Sharon Sobel (15 page)

“We are going to London,” Lord Wentworth said some time later, between the serving of the strawberry soup and the herb-crusted trout. Claire wondered if one of the servants had set out in the rowboat this afternoon and caught a glimpse of something other than fish circling his baited hook. “Lady Claire shall have the supervision of a large dinner party at our home in Grosvenor Square.”

Camille clapped her hands as if she quite expected this, and Claire wondered why no one had bothered to ask her about it.

“A large party, you say, my lord? Why not exceed all expectations and announce a ball for late in the season? By this, anticipation shall build for some weeks, and there will be great curiosity and gossip about who has received invitations and who has not,” Claire pointed out.

Max studied her over his glass of claret, which cast a pink glow on his skin. “Yes, I can see how anticipation might be very effective in bringing people in who might not otherwise attend. But a ball might be too much, even for your skills, Lady Claire. I assume you have had some experience in such things?”

“Of course,” Claire said, though she did not, unless one counted reviewing Marissa’s menu for a masquerade. As she recalled, the guests had much to drink and did not really pay much attendance to the pheasant and aspic. But Claire, who was not much of a drinker, thought the pheasant a little tough. “I have planned many fine parties.”

“I thought as much,” Camille said with satisfaction. “I should like a very grand ball, with a large musical ensemble and many courses to our meal.”

“Do you not think we should start with a small ball, or a large party, Lady Camille?” Claire asked, catching Max’s sigh of relief. “You are not yet accustomed to the rigors of preparing for such an event and it can be very exhausting. Allow me to guide you through the demands and choices that need to be made this one time. Then, I shall leave it to you to plan your own, very large ball in the near future.”

No one said anything at all.

“I shall help, of course. I shall not abandon you, dear Camille,” Claire added and was rewarded with a smile from her friend.

Max’s expression was not as easy to read, however. He might have been apprehensive or pleased, for she could not tell.

“Where do you stay when you are in town, Mr. Cosgrove?” Claire asked.

“My family has a home not far from Grosvenor Square, and I have rooms there. My brother owns several fine houses and it is rare that his family is in residence. It is somewhat lonely, but I could come and go as I please.”

“You must allow me to introduce you to society, Mr. Cosgrove, and then you will never be lonely.”

“I am grateful for your concern, Lady Claire, though I am not certain I am a good fit in London society. I enjoy a visit, but not nearly as much as I do my return to Middlebury.” Mr. Cosgrove operated on his trout, carefully removing the delicate bones. “I am happiest here.”

“I have come to enjoy your neighborhood as well, Mr. Cosgrove. Though I never admit to loneliness while I am in London, I confess that it is often the case. It is why I started to read to young girls in an orphanage, and that, of course, brought me to Lady Camille. It is always good to feel useful.”

“Then you will help with the preparations for the party?” Max asked, quickly.

“Have I not said as much?” Claire frowned. Perhaps she had not. “But there will be much gossip and speculation about the affair if it is known that I have a large hand in the planning, for we are not relations. I suggest we go about the business quietly, and allow Mrs. Brooks and Lady Camille to take all the credit. It will make Lady Camille’s coming-out all the more spectacular.”

Max put down his glass. “Do you mean to suggest people will be more censorious of a lady engaged in party arrangements, than one living in the home of a single gentleman and his sister?”

“I have only let on that I am visiting Lady Camille Brooks, a dear friend. While that might not have been altogether true at the point at which I left London, it is certainly true now. If there is anything for gossips to find anchorage, it does not concern my presence in your house.”

Claire thought her answer quite sensible and believed she had the last word on the subject. The four companions ate for some time, each engaged in private thoughts. Then, too late, Claire realized what Max was thinking.

“I suppose my reputation as a fire starter and murderer overshadows everything else,” he said. “Those attending our ball should be advised to each bring a bucket of water.”

His attempt at humor was so clearly an effort to mask the pain he endured for nearly all his life, and the guilt that would never leave him. A month ago, Claire felt suspicious of his actions and a little fearful. A day ago, she felt pity. Now, knowing him in a way that allowed for nothing hidden between them, she felt a little spurt of anger.

