A Gift From a Goddess

by Maggi Andersen

  Lewis was occupied with matters requiring his attention before he left for Brighton, when Sarah came to tell him there was a lady at the door.

  “Who is it?” Lewis feared it might be his neighbor’s wife making a morning call.

  “The lady didn’t give her name, milord.”

  Surprised, Lewis put down his pen and pushed back from the desk. “Send the lady in, Sarah.”

  A moment later, in walked Lady Adela, his former mistress dressed in a fetching blue habit trimmed with lace, her black hat sporting a jaunty feather. She removed her tan York gloves, a faint smile on her face. “Lewis. How nice to see you.”

  Their last meeting was anything but pleasant when she threw her new lover’s name at him along with an expensive vase. He raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

  “You might be more gracious and invite me to sit down; I’ve ridden all the way from Lord Piper’s estate. He’s holding a house party.”

  Lewis remembered his manners and bowed. “Please be seated, Adela. May I offer you tea, or wine?”

  “Brandy, thank you.” She untied the strings of her riding hat, lifted it from her head and sought to order her riotous blonde curls. “I rather hoped you might ride back with me. Many of Piper’s guests are acquaintances of yours. An archery contest is to be held.” She smiled. “You were always good at sports, as I remember.”

  “Some other time, perhaps.”

  “Are you now a recluse?” Seated on the Moroccan leather armchair, she crossed her slim ankles and surveyed him, her pretty face as beguiling as ever. “Must I suffer guilt for leaving you?”

  “No, to both those questions.” Lewis walked over to the decanter of brandy warming on a tray near the fire.

  “Just a drop, thank you. I shouldn’t like to lose my seat.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t think it likely. You are a good horsewoman.”

  She still pouted at him, no doubt when some measure of praise for her very fine derriere wasn’t forthcoming.

  Lewis poured her three fingers of the deep, caramel-colored liquid and handed her the goblet. Ignoring it, she reached out and took his free hand in hers. “Have you missed me?”

  He sighed and gently withdrew it. “I’ve been busy, Adela.”

  She narrowed her green eyes and took the proffered glass. “Who have you been busy with?”

  “I don’t see that it concerns you.”

  She tossed her head. “I haven’t heard of you courting a lady, perhaps it’s one of your models. You do seem to prefer the demi-monde, the last one I remember was a redhead, Marigold, wasn’t that her name? Are they more fun in bed, Lewis? I can be too if you wish.”

  Lewis eyed her distastefully. What had he seen in Adela? The widow had come into his life during that turbulent time just before Laura died after he’d learned from a so-called friend that he was being cuckolded. Why do these do-gooders feel it’s their duty to tell a fellow his wife is straying? But Lewis refused to use it as an excuse for the affair with Adela.

  He’d wanted her and saw no reason why he shouldn’t enjoy what she offered. However, he had quickly tired of her flying into a temper and accusing him of pursuing other women.

  After Laura died, he’d had no taste for any of it, but Adela had been disinclined to leave him. Fool that he was, he’d still succumbed, because for a while, it blotted out the horror of Laura’s death and his culpability.

  He perched on the edge of the desk as the smooth, flavorsome brandy warmed its way down his throat. If her relationship with Piper had become intimate why come to see him?

  “How is Lord Piper?”

  “Attentive.”

  “Then why not encourage him?”

  She shrugged, put down her glass and rose. With a sway of her hips, she crossed the floor to him. “I heard you’d left London, and I wanted to see you.”

  “There’s nothing between us anymore, Adela. It finished months ago.”

  So close, her skirts brushed his leg and her familiar perfume flooded his senses. She smiled slightly and traced over the embroidery on his silk waistcoat. “It will never be finished between us. You know that.”

  When she raised her hand to touch his face, Lewis slid off the desk and circled her slender wrist with his fingers. Then he released it. “Allow me to see you out, Lady Adela.”

  A look of fury appeared in her green eyes and vanished just as quickly. “Perhaps you do have another lady tucked away, Lewis.” She gathered up her hat and gloves and crossed to the door. “I shall be interested to learn who she is.”

