Chapter Ten
Although Serena had told her that Blackhaven’s assembly room balls were nothing great by London standards, Dawn was enchanted by the blazing candlelight, the myriad colors, and the sheer quantity of glittering jewels displayed by the ladies. The music, provided by a small orchestra in the gallery, might not have been what she was used to, but it fitted the scene so well that she began to enjoy it.
By the time the Braithwaite party arrived, the dancing was already underway. As they entered the ballroom, many heads turned toward them, and then, as word spread, many more.
“Do they always stare so at your family?” Dawn asked the earl, trying not to pinch his sleeve from nervousness as their names were announced.
“Yes. And at newcomers, especially beautiful ones. Don’t worry. They’ll remember their manners in a moment.”
He was right. Conversations began again, and any lingering stares turned into bows from the family’s acquaintances.
“Is he here?” Dawn asked, meaning Julius Gardyn.
“I don’t see him, yet. Forget him and enjoy the ball.”
Dawn’s dance card, which seemed a bizarre accessory to a party, was soon filled with the names of young men introduced to her by Serena and by Kate Grant. She found it difficult to match the names to faces which she barely distinguished from each other—apart from a pale young officer with a charming smile called Captain Hanson, whom she rather liked.
His name came immediately after Bernard Muir’s on her card, but he looked so weary that she denied any desire to dance and suggested they merely talk instead. He looked so relieved that she said, “You are wounded, sir?”
He grimaced. “A ball in my side—which wasn’t half so bad as the quacks poking around to find it. I’m now as weak as a kitten and as much use as dance partner as I am to my regiment.”
“On the contrary, you are a great deal of use to me,” she confided. “There are so many precise steps and figures to these dances that I can never remember what comes next.”
His eyes lit with appreciative laughter. “Perhaps we could waltz instead? I could just about manage a gentle one of those if you could spare me the time.”
“Actually, I am already promised for the waltz,” she said. If it had been to anyone but Lord Braithwaite, she would have abandoned them for the captain without remorse.
“Of course you are,” Captain Hanson said. “So, you are one of the Conways of Braithwaite? Do you live at the castle?”
“I am only visiting.” She hadn’t expected to feel uncomfortable telling those little lies to anyone. But on the other hand, she could hardly embarrass the Braithwaites by saying, Lord no, I am just a gypsy his lordship is using for a spot of revenge. I’ll be gone in a week. “The relationship is distant,” she added hastily. “But they have been most kind to me.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Are you here alone, Captain?”
“With my brother and his wife, who believe drinking the Blackhaven waters will speed my convalescence.”
“I hope it does,” she said, searching his weary face. “I shall send you a tonic,” she decided. “Are you staying at the hotel?”
Captain Hanson blinked. “No, we have rooms on Marine Row, but I beg you will go to no trouble—”
“It will be no trouble. I like to be useful.”
They talked of various things, until, as the current dance came to a close, she looked up to discover Lord Braithwaite approaching them.
She smiled spontaneous. “My lord, this is Captain Hansen, who is taking the waters to convalesce. Sir, Lord Braithwaite. My cousin,” she added hastily.
Braithwaite offered his hand in his easy manner. “How do you do?”
Captain Hansen, looking faintly surprised, shook hands. “Are you the same Lord Brathwaite who made the speech in favor of peace?”
“I certainly made such a speech.” The earl searched the other man’s face. “You do not approve of peace?”
“Of course I do,” Hansen said with a hint of impatience, “but not at any price.”
“Why, then, we are in agreement.”
“I hope you’ll give me leave to be honest,” Hansen said stiffly.
“I would generally insist upon it.”
“Then I have to say I find your party’s attitude to the war in general and Wellington in particular, to be deplorable. To carp and criticize from the comfort of your own fireside—”
Braithwaite’s eyebrows rose. “My dear Captain, I have never criticized Wellington, either in the general or the particular. My speech against war concentrated solely on its effects upon the economy and the people of this country. I did not speak for my entire party, any more than other individuals within that party speak for me. Our common aims are broad.”
He spoke firmly, though not as haughtily as perhaps the captain’s attitude would have warranted.
“Follow the drum for a month,” Hanson invited. “And see if your aims remain the same.”
“And get under the feet of the soldiers going about their business?” Braithwaite said wryly. “I don’t think anyone would want that. Sir, no one in their right mind would deny the success or the sacrifices made on the Peninsula, but it is time to start planning ahead, for when the war is finally over. Lord Castlereagh himself has gone to Europe to consult with our allies. How long do you give Boney now to hang on?”
