by Jo Beverley
St. Raven shook his head. “You Rogues have influence, but you don’t have that kind of weight among the bastions of the haut vollée.”
“But we can recruit,” Nicholas said. “Various dukes, for example. Why else are you here? But also Arran, Yeovil, and Belcraven. Above all, however,” he added, with the air of a silent drum roll, “we have the Dowager Countess of Cawle.”
St. Raven whistled. “She’ll do it?”
“She’s Hal’s godmother.”
St. Raven laughed and raised his glass in a toast. “You Rogues. Do you have the Regent in your pocket?”
“Too fat and too much trouble.”
“You really are impossible.”
“Who is the Dowager Countess of Cawle?” Mara asked Dare.
“One of the quieter rulers of society. Whom she approves is approved. Whom she disdains is cast into the dark.”
“Why does she have such power?”
“Probably because she can get away with it.”
The others were running through names of people they could bring to support the cause. The Grevilles, the Burleighs, the Dunpott-Ffyfes, the Lennoxes.
“After Almack’s,” Laura said, “Blanche and Hal will appear at some friendly ton events, well escorted by Rogues, and we’ll persuade Blanche to go around with some of us ladies now and then. The grand assault will be a ball at Marlowe House as soon as Simon and Jancy are ready to host it.”
“How’s the gas situation, Simon?” Nicholas asked.
“We’ll have it sorted out in a couple of weeks.”
Jancy, who’d been quiet throughout the meal, looked guilty.
“We’re not short of ballrooms,” St. Raven said. “I have one. So does Yeovil House.”
“I want to do it,” Simon stated. “Hal was my friend in need in Canada and helped get us all home safe. And besides, Marlowe—both houses and the title—carries such an aura of classic propriety it could bleach out the blackest scandal.”
Simon wasn’t taking Jancy’s fears into account, but there was no point in arguing. Jancy would walk over hot coals if Simon wanted it.
Everything settled, the ladies moved to the drawing room for tea, still talking social strategy like generals before a battle. Felicity had no patience with the subject and sat to play the piano, surprisingly well, for she seemed a tomboy.
Mara decided to make some suggestions. After all, as she’d said, the finer nuances of society were no different in Lincolnshire than in London. Her ideas were taken well.
Conversation changed when Eleanor’s infant was brought to her for feeding. Mara was startled, even though Eleanor managed it neatly beneath a large Norwich shawl. Babies were sometimes fed in public at Brideswell, but only before family.
But then, as she’d thought, the Rogues were a family, one to which she would soon belong. The simple bliss of that cast her into silence until the men came to join them.
Chapter 21
Mara studied Dare. It was getting late, but he seemed all right. She was about to join him when Nicholas said, “So, Mara, have you decided what bead suits me?”
She balked. “And if I choose not to?”
“Why would you do that?”
Why indeed? “Because Francis objected to my choice.”
“I was only teasing,” Francis said, surprised. “I’m sorry, Mara.”
“I know that.” This was getting worse and worse, but something about Nicholas Delaney set her on edge.
“So,” he demanded.
Flint, Mara thought, close to tears.
“Nick.”
Dare spoke only the one word, but it shot through the room like lightning.
Nicholas’s brows rose a little. “Didn’t mean to tease.” He turned to his wife. “Eleanor, of course, is a pink pearl.”
“Wretch!” his wife protested, and told Mara about a string of pink pearls that Nicholas had given her and that she’d given to her brother. Mara wasn’t sure she followed the reasoning, but the story smoothed over the moment and conversation moved on.
Mara went to Dare’s side feeling quivery. Perhaps his intervention hadn’t been significant, but it had felt like a champion waving a sword, declaring that he would protect his lady.
His lady.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Nick’s playing some sort of game.”
“Why?”
“He can’t help it. Don’t let him irritate you.”
An edge of irritation in Dare told Mara that his calm was a thin veneer. He’d rescued her and it was for her to rescue him. She flashed a look at Jancy, who announced that she was tired and they all took their leave.
