Artful Deceptions (21 page)

“It is the sensible way, is it not? Neither one of us would feel lowered by the other. Should I take Galen seriously, he would overwhelm me with all he has that I have not.”

“It would be as unequal as if I offered for Lady Melanie,” Rhys agreed. “We simply must make them understand our position. Melanie was made for the kind of life that Locke can offer her. What do we need to do to bring them together?”

Arianne felt a rush of relief that someone finally viewed this situation as sensibly as she, though she felt a small bite of disappointment at the loss of even a glimpse of the fantasy Lord Locke offered. It was all very well and good to dream of rich confections, but it didn’t put nourishment in the stomach. She would enjoy this brief interlude as she would a particularly delicious box of chocolates, but she would not fool herself into thinking she could live on it.

Grateful for the sturdy hand at her back as they continued to traverse the garden, Arianne turned her thoughts to the straight-and-narrow path she must walk to produce the proper results. Someday she and Rhys would look back at this with laughter, but right now she felt only a glimmer of sorrow. Determinedly she lifted her chin. “We must start with Melanie. I shall speak to her tonight.”

* * * *

Speaking with Melanie wasn’t so easily done when she was squealing with delight over a package addressed to her cousin. Arianne gazed at the opened box with a shake of her head, wishing she could show the rapture that Melanie so easily gave in to. The ivory silk lying in folds of tissue paper begged to be touched, and the arrangement of blue ribbons to match the overskirt appealed to her artistic senses, but Eve had surrendered to temptation, and everyone knew where that had landed her.

“I cannot possibly accept it,” she announced firmly.

Melanie stared at her cousin as if she had finally taken leave of her senses. “You cannot possibly refuse. The countess must have gone to a great deal of trouble to have this made. I cannot imagine how she managed to have it done without a great number of fittings.” Seizing that idea, she carried it further. “Perhaps it won’t fit. You must try it on, then you can honestly tell her some adjustments need be made before you can wear it. That will settle the matter to everyone’s satisfaction.”

“Until she sends a seamstress to adjust it,” Arianne answered pessimistically, staring at the tempting fabric with all the hunger of years of deprivation. She knew it would fit. She knew if she tried it on, she wouldn’t take it off should it hang to her knees. But then, she couldn’t insult her hostess by refusing it outright.

Sighing, she touched the delicious fabric with one finger, stroking the ephemeral silk with longing. She would have to at least try it on. Just this once, it would be pleasant to know how she would look dressed in something fashionable. Once she saw how ridiculous she looked, she could go back to the plain cottons and wools that suited her station.

Delighted at this decision, Melanie took charge, ordering maids and baths and producing exotic bath salts and dancing happily about at this chance to transform her attractive cousin into a princess worthy of the highest houses. Immersed in bubbles, then surrounded by hands pulling at her hair or adjusting her clothes, Arianne was left with no time to confront her cousin with the topic of Lord Locke. Instead, she was startled speechless by the results of Melanie’s tampering.

Shoved in front of a full-length mirror, Arianne could only stare at the image reflected there. She had always felt gracelessly tall in her shapeless frocks, but the woman in the mirror stood regal in a gown that clung to curves she had never considered worth showing. Although a blue ribbon held the high waistline beneath her breasts, the rippling silk shifted with her every movement, revealing more than Arianne thought quite decent.

She was grateful for the minuscule protection of the gauzy blue overskirt that draped from her waist into a small train at her sides and back, but it did nothing to conceal the revealing neckline or cover her nearly bare arms. The woman in the mirror almost looked seductive, with curls dangling about her throat and ears, emphasizing eyes wider than seemed natural. It was as if Melanie had created another person in her place, and Arianne gave in to a giggle at the thought.

“You laugh! What is there to laugh about? You look positively resplendent. I shall demand that Gordon increase your wardrobe at once. I will not have you go back to those shapeless rags again.” Melanie looked peeved that her cousin took her transformation so lightly.

