Hidden inheritance, p.16
Hidden Inheritance, page 16
“Oh, never could I do such a thing.” As he spoke the words, the latest country dance ended and his voice sounded clearly in the sudden lull.
Curiosity brought the irrepressible Juliana to their side. “Never could do what?”
Not wanting to embarrass Mr. Millbank, Vanessa was inclined to dismiss the subject. She found the waltz too daring anyway. It would not give credit to her determination to behave with propriety. She said nothing.
Not so Mr. Millbank. His heroine had come crashing down with quite a thud. “Miss Tarleton endeavors to teach me the waltz.” The horror in his voice was too much for Lady Juliana. She had the misfortune to laugh.
From behind them, Mrs. Hewit darted a calculating look, first at Lord Stone, then at Vanessa. “Why not teach the dance to all of us? Perhaps if we see it performed, we may find it quite diverting.” She noted the tightening of the muscles on Nicholas’ face, the coolness of his eyes, and smiled.
Taking a deep breath, Vanessa calmly nodded at the trio of musicians, who were up to the mark regarding the latest music. In spite of her desire to remain in the background, it seemed she was destined to put her foot out. She extended her hand to Mr. Millbank, who seemed reluctant to accept it. Further embarrassed, Vanessa glanced to Juliana for help. However, it was Lord Stone who took her hand in his, nodding for her to commence.
“It is really quite simple: one, two, three . . . one, two, three . . . an easy series of steps.” She lifted her satin skirt so her feet could be seen as they moved through the steps.
No man could fail to appreciate the pretty turn of ankle displayed. A flash of vexation crossed Mrs. Hewit’s face, gone before Vanessa might see it. Vanessa swallowed with care before placing her other hand on the earl’s shoulder. “Now you lead thus, milord.”
The shock of his hand so intimately on her back was quelled with only the greatest of fortitude. She glanced up to find his eyes studying her face, and she sensed a warmth stealing over her that must reveal itself in some shade of pink. They moved away from the others in the basic steps, neatly performed. Vanessa ventured an approving smile. “You do well, milord.”
She was amazed when Lord Stone deftly spun her around in a very good turn about the room in perfect time to the three-quarter beat of the music. It felt as though she skimmed across the sky on a cloud.
Lady Juliana grinned at Sir Harry, then dared him to attempt the dance as well. He was game, and another couple, albeit rather clumsy, joined Vanessa and Lord Stone in performing the dance. Louisa looked as though she might like to try the dance, but knew the limitations of her partner too well to do so. Pamela looked fit to kill, as Juliana was wont to say.
The closeness of Lord Stone, Vanessa’s hand clasped lightly in his, the warmth of his other hand on her back, felt so clearly through the delicate fabric of her dress, nearly made her dizzy. The relief at the conclusion of the dangerous dance was mingled with a deep sense of loss. She made her curtsy, then backed away, trying to hide her confusion from the others. The touch of his hand was imprinted on her back in searing heat. Never had she imagined such sensations.
“Disgraceful!” Chagrin mingled with jealousy. Pamela Hewit dared not ignore that gracefully swirling figure as a potential rival.
“It is nothing of the kind.” Juliana laughed, though with girlish charm, at Pamela. “I think it prodigiously delightful. What think you, Nicholas?”
Rubbing his chin in a gesture revealing his nettled mood, Nicholas said, “I had the advantage of seeing the dance performed while in Portugal. It has been popular in Europe for some time, you know. Miss Tarleton is as graceful a dancer as I have observed.”
Determined to remove attention from Vanessa, Mrs. Hewit signaled the musicians to play, sweeping Nicholas off in a country dance with Louisa and Dunston along. Juliana followed with Sir Harry, leaving Vanessa with the disapproving Mr. Millbank. There was little to be said, so she simply enjoyed the music, ignoring the sight of Nicholas paying court to the figure in gold satin.
Vanessa was far too well-bred to allow her gaze to follow him as he moved about the room. Yet she knew precisely where he was every moment of the evening. She wondered if hearts actually crumbled to little pieces when wounded.
