The marquess, after a brief startled moment, a.s.sumed a similar loverlike manner, raised her hand, and placed a warm and lingering kiss upon it. A ripple of laughter and sentimental looks greeted this action and set the tone for the meal.

"'Use every man after his desert,'" he murmured, "'and who should escape whipping?'"

Beth raised her brows. "I do not recollect any member of the peerage being tickled at the cart's tail recently. And yet," she continued amiably, "doesn't the Bible say, 'Whatsoever a man soweth, so shall he reap'?"

"But I'm a lily of the field," he countered. "I neither sow nor reap."

"Aha!" she exclaimed. "You've mixed your verses, my lord. The lilies of the field toil not, neither do they spin. It's the fowls of the air who do not sow and reap. I thought," she queried gently, "you did not wish to be considered any species of fowl."

"Very clever," he said with a smile which acknowledged her victory. But then his smile became a triumphant grin and Beth waited warily. "And so you reduce me to a c.o.c.k? Unwary lady...."

Even Beth was aware of the rude meaning to which he alluded, and she turned pink. But she knew as well that there was a warm stirring inside her at his words and the almost sultry look in his eyes. She fought it.

"Every c.o.c.k is proud on its own dungheap," she shot back in an attempt to drag the contest back into safer waters.

Mirth glittered in his bright blue eyes. "As in upstanding?" he asked.

The contest had pa.s.sed out of Beth's control and beyond her true understanding, but she knew she had to retreat. She grabbed the first quotation that came to mind. "Small things make base men proud," she declared and directed her attention firmly to the soup which had somehow arrived before her.

She found it difficult to swallow the first spoonful. There was something dangerous emanating from her left.

She slanted a wary glance in his direction. He was in control and his face was politely amiable but outrage glittered in his eyes. Beth ran the words back through her mind, seeking the unintentional offense. Oh, heavens. Base. That was it. He thought it was a reference to his birth.

"I am sorry," she said, trying to sound sincere while keeping her tone and manner light for the sake of those nearby. "I didn't mean... I didn't mean anything... personal, my lord."

Her words appeared to anger him more. "So you do realize what you were implying," he commented in the same light tone but through tight teeth. "You must tell me your opinion of my endowments when you have more personal experience."

Beth hadn't the slightest notion what he meant but took the only wise course and addressed her soup.

By the time six types of fish were being offered Beth had nerve enough to direct an innocuous comment to him and he was restored enough to answer it. Knowing silence would be cause for comment they began to converse and even slowly returned to playful flirtation. But now it was a careful, wary business, despite their smiles.

The marquess threw insincere flattery at Beth and Beth reciprocated. Gradually, despite their discord, Beth went from satisfaction in holding her own to pleasure in matching wits. But she was careful-as careful as a person can be when walking over ground set with invisible traps.

She thought she saw genuine amus.e.m.e.nt in the marquess' eyes now and then, but it wasn't the unguarded warmth of their earlier exchange. At one point when she capped his praise of her eyes with a positive laudation of his, he murmured, "It would be more ladylike just to simper, my dear."

Beth, by now outside three gla.s.ses of wine, simply opened her eyes wide and said, "Really?"

He bowed his head and laughed. They received yet more indulgent looks. Beth thought his humor was genuine. But then he had been draining his wine gla.s.ses with regularity, too.

The whole company was relaxed by good food and wine, and when the speeches started, wit, both coa.r.s.e and fine, began to fly. The Regent was toasted and all the royal family. The soldiers and sailors received their due.

Then the duke rose. "My friends. This is a joyous occasion indeed for us, and we are pleased to share it with you today. It is not often a family is so fortunate as to welcome within it a bride who is so like a daughter."

Beth could feel her eyes open wide and resisted with difficulty the temptation to look at the marquess with alarm. He laid a hand over hers in what would look like fondness but was, she hoped, rea.s.surance. If not, it was control.

"The d.u.c.h.ess and I had wondered when Arden would choose a bride. So many young men these days seem to find no need for one, to their great loss. We would have been happy to welcome any young woman who found favor in his eyes, but thank him sincerely for choosing our dear Elizabeth."

Everyone joined in the toast and then the marquess rose to reply. "Some young men," he said with pointed looks at his friends, "do indeed seem to think a bride a low priority in life. I can a.s.sure them they are wrong. Does Euripides not say, 'Man's best possession is a sympathetic wife'?" Beth stiffened at the word possession, knowing it had been deliberately employed, but she maintained her smile. "Euripides was right. I have already found my life enlivened by my bride-to-be, and I look forward with confidence to yet greater delight."

The words were without offense and yet something in the delivery caused t.i.tters and guffaws. Beth knew she was turning pink, and it was one part embarra.s.sment to three parts anger. Why did society ordain that the men make all the speeches? She would delight in an opportunity to land some clever shots of her own.

