River Of Fire (25 page)

Kenneth thought of all the murky undercurrents he had discovered in Seaton House. "Awkward is an understatement. I've considered backing out, but I really can't. I've given Bowden my word. There is also the question of justice."

"It would be nice to think you could find some evidence to exonerate Sir Anthony, but more likely nothing conclusive will turn up. Maddening for you, and for Lord Bowden."

"At least I'll benefit financially." And in other ways. But Kenneth could not escape the superstitious belief that he was going to pay a high price for what he was getting.

"Speaking of justice, I'd like to hear more about your wicked stepmother. I gather that since there are no documents assigning ownership of the family treasures, her only real claim is that she is in possession."

"True, but in this case, possession is conclusive." Kenneth smiled wryly. "God knows that if I had the jewels, I wouldn't give them up."

"Interesting," Michael said, a speculative look in his eyes.

"More depressing than interesting." Kenneth poured another dram of whiskey. "Your turn. Tell me about the joys of marriage and fatherhood."

Michael needed no encouragement The only drawback was that he made marriage seem altogether too appealing. Kenneth reminded himself that Rebecca, with her tart tongue and fierce creative drive, would be a very different kind of wife from serene, loving Catherine. Always assuming that Rebecca would even consider becoming any man's wife.

A pity that he found that fierce creativity so alluring.

When Rebecca and Catherine returned to the drawing room, they found that the men had not yet emerged. Catherine said philosophically, "Kenneth and Michael will be over the port for some time tonight. They have a lot of catching up to do."

Rebecca didn't mind. She couldn't remember when she had enjoyed a woman's company so much.

They both took seats by the fire. A moment later, a hound so short that its legs seemed cut in half oozed from the shadows and flopped by Rebecca, resting his muzzle on her slippered foot.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Sorry. Our dog likes you. If you can't bear his way of showing it, I'll remove him."

Rebecca leaned over and ruffled the long ears. "I wouldn't dream of disturbing him. I assume this is Louis the Lazy?"

The other woman laughed. "I see that his reputation has preceded him. My daughter cherishes the sketch that Kenneth drew of Louis the winter we shared a billet in Toulouse."

Rebecca leaned comfortably into her chair. "I was immensely impressed when Kenneth told me that you followed the drum through Portugal and Spain. I can't imagine what it must have been like to maintain a household and raise a child under such conditions."

"It was often difficult, yet my daughter, Amy, thrived in circumstances that would have made a mule complain." Drolly, Catherine described incidents that sounded hilarious in retrospect but which must have been dreadful at the time.

Rebecca noted that her hostess's first husband was seldom mentioned. The fellow never seemed to have been around when needed. Lord Michael, she suspected, would not have such a failing. Nor would Kenneth.

Thinking of him made her ask, "How did you first meet Kenneth?"

"We were traveling with the baggage train when a squad of French cavalry attacked. Amy and I became separated from the main group and several French troopers cornered us. I was frantically wondering whether it would do any good to dig the pistol out of my saddlebag when Kenneth and some of his men appeared and drove the troopers off. He brushed the incident off as part of a day's work, but as you might imagine, I've never forgotten." She gazed absently into the fire. "It wasn't the only time he came to the rescue."

Once more a picture clicked into Rebecca's mind: the Indomitable Beauty rescued by the Noble Warrior. Very dramatic. Far more romantic than the Mousy Painter making acid remarks to the Retired Hero. Repressing a sigh, she said, "You've led an exciting life. I don't know whether to be envious or to fall on my knees and give thanks that I've been spared such delights."

"By all means, be thankful." Catherine fingered the fringe of her shawl. "Have you ever seen any of Kenneth's drawings?"

"Yes, though it was largely by accident. He didn't volunteer the fact that he drew."

The other woman gave her a slanting glance. "His work seemed very, very good to me, but I know little about art." There was a question in her voice.

"He's extremely talented, and very original," Rebecca replied. "I've started to give him painting lessons. Even though he is starting late, he has the potential to become a really fine artist."

A smile lit Catherine's lovely face. "I'm so glad. He always acted as if his drawing was a trivial matter, but I suspected that was because art meant too much for him to talk about it casually."

Catherine was as perceptive as she was beautiful. If Kenneth wasn't in love with the woman, he had less sense than Rebecca gave him credit for.

Reminding herself that she was his teacher, not his sweetheart, she asked her hostess what Brussels had been like during the heady days before Waterloo.

War was a much safer topic than love.

