Katie MacAlister: Noble Intentions

“I must decline the opportunity to answer your question, my dear.”

Put in my place, and rightly so, Gillian thought with relief, and gave herself up to the heady pleasure of being in the arms of the handsomest man at the ball. She wasn’t concerned with what people were saying about him — she prided herself on being an excellent judge of people and was quite confident that he was innocent of the crime society had pinned on him. No man could hide a soul capable of such a heinous act behind those forthcoming, open, beautiful eyes.

“Is there a particular reason you wish to know?” Weston was curious as to why a well-bred young woman would approach him of all people with such a question. She must have been listening to the gossip, and yet she had enough courage to ask him about it. Her bravery annoyed and pleased him at the same time.

“There usually is a reason for everything I ask,” Gillian replied dreamily, dismissing his frown as she gave herself up to the music and the magic of the dance. The earl was right — there wasn’t much to the waltz once you remembered to count. She felt pleased she had picked it up so quickly, stepping on his toes only eight or nine times in total, and wondered if Charlotte was watching her triumph.

“Oh, I beg your pardon! I forgot to count. Did I hurt you badly?”

The wry twist to the earl’s lips belied the attempt he made to brush off her apology. Gillian cursed her clumsiness as the music ended and the earl escorted her back to her aunt’s side. Weston expressed his appreciation for the dance with Gillian, bowed over a speechless Lady Collin’s hand, and made a graceful exit.

Lady Collins stared at her hand as if there were hairy, eightlegged insects crawling on it, but quickly recovered both her poise and her voice.

“My dear, do you think — was that at all wise accepting — he is an earl, but — Lavonia is so certain — oh, why wasn’t Theodore here when he asked you to dance?”

Gillian frowned as she tried to follow her aunt’s convoluted thoughts. “Lord Weston? Why would Uncle Theo have an objection to my dancing with him?”

Lady Collins looked at her niece as if the insects were now on her. “My dear Gillian, surely you must know — I was quite certain Charlotte would warn you — but then, you’ve been around no society but that of Red Indians — and such a nice-looking man, too. Tragic. Always in black, you see — but still, murder! No, indeed! And the Duke of Sunderland has cut him, they say. Just this evening! His own cousin! Not good ton at all, not even with eighty thousand pounds a year.”

It took a strong person in their prime to follow her aunt’s thought process, but Gillian was learning the knack. If you didn’t listen too closely, and allowed your attention to wander slightly, it was possible to glean enough kernels of information to respond.

“You mean I should not have waltzed with him because it’s said he killed his wife? Aunt, I’m surprised at you for believing such a ridiculous and patently untrue falsehood. Why, one only has to spend a short amount of time in the earl’s presence to ascertain his innocence. Of all the maligned men of my acquaintance, he certainly has suffered the most at the hands of the very people who should stand at his side, offering him support and succor rather than tearing his reputation and character to shreds. Society should be ashamed of itself for slandering him in such a manner! I for one won’t tolerate the sort of base lies and cruel implications that seem to delight the ton, and I must say, Aunt, I’m appalled that you would be cozened into believing such blatant untruths and can only hope you do nothing to encourage similar vile and reprehensible fabrications! Indeed, I would hope you do your part to help that poor, lonely, troubled man regain the sterling reputation that was tarnished by the unexpected death of his no doubt very beloved wife. I know I shall do all that I can to help him!”

Lady Collins wilted under her niece’s blistering attack. Gillian felt an immediate rush of guilt at having raised her voice at her aunt — truly, it seemed as if half the occupants of the ballroom had heard her, and held their collective breaths while they waited for her tirade to continue. Thankful that the Black Earl was not present to witness her unladylike display, Gillian made a feeble moue and turned back to her aunt.

“Such a lovely evening, isn’t it?” she said loudly, for the benefit of the people who were attempting to eavesdrop. “And the weather — my, how lovely the weather has been for June. Delightfully warm, wouldn’t you say, Aunt?”

“Warm, yes, it is warm. Lilacs and lilies — strolls in the garden and picnics at the riverside — Oxford, you know — oh, there is Her Grace. I will just pay my — yes.”

As Lady Collins made her escape, Charlotte tore herself away from her group of admirers and hurried over to speak with her cousin. She laid a dainty glove-clad hand on her cousin’s arm, flashed a dimpled smile over her lace fan at a passing admirer, and, with a grip that would do a stevedore proud, hauled Gillian into a sheltered spot guarded on either side by two large palms.

“What on earth were you thinking, Gilly?”

Gillian’s stomach felt as if it were filled with lead shot. She had been unaccountably rude to her aunt and had no excuse for her behavior. She hadn’t the slightest doubt that her cousin was about to dress her down, and she would deserve every harsh word. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I had no right to speak to your mother that way—”

Charlotte stared briefly at her, then made a face and waved the apology away. “Oh, fustian! Mama drives me to distraction too. But why did you let the earl get away? The supper dance is next, and if you were to intimate that you were free, he might ask you for it. You should have kept him by your side with amusing anecdotes and witty repartee until that time.”

“What amusing anecdotes and witty repartee would that be?”

Charlotte waved her hand around vaguely and bobbed a curtsy to a pair of elderly ladies as they passed. “Oh, you know — stories of your life among the Red Indians. Tales of your harrowing journey to Civilization. Surely you must have a large collection of lurid tales to enable you to do something as simple as keeping a man enthralled at your side for an hour or so.”

Gillian choked back a laugh. “The only lurid tales I know are the ones the sailors told me on the ship when I sailed here, and I doubt if they would interest a man of the world like Lord Weston. I’m surprised you would want me to try and keep his attention, Char. Your mama just told me he’s bad ton.”

Charlotte shot her cousin a disbelieving look. “Oh, pooh, who cares about that? He is an earl and that is all that matters. Well? What did he say to you? What did you say? Did he ask to call on you?”

Gillian felt her face flame as she remembered her appalling gaffe. “He taught me how to waltz, then asked how old I was.”

Charlotte’s blue eyes widened as she snapped her fan closed and smacked her cousin on the arm with it. “Good! That means he’s interested in you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gillian said, suddenly exhausted and wishing she were at home, where no silver-eyed rakes lurked to torment her with lascivious thoughts and strange yearnings. “He’s an earl and I’m — well, I’m me. No one in particular. Even if he had been temporarily interested, he is no longer.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Charlotte dimpled. “Of course he must still be interested. What could you possibly do on the dance floor to disinterest a man of his reputation? Even stepping on his toes wouldn’t stop the likes of him.”

“I did that quite enough, I’m afraid,” Gillian admitted, feeling an ache starting at the front of her head. She rubbed her forehead wearily. “But I went beyond stepping on his toes.”