The Waltzing Widow Page 2
Dipping the newly sharpened point of her quill into the inkwell. Lady Mary took a breath and started upon the letter. It was always difficult to communicate with her parents, for the sole reason that whatever she wished to convey was invariably rejected as errant nonsense.
Viscount Catlin still clung to his obstinate position that the independent and respectable widow was the same lavishly spoiled and petted daughter that had grown up in his house. As for the viscountess, she cherished the fond notion that her outrageously wayward daughter must one day yet take her rightful place at the forefront of society. But by her very character, Lady Mary violated every conception that her parents held of the ideal dutiful and dependent daughter.
Lady Mary caught herself sighing again. She knew that the news that she and Abigail would not be going up to London for the Season after all would excite strenuous protests from her parents. She thought with a flash of humor that she would not require the return post to know of her letter's reception; she would be bound to be able to hear the repercussions on the very air.
She finished the difficult letter, sanded it, and readied it for posting. Rising from the desk with the two letters in her hand, Lady Mary went out of the sitting room. The footman immediately inquired her wishes and she gave him the envelopes with instructions to post them. Then she asked, “Is Miss Abigail in the drawing room, John?"
"Yes, my lady. Tea is being brought round this moment,” the footman said.
"Thank you, John,” Lady Mary said. She walked to the drawing-room door, which was partially open. Hearing the murmur of voices, she paused with her fingers on the panel, disconcerted. She had not known that her daughter was entertaining a guest.
A young gentleman in desperate tones said, “I swear to you, Abigail, I shall do it. I shall join the army if you will not."
Abigail's high clear voice sounded irritated. “Pray do not be so absurd, Colin! I cannot possibly marry you. Do, do get up! Tea will be brought in at any moment and it will be all so embarrassing."
Lady Mary closed her eyes for a second of resignation. Then she pushed open the door, saying brightly as she did so, “Abigail, I have just recalled—” She had the briefest impression of a red-faced young gentleman scrambling up from his knees and her daughter snatching back her hands from the inopportune suitor's slackened grasp. She pretended not to notice either of their flushed faces. “Oh, it is you, Colin. I am happy to see you, as always. How does your dear mama?” She advanced toward him smiling, her hand held out to him.
The young gentleman, who was dressed in riding clothes, awkwardly took her hand and sketched a bow. “Mama is much better, thank you, Lady Mary."
"I am happy to hear it. Influenza is such a particularly fatiguing ailment. But I expect we shall soon see Mrs. Rollings to be her usual self again,” Lady Mary said. She seated herself beside her unusually quiet daughter. She chose to ignore Abigail's swift wondering glance. “We were just about to take tea. I hope that you will join us, Colin.” As she spoke, the butler entered with the tea tray and set it down on the occasional table before her. She thanked him quietly.
"No ... no, that is to say, Mama must have been expecting me back long since. I but stopped to ... to pay my respects to yourself and Miss Spence, my lady,” Colin stammered. He appeared extremely uncomfortable and cleared his throat.
Lady Mary calmly nodded her understanding, betraying nothing of the amusement she felt. “Of course. We must not keep you, then. Pray give my regards to your mother. I shall make a point of calling on her in the next few days,'’ she said, once more holding out her hand to him.
He took it, mumbling his excuses before turning to Abigail. Faced with her gleaming eyes and lovely countenance, Colin swallowed hard. His voice was hoarse as he took a lengthier leave of her. With one last anguished glance cast in Abigail's direction, Colin exited the drawing room.
When the door closed behind him, Abigail let out her breath on an exasperated sigh. "Thank you. Mama. Before you came in, I did not know what I was to do. You have no notion what a cake Colin was making of himself."
"Of course I do,” Lady Mary said. She gestured for her daughter to pour the tea. “That boy has been head over heels in love with you for months. I am not at all astonished that he was at last able to screw up his courage enough to make an offer for you."
