Page 30 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
Mary took a flute of bubbling wine and drank heartily. Courage—and hopefully dexterity on the floor—came in a wine glass. Tonight she needed all she might get. Her friends from school felt the same as they clustered together, each one emptying her glass with a grin. Ivy and Grace were deep in debate with Willa Sheffield,who’d arrived just as Mary had returned from the village. Esme spoke with Millicent Weaver. Both of them looked far too involved with some topic to welcome another in their midst, so Mary strolled toward their hostess, Lady Courtland. In the far corner on the dais, the orchestra played a sedate little tune. Mozart. Soothing, too.
“You look charming, my dear Mary,” Esme’s mother was always gracious to her. “A new ensemble?”
“Do you like it?”
“Your signature lace. Your mother would approve.”
Mary regarded the lady with a rueful laugh. Her mother and Esme’s had been such good friends that one knew the other’s thoughts without uttering them. Truth was not fragile between them and since her mother’s death, neither had it been between Lady Courtland and her. “You don’t really think that.”
Lady Courtland chuckled and took a sip of her champagne. “She regarded your love of lace as one you should’ve outgrown.”
Mary sighed theatrically. “She’d be so disappointed.”
“Not in your choice of men.”
Mary’s gaze strayed to the sight of Blake who appeared on the threshold. Tonight, in his black evening clothes and elaborate white stock, he upheld the ideal of a man to be claimed. Across the expanse he saw her, held her gaze with his own blue fires and acknowledged her with a discreet nod.
“He does steal one’s breath,” the lady confided with an elegant lift to her delicate brows.
“He was even more devastating in his Army uniform.”
“I might well imagine.”
Northington appeared beside Blake. As dashing in a darker, more menacing way, the marquess spoke with Blake as he scanned the ballroom and locked on the vision behind Mary. That was Esme. She did hope he sought out Esme.
“You are pleased with this marriage, aren’t you, my lady?” No sooner were the words from Mary’s lips than she wished them back.
“I am,” she admitted without guile or forethought. That she had stated it so promptly shocked Mary as much as her own spontaneous question. “She loves him. And would have him. I wanted a different man for her.”
That took Mary aback and she drained her glass to counter her surprise.
“Are you as stunned as I?” The lady faced her, a blank expression ruling her features.
“That she loves him?”
“That she takes him to husband all of her own volition. You know me and Esme too well. All of you girls know me. How I pushed her. But in the past few years, I cannot any longer move her. I wanted the Duke of St. Martin for her. He is much more agreeable.”
Mary’s mind ran with a thousand warring possibilities. Esme wanted Northington. Loved him. Had not been pushed by her mama to snare him. The opposite was true. Lady Courtland had wanted a more biddable man for her daughter. So what now of Northington’s affections? Had he any for Esme? Or was it her dowry, rich beyond those held by any other young woman in this room, that he coveted?
“Oh, my.” Lady Courtland voiced Mary’s desperation. “Here he comes. Angry still. He’s had a row with my husband earlier. I hope not now with Esme. She’ll faint if he makes a scene.”
“No she won’t.”
Lady Courtland snapped around to examine Mary. “You’re sure?”
She gave one nod. “Esme has more mettle than any of us warrants.”
“I see,” said Esme’s mother. “Good to know.”
Whatever Northington’s emotion, he greeted his future mother-in-law with polite if chilly words. She took his greeting and reminded him that if he and Esme were ready, she and her husband would soon take the floor. He agreed, then excused himself to make his way toward his intended.
Paces behind him waited Blake. Hands behind his back, rising now and again on his toes, he looked impatient as a boy.
When he stepped forward, Lady Courtland had a grin for him. “How did you enjoy the village frolic, Lord Bridges?”
“Very much so, my lady. I am grateful for your acceptance of my intrusion to this party. I’ve not had many occasions in past years to laugh…or to dance.” His blue eyes sailed toward Mary’s.
“I do hope you will take advantage of this opportunity, my lord, to do both.”
