St. Raven (38 page)

“No.” Too late, Cressida knew she should have said she didn’t know. “I mean, he gives no sign of it. But then, why would he with us almost strangers?…” She was babbling. “It’s as well we’ll never meet again, or I’d doubtless make a complete fool of myself, and in time I’m sure I’ll meet someone as wonderful as your Giles.”

Lavinia squeezed her hand. “I do hope so. But come on. There’s nothing like a very brisk walk to blow away nonsense.”

The brisk walk and cheerful talk did work to blow away nonsense—such as Cressida’s urge to impress upon her friend that she meant she really
loved
the Duke of St. Raven, and why, and what they’d done together.

They stopped at Montel’s for cakes, and as they took their seats, Lavinia bounced up. “Winnie! What are you doing in town?”

In moments Cressida found herself seated at another table with two other women, a young, fashionable, rather uneasy young woman and a full-bosomed matron, her mother.

They proved to be Mrs. Scardon, and her daughter Winifred—Lady Pugh.

Cressida had to work not to stare at the young woman not much older than herself who was stuck with the odious Pugh. Did she know what her husband got up to?

Apparently Lavinia and Winifred had been friends before Winnie had married. Lady Scardon made a rather slighting reference to the delay in Lavinia’s marriage, which made Cressida want to kick her.

Lavinia and Winnie seemed genuinely fond of one another, and it turned out that mother and daughter were in town to buy clothing suitable for Lady Pugh’s increasing condition.

Of course she must have been intimate with the odious Pugh, but the proof made Cressida feel slightly sick. She also thought it disgusting that Pugh had been at Stokeley when his wife was expecting their first child.

“Pugh is in Scotland,” Mrs. Scardon said, making Cressida wonder if her thoughts had been so obvious. “Grouse, you know. I’m sure there are some gentlemen most inconvenienced by the Arran wedding.”

“Oh, Lady Anne and Lady Marianne,” Lavinia said. “I saw the announcement. The wedding is already?”

“A scrambling sort of affair.” Mrs. Scardon could be said to smirk. “One must wonder…”

“Wonder what?” asked Cressida with malicious blankness.

Lady Scardon cast her a dismissive look. “Hasty weddings are always suspect, Miss Mandeville. Oh,” she added, false as a wooden guinea, “you’re the young lady who had that unfortunate encounter in Hatfield. I believe my daughter’s husband came to your assistance. He did wonder at the wisdom of you being there alone.”

Was that his story? So tempting to tell the truth, but it would hurt herself and Lady Pugh and hardly touch him at all. “There were a number of gentlemen,” Cressida said accurately. “I believe Lord Pugh was one of them. But the Duke of St. Raven was my principal protector. He was very kind.”

“So he should be, after turning up drunk with Lord Crofton and others. After attendance at a wild party, I gather.”

Cressida was almost shocked into arguing the truth, but how could she know exactly who was who? “The duke was sober, Mrs. Scardon. I assure you of that.”

“Such men hold their drink very well, dear. A young lady like yourself would not understand that.”

“As I understand it, he was visiting his cousin. He wasn’t with Lord Crofton at all.”

“No? Yet it’s common gossip that he was at Crofton’s party.”

So was Lord Pugh
. The words burned to be spoken. Cressida drank her tea instead. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

Mrs. Scardon’s smile agreed, and somehow made it an insult instead of praise. Lord save her from the company of women like this. She flashed Lavinia a glance, and in moments they took their leave.

“I’m sorry,” said Lavinia as they walked down the street. “She’s a cold woman, but Winnie used to be great fun. I don’t think her marriage agrees with her.”

Cressida had to tell someone. “Lord Pugh was one of Crofton’s drunken party.”

“Oh, dear. It was good of you not to say.”

“I doubt I’d have been believed.”

“Oh, no,” said Lavinia, “I’m sure they know.”

Cressida realized her friend was correct. “Poor Lady Pugh.”

“Yes. She was encouraged into it for the title. I don’t know whether she feels she had a fair bargain for her father’s money, but I wouldn’t reckon it so.”

