His Heart's Delight (4 page)

Peter shrugged, then realized where the
conversation was heading. “Why do you care, Christy?”

Christy sighed. “I am looking for someone who
will remember our dance even when the cards are good.”

“Oh. Not Lord Morgan then, Christy. Cards are
more important to him than the dance floor. Whoever he courts will
have to accept that gaming is in his blood and not expect him to
dance attendance on her.”

Wonderful,
Christy thought with a rare
show of petulance. Cross Lord Morgan off her list of possible
escorts. She might be willing to share her true love with the army,
the cause was noble enough, the greater good of the country
depended on men like Richard. But if she was to find someone who
would be willing to dance with her and escort her to supper at
balls such as this, then she very much wanted him to recall her
presence.

Lord Morgan Braedon was obviously not that
man. She had best look elsewhere for her temporary beau.

I am not disappointed,
she told
herself. And believed it.

“C
hristiana, what
have you done!” Mrs. Lambert burst into the bedroom, waving a
newspaper as though it were a much-used handkerchief.

Christiana heard Joanna sigh but she felt a
moment of true panic. Was it news from Portugal? On a relieved sigh
of her own, she realized that was not at all likely. Even her
mother would not hold her responsible for the army and its
failings.

Apparently a quiet morning was too much to
hope for, even the day after a ball. Life had been anything but
peaceful since their arrival. Christiana longed for one
uninterrupted hour to drink chocolate with her sister in peace. But
tranquillity was not Mama’s style. If she could manufacture a
crisis, she would. Today’s drama was obviously under way.

“Is that the morning paper, Mama? Joanna and
I have not seen it. We have not been below stairs yet.” She pulled
off her cap and ran her hand through her loosely braided hair to
make the point. “Sally has just brought our chocolate, and we were
debating the best way to spend such a beautiful day.” The paper
could be read later if Mama could be distracted from this morning’s
irritation.

“Christy is anxious to find a ribbon the
exact color of her new gown.” Joanna spoke around an unladylike
yawn. “And I would very much like to have Peter escort us to the
exhibit I learned of last night. Would you care to join—”

“You will most likely spend the day refuting
this idiotic gossip.” Mrs. Lambert handed the paper to her
daughter. “How could you, Christiana!” The last was given in the
vexed tone that marked most of Mrs. Lambert’s conversation with her
youngest daughter.

With a puzzled look at Joanna, Christiana
took the paper from her mother’s shaking fingers and the two of
them read the few lines they were directed to:

Lord M————B————, danced but once last night
and that was with the lovely Miss L————. Could it be he has already
found the match his esteemed parent hopes for?

Christiana bit the inside of her lip and
tried not to smile. “Mama, it is nothing more than gossip.”

Her mother tapped her foot and waited.

Joanna tried. “Mama, Christy can not control
who Lord Morgan invites to dance!”

“That does nothing to relieve my irritation.”
Mrs. Lambert turned to Christiana. “It is true we are only recently
arrived and wish to be noticed. But not in this way. This is
Joanna’s Season. And a year late as it is, she has no time to
waste.
She
is the one society should be noticing. You, my
girl, have made your choice, as you have so pointedly told everyone
who will listen.”

“Mama, that is not true. I have honored yours
and Father’s wish that I tell no one of my understanding with
Richard.”

“It is not an understanding until we permit
it!” With a sharp indrawn breath Mrs. Lambert turned to Joanna.
“Get up, get dressed, and come to the green salon. There will be
callers today.”

She turned to her other daughter.
“Christiana, I will not tolerate behavior that will jeopardize our
vouchers for Almack’s. You will spend your day reading improving
works. I will tell Lord Morgan, should he call, that you are not
well.”

Both her children nodded and she swept from
the room, closing the door sharply behind her.

“Oh, Joanna, London has not changed Mama one
whit, has it?” Christiana sighed. “I was hoping that the shopping
and society might distract her from my shortcomings.”

