by Farr, Diane
Gil was as good as his word. He arrived promptly, and in very correct evening attire. Chloe had seen Gil in evening clothes any number of times, but apparently the items he donned in the country came from the second tier of his wardrobe. Tonight he was resplendent, and Chloe was agreeably surprised at how handsome he looked. It made her feel strangely shy, although she knew her own dress was faultless. A square-necked bodice of ivory satin, trimmed with seed pearls and cut daringly low—although not as low as Tish’s claret-colored silk—flattered both her complexion and her figure. The long sweep of creamy fabric clung exactly where it should, and elsewhere fell in graceful folds to the floor, ending in a demi-train edged with seed pearls and satin piping. Her hair was dressed prettily, she carried an ivory fan, and, all-in-all, she fancied she looked rather elegant. It was reassuring, however, to have this fancy confirmed by the admiration in Gil’s eyes. She had seldom won approval from him on her toilette, so to have him stare at her through his quizzing glass and breathe, "By Jove!" when he saw her brought a flush of delight to her cheeks. She curtsied gracefully to him, snapping her fan open to display it, and fluttering her lashes with mock demureness.
"La, sir, you overwhelm me!" she declared.
He chuckled. "The shoe’s on the other foot, I promise you." He then bent his quizzing glass on Tish, and his features froze in condemnation. "I hope you mean to put something on before we leave the house," he said austerely.
Tish’s eyes flashed. "This gown," she informed her brother icily, "is bang up to the nines!"
"It doesn’t suit you. And neither does that expression! Females shouldn’t use cant."
"How stuffy you are!" marveled Tish. "I hope you don’t plan to inflict your gothic notions on me, because you’ll catch cold at it!"
"Oh, I will, will I? We’ll see about that, little sister! I don’t intend to spend the evening watching you make a spectacle of yourself and putting us all to the blush. If you don’t toe the line, I’ll bundle you back in your carriage and send you home!"
Chloe flew to Tish’s side and put an arm around her, throwing a warning look at Gil. "Oh, hush, Gil! You know you’ll do no such thing, and Tish isn’t putting us to the blush. You look lovely, Tish, really you do. And I’m sure you won’t use cant expressions at Alverstoke House, will you?"
She sniffed. "Well, if Gil will stop being provoking, I will try to behave."
Gil scowled, indicating his sister’s modish ballgown. "Gave me a fright, that’s all," he said grudgingly. "Never saw you wear anything like that before. Not in public, at any rate."
Tish smoothed the wisps of silk hugging her slender form. "Does it really not suit me?" she asked anxiously.
Chloe patted Tish reassuringly. "It suits you beautifully. I would never dare to wear anything so—so fashionable, but you look quite fetching in it."
Gil shook his head gloomily. "You look fetching," he told Chloe. "Tish looks tempting. Playing with fire, Tish! Take care you don’t get burned."
"Pooh! Would you have me dress like a dowager? You will see any number of women tonight who are dressed more scandalously than I."
"Oh, will Caro Lamb be present?" asked Gil, with withering sarcasm.
Chloe threw up her hands. "Stop it at once, you two. You are no longer in the nursery! Besides, I have never before visited the home of a marquis and I am shaking like a leaf. In fact, I have half a mind to run back upstairs this very instant. You know perfectly well, both of you, that I never wished to go to grand parties—"
As she had hoped, Gil and Tish instantly dropped their quarrel and joined forces to soothe their friend. By the time they reached Alverstoke House harmony had been restored and Chloe felt at leisure to enjoy herself.
It was clear from the moment they arrived that Chloe was going to enjoy her second ton party much more than the first. Having Gil at her side added to her comfort on several levels. It was delightful just to be with him, of course, since she enjoyed his company for its own sake. And with Gil present she no longer bore on her inadequate shoulders the responsibility of monitoring Tish’s behavior. It was a relief to have Gil, whom all his friends described as a knowing ’un, available to nip his sister’s wildness in the bud. She could safely leave it to him to decide whether Tish’s conduct was beyond the pale, or if it was actually acceptable for a dashing young matron. She devoutly hoped Lord Rival would be present. If he were, and Tish behaved more circumspectly tonight than she had at Lady Paversham’s drum, that would mean Tish knew her flirtation was wrong. If, on the other hand, Tish’s behavior did not alter, Gil would either put a stop to it or reassure Chloe that there was no danger after all. Either way, the responsibility was no longer hers.
