The Waltzing Widow Page 13

  Viscountess Catlin awaited her opportunity. Since the debacle over the Comte l'Buc and Lady Mary's resulting fury, she was more careful in how she approached her granddaughter. So she waited impatiently for the set to end, poised to intercept Abigail and her partner as they left the floor and before they had returned to Lady Mary's vicinity.

  Captain McInnes and Abigail slowly neared, their conversation and laughter meant only for each other. The viscountess swept down upon them. She caught her granddaughter's arm. In the process, the viscountess had managed to draw the girl a little apart from Captain McInnes so that he had perforce to allow Abigail's hand to slide away from his arm. “My dearest Abigail! How perfectly lovely you look this evening. That rose pink is truly one of your better colors,” she said, completely ignoring the young officer.

  "Grandmama! I did not know you had come tonight. Where is Grandpapa?"

  "Your grandfather has decided to take a turn at cards. I do not understand why, for he is too easily bored to enjoy it. But then, he is easily bored by every amusement.” Viscountess Catlin still had not glanced at Captain McInnes, and from the corner of her eye she saw a dawning expression of understanding cross his craggy face. The Highlander was not a complete fool, then, she thought with satisfaction.

  But Abigail did not fall into the proper place in the viscountess's little game. She put out her free hand to the young officer and he automatically caught her fingers. Abigail smiled radiantly at him and said, “Grandmama, I should like you to meet Captain Bruce McInnes. He is of the Ninety-fifth and has become a particular friend of mine."

  The viscountess was forced at last to acknowledge the officer's presence. She smiled brightly, but her eyes did not reflect a friendly light. “Ah, Captain McInnes. I have not met you previously, I believe.” Without waiting for his reply, she turned her head again to her granddaughter. “Abigail, there is a most interesting gentleman that I wish you to speak with. I think that you will find him quite eligible in all degrees."

  Abigail was bewildered by her grandmother's rude manner. She looked up at Captain McInnes, who had lost his former laughing expression and whose face had become closed against her. He met her eyes and smiled. “I shall call upon you tomorrow. Miss Spence,” he promised. Lifting her fingers to his lips, he took gentle leave of her. He spared a cool glance for the viscountess, and instead of making a respectful bow, he saluted her in a negligent fashion that was calculated to incur her wrath.

  The viscountess's eyes flashed at the young officer's audacity. But he was already striding away and therefore safe from her haughty set-down. “Come, Abigail. We shall find a settee and compose ourselves for a private chat,” she said.

  Abigail hung back. “But I thought you wished me to meet someone,” she said.

  "That was just a ruse, my dear. You must see that it was necessary in order to pry you loose from that most inopportune gentleman."

  Abigail freed herself from her grandmother's fingers. “What do you mean? Captain McInnes is decidedly one of the nicest gentlemen I have met this Season."

  "Abigail, I would prefer to discuss this in a more private fashion,” Viscountess Catlin said, aware that Lady Mary was not so distant that she could not read her daughter's expression and feel obliged to join them. Certainly she did not need interference from that quarter, she thought.

  "No. I wish to hear now what you have against Captain McInnes. Why, you have only just met him. How could you treat him so rudely, Grandmama?” Abigail asked, very much bewildered and hurt and angry.

  "Oh, very well. It is of no great moment, after all,” Viscountess Catlin said, giving away with a petulant gesture. “It is only my concern for you that motivates me to speak to you at all, Abigail. I but wished you to understand that gentlemen such as Captain McInnes, while very charming and amusing, are not at all those upon whom you should bestow your attentions. My dear, it is the middle of June! I have yet to be informed of your engagement, when I had held such high hopes for a wedding. The Season is almost over, Abigail. And you have thus far failed to attract the offer that will guarantee your position in this life.” She smiled pityingly at her granddaughter, whose eyes had filled with startled tears. “Think over what I have said, Abigail. You are a clever and ambitious girl. I suspect that when you have thought about it, your mind must rule that too-romantic heart of yours."

