The Luck of the Devil (3 page)
Woody could barely nod, his bony Adam's apple bobbing up and down over Captain Delverson's fist. Carey tossed the boy over the saddle. He made sure Woody had the reins in his hands—Carey wasn't a bloodthirsty barbarian, despite his sister's caterwauling—and swatted the horse on the rump.
"And as for you, miss," Carey started, turning to his wayward sister, who was halfway through the door the grinning footman held for her. Suzannah brandished the umbrella stand, shrieking about evil, black-hearted guardians, bullies boiling in oil, and True Love.
Carey wiped his hands on his trousers and strode off for the stables. There, that was a fine day's work. Three hysterical females and one quaking halfling. He felt as if he'd just taken on the whole French army.
A
man cannot outride his troubles. They follow along, echoing with the rhythm of the horse's hooves. Suzannah was a hoyden and Emonda was ruined.
Suzannah would go to a proper school in Lyme Regis, if Carey had to get her there kicking and screaming about kidnappers and star-crossed lovers, which he fully expected. And Emonda was ruined.
Captain Delverson was a master at weapons and wars and even women—but not the kind of woman one could neither banter with nor bed. The chit was too old for school, too young to live alone, too innocent to ship to the Abbey as St. Dillon's problem. Besides, she was right: She was even less Harry's relative than Carey's, and so far her name was blackened only in Dorset. Association with St. Dillon could make her a byword in at least three other counties.
His horse was in a lather and Carey was miles away from home. He had to rejoin his unit, he knew no respectable females, and Emonda was still ruined. He looked around to get his bearings and realized he was looking up to the prospect of High Clyme, seat of his father's good friend and chess partner, Donald, Earl Clyme. Lord Clyme could not be a help now, since the gentleman was at least sixty and had never been wed. What could he know of women? Then again, the earl hardly ever permitted women in his house, which indicated to Carey that Lord Clyme knew all about the creatures. He rode toward the house, knowing at least Lord Clyme's hospitality would save him an hour's worth of wailing and whining.
"It's a bad business, my boy," Lord Clyme told him after greetings and condolences when they were seated comfortably in the elderly nobleman's study. Lord Clyme's leg was propped up on pillows and a globe of brandy was in his hand, two not altogether unrelated facts. Carey stared into the fire and sipped from his glass as the other man went on. "You know what they say, a woman without reputation is like a goblet with a hole in it. Pretty, but no one is going to be fool enough to try to drink out of it."
Carey nodded gravely. He knew how cruel society could be. He also knew the only solution, although he had refused to say the words even in his mind, like old superstitions about not naming the Devil, lest you call him forth. The captain loosened his collar. The heat from the fire was making him uncomfortable, Carey told himself, not the feeling of a noose inexorably tightening around his neck as his lordship uttered the fateful phrase: "She'll have to be married."
Carey took a gulp of the brandy. The liquor managed to get past the lump in his throat and he was even able to speak rationally. "Yes, then she would be able to bring Suzannah out when the time comes, and be a respectable chaperone over school vacations and such until then."
"Aye, nothing quiets clacking tongues like a wedding."
Still reigned, except for the crackling of the fire. At last Carey broke the silence. "I should make Harry take her, for creating the scandal-brew, but they would both be wretched. It would be like yoking a ewe lamb to an oxen. Harry would have more tolerance for an untrained hound than for such a watering pot, and Emonda is even more afraid of St. Dillon than she is of me. There's always Joss, but he's too young to even think of leg-shackles. Besides, he might mistake her for one of his fillies and pat her on the rump. She'd have the vapors for sure."
"She's a delicate female, boy, that's all. She was raised up quietlike, not like you rough-and-tumble lads."
"She hates me," the younger man clarified. "She makes me feel overlarge and unkempt, as if she will shatter into a billion pieces if I speak too loudly. And of course I only want to shout at her for being such a henwit. Now there's a marriage made in heaven," he said dismally, then brightened. "Of course I could be killed in the next battle. That might sweeten the pill for Emonda, if I swear to do my damnedest to make her a widow."
"You know, lad, I was betrothed once myself."
"No, sir, I didn't." The old boy's mind must be wandering, Carey thought, but he was willing to follow the earl's direction. Anything was better than thinking of a parson's mousetrap and Emonda in the same breath.
The earl struggled out of his seat and opened the top desk drawer. He took out a framed portrait, stared at it a moment, then handed the picture to Carey.
