“My dear Miss Fairchild,” the object of her secret affections said from behind her, “you are looking much too serious for a ball—or even a country dance as our hostess persists in calling it.”
She turned and forced a smile. “Sir Gerald,” she said, her voice quiet and friendly as always. “How nice to see you again.”
“Are you on your way to the ballroom? Do let me escort you.” He extended his arm.
Annis looked around, afraid that Mrs. Headley would see them and start another rumor about the encroaching ways of Miss Fairchild. Fortunately her hostess was occupied elsewhere, and she determined to take a chance. “I would be delighted, Sir Gerald,” she said.
As they strolled the length of the hall, Gerald said, “I wonder if you would honor me with the supper dance, Miss Fairchild. I feel the need to confer with you.”
“I should be honored, Sir Gerald, but do you think it would be wise? I am sure there are many eligible young ladies who would be annoyed to find that I had snared you for the supper dance.”
Gerald stopped walking and turned to face her. “What sort of social idiocy is this, Miss Fairchild? I would not have believed that my friend, who will discuss politics and social reform and give no quarter, should recoil from the strictures of a few old cats.”
“You don’t understand, Sir Gerald.” How could he? How could any man truly comprehend the price to be paid by an unmarried, undowered woman who publicly flouted even the least convention. “I am going to be looking for another situation soon, and I do not wish to outrage anyone in this neighborhood. Reputations travel, and I cannot afford to sully mine. It is a simple matter of economics.”
Gerald stood, stunned. How could he be such a cloth head? Of course reputations mattered, and of course a poor but genteel woman had a harder time than any other. She could neither pay her own way and flout convention, nor turn her hand to any kind of work that paid. Annis Fairchild was severely limited as to what she, a clergyman’s daughter, could do to earn her bread.
He liked her so much, enjoyed their discussions of what went on in the world of politics and diplomacy, found her so intelligent and stimulating that her social or financial problems had seemed unimportant. But they are very important to her, he told himself scathingly. He was not usually so thick.
“I am sorry, Miss Fairchild. I enjoy our friendship so much that I forgot the unkind gossip that you might have to face. In any event, perhaps I should tell you now. I have heard vague rumors this evening. Something about you and Captain Sheridan. Of course, I know there’s nothing to it but...”
He looked up to see Annis’s usually calm blue eyes darken with what could only be anger. “And you want to know if I am guilty of such unbecoming behavior? Have I tried to cut Meg out with the captain, so that I can snare his money for myself?”
Even to hear it upset him. “No, no, I just—”
You just what, Gerald? he jeered to himself. You just wanted her to deny it, even though you knew it wasn’t true?
“I refuse to justify my behavior to you or anyone. Meg and the captain know the truth of the story. That is all that matters to me.” She swung away from him and proceeded down the hall to the ballroom, while Gerald stood and cursed himself for a fool. If he didn’t know better, he would think he had acted from jealousy. But that idea was absurd. He valued Annis Fairchild as a friend. He enjoyed her company and the way her mind stimulated his own. That was all it was. Jealousy had no part in their intellectual friendship. No part at all.
“Why, Sir Gerald.” Mrs. Headley’s voice shattered his introspective mood. “What in the world are you doing standing in the hall? You must come along and dance. We do not have enough excellent dancers among the gentlemen, and so we cannot spare you.”
“Why, thank you for the compliment, Mrs. Headley,” Gerald managed to say. “I was indeed on my way to the ballroom. Did I mention how very grown-up Mellie and Sukie looked this evening?” he said, the diplomatic gift of a disarming compliment coming to his aid.
“Why, thank you, Sir Gerald. I’m sure they would be pleased to hear you thought so. If you would distinguish either with an invitation to dance, I declare, they would be in alt.” She beamed at him, but it faded as she added, “I saw you talking to Annis Fairchild. I don’t mind telling you that she has revealed herself to me as a very fast young lady. Very much interested in men far above her station. In fact—”
“Mrs. Headley, I am sure that you would not engage in unkind gossip,” Gerald said untruthfully, “but I thought I would let you know how very fond m’mother is of her and of Lady Margaret and Captain Sheridan.” Gerald gave her a serious look before he offered her his arm.
Mrs. Headley turned several shades of red. She was angry, but Gerald’s warning of his mother’s displeasure was enough to seal her lips, as he had been sure it would be. It remained to be seen if she had already spread the story widely enough to hurt his three friends.
“Sir Gerald,” she said, stopping and once again frowning. “I know that Captain Sheridan rescued you from shipwreck, but what do you know of him? I only ask,” she hastened to add, “because he has been spending a great deal of time at Hedgemere, with Margaret, and I have heard several rumors concerning him. Rumors that would render him ineligible for such an exalted connection.” She waited, her hand still on his arm, for his answer.
Mrs. Headley reached for excuses. “No, no, of course not. It is just that, you must realize, with two impressionable girls in the house I cannot be too careful as to who enters and enjoys our hospitality.”
“M’mother asked the captain to stay with us. That should relieve your mind of any cares for the safety of your daughters.” Gerald’s tone was astringent. He was tired of having to defend his friends against this woman.
