Wanton Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) (38 page)

      
Annabella's tiny mouth made a small O of shock and dismay. “Well, then,” she said, recovering quickly, “if she is too taxed, we shall simply have to postpone. I remember how exhausted I felt with dear Constance.”

      
“Nonsense. I have never felt better in my life,” Beth interjected, thoroughly aggravated by being spoken of as if she were absent or an incompetent.

      
“If you're certain, puss,” Derrick said, trying to read her expression. He was not the only one adroit at hiding his feelings. Beth was becoming alarmingly skillful at it.

      
“Splendid! Then I shall tell Cook to begin preparations!” Annabella replied.

* * * *

      
The meal was perfectly dreadful. The guests Annabella had invited were a stuffy, foolish lot to Beth's way of thinking and the food was boiled and bland. She decided one of her first tasks when she took over the household would be to have a stern talk with the cook. As she pushed a mushy slab of beef brisket and creamed parsnips about on her plate, she observed the other diners.

      
The Count d'Artois and his wife were fat, arrogant French emigres who had fled the revolution one step ahead of the guillotine over two decades ago. Impoverished as most of their kind were, they became parasites on the British peerage, willing to return to their homeland only if Louis XVIII provided sufficient fiscal incentives to do so. Thus far, they had received no such offer. A painfully shy and homely spinster aunt of Annabella's picked primly at her food, offering nothing to the conversation.

      
The only one livelier than the hostess herself was her “dear Bertie,” Albert Wharton Jamison, the distant cousin who would have inherited| if not for Derrick. He was balding and jolly, with pale eyes that crinkled when he laughed, which he did a great deal, mostly at his own witticisms, which were anything but amusing. Cow-handed in the extreme, he was none the less a likable enough chap, Beth supposed, giving him the benefit of the doubt since he was the least repugnant of her dinner companions.

      
“I understand Exmouth's set sail to teach those Barbary corsairs a lesson in manners,” he said at length as he and Derrick discussed British military operations around Sicily.

      
“That's already been attended to,” Beth interjected, bored to tears with Annabella and the Countess d'Artois's discussion of French dressmakers. “Commodore Decatur—you do recall him from the late...ah, misunderstanding between our countries?—has destroyed the Dey of Algiers's entire fleet and forced him to sign a treaty forswearing any more depredations. ”

      
Derrick could see Annabella's eyes light with curiosity and cursed Beth's impetuosity. Why couldn't she be like other females? If he could have reached her, he would have given her a swift kick beneath the table, but since he was seated at the head as befitted his station and she down toward the opposite side, all he could do was say, “Decatur took a bite from the old fox, but I imagine Exmouth's fleet will be even more effective in bringing about the permanent end of piracy in the Mediterranean.”

      
“Now, now, gentlemen, if you must speak of pirates and politics, I believe 'tis time we ladies took our leave and allowed you your pipes and port.” Annabella stood up, the signal for the other women to follow her as they retired to gossip in her sitting room, as was customary. The Countess d'Artois and Aunt Augusta also rose, but Beth did not.

      
“I find politics quite stimulating,” she said, refusing to bow to what seemed to her an idiotic convention. Being cooped up with those three women for ten minutes, much less an hour, held only slightly more appeal than a return to Fatima's seraglio. Besides, she was the countess now, not her sister-in-law. If she chose to stay, she bloody well would. Turning to d'Artois and Bertie, she asked, “Since Napoleon was so popular in France, do you believe King Louis will be able to hold on to his throne?”

      
Derrick was furious with her deliberate rudeness. Annabella stood for a moment, too flummoxed to make a rejoinder. Her aunt and the French countess glared at the gauche American as if she had just burped. The other women stiffly filed out of the room, leaving Beth and the men to continue their conversation.

      
After spending the end of the evening listening to Annabella torture the pianoforte, Beth and Derrick retired to their quarters. ”I think your cousin is rather nice, if a bit pudding-headed,” she said when they were finally alone.

      
“You should have left with the women. 'Twas rude in the extreme to embarrass Bella that way.”

      
“Really, and was it not rude of her to say that because American women don't cut off their hair as is all the rage in London, ‘they've no more fashion sense than chickens’? She also insinuated that our marriage was irregular.”

      
“Our marriage was irregular—and you didn't help the situation by entering the discussion about Algerine corsairs. I saw the look of blatant curiosity in Bella's eyes when you spoke.”

      
“Ah, yes, ‘Bella,’ your dear sister. Just how dear was she, ‘dear Derrick’?” The affectionate nickname had grated on her already raw nerves.

      
Damnation! Did nothing escape his hoyden's attention? “We were affianced briefly when we were little more than children. Then Lee fell under her spell and her family wisely decided an earl was a better catch than a second son.” He'd always had a guilty conscience about Bella, but confessing his guilt to Beth would be a stupid mistake, one he never intended to make.

      
“A pity she made the wrong choice,” Beth replied scathingly. “She wishes to be the countess and I don't.”

      
“You've made that abundantly clear, Beth,” he said, stripping off his shirt and tossing it on top of his jacket. He'd grown used to dressing and undressing without the aid of a valet. That would probably have to change, but not tonight...with his wife standing before him.

      
Beth walked nervously around the old earl's cavernous dark room. Percy, who had been sleeping quietly on an overstuffed chair,jumped down with a yawn and padded over to her. Absently she patted his head as she inspected the dreary place. An adjoining door, now closed, led to the countess's chambers. Annabella had not yet vacated them. Beth supposed she would be expected to sleep separately from her husband when the transition was complete. The idea of that did not appeal to her. She would miss the warmth and comfort his big body gave her, just lying beside her. Since their marriage, she had become quite accustomed to that simple intimacy.

