Dear Impostor (15 page)

          “Yes.” Giving himself a mental
shake, he pulled himself together and assisted her into the carriage, climbing
in to sit on the other side. It was not as satisfactory as sitting beside her,
but at least he could gaze at her countenance, shadowy in the dim street lights
and the glow from the carriage lamps outside. The light played across the
planes of her face, her sculpted cheekbones and firm, stubborn jaw. As if aware
of his stare, she looked pointedly out the small pane into the street outside,
astir with evening traffic.

           “Hope Sally has better fare at
this party,” Aunt Sophie was grumbling. “Her pastries are a disgrace; she
should fire her chef.” In a rare show of affection, she patted Psyche tenderly
on her arm. “Not every household had such a fine manager as you, my dear. Sally
would do well to listen to you more often.”

          Gabriel watched as Psyche’s
expression softened with surprise and then pleasure. She took her aunt’s hand
in her own and pressed it gently. “Thank you, Aunt Sophie.”

          The old woman squeezed back before
loosening her hold and clearing her throat. Her voice was extra gruff as if to
make up for her momentary lapse into sentimentality. “Pish posh. It’ll be a
good thing when you are married at last, Psyche, then I can sit at home in
front of my own fire instead of gadding about like some social moth.”

          Psyche’s lips spread into a fond
smile. She knew her aunt too well to be offended. “But you like Sally and her
husband, Aunt.”

          “I like them better when the
weather is dry, and my bones cease aching,” Aunt Sophie retorted.

          When they reached the street where
their hostess lived, a jostle of carriages and chaises suggested that the party
was not so very small. After a short wait, their carriage was able to approach
the entrance, and Gabriel got out to hand the ladies down. This time his touch
on Psyche’s hand was brief, and she avoided meeting his gaze. But perhaps she
was only watching her step; the street was muddy and littered.

          Inside, a line of party-goers
waited to climb the staircase and enter the drawing room. Gabriel could hear
the chatter of the guests already assembled, and someone tuning a violin. After
the ladies removed their outer garments and Gabriel surrendered his hat, they
too mounted the stairs, slowly because of Aunt Sophie, who was puffing by the
time she reached the top. Psyche managed to whisper in his ear, “You must
remember to greet our hostess first, thank her for allowing you to come without
a proper invitation, and–” She bit off the rest when Sophie glanced at them
with suspicion.

          Did she think he was a total
simpleton?

          The footman, with only a glance,
announced their names to the room, and there was a stir of heads turning. Their
hostess hurried forward to curtsy to Aunt Sophie.

          “Damned crush,” the old lady said.
“Find me a comfortable chair, Sally. I’m not as young as I was, you know.”

          “Of course, dear Sophie,” Sally
Forsyth said, smiling. “Here, my man will lead you to a comfortable seat and
fetch you a glass of wine.”

          When the older lady had been
tended to, Sally reached to take Psyche’s hand. “Psyche, my dear, at last we
get to met the mystery man! I’m all agog.”

          Psyche managed an appropriate
smile, but it was hardly necessary. Sally had already turned to regard the man
beside her with frank appraisal. “My dear Lord Tarrington, welcome.”

          Gabriel bowed over her hand. “It
was very kind of you to allow me to come without a proper invitation,” he said
on cue. But Psyche had not instructed him to smile just so, his blue eyes
glinting with that slight hint of mischief–as if he and Sally engaged in some
delightful scheme together–that was so irresistible.

          “I am only too happy to meet you,”
Sally told him, her face aglow under the impact of his easy charm and handsome face.
“This is not a grand affair at all, but indeed, as dear Psyche’s fiancé, I
would not wish you to miss this chance to meet some of her other friends.”      

          “Nor would I,” the actor agreed
readily.

          Psyche gritted her teeth. He was
following instructions, she would give him that. And his manner was smooth, but
his luck couldn’t last. He had to slip up eventually, reveal his low origins or
his bogus background and then, where would she be? Oh, if only he had
disappeared after the family dinner, as she had originally planned.

          Yet she was also aware of the
glances of the women around them, the hint of envy in their stares, and it
wasn’t so bad, she knew in her heart of hearts, to be seen with such a
charming, handsome, quick-witted man, after having Percy at her elbow for so
long.

          As if her thought had conjured him
up, like a bad fairy, she saw her cousin making his purposeful way through the
other guests to join them. She stifled a groan. But by the time he approached
her, she had her expression under control.

          “Good evening, Percy,” she said,
her tone polite. “You remember Lord Tarrington, of course.”

          Gabriel made a polite bow. But his
attention was still claimed by their hostess. Sally continued to chat with
Gabriel, her expression animated as she neglected the newest arrivals
shamefully. She was standing too close to him, too, Psyche noted, almost
leaning on his arm. Just because Sally was married to her staid, boring,
balding husband, did she think she could forget all propriety? Really, the
effect this man had on women was truly scandalous. Psyche should have added a
warning to Gabriel about too particular attention. Perhaps she should go over
now and–

          But Percy was still talking. “Hard
to forget him,” he said, with only the barest nod to her fake fiancé. “When you
have broken my heart, disregarded my long-standing passion–”

          Psyche decided to affect a sudden
deafness. Aunt Sophie did it all the time and it seemed to sooth the old
woman’s nerves amazingly. “Where is Uncle Wilfred? I sent him a letter about
the engagement settlement–” she began.

          It worked; Percy was distracted. “Father
is at home; his gout is acting up. Anyhow, need to speak to you about that.”

          “My housekeeper has an excellent
beef jelly that might be of help, she would be glad to send you the recipe–” Psyche
said, her tone innocent.

          ”No, no,” Percy interrupted
impatiently. “Not about the gout! I mean the engagement, of course, your
engagement. Let us step aside for a moment.”

