They walked along in silence until they were nearly at the open doorsof the drawing room. A rumble of conversation escaped the room, lightenedby exclamations and laughter. Through the door Beth could see a number ofglittering people, and she knew there were many more out of sight. Shecame to understand his concern about appearances. They were about to go onstage before the cream of the county.
She stopped and turned to him. “I’m sorry if I’ve been unreasonable, mylord. I no longer seem to know right from wrong, sense from nonsense. Whenwe are struggling to keep afloat in strange waters, we do not always takecare of others.”
He considered her seriously and again she had the impression that hewas at least trying to understand her point of view. He began to reply,then glanced over her shoulder. “We are observed. I am gong to give you avery small kiss, Elizabeth. It will do our reputation as mad romantics aworld of good and cut down,” he added dryly, “on the required number oflanguishing looks.”
Despite an urge to escape, Beth stood still as he held her by theshoulders and touched his lips to hers. As he said, it was gentle andunalarming, but it was not without effect. It was their first kiss andcontained a grain of something of worth ? perhaps concern, or even thegreater warmth of embryonic friendship. Beth was aware that it wasprecious and raised one hand to gently touch the side of his handsomeface.
He gave her a swift suspicious look. With a sinking heart, she realizedhe saw the gesture as evidence of boldness. Quicksands indeed.
She was not a blushing schoolgirl, after all. She was mature andconfident, with at least book knowledge of men and yet, because of herfoolish words, if she relaxed for a second he saw her as wanton. With asigh, she replaced her hand on his arm and allowed herself to be drawninto the lion’s den.
The large, gilded drawing room was hung with huge Gobelin tapestriesseparated by ornate pilasters. The arms of the de Vaux, repeated again andagain in blue, red, and gold marched across the ceiling lit by hundreds ofcandles in scintillating chandeliers which seemed to spark flashes fromostentatious jewelry and avid eyes. Conversation ceased. To Beth itappeared they were the focus of hundreds of pairs of eyes.
Her hand clutched at the marquess’s arm.
The duke and duchess came forward to stand by their side. Then the dukeintroduced Beth. All these friends and neighbors applauded, but Beth wassure she could see incredulity in some eyes and envy in others. When theguests looked away and recommenced their chatter, Beth knew that now theywere talking about her.
She could imagine the words. “Such a dab of a thing.”
“Nothing specialabout her at all.”
“Can’t hold a candle to ...”
Abandoning notions of independence, Beth thanked the heavens that thenature of the occasion made it proper for the marquess to stay by herside, for she might otherwise have given in to panic. As it was she foundher nerves jumping from the number of people ? and these were only theones invited to dinner ? and the way they looked at her as she and themarquess circled the room talking to first one group then the next.
There were impertinent questions. There were jealous looks from anumber of young ladies and their mamas. There was insincere, gushingfamiliarity. She was amazed and embarrassed by the number of people whotried to toady to her. She was really just Beth Armitage,schoolteacher.
The three young men brought from London seemed to have no problems withthe betrothal, however. Beth wondered what the marquess had told them, forthese guests must know him well.
Lord Amleigh was a handsome, dark-haired young man with lively grayeyes. He seemed rather intense, almost fiery.
Lord Darius Debenham was sandy haired with blue eyes. He would never bedescribed as handsome, but his lively features were full of attractivegood humor. He looked exactly the kind of man who would try to build achampagne fountain.
Mr. Beaumont was rather like the marquess in build and almost matchedhim in looks in a dark-haired, dark-eyed way. She noted with sympathy hisempty sleeve.
The three were talking to two local men ? Mr. Pedersby and Sir VincentHooke, both ruddy-faced and a little too loud.
It was Mr. Beaumont who stepped forward after the introductions. “Well,Miss Armitage,” he said, raising her hand and kissing it with the air of apracticed flirt. “So you are Arden’s secret treasure. I can quite see howit is. You are definitely out of the usual way.”
Beth glanced up sharply to see if there was innuendo in that comment,but if so it was well-concealed. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont,” she said. “Ihave never sought to be one of the herd.”
“But you are the very leader of the flock,” said Sir Vincent with asilly laugh. “The flock of beauties who have hunted poor Arden down.”
Beth glanced to the marquess for help, but he was laughing at someremark by Lord Darius. She gave in to the temptation to vent herirritation on a suitable target. “Flock?” she queried lightly, making playwith her fan. “Sheep? But sheep do not hunt. Or starlings? Pray tell me,Sir Vincent. Which birds hunt in flocks?”
“Well. . .” Plump Sir Vincent had turned even redder and was openingand closing his mouth like a fish. “A manner of speaking . . .”
“Perhaps you meant wolves,” said Beth kindly in her best schoolmistressmanner. “The collective noun, however, is pack. Or lions? A pride?”
She became aware that the marquess, along with everyone else in thegroup, was listening to her.
“Are we starting a zoo?” he asked mildly. “A pride of lions? Perhaps itshould be a pride of dukes.”
Beth couldn’t help a laugh. “Or marquesses. What about a peep ofchickens? We could change that to a peep of maidens.”
“A gaggle of geese becomes a gaggle of dowagers,” he returned with agrin. “No, that doesn’t work too well. I have a better one. A leap ofleopards. A leap of libertines.”
“Should I perhaps ‘peep’ at that one?” asked Beth, delighted at thisquick-witted and absurd conversation. “And what would you do with ashrewdness of apes, my lord?”