She was also immensely grateful for Gil’s reassuring hand lightly supporting her elbow as she climbed a magnificent staircase and was presented to the Marquis of Alverstoke and his terrifying sister, Lady Buxted. The marquis was younger than she had expected, and although he was perfectly civil he was such a superior individual that he quite intimidated her. She was glad when his eyes slid indifferently past her to Tish. She heard him inquire politely after Robert Dalrymple, so it was clear that they owed their invitations to Tish’s marriage. Chloe was embarrassed that Robert had chosen not to accompany them, but fortunately the marquis seemed unmoved by his absence. She could not help heaving a sigh of relief when the introductions were over and the threesome had escaped to the ballroom.
It was then Chloe announced that she had no desire to dance with strangers and that she would, in fact, refuse to do so. Gil loudly deplored this as an unbecoming eccentricity in a chit still on the fringes of the ton, but when she proved adamant he delighted her by admitting that he felt a secret sympathy with her stance. At any rate, he would remain at her side. "Lending you countenance," he told her severely. This caused her to squeeze his arm affectionately and call him "Silly Gilly," but fortunately no one overheard her.
Chloe soon discovered one completely unexpected way in which Gil’s company added to her pleasure. He proved to be a capital escort. Gil had been on the town for several years, but since Chloe had remained in the country she had not had occasion to observe the subtle changes wrought in him by the acquisition of what the Beau Monde called "town bronze." For all his grumbling that attending a private ball was torture to him, and that he never did so, it was obvious that he had attended a sufficient number to know his way about and never put a foot wrong. It was just as obvious that Mr. Gilliland was well-known and well-liked. She was proud to be seen on the arm of this handsome and impeccably dressed young man who carried himself with graceful assurance, who was hailed good-naturedly from all sides, and who unobtrusively guided Chloe through the unfamiliar social rituals. He seemed to know without being told exactly what a lady needed. If her shawl started to slip, he deftly caught it. When she tired of standing, he steered her unerringly to the only available chair. When she thirsted, he appeared like a genie at her elbow with a glass of punch.
This she accepted with real gratitude, saying, "Thank you, Gil. How well you do this, to be sure!"
"Do what?"
"This." She waved her hand in a vague, but comprehensive, gesture. "I would be completely lost without you."
"Nothing to it," he assured her. "You’ll be up to snuff in no time."
He was lounging gracefully beside her chair, surveying the crowded room through his quizzing glass. Tish had vanished into the throng long ago, spirited away by a couple of laughing young bucks. Gil and Chloe had caught a glimpse of her once, dancing the boulanger with a gentleman in a striped waistcoat, but she had swiftly disappeared again. Chloe and Gil had then walked the length of the ballroom to no avail, and finally stationed themselves where they could watch the room’s entrance and thus observe the comings and goings of the entire assembly.
Gil glanced rather doubtfully down at his petite companion. "I say, Clo, you ought to stand up. You’ll never pick the fellow out in this mob."
But Chloe had concluded that Lord Rival was not co
ming. Latecomers had ceased to trickle in some time ago, and he had not been among them. For some reason, that made her feel cross.
She scowled at her punch glass. "I have no wish to spend my evening chasing wild geese. Besides, if he does show up, you will easily recognize him," she said tartly. "He leaves a trail of swooning females in his wake."
Gil grinned. "Married females, from what one hears."
Chloe looked up, startled. "Married! Why?"
"Lord, I don’t know! He probably feels they are safer. Can’t force him to the altar. Can’t pretend they thought his intentions were honorable. Can’t even kick up a dust when he transfers his affections elsewhere."
"So it is not just Tish? He—he targets married women?" Chloe was appalled.
Gil looked uncomfortable. "Sorry, Clo. There are a number of other fellows who do the same, so don’t go thinking it’s unusual! If anything, I’m afraid it’s rather commonplace."
