Knaves' Wager (18 page)

Cecily had elected to go with Anne Cleveson and her mama to a small card party. Cecily, her aunt reflected as yet another person trod upon her toes, had better sense than to go to a gathering the sole purpose of which was to make everybody hot, tired, bruised, and — since refreshments were rarely provided — hungry and thirsty as well.

Lilith stood next her betrothed. He was reviewing with Lord Gaines the Grand Duchess's latest machinations on behalf of Princess Caroline. The two men had been talking nearly half an hour, and Thomas was just getting his steam up.

Lilith was very weary with standing in one place listening to the same opinions she'd heard two dozen times before. The air was stale and heavy with clashing perfumes. She would have liked to step away, to try to find a cooler, less crowded spot, if such was to be found. Around her on all sides was an impenetrable mass of bodies — some, she noted, in grievous want of soap and water.

She interrupted Thomas to remind him they hadn't yet greeted their hostess.

"Yes, my dear," he said. "Certainly. In a moment." Then he turned back to Lord Gaines.

Lilith gazed about her in despair. She was looking longingly down at the staircase they'd scaled with such difficulty when her gaze fell upon a head of crisply curling hair, black as midnight. Lord Brandon looked up at that moment. The boredom left his green eyes, and he smiled.

It had taken Lilith and Thomas twenty minutes to move from the first landing to the first floor. Lord Brandon covered the distance in one tenth the time. In another minute, he was at her side.

"Mrs. Davenant looks ready to faint, Bexley," said the marquess. "Shall I hew a path for her to an open window?"

"Oh, yes — That is… are you ill, my dear? Only too happy, of course, if my lord Gaines would — "

Lord Brandon assured the baronet there was no need to interrupt government business. "I must seek out our hostess in any case," he said. "I daresay she's chosen an airier position for herself."

I

The preoccupied Thomas managed a nod before plunging back into his debate.

They found Lady Fevis by a window embrasure at the far end of the corridor.

She appeared very embarrassed, and very young, as they came upon her. "I did not mean to hide from the company," she explained, "but I needed a breath of air, and this is the only place where any is to be found."

"If you will share it with Mrs. Davenant, she will be much obliged," said Lord Brandon.

"Oh, of course. I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Davenant. I know these affairs are supposed to be shocking squeezes, but this is altogether unbearable — and all because I was — "

At which point, she swooned.

Brandon caught her, lifted her easily in his arms, and carried her to the nearest room. Lilith meanwhile got the attention of a servant and, adjuring him to complete discretion — lest the entire crowd bear down upon his mistress at once — ordered water and
sal volatile
.

Lady Fevis came to before the remedies arrived, but Lilith made her sip the water and lie still while Lord Brandon went in search of her husband.

They returned a few minutes later. Lord Fevis rushed to his wife, fell to his knees before her, clasped her hands, and cried, "My poor darling! Oh, such an idiot I've been. The woman was nothing to me, I promise, nothing. Oh, but Clarissa, my dearest, why did you not tell me?"

The marquess was already escorting Lilith from the room. He closed the door upon the reunited couple.

"She ought to have told him, you know," he said as he led her back to the secluded embrasure. "A man has a right to know he's going to be a papa."

"How did
you
know?" Lilith asked, astonished. "She could not have told you such a thing when you danced with her."

"When I danced with her? When was that?"

Lilith looked up at him. His green eyes glittered wickedly.

"I had no idea my actions were under such close scrutiny," he said. "I must exercise more caution in future."

"You are a coxcomb," she said.

"If I were, I should not have been surprised at your knowledge of my dance partners. Yet I'm altogether amazed… and flattered. This is a far cry from invisibility."

She returned his gaze, her face expressionless. "When I cross the street," she said, "I look up to make certain no vehicles are bearing recklessly down upon me. I also look down, to make sure no noisome object lies in my path. I have found it necessary in recent weeks to observe similar precautions at social events."

He laughed. "A reckless vehicle is apt enough — but the other? I am put in my place, just goddess. Your hair curls naturally, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she said, uncomfortable to find the talk redirected so speedily to her person.

