Page 13 of The Poet’s Stern Critic (One Night in Blackhaven #5)

C ornelius felt as though he were walking on air as he returned to the ballroom with Lady Alice on his arm.

She might not love him, but she certainly liked him better than any other man of her acquaintance. Rage against the insensitive hurt done to her by an entitled—and titled—brute was lost in the wonder at the passion he had begun to ignite in her. God, she was delicious, desirable, delightful… She would let him away with nothing. She would scold, argue and defy, holding him to account and to the highest of standards. And she would expect no less from him. From the beginning, she had accepted criticism and apologized when she was in the wrong, which was something Cornelius would need to practice…

But he was rushing ahead of himself. A few kisses and a certain profound affinity did not mean marriage! The difference in their rank would never go away, and he would never be a wealthy man. He was the poorest of catches for an earl’s daughter, and yet the possibility of Roderick’s betrothal to Helen had given him hope. If Braithwaite was prepared to tolerate an alliance with one Vale, why not another? They were both younger sons.

One thing was certain—even if Cornelius had to run away with her and live on his wits in poverty, he would not allow her to be married to Atherstone. Or Glover, supposing Helen rejected him and he returned to Alice’s court. In fact, he wondered if anyone would ever be good enough for her. He certainly wasn’t! But if she loved him…

He was rushing too far ahead again. Politely, he bowed her through the French door into the ballroom, where the next dance was already underway. He strove to put distance between them, to protect her reputation, and immediately saw the hurt register in her eyes before her long, luscious eyelashes swept over them.

Snatching up a glass of champagne from the table, he presented it to her, making sure their fingers touched, and a smile trembled on her lips. He flicked one eye closed, so quickly no one else could have seen it, then escorted her to one of her sisters and bowed before walking away.

The first person he noticed was Darcy Daubin, dressed as a cavalier, striding purposefully toward her. A lady was obliged to dance with whoever asked her, and dogs like Daubin should not be allowed near her. On impulse, Cornelius seized Daubin by the elbow and led him away to a quiet corner by the gallery stairs.

They probably looked like friends conferring, since Daubin was too stunned to object until, just as Cornelius halted, he wrenched his elbow free.

“What the devil are you about?” He peered at Cornelius as though in an effort to recognize the man who had accosted him.

“Lady Alice does not wish to dance with you or even see you here. If you go near her, I’ll black your other eye.”

Daubin’s lips fell open, as much in fury as in fear. “You’re that steward fellow again! You’re lucky I have not charged you with common assault! Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

“I am a gentleman, sir, which you most certainly are not. And I do not refer to your birth. You are a fraud in every way, and if you annoy me, I will make sure everyone knows it.” With that, he bowed ironically and walked away.

*

Darcy Daubin shook with rage, mostly because there was nothing he could do about it—not in the short term, at least. He was only too aware that Cornelius, as a Vale, was considered to be a gentleman, even when he was a mere steward of the land for his brother, while Darcy, as the son of a mill owner who had made his own fortune from nothing, was not and never would be. Even married to Lady Alice Conway, he would be whispered about behind aristocratic hands. But no one would malign him to his face as Vale just had. He would have influence and power through Lord Braithwaite, and by God, he would use it against the Vales.

He had a damned good mind to resume his journey to Alice’s side and invite her to dance. If she claimed to be already engaged, he would ask for another. Only…

Only, Vale had called him a fraud. Had he discovered the appropriation of the sheep field bordering their properties? Which was really his father’s business. Or had someone spotted the likeness of his poems to lesser-known works by Simon Sacheverill, Lord Byron, and others? The latter would be much more awkward for him socially. He needed a way to silence Vale. In every way, he thought viciously.

“You are happy to let that fellow dictate to you?” a smooth, quiet voice inquired close by.

Daubin blinked himself back into the real world to see an elegant gentleman emerge from the shadows of an alcove beneath the stairs. A few years older than Daubin, he was still handsome and fit apart from the shadows of excess about his eyes and mouth. He wore a purple satin domino carelessly hanging off one shoulder, while his mask dangled from a long, thin finger.

