Gayle Buck (12 page)

Michele was surprised, but she willingly acceded to her aunt’s request. She wondered what Lady Basinberry could possibly wish to discuss with her in such an odd fashion. As they walked together up the stairs, she waited for Lady Basinberry to open the subject that she had on her mind, but her ladyship said never a word. Instead she leaned on Michele’s arm more significantly with each step.

Michele glanced at the elder woman’s proud profile, vaguely perturbed by her ladyship’s unusual dependence. Lady Basinberry stared straight ahead, her thin lips held firmly, and there was a remoteness in her expression that did not encourage conversation, so Michele held her tongue.

When she and Lady Basinberry parted at the head of the stairs, Michele turned aside toward her own bedroom. She discovered Lydia close behind her and paused. “I suspect that our aunt does not feel her usual self,” she commented softly.

Lydia nodded in agreement. “I was astonished when she requested your support. Why, Aunt Beatrice is never ill and she positively abhors coddling, as she calls it. I wonder what is the matter with her.”

“Her ladyship is growing older. Perhaps she simply finds that her energy is not what it once was,” Michele suggested.

Lydia giggled. “I shouldn’t wonder at it! Only think of the pace she has kept us at these past weeks. I began to doubt that I would be able to keep up with her.”

Michele smiled, opening the door to her bedroom. “We may try to do so, cousin. But I suspect in the end that it will be you and I who are quite exhausted, while Aunt Beatrice remains standing and inquires what ails us.” Lydia laughed and agreed, then went on to her own door as Michele entered her bedroom.

Chapter Eleven

Lady Basinberry was true to her word. The following day she and her nieces called upon everyone that had recently left a card at the town house. When at last she was satisfied that their social duty was done, she requested the coachman to return home, just in time for a late tea. Afterward she left the younger ladies to their own devices and sought her own rooms, brushing aside their concern for her obvious tiredness with the comment that she was in need of a bit of quiet reflection after such a grueling day.

Michele rather agreed with Lady Basinberry’s sentiment and asked if Lydia would be insulted if she attended quietly to some of her personal correspondence rather than just join her in the drawing room. “I find that I am not in a conversational mood after this morning,” she said apologetically.

“Of course not, Michele. Truth to tell, I am half-dead on my feet. I believe that I shall go upstairs to lie down for a few minutes,” said Lydia, disguising a yawn behind her hand. She left Michele alone in the library.

Michele wrote letters to her parents and to a couple of friends in Brussels. When she finished, she glanced up at the clock on the mantel above the library’s fireplace. She was astonished to see that it was still an hour or more before dinner, when she felt so tired. She decided to follow Lydia’s lead and lie down before changing for dinner. She was glad that Lady Basinberry had committed them to only one function that evening. She did not think, otherwise, that she would be able to stay awake.

At dinner, Mr. Davenport commented that he had come home from the club to be greeted with the intelligence that all the ladies were resting. “I was surprised. I had thought that you would still be out shopping or whatnot,” he explained before he savored a forkful of roast beef.

“Aunt Beatrice was a veritable taskmaster today. We must have called upon upwards of twenty personages, Papa. Michele and I were positively drooping. I thought we should never return home,” Lydia said.

“Since Aunt Beatrice has not joined us for dinner, I suspect that she is regretting her determination to pay her respects to every one of her wide acquaintance. I hope that she has not overextended herself today,” Michele said, concerned.

Mr. Davenport waved his hand. “You must not become anxious over your aunt, Michele. I have never been acquainted with a more tireless personality than my sister.’’

While Mr. Davenport was voicing his reassurance, Lady Basinberry was deciding that she was unable to accompany Lydia and Michele to the function for that evening. The concentrated activity earlier that day had taken its toll on the elderly lady and she reluctantly took to her bed after eating sparingly of the dinner tray that she had brought up to her rooms. Afterward she sent for her brother to wait on her.

He expressed shock at her tired appearance. “My word, Beatrice! What have you done to yourself? You look one foot short of the gravesheet.”

“Thank you, Edwin. It is just what one wishes to hear when one feels as pulled as I do.” Lady Basinberry glared balefully at him.

