Slightly Scandalous (14 page)

Constance had been reluctant to talk about herself until he had decided to be frank with her and introduce the topic of her mother's hopes and plans. She had admitted to him then that she had a beau-a quite ineligible connection-whom her mother would dismiss if it were in her power to do so.

"Dismiss?" Joshua had asked. "One of the servants, Constance?"

"Mr. Saunders." She had blushed.

Jim Saunders was the steward he had interviewed in London and hired and sent to Penhallow-the one servant who was indeed beyond his aunt's power to dismiss.

"He is a gentleman," Joshua had commented.

"And I am a marquess's daughter," she had said bitterly. "But I love him dearly. I will not marry you, Joshua, even though I may never marry him. You must not fear that I will join with Mama in trying to persuade you. And even if she were to induce you to make me an offer, I would say no."

"I will not," he had said. "You are my cousin and therefore dear to me. But you are not the bride I would choose."

"Thank you," she had said, and they had looked at each other and laughed. She had looked really rather pretty as she did so.

But she spoke a somewhat different story when he led her out onto the dance floor at the Upper Assembly Rooms that evening for the opening set of country dances. She was clearly agitated, though she did not speak until they were well out of earshot of her mother.

There was not a vast crowd in attendance, and many of those who were there were elderly. Nevertheless, James King, the master of ceremonies, had done his job admirably well and had coaxed almost everyone onto the floor who was not confined to a Bath chair. Joshua's aunt was not dancing, of course-she was still wearing her black mourning clothes. But Lady Freyja Bedwyn was. She was looking magnificent indeed in an ivory gown with a gold netted tunic, her hair swept up into an elaborate coiffure and tamed with gold and jeweled combs.

But there was no mistaking the fact that something had happened to shake Constance out of her usual placid demeanor.

"Joshua," she said with considerable urgency in the few private moments before the orchestra began playing, "you must be warned."

"What is it?" he asked, bending his head closer to hers.

"Mama is determined," she said.

He grinned at her. "We will thwart her," he told her. "Never fear. I will be leaving Bath tomorrow morning."

The orchestra, sitting apart on a dais, began playing before they could say more, and for a few moments the vigorous, intricate figures of the dance, which had them twirling about with the couple next to them, precluded further conversation.

"Tomorrow may be too late," she gasped out when next she could.

"Smile," he told her, smiling himself. "Your mama is watching us."

Constance smiled. They clapped with everyone else as the couple at the end of the lines twirled down between them, too far apart to converse privately. Then the figures began again.

"She is going to see to it that we dance almost every set together," Constance said when they came together for a moment again, her voice breathless from her exertions. "And she is going to mention our attachment to everyone within earshot. She is even hoping to have our betrothal announced tonight."

"Preposterous!" Joshua said. "Even your mama cannot force us into a betrothal, Constance."

She twirled away on the arm of the gentleman next to Joshua.

Joshua smiled his most charming smile at the man's partner and twirled her firmly about. It seemed forever before there was a small pocket of privacy in which to exchange a few more words with Constance.

"Oh, yes, she can," she said bitterly as if there had been no interruption. "She is Mama, Joshua. She has spoken of my duty to her and to Chastity-and most of all to Prue. And she told me that you said you would marry me if I were to consent. Did you say that?"

"Dash it, Constance," he said. "Of course not."

They took up their places in their respective lines and clapped again as another couple-Willett and Lady Freyja-went twirling down the set.

His aunt had twisted his words at the White Hart, of course. She had convinced herself that he would bow to her will if only Constance would. And poor Constance was her daughter and had to live with her every day of her life. How could the poor girl resist his aunt when he could scarcely do so himself?

He would wring her neck for her. That would settle the matter once and for all.

Hoping to have his betrothal announced tonight, for God's sake!

"Joshua," Constance said the next time they were close to each other. "Do something. Be firm. I am dreadfully afraid I will not be able to. And if she should succeed in getting us to dance together all night or induce me to admit in public that I am fond of you or some such thing, you will feel honor-bound . . . Oh, I will simply die."

He grimaced.

"I'll think of something," he said. "In the meantime I have at least promised the next set to someone else."

"Thank heaven!" she said fervently.

He should run while he still had a chance, Joshua thought. His aunt could hardly maneuver him into a betrothal with Constance if he was not even here. But, dash it all, was he going to run from a mean, manipulative little slip of a thing?

It was very tempting, he had to admit. But first he must dance with Lady Freyja Bedwyn.

"The next set is to be a waltz," his aunt said after he had led Constance back to her side. She beamed at the two of them and spoke rather loudly, somehow including a whole crowd of people standing within her orbit in the conversation. "Constance knows the steps, Joshua, and I am sure you must. Do dance it together as everyone can see you both wish to do. You make such a very striking couple, and under the happy circumstances of your recent reunion no one will object to your dancing two sets in a row together."

Good Lord, Joshua thought. His cousin had not exaggerated.

"I beg your pardon, Constance, Aunt," he said with a bow, "but I have already solicited the hand of Lady Freyja Bedwyn for the next dance."

A waltz. That was interesting. He looked across the ballroom at Lady Freyja. She really did look very fetching indeed tonight. She looked quite regal, in fact, or at least every inch a duke's daughter. She was standing with Miss Holt-Barron, her chin lifted, her fan slowly cooling her face.

"That was kind of you, Joshua," his aunt said, a sharp edge to her voice. She reduced the volume to a theatrical whisper. "She really is remarkably ugly."

