Fallen Angel (13 page)

Verity again felt jealousy twist her insides into a painful knot. She wanted to tell him that she was different from all those other women—that she did truly love him with all her heart—but she could not say the words that she knew he would never believe.

Nor could she remain silent. Smiling to hide the pain, she said, “I suppose now you are waiting for me to confess that I have been lusting after you since I met you.” Lord Sherington obviously was not interested in learning that a plain spinster of advancing years desired him.

“I am not in the mood for jokes,” he snapped out, and jerking his arm free of hers, he turned the horses around and set them going at a rapid pace toward Curzon Street.

Verity silently cursed her wayward tongue, for it was obvious she had disgusted him by her vulgar remark. He did not speak on the way back, and when they finally arrived at her sister’s house, he made no move to help her climb down from the carriage.

Why, oh why, had she let her jealousy get the better of her common sense?

By the time he reached his house in Grosvenor Square, Gabriel was still in a towering rage. Entering his study, he slammed the door behind him, then threw himself down in his chair and stared into the fire.

Miss Jolliffe should be in love with him. After all, he had been courting her night and day for nearly a week, and he knew himself to be not unattractive to women.

Doubtless every chit preparing for the upcoming Season would fancy herself in love with him if he even deigned to dance with her twice—and any number of more seasoned ladies had already made it quite clear that they would be more than happy to agree to any proposal he might make, whether honorable or dishonorable.

So why was Miss Jolliffe so resistant to his charms when no other woman was?

Thinking about it, he was compelled to admit that he was not actually handsome, and his manners were not polished, but he had never deluded himself. He was willing to admit that his attraction for women lay primarily in his title, his fortune, his place in society, and most of all in the power he could wield when it suited him.

To be sure, there were dozens—perhaps even hundreds—of women who would be quick to overlook the flaws in his character and to swear eternal love and devotion, but only so that they could control him.

What he had been forgetting when he considered his problem with Miss Jolliffe was that professing love for someone was not at all the same as truly loving that person. Giving most women a diamond bracelet or even a flowery compliment could produce an avowal of love, but such women were not capable of real love.

It was therefore not to be wondered at that it was taking him longer to win Miss Jolliffe’s love than he had anticipated. On the other hand, although he was still waiting to hear those all-important words, she definitely did not seem to hold him in aversion, and she made no effort to avoid his company. Moreover, even when he had told her the shameful secret of his birth, she had not recoiled from him in disgust, as other so-called ladies would undoubtedly have done.

In fact, when he remembered the things she had on occasion discussed with him, he was inclined to think she trusted him. She had, after all, told him about her grandmother, and he did not think she was in the habit of exposing her inner feelings to other people any more than he was.

All in all, considering how much progress he had already made in such a short time, he could not doubt that in another week or two he would achieve his goal. Therefore it behooved him to begin putting his affairs in order for his forthcoming nuptials.

Rising from his chair, he went to his desk and wrote a brief note to Mr. Parkins, his man of affairs, instructing him to pay off the mortgages on Sherington Close.

And tomorrow he would also arrange to purchase a special license, so that he would not encounter any delays once Miss Jolliffe fell in love with him.

Gabriel had become such a familiar figure at the Wasteneys’ residence that Otterwall, the butler, had quite lost his nervousness. He was, however, still properly deferential, and he announced Gabriel with all due formality. Gabriel could only wish his host and hostess would likewise refrain from displaying undue familiarity.

“Ah, my dear Sherington, welcome, welcome,” Lord Wasteney said, crossing the room to shake his hand. Then with an arm draped around Gabriel’s shoulders, the baron led Gabriel back to the baroness, who coyly indicated he should sit beside her.

Pretending not to notice, Gabriel deliberately sat down in a small chair opposite her. The tea tray had already been brought in, so he hoped that Miss Jolliffe would soon put in an appearance—and that the daughter of the house would remain in the schoolroom for a change.

“We were just discussing the dinner party tonight at Porterlane House,” Lord Wasteney said, puffing out his chest. “All the most important Whigs will be there, and we are invited every year. It has become quite a tradition in the party, you know.”

“Do you plan to attend, my lord?” Lady Wasteney looked at Gabriel with such arch coyness, he had trouble resisting the impulse to walk out the door without a backward glance.

“I had not quite made up my mind,” he said, and was rewarded for his perseverance when Miss Jolliffe appeared, followed, to his regret, by Miss Wasteney. Upon catching sight of him, the annoying chit immediately stopped walking in a normal manner and began to mince into the room as if her legs were tied together at the knees.

With a smile for Miss Jolliffe, Gabriel turned back to Lord Wasteney. “These political functions are so awkward, you see, when one knows virtually nobody.”

Lord Wasteney immediate seized the bait. “I should be more than happy to introduce you around, my dear fellow. I do not flatter myself when I say I know everyone who is anyone in both parties. Not that you will see a single Tory face this evening. No, no, you may be sure there will be no cockeyed reformists in attendance at Porterlane House spouting their radical nonsense to ruin your enjoyment.”

Lord Wasteney prosed on and on about who would doubtless be there, giving thumbnail sketches of each personality, but Gabriel paid only superficial attention.

Miss Jolliffe, he decided, was looking remarkably fine this afternoon, and he deliberately stared at her until the color rose in her cheeks. Then he winked at her and was rewarded with the merest smile. Yes, indeed, he was making quite satisfactory progress. Another week should surely do the trick.

“So shall we count on you this evening, Sherington?”
Lord Wasteney said, and everyone looked at Gabriel in hushed expectancy.

Why not? he thought. An evening among politicians might well serve as an object lesson for Miss Jolliffe, who still did not understand all the intricacies of power.