  The viscountess swept away, leaving her granddaughter stunned by her cruelty. Abigail's mind was in a confused whirl. She did not know what to think. Her grandmother's lecture had rung true in her ears. It was true that she had not received the brilliant offer that she had been led to covet. Oh, there had been a few offers, but for one reason or another she had decided against each. It was true that the Season was almost done. The return to England suddenly loomed before her, a journey that she realized now must be made either in triumph or in disgrace. It was unthinkable that she should return without a glittering ring upon her finger and jewels about her neck. She, Abigail Spence, the prettiest girl of the county, to return home in ignoble defeat. Abigail shuddered.

  But Captain McInnes ... She could not shake the memory of his laughing eyes or the gentleness of his smile when he gazed at her. He appealed to her in ways that no other gentleman had ever come close to doing. She suspected that if he had offered for her, she would not have thought twice about her answer.

  But now ugly reality, in the guise of her grandmother's professed concern for her future, had intruded upon her starry-eyed world. Captain McInnes was not a brilliant match. Though a Scottish laird, he held no position in the English ton. She had gathered a foggy notion that his family holdings were extensive, but Abigail was quite certain that Captain McInnes was not what was referred to as well off.

  Torn by loyalty and love, Abigail thought she was going to be ill.

  She was startled by a touch at her elbow, and leapt nearly out of her skin. Her heart pounding, she saw that it was his lordship, the Earl of Kenmare. “My lord! How ... how you frightened me,” she said breathlessly.

  Lord Kenmare looked keenly at her, taking note of the strained expression she wore. “Are you quite all right, Miss Spence?” he asked quietly.

  Abigail gave a small unconvincing laugh. “Why, of course! Why shouldn't I be?” When he did not say anything, but merely regarded her steadily with a gaze that she felt certain could read her mind, Abigail gave a sob. “Oh, my lord.” She pressed her hand to her mouth as though to stop herself from saying more.

  Lord Kenmare slipped her arm into his and guided her through the crowd to a settee against the wall. He seated her and then sat down himself. She averted her face, but not before he had seen the tears in her eyes. Without a word, he offered his handkerchief to her.

  Abigail accepted it with a mewling cry and ducked her face into the linen. After a moment she had managed to regain enough control of herself that she could meet his waiting gaze. “It ... it is my grandmother, my lord. She has only my best interests at heart, but...” She stopped, biting her lip, then burst out, “My lord, I cannot but think that there must be more to a match man dowries and position and titles."

  The earl realized at once what the problem was. Apparently Miss Spence had grown fond of someone who did not meet with her grandmother's high standards. “Indeed, I believe that there should be. However, many have chosen their spouses on the basis of those other things and have ended quite happily."

  Abigail held his eyes, her own very unhappy. “Did you, my lord? I have heard Lady Cecily mention that you were once married."

  Lord Kenmare was silent a moment, remembering. He had met Miss Madeline Haverton at a dress function and had instantly fallen in love with her. But it had been his position and title that had made him unexceptionable in the eyes of her parents. “Yes. My wife and I were very happy."

  "I see.” Abigail's lashes swept down. She realized that she still had his handkerchief, and she returned it to him with a wavering smile. “You have been most kind, my lord, and most helpful. May I impinge on your cour
tesy for a moment longer and ask for your escort in returning to my mother? I should like to sit out the next few sets, I think.” Lord Kenmare assured her that he would be honored, and he took her back to Lady Mary.

  That lady's eyes were keen and she took in her daughter's pale expression with the faintest lift of her brows. With a fleeting glance at Lord Kenmare she asked, “Abigail, are you feeling unwell?"

  "I do have a bit of the headache, Mama. I should like to simply rest for a few moments, if that is all right."

  "Of course you may, my dear. I am certain that the gentlemen to whom you are promised for the next few sets will understand.” Once Abigail had sunk down in the chair beside her, Lady Mary looked up again into the earl's eyes. “I have not seen Lady Cecily tonight, my lord. Is she well?"

