Page 64 of The Book of Lost Stories
Drusilla fixed her eyes on his face.
‘My home is situated in a remote part of the Highlands,’ Sir Lemuel said, ‘and my dearest wife has long felt the want of a companion who can share with her those feminine pleasures of which I know nothing …’
Death or DishonourbyORLANDO BROWNE
Alys went out on to the landing, where only Mrs Hartwood remained to greet late arrivals, and entered the ballroom. Pausing on the threshold, her head held high but her heart in her little satin slippers, she looked about her for Nell, only to see her being led out by Harry Stavely.
‘My dance, I think, Miss Weston,’ said Lord Rayven’s deep voice in her ear. ‘I have been looking out for you this age.’
She whirled round and glared at him. ‘My grandfatherwished to speak with me. And I would rather talk with you, my lord, than dance!’
‘You gratify me extremely, but might we not do both?’ he said, and, taking her hand, drew her into a set that was forming nearby.
Arguing at a ball where the attention of most of the onlookers is already fixed on you with scandalous relish is probably not a good idea. Doing so in a whisper, while constantly and frustratingly being brought together and parted by the dance, is an even worse one.
‘So, you have given away the secret of my authorship, Lord Rayven,’ she began.
‘No, I swear I did not,’ he said steadily.
‘You must have done, for how else should the news have spread so quickly? And what is more, you told my grandfather of it.’
‘You can think that – of me?’ he said, tight-lipped.
‘Why not? I already had no great opinion of you, for I knew you to be a … a libertine and a reader of other people’s private correspondence,’ she hissed, flinging at his head the most hurtful things she could think of.
His hand tightened so painfully on hers that she gasped. ‘Smile, Miss Weston,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘The eyes of the world are upon you.’
She blinked back angry tears. ‘I cannot smile to order: let them think what they will.’
The music stopped and Alys pulled her hand away and went to find Nell, who was seated at the side of the room fanning herself. Harry Stavely was just walking away and her eyes were fixed on him, so that she did not notice Alys until she plumpedherself down on the chair next to her and whispered urgently, ‘Nell, have you heard that the rumour of my being Orlando Browne is being widely circulated?’
‘Why, yes, Alys, for severalkindpersons have told me so! But Miss Mary Berry was the first and she advised us to laugh it off as though we were astonished to find anyone thought it in any way remarkable, which seems sensible, do you not think?’
‘Yes, and so both Grandfather and I have already decided,’ agreed Alys, but what she really thought at that moment was that her friend was in such a glow of love that she was incapable of being touched by her predicament and might herself, if she was not careful, become the object of even more avid interest to the scandalmongers.
‘Nell, pray be careful not to draw attention—’ she began, before her own was claimed by an entirely unknown, if slightly raffish, young man. He proved to be only the first of many men who had jumped to the erroneous conclusion that a young woman who wrote such notorious novels must befast.
For the next interminable hour her waist was squeezed, she had to listen to insulting innuendoes and deflect attempts to persuade her to leave the ballroom for some quieter spot – and all under the sardonic gaze of Lord Rayven. He leaned against the wall watching her, his arms folded across his broad chest and a lock of black hair falling across his brow, looking so romantically dangerous that Lord Byron, who had just entered the ballroom, was quite struck with jealousy and only the circumstance of his being entirely mobbed by several young ladies at once saved him from the necessity of indulging in a prolonged sulk.
Just as Alys had begun to think that outright flight might be more than worth the resultant ignominy, Nat came to her rescue. She could have wept with relief when he drew her hand into his arm and said, with gentle concern, ‘I have been trying to claim my dance with you, but I think perhaps you would rather go somewhere quiet and sit it out, would you not?’
‘Oh, yes!’ she agreed gratefully. ‘I know from Grandfather that you have heard that I am that infamous author Orlando Browne, but I hope you are not very much shocked.’
‘No, indeed. In fact, I am full of admiration,’ he said, leading her to a small antechamber that had been fitted out for repairs to ladies’ flounces and ruffles torn during energetic dancing, and closing the doors behind them. The sound of the ballroom was suddenly reduced to a vague hum, like a disturbed hive of bees.
He seated her on a small gilt sofa and sat down next to her, taking her hand. ‘But I have a confession to make, for I am afraid that it is all my fault that your secret was revealed.’
‘How is this?’ she said, astonished.
‘You must forgive me, Miss Weston, for George let slip his discovery andIwas so indiscreet as to tell my sister, thinking she would be as impressed as I was by your being so well known an author. But I should have known she could not keep it to herself. Indeed, I thought my uncle would quite cast you off when he first heard, he was so angry, but he quickly came to see that there was an easy way to avert any scandal.’
‘So it wasyou…’ she said slowly, barely taking in the rest of what he said.
‘Yes, but do say you will forgive me, dearest Alys. In fact,’ he added, seizing hold of her other hand and drawing her closer,‘say you willmarryme, and let me give you the protection of my name.’
‘What?’ Her attention drawn back by these words from the contemplation of a dark, angry, scarred face that had watched her with such well-justified contempt, she attempted to release her hands.
‘Oh,no. I thank you, Nat, and I am sure your offer is kindly meant, but I have already told Grandfather that I have no desire to wed you or any other man. I do not need to,’ she added simply.
