Wrede, Patricia C - Mairelon 02 (19 page)

           
"I
was worried that no one would like it," Kim confessed. Although "not
liking it" wasn't quite what she meant. But she couldn't bring herself to
tell Lord Franton, Marquis of Harsfeld, that she hadn't been sure about the
wisdom of flaunting her past as a street thief in front of a bunch of toffs, no
matter what Mairelon and Lady Wendall had said. Judging by people's reactions
so far, however, they had been right in advising her not to fret.

           
"It
was . . . unusual," the marquis said in a thoughtful tone. "I assume
the details were accurate?"

           
"We
spent a lot of time getting it right," Kim said. "I think climbing
roses would have been easier."

           
The
marquis laughed. "So someone told you that that's what the young ladies
normally do. This was much more original and memorable, believe me." His
face grew serious. "It's a bit like the Cinderella fairy tale for you,
isn't it? Except that you've had a magician for a godfather instead of a fairy
godmother."

           
"And
my clothes won't turn to rags at
midnight
,"
Kim said lightly. "And I don't have to try to dance in glass
slippers."
And Cinderella didn't have to be talked into it; she
wanted
to go to the ball.

           
"I
can't imagine how your magical godfather happened to overlook so many important
details," the marquis said, shaking his head in mock sadness. "It
seems a shocking oversight."

           
"He's
. . . had a lot on his mind," Kim said.

           
"At
least he has not stinted in the matter of handsome princes," Lord Franton
said. "There seem to be any number of candidates eager to apply for the
position." He nodded in the direction of the still faintly glowering young
man who had hoped to take Kim in to supper.

           
"Well,
it's a good thing there are," Kim said, falling in with his bantering
tone. "The Prince of Wales is above my touch, and the only other prince I
know of is Prince Durmontov. He was invited, but he's away until next
week."

           
"Ah?"
Lord Franton gave her a sharp look. "Perhaps that is as well for the rest
of us." He did not pursue the matter further, but instead turned the
conversation to Mairelon's exploits during the French war. He seemed quite
disappointed when Kim professed ignorance of any details.

           
"You'll
have to ask Mairelon about that," Kim told him. "Or Hunch; he was
there for a lot of it."

           
"Hunch?"
Lord Franton looked puzzled.

           
"He's
. . ." Kim hesitated, unable to think of a suitable description. "He
works for Mairelon."

           
Lord
Franton nodded. "I wanted to join the army, when I was younger," he
said a little wistfully. "I even thought about running away and
enlisting."

           
"You
did? Why? I mean, why didn't you?"

           
"Responsibilities.
By the time I would have been old
enough, I was the heir to the title and there was no getting out of it."
He grimaced. "The army is much too risky a place for a future
marquis."

           
"Oh."
Kim found it difficult to understand why anyone would want to hare off to some
foreign country in order to eat short rations and get shot at, but it wouldn't
do to say so. Still, it was one thing to join up because you didn't want to see
the French marching up High Holborn, and quite another to go off just because
you wanted an "adventure." Toffs could be incomprehensible.

           
Lord
Franton seemed to sense her mood, and did not pursue the subject. Instead, he
amused her with unexpected comments and stories about the dignified ladies and
gentlemen conversing with such elegance around the tables. It made Kim feel
much more at ease to learn that the formidable Lord Benton was still known as
"Piggy" because he had fallen off his horse into a sty during his
second hunt, that the Carringtons kept eight pug dogs at their house in Town
and a great many more at their country seat, and that the correct Lady
Catherine Abelside had tried to elope with her dancing master two weeks into
her first Season.

           
After
dinner, the dancing resumed. The last of the guests did not depart until nearly
three in the morning. With evident satisfaction, Lady Wendall pronounced the
party a triumph, and sent Kim off to bed, warning her once again to be sure to
stay late in bed the following day.

           
"Casting
that illusion was more draining than you will have realized, and with the rest
of the evening's excitement, you will be far more tired than you expect,"
Lady Wendall said.

           
"I
will make your excuses to any callers," Mrs. Lowe put in.

           
Kim
nodded, though receiving callers had never been prominent among her reasons for
getting up in the morning, and went up the stairs, her head still whirling with
the dizzying idea that she, Kim, was an unqualified social success.

           
Despite
Lady Wendall's warning, Kim was amazed to find that it was long after
noon
the following day by the time she awoke.
When she came downstairs, she was further astonished--and a bit dismayed--by
the size of the stack of cards and invitations that had accumulated while she
slept. Her dismay proved well-founded. When Lady Wendall reviewed them, dealing
out the invitations with all the concentration of a cardsharp dealing to a
bunch of flats, the pile of engagements to be accepted was enormous.

           
The
remainder of the week passed in a dizzying round of social activity. Kim drove
in the park with no less than four gentlemen, including Lord Franton; attended
a Venetian breakfast, two balls, three dinner parties, and a card party; and
paid and received more calls than she could keep track of. Lord Franton called
twice and turned up at dinners, balls, and assemblies with such regularity that
Kim suspected he had somehow got hold of her schedule.

