Ravish Me with Rubies

by Jane Feather

  “I haven’t done anything publicly to offend society’s dusty morals,” she said, after a moment. “I defy anyone to find something concrete to accuse me of.”

  “I hate to say it, darling, but Guy’s reputation is enough to sully yours,” Fenella pointed out. “It’s the height of injustice, of course, but it’s a sad fact.”

  “And if tongues are wagging the gossip is bound to reach your parents,” Diana added.

  Petra closed her eyes briefly. Scandal was the one thing she could be sure would bring her mother and father hot foot from the baths of Baden-Baden, or wherever they were now. “Joth hasn’t said anything. If he had wind of any potential scandal he would have said.” Although, now she thought about it, Petra wasn’t so sure. Jonathan was so deeply involved in his parliamentary life, and thought Guy was the answer to his prayers when it came to legislation for Somerset, that he probably couldn’t see past the end of his nose when it came to Granville and his own sister.

  “I don’t think it’s taken wings yet,” Diana said. “Rupert just thought we should warn you of the possibility that the gossips might get ahold of it.”

  “Well, thank him for the warning,” Petra said. “I’ll be as discreet as a nun from now on.” She drank her champagne. “Oh, don’t look so uncomfortable, both of you. I’m not in the least offended, how could I be when I know you only have my best interests at heart.”

  “Well, as long as you don’t think of us as a pair of fussy maiden aunts,” Fenella said, which had the beneficial effect of reducing the three of them to helpless laughter.

  A carriage bowled past the scatter of tables on the pavement beside the square garden while they were still enjoying the joke and they took no notice when it drew to a halt a few yards farther down the street. Guy jumped down, paid the driver, and stood for a moment regarding the three laughing women with a slightly puzzled expression. What on earth could have caused three adult women to collapse in giggles in the middle of the street? He was on his way home, finding that he had little appetite for company after his uncomfortable meeting with Clothilde, and had seen the women out of the corner of his eye as the hackney passed. He stopped the carriage on impulse, intending to join them for a few minutes, but now, seeing their closeness, he felt somehow that they had thrown up a wall of exclusion around themselves and he was reluctant to intrude.

  He decided to avoid them by walking through the garden to his house on the other side of the square but Petra, wiping her streaming eyes, glanced in his direction. Instantly she raised a hand, waving vigorously. “Guy, come and join us.”

  So much for discretion. He strolled toward them. “Something has amused you, ladies. Dare I ask what?” He reached for a spare chair at a neighboring table and swung it around to join theirs.

  “I doubt you’d find it funny,” Petra said.

  “Yes, we were just being a bit silly,” Fenella added.

  “It comes from knowing one another for so long,” Diana explained. “We were schoolgirls together and there was a time when the silliest of things would reduce us to tears of laughter.”

  “Would you like champagne, Guy? I think there’s a drop left in the bottle.” Petra made to lift the bottle out of the ice bucket.

  “No, thank you. I prefer cognac.” He waved at a waiter standing in the doorway of the tea shop and gave his order. “So, what happened to Lohengrin?”

  “I felt rather faint in the first interval.” Petra passed a hand across her brow.

  “I’m glad to find you in such rude health now,” Guy said solemnly. “How unfortunate you could only manage the first act.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” Petra agreed blandly. “But fortunately my strange turns don’t last very long.”

  “That is certainly a blessing.” He nodded his thanks to the waiter, who set a brandy goblet in front of him.

  “How was your evening, Guy?” Petra asked. “It’s rather early to call it a night, isn’t it?”

  “I found I was not in the mood for blackjack,” he told her. “I thought I’d have a return engagement with Mr. Pickwick.” He gave her a conspiratorial smile over his goblet.

  “Guy’s very fond of Dickens,” Petra said airily. “He likes Miss Austen too.”

  “I wish Edward did,” Fenella lamented. “He says her subjects are inconsequential. Perhaps you could change his mind, Guy.”

  Guy put up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to change anyone’s mind about literature, and particularly not your husband’s, he’s too erudite a scholar.” He turned to Diana. “How’s the mare doing, Diana? Is her trainer confident for the Queen Anne Stakes?”