Arianne turned and hugged her younger cousin, unconscious of the crushing of her new gown. “Don’t be a peagoose. You have worked miracles, and I am properly grateful, if somewhat disbelieving. I don’t think the boys would obey that woman in the mirror, but it will be fun to play the part for just one evening. But if you should speak to Gordon, I’ll never forgive you. Papa will not like it if I should accept charity.”

Melanie pouted, but laughter filled her eyes. “But I am so very good at choosing fashions! I shall speak to Uncle Ross, then. How can he deny me the fun of dressing you to the nines? Come along, then, and let us see how the multitudes applaud.”

Laughing, they hurried down the echoing hallways of the stately manor as if it were the rabbit warren of Arianne’s home. The echoes preceded them into the salon, where all attention turned on the doorway as they entered. Laughter still dancing in their eyes as they brought themselves to a decorous entrance, they painted more than a pretty picture for their audience as they came in, arm in arm.

The ladies nodded approval and the men rose from their chairs, at least two of them with dazed looks upon their faces as they came forward to lead their ladies into the room. A moment’s awkwardness occurred when both men seemed ready to offer their arms to the same lady, but Rhys bowed to his host’s greater claim and protectively took Melanie’s arm into his, ignoring her scathing glance. When next he looked down on her, she was all smiles again, but laughter no longer lit her eyes.

Arianne felt the heady warmth of Galen’s gaze go straight to her head and send her senses reeling, but she managed to balance superbly on his arm without revealing a portion of her giddiness. Just for a little while she would enjoy playing the part of a member of these heightened circles, and she would enjoy the attentions of a man accustomed to such heights. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would return to the ground, but for right now she was enjoying her flight of fancy.

“I now know what the phrase ‘divine beauty’ means, Arianne. I should have known you would be the one to teach me,” Galen murmured in tones that did not quite carry to their elders.

Arianne colored, but before she could make a suitable reply, Lady Deward reprimanded her son. “If you cannot say things aloud, Galen, then they should not be said at all. I wonder that Miss Richards does not slap you for your forwardness. Come here, my dear, and let me admire your gown. The local seamstress is not all that she should be, but she could not fail with someone of your proportions. I knew you would appear favorably in that style.”

The countess’s blunt comments brought more color to Arianne’s cheeks, but she came forward as bidden, making a polite curtsy and efusive gratitude before taking a seat near her hostess. Lady Deward nodded approvingly, then turned to her son.

“You would do well to take lessons in obedience and respect from your intended, Galen, but the fact that you have chosen someone with those qualities shows that you have more sense than I gave you credit for. When do you propose to set the wedding? June is but a few weeks away, you realize.”

Not taking his gaze from Arianne, Galen noted the alarm flaring in midnight eyes, and felt a moment’s discomfort, but smoothly he gave a reply to settle all questions. “We have not yet made a public announcement, Mother. There is no need for us to join the flock of end-of-Season weddings.”

He gave Arianne a small grin. “Besides, I am not at all certain that Arianne finds me suitable. If you continue to point out my failings, she will almost certainly flee back to the city in horror.”

Polite laughter accompanied that jest, as it was meant to do, but Arianne felt sudden shifts in the currents around her. She looked up to find Rhys’s gaze fastened intently upon her. Melanie’s smile seemed fixed as she released Rhys’s arm to take a seat near her aunt and chatter. Even Arianne’s father was looking at her with curiosity, but there was nothing she could do or say to relieve the situation. It was an impossible situation, and she could only ride it out by smiling and turning the conversation to other channels.

“Llewellyn? Of course! How could I have forgotten?” At a question from Arianne, her father’s face lit with remembrance as he turned to the young gentleman who had so recently joined the party. “David’s son, are you not?”

Rhys warily nodded. “You knew my father?”

“The few years I managed to attend classes, we went to school together. And then, of course, we shared an ale or two, or otherwise, while we were both young men. He had the best of me by a few years, but he was one of those rare ones who find friends wherever they go. A fine man. I’m sorry I did not recognize the connection earlier.”

Harmed too many times by accidental forays into his past, Rhys remained stiff in his reply. “It is of no moment. My father passed away some years ago.”

Frowning, drifting off into his own thoughts, Ross suddenly returned to the present with a more precise question than Arianne thought him capable of, and she flinched when she discovered its direction.

