Knaves' Wager (19 page)

It was Brummell brought her to the marquess when the dance had ended. This was to settle a dispute.

"Mrs. Davenant insists it is
not
milk baths," the Beau announced, "but the consumption of vegetables and exercise in the open air accounts for her flawless complexion. Bexley will not tell me whether this is cruel teasing, for he is blasting Hamilton about some tiresome political triviality. You are better acquainted with this lady than I, Brandon. Is this irony or fact?"

"I certainly have no notion of her bathing habits," his lordship said wickedly.

A rosy tint glowed upon the widow's high cheekbones.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Davenant," said the Beau. "This was my fault. An injudicious choice of phrasing." He returned to Brandon. "I only wished to ascertain whether you had ever seen Mrs. Davenant eat vegetables."

"Indeed I have. Moreover, I am informed by reliable witnesses that she rides, several times a week, in the early-morning air."

Brummell's face fell. "I have an open mind," he said bravely. "I shall take a turn about the terrace. But
vegetables
. Good heavens!" He sauntered through the French doors.

"Does he never eat vegetables?" Lilith asked.

"He claims he once ate a pea. You're very beautiful tonight, Mrs. Davenant."

Slowly, her mouth curled into a delicious smile.

"Thank you," she said. "I've been terrified into it, you know."

"Have you indeed?" he asked, intrigued, charmed. "I've never heard of anybody's being terrified into beauty."

Then obviously you're not acquainted with Madame Germaine. I've never been so scolded and threatened — not since I was in the nursery, I'm sure."

"Good grief! What had this dread female to say?"

"You are not to repeat it," said Lilith, lowering her voice.

He bent his head to listen and caught a whiff of jasmine.

"She said Cecily's beaux will wonder whether she'll take after me."

"But you're not her mama. You're not even a blood relation."

"Her mama wears nothing but ancient riding habits, which is worse, I daresay, and I'm on the spot to be taken as model."

"You did not tell this upstart shopkeeper you've already riveted several nieces successfully?"

"I did," said Lilith, her blue eyes dancing with an amusement as enchanting as it was rare. "In my best set-down manner. She only shook her head pityingly and sighed and answered, 'But only think how much better the dear creatures
might
have done.'"

"If you will excuse me," said Lord Brandon. "I believe I must depart now — to set fire to her shop."

"You don't approve my transformation, then, despite the compliment."

"No, I do not. All these weeks I've feasted upon your beauty in solitary dignity. Now I must dine with a mob," he complained. "I shall be forced to listen to Brummell rhapsodise about your complexion. I must endure Byron's odes to your eyes and Davies' puns upon your lips. No doubt there will be violent quarrels whether your hair is Bordeaux or sienna, copper-tinted or russet, and one numskull will call another out on the issue." He paused. "Now, there's a thought," he said. "Perhaps they'll all kill one another."

"So long as a duke or two remains standing to marry Cecily, I can't object," she said. "Madame Germaine won't be satisfied with any lesser rank, I'm afraid."

"I wonder, if you dance with a marquess, whether that will send one peltering after Miss Glenwood. Then, seeing the marquess give chase, perhaps a duke will join the pursuit. All of which is to say I wish you'd dance this waltz with me."

There was a heartbeat's pause, enough to send a shiver of anger through him, but she consented, and the only vestige of rage remaining was with himself, for being so shaken at the prospect of refusal.

His hand clasped her waist — and encountered something altogether unexpected. "I shall burn down her shop," he muttered, "
and
throttle her with my own neck-cloth."

"What on earth: — " Her eyes must have caught the mischief in his, because she became flustered. "You will not — "

"Stays," he said grimly. "That wretched female has persuaded you to crush your rib cage in one of those fiendish instruments of torture."

"My lord, you have an annoying habit of referring to exceedingly intimate matters," she said with a touch of asperity.

"I am appalled to find you have acquired an even more distressing habit."

"I had to wear it," she said, vexed. "The gown was indecent otherwise. Oh, stop looking at me in that aggravating manner. Why did I ever agree to dance with you?"

