaced a little; Constance would get no supper if she relied on Gerald to fetch it. She and Erland joined Jack Townsend and his partner, and supper was a noisy, jolly meal.

After she had eaten, Joanna did an errand for her mother, then returned to the drawing room. Many of the guests were still at table, and the room was half empty when she came in. As she hesitated in the doorway, she heard someone call her name softly, and she whirled to face Peter Finley, who silently had come up behind her.

“Peter!” At once, Joanna's heart began to beat faster. Though she had astonishingly almost forgotten about Peter during this evening, standing face-to-face brought back a flood of memories and confused emotions.

“How are you, Joanna?”

She stared at him, fascinated by his face, his modish blue coat. This was the man she had thought to marry. It made her feel peculiar. “Well,” she stammered.

“I meant to write you,” he went on quickly. “I know I should have, but it was…”

“Peter,” exclaimed a sweetly venomous voice from the drawing room. “And Miss Rowntree. How fortunate.”

As one, they turned to face Adrienne. Peter looked both annoyed and a little uneasy.

“Peter, I seem to have lost my fan,” continued the woman. “Would you be a darling and look in the dining room? Perhaps I left it there on the table.”

Peter nodded curtly and turned away without a word. His wife looked at Joanna. “So silly of me,” she murmured. “I am always misplacing my things.”

Joanna was silent. Mrs. Finley's tone made it clear she was not pleased; and though Joanna had done nothing, she felt a little nervous.

“Well, Miss Rowntree, a delightful little party. I simply must compliment your mother.”

“Thank you,” said Joanna, a bit stiffly.

“And you also. You look charming in that sweet little dress.” The smile that accompanied this remark was so patronizing that Joanna could not bring herself to reply. She started to excuse herself, but the older woman stopped her by adding, “You go to London next season, I believe, Miss Rowntree?”

Joanna nodded.

“Ah, your first season! How I envy you. I remember mine with such fondness.”

“It was some years ago?” responded Joanna sweetly.

Mrs. Finley's eyebrows went up, and she wagged a finger. “Now, now, you mustn't ask that of an old
married
woman.” The bunches of light green ribbon on her gown fluttered as she moved. “If you like, I can write a note to one of my friends in town. It is vital to have introductions, you know, and not be
completely
unknown.” She smiled.

“You are
too
kind,” said Joanna through gritted teeth. “Fortunately, my mother has several old friends living in town, so we need not trouble you.”

This elicited a flood of questions as to who these friends were, where they lived, and how her mother knew them. Without being insolent, they were prying, and Joanna lacked the social address to turn them all aside. She did have the satisfaction, however, of knowing that Mama's friends were unexceptionable and probably more fashionable than Adrienne's. Indeed, the woman appeared to be impressed.

When she had found out what she wished to know, she changed the subject abruptly. “You know Peter's housekeeper, I suppose?” she asked Joanna.

“Yes.”

“A kindly woman, but dreadfully old-fashioned. I have had to speak sharply to her several times since I arrived.”

Joanna made a noncommittal sound.

“The entire establishment is positively quaint, I vow,” continued Adrienne, oblivious to Joanna's expression. “But bachelors are such helpless creatures. They never make changes in the house they grew up in, though I think Peter might have; his mother has been dead for years.” She shrugged. “But I should not complain. It leaves me more to do, and I am having a grand time. We mean to do the place over in the latest modes.”

She seemed to expect a reply. “Really?” said Joanna.

“Oh, absolutely. I am particularly interested in the park. I have a positive passion for gardening, and Peter's garden is so antiquated. All those straight paths and square flower beds! We shall have them all pulled up and a cunning wilderness planted. And the shrubbery must go; it is so close and dark. You know Repton's plans, of course?”

Joanna, thinking that she had spent countless happy hours in that shrubbery and that garden as a child, and never found the least fault, shook her head.

Adrienne raised her eyebrows. “No? But
everyone
talks of them.” She shrugged again. “I think them too perfect. And I am determined to get a hermit. They are all the crack, you know.”

“A hermit?” echoed Joanna, mystified.

