Rules for Being a Mistress Page 27

  “Poor Ludham! He seems to have both.”

  “Lord Ludham has been very kind to me,” said Cosima stiffly.

  Redfylde frowned at her; she seemed almost to be arguing with him.

  Looking back at her mother, Cosima saw to her dismay that Lady Agatha had spilled her punch. Dr. Grantham, who was standing behind Lady Agatha’s chair, did not seem to be aware of the small mishap. Cosima was about to leave her partner and dash over to her mother when, suddenly, Sir Benedict appeared at her mother’s side, his handkerchief at the ready.

  Cosima relaxed. “I’m sorry,” she said, returning her attention to her partner. “What were you saying, my lord?”

  The Marquess of Redfylde was not used to being ignored. Quite the opposite, in fact. If this sort of thing continued to happen, he would be obliged to discipline Miss Vaughn—after they were married, of course. “I simply wondered whom you selected for the second cotillion, my dear,” he said, smiling pleasantly.

  “I was thinking I’d dance with…Sir Benedict Wayborn,” she said, her green eyes twinkling with mischief, “if he’ll have me.”

  Lord Redfylde looked at her in disbelief.

  “Sir Benedict Wayborn?” he repeated. “The cripple?”

  He began to laugh.

  Cosima glared at him until he stopped.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Vaughn. I did not mean to offend you. But you have two cousins in Bath, I believe. I would rather see you dance with Westlands. He will do you credit.”

  “Marcus is engaged to Lady Rose,” she said primly. “They make a charming couple, don’t you think?”

  “When do they marry?”

  “I don’t believe there’s a date certain as yet,” she said vaguely.

  “I don’t approve of long engagements,” said his lordship. “What is the delay, if a man knows what he wants? Will you be going to London for the wedding?”

  “I shouldn’t think so,” said Cosima. “Mother’s health…”

  “I would prefer to be married from Westminster, of course,” he said, “but I daresay Bath Abbey will do in a pinch.”

  “Oh?” said Cosima. “Are you getting married?”

  He smiled magnanimously. “Yes, I have decided to marry you, Miss Vaughn. You are a very fortunate young woman, indeed. You will be the envy of all your sex. Cosima,” he added softly. “Cosima, Marchioness of Redfylde. Redfylde’s marchioness. Lady Redfylde. How do you like the sound of that, my dear?”

  “Oh, God,” Cosima breathed. Her face was the color of ashes. Rose had warned her that the lonely widower was falling in love, but she hadn’t listened.

  Redfylde was pleased by her reaction. It showed the proper humility, he thought. The other couples assembled for the dance were staring at them. He welcomed their stares as his due.

  “I would like to be married as soon as possible,” he said, perhaps a little too loudly. “I have already obtained the special license. I’ve spoken to the Bishop of Bath and Wells. We can be married tomorrow, if you like.”

  “I’m going to have to stop you right there,” Cosy whispered rapid-fire. She was acutely aware that they were now the center of all attention in the room. “I’m so sorry! I can’t marry you, my lord. Oh, God! I should have listened to Rose, of all people.”

  “Rose?” he said sharply, turning to eye that young lady, who was standing but two feet from Cosima. Rose looked back at him wide-eyed. “What has she to do with this?”

  Cosima’s ashen face slowly turned red. She hung her head contritely. “She tried to warn me. But I thought you were too high-and-mighty to ever bother yourself about me! I vow to God, I hadn’t a clue your intentions were honorable! I thought you were only flirting with me, my lord.” She bit her lip. “I’m truly and deeply honored that you would even think of me in that way, and I really love your children. I know you’ve been kind to us, and Allie just adores you, but…I can’t marry you. I don’t love you. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I can ever tell.”

  She actually means to refuse me, Redfylde thought in disbelief. A penniless Irish nobody! Only a fool would refuse such an advantageous offer. She must be insane, he decided.

  Twelve couples had lined up for the set, men on one side, ladies on the other. Redfylde sensed that they were all laughing at him, that they could hardly wait to go forth to all the nations and spread the word of his humiliation. Redfylde’s disbelief turned to blind rage.