Odd, Carey had one just like it, only smaller "Rowanne Wimberly. I'd forgotten you were related to the Wimberlys, my lord, but what has she to do with—"
"No, it's her mother. Know my niece, do you? It must be true then that she's the image of Amalie."
"If the painting is of Amalie, she is. Miss Wimberly's hair is unpowdered of course, a soft brown, and cut in curls around her face. Haven't you seen her for yourself? Pardon, my lord, my own difficulties make me forget my manners. You cannot wish to discuss your family with me."
"You are wrong, I do. That's why I showed you the portrait. To answer your question, no, I don't know the chit. I always heard she took after her mother and I never thought I could bear to see that face again."
Carey studied the picture, and his memories. "It's a lovely face."
"But Amalie was not a lovely woman. I thought she was, at one time. I thought she was the moon and the stars too. I was the happiest man alive when she agreed to be my wife. Then she ran away with my brother Montgomery."
"Did she give you a reason?"
"She was courteous enough to send a letter with my ring. She never wanted me, it turned out, but her parents wanted the money and the title. They pushed her into accepting. When she found out I intended to devote my life to the estate, Amalie had second thoughts. By Jupiter, I was born to the land. I was brought up knowing High Clyme would be mine and every inch my responsibility. I had no interest in the glitter of London, and thought my precious bride would share my love for the country. More fool I.
"Amalie and her mother came to High Clyme to see about renovating the countess's suite. It was harvest time and there was flooding and a hundred other things that required my attention. And there was Monty, back from Russia, off to India or Persia, I don't know what outlandish places, with his tales of travel and receptions at every high court, the latest gossip from London, the latest fashions from Paris. They left together. I never saw either one again."
Carey could read the sorrow on the old man's face. "I am sorry, my lord. What a crushing blow that must have been to a young man's pride."
"Pride? I loved her. Pride came later, when I refused to see them. I never married, of course, and with Monty providing the heir, I never had to. That would be my nephew Gabriel, a likely lad, so I am informed."
"I've heard him spoken of highly in political circles."
"He knows nothing of agriculture."
"He's bright. He can learn."
Lord Clyme poured another glass. "When I'm gone, when I'm gone. But I have a few good years in me yet, more if I skip my port and cigars if the quacks are right. And nothing but my pride for company."
"Miss Wimberly?"
"She's a Toast, just like her mother. She follows the beau monde from London to Bath. She'd never be content in a rural backwater like Blandford, and I would never ask it of Amalie's daughter."
"I wonder if you misdoubt her, my lord. But…" Carey began to see where the conversation was leading and had a small glimmer of hope. Could salvation lie with a gouty old peer? "Emonda?" he asked in hushed tones.
Lord Clyme nodded. "I could see she is taken care of, and make a handsome enough settlement on her that she would never have to worry again. It wouldn't be stinting the heir, for there's enough blunt to keep him and his sister forever, without even counting Monty's legacy to them. Gabriel is a sober type of fellow by all accounts, not like to run through his patrimony in a year, so he won't notice the expense. When I stick my spoon in the wall, Emonda would be an independent woman, or Wimberly's responsibility at least. Meantime I could help look after Suzannah too, until your return."
"You'd do all this, for company?" Carey was incredulous.
"And for Emonda. She needs a husband and she deserves better than what you can offer. Your stepaunt is a sweet child who could brighten my days."
"And your nights?" The captain could not quite stomach the idea of timid little Emmy in an old man's bed, not even if it meant he could taste a hundred fellows' wedding cakes before he had to choke on his own.
Lord Clyme was affronted. "What, at my age? You would want heirs and so would Harry, who would likely frighten a fragile creature like Emonda half to death. No finesse, your cousin. I can promise a marriage of convenience only, so your conscience doesn't have to prick you."
"Very honorable of you, my lord. But are you sure?"
"It must be Emonda's choice, mind, but you go put it to her. I'd ride back with you, but the blasted leg won't let me. So you tell her how it has to be: you, me, or Harry."
You, me, or Harry, and Heaven alone knew where Harry was. So Emonda's choice was to be nursemaid to a rich old man in a sterile marriage, or wife in fact to a virile young hero, an out-and-outer, a practiced wooer of women with a silver tongue and a gleam in his blue eyes, a handsome rogue on every woman's wish list. She chose Lord Clyme.
