Page 53 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)
Eighteen
The party was what Lily termed a quiet evening, a little supper and cards for a select gathering of forty or fifty of the countess’s most intimate acquaintances. She wished to introduce to her friends a passionate young poet she had met who promised to be as scandalous and infamous as Lord Byron.
Anne found Mr. Percy Shelley a little alarming, with his views that encompassed everything from atheism to the banishment of the monarchy.
After dinner, when the gentleman was coaxed to recite some of his poetry, Anne was content to retreat behind the rosewood table in the drawing mom, helping to serve the tea and coffee.
She felt out of place amongst such brilliant company, but it seemed preferable to the solitude of her room this evening.
She knew she would have done nothing but stare out the window into the gathering gloom, listen to the mournful sough of the wind through the trees, and think too much about Mandell, wondering what she would say to Norrie when he did not come to join them in the park tomorrow, wondering what consolation she could whisper to herself when he never came again.
Any distraction was better than such torment, though she wished Lily’s party was livelier. The drawing room had become oppressively solemn, with the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the earnest cadence of Mr. Shelley’s voice reciting a sonnet he had been working on of late.
Lift not the painted veil which those who live Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there, And it but mimic all we would believe with colors idly spread.
From the fidgeting of many of the guests, Anne wondered if they comprehended Mr. Shelley any better than she. Only one listened with rapt attention, a latecomer who stood apart from the others, barely inside the threshold of the room.
Anne’s heart gave a jarring thud. Mandell. She had so convinced herself that he would not come tonight, she had ceased to look for him. She had no idea at what juncture he had slipped inside the drawing room, joining the other guests.
The sight of him occasioned her as much pain as joy.
The unrelenting set of his shoulders reminded her of his behavior when they had first met, proud, sardonic, aloof.
She saw no trace of the man who could be so laughing and tender with her little daughter, nor the lover who had wooed Anne with such gentle passion, nor even the man who had been vulnerable enough to tear out of the park in a rage of hurt and anger.
He was the marquis tonight, garbed in that style of severe elegance, the contrast of black and white that became him so well.
His dark fall of hair was swept back from his forehead, candlelight flickering over the plane of his high cheekbones.
When Mr. Shelley finished his recitation, the company broke into a polite smattering of applause.
Mandell strolled away from the doorway and glanced about the room.
It was then that his eyes met Anne’s. She saw at once that it was more than the length of the chamber that separated them. The distance was in his eyes tonight.
Her heart sank. So he had not forgiven her for slighting his proposal of marriage. Then why had he come? She could not believe it was to hear Mr. Shelley declaim his poetry.
As Mandell approached her refuge behind the tea table, Anne busied herself with rearranging the spoons and helping the dowager Lady Mortlake to coffee.
With the duke of Windermere’s words of warning about scandal still ringing in her ears, Anne fancied a dozen pair of critical eyes upon her and the marquis.
When the dowager moved away to chatter and whisper with some of her acquaintances, Mandell took Lady Mortlake’s place in front of the table. As he towered over her, Anne was too much aware of the silk-sheathed contours of his hard masculine figure. She strove to maintain a calm outward facade.
“Good evening, Lord Mandell.” It was difficult greeting him as a mere acquaintance, but if she did not look up at him, she found she could succeed. “Such a surprise to see you here this evening.”
“Where did you think I would be?” he murmured low enough so that only she could hear. “Languishing at home with a broken heart’?”
The cold sneer in his words cut her deeply. It had been so long since he had used that tone with her.
“No, you are looking very fit,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “May I pour you some coffee?”
Her fingers trembled so badly when she offered him the cup, Mandell was obliged to steady her hand with his own. The contact was warm and all too fleeting.
“You appear to be a little overcome this evening, my lady,” he drawled. “Perhaps it is owing to the force of Mr. Shelley’s poetry.”
“I scarcely understand it and what I do comprehend saddens me, all this talk of raising painted veils and discovering only fear and disillusionment beneath.”
