Serena, who’d had no fewer than four posies this time, frowned across the table at her sister. ‘Who is it from? That silly fool who pretends he’s a poet? I saw him hanging on your every word last night.’
‘No, it’s not from Sir Roland. I believe it’s from Lord Wyckeham.’ Ianthe tried to say this in an offhand manner, as if she didn’t care one iota who had sent the flowers, but Serena shot out of her chair nonetheless and came to look at the card before fixing her sister with a suspicious glare.
‘He didn’t send me flowers today. What does he mean by it? He barely spoke to us last night.’
Ianthe shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Perhaps it’s his idea of a joke?’
‘Well, I don’t find it amusing in the slightest. I shall have words with him tonight at Lady Betterley’s ball.’
‘Serena!’ Lady Templeton looked scandalised. ‘You cannot possibly chastise a man you barely know for not sending you flowers. Honestly, have you no sense?’
‘I didn’t mean it quite like that, Mama. I only meant, I shall make sure I have a chance to speak to him, to make certain he knows I’m the one who is interested in marriage, not Ianthe.’
Ianthe frowned. ‘And why shouldn’t I be interested in marriage? You keep saying that, as if I’m some sort of nun. I’d rather not spend the rest of my life alone, thank you very much.’
‘Well, you’d better be nice to your poet then,’ Serena laughed. ‘If you can stomach a life of having bad verse quoted at you.’
‘Perhaps someone more suitable will offer for me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why would anyone be interested in you?’ Serena swept a disdainful glance over Ianthe’s ill-fitting gown. ‘Besides, you said you’d be happy with a country squire. You’d do better to go home and attend the local assembly balls.’ She headed for the door. ‘Come, Mama, we must go shopping. I need a new pair of gloves as I, for one, don’t want to look like a dowd.’
‘But I only just bought you some and your Papa said we’re not to spend any more money now.’
‘Mama! I need a pair to match my new ball gown. Surely you don’t expect me to look a fright? How will I catch a husband then?’
‘Oh, well, no, I suppose …’ As always, Lady Templeton gave in and Ianthe shook her head after them, wondering why Serena always had her way. It simply wasn’t fair.
Serena’s barb had struck home, and Ianthe decided to pay more attention to the way she dressed for the evening’s ball. She didn’t have any really fashionable gowns like her sister. Once it became clear that no one was interested in courting her, Lady Templeton had decreed their meagre funds had to be used exclusively for Serena’s wardrobe. Ianthe was forced to wear the dresses she’d worn in the country, which were now sadly outdated. She hadn’t minded until now.
Their father was short of money and partly for that reason he had stayed behind in the country with the twins’ two younger brothers. Ianthe knew he’d had to scrimp and save in order for them to have a season in London at all and she was grateful to him, so Serena’s spendthrift ways annoyed her. It wasn’t fair that all the money should be spent on her.
Well, perhaps I can at least refurbish one of my old gowns, she thought, and went in search of her mother’s French maid who was quick with a needle. The woman also had a soft spot for Ianthe because of the latter’s proficiency in French.
‘Dupont, I’d be very grateful if you could take a look through my wardrobe and see if there is anything worth wearing in there. I’m tired of looking like a provincial nobody.’
‘Mais bien sûr, Mademoiselle, I will ’elp you. Allons-y.’
Together, they went through every gown Ianthe owned and managed to find one that was reasonably well cut and might look less provincial with a few alterations. ‘Regardez, this one will look elegante if I take off all the trimmings.’ Dupont held up a pale green silk gown that shimmered in the light, but which was at present covered with lace, bows and all sorts of other embellishments that had put Ianthe off wearing it.
‘Yes, you’re right. I should never have allowed Mama to tell the dressmaker to add all that rubbish. Please, go ahead and do whatever you want with it.’
When Dupont brought the gown back some time later and Ianthe tried it on, she was thrilled. ‘Oh, thank you, you’ve improved it no end. Merci beaucoup. What a treasure you are.’