"You heard! Oh, how glad I am that you did not say anything. It was such an embarrassing moment in any event, and I most certainly would have laughed if Colin had turned one shade redder,” Abigail said, handing her mother a saucered cup. “Mama, I have known Colin Rollings simply forever. I do not understand why he should suddenly take it into his head that I would make him a good wife."
"My dear daughter, have you looked in the mirror today?” Lady Mary asked with a gathering twinkle in her gray eyes.
"Of course I have,” Abigail said. She blushed when her mother laughed at her. “Oh, you know what I meant, Mama. But Colin—he has seen me every day of our lives, except when he was away at school and this last time that I spent visiting with Grandpapa and Grandmama in London. Colin has always known what I look like, but he never paid the least attention to me until now."
"You forget that you have changed considerably in the last few months, Abigail,” Lady Mary said.
Abigail instinctively glanced down at herself, and a slow satisfied smile curved her lips. “I have gotten my figure, haven't I, Mama? And it is quite a nice one, too."
"Really, Abigail, your vanity seems to have kept pace with your increase in dress size. Yes, my dear, your figure is very nice and you have a lovely face as well. And that pretty package is what has Colin completely bowled out.” She saw that her daughter was immensely pleased with herself and she shook her head. “What was that Colin was saying about the army just before I entered?"
Abigail brushed aside her query. “Oh, that. Colin swore that if I refused to marry him, then he would run away to the army and I would never see him again. Such stuff! It was all nonsense, of course."
"So I should hope. I do not like to think what Mrs. Rollings’ feelings would be if Colin were actually to do such a harebrained thing. She positively dotes on that boy,” Lady Mary said, somewhat disturbed. She took a biscuit from the tray, reflecting upon the matter. “Perhaps I shall drop a hint in her ear when I call on her. She will know best how to discourage any such ridiculous ambitions, I am certain. The army is no place for one so young as Colin."
Abigail regarded her mother in surprise. “Mama, I did not know you felt that way about the military. Why ever did you give permission for William to go if you dislike the idea so?"
"Your brother is altogether different from Colin. He has always been army-mad, and when your grandfather offered to purchase a commission for him, and William begged me to agree to it, I could not very well refuse him his dream,” Lady Mary said. She sighed softly. “I did worry over William, of course. But the long war is done with at last, and he is not likely to see battle again now, so I am content."
"I do not think that William will be. Content, I mean. He wrote a vastly exciting letter about the battles that some of his acquaintances participated in, and he was quite envious of all their daring deeds. He rather thought his own experience paltry by comparison. Do you remember, Mama?” Abigail asked.
Lady Mary gave a slight shudder. “Too well, I thank you. He described it all so cheerfully and took such pride in breezing through with but a ‘scratch’ across his brow. A scratch! When he came home on leave I almost fainted at sight of that scar. He might have lost his sight."
"I secretly thought that William's scar made him appear terribly romantic,” Abigail said.
"Abigail! I hope that you did not tell him so,” Lady Mary said, appalled.
"Of course not, Mama. I did not wish him to get a swelled head over it, and besides, we did not know then that the war was finished. I knew that he would think nothing of being wounded again if he believed that it would make him appear even more interesting,” Abigail said.
Abigail nodded. “That is just what I thought. I was remembering how he tried to take that high fence on a dare and the horse refused at the very last minute. William flew over its head and broke his shoulder against the post. As soon as he was healed, he set himself for the fence again."
"And fortunately on the second round the horse landed safely and William was unscathed,” Lady Mary said. “I was never more angry with him than when I learned of that stunt. But he explained in that way of his that he could not allow himself to have failed in any endeavor. How very glad I am that the terrible war is over."
"Even if it wasn't. Mama, you needn't have been anxious on William's account. He leads a charmed life, so Grandpapa says,” Abigail said.
"Your grandfather does not rule fate, my dear,” Lady Mary said somewhat tardy. She was recalled by mention of the viscount of her letter. “Abigail, I have written to your grandparents to inform them that we will not be going to London for the Season."
"Oh.” Abigail drew out the syllable in an excess of understanding. “That shall not be well-thought-of at all."