Cressida wondered if Lavinia would expect Giles to be faithful, but couldn’t think of a way to ask. Surely she must. Or were her own expectations absurd?

“I note that St. Raven was at Crofton’s affair,” Lavinia said with an air of the casual comment. “Not surprising. He’s known for such. According to Matt, his recent choice of pleasure is the house of a woman called Violet Vane.”

The Queen of the Night. Fighting La Coop. Cressida smothered pain under a blank look. “Oh?”

“I think it’s a bordello. Matt is vague, which almost certainly means it’s a bordello.”

“I don’t think your brother should tell you these things.”

“How else am I to know? Would you rather not know, Cressida?”

Cressida sighed. So Lavinia was telling her on purpose. “No. I mean, it’s better to know. Is there anything else?”

“Just that Violet Vane seems to specialize in very young whores and Matt saw St. Raven there with three of the youngest. Even he thought it was a bit much. There’s something of a movement at the moment against that sort of thing, as there should be.”

“Definitely.”

If St. Raven had not been with her, would he have been groping those girls at Crofton’s? Was that his real taste? And she’d wanted to recruit him against the trade! What a fool she was.

Cressida was trying so hard not to show what she felt that she probably looked like a wax head. And Lavinia would know, as she’d known that Lady Pugh knew about her husband, so it was all for nothing except to preserve foolish pride.

“The Crofton affair at Stokeley was pretty disgusting, too, according to Matt. I hate to admit it, but he was there. He came home quite sick—noxious brews and oriental peculiarities—and was upset because it had been your home.”

“Not home.”

“Thank heavens.” After a moment, Lavinia said, “I just thought you should know.”

Cressida stopped and turned to her. “And I thank you. The duke’s handsome and can be charming. He could easily steal a woman’s heart. But I am not so foolish as that, I assure you.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to see you end up like Winnie.”

Cressida found a laugh. “There was never any question of marriage.”

“Of course not. Duchess Cressida. Imagine it! But,” she sighed, “I wish I’d been rescued by him. I’ve never so much as spoken to a duke.”

“They say ‘Good day,’ and ‘Dreadful weather, isn’t it?’ just like other men.”

Lavinia laughed. “Oh, surely not. What a disappointment.” She eyed Cressida. “Shall I confess something?”

“Please do. I will be able to hold it over your head forever more.”

“I don’t think it’s quite so terrible as that. But when Matt was talking about the horrible orgy, with half-naked people and impropriety everywhere, I wished I could have been a fly on the wall. I would like to see true wickedness once in my life.”

Cressida burst out laughing, and had to lean against some railings to recover.

Laughter was healing, and she returned home in a lighter mood, but now completely determined on an early return to Matlock. Matlock had become like her corset. Only when properly encased in it would she feel safe from her own weak folly, and now she knew just how deep her folly was.

When their new footman said her father wished to speak to her, she saw an excellent opportunity. Her father seemed to be dragging his feet about Matlock, and it was time to push. No point talking to her mother, who would only do as her father wished.

She hurried to her room to remove her bonnet and tidy herself, then went to her father’s study planning the best approach.

He was at his desk, happily surrounded by ledgers and documents, but on her arrival he picked up a folded sheet of paper. “Here’s a letter from St. Raven, Cressy, asking to buy the rest of those statues. What do you say to that?”

Cressida stared at the letter as if it were a snake about to strike. “The statues?” They were the only words she could think of.

“The naughty ones. He’s that sort of man, of course. What do you say? Do we sell ‘em to him? Your mother doesn’t care for ’em.”

He unfolded the crested notepaper and held it out to her. She had to take it, to look at the strong, flowing writing, and the slashed signature. St. Raven. In her imagination she could smell sandalwood.

Dear sir,

You are undoubtedly aware that I had the honor to make your daughter’s acquaintance and be of some assistance to her. In the process I became aware of a set of statues in your possession, carved in ivory. I purchased one from your daughter and would appreciate the opportunity to acquire the rest. I would be much obliged if you would inform me whether the same price is appropriate. It could well be that the set is more valuable.

I also have in my possession a dagger that I believe is called a wisdom sword. I acquired it at Stokeley Manor, thus I assume it to be yours. I will return it if you wish, but would like to purchase it, also.

