Chapter Seventeen #2
She had spent almost a week watching the five young women flirt and chatter with Gideon—with the exception of Amanda Hurley, who seemed to be forming an attachment for Rowena Surton’s equally horse-mad brother Percy—and planning entertainments to give them the opportunity to carry on their flirtations.
Irene was, quite frankly, thoroughly tired of the whole lot of them, and she would be glad to see them gone in another two days.
As for the ball…well, she had quite selfishly decided that she would do no more planning or assisting or maneuvering to aid any of them.
She intended, instead, to set herself to the task of enjoying the evening.
Her time here was coming to an end, too, and soon enough she and her mother would be back with her brother and Maura, a thought that was enough to quite depress her spirits.
So, she decided, she would dress up in the lovely ball gown she had bought for the occasion, and she would dance and talk and laugh.
And if Gideon again chose to ignore her… well, that would be his loss.
The next evening—when she was dressed for the ball in the gold satin gown, her hair swept up into a soft arrangement of curls, tiny golden sparkling ornaments glittering here and there among her darker gold curls, and the gossamer-thin wrap of gold tissue draped across her bare arms—she knew her decision had been the right one.
The soft shining material turned her eyes a pale, compelling gold and warmed her skin.
She might be returning soon to a lifetime of spinsterhood, but tonight she was lovely and glowing. The very air shimmered with promise.
She went down to the ball with Francesca, who assured her as they descended the stairs that she would be the most beautiful woman in the house tonight.
Irene smiled; the words were pleasant to hear.
But the feeling was nothing compared to the warmth that filled her when she stepped into the ballroom and Gideon turned and saw her.
His eyes widened, and the fire that sprang to life in them was swift and fierce.
He continued to gaze at her for a long moment, his eyes boring into hers, and it was not until one of the people with whom he was standing reached out to touch his arm that he finally turned back to his conversation.
“Well,” Francesca said beside her, “I believe that Lord Radbourne’s response was precisely what you intended.”
Irene turned to look at her. “I did not intend anything.”
Francesca let out a light laugh. “Irene, please, do not try to gammon me, I beg you.”
Irene narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“The way you look, of course. The hair, the dress—you have taken particular care with yourself tonight, and the result is obvious. You look like a goddess. A golden goddess, at that. Who else would anyone think all this effort was for?” She cocked a knowing brow.
Irene flushed. “If you are talking about Lord Radbourne, I can assure you that I do not care a whit what he thinks.”
“No, I am sure not.” Francesca smiled in her catlike way. “Nor was that a look of triumph I saw in your eyes when he turned and stared at you as if he could eat you up.”
Irene’s cheeks turned even hotter. “Francesca! No!”
“Yes.”
Irene wanted to protest, but she knew it would be foolish to do so. She had wanted to bring that look into Gideon’s eyes. The question, of course, was why? And why did she feel such a rush of excitement and satisfaction at her success?
Did she want so much to outshine the other young women here? She did not really dislike any of them, and it seemed a very petty thing to do. After all, they were interested in becoming the next Countess of Radbourne, and she did not even want the prize.
But even as she had the thought, she knew she was not being entirely honest. It was true that she did not seek to be the Countess of Radbourne, but she had wanted the prize: the look in Gideon’s eyes.
She did not want to marry. But she wanted Gideon.
“I am a terrible person,” she confessed in a low voice to Francesca.
Francesca shrugged. “Not terrible. Only human. What female does not want a man’s admiration…? Especially the admiration of the man she loves?”
“Francesca! You are quite wrong. I do not love Gideon. I did, I admit, feel a certain low satisfaction in—in making him notice me. And I have been foolishly bothered by the fact that he has been dancing attendance on all the other young women here. But that is utter nonsense, I know. I intended for him to pay attention to them. That is why we worked with him so much.”
“No. I worked with him to force you to be around him long enough to realize how you felt. The other women are here only in case you never come to your senses, or he gets so annoyed with you that he chooses someone else.”
Irene stared at her. “What?”
“Irene. Really.” Francesca linked her arm with Irene’s.
“My dear girl, I saw how it was with you two as soon as I watched you together in the park that day. It was utterly clear to anyone—or at least to anyone as accustomed as I am to watching people tumble into love—that the two of you were, well, in a word, destined.”
