The Earl's Revenge (17 page)

Lord Means and Mr. Hardwicke had more male speculation in their eyes, Mr. Hardwicke even going so far as to pull out his quizzing glass. Mr. Taylor and Miss Throckmorton were too young to consider her as aught but the ape-leading spinster she really was.

She joined Anne and Miss Westmont, exchanging a brief greeting with Bridgeport before he excused himself. The earl was even more fashionably dressed than at the squire’s dinner party, his black velvet jacket, embroidered white waistcoat, and dove gray pantaloons emphasizing the vast gulf between them.

Elaine relaxed. He must also sense it. He would hardly wish to be seen pursuing someone so dowdy, so would turn his attention to his friends and leave her in peace.

Mark led Richard to a secluded corner of the room.

“I can hardly decide what to think of the chit,” Richard murmured. “She has a quick wit and does not seem the sort to run off like that.”

“She had her reasons, and I must admit that much of the fault lay with her father, who lied to all parties, including me. But her manners were execrable nonetheless.”

“You are not planning something stupid, are you?” demanded the marquess sharply, catching the undercurrent of pique in Mark’s voice.

“Not at all.”

Further conversation was impossible.

“This certainly is a quaint house,” said Mrs. Woodleigh, joining the gentlemen. “How am I to summon my maid?”

Mark shrugged. “Either send a footman – one will usually be stationed in the upstairs hall – or arrange that she attend you at a specific hour.”

“Must I arrange everything in advance?” she asked suggestively, laying her white hand on his sleeve. Richard slipped away, leaving Mark to handle her in his own way.

Mark dislodged those possessive fingers. “It is best. You know how few servants I have. The house will seem quite primitive.”

She shrugged. “Margaret can earn her keep for a change. It is actually a charming idea. One can move around quite freely without being observed. How clever you are, my lord.”

“Not at all. It is a cursed nuisance, if you must know. So much unexpected company will make things very difficult for my staff. And there is no way I can help them. I have far too much work of my own to be able to spend time with any of you.”

But that was a little too blunt for her taste. “You must know I only came on this journey to relieve your boredom,” she pouted.

“In the unlikely event I am plagued by any, I will let you know.” With an enigmatic smile, he moved on to speak with Reggie.

Harold was the last to come down, mincing through the doorway barely five minutes before dinner. Mr. Taylor tore his gaze away from Miss Throckmorton to admire the dandy’s dress.

Parrish had outdone himself this night – his lavishly padded turquoise satin coat broadened his indifferent shoulders; the judicious use of a Cumberland corset had shrunk his waist at least three inches; his cravat was arranged in an oversized oriental that stretched his neck to rival a giraffe’s and pressed his elongated shirtpoints perilously close to his eyes; and his valet must have found help to have stuffed him into such tight breeches. Harold quizzed the room with fashionable
ennui
, sniffed at Taylor’s own sartorial efforts, then turned to Mr. Hardwicke.

“I am shocked to find you part of this group, Peter,” he stated in overly familiar fashion.

“Why?” murmured Hardwicke coolly. Himself a Corinthian, he had little use for dandies and fops.

“Terribly sorry, my lad,” apologized Harold, lisping affectedly. “My wretched tongue – flaps about on its own sometimes. I didn’t mean that the way it came out, of course, only wishing to express surprise that you would pay a friendly call on the man who fleeced you of your inheritance. Shows a magnanimity not many possess. I admire that.”

“You mistake the facts, sir.”

“Oh, quite, quite!” agreed Harold with an insincere laugh. “Of course there was no impropriety in that game. Watched most of it myself. The eyes don’t always see what they should, but what can one expect in such a crowd?”

Elaine grimaced. Mr. Parrish continued in the same vein, his voice pitched so low that he probably thought no one could overhear. What was he up to now? Before she could share this very disturbing conversation with Bridgeport, Burgess announced dinner.

The seating arrangements elicited speculative glances from some guests and annoyance from others. Elaine occupied the hostess’s chair opposite Bridgeport’s own. Mrs. Woodleigh’s pique increased when she discovered that she was positioned halfway down the table while Mark was flanked by Lady Means and Miss Throckmorton. She had to endure an entire meal stuck between Mr. Parrish and Mr. Taylor.

