Anne Barbour (11 page)

“Why, he is my second cousin,” blurted Hester.

“There, you see?” Aunt Lavinia swung about to face Gussie and Thorne in pleased affirmation, wispy gray curls floating about her face.

“I’m not sure that has anything to say to the problem,” said Lady Bracken. “Half the polite world is related to the other half in just such a fashion.”

Thorne grinned. “All we have to do is spread it about that there is a relationship, albeit a distant one. That should be enough to satisfy the gabble-mongers. If anyone is ill-bred enough to ask for specifics, we shall merely stare down our noses at them.”

“Indeed,” said Lady Bracken acidly. “That might serve, but it will make even worse the fact that you have introduced a notorious feminist into your house. To think that I am actually related to Hester Blayne!”

Hester gasped. Was there no end to the effrontery of this impossible woman? At the sound, Lady Bracken turned to her.

“I do not mean to give offense, and I am sure you cannot take any for you must see how impossible a situation this is for someone in my position.”

Thorne was surprised at the spurt of irritation that surged through him. “Now, now, Gussie,” he said in a deceptively mild tone. “Everyone has a dirty dish or two among his relatives, and I’m sure no one will blame us for numbering a female among ours that actually uses her brain to think for herself and who is willing to suffer deprivation and isolation from her family to support something in which she believes passionately.”

Hester glanced at him curiously and Lady Bracken blinked. “Er, no, I suppose not. Only--”  She lifted her hand in an earnest gesture to Hester. “…perhaps you could go under another name while you are here. Your mother’s maiden name, for example. I should think—

“No!” said Hester explosively. “I am sorry, my lady, but I will not hide my identity. If my presence here is an embarrassment to your highborn friends, I will be more than pleased to leave.”

She rose and moved to the door, only to be intercepted by Lord Bythorne, who had risen with her. He took one of her hands to clasp it in both of his and turned to his aunt.

“I believe you owe Miss Blayne an apology, Gussie,” he said sharply.

Through narrowed eyes, Lady Bracken gazed at Hester, “As I said, Miss Blayne, I meant no offense.” She sighed deeply. “Well, I suppose there is no help for it, then. We shall just have to muddle through as best we can.”

As an apology, Hester felt this little speech left much to be desired, but she was already regretting her own melodramatic statement. She remained silent, but inclined her head briefly. Releasing her hand from the warmth of the earl’s grasp, she returned to her chair.

“Well, then,” continued Lady Bracken briskly. “On to the next problem.” She turned to Hester. “We shall have to do something about your clothes. Now, do not take offense—again,” she added as Hester’s eyes narrowed. “I am only saying that a wardrobe that might be just right for the hinterlands will not—”

“Overcross is twenty miles from London,” interrupted Hester icily. “It can hardly be called the hinterlands.”

Lady Bracken waved an impatient hand. “Well, it might as well be. What I am trying to convey is that if you are going to mingle in society, you will need to dress the part.”

Hester drew a deep breath, and Thorne could have sworn he saw icicles forming on her lips. “Lady Bracken, I have no desire to do so much as take a cup of tea with your exalted friends. My purpose in being here is to facilitate Lord Bythorne’s dealings with his ward. I believe that can be accomplished with a minimum of mingling.”

“Oh, but it cannot!” exclaimed Lady Bracken, ignoring her nephew’s smothered chuckle. “If you are a guest in the house, you will certainly be expected to partake in Bythorne’s social activities. There is the Wery dinner party next week, for example.”

“But, I have not been invited to the Werys’,” said Hester, endeavoring to maintain her fragile grip on her patience, “and I certainly have no desire to—”

“Ah, Miss Blayne,” put in Thorne, laughter still apparent in his voice, “I must beg to interfere. If there is any occasion on which I shall require your presence, it is the Wery dinner party. Just because Chloe has agreed to attend, does not mean she will comport herself with any degree of amenability while she is there.”

