Maggie MacKeever (15 page)

It was cool outside, and she leaned gratefully against a marble column. The truth of the matter was that she could not return to London at all, for she was too proud to willingly endure the snubs that would be her lot. There weren’t many courses open to her; and of those few, the most acceptable was to set up housekeeping with Jem. Loveday grimaced. Such a life was far from the existence she’d once envisioned for herself.

Her ruminations were interrupted by the appearance of an apparition before her, a veritable vision clad in a mottled silk coat and breeches, a waistcoat of interwoven metallic threads, and silk stockings of a startling hue. The shade wore rings on its fingers, a jewel in the pristine folds of its cravat, and a multitude of fobs and seals.

“Theo,” she said faintly, as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She wondered what bad been in the punch; it must have been potent indeed to affect her so adversely.

“Well met, my dear Loveday.” Theo helped himself to a liberal pinch of snuff. He didn’t particularly care for the stuff, but Theo set great store by appearance. He regarded his victim with elaborate disinterest. “You’re looking decidedly pale.”

“I think I may be ill,” Loveday gasped, and retreated into the shrubbery. Theo was delighted, seeing in Loveday’s indisposition the fruition of his plan. It would be quite a
coup
if he could abduct her that very evening, and steal her away from under Vere’s haughty nose.

The sounds emanating from Loveday’s bush indicated that she was definitely ailing. Theo was not disconcerted. Illness did not bother him as long as it was someone else’s and not his own; and the worse the girl felt, the less protest she’d make. He waited patiently for her to return.

Loveday still felt dizzy, but not nearly as poorly as she pretended. She was, instead, furious. Theo had some foul scheme in mind, she’d no doubt of that, and she had no intention of lending herself to his plans.

Nor did she care to wander around Lady Laurent’s house in the dark. Emitting realistic sounds of distress, Loveday stealthily removed a wicked-looking hatpin from its hiding place in her petticoat, thankful for the foresight that had made Dillian insist that she keep it always secreted on her person. A poor defense, perhaps, but better than none.

Theo blinked when she reappeared. “You’re looking more the thing,” he drawled. “That’s a deuced attractive gown.” Loveday remained silent, and he smiled. “We have much to discuss, you and I.”

Loveday didn’t care for the look on his face, or for the unpleasant insinuation of his words. “I think not, sir,” she replied, backing toward the door. Theo grabbed her wrist, and twisted it behind her.

“Ah no, my pretty, you shan’t escape me so easily again.” Loveday’s skin crawled; her loathing of the man was beyond belief.

“Loveday? Are you out there?” Jem appeared silhouetted in the doorway. Theo wrenched her arm.

“You’ll remain silent!” he hissed.

“Here, Jem,” Loveday called, and jabbed her captor viciously with the hatpin. Theo howled. He would have grasped Loveday again, before she could escape, but he was stopped by a firm hand on the collar of his coat.

“Assheton!” Theo protested. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Jasper smiled unpleasantly. “Well you might ask,” he replied, as he turned the smaller man to face him. “One might assume that I am protecting my interests.” His fist met Theo’s jaw with the satisfying crunch of knuckles meeting bone.

 “I do detest a vulgar brawl,” Jasper remarked. “My dear girl, however did you come to have that lethal plaything?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Quite some time. I followed you outside.” Jasper smiled again. “Have you ever considered going on the stage? Had I only heard you, I too would have assumed you were violently ill.”

Jem, following the sounds of discord, burst upon the scene to find Theo sprawled on the ground and Jasper ruefully regarding his knuckles. Loveday still clutched a hatpin in her hand.  “What the devil’s going on here?” Jem demanded.

“You mean you
saw
me?” Loveday inquired indignantly.

“Quite so,” Jasper replied. “You do think of intriguing hiding places, do you not? No, spare me your blushes! You might recall that this is not the first time I have seen you with your skirts above your head.”

“Would someone,” Jem demanded, “kindly inform me of what’s transpired here?”

“Don’t you think you should put that deadly little toy away?” Jasper inquired. “
I
don’t mind it, but Charmain’s guests might be a trifle discomposed.” Infuriated beyond words, Loveday lifted her skirts and restored the hatpin to its original hiding place.

“Assheton!” roared Jem, and Jasper reluctantly removed his fascinated gaze from Loveday’s shapely leg.

