Sharon Sobel (2 page)

Del must have been impatient to go to her husband, but she remained long enough to put her sister in her place.

“I do not believe he needs to beg, dear Lark. If there are no little boys to carry on the name, the title and estates go to Lord Raeborn, as well you know. But he is very elderly and himself has no direct heirs. His closest relative, by a common grandfather, is apparently Mr. Queensman. Father explained it to John, who then passed it on to me, and now I to you. It is very unlikely it should ever come to it,” Del said, patting her flat stomach. “But a man possessed of such expectations could hardly be dismissed as a beggar. You will be pleasant to him, I hope, if he dares to speak to you?”

“I doubt he will have the opportunity,” Lark said pertly. “I expect to spend all my time with Mr. Moore.”

“Once he arrives,” Del reminded her, and retreated before Lark could think of a suitable answer.

Mr. Benedict Queensman of Brighton surveyed the large crowd already assembled at Southard’s ball, wondering if he would be able to recognize his cousin after the lapse of almost ten years. Then, as a young man of twenty-one, he had been present at Raeborn’s marriage to a lady young enough
to be his granddaughter, and was happily reminded by the enthusiastic—if elderly—groom of the likelihood that a tiny heir might supplant him in whatever expectations he dared to harbor. Ben wished his relative all the best and comforted his own dear mother, assuring her his expectations were, as always, very slight. In addition, he pointed out that the purpose of his current rigorous studies was to train to do something useful in his life, rather than going to waste in the elevated, idle life of a gentleman.

As he stood with his friend John, on the threshold of a glittering society event, he recalled the youthful idealism of those days long past, and how the trials of war and illness and deprivation might have done much to change his point of view. But, curiously, they had not.

He wished himself away from London, finished with the affairs of business and family that had brought him here two weeks before, and back with his patients and his experiments at the small hospital to which he dedicated all his time and energy. He was needed there.

Here, even in the home of his old friend, he was just another eligible dancing partner for a young lady’s pleasure. And such pleasure might turn to aloofness once someone reported to her suddenly curious mama that Mr. Queensman had a shop, of sorts, in Brighton and almost never took residence at his London townhouse.

“You must learn to smile more, Ben.” John clapped him cheerfully on the back. “Or else my guests will think you far above them, and Del will begin to worry about the success of her party. And I will not have her fret, for she hopes to deliver another package to the family in six months’ time.”

Ben looked at his friend’s face and marveled at the great happiness etched there. He had a sudden vision of those same features when first he had seen them, on a distant battlefield, and knew it was for such rewards that he would never tire of being a physician.

“My best wishes, John,” he said with genuine pleasure. “If you would but introduce me to your lady, I might congratulate her as well.”

“Of course you will not, old man. Remember, you are not a medical man in this company, only another eligible gentleman at our party. My wife will not appreciate your indelicate
knowledge of the upcoming event, no matter how much joy it presently gives us.” John paused and looked out over his sea of guests. “But you must be introduced at once. Delphinium knows your part in my restoration to health and is eager to meet you, as well. If only I might find her …”

Ben used the respite to once again seek out his cousin. In the corner, near the buffet, a bald-headed man cornered a lady of perhaps fifteen. She looked terrified. Yes, that could be Raeborn. Recently widowed, and still childless, the old goat would undoubtedly be pursuing the fifth Lady Raeborn. And as Raeborn grew older, each lucky lady seemed to get proportionally younger than the last.

“Ah! I see her! She looks very engaged in what must be the latest gossip, but if you can get her attention, her curiosity might be sufficiently aroused to pull her away from her sister and friend. There! Do you see her just to the right of the matron with the feathers?” John asked as he gave a subtle wave.

Ben saw the feathers and then the matron and, waiting a moment while two red-jacketed officers passed, finally the object of his companion’s adoration.