      
She startled herself by asking, “When will Annabella leave?”

      
He grinned at her jealousy as he continued stripping. “As soon as her dower house is ready. The painters are working there now. When they've finished, you may have them redecorate here if you wish.”

      
Of course she wished, she thought with a shudder of distaste for Annabella's execrable taste. A small smile curved her lips when she saw that Percy had made his statement as well. One corner of the leather chair he'd been sleeping on bore teeth marks, and a bit of stuffing was oozing out. “Good boy,” she murmured beneath her breath as Derrick continued speaking of Annabella's new quarters.

      
“Tis a nice enough place just across Grosvenor Square, according to the solicitor's report.”

      
“But not the earl's residence.”
Poor vain Annabella
.

      
“Enough about her,” he said, having now stripped down to nothing but his breeches while she examined the room. He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. “Propriety demands you have a lady's maid to undress you, but not tonight...”

      
His fingers were swift and clever as always. She did not resist.

* * * *

      
A high-pitched squeal of dismay echoed from the next room early the following morning as Beth was just stepping from her bath. She'd been given to understand that her sister-in-law was a very late riser. Considering that it was only eight, she wondered what had occasioned Annabella's change in schedule.

      
“Get that—that creature, that brute, that beast out of my sight! Ooh, look at my Dresden vase. The water from the chrysanthemums is soaking into the Turkey carpet! And he's destroying one of my new kid slippers!”

      
Beth had heard the sound of glass breaking a moment earlier but thought a servant had dropped a breakfast tray. “Percy, can't you ever stay out of trouble?” she asked rhetorically, unable to suppress a grin. Perhaps this would hasten her sister-in-law's departure. Now the sounds of a chase filtered through the walls, followed by more breaking glass as several maids wielding brooms attempted to drive Sir Percival of Inverness from the former countess's bedroom, all of it punctuated by Annabella's shrieks and cries of fury.

      
By the time Beth had dried off and donned a robe, Derrick had arrived from downstairs and held the offender firmly in his arms. He gave over the culprit to the butler, who had brought a leash that he attached efficiently to Percy's collar. As Percy walked briskly away from the scene of his crime, Annabella turned to Derrick, all pretty tears once again. Beth stood in the doorway, unnoticed, as the quivering blonde flew into his arms.

      
“Oh, Derrick, I don't know what I shall do now, all alone in the world, with you, wed to that odious American baggage. I should have been your wife.” She tightened her arms about his neck and looked up, her big blue eyes glistening with tears. “What a muddle we've made of things.”

      
“We? 'Twas you who cried off, Bella. You wanted to be a countess and that meant Lee, not the lowly second son.” Although he had thanked his lucky stars nightly for the past seven years that he'd escaped her web, her rejection had been painful in the extreme for a youth barely out of leading strings.

      
“And now you're the earl. If you'd not used those nasty old French letters, you'd have gotten me with child and I would have had to wed you instead of Leighton.” She hic-cuped disconsolately. “If only there weren't those silly old affinity laws.”

      
She was still a child, always would be, petulant and spoiled by her parents. If he did not take a hand with Constance, the girl would turn out the same. Another responsibility to weigh on him, he thought, repelled by the way Annabella clung to him like a limpet.

      
Beth watched, exceedingly aware of the delicate English beauty's enticement. The very proper Annabella, daughter of a viscount, had been her husband's lover. And he, the hypocrite, dared to think she possessed no morals! Did he still care for the stupid little chit? He did not exactly appear to be shoving her away.

      
“Being an odious American baggage, I could not help eavesdropping,
Bella
,” she said, emphasizing the pet name as she swept into the hall.

      
Annabella jumped away from Derrick as if a wasp had just stung ker. “Ooh! I did not mean—”

      
“For me to hear you?” Beth supplied in a honeyed tone that her husband had learned meant trouble.

      
Derrick could see the murderous fury in his wife's eyes. He'd been a fool to allow silly little Bella to manipulate him. Comparing her to Beth was like comparing a glass of flat champagne to a snifter of fine aged brandy. Beth's hair spilled in great masses of russet curls, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back, framing that strong, striking face, her eyes glowing with an unholy fire. Damn, she was stunning!

      
“Bella was upset over Percy's latest depredations,” he soothed, standing between the two women, a position he was not certain was any wiser than being caught between Bonaparte and Wellington.

      
“Tis well then that she'll be leaving for her own house shortly. Percy has begun helping me get rid of the things I find offensive in this one,” she said to Derrick, then turned to the red-faced blonde. “Oh, I lied earlier. He
does
bite.”

      
“That will do, Beth,” Derrick cautioned. “As the new countess, the least you can do is be civil.”

      
“Why? 'Tis apparent the former one suffers under no such constraint.” Beth turned and stamped back into the master bedroom.

Chapter Twenty-one

      
After overhearing the emotional little scene between Derrick and Annabella, Beth knew she had to find something to occupy her mind while he went to meet with his solicitors. Whatever had happened when her husband was seventeen scarce meant he would still find a creature such as Bella appealing, she tried to reassure herself. Still, the idea that the two of them had been intimate upset her.

      
After breaking her fast, she went about the household, determined to meet the members of the staff and win them over, a daunting task since the servants seemed stiff and humorless at best. But she was the new mistress. They knew she would be in charge,even if she was an American nobody. By noon she had learned the names and duties of most.

      
Two of the upstairs maids and the cook's helper actually smiled at her. The cook did not. She'd tried to tactfully suggest a few menu variations, to which he frostily responded that she might be able to find home-grown delicacies in Italy, but here such things as asparagus tips and fresh fruit were neither available nor desired. She made a mental note to go to the public markets the following morning, as well as to begin a discreet search for a new cook.