Gayle Buck (6 page)

Lady Althea staggered as her hand brushed a chair back, and she clung to it for balance. Her eyes were huge dark pools as she lifted her other hand to touch her swollen lips. Her lovely face was flushed and a pulse beat openly at the base of her slender throat.

She had never appeared more beautiful, but her beauty left Lord St. John untouched.

‘Think on that when you wed your dried, old stick of a duke, my lady!” said the viscount savagely. He strode to the door and flung it open. Without a backward glance, he exited. The door crashed shut behind him.

On the carpet, forgotten where they had dropped, were his driving gloves.

Lady Althea stared at the gloves, seeing in them the latent power of the viscount’s fingers. She shuddered, slowly rubbing her bare arms, where the sensation of the bruising cruelty of his hands lingered.

* * * *

Lord St. John left the Earl of Cowltern’s town house without a thought given to where he was headed. Vaulting onto the seat of his phaeton, he whipped up his team, scarcely granting the boy holding his horses time to leap out of the way.

He was consumed with rage at this latest, and cruelest, blow. It seemed that everything that he had depended upon, everything that had undergirded his life, was but a hollow mockery. Society was riddled with hypocrisy—on the one hand touting birth and honorable qualities as the highest attributes, and on the other cutting at one stroke one of their number who had been credited with such, but who seemed to have lost all redeeming value together with his expected inheritance.

Lady Althea was the very essence of one of the favored ones. But he had fallen outside the shining circle, and she could not now be bothered with such as him. The betrayal was stunning for its very unexpectedness.

He had never been in love with Lady Althea, nor she with him. Theirs had been a cold-blooded agreement that would have served to ally two old and respected families. He had expected to acquire a suitable bride and hostess, one who would have brought a substantial dowry and would in time have produced the necessary heir. She had expected to become mistress of her own household and to enjoy the social position that her fortunate birth had decreed was hers by right.

Though there had never been a spark of feeling between them, neither had found the other physically displeasing. As for strength of personality, Lord St. John and Lady Althea had discovered that they were fairly evenly matched. Each had the determination and the selfishness not to be overtrodden by the other, and this had engendered a mutual, though tepid, respect.

On the whole, it had been a satisfactory arrangement.

One which had been blown to flinders.

Lord St. John drove for an hour or more. He gave no thought to his destination, only to the desire for constant movement, while his dark reflections occupied his mind. He stopped only to rest his horses at an out-of-the-way inn and there discovered a very tolerable Madeira.

* * * *

It was full night when he returned to London. He stopped only long enough at his town house to change and to give over his exhausted team into the care of his groom before he set his steps toward the club.

Mr. Underwood and Lord Heatherton were pleasantly surprised when Lord St. John appeared to join them for dinner. “I thought you would be at Lady Pothergill’s,” said Mr. Underwood.

The viscount threw himself carelessly into a chair. His hooded eyes gleamed above the smile that twisted his thin lips. “I am out of favor, my friend. Her ladyship showed her true colors this afternoon.”

He spoke so bitterly that Mr. Underwood and Lord Heatherton exchanged a comprehensive glance. They thereafter applied themselves to the task of pulling Lord St. John out of his black temper and, failing that, to getting his lordship roaring drunk. In the last, they were successful, for Lord St. John was completely amenable.

At the end of the evening, Lord St. John’s friends stuffed him into a cab and accompanied him home. Supporting his lordship between them, Mr. Underwood and Lord Heatherton staggered up the steps of the viscount’s town house.

“We’ll have to pour him into bed,” grunted Mr. Underwood.

“Better that than hear that Sinjin blew a hole in some unfortunate,” observed Lord Heatherton.

“Lord, don’t you think I thought of that as well?” uttered Mr. Underwood scornfully, banging on the door while endeavoring to keep Lord St. John from slithering to the ground. “Though I suspect he’d much rather thrash the lady.”

“You don’t say. I never pegged Sinjin to be in the petticoat line,” said Lord Heatherton. He blinked rather owlishly as the door opened and the viscount’s butler peered out. “Craighton. Just the man we want.”

The butler had taken in the situation at a glance and opened the door wide, directing the gentlemen to help his lordship upstairs. Mr. Underwood and Lord Heatherton looked dubiously at the stairs, then at each other. Lord Heatherton shrugged. “Nothing for it. What set Sinjin off?”

