"I have indeed," Mama said. Her tone was far more moderate than her hostess's. "Chloe, you knew better."
"Please, all blame belongs to me," Lord Everingham protested. "I was thinking only of showing her the gardens."
"Faugh! You were trying to escape, as you always do, at every one of my parties. Go along, now. It's time you paid attention to other of our guests."
Lady Everingham rudely turned her back and stalked away.
"Lady Gifford, Miss Hazelbourne, I am sorry you were forced to undergo my mother's criticism. Her tongue is often sharp, but she really does not mean the half of what she says. Please excuse me, Miss Hazelbourne, for as my mother said, I must see to our other guests." He bowed gracefully before the ladies.
"Oh, Mama, I am sorry," Chloe said after he had left them alone. "I truly did not realize how the time was passing."
"I will not speak to you of your actions now, Chloe," Lady Gifford replied in a near-whisper. "I do not wish to create a scene, nor yet to allow anyone to see how distressed I am. You must realize that it was not how long you were alone with Lord Everingham, but the fact that his mother publicly called attention to your absence together that will cause gossip."
"She had no right--"
"Perhaps not, but as I warned you earlier, she is a force in the ton. Her approval could have been of great benefit to you, and now..." Her mama chewed her lip. "Well, we can only hope for the best."
"I did nothing untoward, I promise," she whispered, near to tears. "Please do not tell Papa."
"I must, for it would never do for him to hear of it as gossip. I shall also tell him that you drank champagne. He will be most disappointed in your behavior."
Chloe hung her head. Her mother gave her arm a small shake.
"Chloe, you must not look so. After Lady Everingham's loud comments, you must not act as if I had reprimanded you. It is only by behaving as if you had done nothing shameful that you might be able to avoid gossip about your actions this afternoon. Now smile."
Chloe smiled until her cheeks ached.
* * * *
The evening following his attendance at the opera, Wilderlake dropped in to Watier's, more for lack of anything else to do than any interest in cards. He rarely gambled, knowing all too well from his father's example where gaming could lead. He was restless, aware of a curious sense of something being amiss but reluctant to recognize it. For several days now, his mind had often held an image of immense brown eyes surrounded by short, thick lashes and a dimpled chin set with disapproval. He told himself that it was merely curiosity, but himself was not entirely convinced.
The club's library was practically empty. Most of those present were of an older generation and not well known to him. He made his bows to several, then caught sight of a familiar face in a corner. Wanting conversation, he walked that way.
"Hello, Reggie, am I interrupting your nap?"
The tall dandy opened his eyes and answered. "Not at all, Herne. Or should I call you Wilderlake, now you've the title? Haven't seen you for an age. I was drowsing out of boredom. Sit down."
"Thank you. I was suffering from the same affliction. Perhaps we can together stave it off." He pulled a comfortable chair into the corner and sprawled into it. "I see you haven't changed your style, Reggie. Still playing the fop."
"Of course. It suits me." He waved a lacy handkerchief under his nose. "But tell me, how is it with you? I can't remember the last time you came to Town."
"Ten years ago, shortly after I came down from Oxford. You weren't about that Season. To tell the truth, if the little I've seen is an example of how things haven't changed, I would wait another ten to return, if it weren't for my mother." A waiter came to take his order for brandy. Wilderlake relaxed, truly comfortable for the first time since he had come to London.
"You refer to the hopeful mamas and their darling daughters, I suppose. Gets a bit daunting, does it not?"
"It does, indeed. One would think that the stories of my father's excesses would serve to depress the hopes of the predatory mamas, but they have not."
Farwell laughed. "You are new blood. Fair game. Your father's sins occurred so many years ago that many of the ton have probably forgotten him. Gossip only lasts as long as the next scandal."
He raised a delicate quizzing glass and peered through it. "I see you follow the Beau's lead in style. How dull it is, all those somber colors and so little jewelry."
