How many ladies could boast of meeting a total stranger and being asked to dance with him and marry him – all in one breath?
Her smile widened. '/Might/ I be permitted,' the stranger asked her when they were dancing exclusively with each other again, 'to know the name of my prospective bride?' She was tempted to withhold it. But that would be pointless. He could quite easily discover it for himself after they had finished dancing. 'I am Margaret Huxtable,' she told him, 'sister of the Earl of Merton.' 'Ah, excellent,' he said. 'It is important to marry someone of impeccable lineage – important to one's family anyway.' 'Absolutely, sir,' she agreed. 'And you are…?' But she had to wait another couple of minutes while the pattern of the dance drew other couples within earshot again. 'Duncan Pennethorne, Earl of Sheringford,' he said without preamble when they were alone again. 'The title, I must warn you before you get too excited about marrying it, is a courtesy one and therefore of no real value whatsoever except that it sounds good – and except that it is an indicator that a more real and illustrious title is to follow if and when the incumbent should predecease me. The Marquess of Claverbrook, my grandfather, may well not do so even though he is eighty – or will be in two weeks' time – and fifty years my senior.' He had offered a great deal more information than she had asked for. But it was surprising she had not met him before. And yet… /the Earl of Sheringford/. Something tugged at the corners of her memory, but she could not pull it into focus. She had the impression that it was something not too pleasant. Something scandalous. 'And where,' he asked, 'may I come to claim you tomorrow, Miss Huxtable, marriage license in hand?' She hesitated again. But it would take him only a moment after he had left her to discover it for himself. 'At Merton House on Berkeley Square,' she said.
But the joke had continued long enough. As soon as the set was at an end, she decided, she must put as much distance between herself and the Earl of Sheringford as she possibly could. She did not want to encourage him to continue to be as bold and familiar with her as he had been thus far.
She must make some discreet inquiries about him. There was /something/ there in her memory.
Crispin, she could see, was talking with Vanessa and Elliott. It still seemed unreal, seeing him again like this after so many unhappy years.
She had not expected ever to see him again after his marriage. She had expected him, she supposed, to settle in Spain with his wife after the wars were over. Or at Rundle Park. 'Miss Huxtable,' the Earl of Sheringford asked her, bringing her attention back to him, 'why were you fleeing the ballroom in a panic?' It was a thoroughly impertinent question. Did he know nothing of good manners? 'I was not /fleeing/,' she told him. 'And I was not in a panic.' 'Two bouncers in a single sentence,' he said.
She looked at him with all the hauteur she could muster. 'You are impertinent, my lord,' she said. 'Oh, always,' he agreed. 'Why waste time on tedious courtesies? Was he worth the panic?' She opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort. But then she closed it and simply shook her head instead. 'Was that a /no/?' he asked her. 'Or a /you-are-impossible/ gesture?' 'The latter,' she said curtly before they were separated again.
A short while later the orchestra paused before beginning another tune in the same set. But Lord Sheringford appeared to have had enough. He took Margaret's hand from her side without a by-your-leave, set it on his sleeve, and led her off the floor and into a small, semicircular alcove close to the doors, where a comfortable-looking sofa was temporarily unoccupied. 'It is impossible,' he said as Margaret seated herself hesitantly and he took the seat beside her, 'to hold a sustained conversation while dancing. Dancing has to be the most ridiculous social activity ever invented.' 'It is something I particularly enjoy,' she said. 'And one is not /expected/ to hold a lengthy conversation while dancing. There is a time and place for that.' 'What did he do,' he asked her, 'to throw you into such a panic?' 'I have not admitted,' she said, 'that there even /is/ any such gentleman or that there /was/ any such incident.' She picked up her fan from her wrist, flicked it open, and plied it to her overheated face.
He watched her movements. He was seated slightly sideways, his elbow resting on the top of the sofa not far from her shoulder. She could feel the heat from his arm against the side of her neck. 'Of course there were both,' he said. 'If the cause had been a burst seam, it would have revealed itself rather shockingly when you collided with me.' She ought to just get up and walk away, Margaret thought. There was nothing to stop her, was there? But his persistent questions had revived the memory of her misery and panic, and some of the former returned. She had really had no chance to digest the fact that she would never be married to the Marquess of Allingham.
