Chapter Six #2
Major Enderby had said little as Walker’s losses had mounted, other than finally suggesting that they should bring the game to an end.
Walker had scrawled a promise to pay his debt at some unspecified date in the future and was now looking for a willing lady or one of the housemaids to relieve some of the stress that continued debt put on him.
As he scanned the ballroom in search of the recently widowed Lady Sullivan who very willingly gave out favors to gentlemen who needed a bit of physical relief, his eyes stopped when they landed on Gwendolyn Burroughs, who was laughing and sipping champagne.
He watched her, a shrewd light in his eyes.
There was more than one way to skin a cat, more than one way to profit from the situation begun the night of the Wetherspoon ball and that had spiraled out of control.
The betting book at White’s was no longer holding a very big prize pot for whether he would marry Gwendolyn, but a more private and far more lucrative betting book had been opened by Sir Percy.
At a private card party he had snidely goaded Walker and finally bet that he could not bed Gwendolyn before they married. Walker had responded impetuously and interest had grown in the outcome, resulting in high stakes and a sizable prize for the winner.
In addition, Percy had staked his new phaeton and a pair of smart greys against Walker’s chances.
That neat little carriage and the excellent horses could pay off the debt Walker had accumulated recently and then he wouldn’t be beholden to his cousin and could find a way of withdrawing from the entanglement with Miss Burroughs.
He had no intention of marrying a girl whose temperament was too similar to his to make a comfortable marriage.
Once he got shot of her, he could turn his attention to the younger Miss Blythe, whose acquaintance he had slowly begun to cultivate.
She was sweet-tempered and lively, and young enough to be pliable.
Her ample dowry, rumored to be in the region of twenty-five thousand pounds, would go a long way to keeping his estate profitable so that he could continue to pursue his favorite pastime of gambling.
But Mrs. Blythe was a mother hen and carefully kept her chick under her wing.
While he bided his time, there were other things to occupy his attention.
*
The large room swayed in front of Gwendolyn’s eyes and her head was throbbing. It could be the champagne but an almost constant headache had plagued her for the last few weeks.
No matter how badly her head hurt, she was not going to accept Mariana’s suggestion to leave the ball.
She was determined to show everyone that she cared nothing for their harsh judgments and that no matter how much members of the haut ton tittered and sneered, she was still the most popular débutante. Her full dance card proved that.
She raised her half-empty glass to Mariana.
“You should try some. I never realized how the more you have, the better it tastes. And the bubbles sparkle inside you, making you feel bright and happy.” She swallowed another mouthful.
It was beginning to feel dry and bitter in her mouth and her stomach was roiling.
She held back a surge of nausea and faced her cousin with bravado.
“No wonder Mama forbids us to drink it. She hates anything that is enjoyable.”
Mariana looked askance at her cousin. “You look a little green. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Gwendolyn hiccupped her reply. “Oh, look. There’s Freya.” She waved wildly. “Cooey. We’re over here.”
People were staring openly now and even Gwendolyn was not impervious to the impropriety of her behavior.
Countess Leavin tutted loudly and observed what a pity it was that young girls these days had so little idea of decorum, no doubt the result of too many members of the aristocracy bringing women from trade into their homes as wives.
Lady Burroughs was almost purple with rage and indignation.
No one moved. No one spoke. It seemed that no one breathed. How would Gwendolyn Burroughs wangle her way out of this one?
Quick footsteps were heard descending the staircase at the bottom of which Gwendolyn and Mariana were standing. Gwendolyn swung around and a lean, deft hand removed the glass of champagne from her fingers before she slopped it over her dress.
Major Enderby bowed stiffly. His eyes were hard and his mouth was drawn into a tight line.
“Miss Burroughs, I believe I reserved this dance with you.” He hardly waited for her reply before leading her onto the dance floor where a set had been forming before she had drawn the attention of all the guests.
The musicians resumed the tune they had stopped playing and slowly the ball returned to normal.
The room was spinning and Gwendolyn stumbled, tripping over her dainty slippers. She couldn’t seem to remember the steps and began to turn left when she should have gone to the right. Major Enderby steadied her and put her right but said nothing.
