A Chance Encounter (16 page)

Joan slanted a brief, interested glance at his lordship. She had done full justice to the quail in aspic. “I do, as it happens. But why do you inquire, my lord?”

Lord Humphrey grinned. “I think that you shall soon gather my meaning, ma’am.”

Lady Cassandra picked with her fork at the dove on her plate. “I’ve never cared for skinny birds,” she observed.

Upon hearing her ladyship’s pointed comment, the earl’s mouth tightened. Lord Dewesbury requested the hovering footman to bring out a particular bottle of wine. He called down the table, “My dear John, you must try this next vintage. It was a gift from one whom I consider a true connoisseur.”

“Bring it on, Greville,” said Lord Ratcliffe. He was more than ready to indulge himself.

The second course featured fresh asparagus, peas, and scallops, several enticing meat pies, and three braised ducks served with herb dressing on the side. Joan eyed the ducks. It was the third offering of fowl. She was beginning to understand what Lord Humphrey had alluded to.

Miss Ratcliffe smiled across the table at Lord Humphrey. Her indigo-blue eyes were bright. “I expected you to arrive several days ago, my lord.” She spoke loud enough so that there was no mistaking her determination to have an answer. Everyone at the table paused for a scarce second, their forks suspended. Their gazes traveled between Miss Ratcliffe and Lord Humphrey.

The viscount could not ignore this time the challenge in Miss Ratcliffe’s voice. “There were matters to attend to,” he said shortly.

“Oh, so I gathered,” said Miss Ratcliffe, sliding a glittering glance in Joan’s direction. “But I dare to opine that my claim on you was of greater moment.”

Lord Humphrey seemed about to deliver himself of a hasty set-down. Lady Dewesbury hurried to intervene. She said hurriedly, “The Spanish onions are particularly delectable this evening, do you not think, Edward?”

“Yes. Of course,” said Lord Humphrey.

Lady Cassandra snorted, whether in laughter or not was anyone’s guess. She speared a piece of dark meat and held it up to eye level. “I detest duck. The meat is so very greasy,” she said meditatively.

Lord Dewesbury growled somewhere deep in his throat. He turned determinedly to Lady Ratcliffe. “Aurelia, are you in need of anything? Another serving of potatoes, perhaps?”

“No, nothing.” Lady Ratcliffe managed a wan smile for the earl. “I am sorry, Greville. The food is sticking in my throat now. I am sure I do not know why.”

“Perhaps you should try some of this excellent wine,” suggested Lord Ratcliffe helpfully.

Lady Ratcliffe sent him an evil look.

The third-course entree was a large goose, roasted and swimming in its own gravy.

Lady Dewesbury’s eyes widened at sight of the domestic bird. “A goose?” she murmured. She threw a reproachful look down the table at the Earl of Dewesbury. He appeared supremely unconscious of the countess’s glance, but he could be seen to be reddening.

Miss Ratcliffe shrugged her slim shoulders in an elegant fashion that called attention to her shapely bosom. “Really, Edward, I am most annoyed with you. You have somehow contrived to entangle yourself in a most displeasing situation. But I do not doubt that with a little thought it may yet be worked out to our satisfaction.”

Lord Humphrey gave his twisted smile. His gray eyes held a hard light. “I am not at all displeased with my situation, Miss Ratcliffe,” he grated. “On the contrary! I do not know when I have felt more in control of my own affairs.”

Lord Dewesbury muttered angrily under his breath. He stared at his plate with palpable reserve.

“What was that, Greville? Something about the goose, I feel almost certain. I do not blame you in the least. There is something so peculiarly unsettling in having a Christmas goose served in June,” said Lady Cassandra.

The earl suddenly seemed on the verge of apoplexy.

Lady Dewesbury flung down her napkin and hurriedly rose from the table. “I, for one, am quite finished. Greville! Greville, I think that I shall take the ladies off. Hudgens, we shall have the desserts later with our coffee, if you please.” By her stern example, Lady Dewesbury forced the other ladies to rise also. The ladies murmured their excuses to the gentlemen and left them to the private enjoyment of their wine.