“People gossip when they do not understand anything of the truth,” she said tartly. “They replace the facts of the situation with a variety of fictions, each more stunning than what has already been crafted. A lady arrives in town with a child. The child bears some resemblance to half a dozen earls and a rather elderly duke. In a matter of hours, it is accepted that this mysterious lady has borne a bastard and has come to demand some assistance for her and her child. The Earl of So-and-So disappears from sight and it is speculated, as perfectly logical, that he is the father. The duke offers the information that the earl has caught a very bad cold. It is then uniformly decided that the duke is the unacknowledged father of the earl, for why else would he defend him? Indeed, it all makes perfect sense, and there is talk of little else at every dinner party in town. Finally, the lady hears this splendid story and wonders about whom such gossip swirls. But she cannot remain to hear the details for she has promised to escort her young brother to the Tower this afternoon. Her traveling companion was certainly a relation, you see, but not one imagined by the most accomplished of gossips.”

“That is quite a story, Lady Claire,” Mr. Cosgrove said, and applauded her. “I wonder why you need pick up a book in your afternoons with Lady Camille, for you are a very vivid storyteller.”

“And what of the mysterious earl?” Camille interrupted.

“The poor man remained ignorant of what others were saying. He turned up at the theatre several days later with a red nose and interrupted the performance several times with his sneezing.”

Mr. Cosgrove laughed. “The poor man, indeed. Though it must be preferable to nurse congestion in the lungs for a few days, than to fend off rumors and innuendo for a lifetime.”

“You speak knowingly of these circumstances, Lady Claire,” said Max. She studied his face and saw he was as angry with her as she was with him. “Have you crafted this story for our evening’s entertainment? Or is it, like many stories, a fable, with a lesson to be learned from the edifying narrative?”

“Indeed, such events occurred only last season, though I shall not disclose the names of the people involved, as it will only foster the old gossip. The circumstances still frustrate me as much as they did months ago. But you are correct; I see in this story some vague similarity to your present dilemma.”

“There is no dilemma, Lady Claire,” he said firmly.

But he was not stupid and must see it as clearly as she. Claire took a deep breath, and dove into the torrential, muddy stream.

“Before I met you, Lord Wentworth, I was already acquainted with the rumors about your past. The gentleman with whom I was dancing at your cousin’s ball was very happy to tell me everything he heard about you, though he had never met you and had possibly not spared a thought to your situation in twenty years. I daresay that was the case with everyone in attendance, for I never knew of your existence and never heard your story.”

“Then let that be an end to it,” Max said.

“Oh no, my lord,” Claire insisted. “It is not the end. For we have not yet reached the point of my story.”

“And yet we have heard enough,” he said.

Claire ignored him. “When I first saw you, hiding behind the columns, I demanded to know who you were, and thus your history was revealed. But I was not the only lady who was interested in you, and yet you would neither dance nor speak to anyone. As I recall, you rejected your aunt’s introduction to me in no uncertain terms.”

“I had much to think about that night, and none of it had to do with a contra dance.” He smiled briefly, and Claire felt a flicker of pleasure. “No matter the beauty of my proposed partner.”

“And so a man of brooding mystery shows himself in society, where he has never before mingled, and where he admits no interest in rectifying the situation. He seems to have everything to commend him: name, intelligence, and a very fine figure.” Claire paused, observing that his reddened features had nothing to do with the reflection of the claret this time. “But he leaves the ball, still a man of mystery, safeguarding his reputation in the hands of one quiet aunt, and a ballroom full of cheerful guests. Is it any wonder his reputation remains unchanged?”

“Is this true, Max?” Camille asked.

“That I was judged harshly in London?” he responded.

“That is not of interest to me,” Camille said loftily. “I only wish to know if you refused to dance with Lady Claire.”

“He cannot deny it. There were several witnesses, and he walked—nay, stalked—away most emphatically. I was quite humiliated and needed to mask my emotions in the arms of another man,” Claire said, and shrugged quite as if it did not matter.