Dawn, who had braced herself to intervene in favor of a truce between them, closed her mouth and sat back with amused admiration. For Brathwaite, somehow, had diffused the situation on his own without giving any ground, and was now seeking the opinion of the professional soldier. By the time Braithwaite rose to escort her to the dance floor, he and the captain were on easy terms if not quite fast friends.
“Is that a politician’s trick?” she asked lightly, as they walked away.
“No, just a human one. He’s not the first soldier I’ve come across who feels abandoned and criticized by those who understand nothing of military life.”
“So, you find common ground until you are well-enough acquainted to discuss your differences?”
“Something like that,” he allowed.
She regarded him thoughtfully. “You are quite wise for your years, are you not?”
He swept her into his arms. “Not in all things.”
Dawn, when partnered by Mrs. Benedict or Maria, had found the waltz a simple but quite boring dance, especially when she could do little but follow her partner. In fact, she had preferred the man’s part where she could at least lead and liven it up a little, until Mrs. Benedict had told her off. None of it had prepared her for dancing with Lord Braithwaite.
Although he held her decorously, touching only her hand and her waist with a light, firm hold, his very nearness melted her. Following his lead was nothing like following Maria to the flat accompaniment of whoever was instructed to play the piano for the lesson. With him, the insistent rhythm and elating music swept her up, taught her the joy of the waltz and she smiled up at him with uninhibited pleasure.
His lips parted and his eyes warmed with that strange cloudiness she remembered only too well from their first encounter. “Don’t look at me like that,” he warned.
“Like what?”
He ignored her. “Do you want me to hold you too close and scandalize all the old tabbies? Spirit you off into one of those little alcoves always known to rakes and flirts?”
If he meant to scare her into more rigid behavior, he was wide of the mark. “If you like,” she replied candidly. “Although I like dancing with you.”
His lips quirked. “I like dancing with you, too.” For a long moment their gazes held, and Dawn glimpsed the passion he held so firmly in control. It thrilled through her with the intimacy of a caress.
His breath caught. “Are you enjoying your first ball?” he asked with a hint of desperation.
“Oh yes. I didn’t really expect to, but everything is so bright and beautiful and everyone I’ve spoken to is so friendly…” She gave a little shrug, as though she could thus throw off the knowledge that the friendliness came from her supposed connection to the castle family. That not one of these people would speak to her if she encountered them with her real family. Although some of the men might pursue her with a little less decorum. “It’s all a lie, though.”
“Not tonight,” he said gently. “Enjoy it.”
And while she was in his arms, she did. Neither the past nor the future mattered, only the present bliss of dancing with the man she fell deeper in love with every passing moment. If it was fantasy, it was too sweet to ignore.
When the dance finally ended, they happened to be at the edge of the dance floor. He released her at once, bowing over her hand. Was it just her imagination that made his eyes shine with tenderness? Before she could decide, a voice behind them said, “Well met, Braithwaite! What a surprise to find you rusticating up here on your ancestral acres.”
Only by an infinitesimal hesitation did Braithwaite betray discomfort. Dawn soon saw the reason. Julius Gardyn stood before them, almost as elegant as Braithwaite in his black coat and satin knee breeches. Gardyn, a good-looking man, had the added distinction of maturity and self-confidence, and Dawn was afraid, suddenly, that the earl would betray his dislike in some display of childish petulance or haughtiness.
But Braithwaite merely laid Dawn’s hand on his sleeve. “Gardyn. I can’t imagine why you are surprised. I’ve been here since before Christmas.”
Gardyn smiled. On the surface, it was a friendly smile, yet Dawn found it condescending. She didn’t believe it was a smile at all. “I hope it wasn’t our little spat that sent you scurrying home,” he drawled.
Braithwaite raised one eyebrow. “What spat? I don’t remember speaking to you since November. But where are my manners? Cousin, allow me to present Mr. Gardyn, from the lower house.”
Without releasing the earl’s arm, Dawn inclined her head. Gardyn glanced at her without much interest No doubt he was anxious to get on with his chief purpose of baiting Braithwaite. Preparing to bow to her, his eyes widened suddenly, and he paused, searching her face. And her hair.
She smiled.
“Miss…Conway,” Braithwaite said, with a faint but definite hesitation, “who is staying with us for a little.”