The ladies withdrew
to the drawing room and settled themselves comfortably. Almost at once, Joan found herself the target of Miss Ratcliffe’s unwelcome attention. That young lady had picked up a lady’s magazine and flipped through it until a certain page caught her eyes.

“Why, Miss Chadwick! I do believe that I have found that very same gown you are wearing,” she said. She turned the magazine so that they could all view the fashion plate.

Miss Ratcliffe smiled, saying with a shade of malice, “My compliments to your seamstress, Miss Chadwick. She managed to capture quite the essence, if not the superiority, of the design.”

“I prefer Miss Chadwick’s version myself,” Lady Cassandra said unhesitantly. “All that trim and frippery pictured on the plate crosses the line into gaucherie.”

Miss Ratcliffe inclined her head in pretty deference for the elder lady’s opinion. “Perhaps it is the color of your gown that does not do it proper justice, then. Gray is so dreary, is it not? I prefer scarlet for you—yes, scarlet, I think. Some quite famous characters are said to have worn scarlet. Jezebel, for instance.”

“My dear Augusta,” murmured Lady Ratcliffe in mild reproof. It was not a strenuous rebuke, however.

“I am fond of red,” Joan said, ignoring Miss Ratcliffe’s deliberate and insulting allusion. She continued with the quietest of set-downs. “However, since I am in half-mourning, Miss Ratcliffe, such a vivid color would hardly have been appropriate.”

Miss Ratcliffe was momentarily silenced, as even she recognized the boundaries that could not be crossed.

“Mourning, my dear?” Lady Dewesbury asked, startled. She was at once reminded of her own inner questions concerning the hues of Miss Chadwick’s chosen wardrobe. “I do hope not a close family member?”

“My beloved father, my lady, eight months ago.”

“I am sorry, Miss Chadwick,” Lady Dewesbury said with ready sympathy.

“Indeed, a grievous loss,” agreed Lady Ratcliffe grudgingly.

“It is a harsh thing to be cast upon the world, suddenly and without family,” said Lady Cassandra.

Joan was seated beside her ladyship on the settee and Lady Cassandra patted the young woman’s arm. “But Miss Chadwick is more fortunate than many, for we are now to become her family.”

Lady Ratcliffe stiffened in her chair, her eyes flashing, all of her sparse sympathy at an end. Miss Ratcliffe’s expression froze, her face a beautiful mask to offset her glittering eyes. She caught her full under lip between her teeth in an excess of impotent temper.

Lady Dewesbury closed her eyes briefly. She wished heartily for the horrible evening to be done with. It had been so trying, and matters certainly had not been aided by her mother’s several unfortunate observations. It was almost beyond Lady Dewesbury’s considerable capabilities as a hostess to continue on in the face of her guests’ determined ill will toward one another, but she made the effort.

“Aurelia, you have not told me how Princess Esterhazy’s ball came off. If you recall, I had already left London then,’’ she said brightly. With slowly gathering success, the countess engaged Lady Ratcliffe into conversation about the just-ended London Season. Miss Ratcliffe had a natural interest in the reminiscences, since many concerned her own social triumphs, and she abandoned her baiting of Miss Chadwick.

“Well, my dear? How are your spirits holding up?” asked Lady Cassandra, the shade of a smile on her face.

Joan gave a small laugh. “I survive, my lady.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

It was not many minutes later that Lord Ratcliffe came into the drawing room. He was alone and he shut the door behind him.

Lady Dewesbury’s gaze went from the closed door to Lord Ratcliffe’s face. A worried expression entered her eyes.

“Are not the earl and Lord Humphrey joining us?” asked Lady Cassandra.

Lord Ratcliffe shook his head in a thoughtful way. “I believe that Lord Dewesbury had something of import that he wished to convey to the viscount,” he said. As he finished speaking, raised voices began to be heard through the walls.

“Oh, no,” Lady Dewesbury said, faintly.

“Oh, yes,” snapped Lady Cassandra.

Lady Dewesbury wrung her hands. “I had hoped it would not come to this!”