"I thought so. You've never had to suffer the indignities of curl papers or scorching tongs."

"Not those, no."

"But others? What were they? Steel corsets when you were but a babe?"

"We will not speak of such garments, if you please," she said in her best grande
dame
manner. "I meant applications of lemon juice, three times a day, day after day, week in and week out."

"Ah,
freckles"
he said. "Ghastly things."

"Well, they were."

"Don't be silly, I'm sure you were adorable with your freckles.''

"I was not remotely adorable. I was too tall and too skinny, and my hair was too red, and I had forty-seven freckles upon my nose alone."

"Then I wonder they never stood you in a field to frighten away the birds. You might have made yourself useful," he said in tones of reproof. "Still, it is a relief to know you, too, had a misspent youth."

She bit her lip, but the vision of a gawky, adolescent Lilith standing haplessly in a field of newly seeded corn was too much for her, and what began as a titter swelled into laughter.

"Mrs. Davenant," he said sternly, "a misspent youth is nothing to be giggling about."

"A scarecrow," she said, still smiling. "Isn't it odd that I'm one now? Flapping my arms to frighten off any wicked gentlemen birds from my nieces."

"Protecting the tender young crop."

"Yes."

"Someone must, I suppose."

"Yes." Her smile faded. The mischief was gone from his eyes, and compassion had taken its place.

"That is why," he said almost inaudibly.

She pretended not to hear, though she knew what he meant and what she had, unwittingly, revealed to his too-keen perceptions.

Thomas will be wondering what's become of me," she said coolly enough, though her voice sounded shrill to her ears.

Lord Brandon returned Mrs. Davenant to her intended, then, more perturbed than he'd ever expected to be, left the Fevis house.

He'd known about the nieces and their Seasons with their widowed aunt. He hadn't suspected she financed these ventures single-handedly, though now he recollected that there had been some oblique reference to the matter in his conversation with Higginbottom.

He should have realised. If Mrs. Davenant was too proud to let him cancel Charles's debt, she must be too proud to accept Bexley merely for her own financial security. She. must have more compelling reasons for so ludicrous a match.

Still, this information changed nothing, Lord Brandon reminded himself. He'd never intended to break up her engagement. There was no reason Bexley should not marry her… after. No reason she should not continue presenting nieces until she had daughters of her own to bring out. A dozen daughters if she liked. A dozen fiery-haired, tall, passionate creatures like their mama.

He frowned. Or bland, tiresome, priggish, prating creatures like Bexley.

Gad, what did it matter? She would dote upon them even if they all looked like Lady Shumway's unfortunate granddaughter.

"You will
not
," he told himself firmly as he headed for the Cocoa Tree, "contemplate the
getting
of these grotesqueries."

12

"The blue silk?" Sally said, aghast. "But Mrs. Davenant don't wear blue. Brown, grey — "

"If you know what Suzette makes for her, then you must know as well why she doesn't give Suzette her custom any more," said Madame Germaine as she nudged her assistant towards the rack in the sewing room.

That was because Suzette sent some tart's negligees, and Mrs. Davenant is very prim and proper," Sally answered stubbornly. "Shell take a fit if you show her the blue, mark my words."

"Seeing you're so wise, I wonder you don't open your own shop."

Thus silencing her assistant, Madame Germaine drew out the slate-blue gown she'd made for Lady Diana Stockmore before her ladyship had discovered she was increasing. "They're nearly a size," she went on thoughtfully. "We can do the alterations in a minute."

Sally groaned. "But, missus, we're over our ears as it is."

"The others can wait. Everyone knows Mrs. Davenant pays her bills as soon as she gets them."

"Oh, no," said Mrs. Davenant when the slate-blue silk was displayed. "Nothing for me. My niece only."

"And Sally's measuring her at this moment, isn't she? Such a lovely girl Miss Glenwood is. I'm sure anything we put on her will do us credit. Still, it takes time to measure properly. There's no careless haste in
my
shop, Mrs. Davenant."

"I shall be content to look at your pattern books," said Lilith, though her glance lingered upon the tempting silk.