“Ah, Jem, I’m glad to see you,” Jasper said, as if only just aware of the boy’s presence. He gestured toward Theo’s inert form. “Do you think you might dispose of this for me? I’d attend to it myself, you understand, but I think it best I escort your sister back inside.”

“I should be delighted,” Jem replied, prodding Theo’s unconscious body with a well-shod toe. Theo groaned.

* * * *

“Averil,” Dorcas said, fluttering her lashes, “this is your waltz.”

“You are mistaken,” the duke replied, firmly removing the delicate white fingers that rested lightly on his. “Loveday is promised to me for this dance.” He drew Loveday’s hand through his arm and strolled away, leaving Dorcas white with rage.

“Expedient,” murmured Loveday, as he drew her into his arms for the dance, “but was that wise? She quite detests me, you know.”

“Dorcas loathes all attractive females on principle. Don’t let it bother you. Incidentally, what do you think of Isolda’s plan to announce your betrothal?”

So we’re back to that again, thought Loveday; I wish I’d never started it. “Jasper’s agreeable,” she replied, with a fine show of unconcern.

“Think of all the young men you’ll leave disconsolate.”

Loveday chuckled, for she’d enjoyed a considerable success that evening. “Ah, but I don’t take them seriously. It’s my reputed wealth, I fear, that attracts young bloods to me. You, of course, know just how it is. Being well-heeled yourself.” Averil broke into laughter, causing various reactions among those who heard, for Lord Vere was not given to merriment. Several young ladies eyed Loveday with renewed speculation, wondering what quality she possessed that they did not; Isolda smiled, well pleased; and Jasper raised a quizzical eyebrow. Loveday noticed that Charmain stood by him, her possessive hand on his arm.

“Tired?” Averil inquired. “Let’s take a turn in the garden. The fresh air will do you good.”

Loveday half suspected that Theo would reappear, but he did not. Averil settled her comfortably on a marble bench.

“There’s something I wish to discuss with you,” he said, “but you must first promise not to take offense.”

“Plain speaking, my lord?” asked Loveday, greatly intrigued. “Do proceed; I’ll attempt to mind my tongue.”

“A magnanimous offer!” Loveday smiled at him, and Averil took her hands between his own. “I owe you an apology for the other day—no, don’t interrupt! I was in the wrong of it, as you well know.”

“I wish you would not tease yourself about it!” Loveday protested. “Forget it; I have.”

“I’d rather hoped that you had not.” Loveday remained silent. “Tell me one thing, unless you’d rather not. Why did you say what you did to me?”

“What? Oh! Jasper—” Loveday fell silent, biting her lip.

“I see.” Averil rose and regarded her broodingly. “Which brings me to the other thing I meant to say to you, regarding this betrothal of yours. I cannot imagine what you can be thinking of, to even consider allying yourself with a man like Assheton.”

Two spots of bright color appeared on Loveday’s cheeks. “Whatever can you mean, sir?” she asked coolly.

“May I remind you that you promised to listen calmly?”

“I assumed you would not go beyond the line of being pleasing. Go on, sir, state your meaning.”

“Very well.” Averil paused. “I think it shocking that such a noted profligate should amuse himself with a green girl of good breeding, and reprehensible that the girl should allow it. He doesn’t lack for sense, even if you do.”

“Jasper? A rake?” Loveday laughed. “You sadly misread his character.”

Averil shrugged irritably. “You are quick to come to his defense. He’s far too old for you, moreover. I’d rather see you wed to a fresh, unspoiled lad.”

Loveday laughed again, in earnest this time. “Such as George? You think I would be content wed to such a boy? I think you also misjudge me, my lord.”

The conversation was not proceeding as Averil had anticipated. “As to age,” Loveday continued, “Jasper is thirty and two, several years younger than yourself, I believe.”

“I do not enter into it.”

“No. But you presume to advise me, do you not? Is your credit so great that you may cast aspersions on Jasper?”

“No,” Averil replied, and touched her hair. “But I am not so lacking in principle as to enter into a betrothal, even a sham one, with a child of your tender years.”

Loveday thought, with some irony, that this supposed relationship with Jasper was eliciting a great deal more attention than the attempts on her life. She moved irritably away from his caress. “You are putting me all out of patience with you.”

