Season for Scandal (15 page)

“A woman’s prerogative. Do you change your mind about everything?”

His eyes had gone hard; Jane recognized the signs of frustration. Many times, she had seen that look in the glass. “As much as I need to,” she said. “Don’t take it to heart, Mr. Bellamy. We’re both new to society. We’re bound to make a misstep now and then.”

“You are right.” He forked up some chicken; the meat fell from the tines and he scooped it up with the flat of his knife. “I am honored to be admitted to your inner circle of acquaintances, Lady Kirkpatrick. Especially if your husband proves unforgiving.”

“I never said—” Jane glanced at Edmund, several places down on the other side of the table. The look on his face could only be described as a glare: eyes narrowed, lips curled.

In other words, unforgiving.

When his gaze met Jane’s, the expression was instantly wiped from his face. He tossed her a doting smile, then turned his head to the side, as though very interested in what was going on at the head of the table.

“You don’t have to say anything about your husband,” Bellamy murmured. “Word gets around all the same. He’s got a way with the ladies, hasn’t he? Always with a beauty or two.”

“Not always.” Jane stabbed her meat harder than was necessary. “Not this evening.”

“You are too modest.”

“No. Honest, that’s all.” Jane laid down her utensils. “Let’s not talk about Kirkpatrick. Let’s talk about India instead. Won’t you tell me another of your stories?”

“Ah, I’ve no doubt my adventures will seem pale in comparison to the book you’ve just bought. I shouldn’t open myself to criticism like that. My reputation is very fragile, you know.”

Jane made a dismissive noise before it occurred to her that baronesses probably didn’t make dismissive noises. “I mean,” she corrected herself, “That can’t be. You must have met half the
ton
by now. Whatever your business, it’s bound to be a success by now.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” Bellamy studied her closely.

Probably baronesses didn’t let a what-the-devil-is-wrong-with-you expression cross their faces either, so Jane managed bland politeness instead. “Only because the
ton
seems very ready to like you. Why, what else could I possibly mean?”

What else, indeed? Behind her sweetly blank face, her mind began to grasp at possibilities. Bloodthirsty, ingenious possibilities. Maybe Bellamy was a pirate? No, more likely a smuggler. Maybe he was a smuggler who was selling things to Edmund, which was why Edmund wouldn’t tell her about his business but
would
tell her to stay away from Bellamy.

She smiled. Bellamy relaxed, his sturdy frame sinking against the tall, carved back of his chair. “Nothing at all, dear lady. We men of business get so wrapped up in our plans and schemes that we forget about simple good manners.”

Between their plates, his hand found Jane’s and closed over it for a moment. Before she could draw it away—or wonder if she ought to—he released it with a friendly pat and picked up a utensil.

Jane shrugged off this odd exchange. Likely he had little notion of what constituted good manners in London; not that Jane herself was much better off. She ventured a glance at the foot of the table, noting which fork Louisa was using and how much of each dish she had served herself.

As she followed the example of Louisa’s manners, she said, “You mentioned your business, Mr. Bellamy. What sort is it? I keep thinking of you as a traveler, but it must be for a reason.”

“So it is. I trade in whatever will keep me. I’ve bought and sold things you wouldn’t believe. London’s an excellent market for—well, let’s say, unusual items.”

She batted her lashes at him. “How mysterious. Like what?”

He raised his brows. “Do you like secrets, Lady Kirkpatrick?”

The question chased away all her curiosity. Her thoughts tumbled, and she felt as though she were rolling down a hill right after them.
Gambling—love—ten thousand pounds—our swift wedding.
“I used to. I don’t like them much anymore.”

“Most are hardly worth the telling.” Bellamy speared a single pea on the point of his knife. “But they get to be a habit. For some people.” He popped the pea into his mouth.

“I can imagine.”

Oh, she could. Until recently, she hadn’t realized how many secrets of her own she held. For all the years of her upbringing, she had hidden her impatience with village life. She had concealed her ability to count cards from one gambling partner after another. Year after year, she had kept her love for Edmund a secret without even meaning to.

She didn’t have any secrets left now. Shouldn’t honesty bring people together? Yet she felt farther away from Edmund now than she had on the evening he’d blundered into Sheringbrook’s card room. Her name on his lips; her heart—though he’d no idea of it—in his keeping.

