The Rake's Rainbow (17 page)

Thomas’s mother had warmed perceptibly, no longer adopting her icy hauteur. And each morning Caroline shared breakfast and conversation with the earl, exploring any and all subjects as had been her wont with the squire. Their talks gave her a deeper understanding of Thomas, for he and the earl were much alike. If her friendship with her husband had not been nipped in the bud, they would now enjoy just this relaxed camaraderie.

By the time Thomas arrived, she had carved a comfortable niche for herself in town and was welcomed everywhere with enthusiasm. But she had also learned more than she cared to about her husband’s past.

It was at the Debenham ball. Her escorts this evening were Emily and Wembley. The viscount was an interesting conversationalist, applauding her efforts to employ veterans and describing a bill he was working on to provide pensions. But once in the ballroom, he switched to light social chatter and humorous commentary lest her reputation be besmirched.

She enjoyed the dancing immensely, still surprised at the number of men willing to stand up with her. Robert led her out for the second set, his conversation even shallower than Wembley’s social chatter and she began to better understand Emily’s critique of the
ton
.

“Lady Sheridan should never wear primrothe,” he lisped as they came together in the country dance. “She lookth like a lemon with that thick waist and apple green ribbons in her yellow hair. Delicious.”  He finished with an affected giggle.

Caroline smiled, unwilling to disagree. The lady did look rather sallow. And her gown in no way disguised a love of rich food in abundant quantities.

“I must say you look exquisite, Caroline,” he continued, casting a connoisseur’s eye over her embroidered ivory gauze atop a deep green slip, with slashed puff sleeves and green ribbon trim. The combination brought color to her cheeks and added green glints to her brown eyes. Dawson had threaded seed pearls through her hair, complementing the countess’s pearl necklace.

“As do you,” she murmured. His sky blue coat fit like a second skin. This waistcoat was embroidered in even brighter colors than the one he had worn to dinner, and his cravat appeared more elaborate.

A stir drew their attention to the entrance. Lady Darnley had paused, gathering all eyes before descending to the ballroom. A dozen dandies already jostled for position at the foot of the stairs.

“Like butterflies around a passion flower.”  Robert giggled. “Silly boys. The lady will eat them alive. Heartless.”

“Would that everyone could see that,” she murmured to herself.

“Don’t tell me Thomas still pines!”  He sounded shocked.

“We shall see when he arrives.”

“I cannot believe it. He would never behave so dishonorably. He would die first.”

Caroline allowed the subject to drop, not wanting to either admit Thomas’s obsession or contradict Robert’s assessment. She danced sets with George, Jeremy, Uncle William, Drew, and several other gentlemen. Unused to attracting so much attention – her older sisters had always been the local beauties – she finally decided that her popularity arose from curiosity over Thomas’s new wife.

Drew escorted her to dinner and kept her laughing with his droll wit and light flirtation. Emily introduced her to several ladies, mostly matrons in their twenties with young families.

An open set provided an opportunity to slip away to the retiring room to pin up a small tear in her hem. She paid no attention to the other occupants of the room until she caught Alicia’s name.

“Why couldn’t Lady Darnley stay home with her husband?” complained a pretty young miss. “With her around, the gentlemen look at no one else.”

“Hush, Clara,” admonished another. “Those mobbing her are rakes, which is only fitting. She has undoubtedly bestowed her favors on most of them.”

“Celia!”  Caroline could not decide whether Clara’s tone denoted shock or titillation.

“Don’t pretend shock,” chided Celia. “She’s no better than she should be. Just pray she refrains from sinking her claws into decent gentlemen. She destroyed Mannering last year. And I had such hopes for him.”  She sighed.

“How?  I had not heard that tale.”

“She encouraged him to sit in her pocket most of the Season, allowing him to run tame in her house, waltzing three times with him at Almack’s, even disappearing into Lady Debenham’s garden for two whole sets. Everyone expected a betrothal. Then she up and accepted Darnley the next day. Mannering was devastated. Took to unrestrained debauchery. No one saw him sober for months. Squandered a fortune and blackened his reputation until few would receive him. Marchgate finally banished him to the country and married him off so he couldn’t ruin his sister’s come-out.”

