Emily Hendrickson (6 page)

Privately Chloe thought that no bad thing.

“I insist that you make up your mind soon. Accept Lord Twisdale. It is highly unlikely that you will have a better offer.” The dowager rose to cross the room. She stared down at Chloe with a chilly look. “I shall give you time as you request, but it shall be brief, for the conclusion is settled in my mind.” The dignified lady tapped her fan against her palm as though deliberating what to say next. “Mark these words: should you choose to go against my wishes you shall remain in your room with naught but bread and water until you see matters in my light.”

The dowager walked across the room to stand by the window, then turned to confront Chloe with a haughty stare. “That you would dare to question my judgment is insufferable. Go.”

Aware that she could soon be captive in this house and not a soul in the country would lift a hand to help her, Chloe curtsied to her grandmother, then backed from the room as though leaving royalty.

Actually, Chloe had wished to remain with her relative, hoping she might persuade her to relent. But now Chloe knew her fate was sealed. There was nothing for her to do but marry the odious and deadly Lord Twisdale. Chloe might be a trifle defiant, but she was not so stupid as to risk starvation. She suspected her grandmama would never relent and would instruct the servants to be strict in their administration of her orders.

On her way up the stairs to her room, Chloe desperately hunted for a way to convey her dilemma to Mr. St. Aubyn. What he might do to help her was beyond her imagination at this point.
If
Chloe were permitted to attend a party this evening there was no guarantee that St. Aubyn would be there as well. But, if she were more like her cousins she could just run away.

Once in the seclusion of her room, she picked up her pad and pencil and began to sketch her grandmother. By the end of the hour a very lifelike and vicious dragon with the unmistakable face of the Dowager Lady Dancy graced the thick white paper of the drawing pad. Chloe tore the sheet from the pad and placed it with the other drawings she had done of the members of the ton she had closely observed.

“I fear I am undone,” she said softly before finally giving way to tears.

Hope rose when an hour later the dowager sent a message to Chloe that she was to attend the theater in the company of Lord Twisdale that evening. Naturally the dowager would accompany them and they would sit in the Dancy box. With her grandson and heir to the title off in the country, the box sat empty, but for her use.

Chloe debated on what to wear with an optimistic view. She hoped Mr. St. Aubyn might be there this evening. Certainly if her prayers were answered he would be. However, if he was not, perhaps Theo Purcell might? And maybe, just maybe, she could contrive to send a message through that nice gentleman.

Since the contents of her wardrobe were limited to either the dresses she had brought from the country—out-of-date and a trifle tight—or the unflattering garments purchased for her by Grandmama, she did not truly care what she selected

“Oh, miss,” her maid, the usually inarticulate Ellen said. “Do you think to wear that gray?”

It was a dull gray sarcenet trimmed with navy ribbon, high-necked and long-sleeved. The gown made Chloe feel as though she were in half-mourning. Perhaps that was why it seemed to appeal—she felt quite in that mood.

“I think it perfect, Ellen.” Once dressed—Ellen having retreated into her usual silence again—Chloe studied her reflection in her cheval looking glass. While not a vain girl, she wished she could look fashionable and pretty for a change. She thought she had appeared prettier when her mother had the dressing of her, with colors such as soft peach and bright peacock blue.

Turning her thoughts from such a useless topic, Chloe decided she had best write two notes—one for Mr. St. Aubyn, the other for Mr. Theo Purcell. Using a stiff sheet of white paper, Chloe bluntly informed St. Aubyn of her fate. On the second sheet—a lighter weight piece of cream paper, she asked that Mr. Purcell tell his friend that Chloe was in trouble.

With the two notes safely tucked into the depths of her reticule, along with her ever-present drawing pad and pencil, she joined her grandmother for dinner.

“Enjoy the meal, my dear. Bread and water can be so tedious—not to mention slimming.” Her grandmother eyed Chloe’s slender figure with a raised brow. Her comment had the effect of putting Chloe quite off her food, in spite of the warning.

Chloe determined that she would find a way out of this predicament with or without Mr. St. Aubyn. However, she concluded with a touch of wistfulness, it would be far nicer to have his support and sympathy.