"The heir to a great house," he continued, "cannot choose the single life, but I felt no urgency to seek a bride. You can see then that Elizabeth caught me quite unawares. We make no secret of the fact that she brings no fortune or proud bloodlines to this match, and I am pleased by this. For how can anyone doubt that we are joined by the strongest compulsion...."

The emphasis he placed on the word sent a shiver down Beth's spine. It seemed an age before he added, "Love."

She looked up and their eyes clashed. "There is something inexpressibly charming in falling in love," he added blithely. "I recommend it to all you lonely bachelors."

Beth looked down at her plate, wondering how many would recognize that quotation from Moliere, which went on to say that the whole pleasure of love lies in the fact that love is soon over. But at least she and the marquess need not fear the loss of something they did not have. She realized she was missing some of his speech, but if that was the style of it she did not regret it.

"I ask you," said the marquess in conclusion, "to drink again to Elizabeth. And to families. And to love."

Everyone did this resoundingly, and Beth could detect no ambivalence in the smiling faces. Perhaps people heard what they expected to hear. Or perhaps, as Shakespeare had it, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players..."

Chapter 10.

There was no lingering after the dinner, for more guests were arriving for the ball and now was the time for the formal reception line. Beth felt very like an actor moving onto the next scene of a play.

She stood between the duke and the marquess and touched hands with what seemed to be hundreds of people. Again there were the astonished looks, the speculation, and the envy. She could swear she saw a few matrons look closely at her waistline.

It was a relief when the dancing began, for then she could escape this scrutiny, but when the marquess led her out for the opening minuet it was, in a sense, the first time they had been out of the earshot of others since their sotto voce discussion at the table. She braced herself for a hostile comment, no matter how sweetly uttered. It did not come.

"You look nervous," he said. "Have you forgotten the steps?"

"My dear sir," she retorted, "I was raised in a girl's school. I have been watching, learning, and teaching dancing all my life. I could perform a minuet in my sleep."

"Ah," he said with a mischievous glitter, "but have you ever performed it with a man?"

They were taking their place among the four couples who were to open the ball with the formal minuet, facing toward the duke and d.u.c.h.ess at the head of the room. "a.s.suredly," said Beth. "I frequently gave demonstrations with Monsieur de Lo, our dancing master."

"The minuet a deux? " he queried.

"Occasionally," Beth replied, mistrusting his tone.

"That is generally held to be the cause of so many susceptible young ladies falling in love with their dancing masters. All that staring into one another's eyes."

"I a.s.sure you-" Beth's protest was cut off by the opening chords of the music. Along with the other dancers she made obeisance to the duke and d.u.c.h.ess. Even as she pointed her right toe and sank slowly down on her left leg and rose she was aware of the elegance of the marquess' bow. A spirit of compet.i.tiveness stirred in her. He was well-trained in the courtly art, but she was, after all, a professional.

They turned to face each other. She watched him carefully. When, as she expected, he performed a deeply elaborate full bow, she sank into as deep a court curtsy as her skirt would allow, her eyes correctly on his at all times. Then she rose slowly with smooth control. She did not place her hand in his outstretched one until the last moment to make it clear to all that she needed no a.s.sistance in rising.

A ripple of applause ran around the room.

He smiled and a slight inclination of the head gave her the victory. Then he took both her hands and raised them for a kiss while still maintaining the eye contact. Beth began to see what he meant. A minuet a deux, constantly gazing into the partner's eyes, could easily turn a young girl's head. How fortunate that she was not a young girl and that they were dancing in a set of eight.

The music proper began and Beth could look away as she and the other ladies moved into the center using the slow and graceful minuet step then joined hands to circle. The ladies circled to the right as the gentlemen circled to the left.

Having been so recently a teacher Beth couldn't help a.s.sessing performances. She could not recollect the name of one young lady, but she and Miss Frogmorton performed well but with a little more of the bounce of a country dance than the glide which was necessary. Phoebe Swinnamer was the fourth lady and she glided like a swan. She was, however, inclined to pose for effect every now and then and thus break the flow.

The ladies broke the circle to join their partners again, left hand to right, continuing the circling for one more step so as to smoothly link both hands and circle each other, eye to eye.

"Monsieur de Lo was a very good teacher," the marquess complimented her.

"As was your master, my lord," said Beth kindly. "Though you could perhaps point your foot a little more."

He raised a brow. "Are you perhaps accusing me of not being high enough in the instep, my dear?"

Beth hit her lip to stifle a giggle. They let one hand drop and flowed into the next movement deliberately holding eye contact as long as possible. Phoebe Swinnamer looked sour and almost missed a step.

Beth had to admit that her teaching experience and her demonstrations with Monsieur de Lo had not alerted her to the potential for flirtation in the stately dance. No, not flirtation. Seduction.

Lady and gentleman moved around each other but never far apart and ever aware. They came together, intensely linked by hands and eyes, the slow movements allowing skilled dancers who did not need to think of their steps to linger upon one another like a slow kiss.