  Diana grimaced. “No one’s confident about anything, which isn’t good news for the bookies. Kimberley Diamond is untried on a major course, although she’d done well in the local races. But we’re hoping, of course, that she’ll spring upon an unwary public and astonish the world.”

  “I look forward to seeing her triumphant,” Guy said. He turned to acknowledge the waiter who set a saucer with the bill at his elbow. “I think they would like us to leave. We appear to be the last holdouts.” He took a billfold from his pocket.

  “No,” said Diana. “You can’t—”

  “Don’t be tiresome, Mrs. Lacey,” he said calmly, laying a bill on the saucer.

  Diana gasped in indignation. Her fingers twitched toward the plate and then she caught Petra’s eye. Petra shook her head and Diana closed her lips firmly and gathered up her belongings. “Thank you, Lord Ashton. You are too kind.”

  He bowed his head with a pleasant smile. “The pleasure was all mine, ladies. It was a delightful surprise to find you on my doorstep.” He beckoned the waiter again. “Send someone to find a hackney for the ladies. Petra, I’ll walk you home.”

  Punctiliously he handed Diana and Fenella into a hackney, his dark eyes alight with amusement as Diana bade him a stiff good night. “We’re hat shopping for Ascot tomorrow, Petra, don’t forget,” Fenella called as the carriage took off toward Piccadilly.

  Petra raised a hand in farewell. “Do you like making enemies, Guy?”

  “Of course not. But Diana should have known better.”

  “You’re doing it again,” she exclaimed. “It was not your party. It was not your bill. We split restaurant bills all the time and have been doing so for years. And we would have been delighted to have bought you a cognac.”

  “Yes, but you see I’m rather old-fashioned in such matters.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I fear I’m too old and set in my ways to change now.” He took her hand and tucked it into his arm as they walked into the garden.

  “That’s arrant nonsense,” Petra declared. “You fly in the face of convention all the time.”

  “Oh? Do I?” He looked down at her, the moonlight silvering the shadows beneath the trees. “How so?”

  Petra realized too late that once again she had ventured too far. How to extricate herself? “I don’t know exactly,” she prevaricated. “You seem to have a very freewheeling attitude to women.”

  “Ah.” He paused on the path. “And how is that exactly, Petra?” There was a dangerous undertone to the question.

  “It matters nothing to me,” she said, tossing her head. “But everyone talks about your liaison with the Frenchwoman. The Viscomtesse Delmont. It’s hardly discreet.”

  There was a long silence as they continued to stand beneath the trees. Then Guy said, “No, you’re quite right. Clothilde and I have never troubled about discretion. But I can assure you, Petra, that where you are concerned, I am and always will be the soul of discretion.” He started walking again, her hand still firmly tucked in the crook of his elbow.

  Petra had nothing to say. He had just confirmed his relationship with the Frenchwoman as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and had said nothing about its being finished, or even about the possibility of its being over in the future. She was dumbfounded.

  She kept her silence until they emerged from the garden on the far sid
e of Berkeley Square and Guy closed the gate behind them as they stepped onto the street. He glanced down at her, a question in his dark gaze. He could detect no hostility in her preoccupation, but he could sense her sudden uncertainty.

  “Will you come home with me?” he asked as they reached his front door.

  Petra hesitated, then shook her head. “Perhaps not tonight, Guy, if you don’t mind. I feel rather tired. I’m sorry.”

  “Dear girl, there is nothing for you to be sorry about,” he said, turning their steps towards Brook Street. “Much as I would love to spend the next few hours with you in my bed, you’re under no obligation. You never could be. You do understand that, Petra, don’t you?”

  “Yes . . . yes, of course I do. It’s just that there’s nothing I would like more, except that I really am tired and I don’t think I’ll be very good company.”

  Guy wasn’t fooled. “Another time,” he said quietly and silence fell between them until they reached the Rutherford house on Brook Street.

