Amanda Scott (49 page)

James pushed past several others to assist her, and Lydia, still chatting across the barrier with the others, obligingly moved her wide skirts so that Maggie could get to a chair. Lady Rothwell was leaning over a side panel, fanning herself and talking with a woman of her own generation in the next box. She ignored Maggie, who sat back, fanning her own cheeks and watching the others. No sooner did she begin to relax, however, than she heard Lydia say indignantly, “But what can it matter if Thomas
was
there, Freddie? I was at Lady Primrose’s masquerade myself, so if being there makes Thomas a dashed sneaking Jacobite, as you say it does, why then, it makes me one too—so there!”

A sudden appalling stillness fell upon the group, as though the noise around them had stopped altogether, and no one knew what to say next or where to look. The moment had begun to lengthen uncomfortably when Lady Ophelia said calmly, “Well done, Lydia. In a better-run world—which is to say in a world run by intelligent females instead of by idiotic males, as this one is—one’s casually innocent observations would not be instantly snatched up and twisted into incriminating declarations by persons intending nothing more than to make mischief. You may escort me back to my chaperon, Thomas, if you please. She will no doubt be wondering by now what has become of me.”

If Lydia was not at all pleased to be rescued in a fashion that included the removal of Lord Thomas from her orbit, no one but Maggie noticed, for into the space created by their departure spilled a veritable cacophony of outraged exclamations.

“Egad, who does that impertinent chit think she is, suggesting that the world could be better run by females?”

“Someone ought to take her firmly in hand and explain the facts of life to her is what I say.”

“Downright brazen, that’s what she is.”

“Just goes to show what comes of educating females; they get above themselves and forget their proper place in the world.”

“Outrageous, simply outrageous! How much did you say her portion will be?”

The discussion became even livelier then than it had been before, but Maggie noticed that others departed in the wake of Lady Ophelia and Lord Thomas, and melted into the crowd. She hoped there was no one among them iniquitous enough to repeat Lydia’s absurd confession where it might do her harm.

Trying to catch Rothwell’s eye, she saw that he too was searching the crowd. She was not certain at first if he had overheard Lydia’s declaration, because certainly the din around them had not really suspended itself as it seemed to have done, but had continued throughout the awful moment. But the more she watched him, the more she became certain that he had heard it, and that its potential consequences disturbed him profoundly.

She was unable to speak to him at once, because though he turned toward the box, he was intercepted by a woman who held her loo mask on a stick and flirted with him from behind it. He responded with what appeared to be his usual grace and aplomb, and it was some time before he attempted to move toward the box again. By then Lydia, accepting an invitation to dance, had gone off with a young sprig of fashion dressed up as Little Boy Blue.

Making his way purposefully to Maggie’s side, Rothwell sat down in the next chair and said in a voice that carried to her ears alone, “Do you think you can contrive to become ill in the next half hour or so, sweetheart?”

“Do you think she has endangered herself, Edward?”

“I certainly don’t care to linger long enough to discover that she has,” he said, still in that low but carrying tone. “If there should be an attempt to arrest her, I prefer it to take place at my own house, not in so public a place as this is.”

“But it is absurd to think anyone could really mistake dear Lydia for a Jacobite,” Maggie protested. “She does not even know the meaning of the word, Edward. She wants only to be associated with what she believes was a romantic cause.”

“I know that,” he said tersely, “but if you think that will make a difference to anyone sent here to find her amongst this lot, you much mistake the matter. She will be fortunate if the agent himself is educated enough to know the definition of the term. It is more than likely he will not, that he—or they, for that matter—will simply be carrying out orders issued by someone else. Now, can you feign an illness, or must I play the ogre?”

Since she was rapidly getting a headache from the noise if from nothing else, she agreed that she could oblige him without difficulty and asked if he wished her to do so at once.

“No, I want you to wait a few minutes at least, so that our going will not instantly be associated with Lydia’s comment. She will probably be safe enough until Monday, unless someone behaves in a most energetic manner, and by then I shall have had an opportunity to speak with Ryder, who may well be able to head off any attempt to embarrass me through my sister.”