          “If Uncle has any questions, he
should be speaking to my solicitor. Percy, let go of me. I have no desire for
any tete a tete–” But to Psyche’s alarm, Percy had a firm grip on her arm and he
pulled her toward the corner of the room. Psyche had to fight to keep her
expression civil. She needed to stay near Gabriel; what if he made some awful
blunder?

          “What is the matter with you?” she
demanded. “Let go of me at once, and for that matter, stop being so rude to my
future husband.”

          Percy snorted, an inelegant sound
that reminded her of a dyspeptic pig. “He is an impostor, Psyche.”

          “Don’t be silly,” she protested,
but she felt a quiver run through her. She had to steady her voice with an
effort. “You have a bug in your bonnet, Percy, and you must let go of this
silly idea. Just because you don’t know of Lord Tarrington’s family–”

          ”But nobody else does, either. “
Percy argued, his face turning redder and his cheeks swelling with emotion
until she thought he might burst. “No one I asked has heard of any Tarringtons.
And, Psyche–” he paused for dramatic effect, but she refused to play along.

          “I think I need some lemonade,
Percy. Would you be a dear–”

          ”I’ve inquired of everyone I know,
and nobody, nobody, Psyche, has heard tell of this supposed title!” Percy told
her, his eyes wide.

          But Psyche had been prepared for
this. ”Oh, tosh, Percy. So his family is not well know. That means nothing at
all.”

          Percy’s face turned even redder
with frustration. “Yes, well, none the less, Psyche, I beg you to reconsider. The
man is only after your money.”

          “But Percy, I thought you believed
me to be beautiful?” Psyche gazed at him, her eyes wide.

          He was immediately flustered. “Of
course I do, no doubt, no doubt, but–”

          ”And sweet and womanly and
properly chaste, did you not tell me that so many times?”

          “Course I did, but–”

          ”So how can you doubt that Lord
Tarrington would love me for myself, Percy? After all, you were not motivated
solely by my fortune when you pursued me, were you?” she asked, her voice
utterly guileless.

          “Umm, no, no,” Percy said. His
expression was perplexed. He had been outmaneuvered and he didn’t seem to see
how it had happened.

          “Then if you could love me for
myself alone, I’m sure another man could. I know you will be prepared to wish
us happy, as will my uncle, eventually,” Psyche said cooly.

          “No, no, Psyche, you misunderstand
me.”

          Percy waved his hands in the air. She
took advantage of his moment of agitation to slip under his arm and hurry back
toward the heart of the party.

          “Psyche, wait!”

          Ignoring her cousin’s plea, Psyche
looked about. There was Sally; she had finally released her friend’s bogus lord
and stood talking to two elderly women. Where was her fiancé now? Psyche needed
to be close by, to offer him guidance if he faltered. She would find him
chatting with another pretty stranger, no doubt, Psyche thought crossly. Really,
the man had no shame.

          However, when she located Gabriel,
she saw that he was standing by a side table, holding a glass of wine and
conversing amiably with Aunt Mavis and Cousin Matilda.

          Cousin Matilda looked flushed with
delight, and even Mavis had unbent under Gabriel’s masculine allure; her usual
scowl was replaced by a slightly bemused expression, as if she wanted to smile
but was afraid of looking foolish.

          “Ah, there you are, my dear. I was
just telling Cousin Matilda and Aunt Mavis how you had so unkindly deserted
me,” Gabriel said as Psyche approached them.

          “I deserted you? You were
practically attached at the hip to our hostess,” Psyche snapped. “I was in the
kitchen fetching a cleaver to separate the two of you.”

          Matilda looked alarmed, and Mavis
gave a twisted smile. “Fighting already, are you?” her aunt demanded. “Should
think the two of you were already married.”

          Psyche blushed. The last thing she
meant to do was to sound jealous. “Of course not,” she said. “I didn’t wish
Gabriel to be monopolized, that is all. Sally is a sweet thing, but a bit of a
fibbergidget.”

          “No, she has not your keen wit, my
dearest,” Gabriel agreed “But of course I did not wish to be backward in
expressing my appreciation to our hostess.” As she had instructed, the wicked
glint in his eyes reminded her.

          “Yes, but you also don’t want to
keep her from her other guests,” Psyche said, her tone still tart.

          “Certainly not,” he agreed, his
expression unrepentant. “And there are so many agreeable ladies and gentlemen
here that I need to meet, and all, apparently, friends of my darling Psyche.”

          He was obviously baiting her
again. The thought of him talking to everyone at the party sent a spasm of
alarm through her that Psyche could barely hide.

          She almost said a word, learned at
the age of thirteen when she lingered in the stable eavesdropping on the
hostlers, that would have made her aunt swoon. With difficulty, Psyche smoothed
her expression and held her tongue. Drat the man for always managing to upset
her so easily, she who prided herself on her decorum and her unceasing sense of
propriety.

          She tried to control her
irritation. She must draw him aside and speak to him about how to mingle with
the other guests, especially how not to chat too long to any one woman. Psyche
had no need for a mini-scandal, nor did she wish her ‘fiancé’ to appear to be a
unprincipled rake. That would only add fuel to Uncle Wilfred’s anger. But she
needed to get him alone; even her cousin and aunt might wonder if she told a
grown man how to behave in public.

          The musicians were tuning their
instruments; the dancing would soon begin. She looked up to see Gabriel
watching her, as if he understood perfectly the turmoil of mixed emotions that
ran through her mind. She pressed her lips together. He would not provoke her,
she would not allow it. Someone had to keep a clear head tonight!

          “We must have the first dance, my
dear–”

          But she had so much to instruct
him. ”Ah, no, why don’t we sit at the side and talk for a moment–”

          ”I thought the first dance would
be expected of us,” he said. “Newly affianced love birds, you know.”