By the end of the first course, Elaine detected a gleam in Mr. Hardwicke’s eyes similar to the expression she had seen in the eyes of many a rake during her sojourn in town, though never before directed at her. Even more disturbing were the expressions on other people’s faces. Harold was murmuring to Mrs. Woodleigh whose gaze grew fiercer as it flicked between Bridgeport and Elaine. Lady Means was casting sly looks at the earl, ignoring her niece, who flaunted herself shamelessly. By the end of the second course, Harold’s eyes showed satisfaction and Mrs. Woodleigh’s glared. Lady Means seemed annoyed after a lengthy tale drew only a halfhearted shrug from Bridgeport.

Mark hid a growing irritation. Even Cook’s mushrooms tasted flat after listening to Lady Means murmur suggestive remarks whenever she could work them into the conversation. She was even more adept at using double entendre than he was. Her niece was flirting outrageously, batting her lashes and leaning forward so he could hardly miss the generous bosom barely concealed by a scandalously low-cut gown. Did Lady Means really believe him to be so slavish to his appetites that he could not resist such obvious charms?

But failing to accept what was offered opened the door to further danger. If she was so desperate to marry off her niece that she would throw the girl at a man she still wanted for herself, might she arrange a compromise to force his hand? It was a reality every unmarried gentleman had to consider. The greedy would stoop to any depth to win – as Oaksford had just discovered.

With relief, he watched Elaine lead the ladies out.

* * * *

Elaine poured coffee in the drawing room, wishing for the thousandth time that she had not accepted this invitation.

“It is too bad that you don’t have someone to help you understand the empty promises of notorious libertines, Miss Thompson,” purred Mrs. Woodleigh after five minutes of inane pleasantries that were apparently intended to establish an unbiased friendship. “You have made a disastrous mistake by linking your name with the earl. But I suppose you have no way of knowing his reputation.”

“On the contrary, I know it quite well,” she replied smoothly, wondering if this was a disinterested warning or whether she was correct in her impression that the widow was one of Bridgeport’s mistresses. She supposed she should be shocked by that idea, but the earl had never been secretive about his activities.

“If you have any aspirations in that direction, forget it, dear,” continued Mrs. Woodleigh. “Mark has no interest in provincial misses. So worldly a gentleman needs a more experienced lady. All of society knows he is planning to offer for me.”

“I am not surprised.” She shrugged. “Like calls to like, as the saying goes.” Since Mrs. Woodleigh had just finished calling Bridgeport a notorious libertine, there was no mistaking the cut. With an overdone sniff, the widow retreated.

Elaine sipped coffee to steady her nerves. This party might prove even worse than she had feared. So far Bridgeport showed no signs of being swept back into his London circle, appearing irritated at dinner and behaving coolly toward Mrs. Woodleigh earlier – though that could have been natural caution since one did not usually include one’s mistress in a respectable gathering. Worse, Mrs. Woodleigh was showing signs of unreasonable jealousy. How far was the woman prepared to go in expressing it? If the earl renewed his insistent flirting, would Elaine’s own reputation survive?

Lady Means joined her on the settee. “Poor Mrs. Woodleigh,” she said softly. “Such delusions! How can she possibly think that so high a lord as Bridgeport would make a permanent offer to one of his companions? You are not shocked, I hope.”

“Hardly. But it seems odd to find a lady of the
ton
like yourself knowingly cohabiting a house with a fallen woman. Or has society changed that drastically in recent years?”

Lady Means flushed. “She is not exactly a courtesan,” she admitted grudgingly, then shifted to her own concerns. “How long have you known the earl?”

“We have met from time to time, though I would hardly call us friends,” said Elaine. “But he was desperate for help when word arrived that so many people had decided to pay an uninvited visit. Treselyan is hardly capable of entertaining a crowd.”

“He cannot claim surprise,” declared Lady Means. “We discussed it before he left town, for he is ready to wed again, and dear Lucinda has finally reached a marriageable age.”

Elaine refrained from repeating Bridgeport’s own description of the party. It was possible that he would accept Miss Throckmorton. She was little different from his other prospective brides.