Captain Delverson had never considered his appeal for the ladies. It was just there, like his cleft chin and dimples. On the other hand, he never had to beg a woman for her favors, so he was astounded at Emonda's decision. Carey had added Lord Clyme's offer to his own almost as an afterthought, hoping to dam the flood of tears after his announcement that Emonda would have to be wed to save her reputation. She perked right out of an incipient swoon when Carey added the courtly earl's name to the lists, and Carey had to laugh at his own conceit.
His pique at being rejected was mixed with a huge dollop of relief, of course, and Captain Lord Delverson was sure he was the happiest person at the wedding.
It was a small ceremony with a special license, proper for a family in mourning, a comfort for the community. At Carey's insistence, Emonda put off her black and wore a lavender gown that added a bit of life to her insipid coloring, and the white lace mantilla Carey brought back from Spain. At least she wouldn't frighten the old gent into a heart spasm by appearing as Death walking at his side. Carey gave the bride away—and what a pleasure that was!—and Suzannah, deep in the sullens, was her aunt's attendant. Squire Jeffers was groomsman, and the earl himself looked pleased as punch with flowers in his buttonhole and a chaste kiss to his bride's cheek.
After the finest wedding breakfast Mrs. Tulliver could contrive on short notice, the happy couple repaired to High Clyme and Carey packed Suzannah off to school in Lyme Regis.
He did not have to resort to gags and handcuffs, for a short conversation with Squire Jeffers saw young Heywood off to university, to prepare for his future and to ensure that he lived long enough to have one.
Carey threatened to extend his stepsister's sentence if he heard a single hint of misbehavior. "When you are older, I'll ask Lord and Lady Clyme to sponsor you, locally at least. By then maybe the cursed war will be over and we can set up housekeeping in London. You'd like that, puss."
At least he wasn't promising to incarcerate her in some silly girls' school until she reached her majority—almost ten years away! "But what about Woody?"
"The next time you see Heywood, you'll be such a grand lady you won't recognize your old friends."
"I would never forget Woody. We are Pledged."
Carey leaned back against the squabs and pulled his hat over his eyes. "You'll see, poppet. Pretty soon you'll have suitors falling at your feet like autumn leaves. You'll wonder what you ever saw in your freckled Romeo."
"That's hateful, Harmon Carrisbrooke Delverson, and you have no tender emotions. I wouldn't repudiate my love for Woody if you tore my tongue out, if you kept me in the darkest dungeon and fed me moldy bread and water with insects floating in it, if—"
"If I tore up all of your Minerva Press novels. Go to sleep, poppet, you'll need to save your energy to put on a good act for the Misses Snead. I wrote them I was bringing a young lady to their school."
Carey had one more chore to complete before rejoining the army. Lord Clyme, honorable gentleman that he was, had charged Captain Delverson to inform young Wimberly about the wedding. The earl did not want his heir reading the announcement and thinking he was being cut out of the inheritance. The land was entailed, of course, but Donald wanted no more rancor in the family than need be, for Emonda's sake later.
Delverson did not resent this final task at all, even if it kept him from his men and accurate news of the battles for another few days. As he rode to London Carey wondered if Miss Wimberly was the empty-headed society belle her uncle made her out to be, or if she still had that tender look in her eyes and the calm good sense he admired. He told the driver to pick up the pace, curiously anxious to find out.
I
begin to think no woman will ever catch Gabriel's eye."
"He danced twice with the Winthrop chit last week."
"Yes, but that was because the forward miss cornered him in the orangery. It was either dance with her or chance being found alone with her. For all his absentmindedness, my brother is too downy a bird to be trapped that way."
"Or your way, it seems."
"What, would you have him forced into marriage with some scheming girl? No, we simply have not found the right bait."
Miss Grimble frowned but went back to studying the on dits columns and her lists. "Miss Parks seems an accommodating female. She comes to dinner Tuesday next with her brother. Perhaps she will do."
"Perhaps if she lost a stone and dressed in anything but yellow and did not agree with whatever anyone said. And the brother is as big a bore, although Gabe seems to feel his last speech to the Lords was well received. I am not looking forward to the dinner."
Even Miss Grimble was discouraged by now, after the hordes of women Rowanne had cast in Lord Wimberly's path and the scores of gentlemen Miss Grimble had earmarked for her
protégée. It seemed to that strong-willed woman that she had met her match; the Wimberlys were the fussiest pair alive. Either that or they were determined to stay unwed. Fools, the duenna thought, knowing how depressing it was to have naught but one's memoirs for company.