  “If I did, I would make no secret of it. Why does it concern you? You should bring Piper up to snuff, Adela. He has deep pockets.”

  She turned swiftly and raised her hand to slap his face.

  He caught her wrist in midair.

  For a moment she glared at him. Nothing was said. The only sound in the room the clunk of the grandfather clock. Lewis dropped her hand, stepped back, and bowed.

  “I’m sorry, Adela. I guess we are destined to make each other unhappy. But I do wish you well. Your groom holds your horse?”

  Adela nodded, an expression in her eyes he couldn’t read.

  “Then I shall say good day.” He opened the door and stood aside to allow her to pass across the threshold.

  “Goodbye, for now, Lewis.” She briskly pulled on her gloves. “I shall be kinder to you than you’ve been to me… when you come crawling back.”

  Women were more trouble than they were worth. If he’d forgotten it, Adela had just reminded him.

  Through the window, he watched her settle the black beaver hat over her curls as she walked down the path to where the groom held the reins of a dainty chestnut mare. Adela wasn’t just beautiful she was clever. But there was something in her nature which destroyed any chance of happiness with one man. Despite his dislike of her behavior and his, he suffered a moment of compassion for her. Fortune didn’t smile on widows. Her husband’s heir had inherited the estate and although she’d been left with a comfortable stipend, it wouldn’t continue to support the extravagant life she led in Mayfair forever. As her finances dwindled, she would be planning her future. Piper was a widower and she might be holding out for marriage. Had she hoped to use him as a means of making Piper jealous? Her beauty was peerless, and she might bring Piper to the altar. He hoped she did.

  He turned away, struck by how different Hebe was. She had every reason to rail at fate, to be as sulky and dissatisfied with life as Adela, and yet she wasn’t.

  These thoughts lingered as he continued to prepare for his journey south.

  Chapter Ten

  Two things happened to make life a little more bearable for Hebe. Her mother’s letter arrived. She’d reached Tunbridge Wells safely and was now staying at Longford House. The few lines described her mother’s journey, but gave no clue to her grandfather’s disposition. Still, Hebe was intensely relieved that for the moment, her mother was safe. The other more surprising occurrence was her aunt’s intention to attend the Brighton assembly on Saturday evening.

  “It’s been many years since I attended one of the dances,” Aunt Prudence said sounding oddly girlish as they readied themselves for the evening’s entertainment.

  Mary did Hebe’s hair, and although her aunt’s remained in a stern chignon, Hebe’s fair hair was drawn up on top of her head and coaxed into curls around her face with the use of heated tongs. The only decent dress she had to her name was a muslin sprigged with bunches of violets, a lilac ribbon sash around the high waist and frills edged in the same ribbon around the hem and short sleeves. Hebe liked wearing pretty dresses and cast a sad thought for the lovely gowns fashioned for her first Season.

  Standing before her in purple crepe, still in the style of many years ago, her aunt surveyed Hebe. “Perhaps you’d like to wear one of my chemisettes. It will be warmer.”

  Hebe put a protective hand on the pretty bodice. “No, thank you, Aunt. I have my pelisse, and it will be warm inside the ballroom.”


  “I have just the thing.”

  Hebe grew nervous as her aunt returned to her bedchamber. But when she came back, she handed Hebe an exquisite shawl.

  “It’s beautiful, Aunt.” Touched, Hebe looped the shawl over her elbows and gazed in the Cheval mirror. Woven in a sinuous floral pattern of blues and greens, it was so fine and light it might have floated away.

  “I purchased it in India. They make better shawls than the French. The design is called paisley. You may keep it.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t.”

  “Nonsense.” She peered out of the window. “Diggory has brought the carriage around. We’d best take umbrellas as it looks like rain.”

  Fortunately, the rain held off for the short but bumpy journey to Brighton. Passing through the narrow lanes, they were deposited on the pavement in Ship Street outside the Old Ship Inn, a white, four-story building with bow-fronted windows overlooking the sea. There was a strong briny smell in the air. Only a few yards away, waves broke against the seawall with a roar and sent up an arch of spray, crystalline in the light of the moon.