"Commonplace wickedness." She shook her head, troubled. Then a thought occurred to her and she raised wondering eyes to her friend’s face. "Gil, is ‘Lord Rival’ really the man’s title? Or is it a soubriquet?"
Gil burst out laughing. "What an idea! No, it’s his title, all right and tight. Originally ‘rye vale,’ I believe. Odd coincidence, though, isn’t it?"
"Yes," she said, now thinking hard. "But, Gil, are you certain that he only flirts with married women?"
"That’s what one hears. That’s the way of the world, Clo. Married women are supposed to be able to handle themselves."
"But, Gil, he—I think he—well, it certainly seemed to me that he—" Chloe felt a blush heat her cheeks. "He flirted with me last night."
Gil rounded on her, staring. "The devil he did!"
"Well, I think he did," she said hastily. "He may have meant nothing by it. Or it could be second nature to him, you know—it may simply be the way he treats all females. He knows I am not married."
Gil flushed with anger. "He believes you are engaged, however—to me!"
"Yes, but—ooh!" Chloe bounced upright on the small chair, her eyes sparkling eagerly. "That gives me the most wonderful idea!"
"Aye, it gives me a wonderful idea, too! I think I’ll plant the fellow a facer."
"No, no, only listen! Gil, don’t you see? If I am correct, and Lord Rival was flirting with me—and if you are correct, and he only flirts with ‘safe’ women—oh, Gil, would you mind terribly pretending we are really engaged? Just for a time?"
"What, so the worst rake in London can cut me out?" spluttered Gil. "I can’t say I think much of your wonderful idea—"
"But, Gil, surely you care nothing for that. After all—"
"Not care!" exclaimed Gil, his voice cracking. "Not care if that ugly customer turns me into a figure of fun? Have you run mad? And I don’t know what you mean by ‘pretending’ we are engaged. All the world thinks we are engaged."
"Yes, but I fancy if you pretended to be madly in love with me, it might pique his interest."
"Now, look here—!"
But Chloe was frowning intently, tapping her fan against her forgotten punch glass. "The more I think on it, the more it appears to me that Lord Rival might have another reason for preferring married women. They may be safe in some ways, but in other ways they present a challenge! I believe he enjoys that. In fact, he showed no interest in me whatsoever—or very little—until he saw that I disliked him."
"Oh, then you don’t need me at all! The next time you meet him, simply kick him in the shins. That ought to intrigue the fellow."
"Now, Gil, really! Why are you biting my nose off? I think it is a famous scheme."
"What scheme? To deliberately throw me over for Lord Rival?"
"Why, yes! There’s not a flaw to be found in it anywhere." Chloe began enthusiastically ticking the points off on her fingers. "It will snatch Tish right out of Lord Rival’s clutches, because she will see that he cares nothing for her, and believe that her trifling with him wounds me, and whatever dangerous games she may play with her husband’s affections—which, I own, I do not understand—Tish will never do anything to injure a friend. You and I can break our engagement, and no one will think for a moment that it was your fault, because it will be plain as a pikestaff that it was my fault. Everyone will say that you are well rid of me! And there is no danger that Lord Rival will lose his heart to me, because he never does so. And if he did, it would serve him right."
Gil’s jaw set grimly. "What if you lose your heart to him?"
"Pooh! No chance of that. I dislike Lord Rival excessively." Chloe found that she suddenly could not meet Gil’s eyes. The blush was stealing over her face again. She fanned herself, trying to assume an air of nonchalance.
Not unexpectedly, Gil’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Before he could speak, however, Chloe gripped his arm, her fingers tightening in warning. "Good gracious, here he comes! See? That is he, standing in the doorway. In the blue coat. And he has seen us!" Her fan flew faster and faster in agitation. "Yes, do continue to scowl at me, Gil—that is excellent! He will think we are having a lover’s quarrel."
Gil spluttered wordlessly, looking nauseated by the very idea. Chloe knew in her bones that Lord Rival would approach them. The appearance they presented of being surprised in the midst of a quarrel must be irresistible to a man of Lord Rival’s predatory instincts.
Her intuition proved correct. Across the room, she saw the weariness in his gaze as it flicked idly round the room, and she saw the weariness vanish as his gaze lighted on her and Gil. Amusement lit his expression, and he began to stroll toward them. Chloe discovered that she felt safer, somehow, if she continued to clutch Gil’s sleeve. She rose nervously out of her chair as Lord Rival approached.