"An attack of conscience. You haven't danced with me in an age. I daresay you finally decided I'd been punished long enough."

"I was not punishing you."

"It felt exactly like punishment."

Her face became shuttered, and he cursed himself silently. "You needn't poker up," he said. "It's simply that you've found me in bad temper."

After a moment, she asked what had put him out of temper.

"Who knows?" he said. "Talk to me and make me forget. Quiet my mind with some tranquil image. Tell me of your place in Derbyshire."

"It isn't very interesting," she said. "In Derbyshire, I'm a farmer."

"Very well. I shall give up Athena for the moment and transform you in my mind to Demeter. Tell me of sheep and cows and corn and — oh, above all, tell me of
drainage
."

He watched her face soften and her eyes light up with enthusiasm as she described the vast, ill-maintained estate her grandparents had given her as a wedding gift, and of the years spent making it productive again. She could not suppress her pride in her accomplishment. Not that she should, he thought. She deserved a great deal of credit. She'd educated herself about modern agricultural methods, single-handedly set about persuading her tenants from their old-fashioned ways, and managed the whole herself.

She'd had time enough on her hands, hadn't she? No social life until after her husband died. No children, except those she adopted temporarily for some three or four months of the year.

The estate, his lordship knew from conversations with

I

Higginbottom, was at present let to a retired military officer, who would very likely make a purchase offer at the summer's end. That, Brandon realised as he studied her animated countenance, would probably break her heart.

The waltz ended and Mrs. Davenant went on talking, like an eager girl. He continued to ask questions, and she answered happily, even after he led her back to Bexley.

This would do no harm in Bexley's view — if he were paying attention, which was not altogether certain. Still, the spirited discussion of agriculture must silence the gossips, at least temporarily. Moreover, it was not a topic to excite her new admirers. Those who owned property preferred to leave the business of maintaining it to others. They knew less of modern agriculture than their sheep did.

Fortunately, the marquess knew something — more than something, actually. Thus he enjoyed the added pleasure of watching surprise, then growing respect, brighten her beautiful eyes.

The following day, Mrs. Davenant met in her study with her butler.

"Certainly, madam," said Cawble when she'd done explaining. "It can be managed discreetly. I shall send Jacob with the centre-piece, the two larger candelabra, the great coffee-urn, and the other items you suggested. They will not be required, unless you plan a large entertainment in the near future."

"I am sure we shall redeem them long before I plan such an affair," said his mistress.

"Yes, madam. This is a regrettable necessity, yet one cannot plan for every emergency, I am sure."

All the same, the loyal butler could not help reflecting disapprovingly upon his employer's man of business. Mrs. Davenant should not be placed in the mortifying position of pawning her silver, simply because men who were supposed to sign pieces of paper chose to dawdle over the matter. They had no business dawdling, Cawble reflected

I

indignantly. They had little enough to do. That a lady of her means should not be able to put her hands upon ready money the instant she required it was an affront to the British Constitution.

Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Davenant reappeared at the dressmaker's. Instead of her niece, she brought a footman, who carried several large packages. Mrs. Davenant explained she'd lost some weight. Perhaps Madame would be so kind as to make a few alterations?

Madame contemplated the dismal colours, then her client, then shook her head sadly. "I never speak ill of a colleague," she said, "but sometimes I do
not
understand what they're thinking of."

"These were made precisely as I ordered," was the defensive answer.

"Yes, madam, and the question I ask is 'Why?' Meaning no offence, because I'd never question your taste. But this taupe…" She took up the offending garment and pursed her lips. "Enough fabric here for two gowns. Such a
waste
." She shook her head again. "It wouldn't trouble me if you had flaws to conceal, but with your figure… well, I can't understand why the gown had to be made like an overcoat."

So saying, and without appearing to hear any of her customer's stammering negatives or observe the crimson repeatedly suffusing the lady's face, Madame proceeded to measure and pin and snip and slash.

What she proposed might be an outrage to her client's sensibilities, but the client was no match for the evangelical fervour that possessed Madame Germaine. It was in vain to protest that one felt half naked, when one's dressmaker only cried, "Precisely!" and flourished her scissors like a sword.

