Chapter Eight #2
Marianne gave a breathless giggle. “Perhaps we should return to the main pavilion, where the orchestra is playing—”
“And we shall not be enticed into doing anything improper,” he finished for her.
Marianne’s dancing eyes met his own. “We shall be married soon.”
“When such behavior is expected.” He raised his eyebrows, surprised and enchanted by her boldness.
“Encouraged even,” she murmured, her breath warm against his cheek.
“We should leave now, before my baser desires get the better of my finer temperament.”
Marianne’s laughter was like a peal of bells. “Good heavens. I do not know how I feel about discovering these baser desires.”
They had both risen to their feet, but Bear could not resist the urge to pull her toward him once again and press his lips to hers. She was pliant and willing in his arms, a gift sent from above. “I look forward to introducing you to them. Soon.”
“As do I.” She kissed him back freely and without restraint.
Bear knew that Marianne was no innocent debutante, but a widow with a child.
She had known a man’s touch before. But her insistence of a marriage in name only had compelled him to shut the door on any musings as to how they might come together as man and wife.
Now that door had been flung open, and anticipation made his pulse pound.
“We must stop,” he managed to say. “I do not want to. I have never enjoyed kissing anyone half so much as you. But if we do not stand apart, I may not be answerable for my actions.” He smiled to show he spoke in jest for, of course, Bear believed that a man should always be answerable for his actions.
Marianne smoothed her skirts and carefully replaced her mask. “Do I look respectable?”
“Very.” He nodded approvingly. “No one would ever guess you had been kissing a man in the bushes.”
She giggled, carefree as a young girl, and Bear’s heart filled with happiness as he slipped on his own mask.
“And you, Lord Benedict, appear far too stern and proper to do any such thing.”
“As I am.” He tucked her arm inside his and set off toward the pavilion. “Or as I used to be,” he corrected himself. “It seems you have led me astray, Lady Brewood.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them, for just minutes earlier Marianne had confided how her former husband had accused her of impropriety.
He would never wish to do or say anything that might bring distress to her sparkling eyes.
But Marianne only smiled up at him, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
They turned a corner and reentered Society.
Loud orchestra music filled the air and masked figures, laughing and dancing, whirled past. It was all in such contrast to the quiet intimacy of the past half an hour, that Bear could not at first make sense of it.
He watched Marianne moving instinctively to the melody of the violins, noticing how the lantern light brought out hues of gold in her flame-colored hair, and how she smiled at the twirling couples on the dance floor.
Happiness emboldened him. “Would you care to dance?” he whispered in her ear.
“I dared not imagine that Lord Benedict Fairfield was a man who liked to dance.” Marianne put her head to one side, consideringly. “Was I wrong?”
“You were right.” Laughter bubbled up through his chest. “But tonight feels like an exception.”
“Then it would be my honor to accept.” She dropped into an elegant curtsy which Bear could answer only with a bow.
“What’s this? Is my brother about to take to the dance floor?”
Piping and incredulous, Clara’s voice came to him as if from a great distance away.
He turned to see his sisters, all three of them, lined up between him, Marianne, and the illuminated pavilion.
Despite their decorated eye masks, there was no mistaking them.
Clara, Grace, and Marigold were as blonde and beautiful as ever, their gowns gaily trimmed and their fans fluttering, like three peas in a pod.
Behind them, dancers swooped and spun as the orchestra picked up the pace, matching the quickened beating of Bear’s heart.
As ever, Bear felt conscious of the difference between himself and his family; he large and lumbering, and they small and perfectly formed. But with Marianne at his side, he could meet Clara’s enquiry with a smile.
“That was my plan, yes, before we were so rudely interrupted.”
“Well, I am sorry for it, for I long to see my brother dance.” Clara’s blue eyes swept over Marianne.
“But any rudeness here belongs to you, dear Bear. Will you not introduce your partner?” She smiled warmly and Bear felt the unfamiliar tug of a new emotion—a keen desire that his favorite sister and his future bride would get along.
He cleared his throat. “Lady Marianne Brewood, it is an honor to present my sisters, Lady Grace Fairfield, Lady Marigold, and Lady Clara.”
The four ladies curtsied prettily, leaving Bear feeling hot and socially awkward. Though they were outside, it seemed as if there were not enough air. He had known the day would come when Marianne would meet his family. But did that day have to be now? Within moments of their first kiss?
“It is my pleasure to meet you,” said Marianne.
“Are you enjoying your evening, Lady Brewood?” asked Clara, whose bright expression left Bear in no doubt that she had placed the name.
“Enormously, thank you.” Marianne appeared calm and unruffled.
“And have you discovered the wonderful array of sweets in the colonnade?” Clara leaned forward conspiratorially.
Marianne smiled back. “I have not.”
“Oh, but you must.” Clara nodded decisively. “We will take you there now.”
Alarmed, Bear shook his head at his sister. “How come you are here without a chaperone, Clara?” His voice had more steel than he intended.
“I am here with a chaperone.” She blinked at him innocently.
“Harry would never allow—” Bear began.
“Not Harry. Our sister-in-law, Lydia.” Clara took Marianne’s arm possessively and began walking toward the colonnade. “We will be back soon, I promise.”
Lydia.
Bear’s thoughts spun in tighter circles than the waltzing dancers in front of him.
Just moments ago he had been about to take his future bride in his arms. Now she had been swept away by his sisters and not only that, but one of the masked figures promenading around Vauxhall was his first love, Lydia.