‘De rien.’ Dupont beamed at her and winked. ‘I ’ope you steal some of the other Mademoiselle’s young men.’
Ianthe smiled back. Just one of them would do nicely.
Lady Betterley’s ballroom was so crowded Ianthe thought to herself that no one would be able to dance. Nonetheless, to her amazement her dance card soon filled up, although she kept a few dances free just in case she needed a breathing space; or so she told herself.
‘Ladies, have you saved us any dances?’
The voice, deep, melodious and strangely unsettling, startled Ianthe out of her contemplation of the throng. She turned to find Wyckeham and his brother bowing to Serena and Lady Templeton.
‘But of course, we’ve only just arrived so there are plenty left,’ Serena lied and was quick to thrust her card at the marquess before Ianthe had time to so much as greet him.
Wyckeham scrawled his name somewhere seemingly at random, which made Serena frown slightly, then handed the card to his brother before holding out his hand for Ianthe’s. His eyes seemed to rake over her as he took in the green dress and he nodded in approval. ‘Lovely,’ he murmured, so quietly that only she heard him. Ianthe felt her cheeks heat up and realised it was his opinion she had sought. No one else’s mattered. She was glad now that she had made the effort.
When he gave her card back, she glanced at it and noticed that he had claimed the supper dance. She blinked and looked up, opening her mouth to ask if he really wished for that particular one, but shut it again when he winked at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘I shall see you later,’ he said before disappearing through the crowd.
Serena frowned after him and looked at her own card. ‘He’s only claimed one dance,’ she complained.
‘All the more for me,’ Lord Robert smiled, and Serena had to be content with that.
By the time the supper dance was announced, Ianthe was more than ready for a break. Her feet were throbbing from so much unaccustomed exercise and her stomach ached with hunger. As Wyckeham came to claim her, however, she forgot any discomfort and followed him on to the floor. It was another waltz, and just like at Almack’s, he twirled her round the room gracefully.
‘Are you enjoying the evening?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thanks to you,’ she replied, then felt herself blush as she realised the words had come out all wrong. ‘I mean, because you danced with me at Almack’s, everyone else has decided to follow suit, so I’m no longer a wallflower.’
He smiled a lazy smile that sent waves of heat through her body. ‘And there was I thinking you meant you were enjoying only this dance with me,’ he teased.
‘Of course I am, but …’
‘But you’re too well brought up to ever say such a thing. Unlike your sister, who I believe would use any means to further her ends.’
‘Oh dear, what did she say to you?’ Ianthe felt both shame and pleasure that the marquess seemed to see through her sister so easily. She ought to have been embarrassed, but she was happy to find at least one man who didn’t immediately fall for Serena’s wiles.
‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ he said enigmatically.
When the dance came to an end, he held out his arm and escorted her towards the supper room. They had only taken a few steps, however, when Serena’s voice hailed them from behind.
‘There you are. Lord Robert and I thought we should find a table for four. So much more fun than sitting alone, don’t you think?’
Wyckeham stopped to let them catch up, and Ianthe thought she saw a look of impatience dart across his countenance, but he said nothing. The others were behind them in a trice, and Ianthe turned to walk with t
he marquess into the supper room. Before she had moved more than a foot, however, she was yanked backwards and there was a loud tearing noise behind her. She threw a look over her shoulder and gasped.
‘Oh, no, my dress!’ Searching with her fingers behind her back, she found that the lovely green silk had been torn where the skirt joined the bodice. The jagged edges of material flapped open, revealing a hole so large she must be showing the world a goodly portion of her shift.
‘Oops, so sorry, I must have stepped on the hem,’ Serena said, her eyes sparkling with victory. ‘You’ll have to go and mend it as best you can.’ She turned to Wyckeham and placed her hand on his arm, where only a minute before Ianthe’s had rested. ‘We can wait for her at the table, else we’ll starve to death. Come, gentlemen, let us eat.’
The marquess scowled at Serena, but she had already turned to urge Lord Robert to join them and didn’t notice.
