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Lady Hester smiled. “No, I don’t think even Selina would have the audacity to claim that.”
“There is another thing, ma’am. Lady Rankmiston must have been much offended by the refusal. I am sure she could not wish to see me in her house.”
“On the contrary. She will be doubly anxious, for it will give Oliver an advantage over his rivals. As a son of the house, he may monopolise you with impunity.” She gave Maidie one of her mischievous looks. “You cannot suppose Selina is likely to be in the least put off by a first refusal. Besides, Oliver will undoubtedly have told her not only that Laurie turned him down, but that you knew nothing of the matter. She will welcome you with open arms, mark my words.”
Maidie soon discovered Lady Hester had read the mind of their hostess only too well. She was greeted with much graciousness, and Lady Rankmiston herself insisted upon her accepting Oliver’s hand for the opening country dance.
Maidie found him a little shy of her, and supposed vaguely this was not altogether surprising, although it was all of three days since he had made his offer. But those three days had acquired a new significance for Maidie, since they also marked the time since her last quarrel with Delagarde, and the last time she had encountered him—until tonight.
She was wearing, for the first time, the cream gown with the huge black sprigs and a deep decolletage. A flutter at her breast as, accompanied by the Worm, she had presented herself in the drawing-room where Lady Hester and Delagarde were awaiting her, had accelerated suddenly into a racing pulse as she saw the Viscount’s eyes widen at sight of her. His glance raked her, dwelled for a moment on her ginger locks, which Trixie had dressed high and ornamented with a string of pearls, and then fell again to the swell of her bosom. Maidie’s heartbeat increased its rhythm, and warmth spread over her. She could not read his face, and tried to tell herself it meant nothing to her whether or not he appreciated the picture she presented. His gaze moved up again, and he caught her glance.
For a moment or two, Maidie blanked out all thought. The unmistakable glow in his eyes touched off some spark within her, and a knowledge, deeper than consciousness, passed straight into her heart.
The first wisp of perception came with the unwelcome remembrance of what Eustace and Adela had propounded. She realised she could not do it. She had rather marry anyone else and live without Laurie altogether, than live with him on those distant terms.
As well Lady Hester had broken in upon these burgeoning ruminations; in the ensuing shower of compliments which fell about her head, she realised only later that Delagarde had not participated. The discovery she had made added nothing to her comfort, and it took all her resolution to appear normal. She reflected that even Great-uncle Reginald would not have detected the sham, and a pang smote her for what she had come to in these few short weeks. When her dance with young Oliver ended, she was at once besieged by admirers, and within minutes had engaged herself for every further dance. As the gentlemen favoured moved away again, she found Eustace Silsoe at her elbow.
“Alas! I see I am to be unfortunate tonight. No dances left, I fear. Dear Maidie, walk with me a little instead.”
Maidie suppressed a shudder of distaste, and placed her hand on his arm. She could not make a scene at a function such as this. Besides, she had to marry, and she must remember Eustace had been the most determined of her suitors. To be sure, she disliked him intensely, but the one thing she might be certain of was that as her husband, provided she handed him the use of her purse, he would leave her alone.
She allowed him to guide her to one end of the enormous ballroom where a number of sofas had been placed to enable the guests to rest between dances.
“You do not object to my company,” Eustace said, standing over her as she took a seat. “I wonder what I have done to merit so great a change.”
Maidie looked up, and her heart sank at sight of his feline smile. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Don’t you? Perhaps you suppose Delagarde, having established his authority so publicly, will summarily nip my pretensions in the bud on your behalf.” A sneer crossed his features. “Or don’t you accept his authority?”
Maidie knew not how to reply to this. On the one hand, she wanted to repudiate his insinuations, but on the other, she did not wish him to suppose she lent any credence to that hateful suggestion about Delagarde’s intentions towards her. She was obliged to fall back upon compromise.
“You know me better than to suppose I would tamely accept any man’s authority.”
“Not even that of your prospective husband?”
“Meaning yourself? Or Delagarde?”
His smile grew. “Ah, so you have not warmed towards me at all. I could not quite believe in so rapid a change of heart. Then why, I ask myself, should you be behaving so strangely unlike yourself?”
“I am not unlike myself,” Maidie said, annoyed to feel herself blushing. “I am merely trying to be civil.”
“Come, come, Maidie, you can do better than that.” His eyes ran over her in a way which made her acutely uncomfortable. “I believe I have it. For some unaccountable reason, you have decided perhaps I may do after all. Now, why?” He laughed gently as Maidie threw an indignant look at him. “Well, why should I cavil? My offer stands. I am not malignant. I harbour no thoughts of revenge for your unkind reception of me.”
“How generous!”
“Is it not? Remember, Maidie. Marry me, and you may do as you please—provided only you agree to provide me with the lifestyle to which I aspire.” His smile was patently false. “Sadly, I do not think forty-five thousand pounds will suffice.”
Maidie eyed him a moment. He was showing his true colours now. In the past, he had been content to pretend the portion set aside for her marriage was all he wanted. She spoke with contempt in her heart.
“How much, then, will it cost me to marry you? I should like to know, Eustace, before I make up my mind.”
“I am not interrupting, I trust?” said Delagarde’s voice.
Maidie jumped, and she saw the chagrin spread over Eustace’s face as he turned quickly with a muttered exclamation of annoyance. Her heart gave a bound, and then settled into an unsteady tattoo.
“You will forgive me if I remove my—protégée,” Delagarde continued, a veiled threat in the even tenor of his voice which Maidie at least recognised.
He reached down and took her arm above the elbow, pulling her to her feet. Maidie’s fingers shook as he placed them within the crook of his arm. Without another word, he walked her away from Eustace, but only a short distance to one of the drapes which concealed an open French window. Delagarde stepped on to the little balcony beyond and drew Maidie out.