Lady Mary smiled. “I am fully aware of that. However, I have explained the reason and that I am taking you to Brussels. Hopefully that will assuage their natural disappointment not to have you with them this spring.'’ Her daughter looked dubious, but she did not give voice to her thoughts.
Lady Mary could not but feel that Abigail's instincts were correct. Undoubtedly Viscount and Viscountess Catlin would be extremely angered by her communication, and she fully expected a blistering reply. For that reason, for the next few days she dreaded the coming of the return post.
But a fortnight passed and there continued an odd silence from London.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 3
When Lady Mary called on Mrs. Evesleigh to relay her congratulations on Miss Evesleigh's upcoming nuptials and expressed her willingness to aid her friend in whatever manner she could, the lady thanked her warmly for her offer and then turned to another topic that greatly exercised her curiosity. Mrs. Evesleigh had naturally heard from her daughter the exciting news that the Spences were traveling to the Continent, and she sympathetically asked Lady Mary what the reaction from London had been toward her travel plans.
Lady Mary shook her head, frowning slightly. “It is the most puzzling thing, Maggie. I have heard not a single word. I begin to wonder whether my letter went awry."
"Depend upon it, your letter was received. This silence must be your answer,” Mrs. Evesleigh said.
Lady Mary reflected a moment. “Perhaps you are correct. But it is very unlike the viscount. My father is not one in the habit of keeping his opinions to himself, as you know. It would be more like him to post down and demand an explanation of me,” Lady Mary said with a wry grimace.
"Do you truly think so? Then perhaps you should prepare for company,” Mrs. Evesleigh said, casting her a sympathetic glance.
"I devoutly hope that it will not be necessary to do so,” Lady Mary said with a light laugh.
"Let us hope not, indeed,” Mrs. Evesleigh said. She had been Lady Mary's staunch friend and confidante for many years, and though she had never breathed a word of her stronger feelings to her ladyship, she had often thought privately that the viscount and viscountess must be unnatural and unfeeling indeed to have treated their own daughter as they had.
She smiled at Lady Mary, a twinkle in her clear blue eyes. “I am quite selfishly counting on your undivided attention in aiding me with Betsy's wedding, you see. It is come up so sudden, since the good reverend is accepting the living in the neighboring parish and must take up his duties sooner than we anticipated. As you know, I was making plans for a June wedding, but now everything must be readied and accomplished in only a month's time if Betsy is to have a proper send-off. As a consequence, these days I do not know whether I am on my head or my heels most of the time."
"Of course you may rely upon me,” Lady Mary said warmly. “I know that if our positions were reversed and it was Abigail who was suddenly wedded, I would wish to be able to call upon you."
"And certainly you could have done so,” Mrs. Evesleigh said comfortably. She smiled with a touch of sadness. “I shall miss you terribly when you have gone."
Lady Mary reached out for her friend's hand and pressed her fingers. “And I you, Maggie. But it will be just for a few months. I could not disappoint Abigail after giving my solemn word that she could come out when she became seventeen. Perhaps she will contract an eligible match her first Season, though I admit to being in two minds about the possibility. In the meantime let us see what we can do to plan for your daughter's successful establishment."
"And what of you, Lady Mary?” Mrs. Evesleigh asked.
"Whatever do you mean?” Lady Mary asked, even though she had a fair notion. There was a certain look in her friend's eyes that she had seen far too often of late.
"I shall have Mr. Evesleigh when Betsy is wedded. If Abigail does become engaged this Season and marries, how will you go on?"
"I shall go on as I always have,” Lady Mary said. She laughed at her friend's exasperated sigh. “Maggie, if you mean to urge me yet again to reconsider my own unwedded state, pray spare your breath, for I shan't change my mind. I assure you, despite the number of eligible partis that you have managed to bring to my notice these several years, I have not developed an interest in a single gentleman."
"But it is such a waste. You are still young. Why, you don't appear above nine-and-twenty, and—"
Lady Mary laughed. “I am four-and-thirty, as well you know, Maggie!"
