Almost a Gentleman (18 page)

Decorously, they waltzed about the floor in measured circles. The sheltered alcove at the end of the hall was almost empty.

"I have a cheque for you in my reticule," Kate said, "from our mutual acquaintance."

"Your bank," she added quietly, "won't know it's drawn on her funds."

His ten thousand. A pity that he couldn't hide his relief, for he hated having to put off tradesmen and he'd been terribly short of cash this week.

"Thank you, my lady. And how shall we manage the… transfer?"

"You'll get me a lemonade, I suppose, and while I wait I'll bring the cheque out beneath my handkerchief. Shall we get that part of it over with now?"

"Yes, rather, while there isn't a crowd at the refreshment table. And then perhaps we could stroll down that hallway and admire the paintings."

Lady Kate nodded soberly, though her eyes twinkled at the idea of admiring the sort of painting one was likely to find in the Assembly Rooms' back hallway.

Pain Rosenthal

The financial transaction effected, the pair stood in rapt contemplation of a portrait of the Assembly Rooms' founder, a Scotsman who'd found it necessary to betray his family name of MacCall by twisting it into "Almack."

"You may tell our friend," Lord Linseley said, "that my meeting with Baron Bunbury was most productive."

His companion inclined her head.

"But unfortunately," he added quickly, "it only confirmed my suspicion that he had nothing to do with the problem at hand."

"Oh, he's no admirer of Mr. Marston's," the earl continued. "Quite the contrary. He wishes him only the worst, and was most voluble about the nasty letters he's sent him—in fact, he's kept copies of all of them, which he obligingly showed me. Windy, tediously labored bits of invective they were too; he's clearly not the author of the frightening threats our friend has been receiving lately."

"And the other… candidates?"

"Raikes has been called down to the country to attend to a family matter. He's leaving tomorrow, but promises to contact me when he returns. I dine with Smythe-Cochrane tomorrow evening. But the real progress I've made is that Crashaw is willing to speak to me. The first communications were most formal and official—through our solicitors. But I will receive the gentleman himself in Lincolnshire in a few weeks, a few days after Twelfth Night. It seems that he wants to tramp the fields with me, two country squires muddying our boots in our native English soil."

"Someone must have told him that he'd do well to acquire a veneer of your style."

Lord Linseley shrugged his shoulders. "I have no time to waste on whatever it is the
Beau Monde
likes to think of as style. But he's welcome to copy whatever he likes, as long as he helps me unravel the mystery that is plaguing us all."

"Quite so." Without meaning to do so, Kate allowed a hint of warmth to shade her voice.
For he does seem a good man
, she told herself.

"And so you must inform… our friend that I must defer the pleasure of another… personal meeting until after I have finished these interviews."

The wistfulness with which he delivered this message pierced Kate's heart. She frowned thoughtfully. There was also something about his choice of words—he wasn't using the words, she thought, that he wanted to be using.

Speaking before she'd quite got these perceptions in order, she blurted out, "Phoebe didn't tell you her name, did she?"

She saw immediately that she'd guessed correctly, for the joy that lit his dark blue eyes was like a warm harvest moon rising in an early autumn night. He laughed with the pleasure of precious new knowledge. "Phoebe, is it?"

For a moment he seemed to withdraw into a secret place. Softly and so privately that Kate felt like an intruder, he repeated the two syllables to himself, savoring them like exotic hothouse fruit.
Phoebe
.

He blinked, suddenly feeling Kate's eyes upon him, and his smile became formal, apologetic. "Phoebe, is it? Y-yes, yes of c-course it's Phoebe."

Briefly, she told him the outlines of Phoebe's story. Her marriage to Claringworth. The accident and Bryan's death. She left out the misery of the marriage; that would be for Phoebe to tell him as she would. Instead she told him a bit about herself, how much she owed her friend, and how deeply she cared for her.
Just so he understands
, she thought,
how rare a prize he's set out to win
.

But he does understand, she told herself. Of course he does.

He tried to maintain a sober, respectful demeanor, but his eyes danced with pleasure.

"My deepest thanks, Lady Kate."

"It has been my pleasure, Lord Linseley. For I think that you and I shall be friends."

"We shall indeed, it's most kind of you. And you
will
relay all this information to… um… her, won't you?"

"Of course I shall."
How beautiful the love of a good man can be
, Kate thought.
Of course
, she quickly reminded herself,
Phoebe deserves it after all she's suffered
.

But I also deserve such a love
. She surprised herself by the vehemence of this next thought. And at that moment she might have experienced a rare pang of jealousy, were it not for the sound of the orchestra striking up the next dance.