“Lady Pothergill’s rout,” supplied Mr. Underwood, panting as he navigated upward.

“Ah, that explains it. One of m’mother’s cronies. Awful woman. Can’t think why her ladyship is so in vogue. Never has a decent layout,” said Lord Heatherton disapprovingly.

“Lady Althea likes Lady Pothergill,” said Mr. Underwood.

“Ah,” said Lord Heatherton, frowning heavily. Silence fell between the gentlemen until they had rounded the landing and were proceeding to the viscount’s bedroom. Lord Heatherton’s countenance suddenly cleared. “Ah!”

“Just so,” nodded Mr. Underwood.

The butler ran ahead to alert the viscount’s valet. The gentlemen tumbled Lord St. John onto his bed and Tibbs took over the task of making his lordship comfortable.

Mr. Underwood and Lord Heatherton contemplated the unconscious viscount for a moment. “Poor Sinjin. Much better to get drunk,” said Lord Heatherton.

Realizing that they had given over their charge into the capable hands of the viscount’s valet and butler, they withdrew from the bedroom and left the town house, weaving slightly as they made their way down the sidewalk.

Chapter 6

The terraced residences in Islington were respectable addresses, though so far removed from the haunts of the fashionable as to be almost another world. Night had fallen and at one quiet house the occupants were enjoying their after-dinner respite from the demands of the day.

In the drawing room, candles had been lit to augment the glow from the hearth fire so that there would be no need for the elderly gentleman or the young lady to strain their eyes against competing shadows.

The portly gentleman rustled the newspaper. “Here is an interesting item. The Duke of Alton has wed. The gentleman must be twenty years my senior! I wonder what his grace’s heir thinks of it. Nay, I suspect I may guess. ‘Tis a wonderment, don’t you think, Mary?”

“Indeed it is, Papa,” agreed the young lady opposite the wide-striped settee, without looking up from her embroidery. Beside her was a basket holding silks of various colors, folded work, a small scissors and assorted other supplies. She reached for the scissors and snipped a finished thread. Deftly knotting the end of the silk on her needle, she started a new bit of stitching on her hoop.

Mr. Pepperidge peered around the edge of his newspaper, his spectacles glinting in the firelight. He regarded his eldest child with strong fondness. She was a comely young woman, her brown hair smoothed into a coronet of braids, her capable fingers evenly and surely drawing the needle through the fabric on the embroidery hoop. The design she worked would be one of her own creation, he knew, for she had proven to be quite artistic with her needle. The expense that he had been put to in sending Mary to that select seminary had been a worthwhile investment, for he could not think of another young woman of their social standing who was as refined or educated as his own dear Mary.

Mr. Pepperidge lowered the newspaper to allow his appreciative gaze to go round the comfortably appointed drawing room. Mary was talented in other ways. She had a knack of making a room appear warm and welcoming, a quality much prized by an old gentleman such as himself, or for that matter, any other gentleman.

On the thought, Mr. Pepperidge sighed heavily, for it occurred to him, and not for the first time, that his daughter should have been stitching chair covers for her own house instead of for her father’s.

Mary looked up upon hearing the regretful sound, a smile coming at once to the full curve of her lips. “What is it, Papa? Have you read another item that does not quite meet with your approval?”

“I have been a selfish old man, Mary. I should have seen you wed and the happy mistress of your own house years ago.”

Astonished, Mary lowered her embroidery to her lap. “Papa! What an extraordinary thing to say. I am quite content as I am.”

“As am I, dear child. Your being here has meant all the world to me since your sweet mother died. But you are a lovely young woman. You should have pretty dresses and choose a suitable gentleman of our acquaintance for your husband,” said Mr. Pepperidge.

Mary laughed, a rich throaty peal of amusement. “What a funny you are, Papa. I do not pine after frivolity or furbelows, as you well know. And as for a husband, well, I suspect I am a little too long in the tooth to expect to receive a suitable offer. I am all of one-and-twenty since last week and had a lovely locket from you and a scarf sent by Tabitha and a beautiful nosegay from William. Now, Papa, pray do not scowl. I could scarcely wish for anything dearer than the affection of my family.”