Unfortunately, Maggie’s headache was not sufficient to convince either the dowager or Lydia to curtail their evening, since both ladies pointed out with indignation that, since their party had come in two carriages, they could simply remain at Ranelagh with James while Rothwell took Maggie home. And when James, responding to a look from his half-brother, promptly said he had no intention of remaining at their disposal for the entire evening, and intended to leave soon himself, he succeeded only in diverting the dowager’s wrath from Rothwell to himself; so, in the end it was necessary for the earl to exert his authority, which did little to soothe anyone.

By the time Maggie was able to retire for the night with her husband, her headache was raging. The dowager had not minced words in her disgust with what she chose to call Rothwell’s arrogance in ordering others’ comings and goings to suit himself. Since her diatribe began the instant it was made known to her that he would brook no argument, it was only with difficulty that they were able to get to the carriages without drawing the very attention that Rothwell was endeavoring to avoid; and, since she chose to rain words of displeasure upon James, her sole companion on the journey home, informing him not only that his half-brother took too much authority upon himself but that James himself had displeased her by not being more conciliating toward Lady Ophelia Balterley when he had had such an excellent opportunity to bring himself to her notice, it had become a near-run thing with him. He confided to Maggie and Rothwell later that he had very nearly told his doting mama that he had no intention of trying to win over the Lady Ophelia but in fact had decided to marry a wholly ineligible female from the wilds of the Scottish Highlands.

Curled up in Rothwell’s arms at last, Maggie soon realized that her headache was dissipating, and after some considerable attention from her husband, it disappeared entirely.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully when Rothwell moved to kiss her good-night yet one last time, “I believe you have shown me a much better cure than whisky, Edward, for I have never known even one of Papa’s most potent toddies to cure a headache, and you have sent mine right away out of my head.”

“I’m a devil of a fellow, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing her again. “You would be surprised by the extent of my powers.”

She chuckled, but she had no cause to doubt him. He had surprised her more than once in the past weeks, not least the first night she had spent with him in this very room, when he had taken obvious delight in describing to her the history of the two absurd portraits of Adam and Eve flanking the fireplace, where they could best be viewed from the huge master bed.

Though she had expected him to revert the moment the carriage wheels struck the cobblestones of London to the foppish fellow she had first met, he had not done so. He had certainly donned city attire—his worst enemy would never call him shabby or unfashionable—but there was a new air about him now, and she knew it was not all due to his concern for Lydia’s safety.

Indeed, any danger to Lydia must have existed only before he was not present to protect her, for certainly, with his many friends and acquaintances amongst the rich and powerful, his half-sister must be well protected.

She let her thoughts drift back to Ranelagh, where she had greatly enjoyed strolling around the Rotunda on her husband’s arm, drawing attention from everyone they met. There had been exclamations of disbelief, but many felicitations as well, and everyone they met had treated her with respect, even with some affection, as though they would accept her into their midst only for being Rothwell’s wife. She had enjoyed that as much as she had enjoyed being treated as a countess when they traveled. Oddly, she was finding London less irksome than she had expected.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING, TO
everyone’s surprise, the dowager joined them in the breakfast parlor at what was for her a most unseasonable hour. That she had been up for some time became evident when she announced that she had sent cards to Lady Ophelia Balterley and the aunt who was being kind enough to chaperon her, inviting them to enjoy some of her prized Bohea at Rothwell House that afternoon. Hearing this news, the other four people at the table stared at her in varying degrees of dismay.

Maggie, though not displeased by a chance to further her acquaintance with the astonishing Lady Ophelia, knew that neither Rothwell nor James would welcome her company and held her tongue.

Lydia was not so wise. “Mama, what can you be thinking!” she demanded. “Surely, you do not want me to make a bosom bow of Ophelia Balterley. I never have the least notion of what to say to her. Her notions are all so peculiar!”