Quickly, as though responding to some mysteriously fore-ordained signal, she glanced down the hallway. And there, quite as if it had all been planned out in advance, was the gray-haired gentleman with medals twinkling on his jacket.

She smiled and nodded, enjoying the military formality with which he advanced and extended his hand to her.

"And now, Lord Linseley," she added, turning her head slightly so that her smile might include both gentlemen, "if you could introduce me…"

The earl of Linseley bowed with mock solemnity.

"With pleasure. Lady Kate, may I present my oldest friend, Rear Admiral John Wolfe? And Wolfe, allow me to introduce you at long last to the lady you've been waiting so patiently to meet, the Lady Kate Beverredge."

But what has he told her
? Beneath Phizz Marston's poised exterior, Phoebe thought her heart might burst with impatience.

It was late. Lord Linseley had danced one more dance—a sedate quadrille with Lady Jersey—before bowing and making his good evenings. Most of Marston's cronies had already departed to attend rowdy holiday suppers. Attendance at the ball had thinned; the couples still on the floor were those who didn't want to part just yet.

And must Kate dance yet
another
turn with the Admiral
? Phoebe knew that such a selfish thought was unworthy of her.
This evening belongs to Kate
, she reminded herself.
And just look how happy she and her partner are, gazing into each others eyes as though they're the only people in the room
.

She usually saw nothing but scheming and corruption in these halls—young ladies brought, as she had been, like innocent lambs to the slaughter. But not tonight. Tonight it seemed like simple loveliness to meet a congenial gentleman and dance with him: to feel his hand at your waist as you matched your steps to his and gazed into his eyes, both of you sealed in a little bubble of intimacy, right under the all-seeing eyes of the Polite World.

She was glad it could be that way for Kate.

But if she didn't find out what Lord Linseley had said—
and quickly, this very instant
!—she would expire where she stood.

She claimed Kate for the next dance.

"Tell me. Tell me now."

Happily, obligingly, and in meticulous detail, Kate recounted her interview with Lord Linseley. The financial transfer—he'd been most gentlemanly about it; Bunbury's innocence—well anyway, it was a relief, was it not, to be able to check one candidate off the list. His plans seemed to be proceeding with admirable dispatch, she continued: dinner with Smythe-Cochrane tomorrow evening, and most importantly the crucial meeting with Crashaw planned in two weeks, in Lincolnshire. Of course it was a pity that he hadn't had a chance to speak to Raikes yet, but even that gentleman…

Phoebe's face fell.

"So he's learned
nothing
of value."

"Not exactly
nothing
, but…"

"And he's going down to the country in two weeks."

"For a most important meeting, after all."

"And so he won't be coming to… to see
me
for weeks and weeks and weeks!"

Kate had intended to tell Phoebe that she'd revealed her identity to Lord Linseley. She was a bit anxious about it, for—no matter how innocently—she had after all betrayed a confidence. Still, she'd reassured herself, Phoebe couldn't really mind. Or
wouldn't
mind, after learning how ardently he'd repeated the syllables of her name to himself.

But with her friend in such a state, Kate thought she'd better wait a bit before delivering that particular bit of information.

"Yes, the earl was most sincerely regretful to have to defer the pleasure of the next personal interview…"

"You know him well enough to judge his sincerity, do you?"

"Our friendship is sealed by our mutual regard for you."

Kate had almost said
our mutual love
, but decided that it wasn't her business to reveal the depths of the gentleman's affections.
He must speak for himself
, she decided,
hopefully at a moment when Phoebe isn't apt to bite his head off
.

Phoebe only nodded and attended to her feet, and they passed the rest of the dance in silence.

"Will you come see me the day after tomorrow, Mr. Marston?"

Lady Kate Beverredge asked anxiously. "For tomorrow I'm driving out with Admiral Wolfe…"

Marston looked cold and abstracted. "I have a fencing lesson in the morning, I regret to say, and calls all afternoon, my lady. I shall send a note when I find a moment of free time."

"I shall wait patiently.
As must you
."

He bowed and then swiveled neatly on his heel, heading for the exit and leaving Lady Kate to heave a sigh that was both loving and vexed.

She's absolutely impossible when she takes one of those impetuous turns.

Her expression softened as Admiral Wolfe approached.

Still, she'll be by in a few days to apologize
—
meek, contrite, and extravagantly regretful of her moment of rudeness. And in the meantime
…

John Wolfe smiled and extended his arm. She took it easily, returning his smile as though they'd been promenading together for years.

And in the meantime
, Kate assured herself,
Phoebe certainly won't do anything dangerous
.