“David’s son, that does bring back memories. I remember you as a lad. Quite the lordly manner you had then, scamp that you were.” Before any knew where his reminiscences had carried him, Ross asked, “Why’d my daughter address you as ‘mister’? You’ve not been playing light with her, have you?”

The innocent question exploded with the force of a bombshell, leaving a great hole in the tapestry of conversation as all talk died and everyone stared blankly at each other and away.

Chapter Seventeen

Guilt paralyzed Arianne into speechlessness. She should have known that despite his absentminded eccentricities, her father was sharp enough to have noticed both men calling upon her. That he would have chosen the innocent Rhys as the one who would play with her feelings and not Galen came as a surprise, but she was too immured in her own feelings to come to Rhys’s rescue. She glanced helplessly to Galen.

Galen caught her look, but he knew better than to interfere in a matter of a man’s pride. He nodded encouragement to his guest, and left the floor to Llewellyn.

“I believe Miss Richards is aware of my status, sir. I have not deceived her in any way. I can understand your position if you would prefer I not be in the company of your daughter and niece. If you will accept my excuses, I will be on my way shortly.” Rhys started toward the door, his back held straight despite his limp, his dark eyes opaque as they stared straight ahead.

“Don’t be a sapwit, Rhys.” Melanie leapt from her chair to run after him, catching his arm and hanging on despite his effort to disengage her.

“What’s the lad gadding on about?” Ross looked with confusion to his daughter, then to Locke. “Did I misunderstand something?”

Before Galen could murmur something polite, the cantankerous earl snorted rudely. “Obvious the man don’t hang about the clubs much. Even I’ve heard that old story. Your rare gentleman friend never married his son’s mother. He’s a mister, right enough, though it’s questionable if he can claim the name Llewellyn.”

He turned his glare to Rhys. “Sit down, boy. I never liked your uncle and I don’t give a damn who your mother was. And if you’ve got eyes to see, you can see no one else gives a pin for it either.”

Rhys’s military bearing didn’t unbend an inch as he turned to face the room, but this time he didn’t try to remove Melanie’s fingers as they wrapped around his arm. His searing gaze swept from the countess’s haughty nod past Ross’s puzzled expression and his wife’s warm smile to fasten on his friends. Arianne’s eyes reflected the pain in his, and Galen held out his hand in welcome. With a wry twist of his lips, he nodded acceptance.

“Pride goeth before a fall,” he murmured to the room at large as he turned toward his seat, stopping before Ross Richards first. Meeting his gaze directly, he attempted to answer the man’s questions. “My father was as rare a gentleman as you claim, sir. There is no doubt in my mind that he married my mother, but there seems to be doubt in the minds of others. Forgive me if I misunderstood your questions.”

“Not married your mother? B’gad
,
sir, that’s a lie! Would a man have a portrait made of his woman and his bastard for all the world to see? Your mother’s death nearly destroyed him. Who’s telling these tales? I’d like to meet him face-to-face.”

Sublimely unaware that his words had caught the full attention of everyone in the room, Richards shook his fist as if prepared to take the malefactor to task right then and there.

“You’re familiar with the painting?” Arianne came to life under this new line of attack. She should have known that her father would be familiar with any aspect of artwork connected to his friend’s life, and that the artwork would be the first thing that came to his mind when confronted with memory. She just hadn’t known that her father knew Rhys’s father.

Distracted from his tirade, her father visibly diverted his thoughts from Rhys to this new question. His eyes lit as he dredged up the memory with a clarity for details that eluded him in everyday life.

“Of course. I arranged it for him. Lawrence was begging for work and Llewellyn wanted to show off his wife and heir. Best piece of work he’d done by far at the time. Let them sit natural, he did. All that black hair filling the foreground and the mountains in the back. Excellent piece.” He turned back to Rhys. “Whatever became of that portrait? It should bring you a pretty price in the market, if you’re interested.”

Rhys glanced helplessly to Arianne, who diverted her father again with another question. “You saw the finished work, then? Do you remember the details? Are you certain that it was Rhys and his mother?”