Mary Balogh: At Last Comes Love

She was suddenly angry.

She hated him with a passion.

All the pent-up fury of years pulsed through her. /You are still amazingly lovely/.

How … oh, how /condescending/! "That is remarkably kind of you, Crispin," she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice, "but it will be quite unnecessary." "Oh, it will be no trouble," he assured her. "I would never have it said that I would not show all the gallantry that is in my power to a lady who was once such a dear friend of mine. And still is, I hope. And always will be?" /… a dear friend…/ He looked down at her, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

She was unaccustomed to feeling raw fury. She had no idea how to deal with it, how to remain prudent until she could bring it under control.

So she spoke very unwisely. "You misunderstand, Crispin," she said. "It is quite unnecessary to extend a hand of charity my way. My fiancГ© might not like it." She heard the words come from her mouth as if someone else was speaking them. And suddenly she wished that someone else /was/. Whatever had she been goaded into saying so prematurely? /"Your fiancГ©/?" he asked her, all astonishment. "You are /betrothed/, Margaret?" "Yes," she said with fierce satisfaction, "though no announcement has yet been made." "But who is the fortunate gentleman?" he asked her. "Would he be someone I know?" "Almost certainly not," she said, evading his first question.

He had stopped walking. "When will I meet him?" he asked her. "I do not know," she said. "At Lady Tindell's ball tonight?" he asked. "Perhaps," she said, feeling horribly trapped. "I was not at all sure I would attend that particular ball," he said. "But now nothing could stop me. I shall come and meet this gentleman, Margaret, and see if he is worthy of you. If he is not, I shall challenge him to pistols at dawn and then throw you across my saddle bow and ride off into the sunset with you – or perhaps into the darkness of midnight." He grinned at her, and she was smitten by a sense of familiarity. It was the sort of thing he would have said to her when they were very young – and she would have responded in kind until they were both helpless with laughter.

She bit her lip.

If the Marquess of Allingham was at the ball tonight – and she had counted upon his being there – would Crispin demand an introduction and say something about their engagement?

She would positively die of embarrassment.

She did not know for certain, of course, that the marquess would be at the ball. Indeed, she was not even quite certain he was in town, though he surely would be since he took seriously his role as a member of the House of Lords, and Parliament was in session. Perhaps she should stay away from the ball herself. But she had been so looking forward to going and seeing the marquess again.

Besides, why should she stay at home and postpone seeing him just because Crispin was going to be there – and because anger had goaded her into telling a lie, or a very premature truth, anyway? "You must say nothing about my betrothal, Crispin," she said. "I ought not to have mentioned it. Even my sisters do not know of it yet." "Then I am privileged indeed." He took her right hand in his and turned it in order to set his lips briefly against the pulse at her wrist. "My lips are sealed. Ah, Meg, it is so very good to see you again. It has been far too long. And I have come too late as well, alas." "Twelve years too late," she said, and swallowed awkwardly. She could feel the imprint of his lips like a brand across her wrist.

It /was/ too late. She could feel only a pained hostility toward him.

Surely he could have shown some embarrassment, some shame, some sign that he remembered how dishonorably he had treated her. He had not even /written/ to her. She had found out about his marriage quite by chance.

Vanessa and Katherine had finished their conversation and caught up with them at last. Vanessa asked Crispin about his daughter, who was still living at Rundle Park with her grandparents. "They are coming to town," he said, "since I cannot do without my little Maria for too long. They should be here any day." Katherine took Margaret's arm and squeezed it in silent sympathy.

Margaret smiled at her.

Her head was throbbing. If she had known that he was coming to London, she would have stayed at Warren Hall. She would not even have hesitated.

It was too late now, though.

Would the Marquess of Allingham propose marriage to her tonight, when it would be their first meeting since last year – /if/ he attended the ball, that was? It seemed highly unlikely that he would declare himself so soon. Surely he would wait until their third or fourth meeting, and even then he might be cautious since she had already refused him three times.

Oh, everything felt ruined. She would feel somehow manipulative if she encouraged his suit – although she had intended to do so even before this afternoon. She would feel as if she were trying to force him to propose marriage to her simply so that she would not lose face with a former faithless lover.

It was not that way at all!

What did she care for Crispin Dew? She cared for the kindly, courtly man she had decided to marry. "Oh, Meg," Katherine said. "How very distressing this must be for you. I wish we had known he was in town so that we could at least have warned you." "I am not distressed at all," Margaret said. "I have been walking quietly at your side because I am having an inner debate with myself about which gown I will wear tonight for my first ball since last year.

It is a very serious decision, you must understand. I wish to cut the very best possible dash. The gold, do you think?" Katherine sighed theatrically. "Nessie's new bonnet this afternoon and your gold gown tonight," she said. "I shall be quite overshadowed by the splendor of my sisters." They looked at each other and laughed.

Katherine was the loveliest of them all with her tall, slender figure and golden brown hair. If she wore a sack to the ball tonight, she would turn more than her fair share of appreciative heads.

Crispin was turning to take his leave of them. Margaret smiled and nodded to him and felt a queasiness in her stomach again.

He was going to be at the ball tonight – with the express purpose of meeting her betrothed.

Lies were never worth telling, were they? And that was a massive understatement.

MARGARET wore her gold gown to Lady Tindell's ball. She had bought it at the end of last Season, a foolish extravagance, she had thought at the time, as she had had no opportunity to wear it before returning to Warren Hall for the summer. But she had loved it from the moment she saw it, ready-made and ready to purchase and her exact size – though she had been a little afraid it was too revealing at the bosom. Both Vanessa and Katherine, who had been with her at the time, had assured her that it was not, that since she /had/ a bosom she might as well show it to best advantage. It was an argument that was not necessarily reassuring, but Margaret had bought the gown anyway.

She felt young and attractive in it now. She was not really young, of course. But was she still a little attractive? Modesty said no, but her glass assured her that what beauty she had been blessed with had not altogether faded yet. And she had never lacked for partners at any of the balls she had attended during the past few years.

She had attracted the Marquess of Allingham, had she not? And he was without a doubt one of the most eligible matrimonial catches in England.

Oh, she /hoped/ he would be at the ball tonight.

And she hoped Crispin would change his mind and stay away. She really did not want to see him again.

The underdress of fine ivory-colored silk clung to her every curve, and the transparent gold overdress shimmered in the candlelight. It was a high-waisted gown cut daringly low at the bosom, its sleeves short and puffed above her long gold gloves, which matched her dancing slippers.