"Miss Littlefield, we meet again! Your very obedient," he said as he bowed. She thought the last thing on earth he appeared to be was an obedient servant, but of course one could not say so.
Instead, she curtsied demurely. "Lord Rival," she murmured.
His dark eyes had shifted to her companion. "Your fiancé, one assumes?"
"Yes, my lord—Mr. Gilliland. Gil, this is Lord Rival."
The contrast between the two men could scarcely have been greater, thought Chloe, watching them exchange bows. They were very much of a height, but in coloring, air and manner they were complete opposites. Gil’s gleaming blond hair and youthful good looks appeared almost cherubic beside this dark, saturnine man. There was something sleek and catlike about Lord Rival’s handsomeness; an almost cruel set to his mouth which, added to his habitual air of boredom and his frequent flashes of barely-hidden mockery, made everything he said and did seem double-edged. Gil’s frank, good-humored countenance and open manner contrasted oddly with his lordship’s. The tableau the two men formed looked like a portrait of Gabriel bowing to Lucifer.
"Your servant, m’lord," muttered Gil, barely able to mask his antagonism.
Laughter shook Lord Rival, but so fleetingly that Chloe almost wondered if she imagined it. "How do you do? You are a lucky man, Mr. Gilliland," he said smoothly.
"Eh?" said Gil, startled. Then he flushed scarlet. "Oh, you mean Chloe! Yes, of course! That is—certainly. Certainly I am. Most fortunate."
The twinkle in Lord Rival’s eye became pronounced, but his grave expression did not alter. "I would wish you happy, of course, but the platitude becomes meaningless in the face of such obvious good fortune."
"Oh—ah—exactly!"
"George!" cried a soprano voice at Gil’s elbow. "When did you arrive? I vow, I ceased watching the door an hour ago! I decided you were not coming after all, and have been desolate! How could you frighten me so?"
Tish had materialized out of the crowd, leaning on the arm of her latest dancing partner. The lad appeared to be a shy and soft-spoken fellow, despite the flamboyance of his chosen mode and the amazing height of his shirt-points. Tish stretched out her hand to Lord Rival and he took it, bowing gracefully.
"The delicious Mrs. Dalrymple!" he uttered, raisin
g Tish’s hand briefly to his lips. At the moment her gloved fingers came closest to touching his mouth, he shot Tish a look from under his hooded lids that sent a vivid blush to her cheeks. He retained her hand as he nodded to her partner, who bowed, stammering something unintelligible.
"I hear a waltz beginning," said Lord Rival. "Tish, may I hope for the pleasure? I daresay Wivenhoe will not object if I steal his charming partner."
Whatever objections the unassertive Wivenhoe might have had were disregarded, at any rate. Perfunctory leave was taken of the company and Tish, with a high-pitched little laugh, was swept smoothly away to join the couples forming for the waltz.
Gil, rigid with disapproval, stared with almost comic fixedness at the spectacle of his sister bridling and giggling in the arms of a man who was not her husband. Then, as the couple disappeared into the milling crowd of persons on the dance floor, he abruptly came back to life. He seized Chloe’s punch cup and thrust it at Wivenhoe.
"Here, Wivenhoe—do a chap a favor, won’t you? There’s a good lad!" said Gil, and before Chloe had realized what was toward, Gil was dragging her determinedly toward the center of the room.
"Gil, what on earth—"
"You waltz, don’t you, Chloe? Of course you do. Come on!" And with these unromantic words, Gil swung Chloe into the most romantic of dances.
Chapter 7
Chloe hung back for a moment. "Gil, wait! Wait! I don’t know if I ought."
"Ought to what?"
"Waltz."
Gil stared uncomprehendingly into her face. "Why the devil—oh! Almack’s! Never mind, Clo; this is a private ball. Besides," he said, seizing her grimly round the waist and propelling her doggedly into a circular motion, "the rules only apply to single females!"
"And what am I, in Heaven’s name?" demanded Chloe, struggling to keep up.
"Engaged!" said Gil bitterly. "Don’t you remember?"