“And now you will be trapped in your room all
day.” Joanna scrambled from the bed and headed for the dressing
room. “There will be no shopping together and you will not be
allowed to see the art exhibit.”

“It is almost a relief.”

Joanna stopped at the dressing room door and
looked back at her sister in some confusion.

“You see, for a moment I was certain there
was news from Portugal and that Richard was in danger.”

“Oh dear.” Joanna came back and gave her
sister a comforting hug. “He is safe. He has only been there for a
few weeks. And it is too soon for the fighting to begin. It will be
weeks before there are any battles.”

“Very well. I will allow you to convince me
that Richard is safe for today and perhaps even for tomorrow.”

Joanna went back to the dressing room and
Christiana sat in the slipper chair near the fire.

“There are worse things than spending my day
indoors, Jo. I can write in my journal. There is so much more to
remember than what I wrote last night.”

Joanna emerged with three dresses, which she
draped over a chair. “I could barely stay awake long enough to
undress and you stayed up to write in your journal?”

“I only wrote a few lines.” But fatigue had
not been the problem. The music and the dancing had left her wide
awake and too restless to settle down and find mere words that
would do the evening justice. Christiana hopped from the bed and
picked up a white lawn gown washed through with the palest pink and
trimmed with roses about the hem and sleeves. “Here, wear this
one.” She shook the wrinkles out and placed it carefully on the bed
after she smoothed the covers. “It is above all your favorite gown
and your rose-colored pelisse will complement it perfectly.”

“Christy, it will never take you all day to
describe the ball.”

“I suspect that I will have time to dress,
finish my entry, and read the rest of today’s gossip before Mama
recalls that the dowager duchess invited me to call.”

Joanna shook her head. “How is it that you
find your way out of every punishment Mama hands out?”

Christiana grinned. “A lifetime of
practice.”

“The gossip column is hardly improving
literature, Christy. What if she asks what you have been reading?”
Joanna untied her nightcap and began brushing her hair. Christiana
took the brush from Joanna’s hand and began arranging her sister’s
curls, sprinkling in the lilac-scented powder that was her sister’s
favorite.

“Joanna, the only problem with having a
sister who has never broken a rule in her life is that you worry
about the most nonsensical things.” The scented powder made her
sister’s hair easier to manage and Christiana curled it around her
face carefully so as not to pull it too hard. “I remember the last
sermon she pressed on me and will quote it freely if she asks for
proof.”

Satisfied with her efforts as a hairdresser,
Christiana put the brush down and stood back admiring her sister’s
blond loveliness. Joanna was quiet and reserved; that was the only
reason people did not notice her at first. It was unfortunate that
Christiana herself possessed neither of those virtues.

The truth was she had inherited her mother’s
flamboyant personality, without her inclination to dramatic
complaint, she hoped. Joanna was much more like their father. Of
her two parents Christiana would infinitely prefer a day on
horseback with Papa to a day shopping with Mama. And she did adore
shopping.

“By the time Joanna tied on her pink kid
slippers, Christiana had convinced her that she would not be
wasting the day in her room. Joanna hurried down to the green salon
as the first knock on the door sounded.

Christiana ran through the connecting door
and into her own bedroom, which faced the front of the house.
Drawing the damask drapes, she peeked through the sheer material
that blocked eyes but not light from her room. The street was full
of carriages, moving as quickly as the congestion would allow.
Several were drawn in front of their town house. One matron and her
daughter hurried up the steps.

She sighed. Despite Mama’s criticism she had
kept her commitment to Richard a closely held secret. Why had she
ever promised Papa that until she returned from London there would
be no formal engagement?

Why did he find it so hard to credit that a
lifetime of friendship had grown into something more? There were
moments when she wondered if Papa entirely approved of Richard.
That was foolish! Of course he approved. The Wiltons and Lamberts
had been neighbors for generations and friends almost as long. When
Richard had asked to speak to him, Papa had not seemed surprised.
He’d maintained it was inevitable that someday proximity and
friendship between the Wiltons and Lamberts would lead to a closer
attachment.