  Caught for a moment by the ocean’s might, they turned to pass through the white columned entrance into the crowded ballroom.

  Beneath the twin chandeliers in the high arched ceiling, a quadrille was in progress, the dancers performing the intricate steps.

  It had been so long since Hebe had danced! Memories rushed to greet her as she and her aunt took seats along the wall. She saw no one she recognized, but still flushed with embarrassment when recalling the frosty reception, she and her mother had received, if not the cut direct then certainly some measure of it. After the newspapers related the stark details of her father’s disgrace and his death, it was discussed behind fans and in corners wherever she and her mother went.

  Aunt Prudence drew her fan and a scented handkerchief from her reticule. “It’s very warm tonight. A sure sign of rain. Oh,” she craned her neck, “There’s Mrs. Meldrum. It’s ages since we’ve talked.” She smiled at Hebe. “Will you be all right here alone for a moment if I have a few words with her? We share an interest in the Tarot.”

  “Of course, Aunt, please don’t worry about me.”

  Left alone, Hebe felt as if every eye in the room was upon her. After the quadrille ended, the dancers, laughing and chatting, returned to their seats. Some glanced at her and whispered to each other. This year’s crop of debutantes made Hebe feel ancient. She’d begun to wish she hadn’t come. How foolish to believe she could find a way back into the ton’s favors.

  Two older ladies seated themselves next to Hebe. One of them observed her with raised eyebrows. She employed her fan and whispered to her companion. The other lady leaned forward to get a better look at Hebe. Then they both rose and walked away arm in arm, taking a turn about the room. Hebe imagined her presence would now spread through the room like wild-fire.

  As a waltz was struck up, Hebe felt terribly exposed. She gathered up her fan, shawl, and reticule, having decided to wait for her aunt in an anteroom. A pair of gleaming black shoes and long, darkly clad legs appeared before her.

  “May I have this waltz, Miss Fenchurch?”

  Her gaze flew up to the elegant man in his evening clothes. Lewis! She looked into smiling brown eyes and clamped her lips to stop crying out his name. “Yes, thank you, Lord Chesterton.” She put down her things, aware that as an unattended female she attracted attention.

  With her gloved hand on his arm she allowed him to lead her to the dancers on the dance floor.

  The music swelled and Lewis, his hand in hers and the other at her waist swung her into the dance. “How charming you look tonight, Miss Fenchurch.” He lowered his voice as he led her over the floor. “I thought I’d take a chance on finding you here.”

  For a moment, Hebe wondered if this was a dream. “Poor, poor, Marigold,” she murmured cautiously eyeing a couple dancing near them.

  His hand tightened around hers. “So. You’ve heard.”

  “A friend wrote me about her. It’s so dreadful, I can’t quite believe it.”

  Lewis glanced around him. “We can’t talk here. Could you meet me in the ante chamber near the entrance at eleven o’clock?”

  “I’ll try.” Lewis was an excellent dancer, and breathing in his familiar cologne, she allowed herself to be swept away as he led her over the floor. But when the dance drew to a close, her nervousness returned.

  Her aunt had returned to her seat when Lewis escorted Hebe from the floor. “I’m sorry I was so long away, Hebe.” She eyed him. “Please introduce me.”

  “Aunt, I should like you to meet Lord Chesterton. My aunt, Lady Prudence,” Hebe explained to Lewis.

  Lewis bowed. “Good evening.”

  “You have been introduced to my niece, Lord Chesterton?”

  “Indeed yes. I had the pleasure of her acquaintance in London.”

  Her aunt nodded. “Then you must call on us.”

  “Delighted.” With another small but graceful bow, Lewis left them.

  Aunt Prudence employed her fan. “My, he is handsome. Chesterton? Now I seem to remember…”

  “I hope your conversation was informative concerning the Tarot, Aunt,” Hebe said hastily. “I meant to ask you. Have you made any new discoveries concerning my astrological chart?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is something interesting I meant to discuss with you. It’s about Pluto…”

  As Aunt Prudence launched into her indecipherable astrological language, Hebe allowed her thoughts to flow. Had Lewis learned something more concerning poor Marigold? Why would he come all this way if not to warn her? She shivered as if some dark shadow had crossed her path.