“Assheton will ruin you in a trice,” Averil let his hand drop. “Consider the path he follows! He is totally lacking in principle, will doubtless encourage you in every excess, and do you a great disservice thereby. These approaching nuptials must be called off.”

“Have done!” Loveday cried in exasperation. “You may say what you wish, but I don’t care a bit for such arrant nonsense. Console yourself with the reflection that I’m staking my reputation against Jasper leaving me in a sad fix.”

“So you wish me to the devil?”

“It is no more than you deserve.”

“Everything would be on the way to being settled by now had not my grandmother taken a hand. It is unfortunate that you have taken offense, not but what I consider she was entirely to blame. She has been put to a great deal of inconvenience, you know.”

“Only fancy!” retorted Loveday rudely. “So have I.”

“Are you trying to provoke me to violence?” Averil inquired.

“This is the outside of enough! Are you possibly a trifle foxed?”

“I fancied myself a perspicacious man. It seems instead I am outrageously ill-behaved.” Averil’s fingers strayed to the sabre scar, and a bitter smile twisted his lips. “I will take my leave of you, ma’am. I do not propose to bother my head further in this matter.”

Loveday stared after him in some confusion. She was sure that some purpose lay behind Averil’s words, but she could not understand what that design might be. If he hoped to discredit Jasper he had fallen far short of his mark, for she’d known Jasper far too long to credit the various
on-dits
about him.

Loveday looked up to find Jasper standing before her, and wondered how much of the conversation he’d overheard. His face was in shadow, and she could not read his expression.

“Come, my love,” Jasper said quietly. “The carriage awaits.”

Chapter 10

The men sat late over their brandy, making desultory conversation. They were not a particularly homogeneous group, despite the similarity of their backgrounds; Averil, Jasper, and Hilary moved in the same circles, but their tastes and preferences differed greatly. It was not long before the talk turned to London, and Jem took his leave of them. As the door closed behind him, Hilary leaned forward in his chair.

“I didn’t like to bring it up in front of the stripling,” Hilary confided, “but I’m curious to know what’s behind this wretched business.” Jasper looked blank, but Averil had the advantage of long acquaintance with his cousin.

“He means Loveday,” Averil explained.

Hilary flushed. “I thought my meaning was clear,” he remarked indignantly. Averil had an irritating tendency to treat him as though he were half-witted. It had always been that way, ever since he was a lad and regarded his cousin worshipfully.

Averil shrugged. He believed that Isolda had done Hilary a great disservice when she’d taken him, an orphan, and raised him to regard the castle as his rightful home. It wasn’t; Hilary was only a distant relative. And now Isolda kept him there by means of the allowance she made him, an allotment that would immediately cease if he took up residence elsewhere, not that Hilary ever exhibited any desire to do so. His obsession with the castle equaled Isolda’s own. It was a pity, and Averil wouldn’t be surprised if Dorcas eventually flew away with someone more able to provide her with pretty baubles and excitement, but there it was. If she weren’t so odiously spoiled, Averil might have considered a bit of a flirtation himself, something to relieve the castle’s tedium, but Dorcas was the sort of female who would engage in dramatic scenes and recriminations. Not like Loveday.

“Well?” demanded Hilary.

“I do beg your pardon,” murmured a willowy figure in the doorway. “I didn’t bother to have myself announced.”

Averil surveyed his visitor thoughtfully. He wore a long and voluminous silk lined driving coat, embellished with shoulder-capes, and white-topped boots. A high-crowned beaver hat perched jauntily atop his fair curls. Averil considered his friend’s sudden appearance the only pleasant occurrence in the past fortnight, and took great pains to hide his delight.

“Come in, man,” he said, with an abrupt movement of one hand. “What the devil brings you here at this hour?”

The intruder gracefully divested himself of his coat and minced across the room. “I found it necessary to visit the country on a repairing lease,” he mourned, “and thought to foist myself on you until I can make a recover.” He accepted a glass of brandy. “As for the lateness of the hour, why, one of my horses threw a shoe.” He shuddered. “Perverse creatures. You can imagine my dismay. There wasn’t a house around, and I was forced to wait for hours in that wretched coach.”

Averil smiled. He and Charles Elcock had been fast friends since the memorable day when, as schoolboys, they had bloodied each other’s noses. “I take it you know everyone here, Charles?”