           
She
hardly saw Mairelon at all, for though he accompanied Kim and Lady Wendall to a
few of the events, he generally excused himself the moment they entered the
doors and went off to the card rooms. After the second ball, Kim realized that
he only joined them at events where Shoreham or Kerring was likely to be
present, and he could speak with them privately. It seemed excessive to her,
when Mairelon already spent most of his days in one or another of their
offices, but the deepening lines in Mairelon's face prohibited comment.

           
As far as
Kim could tell, there had still been no progress in defeating the spell that
had removed Mairelon's magic. She did not like to ask; refraining from making
irritating comments was practically the only thing she could do to help. Two
days after her come-out ball, she tentatively brought up, for the second time,
the subject of talking to Jemmy and Wags, and was informed that they had
dropped out of sight as completely as had Mannering, at least as far as
Shoreham's informants were concerned. Privately, Kim was convinced that her
chances of locating them were much better than Shoreham's, but with all her
social commitments, she did not have an unsupervised moment in which to try,
even if she had been willing to break her promise to Mairelon not to do so.

           
She began
to look forward with considerable anticipation to Prince Durmontov's return to
the city. At least talking with the prince would give Mairelon something new to
do, rather than just sitting around fretting himself to flinders.

           
Kim was
not the only one who had noticed Mairelon's erratic social performance. At Lady
Souftmore's rout-party, a week after Kim's come-out, she was accosted by
Letitia Tarnower, who paid her several compliments as fulsome as they were
insincere and then said, "I cannot help but wonder that your guardian does
not accompany you. Shall we see him later in the evening?"

           
"No,"
Kim said. "He's working on something."

           
Letitia
raised her eyebrows. "He is very devoted to his work, then?"

           
"Yes,"
Kim said. "Excuse me; I think Lady Wendall wants me for something."

           
She made
her escape, but spent the next hour wondering whether she ought not to have
made a push to find out more from Miss Tarnower. She felt as if she ought to
tell Mairelon about the conversation, but there was so little to tell that when
she imagined herself repeating it to him, she felt foolish.

           
Her
preoccupation continued, and after answering Mr. Cromie twice at random and
throwing Lord Rencombe into a pother by the unguarded remark that his mother
strongly resembled one of the apple women in
Covent Garden
,
Kim decided that she had better get out of the crush and think for a moment.

           
The
throng of guests made escape difficult and privacy all but impossible. Kim
checked several of the small rooms along the hall, only to find them filled
with card players. She returned to the ballroom, hoping that a corner of the
balcony might be empty and quiet.

           
The glass
balcony doors had been blocked off by a
China
silk screen placed several feet in front of them to prevent drafts. Kim rounded
the edge just in time to see Letitia Tarnower step out onto the balcony.
Another encounter with Letitia was the last thing Kim wanted; fortunately,
Letitia hadn't seen her. As she moved away from the screen and back into the
ballroom, she saw Lord Gideon Starnes coming toward it from the opposite side,
scanning the crowd anxiously over his shoulder as if to see whether anyone was
following him. He hesitated briefly,
then
slipped
behind the screen. An instant later, Kim saw the tops of the balcony doors open
and
close,
the movement only just visible above the
silk screen.

           
Uneasy
curiosity warred briefly with Lady Wendall's instructions on proper behavior.
Curiosity won. Kim eased herself behind the screen and pushed the near door
open a cautious inch, then backed into the shadows behind the brocade curtains,
where she was not likely to be seen from outside, and set herself to listen.

           
"--can't
mean that!" Lord Starnes was saying in low, passionate tones.

           
"Really,
Gideon, don't be absurd," said a light female voice that Kim had no
trouble identifying as Letitia Tarnower's. "I most certainly can and do
mean it."

           
"After
all your promises, you could not be so heartless!"

           
"Promises?
Stuff! I was seven years old, and you no
more than ten. It was children's play, no more."

           
"I
felt it more," Lord Starnes said heavily. "I thought you did, as
well."

           
"No,
Gideon, you
haven't
thought," Letitia said. "I do feel
something for you, but what of it? You haven't a feather to fly with, and I
won't
spend the rest of my life scrimping and fending off bailiffs the way Mama
has."

           
"If
it's only the money--"

           
"If
you
had spent your life penny-pinching and wearing made-over dresses, you wouldn't
say that it was
only
the money," Letitia replied sharply, and for
once Kim found herself in sympathy with the other girl. "This is my one
chance at something better, and I don't intend to waste it, Gideon."

           
"But
I'll
have
money soon," Lord Starnes protested.
"More
than enough.
If you will only wait. . . ."

           
Letitia
gave a tinkling laugh. "What is it this time, a sure thing in the races at
Newmarket
? Or will you stake your
stick-pin on the turn of a card, and mend your fortunes with the winnings? And
when that doesn't come through, you'll ask me to wait for a cockfight that's
certain to pay you a hundred to one, or for the dice to favor you. No. If you
have your fortune in hand before I get Humphreys or Merrill up to scratch, you
may speak to me about it then, but I won't gamble my future on your luck."

