Rakehell's Widow (5 page)

A moment later Octavia bustled brightly into the room
in a flurry of orange and white taffeta, her bonnet ribbons
streaming and her rouged face beaming as she bent to kiss
Alabeth on the cheek. “My
dearest
Alabeth, how glad I
am to see you, for I swear I feared to this very moment that
you would turn and scuttle back to your lair.”

Alabeth smiled. “How are you, Octavia?”

“Well, as you see.” The Duchess sat in the chair Sand
erson drew out for her, but shook her head when he
offered her coffee.

“So,” said Alabeth, “you haven’t joined the throngs
hastening over to Paris?”

“My dear, I wouldn’t trust the French farther than I
could throw them; they are all assassins, every last one of them, with Bonaparte the assassin-in-chief.”

“I thought at the very least you’d have toddled off to see
the latest in fashions.”

“I don’t need to see them, I’ve heard enough. I’m told
that Parisiennes wear a gauze so shockingly transparent that there is nothing a gentleman cannot see. Where’s the
allure in that? Where’s the mystery? Why bother with seduction when the world has already ravished with its leering eyes?” Octavia sniffed. “No breeding, that’s their
trouble.”

“Oh, naturally,” murmured Alabeth roguishly.

Octavia cast a baleful glance at her. “That’s quite
enough of that from you, missy, especially as you’ve only
just condescended to rejoin the human race.”

“I was quite enjoying life at Charterleigh.”

“Nonsense, how can anyone enjoy a dull existence out
in the wilds of Kent! I’ll set you straight again now. You
mark my words, I’ll have you married off before the
Season is out.”

“I don’t want to be married off.”

“What rubbish. Of course you do. Why else agree to
come to Town?”

“Octavia, your matchmaking activities are too much at times. I’ve come to Town to bring Jillian out, and that is
my only reason.”

“Oh, how dull of you. I was so hoping to be able to matchmake for you both, now I’ll have to content myself
with just Jillian.”

“She’s handful enough, even for you,” remarked Alabeth with feeling.

Octavia sat back. “I gather she’s troublesome.”

“She’s resentful.”

“Foolish chit.”

“Well, she believes she’s justified.”

“So your father told me. I’m of the opinion that she
should be put over someone’s knee and given a good
spanking.”

“Well, she’s promised to be agreeable.”

“How very noble of her. She should be grateful you’ve agreed to do her this considerable service.”

“She certainly isn’t grateful.”

“She’s a spoiled little minx, and I told your father as
much.”

Alabeth laughed. “And what did he say to that?”

“What could he say? He was forced to agree, because
the evidence is there for all to see.”

Alabeth’s smile faded. “Octavia, I don’t suppose….
”

“Yes?”

“Well, he didn’t say anything else to you, did he? Something about why he was so very determined to bring Jillian
out this year?”

“No, but now you come to mention it, he did seem a
little too anxious about it.”

“That’s what I thought. There’s something I haven’t
been told and should have been.”

“Oh, surely not. After all, if it was anything important, he would certainly have informed you, for it wouldn’t be
right not to.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I am, and you’re not to go worrying about it. Now, then, we have things to discuss.”

“Things?”

“If I’m to obtain a voucher from Almack’s for Jillian.”

“Oh, yes.”

“I take it that you will not be honoring that dull place with your presence.”

“Too many of the lady patronesses are friendly with too many Treguards and I’m not about to offer myself for exe
cution at the hands of those hypocritical
chiennes
.”

Octavia chuckled. “I can’t entirely blame you, and I
swear that Almack’s is the end in
ennui
, but unfortunately it is
de rigueur
to be seen there for someone like Jillian. I
am quite prepared to take her on, and woe betide her if she
steps out of line with me.”

“She won’t, she’s an angel with everyone except me.”

“Good, then I shall proceed with the arrangements. And talking about arrangements, what have you decided to do
about Jillian’s ball?”

“I haven’t decided anything yet.”

“I trust that you intend to call upon me for advice.”

“As if I would do anything else!”

“There’s nothing more I adore than organizing a grand
ball, and I’d simply never forgive you if you left me out.”
Then, as if it was all a foregone conclusion, she proceeded,
“I thought we’d hold it at Seaham House, which after all
boasts one of the most exquisite ballrooms in Town.”

“That’s very kind of you, Octavia.”

“Nonsense, it’s very selfish of me, for that way I’m certain to be in the thick of it.” Octavia smiled. “I trust that you and Jillian are coming to my little affair on the King’s birthday?”

“Little affair?” Alabeth laughed. “Since when has your
grand ball been a little affair? It’s a national institution
from which it’s a positive disgrace to be excluded. And, yes, we are definitely accepting the invitation.”

“Good, because I’ve made the coup of the Season,”
beamed Octavia, exuding triumph. “I’ve even beaten
Carlton House to it.”

“To what?”

“Why, Count Adam Zaleski, of course.”

“The gentleman who plays the pianoforte?”

“That is to understate his brilliance, for I’m told that
he’s a joy, a wizard, a positive genius—added to which
he’s said to be the most handsome creature imaginable.
And he’s playing first at my ball.”

“That is indeed a coup.”

“I’m very pleased with myself, for it required some very
subtle skullduggery on my part, to say nothing of bribing
his valet to put my communication before his master first.”

“You don’t change, do you?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

“You are fortunate that Seaham can afford your extrav
agances.”

Octavia sniffed. “Seaham has little choice in the matter,
for if he kicked up about it, I’d make no end of noise
about his Cyprians.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“He deserves it, for he forsook the marriage bed within months of the wedding. Not that I minded, for, to be sure, he is a clumsy fellow—as his Cyprians would tell him if they didn’t admire his purse so greatly. Actually, I wrong his latest amour by calling her a Cyprian, for although she
is indeed an impure, she is an aristocratic one.”

