The Waltzing Widow Read online

  "I have tried, William. But she will not listen to me. Your grandmother has firmly convinced her that I am jealous of her success and therefore determined to bring the Season to naught by dashing any hopes of a good match,'’ Lady Mary said, somewhat bitterly.

  "What rot!” William exclaimed, astonished.

  Lady Mary attempted a poor imitation of a laugh. “I cannot find it in my heart to altogether blame her. I do wish she would stay home from some of the functions, so I suppose one may say that I am in opposition to her. As for her conduct, I have told her that at times she has behaved in less than a ladylike fashion. But she does not hear the same criticism from anyone else, not from her score of admirers and certainly not from her grandparents. So what is she to think but that I am mean and disapproving?"

  "She'll think somewhat differently when I am done with her,'’ William said grimly. He marched off, bearing down on his sister with determination. Within a very few seconds he had managed to extricate her from the other officers surrounding her by claiming a brother's prerogative to waltz with her.

  Abigail was very happy to see her brother. She glanced up at him from under her lashes and said with a note of coquettishness that was new to her nature, “My, you are a handsome devil, William! I suspect that there are a dozen young misses heaving regretful sighs that you have chosen to dance with your sister rather than one of them. I pity the poor creatures, I truly do."

  "Stop it, Abigail,” William said forcefully. “You are making a complete cake of yourself, I shall have you know."

  She looked up at him in astonishment, her smiling mask slipping. “Whatever are you talking about, William?"

  "I am talking about what a spectacle you have been making of yourself these past several days. Oh, don't look at me in such a hurt and innocent fashion. You know quite well what I am referring to."

  Abigail's eyes flashed as she leapt to a hasty conclusion. “Mama has been talking to you, hasn't she? How infamous of her to appeal to you! Well, I shan't listen to anything she may have to say, William, and so you may inform her. She has been mean and—"

  "Mama has not uttered one word of complaint to me,” William said furiously."You little fool! I have heard your name bandied about like that of some bawd's by those in my own company. Those same merry fellows that admired you are all fast changing their good opinion of you. And I shall tell you to your face that I do not like to hear my sister's charms compared with those of some fair Cyprian! The next thing I know, I shall have to fight a duel with some rude fellow and likely find myself killed before I ever get onto the battlefield!''

  Abigail's face had drained of color, leaving the blue of her wide and fearful eyes the only color in her face. “William? Have I truly lost my reputation?"

  William's fury was blunted by her incredulous dismay. “You have been playing hard and fast with more than you know, in the eyes of those officers here tonight, Abby,” he said frankly.

  "Oh, William!” Distressed tears sprang to her cornflower-blue eyes, making them glisten like precious sapphires. “Whatever am I to do? Grandmama has always told me that one's reputation is one's most prized possession. How can I remain, the butt of everyone's jokes?” She glanced about the ballroom, no longer certain of her unquestioned popularity, and where before she had seen only admiration, now she fancied she saw contempt.

  "Silly goose, you needn't make it so dramatic. You haven't quite crossed beyond the pale. But I beg you to pay less heed to Grandmama's advice! She is a dear old lady, of course, but she is completely blind to anything but her unshakable conviction that you can do no wrong. Her lack of good sense is likely to ruin you,” William said.

  Abigail regarded him with openmouthed astonishment. “Why, that is just what Mama has said to me.” She had always held her brother in hero worship, and that he should convey the same criticism that her mother had struck her most strongly.

  "I think it is time that you begin to lend our mother an attentive ear, Abby. She has always been a wise and fair person. Why, only recall that she allowed Grandpapa to buy me a pair of colors even though she was eaten with fear that I would get myself killed first time out."

  Abigail thought about it for a few moments. She had been unhappy with the estrangement between herself and her mother, but until this moment she had not been honest enough with herself to allow that she was the party at greatest fault. She said in a low voice, “I ... I have been less than fair toward her, haven't I, William?"

  William grinned down at her bowed head."Well, yes, I rather think you have. Why do you not tell her so now?"

