To Lure a Proper Lady (9 page)

Given a choice, Lizzie would have ordered a breakfast tray delivered to her chamber. Except she no longer had a chamber to call her own, and her duty as hostess demanded she put in an appearance downstairs.

Muzzy-headed and grainy-eyed, she ran her hand along the smooth walnut of the intricately carved bannister as she descended to the entrance hall. From there, the patterned marble led toward the back of the house.

With any luck, given the hour, most of her guests would have finished eating and found means to entertain themselves. She turned the final corner, only to find her cousin pacing in front of the closed door to the breakfast room.

“There you are at last.” Good Lord, what could he want that he'd waited for her?

She moved to brush past him, but he stepped into her path. Her eyebrows felt as if they were kissing her hairline. “Have I neglected something? Perhaps a few remarks on the pleasantness of the morning?”

Snappish of her, but the back of her neck ached from attempting to sleep on a settee that had barely been intended for sitting.

“How is his grace faring?”

“Oh.” Heat flooded her cheeks. She ought to have expected inquiries after the disturbance last night. In fact, Papa was one reason behind her late appearance. “He's resting peacefully.”

At last. She'd gone into his chamber to see for herself that his breathing was steady and the color had returned to his cheeks.

“So he'll be all right.”

“Yes, I think so.” She infused far more confidence into her reply than she was feeling, but she'd have to maintain the charade before the other guests, as well. She'd do well to begin now.

Still, Snowley didn't move out of her way.

“Was there anything else?” Lord help her if he thought to make an entrance with her on his arm, a message of sorts to the other men. She knew he'd wish to stake his claim eventually, but couldn't he wait until after the party?

“I need to ask you about this Dysart chap.”

“What of him?”

“How are you acquainted with him again?”

“Good heavens, we've been over this.”

“No, I want the truth this time.”

Well, blast. She could count on one hand the number of occasions her cousin had raised his tone—and never with her. “Are you doubting my word?”

“I cannot help but think we ought to ask him to leave.”

“We can't do that. He has no means of travel.”

“I'd think the mail coach would be sufficient.”

She suppressed a sigh. The last thing she needed was for Snowley to exhibit a jealous streak. “What's brought this on?”

“A footman came to me this morning. He did not wish to bother his grace, so he saw fit to inform me. Dysart was brawling earlier.”

“Brawling?” The very word conjured up an image of Dysart, disheveled and sweaty, the very opposite of the sort of man a woman of her position ought to find attractive. But blast it, that picture in her mind carried the intensity she'd perceived in Dysart the first day. That lovely sharpness that made her belly turn all warm and liquid.

“Yes, in the stables. The lads had to pull him off Marcus Pendleton.”

Oh, dear Lord. “And why aren't we asking Pendleton to leave?”

Snowley wagged his head from side to side. “We know Pendleton. We know nothing of this Dysart fellow beyond a story that doesn't quite add up.”

“You may as well say Pendleton is one of us.”

“He
is
one of us.”

Perhaps, but did they wish to associate with someone like him? Lizzie pressed her lips together before she gave voice to that thought. She only had Dysart's word for the sort of man Pendleton was, and Snowley was already skeptical.

In an investigation no one is above suspicion. Not until I say they are.
Dysart's dictum echoed through her mind. And Snowley had been his first suspect.

She reached out and touched his sleeve. “If you cannot trust
me
in this, the duke has sanctioned his presence here. Do you intend to countermand Papa's wishes?”

“I cannot abide someone picking fights with the other guests.”

“I will make certain he causes no more trouble.”

Snowley placed a hand over hers and turned so her grip settled into the crook of his elbow. She gritted her teeth. It appeared he would make his entrance with her, after all, but she could do nothing about that now. She owed him for trusting her to take care of Dysart.

The tension in the breakfast room was thick as a winter fog over London. Dysart and Pendleton kept to opposite sides of the table, pointedly avoiding eye contact with each other. Pendleton lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth, wincing as he forced them past a split lower lip. He bore a swath of linen about the knuckles of his right hand.

