The Curious Rogue (8 page)

“I did the shopping I had mentioned. While I was out I happened to meet Sir Henry Jeffries.”

“That’s why the woman’s name sounded familiar.” Tretain snapped his fingers. “Old Sir Henry... how is he?”

“Doing very well. He is visiting here with his sister. Brought his niece with him also,” Lady Juliane noted. A sly smile appeared on her lips.

“There is something you are not telling me, Juliane.” The earl eyed her carefully.

“Only that I invited the three of them to our ball next week,” she laughed.

“Good, I shall enjoy a visit with Sir Henry.”

“Oh, I think it will be very interesting,” she continued. “I am especially looking forward to meeting his niece... and to seeing you introduce her to Louis.”

Tretain cocked his head suspiciously.

“I did neglect to mention the ladies’ names, didn’t I?” Juliane remarked, attempting to assume a serious air. “They are Lady Waddington... and Miss Elizabeth Jeffries.”

“Make certain there is no hair powder present,” the earl laughed.

“As you wish, my lord.” Lady Juliane pursed her lips. “But don’t you fear our ball will be dismally dull, then?”

Tretain drew his wife into his arms. “Minx, I wonder if it will be safe to let you attend it,” he said gently. “Let us leave Louis to his just deserts... and you to yours.” His lips claimed hers as he drew her into his arms.

Chapter Eight

The theme of the Tretains’ ball on the first May eve was appropriately that of a May fair. Bunting and streamers of all colours abounded in the grand ballroom. The entire area was ringed with potted tulips, hyacinths, daffodils, and violets, all in full bloom. Large vases of roses stood on pedestals beneath the wall sconces, and boughs of newly leafed oaks completed the sights and aromas of spring.

Lady Juliane had dressed earlier than usual so that she could make one last inspection of the ballroom’s decor before the guests arrived. Pausing just inside the huge double doors, she scanned the room.

Lady Tretain walked to the centre of the room while a footman, who had just finished lighting the many candles in the wall sconces and overhead chandeliers, left. Laying a hand on the gaily painted red-and-white-striped pole, she glided about it to survey the total effect of the decorations. A smile of satisfaction came over her face. An even brighter smile filled her features when her eves lit on Lord Adrian.

“My dear,” Tretain scolded lightly, “you should be resting. The evening will be long enough as it is.” He approached her slowly, openly admiring her.

“The most beautiful woman in London shall be at my side this eve.” He bowed. “A dance, my lady?”

“But there is no music.”

“We shall make our own,” Lord Adrian said, holding out his hand.

Lady Juliane curtsied deeply and accepted. They began to dance slowly about the ballroom. Halfway through the movements of the set they kissed.

“La, such happy domesticity,” the Comte
de Cavilon’s droll voice disturbed them. “Mayhaps there are virtues to the wedded state I have overlooked,” he noted with a demure air as he approached them with his peculiar swaying walk.

With feigned shock, Lady Juliane put a hand to her breast. “‘Pon my soul, the man sounds serious. I will have to warn all the eligible ladies to beware.”

“
Certainement
, if they are as lovely as you.” The comte took her hand and kissed it.
“Très belle.”

“I feel absolutely sinful wearing this,” Lady Juliane fingered the sea-blue French silk gown, the material a gift from Cavilon. “Even though you insist it was not smuggled into England.”

“I promise you, my lady, it was handled by no common smuggler,” Cavilon smiled.

“Women,” he turned to Tretain. “Why must they be such questioning creatures?”

“That is what makes us interesting,” Lady Juliane returned. “I have a delightful surprise for you this eve.” She flashed a large smile.

“Something tells me you had better beware,” the earl told Cavilon. “When a woman gets that tone, it can only mean...”

“My lord. My lady.” Their butler Homer stepped into the ballroom. “Coaches are arriving.”

“To your duties.” The comte waved them off. “I shall inspect the wines and make myself
comfortable.”

“You had better... while you are able,” Tretain tossed over his shoulder as Lady Juliane hurried him from the ballroom.

* * *

Lord Adrian and Lady Juliane were respected and liked by the majority of London’s
beau monde.
Their social affairs were always well attended, and this eve the crush was even greater than usual. The heat of the many candles, the large number of guests, and the exertions of the dance drove many to the cooler evening air of the veranda, which ran the length of the ballroom’s outer wall.

