The Gamble (8 page)

“I didn’t have to introduce young men to you,” he said.

“Catherine is quieter than I am. She doesn’t put herself forward. She needs
help
.” My glare increased. “You deserted her just because you wanted to infuriate Lady Winterdale, didn’t you? That is why you forced her to present me along with Catherine, so that Lady Winterdale would be humiliated by seeing her daughter outshone by a nobody from the country.” I jumped to my feet. It was impossible to glare any harder, but I tried. “It’s true, isn’t it.
Isn’t it?
”

He looked back at me, his eyes clear as a summer sky, his face impeturbable. He said softly, “Would you prefer that I sent you back to the country? I am perfectly prepared to do that if that is what you want.”

What I wanted was to slap his too-good-looking face, but I wasn’t stupid enough to try that. Instead I said, “I think you are despicable,” and stalked out of the room.

I think you are despicable.

Strange words coming from a blackmailer to the man she was blackmailing, perhaps, but I thought that they were true. He had used me for his own purposes, which was to infuriate and possibly humiliate Lady Winterdale. To be honest, I didn’t care about Lady Winterdale, but I did care about Catherine.

I went upstairs and knocked on Catherine’s door and when her voice told me to come in, I entered a little tentatively.

“Good morning,” I said. “Have you recuperated from our late-evening revels?”

She was sitting up in bed drinking a cup of chocolate. Her brown hair was loosely pulled back into a single braid and she wasn’t wearing her spectacles. I thought she looked almost pretty.

Those horrible ringlets that Lady Winterdale insisted on, I thought. We had to get rid of them.

“Sit down, Georgie,” she said, gesturing to the bottom of her bed. I sat on the edge of it and looked at her with concern, searching her face for unhappiness.

She seemed much the same as always.

“Did you have a good time last night?” I asked carefully. “I looked for you when I went in to supper but you were nowhere to be been.”

“I went in earlier than you, I believe,” Catherine said. “Mama forced the son of one of her bosom friends to escort me. We were not in the supper room for long.”

She sounded resigned not resentful.

“Did
you
have a good time?” she asked me.

“I had a marvelous time,” I answered honestly. “But then I like parties, and you don’t.”

“I don’t, really,” Catherine admitted. “Even if I were as popular as you, I still wouldn’t like them. I don’t like talking to people I don’t know. It’s too much trouble.”

I grinned at her. “I know. You would rather be playing the pianoforte.”

She sighed. “Yes. I would.”

My grin disappeared. “Still, Lord Winterdale should have made sure you danced all the dances. It was your come-out ball more than mine.”

“Philip doesn’t like me because of Mama,” Catherine said simply.

I leaned forward. “I can understand why there might be little sympathy between Lord Winterdale and your mother,” I said. “They are both very strong personalities. But there is more between them than simply lack of sympathy. There seems to be active dislike—I might almost go so far as to say animosity. Is there any particular reason for that?”

“Yes,” Catherine replied sadly, “I am afraid that there is, Georgie. You see, Philip’s mother died when he was only eight years old, and directly after the funeral his father asked his older brother, who was my own father, if he would take Philip and raise him with his own children at Winterdale.”

Catherine reached over and put her cup of chocolate on the beside table. “At the time, that seemed the only course of action that would benefit Philip,” she continued. “My Uncle Jasper was sadly unstable—he was an inveterate gambler, you know—and with his wife gone, the chance of Philip having any kind of a normal, respectable life with my Uncle Jasper was virtually nonexistent. I think that everyone just assumed that my father, as head of the family, would take Philip in.”

Catherine tugged on her braid. “Well, my papa was willing to have Philip, but my mama was not. She disapproved of Philip’s mother for having eloped with my Uncle Jasper and, needless to say, she disapproved exceedingly of my Uncle Jasper. She said that Philip was bound to have been corrupted by his parents and that she didn’t want him in the same house with her own children. Eventually Papa gave in to her, as he always did, and told Uncle Jasper that he would not be able to take Philip.”

Catherine stared at the counterpane over her lap and refused to meet my eyes.

“This decision, of course, threw Philip on the mercy of his father, and from the little that I heard from my brother James, Philip’s life was neither easy nor respectable. I myself never met him, of course, but I must say I can’t blame Philip for his animosity. It would be strange indeed if he thought he owed our family anything at all.”

I stared at Catherine thoughtfully, ruminating on all that she had told me. It explained a great deal about Lord Winterdale’s willingness to sponsor my come out, I thought. It also made me feel more sympathetic toward him.

