Jane Feather - [V Series] (23 page)

Marcus stroked her back, looking for adequate words, but suddenly she laughed. “It sounds horrendous, and often it was, but it was also exhilarating. We never went to school. We read what we pleased. No one ever told us what to do, what to eat, when to go to bed. We did exactly as we pleased within the constraints of necessity.”

“An education of some richness,” Marcus agreed, pulling her down against his chest again. “Unorthodox, but rich. An education Jean-Jacques Rousseau would have applauded.”

“Yes, I daresay he would. We read
Émile
in Paris a few years ago.” She stared into the fire for a minute. It was hardly an education Marcus would embrace for any child of his. But then, he was determined there would be no children of his … at least not conceived in
this
liaison.

“So,” she said. “Piquet?”

“No,” he said. “I am no longer prepared to play for
your nakedness. I have a much more efficient way in which to achieve it.”

“Ah,” said Judith, lying back. “Well, perhaps speed is becoming of the essence, my lord.”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

L
ady Letitia Moreton fancied herself a semi-invalid and reclined on a chaise longue amid piled cushions, smelling salts and burned feathers at hand. She was a handsome woman, although her features were somewhat blurred by self-indulgence, and her voice was a plaintive thread, occasionally edged with shrillness.

“So, Lady Carrington, your brother has recently come from the Continent?”

“Yes, ma’am, from Brussels,” Judith replied, performing her sisterly duty in Lady Moreton’s drawing room. “After my marriage, he decided to set up in London.”

Lady Moreton toyed with the silk fringe of her shawl, her eyes resting on Sebastian and Harriet. They were sitting on a sofa, Harriet’s soft brown hair contrasting
with Sebastian’s copper head as they looked through a book of illustrations. “I’m unfamiliar with your family, Lady Carrington,” she remarked.

In other words, what is your brother worth? Judith had no difficulty interpreting Lady Moreton’s remark. Any woman with daughters of marriageable age would welcome young gentlemen of title and fortune to her drawing room as fervently as she would dismiss those lacking such assets. In this instance, since Harriet was an only child and a considerable heiress, her mother would also be on the watch for fortune hunters.

“My brother and I lived abroad with our father until his death,” she said smoothly. “We spent much of our time in France.”

“Ah, I see. A family chateau …” Lady Moreton’s voice lifted delicately, investing the statement with questioning inflexion.

Judith smiled and inclined her head as if in agreement, repressing images of the endless series of grubby lodging houses that had comprised the family chateau.

There was more than a hint of calculation in Lady Moreton’s responding smile, and the gaze she bent upon her daughter and Sebastian was tinged with complacence. Any family with which the Marquis of Carrington was willing to be allied had to be good enough for the Moretons.

“I hope you and your brother will honor us at dinner one evening,” she said. “And Lord Carrington, of course, if something as ordinary as a family dinner could appeal to him.”

“We should be delighted,” Judith replied formally.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of another caller. Agnes Barret swept into the drawing room, words of greeting on her lips, her hands extended to the room at large. She bent and kissed Lady Moreton
with the familiarity of an intimate, embraced a blushing Harriet, shook Judith’s hand with a degree of formality, and then turned a friendly smile on Sebastian, who kissed her hand, offering a twinkling compliment on her dress. Her green satin redingote with a tiny tulle ruff was set off by a dark-green silk hat with a bronze feather. The effect was certainly stunning. Judith was honest enough to recognize that if she hadn’t felt perfectly satisfied with her own driving dress of severely cut turquoise broad-cloth, trimmed with silver braiding, she might have experienced more than a hint of envy.

“Gracemere is following me up, Letitia. I knew you’d be pleased to receive him.” Agnes took a low chair beside her friend’s chaise longue. “He’s so fond of Harriet and I couldn’t convince him that she hadn’t caught a chill the other afternoon when we walked in the park. The wind was particularly brisk, and he would have it that she was too lightly dressed for such weather. Of course, I explained that no self-respecting young lady would be seen in anything thicker than a wrap … the foolish vanity of the young!” Her laugh tinkled gently, and she patted Harriet’s hand. “But such a pretty child.”