  Abigail cast a wild look up into his pleasant-featured face. “William, I cannot! William, pray...!” But her protestations were in vain, for her brother in the course of the dance whirled her over to where their mother sat.

  William ended with a flourish. With his arm locked firmly about his sister's waist so that she could not slip free, he drew her with him toward their mother. “Mama, here is Abby. She has decided to sit with you a few moments so that she can explain her conduct these past days,” he said.

  "How dare you!” Abigail exclaimed, furious and embarrassed. But William only laughed and bowed himself off, whistling a merry tune. She had no alternative but to accept the chair that her mother graciously indicated to her.

  Lady Mary could see the turmoil of emotion within her daughter. Abigail's stormy eyes and high color, the trembling of her lips, all attested to it. She said tentatively, “I am sorry for any misunderstanding on my part, Abby. I hope that despite our differences we may become friends again."

  "Oh, Mama!'’ Abigail looked at her mother with appeal and confusion in her gaze."I have been such a beast to you, I know that I have. And William says that I have gotten myself talked about.” She swallowed, almost made ill by the appalling thought. “Mama, what am I to do?"

  Lady Mary somberly regarded her. “My dear child, I shall trust you to discover that for yourself. I know that your instincts are good. My only advice to you is not to put yourself forward at every juncture."

  A young Highlander came up then, somewhat diffidently, and bowed to the ladies. “Forgive my boldness in approaching without an introduction, my lady,” he said gravely in a broad accent, addressing Lady Mary in respectful tones. “I have wished to meet your bonny daughter all the evening, but each time I have gotten up the courage, she is so surrounded by admirers that I have not been able to bring myself to her attention."

  Lady Mary laughed, charmed alike by his frank manners and his laughing eyes. “I shall forgive you, sir, the moment that I learn your name."

  He flushed slightly. “I am Captain Bruce McInnes, at your service."

  "Why have we not seen you about before this evening, sir?” Lady Mary asked curiously. She had thought she knew very nearly all of Abigail's admirers, but she did not recall this particular officer's face.

  "I am just recovered from a bout of the influenza, my lady,” Captain McInnes said apologetically.

  Lady Mary held out her hand. “I am most happy to make your acquaintance. Captain McInnes. I am Lady Mary Spence and this is my daughter, Miss Abigail Spence."

  Captain McInnes turned at last to Abigail."May I solicit your hand for this dance, Miss Spence?"

  Abigail glanced at her mother. Their just-finished conversation had been an uncomfortable one and had ended on something of an unsatisfactory note. She had expected her mother to read her a stricture for her behavior, but instead Lady Mary had told her to be guided by her own best sense. Abigail was confused, but yet relieved. She did not yet know what her mother meant, but she was glad to be offered an opportunity to escape further reflection on the matter.

  Lady Mary misinterpreted her daughter's questioning expression. “If you have not another partner on your card, my dear, I do not know of any reason that you cannot stand up with Captain McInnes."

  On the point of refusing, it suddenly occurred to Abigail that Captain McInnes, having been out of circulation with the influenza, was most probably
the only gentleman of her acquaintance who had not seen her make a fool of herself for the last several days. So she smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mama. There is no one else that I would prefer as my partner,” Abigail said demurely. She rose from her chair and gave her hand to the Highlander. He smiled at his amazing good fortune and drew her onto the floor into a forming set.

  Lady Mary moved off to join Lady Cecily, who was sitting on a settee a little removed from the milling crowd. “Good evening. Lady Cecily. I hope that I see you well,” she said as she seated herself beside her friend.

  Lady Cecily was fanning her flushed face. “Yes, very well—if you discount how miserably hot and unwieldy I feel. I shall be so happy to begin my confinement, simply to have it done with!''

  Lady Mary laughed. Her gray eyes twinkled with amused sympathy. “I seem to recall that same devout wish. I believe it is always such toward the end."

  "Is it truly?” Lady Cecily asked in hope. “How very kind of you to reassure me that there is an end."