Dare spoke little in the coach back to Yeovil House and, after brief good nights, disappeared. Mara was grateful that Jancy and Simon were keen to retire to their own room because she couldn’t have born idle conversation.
As Ruth helped her prepare for bed, Mara chattered about Rogues because that was what Ruth would expect. When she was finally alone, however, she sighed with blessed relief.
Lord! Only imagine liking being alone.
Of course she wanted not to be alone. She wanted to be with Dare. She pushed that out of her mind and took her beads out of a drawer. She laid them all out on the desk and studied them as if they, like Jancy’s cards, could give insight.
She rolled the green jade. A simple stone for a simple man, Miles. She’d liked him for his uncomplicated good nature.
Leander, the sophisticated malachite, she wasn’t so sure of. He had exquisite manners, but there was something distant about him. Reserved, perhaps. She liked his wife, and perhaps a man could be judged by the woman who loved him.
Stephen, the blue agate, made her nervous, but that could simply be his reputation. Laura Ball, a perfect jewel herself, had made him seem a little less awe-inspiring when she’d complained that he often became so wrapped up in parliamentary matters that he forgot to eat and which day of the week it was.
Francis, despite his poetic looks, was sturdy jasper.
Nicholas? She studied her beads—amber, tiger eye. She was looking at those because of his eyes. She ended up rolling the topaz one between her fingers. Dare, glowing, golden, as he once had been, as he had been at times this evening, and at others. So briefly, like a fire struggling to stay alight but occasionally sending up flames.
She picked up her netted purse and shook out the coins. There. A farthing, a small brown coin, a mere quarter of a penny that did not reflect in any way the value of Dare in her eyes. But then, what could? She owned no rubies, and a full necklace of them wouldn’t be enough.
She wanted to take it to him now, but looked at the clock and saw how late it was.
No. Better keep it until the safe sanity of daylight.
“If you carry on this way, Miss Mara, I’m sending for your mother!” Ruth protested.
Mara lay in bed, dull with lack of sleep. Being good and not hunting down Dare hadn’t helped. Instead, her mind had run over and over the night before like…yes, like geese stampeding across a graveyard.
The look in Dare’s eyes when she purchased him.
Farthings and rubies.
The way he’d stopped Nicholas Delaney’s teasing, like a sword raised.
The rights and wrongs of wanting him to be the man he’d been before.
That gift of silk, which she didn’t understand.
She opened her eyes to find Ruth studying her anxiously. “I think I drank too much wine. I have a headache.”
“Well, really, what a foolish thing to do.” But Ruth had returned to ordinary fretfulness. “I’ll be off then to make my tonic.”
Mara closed her eyes again and groaned. Ruth’s tonics were foul, but they did no harm. Unlike opium. She hadn’t learned more about it. Today she must speak to Mr. Feng.
She sat up just as Ruth returned. “Oh. You’re up, then.”
“Yes, and feeling much better.”
Ruth brought over the glass. “Best to drink this anyway, milady. Especia
lly when I’ve gone to the trouble of making it.”
Mara downed the tisane with only a slight shudder. Not as awful as some. “Thank you, Ruth. I’ll have breakfast now.”
Mara glanced at the clock as she climbed out of bed. It was nearly nine o’clock! No wonder Ruth had been worried. She never slept in except after a late event like a ball.
What was planned for today? Whatever it was, it would only be a nuisance, a distraction from Dare. What a bother it was that she could no longer pester him into taking her on long carriage journeys. She desperately needed to be alone with him. At least they wouldn’t be moving to Marlowe House yet, thanks be to gas.
She checked her appointment book and saw that she’d noted Dare’s promise to take her to see the volcano. Perhaps she’d remind him. Almack’s tomorrow.
Once, her first visit to that holy of holies would have been the moon and stars to her, but now it shone only as the place where she might first dance with Dare. Dance properly, in public, to music.
