Rakehell's Widow (25 page)

She sounded so very convincing, so plausible, that Ala
beth felt she had no option but to accept the explanation.
And yet, there was something about the way Jillian was
avoiding her eyes which was so strongly reminiscent of
their father that Alabeth could not overlook it. As they
went up the stairs together, Alabeth knew that she wasn’t satisfied with what she’d been told, that at the very least she’d have to make discreet inquiries of Sanderson to find
out if one of the carriages had been ordered. She felt
sneaky and disloyal, but Jillian was her responsibility and
it was hardly wise to take any chances when her sister could
once again be launching herself into an unwise affair of the heart. Jillian might mean well, but she was prey to her own
weaknesses, not the least of which was this constant and
urgent quest for true romantic love. It would perhaps not
have been so bad had she not bestowed an undeserved rosy
glow upon certain unworthy gentlemen.

After a restless night spent mulling over all the dreadful possibilities about which gentleman might possibly be
involved, Alabeth waited the next morning until Jillian had
gone out shopping before summoning Sanderson to the
drawing room and asking him to make
very
discreet in
quiries of the grooms and coachman regarding the
previous evening. He returned a little later, telling her that
none of the carriages had been requested and certainly none of them had left the coach house. She felt a little
more easy in her mind after this, but somehow the doubt
still niggled away.

Jillian returned from shopping complaining of a heada
che; indeed, she said the pain was so bad that she would
have to take some primrose tea and retire to her bed for a
while. The hour approached when they would have to l
eave for the regatta at Ranelagh, but Jillian remained in her bed, sending her maid to tell Alabeth that she would
have to go alone to the regatta as the headache showed no
signs of going away and was really too bad for the noise and excitement of the regatta to be contemplated.

Alabeth hurried to Jillian’s room, finding it in semi-
darkness, the curtains drawn tightly against the sun, which was trying to stream in from the clear heavens. The floral silk hangings of the bed were also drawn, and Jillian lay
curled up between the lavender-scented sheets, her face pale beneath the floppy frills of her night bonnet.

“Oh, Jillian, I do not like to go without you,” began Alabeth anxiously.

“I shall be all right once I have managed to sleep.”

“It doesn’t seem right to leave you.”

“But you’ve given your word to Octavia,” replied
Jillian quickly, “and why should you forego the delights of t
he regatta simply because I am a little indisposed. Please
go, Alabeth, for I shall feel totally wretched if you don’t.”

“If you’re certain—”

“Of course I am.” Jillian squeezed Alabeth’s hand reass
uringly and smiled.

“All right.” Alabeth bent to kiss the pale cheek and t
hen returned to her own room to begin dressing for the
regatta, where she would be bound to see Piers with
Adelina and where she would therefore be made very
miserable. She chose to wear yellow again.

She set off in the landau, her yellow gown and golden
spencer indeed managing to make her look as sunny as the day itself. She also wore a gypsy bonnet, tied on with wide yellow satin ribbon, and over it was draped a little veil to
protect her back from the heat, which would be all the
more fierce on the Thames. The landau drove smartly toward Chelsea, conveying her to a social occasion which under normal circumstances would have promised a great deal of enjoyment, but which today offered little such
prospect.

She had not proceeded far when suddenly the carriage
began to travel much more slowly, and at last came to a
standstill on a tree-lined avenue. The coachman climbed
down and she leaned out. “What is it?”

“I believe one of the horses has gone lame, my lady.”

“Oh, no.”

He inspected the nearside lead horse and then came to speak to her. “He is lame, my lady, and I think I should
take him back to the mews and bring another.”

“Very well.”

He began to unharness the horse and she alighted from
the carriage, shaking out her skirts and glancing up at the flawless blue through the dappled branches of the trees.
How magnificent a day it was, quite perfect for a regatta.

She heard the other carriage approaching but did not at first give it much thought. It wasn’t until she realized that
it was halting that she turned to look at it, recognizing it at
once: it belonged to Piers Castleton.

Piers alighted. He was alone. He looked very elegant in a
wine-red coat and pale-gray breeches, and his dark curls shone in the sunlight as he removed his tall hat and
approached her. “Good afternoon, Alabeth. Do you have
some trouble?”

“One of the horses is lame.”

“Are you bound for the regatta?”

“Yes.”

“Then please allow me to convey you there, as that is my destination as well.”

“There is no need—” she began.

“For me to concern myself?” He gave a faint smile.

“No need for you to put yourself out, sir,” she finished.

“I see. Well, I am and ever will be a gentleman, my lady,
and nothing would permit me to drive past and not offer
you my assistance. Please accept a place in my carriage,
and thus allow me to carry out my gentlemanly
obligation.” He smiled a little wryly.

“If you are sure—”

“I am.”

“Then I accept. Thank you.”

Her gloved hand shook just a little as she took the arm he offered, and he instructed her coachman to go back
carefully to Berkeley Square. She sat back on the magnifi
cent upholstery of his carriage and a moment later the
perfectly matched grays were straining forward, their
hooves striking sparks from the cobbles.

He lounged opposite her, one gleaming Hessian boot resting on the seat beside her. The countless things she wished to say to him hung trembling on her lips, but she couldn’t say one of them, for it was as if Adelina were present in the carriage.

He spoke first. “Yellow becomes you well, Alabeth.
You should wear it more often.”

“Thank you.”

“It is such a cheerful shade, is it not?”

She felt almost as if he knew exactly why she had chosen
the color and she shifted her position a little uncomfort
ably, determined to change the subject. “Will Lady
Adelina be with you at Ranelagh?”