He bowed to Lady Freyja a few moments later and led her onto the floor, where other couples too were gathering.

"I was delighted to see," he said, "that you were not a wallflower for the first set."

"So was I," she said. "Doubtless I would have gone home and put a bullet in my brain."

He laughed and set his hand behind her waist as she set hers on his shoulder. He took her other hand in his. Except when he was with her, he always tended to forget how small she was. She was also very shapely.

"How clever of me, sweetheart," he said, "to have chosen a waltz."

"I just hope you can dance it well," she said. "You can have no idea of the peril ladies put themselves in during this particular dance, when their slippers are in such close proximity to their partner's dancing shoes. And I am not your sweetheart."

The orchestra began playing, and for a while he forgot everything but the sheer pleasure of moving with her through the lilting steps of the waltz. He was going to regret not seeing her again after tonight, not matching wits with her. Not kissing her.

She looked up at him and arched her eyebrows.

"No squashed toes yet," she said.

"If I do anything so clumsy and unmannerly," he said, "I will allow you to use your fist on my face without even trying to defend myself."

She laughed.

"How is your courtship proceeding?" she asked him. "Your aunt looks very pleased with herself this evening."

He grimaced. "Parson's mousetrap hovers," he said. "According to Constance, who is about as eager for the match as I am, she is determined to throw us together tonight with such frequency that for very decency's sake we will be obliged to announce our engagement. It might be of interest to add that the woman's will has almost never been thwarted."

"Nonsense!" she said. "I found her quite an unworthy foe when I spoke with her this morning."

"Perhaps Connie and I should let you loose on her then, sweetheart," he said. "I don't suppose you feel like entering into a fake betrothal with me for a day or two, do you?"

He grinned at her.

She stared at him, an arrested look on her face. Her eyebrows rose haughtily. He waited for the lash of her tongue.

"Actually," she said, "it would be rather fun, would it not?"

They were still waltzing, he discovered with some surprise.

CHAPTER VIII

He was mad.

She was mad.

They grinned at each other like a pair of prize idiots.

It was a wild, mad suggestion. Surely he had not been serious. But the chance of getting even for this morning's insults in the Pump Room was irresistible to Freyja. Besides, she had been in the mopes all day because of that infernal letter-or rather, because of that one brief infernal paragraph in the letter. And this really did sound like fun.

A mock betrothal! Just what she had suspected Kit of last year, some part of her mind told her. She pushed the thought firmly aside. She was sick to death of Kit Butler, Viscount Ravensberg.

She had always been a madcap. Those many governesses she had plagued had been forever trying to explain to her that if she only learned to think before she acted instead of dashing impulsively onward with every scheme that presented itself to her vivid imagination, she would land herself in trouble far less often.

Freyja had always rather enjoyed trouble.

She found herself suddenly, irrationally, and quite inappropriately happy.

"By all means," she said to the marquess. "Let us do it. Tonight. Now. We can break it off tomorrow. It is doubtless what people will expect of us anyway."

She had always loved performing the energetic, slightly scandalous waltz. She had been particularly enjoying this one. But she was quite happy to abandon it before it ended. The marquess waited until they were close to the doorway leading to the tearoom, then waltzed her through it before releasing his hold on her, taking her by the elbow, and going in search of the master of ceremonies, who was absent from the ballroom.

Mr. King was in the tearoom, circulating among the tables there, conversing with their occupants. He beamed genially at them, rubbing his hands together as he did so.

"My lord," he said. "I am delighted to have such illustrious guests at the assembly as you and Lady Freyja Bedwyn-and the marchioness, your aunt, and her daughter, of course. A table for two, my lord?"

"No, thank you," the marquess said, smiling amiably. "Perhaps you would be willing to make a public announcement at the end of the waltz, King. I wish all my friends and acquaintances in Bath to share my joy. Lady Freyja Bedwyn has just made me the happiest of men by accepting my marriage proposal."

Mr. King looked almost speechless with wonder for a few moments. But it did not take him long to recover himself and puff out his chest with importance. He beamed with delight.

"It will give me the greatest pleasure, my lord," he declared, taking one of the marquess's hands between both his own and pumping it up and down. He made Freyja a deferential bow. "My lady. I cannot tell you how gratified and honored I am."

They left him as he called for the attention of everyone in the tearoom and informed them that if they proceeded to the ballroom when the music ended, they would hear a happy announcement indeed.

"You have just saved me from a situation akin to walking on eggs, sweetheart," the marquess murmured as he led Freyja back to the ballroom. "Perhaps I can repay you in some way one day."

"You may depend upon it," she said. "Though I do believe that just the look on your aunt's face is going to be reward enough for now. Indeed, I would not miss it for worlds."

The waltz was ending. The marquess offered Freyja his arm and led her to where Lady Holt-Barron was sitting. Very properly he bowed before returning to his own party, but his eyes were dancing with merriment, Freyja noticed, unfurling her fan and cooling her hot face with it.

She schooled her features to their customary hauteur. What on earth had she done now? Wulf would freeze her solid with a glance if he ever heard about it. How soon tomorrow could they end the joke?

But she could not deny that her heart was dancing with merriment. This was just what she needed to pick herself out of the mopes.

People were coming into the ballroom from the tearoom and the card room. They were buzzing with heightened interest, and soon their mood conveyed itself to the ballroom crowd too. Bath society thrived upon news and gossip-as did society everywhere. But rarely was there something really new to titillate their spirits and enliven their conversation. Mr. King did not need to clap his hands for attention when he mounted the orchestra dais, though he did so anyway.