"By God, Reggie, you do that well. But I cannot believe that you've changed so--" A quick shake of his friend's head made him bite off the rest of his words. "Interesting waistcoat," he said, to cover the moment of silence. "I don't believe I've seen that particular combination of colors before."
"Puce and apricot? Lovely isn't it? I had it specially woven, from my own design."
"It's...interesting." Wilderlake wondered if his leg was being pulled or if Reggie had truly changed so much from the young man he remembered. He eyed the other's footwear. "The shoes are an especially good touch. One would not expect someone of your height to increase it even more with such heels."
Their drinks arrived. Each raised his glass in a silent salute to old friendship.
After a suitable pause in respect to the liquor's fine flavor, Reggie stretched a long leg before him and appeared to admire his fine leather shoes with their tall red heels. "Ah, my boy, should you breathe a word of my drab past, I shall call you out. I have no desire to be considered a potential husband by the insipid chits who flock to the Season. What mama would take me seriously, dressed as I am and with neither title nor fortune? I am the eternal dancing partner, the salon conversationalist, the safe escort for innocent young ladies. But I am not an eligible match."
"And do you garb yourself this way in the country?"
"At house parties, yes."
Aware his question had been only partially answered, Wilderlake contained his unsatisfied curiosity. "You almost convince me to adopt your style. Almost, but I fear I couldn't carry it off as you do. I would burst into laughter each time I saw myself in a mirror."
He thought Reggie's lips twitched, but the small motion--it there had been one--was so slight, so quick, that he might have been mistaken.
The two of them sat in comfortable silence, for several minutes. At last a thought occurred to Wilderlake. "Tell me, Reggie, when I had to leave Eton for a year, to pick up the pieces of my inheritance, you were speaking of going for the army when you finished your education. Did you?"
"I did not. Instead I took a position with a trading company in India, and lived to regret it. The place is hot and filled with nasty insects and snakes. No place for a gentleman, I tell you, particularly one with my delicate sensibilities. I vow, I spent four years fearing for my life and health, until my great aunt Charlotte died and left me everything. I sold out and came home as soon as I could."
"Wasn't she the one who wed the Nabob? The aunt you used to visit during the long holiday?"
"The very one. A formidable woman, but one with a good heart. I would have wished my deliverance to have come at a lesser cost."
"So you are a country gentleman. I cannot imagine you in that role."
"No need. I leave such bucolic worries to my agent. London is my milieu, except for the occasional house party" He yawned, a sure sign to Wilderlake that no more personal information would be forthcoming. Reggie had always been reticent about himself.
Wilderlake changed the subject. "You are probably acquainted with most of this Season's offerings on the Marriage Mart. Have you met a Miss Hazelbourne?" He waited tensely for the answer.
"I have. Were you wishing to make her acquaintance?"
"Yes, I am. Actually," he paused, "I have already met her under rather unpleasant circumstances. But it was not a formal introduction so I cannot claim an acquaintance."
"Aha! You're the chap they rescued on the road to London. You owe them a great deal. They have not breathed a word of your identity, except to the Duchess of Verbain, who told only me. If the to
n only knew that a member of the FHC--you do still have your membership, I trust?--had been thrown from his phaeton. Tsk tsk. Now I know you will keep my secret, else I will tell your tale."
"My lips are sealed."
"As are mine." Reggie made an appropriate gesture and his eyes gleamed with laughter. "Have you an invitation to Her Grace's ball next week?"
"No, I do not."
"You will receive one, for she told me so last night. Do you make sure to attend and I will see that you are introduced to Miss Hazelbourne." He laughed aloud, but gave no reason for his amusement.
"What is the joke? Is Miss Hazelbourne a secret drinker, perhaps? Or is the family dirt poor and she hanging out for a husband of great wealth? Not that it matters. I should merely like to correct her impression of my rudeness. I was not myself when I regained consciousness after the accident."
"No, no. Miss Hazelbourne is all that is respectable. Rather a lively young lady, in fact. There is no joke; I am only amused by the vision of your lying broken on the roadside, only to be rescued by one of the Season's hopeful mamas and her darling daughter. What a perfect way to become noticed by the ladies."
