A Grand Deception (6 page)

It took some time before it occurred to him that he was
staring at Muriel ... Lady Muriel Worth from last night, facing him in a coach. She'd been laughing at first, but all mirth
had faded once she'd met his gaze and recognized him.

Since she made no move to respond, he could not, and at
this point would not, address her in any fashion. Muriel broke
eye contact and moved her gaze away, fixing upon some
point ahead in the distance. He followed her example and
did the same.

A prolonged silence followed. There seemed to be not a
hoofbeat, nor a bird chirping, nor a whisper heard.

"Was that not Lady Muriel?" Miss Holbrook finally broke
the quiet.

"I suppose it might have been." Sherwin straightened in
his seat and tightened his grip on his walking stick. "By her
reaction, or lack thereof, I believe social etiquette does not
allow me to acknowledge her publicly."

"I imagine she might treat the gentleman she's out driving with in a similar manner within a day or two," Miss
Holbrook lowered her voice to confide in him.

"Why would you say that?" This was the first thing she'd
said that had interested him.

"You did not see her bonnet?" Miss Holbrook did not
sound as if she cared for it.

Muriel's hat was the least of his concerns. Sherwin would
have to confess, if only to himself, that after initially sighting her, he had focused on the two gentlemen seated next to
and across from her.

"That was a hat that said, `It matches my outfit and nothing more. You, sir, are not worth the effort of decoration.'"

"Excuse me?" Had Sherwin heard Miss Holbrook correctly? Muriel did not care for her gentlemen company? And
her sentiments were clearly stated by the style of her bonnet?
Sherwin did, indeed, have much to learn.

"Oh, no. She does not truly care for that man. Mark my
words," Miss Holbrook confirmed, and she added a nod of
her head for good measure.

Sherwin raised his quizzing glass in earnest, tilted his
head back, taking in the entire vision of his companion in
all her hat glory, and wondered if her supposition could
possibly be true.

"I don't recall that bird on your-" He motioned to his
own tall beaver to indicate its position. "It's quite lifelike, I
think."

It moved at the exact moment Miss Holbrook cried out in
alarm, "Bird? I don't have a bird on my hat!"

"Yes, you do." Sherwin kept a firm hold of the quizzing
glass handle and could now see that the feathered creature
pecking at the grain was not a mere decoration but a real bird.
It was either foraging for a late-afternoon snack or gathering
some material for constructing a cozy nest.

Miss Holbrook shrieked, waving her arms in the air out
of sheer terror to frighten away the trespasser.

Sherwin pressed back into the squabs, leaning as far away
from her as he could manage.

In any case, the bird fled. Park guests in passing vehicles
gawked in their direction, open-mouthed and wide-eyed at
Miss Holbrook's exhibition. The horses balked, and the barouche lurched forward, nearly sending Sherwin tumbling
over the side to the ground.

I have been informed by her ladyship that you are to wear
the dark blue Superfine jacket with the gold-striped waistcoat this evening." Sherwin's valet, Lewis, hung each garment within easy reach.

Sherwin stood in his shirtsleeves and white knee breeches
before a full-length pier mirror in his bedchamber. He knew
he was little more than a mannequin or puppet for his mother,
and not only when it came to dressing. But he simply did
not care. Someone had to take charge of family matters. If
his mother wanted to assume that role, she was welcome
to it.

Lady Amhurst needed his cooperation, however, and Sherwin would do what he must to accommodate his mother.
He could not deny he had a duty to the family, no matter how
difficult the task.

It was not so much difficult as tiresome.

Lewis spent an inordinate amount of time straightening
the fabric of Sherwin's shirt and removing bits of lint. Sherwin stood very still, holding his arms to his sides as not to distract his valet, who reached for a length of linen and
wrapped it around Sherwin's neck with precision.

Sherwin hoped for a successful first attempt. It wasn't
always so. Sometimes tying the cravat took several triesand with each attempt the failure was discarded, dropped to
the floor, and a new swathe of linen applied.

This whole courting ordeal took up far too much time, as
far as he was concerned. If his mother would save him the
trouble and simply be so good as to choose a bride for him,
he would truly appreciate it.

"I've changed my mind, Lewis." Lady Amhurst strode
into Sherwin's bedchamber. "I'd rather he sport a waterfall
this evening."

"At once, your ladyship." Lewis' hands froze, then unfolded and unwound the crisp linen he'd been sculpting into
an Oriental. He flung it to the side and reached for another
to begin again.

Sherwin said nothing, merely endured.

Lady Amhurst moved to examine the waistcoat and jacket.
"And not the blue, I think, but the black."

"Yes, my lady," Lewis acknowledged without taking his
eyes from his work.

Sherwin remained still, hoping his cooperation would
hurry things along.

His mother stepped to the marble-topped bureau where his
accessories were laid out for the evening. Two fobs, one for a
pocket watch he could not see to discern the time, the other,
which hung from his left pocket, simply decorative, and a
long gold chain connecting them. He'd also wear a quizzing
glass. Not because it helped him to see much, but because
his mother considered it a fashionable ornament.

Crafting of the waterfall had been completed. Lewis
slipped the waistcoat over Sherwin's sleeves, settling it onto his shoulders and buttoning the front. The quizzing glass
went over Sherwin's neck before he shrugged on the jacket,
the black one. The valet adjusted the material around the collar, making sure the cravat hadn't lost its shape. He tugged on
the cuffs, extending them a half inch from the sleeve.

Lewis stepped back to retrieve the accessories. He placed
the pocket watch, gold chain, and fobs in their places, adjusting each to hang at the same length.

"Yes, you'll do nicely," remarked Lady Amhurst, passing
her critical gaze over her son. Then she left the room.

"There you are!" Miss Constance Kimball moved to Muriel's
side upon sight of her at the Shropes' ball.