           
Kim's
budding sympathy evaporated. It shouldn't have been a shock to hear Letitia
state her intentions toward Mairelon so baldly, not after the way the girl had
been behaving, but a shock it was, nonetheless.

           
"Lord
Humphreys," Lord Starnes said with disgust. "He's ten years older
than your father!"

           
"So
much the better," Letitia replied. "I won't have to put up with him
for long."

           
"And Merrill.
Of all people, why
Richard Merrill?"

           
Kim
tensed; she had been wondering that herself. Mairelon didn't seem the kind of
person that would attract someone as relentlessly social as Letitia Tarnower.

           
"He's
wealthy, he's well-connected, and he's the sort that will be so preoccupied
with his little magical projects that he won't notice or care what his wife
does," Letitia answered promptly. "I'd thought of that Russian Prince
Durmontov for a while, but he's a bit too wide awake to suit me, and he's the
sort everyone watches. Merrill isn't so prominent that the old cats will
scrutinize every step his wife takes. That ward of his will have a harder time
than she thinks once she's married to Lord Franton."

           
"Is
that settled?" Lord Starnes said, momentarily distracted. "Because I
haven't seen him here tonight, and I've got a bet in the book at White's. . .
."

           
"No,
it's not settled and he isn't here, but anyone can see which way the wind is
blowing," Letitia said. "And everyone can also see you making a cake
of yourself every time I'm at a party. I wish you wouldn't."

           
"But
Letitia, I love you!" Lord Starnes said desperately.

           
"Yes,
you've said so often enough," Letitia said.
"About
once a month for the past three years, ever since I turned fifteen.
And
you're quite
personable,
and very amusing when you
aren't pouring your heart out at my feet, and I do like you. But one can't live
on love and wit, my dear. Find yourself an heiress, and let me be."

           
"You
are entirely heartless."

           
"No, merely practical.
And if you cannot behave
yourself in company, I do not wish to see you again. Do I make myself clear,
Lord Starnes?"

           
"Abundantly."

           
"Then
I give you good evening." There was a rustle of skirts and Kim shrank back
into the curtains as the balcony door opened. To her relief, Letitia Tarnower
swept out into the ballroom without glancing around. Kim gave her a moment to
get clear,
then
slipped around the far edge of the
silk screen. She'd heard all there was to hear, and Lord Starnes would be
leaving the balcony, too, in another minute.

           
Kim's
mind was in considerable turmoil. Mairelon had been quite right; Letitia
Tarnower was not the widgeon she pretended to be. Indeed, if she had settled on
anyone other than Mairelon as a prospective husband, Kim would have been more
than a little sympathetic to her position.
If it was anyone but
Mairelon
. . . .
And
was
everyone expecting the marquis to make an offer of marriage for
Kim?

           
The rest
of the evening seemed to drag on forever. Kim was even more distracted and
preoccupied than before, until she noticed Lady Souftmore and Mrs. Lowe
exchanging significant looks. After that, she exerted herself to pay attention,
but though the gentlemen redoubled their efforts to be charming, she was
considerably relieved when the time came to leave at last.

           
When they
arrived back at
Grosvenor Square
,
Kim lingered in the hall for a moment to charge the footman not to let Mairelon
out of the house next morning until he had spoken with her. She still wasn't
sure what she was going to tell
him,
or what good it
might do if she did.
At least maybe it'll distract him some.

           
As she
reached the top of the first flight of stairs, she saw a gleam of light coming
from the half-open library door. Curious, she stepped forward and peered around
the door.

           
The fire
had died to embers; the light she had seen came from a single candle, burned
down to barely an inch above the socket, which stood near the far end of the
library table. Next to the candle stood a cut-glass brandy decanter, over half
empty. Slumped in the chair at the end of the table, cradling a glass in both
hands,
was Mairelon. His dark hair looked as if he had run
his hands through it several times, and there were shadows like bruises under
his eyes.
He looks as if he hasn't slept in a week
, Kim thought, and
unconsciously took another step forward.

           
The
movement attracted Mairelon's attention, and he looked up. He frowned for a
moment, as if collecting his thoughts from somewhere very far away, and then
said, "Ah, Kim! Come in and toast your good fortune." His voice had
an unfamiliar, almost mocking edge to it.

           
"My good fortune?"
Kim stepped into the room and
studied Mairelon for a moment. "You're foxed," she said in mild
surprise. She'd never seen Mairelon even a bit on the go before, not for real,
though she'd seen him play the part once or twice.

           
"I'm
not foxed yet," Mairelon said. "The decanter isn't empty. There's
another glass somewhere; sit down and join me."

           
Uncertainly,
Kim pulled up another chair and sat down on his right. Mairelon blinked
owlishly at her. "Don't look so glum," he
said,
the mocking edge strong in his voice. "You should be celebrating. Though
I'll grant you, the prospect of congratulating Aunt Agatha on her perspicacity
might take some of the satisfaction out of it."

           
"You
are
foxed," Kim said. "What are you on about?"