Rowanne did not appear cast down at her single state. She seemed quite satisfied in fact, sitting at her work table with scissors and glue pot, attempting to create tiny flower arrangements out of scraps of silk and green-dyed feathers. She had her brother's looking glass propped up in front of her, and bits of feather clinging to her simple blue round gown. Multicolored silk threads stuck to her fingers and in her hair when she pushed a wayward curl out of her eyes. Rowanne would be content if it were not for her desire to see Gabe settled before he grew into a reclusive old woman-hater like their uncle.
"What are the prospects for tonight?" she asked her companion in the search.
"We go to the Worthingtons' ball, for the debut of their eldest daughter. There are two others in the schoolroom so they are hoping to pop the gal off this Season. The grandfather has sweetened the pot with a handsome dowry, and Lady Aldritch, who knows the family from Hampshire, says the chit is prettily behaved, well educated, and comely. Lord Worthington, recall, is on the Fiduciary Council, which is why your brother agreed to attend. The gal has good connections."
"A paragon indeed. I'll bet she squints."
"Mayhaps Viscount Wimberly won't notice. He did not even recall meeting Maria Sefton's niece at Almack's last week and had to be introduced to her again in the park yesterday. Lady Sefton was not well pleased."
"The girl had spots. But no matter, you are right, I had better go remind him that we are pledged for this evening or he is liable to forget altogether." Rowanne put her materials aside for another day and wiped her fingers on a rag as best she could. She opened the door to leave, but called back, "If I am to be at all presentable for the Worthingtons' ball, I shall need extra time to prepare myself, in addition to Gabe."
She shut the door, took two steps into the hall, and walked smack into a scarlet-coated chest. "Oh!"
Oh indeed.
Those dark-rimmed eyes she so vividly remembered were laughing down at her. "You are charming as you are, Miss Wimberly," he was saying.
Rowanne looked around in confusion. Her daydreams had never called him into being before. A footman stood down the hall, pointedly glancing the other way. She held out her hand, then recalled her sticky fingers. And her mussed gown and her hair coming down, oh dear! She pulled her hand back and bobbed the most awkward curtsy of her twenty-one years.
"Lieutenant, no, Captain Delverson. You are here. That is, in England. How, ah, kind of you to call."
His smile broadened at her addle-pated dithering, as if he was used to women literally throwing themselves at him. "Pardon me for not waiting for an invitation," he said, "and for picking such an awkward hour, but I was hoping to find Lord Wimberly home from Parliament. I could not help but overhear that you have accepted for the Worthingtons' this evening. May I have the pleasure of the first dance? And the supper dance also, if you have not already promised it? No, even if you have. I leave again for Spain tomorrow; that should give me some prerogatives."
"Certainly. That is, I would be delighted to save the dances for you. Did you say you came to see Gabriel?" she asked uncertainly. Whatever could Carey Delverson have to do with her brother?
Carey nodded toward the footman, keeping a discreet distance, waiting to escort him to Wimberly's library. "But I was hopeful of seeing you after, so that I might give you this. Perhaps I should wait and explain, but Lord Wimberly is expecting me. Here."
With that he reached into his uniform's inside pocket and pulled out a small box with a tooled leather lid and pressed it into her hand. He started to bow and turn when Rowanne called out.
Now that Rowanne's heartbeat had slowed enough for her to commence breathing again, and thinking, she took a better look at the captain. He was not quite as handsome as she remembered, with his nose a bit crooked and a scar at his jaw-line, and lines of weather and seasoning around his eyes. Not as handsome, perhaps, but infinitely more appealing, the way a statue of Adonis in a museum was admirable, but a flesh-and-blood man was—She caught herself and forced her mind to work. He held himself stiffly and fiddled nervously with an ornate snuffbox in his left hand.
He was ill at ease, here to see Gabe, and had just handed Rowanne a box the perfect size to hold a ring. Oh my! "Please wait."
He turned and she nodded dismissal to the footman, then glanced back to make sure the door behind her was firmly closed. She only wished her blood wasn't pounding so loudly in her ears she could not be sure of her own words.
