The Phantom Lover (21 page)

Chapter Fourteen

T
HE NEWS SPREAD
quickly that Captain Thorne, now the sixth Earl of Thornbury, had returned from the wars. Henry realized that word would soon reach Edwina, if it had not already done so. The necessity for him to pay a call on the Mannings became more and more pressing. He was aware of a certain reluctance to do so, but attributed it to the discomfort of having to tell the girl he'd dreamed of for so long that he was not the same man she'd agreed to wed. But he knew he could procrastinate no longer.

Nell, who had taken note of all Harry's comings and goings with great interest, was fully aware that he had not yet arranged a reunion with his betrothed. However, when she saw him one morning in the breakfast room, dressed with more than his usual care and looking complete to a shade, she knew what his destination must be. He wore a perfectly fitting morning coat of gray superfine, a striped yellow waistcoat, pale yellow breeches fitted smoothly on shapely thighs, and a pair of gleaming Hessians. He carried a high-crowned beaver in one hand and his inevitable cane in the other. Although it took more courage than she thought she could muster, she managed to tell him that he looked at home to a peg.

“Do I?” he asked with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I made an herculean effort, I assure you. I want to cut a dash today.”

“Well, in my view you have succeeded admirably. A veritable Pink of the Ton. Even your tie. What do you call that intricate fold?”

“Charles' fool of a valet instructed me in the method of achieving these convolutions. He tells me it is called the
trone d'amour,
” Harry said with a sheepish grin. “If Roddy should see it, I'd be roasted unmercifully. However, if you find it acceptable, I shall be satisfied.”

She reassured him with such sincerity that he was emboldened to adjust his hat to a rakish angle. He touched it with his cane in a gesture of adieu and left. Nell watched him limp down the street and out of sight, her emotions in a turmoil. She tried with all her heart to wish him well in his romantic venture, but a diabolical selfishness which she could not control kept her hoping that something would occur to prevent the resumption of Harry's betrothal to the beautiful Miss Manning.

The meeting between the two lovers was not quite as dramatic as either Harry or Nell had anticipated. Sir Edward and Lady Clara, Edwina's parents, greeted him with great affection. They were joined by their daughter in their tasteful, Egyptian-style drawing room, and the four engaged in warm reminiscences for fully an hour. So delighted were the Mannings to see the long-absent Lord Thorne that they agreed to permit Edwina to speak to his lordship in private for as long as they liked—even as much as half an hour.

When her parents had closed the drawing-room door behind them, Edwina looked up at Henry meltingly. “Oh, my dear,” she said tenderly, “how good it is to have you back.”

Henry merely smiled and took a seat beside her on the sofa. “It is good of you to say so,” he said after a pause, “but we both know that it has been a very long time since … since our last meeting. And much has changed.”

“Changed?” Edwina asked carefully.

Harry faced her with a level look. “You may already have heard that I've been wounded,” he began.

She lowered her head and nodded. “Your leg,” she said tremulously, pulling a handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve. “I was most dreadfully pained to hear it.” She dabbed at her eyes which were moist with tears. “How you must have suffered!”

“There's no need to cry, my dear,” Harry said, taking her hand consolingly. “That is all behind me now. I manage quite well without it.”

“Yes, I see that,” she said, smiling through the tears that still glistened on her lashes. “You are remarkably brave and strong. You have my heartfelt admiration.”

Uncomfortably, he let her hand go and stood up over her. “Edwina, let us be frank. It's been almost two years since our betrothal was announced. Much has happened, no doubt to you as well as to me. You must not feel bound by the promises we made so long ago. If you have formed another attachment, or—”

“
Henry,
” she exclaimed, horrified, “how can you
think—
?”

“I don't mean to say these things in any sense of reproach,” he put in quickly. “Please don't misunderstand. You would be in no way subject to censure if, after all this time, you should find yourself plagued by doubts …”

“Henry, dear, please sit down. No, not there. Here, near me. Now, then, I shall be as frank as you have been. I want you to know that I have never for a moment entertained the
slightest
doubts or the
thought
of another attachment.”

