Page 4 of A Winter Scandal

“Wants him to get a long look at all four of the girls—and Meg’s just sixteen. Poor little sparrows; she’s got their heads stuffed full of nonsense about catching a peacock.”

Lord Morecombe looked, Thea thought, rather glassy-eyed. No doubt he was stunned by the succession of simpering Cliffe daughters—not to mention every other halfway marriageable female in the room. The thought made Thea chuckle, and it eased her nerves a bit. But then Mrs. Cliffe pivoted and led him toward where Thea sat, the other two men trailing along behind.

“Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Robert Cliffe, my husband’s mother. Mother Cliffe, this is my honored guest, Lord Morecombe. And his friends, Sir Myles Thorwood and Mr. Alan Carmichael.” Thea noticed that her cousin Ian had apparently not joined the group.

Gabriel stepped forward and executed a formal bow to the old lady. “My pleasure, madam, though surely you must have married very young indeed to be the Squire’s mother.”

Mrs. Cliffe let out a short crack of laughter. “Ah, you’re a smooth-talking devil as well as a handsome one.”

“Mother!” The young Mrs. Cliffe’s face flooded with color. She rushed on, “And this is another of our lovely young ladies, Miss Bainbridge.”

Thea rose on somewhat shaky legs. “My lord.”

Lord Morecombe turned to her, his eyes moving over her without interest. “Miss Dandridge.” He sketched a polite bow before moving on with Mrs. Cliffe.

Morecombe’s two companions bowed to her in turn, greeting her by the same name. Thea nodded to them instinctively, not really hearing them, aware of nothing but the hard, cold knot forming in her chest.

Gabriel Morecombe had not remembered her.

Two

Thea sat back down with a thump as the men walked away.

“Well, I must say, he’s a handsome one. They didn’t lie about that,” old Mrs. Cliffe said, turning toward Thea. “Are you feeling quite right? You look pale as a sheet.”

“Yes, I mean, no—I—I’m not sure. If you will excuse me, ma’am, I do think I should leave the room. It’s a trifle warm.”

Scarcely waiting for Mrs. Cliffe’s response, Thea slipped out the nearest door. A short distance down the corridor, she ducked into a small room, unlit except for the light spilling in from the hallway. She dropped into a chair and leaned back, closing her eyes.

Gabriel Morecombe had not remembered her. There had been not even the slightest glimmer of recognition in his eyes when he looked at her. She had tried to prepare herself for his reaction, whatever it might be. She had thought he might look at her, unsure, and she had little doubt that he would probably not remember her name. After all, it had been ten years since they had met at the wedding of Lord Fenstone’s eldest daughter. She had even braced herself for the possibility that Lord Morecombe would remember everything, down to the last embarrassing detail, or that, even worse, he might blurt out something about that night. It had been her first ball of any consequence, and while Veronica shone as she always did, Thea had merely watched, hoping and yet dreading that the handsome young lord would take notice of her. In the years since, Thea had often thought of him as one would a fond dream—wistfully and without expectation of seeing it again.

But while she knew their encounter was for him nothing of consequence, she had not really considered that Lord Morecombe would not have even the smallest recollection of having met her. Danced with her. Kissed her.

Thea braced her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands, humiliation burning through her. The night that she had remembered so well had been such a small thing in his life that it had entirely slipped his mind. She had not expected him to recall it as vividly as she did. After all, he was a sophisticated London bachelor. No doubt since then he had kissed scores of girls—hundreds, even—whereas she … well, that had been the only kiss that the spinster Althea Bainbridge had ever received. But it scalded her that it had been so commonplace, so meaningless, so utterly forgettable that he registered not even the faintest recognition or, at least, some degree of discomfort.

She leaned back against the chair, and her mind went back to that long-ago evening at Fenstone Park when she had first met Gabriel, Lord Morecombe.

Thea’s father, Latimer Bainbridge, was cousin to the Earl of Fenstone. Latimer’s father had been the youngest brother of the family, and the Earl’s father, the eldest. Latimer, in turn, was the youngest son of his family and had, in accordance with family tradition, gone into the clergy. He received his living from the Earl, as his son would receive it from the Earl after Latimer’s death. While Thea’s family moved in an entirely different world from the Earl’s, on special occasions, when the entire Bainbridge family gathered for one reason or another at their family seat, Fenstone Park, Latimer and his wife and children were invited.