"Please do not bother Gabe, my dear sir, for it would never do, and he only finds these interviews distracting and embarrassing. Many of the gentlemen are older than he and more worldly, and what can he tell them, after all? It is my choice alone, and I have decided not to give up my independence for a while yet, certainly not until my brother is comfortable." Rowanne knew she was blathering, but the captain was grinning at her and her tongue was still not following her brain's commands. She tried again. "I am highly honored, of course, but we hardly know each other, and I doubt I have the character needed to follow the drum. I realize that there is much to recommend you, the bravery and dedication they mention in the dispatches, despite your reputation. And please do not think that I would hold a man's prior, ah, experiences against him, for I am not such a milk-and-water miss."
It was all Carey could do to keep from laughing. Never again would he consider himself a ladies' man. Here he'd been rejected again—and this time without even offering!
Rowanne saw he was struggling under some strong emotion. Well, so was she! She had to end this dreadful conversation before the poor man chewed his lip clean through. She held out the little leather box. "Please, sir, let us both forget this meeting and remain friends."
Carey couldn't resist. He placed his snuffbox on the buhl table behind him, took her hands in both of his, and raised them to his mouth. "Tell me I haven't offended you and that I can put my luck to the touch in the future."
Rowanne could have bitten her own tongue when she heard herself say, "I hope you do."
Carey threw back his head and laughed out loud. Gads, the chit was a delight, he thought, watching the emotions play across her lovely features. What a fool the Earl of Clyme had been, denying himself the pleasure of knowing this vibrant creature. It would have been a shame to hide Miss Wimberly's light in Dorset though, for if she was not a classic beauty, she was certainly an Original.
Rowanne watched him laughing like a Bedlamite. "Then you are not disappointed?"
Now if Carey were a true gentleman like the old earl, for instance, he would have begged her pardon, placed his trust in the future, and gone on his way. Captain Delverson had earned his reputation for deviltry, however, he had not just inherited it. Besides, she would know as soon as she opened the box.
"Devastated," he told her, lifting the tooled lid of his gift. He shook out onto her palm a tiny set of terra-cotta tableware, plates and cups and bowls, all cunningly painted with tiny flowers. "Do you remember my promise? I did. These were from an open-air market in Madrid." He saw her eyes widen and her mouth drop open as enlightenment dawned. "And now I really must see Gabriel about a message from your uncle." He kissed her hand again, the one with the dishes, saying "Until tonight," and turned to go before she could scream or cry or throw things. He gave one last chuckle and a softly murmured "Thank you," then knocked on the door to Gabriel's library.
Rowanne thought she might recover from her mortification, if she lived another hundred years! Meantime her face was redder than his coat and her body was shaking, except for her feet, which seemed anchored to the hall runner with the weight of her idiocy. How could she? How could he have let her? How could she chance him coming out of Gabe's study and finding her rooted to the same spot?
The thought of ever facing the captain again sent her fleeing to her bedroom, where she locked the door as if his knowing laughter could have followed and furiously kicked the dressing table chair. Then she hobbled to her bed, clutching her toes. Good, she thought, maybe they were broken. Now she could not attend the Worthingtons' do. For all she cared, Miss Hillary Worthington was Gabe's one true love and he was doomed to a life of misery if he did not meet her this evening. So be it, he was doomed. Rowanne was not going to give that… that dastard another chance to laugh at her. Gads, what a complete and total cake she had made of herself then! And he had laughed!
"The miserable muckworm did what? He married his aunt off to Uncle Donald to wash his hands of her and cut you out? That swine!"
Gabe pushed his spectacles up and looked at his usually calm and even-tempered sister in amazement "It was nothing like that at all, Ro. I just explained, Uncle Donald asked him to call specifically so I would not suspect such a thing. The entailment is sound and the estate in good heart."
"Wait till the new countess gets her hands on it. Who else but a conniving harpy would marry an old man for his money? You'll see, she will bleed the estate dry and leave you nothing. She won't be content in the country either, mark my words, now that she has a title and money. We'll have to give up Wimberly House to the shrew, see if we don't. And you cannot be fool enough to think she won't move heaven and earth to bear him a son and push you out of the succession altogether. I'll wager she is just like her nephew, the cold, unfeeling blackguard."
Gabe neatened his desk. "I, ah, thought you admired the captain."
"I was deceived in his character. He is a heartless care-for-naught and likely a glory-seeker in the wars. That must be why his name is mentioned in the news so often. He is not even attractive anymore, with all the signs of dissipation he exhibits, and I swear the man grows positively foppish, twiddling with his snuffbox in an affected manner."
"I understand you agreed to have supper with him this evening." Gabe's tone held the question.