“Oh, yes, my dear Miss Rowntree. Have you not heard of that, either? So fashionable. We mean to construct a grotto with a cave, and there is nothing more engaging than having a hermit to live in such a place. One's guests just catch glimpses of him, you know, as he goes about his business. It is terribly affecting. The Duke of Devonshire has one.”

“But a—a hermit, that is, where does one find a hermit?”

Adrienne gave a long silvery laugh. “Oh, my dear, you are too amusing. He is not
really
a hermit, of course. One hires some local to put it on. I daresay there may be any number of old men in the neighborhood who will be delighted to have the place.”

Joanna was astonished by the idea. “D-do you?” she said weakly.

Adrienne made an airy gesture. “Naturally. What have they to do, after all? It is not as if it were difficult work. The man need only wear suitable clothing and wander about the grounds.” She frowned. “He will have to grow a beard, of course, and let his hair hang long, but he can be compensated for that.” She looked down at Joanna. “Do you know anyone who might want the place?”

“I? Oh, no, I don't think so.”

“Well, no matter. Peter will find someone.”

Joanna tried to imagine Peter asking one of the neighborhood workmen, say old Mr. Jenkins, to take on such a role. She could not.

“And in the house,” Adrienne was going on, “I shall have new carpets and hangings, of course, and I think I shall pull out the wall between those two cramped front parlors and make them into a billiard room. So much more fashionable. It will mean that we cannot entertain on any scale for some time, but I don't care for that. Our neighbors will understand, I daresay, and when we are finished, we shall have a gala day to show the new additions. How delightful it will be!” She paused to savor this idea, then carried on in the same manner for nearly a quarter of an hour, detailing all of her plans for Joanna.

The younger girl was both bored and rather overwhelmed at the extent and nature of these, and she said little in reply. She was heartily grateful when they were interrupted by her mother, who came in to start the dancing once more. Mrs. Finley gushed over her, no doubt remembering her creditable London connections.

Joanna took this opportunity to escape. Seeing Constance opposite, she went to her, eager to vent some of the outrage she was feeling. “What an appalling woman,” she said softly when she reached Constance's side, “I came within an inch of telling her so, too.”

“What?” said Constance dreamily.

Joanna looked at her. Clearly, Constance was not listening. Her eyes seemed to be on some faraway object, yet when Joanna looked in that direction, there was nothing unusual to be seen. “Is anything wrong, Constance?” she asked.

“Wrong? Oh, no,” replied the other, with such emphasis that Joanna did not know what to make of it.

“Well, but you seem abstracted.”

Constance turned toward her, but did not really look at her. “Thank you, yes,” she said, and then drifted away across the floor.

Joanna frowned as she looked after her, but at that moment, Jack Townsend came up to beg her to start the dancing again as his partner, and she forgot Constance in the organization of a set.

There were several more dances before midnight, when the guests began to depart. Joanna had the last dance with Jonathan Erland again, and he was most enthusiastic about the evening. “I have never had such fun in England,” he told her. “Your mother is the best of hostesses.”

“Ah, but you must try to outdo her,” teased Joanna.

“No thought is further from my mind. I hope merely to repay her, and perhaps amuse her a bit.”

Joanna nodded absently.

“Will you go riding with me another day, Miss Joanna?” said her partner somewhat abruptly. “I very much enjoyed our outing last week.”

“If you like,” said Joanna.

“Perhaps Miss, ah, Williston would like to come also? We might make up a party.”

Joanna began to look more interested. “I don't know if Constance rides. I suppose she does.”

“We shall ask her.”

The set ended on this note, and Joanna was called away by her mother, to say good-bye to the Grants. As they were talking, the Finley party came up to take their leave as well. Sir Rollin had reappeared from wherever he had spent the latter part of the evening; he looked bitterly sardonic. As Adrienne was bidding her mother farewell, Joanna looked at Peter. They had not danced and had hardly spoken to each other. How strange that seemed. Since their childhood, they had been inseparable at every neighborhood gathering they attended. And now, she had had a perfectly pleasant evening without him.

Peter looked down at her. “I am sorry we could not talk more,” he blurted. “I meant to.”

Joanna was surprised at his awkwardness. She had always thought of Peter as an immensely polished gentleman. But beside Sir Rollin Denby, he seemed a boy. “Yes,” she replied easily. On impulse, she held out a hand. “Another time, perhaps.”