Later, after the pleasant supper and bidding the guests good night, she listened to Juliana proclaim it the most agreeable of evenings. The two women walked up the stairs to their rooms, Juliana quite tired and pleased with the party. She danced down the hall to her room on happy feet after leaving Vanessa at her door. Nicholas and Millbank were still downstairs in the library, enjoying a last glass of port before bed.
In the quiet of her room, as Vanessa removed the pins from her hair, allowing the flower to fall ignored to the floor, she acknowledged the bitterest of truths. Lord Stone would undoubtedly ask Mrs. Hewit to be his wife. The marriage so neatly solved his problems, and in view of his behavior this evening, did not appear to be all that objectionable to him. He had positively doted on the widow tonight!
And Vanessa? She had made an utter cabbagehead of herself, dancing the waltz. But it had been wonderful, and delicious . . . and she wished she might do it once more.
Chapter 11
The Celtic dragon winked back at her from the mirror as Vanessa stroked its tail, pleased with the way it looked at the neck of her green jaconet gown. The polished bronze felt like cool satin to her touch. Who had worn this so many years ago? What had happened to cut short her life? For a moment she visualized the violent clash of Dane against Celt. A second check in the girandole mirror that hung in the saloon reminded her she ought to be working at the tapestry, not admiring her discovery and dreaming.
Settling on the chair where she spent so many hours, she considered the previous night as she threaded her needle. She began to skillfully weave the color in and out of the tapestry, being careful not to catch in the lining.
She shook her head in dismay at her actions of the previous evening. How had she allowed herself to be urged into the position of demonstrating the waltz? Mrs. Hewit had declared herself scandalized. Though Lord Stone had defended Vanessa—mildly, to be sure—he’d spent the remaining evening with Mrs. Hewit, never once, as far as Vanessa knew, glancing in her direction.
Well, what did she expect? Her foolish heart could never think Lord Stone might look at a needlewoman when he felt it his duty to marry for money. And, she reminded herself, she would never be a party to anything less than marriage.
Smoothing the heavy fabric of the tapestry, she observed how the yarns were so closely intertwined, in and out across the breadth of the weaving. Red turned to blue to green much like the days of her life changed subtly as time flowed by, a never-ending thread. Her hand encountered another of the strange lumps. Just as she was about to explore it, Juliana danced into the room, her face wreathed in a smile.
“It was a frightfully marvelous party, was it not? I declare, I am excessively pleased with our little evening. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate all your help.” She giggled, making a face at Vanessa. “You sit so prim and proper today after dancing the waltz last night. I vow, when Pamela said she found it disgraceful I simply had to join in the dance. Harry surprised me. I never dreamed he would be such a good sport. Maybe there is hope for the man after all.”
“It would appear you are correct, the way he behaved last evening.” Vanessa suppressed a smile at the lavish speech Juliana favored. What a dear young woman.
“She was in good looks, was she not?” Juliana tossed out her remark, watching Vanessa’s reaction with shrewd eyes.
“Mrs. Hewit?” An imp took hold of Vanessa’ s tongue and she replied, “She was like a full-blown rose—a yellow one, to be sure. You did not exaggerate when you said she wears naught but yellow. However, since she looks charming in that shade, who could fault her for it?” The woman was past her prime, but Vanessa could not bring herself to be catty in her remarks. If Lord Stone had fixed his interest in Pamela, that was the end of it.
“I thought Harry prodigiously handsome.” Juliana held out her arms, waltzing down the room to a tune she hummed in a pleasing soprano.
Murmuring a noncommittal reply, Vanessa let her thoughts turn to Lord Stone. Distinguished, handsome, well-set—how best to describe the man? His elegance of last night had not been that of a country squire, but of a man of polish. The sparkle, as rich as any sapphire, that had lurked in his eyes was such that she wished she might see it more often. What heaven to be held in his arms, if only for the length of a waltz. Annoyed at the direction of her thoughts, she resolutely applied herself to Juliana and her problems. “What do you plan to do today?”
“I have a fitting, then I am free. I believe Harry said something about coming over to check with Nicholas regarding a problem with the sheep or some such thing. I shall be very indifferent.” She turned to waltz down the room again, her humming louder this time.
Smiling to herself, Vanessa bent her head over the tapestry to resume her work. The central tapestry was nearly completed. Long hours of diligent weaving accomplished a good deal of work. Soon this one could be transferred and the second begun.