“I’m sure Lord Gracemere is all condescension, Agnes,” Letitia said, touching a burned feather to her nose.

“Lord Gracemere, my lady.”

The earl stepped into the room before the butler had finished announcing him. “Lady Moreton … and Miss Moreton. I do hope you didn’t contract a chill.” He bowed. “I was sure you would scold me fiercely, my dear ma’am, for exposing your daughter to such a bitter wind.”

“Harriet has taken no hurt, Lord Gracemere,” her ladyship said. “But it’s good of you to inquire.”

“Oh, Gracemere has such a soft spot for Harriet,” Agnes reiterated. She smiled at him and Judith recognized
with a jolt the proprietorial quality to that smile. The earl’s eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, conveying a whole world of private communication. Instantly Judith knew that Agnes Barret and Bernard Melville were lovers. But if that was so, why was Agnes promoting Gracemere’s acquaintance with Harriet?

“Davenport, I see you’ve acquired Grantham’s match-geldings.” Gracemere’s observation turned the conversation and Judith’s contemplations. “Stolen a march on the rest of us, you lucky dog.”

“Oh, they’re my sister’s,” Sebastian said. “Although I had the charge of procuring ’em for her.”

“Good God, Lady Carrington! You drive a high-perch phaeton?” The earl sounded genuinely surprised.

“As of this morning,” Judith said. “The coachmaker delivered the phaeton just yesterday afternoon, so this morning is my first tryout.”

“And how do you find it?”

“Splendid. The bays are beautiful goers.”

“You’ll be the envy of the Four Horse Club, ma’am,” Gracemere said. “I know at least three men who’ve had their eyes on that pair since Grantham sprang ’em on the town.”

“It’s very dashing of you, Lady Carrington,” Agnes said. “Although I confess I’m surprised Carrington countenances such an unusual conveyance. I’ve always thought him rather conventional.”

Judith contented herself with a slight smile. Her conventional husband had not yet seen his wife on the driver’s seat of her unconventional carriage. She wandered over to the window overlooking the street, where one of the Moreton’s grooms was walking the horses to keep them from getting chilled. A small boy was crouching over the kennel, looking for scraps of anything that might be edible or useful. His elbows poked through the
ragged sleeves of his filthy jacket as he sifted through the detritus of a rich man’s street.

“I hope you’ll take me up for a turn in the park,” Gracemere said at her shoulder. “You must be an accomplished whip, ma’am.”

“I was well taught, sir,” she replied, forcing a warm smile as she looked up at him over her shoulder. “I should be delighted to demonstrate my skill.”

“The pleasure will be all mine,” he assured her, bowing with a smile. “I wonder, though, how Carrington would feel about your having such a passenger. He and I are—” he paused, as if searching for the right term. “Estranged, I think one could say.” He regarded Judith with an air of resolute candor. “I don’t know if your husband has mentioned anything.” He waited for her response, his eyes grave, his expression concerned.

Judith was startled at the directness of this approach, but swiftly took the opportunity it offered.

“He’s forbidden me to receive you,” she said with a credible appearance of constraint, giving him a rather tremulous smile. “But since he won’t tell me why, I’m not inclined to obey him.” This last was said with a rush of bravado, and he smiled.

“It’s a case of old wounds,” he said. “Old resentments die hard, Lady Carrington … although, I must say, I would have thought in present circumstances that the past could be buried.”

“You speak in riddles, sir.” She fiddled nervously with the clasp of her reticule, hiding her acute attention to his words.

Gracemere shrugged. “A matter of love and jealousy,” he said. “A matter for romantic literature and gothic melodrama.” He smiled, a sad, wistful smile that Judith, if she hadn’t known his true colors, would have believed in absolutely. “My wife … my late wife … 
was engaged to Carrington before she gave me her heart. Your husband could never forgive me for taking her from him.”

“Martha,”
Judith whispered. What ever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this.