“You must not always be thinking only of yourself, my dear,” Lady Rothwell said. “You will do better to appear to be kind to the young woman than to snub her, for to do the latter is to encourage gentlemen to choose sides, and one cannot always be certain they will choose wisely. In any event, it is as much your duty to further dear James’s cause as your own.”

Dear James sat stiffly at hearing these words, and said hastily, “I wish you had not invited Lady Ophelia here if you do so in my behalf, ma’am. That suit will not prosper.”

“If you mean to say that you are not enamored of the young woman, dear James, that does not signify, for emotions do not enter into such matters if one is wise. Furthermore, you will be guided by me, if you please, for I know what is best for you.”

“Damnation,” James snapped, “you know nothing of the sort. And it is no use looking daggers at me, Ned, for I won’t apologize. At least, I will apologize to Maggie and to Lydia, but not to Mama. You are stepping way beyond the mark, ma’am. I’ll be da—That is, I won’t have you telling me that I must marry some young chit scarcely out of the schoolroom, or anyone else for that matter.”

“Little Ophelia does have a lamentable habit of flaunting what she believes, no doubt inaccurately, to be an education equal to that of any man, but she will learn better in time.”

“I don’t care if she does,” James retorted, “and as for being inaccurate, let me tell you that if I may judge by the astute remarks she made last night, she has an understanding beyond that of any gentleman of my acquaintance. I believe I acquitted myself well in school, but I have not read half of what I must suppose that young woman to have read. Not that her education would repel me if I were interested in pursuing a closer acquaintance, for it would do nothing of the sort, but since I have no intention of pursuing such an acquaintance with anyone at all in Lon—”

“Easy, James,” Rothwell said warningly.

Maggie, hoping to make it easier for James to recover after what she too believed to have been an unintentional slip, said quickly to Lydia, “If your mama has invited guests to join us this afternoon, perhaps you will be kind enough to help me select a proper gown to wear. I am still not well enough versed in the current fashions to be certain that I can choose wisely.”

Before Lydia could reply the dowager said acidly, “How can you say you have no such intention, James? It is imperative that you marry wisely, as I think you know only too well. Not only are you your brother’s heir apparent, but—”

“What rubbish!” James did not attempt to conceal his exasperation. “Not only is Ned married now, and to a perfectly healthy young woman who may be counted upon to produce a good many offspring, but—”

“That union will be temporary, as I have already made plain,” the dowager said flatly. “It is a most unsuitable alliance—for call it a marriage I cannot and will not—and Rothwell simply must rectify the matter.”

“I intend to rectify it,” Rothwell said, his tone nonetheless ominous for all its gentleness.

Maggie looked at him quickly, fearing that somehow the dowager had convinced him of his error. When he smiled at her, however, she relaxed.

The dowager said, “I am glad to hear you say so, but if you intend to speak with your man of affairs today, I hope you will do so before this afternoon so that you can be present when Lady Ophelia comes. To take tea in the house of the Earl of Rothwell with his lordship in attendance must make a greater impact than if she is merely entertained by his stepmama, and if she is to comprehend the exalted position to which she might one day find herself elevated—”

“By the Lord Harry, Mama, what nonsense will you spout next?” James demanded, growing red in the face. “There is not the remotest chance that I shall—”

The dowager cut in again without hesitation, “There is every chance that such a thing could come to pass, my dear James; however, you mistook my meaning. I was careful to say only that she ought to be aware of the possibility, which, I might remind you, grows more likely the longer Rothwell goes without making a suitable marriage. Since he has apparently come to his senses, however, and means to set this young woman aside—”

“I mean to do no such thing,” Rothwell said, “as you would have realized by now, ma’am, if you paid heed for two minutes to anyone’s words but your own. When I said I meant to correct the matter, I meant that I will apply to the Archbishop of Canterbury for permission to be properly remarried in the Church of England. By law, since the marriage is legal in Scotland, England must recognize it as well, but I am only too willing to agree it is unusual. Not only will the Church be better pleased if we reunite with its blessing and approval, but you can then have proper marriage lines to put with your genealogical book.”