Juliana peered over her shoulder. “That is certainly an elegant hanging, is it not? Grandpapa was so proud of them all. I suspect they are quite valuable. I am pleased Nicholas decided to honor his promise to him and have them repaired. It certainly was not a project my father or Damian would have considered undertaking.” Her fingers traced the figure of a hunter with his catch of wild boar, the jewel tones of his doublet and hose bright and bold.
“I quite agree with you regarding the tapestries. The depth and richness of color appear undimmed by the years, in spite of the neglect. The gradations of color continually amaze me. See how subtly the change is done, yet the outline remains crisp and the detail sharp? The story of the hunt with all the information of what life must have been like for them is there if you but search for it. At Blackwood Hall our tapestries were of the seasons. I dearly loved them. I wonder who will care for them now?” she mused softly.
“Have you ever thought of weaving one yourself?”
“Like Penelope at her loom? Not really. Though now you mention it, such a venture would be exciting. I should like to attempt a bed hanging, I believe. Perhaps someday I may have the time to try such a thing, although it would be an expensive undertaking, I fear.”
Vanessa sighed, then turned her attention to the needle in her hand, the lumps she had intended to explore earlier completely forgotten.
“What did they use for dye?” Juliana continued to examine the section Vanessa was working.
“This blue is either indigo or woad, the yellow from weld, which resembles mignonette. I imagine the red is from madder. The other colors are most likely mixtures. They used bark, leaves, berries, and moss, even insects, I understand. I am thankful I can buy my thread. Miss Linwood told me she has hers all dyed for her.”
“It’s a bit like your herbs, I think—all the natural ingredients used.” Juliana lost interest and wandered away from the worktable to gaze longingly out a window. “I wonder when I will be able to take the dogcart out again. I shall want you to come along.” Her look was as pleading as her voice was coaxing.
“Let me finish this central hanging. While the footmen shift it about to transfer the second one, I will come with you. Tell me, do you plan to paint, or search for more jet beads?” Vanessa held her needle poised in midair, glancing up to Juliana, wondering if she hoped Sir Harry might join in the outing.
Juliana moved restlessly to the next window to stare up at the cloudy sky. “I shall paint. As far as the beads are concerned, Harry promised to have them strung for me. There are enough to make a pretty necklace.” She paused, then continued. “I told you I mean to be indifferent to Harry, and I meant what I said. No more languishing looks!” She ruined her dramatic speech by peeping at Vanessa like a naughty child expecting to be reprimanded.
Vanessa merely laughed at her, shaking her head in rueful amusement.
Suddenly Juliana stiffened. “Here comes Pamela’s carriage. Surely I must be needed for a fitting . . . or something. Excuse me.” She hastily slipped from the room, leaving Vanessa trapped at the table.
The lute-toned voice drifted in from the central hall, where Peverly greeted Mrs. Hewit with frosty hauteur. Vanessa approved his disdain in this instance, though she never would have admitted it to anyone. When Pamela Hewit failed to materialize, Vanessa concluded she was to be left in peace. Obviously the widow, garbed, no doubt, in daffodil or sunflower yellow, sought Lord Stone. The thought failed to bring any comfort.
As Millbank left for an errand in York early that morning, Vanessa felt safe from his reproachful gaze. The house was strangely quiet with Juliana secreted in her room with her dressmaker, the carpenters working elsewhere for the present. No echoes of dropping lumber reached her ears today. She picked up the tune Juliana had hummed earlier to amuse herself with a rendition that, if it wasn’t perfect, gave her spirits a lift.
A rustle of silk at the door brought Vanessa’s head up just as Mrs. Hewit entered the room. The daffodil dress— Vanessa had guessed aright—was slightly mussed and her usually perfectly ordered hair was disarranged. In point of fact, some of the young ladies who dallied with young bucks during a ball looked much the same. The smug expression on her face didn’t sit particularly well with Vanessa, who chided herself for a suspicious turn of mind, when Lord Stone entered the room from the same direction.
Vanessa knew her eyes must have widened at the sight of him. His hair was tousled, to be sure, but not in the perfect arrangement his valet created, nor in the absentminded disorder Nicholas tended to make when deep in thought. His cravat, earlier a pattern card of perfection, looked as though it had been scrunched badly by . . . Her mind skittered to a halt, refusing to consider what her eyes noted.