"Of course I do, but no one else need know it unless you confess to it. Do but look in the mirror, my dear. You've not a wrinkle to mar your face, nor a gray hair on your head, though how anyone may tell it when you insist upon wearing those ridiculous matron caps, I do not know,” Mrs. Evesleigh said.
Surprised, Lady Mary put up her hand to touch her lacy cap. “Why, Maggie, you told me it was vastly pretty."
"So it is, and appropriate for one such as myself. But a matron's cap is hardly suitable for you, my lady. Believe me, you would do far better to leave it off,” Mrs. Evesleigh said, earnestly.
"You forget, Maggie. I am a matron, and a widow to boot. I should appear ludicrous if I were to ape a younger lady's fashions."
Mrs. Evesleigh flushed with the strength of her heartfelt asperity. “What I find ludicrous is that you masquerade as a dame of sixty years!” When she saw Lady Mary's astonished and somewhat hurt expression, she sighed. “Forgive me, my dear. I know that I do not often speak to you in such a fashion, and perhaps it is forward of me to presume to do so now. But I wish only your happiness, and I do not believe that should mean that you spend the rest of your life alone. You have too much to offer some fortunate gentleman for you to do so, Lady Mary. You are kindhearted and gay and compassionate and loving, besides having preserved an enviable figure."
"In truth, I begin to see that I am quite a paragon,” Lady Mary said humorously.
"Exactly so,” Mrs. Evesleigh said firmly. When Lady Mary greeted this conclusion with a laughing protest, she reluctantly smiled. “Oh, very well, perhaps you are not a paragon precisely. You do have the most obstinate nature that I have ever encountered in a female, and you have the most infuriating way of distancing yourself when you do not wish to acknowledge someone's insistence. Yes, just that expression exactly. Quite arrogant of you, actually."
"Really, Maggie!” Lady Mary exclaimed, torn between laughter and affront.
Mrs. Evesleigh was not to be deterred. Ruthlessly she plunged on. “And then there is this idiotic refusal of yours to admit how very attractive you are. It is beyond anything. I would call it false humility, except that I know you too well."
"I see that I am quite sunk beyond reproach,” Lady Mary said quietly.
Mrs. Evesleigh threw up her hands in frustration. “My dear Lady Mary, I am merely pointing up the fact that you are as human as the rest of us mortals and that you cannot spend your life behind that wall of glass that you so easily erect about yourself. You are not a porcelain figure, but a woman of warmth and feelings and flesh and blood. Mary, I am your friend. Pray listen to me this once with an open mind. William has already flown the nest and Abigail must soon follow. Pray consider what your life will be like once Abigail is gone."
"I have considered, Maggie. And if I had ever met another gentleman who compared favorably with my beloved Roger, then perhaps...” Lady Mary paused for a moment before she smiled. “But I have not. Maggie, do not look so anxious for me. I shall be content enough with my memories, I do assure you. And the time will come when I shall have grandchildren to occupy my thoughts and keep me busy. But for now, tell me what I may do for you for Betsy's wedding."
Mrs. Evesleigh shook her head, not really ready to let go of the subject of her friend's unwedded state. But she knew from old that to attempt to pursue a topic that Lady Mary had made obvious she did not wish to dwell upon was futile.
Though Lady Mary would have been aghast at the observation, Mrs. Evesleigh had always privately thought that when her friend wished it, she was every inch the daughter of an autocratic peer of the realm. Lady Mary Spence could don the cloak of haughty superiority and command without thought or effort, and Mrs. Evesleigh was reluctant to bring about the transformation. Already she had noted the little warning signs in her friend—a certain coolness of expression in the wide gray eyes, the slightest rise of the delicately winged brows. No, she must be content with what she had already said and hope that something might take root in Lady Mary's thoughts. Therefore Mrs. Evesleigh, not without a certain relish, turned her attention to that which had most nearly occupied most of her waking thoughts for several weeks.