“I have too much respect for my host and hostess to indulge in a brawl beneath their roof,” Daubin said grandly.

“Very commendable. I daresay a word with our host would be a better choice, since his sister entered from the terrace with the scoundrel in question.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Daubin said thoughtfully.

“Who is the wretched fellow?”

“A brother of Sir Julius Vale of Black Hill. He acts as his steward.” He didn’t trouble to keep the contempt from his voice, which appeared to amuse his companion.

“He is probably illegitimate,” the gentleman said. “Old Sir George Vale was an excellent diplomat but quite indiscriminate where he planted his seed, if you grasp my meaning.”

“Sadly, this one was born on the right side of the blanket,” Daubin said. “They are quite open about which of them are bastards.”

“A pity,” the gentleman agreed. “You are at something of a disadvantage. Although, to be perfectly frank, Braithwaite will consider neither of you. He indulges his sisters beyond what I find reasonable or advisable, but even he will not cross certain lines.”

“You are saying I have no hope,” Daubin said bitterly.

The gentleman smiled. “By no means. In fact, I am prepared to help you. Ah, I suppose I should introduce myself.” He held out one thin, languid hand. “I am Atherstone.”

Daubin’s jaw dropped. He grasped the somewhat limp hand and gave a jerky bow. He almost felt he should drop to hie knees and kiss the man’s rings. “Your Grace! Darcy Daubin, very much at your service.”

“And I at yours,” the duke replied, sliding his hand free. “A game of piquet, perhaps, to cement our new friendship.”

“I would be honored,” Daubin said. He would be seen with Atherstone, recognized as His Grace’s chosen companion. And surely with a duke on his side, he could not fail. As they strolled together toward the card room, he asked, “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Nothing we can discuss under this roof,” Atherstone said blandly. “Perhaps we may meet tomorrow at the hotel…”

*

For Alice, the incredible truth, that she did not hate this much intimacy with a man, got lost beneath the wonder of Cornelius himself and the sheer happiness he brought her. Elated by their better understanding, she danced happily with old friends Bernard Muir and Tristram Grant, the vicar. They both remarked how radiant she looked, so she was probably smiling too much, like a cat with the cream, but she could not help it. Until Cornelius waltzed past with Cecily in his arms.

They were gazing adoringly at each other as though no words were necessary.

Alice missed a step and had to catch up. They are playing their parts, she told herself. They are only trying to make her husband jealous .

And yet it was Alice who was jealous. If he acted so well, how could she believe anything he said to her?

“Have I said the wrong thing?” the vicar asked lightly.

Alice forced a smile, the same kind of fixed, hectic glaze that had, in between witty retorts and sharp set-down, got her through an apparently successful London Season. “Of course not! I am just a little worried about Helen.”

She should be. Gervaise was determined to announce her betrothal to either Glover or Roderick Vale before the end of the ball. No one could talk him out of it. Alice felt ashamed to have almost forgotten this much more important problem just because of her own chaotic feelings.

As soon as the dance ended, she dashed off in search of Helen, and instead ran into Cecily, who grasped her arm.

“Oh, Lady Alice, thank goodness. Do you mind pretending we are better friends than we are? My husband is approaching, and he won’t scold if I am with you.”

“I thought you wanted him to scold you?” Alice said acidly. “Is that not the point of your charade?”

“Pray, hush,” Cecily said nervously, glancing around her. “Cornelius certainly flirts outrageously. I had forgotten that about him! Shall we walk a little?”

With odd reluctance, Alice complied. Her companion’s beauty had taken on a livelier quality than before. She almost sparkled, as though thriving on this teasing of her husband—or the flirting with Cornelius.

“I had forgotten what pure fun Cornelius can be,” Cecily confided. “He always puts his whole heart and all his attention into whatever—or whoever!—is before him. Do you think he might still be in love with me?”

It felt like a dagger in her heart. “He does not confide such things to me.”

Cecily smiled tenderly. “He is not a great confider. But one can always tell by his eyes…” She sighed. “I was unkind to him. I miss him. Seeing him again even makes me wonder if I made the right decision in choosing Jack over him.”

Alice could not speak, but then, she was not expected to.

