“She’s been man-hungry for a year,” Malone told them. “Ever since Bernard’s death she’s been trying to act half decent, to give the devil her dues. But if she must break off her celibating, it’s a shame and a pity she had to choose
him
to do it with.”
“And to do it in public,” Marnie added, sighing.
“If Charlie was with them, I can’t think it was so horrid as you say,” Rorie tried.
“Corrupting that young innocent is the worst of it all,” Malone corrected her. “And never mind trying to defend the heathen. That’s what comes of him going off to India. He’s worse than a warlock. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to hear he’s turned into a full-fledged Hindustani. He’ll be worshipping holy cows and refusing to eat a bite of beef the next thing we hear. Bernard would turn over in his grave if
he were alive to hear of it,” she finished off, too excited to find any inconsistency in this opinion.
“Charles is his half brother. It is only natural he should want to see him,” Rorie tried again.
“He didn’t have to see
her
with him,” Marnie pointed out. “I can’t think what Clare is up to.”
“Hedging her bets,” Malone decided. “If Kenelm
does
win—and I suppose he will, for he’s Raiker even if he is a rake along with it—she’s got him in her pocket, set up for life. It’ll be her ends up in Gypperfield’s mansion, mark my words if it ain’t.”
“That’s
what she’s up to!” Marnie exclaimed, and her pique knew no bounds. That John had forbidden her the Gypperfield mansion was a bitter pill, made palatable only by her marriage, but if Clare were to get it, even a marriage was not sufficient to coat the pill.
“They’re a fine pair is all I’ve got to say,” Malone declared, then went on at once to say a deal more in the same vein, as did Lady Raiker. Rorie was wilted with it all, and went above-stairs alone.
Kenelm had told her he meant to see Clare, but she had not foreseen his doing it so publicly or so often. Nor had she foreseen how little she trusted him. She felt a strong suspicion that if he befriended Clare for his own ends, he enjoyed doing it. And of course she was curious to know how far the befriending went. “Courting” was the word used by Marnie. But then he was said to be courting Lady Alice, too, and he did not love her in the least. He admitted quite shamelessly he was using her and her father’s prestige.
He used everyone—Marnie to bolster his claim, Millie to discover information. Had he used herself too? She had let him into the house to search it, had helped him. Yes, it was only after he discovered that she alone continued on terms with Clare that he had showed any partiality for her, that he had kissed her, and spoken of soulmates. The same word he used with Alice. He never had followed up on his question of whether she had found her soulmate. Hadn’t even written her as he had said he would. Never had made any public gesture or announcement of his relationship with her. He was as wicked as they said, and she shouldn’t see him if he called. She
wouldn’t
see him. She had that much self-respect. And if she met him in the village she would cut him dead.
She pulled his unsubstantial
billet doux
from its hiding place between the leaves of the book, read it one last time and consigned it to the flames, as he had asked her to in the first place. He didn’t want any evidence of his philandering. He needn’t worry. There’d be no evidence, including red eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
The next day word came to the Dower House that Kenelm had not been to Raiker Hall that day, but had been in the village again with Lady Alice. He was not giving up that helpful connection, and apparently Sally had not quite given up on him either. Another message was also received, this one in writing holding an invitation to a party at Lord Dougall’s two nights hence. Marnie received it and sent a reply back with Dougall’s footman accepting for her sister and herself. Of course, Kenelm would be there—that was inevitable, as Lady Alice was still after him. This, however, was no reason why the ladies should miss one of the better parties of the season.
Along with their Irish mentor, they laid plans for their reception of Raiker. “I mean to cut him quite openly and publicly,” Marnie said with relish. “I shan’t say so much as good evening to him, and I hope you will do the same, Rorie .”
“I wouldn’t satisfy him,” Rorie answered. “I shall say, ‘Good evening, Lord Raiker,’ and not another word.”