In the meantime, she put her mind to work figuring out a great number of ways and means of stalling Lord Twisdale. She could try sneezing again, for he seemed to always wear that dreadful scent and he abhorred any sign of frailty.

Lord Twisdale had looked askance at a woman who sneezed a great deal during the Purcell ball. Perhaps, Chloe thought with optimism, he held a dread of colds or maybe his wife’s death instilled this apprehension.

The theater was comfortably crowded this evening, Chloe decided with pleasure. It offered her a wealth of faces to draw if she might snatch a moment or two away from her grandmother and his lordship.

Across from the Dancy box Chloe espied her beautiful aunt. Elinor looked so lovely this evening. How could any gentleman resist such a creature of delight as she? Of course he would not know of her temper tantrums—famous within the family circle.

Next to her sat the docile elderly relative who was so obscure that Chloe could not even recall a name for her. She was one of those unfortunate unmarried ladies who drifted from household to household in the hope they could be useful and thus keep a roof over their head.

With a surreptitious slip of her hand into her reticule, Chloe withdrew her pad and pencil. The lights had dimmed and most of the audience seemed to pay some attention to the stage. The rest gossiped and chattered in quite loud tones.

She began to draw her impoverished relative. Within a short time—for she was some distance away so it was difficult to capture details—Chloe had her likeness on the paper atop a rather wilted-looking dove.

Before she knew it, the first intermission was upon them. She concealed her tablet and pencil, smiled dutifully at every comment her grandmother and Lord Twisdale made, and waited.

“I wish to speak with Selina Wingrove,” the dowager said. “I wonder how she can tolerate living with that Hadlow woman.” The Dowager Lady Dancy turned to his lordship and ordered, “You will be so good as to assist me. These corridors can be exceedingly hazardous. Chloe, wait here.”

Chloe nodded, then sneezed as Lord Twisdale’s scent assailed her nose. “Perhaps I may have a drink of water?”

Lord Twisdale seemed about to offer his assistance, although he appeared somewhat reluctant, when the dowager shook her head. “Nonsense. Stick your head out of the door and send someone to fetch you something.”

Chloe sneezed again and the dowager, with Twisdale in tow, left with more than usual haste.

Watching to see where her grandmother and his lordship might appear, Chloe saw them enter the opposite box. When they began to chat with the wilted dove in Chloe’s drawing, she saw her chance.

Retreating to the rear of the box and well into the shadows, Chloe searched the theater again. She had seen St. Aubyn earlier. If only she could think of a way to fetch
him
to bring her the water she had claimed to need.

“Looking for someone?” came a voice from directly behind her. “Do not turn around, rather stay as you are.”

Chloe relaxed as though into a safe haven. “St. Aubyn, I am very glad to see you—even if I cannot, if you know what I mean.” She turned her head so she might catch a glimpse of him. He had looked smashing from a distance and she would wager he was quite devastating up close.

“Heliotrope again,” he murmured. “I would find you anywhere.” He inhaled with appreciation. “What news do you have for me?”

The smooth wool of his coat brushed against her arm, sending tremors through her. Even her sheer sleeve could not prevent her awareness of his touch. “Grandmama continues to insist I must accept Lord Twisdale. I pleaded for time and she has most reluctantly granted a little respite. I fear it is not much. I confess I am afraid of him. It will be bread and water if I refuse him, however.”

Her drawing tablet slid to the floor and St. Aubyn hastened to pick it up for her. “Miss Wingrove? A wilting dove? How fitting. Yet it is not malicious. Tell me, do you often sketch people in this manner?”

Forgetting her problems for a moment, Chloe smiled. “Indeed. Mr. Purcell is a naughty magpie.”

“Let me guess… Lord Twisdale is a serpent?”

“True,” she said with downcast eyes. Then she turned her head, accidently brushing her cheek against his lips to say breathlessly, “And Grandmama is a dragon.”

 Chapter 4

“Hurry, I fear they are leaving the box opposite us. Try to meet me tomorrow—say at the panorama in Leicester Square, just inside the door at two of the clock,” he urged.

Still very much aware of the slight touch of his lips against her cheek, Chloe marshaled her nerves and nodded. “I will do my best. Perhaps Grandmama will allow me to visit there, with my maid, Ellen, along. I could say it is an educational venture.”

