The Wrong Woman (7 page)

And so Miles occupied his mind by observing the people around him. One gentleman was nodding off, only popping awake when elbowed fiercely by his wife. One lady was leaning a little too eagerly toward her male companion and too loudly begging a translation of the text. He had to smile. It was a common ruse to allow two lovers to whisper in each other’s ear. He had used it himself on a number of occasions. To great success, he added.

The two Misses Masters, one on each side of him, sat rapt as the chamber orchestra played familiar pieces and the renowned soprano sang dazzling high notes from one of Herr Beethoven’s arias. During a particularly sad song just before a break in the program, Miles noticed Miss Masters wringing the ends of her shawl in her hands. As they all stood up to obtain refreshments before the program started again, Miles saw Miss Masters dabbing surreptitiously at her eyes. Had she been crying over a song? It had sounded lonesome and sad, yes, but to cry over it?

“May I bring you ladies some refreshment?” Miles offered.

“Yes, please. It feels so warm in here,” Miss Catherine was using her hand to fan herself.

“I would be grateful for a lemonade, Lord Revere. Thank you.” Miss Masters was still dabbing at her eyes.

It had been a strange evening, Miles thought as he moved toward the refreshment table. He nodded hellos at a few men and women and stopped to shake the hand of a friend he’d not seen in months.

As he moved through the room, Miles became aware of a peculiar sensation. It did not feel like the anxiety he’d experienced earlier. No, this was more uncomfortable. Like eyes following his every move. But before he could look around, he heard a silky voice at his side.

“Revere, I hardly expected to see you here.”

He picked up two glasses and turned. “Were you waiting for me, Mrs. Tremain?”

She cocked her eyebrow at him. “In a sense, yes. I have been waiting for you for a long time.”

Did the woman never let up? Had she not taken his rebuff at the ball?

“Excuse me, I must return to my companions.”

“Oh yes. The Masters girl and her fat older sister. Really, what can you want with them?”

Anger suddenly boiled in his gut. He liked Miss Catherine and, yes, he was even coming to appreciate the elder Miss Masters. She had some courage. Tonight he’d seen her do something that frightened her very much. Miles had the odd feeling that he was actually proud of her. So he defended them now.

“What I want with them is more that I will ever want with you. Good evening.”

Miles stalked away, regretting only that he was not able to see Mrs. Tremain’s face as he did so. He threw himself into the rest of the evening, determined to show anyone who might be watching that he was enjoying himself thoroughly.

* * * * *

I hate him. I hate him.

The refrain ran over and over through Thomas Davenport’s head as he watched Lord Revere cross the room with two glasses of lemonade. He willed the man to trip and make a spectacle of himself. A sudden vision of cracked glass and a deep cut flashed across his mind.
Blood
.

Calmly, Thomas
, he counseled himself. That would be punishment too light for Revere. No, the man deserved more punishment even than to bleed.

He stared hard at his quarry, studying his every move. As he did so, he heard Revere’s name mentioned in a nearby conversation. Thomas moved closer to where two women he did not know were talking.

“Lord Revere is a very good-looking man,” the first lady said. “I wonder if he is free this season or if he has some woman already stashed away.” Thomas cringed. How could they want someone like Lord Revere?

“I hear that he is pursuing that Masters girl quite seriously,” said the second lady.

“Isobel Masters?” The first woman sounded incredulous.

“No, no. Not Dizzy Izzy, the other one, her younger sister. Catherine, I think her name is. The pretty one.”

“Pretty, of course.”

“He's quite serious about her from what I've heard. He's been to call at her aunt's house practically every day this week. If that's not serious, I don't know what is, especially from Lord Revere.”

“Everyday? It must be love,” the first woman said sarcastically.

“
Love
, no. That man could never love,” the second woman laughed. “But he must get married sometime. Perhaps he has decided this shall be his season.”

“And Miss Masters shall be his wife,” a tinge of disappointment in the first woman’s voice.

“Well, I guess it is about time for him, but it will be sad to have such a handsome bachelor off the market.”

“If he's anything like the rest of his set, marriage won't necessarily take him off the market...” The women giggled like naughty girls.