Hester shivered with rage and humiliation. How dare Lord Bythorne laugh at her! If he thought—

“Please,” said the earl in a vastly different tone after regarding her fixedly for some moments. “I realize we must seem like the veriest fribbles to you, and I’m sure you realize that Gussie is not suggesting there is anything lacking in your dress.” He glanced sharply at his aunt. “It is merely that we inhabit a different world—and I agree, it’s a superficial one. However, for a few months you will be a part of that world. I would not wish to subject you to the censure of its inhabitants, as frivolous and false as they may seem. I shall,” he concluded, “of course be prepared to stand the ready for any, er, refurbishment deemed necessary for your wardrobe.”

Hester exhaled the breath she had been about to expel in a burst of vituperation. She prided herself on being an eminently fair person and in the earl’s words she discerned what appeared a sincere effort to be kind, as well as a measure of truth. She was forced to admit that the gown she was wearing, while perfectly adequate for a shopping trip to the village or tea at the vicarage, was sadly out of place in the drawing room of Bythorne House.

She was a plain woman. In fact, she had been known to speak at some length on the folly of the current preoccupation with fashion. On the other hand, something deep and feminine within her warmed at the thought of dressing, for just a little while, in gowns she knew to be becoming to her. Something quietly elegant in colors that suited her. Would my lord Bythorne view her in a new light? Not that she cared, of course. On still another hand, while she had talked herself into accepting Lord Bythorne’s munificence in return for a few months of her time, she was damned if she’d be beholden to him for the clothes on her back.

With great dignity she turned to Lady Bracken. “I am willing to accept your rationale, my lady. I shall obtain more suitable clothing. However--”  She swiveled to stare levelly at the earl.  “--I shall provide my own wardrobe. You are paying me handsomely, my lord, and I shall purchase anything I need from the stipend we agreed upon.”

“Ah,” said Thorne, completely at a loss. Transforming the determinedly grim specimen of spinsterhood before him into anything resembling fashionable correctness would cost far more than five hundred pounds. Never in his wide acquaintanceship with the female sex had one of them ever turned down the sort of gift he had just proposed. “But—” he began, only to be forestalled by a gesture from his aunt, accompanied by a stare of such significance that he was made aware that she had the situation well in hand.

He bowed to Hester in an exaggerated gesture of acquiescence.

Arrangements were made for her ladyship to accompany Hester on the morrow to various select modistes. Chloe descended from her room to join the party at that point, and the conversation then turned to more general matters. By the time Lady Bracken rose to leave, she and Hester found themselves in reasonable harmony with each other.

After her departure, Chloe, professing anew her delight at Hester’s presence, declared her intention of showing her about the house. As they left the drawing room, Thorne placed his hand under Hester’s elbow and drew her aside.

“I want to express my own appreciation that you have come to us,” he murmured.

A little flustered by this unexpected closeness, Hester mumbled a vague reply.

“And now, I must take my leave of you. I shall probably not see you for the rest of the day, for I am going to my club, where I shall take dinner. Before leaving, however, I wish to ascertain that you have everything you need for your comfort here.”

“Oh, yes, my lord,” replied Hester with as much calm as she could muster.

“And while I think of it,” continued the earl, “my friends call me Thorne.”

“But—”

“And since we are related, I do think it would be more appropriate if you would call me that, too. And I shall call you Hester.”

“I don’t think—”

“Very well.” He bent his intimate smile upon her. “Now that we have that settled, I shall bid you good afternoon.” He lifted her hand and brushed her fingertips with his lips. They were warm and surprisingly soft and the contact was as brief as the shuttering of an eyelash, but Hester started as though he had bitten her.

Irritated by this untoward reaction, she bowed stiffly. “Good day, my lord. Enjoy your evening.”

Which will no doubt be spent, she concluded silently, in a hell, finishing up discreetly in someone’s candlelit boudoir. She sniffed. How fortunate that she did not care one way or another how the profligate lord spent his nights.

Several evenings later, Hester stood before her mirror viewing herself with pardonable satisfaction. After what seemed like months of endless shopping expeditions with Lady Bracken and Lady Lavinia she now possessed a wardrobe of ensembles that were acceptable, if not precisely
le dernier cri
of fashion.

Tonight, in honor of her first appearance among the denizens of the beau monde at the Werys’ dinner party, she had donned one of her new gowns, an apricot silk trimmed with gold floss, worn with an overdress of cream-colored net. In Madame Celeste’s modish establishment, Hester had been sure the gown would be much too dear for her purse, but was pleasantly surprised at its reasonable price. The other gowns brought out by Madame, after an exchange of glances with Lady Bracken, proved also to be well within her budget.

