Chapter 14
“Man’s love is of man’s life a part; it is a woman’s whole existence.”
~Lord Byron
“Lady Fleur!”
Fleur found herself swarmed at every side.
An arm caught her fast about the waist.
Ears buzzing, Fleur lifted her head.
Lord Anthony Markham; the perpetual rogue’s smile he’d favored her with before had been transformed in somberness. His visage was serious and more welcome than the show he put on for her earlier.
It took too long for her to register the scandalous nature of his prolonged touch.
The rush of whispers filled her ears and blurred in her head.
She fluttered her eyes and found that the audience that previously favored the dazzling couple on the floor was now fully locked in on Fleur and Lord Markham.
She could only imagine what they thought.
The one gentleman, now with Lady Angela’s fingertips on his sleeve, towered above the rest. He frowned in Fleur’s general direction.
Then Cassia and her mother were there, absolving the gentleman of responsibility, and, as Fleur knew her mother best, rescuing the McQuoids from further scandal.
The countess placed herself gracefully between Fleur and Lord Markham. “Thank you for your aid, Lord Markham,” she said with all the regal elegance that none of her children possessed.
“…The McQuoids are vulgar and crude…”
“We are most indebted to you.”
“Not at all, my lady.” The gentleman gave his gaze to Fleur. “I am pleased I could be of help, Lady Fleur.”
Cassia came up on Fleur’s other side. “Would you be so good as to fetch a cup of lemonade for my sister?”
Fleur’s stomach turned. “That won’t be necess—”
“It will be an honor, my lady.” He gave a sharp bow and stalked off.
“Fleur?” Cassia kept an arm fastened firmly about her waist.
“I am fine,” she said, her voice shaky.
She made the mistake of looking out at Henry and Lady Angela. As the lead couple in the Spanish Dance, they were placed on the wrong sides of the set. That positioning required them to execute intricate and intimate circles around one another.
How perfect they were together. Tall in stature. Strikingly dark. The lady was lithe and willowy, unlike Fleur, whose dresses had recently needed letting out.
Their bodies moved with graceful fluidity as Henry led the duke’s sister through the seductive steps. So lost was Henry in his partner that even if the rest of the room had been on fire, he wouldn’t have noticed.
Fleur’s legs dipped under her.
Mother and Cassia had her, but barely. More McQuoids rushed to the scene, well-meaning and concerned.
This time, her blissfully in love cousin, Meghan, swept in with Lord Culross and her cousin, Andromena, close behind.
“Fleur?” Meghan asked, her voice agitated. “What is wrong—?”
Henry’s first betrothed.
Her heart trembled.
“Not here.” Their mother cut Andromena off without moving her lips. “Your concern is appreciated, but you’ve drawn even more attention than Fleur needs.”
Mother and eldest, protective sister shared a look.
“Come.” With the maturity and discretion Cassia had developed into since motherhood, she took charge; Cassia expertly squired Fleur from the ballroom and through double doors until they arrived on the veranda, which overlooked Lord Winfield’s parklike grounds.
Once outside, she escorted Fleur to a nearby wrought-iron bench. They sat down hard, together. Sisters. Side by side. Shoulder to shoulder.
Crisp, clean air flooded her nose and lungs, purifying and healing. The cool spring breeze was akin to a balm upon her clammy body. Until at last, Fleur could breathe freely, and her head cleared.
Cassia rested her cheek atop Fleur’s shoulder. “Were you really peaked or did you want a quick escape?”
She mustered a playful lie for her sister’s behalf.
“Both.”
Their laughter blended into the sibling song composed of that most special bond, and it possessed the healing properties of a great elixir that vanquished pain and hurt.
For a short moment, Fleur was able to forget remembering Lady Angela being guided down the marble floor with Henry’s arms and fingers twined about her and with hers.
But only for a moment.
She went motionless.
No. No. No. No. No.
The sick feeling returned, and this time it was accompanied by a frenzied heartbeat, and Fleur thought she might be dying, and thought that might be preferable to discovering…
She…she…cared for Henry. Sweat moistened her forehead.
No. No. No. No. Worse. She—
Fleur jumped to her feet and had to catch the arm of the chair to keep from falling.
Cassia tensed. “Fleur—?”
“As I suspected, Fleur and Cassia found a way to beg off.”
They let out matching shrieks and turned towards an affronted Quillon. His hands dropped on his narrow hips and, wearing a dark scowl, he looked better suited to one of the family ships and not Cassia’s terrace.
Except, as he came strolling over, the grin he reserved for Fleur used the muteness of twin-speak to say: I’m jesting. I’m just glad you’re all right.