  Rose had not overheard everything, but she had heard enough. She began to giggle. “She won’t have him,” she communicated to Miss Carteret, who had not been able to quite hear. “Redfylde has asked Miss Vaughn to marry him, but she won’t have him!”

  “Good heavens!” cried Miss Carteret. “She must be mad.”

  Rose’s partner began to laugh, too. “Marcus, for God’s sake,” Cosima hissed at him, but that only seemed to make the young man laugh harder.

  “Serves him right,” Westlands said, unfeelingly. “The man’s old enough to be your father, Cosy! He had the insufferable conceit to presume that you would have him just because he’s rich and he has a title! She don’t love you, Redflyde! She can’t stand the sight of you. She only felt sorry for you because you’re a widower with four little brats with runny noses and dirty nappies. It was pity, my lord. Pity!”

  “Marcus!” cried Cosima, but she might as well have been admonishing a rabid dog.

  Lord Redfylde glared at everyone. “This isn’t over, Miss Vaughn,” he rasped.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

  The Marquess of Redfylde turned on his heel and left the dance floor. The spectators parted for him. In his rage, Redfylde saw Serena’s lips curve in a sardonic smile. He saw Lady Agatha, pockmarked in her red wig, her childish eyes delighted with everything around her. He saw Mr. King fluttering helplessly. Lady Dalrymple’s lorgnette dazzled in the candlelight. All the nameless little people who had lined up to meet him when he first came to Bath now were laughing at him. The unthinkable had happened. The Marquess of Redfylde had lowered himself to ask for the hand of Miss Vaughn, and the ungrateful young woman had refused him.

  Only one person dared to speak to him as he left the room. “You must forgive her, my lord,” Sir Benedict Wayborn said quietly. “She is very young. I’m sure she did not mean to encourage your attentions.”

  Redfylde’s cold blue eyes flickered. “She has humiliated me,” he complained.

  “She did not mean to, my lord.”

  “You are her relative. Speak to the ignorant chit,” Redfylde said angrily. “If she is contrite, I will not be too severe on her. When people see we are married, they will forget this…unfortunate incident. I shall bring her to heel.”

  “Bring her to heel?” Benedict quirked a brow. “This is England, my lord. We do not compel women to marry against their will.”

  Redfylde’s rage exploded. “What do you know of England, sir? You are Irish.”

  Without another word to anyone, the Marquess of Redfylde quit Bath.

  Everyone in the ballroom began talking at once.

  “What an ass!” Lord Westlands said.

  “My word!” said Rose Fitzwilliam. “Are you all right, Miss Vaughn?”

  Cosima was white as a sheet. She nodded. “Shouldn’t someone go after him?”

  “Screw him,” said Westlands. “He’ll marry someone else within a fortnight, I’ll wager.”

  “I asked Miss Vaughn to marry me weeks ago,” said Lord Ludham. “When she refused, naturally, I was disappointed. But, I trust, I behaved better than that! I was never angry with you, Miss Vaughn. I hope you know that.”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Cosima said faintly. “You were very gentlemanlike.”

  Mr. King bustled up to her. “Your partner has deserted you, Miss Vaughn. Perhaps you would care to select another?”

  “I think I must sit down,” she said. Suddenly, she did not feel like dancing. But then everyone in the set, even Millicent Carteret, offered at once to sit down with her, which would have left the dance flo
or bare. “Please, don’t let me spoil the entire dance for everyone.”

  “Finish it out with me,” Lord Ludham urged her. “Serena won’t mind sitting down.”

  Serena looked stricken, but she gave up her place to Miss Vaughn with a cool smile.

  “There, you see?” Ludham smiled. “My partner has deserted me, too, Miss Vaughn. You would be saving me from an embarrassing situation.”

  Cosima allowed herself to be persuaded, but, as the music resumed, she thought guiltily of the small fortune Lord Redfylde must have spent on that absurd, grandiose picnic. She thought guiltily of how kind he had been to her mother and to her sister. She thought guiltily of his motherless children. At least she had not accepted any gifts from the man.

