CHETWYN DISCOVERED THAT being left at the altar wasn’t nearly as humiliating or as infuriating as being abandoned on the dance floor. Or perhaps it simply seemed so because he cared a good deal more about Merry traipsing off without him than he did about Anne.
As people swirled around him, they gave him a questioning glance, an arched eyebrow, pursed lips. Then the whispers began, and he had a strong urge to tell them all to go to the devil.
Wending his way past ballooning hems and dancing slippers, he fought to keep his face in a stoic mask that revealed none of his inner thoughts. He suspected a good many of the women would swoon if they knew that he wanted to rush after Merry, usher her into a distant corner, and kiss her until the words coming from her mouth were sweet instead of bitter. It didn’t lessen his anger that she had every right to be upset with him. But then the fury was directed at himself, not her. He’d handled things poorly. He needed to be alone with her to adequately explain, and furthermore to sway her away from Litton. But he could see now that he had misjudged her loyalty to Litton and her dislike of himself.
“Chetwyn?”
Turning, he smiled at the gossamer-haired beauty standing before him. “Anne.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course.” Even as he spoke the words, he realized that had they married, he’d have spent a good deal of his time being untruthful with her, as he was now. He liked her, adored her, in fact, but he didn’t love her. He doubted he ever would have fallen for her as Walter had before he left for the Crimea. And certainly not as Lord Tristan had.
“I’m so very glad you came,” she said.
“Yes, well, I must thank you for sending me the list of guests who had accepted the invitation.”
“I daresay that I needed to send only one name: Lady Meredith.”
To imply he was taken aback by the accuracy of her words was an understatement. He thought he was so skilled at hiding his emotions. “How did you know?”
Taking his arm, she guided him over to an assortment of fronds that provided some protection from prying eyes. “While you were courting me, I noticed the way you looked at her with longing on a few occasions when our paths crossed with hers. I thought perhaps she had rebuffed you, which I certainly didn’t understand, but after observing the drama on the dance floor, I don’t think the rebuffing happened until tonight.”
The drama that everyone had observed. He thought in public he’d be spared her wrath. Where Merry was concerned, he seemed destined to constantly misjudge. “I’m not quite certain rebuffed is the proper word. She is betrothed, after all. What sort of gentleman would I be to try to steal her away from Litton?”
Anne smiled. “A very determined one, I should think, and I would wager on your success.” She glanced around as though fearing that she might be overheard. “As you know, my brothers are the worst gossips in all of England. Jameson tells me that Litton is up to his eyebrows in debt to Rafe. While I don’t know my brother by marriage very well, Tristan has assured me that Rafe is someone to whom I’d never wish to owe anything.”
Chetwyn was of the same mind. Lord Rafe Easton owned a gambling establishment, and while it had a solid reputation, Chetwyn preferred one with a bit more class, better clientele, and no rumors of thuggery surrounding it. “You think Litton is marrying Meredith only for her dowry?”
“I’ve heard it’s substantial. I wish Society would do away with the entire dowry business. It always leaves a lady wondering at a man’s true motivations.”
“Surely you have no doubt where Lord Tristan is concerned.”
She laughed. “Oh, absolutely not. No, my concern is with Lady Meredith. One of my other brothers, and I can’t remember which one now, hinted that this betrothal came about under unfortunate circumstances.”
Chetwyn felt as though he’d taken a punch to the gut. “You think he compromised her?”
“I don’t know. It was something about a garden and witnesses—” She held up her hands. “Dear God, I’m as bad as they are. Forgive me. I know not of what I speak, and so I should not be speaking. I just dislike seeing her with Litton—whom I don’t much care for—when she could be with you, whom I favor a great deal.”
Reaching out, Chetwyn squeezed her hand. “What matters, Anne, is that she is happy.”
“Of course, you’re right. It’s just that she didn’t look as happy with him as she did with you.”
He chuckled. “Now I know you’re biased. She was quite put out with me the entire time we were dancing.”
“I was put out with Tristan a good bit of the time after I met him, but it didn’t stop me from falling in love with him.” Rising up on her toes, she bussed a quick kiss over his cheek. “I wish you luck with your endeavors here.”
As she wandered away, Chetwyn decided that his best course for the moment was to enjoy another glass of Scotch. He was heading toward the doorway when Wexford stepped into his path, his nose red, his cheeks flushed, his eyes radiating panic.
“Who the devil was she?” he asked. “I never saw anyone. She’s no doubt wandered off and is in danger of freezing to death by now. We must cease the music, form search parties, call out the hounds.”
“Steady, old chap,” Chetwyn commanded, placing his hands on Wexford’s shoulders, attempting to calm him before damage was done. “There was no woman.”
Wexford blinked and stared at him as though he’d spoken in Mandarin. “Whatever do you mean?”
Obviously the man’s ability to reason had frozen while he was outside. “I wrote the note. The entire thing was a ruse as I wished to dance that particular dance with Lady Meredith.”
“You sent me out in the cold? For a dance? Why didn’t you just ask, man?”
“Would you have stepped aside?”
“That is beside the point.” Wexford held up a finger. “I shan’t soon forget this, Chetwyn.” With that ominous warning, he stormed off.
Considering Wexford had once shot a rhinoceros, Chetwyn considered himself fortunate that the veiled threat was quite mild. Then he saw a young lady grinning in the doorway. “I don’t suppose it would be my good fortune to discover you’re deaf.”
With a giggle, she shook her head and disappeared into the hallway. Lovely. More fodder for the gossip mill.
“HE SENT LORD Wexford out into the storm so he could dance with you,” Lady Sophia said.
Meredith had come to the retiring room to regain her calm because it was too early to retire to her chambers. She found herself surrounded by Ladies Sophia, Beatrix, and Violet.
“Terribly romantic,” Lady Violet said.
“Terribly selfish,” Lady Beatrix insisted. “Wexford could have died.”
Meredith wondered if she was hoping for more than a dance from the fellow. She wondered if she should tell Lady Beatrix that she shouldn’t strive so hard to impress men with her litany of accomplishments, then wondered if things might have been different if she, herself, had tried harder with Chetwyn—if she had thrown a fit in the garden instead of giving the impression that she could hardly be bothered by his change of heart. Was she as much to blame for their diverging paths as he?
“Perhaps we shall have a duel at dawn,” Lady Sophia said, her voice rife with excitement.
“Between Chetwyn and Wexford?” Meredith asked.
“I was thinking more along the lines of Chetwyn and Litton. I daresay it is one thing to dance with a lady, an entirely different matter to go to such great lengths to do so.”
“My dance card was filled. He wanted a dance. Make no more of it than that.” Even now she should be in the ballroom fulfilling her obligations. Perhaps she would claim a headache.
“It’s no secret his family coffers suffer for want of coin. His father made some ghastly investments, from what I hear. He needs an heiress with a substantial dowry. He lost Lady Anne—”
“You say that as though he misplaced her,” Meredith interrupted, impatient with the conversation. Standing quickly, she shook out her skirts. She wanted to be more than her dowry to some man. Was she to Litton? She was no longer as sure. “I’m returning to the ballroom.”
It was nearing midnight, the last dance would be soon, and she was anxious to see Litton, to have him wash away any lingering evidence that Chetwyn had danced with her. But she waited for him in vain, stood among the older matrons whose hips no longer allowed them the luxury of dance. Her only consolation was that Chetwyn wasn’t about to witness her disappointment. She wondered if he’d taken his leave. She could only hope.