One of those occasions was the wedding of the Earl’s oldest daughter ten years ago. Fenstone Park was packed with relatives and friends, so that not only did Thea and her sister, Veronica, share a chamber, but they shared it with their mother, as well. Latimer and Daniel were in another, equally small room. They were shunted off into the oldest wing of the house, and Veronica was acutely aware that their dresses were not of the first stare of fashion, as were those of most of the other girls. Thea frankly had not cared; she was simply glad that she was old enough to put her hair up and her hems down and participate in all the festivities as an adult instead of being thrust in with the nursery group as she had been three years before.

She saw the handsome Gabriel Morecombe the evening before the wedding when she came down for supper, but of course at the table she had been placed far away from the heir to the Morecombe title, and she wouldn’t have dreamed of trying to catch his attention later in the evening when everyone mingled more freely in the music room and drawing room. No one in the village of Chesley, she knew, would have branded her shy, for she tended to take charge of matters, but the size and elegance of Fenstone Park, as well as the glittering sophistication of the people therein, intimidated her. Besides, Thea knew that when it came to social situations, she had little to offer. In the only area that counted among young women, beauty, she lagged behind the others. So she sat quietly beside Veronica, looking on as her pretty sister flirted with first one young man, then the other.

Once, when Veronica was for a moment free, Thea leaned in close to her sister, covering her mouth with her spread fan, and whispered, “Who is that young man? The one standing with Lord Wofford.” She nodded her head toward where the handsome young man stood with their second cousin Ian.

Her sister looked in the direction Thea indicated, raising her own fan to hide the smile that curved her lips. “Ooooh, him. He’s Gabriel Morecombe; he’ll be a lord when his father dies. He and Wofford have been friends forever. He’s a terribly good catch. Not only handsome as can be, but possessed of a nice inheritance, I hear.” Veronica released a soft sigh. “Quite above our touch, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Thea felt her cheeks warm, and she looked down, twisting the fan in her hand. “I didn’t mean—I never considered that. I just thought … I wondered who he was.”

She raised her eyes again, unable to keep them from returning to Gabriel. He was flirting with two girls in satin evening gowns that Thea was sure cost more than her entire wardrobe at home. She watched, aware of an odd little clutch in her chest. She knew that her father would tell her she was being covetous, but right now Thea could not bring herself to care. For just a moment, she ached to be a fragile blonde with limpid blue eyes, dressed in satin and lace.

The next day Thea’s eyes found Gabriel Morecombe wherever he was—sitting six rows in front of her in the chapel during the wedding, laughing as he walked down the hall with another young man, sitting on a bench in the garden south of the house, the sun glinting off his black hair. Once he glanced over at her, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Had he seen her staring? Did he realize that she could not keep from looking for him wherever she went?

That evening she went down to the ball wearing her best evening gown—well, it wasn’t hers, really, but the pale blue gown Veronica had worn to the County Assembly last month. Still, it was the nicest dress she had, and Veronica had given it up only because she was wearing one of the new dresses bought for her debut this year. Its blue color had been chosen with Veronica’s dark auburn hair and blue eyes in mind, but it was a flattering enough shade for Thea, as well. And Veronica had insisted on doing Thea’s hair herself, so that it hung in long curls from a knot at the crown of her head, and the soft, fine hairs that tended to pull out from their pins were twisted and tamed into feathery little wisps around her face. Thea had indulged in a final bit of vanity by removing her spectacles and leaving them on her dresser.

Without her glasses, she could see little more than a blur beyond a few feet in front of her, and at first, as she descended the stairs, she felt a little frightened by her lack of vision. However, when she followed Veronica into the ballroom and realized that the crowd spread out before her was nothing more than soft, fuzzy shapes and colors, she relaxed. It was quite pleasant, actually, not to see the people around her. She was, she thought with some amusement, rather like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand—unable to see anyone with clarity, she felt herself somehow invisible.

She took her usual place beside Veronica and her mother against the wall of the large ballroom. A small orchestra played at one end of the room, and couples danced in a haze of color and motion in front of her. Before long, Veronica was asked to dance, and Thea’s mother, blessed with the same sort of easy social grace Veronica possessed, was deep in conversation with the wife of Sir Joseph Symonds. Thea plied her fan gently in the warmth and wondered what Gabriel Morecombe was doing. At least she could not embarrass herself this evening by looking for him since she could see only a few feet past the end of her nose.