Disgusted, Thomas moved away. A plan was already forming in his mind with the information he’d just gathered. Lord Revere seemed to be developing an attachment. One that might be exploited. The silly gossips had given him an idea.

Chapter 8

Miles had absorbed too much nervous energy either to sit still or go to bed after the concert. So he went to the club to find Jack. A card game with Miles' friends was the engagement that had kept him away from the musicale. Miles wondered how the boy was doing. Tremain, Blume, and Riley could be ruthless when it came to cards. Miles was sure they would not go easy on Jack just because he was related to Miles.

The smiles that greeted Miles when he walked in the door of the club made him sigh with relief.

“Where have you been, Revere, while your brother was here winning the shirts off our backs?” Tremain yelled jovially at him as he approached the card table where his brother and friends were playing.

“He went to Mrs. Starr's evening musicale.” Miles could hear a slight slur as Jack spoke the words. Drunk. But still winning, by the looks of the large pile of coins on the table in front of him.

“Mrs. Starr's?” Blume slurred his words even more than Jack had. “Why would you go there instead of being here winning money off of us? You have left it all up to Jack!”

“I was escorting someone.” Miles responded. He did not feel like explaining himself to his friends.

“Who?” Blume asked.

Miles hesitated but knew their ridicule would be worse if he appeared to be hiding something.

“Isobel and Catherine Masters.”

“The Misses Masters?” Riley, who made up the fourth at the card table, slurred. Miles was glad he was on the other side of the table from him or he might have gotten a good shower of spittle from his friend.

“Isobel Masters? You mean, Dizzy Izzy?” Blume seemed unable to grasp the idea that Miles had been with the woman all evening.

“Dizzy Izzy?” Riley and Tremain chimed in.

“Yes,” Miles nodded, “and her sister, Catherine.”

“
That's
who you were with this evening?” Riley asked.

Miles was growing impatient of the repetitive questioning. Maybe if he was drunk, too, the conversation would seem more productive, but as it was, he was only growing frustrated.

“Yes,” he hissed and then spoke slowly. “I was with Isobel and Catherine Masters at Mrs. Starr's musicale. We have established this fact. Let us move on.”

“Why would you spend time with Dizzy Izzy?” Blume asked him, contempt in his voice.

Before Miles could offer an explanation, Jack piped up, “Because Miles is going to marry her sister.”

The other three sat stunned.

“Finally getting leg-shackled, old boy?” Tremain raised his glass. “Welcome to our miserable club!” Miles decided not to mention his exchange with Mrs. Tremain.

Riley leaned over the table. “Good on you. It's about time.”

“This from a man not yet married himself!” Blume protested.

“Gentlemen,” Miles pulled up a chair from one of the other tables as he spoke. “Let us forget about my marriage prospects and play some cards.”

“No,” Riley said, leaning back heavily in his chair. “I refuse to play cards with you until you are as foxed as I am.”

“I could never aspire to that level of drunkenness,” Miles rejoined, sending the table off into loud guffaws.

Even Riley laughed at the joke. “You might
try
to aspire to it, especially if you are about to have such a fat cow as Dizzy Izzy for a sister-in-law. You'll need all the alcohol you can get.”

“Here, here!” Blume and Tremain raised their glasses at that.

The words hit him like a blow to the chest. The anger forced all the breath out of his body. He'd just listened to Mrs. Tremain insult his bride-to-be and her sister. And now this.

Before Miles could act, Jack stood up angrily at his place. “Hey, that is no way to talk about my friend! Take it back now!”

“Your friend?” Blume was puzzled.

“Yes, Miss Masters is my friend. So I'll thank you to take back your disgusting comment about her.”

“But, dear chappie, it's entirely true! Why would I take it back?” Riley asked, sobered and a little bit astonished by the sudden anger.

“Because I'll beat your face in if you don't,” Jack growled.

Miles rose out of his chair, he did not know whether it was to defend his brother from his friends or the other way around.

“Do it now. Apologize.” Jack leaned over the table toward Riley, knocking cards and glasses out of the way in the process.

Riley stood up. “No.”