“My apologies, Beatrice. That was a most insensitive remark on my part,” Mr. Davenport said hastily. “I am merely concerned for you.”

Lady Basinberry was only partially mollified. She made an impatient gesture. “Never mind. What I have asked you to come up for is to inform you that I do not wish my nieces to miss the engagement for tonight. This ball will be one of the most celebrated of the Season. Edwin, you must escort Lydia and Michele.”

Mr. Davenport stared at his sister in bulge-eyed horror. “Surely you are joking! Beatrice, you know fall well that I avoid formal squeezes like the very plague.”

Lady Basinberry stared down her nose and said frostily, “My dear brother, it was you who wished a proper Season for Lydia and Michele. If you do not take a hand in this one instance, I cannot assure you that I shall have the inclination to see you through the remainder of the Season.”

Knowing Lady Basinberry’s nature as well as he did, Mr. Davenport had no doubt that she would carry out her threat. He sighed. “Very well. You may rest easy, Beatrice. I shall do my duty.” The injustice of it was more than he could stand, however, and he said in an injured tone, “But it goes against the grain, so it does. I have had to give up my easy chair and my comfortable habits. I have had to seek refuge at the club, where one can blow a cloud in peace. All this I have accepted as a necessary evil. It passes all bounds, though, when I must rig myself out in evening dress and bear-lead a couple of misses.”

Lady Basinberry was unmoved. She waved dismissal. “Go away, Edwin. You have little enough time to dress as it is.” Mr. Davenport went, still fulminating, and placed himself into the hands of his valet.

An hour later he made his way downstairs to the drawing room, where Michele and Lydia had already been waiting for several minutes. They were astonished to see him in evening wear. “Papa, how magnificent you look.” Lydia stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Mr. Davenport’s annoyed expression lightened. “You are a good girl, Lydia,” he said fondly.

“Is Lady Basinberry not accompanying us?” Michele asked.

The frown once more descended on Mr. Davenport’s round countenance. “No, she shall not. Her ladyship is feeling under the weather this evening, so I am accompanying you and Lydia tonight,” he said. He stood aside for them at the door. “The carriage awaits us at the curb. I do not want to keep the horses standing about, so be quick about it.”

Michele and Lydia exchanged swift glances. It was obvious that Mr. Davenport was not at all pleased with the evening’s arrangements. As one, the cousins set out to cajole him out of his sulks, with the result that by the time their carriage stopped at their destination, he was in a much more amiable frame of mind. He offered an arm to each young lady with the remark that he could not recall when he had been in such lovely company, and escorted them into the ballroom.

The ball was what was known as a squeeze, and therefore an assured success. Lydia and Michele quickly had their dance cards filled and began on a round of partners, while Mr. Davenport took refuge in a card room that had been set up for those who did not care for the dancing.

Michele was surprised and somewhat apprehensive when Lord Randol signed his name to her card. When it came time for their dance together, she was relieved that it was not to be a waltz, but instead a country dance. She took her courage in her hands and plunged for an explanation from him. “My lord, you have made it quite clear that you dislike me immensely. Why have you solicited my hand for this dance?”

Lord Randol looked down at her. The expression in his eyes was unreadable. “I am not certain, mademoiselle. Let me say only that I am intrigued by you.”

Michele raised her brows. She said coolly, “I find that difficult to credit, my lord. If true, you would have communicated with me months ago.”

His fingers crushed hers and she winced at the sharp pain. “You play a dangerous game, mademoiselle,” he said softly. There were twin points of angry light in his hard eyes.

“On the contrary, I tire of this game that you set in motion when first I chanced to meet you at my uncle’s home. With all due respect, my lord, you have behaved like an abominable child,” Michele said.

“I think it time that we spoke privately, mademoiselle!” Lord Randol abruptly led her out of the dance, engendering surprised looks from those about them on the dance floor. His hand was viselike on her elbow as he strode along, and Michele half-stumbled in her effort to keep up with him.

Lord Randol swept aside the curtain from a window embrasure and ushered Michele in. She turned to face him, her breath coming quickly from between parted lips, as he stepped inside and dragged the curtain closed. The light from the ballroom was abruptly cut off and only the bright moon gave them illumination. He advanced slowly on her. There was a dangerous glitter in his eyes. “Now, mademoiselle. We shall have it all out in the open at last.”

