Double Deception (8 page)

The young girl was a vision in palest pink muslin, gathered beneath the bosom in tiny pleats and festooned with dozens of silk rosebuds in a deeper shade of pink around the neckline, on the cuffs of the tiny puffed sleeves, and on the deep flounce around the hem. Her gloves, in the same shade of pink as the rosebuds, revealed an expanse of unblemished, softly rounded arms that might well be likened to a statue of Aphrodite, while the pink straw bonnet, adorned with a single pink rose amidst a nest of lace, framed a face so perfect that Athena simply could not drag her eyes away.

"Come and make your curtsy to Lady Sarah Steele, my love," Mrs. Rathbone urged, and the vision floated—or so it appeared to Athena's stunned senses—across the Saloon and sank into as graceful a curtsy as Athena had ever witnessed.

"Dearest Sarah," Mrs. Rathbone gushed in richly toned accents, "this is my darling granddaughter, Viviana, who has been dying to make your acquaintance, dear. She has heard me speak of you many times, of course, and is quite in alt at your invitation to accompany me to St. Aubyn Castle, are you not, love?" 

"Yes, Grandmama," the vision responded in a tinkling, chime-like voice that made Athena think of Christmas sleigh bells on clear winter evenings.

"Well," Mrs. Rathbone said with evident pleasure. "A beautiful creature, my granddaughter, would you not agree, Sarah? Quite lovely enough to turn any man's head, I warrant you."

This seemed an odd thing to say, but Athena had little time to ponder on it, for at that moment Lady Sarah appeared to remember her presence and changed the subject abruptly.

"Gussie, meet Mrs. Athena Standish, who is staying at the Castle for a few weeks."

Mrs. Rathbone turned her gaze upon Athena, who experienced the uncomfortable sensation of being dissected piece by piece by that lady's shrewd gray eyes.

"Athena? Your parents must surely have been addicted to the classics, my dear," Mrs. Rathbone remarked in her splendid voice. "I never could abide them myself, of course. Perhaps that would explain my aversion for such pretentious monikers as Achilles, Hector, Ajax, Cassandra; even Helen smacks of false grandeur. Although one could hardly accuse you of that, Mrs. Standish," she added with a brilliant smile that did nothing to diminish the implied snub.

Quite unprepared for such rudeness, Athena held her tongue and turned to the young lady in pink.

"Viviana, my love," Mrs. Rathbone continued, gesturing towards the younger woman with a glittering smile. "My dearest, dearest granddaughter," she repeated, as though savoring the sound of the words on her silver tongue. "I trust you will be patient with her, Mrs. Standish. Young girls can be so astonishingly shy in company. Perhaps with you as her friend, my darling will acquire more confidence in herself."

Startled at the notion of playing mentor to such a divine-looking creature, Athena smiled faintly. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Rathbone," she said, watching enviously the perfect curtsy the lady in pink executed for her benefit. "Would you care to sit here beside me and let me serve you a cup of tea?"

"Yes, darling!" Mrs. Rathbone exclaimed before the Beauty had a chance to respond. "What a delightful suggestion! Do accept Mrs. Standish's kind invitation, my dear. You cannot go wrong if you take her lead in such things."

At her grandmother's words, a slight frown seemed to mar the perfection of Miss Rathbone's porcelain countenance, and Athena imagined she detected a faint pout on the rosebud lips. But it was the Beauty's large pansy-blue eyes that confirmed her fleeting impression that the lady in pink was not entirely at ease in the sumptuous drawing room. As she rose from the curtsy, Miss Rathbone's gaze flicked over Athena, surprising her with the animosity reflected there.

Was it dislike? Athena asked herself, calming her sudden agitation with the familiar motions of pouring tea and passing the cup to the Beauty, now seated demurely at her side on the Chinese settee. No, that was patently impossible; they had only just met. Or was it annoyance at being thrust into the company of a strange female so soon after her arrival? Or perhaps contempt, Athena reasoned, suddenly conscious that her simple green afternoon gown paled in comparison to the Beauty's profusion of pink rosebuds.

Or perhaps she had imagined that sullen glare in those intense blue eyes? Yes, she told herself firmly. She was being uncommonly sensitive over a casual glance that probably meant nothing at all. She turned to Miss Rathbone, with a friendly smile.