“Pray do not be such a clunch, Charlotte. Of course it had to come!” Lady Cassandra snorted her contempt. She grasped Joan’s arm. “Help me up, girl. I’m going to my room. I’m of no mind to sit around with a bunch of huddling hens, straining to hear what I may. I’ll hear all about it on the morrow when it’s done with.”

In the resulting silence, Joan walked with Lady Cassandra to the door. Lady Cassandra opened it and shook off Joan’s hand as she called for a footman. She looked at Joan. “I shall now leave you to face the wolves alone, my dear. Good night!”

Joan had no choice but to return to the drawing room, where she was at once attacked by Miss Ratcliffe.

“It is all your fault. You have no business here at all.”

“Augusta.” Lord Ratcliffe’s warning tone was not attended, as Lady Ratcliffe also rounded on the interloper.

“Who are you, Miss Chadwick? I do not recall ever seeing you in London during the Season.” Lady Ratcliffe’s voice was not as blatantly hostile as her daughter’s, but nevertheless its cold undercurrent was just as antagonistic.

Joan returned to the settee and seated herself, folding her hands gracefully in her lap. “I am not surprised. I have never been up to London for the Season, Lady Ratcliffe,” she said quietly.

“Indeed! However then did you meet Lord Humphrey?” asked Lady Ratcliffe grimly.

“It was a chance meeting, my lady,” Joan said shortly, not liking her ladyship’s tone. She was beginning to be quite angered by the arrogance with which Lady Ratcliffe and her jealous daughter treated her.

Miss Ratcliffe trilled a pretty laugh. Her eyes were bright with anger. “Oh,
that
I am certain to be the truth. Come, Miss Chadwick. You cannot sit there and expect any of us to believe that you did not positively
toil
to bring yourself to the viscount’s attention.”

“That will be enough, Augusta,” Lord Ratcliffe said explosively.

Miss Ratcliffe tossed her head, but she was silenced.

Lady Ratcliffe started to open her lips. Lord Ratcliffe caught his wife’s eyes and held them by sheer force of will. “That will be quite enough all around.” Lady Ratcliffe sniffed resentfully, but she also subsided.

The drawing-room door opened. Lady Dewesbury jumped nearly out of her skin, but it was only the coffee and desserts being brought in.

“Hudgens,” she exclaimed with relief. She heard an enraged bellow emanating from the direction of the dining room and she paled.

At the butler’s soft query, she said, “No, that will be all. We can manage ourselves. Thank you!” She rose from her chair and hurried the butler out with a whispered command and urgent gestures. After shutting the door against the distant voices still raised in conflict, she returned to her chair. “Coffee, anyone?” she asked with determined hospitality. “Or perhaps a tart. Cook always turns out such superb pastries.”

Lady Ratcliffe rose abruptly. “Not for me tonight, Charlotte. I discover in myself a touch of indigestion. I shall retire now, I think.”

Miss Ratcliffe leapt to her feet. “I shall go with you, Mama.”

“That is probably best, pet,” said Lord Ratcliffe quietly.

Miss Ratcliffe rather pointedly ignored her father as she prepared to follow her mother. She threw a haughty look at Joan as she passed her.

“Oh! Well, I do hope that you will feel more the thing in the morning,” said Lady Dewesbury lamely.

She accompanied her friend toward the drawing-room door, not a word more being spoken between them. Miss Ratcliffe trailed them. Just as the ladies reached the door, it was flung open. They started back in surprise, until they saw that the viscount stood on the threshold. “My dear! How you startled us,” exclaimed Lady Dewesbury.

Lord Humphrey’s gray eyes glittered above his stony expression. His lean cheekbones were flushed and he was breathing rather quickly. “My pardon, ladies,” he said shortly. “Hudgens reminded me that I was neglecting my duties.”

“Your father?” faltered Lady Dewesbury. She looked quickly past her son’s shoulder to meet the glance of the hovering butler. Hudgens spread out his hands helplessly.

The viscount spoke through his teeth. “His lordship will not be disturbed from his port, my lady.”

