he said, 'since I cannot do without my little Maria for too long. They should be here any day.' Katherine took Margaret's arm and squeezed it in silent sympathy.
Margaret smiled at her.
Her head was throbbing. If she had known that he was coming to London, she would have stayed at Warren Hall. She would not even have hesitated.
It was too late now, though.
Would the Marquess of Allingham propose marriage to her tonight, when it would be their first meeting since last year – /if/ he attended the ball, that was? It seemed highly unlikely that he would declare himself so soon. Surely he would wait until their third or fourth meeting, and even then he might be cautious since she had already refused him three times.
Oh, everything felt ruined. She would feel somehow manipulative if she encouraged his suit – although she had intended to do so even before this afternoon. She would feel as if she were trying to force him to propose marriage to her simply so that she would not lose face with a former faithless lover.
It was not that way at all!
What did she care for Crispin Dew? She cared for the kindly, courtly man she had decided to marry. 'Oh, Meg,' Katherine said. 'How very distressing this must be for you. I wish we had known he was in town so that we could at least have warned you.' 'I am not distressed at all,' Margaret said. 'I have been walking quietly at your side because I am having an inner debate with myself about which gown I will wear tonight for my first ball since last year.
It is a very serious decision, you must understand. I wish to cut the very best possible dash. The gold, do you think?' Katherine sighed theatrically. 'Nessie's new bonnet this afternoon and your gold gown tonight,' she said. 'I shall be quite overshadowed by the splendor of my sisters.' They looked at each other and laughed.
Katherine was the loveliest of them all with her tall, slender figure and golden brown hair. If she wore a sack to the ball tonight, she would turn more than her fair share of appreciative heads.
Crispin was turning to take his leave of them. Margaret smiled and nodded to him and felt a queasiness in her stomach again.
He was going to be at the ball tonight – with the express purpose of meeting her betrothed.
Lies were never worth telling, were they? And that was a massive understatement.
3
MARGARET wore her gold gown to Lady Tindell's ball. She had bought it at the end of last Season, a foolish extravagance, she had thought at the time, as she had had no opportunity to wear it before returning to Warren Hall for the summer. But she had loved it from the moment she saw it, ready-made and ready to purchase and her exact size – though she had been a little afraid it was too revealing at the bosom. Both Vanessa and Katherine, who had been with her at the time, had assured her that it was not, that since she /had/ a bosom she might as well show it to best advantage. It was an argument that was not necessarily reassuring, but Margaret had bought the gown anyway.
She felt young and attractive in it now. She was not really young, of course. But was she still a little attractive? Modesty said no, but her glass assured her that what beauty she had been blessed with had not altogether faded yet. And she had never lacked for partners at any of the balls she had attended during the past few years.
She had attracted the Marquess of Allingham, had she not? And he was without a doubt one of the most eligible matrimonial catches in England.
Oh, she /hoped/ he would be at the ball tonight.
And she hoped Crispin would change his mind and stay away. She really did not want to see him again.
The underdress of fine ivory-colored silk clung to her every curve, and the transparent gold overdress shimmered in the candlelight. It was a high-waisted gown cut daringly low at the bosom, its sleeves short and puffed above her long gold gloves, which matched her dancing slippers.
She almost lost her courage before leaving her dressing room. At her age she should surely be wearing far more sober and decorous gowns. But before she could give serious thought to changing into something else, there was a tap on the door, and when her maid opened it, Stephen poked his head inside. 'Oh, I say, Meg!' he exclaimed, his eyes moving over her with open appreciation. 'You look quite stunning, if I may say so. People will think I am escorting my younger sister. I am going to be the envy of every gentleman in the ballroom when I enter it with you on my arm.' 'Thank you, sir.' She laughed at his absurdity and made him an elaborate curtsy. 'And I am going to be the envy of every lady. Perhaps we ought to remain at home and save everyone all the heartache.' Stephen had been extraordinarily good-looking even as a boy, with his tall, slender frame, unruly blond curls, blue eyes, and open, good-humored face. But now, at the age of twenty-two, he had grown into his height with a careless sort of grace, his curls had been tamed somewhat by an expert barber, and his features had taken on maturity and a vivid handsomeness. Margaret was biased, of course, but she saw the way he turned female heads wherever he went. And it was not just his title and wealth that did it, though she supposed they did not hurt. 'Better not.' He pushed the door wider, made her an elegant bow to match her curtsy, grinned at her, and offered his arm. 'Are you ready to go? I would not deprive the male world of your company.' 'Well, there /is/ that.' She smiled at her maid, wrapped her silk shawl about her shoulders, picked up her fan, and took his arm.
They arrived at the Tindell mansion half an hour later and had to wait only five minutes before their carriage took its place at the end of the red carpet and Stephen handed Margaret out. She gave her shawl to a footman inside the hall and ascended the stairs toward the receiving line and the ballroom on Stephen's arm. And if they were attracting admiring glances – and they surely were – she was free to believe that some were intended for her, even though most were undoubtedly for Stephen.
She felt as excited as if she were attending her first London ball.
Excited – and apprehensive too.
She fanned her cheeks after they had passed along the receiving line. A quick glance about the ballroom revealed the fact that neither the Marquess of Allingham nor Crispin Dew had arrived yet. It was early of course. But her sisters were both there. They were standing together at the far side of the ballroom with Elliott and Jasper.
She and Stephen crossed the room, nodding to acquaintances as they went and stopping a few times to exchange verbal greetings.
They both hugged their sisters, and Stephen shook hands with their brothers-in-law. 'Stephen,' Katherine said, 'I absolutely insist that you dance the Roger de Coverley with me later in the evening. No one dances the steps better, which I am delighted to say, since I was the one who taught them to you when you were fifteen. Besides, you are looking quite deliciously gorgeous, and I have a strict rule that I will dance only with the most handsome gentlemen.' 'That is a relief to hear,' Jasper said, 'since you have already promised to dance every waltz with me, Katherine. But poor Elliott will be afraid to ask to dance with you now lest you say no.' 'My knees are already knocking,' Elliott said.
They all laughed. 'I must beg you to grant me the opening set, Meg,' Jasper said, 'Con having already solicited Katherine's hand for it.' '/Constantine/ is here?' Margaret asked, looking about eagerly. And there he was some distance away with a group of gentlemen. She caught his eye, and they both smiled and raised a hand in greeting. 'He has not called on me at Merton House yet. I shall scold him for gross neglect as soon as we come face to face.' Constantine Huxtable was their second cousin. He would have inherited the Merton title instead of Stephen if his mother and father had married even one day before his birth instead of two days after. Those two days had cost Constantine his birthright, and Margaret had often marveled over the fact that he did not appear to hate Stephen – or Stephen's sisters either, though there /was/ a coolness between him and Vanessa.
He and Elliott – the Duke of Moreland – were estranged by a long-standing quarrel over something Margaret knew nothing about, and Vanessa, naturally enough, had taken her husband's side. It was a pity.
Constantine and Elliott looked more like brothers than cousins, with the dark Greek good looks they had inherited from their mothers. Families ought not to quarrel.