  "She was rather more tired than usual when she rose from supper, and she urged me to come alone.” Lord Kenmare gestured at Lady Mary's dance card. “I hope that I am not come too late to stand up with you, my lady."

  Lady Mary smiled, and her eyes twinkled. “I made sure of saving a waltz for you, my lord.” She had grown accustomed to his invariable habit of inviting her to stand up with him, and truth to tell, she would have been very regretful if he had not asked her to dance with him this evening. She turned again to her daughter. “Abigail?"

  At once understanding her mother's unspoken question, Abigail waved her hand. “Of course I shall be all right, Mama. Pray feel free to enjoy yourself.” She watched as Lady Mary and Lord Kenmare went onto the floor. She saw how easily they danced together and that her mother's eyes could be seen to sparkle even from a distance. It occurred to Abigail that perhaps Lord Kenmare could mean more to her mother than simply a good friend. She gave a laugh that ended abruptly in something suspiciously like a sob. It would be the height of irony if Lady Mary were to be offered just the kind of suit that the viscountess wished so demandingly for her.

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  Chapter 16

  On Thursday, the fifteenth of June, everything appeared so perfectly quiet that the Duchess of Richmond gave a ball and supper to which all the world was invited. The ball took place in a large room on the ground floor, on the left of the entrance, connected with the rest of the house by an anteroom. The room itself was stunningly decorated and a blaze of candles.

  "It is very beautiful,” Abigail said, admiringly to the daughter of the house, Lady Georgianna Lennox.

  "You would never believe it now, but this room had been used by the coachbuilder, from whom the house was hired, to put carriages in; but it was papered before we came here. My sisters use the room as a schoolroom, and we play battledore and shuttlecock here on wet days,” Lady Georgianna said.

  The usual plethora of royals gathered, and upon the entrance of King William, the Belgians gave such enthusiastic shouts of "Vive le roil" that the crystal chandeliers shook. When all royalty had been duly acknowledged and honored, the company turned to the business of the evening, which was to be both amused and amusing. The ladies flirted and the gentlemen were quite willing to accommodate them. The splash of bright uniforms formed a pleasing contrast to pale gowns and the more somber evening clothes that a minority of gentlemen had attired themselves in. That night no one gave a thought to what the uniforms represented. The merriment continued unabated as the company chose to forget that scarcely twenty-four hours before, Bonaparte had crossed the frontier.

  It was not until near ten o'clock that rumors of an action between the French and Prussians were circulated through the room in whispers. Lady Cecily put her hand on her husband's sleeve. “Reginald!"

  Major Wilson-Jones smiled down at her in a reassuring fashion. “We'll know soon enough, Cecy. But I'll wager it is but another false report.” He was not alone in his estimation, for no credit was given the rumors for some time.

  Then an officer arrived from Marshal von Blucher and the dispatches he carried were delivered to the Duke of Wellington in the ballroom. While his grace read them, he seemed to be completely absorbed by their contents.

  After he had finished, for some minutes he remained in the same attitude of deep reflection, totally abstracted from every surrounding object and totally unaware that he was the focus of all eyes. Virtual silence reigned in the ballroom, even the musicians having stopped playing. His grace's countenance was expressive of fixed and intense thought and he was heard to say to himself, “It is Marshal von Blucher's opinion ... “He remained thus a few minutes, and after having apparently formed his decision, he gave his usual clear and concise orders to one of his staff officers, who instantly left the room. The duke became again as gay and animated as ever, his loud horse laugh distinguishable above the heightened buzz of conversation that had resumed with the departure of the officer.

  Lady Mary regarded the Duke of Wellington from the vantage point of a short distance. “I cannot believe that all is so sanguine as his grace's joviality seems to indicate,” she said, disturbed.

  "I wholeheartedly agree with you,” Lady Cecily said. “His grace has always possessed a soft spot for a pretty female, and though I am as large as a frigate these days, I shall endeavor to play upon his cordiality and find out the round tale.” She determinedly swept forward to bring herself to the Duke of Wellington's attention. Soon afterward Lady Mary had occasion to see that the duke and Lady Cecily were ensconced on a sofa. While they were seated there, and as Lady Mary took note when her attention was not claimed by an acquaintance, several other dispatches were brought to the duke.