“Of course, of course. I understand. But a man may be welcome at the home of a son and not if there are marriageable girls in residence. Do you not agree, Sir Gerald?”
“I do not habitually choose my friends from among the dregs of society, ma’am, nor does my mother. We consider both Captain Sheridan and Miss Fairchild our friends.”
Mrs. Headley shook her head sorrowfully. “You refuse to see my point, Sir Gerald. I only hope you do not come to regret it.” She took his arm again, and they walked to the ballroom in silence.
Gerald was still smarting from his conversation with Mrs. Headley when he caught sight of the captain and Meg standing, deep in conversation, in front of one of the long windows that led to the terrace. He made his way to them, arriving in time to overhear the captain say, in a low voice, “Are you quite sure, Meg? It could just as well wait for your solicitor to arrive.”
“Good evening, children,” Gerald said, smiling in an avuncular fashion. “It is good to see you together.”
“You sound inordinately pleased with yourself, Gerald,” Meg said.
“I am happy that my two good friends are finding themselves to be friends as well. But, Captain, are you not going to give the other young ladies an opportunity to dance with the hero?”
“I would have been far happier if you had managed to keep your tongue between your teeth on that subject, Mattingly.”
James glowered at the still smiling Gerald. “Instead you told the world, and I will never hear the end of it.”
“You must learn not to hide your light under a bushel, Captain.” Gerald was totally unruffled by his friend’s bad temper.
“He is right, James,” Meg said. “I cannot understand why it embarrasses you to hear your praises sung. I should think it would be far harder actually to rescue someone than to be lionized because of it. Why, the only reason I would do anything heroic wo
uld be to hear people tell me how marvelously brave I was.”
“But the captain has a far better character than you do, Meg. He prefers the deed to the words, while you—
“While I, as usual, reveal my shocking lack of moral fiber and demonstrate why I shall never be a hero. Oh, well,” Meg gave a mock sigh, “it is a mercy that I am to marry a hero and need not try to become one myself,” She smiled at James. “I trust you will not cry off, James, having discovered my inability to meet you on the high heroic plane on which you dwell.”
James looked at her, bemused. He felt light and laughter seep into his soul. For the very first time he found he was enjoying himself at a social event. He had friends who joked with him and poked fun at him and themselves. It was what he had always longed for when he wasn’t deprecating it, pretending not to care. And it had happened so easily, without anyone’s straining to include him.
He smiled at his friends. “I will keep your secret. After all, Gerald has kept mine.” When Meg raised her eyebrows in mute question, he said, “He knows, you see, that I was frightened to death during the action and has agreed to keep my fears from the world.” He smiled again and Meg was struck by how it changed his face, reforming his austere features. And how his teeth flashed white in that tanned face.
“Afraid?” Gerald laughed. “You simply mean you felt fear and beat it back so you could do what needed to be done. I can’t count that as cowardice, James. Everyone feels fear. The brave man is the one who doesn’t give in to it.”
“Ah, yes, thus speaks the man who turns green at the sight of blood,” Meg said.
“My best aphorisms fall on deaf ears when Meg is around. She is hopelessly literal, and expects everyone to live up to their ideals.”
“Not at all,” Meg said. “It is just that I wish to point out the difference between those whose behavior is brave and those who are brave only in speech.”
James felt the warmth and laughter drain away from his heart. Those whose behavior is brave. Meg thought that applied to him, or at least she implied she did, and those great hazel eyes had beamed approval upon him. But he knew with sudden clarity that in failing to tell her the truth about his ineligibility, he had forfeited any claim to that distinction.
“Meg,” he said with sudden urgency, “I must speak to you. Now, if we can. Come with me into the garden.”
Both Gerald and Meg stared at him in surprise. “What is it, old man?” asked Gerald. “We were only funning, you know. I’ll never tell another soul about my rescue if it will make you feel better. In fact, I am perfectly willing to tell everyone that it was I who rescued you.”
James shook his head impatiently. “No, Gerald. It’s just that I find I must clear up some mysteries before we—” He bit off his words suddenly.
Meg’s face was pale as she tried to think of what might have gone wrong. He had asked her several times for a private interview, but when that had not been possible, he had said it was a matter of no importance. And now he was visibly dreading the talk he said they must have. At once.
As she turned again to face James and put her hand on his arm, their hostess bustled up to them and said, “Ah, Margaret, I wondered why you had failed to keep our rendezvous. But now I see you are bent upon monopolizing the two handsomest men at the party. Pray, come with me and let me speak with you a moment.”
Mrs. Headley looked every bit as serious as James did. Meg tried to shake off the chill that seemed to envelop her as she looked from one stern, unsmiling face to the other.
“I am sorry I was unable to make my way to the library,” she said with a smile. “Captain Sheridan was about to take me for a turn about the terrace. Might we postpone our conversation until after that, ma’am? I am feeling the heat of the ballroom a bit, I fear.”