‘Would you like me to escort you to the ladies’ withdrawing room?’ Wyckeham asked Ianthe, but she shook her head, too angry and mortified to speak. She had known Serena was capable of great malice, but this was beyond anything she’d ever done before.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she managed to grit out at last. ‘Please, go ahead without me. I’ll catch up.’
But as she turned to make her way to the ladies’ room, she knew that the sort of repairs needed to her dress would take ages, by which time supper would be over. And Serena would have charmed the marquess completely, the way she did all other men. Despite the fact that he had seen through her earlier, he was probably just like everyone else and he would fall prey to Serena’s beauty in the end. It was inevitable.
Ianthe took a deep breath and straightened her spine. Well, if he was that fickle, he wasn’t worth having.
Jason watched Ianthe leave the room and wondered if he should have escorted her after all. He could tell that she was mortified, and no wonder – that sister of hers was a real little baggage and there was no doubt she’d stepped on the gown on purpose. It’s probably best to leave the poor girl alone for now so that she can compose herself. The last thing she’d want was an audience. But as for the sister, he could deal with her.
He pretended to go along to the supper room meekly, but as the trio reached the table Miss Templeton had picked out, right in the centre of the room where no one could miss them, Jason stopped abruptly and pulled his arm out of her grip. ‘By Jove, if it isn’t Allington! Excuse me, but I’ve spotted an old friend over there whom I haven’t seen in ages. I must go and exchange a few words with him.’ He smiled a smile he knew was utterly false and added, ‘I’m sure you two would rather converse alone in any case.’ Well, Robert would.
Miss Templeton looked shocked, as if she wasn’t used to anyone declining to have supper with her. ‘But my lord,’ she protested, ‘surely it can wait until you’ve eaten? You must be famished. And I was so looking forward to your company.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I can grab something along the way. Don’t worry about me. And Robert is far better company than I could ever be.’ Especially for you.
And with a curt nod, he left Robert standing with what was definitely an outraged little termagant.
Oh, Robert, I hope you get over that particular infatuation very soon.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ianthe was the only person in the breakfast room the next day, as her mother and sister had gone out early in search of a new fan Serena was adamant she needed. This suited Ianthe just fine. She didn’t think she could find it in herself to be civil to her sister after what she had done the previous evening, and their mother was just as bad. She had insisted it was merely an unfortunate accident.
‘In such a crush, it could happen any time,’ Lady Templeton had said, as always anxious to avoid a confrontation. ‘You were just unlucky.’
‘Accident, hah,’ Ianthe muttered to herself now. ‘Not likely with Serena on the warpath.’ She tried to concentrate on the book of poetry lying open next to her plate, but somehow the words weren’t making any sense today and she closed it with an impatient snap. ‘Confound it.’
A knock on the door heralded Balfour, the butler, who held out a silver salver with a card on it. ‘There’s a gentleman in the hall who claims that you are going riding with him this morning. Had you forgotten, Miss?’
Ianthe knew Balfour would be well aware that she had made no such arrangements, else she would have told him, but he was too well trained to bat an eyelid. ‘I …’ She glanced at the card, which had ‘Wyckeham’ printed in large letters on it, and her heart flipped over unexpectedly. ‘Yes, oh dear, how silly of me. Would you be so kind as to ask him to wait? I’ll have to change, but I won’t keep him long.’
‘Of course, Miss.’
‘Thank you. And Balfour, have my horse saddled, please.’
‘No need, Miss. The gentleman has brought a mount for you. No doubt you had forgotten that as well.’ Ianthe thought she saw a small smile curve the butler’s mouth as he left the room, and she felt as if they were co-conspirators somehow.
She rushed upstairs and changed into her riding habit which, if not precisely fashionable, was at least a becoming shade of cornflower blue that she knew accentuated the colour of her eyes. It was done in the military style, which suited her figure, and as she came downstairs to find his lordship pacing the hall, it made her feel better to know that she looked as well as she could.
The look in his eyes as he caught sight of her confirmed this and made her smile. ‘I trust I haven’t kept you waiting for too long, my lord?’ she said while he bowed over her hand. ‘You should have reminded me of our, er, proposed outing yesterday.’