What a terrible thing to do to a small boy, I thought indignantly. What a life he must have led.

“Did your cousin go to school, at least?” I asked Catherine.

She shook her head. “He didn’t go to school in England, at any rate. Perhaps he went somewhere on the Continent.”

“How did Lord Winterdale’s father die?” I asked curiously.

Catherine put her cup down on the tray that was laid across her lap. “I’m not supposed to know this, of course, but he was shot. It happened somewhere in Belgium, I believe. Supposedly someone caught him cheating at cards.”

Oh my God.
I shut my eyes.

How Lord Winterdale must hate and despise me,
I thought. True, he was using me for his own ends, but still . . . to have lost his father in such a way, and then to have me show up on his doorstep trying to blackmail him for a similar offense.

“How old was he when his father was killed?” I asked Catherine.

“I remember that James told me about it on his eighteenth birthday, and Philip is a year younger than James,” Catherine replied. “That would have made him seventeen.”

It occurred to me that Lord Winterdale had good reason to wear that locked-away look he had. The world had certainly not been kind to him during his boyhood years.

CHAPTER
eight

F
IVE BOUQUETS OF FLOWERS WERE DELIVERED TO THE
house for me that morning, and none for Catherine. I thought that Lady Winterdale was angry enough to say that she would no longer sponsor me. When the bouquets were followed up by gentlemen callers, however, and I managed to arrange for one of them to take Catherine for a drive in the park during the afternoon, Lady Winterdale seemed a little more reconciled to keeping me on.

The man I picked for Catherine was older than the rest of the group sitting in Lord Winterdale’s front drawing room. His name was Mr. John Robertson, and he seemed to be more sensible and settled than the younger men who were gossiping and joking and flattering me in a way that made Lady Winterdale frown so direfully.

I had danced once with Mr. Robertson last night, and he had told me that I must be sure to see Kean at the theater and to attend the opera as well. I had immediately marked him as a possibility for Catherine.

My own chosen driver was Lord Henry Sloan. I had liked him when he rescued me at Madame Tussaud’s, and I liked him even more every time we met. He was amusing and easy to be with and his voice was never sarcastic. I wore my new fawn-colored carriage dress and an Angoulême straw bonnet with a high fluted crown and broad front brim. The ribbons were pink and tied on one side with a dashing bow.

We drove along the same path in Hyde Park, upon which I had ridden with Lord Winterdale earlier in the morning, only now the park was crowded with the
ton
. No one galloped; a decorous trot was the fastest pace one could manage in that flock of people. Lord Henry’s phaeton was extremely elegant, and he stopped it frequently to speak to people whom he knew or whom I had met at the ball the previous evening. It was a thoroughly delightful outing.

I saw Catherine twice, and she seemed to be enjoying herself as well. Once she was even talking.

There was no sign anywhere of Lord Winterdale.

He did make an unusual appearance at dinner, however, and as the soup was being served, he said to Lady Winterdale, “I assume you are taking these two chits to Almack’s tomorrow evening.”

Lady Winterdale signaled to Catherine that she was to sit up straighter. “Of course we will be going to Almack’s,” she replied majestically to her nephew. “I officially received our vouchers this morning from Sally Jersey.”

Lord Winterdale took a sip of his turtle soup. He swallowed it, and said, “I also assume that you expect that they will shortly be given permission to dance the waltz.”

“Catherine will be given permission, of course.” Lady Winterdale looked down her pointy nose at me. “And Georgiana, too, I suppose, if she continues to behave with decorum.”

I tried to look as decorous as one can with a mouthful of turtle soup.

Lord Winterdale also looked at me. “Do you
know
how to waltz, Miss Newbury?” he asked bluntly.

I swallowed the soup, and admitted, “I am afraid that I do not.”

“Good heavens,” said Lady Winterdale. “How can this be?”

“After all, it is a relatively new dance, ma’am,” I said reasonably. “Lady Stanton, the wife of our local squire, thinks it is fast, and so we never dance it at home.”

All of the points on Lady Winterdale’s face seemed to draw together and quiver. “A squire’s wife?” she said. “What can a squire’s wife possibly know about what is or is not fashionable?”

“In our part of the world, Lady Stanton is the arbiter of fashion, and she does not approve of the waltz,” I replied.

“Well, this will not do, Georgiana.” Lady Winterdale put down her spoon. “If one of the patronesses introduces a gentleman to you for the waltz, and you must refuse because you do not know the steps, I shall be humiliated.”

I put down my own spoon.