She glanced at Edmund again. He still had his head turned to the side away. Not looking at her. Not eating much. But he was doing a damned lot of talking. Not to a beauty, though; to Louisa’s aunt, Lady Irving. A woman many would describe as
formidable
or
terrifying
. Yet Edmund had her smiling. Hooting, even.

Jane wanted a little part of that joy. She had a sudden devilish urge to call across the table,
Edmund dear, if you should begin not to have a nice time, I’ll trust you to tell me.

But with Xavier at one end of the table and Louisa at the other, and with a motley yet gracious variety of guests in between, she decided against making a spectacle of them both.

“Do you think your husband—” Bellamy began, then paused. “I’m not sure how
ton
marriages work. Do you think he keeps secrets from you?”

With an effort, Jane tugged her gaze back to her dining partner. “I’ve no doubt he does,” she said airily. “But they don’t matter.”

“You are a remarkably tolerant woman, then, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m not.” She considered her reply. Knowing Edmund didn’t care for Bellamy made her a little more cautious. “Everyone has a right to privacy,” she finally said.

Bellamy merely looked skeptical and started fooling about with his utensils.

“That knife is for fruit, I think,” Jane murmured.

“Are you certain of that?”

“Mostly.”

Lady Alleyneham, blithe and breathless as always, spoke above the quiet chat around the table. “How I do admire those pearls! And it’s so good to see you out and about. Are you feeling quite the thing, Lady Sheringbrook?”

At the sound of the name Sheringbrook, Jane dropped her fork. But the voice that replied to the name was cultured and female. “I am well, thank you.”

Sanity returned in a quick flash:
Lady
Sheringbrook. The mother of Jane’s nemesis. Dowager viscountess and unfortunate mother to a card cheat, she sat close to the head of the table: a woman in late middle age, her hair prematurely snowy, her posture straight and proud. Gray silk and a set of large and beautifully matched pearls added to her dignity.

Yet as Jane watched, a tremor shook the woman’s hand, and her fork clattered so that all the food fell from it.

“I do beg your pardon,” she said. The statement sounded tired, as though it had been trotted out too many times.

Freddie Pellington, a friendly young dandy to the dowager’s left, said, “Dash it, Lady Sheringbrook, won’t you allow me—”

“I’m fine, Mr. Pellington, as I have told you before.” The woman’s voice was steel beneath velvet-soft diction. “Simply because my hands grow disobedient does not mean you need be.”

Abandoning her fork, she clasped her hands together. Twitches racked the folded fists every few seconds. She had no more control over her own extremities than she did over her son. Yet she sat straight, her face serene.

Pity was too small an emotion for a woman with such determined dignity. Jane decided on respect instead.

Louisa broke the awkward silence. “Will you try the brioche, ma’am? The pastry cook is most eager that we should admire his talents. I believe he uses cheese curds in the making of it.” At the foot of the table, Louisa took a bit of the rich bread for herself, then motioned for a footman to hand the platter around.

By tacit agreement, brioche became the new staple on everyone’s plate. When everyone was crumbling bread about, the viscountess’s hands might do what they wished, and she need not go hungry.

Well done, Louisa.
Jane grinned at her friend and stuffed a bite of the buttery bread in her mouth. The crumbs melted on her tongue, salty-sweet.

In the delight of eating delicious food and admiring her friend’s perceptive manners, Jane had forgotten her dinner companion. “You seemed startled, Lady Kay, to see Lady Sheringbrook here.”

She turned back to Bellamy to see him regarding her closely. Close indeed; their faces were but a foot and a half apart. She had never noticed before how much gray threaded through his hair. Though she had assumed he was in his late thirties, he must be older.

The notion that she had seen him incorrectly unsettled her, though it was none of his doing. “Not at all. I’ve never met the lady before.”

“Yet her name means something to you?”

Jane waved the hand that held her brioche. “I’ve met her son before. That’s all. I think everyone’s met her son.” She gave a little laugh to show that the subject was of no importance.

Bellamy seemed interested, though. “Her son? He’s—oh, what’s the popular cant now?
Not the thing
?”