“I am being unkind again, am I not?” Cecily said. “He is one of those rare, faithful men who love forever.”

Sir John Morgan had apparently given up his direct pursuit of his wife and joined a conversation on the other side of the room, from where he cast occasional, brooding glances toward them.

“What should I do?” Cecily asked.

It crossed Alice’s mind that Cecily loved this situation. From betrayed and neglected wife, she had become the object of attention for two men. Alice was saved from total misery only by irritation.

“I should remember why you chose Sir John in the first place,” she said flatly.

“He has given me much,” Cecily allowed. “Position, a beautiful home, wealth… and Lady Morgan. One is never warned about mothers-in-law when one considers marriage. She is a terrible old harridan.”

“She is a friend of my mother’s,” Alice said, not without relish.

Cecily flushed. One did not, after all, offend the Dowager Countess of Braithwaite. She had probably forgotten who Alice was.

“I daresay it is my fault,” she said with humility. “I have too much spirit. Cornelius always liked that in me… And I can see he has a position of respect here in Blackhaven. See how Lord Braithwaite himself is laughing with him now? Of course, Cornelius is brother to a baronet… I wonder how I might reward him for hurting himself like this just to help me?”

By leaving him alone . “Perhaps you should have decided what you wanted before you began quite such a public flirtation,” Alice snapped. “A discreet affair must now be out of the question for you. You will excuse me.”

She wanted to march away from the cloying, selfish creature who had won Cornelius’s heart, but somehow she forced herself to stroll, smiling at acquaintances as she went.

And then a sound like a shot rent the air, followed by a scream of desolation, and the music stopped.

*

Cornelius knew a gunshot when he heard one. Though muffled by distance and music and chatter, he recognized it immediately. Even before the guests surged toward the French doors to the terrace, he was desperately searching the crowd for Alice. At the same time, other anxieties whipped through his brain—not least the effect of the shot on Roderick, who had come home from Waterloo with an aversion to loud noises. He had locked himself in his room during last week’s thunderstorm.

“Thank God,” he uttered, all but bumping into Alice, who was gazing with trepidation toward the window. The music had stopped, leaving the dancers in limbo, or pushing out on to the terrace to see what had happened. At her side, he felt for her hand, squeezing it in his relief. For an instant, her fingers clung, and then she pulled free, creating a more decorous distance.

“I am safe, Cornelius,” Cecily said. “You need not worry.”

Cornelius blinked. Cecily had never even entered his head, but he saw the stricken look in Alice’s eyes before she grasped the arm of her passing brother-in-law, Lord Torridon.

“What is it? What has happened?”

“Eddleston is shot,” Torridon said in his curt way. “He’s alive, though, and the gunman was caught.” His gaze flickered to Cornelius with approval. “By your brother, the major.”

Cornelius felt a glow of pride in Roderick, not unmixed with relief that he was behaving more in character. Torridon hurried on, and then Sir John Morgan appeared at his wife’s side.

“Oh, there you are, Jack,” Cecily said carelessly. “Cornelius has been looking after me.”

“Vale, my thanks,” Morgan said, a little more coolly than usual.

The plan must have been working, though Cornelius found it hard to care when Alice had vanished from his side. When, the waltz resuming on the young countess’s instructions, he glimpsed her laughing up at a dashing young officer of the local regiment, he felt an intense needle of jealousy. It struck him that the trick they were playing on Morgan was unnecessarily cruel.

It also struck him quite suddenly that he only had Cecily’s word that Morgan was unfaithful.

*

His Grace of Atherstone was enjoying his evening. Observant and Machiavellian by nature, he was happily sowing chaos around the man for whom Lady Alice appeared to have an incomprehensible preference.

He had come north to this barbaric part of the country with the intention of taming her, for he most assuredly meant her to be his duchess. Not just because of her birth, dowry, and looks—all impeccable—or even because her brother’s political influence might prove useful. Those things had certainly attracted him in the first place and made her eminently suitable. Her unexpected rejection of his marriage offer had certainly sparked a greater interest, but what mainly drove him was her frantic fear when he had stolen a small taste of her.