“Who is she?”

“Lady Adelina Carver.”

“The Earl of Canby’s daughter?”

Octavia sniffed again. “The morals of a she-cat, just
like her mother. Well, an actress as Countess of Canby,
what else can one expect of the offspring of such a union?
She’s flitted from lover to lover like a bee seeking honey,
and the latest noble name on the list happens to be
Seaham’s. Not that he’d stand a chance with her if the one she really wants would come up trumps. She’s only inter
ested in Harry Ponsonby, you know, and has been for over a year now, but although he visits her frequently, she can’t
get him to the altar.”

“And so Seaham’s guilty conscience supports your extravagant entertaining?”

“It does indeed, and serve him right. Although, I must confess that recently I may have gone a little far, even for
me.”

“In what way?”

“Well, I have arranged a boating party on the lake at
Stoneleigh Park, and one simply cannot go to anyone else
but Gunter’s for the luncheon hampers, but my
dear
, they are two hundred guineas each this year. I’ve ordered one hundred and fifty, naturally, but I don’t think Seaham will
be very amused, especially when there is also the cost of the
champagne, transporting the golden barge, decorating the island for the feast, hiring the orchestra—to say nothing of the costumes and so on for Charles Allister’s masque—”

Alabeth could almost sympathize with the Duke. “Oh,
Octavia….”

“I know, but really, if one is going to do something, one
must do it well, mustn’t one?”

“It seems one must.”

“And when dear Charles told me about his masque, I
simply had to include it.”

“What is it, an improving tract for spendthrift wives?”

“Hardly, my dear, for Charles Allister has more money
than sense, and he is extravagant by nature.”

“And how is he?”

“Flourishing, but still too nice for the wretches of
London society, and that’s a fact. Truly, he’s a catch for some enterprising wench, for he’s a darling.” Octavia
paused. “I agree with your dear Father, Charles Allister is
perfect for Jillian.”

“I don’t know that I’d wish Jillian, in her present mood,
on Old Nick himself, let alone poor Charles.”

“Hmm, well, she’ll come around in the end, you see if
she doesn’t. Anyway, I simply must go, for I’ve a hundred
and one things to do before luncheon.”

“Are you starting a new fashion for calling at breakfast
time?”

“There aren’t enough hours in the day, Alabeth, so I’m
simply being sensible. Oh, by the way, you and Jillian simply must come to the British Museum. I’ve managed to get a special dispensation for the party to include ladies—
for, as you know, we are normally excluded—but provided
the party is fifteen in total, then we ladies are included. Is
that not excellent? You will come, won’t you?”

“I can’t say the idea bowls me over.”

“My dear, the only reason I wish to go is so that I can look superior and remark that I cannot imagine why
gentlemen seek to exclude us from such dull places. They
are so insufferable, Alabeth, treating us as if we are
inferior, and I simply cannot resist poking their snouts for
them at every opportunity.”

Alabeth smiled. “Oh, if that’s the case, then I shall definitely come and assist you in your heinous activities.”

“That’s better, I was beginning to despair of you.”
Octavia got up, but then her smiled faded. “I
am
glad
you’ve come back into the fold, Alabeth, for it wasn’t
right for you to immure yourself in Charterleigh like that.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” Octavia’s brown eyes were shrewd. “Tell me honestly, would you have undone a single thing had you
your time all over again?”

Alabeth looked at her in surprise. “No. Why?”

“Oh, it’s just that— Well, I did wonder if—” She
smiled in embarrassment. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

“Please tell me.”

“I just wondered if you were quite as happy as you made
out— I mean, Robert seemed the perfect husband for a
long time, but he was returning to his bad old ways, wasn’t
he? He was spending more and more time at gaming hells,
and he came very close to another duel before the one in
which he died.”

Alabeth looked away. “It wasn’t his fault, Octavia, the
fault was Sir Piers Castleton’s.”

“Oh.” Octavia straightened. “You do know that Piers
is in Town, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s on everyone’s list, my own included. You’re
bound to see him.”

“I know.”

“I shall be very honest with you, my dear,” Octavia said
gently, “I thought you had made a dreadful mistake when you married Robert, for although he was so handsome and
charming, there was something in his character, a flaw
which would have emerged sooner or later whether Piers
Castleton had been there or not. Robert earned his reputation as a rakehell, Alabeth, and he did so without any help
from anyone.”

“He was reformed,” replied Alabeth staunchly. “He
had changed his ways and would have remained like that
had it not been for Piers.”

“A leopard don’t change his spots, my dear.”

“Are you defending Piers?”

“No, I’m not defending anyone, except perhaps you, al
though you can’t see it. Piers is no angel and I’ve never
pretended that he was.”

“He provoked that duel with the Russian.”

“I don’t deny it, but I think you’ll find that there was a
lot more to that duel than met the eye, certainly more than
the paltry disagreement over cards which brought Robert
so determinedly to his death.”

Alabeth stared at her. “Why have you never spoken like
this before?”

“Because since Robert’s death you have remained at
Charterleigh and I have seen you only there, wearing black
and grieving for him as if there would never be an end to
the heartbreak, I could not speak ill of him, not under
those circumstances.”

“And now?”

“Now I feel I must speak out, for I cannot hold my
tongue anymore. He wasn’t right for you, my dear, as you would have found out quite miserably, had he not died
when he did. Robert was the perfect lover, Alabeth, but he
was no husband; his cloth was cut all wrong for that.” Octavia smiled gently. “Am I in dreadful hot water with
you now?”