"Did he say so? He must have misunderstood. I find that I do not care to attend another insipid comeout ball. I am sure you will be relieved to have a quiet evening at home."
"I would, quite, but I had to call on Lord Worthington yesterday and he specifically asked me to dance with Miss Hillary. She is shy, but now that we have met he feels she might be easier with someone she knows. I cannot send my regrets at this late date. Won't you reconsider?"
Rowanne reflected that it was even more important than ever for Gabriel to find a wife, and a rich one at that, now that he could not count on the Clyme inheritance. Besides, why should Miss Wimberly allow any rag-mannered, scapegrace savage to keep her mewed up in her rooms? She would show the cur that the Wimberlys were not to be trifled with. She would go to the Worthingtons' ball and cut him dead if he had the gall to approach her. Then Gabriel could dance with his one-and-only true love and Rowanne could come home and have a good cry.
M
iss Worthington neither squinted, stammered, nor had the spots. What she had was a severe case of debutante jitters. The chit was so shy and nervous she cast up her accounts right on the receiving line before the Wimberly party arrived. Rowanne need not have come after all. She expressed her polite sympathy to the unfortunate miss's parents, meanwhile wondering if she and Gabe could leave before the orchestra started tuning up.
"Don't worry about my gel," Lord Worthington advised, cornering Gabe. "Her mother'll see the lass comes back. Like getting up on a horse after being thrown, what? You have to do it sooner or later, and sooner is better, if you ask me. She'll be back down in the blink of an eye, so you can have your dance. Better make it the supper dance, if you please, to make sure the chit has someone she knows to go in with. D'you mind?"
Gabe was too polite to say if he did, of course, so they moved into the ballroom. Rowanne had no more gotten Miss Grimble settled on a chair in dowagers' row and seen Gabe off to find a crony for another endless debate, when there he was. For a second her stomach wished to take a page from Miss Worthington's book. She turned her back.
Carey took a moment to admire the stiff spine and delightful rear view of her clinging primrose silk gown and the soft brown ringlets trailing down a graceful neck.
"Good girl," he said. "I knew you had too much backbone to stay home. And a charming backbone it is too."
Who knew what other outrageous statements the cad would make right there in front of the matrons and maiden aunts? For all Rowanne knew they were each taking notes for their memoirs. She turned around and hissed, "Go away, you odious man."
He wore an injured look. "But you promised the first dance only this afternoon. Never say you are so fickle."
Rowanne checked the women behind her. Yes, they were all as avid as starlings on fence posts waiting for the farmer to sow his grain. Miss Grimble was frowning. "I do not care to dance this evening, Captain Delverson. I have injured my foot." Rowanne's foot was perfect, and by denying him she committed herself to a whole evening of sitting on the sidelines, but it would be worth the boredom.
"Fine," the wretch answered. "Then we may sit over here for a comfortable coze and become better acquainted."
"On second thought, my foot has recovered remarkably, sir."
"I thought it might," he said with a laugh.
The set was a quadrille, with the complicated figures of the dance making conversation unnecessary. When Rowanne and the captain did come together in the movements, she looked pointedly at the black armband on his uniform and announced, "You are in mourning; you should not be dancing."
"I am a soldier, Miss Wimberly. Friends die every day and I have to go on living. Besides, a wise person once wrote something about how we pay most honor to our loved ones by keeping their memories alive in our hearts, not by the outward trappings of grief."
Rowanne nodded curtly. Those were the words she had written to comfort a soldier who could not attend his father's funeral, when she thought Carey Delverson deserved her sympathy.
After that, she granted him only monosyllables in response to his mindless prattle.
"The weather was lovely today."
"Yes."
"It is unfortunate Miss Worthington should miss part of her own ball."
"Yes."
"You're wishing me at Jericho."
"Yes."
"Would you like me to explain to Miss Grimble and the other dragons who are staring at us why you are scowling so fiercely?"
Rowanne instantly curved the edges of her mouth upward, and kept them there until the end of the dance, when she thought her cheeks would melt from the effort. Before the orchestra's last chord was finished echoing, she curtsied and rudely turned on her heel in Gabe's direction.
"I know you shall be busy with your admirers, Miss Wimberly," she heard from behind her, "but I pray you will not forget the supper dance you promised."