Atherstone liked creatures that were afraid of him. Dogs, horses, women—they all tended to behave in the same way, if they had any spirit, as Alice so clearly did. The combination excited him to try harder, and he always won. He would not only marry Alice Conway but tame her utterly.

Once her spirit was broken, he would no doubt lose interest, as he had with every other woman who had attracted his erratic attention, but she would still be Duchess of Atherstone and, hopefully, the mother of several children by then. He was a man who knew his duty and would carry it out whether with pleasure or with distaste. As Alice would learn to.

It was a long time since a woman had excited him to this degree. He hadn’t expected it of his future wife. She was far, far more enchanting than he could have hoped from such a suitable alliance.

Many plans spun in his head. He had just set the amorous tradesman’s son on one course, but there was never any harm in others. Having noted, with the rest of the ballroom, Cornelius Vale’s flirtation with the insipid Lady Morgan, he was delighted to run into her husband in the card room.

He knew Sir John only slightly, but everyone was gratified to be noticed by a duke, so he wandered up to him as he stood watching the play at the whist table.

“Ah, it’s you, Sir John,” he observed after several minutes, as though he had just recognized the man behind the mask. “A curiously enjoyable evening, is it not? An unusual amount of excitement, although I am assured poor Eddleston will survive.”

“One must hope so. Terrible thing to happen in a nobleman’s home.”

“Absolutely. Though, of course, the Braithwaites are a little lax with their company. One meets all sorts at their parties. I was introduced to a dashed mill owner—give you my word! And a steward who imagines his gentlemanly ancestors make him worthy company.”

That focused the man’s eyes. “Can you mean Cornelius Vale?” he said a little stiffly. “He is a friend of mine.”

“Really?” Atherstone allowed incredulity into his voice. “You are a most tolerant husband.”

The tolerant husband’s eyes narrowed.

“I speak as a man contemplating matrimony myself,” Atherstone said, flipping open his snuff box and offering it to Morgan. “And learning from those who already enjoy that happy state. My trouble is, I am not sure I could tolerate quite such public displays of affection to another man. But then, I have always been selfish. Hand of piquet?”

*

The injured Lord Eddleston, tucked up in a castle bedchamber after being treated by Dr. Lampton, was expected to live, and the culprit was already locked up in Blackhaven gaol.

Less welcome to Alice was the approach of the unmasking, when she fully expected Helen’s betrothal to Glover to be announced. She was so anxious about that and trying so hard to keep her wayward mind off Cornelius and Cecily that, as the supper dance approached, she forgot to be vigilant and avoid the Duke of Atherstone.

Worse, she was with her mother when she finally saw him walking unhurriedly toward her, and Mama had spotted him also. She would not be permitted to run away or reject him. He knew she had seen him, too, for a faint, triumphant smirk curled his lips.

And then, behind her, a voice that melted her bones said, “Lady Alice, may I hope for this dance?”

Because of Cecily, she wanted to say no—although that would be as rude as refusing Atherstone. It would also be cutting off her nose to spite her face. Her mouther scowled with annoyance, but Alice turned immediately, already taking his arm.

“Thank you.”

Cornelius bowed to the countess, and they joined the nearest set.

Conversation was difficult during a country dance, when you could only exchange words with your partner at the odd moments you came together.

“I am worried about Cecily,” Cornelius said, like another thorn in her skin as they joined hands, turned, and separated.

“I wouldn’t be,” she said when they met again, adding the next time, “She is cleverer than she looks.”

They turned together. “That is what worries me,” Cornelius said.

And then it was their turn to dance all the way down the set, and any further speech was impossible. She could not help rejoicing that she would have his company for supper too, but she did wonder if she was only hurting herself. Every instinct told her to trust Cornelius. And if nothing else, she knew him from his poems.

Many of which were written for Cecily, her wary brain reminded her. Shaking off the warning, she focused only on Cornelius and began to simply enjoy the dance.

When it ended, she and Cornelius joined the laughing, excited circle for the unmasking. Atherstone, who had never troubled to wear his mask, lounged on a chair outside the circle, looking tolerant and superior. Alice insinuated herself next to Helen and Geoffrey Winslow, afraid Gervaise might announce her engagement to Glover.

