A Bargain With Fate. Ann Elizabeth Cree
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How very awkward to be forced to introduce one’s mistress to the lady one was to be betrothed to. And how very fortunate Rosalyn was not really his fiancée.
As if sensing her gaze, he turned his head and look down at her with unsmiling eyes. ‘Do you find fault with my appearance? Is that why you are staring?’
‘Not at all. I was thinking how nice it was to meet Lady Marchant. She is very lovely. Is she a particular friend of yours?’
His eyes narrowed. She met his suspicious gaze with innocent eyes. ‘No,’ he replied shortly.
‘Do you often ride with her in the park?’
This time he openly glared. ‘That is none of your business. That is—’ He stopped and clamped his lips in a tight line. ‘I assure you I have nothing to do with Lady Marchant. She is an acquaintance, that is all. Does that satisfy your curiosity?’
She averted her head to hide the smile tugging at her lips. How gratifying to know it was possible to provoke Lord Stamford.
The curtain had already lifted on the singers by the time they took their seats. To her surprise, there was no one else in the box.
He must have noted her puzzlement for he leaned towards her, his breath fanning her cheek. ‘We will meet my sister and her husband later. I did not wish to entirely overwhelm you.’
He settled back in the box; his eyes fixed on the stage. She stared around the theatre; it looked much as she remembered from her season; the tiers of boxes painted cerulean blue and gold filled to capacity with glittering ladies and handsomely dressed gentlemen, the fops strolling in the pit; the stares, the whispers behind fans as subjects for scandal-broth were spotted.
Only this time many of the glances were directed at their box. She felt as self-conscious as if they were sitting on the stage themselves.
She hoped James wasn’t here. She knew she would have to break the news of her agreement—no, betrothal to Stamford, soon. She would rather do it in person than have the news leak to him. She looked around the theatre again and then her gaze fell on Edmund Fairchilde sitting a few boxes away. To her great consternation, he had a quizzing glass fixed on her face. She quickly turned away, only to find Stamford observing her.
‘Is there something wrong?’
‘No, I…I wished to see if my brother was here.’
‘The thought seems to fill you with dismay,’ he remarked.
Why could he read her so easily? ‘I didn’t tell him I was coming with you.’
His mouth quirked. ‘I see. That is quite cowardly of you.’
She twisted her hands in her lap. ‘I am afraid I am something of a coward.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. Otherwise, you would not be here with me.’
His words were completely unexpected. She glanced at him, taken aback, hardly knowing what to say. She fixed her eyes on the stage.
Concentrating on the performance proved impossible. She was too aware of the man beside her and of how alone they were, despite the filled boxes. More than once his arm brushed hers, causing her to flinch. She was grateful when the curtain finally fell and the last of the opera dancers flounced off stage for the interval.
‘Did you enjoy the performance at all?’ Stamford asked.
‘Oh…of course. It was very nice,’ she murmured, hardly recalling what took place.
‘I am not certain you did. You seemed rather distracted.’
‘I had forgotten how inquisitive people could be in London.’
‘I take it you don’t like being the focus of so much curiosity and speculation?’
‘No, not at all. Do you?’
His mouth twisted in a sardonic half-smile. ‘I am quite used to it, so I pay no heed. Don’t trouble yourself about it. They will soon find a more scandalous on dit to occupy them.’ He held out his hand, assisting her to her feet. ‘But for now, my dear lady, I am afraid you must put up with more turned heads. I am going to introduce you to my sister and her husband.’
He led her past the curious stares and whispers down to the saloon, already crowded and noisy with patrons wishing to procure refreshments. They approached a small group standing in one corner.
‘Michael!’ A stocky fair-haired gentleman turned around and grinned. ‘Here so soon? Didn’t expect you to show before the last act!’
One of the two ladies standing next to the gentleman laughed. ‘That’s too kind! I would have said the—’ She broke off, her eyes wide with astonishment as she caught sight of Rosalyn.
‘I had no idea you were bringing someone,’ the lady said, her voice cool. Her haughty gaze brushed over Rosalyn’s face. Dark-haired with an olive complexion, her relation to Stamford was unmistakable—she could only be his sister, Lady Hartman.
The other three, the stocky gentleman, the red-haired lady standing next to him and a taller man, observed her with polite curiosity.
Stamford took Rosalyn’s hand, pulling her to his side. ‘May I present Lady Jeffreys? Lord and Lady Hartman, my cousin Charles Portland, and his fiancée, Elizabeth Markham.’ He pulled her even more close and said blandly, ‘You must congratulate us. Lady Jeffreys has done me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage.’
The effect could not have been more startling if he had pulled a pistol on them. They froze and stared in stunned silence until Lady Hartman spoke.
‘You cannot be serious. Is this one of your jests?’
‘I am quite serious. She finally made up her mind to accept my offer yesterday.’
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Mr Portland faintly. He exchanged a glance with Miss Markham and then turned a fascinated eye on his cousin.
‘But does Papa know this? Michael, he—’ began Lady Hartman.
‘This is hardly the time to discuss the matter,’ Stamford replied coolly. His hand closed more tightly about Rosalyn’s, who was experiencing the nightmarish sensation of having been plopped down in the middle of a farce without having read the script.
Then Lord Hartman stepped forward and took her hand. Grey eyes twinkled in a pleasant countenance. ‘Let me be the first to congratulate you. We are, of course, surprised, although I have no idea why. We always suspected Michael would waste no time once he met the right lady.’ His smile was reassuring. ‘I had the pleasure of meeting you once a long time ago when I attended a lecture of Sir John’s. I was acquainted with him, and you were there. I was sorry to hear of his death; he was a good man and a talented scholar. But I am delighted you have found happiness again.’
‘Thank you,’ Rosalyn replied, touched by his kind words for John and grateful for his courtesy towards her. She smiled a little shyly. ‘I’m sorry I do not recall meeting you, my lord.’
‘No matter. I am glad to renew our acquaintance.’ He turned to his wife. ‘My dear?’
Lady Hartman’s bright, inquisitive gaze never wavered from Rosalyn’s face. Slender and vivacious with dark hair tumbling about in charming disarray, she resembled a pixie. A smile of pure mischief spread over her countenance. ‘What delightful and unexpected news. But you must tell me, wherever did you meet my brother?’
‘At…’ began Rosalyn.
‘At Lady Winthrope’s rout,’ Stamford replied firmly.
‘But that was only two days ago! I see, Michael, you have tumbled into love at last! Who would have thought this would happen! Lady Jeffreys, you must tell me all about yourself. Where are you from?’
‘Caro, it is not necessary to interrogate Lady Jeffreys.’ His face took on the haughty look Rosalyn was beginning to recognise as irritation.
His