Lady Means continued. “You must find it annoying to be forced to live in so dreary a place. I cannot imagine foregoing a Season.”

Judging the baroness to be a year or two younger than herself, Elaine shook her head. “I found London to be insipid, my lady. And the character assassination that passes for conversation is not to my taste. Life here is more interesting to any but the most shallow.”

“You have been to town?” she asked in shock.

Elaine ignored the implied set-down. “Of course. I came out some years ago, but I prefer living here.”

“What a novel way to explain a failure to take,” sneered Lady Means.

“On the contrary. I turned down an eligible offer, to the chagrin of my family. Remaining single is more attractive than putting up with the spiteful tongues of arrogant matrons.”

The gentleman arrived at that moment, precluding further conversation. Bridgeport immediately commandeered Elaine and drew her apart from the others.
Beauty and the Beast
, she thought irrelevantly. It was a feeling she had suffered every time they met in London. He was so handsome and up to snuff that it threw her own shortcomings into sharp relief.

She thrust awareness of her inadequacy aside. It really did not matter.

“What think you of these fribbles?” he asked.

“I think them typical of London, my lord.
At every word a reputation dies
.”

Mark burst into laughter, drawing all eyes. “Pope. That was naughty of you.”

“But true.”

“Come now, Miss Thompson. Surely you do not condemn people for sharing the news of the day.”

“How can I? Doing so would merely lower myself to their level. And that is as low as one can get, for
tale-bearers are as bad as the tale-makers
."

“Sheridan,
School for Scandal
. I forget which act.”

“The first, but your attention was undoubtedly focused elsewhere than the stage,” she said before she could stop the words.

“What was that you just said about reputations dying?”

Elaine giggled, again drawing the attention of the others. “Touché, my lord.”

“Obviously my cousin has no pride whatsoever,” drawled Harold into the momentary hush. “How else can one explain Miss Thompson’s presence?”

“Whatever do you mean, sir?” trilled Mrs. Woodleigh.

“Why, surely you must recognize the chit. She left him standing at the altar some years ago – ’twas the scandal of the Season.”

All eyes instantly turned on Elaine. She managed to maintain her impassive face, though she could feel a flush creeping upward.

Mark’s eyes turned hard. “There was nothing to forgive,” he stated shortly. “The entire fiasco was a misunderstanding. Her note, describing how she had been called away to a deathbed, was mislaid by her totty-headed aunt, so that I did not receive it until the next day.”

Why had he jumped to her defense? wondered Elaine as Richard joined Bridgeport in laughing over the ancient contretemps. Was this another ploy in his campaign? But that made little sense – unless he was unwilling to allow his cousin to be the instrument of revenge.

Or was he honestly trying to save a guest from the embarrassment the disclosure must entail?

“I wonder what Harold is up to now?” said Mark softly, so only Elaine could hear. “Was that another attempt to discredit me, or has he decided to attack you as well?”

“You. He can hardly hold a grudge against me, though he would not hesitate to drag me down if he could hurt you in the process. And he may well do so.
A truth that’s told with bad intent—
”

“—
beats all the lies you can invent
,” he finished for her. “Blake. Does airing our past really hurt?”

“Not here. It matters not what these people think of me. If I don’t react to their unkind words, they will soon tire of the sport. But if the tale spreads to the village, it could cause trouble. Country folk are very conservative, as you should know. I would not want my presence to reflect poorly on Anne.”

“Then we must see that it does not.”

His voice was a caress, but Elaine ignored it. Such a sentiment was appealing but impractical. Servants learned everything and rarely kept gossip to themselves. Her only hope of killing this story was if Bridgeport treated her as the casual friend he claimed she was. Was he enough of a gentleman to do it?

Elaine idly thumbed through her pile of completed sketches. She had escaped the Manor by offering to fetch a book for Anne, and once back in the comfortable simplicity of the cottage, she could not help lingering. It was another world.
Her
world. A place free of spiteful tongues, icy glares, and selfish plots. If only she did not have to return to Bridgeport’s world.

Her hand froze on ‘To a Summer Sky.’ Instead of the serenity of Thornton’s poem, she saw agitation and chaos. How had that escaped her eye all this time?