I understand you are recovered from your incapacity and congratulate you upon it. I hope Miss Mandeville is similarly recovered from her encounter with some who, though considered members of our higher orders, behaved little better than ruffians. I assure you she need fear no repercussions from that encounter.

Please direct your reply to me at St. Raven’s Mount, Cornwall.

He signed with that flourish, but it was all in his own handwriting.

He was in Cornwall. Hundreds of miles away. It was both relief and agony. Had he realized that she would see this letter, touch this letter? Had he intended it as pleasure or torture? What did he
want
!

“Cressida?”

She pulled herself together. “I think we should give them to him, Father. He did help me, and they’re not worth a great deal, are they?”

“Not now they’re all empty.” He was eyeing her all too shrewdly. “Very well. What about the wisdom sword? Now that’s a piece of some value, and this is all your inheritance in the end.”

If you don’t throw it away again next time you’re bored.

“If he had it from Crofton, it is legally his. I don’t think we should take advantage of his honest nature.”

His bushy brows shot up. “Honest nature? A duke?”

Cressida didn’t care what she revealed. “Honest nature. Is his offer not proof of it?”

“It could just be proof of cunning. He doubtless thinks I’ll give it to him in hope of favors. As if I cared for a duke’s favors.” But he looked at her from under his bushy brows, tapping a restless finger. “Very well. If you want him to have it, so be it. Write a reply to him, won’t you? Write it from yourself.”

Cressida froze. “That would be improper, Father.”

“Tush. I’ve no patience with such things. You’re not going to compromise yourself with a business letter, are you?”

“But…” Cressida feared that more protest might cause more trouble. If he even suspected her feelings or her wickedness… A lifetime in India made him inclined to ride roughshod toward his goals.

“Very well, Father.” She dropped a curtsy and retreated to her bedroom, the precious letter clutched in one hand. She suppressed a sigh as she pulled out a sheet of her paper and trimmed up her pen.

How to do this?

Very formally.

To His Grace the Duke of St. Raven,

St. Raven’s Mount,

Cornwall

My Lord Duke,

With respect to your gracious communication with regards to the ivory statues in my father’s possession, in view of the assistance you so kindly provided me, it is my father’s wish that you kindly accept the statues as an expression of our gratitude.

As for the wisdom sword, it was acquired from Lord Crofton while he was in legal possession of it, so my father can see no justification for accepting payment. He urges you to consider it rightly and justly yours, and is assured that you will be a proper custodian of such a treasure.

For you are in need of wisdom, Tris Tregallows, she thought sadly as she wiped her pen. She dipped it again, weakly unwilling to leave it there.

Please permit me to again express my thanks for your gracious assistance in my recent difficulties. Thanks to you, instead of distress and even injury, I now have an enlightening adventure to remember.

I have the honor to remain, Your Grace,

Your most obedient servant.

She signed it, blotted it, then returned with it to the study. “Do you wish to read it, Father?”

He looked up from another letter. “What? No, no. I’m sure you’ve covered matters appropriately. Fold it, seal it, and get it on its way.”

She was pressing her father’s seal into the melted wax when he cleared his throat. She looked up to find him leaning back in his chair, regarding her.

“Cressy, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Oh, Lord—did he know? Did he guess?

She raised the seal with care and returned it to its stand. “Yes, Father?”

He worked his mouth for a moment, a sure sign he was uncomfortable with what was to come. “The thing is that your mother and I… well, we are thinking of going abroad.”

She felt as if the floor had dropped beneath her feet. “Abroad? But what about Matlock?”

“We know that’s your home, my dear, and perhaps we can find a way for you to stay there, but we would like you to come with us to India if you feel able.”

“To
India
! Father, you can’t! Mother wants to return to Matlock.”

“I’m not dragging her away by force, Cressy! She wants to come, and I’ve had a bellyful of England. I miss sunshine and spices.”

Oh, this was the outside of enough! She leaned forward on the desk. “Mama
hated
India—you know that.

If she goes with you, it will be from duty and affection. It is so unfair to drag her away from her home and friends because you have wanderlust!“