Gabe was rapt in a discussion of the Enclosures, but Captain Delverson's words were loud enough for Gabe's companions to hear, so now Rowanne could not accept another offer, pleading confusion. Nor could she claim a headache and go home, for Gabe still had to have his duty dance with the guest of honor. Drat that man! Rowanne turned a radiant smile on Lord Fairborn. She would show the bounder she could have a good time with a real gentleman, even if that coxcomb Fairborn was wearing a puce waistcoat and red high-heeled shoes.
Rowanne danced and laughed, conversed and flirted—and watched the captain. He danced once with Lady Worthington, bringing a girlish blush to that lady's cheeks, and once with Lady Chiswick, a dashing widow in dampened skirts who tapped him with her fan when their dance was done. It was all of a piece. Then he stood near one of the windows in discussion with a group of War Office dignitaries. At least the cad would not be making Rowanne's ignominy public, would he?
"I say, Miss Wimberly, you look pale. It is stifling in here; perhaps you would care for a stroll on the terrace?"
"Thank you, Sir Stephen, that would be lovely." When they reached the open window Rowanne could hear Wellesley's name being mentioned, not hers, of course. Not even one of the Delverson Devils could be so lost to decency. Yet some night, she thought, in his cups maybe, or just out of boredom, or for one of those dreadful wagers with his reprobate cousins…
If Captain Delverson was surprised that Rowanne came so willingly into his arms for their dance, he hid it admirably in a delighted smile that widened further when the orchestra struck up a waltz. The waltz suited Rowanne's purposes very well also, enough that she could ignore the firm pressure of his hand radiating warmth to her waist. So what if she could feel a tingle in her hand, touching his hand, through her glove, through his glove? They could talk without being interrupted or overheard.
"You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?"
He stumbled. "The deuce. Pardon. Miss Wimberly, if you were a man I would call you out for that insult to my honor."
If she were a man she would have run him through that afternoon, but wishing got her nowhere. "What if you should be foxed, among your officer friends on the Peninsula, say?"
Now his remarkable blue eyes turned to ice, staring down into hers. Rowanne was not a small woman, but she had to look up; she was not a meek woman either, but she shivered at that cold gaze.
"Men do not become animals when they put on a uniform, Miss Wimberly, despite the barbarism of war. And I, for one, would not drink if I could not do so and remain a gentleman."
Rowanne looked away. "Thank you, you are right, I should not have mentioned the issue."
The pressure at her waist increased, but she would not look at him again, not even when he said, "And I should not have laughed this afternoon."
"I am sure it was quite amusing."
"Only to my deplorable sense of humor. Do you think you could ever forgive me?"
"The dishes were lovely, thank you. They will be perfect in a vignette I am working on for a woodsman's cabin. My groom carved some wood into plank tables and rough-hewn shelves. I thought I might—"
"You haven't answered."
"You married your aunt off to Uncle Donald."
"They neither had anyone else. It was their choice."
Now it was her turn to fix him with an angry stare. "You let me make a fool of myself."
He swung her around and around in a senses-stealing twirl as the dance came to an end. "You were so adorable at it."
They sat down to supper with Gabriel and Miss Worthington. Miss Hillary was almost at ease, for no one could be afraid of Gabe, with his spectacles and vague manner and boyishly inept dancing style. The girl was pretty in a china-doll way, petite and fair. Rowanne had no doubts Miss Worthington would show to better advantage out of the debutante white gown, and began to wonder if the sweet little thing might not be Gabe's destiny after all. Rowanne tried to draw her out over the crab cakes and oysters, chantilly
crèmes and raspberry ices. If light chatter with Miss Worthington helped her avoid conversation with her dinner partner, so much the better. Rowanne needed quiet time to think before she could take on Captain Delverson again.
The captain was doing his part to entertain Miss Worthington, telling amusing tales of his army life until they were all laughing merrily and the chit even added a comment or a question of her own.
Carey was joking about how one of his fellow officers managed to trade one of Sir Wellesley's own brass buttons for a chicken to a hero-worshipping señora—one in each town. The buttons were engraved with Arthur Wellesley's monogram and the officer, Alexander Warburton, kept having his mother send boxes of them. "There wasn't much we wouldn't do for a proper meal," Carey concluded, lifting his second iced cup. "I would trade my best pair of boots for one of Gunther's confections out in the field on those hot, dusty days. Instead I intend to eat as many as your mama will allow, Miss Worthington."