How alike in taste he and John must be, Ben thought, for Lady Southard was the very woman who had attracted his interest when he first entered the ballroom. With something feeling surprisingly like envy, Ben once again noted the brilliant hair, neither red nor blond, the large brown eyes that unblinkingly returned his gaze, and the lovely proportions of a form that managed to look slender but not at all delicate. Her flowered gown, of some lacy stuff, dipped modestly at the breast, revealing smooth pink flesh that seemed to heighten in tone even as he studied her. Unlike the two blond beauties who framed her, she appeared to rely entirely on nature to groom herself, for he could see no artifice in the landscape she presented.

Ben let out a deep breath and turned to his fortunate friend as he recollected himself. It certainly would not do for him to be in any way attracted to the wife of his old friend. He only hoped John would not seek his professional advice about his lady’s condition, for he did not think he could behave very professionally once he put his hand upon her.

“Well, what do you think, man?” John asked. “Am I not the luckiest man on earth?”

“I think …” Ben began, and then hesitated when one of the two blondes gave them a brilliant smile and waved her fingers. In the line of her cheek and in the manner in which she held her chin, he could see some resemblance to the object of his sudden desire. “Is that Lady Southard, then? In the pale blue gown?”

“Is she not an angel? I knew within five minutes of meeting her, Delphinium was the only woman I could ever love.”

Ben almost said something about the young lady who had often visited John in the army hospital in America, but one look at his friend’s face silenced him on the subject. Instead, he professed a very gentlemanly kind of interest.

“It is an unusual name.”

“Undoubtedly.” John smiled. “When you meet her parents, you will understand how Lady Leicester manages to get her way in almost everything.”

“Lady Leicester? Is she not the watercolorist of whom my own mother is overly fond? She who produces fields of daisies on canvas and spreads their seeds even as far away as the drawing rooms of Brighton?”

“I did not know you to be an authority on the arts …”

“I do not consider the lady’s watercolors to be art—”

“… for you are quite right about the daisies. The family is naturally grateful that Lady Leicester did not produce more than five daughters, for I fear the next would have been graced with a most common name.” John laughed at a joke Ben did not see.

“I beg your pardon, John. I fail to understand …”

“She would have been ‘Daisy.’ Knowing nothing about garden varieties, I did not understand it myself at first. The five Leicester sisters are all named for flowers: Delphinium, Larkspur, Columbine, Lily and Rose. Del even tells me there is a bit of redundancy there, for larkspur and columbine are pretty much the same flower.”

“How remiss on Lady Leicester’s part,” Ben said dryly. “And are the sisters all very much alike as well?”

John hesitated, and Ben thought perhaps he had insulted him, for his host had already made clear he thought his lady
above all. But it seemed John only considered the question to answer him honestly.

“Four of them are very much alike, and my brothers-in-law and I often congratulate ourselves on our good taste and good fortune. But Larkspur is unique both in appearance and in disposition, possessing little of her sisters’ sweetness and delicacy.”

“And does the brother-in-law who married her share in the others’ self-satisfaction?”

John smiled. “There is the rub. She is the only one who remains unmarried, though not for lack of effort on the part of her anxious sisters. However, she seems to have found someone who is prepared to deal with her high spirits, and the announcement of their engagement is to take place tonight.”

“Is the gentleman to be congratulated?”

John laughed. “I suppose so. But I do not believe he is yet arrived, so that pleasure must be deferred.”

By the third set, the anxious expression on Lady Leicester’s face finally caused her only unmarried daughter to retreat to safer realms. Lily seemed to have nothing better to do than to post herself at the door and periodically send Rose along with the message that no Mr. Moore had yet appeared, and Del apparently felt that the gentleman’s absence signaled some deficiency on her part as hostess. Columbine thrice reminded her older sister that there were many other eligible partners available and if Mr. Moore should find himself jealous at the sight of his darling dancing with another, it would serve him right for coming so late.

Larkspur began to feel something of the same thing herself. What had begun as mere frustration evolved into anxiety and then irritation at the neglectful behavior of Hindley Moore, and Lark wondered if it would prove unlucky to announce her betrothal in the midst of an argument—for she fully intended to have one once he arrived.