But Mrs. Headley was not to be moved. With steely politeness she smiled and shook her head. “I am sure the captain will still be here when we have finished. This will not take long, and it is very important.” The emphasis laid on the last phrase made Meg pause. She looked over at James and found his face a frozen mask. He looked at Mrs. Headley the way he might have looked at Medusa’s head, but she avoided his bleak blue gaze and took Meg’s arm in a firm grip.
“We will return shortly.” And Meg walked away, looking, James thought, like a lamb being led to slaughter.
“Do you think she knows?” Gerald asked. “About the duke and so forth?”
James felt as if his stomach had fallen to his shoes. Dear God, not that. He would tell her, just let him have the chance. “How could she? Who would there be to tell her? You and I are the only ones here who know the truth.”
“I have always thought that perhaps you make too much of this, Captain. It is, after all, only a social stigma among certain people. If you choose to live here, among people who will come to know you well, that small impediment of yours will cease to matter very quickly.”
“It may be as you say.” James spoke through clenched teeth. No one could tell him that the fact that had shaped his entire life was unimportant. It had been of supreme importance in his childhood, and nothing that had happened since had caused him to change that judgment.
A silence fell between the two men as they stood gazing out the window, wondering what was being said in the library. Hoping, both of them, that it was some small matter of gossip or talebearing that Mrs. Headley couldn’t wait to impart.
Anything but the topic they both feared.
* * * *
“Stop staring, Margaret! I only told you because I thought you should know before you became even better acquainted. If Sir Gerald didn’t tell you, I knew I should have to.” Mrs. Headley looked doubtfully at Meg, who was white about the lips and looked as if she might become ill.
“Margaret, I wish you would say something. I only told you what I did because I would want someone to tell Sukie or Mellie if I were not there to look after them. I have always had a great liking for you, and I speak only out of disinterested kindness.”
“I do not believe you.” Meg’s voice was wooden.
“I have it from my cousin at the Admiralty. Quite by chance, he heard that the captain was coming here and wrote me what he knew of him. Of course, the matter is kept very quiet, as I’m sure you can understand. The present Duke of Kettering has no desire to rake up old scandals concerning his father.”
Meg shook her head impatiently. “Not that. I am sure you speak the truth as you know it. I mean, I do not think you are acting out of disinterested kindliness.” She looked at the older woman as if she were made of glass. “I think you are happy to cause the captain trouble. And perhaps Gerald and me as well.”
Mrs. Headley’s face turned brick red. “I should have known better than to expect thanks from you! I am telling you facts that you should know. The entire neighborhood, too, should know them before that man is allowed to run tame in everyone’s drawing room. And if Sir Gerald knew this and failed to inform us of it, I think it was very wrong of him.” She twitched her puce satin skirt and glared at Meg. “I am sorry if you think ill of me, but it is a matter of great importance to me.”
“I am to assume, then, that you have told others of this—this fact you say you know?” She questioned her hostess as she would a maid caught stealing.
“Naturally, I spoke to the vicar—”
“He is not a gossip. He would never spread such a story.”
“And just this evening I may have mentioned it to one or two other people.” Meg’s steely gaze caused Mrs. Headley to look quickly away.
“Ah, yes. Then the whole world now knows what you have told me.” Meg frowned for a moment, and then her face cleared and her lips curved in a rueful smile. “Very well, then, my course is clear.”
Chapter Nine
As soon as she returned to the ballroom, Meg could sense the difference in mood. Mrs. Headley’s story had spread like lightning. Her gaze went instantly to James’s like iron to a magnet. He was talking to one of the Headley daughters—Sukie or Melli
e, Meg couldn’t tell which—and Meg had to smile. Mrs. Headley might find the captain ineligible, but her daughter wasn’t averse to conversing with the outcast of society. After all, he was good-looking and rich and a guest of Lady Mattingly.
Meg walked over to James, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Annis and Gerald, looking in her direction, an expression of concern on each of their faces. Her chin went up a notch. She needed no help to do what she’d determined to do before Mrs. Headley had even finished her tale. Reaching James’s side, she laid her hand on his arm. Sukie—or Mellie— smiled wistfully and went to join her sister.
“James, dear,” Meg said, her voice a little louder than usual, or perhaps the silence that had greeted her entrance only made it seem so. “I think perhaps the time has come to make our announcement. I don’t want to wait a moment longer to share our happiness!”
He looked down into her eyes, and she saw that he read everything there. There was no need for words at that moment. They stood alone in the midst of the crowd while the avid curiosity of the onlookers beat against them in waves.
“I think, nevertheless, that we should talk, Meg.” It was as if he spoke in the middle of a conversation rather man the beginning.
“I know all I need to know of facts. We will talk later. Now I want to share my happiness with my friends.” She looked around the room, challenging anyone to contradict her.
He shook his head, as if casting off the spell. “I do not want you if you act out of pity.” His voice was low and tight with concern.
“That is your head talking. Your heart knows better.”
His expression grew thunderous. Meg thought that she would not like to have made a mistake aboard his ship. Her heart beat faster at the sight of his frown.
“What does that mean?” he rapped out, his voice low. “That I know I should leave you in peace, but I will not do it because I am pleased you feel sorry enough for me to marry such a fatally ineligible man? Is that what you are implying?”