Chapter Five
James promised himself he wouldn’t stay long at this evening’s little soirée. He had far too much to think about, to organize, if his charity ball was to go ahead.
But Charles’s taunt from the week before about his fit of the blue devils had struck home. His heart was broken, yes, but life must go on. And he wasn’t going to attract subscribers to his charitable cause if he didn’t socialize. So, tonight, at the Keane’s small gathering, he would put on a brave face and pretend to be enjoying himself.
He started his campaign by complimenting Charles’s sister, Philippa. “Miss Keane, you are in great good looks tonight.”
“Don’t try to flatter me, Tidworth. You’re far too high in the instep to be interested in poor, plain little me,” she replied with a provocative toss of her head.
Of course, he knew she meant not a word of it. Philippa Keane had the power to turn heads wherever she went—masculine ones, at least. Her light blond hair framed charming features, which included a pair of laughing blue eyes and a rosebud mouth. Her expression was never still, and due to the unevenness of her teeth, she always smiled with closed lips, giving an impression of mystique.
“Come sit with me,” she commanded when he made no reply. “I never get to see you anymore. Charles tells me you’ve been suffering from melancholy. I do hope you haven’t been jilted by a lady. But if you have, she wasn’t worthy of you and must have been addled in her wits.”
“You flatter me with your attentions,” James said, forcing a smile as she took him aside. “But if you think I’m going to apprise you of the details so you can gossip about me, I must disappoint you.”
The dainty mouth turned down at the corners, then lifted once again. “Well, if you won’t talk to me, you can at least dance with me.”
“But, surely, you don’t want to dance with a miserable partner. Unless…you wish to be seen with me to make a potential beau jealous?”
“Such cynicism! But here’s Charles. We can all have a coze together.”
As he was towed into a quiet corner of the drawing room, James appreciated how pleasant it was to be in a small house for a change. Sometimes the vastness of Birney House, and his own estates at Langley and Westwater, overwhelmed him. There was never any privacy, either from the servants or the curious gazes of the public who wandered about his house and grounds. Even when these were absent, he felt the dead eyes from the ancestral family portraits peering down upon him, and felt the weight of duty to marry, reproduce, and keep the name of Markham alive.
Figheldene was a much better size—and its great age added to its interest. In fact, somewhere similar might be good for his veterans’ home, a place which was comfortable in scale, not massive and grand—which could be intimidating to simple soldiers. Although, some of the walls of such a modest structure would have to be knocked through to create large enough spaces for a communal dining room and a hospital wing.
Philippa’s voice broke in upon his reverie. “You’re absolutely right, Charles,” she said.
“I told you Tidworth has become a complete stick-in-the-mud.”
She jutted her chin at James. “Well, if you won’t dance with me, I shall remind Mr. Fulton he requested a waltz, and make you jealous.”
“I, too, am promised,” Charles stated, patting James on the arm. “Pray don’t sit here looking gloomy, but go into the hall and wander around making polite small talk with the guests. I know they’re thrilled to have such an illustrious personage as Viscount Tidworth in their midst and are dying to exchange a few words with you. You could drum up some support for all those worthy causes of yours.”
“How good of you to remind me,” James responded with a lopsided smile.
Charles winked at him and strode away.
Making his way into the hallway, James stood for a moment in the midst of a milling crowd of people, wondering who to tackle first. But before he could decide, he felt a peculiar prickling sensation between his shoulder blades, exactly like the feeling he’d had at Waterloo when his instincts had saved him from a sniper’s ball.
His breathing went shallow, and he turned around slowly to see who was staring at him with such palpable dislike. But there was no one. Then he looked up and saw faces peering down at him through the balustrade on the landing above.
Willie and Mary Keane, dressed in their nightclothes. His shoulders relaxed as he raised a hand to wave. Their parents must have permitted them to stay up late to watch the dancing.
But come to think of it, Mrs. Keane would never have allowed that—she was far too strict. Someone else must have.
Yes, there was, indeed, a third face looking down at him. It must be the new governess Charles had mentioned in glowing terms. Was she really as attractive as he claimed?
James’s gaze locked with a pair of dark eyes set in a pale, oval face.
His breathing quickened.
By God! He knew that face! It was the self-same woman who had delayed him on the road to Ashleaze Court, before his intended proposal to Belinda Carslake.
The very woman whose thoughtless actions had been the undoing of his most cherished dream of wife and children.
Fury swamped him, and the blood sang in his ears as he took the stairs two at a time.
He would confront his nemesis! And bring her down.
When he was finished with her, her job would be gone, her reputation in tatters, and her dreams as dashed and empty as his own.