As Gardyn’s eyes found hers once more, she offered her hand, not because she wanted to but because she couldn’t help it. He took it, and finally made his bow.
“Delighted, Miss Conway.”
She barely heard the words, for in her mind, she had shrunk so that he loomed over her, a large man she didn’t like because his smile wasn’t real.
Then the world righted itself and the noise of the ballroom chatter rushed back.
I’ve met him before. I know him.
“Excuse me,” Braithwaite said with a casual nod, and she walked blindly away with him, clinging to his arm as though to the present world.
“What is it?” Braithwaite asked urgently.
The words almost spilled out. I know him. And I know the schoolroom at Haven Hall. Both may once have been part of my life…
Or part of someone else’s. He would never believe her. And so, she remained silent, unsure anymore what she wanted of this charade, of the earl.
“Nothing,” she managed. “I don’t believe I like him.” Pulling herself together, she glanced around to be sure they would not be overheard. “What do you think?
“That he noticed you,” Lord Braithwaite said with grim satisfaction. “And our fellow guests were accorded the vision of you standing side by side with him. It will be all over town tomorrow that you must be related in some way.”
“Well, you once said there is a connection between the Conways and the Gardyns,” she recalled.
“Yes, but not by blood. Some widow of a Conway in the last century took a Gardyn as her second husband. There was no issue from the marriage.”
“How do you know these things?” she asked, bewildered.
“I looked it up. It’s all in the family Bible as well as recorded for posterity in a document larger than the great hall. You should be prepared for questions the next time he speaks to you.”
It was why she was there. She should not have been hurt by his sudden change from attentive dance partner to business-like employer. But it seemed he could wound her all too easily.
Despite his excuse to Gardyn, Braithwaite seemed in no hurry to take her to Serena. Instead, they promenaded around the ballroom, nodding to acquaintances, until they came to a group of middle-aged and elderly matrons—most of whom fluttered like silly girls when the earl stopped to speak to them.
“Ah, my lord,” Miss Muir said happily. “And Miss Conway. How beautiful!”
Braithwaite exchanged a few words with her before turning to a frail, elderly lady in black lace who smiled at him with great sweetness.
“Mrs. Gardyn,” he said. “What a pleasure to see you back in Blackhaven.”
“Why, Lord Braithwaite, how very kind of you to remember me,” the old lady replied in a slightly wavery voice. “I feel I am almost home at last. How is the countess, your mama? Is she at the castle, too?”
“No, she is in Scotland with my sister Frances.”
Across the ballroom, Julius Gardyn was watching them while he conversed with a group of gentlemen. Dawn shivered, chilled as she had been that day in the street when she had seen him enter the hotel. There was something wrong about him.
Again, she dragged her wandering mind back to the present as the earl introduced her to Julius Gardyn’s mother.
“What beautiful hair,” the old lady said, gazing at her. “My husband’s hair was almost the same color. I expect that’s why you look familiar to me.” She peered a little closer.
Dawn tried to smile. Beside her, Lord Braithwaite observed.
“You must come and visit me once I’m settled,” Mrs. Gardyn said.
“You are staying at the hotel?” the earl asked.
“For now, just for now. We’re going to Haven Hall to live, very soon.”
Lord Braithwaite chatted to her for a minute more and then passed on.
Dawn, deep in thought, still held his arm. “Are they allowed to do that? Simply evict the Benedicts and move into the hall?”
Lord Braithwaite shrugged. “With the trust’s permission. I imagine, until Eleanor is legally declared dead, he would have to pay some kind of rent to the trust.”
“Considerably less than Colonel Benedict is paying, I expect.”
“Considerably,” he agreed. He glanced down at her with the quick smile that always made her heart turn over. “I have spoiled your evening, thrusting the Gardyns upon your notice.”
“Thrusting me on theirs,” she corrected. “And I believe that was our purpose.”
His arm tightened for a moment, squeezing her fingers. “I always have more than one purpose. And Serena is summoning you to dance with Mr. Fenner…”
*
Only as they were leaving, did she speak to Julius Gardyn again. She had dashed back into the ballroom to retrieve her silk shawl which she’d carelessly abandoned on her chair. Seizing it, Dawn turned and almost walked into Gardyn.
“Miss Conway,” he said amiably. Though his eyes were not amiable at all. They were cold and wintry like the man himself.
“Sir.”
“You are leaving,” he observed.
“Yes, the others are waiting for me in the foyer.”
