The Heir - Catherine Coulter [129]
“I shall, ma’am,” Arabella said. She realized that she did indeed wish to further her acquaintance with Lady Crewe. She left the older woman’s side to join the dancing with Sir Darien Snow, a long-time crony of her father’s. He smelled faintly of musk and brandy, a pleasing combination. She saw somewhat sadly that the years were gaining inexorably upon Sir Darien, deep lines etched about his thin lips and eyes, knots of veins on the backs of his hands. He was as gentle and unassuming as her father had been loud and boisterous. Undemanding as always, he led her through the steps with the practiced grace of long years in society. He didn’t speak, which relieved her. She had to keep her eye on the comte. She saw him dancing with Elsbeth. Damn, if only there were some way to get Elsbeth suddenly on the other side of the ballroom. She tugged on Sir Darien’s arm, taking the lead from him, to draw closer to Elsbeth and Gervaise. At least she wanted to hear what they were saying. As they drew near, she heard Gervaise say in his lilting caressing voice, “How lovely you are this evening, ma petite. These English parties seem to agree with you.”
Then they were swept away in the crush of other dancers, and she was unable to hear any more. If only she could have heard more.
At that moment, Elsbeth was saying to the comte, “Thank you, Gervaise. I do much enjoy dancing and parties. My aunt was rather retiring and did very little entertaining.” Elsbeth paused a moment before continuing, a hint of guilt in her voice, “I really should write to my aunt Caroline. She has shown me only kindness, you know. She will of course wish to visit us after we are married.” How odd that sounded to her ears, somehow unnatural, somehow forced.
He said nothing, but there was a quiver in his hands. “Yes,” he managed to say finally. He gazed down at his half-sister, her dark eyes bright and almond-shaped, as were his. He knew her simple innocence, her unquestioned trust of those about her. If only that wretched old servant Josette had told him sooner that he was not the natural son of Thomas de Trécassis, indeed, that he and Elsbeth were born of the same mother. Thank God he hadn’t made love to her that last time, after Josette had screamed at him that Elsbeth was his half-sister.
He would be gone soon, gone with what was rightfully his. Yet, somehow, he wanted to lessen the pain Elsbeth would feel upon his leaving. He missed a step in the dance and trod upon her foot. He was instantly contrite. “How very clumsy of me, Elsbeth, do forgive me, petite. You see, there are many things I do not do well.”
She smiled up at him, but her smile faltered. She sensed a sadness in him, and replied quickly, “It is nothing, Gervaise. Do not speak like that, I beg you. You do yourself an injustice.”
“No, Elsbeth, it is true. I—I am really quite unworthy of you.” He paused, realizing they were dancing in the middle of the dance floor. “Come,” he said, taking her hand. “I wish to speak to you. Let us go out on the balcony.”
31
Elsbeth followed the comte without hesitation, unaware that every member of her family was watching them closely.
It was chilly outside this evening, but Elsbeth didn’t feel it at all. She turned to look at him, lifting her face for a kiss, but he took a step away from her. “No, Elsbeth, you must listen to me. I have done much thinking, little cousin. Our plan to go away together, it is impossible. You must see that, Elsbeth. I would be the most dishonorable of men to take you from your family, to expose you to a life full of uncertainties and that would be all that I could offer you.”
She could but stare at him, her mouth agape. “No,” she whispered, “no. Why are you saying this? Gervaise, no, you cannot mean it. How can you say there will be uncertainties? There will be no uncertainties. Have you forgotten