Anne Barbour (25 page)

“Yes, Thorne told me something of them.”

“Ah. I never knew Lady Bythorne, but from all accounts she was an Incomparable—and much given to—pleasures of the flesh.”

“As was her husband, I take it.”

“Mm. Even in the climate of the time, they were notorious. It is no wonder Thorne grew up with a jaundiced view of marriage. And being gifted with more than his share of charm, nothing in his experience as an adult has served to change his attitude.”

“I see. Well, in that event, it is unfortunate, perhaps, that he will have to marry someday. Let us hope that he will make a union of convenience, for it would be a shame if some young woman were to lose her heart to him only to have it broken after they were wed.”

Hester had spoken in as prosaic a tone as she could manage, but Barbara once more sent her a penetrating glance. Bowing her head over the teacups, however, she said merely, “Do you go to Lady Wincannon’s musicale tonight?”

“Yes. Will Thorne be escorting you?”

Barbara laughed. “Oh, no. He declared that though he would cheerfully walk through fire and swim rivers for me, asking him to sit through the ‘caterwauling of yet another soprano’ is just too much.”

“I think Chloe feels much the same way, but Aunt Lavinia and I prevailed upon her to accompany us tonight.”

“Ah—and will young John Wery be there, as well?”

Hester grinned. “I think he just might be.”

As it turned out, she was correct in this optimistic prediction. The ladies of Bythorne House had no sooner settled into their chairs in Lady Wincannon’s great drawing room, than John entered. Looking about the chamber, he slid quietly into the seat next to Chloe, who blushed prettily. Immediately afterward, under the interested eyes of Hester and Aunt Lavinia, he asked her to take a turn with him on the terrace, where several other couples disported themselves in the warm, summer evening.

“And after that,” reported Chloe later in Hester’s bedchamber, her eyes glowing, “he asked me to supper. Oh, Hester, I don’t know when I have spent a more enjoyable evening.”

“You found the music enjoyable, then?”

“The mu—oh, yes, of course, but I meant—Hester, you are funning me!”

“Perhaps just a little,” replied Hester, smiling.

“I never knew John could be such fun to talk to,” continued Chloe. “Though, if you ask me what we discussed, I don’t know that I could tell you.” She laughed. “We spoke of—oh, poetry, and riding, and—and our favorite flavor of ices.”

“An eclectic range of subject matter,” murmured Hester.

Chloe smiled engagingly, but immediately grew serious. “I must tell you, Hester, that I am—well, I’m reconsidering my refusal of John’s proposal.”

Hester allowed her eyes to widen in a simulation of surprise. “No!”

“Do you think I am dreadfully flighty? I mean, would I be betraying the cause if I were to marry? It would mean giving up my plans to write and give lectures—and, all that.”

“You goose, of course it would not be a betrayal. In fact, as a married woman, you could do a great deal of good. The wife of John Wery, prosperous landowner, will be most influential in an area where so far little work has been done in promoting women’s education. You could head committees, raise funds, dispense literature, and all manners of worthwhile activities.”

“Yes, that’s true. I had not thought of that. Of course,” she said, blushing rosily, “I do not know if he still wishes to marry me, but if he asks me again—well, I just might say yes.”

Hester reached to embrace the girl in a gentle hug. “I think you could not make a wiser decision, my dear. John is obviously a pearl among men.”

Chloe blushed again. “I think so, too—and he has even said he wishes to go with us when you speak at The Blue Boar. You don’t think Uncle Thorne will forbid me to go, do you?” Chloe asked anxiously.

“I shouldn’t think so. His main objection seems to be one of safety rather than corrupting your young mind.” Hester spoke with some asperity. “And he knows we shall be well protected.”

Chloe yawned. “I expect you’re right.” She rose from the little wing chair by the fire and bade Hester good night.

When she had gone, Hester remained staring into the cheerful little blaze. It appeared that her tenure at Bythorne House was nearing an end. And a very good thing, she reminded herself severely. She was becoming much too fond of the Trent family in general and of my lord, the Earl of Bythorne in particular. No—more than fond, if she were to be honest.