“Allow me to escort you to them.”
There seemed no way to be rid of him without rudeness, so she merely inclined her head and tried to look grateful.
“So,” he said idly, “how exactly are you related to the Braithwaites?”
“By convoluted connections,” she replied. “But we prefer to say by friendship.”
“The best of all,” he murmured, when she offered no further details. Since he could hardly press her and remain polite, he conducted her the rest of the way to the door in silence. Opening it, he said, “You know, you remind me of someone.”
“Perhaps we met long ago,” she said, and held his gaze steadily.
“Perhaps. But the memory is more general. Almost as if you remind me of a type of lady, if you understand me. Like a fairytale princess or a blue stocking…or an actress.”
Her stomach jolted, but she kept the smile fixed to her lips and her eyes. “My dear sir, pray do not spread it around that I am a blue stocking or I shall be quite ruined. Thank you for your kind escort. Good night.”
“Good night, Miss Conway.”
They were in the carriage, dragging through the snow before she said abruptly, “He knows. He said I reminded him of an actress.”
“He’s just being rude and fishing for information,” Serena assured her. “Trying to set you off balance so that you admit something. Or clutching at straws. I think you’ve rattled him.”
“Oh, she has,” Lord Braithwaite said with satisfaction. “Either he knows more about Eleanor than he has ever let on or he is just afraid of some other family member getting in the way of his claim.”
Serena frowned. “Gervaise, he would not try to hurt her, would he? You do not truly think he harmed Eleanor in some way all those years ago?”
The earl’s gaze flew to Dawn. She didn’t care for the silence. Then he said, “No. He’s never shown much interest in her inheritance until now. Why would he have harmed her and waited fifteen years to take advantage? All the same, Dawn, it would be sensible to stop going out alone for now.”
Dawn gazed out of the window at the snow, which seemed to light up the darkness.
*
Julius Gardyn helped his mother into the chair beside the fireplace in her hotel bedroom. “I’ll send for your maid,” he promised, pouring out a measure of the draught that would help her sleep through the night.
“Thank you.” She took the glass from him, gazing for a moment at the amber liquid, which seemed to remind her of something. She frowned. “Who was the girl? Is she one of yours? Or your father’s?”
Julius shrugged. “Neither to my knowledge. Every girl with red hair does not possess Gardyn blood.”
“But it isn’t red, is it? It’s fair, with only a reddish glow. Most distinctive.”
“Well, more people possess it than Gardyns,” he said dryly. “Although I wouldn’t put it past Braithwaite to flaunt her just to annoy me.”
“You are unreasonable,” his mother said sternly. Then her face smoothed. “Julius,” she said pleadingly. “Why do you antagonize him? You could have been his friend, his mentor, and yet now he can hardly abide your company.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Julius retorted.
“But why? He is a most amiable young man.”
Julius flung away from her in quick irritation. “He’s only amiable because he’s had everything handed to him on a plate since birth. He is a callow, naïve, entitled whippersnapper.”
“And everything you wish you were,” his mother said wryly.
He glared at her.
“I would do anything for you, Julius,” she said and took a sip of her draught. “But I cannot change your family.”
“Nor do I wish you to,” he said at once. “I am proud to be a Gardyn. If I were not, I would not be trying so hard to settle us at Haven Hall.”
“Haven Hall,” she repeated in pleased accents. “And will I have more maids there?”
“As many as you like,” he said promptly. “And footmen. Rooms to be private and others to entertain.”
“I shall like that,” his mother said happily, finishing her draught as the maid came in.
“I know,” he said. “I know.”
Having soothed her, he left her to the tender mercies of her maid and retreated to his own room, where, his mind dwelled on the girl with Braithwaite. He very much doubted she was a Conway, or that her presence in Blackhaven at this moment was a coincidence. But he had no idea what his young enemy was up to.
*
Despite being up so late at the ball, Dawn woke early, restless and having had little sleep. Half-remembered dreams hung around the edges of her consciousness as she rose and dressed on her own. Clarry had instructions to let her sleep in, and Dawn meant to enjoy her rare time alone.
It was only just light when she left her chamber, and the castle was quiet save for the servants going about their usual duties. They bobbed respectful bows or curtseys to her when she passed them in the passages, but she couldn’t help wondering what they really thought of her, the mythical cousin with the odd manners and speech who had appeared without warning.