“Yes, I suppose I have been foolish about some things, as it turns out,” Max said, his eyes never leaving hers. “If I had but known I was being handed the gift of both beauty and redemption, I might have been kinder. But I did not know then what I know now.”

She had not intended for this conversation to turn on her, and struggled to regain her footing. “I hope that means that you will present yourself in society as the man you truly are, and finally put the exaggerated and cruel rumors to rest. You will dance and you will go to the theatre and you will ride in Hyde Park and you will accept invitations to a dozen or more dinner parties. You will meet my friends and the friends of my friends, and be seen with your cousin and his family. Lady Armadale knows something of surviving scandal herself, and will be an excellent mentor.”

“It appears I already have a stern mentor, Lady Claire. Thank you for your lecture to us this evening,” he said and smiled like a mischievous Eton boy.

Now it was Claire’s turn to blush.

“I did not expect for this to be our agenda at the dinner table, so perhaps you and I ought continue this topic in another time and place.”

Mr. Cosgrove was visibly relieved, and Camille looked down at her plate and smiled. But Claire knew what Max meant and wondered what he would be able to teach her in his turn.

***

He came to her quite late, after she already drifted off to sleep in the large chair in front of the glowing embers in the fireplace. He announced his arrival with nothing more than a brush of fingers against her door, but all her senses screamed his presence, and she moved quickly to open her room and herself to him.

He came through silently, in stockinged feet, and caught her in his embrace before she could close the door behind him.

“Hush. Say nothing,” Max whispered, and then made sure she could utter nothing at all.

“I was not sure you would come, though I prayed you would,” she finally managed to get out, breathlessly. They had managed to arrive at her bed without knocking over a table or lamp, and without tripping over her nightdress.

“I know. I heard those prayers all through dinner, and they were an echo of my own.”

“Then why did you wait so long?” Claire complained. “If you had taken much longer, I would have come after you myself.”

Max laughed. “And you are concerned about your reputation? Or mine? A lady does not slip into a gentleman’s room.”

Claire leaned over and kissed him on his nose. “They do so all the time, my lord. Occasionally, they mistake the room and find themselves with someone altogether inappropriate, and make do with some absurd excuse.”

“And what would have been your excuse, my dear Claire? For you must admit, I am entirely inappropriate.”

“You are an idiot, more like. But you have come to me, in any case.”

“Yes. I could hear Camille bumping about in her room, and decided to wait until she was long asleep before I ventured out in the hall. My sister can hear a petal drop off a daisy, so it is not possible to be too cautious.”

Claire glanced down at his feet. “And so you left your shoes behind. You must have done this sort of thing before.”

Max pulled her back against the voluminous pillows, and seemed to be measuring his words. “No, I have never done this sort of thing before.”

Claire curled her legs under her, so her knees pressed against his thigh. “And yet you seem quite experienced,” she said coyly.

When he did not answer, she continued, “There is considerably more privacy to be had here than in an open field.”

“And there will be more still when we arrive in London and have two large town houses for our pleasure.”

“And yet there is something about leaves of sweet-smelling grass,” Claire sighed, and turned her face into the starched linen pillow scented with lavender. Earlier in the day she had felt utterly heathen, naked between the earth and Maxwell Brooks. Now, even in the clean softness of a well-made bed, she somehow felt nearly as uncivilized. And no matter where they were in London, it might very well be the same, so long as he was with her. But suddenly, she considered his words.

“Have you agreed to this scheme for no reason than the greater convenience of lovemaking, Max?”

“I do not think convenience has a thing to do with it, for you are a most inconvenient woman. You have disrupted my quiet and peaceful life, you argue with me at my own dinner table, and you have empowered my sweet sister to rebellion. Even now, when I have a very busy day tomorrow with my steward, I should be abed.”

“You are abed,” Claire said, and hesitated. The sharp pain of her married life, of what happened in another bed, with another man, suddenly returned to her. She realized she was wrong to hope to feel as uninhibited against familiar soft pillows and linen sheets as she did in a strange new place. Here, a cruel partner was suddenly in her thoughts, as he had been in her most wretched nightmares in recent years.