“I would hardly say so, with his mother sitting at the same table.” Jane kept her voice low.

“But in private company . . .”

She gave in. “Private company with Lord Sheringbrook is no place to be.”

Bellamy settled back in his chair. “Please forgive my curiosity, Lady Kay. I simply don’t want to make a blunder by falling in with the wrong sort. A man of business must be careful. You understand?”

“Oh, I do indeed. A woman of not-business must be careful, too.” She paused. “You’d best call me Lady Kirkpatrick.”

“Your wish is my command.” His smile was all white teeth and roguery.

When Edmund had spoken that phrase—
your wish is my command
—Jane had wished for him. Now the phrase itself reminded her of her husband. How unfair, that he should take ownership of simple phrases when the world already contained far too many reminders of his presence.

Such as, well, his presence itself. Jane peeked at him beneath her lashes. He was still in conversation with Louisa’s aunt, Lady Irving. Whatever she was crowing about, he gave every appearance of being fascinated.

Lord, he had good manners.

Jane turned away from him. “Tell me, Mr. Bellamy. How long were you in India?”

His smile slid to one side. “Would you care to make a guess?”

“I shouldn’t. I don’t want to sound insulting or ignorant, and I don’t have enough knowledge to avoid them both.”

“The two greatest sins of society. You are right to avoid them. As a matter of fact, I’ve been away for twenty years.”

“You must have been very young when you left.”

He shrugged. “Some would say I was old enough to know better. Though some would say I never learned to act my age.”

Jane cast another glance in Edmund’s direction. Now he had the countess pounding his forearm and chortling.

“Age doesn’t matter at all,” she said. Certainly Lady Irving had more energy than any young woman Jane had ever met.

“Ah, you are flattering me!”

Jane turned back to Bellamy with some surprise. “No, I wasn’t speaking of you.” She realized this wasn’t precisely polite. “I mean, I’m sure it’s true of you as well. As it is of . . . many people.”

He let her floundering pass. As the meal meandered on, the hard look never returned to Bellamy’s eyes. Instead, as he spoke with Jane—asking her questions about London, tugging forth her opinions—he seemed to soften. There was something lonely about the man. He’d been gone for so long, England must now seem foreign to him. Perhaps he had even left behind loved ones in India, though he never mentioned a family.

“Do you have a family?” She couldn’t resist asking, though the question had nothing to do with his just-completed tale about an elephant that had been trained to pick peaches and drop the food for poor children.

“Ah.” He shifted topics smoothly. “You are the first to ask me such a question, my lady.”

He looked up and down the length of the table; Jane couldn’t tell if his gaze snagged on Edmund, or if it only seemed that way because hers did. “I had a family once, long ago. Before I left for India. But they were lost to me.”

“I don’t mean to pry.” Jane paused. “Well, yes, I do. Did they meet with an accident? I only wonder because you seem to be missing them. Or someone.”

“Yes, they met with an accident, and I lost them all at once.” He smiled. “But it was so long ago. We should not allow the events of decades ago to spoil our lives now.” He raised a wineglass, which he’d had filled rather a lot of times. “If there’s anything I miss while I travel, it’s good company. And that’s not found by poking through old memories. It’s found at table.”

As he spoke, his voice rose, drawing more than a few curious glances. “Hear, hear,” chimed in Freddie Pellington, who clinked glasses with Lady Sheringbrook.

As others followed suit, a round of impromptu toasts circled the table. Lord Weatherwax, a cheerful inebriate with wild white hair, toasted the drink itself. Lady Irving toasted Louisa and Xavier, calling the latter a “rapscallion.”

Jane approved. Raising her own glass, she announced, “I don’t have anything to say. But I’ve never given a toast before, and I wanted to.”

“A good enough reason. Drink up, everyone,” barked Lady Irving.

Xavier shook his head. “Jane, you are a rascally imp.” He lifted his glass. “To my rascally imp of a cousin, and my old friend Kirkpatrick. I can think of no one in whose hands I would rather have placed Jane, except for those of a madhouse keeper.”

Jane frowned. “Wait. Are you giving me a compliment or him a curse?”

“My dear cousin, it is a fervent hope for your future happiness.”

“Then just say that instead.”