Miles did not see this ending well. He began to tug at his brother's shoulders. “Come on, Jack. Let's go home. It's late and you've been drinking.”

Jack growled one more time at Riley and then backed out of the room. Miles saw the other three visibly relax as they left. When they were out in the street, Jack slumped against him.

“Miles?” Jack lifted his head up and looked at his older brother.

“Yes, Jack?”

“Do you
like
Miss Isobel?”

Miles remained silent, unsure how to answer.

Jack pressed him. “Why didn't you stand up for our friend?”

Silence still.

“Of course you like her.” Jack answered his own question. “She is a good sort. A very good sort. Not what they said about her.”

Jack stayed silent as they stumbled together down the street.

Why didn't I say anything? Why did Jack speak up so vehemently in defense of a friend and I was unable to utter even one word in her defense?

Because he was afraid of their ridicule. Because they expected him to laugh at her.
I am just as guilty as they are
. He thought of every stupid thing he'd ever called Isobel Masters behind her back. For ten years they'd been picking at her, calling her names like the one they used tonight and Miles had never thought twice about the real person. They’d thought they knew all they needed to about her.

It had taken Jack to finally stand up and call them all on their rude behavior, including Miles. Jack with his kind and loyal heart. If Jack hadn't been there tonight, would Miles have said anything? He was ashamed to think that he would have laughed it off and gone on his way, that he would not have defended her.

When the brothers finally stumbled up the stairs to their beds, it was early morning. Miles stayed awake for hours replaying all that had happened that evening. He did not know what to make of his rediscovered conscience and the fact that his chest ached with more than just the exercise of his earlier laughter.

Chapter 9

In the early hours of the morning, before the household had started its day, Cat tiptoed to Aunt Hetty’s bedroom and gave a soft knock. She knew her aunt was used to rising earlier than the rest of the household, but Cat remained wary of disturbing the peaceful silence.

“Enter,” came a quiet voice from inside the room. Cat opened the door and saw Aunt Hetty sitting in bed with her knees drawn up and a large book open in her lap.

“Aunt Hetty?” Cat whispered, still mindful of the early morning stillness.

“Cat? What are you doing up at this hour after your late night last night?” Aunt Hetty looked over her glasses at her niece.

“May I speak to you about something?”

“Of course, child, come in.” Aunt Hetty lifted her covers and beckoned Cat in. “Wiggle in here and tell me what it is.”

Cat made herself comfortable in the warm bed as she thought about how to speak to her aunt.

“I don’t really know how to say.”

“Hmmm…” Aunt Hetty mused. “Does it have to do with Lord Revere?”

Cat nodded.

“I suspected as much. What about him?”

Cat was careful with her words. “How should I know if I love him?”

Aunt Hetty chuckled and put her arms about her niece. “I’m not sure you should ask your spinster aunt about love. I hardly know what to answer.”

“Did you never love someone in your life, aunt?”

“It was a very long time ago.”

“But you
did
love. What was it like?”

“Oh,” sighed Aunt Hetty. “Wonderful and frightening and maddening. When I was with him, everything was right in the world. But when we were apart, I hated it. Everything was wrong.”

“That’s what I had imagined love would be. Like in stories.”

“But life is not always like a story, my dear,” Aunt Hetty laughed.

“Not even if I want it to be? I want love to be like what you said.”

“And with Lord Revere? What do you feel?”

Cat considered. “He is… pleasant. And handsome.” Aunt Hetty waited for her to continue. “But I feel no strong emotion about him one way or the other. And I do not think he feels so much about me.”

“Be careful of assuming what he feels,” Aunt Hetty counseled. “Lord Revere is a very reserved man.”

“I guess I hoped for something grander when it comes to love,” Cat sighed.

Aunt Hetty smiled at her. “That is all right to hope for, my dear girl. But you must also remember to be somewhat practical about it. Lord Revere
would
be a very good match for you.”

“I suppose,” Cat knew her suitor would please society and her mama. But she did not know if Lord Revere would please her. “I wish he’d show some feeling, though, like he did last night with Izzy.” Cat stopped, her eyes growing wide. “Aunt,” she gripped Aunt Hetty’s hands, “do you suppose…?”