  Lady Mary laughed again, and that was how the Earl of Kenmare saw her when he came up to the ladies. He had a lemonade in one hand, which he proffered to his sister, and Lady Cecily seized on the glass gratefully. After greeting his sister's companion, Lord Kenmare raised an inquiring brow. “Would you care for refreshment as well, my lady?"

  "Not at the moment, thank you, my lord,'’ Lady Mary said.

  The three talked companionably for a few moments. Then Major Wilson-Jones, who had managed to arrange leave from his duties in order to escort his wife for the evening, came up. He was of average height and wiry, with keen flashing eyes, and was of a humorous nature that Lady Mary had instantly liked upon their first meeting a few weeks before. He hailed his wife and brother-in-law jauntily and bowed to Lady Mary. “I hope that you shall not mind it, my lady, but I've come to borrow my wife for a few moments. I have but just this moment discovered the doors into the garden, and—"

  "Oh, Reginald! Have you actually?” Lady Cecily exclaimed.

  Major Wilson-Jones laughed. He offered his arm to her. “Indeed, I have, Cecy. Pray, will you join me?"

  "Shall I, indeed!” Lady Cecily got up from the settee with alacrity. She gave her mischievous smile to Lady Mary. “I do apologize for running away in such a hurried fashion, Lady Mary, but the prospect of being out of this press for a few moments is too enticing to be denied."

  Lady Mary smiled. “I am not in the least affronted.” She watched the major solicitously escort his wife through the crowd. “Major Wilson-Jones is a thoroughly agreeable gentleman,” she said to the earl.

  "I could not wish for a better man for my sister,” Lord Kenmare agreed. He nodded at the dancers whirling over the floor. “I particularly noticed that Miss Spence appears in exceptionally fine looks this evening. It is no wonder that she is popular with the young officers."

  "Yes,” Lady Mary said. She watched her daughter for a moment and then glanced up at the gentleman standing beside her. He was still regarding Abigail's gay progress over the floor, with the faintest of smiles on his lips. Not for the first time it crossed Lady Mary's mind that Lord Kenmare displayed an unusual interest in her daughter's social success. Whenever they met, he never failed to convey a compliment to her regarding Abigail. Perhaps the viscountess had not been so far off the mark in considering his lordship as a potential match for Abigail, and certainly to attach him would be a triumph for any young girl.

  Lord Kenmare had a great deal to offer besides his wealth and his title. He was in his prime, virile and handsome, and he was a man of intelligence. He was also unfailingly courteous toward herself and to those for whom she cared. William had commented not two days previously that he had run into Lord Kenmare in the park and had been both gratified and astonished at his lordship's friendly manner. Even though Lord Kenmare was at least twenty years Abigail's senior, Abigail could do far worse, reflected Lady Mary. She wondered why the thought did not bring her greater pleasure. She must be the most unnatural mother alive, she thought with an uncharacteristic flash of irritation at herself.

  "What do you say to it, my lady?"

  Lady Mary abruptly realized that Lord Kenmare had been speaking to her for some seconds and she had not a clue to what he had said. The color stole into her face as she confessed, “Pray forgive me, my lord! I fear that I was not perfectly attending. What was it you were saying?"

  Lord Kenmare stared at her, feeling more astonished than insulted. It was a novel experience for him to discover that his presence was so taken for granted that the lady to whom he had been speaking had not heard a word he had said, especially when he had just put forth a suggestion for an outing in his company. Perhaps to ask Lady Mary to go driving with him was not as brilliant a notion as he had originally thought.

  Looking up at him, Lady Mary had the most lowering prescience that Lord Kenmare had asked for her permission to pay particular attentions to her daughter. The thought unaccountably filled her with warring emotions of triumph and dismay. The viscountess would have had no difficulty in forming a reply to the earl, but Lady Mary discovered that she was not yet ready to see her daughter seriously courted for her hand. And surely that was what his lordship intended, she thought.