Oh, very well, she thought grimly. She might as well admit it. She was in love with Thorne.

Chapter Seventeen

There she had said it. Not that saying it made the idea any less absurd. Two more unsuited people she could not imagine than herself and the Earl of Bythorne. Even if she wished to marry, she would not choose a man who was the very antithesis of everything she believed in. She certainly would not so much as consider allying herself with a man whose only claim to her affection was a darkly compelling visage, a smile that turned her knees to pudding, and the ability to make her dizzy with delight at
his touch.

She preferred not to consider the fact that the gentleman was also intelligent, a stimulating companion, and possessed a number of virtues, for none of them outweighed his flaws. He was a user of women who believed heart and soul that the female had no higher purpose in life than to provide the male’s creature comforts. To be sure, she thought that she had detected a softening in his attitude during her visit, and his conversations with her were an
exchange of spirit and wit and intelligence, but—

But—this dialogue with herself was pointless. Even if she decided the earl was her heart’s desire, it would be ludicrous to suppose that he might feel the smallest interest in her—beyond, of course, that automatic response with which he had been so acutely endowed.

In her heart, she sensed that his feeling for her was different from the way he felt toward other women. Did not the fact that he actually seemed to enjoy her company rather bespeak that fact? She was sure he was not in the habit of sparring mentally with his
cheres amies
, or even with Barbara, whom he evidently planned to marry someday. He probably did so however, with many of his male friends, and he certainly did not feel a tender passion toward any of those.

Was that it? Did he think of her as a friend? Possibly. Did he think of her as the love of his life?

Fat chance, she concluded with an aching sigh.

Very well, then. She was used to disappointments in her life, and she could deal with one more. Perhaps her newfound friendship with the earl would continue after she returned to Overcross. Perhaps, she thought with a despairing giggle, he might ask her to stand as godmother for one of the children he would produce when he eventually married.

He would not, however, be producing those children with Lady Barbara Freemantle. Not if she had anything to say about it. Sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but Lady B. is slotted for someone else. The earl would just have to find another complacent, discreet daughter of the
ton
to produce his children and to adorn his house.

Having resolutely arranged the rest of her life to her dubious satisfaction, she sat down to consider the problem of Robert and Barbara. Despite their professed intentions of keeping apart from each other, Hester had not failed to notice that when they did find themselves in the same room together, they seemed inevitably drawn together. Witness the evening at Vauxhall Gardens. Hester had not been a party to the scene that had taken place between them after she had observed them in each other’s arms, but she would be willing to wager a substantial sum that they did not sit down for a discussion of the quality of the orchestra.

She would just have to assure their continuing exposure to each other. That should not be too difficult, given Gussie’s determination that Barbara and John be included in all the Bythorne House activities—even though Gussie’s purpose was far removed from her own.

Three days passed before Hester was able to put her plan in operation. The occasion was a dinner party hosted by Viscount Halburton and his lady in honor of the betrothal of their youngest daughter to the heir of the Earl of Cashin.

As luck would have it, the housekeeper at the Halburton establishment had worked at Bythorne House in her youth, and was still friends with many of the staff. Through a complex series of negotiations and a little judicious bribery, Hester was able to ensure that Robert and Barbara would be seated next to one another at the table the night of the dinner party.

To her consternation, however, she discovered on entering the Halburton dining room in company with a glittering throng, that she had neglected to consider the partner on her other hand. Barbara had not accompanied the party from Bythorne House on this evening, but had arrived with her aunt, the Countess of Carbrooke and her young daughter. The hair on Hester’s neck lifted gently as she observed Thorne taking his place on Barbara’s right, while Robert, grim-faced, settled in on her left. Across the table, Gussie writhed in obvious irritation. She must have planned for Robert to be placed next to Hester and was wondering why her scheme had gone awry.

Meanwhile, Chloe and John disported themselves at the far end of the table. Hester breathed a small sigh of relief. At least things seemed to be progressing satisfactorily in that quarter.