  “Are you cold, Hebe? You should have worn my chemisette…” Her aunt broke off her attention caught by a gentleman crossing the floor toward them. A man of some fifty years, he bowed before them slightly restricted by a thick waist. “I do declare it’s Lord Buckwood. Good evening, milord.”

  “Far too long, Lady Prudence. I’ve missed our interesting talks concerning apiary. Now, who is this lovely young woman?” His pale eyes rested on Hebe.

  “My niece, sir. Miss Hebe Fenchurch,” Aunt Prudence explained. “Daughter of Christopher Fenchurch the 5th Baron Forth.”

  Recognition flashed into Buckwood’s eyes, followed by speculation. “May I join you?”

  “But of course.”

  He threw up the tails of his coat and sat.

  Aunt Prudence immediately drew Buckwood into a conversation about the importance of bees in the natural world.

  Hebe didn’t care for the look Buckwood gave her. She tensed with the uncomfortable realization that she had no idea what her aunt might do next. And little confidence that rakehells would be given short shrift. Her aunt’s attitude toward the ton was ambiguous. Nor had she exhibited any real interest in Hebe’s wishes or dreams, except as to how they fitted with her charts.

  She smiled and nodded, while they conversed, trying not to show how uncomfortable she remained under Buckwood’s hard gaze, while her mind dwelled on Lewis. She glanced at the clock. Time grew short and Buckwood seemed to have settled in for a long chat. She must think of a means to slip away before eleven o’clock.

  Buckwood cleared his throat. “Do you ride, Miss Fenchurch?”

  “Oh yes. I do enjoy it, but I don’t ride often, and I have no horse stabled here.”

  “I don’t approve of those animals for hire in the Brighton stables. I keep horses here. I should be delighted to mount you on my mare. Would tomorrow be convenient?”

  Horrified, she could’ve bitten her tongue, she should’ve been paying more attention. She looked to her aunt, desperate for her assistance. When Aunt Prudence failed to offer any objection, Hebe seized on the only thing she could think of. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring a riding habit with me.”

  “We must have one made,” Aunt Prudence said. “Perhaps you might ask again, Lord Buckwood. Do you stay long in Brighton?”

  “I’m afraid I must
return to London soon. But I shall call on you tomorrow.”

  His heated purposeful gaze made Hebe’s stomach churn.

  When he finally left, Hebe felt like a wrung-out sponge. And the clock had struck eleven. She rose to her feet. “I must go to the ladies withdrawing room, Aunt.”

  Aunt Prudence reached for her shawl “I shall come with you.”

  Hebe glanced toward the door as they crossed the busy room, their way constantly restricted by groups of chatting people.

  “Prudence! Can that be you? I had no idea you’d returned to England.” A gray-haired lady in gold lace hurried over to them.

  “I am here as you see, Amanda. Hebe, I should like you to meet Lady Stowe. Amanda, my niece, Hebe.”

  Lady Stowe raised a pince-nez and stared at Hebe with one enlarged blue eye. “Your brother’s child, Prudence. How sad. So very, very sad. I was away from London during that time. My daughter, Chloe was increasing. She gave birth to a fine boy which has pleased my son-in-law immensely. Please accept my belated condolences and sit with me. I wish to learn how you go on.”

  As their conversation seemed to exclude her, Hebe seized the moment. “I must go to the ladies’ withdrawing room, Aunt,” she said managing to convey a sense of urgency.

  “Yes, yes, do, Hebe,” her aunt said, vaguely waving her away.

  Hebe didn’t wait for her aunt to change her mind, she darted through the crowd.

  ~~~

  Lewis cursed when half a dozen guests wandered into the ante room. A billiard table had been set up, and a game was soon organized. It would be impossible to speak privately here without attracting attention. It appeared that Hebe’s life had taken a turn for the better, and he did not intend to endanger it. In that gown she looked every bit what she was, a gently reared and lovely young woman. Some beau would snatch her up soon enough.

  He doubted Hebe would know anything new about Marigold. Although he’d like to discuss it with her, he should do the sensible thing and leave.