"I trust you will enjoy your stay in the country," she remarked, determined to draw the girl out.

"I hate the rain," came the faintly petulant response. 

"Oh, this drizzle is only temporary, they say," Athena countered. "We have had simply glorious weather for the past week, and Lady Sarah has organized an outing to the ruins of a Norman abbey for tomorrow afternoon. I am quite looking forward to it myself."

"Will the earl be one of the party?"

Athena looked at the Beauty sharply, but the luminous eyes were downcast and the face expressionless. "Oh, yes. Lord St. Aubyn was the one who suggested exploring the ruins, which are reported in the Guide Books as picturesque as well as of historical value." 

"And his son?"

Athena paused, her cup suspended midway between the saucer and her lips. It was not the question so much as the inflection of the Beauty's voice that triggered a warning note in her head. Of course Peregrine would be there, she thought. He had promised to guide her through the dark and—according to his highly dramatic version of the Abbey's history—dangerous passageways to the dungeons beneath the stone floors of the chapel. She had been looking forward to spending a delightful afternoon in his company.

"Yes, naturally Viscount Fairmont will accompany us," she answered shortly. "And I advise you to wear sensible shoes, Miss Rathbone," she added on impulse. "The ground may be rough."

"I hate sensible shoes," came the pettish reply. "And I do not intend to do any walking. I shall sit in the shade and drink lemonade." She paused for a moment, as though considering the prospect.

"You may be bored," Athena suggested. 

"If the viscount is with us, I shall not be bored," the Beauty remarked confidently. A faint smile—oddly sensuous for one so young—curved her shapely lips, and Athena felt a rising sense of unease.

"I hear he is dashingly handsome," Miss Rathbone remarked in her bell-like voice. "Would you not agree, Mrs. Standish? You must know him well."

The deep blue eyes regarded her coyly from beneath indecently long lashes.

Yes, Athena thought crossly, how could she not agree that Peregrine—her own darling Perry—was blindingly handsome in the first flush of his youthful innocence? But before she could find a suitable set-down for this impertinent miss, the Saloon doors swung open and the object of her thoughts appeared in the doorway, a wide grin on his flushed face.

Perry's gaze sought her out, but a movement from beside her drew his gaze to the Beauty. With no little amazement, Athena saw that an elegant pink fan had appeared mysteriously in Miss Rathbone's white hand and was being used with consummate grace to draw the gentleman's eyes to her lovely face.

The wanton minx was actually flirting with her betrothed! Athena could only watch in horror as Perry's grin slipped into a fatuous grimace, and his eyes glazed over as he continued to stare at Miss Rathbone, an idiotic expression on his handsome face.

A movement behind Peregrine distracted her, and Athena found herself gazing into the blue-black eyes of Lord St. Aubyn. When he raised one rakish eyebrow and treated her to a lazy smile, Athena knew the earl had seen her distress, perhaps even read her horrified thoughts, which she had been too startled to hide. He appeared to be vastly amused.

Athena felt suddenly ill as the implications of that smile dawned on her.

***

Peregrine's entrance into the Blue Dragon Saloon had been boisterous enough to incur Lady Sarah's censure, but the earl did not hear her familiar reproof as he strolled in behind his son. He paused to glance over Perry's shoulder and the reason for the sudden silence became abundantly clear. His son's gaze was riveted upon the two ladies seated on the Chinese settee facing the door. A cursory glance at the ladies, however, convinced Sylvester that he had mistaken the matter. Peregrine was gaping like a veritable rudesby at only one of the ladies.

Ignoring the vision in pink and cream that had reduced his son and heir to unnatural silence, Sylvester's gaze sought the other occupant of the settee. He had been prepared to gloat over Athena Standish's defeat. The notion of seeing her ousted from Peregrine's affections by a younger, more beautiful female had appealed to his sense of justice. But as Sylvester stared into the anguished amber eyes of the widow, he experienced a moment of doubt.

He raised a quizzical eyebrow and favored Athena Standish with a faintly ironic smile.

Was it possible that Athena Standish truly harbored tender feelings for his son? he wondered. The notion had never occurred to him before, and for some odd reason, Sylvester found it disagreeable. He had assumed the widow as after Perry's fortune, an entirely natural conclusion given the circumstances. But she had refused to be bribed. He had been convinced that she would jump at three thousand pounds; another false conclusion, as it happened. Should he have offered five thousand? Perhaps an additional two thousand might have tempted her, he thought, and she might have been gone by now. He might have been spared this disturbing glimpse into a woman's soul.