“If dancing the waltz is so important, my lady, I don’t see why I cannot learn it,” I said spiritedly. “I was watching the way it was done last night, and it did not seem extraordinarily difficult to me.”

“The ball at Almack’s is tomorrow evening. There is no time to engage a dancing master.” She looked at Lord Winterdale, who appeared to be the only one at the table who had managed to finish his soup. “Are you going out this evening, Philip?” she demanded.

“I have an engagement at Brooks’s,” he replied.

“You will not be leaving for your club for at least an hour after dinner,” Lady Winterdale announced imperiously. “If I have Catherine play the piano, I do not see why you cannot engage to teach Georgiana the waltz.”

The reckless eyebrows lifted in incredulity. “In an hour?”

“She has assured me that she is a quick learner.”

As a footman removed my unfinished soup, Lord Winterdale looked at me. “Are you game to try, Miss Newbury?”

For some reason, I could feel my breath coming short. The reason Lady Stanton disapproved of the waltz was because it required the gentleman to take his partner into his arms.

“Why not?” I said with an attempt at lightness. “It can’t do any harm to try.”

* * *

Lord Winterdale did not remain in the dining room to drink his port after dinner, but went with us upstairs to the green drawing room where Lady Winterdale had instructed the servants to roll up the rug. Catherine took her place at the piano, and Lord Winterdale and I walked out together onto the middle of the exposed oak floor. Lady Winterdale took a seat on one of the green-tapestry chairs along the wall and prepared to play the chaperone.

“We’ll walk through it first, Miss Newbury,” Lord Winterdale said. “Just follow my lead.”

I nodded nervously.

He took my right hand in his, put his other hand on the back of my waist and held me lightly.

I was shocked by the jolt of feeling that went through me at the touch of his hand on my waist. I swallowed and lifted my left hand to rest it on his shoulder.

“Now,” he said, “the waltz is a three-step count. If you will follow me, we will count out loud: one two three, one two three, one two three.”

We moved off across the room, his hand on my waist compelling me to follow him, my feet almost of their own volition making the three-step pattern he was dictating.

I stumbled once and fell against him. He was solid as a rock. Scarlet stained my cheeks. “S . . . sorry, my lord,” I stuttered.

“That is perfectly all right,” he replied evenly. “You are doing very well.”

After we had gone once more around the room doing this, and I was following him more easily, he said to Catherine, “All right, Catherine, play something for us.”

Catherine struck up the opening bars of a waltz that I had heard played the previous night at our ball, and Lord Winterdale tried to swing me into motion. I stiffened and stuck.

“Relax your waist, Miss Newbury,” he said softly. “Don’t fight me, just follow my lead.”

I glanced at Lady Winterdale to see her reaction to this comment, but she wasn’t looking at me at all. She was looking at Catherine.

I made myself relax and felt myself drawn slightly closer to Lord Winterdale. We danced two steps and he swung me around a turn. Giddily, I followed.

I don’t think I have ever in my life been so conscious of a man. Even when Frank had kissed me—and he had held me considerably closer than Lord Winterdale was doing now—I had not felt like this.

I tried to think of Frank.

“God, Georgie,” he had groaned. “I love you so much. There has to be a way we can manage to get married.”

His arms had been around me, and I had been standing with my cheek pressed into his shoulder. I had felt ineffably sad. “There isn’t, Frank,” I had said. “There just isn’t.”

Lord Winterdale said, “You are doing very well, Miss Newbury.”

I immediately tripped. His hand on my waist tightened to support me. “You shouldn’t have complimented me,” I said breathlessly. “It was bad luck.”

“You are dancing too close together,” Lady Winterdale announced from her chaperone’s chair. “Georgiana must be able to follow her partner without hanging all over him.”

I jumped away from Lord Winterdale as if I had been scalded.

Lord Winterdale stopped and turned to face his aunt. “Miss Newbury tripped,” he said.

Catherine stopped playing.

“Following the steps is not quite as easy as it looked,” I admitted.

Lady Winterdale waved her hand. “Well, don’t stop yet. You have at least another half an hour before you must leave for Brooks’s, Philip. Another half hour’s practice can only be beneficial.”

Lord Winterdale glanced down at me and for a moment I thought I saw a glint of humor in his eyes. “It will help to exercise away all those excess pounds you have been putting on, Miss Newbury.”

Devil,
I thought ruefully. That will teach me to fish for compliments from Lord Winterdale.

“Very well, my lord,” I said. “I will do my best not to step on your feet.”

“Thank you,” he said.