The various meanings of “proper” drifted her into memories both sweet and sharp until eagle-eyed Ruth returned with breakfast. To distract her, Mara said, “We need to decide what I should wear to Almack’s.”
“Something pale, milady.”
“Virtuous and maidenly?”
“Which you are, milady.”
“Alas and alack.”
“Miss Mara!”
Mara gathered her wits. “Sorry. I was only teasing, Ruth.” She sat to pour chocolate.
“So I’d think,” Ruth scolded, and went into one of her rants on the wickedness of men but Mara was trying to remember who’d said that, about only teasing.
Nicholas Delaney. After Dare had stepped in to defend her.
When people said they were only teasing it was rarely true. Had King Rogue deliberately needled her to stir that response from Dare?
“Eat something, milady.”
Mara started and realized she’d only sipped at chocolate. She buttered a piece of toast and took a bite. Was Nicholas on her side? Could he offer her good advice about Dare?
“So which one, milady?”
Ruth had draped three pale ball gowns over the bed. Mara glanced at them. “The pink.”
“Very well, milady. With your pearls you’ll look a proper young lady. Would that you lived up to it.”
“Ruth, stop it!”
The maid turned red. “Stop what, milady?”
“Stop…stop poking at me. Anyone would think I’m the sort of hoyden who chased officers in the street and showed her garters.”
“I’m sure I never would…” But then Ruth burst out, “You’re just not yourself, milady! And it all started when I helped you with that mad start of slipping out at night. I don’t know how you ever got me to agree. You’ve been peculiar ever since. And here! Since we came here, it’s been worse. You didn’t…you didn’t do something foolish, did you?”
“Of course I did.” But then Mara realized what Ruth was asking. “What? No! Heavens, no. The truth is, I’m in love. I’m in love with Lord Darius.” She smiled, but Ruth clasped her hands.
“Oh, I was afeared of that. What your poor parents will say!”
“They’ll be delighted.”
“To have you mooning over an opium addict from Somerset?”
The emphasis made Mara laugh, if a bit wildly. “We’ll live near Brideswell, I promise.” She still hadn’t talked to Dare about that.
“That’s something, I suppose, but—”
“And he will soon be free of the drug. You’re not to say anything to anyone about the engagement, though. Not until we’ve had a chance to speak to Father.”
“At least you’re doing something as you should there, milady,” Ruth said, still looking as if there’d been a death in the family. “I will say as Lord Darius is very well thought of in this house.”
“Of course he is. He’s wonderful. Perfect, in fact.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Ah well, I always knew you’d make a strange choice, with the hair an’ all. And if he’s free to live near home, that’s something. We’ll all be able to keep an eye on him.”
Mara bit back a protest. It was true. Even if she married the most innocuous man in England, everyone in the area around Brideswell would keep an eye on her husband’s behavior.
Ruth began to put the gowns away and Mara considered what to do with her day. Should she find Dare and discuss the matter of where they would live?
For some reason that made her nervous. She wasn’t ready to raise that subject. In fact, she’d like some fresh air. “Go and see if Lady Austrey would like to go for a walk,” she told Ruth.
“They’re out, milady.”
“So early?”
“Something to do with Marlowe House.”
“Oh.” Did that mean a hastening of the move? Mara hated that, but could do nothing about it. “Then you will accompany me, Ruth.”
“Very well, milady.”
Mara found immediate relief in fresh air. Yeovil House had become oppressive, but it wasn’t the air, it was her knowledge. The house felt permeated with dark and heavy drama.
She walked briskly toward St. James’s Park, grateful now that Jancy hadn’t been available. With Ruth, she didn’t need to talk and could plan her strategy. When she returned, she would request an appointment with Mr. Feng. He might be able to suggest ways in which she could help Dare and warn her away from doing harm.
Was it useful to persuade Dare into activities, for example, or was he better left alone? Was Castle Cruel an amusement, or might it stir foul memories? Was her cheerfulness a blessing or a burden?