Lord Sheringford was a stranger. Sometimes it was easier to talk to strangers than to loved ones. She doubted she would ever pour out her heart to Stephen or either of her sisters. It had never been her way to burden them with her woes. Instead, she had always bottled up her emotions deep inside – at least all the negative ones. She had always been the eldest sister, the substitute parent. She had always had to be the strong one, the one upon whom they could all depend.
Talking to strangers was dangerous. But there was something quite unreal and bizarre about this whole evening so far. Margaret's normal caution and reticence deserted her. 'I told a gentleman of my acquaintance yesterday,' she said, 'that I was betrothed. I expected that it would be true by tonight. But this evening I have discovered that the gentleman concerned is betrothed to someone else, and the first gentleman is here and will be expecting to meet my fiancГ©. Oh, dear, this all makes no sense whatsoever, does it?' 'Strangely it does,' he said. 'The gentleman to whom you made this claim once hurt you?' She looked at him, rather startled. How could he possibly have discerned that? 'What gives you that idea?' she asked him.
His eyes bored into hers as if they could lay bare all her secrets. 'Why else would you be rash enough to tell him such a thing so prematurely?' he said with a shrug. 'It was a boast. Why boast to him if you did not wish to thumb your nose at him? And why wish to thumb your nose at him if he had not hurt you at some time in the past? What did he do to you?' 'He went away to war,' she said, 'while I stayed at home to raise my younger sisters and brother after our father died. We had an understanding before he left, though, and that sustained me through years that were often difficult, even bleak. And then word came through a letter to his mother that he had married in Spain.' 'Ah,' he said. 'This paragon of devotion is one of the scarlet-clad officers who are dazzling all the ladies, is he?' 'Yes,' she said. 'And the man to whom you expected to be betrothed?' he asked. 'He also has behaved toward you in a dastardly manner?' 'I cannot in all conscience accuse him of that,' she said. 'He offered for me three times over the past five years. I refused all three times, though we were still friends and told each other at the end of last Season that we looked forward to meeting again this year. I arrived in town very recently and therefore neither saw the announcement of his engagement nor heard of it. I came here this evening, expecting … Well, never mind.' She was beginning to feel very uneasy, not to mention ridiculous. What she had intended to be a very vague explanation of her earlier panic had turned into a rather detailed and very humiliating confession. 'You waited too long in both instances,' he said. 'With both gentlemen.
Let it be a lesson to you.' She fanned her cheeks more vigorously. She deserved that harsh and unsympathetic judgment. Though it was very typical of a man to take the part of other men. It must be /her/ fault that she had lost both Crispin and the Marquess of Allingham.
But he was perfectly right to think so, of course. She need not feel so indignant or so abject. She had not been abandoned by either man. She had made them wait too long.
It was humbling to see oneself through the eyes of a man. 'And does the dashing, faithless officer know the identity of the gentleman to whom you expected to be betrothed this evening?' Lord Sheringford asked. 'Oh, no,' she said. 'I was not /that/ indiscreet. Thank heaven.' One must be thankful for small mercies, she thought. How truly dreadful it would have been if… 'Then there is a simple solution to all your woes,' the earl said. 'You may introduce /me/ to your officer as your betrothed, and at the same time demonstrate to the other man that you were not waiting for him to offer for you yet again.' Oh, he really was quite outrageous. Yet there was still no glimmer of humor in his eyes, as she saw when she turned her head sharply to look into them. 'And what would you do tomorrow,' she asked, 'when you discovered my brother and brothers-in-law on your doorstep, demanding to know your true intentions? And what would /I/ do when I came face-to-face with Crispin tomorrow or the day after? Tell him that I had had a change of heart?' He shrugged. 'I would inform your fierce relatives that my intentions are entirely honorable,' he said. 'And you could continue to thumb your nose at the officer.' 'I do thank you for the gallant offer,' she said, laughing and wondering how he would react if she chose to take him seriously, poor man. 'And I thank you for your company during this set. It has been amusing. But I must go now and – ' She was given no chance to finish. The hand belonging to the arm that was propped against the back of the sofa moved to rest firmly on her shoulder, and his face dipped a little closer to hers. 'One of the scarlet uniforms is approaching,' he said, 'draped about the person of a large red-haired officer. Doubtless your erstwhile lover.' She