“I am happy to hear it,” Michele said, holding her head high. Her pulses were leaping with the air of menace given off by her companion. She wondered fleetingly if she had been wise to antagonize him. But it was too late to undo. She gasped as his hands closed on her bare shoulders, and she involuntarily shrank from his devilish expression.

Lord Randol gave a bark of sharp laughter. “Do you fear me at last, mademoiselle?”

“Fear you?” Michele whispered. “I have never feared you, Anthony.”

The use of his Christian name set flame to Lord Randol’s barely checked emotions. “You are a jade,” he breathed. He snatched her up in his arms. His lips came down to punish hers.

The sheer brutal force of the kiss was shocking. Her head was so bent that Michele began to fear that her neck would break from the force of it. Lord Randol’s arms were constricting bands about her rib cage, through which she could barely breathe. After her first instinctive move to free herself, Michele endured the onslaught.

It ended as swiftly as it had begun. Lord Randol freed her so abruptly that she staggered and would have fallen except that her hand chanced to graze the balustrade. Michele caught her balance. She stared up at Lord Randol from wide eyes that appeared black in the moonlight. She gently touched the tips of her fingers to her throbbing lips. She was dazed by what he had done.

“Michele ...” He made a move toward her.

She recoiled from his hand. “
Non
!” There was complete revulsion in the single syllable.

Lord Randol rocked as though he had been struck. Something akin to pain flickered across his face. Without a word he turned on his heel and dragged aside the curtain. His form was silhouetted briefly against the candlelight before he walked swiftly away. He was lost almost instantly to her sight in the milling crowd.

Michele leaned despondently against the balustrade. Silent tears coursed her cheeks.

A tall figure appeared beside the curtain. “Michele? Are you quite all right?”

She turned her back on the doorway, wiping surreptitiously at her face. “Of course, Sir Lionel. I . . . I am but admiring the moonlight,” she said huskily.

He came forward to stand close behind her shoulder. “You need not pretend with me, my dear. I saw you and his lordship disappear behind the curtain. I witnessed the black scowl on his face when he came out so precipitately. Michele, I was concerned for you.”

“Oh, Lionel!” Michele turned swiftly to bury her face against his shoulder. She felt his arms come up around her and she was grateful for the security thus offered to her. Foremost in her mind was the hateful manner in which Lord Randol had kissed her. With a catch in her voice she said, “He is not the same man that he was.”

“I know it,” Sir Lionel said. Above her head he smiled in a tender fashion. Softly he said, “Never mind. I am here for you, Michele. I shall always be near whenever you should need me.” He allowed her to cry without further words from him.

After a moment, Michele straightened. She stepped back, brushing the back of her hand across her eyes. Sir Lionel let her go at once. He pulled out his handkerchief and without a word he offered it to her. Michele took the handkerchief to finish drying her eyes. When she was done, her expression was again one of assured composure. Sir Lionel nodded in satisfaction. “Good. I put myself entirely at your disposal, Mademoiselle du Bois.” With a flourishing bow he offered his arm to her.

Michele managed to laugh through her embarrassment, and she accepted his escort with a gracious nod. As she placed her hand on his arm, she said softly, “I am grateful, Lionel. I feel compelled to apologize to you for—”

“Not another word, if you please.” Before they had quite left the shadows of the window embrasure, he stopped her. Still regarding her face, he brought up his free hand to warmly cover her fingers. “Pray consider the past few moments as never happening. We shan’t speak of this instance again.”

“Thank you, sir,” Michele said gratefully.

He smiled then and led her out onto the dance floor. For Michele, the ball ended without further incident and she was grateful for it.

In the days following, she saw nothing of Lord Randol. He called but once at the town house, and she made certain that she was out of the drawing room before he entered it. Afterward Lydia expressed indignation that her cousin had deserted her, but Michele begged the excuse of the headache. Indeed, she had spent the remainder of the afternoon in her room, but more from fear of inadvertently coming face-to-face with Lord Randol as he took his leave than from any physical malady.