  Lord Kenmare found his voice. He was not an uncourageous man, but it did seem rather unfair that he must fly in the face of the lady's apparent disinterest to repeat his invitation. However, he was not one to quail prematurely at an obstacle, and so he decided to plow on. “I merely inquired whether—"

  At that instant a mutual acquaintance interrupted their tête-à-tête, perhaps fortunately from both Lady Mary's and the earl's standpoint. The moment was lost. Lord Kenmare did not open the issue again. He was beginning to wonder whether his budding interest in Lady Mary might not be entirely misplaced.

  He had initially been drawn to her because she seemed less self-absorbed than so many of the ladies of his acquaintance. He had realized early on that Lady Mary was proud of her offspring and he had set himself to make himself agreeable to her by entering into her natural interest in their well-being. He had taken pains to be affable to Ensign Spence whenever he had chanced to meet the boy, when otherwise he might have passed him by with only a polite nod for a slight acquaintance. He had endeavored to convey gentle encouragement to Abigail and had even once or twice brought her to the notice of those who might be expected to take up with a young miss just out. He had thought these unusual efforts must be looked upon with gratitude by Lady Mary and engender in her a wish to further their own friendly relationship, and so was explained his abortive invitation to her, but apparently this was not the case.

  As Lord Kenmare watched Lady Mary borne off on the arm of their mutual acquaintance in search of the refreshment table, his mouth turned upward in a faintly quizzical smile. This evening's setback had but firmed his determination. He was attracted to Lady Mary Spence, and by the Lord Harry, he was going to do all in his power to break through that clear wall that she moved so gracefully behind.

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  Chapter 11

  The Duke of Wellington held balls continually at his house, which, like the Earl of Kenmare's residence and that of Sir Charles Stuart, the British ambassador, faced on the park. The duke was a jovial host and he enjoyed nothing better than to watch his staff, who were all scions of prominent houses and very accomplished in the social graces and the dance, twirl about with the ladies to the strains of the waltz. His grace was to be seen standing about speaking animatedly, his tall immaculate figure negligent in stance, and occasionally he would break out in his hearty horse's laugh. He seemed not to have a care in the world except to see to the enjoyment of his guests.

  It was a wonderment to Brussels society, which watched the allied armies’ commander-in-chief with unblinking attention. The Duke of Wellington displayed not the least perturbation over the continued reports of Napoleon Bonaparte's growing army and its determined advance on the Low Countries, nor the fact that the troops at his
disposal were rumored to be outnumbered two to one. His grace's demeanor was such that many who had before expressed alarm were now come to the conclusion that their anxieties were completely unwarranted.

  The populace of Brussels was all too eager to forget the ominous signs of war and plunged into a renewed frenzy of gaiety. His grace the Duke of Wellington stood tall among them, and all was well.

  The duke was known to have been estranged from his wife for several years, she not once having left England to join him during all the years and all the campaigns. It was not thought surprising, then, that his grace appreciated feminine beauty. When Lady Mary Spence was introduced to him, he swept an approving glance over her, from the incongruous lace cap on her chestnut hair to her neat figure. With a gallantry unsurpassed, he raised her hand to his lips and complimented her. She passed on down the receiving line, flattered but a little embarrassed.

  Later in the evening, the Duke of Wellington approached her to stand up with him on the dance floor. When she demurred, pointing out that she sat on the matrons’ side of the room, he brushed aside the excuse. “Pooh, madam! What has that to say to anything? You are alive until they put you in the ground,” he said with his characteristic forthrightness.

  Lady Mary gave a startled laugh. Feeling that she had been left with little choice, and in truth she was very flattered that the hero of the moment desired to dance with her when there were any score of ladies who eagerly awaited the honor, she allowed herself to be drawn from her chair and escorted onto the floor. “I am naturally most happy to accept, your grace,” she said. “However, I must warn you that I have not had much practice for years. You may have cause for regret."

  The duke's famous horse laugh made others turn in curiosity, among them Lord Kenmare. His brows shot up when he saw who it was that the duke had as his partner. His sleeve was caught in a sharp nip.