"Rebecca slept later than usual the next morning. After deciding to eat in the breakfast room, she was disappointed to learn that Kenneth had already gone out. Still, she would see him later. The certainty of that made her smile.

She was stirring her tea when Lavinia drifted into the room, looking absurdly glamorous for such an early hour. Her presence meant she had spent the night with Sir Anthony. It was not the first time, though naturally the fact would not be mentioned.

Rebecca poured another cup of tea. "Good morning, Lavinia. You take two spoons of sugar, don't you?"

"Yes, thank you." Lavinia accepted the cup and took a deep swallow. "You're looking lovely this morning, my dear. Does that mean your work is going well?"

"Yes, but that's not the reason I feel mellow. Kenneth decided I should go out more, so he took me to dine with some friends from his army days." She gave a self-deprecating smile. "Even though I practically had to be dragged, I must admit I had a very enjoyable evening."

"I knew that young man had good sense the first time I met him." Lavinia served herself a soft-boiled egg and toast from the sideboard, then took a seat. "You're alone far too much."

Rebecca gave her a quizzical glance. "I'm surprised that you noticed."

"Of course—you're the daughter of two of my dearest friends. I've been rather concerned about you, especially since Helen's death. You've been the next thing to a hermit." Lavinia cracked the top off her egg. "However, it wasn't my place to speak. You'd have bitten my head off if I'd tried."

"Very likely," Rebecca admitted. "I don't take direction very well."

One of the footmen entered and laid an elaborately sealed letter by Rebecca's plate. Curious, she slit the seal with her knife and opened the missive. Then she gasped.

Lavinia glanced up from her egg. "Is something wrong?"

Rebecca swallowed. "Not exactly. This is a card for a ball that the Duke and Duchess of Candover are giving."

Lavinia's brows arched. "Your social life is progressing by leaps and bounds."

"The couple we dined with last night are close friends of the Candovers. They must have written the duke first thing this morning." She bit her lip as she reread the card. A quiet dinner was one thing, but a ball given at one of the grandest homes in London?

Accurately interpreting her expression, Lavinia said, "Don't panic. You couldn't pick a better occasion to be introduced to the world. The Candovers entertain wonderfully. They never invite so many people that it becomes a hideous crush, so there is actually room to dance."

"I haven't danced a step in nine years. I won't remember how." A welcome thought struck her. "I'm in mourning for my mother. I'll have to decline."

"Nonsense," Lavinia said briskly. "It's been more than six months, which is adequate mourning time for a parent. Nor does the fact that it's a ball mean you have to dance. I plan to spend at least half my time talking."

"You're going to this affair?"

"I never decline any of Rafe's invitations." Lavinia smiled reminiscently. "I've known him for years. He was always fond of slightly wicked females, but I feared I would be purged from the Candover guest list after his marriage. I should have known he wouldn't marry a prude. You'll like his wife, Margot."

For the first time, it occurred to Rebecca that there were similarities between her situation and Lavinia's. "It's horribly rude of me to ask, but how did you manage to become accepted everywhere when you were once considered very…" she sought for a tactful word, "very fast."

Lavinia laughed. "You mean how did I go from being a vulgar theatrical slut to a semi-respectable lady?"

Rebecca gave an embarrassed nod.

"For the record, I should mention that I'm not received everywhere. If I tried to enter Almack's, they would pitch me down the stairs. But that's all right— Almack's is a flat bore." She neatly scooped out a spoonful of egg. "I was able to overcome my disreputable past because I was beautiful and amusing, and because I made a good marriage."

"I am neither beautiful nor amusing, and I have no desire to marry anyone," Rebecca said gloomily. "Clearly I'm beyond hope of redemption."

"Ah, but you are Sir Anthony Seaton's daughter, and you have rare talent. That will be enough, particularly if you submit your work to the academy. Good artists are forgiven their little lapses of propriety."

Rebecca said suspiciously, "Have you and Kenneth been talking behind my back? You sound just like him."

Lavinia laughed. "No, we haven't discussed you. A simple case of great minds reaching similar conclusions. If you exhibit, you'll become an overnight sensation. The Prince Regent will invite you to Carlton House. Say what you will about Prinny, the man cares about art."

"You're not persuading me to exhibit. Quite the contrary." Another objection occurred to her. "I have nothing suitable to wear. I don't even know what the current styles are. I'll have to decline." She set the invitation down with relief.

"You'll do no such thing. Three days is difficult, but not impossible. In fact…" Lavinia hesitated. "I have an idea. The odds are about even whether you'll love or hate it."