She examined her image in the mirror. The ensemble was one of the most becoming creations she had ever owned, she admitted to herself as she twisted experimentally and watched the heavy folds swirl over her trim figure. Parker had swept up her hair in a skillful arrangement, and Hester had placed over it a frothy lace cap with silk ribbons tied jauntily under one ear. The maid had objected violently to this addition, but Hester remained firm.

“I wish to establish my position firmly, Parker. I shouldn’t want anyone to think I have come to London on a husband hunt.”

“I’m sure nobody would think any such thing, miss, but you’re far too young for caps. And,” she added as an afterthought, for she and Hester had rapidly established a friendly rapport, “if you was to attract a husband, would that be such a bad thing?”

“No, I suppose not,” replied Hester with a laugh, “if I were in the market for one—which I am not.”

Giving one last twitch to the offending cap, she thanked Parker once more for her efforts and descended to the drawing room.

There was only one occupant in the room when she entered. Lord Bythorne stood before the hearth, one arm flung negligently along the mantelpiece. His evening dress consisted of the conventional dark coat, embroidered waistcoat, and light-colored satin breeches, but he exuded an aura of predatory maleness to which some women, no doubt, would be helplessly attracted.

“Good evening, Hester,” he said.

“Good evening, my lord,” she replied with a meaningful emphasis on the latter.

“Oh, but I thought we agreed on Hester and Thorne.” What Hester had begun to think of as The Smile curved his lips, further reinforcing his prowling creature-of-the-jungle aspect.

By God, he had been right, thought Thorne. Properly dressed, the Blayne female was quite attractive. No, more than that. In the silky outfit that perfectly delineated her every curve, she was downright delectable. Except for that ridiculous cap, of course. Did she think it provided some sort of barrier between her and wicked, unattached males of evil intent? He wondered what else lay beneath the revealing folds of her garment. A banked passion, perhaps, just waiting for the right touch to unleash it? He sighed. Unfortunately, it would not be his touch that would set her problematic appetites free. Dalliance with a gently bred female living under his own roof formed no part of his plans. One had one’s standards, after all.

“It was you who agreed, my lord.” The gently bred female’s voice was pure flint. “We are far from being on a first-name basis.”

Thorne merely smiled lazily. “You will find, Hester my dear, that I am a rather tenacious sort. If you—”

“Hester!” The word came in a pleased tone from Aunt Lavinia, who had just entered the room. “You look simply splendid, my dear. Come, let me look at you.”

Smiling, Hester pirouetted before the older woman. “Thank you, Aunt Lavinia. I am feeling rather splendid, and I owe it all to your good taste.”

Thorne’s brows rose. Evidently, he reflected, his aunt had experienced no difficulty in proceeding to a first-name stage with his guest. Indeed, the two ladies seemed to have become fast friends in the short time Hester had been in residence at Bythorne House. He was pleased, for he had felt a bit guilty about hauling Aunt Lavinia into town from the Park. The estate had been her domain for a long time, and he was sure she missed it. A companionable female in the house would make her sojourn here much more pleasurable.

Chloe entered the drawing room just then, gowned in white satin under an overdress of her favorite pink. A wreath of rosebuds twined in her dark curls and a delicate flush tinted her cheeks. If John Wery indeed spent all his time with her in talking of crops and sheep, reflected Thorne, the youngster must in truth be the veriest blockhead. Perhaps he should have a word with the lad on how to win the female heart.

“I was going to wear my pearls,” Chloe was saying to Hester, “but Pinkham said, ‘Youth is its own ornament.’ She always says that. Personally, I think youth can stand a bit of help. What do you think, Hester? Aunt Lavinia?”

Both ladies laughed.

“I think Pinkham is right,” replied Hester. “You look like the first blush of spring.”

“Perfect,” agreed Aunt Lavinia.

“Thank you. Oh, but, Hester, you look marvelous!” cried Chloe. “Who would have thought Aunt Augusta would have such an instinct for what looks good on one. That gown makes you look years—” She halted, clapping gloved fingers to her lips.