The many doors leading to it stood invitingly open. Comte
de Cavilon led Lady Juliane through one of these at the conclusion of the second set of country dances.

“Your ball is an enviable success,” he commented as he led her to a nearby bench. “I have been commanded to see that you rest.” The comte motioned for her to sit.

“Truly, I do not feel a bit fatigued.” Lady Juliane’s eyes strained to see the latecomers entering the ballroom.

“Are you expecting someone of import? Prinny himself?” Cavilon teased.

“I don’t believe so,” Juliane said, giving him an annoyed frown. “But you are certainly dressed to receive royalty this eve,” she said eyeing his immaculate white raiment. His appearance was startling but ultimately handsome.

White from his moderately powdered periwig to the silver buckles gleaming on his white cloth-covered shoes, the comte was readily noticeable. The French silk of his jacket and breeches was flawless in fabric and fit. His sequined waistcoat dazzled to the eye. Studying his face, Lady Juliane noticed that he had not used as much powder or rouge as had become his habit.
Why, even his affectations are not as pronounced this eve,
she thought.

“Do you see something amiss?” Cavilon questioned. He flicked his kerchief at an imaginary speck on his sleeve.

“Indeed not, my lord Cavilon,” she smiled. “You are the best dressed gentleman present... but for my husband, of course.”

“Why, thank you, my dear,” Lord Adrian told his wife, joining them with an older man at his side and a woman of like age upon his arm. “You recall Sir Henry Jeffries. This is his sister, the Marchioness of Waddington, Lady Madeline. My wife, Lady Juliane.”

“Most pleased,” Lady Waddington smiled. “It was so kind of you to extend an invitation to us, my lady. Elizabeth—” She turned to motion her niece forward and found no one there. “I don’t understand,” she smiled nervously. “Elizabeth was with us a moment ago.”

“I am happy to learn that Miss Jeffries did come with you.” Lady Tretain glanced pointedly at the comte. “I am looking forward to meeting her.”

“She is a sweet young woman,” Lady Waddington said, also looking to the comte. “My lord Cavilon, I wish to thank you for your assistance at the time of our mishap.

“And you also, Lord Tretain.

“My dear,” Lady Madeline turned hack to Lady Juliane, “they were such a tremendous aid. I am certain matters would have been far more serious had they not been present.”

“Which reminds me,” Sir Henry spoke up. “It was not necessary for you to send me a box of peruke powder.” His eyes twinkled merrily as he studied Cavilon.

“But of course it was,” the comte drawled. “As Lady Waddington says, the matter would have remained serious if we had not been present. I could do no less for the diversion than replace your powder. Let us forget it,” he dismissed the subject.

“I told Elizabeth you were a bloody good sport,” Sir Henry chuckled. “Haven’t laughed so much in years,” he admitted. “Don’t judge the girl too harshly. She tends to fly into the boughs but is a good sort. Bit down of late, worried about her brother and all. Brought her to London to cheer her.”

“Poor Elizabeth.” Lady Waddington sat beside Lady Juliane. “The most shocking incident happened to her two months past. A villain forced his way into the coach which was bringing the dear girl to my brother. Well, of course, this nearly frightened her to death. Fortunately no harm came to her, but she has been most unsettled ever since.”

She sighed heavily. “It is most natural for one with her delicate sensibilities.”

Tretain, saw Cavilon surreptitiously scan the ballroom, and noticed his mouth twitch as if fighting off laughter. He asked, “Where did this unfortunate incident occur?”

“I do believe I shall try to find Miss Jeffries,” Cavilon said before answer could be given. Excusing himself with a flutter of his lace, he gyrated away.

The simple gown Elizabeth wore was easily noticeable among the more elaborate dresses of the other women present. Taking two goblets of champagne from a passing footman, Cavilon headed towards her.

When he was but a few paces from his quarry, Elizabeth saw him. Her jaw clenched determinedly, and she walked hurriedly away, disappearing in the crush of dancers pausing between sets.

“La, I just knew you ladies were hoping for some refreshment,” Cavilon remarked, handing the champagne to two very startled dowagers. “My compliments, my dears,” he drawled, bowing exaggeratedly, and followed Miss Jeffries.

Elizabeth, using the skills she had garnered and honed to perfection in evading the suitors set upon her by Sir Henry and Lady Madeline, succeeded in evading the comte.