“Are you sure?”

“Perfectly sure,” she said warmly.

He was much moved. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Henry, in a rush of affection, moved to take her in his arms. She drew away, taking his hands from her shoulders gently. “We mustn't, my dear,” she whispered. “Not quite yet.”

“Why, what is it?” he asked, puzzled.

“You yourself pointed out the protracted length of time since we last met. We need a little time to become reacquainted, to reestablish the intimacy we once enjoyed …” She lowered her eyes shyly.

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. You're quite right,” he agreed. “We've plenty of time.”

Before he left, Edwina made it very clear that no alteration of her feelings had occurred and that he was welcome to call on her as frequently as was proper. As he walked back to Thorne House, buffeted by an icy wind, he told himself that he had every reason to feel that he was a very happy man.

Although the weather continued brutally cold, the calendar predicted an imminent spring. London was rapidly filling with the returning members of the
ton
, and the pace of social activities quickened. The silver tray on the small table in the entryway of Thorne House filled with calling cards each morning, some of which were from young gentlemen paying court to Nell. Harry found himself hanging about when they called. A more callow collection of fools and fops he'd never seen. He could not account for Nell's abominable taste in suitors. Of course, he told himself, it was not his affair. If she found herself entertained by such a circle of rackety court-cards, it was entirely her affair.

As for himself, he was very well occupied. He spent two afternoons each week driving Miss Manning in the park. On fine mornings, he rode Caceres through the park, horse and rider quickly becoming the subjects of much admiring comment. In the evenings he attended dinner parties, appeared at the theater, dropped in at White's with Roddy, and in general lived the life of any London gentlemen. If the number of times each day he had to change his outfits was galling, if his leg pained him from the strain of the inadequate support from the cane, if he sometimes wondered what had possessed him to leave the tranquility of Cornwall for the superficiality of the life he was now living, no one—not even Roddy—knew. His poise, his grace, his ability to mingle in most situations without undue embarrassment in spite of his handicap was much admired by everyone he met. He was treated with courteous affection everywhere. He had no complaints. In fact, he had to admit that Nell's optimistic, romantic view of the polite world seemed to be more true than his. The only really troublesome matter was a vague and unnamed discontent. But he did not care to analyze the feeling or track down its source. He simply tried to cope with it.

Within a month of the time of Harry's interview with Edwina, the entire Thorne family received cards from the Mannings requesting the pleasure of their company at a rout-party to be held in honor of Lord Thorne's return. The evening promised to be the most exciting affair of the season, and everyone who received a card for it was much gratified. It was rumored that even the Prince had declared his intention to attend.

The week before the event was one of much flurried activity in the Thorne household. Seamstresses, hairdressers, milliners, valets, tailors, haberdashers and abigails hurried up and down the stairs all week, preparing for the great event. Anticipation charged the atmosphere and good spirits permeated the household.

Nell tried to rouse herself to a proper level of excitement, but her spirits, like Lord Thorne's, were depressed. She, however, knew quite well the source of
her
depression. For one thing, she knew that the party would be a dreadful squeeze, and she was greatly concerned that Harry would find it difficult to manage the stairs and the crowded rooms with his inadequate cane. For another thing, she suspected that the party at the Mannings signified the official resumption of Edwina's betrothal to Lord Thorne, the man of the hour. Nell told herself that she was happy for him, but she could not fool the cold lump of despair (an omnipresent discomfort which had lodged itself somewhere in her chest) into believing her. No matter how much she scolded herself, the uncomfortable lump would not dissipate itself.

The evening arrived at last. The coach with the family coat of arms on its side stood waiting at the door, its panels polished to a lustrous glow and its brass lanterns gleaming. The family gathered in the library. The men, of course, were ready first, and passed the time waiting for the ladies by helping themselves to generous glasses of madeira. Amelia entered the library at only ten minutes past the appointed time and was rewarded for her promptness by receiving fulsome compliments from both gentlemen on her good looks and charming costume. Since she was well aware that her good looks had long since become a faded memory, and since her dress was the puce-satin-covered-with-black-lace that every woman past seventy was wont to wear, she did not take the compliments too seriously. But she
did
allow herself to be coaxed into taking a good swig of madeira and began the evening in a very mellow mood.