  Lady Cecily eventually parted from the duke. Immediately she returned to Lady Mary to report.

  "Tell me quickly,” Lady Mary was scarce able to contain her anxious curiosity.

  "I could not wring a word out of him,” Lady Cecily said, shaking her head. “He affected great gaiety and cheerfulness, but it struck me that I have never seen him with such an expression of care and anxiety upon his countenance.” Lady Cecily paused as she considered the matter. “His mind seemed quite preoccupied, although he spoke to me in the kindest manner possible. Frequently in the middle of a sentence he stopped abruptly in order to call to some officer to give him directions, in particular to the Duke of Brunswick and the Prince of Orange.” Lady Cecily looked at Lady Mary with eyes that had darkened with dread. “I very much fear that it is nearly upon us, Mary."

  Lady Mary stood immobile, sternly quelling the sudden drumming of her heart. Her eyes sought and found the upright proud figure of her wheaten-haired son. She took a deep breath and smiled tentatively at Lady Cecily. “We shall be brave when the time comes, will we not?"

  Lady Cecily snatched at Lady Mary's hand for a quick squeeze. “I admire your high courage, my dearest of friends. Yes, we shall be brave. As brave as are our men."

  The Duke of Wellington stayed to supper and men went home. Several of the guests looked upon his grace's calm manner as reassuring. Surely the duke would not be so sanguine if he were going to fight a battle. But when orders were passed for individuals to repair to their regiments, matters began to be considered in a different light. Officers began quietly to leave the ballroom. There were still couples dancing on the floor, and young misses feverishly flirted with their beaux, but a coldness had insinuated itself slowly over the gathering, and the gaiety had become forced and leaden.

  The full-throated commanding notes of a bugle sounded, to be echoed by others at regular intervals throughout the city.

  In the ballroom, the music faltered, died away, and the dancing stopped. Faces drained of color, eyes glazed, desperate expressions entered countenances as the meaning of the bugles’ short, sharp calls penetrated even through the walls.

  It was eleven o'clock.

  Drums began to beat. The Highland pibroch sounded.

  "The call to arms,'’ Lord Kenmare said, appearing suddenly beside his sister and Lady Mary. His quiet tone did not quite mask the unusual tremor in his voice. He could not but think of his friends, his brother-in-law, all of his acquaintances who would be grim play
ers in the coming drama.

  Lady Cecily clutched her brother's arm, having nowhere else to turn. Some minutes before, Major Wilson-Jones had quietly come up to take his leave and to tell her that he was ordered to report to bivouac in the park. He had slipped away, as had several others, and she had thought herself strong enough to carry off a brave front.

  But now her veneer of bravery was not needed because everyone now knew the horrible reality. The Prussians had been driven out of Charleroi and the British army was being set in motion to meet the enemy.

  Lady Cecily watched as, all around, soldiers took leave of their dancing partners, their sweethearts, their mothers. Some would not have time to change out of their evening clothes, but would fight in their froths of lace. “All of them going, just like that.'’ She was struck by a thought and she swiftly looked around for Lady Mary, only to find that her friend had vanished.

  Lady Mary swiftly crossed the floor to her son. Her entire being was beating with her fear for him. William met her with a wide grin and merry eyes, exclaiming, “Mama, isn't it glorious? We are going at last!"

  Lady Mary swallowed convulsively and tried to steady a wavering smile. “Yes, yes, you are going at last.'’ Tears rushed to her eyes. She threw her arms around him, uncaring that she might embarrass him or that she had lost her brave front. “My dearest boy!” She felt his arms come up about her and enfold her in a swift hard hug.

  "Mama, you mustn't cry,” William said. “I shall make you proud of me, I promise."

  She made herself drag her arms down from about him and step back. She looked up at him, smiling tremulously. “Of course you shall. My, don't you look the fine one! I wish your father could have seen how well you have turned out."