The Bridal Quest. Candace CampЧитать онлайн книгу.
gave her a short nod, and bade goodbye to his cousin and great-aunt. He strode to the door, then turned and looked back at Francesca. “Lady Haughston…may I suggest one woman whom I would like to consider?”
Francesca caught Lady Odelia’s expression of amazement out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her gaze on Gideon, saying only, “Of course, my lord. Whom would you suggest?”
“Lady Irene Wyngate,” he replied.
CHAPTER THREE
IRENE WATCHED HER mother as she moved gracefully through the steps of a country dance with her cousin Harville. Sir Harville, whose party this was, was one of the few people with whom Lady Claire felt it was appropriate for a widow such as herself to dance. He was also one of the few people who could always bring a smile to her mother’s face.
For those reasons, Irene always looked forward to Lady Spence’s birthday ball. And since Sir Harville, instead of his penny-pinching wife, arranged the ball, the affair was also beautifully decorated and offered a midnight supper that would tempt even the faintest of appetites.
“Such a sweet little dance,” Irene’s sister-in-law said beside her, glancing about the ballroom with an expression that mingled approval with condescension. “Not nearly so grand a ballroom as we have at Wyngate House, but they have done it up very well.”
Irene suppressed a sigh. Maura was the mistress of the insult wrapped in a compliment. However, Irene had promised her mother that she would not quarrel with Maura tonight, so she made no comment.
“Lady Claire is in good looks tonight,” Maura went on. “Don’t you agree, Humphrey dear?”
She turned a sugary smile on her husband, standing on her other side. Humphrey smiled back, pleased at his wife’s comment, “Yes, she does look lovely. So like you to point that out.”
It never ceased to amaze Irene that her brother, so intelligent in so many other ways, never saw through Maura’s pretense of sweetness to the sharp claws beneath.
“No matter what others may say, I think it is wonderful for her to dance.”
Humphrey frowned a little. “Say? What does anyone say?”
“Nothing,” Irene assured him firmly, shooting Maura a daggerlike look.
“Of course not,” Maura agreed smoothly. “Why, there is nothing at all wrong with a woman of her age dancing with her cousin—even if it is such a lively dance. And while one would be quite correct in presuming that some women would do it to call attention to themselves, of course your mother would never do that.”
“No, never.” Humphrey blinked, looking at his wife with some concern. “Do people say that?”
“No,” Irene interrupted flatly. “They do not. There is nothing wrong with Mother’s dancing, even if it were not with her cousin, and no one of any consequence would say so.” She shot a fierce look at Maura as she spoke the last few words.
“Indeed not,” Maura agreed, assuming a prettily determined expression. “And so I shall tell anyone who has the audacity to say so.”
“Yes, quite.” Humphrey smiled down at his wife, though his eyes remained a little troubled. He turned to look at his mother again.
“And I beg you will not say anything to Mother about it,” Irene went on, iron in her voice. “It would be most unkind to make her worry in any way over doing something that she enjoys so much.”
“Oh, indeed.” Maura nodded. “Though one cannot help but wonder whether Lady Claire, with her sensibilities, might not decide that she would prefer to stand up to one of the more sedate tunes.”
“That is true,” Humphrey agreed, casting a fond look at his wife. “You are always so solicitous of Mother.”
“Humphrey!” Irene said sharply. “If you or Maura say anything to destroy Mother’s happiness in taking an innocent dance with her cousin—”
“Irene!” Maura looked shocked. Tears welled up in her blue eyes. “I would never hurt Lady Claire. Why, she is as dear to me as my own mother.”
“Irene, really,” Humphrey said, exasperated. “How could you say something so cruel? You know how Maura feels about Mother.”
“Yes,” Irene replied drily. “I do.”
“Sometimes your tongue is just too sharp. You know how sensitive Maura is.”
“Now, Humphrey, darling,” Maura said before Irene could speak, “I am sure that Irene did not mean to hurt me. She is so much stronger than other women. She does not understand how words can wound a softer nature.”
Irene curled her fingers into a fist by her side, willing herself not to lash back at Maura with cutting words. That would be playing right into her hands. For all her silliness, Maura was amazingly clever at manipulating a situation to her advantage.
As Irene swallowed her words, Maura cast her a maliciously triumphant look, then turned her head away. “Oh, look, Irene, here is Lady Haughston coming toward us. Now might be your chance to talk to her, as we were discussing the other day.”
“Talk about what?” Humphrey asked. “I didn’t realize you and Francesca Haughston were friends.”
“We are not,” Irene began.
“Never mind, dearest,” Maura put in, smiling at her husband. “It was just girl talk.”
“Ah.” He nodded, looking pleased at the thought of his wife and sister sharing girlish confidences. “Then I shall not press you.”
He bowed to Francesca as she reached them. “Lady Haughston. How good to see you.”
“Lord Wyngate. Lady Wyngate. Lady Irene.” Francesca favored them all with a smile. “Such a lovely ball, is it not?”
They spent a few minutes on the usual niceties, discussing the lovely fall weather, the lack of entertainment in London now that the Season was over, and the health and happiness of Lady Haughston’s brother and his new bride.
At a pause in the conversation, Francesca turned toward Irene and said, “I was about to take a stroll about the room. Perhaps you would care to join me?”
Surprised, Irene looked at her blankly for a moment, then said, “Why, yes, of course.”
Francesca smiled and stepped away, and Irene followed her, casting a suspicious glance at Lady Maura as she did so. Had Maura arranged this meeting with Lady Haughston? The surprise on Maura’s face appeared quite genuine, yet…
They strolled toward the opposite wall, where a bank of French doors had been opened to let in the evening air. As they walked, they exchanged the same sort of small nothings that they had been bandying about earlier, and Irene’s curiosity grew with each step. It seemed too odd a coincidence that Francesca Haughston should make an obvious effort to meet her only two days after Maura had been urging Irene to talk to the woman.
Irene had assumed that Maura was simply using Lady Haughston as an excuse to needle her about her spinster state and her many deficiencies of charm and character. But perhaps Maura had been serious. Perhaps Maura was willing to go to any lengths to see Irene marry, given that it would mean that Irene—and perhaps her mother, as well—would leave Maura’s house.
Color flooded Irene’s throat as she thought about the embarrassing possibility that Maura had been talking to Francesca Haughston about Irene’s failure to marry. She could well imagine how Maura would have smiled sweetly as she spoke of how sorry she felt for poor, unwanted Irene.
Irene set her jaw and cast a glance over at her companion. Would Francesca Haughston have any interest in doing Maura a favor? She could not imagine that the two of them were friends. Maura had only been around Lady Haughston a few times, and only in large social settings. And it seemed unlikely that Francesca would have sought