He took my hand. He put his other hand on my waist. I put my hand on his shoulder. Catherine started to play, and once more we moved down the floor.

The waltz, I thought, was a very wicked dance. I quite saw why Lady Stanton wouldn’t allow us to perform it in Sussex.

* * *

Lady Winterdale actually managed to engage a dancing master for me for the following afternoon, so by the time we arrived at Almack’s that evening I felt as if I would not utterly disgrace myself if I was indeed allowed by the patronesses the felicity of performing the waltz.

Once more I had a wonderful time arraying myself for the dance. Really, I thought, I had never realized how much I would like nice clothes. I had never before owned anything but extremely simple cotton round gowns, so I had never had the experience of looking and feeling really grand. The dress I was wearing this evening was a gossamer-light frock of ivory silk, simply stitched with gold thread and with gold-covered buttons down the back and on the sleeves. I had a gold fan to carry, and Betty twined small gilt roses in my braids. I couldn’t wait to get to Almack’s.

What a disappointment! Ever since I had arrived in London, Almack’s had been talked about as if it were some kind of sacred shrine, and I was expecting something really splendid. However, when we finally reached the assembly rooms on King Street, St. James, all I saw was a simple building with undistinguished brickwork and a staid pedimented Ionic doorcase marking the entrance. The second story sported six windows with round arches, which Lady Winterdale informed me graced the ballroom. The whole place looked excessively dull.

The inside wasn’t any better. When finally we reached the famous ballroom I saw nothing but a huge, spare room with a terrible floor.

“Why on earth do people want to come here so desperately?” I said in a low voice to Lord Winterdale who, rather to everyone’s surprise, had actually agreed to escort us to our first Almack’s ball.

He was garbed in the dress that was decreed by the Ladies Committee as being correct for entrance into the club: knee breeches, a white neckcloth, and black dress coat with long tails. But as he looked arrogantly around the room I felt as if the civilized outer show of the man was not quite successful in disguising the inner predator.

He said cynically, “They want to come because the patronesses succeed in keeping so many people out. The power they wield in society is quite amazing. They have even rejected peers of the realm, and once they did not let the Duke of Wellington in because he was not dressed correctly.”

“How on earth did you manage to get in?” I blurted. Then I clapped my hand to my mouth. “Oh, dear, I did not mean to say that. I am so sorry, my lord. It just seemed to pop out of my mouth. I do most truly beg your pardon.”

The smile he gave me was so bleak that it almost brought tears to my eyes. “The Winterdale fortune is known to be very handsome, and I am unmarried,” he said. “Almack’s is not known as the marriage mart for nothing, and the patronesses are not utter fools. They would like to see me attend more frequently, as a matter of fact, but the truth is that I can’t stand the place.”

I was silent. I did not know what to say.

A young man appeared before me wearing a happy smile. “Miss Newbury, it is nice to see you again.” He turned to my guardian. “Winterdale. The patronesses will be in heaven to see that you have shown up.”

Lord Winterdale looked even more cynical than before.

The young man, whose name was, of all things, Mr. Loveday, said, “May I hope that you will give me a dance, Miss Newbury?”

“I will be happy to, Mr. Loveday,” I said graciously. I smiled. “Lady Catherine is here also, on the other side of the room with her mama. I am sure that she would be happy to give you a dance as well.”

Mr. Loveday looked at me. I looked back.

“Of course,” he said. “I shall be certain to ask her.”

“I believe she is free now,” I said.

He shot a look at Lord Winterdale. Then, with palpable reluctance, he smiled, nodded, and took himself off to Catherine.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lord Winterdale demanded of me, “Are you planning to make all of your partners dance with Catherine?”

“If it looks as if she needs my help, then I will help her,” I replied tartly. “Unlike
some
people, I don’t want to see her standing around partnerless. It is humiliating for her.”

His eyes were on Mr. Loveday, who was now speaking to Catherine. Lady Winterdale was beaming. “And you don’t think it will be humiliating for her to learn that you have forced all of your own admirers to dance with her?”

“There is no reason for her to know that. I certainly have no intention of telling her.”

He turned back to me. “Miss Newbury, London’s male society is a very small world. We get together at our various clubs, at Tattersalls, at Jackson’s, at Angelo’s. We talk to each other, Miss Newbury. It will not be long before word is out about what you have done. And let me tell you, that will be far more humiliating to Catherine than being a wallflower could ever be.”

I frowned at him. He looked back, his eyes incredibly blue in the poorly lit grimness of Almack’s ballroom.