Country Flirt (8 page)

When he was shown in, she had arranged herself on the chaise longue in a romantically flowing garment that concealed all of her body except her head and arms. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders in black waves, and the lamps were low. The pose she had in mind was a sort of Delphic oracle of austere mystery and subtle refinement
—a lady several feet above a gentleman’s touch. The unattainable was what men liked.

To suggest she represented the divine rather than the profane, she had the table decked out as an altar, with votive candles and flowers. The wine decanter and glasses were on another table, to avoid jarring. As she had no notion of Lord Howard’s aversion to marrying a widow, she meant to drop vague laments about her dear late husband, and possibly a tantalizing hint that she had foresworn any further romantic entanglements for the rest of her life. That should present him a tempting challenge.

When Lord Howard was shown in, he peered around the dark corners for his hostess till he espied the white form on the chaise longue. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Armstrong. I hope I’m not barging in on a headache.”

She lifted an arm in greeting. “In the evenings, I prefer the half light. It is more amenable to my mood.”

Encouraged, he paced forward and grabbed her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. Once this was done, however, he began to wonder just where he was to sit, as Mrs. Armstrong occupied the entire chaise.

“I shall ring for your tea,” she said in a rather languorous voice.

“We’ll skip the tea this evening, shall we?”

The expression she wore was one of innocent bafflement. “But I thought you came for a complete reading? Is it the palm you wish read?” she asked.

As this would at least get him onto the sofa, he said, “That’s it. I’ll just slide in here beside you on the love-seat.”

Mrs.
Armstrong lowered her legs and patted the end of the chaise. She took Lord Howard’s hand in both of hers and turned it palm-upward. She studied it a long moment, then closed her eyes and examined it with the tips of her fingers, slowly, seductively. The gentle, warm, insinuating pressure of her fingers fired Howard to such a state it was all he could do not to grab her into his arms.

When at last her eyes fluttered open, she gave a little surprised shudder. “Did you feel it, the emanation?” she asked.

“That I did, my dear. It shook me to the core.”

“I have never felt such a strong emanation before. I believe our spirits are in tune. I shall begin the reading now.”

She drew her index finger along the first line of his palm. “Ah, look at the length of the life line. You will live to ninety, Lord Howard.” She continued with many portents of success and good fortune. “I have never seen such a large mount of the Sun! Success, intelligence, audacity.”

“I can’t deny the success at any rate. As to the audacity
—” He laughed and tried to slip his arm around her waist.

Without a word or even a glance of rebuke, she removed the offending arm and proceeded with her reading. The mounts of Jupiter and Saturn and Mercury were all positive, but the mount that Lord Howard was interested in was unmentioned.

“What of my love life?” he asked archly. “The mount of Venus
—you have not mentioned it.”

“That, too, is satisfactory. I see love there, charity.” Yet these virtues caused her lips to droop sadly. “Alas”
— she sighed—”I also see much evidence of libertinage.”

“It shows, does it?” he asked coyly, and decided it was time to get down to business.

He withdrew one of his many Indian jewels from his pocket and held in the palm of his hand a fine ruby ring. He slid it onto her finger and studied it a moment. “Plenty more where this one came from,” he said, and tried once more to get his arm around her waist.

Mrs. Armstrong rose gracefully. “May I
offer you a glass of wine, Lord Howard?”

“That would be dandy.”

She poured wine, and when Lord Howard reached the bottom of his glass, he found the ruby ring there. “What’s this?”

Mrs. Armstrong took a seat, not on the chaise longue but on a chair a few feet removed from it. “You are foolishly generous, Lord Howard,” she chided gently.

“Damme, I wish you will call me Howard.”

“Then you must call me Serena,” she smiled, though her name was Nancy. “I don’t accept payment for my readings. It is a gift I share with a few friends.”

“I had hoped I might share another gift,” he said, pinning her with an impatient eye.

Mrs. Armstrong just smiled sadly. “I shan’t pretend to misunderstand your meaning. I am through with all that.”

“Why, you’re still in the prime of life! You can’t be more than thirty-five.”

“A little younger actually. Since my husband’s death five years ago, I have forsaken the pleasures of the flesh, Howard. I leave that for more worldly creatures.”