She knew how to navigate society, but not how to work her way through these shadows. Her life had not been entirely free of sorrows, but they had all been the common ones of life, such as the death of her beloved Grandfather Baddersley when she was six, and of her baby sister, Alice, eight years ago.
They’d all worried about Simon, away so long and involved in war, but he’d returned home safely. They’d not known, thank heavens, about the duel and the wound that had almost killed him until it was all history.
Ignorance could be bliss, but it wouldn’t help her now.
“Lady Mara!”
She’d been so deep in thought that it took her a moment to realize that they’d encountered Major Berkstead and he had spoken to her. Now he blocked her way, eyes intent.
Oh, please no.
She probably should cut him dead, but couldn’t bring herself to be so cruel. “Major,” she said coolly, and walked on.
He fell into step beside her. “Dearest lady.”
Ruth had fallen behind, but Mara only had to send her a look to have her interfere. What a scene that might be, however. It wasn’t as if she was in danger in St. James Park. It was dotted with people and in moments they would be walking by the spot where milkmaids sold milk fresh from the cows. A half dozen people were gathered there.
“May I buy you a syllabub?” Berkstead asked, in a tone more suited to an offer of death in the cause.
“No, thank you, Major. In fact, I must return home. I am expected.”
Mara walked faster, hating feeling nervous. He matched her speed without effort. “I will escort you, dear lady.” He lowered his voice. “This is the first time in too long that we’ve had an opportunity to speak privately.”
Mara looked straight ahead. “We have no need to speak privately, Major.”
His voice became softer still. “Ah, your maid—she is your guard? You will be punished? Then slip out of the house, my beloved. I am always on watch.”
Mara stopped to stare at him. “Always on watch? Whatever do you mean?”
Ruth was alert now, looking ready to act.
“Can you think I would abandon you to oppression? Slip out of the house at the back, my beloved. I will set you free.” He strode away, leaving Mara gaping.
Ruth came to her side. “What was he on about, milady?”
“Nothing, but…” Mara wasn’t g
oing to relate such madness to Ruth. But she hurried back to Yeovil House, eager now to be inside its strong walls.
Always on watch? It made her skin crawl. Then she thought of the mysterious gift of silk. Had that been from him? He could have followed her to the warehouse and asked Mr. Lee about something she’d admired. In that note, the giver had said she should make a night robe of it.
She’d burn it. She should have known Dare would never think that blowsy design to her taste.
She hurried into Yeovil House, knowing she must tell Simon about Berkstead, but she winced at the thought. She’d almost rather tell Father, even if it meant telling him all.
“Mara, what is it?”
She was so far away, she almost fainted at coming face-to-face with Dare.
“Nothing.” She laughed shakily. “Just seeing you.”
His brows rose, but he said, “You have a similar oversetting effect on me.”
She laughed again, for happiness.
He looked so much the ordinary English gentleman. Well, never ordinary, but his expression was relaxed, his complexion healthy, and his clothes were the gentleman’s casual uniform of dark blue jacket, buckskin breeches, fawn waistcoat, and top boots. He was carrying hat, crop, and whip.
“You’ve been riding,” she said, delighted.
He passed the things to a footman. “I purchased a new Conqueror yesterday. Would you like to see him?”
“Yes, of course.”
She let Ruth go and walked with Dare toward the back of the house. “How many Conquerors have there been?”
“Four. The last came to grief at Waterloo. Poor horses. Our strife is nothing to do with them. We should fight our wars on foot.”
“And rulers who start a war should lead their armies to battle,” Mara said.
“Napoleon did,” he said.
“Are you admiring the monster?”
“Merely stating a fact,” Dare said as they went through a door into the servants’ area. “But he abandoned his army in Russia. Probably necessary, but still vile.”
Mara glanced around. “I think I remember this corridor.”
“Shush.”
She pressed against him in a deliberately flirtatious way.
“Do you want to be ravished in a store cupboard, wench?”