“Do you know, Wasteney, you have thoroughly allayed my anxieties on the matter,” Gabriel said, rising to his feet. “My mind is quite made up to attend this evening.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Lord Wasteney said, likewise rising to his feet.

“Then I shall pick the three of you up this evening at half past seven,” Gabriel said, before he took his leave, well-satisfied with himself.

Miss Jolliffe had proved to be a remarkably intelligent woman. Tonight would be a test of just how fast a learner she was, and he would derive considerable enjoyment from watching to see how she comported herself.

How had it happened? Verity wondered after Lord Sherington departed. It seemed as if she could do nothing but offend him time and again, and yet he always returned, his anger gone as if it had never existed. Would she ever understand him?

“The three of us? Merciful heavens, what are we to do?” Ralph tottered back to his seat and collapsed beside his wife.

“Do?” she asked.

“He obviously expects your sister to accompany us this evening,” he explained, “and her name was not on the invitation.”

“Well, that is no matter,” Petronella said, and Verity wanted to cry out that it was indeed a matter of life and death.

“Have you lost your wits, woman?” he said, leaping to his feet and looking quite apoplectic. “Do you wish to risk offending Lord Sherington now that I have finally succeeded where others have failed?”

“Sit down, my dear, and do compose yourself. I am sure Lord Porterlane is equally anxious for Lord Sherington to attend. We shall simply send a little note
around explaining the situation, and I am sure he will correct what was undoubtedly a simple oversight.”

Since Lord Porterlane had never given any indication that he was even aware of Verity’s existence, she was certain that he had never had any intention of inviting her to his dinner party.

On the other hand, she was equally sure that once Lord Porterlane understood that he had a chance to persuade Lord Sherington to take his seat in the House of Lords, Lord Porterlane would find a place for her at his table.

Rising to her feet, she excused herself and went up to her room, where she could dream about Lord Sherington without distracting interruptions.

After the carriage deposited them at Porterlane House, Lord Sherington held Verity back slightly, allowing her sister and brother-in-law to get a little ahead of them.

“This evening I want you to pay particular attention and see if you are able to differentiate between those who wield real power and those who only suffer from the illusion that they do,” he said in a low voice. Then without waiting for her reply, he tucked her hand firmly in the crook of his arm and together they walked up the steps and were admitted.

As soon as the butler announced them—“Lord Sherington and Miss Jolliffe”—a dead hush fell over the room where the other guests were assembled, and a veritable sea of amazed eyes were turned in their direction.

To be sure, the greatest part of their astonishment undoubtedly came from seeing Lord Sherington at a political function of any kind. But it was equally obvious that some of the curious stares were directed at her, and when a low murmur arose from the crowd, Verity knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that many of them were asking who Miss Jolliffe was and why lord Sherington was escorting a little nobody like her.

Mindful of Lord Sherington’s instructions, she paid close attention and therefore noticed when a few of the curious looks changed to calculating ones. Although she was sure she would never be able to remember who was who, much less give Lord Sherington an account of who held power and who did not, she did her best to note those faces in particular.

Quite early in the evening she realized that this dinner party was not precisely what it purported to be. Her brother-in-law had bragged so much about his position in the party that she had never thought to question his own assessment of his importance.

But it soon became clear to her that he had not been invited so that the party leaders could consult with him on matters of policy; he and the majority of the others were merely being paid back for their loyal support.

In an odd twist on what she was used to seeing in more social settings, the important people were the ones moving methodically through the crowd flattering first one peer and then the other, rather than the reverse.

She rather suspected that the more a person was fawned over—and Ralph received an inordinate share of the compliments being tossed about, which made him quite puffed up with his own consequence—the less actual importance that person had.

It was so easy to see, she was surprised that so many people appeared to be taken in by it. Were they so blind that they could not recognize when they were being used? Or were they simply so desperate to achieve the illusion of power that they deliberately pretended not to see what was so obvious?

She glanced across the room and found Lord Sherington watching her, and she recognized in herself the same folly she was scoffing at in these others.

Unlike a man, a woman derived whatever power she had from her beauty, her family, her fortune, or in rare cases her wit. Unfortunately, as much as Verity might prefer it to be otherwise, she was plain, her family was not particularly notable, her fortu
n
e was insignificant, and she was quite unable to drop bons mots into the conversation the way Lady Porterlane was doing. In short, Verity had to admit she had absolutely no power in society.

Which made it all the more strange that Lord
Sherington was deliberately seeking out her company since he was—by his own admission—driven by a desire for power. She could not delude herself that he was an altruistic man, which meant her intuition was right: he wanted something from her.

She knew she would have to make a greater effort to discover what his ulterior motive was, even though it was plain that she would doubtless be much happier—at least for the time being—if she continued to shut her eyes to reality, the way Ralph and the other aspiring politicians around her were doing.

The next morning Verity paced the hall, impatient for Lord Sherington to arrive. Although he had mentioned nothing about driving out, she had no worry that he would fail to show up. Whatever game he was playing with her, it was not yet over. And when the end came, she now had enough confidence in herself to be sure she would recognize it.

The clock in the hallway chimed nine, and she opened the front door and peered out. Lord Sherington’s carriage was just turning the
corner
onto Curzon Street, and dark morning seemed instantly to brighten.

Pulling the door shut behind her, she hurried down the steps to the street, and as soon as he reined his horses to a stop, she was ready to climb into the carriage and take her seat beside him.

He said nothing during the drive to Hyde Park, and once they were through the gates, he took the road that lay on the north side of the Serpentine. Slowing the horses to a walk, he began to quiz her about the previous evening.

Without hesitation she described what she had observed. “I am afraid I cannot tell you the names of all the people there who share the illusion that they have power,” she began, “but I can tell you who has the actual power.”

She listed several men and one woman, then went on to analyze which ones held more power and which ones less.