“Sure I couldn’t tempt you?” he said, polishing the ruby ring.

“You could. That is why I must not see you again. Please, respect my wishes in this matter.”

Her tactic worked splendidly. Lord Howard was quite smitten by her noble mien and that tantalizing weakness on her part. The lamplight flickering on her shapely arms and long, dark eyes imbued her with every allurement.

“I have been looking forward to this evening all day,” he said, peering from the corner of his eye to read her reaction.

She reached across the intervening space and patted his hand. “I confess, I, too, have been tempted. But it would not do. I made a vow. . . .”

“What sort of vow?”

“When my husband was interred, I vowed on his grave that I would never remarry. Don’t tempt me, Howard, I beg of you. I am only a weak woman, and you are strong. You might convince me to break my vow.”

The word
remarry
set him back a peg. He had obviously misunderstood the lady’s background. Pretty as she was, a lifelong commitment to a widow was still anathema to him. He put the ring in his pocket. Mrs. Armstrong lowered her long lashes and stared at her fingers. She made a very pretty picture, there in the flickering lamplight. By staring fixedly at the floor, she managed to raise a film of moisture that closely resembled unshed tears. Then she raised her eyes and smiled very sadly.

“Good-bye, dear Howard,” she said. Her voice was uneven.

Lord Howard’s fingers curled over the ruby in his pocket. It wasn’t miserliness that kept the ring in his pocket, but respect. He didn’t want to offend the poor lady.

“I’ll be running along, then,” he said.

At the doorway he stopped again and looked at Serena. Her head drooped on her shoulder like a wilted flower. She didn’t mar her pose by looking up again. Lord Howard took away the proper vision of a chaste but troubled lady, cleaving to her vow
—by no means sure she could go on cleaving if he persisted.

At Mrs. Armstrong’s door, Howard looked carefully up and down the street before leaving. He glanced with particular interest to the lit windows of the Bright house. No head shadowed the clear rectangles of light, but he thought the door was opening and waved for his curricle. Had he looked as closely when he entered, he would have seen not one head but two.

Lord Monteith left Lambrook Hall half an hour before his uncle to pay an unexpected visit to the Brights. He and his mama were planning a round of social events to occupy Howard’s time and divert his thoughts from marriage. An invitation to luncheon the next day was Monteith’s excuse for calling, though not his reason. He also had another excuse.

“I’ve brought you a note from Mama,” he said to Mrs. Bright as he handed her a letter.

Mrs. Bright read it and frowned. “Oh, dear, I’m not sure I want to be involved in this sort of havey-cavey going on.”

“What is it, Mama?” Samantha asked.

“Irene wants to use our house to meet Clifford clandestinely. It seems Lord Howard has expressed himself with generous strength on the subject of widows’ remarrying. She is afraid of offending him. I don’t see that it is any of Lord Howard’s business. He’s only a brother-in-law.”

“A very rich brother-in-law,” Samantha added, with a challenging look to Monteith.

“The one who pays the piper calls the tune,” Monty pointed out. “Mama cherishes the hope that he’ll leave his fortune to Teddie and Ben.”

Mrs. Bright shook her head. “Nothing ever comes of trying to butter up rich relatives, Monteith. My late husband curried favor with an old maiden aunt for years. He was always visiting her and sending her little gifts, and in the end she left everything to a second cousin who had the wisdom to ignore her entirely till the last few months, when he moved in and ingratiated himself. And he didn’t need the money as badly as we, either.”

“I agree with you,” Monteith said. “Unfortunately, Mama doesn’t agree with me. Of course I would be happy to see Teddie and Ben so well provided for. If you don’t wish Mama to use your house, you have only to tell me so, and I’ll give her the message.”

“I don’t like to refuse her,” Mrs. Bright said. “Irene has never asked anything of me before. Why doesn’t she arrange her meetings at Clifford’s sisters’ houses?”

“They live in the country, Mama,” Samantha pointed out. “Lady Monteith often comes to the village
—our house is more convenient for her. Closer to Clifford’s home, too.”

“Then it is not the principle that deters you?” Monteith asked Mrs. Bright. “You don’t actually object to her meeting Clifford without Uncle’s knowledge?”