Dysart had apparently come out of the altercation in slightly better condition, as any detectable injury seemed to restrict itself to a dark bruise and a swelling at his jaw. His hair was ruffled, his clothes appeared thrown on, but the entire effect lent him an air of danger. As if he needed any more.

Snowley showed her to a chair at the foot of the table, helped her into her seat, and then went to the buffet to fill her plate. A show, indeed, but she had to let it happen. Dysart's gaze traveled between them, his brows lowering at every pass. Should he decide to engage in more physical combat, Snowley might well become his next target.

Lord Allerdale cleared his throat. “I say, perhaps we ought to organize some boxing matches among the men. A tournament might be just the thing.”

Several young ladies lifted their serviettes to cover a titter. Could they possibly be imagining the same things Lizzie was? No, they couldn't, for she was reliving her idea of what Dysart might look like brawling.

“I hardly think so.” Lady Whitby dabbed at her lips. Unfortunately, the events of the previous evening had not scandalized her into departing. “I could not possibly subject Anna to such a violent display.”

Red-faced, Anna slumped in her chair.

Lizzie leaned over to whisper to Pippa, “Why did we invite Lady Whitby again?”

“I took pity on Anna, and you can hardly blame me for that. She's never allowed to have any fun.”

“I'm not sure how she'll manage it any better here,” Lizzie observed.

“That all depends.” Expression innocent, Pippa concentrated on sipping at her tea. “If Caro cooks up any more interesting entertainments.”

Lizzie contemplated her sister through narrowed eyes. She didn't buy Pippa's act for a moment. “Caro cooked up that game last night? All by herself?”

Pippa set her cup aside and turned a singularly penetrating gaze on Lizzie. “Perhaps we thought Anna wasn't alone at never being permitted to have fun.”

Before Lady Whitby could chastise either of them for whispering, Great-aunt Matilda chose that moment to sail into the room, her gown of yellow muslin rivaling the mid-morning sun. The two spots of rouge on her papery cheeks made Lizzie think of the first spring tulips—their red all the brighter after the rainy grays of winter.

The old lady clapped her hands and smiled, by all appearances, completely oblivious that she'd stumbled in on a party to which she hadn't been invited. But Lizzie could not count on that bit of luck. Her great-aunt was far too clever.

“What a charming gathering of young folks.” She nodded at Lady Whitby. “And their chaperones, of course. We must find an amusing way to pass the day.”

“Several of us were about to go riding,” Caro spoke up from her spot at the middle of the table. She was seated directly across from Pendleton. “And I believe some of the other gentlemen wished to do some shooting.”

“Don't forget the boxing,” Lord Allerdale added.

“Oh, no, dear,” Great-aunt Matilda said. Lizzie had to wonder who
dear
referred to—Lord Allerdale or Caro. An additional thought flitted through Lizzie's mind, a thought that made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. What if her great-aunt's obliviousness was an act? What if she were planning to avenge her lack of invitation by taking over the entertainment? “That won't do at all. That's the problem with these parties. The men all go off and the young ladies have no means of occupying themselves beyond sketching and embroidery and such.”

Lady Whitby sniffed. “Those are perfectly respectable activities. My Anna's stitchery cannot be surpassed.”

She cast a sidelong glance at Snowley, as if such an achievement ought to impress him sufficiently to make Anna an offer. As the heir to a dukedom, he was clearly acceptable for her daughter, so long as he kept a healthy distance. Snowley, sadly, was immersed in collecting the final bits of egg from his plate with a piece of toast.

“They're perfectly tedious,” Great-aunt Matilda declared. “I propose we do something different. Something that doesn't involve all the gentlemen wandering off to do goodness knows what.”

She fixed a pair of beady eyes on Lord Allerdale, who had managed to ease out of his chair and was now inching his way along the far wall. “And just where do you think you're going?”

Lord Allerdale forced an uneasy smile. “Nowhere.”

“Good.”

“Just what is it you're proposing?” Lizzie hated to ask, but it was best to get the worst over with.