  Petra made no demur as he took her evening bag and found her keys. She’d have been more surprised now if he had left her to open the door herself. But he didn’t immediately put the key in the lock, instead stood looking down at her intently for a moment. She met his gaze with a questioning smile, waiting for his good night kiss.

  Instead, Guy lightly ran a fingertip over her lips, the expression in the dark eyes grave, then he said, “You need never give Clothilde Delmont a second thought, my sweet. I promise you she is of no importance at all.” Then he kissed her quickly, opened the door and stepped back off the doorstep as Foster held the door wide.

  Petra was too stunned to do more than offer a half wave of farewell before she forced a smile and word of greeting to the butler as she stepped past him into the cool dim light of the hall.

  Foster removed her key from the lock before closing the door, handing the key to her. “You passed a pleasant evening, I trust, Miss Petra.”

  “Very pleasant, thank you, Foster.” Petra dropped the key back in her bag and moved to the stairs, feeling slightly dazed. “Good night.” She hurried up to her bedroom, wondering what had just happened. What lay behind Guy’s declaration? He was under no obligation to make it.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Your mind is not on hats, dearest,” Diana stated, looking across the milliner’s shop to where Petra was idly picking at the elaborate black ruched ribbon on a wide-brimmed straw hat. “That will most definitely not suit you.”

  Petra dropped the hat with a guilty flush. “No, I know. I don’t like it at all,” she said hastily. “But I like that ice blue silk one with the floppy brim on you. You’re tall enough to carry it off.”

  “I’m not sure.” Diana picked up the hat in question, turning it around on one hand. “What d’you think, Fenella?”

  “I think it suits you very well,” Fenella declared, peering at her own reflection in the large mirror, adjusting the set of a straw confection festooned with tulle flowers. “I look ridiculous.” She set it aside in disgust. “Hats just don’t suit me.”

  “This one will.” Petra selected a cream straw hat with a wide turned-back brim and a sprig of pale green leaves. “Try it.”

  Fenella did so and looked surprised. The wide brim framed her face in a most attractive way. “You do have an eye, Petra. I would never have believed it, but it actually does work.”

  “Yes, it does,” Diana agreed, examining her friend’s appearance.

  “Well, that’s me done,” Fenella declared with satisfaction, handing the cream straw to the assistant. “Now what about you two?”

  “I’ll take the blue silk.” Diana made up her mind. “It’ll be set off nicely by my dark blue taffeta.” She handed the hat to the assistant. “Now, Petra, let’s see what we can find for you.”

  Petra forced herself to concentrate on the vitally important matter at hand. She couldn’t go hatless to Ladies Day at Ascot. She picked out a close-fitting hat of white lace and tulle, trimmed with a bright orange ribbon and sporting two white plumes. “Let’s see what this looks like.” She put it on, tucking her hair up, and examined her reflection tilting her head this way and that. “I was going to wear my white silk dress, the one with the pink and orange flowers. The orange ribbon will go beautifully.”

  “Then I believe our work here is done, ladies,” Diana stated with satisfaction.

  “And it didn’t take all morning either,” Fenella added with similar satisfaction. “What shall we do until lunchtime?”

  “St. James’s Park,” Petra said promptly. “It’s such a gorgeous day.”

  After giving the milliner directions as to where to deliver the three hatboxes, the women went out onto the Strand and started walking toward the park. The thoroughfare was busy with carriages, the pavements crowded with pedestrians and it was hard to keep up a conversation as they tried to stay abreast of one another. At one point a knot of people emerged from an alley and converged on the path in front of Petra separating her from her friends, bringing her almost to a standstill. She moved to the edge of the pavement to slide past them, stepping for a moment into the street just as a barouche swept up at a brisk pace. She jumped hastily back onto the pavement, glaring at the coachman, who was belatedly attempting to slow his horses.

  Clothilde Delmont stared at her from the cushioned seat behind the coachman. Petra saw recognition flash in the other woman’s blue eyes, replaced with something most unpleasant. Malice, she thought. It was malice, with a good helping of disdain. Unconsciously, Petra put up her chin and met the other woman’s stare with her own, then she forced herself to feign a smile with a nod of courteous recognition, and hurriedly stepped up to join her friends.