He tried to look contrite, but failed signally as Ianthe noticed the sparkle of mischief in his eyes yet again. ‘Yes, I should have, but I wasn’t sure you’d accept the invitation. Sometimes not giving people time to think about something makes them act on the spur of the moment. I was counting on that.’
‘I see.’ Ianthe could have told him that she would have jumped at the chance to go riding with him any time, but thought it best not to in case it made her seem too eager for his company.
‘And you didn’t keep me waiting,’ he added. ‘In fact, you were remarkably quick, but then I knew you would be.’
‘How could you possibly know that?’
He grinned at her. ‘Because I could tell from the very first time I set eyes on you that you’re not like other women.’
Ianthe blinked at the compliment – if compliment it was – but he didn’t allow her time to think about it. Instead, he led her outside and helped her on to the back of quite the most magnificent horse she had ever seen, a glossy black thoroughbred with long mane and tail, all brushed to perfection. ‘I made enquiries,’ Wyckeham said, ‘and was told you’re a bruising rider. I hope he’ll suit you?’
Ianthe beamed at him. ‘He’s perfect. I can’t wait to put him through his paces.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
They set off for the park, a groom riding slightly behind them for the sake of propriety, and Ianthe was not disappointed. As it was early, and not many people were about, they flouted the unwritten rules and let the horses have a good gallop. Ianthe enjoyed herself immensely, and was pleased when the horse followed her every lead. As they slowed to a trot, she bent over his neck to pat him and saw his ears twitching when she told him he was a gorgeous boy. She smiled at Wyckeham again. ‘I think he likes me. What’s his name?’
‘Midnight, of course. I thought he’d be perfect for you; he’s the same colour as your hair.’
They were now riding side by side along Rotten Row on the south side of Hyde Park and there were still only a few other riders about. Ianthe didn’t care since she found the usual crowd there a bore and without thinking, she said so.
Wyckeham laughed. ‘Indeed, one can almost imagine that one is in the country today. But don’t you prefer town living? Most young ladies do.’
‘No, not at all. I can’t wait to go home, in fact. All this for
ced merriment is very taxing and I find everyone false and back-stabbing. In the country, people may gossip, but it’s never seemed to me to be as malicious as it is here.’
‘You don’t like balls and routs?’ His eyes searched hers as if he wanted to make sure.
‘No, it’s all so superficial. Forced gaiety. I feel like I’m merely on show, a performer in some strange play. Country assemblies are much more fun.’
‘So you wouldn’t mind living most of the year in the country, then?’
‘Not at all. I would love it.’
‘And would you like to live in the country with me?’
Ianthe gasped in surprise and stared at him, before turning away in confusion. She felt her cheeks flaming with both shock and embarrassment. Was he asking her to become his mistress? After only three days’ acquaintance! Anger stirred inside her. What did he take her for? She may not be the toast of the town, but she wasn’t that desperate. ‘Really, my lord, I don’t think—’
‘Wyckeham! Hadn’t thought to see you out of bed so early.’
This greeting, drawled in a rather exaggerated way, cut Ianthe’s sentence off. She looked round to find the marquess scowling at a man that resembled him slightly, although he was smaller in build, his features more finely chiselled. Ianthe had never seen him before, so she assumed he had only recently come to town. Either that, or he spent all his evenings at quite a different sort of establishment to those she was invited to. She knew there were many men who didn’t care for the balls and other entertainments of the season, but kept to their clubs and places of ill repute. Perhaps he was one such?
Seated next to the man on his own horse was young Lord Robert, looking decidedly worse for wear. His eyes were almost crossing in an attempt to focus on them and his clothes were in complete disarray. The distinct aroma of alcohol emanated from him and Ianthe unconsciously wrinkled her nose.
‘Gervaise,’ the marquess replied curtly to the stranger and then nodded at his brother. ‘So that’s where you got to last night, Rob.’
Regency Romance Collection From Christina Courtenay Page 13