Nell and Sybil entered the room together and laughingly accepted expressions of admiration which the others lavished upon them. Although Lady Sybil's blue satin gown was cut so low across the bosom as to be considered shocking, its effect was somewhat mitigated by an overdress of sheer gauze threaded with silver. With her hair pulled back from her face and two great clumps of crimped curls hanging over her ears in the very latest mode, she looked dashing indeed.

But in Harry's eyes Nell was by far the loveliest creature in the room. She wore the Venetian-red velvet gown which Gwinnys had begged her to wear on the night of Harry's arrival. It had long, demure sleeves and a modestly high neckline, and Sybil had made a mocking remark, when she'd met Nell in the hallway upstairs, to the effect that Nell was turning into a bluestocking. But high neck or not, the dress managed to be enticing just the same, for the softness of the fabric outlined her slim womanliness and the color brought a glow to her cheeks. The unmistakable look of admiration in Harry's eyes caused the color to deepen to a flush. If Nell were not so fearful of the foreboding possibilities in the evening ahead, she might truly have enjoyed the moment.

Just as Nell had feared, the Mannings' house was thronged with visitors. It took the coachman the better part of half an hour to maneuver the coach to the front door, so great was the jam of traffic in front of the house. Inside, the entryway and stairway were packed tightly with people jostling their way to the dancing and champagne above. Nell's heart failed her. How Harry was to make his way up that stairway with only the aid of a cane, she did not know.

As soon as they entered the hall, there was a stir of welcome. Roddy was among the first to greet them, and he joined their group quite as easily as if he were a member of the family. Nell gratefully pulled at his arm and drew him aside. Whispering to him of her concern for Harry's possible predicament, she urged him to precede their party up the stairs and to attempt to clear a passageway through the press. “I wouldn't worry about old Harry,” Roddy told her confidently. “There's no one better than he in finding a way out of a fix. Getting up those stairs is child's play when compared to some of the situations I've seen him handle. I've seen him lead a whole platoon out of ambush more than once.”

Roddy proved to be right. Harry was leading his entire entourage through the crowd with a practiced, unobtrusive ease. With a handshake here and a tap on the shoulder there, he made his way through the teeming entryway without a stumble. Although progress up the stairs was slow, the going was no more impeded for Harry and his cane than for anyone else. With a smoothness Nell had not thought possible, they found themselves at the entrance to the ballroom without having suffered the least strain.

Harry was not the only man who was attracted to Nell's Venetian-red gown. Her dance card was filled with almost annoying rapidity. She had hoped that Harry might ask her to sit out at least
one
dance with him. He had been gallant enough to have done so on one previous occasion when he'd seen her sitting on the sidelines. But tonight, she caught not so much as a glimpse of him until suppertime. She had danced with a succession of bores, had been pressed into performing a waltz with Sir Nigel and had enjoyed only one dance—a Devonshire minuet with Roddy. At suppertime, she saw Harry with Edwina on his arm. Edwina's face had a rosy flush, and Nell thought, in despair, that the girl had never looked so lovely and so contented.

Edwina had every reason to feel contented. She had taken Harry into a little sitting-room and shut the door. “Mama has agreed that the time is now appropriate for us to set a wedding date,” she'd told him, and she'd lifted her face to be kissed.

Harry had murmured the appropriate words and taken her into his arms. Two years before, such an embrace would have left him breathless. Edwina's expressive blue eyes, the lovely glow of color in her face, the softness of her hair against her cheek—he'd treasured the memory of these things through months of brutal battles and lonely marches, through weeks of feverish illness and dark despair. Why now, when she was his—a reality in his arms instead of an ungraspable dream—did he feel so … so unmoved?