The kiss he dropped on her cheek said it even louder.
Fortunately, Quillon’s twin-speak didn’t detect Fleur’s internal horror of, Lord help me, against all reason and judgment, I’ve fallen in love with the Duke of Hartwell.
A commotion filled the same doorway Quillon had just entered through.
All the McQuoid siblings and cousins, all talking over one another, streamed onto the veranda.
Her head still addled, she struggled to keep up with the very crowded space.
Myrtle squeezed next to Fleur and Cassia onto the bench. Meghan and Linnie found the arms.
“Nicely played, Fleur.” Oleander clapped his hands. “Finding a way to steal away from Cassia’s ball. Well done.”
The two cousins stuck their tongues out at one another.
“That is, with the exception of fainting to get out of it.” Andromena made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Not at all McQuoid-like.”
An ascending murmur rolled over the crowd of cousins and siblings.
If they were horrified by a pretend faint, what would they say if they knew it had been a real one?
Her temples began to pound.
“I disagree.” Meghan was the only dissenting McQuoid. “Fleur went into a swoon, and it was just beautiful.”
A frown pinched the spot between Myrtle’s brows. “It did look very real.”
Everyone looked at Fleur.
A fresh surge of nausea swept over her.
Somehow, Fleur managed to smile. “You have found me out.”
Silence met her profession.
Then laughter exploded. They passed the next few minutes telling jests and sharing hilarities that had already befallen Cassia’s event.
Arran shushed their gathering to silence. “Who else is at all surprised at whom Hartwell settled on for his next betrothed?”
No hands went up.
“Of course it would be Nathaniel’s former intended,” Myrtle called.
Everyone bellowed in hilarity.
Only two people present frowned—Fleur and Cassia.
“Don’t forget the lady is a duke’s daughter,” Andromena pointed out. “A curmudgeon like Hart wouldn’t settle for anything less.”
Fleur’s eyes slid shut.
Laughter swelled.
“…and he’ll be absolutely livid, Fleur, since your faint drew all attention from him and his next betrothed…” her cousin, Brone, said.
The pulsing in her head grew.
Fleur glanced about while the McQuoids roared their heads off.
Her chest constricted.
Suddenly, it was too much.
“Enough,” she said, her speech emerging too thin and reedy to be heard above the gaiety. “I said enough!” Her sharp-edged cry ushered in silence.
Fleur whipped her attention to Linnie. “Linnie, he is your brother-in-law, yet you’ll say nothing?”
Linnie’s mouth moved several times.
Fleur felt them exchanging looks. “Is this who you are? Great bullies who mock a gentleman who is not only joined to us through marriage but one whom Brone, Campbell, and Aunt Leslie pushed for a union with.”
When the gentlemen in question averted their eyes, Fleur put her stare right on Meghan. “And need I remind you, Hart didn’t jilt Meghan—”
“Neither did Meghan—”
“Stop.” Fleur glared Dallin into silence. “The duke was willing to marry Meghan, even though Culross abducted her, and yes, I know that. I happen to hear more than you give me credit for.”
Fleur lifted her chin. “I ask, on what grounds do you mock him?” She didn’t give them a chance to answer. She didn’t want to hear from a single one of them. “We call him pompous, why? Because he values his name and honor? That we laugh in the face of scandal somehow makes us better? I ask, how?”
“We don’t laugh…”
Fleur shot her other eldest brother down with a single glance.
Her chest constricted. That uneasy feeling in her belly had returned with a force. “Our absence has certainly been noted. Hen—Hartwell is already fulfilling his end of the deal. I advise you to return and pay him in the same due courtesy.”
Exhausted all the way to her soul, Fleur grabbed the back of the bench. She took a slow breath. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me. I would like a moment alone for a few moments.”
Her family knew her well enough. They promptly bade her goodbye.
Once they had gone, she released the pressure on her shoulders and sagged.
All along, she had pressed Henry, urged him to find peace with her family.
Insisted there were no bad intentions from her kin.
He had been dubious. He had claimed Fleur’s family thought nothing of making him a fool in front of Polite Society, that the McQuoids only cared about improving their own standing. That they took him for a laughingstock.
She had believed his pride blinded him to who the McQuoids truly were.
And all along, he had been correct.
No wonder he had believed them rude and vulgar.
Fleur’s eyes slid shut.
She had gone her entire life seeing her family through rose-colored lenses. Na?ve. Trusting. Trusting that her family was the greatest, most decent, and kindest. When in truth, she had been ignorant of their flaws.
Bile climbed her throat.