Fallen Angel (9 page)

Looking around, the clerk’s glance fell on Verity, but again he dismissed her. “I am sure the lady is not in any particular hurry, my lord,” he began. “Might I show you some fine beaver pelts we received only last week—”

His voice more chilling than the wind outside, Lord Sherington said, “I have no wish to be waited on out of turn.”

The other clerk and the merchant’s wife gaped in astonishment, then the senior clerk hurried over to Verity, and demanded impatiently to know how he could help her.

“I should like to try on the green cloak in the window,” she said.

“That is one of our most expensive items,” the clerk said, looking down his nose at her.

Knowing Lord Sherington was there to back her up, even though he was pretending an interest in some driving gloves lying on the counter, Verity felt bold enough to say, “If you do not wish to show me the cloak, perhaps you could inform the owner of this shop that I wish to speak to him? I feel sure he will be interested in learning how his customers are being treated.”

With ill grace and making no particular effort to hide his continuing displeasure, the clerk finally did as she had bid him and fetched the cloak out of the window, reluctantly spreading it out on the counter for her inspection.

The woolen outer fabric was so soft, it was even more delightful to touch than to look at, and the pelts lining it were so beautifully matched, they appeared to be seamless. “I shall take it,” Verity said, refusing to think about what a truly shocking thing she was doing.

Paying for it with some of the coins Lord Sherington had given her, she instructed the clerk, who was now showing her all the respect a most valued customer might require, to wrap her old cloak up in a bundle. Then settling her new cloak about her shoulders, she left the shop without a backward glance and strolled unhurriedly down the street until she could not be easily seen by anyone curious enough about her identity to be spying on her from the shop window.

Less than a minute later Lord Sherington emerged empty-handed, climbed into his carriage, and drove the few yards to where she was waiting for him to pick her up.

“Are you warm enough now?” he inquired once she was settled beside him again.

“Quite warm, my lord,” she said, trying to suppress an attack of the giggles. Shopping with Lord Sherington was not at all the tedious chore that running errands for her sister was.

Gabriel looked down into her laughing eyes, and for a brief moment he had an urge to kiss Miss Jolliffe.

Unaware of the direction his thoughts were taking him, she thanked him quite prettily for the present. She did not, however, tell him she loved him, the way his mistresses had always done after he gave them expensive presents. To be sure, a cloak, even if it was lined with fur, was not in the same category as a diamond bracelet.

Unaccountably irritated with her, he brushed off her attempts to thank him all over again. “I have no wish for you to catch a chill that will keep you housebound for weeks,” he said curtly, signaling to his horses to proceed.

She said nothing during the drive back to her sister’s residence, and when they arrived, she seemed almost reluctant to enter the house.

Remembering that he was supposed to be courting her, he solicitously inquired as to what was troubling her.

“Nothing, really. Only that I shall have a great deal of difficulty convincing my sister that I have saved enough from my quarterly allowance to pay for this cloak. She is certain to ask me how I came by it, you know.”

Impatiently he said, “Do not be such a nodcock. Your sister will cause you no difficulties. If you cannot think of a plausible lie, you may count on it that Lady Wasteney can find a way to avoid noticing that you did not return wearing the same cloak you set out in.”

Miss Jolliffe still looked guilty, which made him feel as if he had corrupted an innocent. Which he had done, of course—first by forcing her to accept an expensive present from a man not related to her, and then by encouraging her to lie.

Not having her scruples, however, he did not feel any
great remorse. His aunt had said he should have been named after Lucifer, the fallen angel, and perhaps she was right, because it mattered not to him what stories Miss Jolliffe fabricated for others, so long as she kept her promise not to lie to him.

But now that he thought of such things, he hoped she was smart enough to realize that if she accepted so much as a posy from another man, he would not be responsible for his actions.

“As a general rule,” he informed her, “I prefer to drive out earlier in the day when there are fewer people about. Therefore I shall pick you up at nine tomorrow.”

“Very well,” was all she said, and rather belatedly it occurred to him that he was supposed to be catering to her every whim, rather than expecting her to automatically fall in with his wishes.

“I do beg your pardon,” he said, “I did not think to ask if nine o’clock is too early for you. Would you prefer to drive out at a more customary hour, such as four?”

There was clearly no understanding women, because instead of looking pleased at such a show of consideration, she seemed to withdraw from him, even while she assured him that since she usually rose at seven, it would be no trouble at all for her to be ready by nine.

Entering the house, Verity decided that there was no understanding men. After such a pleasant drive, during which Lord Sherington had been as casual with her as he had been in Northumberland, he had once again, without any warning whatsoever, changed before her very eyes into a virtual stranger.

She could not put into words precisely what he was doing, but she could tell immediately when he began to—to playact, was the only way she could think to explain it. The look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, his whole manner changed. And when that happened, he reminded her quite forcibly of Bevis and Cedric when they were trying to sweet-talk her into loaning them a little money to tide them over until the end of the quarter.

Lost in her thoughts, she slowly climbed the stairs to her room, only to be waylaid in the corridor by her sister, who followed her into her bedroom and demanded to hear every word of the conversation that Verity had had with Lord Sherington.

“Did he speak of this evening? Did he ask you where Antoinette was? Really, I shall have to speak to that girl. She is never here when she is wanted. I am sure he invited you to go for a drive only to show her that she may not count on his attentions.”

Verity had no desire whatsoever to share her memories with her sister, so she concocted an innocuous conversation about the weather and a pair of horses that Lord Sherington was thinking of buying.