He turned to Hillary, the spoon in his right hand, the raspberry ice in his not-entirely reliable left hand, just as Miss Worthington waved her arms in the air to show how huge a delivery had been made. Their hands collided and the dessert cup went flying past Carey to land smack in Rowanne's lap. She jumped up, catching the attention of the diners at the neighboring table and sending sticky red droplets toward Captain Delverson's white pantaloons.
Servants came running, and Carey apologized profusely because his blasted hand could not be trusted. Miss Worthington, however, looked in horror from
the stains on Rowanne's elegant primrose silk gown and the spatters on Captain Delverson's uniform, to the ogling crowd and back to her own plate, where reposed a solitary oyster she could not bring herself to eat. The slimy mollusk was the last straw. Hillary turned green and lost her dignity again, this time on Gabe's foot.
"No, Miss Wimberly," Lady Worthington chided, "you must not fret over the silly child. You have been more than gracious, you and your brother, having to leave the ball this way. My lord's valet should have him fixed up in a wink. I've sent a footman after your Miss Grimble and your wraps, and the carriage should be out front in a moment, though it's not what I would want, keeping you hidden away in the butler's pantry."
"Please don't fuss, my lady. I am sure my dresser can remove the stains. And do reassure poor Hillary that I hold her blameless. I should have realized she was not well-enough recovered for crab cakes and champagne."
"Lord Worthington always did say you Wimberlys had good blood and good breeding. I thank you, but it never was your responsibility to watch what the ninny ate. I should have known not to pitchfork such a retiring chit into the ton, but her fond papa did want to show her off. He had hopes that your brother… Well, can't cry over spilt milk. Or raspberry ice, heh-heh. The gal will do fine going back to the country, and next year she'll have her sister beside her. The ton will have forgotten all about it." The motherly lady did not think she need mention that the rumor mills were likely to make more of Miss Wimberly's two dances with the rakehell captain than they did of an unknown and undistinguished young miss's gaucherie. She merely clasped her hands and looked around nervously.
"Please go back to the party, my lady. Miss Grimble or Gabriel shall be along shortly, and you must be anxious to see to your guests."
"Are you sure? You have been everything that is kind and I cannot think what I am about to leave you like this, but someone of the family has to be in the ballroom."
"I'll be fine. Thank you for your attention, and for a, ah, an interesting evening."
The older woman hurried off, muttering about good lines and what a shame it was about the brother, but no one was that kind. When Rowanne heard footsteps a few minutes later, she left her hidey-hole and stepped out to the marble-floored hallway.
A scarlet jacket. She darted back, but not before Carey spotted her and followed her into the closetlike room.
"Captain, you forget yourself! My brother will be here… and Miss Grimble."
"I can deal with your brother. He's got no aptitude for swords or pistols. But you are right: It's that fire-breather of yours who has me quaking. I shall leave in a moment—my carriage must be waiting—but I have to know that you are all right."
He stood close, too close in the little room, and looked into her eyes. For some reason Rowanne's cheeks felt warm as she answered, "I am fine. Nothing that a bath won't cure. Please go."
"I need to talk to you. I can hear if someone is coming."
Not over the thundering of her heart, he couldn't. "We have nothing to say to each other."
Carey went on as if she had not spoken. "The first time we met I took something from you. I should have realized it was something precious to you, a picture of your mother, and returned it."
Rowanne waved dismissively. "I have many paintings of my mother. She enjoyed sitting for her portrait, and the locket was a trumpery piece I had not worn in years."
"Yet you wore it to your debut at Almack's. I should have sent it back. Now it means more to me. May I keep it?"
What was the snake trying to do, turn her up sweet? Rowanne was not about to let any practiced flirt cause her one more ounce of anguish, not even if her fingers itched to push that black curl off his forehead. She took refuge in anger.
"What is the difference if you have one more thing that belongs to me? You have stolen my dignity."
He raised one eyebrow. "How is that, Miss Wimberly? No one knows, no one shall ever know, and I'll be gone tomorrow. Meanwhile you were the perfect lady in there, helping that silly chit and then walking out as imperious as a queen while they all stared. No one has robbed anything from you." Then a different kind of light shone in his eyes. "But since you have accused me, I am minded to steal another memory to take back with me to cherish."
Rowanne hurriedly looked about her person. A ribbon? Her fan? Dear heavens, she did not want Gabe coming upon them and having to challenge this unprincipled libertine to a duel. She did not want another scene, and she did not want him staring at her with that devilish gleam that made her toes curl in her slippers.