The woman who had broken both his heart and any possibility of good standing in Society.
Anyone who was anyone knew that Lady Lydia Danvers had thrown Bear over for his wealthier older brother.
The shame should rightly belong to Lydia herself, or to Harry, but instead it had settled like a heavy fog onto Bear’s shoulders.
He felt bereft as Marianne quite willingly joined his line of sisters, talking and smiling as they made their way towards the ornate arches of the colonnade. She had abandoned him, with little more than a backward glance.
Bear gave himself a shake. He was a grown man, a soldier for goodness’ sake. There was no danger here, save the very real prospect of being bumped into by an enthusiastic dancer who had imbibed too much wine.
He made his way to a quiet corner and rested his back against a smooth pillar. His head pounded with the relentless music and endless passage of brightly dressed revelers, and he forced himself to breathe deeply and remember that just minutes earlier, he had thought himself on the steps of heaven.
It will all be over soon, he told himself.
He was grateful, at least, for the mask, telling himself it offered some protection from Society’s prying eyes. But even when disguised, his height and breadth rendered Bear quite recognizable.
Lydia would know him anywhere.
Since returning from France, Bear had grown accustomed to meeting his former love in the breakfast room or on the stairs.
They regularly sat across from one another at dinner.
He had perfected the art of the small smile, quickly followed by an unfocused gaze somewhere over her left shoulder.
The secret, he discovered, was in never maintaining eye contact for more than a second.
Lydia did not deserve any more of his attention.
It was not the case that he still harbored feelings for her. Any affection had long since been extinguished by the smiling ease with which she swapped one brother for another. It was more that he felt ashamed.
Ashamed of himself, for falling for the charms of such a shallow individual.
Ashamed of himself for not taking his brother to task, for simply accepting the situation without even a murmur of surprise or dissent. But Bear had long grown accustomed to accepting the unpleasant. Part of him believed he deserved it.
And those feelings of shame had no place here, tonight. He wanted to put Lydia behind him, along with most of his family and almost all of the ton.
All he desired was Marianne, her company, her smile, and her conversation. But despite his best efforts, his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a glimpse of raven-black hair and Lydia’s laughing green eyes. If he saw her first, he reasoned, he could ensure their paths did not cross.
The bang and flash of the first firework took him entirely unawares.
Smoke filled the air and for a dreadful moment he was back on the battlefield in Paris.
But the cool stone pillar against his spine helped to root him in the present.
He removed his mask to mop his brow with a handkerchief and breathed deeply as the next firework filled the sky with color and the crowd around him gasped with appreciation.
Why did no one else associate loud bangs and flashes with gunpowder, terror, and death?
Bear flattened his palms against his breeches to stop them trembling and waited for the display to come to an end.
Get a hold of yourself, he instructed himself grimly.
And suddenly there was Lydia, a vision in shimmering peacock blue and gold, feathers trailing from her glossy hair. Her green eyes shone brighter than the lanterns overhead as she stood by the fountain and assessed him.
Finding him wanting.
She smiled, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, then turned on her heel and was lost in the crowd.
Bear shook his head, his ears still ringing from the fireworks. At least Lydia had not approached him, spoken to him, or attracted the gaze of others. He had not been obliged to make polite conversation with someone so lacking in sincerity.
Now all he had to do was wait for Marianne to return to him.
The thought of Marianne helped to steady both his heart rate and his breathing.
He straightened his back, still using the pillar for support, and glanced in the direction of the pavilion to see if he could spot her.
A lady dressed top to toe in startling crimson looked askance as she passed, and he realized that he should probably replace his mask.
The orchestra struck up a waltz. A group of debutantes tittered at some private joke. Bear felt as out of place as ever, but he knew that everything would be better once Marianne was back.
Running footsteps came toward him and he turned with relief, but it was Clara who appeared at his side and tugged at his arm urgently.
“Is Lady Brewood with you?” She peered around and under different circumstances Bear might have found the question—and the situation—almost amusing.
“No.” He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “As you can surely see.”
Clara wrung her hands. “She disappeared. Sometime during the fireworks.”
Immediately alert, Bear gripped her wrist. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” Clara’s lovely face was creased with distress. “We were all looking upwards. Lady Brewood was there next to me. But when the fireworks finished, she was gone.”
“Gone,” Bear repeated stupidly.
“There was such a crush. I thought we would find her in just a moment. But she’s gone without a trace.” Clara touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Bear.”
People were watching. Bear reached for his composure. “It was not your responsibility to look after her,” he muttered.
After all, Marianne was a grown woman.
He recalled his earlier reflection; she was a widow, not an innocent debutante.
“She must have slipped away, when we were all distracted,” Clara suggested.
Bear’s heart turned to stone.
Of course.
He had kissed her. He had shared the dark secret of his parentage. Worse, she had seen the proof of this secret with her own eyes.
Just like Lydia, Marianne had found him wanting.
He gave his sister a small bow, aware again of the gaze of the crowd. “Don’t worry, Clara. None of this was your fault.”
It was Bear’s fault for daring to believe that happiness was within his grasp.
“I will walk over to the colonnade and see if I can find her,” he continued. “Failing that, I will wait near the pavilion in case she returns. Do not fret. Please, enjoy your evening.”
Clara looked both doubtful and relieved. “I’ll go back to Grace and Marigold then. But only if you’re sure?”
He summoned a smile. “I’m sure.”
He kept the smile in place until long after Clara had disappeared.
Yes, he was sure.
Sure that he had been a fool.