“Oh, if only Bevis and Cedric could have been here. They are such good judges of horseflesh.” Suddenly Petronella’s eyes narrowed, and she stared at the cloak Verity had just laid across the bed next to the parcel containing her old cloak. Anyone seeing the two items side by side would be bound to jump to the conclusion that Verity had just purchased a very expensive cloak
...
or that someone had bought it for her as a present. And given the amount of money Verity had spent on Christmas presents, added to the fact that she had left with Lord Sherington and returned with him, there could really be no doubt in her sister’s mind as to how the cloak had come into her possession.

Frowning, Petronella opened her mouth as if to say something, but then she snapped it shut again. Shortly thereafter, she made an excuse to leave the room.

It would
appear that Lord Sherington was correct, Verity thought sadly, picking up the cloak he had given her and hugging it to her for comfort. Her sister was obviously willing to bend any rule, even to allow Verity to step so far out of bounds that they would all be shunned by society forever if the truth were ever known.

And all because her sister wanted to use Lord Sherington to gain entree into a higher level of society than she was accustomed to mingling with.

But who was Verity to cast the first stone? She herself was certainly not without sin. Moreover, it was rapidly being borne in upon her that the first step down the road to depravity was seldom the last.

Having essentially acted out a lie in that little shop in Oxford Street, and then having lied by omission to her sister, it was clear to Verity that her own conscience was becoming daily more flexible and accommodating.

And having admitted to herself that she would accept a dishonorable proposal from Lord Sherington, if offered, how could she draw the line at accepting any further presents from him, no matter how expensive or inappropriate? If the truth were known, she rather suspected she could refuse him nothing he wanted to give her ... or take from her.

Unfortunately, instead of feeling properly repentant, all she could think about was seeing him that evening and once again in the morning at nine. And something about the way he had said that he generally preferred to drive out earlier in the day—did that mean?—could she assume?—that he intended to make a habit of taking her with him?

“But their names are not even on the invitation,” Verity protested. “And—”

“Pish tosh, that is of no importance. Do you really think Lady Finzel will refuse to admit us all when Lord Sherington is one of our party? She would not be so reckless,” Petronella said with a self-satisfied chuckle.

“But—”

“Enough,” Petronella said firmly. “I wish to hear no more of this matter. Antoinette and Bevis and Cedric are accompanying us this evening, and that is that. If you do not wish to go with us, then that is, of course, for you to decide.”

The look in her eye made it obvious what response she desired, but Verity was not about to give up an evening with Lord Sherington, even if all she could do was look at him from a distance.

And given Petronella’s determination, Verity would be lucky to come close enough to Lord Sherington to touch the hem of his coat.

Gabriel deliberately arrived early at the Wasteney residence, expecting to have an opportunity for a private word with Miss Jolliffe before she and her sister were ready to depart.

Instead of a private t
e
te-
a
-tete, however, he again found himself positively surrounded by Wasteneys of one sort or another. There was nothing he could do about Lord and Lady Wasteney, to be sure, but he had no intention of dragging along a schoolgirl who was not yet out and two horse-mad young men whose names were not even on the invitation.

His own consequence was great enough that he could have led a veritable regiment of uninvited guests into Lord Finzel’s house, but that would not help him accomplish his purpose, which was to spend some time with Miss Jolliffe so that he could make her fall in love with him.

He was about to reduce the party by three, when it abruptly occurred to him that as unlovable as they might seem to him, Miss Jolliffe loved this motley assortment of people. Following that thought to its logical conclusion, it was quite possible that the way to her heart was through her family.

As much as it pained him—and he was quite sure they were capable of pushing tediousness to new heights—he would somehow contrive to be nice to each and every one of them. He drew the line, however, at transporting all seven of the party to Lord Finzel’s house in his carriage, even though Bevis and Cedric readily volunteered to sit outside on the coachman’s box.

Splitting up the party, even for the short drive, resulted in a good half hour of discussion as to who would ride in Lord Wasteney’s carriage—Lady Wasteney’s suggestion was that Miss Jolliffe should do so, but Gabriel squashed that idea as soon as it was presented.

When it was finally determined that the ladies should ride with him and the gentlemen in Lord Wasteney’s carriage, there followed, of course, another half hour’s delay while Lord Wasteney’s horses were harnessed and the carriage brought round, because no one had remembered to send word to the stables that transportation would be needed.

Gabriel, however, was up to the occasion. While they were waiting, he allowed Lord Wasteney to instruct him on the intricacies of government finances, which Lord Wasteney did not understand in the slightest. Gabriel also showered compliments on Lady Wasteney and soon had her cooing at him and calling him a dear boy. He even allowed the two young men—and he could never remember which one was Bevis and which one was Cedric—to describe for him their exploits on the hunting field.

The only time he slipped up was when Miss Wasteney was irritating him so much by fluttering her eyelashes at him and rapping him on the arm with her fan that he was unable to resist the temptation of giving her a set-down. “Do you have something in your eye, Miss Wasteney?” he asked.

Far from being discomposed, the chit immediately giggled, rapped him on the arm with her fan, and batted her eyelashes at him. Females were all so totally predictable.

Except, of course, for Miss Jolliffe, who was sitting meekly in the
corner
with her needlework, watching the farce with interest. And with approval? He could not tell from her face, but surely she must admire his fortitude, his valor, his truly incredible patience.

With difficulty he stifled a yawn.