Amy Lake (4 page)

For once I had a becoming dress in my own wardrobe, as the countess had never expressed objection to my choice of daygowns for informal wear.  Cassie, Lady Helen and I made, in fact, a rather charming group, as we all thought, in outfits of white lawn edged with lace or picot.

“Good heavens,” commented Miss Barre as we entered the ballroom—not the duke’s grand ballroom to be sure, but a smaller space which could accommodate, I suppose, a mere one or two hundred couples.  An arch of roses outlined the entrance, and flowers were everywhere; the fragrance of massed cape jasmine, in particular, was overpowering. 

“Are we supposed to be in a meadow?”

“I should like to see the English meadow stuffed with cape jasmine.”

“They are a tropical plant, are they not?  The duke must own an acre of hothouses.”

“Look at Lord Pettigrew.  What do you suppose he is doing?”

“I believe,” said Cassandra, “he is attempting to frolic.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Lady Helen.  “I’m going to sneeze.”

* * * *

I saw him shortly after we arrived, a tall figure dressed severely in black and talking easily to his grace and the duchess.  I wondered if he knew them well, not that ’twas unusual for a viscount to be on familiar terms with such as the Duke of Avon; that depended entirely on family connections and—it must be admitted—the relative degree of wealth.  The latter might favor Lord Davies, although not, as best I knew, to any great degree in this case.  The duke was more than adequately rich.

“Ah,” said Lady Helen.  “The Viscount Cardingham.”

“He looks quite smart,” said Cassandra.  “Reggie, do you not agree?”

“He does that,” I said, without thinking.  The severe black combined with the deep gold of his hair made Lord Davies the most handsome gentleman in the room.

In my opinion.

We did not approach the group—a duke is a duke, after all—and the dancing soon began.  Cassandra’s hand was immediately taken by Lord Jeremy, and Lady Helen’s soon after, by her longtime admirer, the Baronet of Asherton.  And I stood alone for only a few seconds.

“Lady Regina.”

The familiar, deep voice was nearly in my ear, but I was prepared.  I had thought of nothing other than he might seek me out if he knew I was in attendance, and had carefully avoided looking in the direction of his most likely approach.  I turned now and smiled; an easy smile, I hoped, as Cassie had made me practice in the mirror.  She says my normal smile is entirely too alert.

“Lord Davies.”

I curtseyed as he bowed, and he did not say more, only held out his hand.  That was rather forward, and it pleased me no end.

The dance was a quadrille, which was new at that time.  We formed a square with, as it happened, Cassandra and Lord Jeremy as head couple.  The quadrille is lively, and does not allow much opportunity for talk, so I was gratified when ’twas over and Lord Davies did not return me immediately to my friends.  The room was warm, the scent of flowers strong, surely he saw that a brief turn on the duke’s balcony would be a pleasant diversion?  I had considered attempting a sneeze, to make the point, but there was no need.

“Perhaps a moment outside?”

I nodded.  The viscount had not yet released my hand.  We joined several other couples on the balcony and I inhaled fresh air with relief.

“You look quite lovely tonight,” said Lord Davies. 

Again I was prepared, although I’m sure I blushed.  “Thank you, my lord,” I said evenly.  “And you make a dashing gentleman, although I must admit neither of us looks ready for the sheepfold.”

He laughed, an uncommonly attractive sound.  “I’ve never understood that conceit.”

“Bringing the country into London?”

“There’s entirely enough of it where it is.”  He was smiling down at me and my heart was racing.

“But you enjoy Cornwall, I believe you said.”

“I do, indeed.  Sheep are messy and rather . . . sheep-witted, however.”

I told him the story of Lady Milliforte’s lamb. 

He shook his head.  “I hope the poor animal was not terrified,” said Viscount Cardingham, winning my heart by his concern for a dumb creature.

“Her younger sister Caroline rescued the lamb and made Lady Milliforte promise that ’twas never to be eaten.  I believe it is rusticating happily somewhere in Hampshire.”

He laughed again.  I looked up at him and smiled, and I think—I really believe—he might have touched my lips with his if Lady Helen and Cassandra had not found us at that exact moment.

“There you are!”