She swung the cloak about her shoulders and left by her favorite side door. She walked around the castle, taking childish delight in stepping in pristine snow and leaving her mark in the old courtyard beneath the Tamars’ quarters. She meant to walk up to the woods, but without warning, someone stepped out of a door ahead of her, a door she hadn’t even been aware of.
Lord Braithwaite, in his shirt sleeves, a morning coat clutched in one hand as if he hadn’t yet had time to struggle into it. He beckoned her urgently. Intrigued, she increased her pace until she came to a halt at the door.
“What—?” she began before he jerked her inside and all but slammed the door. “My lord?”
“I thought we were agreed you would not go out alone?” he snapped.
She lifted her chin. “No, sir. You brought it up. I would never agree to it.”
He dragged one hand through his hair. “Dawn, for your own safety—”
“You said yourself there was no danger,” she interrupted. “And even if there were, I am not afraid of Julius Gardyn. He fights with his mouth, and mine is more than capable of holding its own in any battle.”
“I don’t doubt that, but I won’t risk you.”
She laughed and reached for the latch. “My lord, I am not yours to risk.”
His hand closed over her wrist. “Actually, you are,” he said tightly. “You are in my care.”
She stared up into his implacable face. “You mean it…” she said in disbelief. Panic rose up from her stomach. She wrenched her hand free and backed away from him. “Oh, no. No, you cannot keep me inside. I will suffocate. I can’t stay here!”
He started after her, his expression both startled and appalled. “Dawn, wait! Of course I would not keep you inside. If you wish to go out, just take someone with you. I will happily come if you give me a moment to put on my boots.”
Only then did she see that he was in his stocking soles, his hair unbrushed, his jaw unshaven. He must have seen her from his window and dashed down to stop her.
“And drag you from whatever you wish to do every time I get the urge for fresh air?” she said in disbelief.
He spread his hands. “If I’m busy, there are footmen—”
“I cannot live like that,” she exclaimed, turning on her heel. She strode away, through an empty reception room she had never been in before because through the open door at the far end lay the entrance hall and the front door. Her breath came in short pants. “And I won’t,” she gasped. “Not even for you. I would wither—”
She had more to say, but the painting above the fireplace suddenly caught her attention and she broke off, rooted suddenly to the spot.
The picture was of a boy, of perhaps eleven or twelve years old. He wore only breeches, white shirt, and a waistcoat, and his dark hair tumbled about his face. She could not tell the age of the painting. She doubted she had ever seen it before and yet…
And yet, she found herself acting out the memory. She curtseyed to the picture. “My lord.” But her voice was overlaid with another, much more childish.
Gervaise stood beside her. Although she could not take her eyes off the painting, she knew he was frowning in concern. Or consternation.
“It’s you,” she whispered. “The room is full of people and someone has brought me to you… It’s my mother!” Tears choked her. Her real mother, with soft, gentle eyes, was the woman who had walked away from her in that other vision at Haven Hall. Here, her mother had led her by the hand to the tall boy who was talking and laughing with other older children. But he had turned to face her with perfect good nature and not minded at all that she was so small. In fact, he had grinned at her in a friendly way and she had liked him. “I had to call you my lord, and you smiled at me, even though you were a big boy and I a tiny girl.”
His fingers slid against hers and grasped. “You remember,” he said in wonder. “It was a reception my parents held, only a week or so before you vanished. I was supposed to entertain the children… You were a funny, solemn little thing but you still smiled back at me.”
He turned her slowly to face him, forcing her to drag her gaze away from the portrait at last and fasten instead upon his adult face.
“I knew we had met before,” she said huskily. “But you do not look like a child anymore.”
“Neither do you. This portrait was not painted for a year or so after that day, but you still recognized me.”
“I saw you, not the picture…”
“You realize what this means?”
She swallowed. “I remember Julius, too, And the schoolroom at Haven Hall.”
His arms went around her, drawing her against him. “It isn’t a tragedy, my sweet. You are Eleanor.”
Clutching his shoulders, she opened her mouth to reply, to try to explain, but he covered it with his and she gasped.
Matthew, whom she had once allowed the liberty, had never kissed her like this. Even that impudent boy at the fair hadn’t made her bones melt and her toes curl. She knew the bliss of utter surrender, the helpless upsurge of desire, before the truth struck her.
He’s kissing Eleanor. Not me.
With a sob, she wrenched herself free and ran from him out into the entrance hall, past the maid polishing the brasses, and out the front door, down the steps and away.