Caught by her extraordinary thoughts Beth stared up at the marquess as she slowly circled him. It was the look in his eyes which was causing all these ideas.

"We will do a minuet a deux at our wedding ball, Elizabeth."

"No," Beth said instinctively.

"But yes. It is the custom!"

The dance separated them again. It seemed very like their life together: brief moments of contact always moving into division. A minuet a deux would be an appropriate beginning to their marriage, and it was ridiculous to fear it. It would merely be a prelude to the greater trials of their life together.

After the minuet the dancing became general and much less formal. Beth danced a country set with the duke. After that, she pa.s.sed from one partner to the next, glad to be lost in the dancing instead of pilloried for idle curiosity. The young eligibles had been dragooned by the d.u.c.h.ess into doing their duty by the wallflowers, so Beth found herself dancing mainly with the older men, which suited her very well.

Only one gave her a problem. Lord Deveril. He was sallow and bony but with a kind of brutish strength in his jaw and hands. He also smelt. Not particularly unwashed-there were a number of people present who had obviously not taken up the fashion for cleanliness-but stale and slightly decayed. It could have mainly been his teeth, for when he smiled, which was rarely, they could be seen to be rotten.

"You must consider yourself a lucky young lady," he sneered at one point. "Not many plain Janes without a fortune find themselves so favored."

His manner was so unpleasant that Beth felt free to retort sharply. "On the contrary, my lord. The marquess is the fortunate one. Not many young bucks find themselves a woman of sense."

He showed his rotten teeth. "Now what would they want with such a thing? What good are brains in bed?"

Faced with this appalling ill-breeding Beth would normally have walked away, but she didn't want to create a scene, and this dreadful man was a guest. "I must ask you not to speak to me of such things, Lord Deveril," she said coldly.

"Good gracious. But you claimed to be a woman of sense. Surely you know the purpose of marriage? It is stated explicitly in the service."

Beth took refuge in silence, praying for the dance to end. It did at least move into a pattern which prevented conversation for a while.

But inevitably she found herself back with her partner.

"We are having such beautiful weather, are we not?" she said determinedly before he could pick his own topic.

"A perfect spring," he agreed. "Seeing the birds in their nests turns all our minds to matrimony. After all, I have no legal heir, not even a distant cousin. Like the marquess, I have obeyed the call of duty and selected my own satin pillow for the long cold nights."

Beth punished him with silence and heard with relief the music die.

As he led her from the floor Lord Deveril said, "Speaking of birds, my little pigeon, you should ask the marquess about the doves at Drury Lane."

Beth had not the slightest intention of asking the marquess anything at that man's instigation, but she sought him out from a simple desire for protection. She felt as if she had brushed up against something noxious.

His raised finger brought her a gla.s.s of champagne, and she drank deeply from it for refreshment and choked. "I think I would do better with lemonade, my lord."

"If you're going to quaff it like that, I should think so. You look hot. Why don't we walk on the terrace?"

She looked at him suspiciously, but he smiled. "Don't worry. We won't be alone. There are a number of couples out there in the cool. Come."

It was refreshing, and he had told the truth. They were not alone though there was s.p.a.ce enough for a kind of privacy.

"Are you enjoying your first ball?" he asked. He seemed to be genuinely friendly. With the memory of that brief moment of pleasure during the kiss and their occasional accord during their battles of wits, Beth began to hope.

"It is pleasant enough," she said. "Except for Lord Deveril."

He frowned. "A man like that shouldn't even be here. Lady Gorgros brought him and it was decided not to create a fuss by throwing him out. Why did you agree to dance with him?"

Beth remembered it was Lady Gorgros who had presented the viscount to her. "I accepted anyone who asked," she admitted. Then she shrugged. "They all seemed respectable."

She saw him stiffen and fix his interest on her. "Was he not respectable? Am I to call him out?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she retorted. "Of all the stupidities of fashionable life, the worst is the habit of men fighting each other over trifles."

Ice settled. "Of course. You would consider your honor a trifle. How then did he offend you? Call Mary Wollstonecraft a doxy?"

Beth opened her mouth to blister him, but it was impossible with others close by. Beth discovered she had a crashing headache and closed her eyes.

"Elizabeth?"

"Just leave me alone."

"Are you unwell?"

"I have a headache," she bit out.

"Come then and we'll find Maman. She will take care of you. Perhaps you should retire."

Beth opened her eyes. There seemed to be genuine concern in his voice. More material for her conundrum. "I can't do that. What will people think?"

"That you have danced too hard and perhaps drunk a little too much. Come along." He put a hand gently on her back to urge her forward, but she resisted.

"Collapsing before dinner, retiring early. People will think our marriage a necessity."

He turned to her with close attention. "And is it?"

Beth wished the earth would swallow her. Why, oh why, had she been betrayed into those unforgivable words on this very terrace? "You know it is," she muttered.