They were both chattering with great animation and I could see Miss Barre eyeing me with an expression that suggested warning.  When we returned to the ballroom—Lord Davies graciously thanking me for a delightful dance and making his leave—Cassie pulled me aside.

“The viscount was about to kiss you,” she whispered.

“I know.”  I was feeling rather smug, but the meaning of her words sunk in.  “Oh.  Good heavens, did anyone see?”

“I think not.  But Reggie, be careful.  You seem to like that man a great deal—”

I did not gainsay her.

“—and we are not absolutely
sure
he is looking for a wife.”

I wanted to retort that it hardly mattered, to say something about romance and the meeting of true minds, but I did not.  Because of course it mattered a great deal.

* * * *

A few days later I saw Viscount Cardingham at yet another
musicale
, which was unusual enough that I commented upon it to Cassandra.

“And why not?  He’s just come to town,” she reminded me.

“Yes, but two
musicales
and a fete, and none of them overly large affairs—well, I suppose the Duke of Avon’s was—”  I’d had a few suspicions; now I was watching Cassie’s face, which told me all I needed to know.  Miss Barre, for all her many talents, is a poor liar.

“Cassandra.  What have you done?”

She shrugged.  “I merely remarked to Lady Helen that since Peter Wilmott knows Lord Davies, it would be terribly convenient if
we
knew where
he
was going to be.”

I threw my hands into the air, horrified.  “Lud!  And when the viscount finds out—”

“You both are fond of music, ’tis not strange to find one another at a
musicale
.  And he won’t find out.”

“You were the one telling me to be careful!  He’ll think I’m some silly, infatuated schoolgirl.”

“Well, since in this case you
are
an infatuated schoolgirl—”

“I am not!”

“—I thought it best that we obtain more information about his intentions.” 

“I am
not
a schoolgirl!”

“Besides, if you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t care.”

I glared at her, silenced for the moment.  Then we both burst into laughter.

“He really won’t find out,” said Cassandra, when we stopped.  “Do you remember when Peter Wilmott called the Countess de Lieven ‘a shocking old harpy’?”

I certainly did.  The remark had developed wings, and the countess—one of the patronesses of Almack’s—had spent months trying to root out the source.  Peter’s friends had shown him remarkable loyalty, considering the strength of her ladyship’s pique.

“Lady Helen informed him that if word ever got out about your interest in Lord Davies, his role in that affair would be made quite clear.”

I started laughing again.  “What does Peter Wilmott care about the Countess de Lieven?”

“He doesn’t.  But his soon-to-be fiancée does.”

This was news, and for a moment I was diverted from my own concerns.  Lady Helen’s brothers were an endless source of romantic intrigue.  “Peter is getting engaged?  To whom?”

“Alice Montvale.”

“Really!  They will not suit,” I said, without thinking.  Alice Montvale was a wilting flower.  The merest breath of the boisterous or rough sent her into a trembling faint.  I can’t imagine that she knew a thing about shocking old harpies.

“Most definitely not,” agreed Cassandra.  “But she seems healthy enough, and Peter has always said he wants a house full of children.”

“But Cassie—the viscount—”

“What,” said Miss Barre, “is the worst that can come of it?  Lord Davies will learn that a young woman with good taste in music—and who happens to be the daughter of an earl—is not averse to his attentions.  How bad can that be?”

Chapter 5:  Freddie Falls in Love

I often don’t see my brother for days at a time.  He keeps even later hours than the countess, and spends the odd week either at Three Stags, or at the home of one friend or another.  I may not even know where he’s been until the bills start to arrive.

This morning, however, he joined me for breakfast.  He was whistling.

“The top of the morning to you, my dearest sister!”

He kissed me on the top of the head and poured himself a cup of coffee.  I stared at this apparition of health and apparent sobriety.  The only time I see Freddie at this hour is when he is dragging himself in from the night before.

“Good morning,” I said.  Hesitantly.  I was still staring.

He noticed.  “Oh, don’t cut up stern with me,” said Freddie, waving a finger.  “Not even your sisterly reproaches can mar this happy day!”

I laughed, caught off guard.  “Very well, my dear brother, tell me all.”