Helen’s eyes darted all around the masked circle.

“Who are you looking for?” Alice whispered in her ear.

“Meg Maven is here. I saw her.”

“Seriously?” Meg, for some unclear reason, had apparently paid for the riot that had threatened them in Whalen and led to all this mess. “How? She would never have been invited, and the staff are strict now about collecting the cards of all the guests. Someone must have brought her. Or let her in. You know, I don’t like the way she is always behind trouble—”

“There she is,” Helen murmured, nodding a few places to the left of Alice. “Cleopatra. Next to Bernard Muir.”

Alice followed her sister’s gaze. While Eleanor was congratulating her guests on their marvelous costumes and general mysteriousness, Cleopatra was watching Roderick Vale. This, surely, was the root of the trouble, and she was here purely to upset Helen further.

Under Alice’s watchful gaze, Meg slipped out of the circle and around the outside. Suspecting she meant to pass them to Roderick’s side, Alice refused to allow it.

As the woman passed, Alice whirled and caught her, sweeping her back into the circle between herself and Cornelius, who blinked in surprise.

But Eleanor had issued the command: “Unmask!”

Cornelius stepped behind Meg and began untying Alice’s mask. Though her whole body tingled at his touch, she noticed at once that Meg was trying to slip away again. Alice pounced and twitched the mask off her face.

“Madam,” Alice said icily, pretending surprise, “I do not believe you were invited.”

But Meg was a worthy opponent. With a dazzling smile, she said loudly, “Your ladyship is mistaken. I entered on the invitation of my betrothed, to the gracious welcome of Lady Braithwaite herself.”

Helen went rigid.

“My betrothed,” Meg stated with even greater clarity, “Major Vale.”

Alice wanted to smack both of them for what they had done to Helen. In the sudden silence, as everyone tried to work out what on Earth was going on, Roderick crossed the circle toward Meg.

Meg had forced his hand, Alice saw suddenly. Afraid he would marry Helen, Mrs. Maven was publicly making her claim to a man who would be too honorable to deny her. Well, she wasn’t getting away with that. Helen should at least have the choice of Roderick.

“Major Vale is your betrothed?” Alice said with blatant disbelief.

Meg laughed and opened her mouth to reply.

“Of course not,” Roderick said clearly. “Mrs. Maven jests. She knows perfectly well that I cannot be betrothed to her, charming as she is. For I am already betrothed to Lady Helen.”

Oh, well done, sir! Alice smiled at him radiantly.

But Helen had half turned away from him, poised for escape, as though his claim changed nothing. Surely, loving Roderick, as it was clear she did, she could not now take Glover? Helen paused and turned slowly back to face Roderick.

“Oh, thank God,” Alice muttered.

Gervaise all but galloped up to them. “Is this true, Helen? Do you wish to marry Major Vale?”

“Of course I still wish to marry Major Vale,” Helen said in a rush. “We are indeed engaged—with your approval?”

“Of course with my approval,” Gervaise said, grinning, and shook hands with Roderick, before taking Helen’s hand and placing it in that of her betrothed instead.

Cornelius thumped his brother on the back. “You old dog! Kept that very quiet! Congratulations, big brother! Lady Helen, welcome to the Vales.”

Bernard Muir, that stalwart friend of the Conway family, was turning the previous little drama into a joke, laughing while he swept Meg away as though to supper.

It was not total victory for Roderick, however. “Shall we go into supper?” he asked Helen. “Or shall we go somewhere quieter to talk?”

“I am promised to Mr. Winslow for supper,” she said perversely. “Excuse me.”

As she flitted away with the rather surprised Geoffrey Winslow, Cornelius murmured, “Have you made a mess of this, Rod?”

“A huge mess,” Roderick said.

Alice took a deep breath. “She thinks you don’t love her. She thinks you are doing this merely for honor. And by the way, how did that woman get in here?”

Roderick stared at her. “What in God’s name do you take me for?”

“Rod,” Cornelius said warningly.

But Alice suddenly understood and smiled. “ Glover . Of course—he brought her in to scupper your chances. Don’t give up, major.”