The meal, as far as Hester was concerned, progressed in fits and starts. As she watched, leaving her own dinner partners largely ignored, Barbara devoted most of her attention to Thorne, while Robert applied himself diligently, first to his portion of turtle soup, then to the partner on his other hand. When Barbara did turn to speak to him, he replied in monosyllables until, with a resolute shrug of her shoulders, she abandoned him to his own devices.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, thought Hester. This would never do. She would have to arrange something. When dinner was concluded and the gentlemen had joined the ladies after their port, she gestured to John from across the room to the seat she had been saving next to her. Before the young man could reach that goal, however, Thorne slid into the indicated chair.

“I say,” he whispered, “have you noticed Chloe and John? They’ve had their heads together all evening.”

“Yes,” replied Hester, uncomfortably aware that his head was bent close to hers. “In fact, I saw them leave the room together just now. It’s horribly improper, of course, but I think we may allow a couple in love a little latitude.”

“They may have all the latitude they require, with my blessing, if it will result in a betrothal announcement. By the by,” he said, drawing back to survey her, “you are looking exceptionally well tonight.”

The appreciative gleam in his eyes disconcerted her, but his words put her in mind of a subject that had been rankling for some time.

“As well, I may,” she retorted, “considering the amount of money that has been spent on my behalf.”

At the questioning lift of Thorne’s brows, she fanned the flame of indignation that she had coaxed into being inside her. “How could you deceive me so, my lord?”

“My lord, is it? Now what have I done to incur your displeasure, Madame Firebrand?”

“I discovered from something Gussie let slip the other day that Madame Celeste has been charging me a fraction—a very small fraction—of what my gowns are worth—and that you have been making up the difference.”

Thorne had the grace to flush, albeit almost imperceptibly. “Well,” he said reasonably, “how else was I to proceed? You would not agree to my simply paying for the gowns, and Madame’s prices are far too exorbitant for you to have paid on your own.”

“I would have—”

“You would simply have decided to appear in gowns you could afford—a program unacceptable to either Gussie or myself. Now, admit it,” he continued before Hester could utter the protest forming on her lips, “haven’t you enjoyed your new furbelows? Even a woman who has foresworn the frivolities of fashion must indulge herself occasionally in the knowledge that she is wearing something indecently expensive and wildly flattering.”

Thorne’s words hit so close to the mark that Hester shifted uncomfortably. She glanced down before she could stop herself at her beguiling ensemble of pale rose Italian crepe worn under a tunic of spangled gauze. Brilliants caught the material at her shoulders and glittered at the ends of two tassels that depended from her cap of satin and Jouy lace.

“Yes, I cannot dispute the fact that Madame Celeste is a superb practitioner of her art, but—”

“We are being rude,” interrupted Thorne with a great show of offended propriety. “Lady Halburton’s nephew is about to favor us with one of his verses, if I am not mistaken.”

“Yes, but—” Hester sputtered furiously.

Thorne waved an expansive hand. “We can discuss all this later, my dear.”

“I am not your dear,” she grated in a last, futile effort to preserve the upper hand.

Long before Lady Halburton’s nephew had ceased spouting an interminable ode to spring, Thorne had vacated his chair and drifted off to the card room. So much for his virtuous declarations on the subject of rudeness, thought Hester resentfully. But, never mind that. It was time to regenerate her plot to get Barbara and Robert together. Containing herself until the last strains of the poem had been dinned into the ears of the young man’s audience, she hastened from the room. She summoned a footman and ordered pen, paper, and ink to be brought to her in a small chamber she had spied farther down the corridor and in a few moments handed two notes to the footman, to be delivered immediately. She then sat back to await events.

Events, however, once more proved uncooperative. Returning to the drawing room, she observed the footman’s approach to Robert, and Robert’s subsequent exit from the chamber. Shifting expectantly to Barbara, she was pleased to note the glowing blush that flooded her cheeks. However, so quickly did Barbara turn, that she jarred the elbow of a young man who was carefully carrying two cups of punch. A cascade of brilliant red liquid poured over the front of her gown, and her subsequent gasp caused a flurry of activity among those close to her. In a moment, Barbara could not even be seen for the group of gentlemen that clustered about her, proffering handkerchiefs to repair the damage.