Wilderlake snorted. "I think I will look in at White's and then make an early night of it," he said, rising. "My mother has requested my escort tomorrow morning. I shall see you again soon, Reggie, and will be interested in viewing you in the role of eternal dancing partner. Good night."
"Good night, Herne." As Reggie spoke, his eyelids lowered and he seemed to fall immediately asleep. Wilderlake left him, chuckling to himself as he recalled stories about Reggie Farwell's sleepiness. He recalled one, which had never been confirmed but which he fully believed, about the time Reggie had been involved in a seduction. Apparently he had been well on the way to success when he fell asleep. While he slept, one of his friends had interfered and had won the fair Cyprian's favors for himself. Reggie had professed himself vastly disappointed, but had done so with a smile on his face. Scarce two months later, the friend had had to empty his pockets to buy himself free of what had turned out to be a ruinously expensive relationship.
There were other times at the gaming table, when he had fallen asleep just as he began losing, thus removing himself from the game without insult to other players--for everyone knew that Reggie Farwell was prone to uncontrollable sleepiness at all times and could not be blamed for his strange affliction.
Wilderlake stepped out into the cold night air. As he buttoned his greatcoat, he laughed out loud, sure as anything that his friend only fell into sleep when he chose to do so.
Chapter Five
The early spring dark had fallen when Lady Gifford and Chloe arrived home from Richmond.
"No, my lady," Edgemont said, in reply to Lady Gifford's inquiry. "His lordship has not returned, nor have Miss Phaedra and Mrs. Arbuckle." He opened the door to the parlor. "Shall I send up a tea tray?"
"Please. Although the day was fine, I took a slight chill on the journey home. Come Chloe."
"Mama, I--"
"Not now. Let us relax until your father arrives. I am still out of patience with you."
Chloe curled into a wing-back chair near the fireplace, chewing her lip. Her mama was being unreasonable. She had done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. It was the earl's fault, for luring her into the shrubbery. If he was any sort of a gentleman, he would tell his mother so, and she would realize that Chloe was blameless. Tomorrow she would ask him; surely he would do what she asked.
The door opened and her father entered. "What is it, love? Edgemont said you appeared overset when you came in."
"As I should be. My lord, your daughter may have disgraced herself in the eyes of the ton, despite my many warnings. She absented herself from the party in the company of Lord Everingham for the better part of an hour this afternoon. Unfortunately, when she returned, that odious Lady Everingham called them both to task in a loud and penetrating voice. Everyone now knows about it, and many will believe the worst."
Her father turned a worried face to her. "Well, Chloe, you have landed yourself in a fine mess. Is there any reason for us to be concerned?"
"What do you mean, Papa?"
"Did that young idiot make advances to you?"
"Oh, no, Papa. He was entirely circumspect. I promise you we just walked about. He did compliment me on my appearance, but his behavior never went beyond what is respectable." She mentally crossed her fingers, remembering the way he had kissed her hand.
"I saw him holding your hand for an unconscionable time when you were introduced. Do you mean to tell us that he did not recapture it once you were alone?" her mother demanded.
"No Mama, he did not. And if he had tried, I would not have permitted it. You have taught me better than that. I did nothing I have not done at home. You have never scolded me for walking in the garden with our neighboring gentlemen. Why was this so different?"
"Chloe, I have attempted time and again to convince you that the ton is ever ready to believe the worst of a young woman whose behavior is even slightly questionable. The casual behavior in which you indulge at home will simply not do in London. Your behavior must always be all that is demure, circumspect, and ladylike." With a moue of distaste, she went on. "Lady Everingham is particularly high in the instep, and overly protective of her son. And not at all reticent about venting her opinion of what she deems unladylike behavior."
"How unfair!"