Grace Blythe stood at the side of the room, a smile fixed on her face but her troubled eyes drew even Gwendolyn’s attention.
She took a deep breath but the words she tried to find turned to dust in her mouth at the severe expression in the major’s eyes.
He stared straight ahead and didn’t even attempt any conversation with her.
The only moment of relief she had during the uncomfortable ten minutes of the set was when Robert Walker came alongside her. His smile was cheerful and his eyes held a hint of tenderness that was very welcome.
As Walker handed her back to Enderby, he murmured, “We really should spend some time together. I have neglected you this evening.”
He was redolent with the heavy smell of brandy and sickly cologne but at that moment Gwendolyn thought he was the most charming gentleman of her acquaintance. Perhaps it would not be too horrid to be married to him.
The dance ended and Gwendolyn didn’t stifle her sigh of relief. She remembered enough of her manners to thank the major, but he was already stalking away to join Grace.
Gwendolyn blinked slowly and looked around her, then tried to walk carefully to the side of the room. Her mother intercepted her. Even in her inebriated state, Gwendolyn distrusted the smile that stretched across her mother’s face.
“Well, my dear, Major Enderby has been very particular in his attention to you this evening. You must encourage him and not let him slip through your fingers. A major set to inherit a large estate and a title will go a long way to restore your position in society, rather than a nobody like Mr. Walker whose inheritance depends on the whims of a cousin and who has only a small estate of his own in Essex.”
Lady Burroughs’s words were almost enough to sober Gwendolyn completely. All around them people had paused to hear the latest episode in the ongoing saga of the daughter of the baron and his upstart wife.
Gwendolyn tried to speak quietly so as not to give them even more material for their stories.
“Mama, it hardly seems appropriate to chase after a man who is already betrothed while Papa is negotiating my future with Mr. Walker.” She only slurred a few of her words and swayed slightly as she tried to preserve some dignity in her situation.
Her speech was received with the slow clapping of hands.
Robert Walker strolled up to the mother and daughter.
He bowed elaborately to Lady Burroughs and took Gwendolyn’s hand.
“I do believe we are promised to each other. For this dance.” The slight pause before the last three words made it clear that he had heard the entire exchange.
“Thank you, Mr. Walker. Perhaps while we dance we could discuss plans for the future. I believe it will be better to reside in London with only occasional trips to the countryside. Oh. Look how well Major Enderby and Grace Blythe look together. They will make a very handsome couple.” Gwendolyn sounded more cheerful than she felt.
Lady Burroughs was annoyed but decided her best offense lay in retreat, mostly because she had no wish to carry out a prolonged argument in front of the most elite members of the ton.
But she did have the last word. “Tush child. Nothing is decided and will not be until you are married to the man I believe most suitable.”
*
Gwendolyn’s feet dragged and her head was pounding. Dancing had never been so difficult. In spite of her brave declaration, she was finding it difficult to follow any topic of conversation that Robert Walker raised.
Gwendolyn looked up, startled, when Robert moved a little closer to her, his eyes showing a depth of concern and tenderness she had never before seen there.
The room stopped spinning and her stomach settled, although her head was still fuzzy and her mouth dry.
Being so close to Robert helped her forget all the embarrassment and humiliation that had been her constant companions for the last few weeks.
She breathed in deeply, filling her senses with the spiciness of Robert’s cologne mixed with the rich aroma of brandy.
The smile she gave him was warmer and more sincere than her usual coquettish grin. “Thank you,” she said softly.
He looked genuinely surprised. “For what?”
“For accepting me as I am.” She didn’t dare say loving her, but in her heart, she longed for him to confess the depth of his affection for her.
He looked genuinely puzzled. “Why shouldn’t I? You’re beautiful and fascinating.”
“Thank you,” she said again, her habitual flirtatiousness washed away by the flood of relief at being accepted by the man who was to be her husband.
When the dance ended, Robert accompanied her to the edge of the room where the crowds were less dense. She leaned more heavily on his arm.
“I think we need to get you something to drink,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t think I want any more champagne.”