Christiana did not like the idea that their
connection was “inevitable” or “expected.” She longed for the day
when they married and she could join Richard.

She had even decided that if, heaven forbid,
the war persisted she would join him in Europe. She would follow
the drum. She would not be the first to show her devotion that
way.

In the meantime she needed to find someone as
unconcerned with courtship as she was. Then Mama could not berate
her for stealing attention from Joanna. She thought again of Lord
Morgan. He would have been perfect. He danced beautifully and could
flirt with such skill that all other thoughts fled her brain. One
glance across the Westbournes’ ballroom had convinced her of
that.

But if he were, as Peter said, seriously
searching for a bride then he would not do at all. If his lone
dance with her had any significance, then he needed to know that
she was not available, but how could she tell him if she had
promised not to tell anyone? She sighed again as though one long
breath would dispel her quandary.

Taking a last look at the street below,
Christiana could see a gentleman of more mature years climb the
front steps, a small nosegay in hand. She leaned a little closer to
the window and he must have caught the movement, for he looked in
her direction.

With a little squeal Christiana stepped back
into the room.
Oh, please do not let him see me gaping like a
peagoose.
It was the flowers, not the bearer that had caught
her attention: a cluster of colorful blossoms, casually arranged,
and they reminded her of the time she and Richard had gathered a
similar bouquet.

She drew her wrapper around her, sat at the
writing table, and considered what she had written last night.
Letters between them might not be permitted yet, but she could
pretend. So her journal was written in letter format all of them
addressed “Dearest Richard.”

Do you recall the wildflowers we picked that
spring only a few months ago? We sought a flower in every color and
I treasure that bouquet to this day. I must tell you that the glory
of those flowers is nothing compared to the color that was only
part of the thrill of my first London ball.

~ ~ ~

Mrs. Lambert would have been gratified to
know that Morgan Braedon read the bit of gossip with as much
annoyance as she had. She would have been less pleased by the
soft-spoken but thorough expression of disgust that caused Morgan’s
valet to raise his eyebrows. Roberts stepped closer, bending as if
to pick up a discarded neckcloth.

He was a loyal servant, but endlessly
curious. Morgan was certain that Roberts knew as many of the latest
on-dits
as he did. Now he watched from the corner of his eye
as Roberts looked over his shoulder and tried to see exactly what
had caused the display of words Morgan reserved for only the
greatest vexation.

“Here, Roberts, you may read it without
damaging your spine.” Morgan thrust the paper under his valet’s
nose and held it out to him until the manservant took it. “You will
have no trouble deciding which lines have ruined my morning.”

He watched Roberts carefully set aside the
crushed lengths of fabric before he ran his eyes down the columns
of small type. Middle-aged eyes squinted at the print and then he
pursed his lips. He said nothing.

“Roberts, I hired a valet who could read so
that you could do something besides tie a cravat. Now you can tell
me how to set this problem to rights.”

Roberts folded the paper and placed it near
the door. “The services I perform, milord, have nothing to do with
dancing or beautiful young ladies.”

Morgan leaned back in the chair and closed
his eyes, calling on whatever god inspired stupid bachelors and
inveterate gamblers. He turned to look at his valet. “I could call
on ‘Miss L’ today and extend my personal apologies for making her
the subject of gossip.”

“It would seem to me, milord, that calling
on, ahem, Miss L, would only draw more attention to her. Of course
if that is your intention...”

He let his voice trail off and the phrase
became a question. Morgan gave him a mischievous grin. “Curious,
are you, Roberts?”

He bowed. “Only to the extent that it will
enable me to serve you better, milord.”

“No plans, matrimonial or otherwise, Roberts.
I had an enchanting dance with a lovely lady and returned to the
card room. The play was challenging and rewarding and I never gave
the ballroom another thought.”