"It's the way of the world, pet," her father said with evident sympathy. "This is why I argued against giving you girls a London Season. Phaedra is as out of place here as a cow with skirts and you're already teetering on the edge of scandal." He shook his head. "What possessed you, Isabella, to take her to Everingham's? You know what an old harridan that woman is."
"The Duchess advised me that she is finally looking for a wife for her son. I thought--"
"Oh, Mama, you didn't--"
"He would be a very good catch, Chloe."
"Oh, Mama!" Chloe could not contain a small giggle. "He reminds me of a sheep. I doubt I could never fall in love with a sheep."
"Hush, Chloe. Never say such things, even in the privacy of our home." Her mother sat upon the sofa and leaned her head back, eyes closed. After a long silence she said, "What shall we do, George?"
"'Nothing. Pretend it never happened. I'll warrant that most people will chalk any gossip up to the old harridan's dislike of any girl whose way her precious son casts an interested glance. Don't you remember last year, when she told everyone that Maribeth Fortescue had been casting out lures. It was all the talk for a week or so, and then it all died out when Miss Fortescue wouldn't even dance with him." He seated himself beside his wife and took her hand in his, patting it gently.
"Papa," Chloe said, after a moment, "did you really argue against bringing us to London?"
"I did indeed. You're too headstrong by half, pet, and your sister's too retiring. You would've been better off to make your debut closer to home, where one wrong step wouldn't have spoiled any hope of making a match. For tuppence, I'd take you back--"
"Oh, no, Papa! Please! We had to come to London. I would not marry any of those silly boys at home for anything." Her eyes filled with tears she could not hold back. "Have I really ruined myself?"
"Of course not," he said heartily. "But you may be the center of gossip for a week or two and some of Society's busybodies will watch you forevermore. Best be on your mettle, pet. And listen to your mama. She's up to every rig and tow in Town."
"I will, oh, I will. I shall be the model of propriety from now on. Only...Lord Everingham did ask me to go driving in the park tomorrow. Might I not do so?"
Her mother's eyes flew open "Absolutely not. Have you heard nothing I've said to you? For the next week, you will accompany me on afternoon calls, and will accept no invitations to ride or drive in the park. We will attend Lady Applemore's musicale tomorrow night, rather than the Heywood's ball. I think a visit to the Royal Academy as well, and perhaps you might attend Sophia Larrimore's l
iterary salon with your sister on Friday."
"Oh, Mama," Chloe groaned.
"Hush, Chloe. You have brought this upon yourself. Furthermore, I must warn you, if Lady Everingham expresses her opinion to any of the patrons of Almack's, you will not be given permission to waltz tomorrow night. Without that permission, you may not waltz at your own ball."
"I will waltz at my ball. I must!" Chloe stamped her foot.
"You will not, unless you have the permission at Almack's. And if you do not, perhaps it will bring home to you, as my words have obviously not done, the fact that you have already placed a cloud upon your reputation. You must now endeavor to convince everyone that this afternoon's incident was a momentary lapse of judgment."
The tears that had threatened earlier filled and overflowed Chloe's eyes. Her father gathered her in his arms. "There, my pet. You must not cry. It will all come about, you will see. Just follow your mother's good advice. Now, get you to bed. Tomorrow will be better."
"Yes, Papa. Good night. Mama, I will truly try to behave." She made her way slowly from the room and up the stairs, feeling exceedingly put upon.
It was not my fault. He was so charming, even if he does look just like a sheep. How could I resist him?
* * * *
Chloe's manner was subdued at breakfast the next morning. Phaedra, on the other hand, was still excited about the literary salon she had attended the day before. She had met several aspiring authors and poets, and had learned that Lord Byron sometimes attended Mrs. Stewart's salons.
"And while I think his poetry is pretentious and silly, I would like to meet him, if only to see for myself if he is as beautiful as everyone says."
Her mother interrupted her chatter. "Phaedra, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I will require that you accompany your sister and myself for the next week or two. She has narrowly avoided disgracing herself. I will depend upon you to keep her under your eye for a while."
A Sisterly Regard Page 7