"Be aware, Sukey, my cousin approaches," Muriel warned
her friend.

"Oh, Moo. It is too bad of you to speak of her so." Susan
threw an admonishing glare her way.

"I expect everyone who's anyone will attend the ball tonight," Constance uttered in a confidential tone.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Susan dropped open
her fan to cool herself.

"Only that our companion here"- Constance indicated
Muriel with the tip of her closed fan-"is the current on dit,
and they will wish to see what happens next."

Neither Muriel nor Susan said a word.

"You know very well to what I refer, Miss Wilbanks. I
heard you were in attendance when it happened. You rode in
the very same carriage as Muriel and must have witnessed
the entire incident."

"Incident'?" Susan repeated with her eyebrows raised.
"Oh, you must mean the disruption in the Park. It was absolutely ghastly. There was a horrendous shriek that terrified some of the horses, and they bolted, running about, and there
might have been a horrible accident."

Muriel clearly remembered hearing Miss Holbrook cry
out after she and her party passed the carriage. Why Sherwin cared to be out driving with her was another question.
Did he not know she only cared for bonnets and trimmings?

"That's not what I am referring to at all." Constance
seemed to ignore the near-disastrous consequence of overwrought passengers, injured equines, and damaged equipage.
"The cut direct." She continued, whispering with great
urgency. "Our Muriel and the Earl of Amhurst. It was not
merely one cutting the other. No, it was quite mutual, so I
hear. What do you say to that, cousin?"

Susan glanced from Constance to Muriel.

Muriel already knew what Susan had seen. Nothing. At
the time, she'd been occupied in conversation with both Mr.
Stanley and Mr. Ambrose. Why couldn't her cousin have
inquired about the near accidents? Susan had seen everything that had happened after Miss Holbrook screamed.

At the very moment Muriel had caught sight of Sher-the
Earl, sitting in a carriage, their gazes had met. She knew
without a moment's hesitation that each instantly wished not
to have seen the other, and the next moment, for it was only
an instant later, slid their gazes away.

Muriel had thought-hoped, really-that no one had noticed. She hadn't glanced around at others in the Park to
confirm if she had been correct. It had happened so quickly.
How could anyone have seen?

It seemed her assumption was wrong. Evidently those who
were present within a twenty-foot radius had borne witness
to the deed, and those who lay beyond, but still within Hyde Park, were then notified by the firsthand observers. Those
who resided within the London city limits were then, apparently, informed by secondhand accounts. The remainder of
the British kingdom would soon learn of the Duke of Faraday's youngest daughter and the Earl of Amhurst's social
slight by post or mention in the gossip columns of tomorrow
morning's newspaper.

Ridiculous.

"We need to change the subject." Muriel leaned toward
Susan and whispered, then turned toward her cousin. "Have
you seen Sir Samuel? There is something I wish to speak to
him about."

"Not as of yet," replied Constance. "I shall certainly keep
watch for him. He is a most handsome young man. Is there
anything you can tell me about him?" The last was said in
more than a casual manner.

"Sir Samuel is to be the Duke of Cubberleigh, you know.
Someday, that is," Susan informed her. Had she wished to
spare Muriel from answering any more questions? "Probably a long time off, for his grandfather holds the title now,
and his father, Earl of Hamstead, is next in line."

"Sukey!" Muriel wished her friend would not say so
much. Glancing at her cousin, Muriel detected Constance's
greedy expression and cautioned her with, "Sir Samuel is as
dear to us as my brother, Freddie, or Susan's brother Richard."

"He was hopelessly in love with Gusta, and we all adore
him quite as if he were one of our fold," Susan confided in
Constance. Muriel thought perhaps that might not have been
the wisest action. "He'd make a splendid catch, if only one
could gain his attention. It's been four, nearly five years since
Gusta refused him."

"I shall set my cap for him," Constance vowed. "If I cannot gain Lord Amhurst's notice, that is."

It was all Muriel could do to hold her tongue. Think pleasant thoughts, she repeated to herself. How would angelic
Charlotte behave if she were to face a situation such as this?

Constance to set her cap for Sir Samuel-what a load of
gammon!

Muriel really must rein in her annoyance and not give
herself away, or all her planning to attend the London Season would be for naught.

"Lady Muriel." Sir Samuel bent over her hand, looking quite
dashing in his evening wear. "I have heard that you wished
to see me?"

"Oh, yes." Muriel glanced around, judging if their privacy
was adequate enough for their conversation. She slipped
her hand into the crook of his arm and urged him to move
forward.

"You aren't in trouble, are you?" A worried expression
crossed his face. "You know there is nothing I would not do
if you-"

"No, it's nothing like that. I do need to ask a great favor
of you, though." Muriel stared at Sir Samuel, wondering if
she might, if she dared impose upon him.

"You wish me to do something for you, then?" Sir Samuel's
expression moved a fraction away from worry.

"Let us stop over there, by the window." They moved to a
far corner of the room but not out of sight, where their solitude might look odd. "I need your aid in an endeavor. It
might not be an action my aunt or father would approve, but
it is a risk I must take...: '

"Is it something illegal?" He narrowed his eyes.

"No, of course not. It's nothing of the sort. It is only that ...
I am in need of an alibi, perhaps, and definitely some transportation to relay me to meet with-"

"Not a disreputable scoundrel behind your family's
back!" His eyes went wide.

"I wish to meet with my Latin tutor," she said a bit louder
than she had intended. A quick glance around told her no
one had overheard, however.

"Why do you not simply have him come to the house?"
His voice returned to a whisper.

"I cannot. My father will not hear of it. He believes I
should not be wasting my time with `male studies: He wishes
me to spend my time on more genteel pursuits: painting,
needlework, or music."