“Heavens!” exclaimed Clara. “But it sounds like you had a narrow escape. What if he hadn’t been distracted?”

“True. He has not demonstrated any steadiness of character. But oh, those green eyes!”  She sighed and returned to the ballroom.

Caroline remained for some minutes. Thomas’s debauch sounded far worse than she had suspected. He had never hinted at ostracism. Would that still hold true?  Alicia’s conduct was easier to understand. Accepting and encouraging the attentions of a handsome rake would flatter her overweening vanity, but such a selfish chit would never marry without a title. He must be deeply smitten indeed to have ignored that.
And please let his oath that gaming and drinking are behind him be true
. Nor was she surprised that two young girls knew of Alicia’s notoriety. Tales of her bedroom exploits were rife, eclipsing even those of Lady Shelby. That Thomas seemed ignorant of them was further proof of his blind obsession.

Would he ever recover?  Or was obsession a Mannering family trait?  There was Uncle Bertram, who had shut himself away in Crawley for forty years, reportedly conversing daily with his dead wife. And a cousin had fled the country to escape the consequences of obsessive gaming.

* * * *

Several days later, Caroline accompanied Eleanor to an evening of routs, the countess remaining at home with a migraine. Routs were the least enjoyable of the season’s social events. Invariably crowded, one spent half an hour in a coach trying to reach the door, another half hour in a line to greet the hostess, and a third fighting a way through the crush from one over-heated room to the next, greeting friends and exchanging
on-dits
before pushing a way out to continue to the next rout. No refreshments were served, nor was there music or dancing. They were an enormous waste of time.

Eleanor agreed.

“Why must we go to these?” the girl groused as they sat through yet another traffic tie-up near their third stop of a planned four. “I would much rather be at the Richardson’s soiree this evening.”

“You know your mother would never countenance that,” she reminded her. “The Richardsons are too fast for your first Season. You cannot take chances with your reputation. As to your first question, you know the answer better than I. If you do not appear at the events of important hostesses, your credit will suffer.”

“Then why can you skip the most boring parties?”

“Because I’m married. That gives me more freedom. I am not restricted to the marriage mart. But I still must appear at social events. And even at Almack’s on occasion. Now, straighten your shawl. We are at the door at last. I only hope it is not too hot this time. Did you see Lady Stafford at the Seftons?  I swear she was on the verge of a swoon.”

“I noticed. And Lady Castleton at the Delaneys. There must have been four vinaigrettes waving under her nose.”  She giggled and allowed the groom to assist her from the coach.

Surprisingly, they bumped into Drew in one of the rooms.

“What on earth are you doing here?” asked an amazed Caroline.

“God knows. I hate these things,” he complained. “But Lady Fotheringay is related to my mother.”

“It could be worse. This is our third stop tonight.”

Drew laughed. “My poor Caro.”  They chatted several minutes until he suddenly broke off in midsentence. “Trouble’s brewing,” he warned quietly. “Hurry.”

Eleanor had quickly tired of listening to their conversation and turned to a group of young ladies nearby. One of these was Miss Gumpley, also making her bows, but cursed with an acid tongue and lack of humor. She had not taken, in part because she couldn’t keep her criticisms to herself. And the more unpopular she felt, the more she found to criticize. This time she attacked Caroline’s association with a rake and Eleanor’s acceptance of it. Too young to laugh off the words, Eleanor defended herself and her family in increasingly strident tones.

“Eleanor, we must pay our respects to Lady Seaton,” Caroline interrupted, grateful that Drew had spotted the altercation before most were aware of it.

“Miss Gumpley, how charmingly you look tonight,” murmured Drew seductively, raising her hand briefly to his lips and turning the full force of his eyes onto her. She froze in surprise, giving Caroline a chance to draw an unwilling Eleanor away.

“Watch your manners,” she chided softly.

“But she said the most dreadful things,” protested Eleanor. “How could I let such slander pass unchallenged?”

“Think of what your mama would say. By creating a public scene you lend credence to her words. Consider the source. With her reputation for catty untruths, her comments carry no weight. Now smile. Here is Lady Seaton.”

Later that night she recalled the scene with a shudder for what might have been.
Thank God for Drew.