Hampered because he did not wish to be seen obviously pursuing the lady, Cavilon paused to consider a course of action. Deep in thought, he tapped his cheek impatiently. A sudden inspiration dawned. A smile came as he located Miss Jeffries being led into a country set by Tretain.

“Why, my lord Cavilon, isn’t this just the loveliest ball yet this season?” A heavy hand halted him as he was about to walk towards the pair. “Lady Tretain has such... extraordinary taste. Imagine, a May fair,” Lady Reed gushed effusively. “I was just telling my Barbara...”

“Ah, Miss Reed.
”
Cavilon bowed with a flourish. “Do you think, Lady Reed, that I might lead your delightful daughter in this set?” he asked, seeking to escape the mother as quickly as possible.

“Oh, my,” her ladyship trilled. “My, yes. Off you go,” she twittered. Watching them walk away, she preened proudly. “And they said no one could take Comte
de Cavilon’s interest.”

Miss Reed, however, did not share her mother’s delight at this singular honour. Her natural temerity was not aided by the comte
’s
impenetrable manner. He led her through the entire set without a single word. With the last chord of the song fading, she eagerly awaited being returned to her mama and started when, instead, the comte led her across the ballroom. “Let me introduce you to our host Miss Reed.

“Dear Tretain.” Cavilon strove to regain his usual nasal drawl. “May I present Miss Reed? Miss Reed, the Earl of Tretain. I know you have been waiting the opportunity of dancing with Miss Reed, my lord. So happy to oblige you.” Cavilon deftly laid the young miss’s hand in the earl’s and led Miss Jeffries away before a word was said by anyone.

Tretain, recovering from his surprise, turned to Miss Reed and began at once to put her at ease.

“You will honour me with this dance,” Cavilon told Elizabeth, barely glancing at her as they joined the assembling dancers.

“As you wish,” she answered, acknowledging this minor defeat graciously, while noting the danger of pausing in the centre of a ballroom.

Watching Miss Jeffries unobtrusively while they went through the steps of the formal dance, the comte pondered the reason for his interest and could find no immediate answer. Studying the high-waisted gown of icy green muslin, he found that it neither concealed nor revealed an overly enticing form. He had known others more generously endowed than this country miss.

The colour does set off her complexion nicely, he thought. Her features are not out of the ordinary. But her eyes, those warm, dark pools of brown, how they sparkle when she is angry. He sought to condemn but instead discovered more to admire.

Watching the pair from the side, Lady Juliane happily noted Cavilon’s interest and found the young woman’s disdain for her partner even more diverting.
Mayhaps a wife for dear Louis has been found at last
, she thought.
How perfectly Miss Jeffries’ more austere attire and mien complements the brilliance of his wit and toilet.
With this thought she turned to find Lady Waddington. Plotting was in order.

The dance ending, Cavilon took hold of Elizabeth’s arm as he straightened from his bow, thus preventing her from walking away as she had planned. “You must be frightfully warm,” he said solicitously. “Let me escort you to the veranda for a touch of fresh air.”

“I really do not feel a bit warm, my lord. It must be your French blood,” Elizabeth cut him even as the warmth of a blush rose across her cheeks beneath his unsettling gaze. “But why don’t you fetch me an ice,” she parried.

They eyed each other appraisingly, as combatants assessing strengths and weaknesses.

Cavilon judged his intention the proper, if more unsettling, ploy to use with this particular female, and put his plan into action immediately. “But I could not bear to be parted from you, even for the short length of time it takes to fetch an ice,” he said, daintily sniffing.

Her eyes rose sharply to his.

“You see, my dear, you have quite stolen my heart with your sweet gentle ways,” he continued, fluttering his lace. “La, but I have... shaken your delicate sensibilities.” The comte feigned alarm at her continued stare.

“This will ease you.” He motioned a footman bearing a tray of champagne to their side.

Accepting the goblet calmly, Elizabeth raised it in salute. “At your age,” she smiled sweetly, “you have come to know life is filled with disappointments.”

“You and I,” Cavilon ignored her. “What a delightful match we shall make.”

“My lord,” Miss Jeffries interrupted him coldly.

“Ah, la, yes, my dear?” The comte waved aside her words. “I know, you
wish to go to the veranda with me. You have but to speak to command me. I am your slave,” he bowed deeply.