“Destined?” Irene repeated blankly. “You mean, destined for each other? Are you mad? We argued the whole time we talked in the park.”
“Yes, you did. But it was the way you argued. You were both clearly upset because you challenged each other’s preconceptions.
You each had very orderly arrangements, and the other one did not fit into them at all.
Naturally you were upset. But the…attraction was unmistakable.
I knew it was just a matter of time until you figured it out. You are a clever girl.”
Irene gaped at her. “All of this…” She waved her hand vaguely around the room. “All of this was just a…a ruse?”
“Oh, no. It wasn’t a ruse at all. I did need your help. Your assistance was absolutely essential.” Francesca smiled at her, amusement brimming in her eyes.
Irene was torn between anger and laughter, but Francesca’s smile was too infectious, and after a moment she lost the battle and chuckled.
“You are outrageous,” she told her friend, shaking her head.
“Well, I hope you will not be too disappointed when your plans do not work out as you had hoped. I have no intention of marrying Lord Radbourne.”
“Indeed, that is too bad,” Francesca said without any visible sign of distress. “I fear he will be exceedingly unhappy. But…” She shrugged. “When your heart is not engaged, it simply is not. Poor man. You still find him disagreeable, then? Maddening, I think you called him. Selfish, annoying…”
“No! I mean, yes, he is all those things,” Irene agreed.
“However, I do not dislike him. No, indeed. I have come to quite appreciate the man. He is strong and capable, and once you come to know him, you realize that he possesses a sharp wit. He is an excellent man. Everyone—his relatives most of all—have grossly misjudged him.”
“Have they?” Francesca murmured.
“Oh, yes.” Irene nodded. “It is a wonder, really, that he puts up with them. A lesser man would have tossed them out on their ears by now.”
“If you hold such admiration for him, I am at a loss to understand why you would not marry him,” Francesca told her.
“You know why I have no plans to marry.”
“Yes, but when one meets a man who stirs one so, then such plans usually fail, and the reasons you used to cling to no longer apply.”
Irene shook her head. “I am not, I hope, so inconsistent. And he—he does not want a true marriage. To love him would be a futile exercise. He does not want love. Marriage is a business arrangement for him. A practicality.”
“Indeed.” Francesca frowned. “Is it truly so? The look he sent you did not seem so cold.”
“Oh, he is not cold,” Irene responded, and again her cheeks turned pink. “He is, in fact, quite bold in that way. But that is not love.”
“Ah. Well, many women I know would feel that they could turn such ‘boldness’ into a deeper feeling. They might believe that with a little effort, such a man could come to love a woman who loved him.”
“Perhaps. But…it does not matter. Marriage is not something I long for. And ’tis better, surely, to avoid the pain that could come with such hopes. To love a man who does not return your love must be painful indeed.”
“Yes, I suppose it must be.” For an instant, sorrow shadowed Francesca’s lovely face, but then she shrugged it off.
“Well, you are a very strong woman, Irene. I admire you. Few women would be able to turn away as you can. To face not seeing Gideon again. To return to the life you have lived until now. Many would be unable to bear the thought of the loneliness. The pain.”
Irene’s smile wavered. “I will manage, I am sure.”
“Of course you will.”
Determinedly, Irene sought to change the subject. She glanced around, saying, “There are a number of new people here tonight.”
“Yes,” Francesca agreed. “A few local people whom Lady Odelia considers good enough for a large gathering—the squire and his family, the vicar and his wife. And Lady Odelia’s invitation is command enough to bring several others here just for the night.
They have been tucked into the undamaged rooms in the old wing. ”
“Not the best of accommodations.”
“No, but ‘quite well enough for them,’ as Lady Odelia would say.” Francesca shrugged a shoulder. She stiffened suddenly and stared across the ballroom, muttering a soft, “What is she doing here?”
“What? Who?” Intrigued, Irene followed Francesca’s gaze. She saw a woman with dramatically good looks standing across the ballroom, chatting with Lady Odelia and her sister.
The woman was older than Francesca by a few years, but she was still lovely, even though she must now be on the far side of thirty-five. She was tall and voluptuously built, with auburn hair and large pale blue eyes.