"Madam," said the modiste. "I scorn flattery. I will
not
say this gown was made for you. It was made for another lady. But just once I'd like to see it on a proper figure before I have to cut it to pieces for some dab of a creature and trick it out with ruffles to make it look
dainty
." She spoke disparagingly, though she had a score of petite customers whom she happily garbed.

"I suppose we giantesses are few and far between," said Lilith wryly.

"Giantess, indeed. And you so slender and well-proportioned — and with such posture." She led Lilith to the dressing room. "I'll assist you myself," she said as though she were bestowing the Order of the Bath.

The slate-blue silk appeared at Lady Gaines's ball that evening.

"I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me," said Lord Robert, glancing past Cecily towards a corner of the room. "I couldn't believe that woman was your aunt, even when I heard her speak."

"You did stare, rather," said Cecily.

"Everyone's staring — not that you can see her for the crowd about her. Why, she looks ten years younger. What a difference a frock makes!"

"And to think we have your naughty friends to thank for it," said Cecily. "If they hadn't played their joke, Aunt Lilith wouldn't have changed dressmakers. Madame Germaine must have a gift for managing her customers. She managed my aunt beautifully. Still, I'll take some credit, because I did persuade Aunt Lilith to let Mary cut her hair a bit."

"Well, I never thought I'd say so, Miss Glenwood, but your aunt is a stunner. No wonder Julian — " Scarcely; missing a beat, he went on, "Is that a new scent? You remind me of a garden after a spring shower."

"Damp and mouldy, you mean. What a pleasant compliment."

"That isn't what I meant at all. Clean and sweet and fresh."

"I'm glad you think so. Your cologne is much more agreeable than Mr. Ventcoeur's, so I'm sure your judgement must be sound."

Lord Brandon stood by the French doors leading onto the terrace. The doors were open now. Prinny having come and gone, the company might at last inhale fresh air. The marquess might have stood nearer Lilith Davenant half the night without calling undue attention to himself, since there was a respectable crowd of gentlemen about her. He'd tried that already, and didn't like it.

Unlike the others, Lord Brandon had not needed to see Mrs. Davenant costumed in a becoming gown to know she was desirable. Nonetheless, he could not have guessed the impact such a gown would have upon him.

At first, it was her hair he'd noticed. The tightly braided coils had disappeared the night of her niece's comeout. Even so, the widow's style remained far too severe for a young woman of eight and twenty. Tonight, however, gleaming auburn curls danced wantonly about her face. The rest was caught up loosely behind, so that she looked tumbled, as though she'd just risen from her pillows.

Then he'd bent over her hand, and a creamy, silken expanse of bosom swam into his vision in swelling curves. He'd caught his breath… and remained breathless as his gaze slid discreetly over the smoky blue fabric that gleamed softly against alabaster skin and clung lovingly to her long-legged, supple figure. A wave of hot impatience had washed over him then, and he told himself he'd waited long enough.

Yet the marquess waited now, standing idly by the terrace doors, his habitual expression of lazy boredom masking the discontent within.

He'd grown wary of this restiveness. More than once it had led him to rush his fences, which had meant time wasted repairing the damage. He knew himself better now. He must not seek her out when he was chafing. If she wouldn't come to him, he'd let it go this evening and entertain himself elsewhere. All the same, knowing he wanted no elsewhere, no other, he
willed
her to come to him.

An hour passed while he watched his friends gravitate to her. In that time he saw a dozen expressions cross her face. They were unreadable to others, perhaps — the faintest trails of expression crossing her cool countenance.

All the same, Lord Brandon comprehended her confusion and surprise, and every phase leading her gradually to understand that the gentlemen suddenly found her very attractive. He read the widow's feelings as easily as if they'd been writ out in bold letters above her head. Then, as he perceived the faint flush of pleasure and slow, beguiling curve of her mouth, he found himself smiling as well. Whatever else he'd wanted of her, it was not her unhappi-ness. Her own kin first, then Davenant, had given her enough of that. Yet it never ceased to amaze the marquess that so desirable a woman should have so low an opinion of herself.

Before the hour elapsed, Brandon watched her stand up with her betrothed and be taken from him in the next set by Lord Worcester, who relinquished her in the next to Brummell.