  “Lord Ludham,” she said quickly. “You really must allow me to send the pianoforte back. It was wrong of me to keep it. I can see that now.”

  He looked astonished. “Nonsense! I gave you that pianoforte because you are my friend. You’re still my friend, I hope?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said quickly. “But—”

  “Then keep it, for God’s sake,” he urged her. “I didn’t give you that piano to guilt you into marrying me. I just wanted you to have it. Of course, I did want you to marry me,” he admitted, blushing.

  She gave an involuntary laugh.

  “But it’s not why I gave you a present,” he went on quickly, “and I’d be ashamed to take it back now. Never again will I ask you to marry me, rest assured. Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind?”

  She shook her head rapidly. “I’m sorry. No.”

  “Fair enough,” he said cheerfully. “You see? I’m not going to throw a tantrum. We’re not all like Redfylde, you know.”

  She did not smile back. “I wish people would stop staring at me,” she said. “I’m sure they blame me for flirting with the poor man. Honestly, I didn’t mean to stir him up.”

  “Oh, don’t mind them,” said Ludham. “They’re just trying to figure out who he is.”

  “Who who is?” she asked, confused.

  “The man you’re in love with, of course.”

  “What!” she exclaimed, startled.

  He chuckled. “You’ve refused an earl, and now a marquess. Either you’re a madwoman or you must be in love with someone else. They just want to know who he is, that’s all. Who has captured Miss Vaughn’s heart?”

  “That’s ridiculous!” she said, her cheeks burning.

  They finished out the dance and went in to tea. When the orchestra struck up the second cotillion, it was Ludham who noticed that Miss Vaughn had no partner. “Thank you,” she said gratefully in response to his attention. “I believe I will sit quietly with my mother.”

  “But you mustn’t be a wallflower, my dear!” Lady Agatha pleaded. “It would pain me to see you sitting down. I long to see you dance. This may be…This may be my last opportunity to do so.” She dabbed tears from her eyes.

  “Will you dance again with me, Miss Vaughn?” Ludham promptly asked. “It will set tongues wagging, but I don’t care.”

  “They’ll be wagging anyway after this night,” Cosima replied grimly. “But you should dance with your cousin. I’ve taken you away from her long enough.”

  “Serena? I can dance with her any time.”

  “Then you can dance with her now,” Cosima said.

  “All right. I will. But first I must find you a partner.” He lifted his voice, saying, “Who will dance the next with Miss Vaughn?”

  Cosima was horrified by the sudden rush of eager young men.

  “Please!” she said, catching Ludham’s arm. “I already have a partner, my lord. He’ll be collecting me in a moment. Go and dance with Lady Serena.”

  “I will wait with you,” declared Ludham. “It is ridiculous that your partner is not here. Stop the orchestra!” he called to Mr. King. “Miss Vaughn’s partner is not here. Who is he, Miss Vaughn? He ought to be drawn and quartered!”

  Lord Ludham found his quarry outside smoking a thin cigar. “Sir Benedict!” he cried angrily. “What are you doing? Miss Vaughn is waiting for you to claim her.”

  Benedict frowned at him in confusion. All he wanted to do was go home and be with Cherry. Every moment spent in other pursuits was to him wasted time. “What?”

  “Have you forgotten?” Ludham insisted. “You promised to dance the second cotillion with Miss Vaughn. You had better hurry, or she will give your dance to someone else!”

  “There must be some mistake,” said Benedict. “I did not—”

  “It is no mistake. Hurry!”

  Not satisfied with publicly humiliating Lord Redfylde, Miss Vaughn evidently had decided to play a mean trick on him, Benedict thought. But he was too much of a gentleman to accuse the lady of lying. There was nothing to do but present himself with a correct bow.

  “Miss Vaughn,” he said coolly. “I understand this is our dance.”

  He did not even frown at her, but she knew instinctively that he was furious. “I thought you’d gone,” she said quickly, giving him her hand.

  “How could you think so,” he responded acidly, “when I am engaged to dance the second cotillion with you?”