“Just so. He’s spoken of her?” The earl tried to hide his surprise.

Judith nodded. “Once. But your name wasn’t mentioned.”

“Perhaps not unexpected. I fear your husband’s pride was badly lacerated, ma’am. Such a man as Carrington can accept almost anything but a wound to his pride.”

Judith suspected that was the truth, although her spirit revolted against agreeing with Bernard Melville as he patronized her husband.

“You’ve been most enlightening, my lord,” she said softly. “But I see no reason why we shouldn’t still be friends.” She forced herself to touch his hand in a conspiratorial gesture, and he put his hand over hers.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Her skin crawled, but she gave him a radiant smile before turning back to the room. “I must make my farewells, Lady Moreton. I shouldn’t keep my horses waiting above a half hour. Sebastian, do you accompany me?”

Sebastian was deep in conversation with Harriet and Lady Barret and looked up with both reluctance and surprise at this abrupt summons. Then he caught his sister’s eye and rose immediately. “Of course. If you’re going to take those beasts into the park for the first time, fresh as they are, you’d better have me beside you.”

“I doubt they’ll bolt with me,” she said, her voice light. “I believe I have as much skill as you, my dear brother.”

“Oh, surely not.” This disclaimer surprisingly came
from Harriet, who blushed fiercely as she realized what she’d said.

Judith couldn’t help laughing. “Don’t confuse strength with skill, Harriet. My brother has more strength in his hands than I do, certainly, but control doesn’t rest on strength.”

“Indeed not, Lady Carrington,” Agnes said. Then, with a sharp look, she added, “Just as skill with the cards won’t compensate for the devil of bad luck on one’s shoulder. Didn’t you make some such observation the other evening?”

At Pickering Street, Judith remembered. She gave a careless shrug. “It was a common expression when we were growing up. Remember, Sebastian?”

“Of course.” He turned to bid farewell to Harriet and missed the interested glimmer in Lady Barret’s tawny eyes.

Gracemere took Judith’s hand. “Until we meet again.”

“I look forward to it, sir.” Judith’s smile was one of defiant invitation—a child preparing herself for a major act of rebellion—and Gracemere’s lip curled. What a gullible little fool she was. There would soon be a seething brew abubbling in Berkeley Square.

Judith gained the cool, crisp morning air of the street with a sigh of relief.

“What’s up, Ju?” Sebastian asked directly.

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” She felt through her reticule for a coin, drew out a sixpence, and went over to the child in the gutter. He looked up, his eyes scared, as she approached. His nose was running, and judging by his encrusted little face had been doing so for days. He cowered, raising a hand as if to ward off a blow.

“It’s all right,” she said gently. “I’m not going to hurt you. Here.” She handed him the coin. He stared at
it as it lay winking in her palm. Then he grabbed at it with a tiny clawlike hand and was off and running as if pursued by every beadle who’d ever cried “Stop thief!”

“Poor little bugger,” Sebastian said as she came back to the carriage. “I wonder how far he’ll get before somebody bigger and stronger takes it from him.” He handed her up to the driving seat, perched precariously high above the horses.

Judith shrugged sadly. “He’ll probably steal a loaf of bread one day, and they’ll hang him at Newgate. We can defeat Napoleon with great sound and fury at vast expense of money and lives. But we can’t somehow ensure that a tiny child gets enough to eat. Or even change a penal system that hangs the same child for stealing the bread that would keep him from starving. At least Bonaparte brought some species of enlightenment to the penal codes in his empire.”

Sebastian was accustomed to his sister’s occasional tirades against the world’s injustices and offered no challenge. “Now what was going on with you and Gracemere?”

“It’s the devil of a tangle.” She took the reins and told the groom to let go their heads. With a flick of the whip, the bays started off down the street at a brisk trot.

She waited until she had turned through the Stanhope Gate into Hyde Park before telling her brother what she’d learned from Gracemere. Sebastian heard her out in silence, then shook his head in disbelief as he realized the ramifications. “Carrington told you about this broken engagement, then?”