Yet she had promised herself to be realistic. It seemed Nicholas—Lord Stone, that is—would not find marriage to Mrs. Hewit the least bit of a hardship. Vanessa discreetly lowered her eyes to the tapestry once more, resolving to retain a measure of cool composure in the light of their obvious dalliance. Her cheeks warmed in response to their apparent lack of conduct. Still, she couldn’t deny there was an ache in her heart at the thought of Lord Stone in the arms of Mrs. Hewit.
“I vow, Nicholas,” Mrs. Hewit cooed, “this room could be so wonderful. I see drapery hangings of rich gold and dark red with a carpet to match. Have the painters redo those insipid chairs, paint them a white to match the walls, then cover the seats with a tapestry in gold and red as well. It would be monstrously elegant.”
Her dainty hand reached up to straighten his cravat, thereby making a greater hash of the thing. Bestowing a limpid smile into his eyes, she turned to face Vanessa. “Do you not agree with me, Miss Tarleton? Gold and red would be vastly appealing in this room.” Her expression dared Vanessa to disagree.
A devil seized hold of Vanessa, who raised her twinkling eyes to meet the sardonic gaze of Lord Stone. “Why, no. I cannot see gold and red in here at all.” She knew full well the two colors would become the chestnut-haired Mrs. Hewit very much. “There is such a wealth of sun in here, I believe an elegant cerulean blue with delicate gold would be better, at least to my mind. And the wood of the chairs left as is. I have always admired satinwood. Perhaps Juliana could create worked seat covers done with bellflowers or bluebells to carry out the blue theme.”
She paused for effect, then added mischievously, “On the other hand, winged lions might be nice. They would go well with those caryatids on the fireplace. Perhaps carved paw feet on the tables as well? And quite definitely a shell-shaped couch with alligator legs, to be right up to snuff, don’t you know.”
“If you wait for Juliana to work seat covers for these chairs, they will sit in their present state forever,” said Lord Stone. He walked to the window to look across the parkland. It seemed to Vanessa his shoulders shook ever so slightly. He cleared his throat, then turned to face the women.
The sight of him with that tousled hair and the devilish blaze in those dark eyes riveted Vanessa’s attention and she couldn’t help staring at him, despite her resolve to remain cool.
“I wonder . . . deep red and gold versus cerulean blue and delicate gold. I shall have to ponder on it. Thank you both for your suggestions.” He awarded them a wicked smile.
Pamela stamped her foot in vexation. “Horrid man! Knowing you, I shall find a totally different color scheme in here when the drapery is installed, such as pale green with ecru. You ought not have to bother with all this, Nicholas dear,” she coaxed. “A wife could take this burden from your shoulders so easily.”
His grin widened. “And work the seat covers for me as well, true?”
Pamela blanched, knowing her talent with the needle to be her poorest skill. She shrugged eloquent shoulders, the deep neckline of the daffodil gown revealing a vast expanse of creamy shoulders, and more—or less, depending on one’s preference—to appreciative eyes. “If you desire worked seat covers, get someone like the Duchess of York, who plies her needle without ceasing, so I understand.”
Vanessa covered her quivering mouth with her hand. Somehow, she doubted if Mrs. Hewit had planned this scene to go quite this way.
“However, I do believe one of those charming Greek-style sofas would be lovely in here. A nice red and gold satin stripe, I daresay.” Pamela gave Vanessa a defiant look, daring her to contradict her.
“Oh, I agree with you about the couch in the Greek style,” said Vanessa in the most dulcet of voices. “In fact, I believe two would be even better. Those curved arms are so graceful, and I so enjoy tucking a bolster at my side while I do my needlework. I find it so pleasantly relaxing, don’t you, Mrs. Hewit?”
Not waiting for a reply, she continued, “But as to color and fabric, I should think ivory silk with a faint stripe of blue would be eminently more suitable for this room . . . as I see it.”
Mrs. Hewit didn’t have a monopoly on limpid looks. Vanessa couldn’t resist batting her eyelashes in the direction of the nobleman who now lounged against the marble fireplace mantel with the ease of a conquering hero.