13

Mrs. davenants altered garments began making their appearance the following week.

Tonight, at Almack's, she was dressed in the same taupe gown she'd worn to the Countess Lieven's party. Well, not quite the same. At least a yard of fabric was gone from the skirt, causing it to hug her hips as it had never done before. Madame had insisted "only an inch" was taken from the bodice. This was the grossest of understatements.

Though such renovated costumes did not trigger quite the sensation the blue silk had, they continued to win admiring glances, and not a little flattery. Even Cecily's beaux seemed less intimidated. Sir Matthew Melbrook had begged a dance of the heretofore terrifying dragon aunt, and Mr. Ventcoeur, Lilith was told, had startled his friends by boldly asserting that Mrs. Davenant had a sense of
humour
.

Lilith bit her lip. She'd heard that from Lord Brandon.

Determined, apparently, to be the gossiping sort of friend, he'd begun sharing with her every
on dit
that came to his ears. What he didn't hear, he invented, leaving her laughing helplessly at outrageous stories of Lady Shumway's passionate affairs with a series of fictitious Cossacks, or the ancient Lord Hubbing's adventures at Vauxhall, or any of a host of other imaginative atrocities.

Yet, ever since Lady Gaines's ball, he'd become the confiding sort of friend as well, because he had a knack for getting past Lilith's guard. Once launched upon the topic of

Derbyshire, she was easily led to more personal subjects: her grandparents, her childhood, the young parents she scarcely remembered, her nurse, her governess, her studies. Somehow, too, she'd revealed something of her own girlish dreams and hopes, even as she thought she spoke of Cecily and Georgiana and the rest.

But a few weeks ago, uttering one sentence to him had been an effort, because his presence disturbed her so. Of late, the struggle was to keep from telling him every thought and feeling.

It was a struggle now to keep her eye on Cecily, dancing with Mr. Ventcoeur, rather than on the tall, dark form that moved so gracefully through Almack's throng.

Lilith never knew when she'd find Brandon at her side. She knew only that he always came, and they would dance once and talk a great deal. Strangely enough, no one else seemed to regard this new camaraderie.

Perhaps the Great World was preoccupied, as Thomas was, with Louis XVIII's arrival in France and its consequences. More likely, Society wasn't remotely interested in so dull a matter as mere friendship between a man and a woman.

After all, Lord Brandon's compliments were light and civil, no more. He scarcely flirted with her lately, though other gentlemen did.

This quieted Lilith's conscience somewhat, but not altogether. She had no defence against his amiability, no excuse for shunning him, yet she wished she had.

She could no longer deny she'd been drawn to him from the start, attracted in spite of herself by his compelling physical beauty and charm. Now the pull was stronger. She'd discovered kindness, sense, compassion, intelligence — oh, and too many common interests.

Or so it seemed. She frowned.

"Your brows are knit," came a low voice behind her. "Brummell will be cross with you for wrinkling the flawless surface of your complexion." The marquess moved to her side, brushing her arm in the process.

"I can live with his disapproval,'' Lilith answered coolly enough. "Until a week ago, the only notice I got was a singularly pained expression whenever he happened to glance my way."

"Which only shows he's not so discerning as he appears. Why do you linger in this dismal corner? Are you hiding from your beaux? Or waiting for one? If so, he's unforgivably dilatory, I'd better take his place and teach him a lesson."

Lilith caught the edge of impatience in his voice. Wondering at it, she threw him a puzzled glance. He stood with his usual careless grace, but the tension in that stance was not usual. He seemed… angry?

"What is it?" he asked. "Have you discovered a crease in my lapel?"

"If I had, I should never dare tell you, for fear your valet would be found murdered in the morning. You seem a trifle out of sorts this evening, my lord," she said frankly.

Surprise flickered in his green eyes, only to be hooded in the next instant. "Hardly. I've been dead bored, as usual — until now, of course."

"You were with Thomas. If he bores you so much, I wonder you bother to speak with him at all."