“I believe so.”

“H-how is she?”

“In excellent spirits.”

“Oh.”

“She is also extremely triumphant and most pleased
with her scheming.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He smiled a little, “It doesn’t matter.”

A few more minutes of silence passed and then he spoke
again. “Why is Lady Jillian not with you?”

“She is indisposed.”

“Does that mean you’ve ensured her good behavior by
locking her in her room?”

She flushed. “It means that she has a headache.”

“Ah. Well, to be sure, I could not have blamed you had
you turned jailer.”

“She is very young.”

“Are you so very old, then?”

She looked away.

“My poor Alabeth, you have had a time of it recently,
haven’t you?” he murmured. “Prised out of your Kent sanctuary, thrust into the hurly-burly of one of the most
important Seasons in years, forced to endure a dreadful
variety of problems and pitfalls, only some of which are of
your own making, and all the time having to wear a new cloak which doesn’t sit well on your pretty shoulders.”

“If by cloak you mean my having charge of my
sister—”

“That is only a fraction of what I speak.”

“I don’t really wish to discuss it,” she said, her flush
becoming hotter.

“No, I didn’t for one moment think you would,” he
remarked dryly, glancing out as the carriage entered
Chelsea.

She was relieved when they reached Ranelagh Gardens
and he helped her to alight. He held her hand for a
moment, looking down into her green eyes, and she
thought he was going to say something to her, but instead he released her.

“Enjoy the regatta, Alabeth.”

“I trust that I will, as I trust you will, sir. Thank
you for your kindness in offering me a place in your car
riage.”

“Think nothing of it, Lady Alabeth.” His gray eyes
seemed to be laughing at her in the moment before she
turned and hurried away from him.

The gardens of Ranelagh House had been popular with the fashionable world since they had opened sixty years
before. They were no longer exclusive and therefore not
the frequent haunt of the
beau monde
, but for certain gala
occasions such as this regatta, they were splendid still. The
centerpiece of the gardens was the building known as the Rotunda, with its four great portals like triumphal arches.
Built entirely of wood, it was a vast amphitheater meant to
resemble the Roman Pantheon, and it was the scene of
many a fine concert, indeed the infant prodigy Mozart had played there at the age of only eight and a half. All around the Rotunda lay the gardens themselves, very elegant and
inviting and containing many hidden arbors where at night secret assignations could be kept without fear of discovery.
There was a shrine to the god Pan, a Venetian temple built
across the pretty canal, and everywhere there were fountains, flowering shrubs and trees, and the hundreds of colored lanterns which at night gave the gardens then
particular magic and excitement.

Alabeth hurried toward the part of the Embankment
where the Duke and Duchess of Seaham’s splendid golden
barge was moored, and as she emerged at the edge of the
water, she saw that the whole river was covered with
pleasure vessels and she overheard someone say that the
gathering stretched from London Bridge to the Ship
Tavern at Millbank. Flotillas of small craft bobbed on the
glittering water as the great pageant of the regatta spread out before the elegant crowd thronging the shore.

The Seaham barge was moored to a small quay, its gang
plank painted gold and tied with countless ribbons in the
Seaham colors. Octavia reclined alone on a red-and-gold-
striped couch which bore more than an accidental likeness
to Cleopatra’s divan. The flimsy, rather transparent gown
she wore was also strongly reminiscent of ancient Egypt, as
was her hair, worn
a l’Egyptienne;
she had even got up her
long-suffering page as a slave, and he stood miserably
behind her, wafting a huge ostrich fan to and fro. There was a silken canopy over the couch and it fluttered a little in the light sea breeze, the effect of the Nile would have
been complete, had it not been for the Thames language of an exasperated bargeman who was shaking his furious fist
at another.

Octavia waved a gracious hand as Alabeth came aboard.
“Welcome, oh, faithful subject, and mind my asp.” A
covered basket was hastily whisked from the chair which
Alabeth had chosen.

Alabeth laughed. “It would not do to extinguish the asp before you require it, would it?”

“Hardly.”

“And where is Caesar?”

“Sulking at home in Rome because I am too extrava
gant.”

“And so you are.”

“Wretch, you are supposed to uphold me, not criticize! And while inquiries concerning missing persons are the
order of the day—where is Jillian?”

“Also languishing at home, but nursing a headache.”

“Oh, dear. Still, her absence does give me the oppor
tunity of telling you a tiny whisper I’ve heard.”

“Whisper?”

“About Jillian.”

“Oh, no.”

“It may be nothing, for I heard it from someone whose
indulgence in scandal-mongering is quite notorious, but on
the other hand I think it only right that I should tell you. It
seems that late last night—very late—Jillian was seen alone
in a carriage with a gentleman, and their manner together
was described to me as intimate.”

Alabeth stared at her, seeing again quite clearly Jillian’s mauve-clad, figure coming back up the garden.

Octavia leaned across to put a hand on Alabeth’s. “Forgive me for saying anything, but I did think you should
know.
Was
Jillian out last night?”

Alabeth took a long breath. “I don’t really know.” She explained what had happened.

Octavia pursed her lips. “It don’t look good, and that’s
a fact.”

“What am I to do, Octavia?”

“Have it out with her the moment you return to the
house.”

“She will not be well pleased.”

“Are you well pleased at being told scandalous rumors
about her?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing, she’ll have to put up with it. I find her a
most vexing creature, for although I love her dearly, she
can be the most exasperating and idiotic of young ladies.
Dizzy, that’s the word for her, quite dizzy.”