Unappreciative of all the concerned glances sent her way, Lark escaped her sympathetic audience and sought to find some comfort with a glass of lemon water. The buffet tables, not yet spread with dinner, provided a sort of sanctuary, shared only with a few elderly men and two girls too plain
to be popular dance partners. Lark felt herself a suitable companion to them just now.

Knowing they were as curious about her as she was about the whereabouts of Hindley Moore, she raised her glass in a silent toast and smiled politely.

But before she could replace her glass on the table, one of the gentlemen broke away from his companions and approached her. Wheezing, and slightly out of breath, he reminded her of a straining pocket watch in need of a dose of lubrication oil.

“It is Lady Larkspur, is it not? It is many years since I saw you, not since you were a little girl. And you have grown up very nicely, my lady, though in a very different style from your beautiful sisters.”

Lark bristled at the words, for she was oft reminded of her sisters’ natural assets over her.

“Thank you for reminding me of it, sir. You seem to have the advantage of me, however, for I do not recall our acquaintance.”

“Forgive me, my lady. I hope it is not too presumptuous of me to approach you, but you must excuse my impertinence as the reward of old age. Let me give you full advantage of our relationship: I am Lord Raeborn, a cousin to your father.”

Lark offered her most disarming smile. “Of course, my lord. I have heard of you. And is the young lady with whom you were just dancing your daughter? Or a cousin whom I ought to take under my wing?”

The watch works sputtered and threatened to come to a halt.

“I have not been blessed with children, my lady. The young woman in question is Miss Alice Herrick, a very fetching girl.”

“I see,” said Lark, and thought she did—all too clearly. The old man, unable to produce a child, nevertheless could still pursue one. She wished Miss Herrick well and hoped her fleet of foot. “I believe this is her first season.”

“As I daresay it is yours, my dear,” smiled Raeborn.

Lark smiled back, and wondered how severely the man’s vision was affected by old age. No one else would think her a green miss enjoying her first bloom into society. As a lady of twenty-four, she practically sat upon the shelf. And
if Raeborn knew her family as well as his familiarity presumed, he would also know that three younger sisters were already married. Next to sweet little Alice Herrick, Lark felt practically a matron.

“It does not signify, sir, for it is certainly my last.”

“I am disappointed to hear it, my lady.”

“And yet there is no reason why you should be. It is for the best of reasons. I am to marry Mr. Hindley Moore,” Lark announced with a pride belying the irritation she felt with her intended.

“My felicitations, then,” said Raeborn, and as he bowed, Lark realized the gentleman did, indeed, own one reason for disappointment. She remembered Del’s fleeting words, recalling to her the curious fact that if neither she nor her sisters produced a son in the years ahead, their father’s estate would be bestowed upon this man. Lark, anticipating marriage and motherhood, would necessarily decrease the odds of such an event occurring.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Of course. And is this the lucky gentleman who approaches with our host? Why, no, this cannot be Mr. Moore, for he looks somewhat familiar to me.” Lord Raeborn squinted towards the candlelight and pursed his gray lips in consternation. “I believe it is … of course! Here is a young man of a relationship even closer than we find ourselves, dear little cousin.”

Lark bristled at his words until she caught their full implication, and then she felt agitation of another sort. What Raeborn already saw, and she did not, must be the approach of the dark stranger, John’s friend and Raeborn’s heir. If she were absolutely honest with herself, she would have to admit she had sought refuge to avoid his occasional glances as much as to deflect speculation about Hindley’s absence.

“Raeborn!” John’s voice, always so cheerful, resonated like a slap across her face. “Behold a gentleman who wishes to renew his acquaintance with you. He is so infrequently in town, and you so infrequently out of it, it appears your paths have not crossed in many years. And yet you must be in each other’s thoughts and wishes.”

Lark thought John intended to be disarming, though possibly not as much as soon became evident. She saw Raebornflinch
at his words, and guessed the older man often thought of the younger when he faced the fact of his own mortality. She felt a glimmer of sympathy for him, for she knew what it was to be powerless against the future.

“And what luck! I shall accomplish another introduction here,” John continued, “for here is a young lady whom I would very much like you to meet, Ben.”