  “Wasn’t that—?” Fenella began.

  “Clothilde Delmont, yes,” Petra said. “She’s so incredibly elegant. No one has the right to have a neck that long.”

  “And that hat . . .” Diana shook her head. “It was like a tricorne, so unusual.”

  “I thought she looked most disagreeable,” Fenella declared. “As if she’d just tasted sour milk in her coffee.”

  Petra laughed, trying to dispel the unease that fleeting encounter had engendered. “She didn’t look very content, I must say. But we sound like a trio of gossiping cats.”

  “I imagine she’ll be at Ascot,” Diana said. “It’s Ladies Day, everyone will be there.”

  Petra managed a casual shrug. “Even if she is, there’s no reason why we should run into her. There are other enclosures, other pavilions.”

  “But only one Royal Enclosure,” Fenella pointed out. “And somehow I don’t see the vicomtesse gracing any other.”

  “Will it be awkward for you, Petra? Guy will have to acknowledge her,” Diana asked directly.

  “Of course he will, if he bumps into her,” Petra replied. “And it won’t be awkward in the least.”

  “Good,” Diana said, sounding a little doubtful. “Anyway, maybe horse racing isn’t her cup of tea.”

  Petra had little doubt that Clothilde would be at Ascot, looking impossibly elegant, impossible to ignore. Her hat would be spectacular, of course, and she would be wearing shoes with heels that would make any other woman teeter with every step. But she would glide, of course she would, over the grass and the gravel paths, tall and graceful as a swan, while lesser women picked their way over the treacherous ground in fear of making utter fools of themselves.

  She could see in her mind’s eye Clothilde and Guy walking side by side, perfectly matched in height, impeccably dressed, so utterly suited to each other. Whereas when she walked beside him she was like a sparrow hopping to keep up with an eagle. The image was so absurd it chased away her moment of despondency. It didn’t matter what she and Guy looked like side by side as long as they enjoyed each other. And so far it was abundantly clear that they did.

  * * *

  Ladies Day dawned bright and warm and the crowd at Ascot was in a festive mood. Family parties picnicked under the trees and bookies shoute
d the odds from their stands where ordinary folk milled, an excited buzz of speculation filling the air. Hats of every size and description were on display in the stands among the regular racegoers as well as among the elite in their boxes.

  Petra leaned her elbows on the edge of the Laceys’ private box in the Royal Enclosure, looking out over the racecourse. The far side of the box overlooked the straight mile along which, punctually at two o’clock, the royal party would progress in their landau drawn by four Windsor Greys. Only when the royal couple were seated in the royal box could the races begin.

  “More champagne?”

  She turned to look up at Guy, who held a champagne bottle in invitation. “Thank you.” She proffered her glass. “Diana and Rupert are on tenterhooks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rupert tense before. He’s always so collected.”

  “There’s a lot at stake.” Guy took her glass and refilled it. He looked across at the course. “At least the ground’s in good shape.”

  Petra laughed. “Yes, apparently Kimberley Diamond’s trainer called it Goldilocks, not too soft, not too hard, not too wet, not too dry.”

  “Have they gone down to the owners’ paddock?”

  “Yes, just to wish the jockey good luck. They’ll be back before the race.”

  “Could I have a refill, Guy, if there’s any in that bottle.” Fenella appeared beside Petra. “I’m beginning to feel as nervous and excited as Diana and Rupert.”

  “It means more to them than it might ordinarily,” Petra said. “Because of Jem.”

  “Jem?” Guy inquired, refilling Fenella’s glass.

  “Diana’s brother. Rupert’s best friend. The filly belonged to Jem and Diana, as a colt she was a present to them both from their father, but she was particularly Jem’s project. When he was killed at Mafeking his share went to Rupert.” Petra grinned. “That was a real bone of contention between Diana and Rupert, d’you remember, Fenella?”

  “How could I forget? Diana was mad as fire,” her friend said with a chuckle. “But all’s well that ends well, and now I think they both feel this race is for Jem.”