  As he led her onto the floor, she tried to explain. “I didn’t want to dance, so I said I was engaged to someone else. I thought you’d gone already, so I said it was you. I didn’t think you would mind.”

  He did not lose his temper, but he did yield to sarcasm. “No, indeed. Why should I mind if people think I do not honor my commitments?”

  She tried to make him smile. Cherry could always make him smile. Miss Vaughn, evidently, was another matter. “You don’t care all that much for your reputation, surely,” she said, faltering.

  The gentleman was not amused. “What are you up to?” he demanded.

  “Nothing! I hear,” she went on airily, “that you’re a wonderful lover.”

  They were at the bottom of the set, and not yet dancing, although the music had begun already. They stood opposite one another, an arm’s length apart. At the top of the set, Lord Ludham was dancing with Serena. Serena looked young and radiant.

  “What?” Benedict said sharply. “What did you say?”

  He was looking daggers at her. He had no idea how attractive he was when he was furious. “Mind you, I don’t believe a word of it,” she said. “When a girl is in love, she tends to exaggerate her lover’s capabilities.”

  “How dare you!” he whispered. “She told you?”

  Cosima widened her eyes at him. “We’re sisters,” she said innocently. “Remember? We have no secrets between us. I know all about you and your odd little ways.” She clucked her tongue. “What she sees in you, I don’t know. There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose, if taste it can be called.”

  “I suppose,” he said grimly, “you want me to end it.”

  “That would be one way of rectifying the situation,” she observed dryly. “Of course, she’d be very unhappy, if that matters to you. She imagines herself in love with you, you know.”

  “You may find this hard to believe, Miss Vaughn,” he said stiffly, “but I love her, too.”

  “Oh, you love her?” said Miss Vaughn, after a moment. She touched the pearls at her throat. “That’s nice. Here I thought you were just slaking your lust. I didn’t realize it was love. That makes it all so much nicer, don’t you think? The fornicating, I mean.”

  Benedict flinched. “I would marry her if I could, but I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  “You’d be a laughingstock,” she agreed. “Your career in Parliament would be over.”

  He smiled at her grimly. “I don’t expect you to believe me. You’ve never been in love. You are beautiful, but you are cold and heartless. One sympathizes with Lord Redfylde.”

  The insinuation that she had wronged Lord Redfylde stung, but she smiled.

  “You’re wrong, Ben. I do believe you,” she said. “I’d like to help you. I’ve a soft spot for lovebirds.”

  He snorted
.

  “I really would like to help,” she insisted. “I want the poor girl to be happy, after all, and, for some strange reason, your hairy, bony self is what makes her happy.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that her happiness matters to you, Miss Vaughn? I am not so naive. You are making a game of me.”

  The dance had reached them at the bottom of the set. They began the steps automatically.

  “Her happiness matters to me as much as my own,” she replied. “Tell me, Ben. Do you think you could make us both happy?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.

  The dance brought her close to him. “Marry me,” she said, departing.

  He had no opportunity to answer until they drew together again. She was too quick for him. “You can’t marry her. She’s a nobody. But you could marry me, couldn’t you? I’m somebody. I’m Lord Wayborn’s niece. My grandfather was an earl. I’m bona fide.”

  They drew apart again.

  “Are you making sport of me?” he demanded.

  “I am not,” she answered. “You asked me to marry you before,” she pointed out. “If I had said yes, we might be married right now. Lady Wayborn! Sort of rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

  “What about Cherry?” he asked quietly. “I couldn’t do that to her. Marry her sister? No.” He shook his head in distaste. “It would kill her.”

  “Trust me,” she said dryly. “She’d much rather you marry me than someone else. And, of course, if you marry me, I’ll let you keep her. She could even live with us. I wouldn’t object.”

  Benedict could hardly trust his ears.

  “For all intents and purposes, Cherry would be your wife, not I. I’d be a sort of a figurehead, if you like. Of course,” she added in a minatory tone, “you could have no other mistresses. Just her.”

  “Are you perfectly serious?” he asked quietly.

  “I am.”

  “Ha! What’s in it for you?”

  “I’m not greedy,” she assured him. “I want to keep what I have, that’s all.”