“Maybe that would be better,” Marnie said, considering this alternative. “Malone, which is more degrading—not to speak at all, or to address him very coolly as Lord Raiker?” This important matter was given deep thought, with Malone’s head resting on her bosom while a frown furrowed her brow. What she desired was to say nothing, and still call him Lord Raiker very coolly, but as this was impossible, she decided on total silence, and was voted down by her rebellious charges. They agreed on “Good evening, Lord Raiker,” and spent a few minutes practicing up the chilliest tone possible in which to deliver their slight. They would say not a word throughout dinner if it fell out that one of them drew him for a partner. They would refuse to stand up with him to dance if he asked, and would remain deaf to any questions or speeches he might put to them. They looked forward to a marvelously interesting evening.
Rorie hadn’t realized losing a beau could be so entertaining. Her entertainment was of course heightened by the hope that he would override all her ill manners and ill humour and force his attentions on her in some dark and private spot. She quite expected it, but was less certain that in some corner of his heart he still harboured a regard for her when she chanced to see him that afternoon while gathering flowers in the meadow. She thought the gypsies were gone. Nothing had been seen of them for a few days, and she wandered close to the woods, not actually entering.
She didn’t have to. Through the trees she saw a red dress, and recognized it for Ghizlaine’s. She had seen her once in the village, and would have recognized her in any case from having observed her with Kenelm. She was with him again. They were not embracing quite so passionately this time, but sat together on a fallen tree. Kenelm has his arm around her shoulder, patting it tenderly, while her head rested on his chest. The familiarity of it was worse than a kiss—and the woman was married, too! He would draw the line at nothing.
Rorie was so angry she was nearly sick with it. She went home at once, and that evening Kenelm came to call on her. Not Marnie, but herself he asked for when he came. She sent down a message that she had a headache, and after listening to Marnie and Malone deride “the gall of the creature” for an hour, she had. But still her hopes were high for the party the next evening. He hadn’t quite forgotten her. While making up to Clare and Lady Alice and the gypsy, he had at least come to call on herself, for what it was worth.
Both the ladies dressed with particular care for Dougall’s party the next evening. They wished to be outfitted in the highest kick of fashion to insult Lord Raiker. Marnie wore a blue gown and her sister went in her finest cream, with dark-blue velvet ribbons. Their eyes glittered with excitement, and their colour was high.
“Mind you don’t let the heathen be making up to you,” was Malone’s parting shot. She had Mimi at the doorway with her, to give her a glimpse of her mama in her party splendour. Each lady thought the warning was directed at herself, and both replied in reassuring tones that indeed they would not.
Before ever the carriage got a mile down the road they had a new topic to discuss. Clare’s brougham pulled out of the drive of Raiker Hall just as they approached it, headed in the direction of Dougall’s place. The girls looked a question at each other. “She can’t be going there,” Marnie said.
“Oh no,” Rorie agreed.
“She’s driving down the road to see who is going. She is out spying,” Marnie decided. This seemed very Clare-like, but when the brougham turned up the curved sweep to Bradhurst Hall, the explanation seemed inadequate. Even Clare would not be so brazen and ill-mannered as to drive her carriage to the door of a party to which she had not been invited, to spy out the guests.
“She’s got Kenelm to get her invited,” was Marnie’s next opinion.
“Would Lady Alice be so gullible?” Rorie wondered. It was beginning to seem the credulity of other ladies exceeded even her own where Kenelm was concerned.
“He’d talk her into it. Lady Alice is very eager to see his claim settled so that she might get on with marrying him. Much chance she has if Clare has got her talons into him. I have a good mind to turn the carriage around and go home. What do you say?”
“An excellent idea,” Rorie agreed at once. She really didn’t feel up to a party as overendowed with intrigue as this one promised to be, yet she would be sorry to miss it.
But still the carriage advanced along the drive toward the front door without any command being given to the driver. With a curiosity so rampant as to be consuming her, Marnie had no real thought of missing the party. The reception accorded Lord Raiker had been canvassed a dozen times. Both ladies had their cool “Good evening, Lord Raiker” at their finger tips, but they had never foreseen the necessity of preparing a strategy vis-à-vis Clare. “Shall we speak to her?” Marnie asked as they dismounted from the carriage.
“I must,” Rorie decided. How could she suddenly cease speaking after having spent two nights under her roof so very recently?