“I will be there,” he promised. “I know how difficult it is for you, so I will wait an hour before leaving.”

Chloe felt a faint rush of air from the hall and knew, even without turning to see, that he had gone. She moved forward to the front of the box and watched, wondering if he might appear elsewhere. Within a brief time, she saw him enter the box opposite her, bending forward to speak with her aunt.

She had no right at all to feel this pang of dismay, yet she did. Quite obviously there was something between them. What it might be she refused to speculate.

Behind her a rustle of skirts informed her that the Dowager Lady Dancy had returned with Lord Twisdale behind her.

“Ah, you remained in the box. I told you she is an obedient girl, Twisdale.” Grandmama sounded odiously triumphant.

“True, Grandmama, I did not leave the box. Alas, I could not find anyone who would bring me a glass of lemonade, but I will wait until we take our leave.” Chloe wondered if her cousins would have been as meek and mild as she was now—given the same circumstances. Somehow she could not see her Cousin Hyacinthe behaving so passively. Yet, Chloe dare not anger her grandmother. Not if she hoped to achieve the appointment with Mr. St. Aubyn tomorrow. She felt deliciously wicked, planning a tryst with a gentleman—even if it was nothing more than to scheme how to escape a distasteful marriage to another man.

Distasteful? She studied Lord Twisdale while pretending to look beyond him at the stage. The sharp scent from Lord Twisdale wafted past her and she held her handkerchief to her nose. One did not wish to overdo the sneezing. Every bone and nerve in her body felt him a dangerous man. Surely she was being fanciful? Yet Mr. St. Aubyn had known of the rumor.

Her dear friend Laura had just told her that
she
had heard that Lady Twisdale had taken a powder of arsenic from her medicine chest by mistake. Chloe thought it peculiar that a woman would not know what she had in each container of her very own chest. And why would she want arsenic there in the first place?

The farce concluded before Chloe realized it was being performed. She was sorry not to have paid attention, for usually the farce was the best part of the entertainment, she not being given to tragedies, particularly of the family sort. She assisted her grandmother with arranging her shawls, finding a fallen fan, and making certain nothing was left behind them. Her silence was not marked by either her relative or the guest. They were busy tearing the farce into shreds.

“And what do you think, child?” Lord Twisdale inquired as they settled into the Dancy carriage her grandmother had kept for her use. The lights and bustle of the theater faded from view and the clatter of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles of London streets made conversation difficult.

“The scenery was extremely pretty and I thought the music quite nice,” Chloe responded, believing those comments safe enough.

“Chloe admires the lighter offerings,” the Dowager Lady Dancy explained somewhat unnecessarily.

This appeared to be sufficient to satisfy Lord Twisdale, for he chatted with Lady Dancy the remainder of the drive. For once in her life Chloe did not mind in the least being treated like a witless child.

Once they were safely in the house again, she waited until she thought it prudent to speak. She approached her grandmother in the gold-and-white drawing room.

“I have a great favor to ask, Grandmama. A lady told me how very educational she found the display at the Rotunda at Leicester Square. Mr. Barker has an admirable painting on view and I should like to see it. Might I take Ellen with me tomorrow afternoon—unless you have something for me to do, that is?”

Since Chloe knew her grandmama always took tea with Lady Sefton on Tuesday afternoons to discuss Society events, she thought she had a chance to be free.

“What? Educational, you say? So I have heard tell. No little friend to go with you as well?” The dowager gave Chloe an inquiring and too-searching look.

“I could invite Miss Laura Spayne along, I suppose.” Chloe hoped her good friend would be otherwise occupied.

“Do that,” the dowager commanded. “Remember, I have given you but a short time before you must accept Lord Twisdale. He is being most understanding about your missishness, my girl. It is imperative he acquire an heir and he needs a dutiful wife to accomplish that. He is convinced you will be most dutiful,” the lady concluded with a nod of her feather-bedecked head.

Chloe bowed, reminding herself that she must guard her tongue more than ever before. It would
not
do to anger Grandmama at this moment. She stood by the fireplace, regal and elegant, resembling a queen far more than the present one.