Mr. Pepperidge shook his head, sighing again. “I have kept you locked away too long with me, Mary. I see it now. I have been blinded by my own selfishness. You have spoiled me too well, Mary.”

The door to the drawing room opened and the house maid entered with the coffee tray. Mary set aside her embroidery in the basket, saying, “If I have done so it is because you are such a darling. Now, Papa, we will have no more of this nonsense if you please. I am well content to go on just as we are. Do we not have everything we could possibly wish for our comfort?” Mary quietly thanked the housemaid and dismissed the girl until she was needed again.

“Oh, aye, we do well enough,” agreed Mr. Pepperidge. “Business is very good since the South American market has been tapped. However, that is not to what I am referring, as well you know, child.”

Mary shook her head. “Really, Papa. I confess I do not understand this strange tack you have taken this evening.” She fixed the coffee precisely as her father preferred with a generous dollop of cream and sugar. He accepted the cup and upon tasting the coffee, nodded his approval. Mary poured herself a cup and sat back comfortably against the settee. She said serenely, “How was business today. Papa?”

“You would make a delightful wife, Mary.”

“Papa,” she said warningly.

Mr. Pepperidge shook his heavy finger at her. “I know of what I speak, daughter. You always do my coffee just as I prefer. My favorite dishes are always at table. The rooms are clean and bright and cheerful. You always inquire after my concerns with the right mixture of interest and intelligence. These are little things that a gentleman appreciates. You are a treasure, Mary, and one that any gentleman would be honored to have to wife.”

“Very well, Papa, I am a treasure. I shall not pull caps with you on that score,” said Mary, her eyes twinkling. “But what gentlemen do you refer to? I have not a score of suitors waiting outside the door, as did Tabitha. Nor do I possess my sister’s rare beauty. I am myself and only that.”

“You underrate yourself, Mary. You have an abundance of excellent qualities. Poor Tabitha possessed little else but her beauty. She had to make the most of it,” said Mr. Pepperidge with an air of regret.

Mary looked over at her father in surprise. “Papa, whatever has gotten into you this evening? I have never heard you speak so before.”

“Perhaps I feel my own mortality more than is my usual wont. Certainly things appear uncommonly clear to me these days,” said Mr. Pepperidge.

“I do wish you would not speak so, Papa. Why, you are a prime specimen of the stolid respectable Englishman. You shall undoubtedly enjoy many more years of my spoiling you,” said Mary. “I am only glad that Tabitha and William are not here to listen to your foolishness.”

Mr. Pepperidge chuckled. “Aye, Tabitha would give us floods of tears, would she not? Tabitha was always a spritely little thing, pretty as a picture, but not near as clever as you or William.”

“William would undoubtedly scold you, just as I have,” said Mary, smiling.

“The boy has no proper respect for his elders,” Mr. Pepperidge grumbled, but it was said indulgently. He said, suddenly pensive, “I would have liked my son to follow me into trade, but I have come to recognize that it will never be. William has always been unsteady. Now he is wild for the army and I will not be able to hold him in England much longer.”

“But he is only sixteen, Papa! A mere boy!” exclaimed Mary as she returned her nearly empty coffee cup to the tray.

“Aye, old enough to know his mind but not old enough to have acquired good sense,” said Mr. Pepperidge. “I worry about some of those friends of his, Mary, I shan’t disguise that from you.”

“As do I, Papa. His last visit he spoke quite glowingly of a fellow who sounded to me to be suspiciously knowing for a schoolboy,” said Mary quietly

“It is a pity you were not born a man, Mary. You’ve the sensible discerning character required for business that William so deplorably lacks,” said Mr. Pepperidge.

“If I had been a man you would not now be sipping coffee made perfectly to your liking,” Mary said wryly. She got the rise that she had expected as Mr. Pepperidge chuckled and agreed it was so.

“Still and all, I wish more for you than keeping house for an old man. ‘Tis a pity that you were never taken with any of the gentlemen who called on Tabitha.”

“I think it was as much the other way around, Papa. None of the gentlemen was taken with me,” said Mary matter-of-factly. In the beginning, a few of the gentlemen had been her callers; but their interest in her had never survived once they had met her sister.