“Why, a game, of course. One we can all play. One that does not involve boxing or shooting or roaring about the countryside terrorizing small animals.” Dash it all, the twinkle in Great-aunt Matilda's eye boded no good at all. Oh, this was revenge all right.

“What sort of game?” Caro sounded distinctly put out over their aunt's description of her preferred activities.

“We had such fun playing parlor games last evening, I thought we might try one during the day.”

Lady Whitby plopped her serviette onto her plate. “I do not like the sound of this.”

“Oh, pooh. There's nothing scandalous about a little Hide-and-seek.” Great-aunt Matilda paused the space of a beat, sharp as any Drury Lane actress. “Although we could make a simple game a bit more interesting…if, say, the gentlemen sought the ladies. Even better, if a specific gentleman had to find a specific young lady.”

Lady Whitby frowned. “No, that won't do at all.”

“Whyever not? It's only scandalous if the young ladies make the finding too easy in a spot that leaves a couple in private. Surely your Anna is better bred than that.”

“Naturally she is.” But Lady Whitby sounded unsure, like someone who realizes there must be a catch but who can't work out its exact nature.

“That settles it,” Great-aunt Matilda pronounced. “Anna, I think Lord Allerdale will suit you nicely.”

Anna glanced at her partner and ducked her head while her cheeks darkened to a deep rose.

“And now for the others.”

Pippa sighed. “I hope Great-aunt Matilda pairs me with someone interesting. Perhaps I can convince him to pose for a portrait.”

While her great-aunt went about the business of matching everyone up, Lizzie pondered the remains of her breakfast. If anyone had asked her opinion, she'd have chosen to follow more feminine pursuits. At the very least, she could have worked on her novel under the guise of writing letters.

“Stop this,” a familiar voice growled from behind.

Lizzie nearly jumped out of her skin. Somehow Dysart had crept down the table to her end without anyone noticing. But she was noticing—now. She couldn't help herself the way his breath wafted just beneath her ear. She resisted the urge to turn, lest she find his mouth on a level with hers.

She kept her gaze pinned on her great-aunt, the very picture of attention, she hoped, while she breathed a reply. “Why?”

“I was hoping for a chance to search the premises, but I can't do that with everyone underfoot.”

“I think you'd get away with it far more readily with the excuse you're playing the game.”

“I doubt anyone will hide in the bedchambers.”

“If I speak up, Caro will leap at the chance to go riding with Mr. Pendleton. We can't have that.”

Dysart muttered a few choice words under his breath.

“Lizzie, my dear, are you paying attention?” Blast, Great-aunt Matilda had finally reached the end of the table. “No matter. I can see you've managed to find a partner on your own. Lizzie and Lord Dysart.”

The echo of a fork clattering onto bare porcelain filled the brief silence while Great-aunt Matilda chose her next victims. Snowley stared down the table at Lizzie, looking utterly betrayed.

Great-aunt Matilda laid a finger against her chin. “And now for Caro.”

Pendleton rose from his seat. “I'll partner her.”

“Blast,” Lizzie hissed under her breath.

Behind her, Dysart let out a few more words that would have earned him a stern set-down from Lady Whitby. “Now we'll have to watch him.”

“I can help you, if you find me straight off. At any rate, I have a matter or two to discuss with you.”

“Later,” Dysart muttered. “We need to watch out for your sister.”

“Off with you all, now.” Great-aunt Matilda made shooing motions toward the door. “While you're hiding, I'll think of forfeits. The first young lady to let herself be found ought to pay one, along with the last gentleman to find his lady. Girls, lead your men on a merry chase.”

Several minutes later, Lizzie was leading no one on a merry chase. Not even Dysart. She lurked in the garden behind a rosebush. That vantage gave her an unobstructed view of a space between two six-and-a-half-foot yew hedges, where Caro had disappeared not long before.

Lizzie and her sisters had grown up playing among the twisting paths of the Sherrington Manor maze. All its secret turnings made for an ideal hiding spot.

“How long do you think Pendleton will wait before showing up?” Dysart hadn't even bothered with the charade of rousting Lizzie out of hiding. He'd followed her here the way she'd tailed Caro.