“Do you not know?  I am in love with the fairest creature in all of England.”

Oh, gods.  Not again.

“And I know what you will say, but ’tis she, truly.  There will never be another.”

The adoring, calf-like expression on his face was, I must admit, quite new.

“And who might this fairest creature be?”

He sank into the chair across from me and leaned both elbows on the table, cupping his chin in his hands.  Freddie has been spared the curls that so often turn into frizz for me, but the auburn hair colour is the same.  One lock fell across his forehead as he spoke the exalted name, managing no more than a whisper.

“Celia.”

I knew one Celia, but she was already married, and then there was—

Oh, no.

“Celia?” I encouraged, with a sinking certainty.

“Lady Celia,” he breathed, and I saw tears come to his eyes. 

“Lady Celia Brompton,” I finished for him, before he was totally overcome.

“Yes!  Oh, yes!  Sister, you cannot understand—before this moment, I knew not love.”

I restrained a sudden urge to stand up and slap some sense into him.  Lady Celia Brompton—she is quite pretty, I will grudgingly admit—is the daughter of His Grace, the Duke of Wenrich.  A
duke
.  And Freddie, as the eldest son of an earl, is an acceptable match for such as Lady Celia, generally speaking, but the Brompton family is quite another matter.

They are the stuffiest of the stuffy, the proudest of the proud.  Cassandra calls the duchess ‘the implacable one’.  And the three sons and daughter are well-known, in a society full of waste, excess, and spoiled children, as some of the most difficult of the lot.  Lord Brompton’s eldest son, the heir, is said to have had a footman whipped, and a valet turned off without reference after a wrinkle was discovered in one of his cravats. 

“And does the young lady return your affections?” I asked my brother.

He stood up, offended.  “La, Reggie, you sound like a spinster aunt!”

The accusation stung.  I would not be so, I thought, if you would take some responsibility for your own life.  

 “She does, as it happens.”  Freddie turned serious.  “We have pledged ourselves to one another.”

The sinking feeling turned into a hard knot in my stomach.  My brother is thoughtless and a wastrel—in matters of blunt.  And ’tis true he is accustomed to proclaim himself lost for love every other fortnight, but he does no harm, and I had never known him to be a rakehell with young ladies.  The only affections he toys with are his own.

He had pledged himself to this girl?  I had no need to inquire if the duke’s permission had been obtained.  It had not. 

“There is only one cloud on my horizon,” said Freddie, his eyes filling again.

I would just bet there was.

“The duke?” I said.

My brother’s demeanor had circled from happy whistling all the way round to wretched despair.  “He will not allow it.”

“Mmm.”

“I have not asked, of course, but—Reggie, the man is impossible!”

“He is with pockets to let, you mean.”

Freddie looked up at me, and nodded.  “What am I to do?” he said.

* * * *

The Duke of Wenrich’s pecuniary tribulations were the scandal of the
haut ton
, and had been so for several years; it was one of the things I had been first informed of at my come-out.  Lady Helen, with her excellent resources, claims that his grace’s problems originated with the East India Company, where his father had been heavily invested, and which had suffered a series of major setbacks a generation ago involving a famine in Bengal.  Others—I’d heard all the stories—suggested that the Tea Act had been somehow involved.

But what everyone knew was that my lord duke required funds, and plenty of them.  It was widely understood that his eldest son had married for money, and that Lady Celia was expected to do the same.

Making Lord Wilfred Knowles, son of the Earl of Aveline, an unsuitable suitor.

“It won’t do, Freddie,” I told him.  There was no need to equivocate about a cause so hopeless.

“It must!  I
cannot
live without her.”

Lud.  I was tempted to stand up and leave.  I’ve heard this speech before, albeit given to my parents. 

My guests must have the finest wine.  I
cannot
live without it!

I
cannot
live without a barouche!

There was no end to the things my brother could not live without.  The only difference was that this time, the wished for item was a person, and the earl’s money was far from sufficient to buy her.

Perhaps I should have realized at that moment that my life was about to change, and that the events which were to leave me un-chaperoned in Bath had already begun.

Chapter 6:  The Viscountess Requests