Impatiently, the earl dragged his eyes away from that agonizing amber gaze. He was being fanciful, he told himself. The widow had made her choice, and he had made his. The die was cast, so to speak. There was no turning back; and had there been a way to halt the farce that was unfolding before his eyes, Sylvester would not have changed his mind. Peregrine had made a foolish mistake, and it was up to him to protect his son from his own folly.

Running an experienced eye over the vision in pink seated beside the widow, the earl grimaced to himself. His aunt's school friend had outdone herself. The young female sitting so primly beside the widow had already earned part of the money he was paying her. She had drawn Perry's attention away from Athena Standish, not only with her pale, stunning beauty, but with the inviting movements of her pink fan, the coy fluttering of her lashes, and the unmistakable admiration in her limpid blue eyes. She was the incarnation of delightful femininity that would have caught his own eye had he been twenty years younger, Sylvester admitted. As it was, his tastes ran to females with less blatant charms.

His gaze shifted to the widow, whose auburn head was bent over her tea-cup. Her face was expressionless, and were it not for her unnatural pallor, Sylvester might have thought he had imagined the pain he had so recently witnessed in her eyes.

"Come in, come in," Lady Sarah called impatiently, breaking into the silent tableau. "My dear friend Mrs. Rathbone and her granddaughter are with us at last, Sylvester. Come over and make their acquaintance," she commanded. "Mrs. Standish, be so good as to serve the gentlemen their tea," she added, after the introductions had been made. "And Peregrine, make yourself useful and ring for Jackson. We shall need another plate of tarts now that you have arrived, dear."

Peregrine complied with alacrity and then managed to find a seat close to the Beauty, Sylvester noticed, grimacing at his son's lack of finesse. As Mrs. Rathbone claimed his attention with the latest
on-dits
from London, the earl observed, with grudging admiration, her granddaughter's skill at capturing and holding the unsuspecting Peregrine's interest.

"I am told that you have a delightful surprise in store for us tomorrow, my lord," she trilled, directing a blinding smile at Peregrine.

"S-surprise?" Perry stammered, obviously reeling under the force of Miss Rathbone's charm.

"The visit to the Abbey," Mrs. Standish reminded him gently.

"Ah, of c-course," Perry stammered. "We are g-getting up a party to explore the ruins of the Abbey. I hope you will join us, Miss Rathbone," he added, with such obvious eagerness in his voice that the earl glanced uneasily at Mrs. Standish.

The widow was munching disinterestedly on a watercress sandwich, her eyes fixed on the plate in her lap. Her color had returned, and there was a polite smile on her lips. Sylvester could not but admire her courage. She made no attempt to compete with the Beauty, which would probably have been a fruitless endeavor, the earl admitted, watching the besotted expression on his son's face as Miss Rathbone leaned forward to rap him gently with her fan and tinkle at him in her bell-like voice. Peregrine had the grace to blush, the earl noted, amused to see the guilty glance his son threw in the direction of his widow, whose attention seemed to be wholly engrossed in her sandwich.

"I would not miss it for the world," Miss Rathbone breathed with a pretty display of fluttering eyelashes. "What a delightful notion, my lord. How clever of you to think of it."

Peregrine blushed a deeper shade of pink, and to the earl's chagrin, he saw a fatuous smirk spread over his son's face at the compliment. An undeserved compliment, the earl thought wryly, since only the new guests were unaware that it had been his own suggestion to organize the drive to the ruins. Sylvester dared not look at the widow, but for the second time since the arrival of the Rathbones, he felt a twinge of pity for her.

Shortly before the party broke up, Mrs. Standish excused herself to go up to the nursery. Sylvester did not miss the satisfied smile on the Beauty's perfect face as the door closed behind her rival, nor the way she took advantage of the widow's absence to whisper something into Perry's ear that made him blush again. No doubt she considered herself the winner of the first round, he thought. And perhaps she was right, if the widow's retreat might be considered a defeat. But Sylvester doubted that the stalwart Mrs. Standish would cave in so easily. In truth, he found himself hoping she would put the petulant Beauty's nose out of joint.