“See if you can get anything out of her,” Marnie warned. “I’ll speak, but coolly.”
Clare was no real problem. She was no more interested in pursuing any friendship with the ladies than were they with her. The dowager’s reception of them could hardly have been cooler had she rehearsed it as they had Kenelm’s. She nodded her head a slight fraction of an inch and parted her lips in a vestige of a smile. Lady Alice received Clare with every polite attention. She showed her a seat beside Lady Spencer, who disliked her less intensely than most, and sat on her other side herself, giving confirmation to the suspicion that she was working in harness with Kenelm. Certainly he had put her up to this, and though she resented being used by him herself, Rorie found she resented even more that he chose to use Lady Alice. The other neighbours looked surprised in the extreme to find themselves under Lord Dougall’s roof with the dowager Lady Raiker, but were too polite to do more than stare. No one cut her.
When Lord Raiker was announced, he showed not the least surprise and no chagrin to find his stepmama sitting in state in the Rococo Saloon. He bowed formally to her, and did it before bowing to Marnie and Rorie. They didn’t even say, “Good evening, Lord Raiker,” but only looked and tried to refrain from glaring. Marnie did not quite succeed, but Rorie felt she simulated polite uninterest rather successfully.
Lord Raiker was soon into conversation with some neutral parties on the far side of the room, and did no more than glance occasionally at all his female relations and connections. None of them exhibited any interest in him, including Clare. The sisters were nearly bursting with curiosity wondering if Clare and Ken had had a falling out. At length, Marnie could contain her curiosity no longer. “Lady Spencer has just left her seat. Go and sit by Clare, Rorie, and see what you can discover.”
Rorie proved disobedient, so Marnie went herself. “Well, Clare, what a surprise to find you here,” she said icily.
“I decided to come,” Clare replied. “One cannot isolate herself forever.” She wished to give the idea that her not being present would have no other explanation than declining the invitation.
“We quite forced her into it,” Lady Alice said brightly. “Lady Raiker has kept to herself long enough. It is time she came out of hibernation.”
She just glanced at Marnie at this speech, managing to convey a little of her distress at the haste with which the other widow had doffed her crape.
“I hear you have had a call from Lord Raiker,” Marnie said, ignoring Lady Alice completely and turning full toward Clare.
“Lord Raiker? Ah, you mean the man who
calls
himself Kenelm,” Clare replied, and laughed lightly. “What a bold rascal he is, but
très amusant.
I decided to let him call to see what he has to say for himself, to confirm my belief that he is
not
Lord Raiker, as some of you feel I acted too hastily. An impostor, of course. I become every day more sure of it, but he has at least the manners of a gentleman. He has been telling me some interesting tales of India. Whoever he is, he has certainly been in India.”
“Of course Kenelm has been in India,” Alice said at once. “He gave me the loveliest shawl, and a book. I saw all the things he brought back.”
“He also gave Rorie and myself a shawl,” Marnie said, not to be outdone.
“Perhaps he is a shawl merchant!” Clare laughed. “He gave me one too.”
“Odd you let him call, if that’s the way you feel,” Marnie charged.
“What would seem sane at such a bizarre time?” Clare asked. “You let him call, and I had certain questions I wished to test him with.”
Across the room, Kenelm saw the chair beside Rorie vacant, and advanced toward it. “I trust your headache is gone,” he said, bowing and taking up the chair, unaware of the plans for his reception.
The rehearsed speech was inappropriate to the question, so Rorie altered it, but still used the cool tone. “Quite gone,” she said, then looked away.
“This affair will be enough to bring on another. I feel twinges myself,” he remarked. “I had strong doubts she’d come. She has let me call twice, and once rode out with me, using Charlie as a chaperon, but I am not having much luck getting her to acknowledge me. I think I might as well give it up.”
“Pity,” Rorie said. He was beginning to look at her with the dawning of realization that she was in the sulks.
“I have to see you,” he said next. “I found out something of interest. Can I take you home tonight?”
“No. I came with Marnie. We must return together.”
“Berrigan is here. He’ll take her home.”
“Then I shall go with them.”
“I’ll call tomorrow,” he said. Not a question—a statement.