Impervious to the viscount’s temper, Miss Ratcliffe smiled prettily and edged past her mother and Lady Dewesbury so as to be nearer his lordship. She placed her hand gently upon his sleeve. “I did not think that you would be coming in, Edward. I was about to go with Mother, but—”

Lord Humphrey stepped back, pushing the door wide. “Pray do not let me keep you then, Augusta.”

Miss Ratcliffe sucked in her breath. Her eyes flashed. “How dare you,” she whispered, trembling.

Lady Ratcliffe perceived the moment to be quite wrong for any recriminations to be lodged against the viscount. Lord Humphrey looked to be capable of saying anything and she knew her own daughter’s temper. She took hold of her daughter’s arm. “Come, darling. You must not let this unfortunate evening upset you. We are all of us rather testy. Lord Humphrey will be much more himself in the morning, I promise you.”

Lady Dewesbury threw a wild look up at her son’s face, torn between her familial duty and her duty as a proper hostess. “I shall walk up with you, Aurelia.”

“Pray do not bother, Charlotte. I am certain that Augusta and I am quite able to find our rooms,” said Lady Ratcliffe loftily.

Lady Dewesbury turned back into the drawing room. She saw that Miss Chadwick had retreated to the window and had drawn back the drape so that she could look out on the night. Lord Ratcliffe sat in a wing-back chair. He had served himself coffee and was meditatively sipping at the hot brew, the expression in his eyes distant.

The countess felt her son’s hand on her arm and she glanced up quickly. He still looked very angry, but there was regret, also, in his eyes. “I am sorry. Mama,” he said quietly.

“Are you, Edward? I am heartily glad to hear it,” she said with unusual bitterness. The viscount jerked as though he had been slapped and Lady Dewesbury hurried away from him. “John, I see that you have served yourself. Forgive me, I have been remiss in my duties. Miss Chadwick, would you like coffee or dessert?”

Joan turned away from the window, allowing the drape to fall back into place. “No, my lady, thank you,” she said quietly. “I rather think that I shall also retire. It has been a long day for me.”

“Of course, my dear. I hope that you sleep well,” said Lady Dewesbury courteously.

Joan murmured good night to Lord Ratcliffe and crossed the drawing room.

Lord Humphrey awaited her at the door. He detained her a moment with his hand. “Shall I walk up with you, Joan?” he said softly.

She shook her head swiftly. “No!’’ Realizing that she had been unpardonably abrupt, she drew her breath in slowly before she turned her expressive eyes full on him. Her gaze reflected her own perturbation over the events of the evening. “I think it would be best if you did not.”

The viscount’s mouth tightened. “Very well.”

He bowed her out of the drawing room and watched as she went swiftly up the stairs. He could not recall ever having had a worse evening in his life, and all of it was due to the young woman who was now racing away from him.

“Edward, you have not said one way or the other. Would you like coffee?”

Lord Humphrey turned his head. He regarded his mother’s anxious expression. Suddenly, wearily, he smiled. “Thank you, I would.” He let the drawing-room door swing closed behind him.

The viscount knew that his mother was anxious to know what had been said between himself and the earl, but he could not bring himself to speak of it. For one thing, Lord Ratcliffe was in the room, and even though his lordship was an intimate acquaintance of the family, the viscount felt extremely reluctant to air his differences with the earl before him. In addition, Lord Humphrey knew himself still too furious to swallow with patience his mother’s inevitable words of counsel. So, instead, he made the effort to appear as unaffected as possible and idle the time away with quiet conversation.

Lord Humphrey’s attitude was clue enough that he had no wish to discuss the subject. Lady Dewesbury was wise enough to accept for the moment her son’s wishes. She resigned herself to the desultory conversation, but she waited tensely for her husband’s appearance. Lord Dewesbury never came to the drawing room, however, an unusual breach of etiquette for the earl.

After coffee was finished and the two gentlemen had gone their separate ways for the evening, Lady Dewesbury inquired of Hudgens if he knew the earl’s whereabouts. She was informed that his lordship was still keeping company with his port. Lady Dewesbury nodded and quietly thanked the butler before she climbed the stairs to the first floor. She knew that it would be some time before the earl came upstairs. His lordship rarely drank himself silly; rather, brooding came easier to the earl when he held a wineglass between his fingers.