“She’s not beholden to him. She may meet Clifford any time or anywhere she wants. Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it. She’s not a young deb after all. I’ll write up an answer, Monteith, for you to take home. I shall also tell her I think she wastes her time catering to Lord Howard.”

She went to the desk in the corner and began composing her reply. Monteith gave Samantha the invitation to luncheon the next afternoon.

“Uncle plans to display some of the things he brought back from India,” he mentioned, while she read it. “Carts are arriving at the door daily, ladened with goods. Enough swords to outfit the Dragoons, along with all manner of artworks. But the pi
è
ce de r
é
sistance is the jewelry. It will go into the bank vault soon, so this is your chance to see it.”

Samantha returned the invitation to the envelope. “You need not add any further enticement, Monty. A chance to meet Lord Howard is quite sufficient to lure me to the Hall. Mama and I shall be there.”

His dark eyes glinted and he said, “I thought perhaps you would prefer to remain home, learning how to read the leaves. That was your intention, was it not?”

“Only as a last resort if Mrs. Armstrong proves a serious competitor.”

Monteith glanced at the clock on the mantel. It read two minutes to nine. He rose and wandered idly to the window. “There’s a carriage passing by,
”
he said, and pulled the curtain aside a little to distinguish the carriage.

Samantha glanced out, too. “It’s the vicar’s gig,” she said. “He drove over to his other parish this afternoon. He’s interviewing a new assistant.”

When Monteith remained at the window, Samantha became curious. “Are you thinking of setting up a gig, Monty? Or were you hoping for a glimpse of Mrs. Russet’s new bonnet? She didn’t accompany him.”

“No, I believe I see another set of lights coming this way.”

“Heavy traffic indeed! You will be thinking you’re back in London, with such a plethora of carriages.”

“It looks like Howard’s curricle,” Monty said casually.

Samantha cast a teasing smile at him. “As you are so frightened of offending the nabob, perhaps you had best leave. He might be annoyed to find you here when he comes courting me.” She was gratified that Lord Howard should time his visit with Monty’s. Excitement lent a rosy tinge to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes.

Monteith turned around. “Best order the tea, Sam. It looks as if you must begin learning to read the leaves.”

Samantha’s anger was at being thwarted in front of Monteith. Not only thwarted, but after having boasted in front of him. “Is he going to Armstrong’s?” she asked, and ran to the window, just as Lord Howard descended.

Monty studied her quick flash of anger. His eyes narrowed visibly. “That gets your hackles up, I see! One dislikes to say I told you so, but I did intimate something of the sort, if you will recall.”

“So you did. As worn-out clichés are the style this evening, I shall say ‘It takes one to know one.’ “

“One what?”

“One libertine,” she snipped.

“But
I
am not calling on Mrs. Armstrong. I am much more decorously employed visiting friends.”

“Decorous, my foot! You knew perfectly well Lord Howard was going there. That’s the only reason you came.”

“I came to deliver Mama’s letter and the invitation.”

“It’s the first time you’ve honored us with this personal delivery service. A footman was always good enough before. You came to spy on Lord Howard and me. Why else have you been monitoring that window so assiduously? That’s despicable behavior, Monteith!”

He studied her, a frown pleating his brow. “You really mean it! You’re really angry that Howard isn’t visiting you.”

“I couldn’t care less about that,” she said, and flung herself impetuously on the sofa. “What angers me is your duplicity.”

“At the risk of bethumping you with yet another cliché, ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much!’ My ill behavior never raised a flush before. A lady must care about a gentleman before she honors him with her wrath. Howard is the gentleman you want, not I. Shall I cross the street and interrupt the tète-à-tète for you?”

“Don’t do it on my account. I expect you only want an excuse to call on Mrs. Armstrong yourself, if the truth were known.”

“Truth is a phantom
—unknowable, but I don’t need an excuse to call on a lovely neighbor.”

“I expect you’re implying Mama and I are not lovely then, as you found it necessary to dream up
two
excuses to call on us.”

Monteith threw up his hands in dismay. “You mistake excuses with reasons. There’s never any point arguing with an angry lady. When logic goes against her, she begins discovering an insult in every innocent comment. You are overwrought to see your rich suitor dangling after the widow.”