“I found his little sonnet most amusing and quite apt. How did that one part go? Ah, yes. ‘He sought, for his lost heart was tender, things to love, But found them not, alas!’”
He quoted the words with a harsh mockery that tore at Anne’s already raw nerves.
“Please don’t, Mandell,” she begged, casting a nervous glance around, relieved that Lily’s other guests were out of earshot.
“Don’t what, my dear? Sigh over Mr. Shelley’s words? I thought such behavior would be expected of me. I am not certain how one plays the role of rejected suitor.”
“I wish you would be honest enough not to do so at all.” Anne met his gaze with a look of quiet reproach.
He scowled at her. She thought he meant to pivot on his heel and stalk away’. After a brief hesitation, the hard line of his mouth relaxed. His dark lashes drifted down, veiling the intensity of his eyes.
“You are right, Anne,” he said at last. “I am sorry. I don’t know what madness came over me today.
I fear you unmanned me when you confessed to knowing about the nightmares.
It was generous of you to have spared my pride for so long, pretending to have witnessed nothing, and I behaved like a perfect cad about the whole thing. ”
“It was natural that you were distressed. I was too blunt when I blurted out the truth, and I should have refused your offer of marriage with more tact.”
“You mean by thanking me in the conventional manner for the great honor I had done you, saying you felt compelled to refuse me with deepest regrets?” he asked. “No, Sorrow, I am glad one of us retained their integrity and common sense this afternoon.”
Anne wished she deserved the praise. But she did not feel very sensible with Mandell so near.
He set down the coffee cup. Bending over her, he started to reach for her hand, but like herself, he was forced to remember they were not alone.
He drew back as several ladies bustled up, clamoring for tea.
After Anne had served them and they had drifted away again, Mandell complained, “Is it necessary for you to attend to this? The countess has enough servants milling about doing nothing. I would like you to walk out with me onto the terrace.”
Anne stole a glance toward the French doors and thought of losing herself with Mandell in the whispering darkness of Lily’s garden. She steeled herself to resist the temptation.
“It would be too chilly.”
“It is a deal warmer than the first night you allowed me to lure you into the gardens.”
“I fear a night as warm as that one will never come again, my lord.”
Mandell vented an impatient sigh. “Then at least take a turn about the room with me. I need to speak to you, Anne.”
Before she could protest further, he summoned one of the footmen to take Anne’s place behind the tea urn. Most of the other guests were gathering about the pianoforte where Lady Mortlake swept back her train with a flourish and sat down to delight the company with a few selections.
The dowager played competently enough, but without Mandell’s soul and fire.
As he escorted Anne away from the tea table, she saw him flinch.
He led her to the far end of the drawing room, to the shadowed recess of one of the tall, curtained windows.
Anne affected to admire the view of Lily’s gardens, but all she saw was Mandell hovering behind her, his reflection shimmering phantomlike in the night-darkened panes.
He sought again to apologize for his conduct. “I am astonished you can forgive me for my surly behavior, abandoning you like that at the park.”
“You will have more to do to appease Norrie,” Anne said. “She was disappointed when you left so soon. She has grown to be very fond of you.”
“You must convey to her my deepest regrets.”
“You do not intend to come and see her again yourself?” Anne asked, although she already knew the answer.
“No, I think it best that I do not.” Although he smiled, the lines about his mouth were deep, carved with weariness and resignation.
“We appear to have reached an impasse in our relationship, my dear. You do not make me a very conformable mistress and it is obvious I will never make you a worthy husband.”
“I think you could make a worthy husband someday,” Anne said wistfully. “If only you would learn to set more value upon your heart than your estate and title.”
“And to think I once said you demanded too little, Sorrow. You ask far too much.”
”No, Mandell. I never expected that our time together would last forever.”
“You told me you were seeking only a few memories. Have I given you that much, milady?”
“Oh, yes! I spent so much of my life being afraid of the dark. I will always remember you as the man who taught me to love the power and beauty of night.”