Chapter 10

Thomas turned his curricle down Davies Street, heading for Berkeley Square. He was tired and out of sorts. Finding help for Jacobs had taken far longer than he had expected. In the interim, all the work had fallen on his shoulders. And thoughts of Caroline had plagued him since her departure.

Her suggestion to postpone their trip had been eminently sensible. Why had he spurned it?  The words had emerged before he even considered them. Which was ridiculous, for he’d reached the same conclusion himself immediately after learning of the accident. And this time he could hardly accuse her of usurping his duties. It was unconscionable to send her alone to a city of strangers and a family she had never met. How often had his mother’s hauteur intimidated even his most deserving friends?  Robert was hardly an acceptable pattern card. Nor was the ninny-hammered Eleanor.

However much he might wish otherwise, Caroline was his wife and needed his support. His recent behavior was unworthy of his breeding, as was his refusal to credit her accomplishments. The house had seemed cold and lonely since her departure. Not until she left had he realized how thoroughly her presence permeated the atmosphere of Crawley.

This was a clear case of pique. He had believed his occasional flashes of temper were behind him. The last time he’d lost control of himself had been just before he’d started at Oxford, though the incident still bothered him. Irritated beyond endurance by Robert’s continued refusal to practice his horsemanship, he’d dared him to ride Satan. He should have known better, of course. Robert could ignore taunting from everyone except him. The resulting injuries had haunted Thomas ever since. What damage might his tantrum have caused this time?  There would be something. There always was. Shirking his responsibilities invariably called down punishment, and between Alicia and Caroline, he was building quite an account with Fate.

But his behavior was only one of the problems that bedeviled him. How had his family responded to Caroline?  Did she know how to conduct herself?  He did not trust her. Not that she would deliberately embarrass him, but she was a naive, country girl, unused even to the society to be found in Banbury, let alone London. Her warm friendliness could lead her into trouble if she embraced the wrong crowd.

He shivered.

Then there was her wardrobe. Did she have any taste?  Her current gowns left that question unanswered, but fear knotted his stomach. He should have accompanied her to the modiste the first time to see that she was properly turned out.

How was she filling her time?  Acquiring books, certainly. And he had no complaints there. Unlike many men, he saw nothing wrong with intelligent females, perhaps because he was used to Emily. He wondered if she was included in Eleanor’s social rounds. Yet in the next breath he feared she would shame him in company.

She was so green! 

And what had she told his family about their relationship?

“Thomas!” a sultry voice called.

He jerked his team to a sudden stop, gazing longingly at Alicia. Again he had been allowed no time to prepare for their meeting. Dressed in her favorite violet-blue, she had just alighted from Darnley’s town carriage.

“L-lady Darnley,” he stammered, trying to force calm into his voice. “You look well. How is your husband?”

“No better, my love,” she purred, stepping close to his curricle so the footmen would not overhear her words. She offered her hand, and he had to press it in greeting.

The movement presented an unobstructed view down her low-cut gown. He bit back a groan as memories of her naked, writhing body assailed him. How could he have attacked her? 

Alicia smiled. “But I am delighted you have finally arrived. It must have been dreadfully lonely without a wife, dowdy and plain though she is.”

Her words confirmed his worst fears. Caroline’s appearance was embarrassing him.

“You have met her?” he asked warily.

“Not formally, but she is everywhere about now that she has acquired a devoted cicisbeo in Lord Wroxleigh.”  Her look of understanding commiseration left Thomas no doubt that her insinuation was true.

It was long past time to take his wife in hand, he reflected grimly as he excused himself. Admittedly, he should never have sent her to town unaccompanied, but how could his high-stickler mother condone such behavior?  He was grateful to Alicia for the warning, glad that someone cared for his welfare. Wroxleigh was the worst sort of libertine, an unscrupulous pariah who preyed on society’s matrons. Had Caroline already welcomed him into her bed? 

Behind him, Alicia licked her lips in satisfaction at the flash of anger in Thomas’s eyes. Her attempt to drive a wedge between Thomas and his wife had worked even better than she had hoped. Not that she believed the chit offered any real competition, but Thomas had a rather warped sense of honor. Anything that would facilitate luring him back to her bed was desirable. She wanted him there. Regularly. His passion was everything she had expected. No one had come close to satisfying her since.