She loathed everything about the Season—every evening party, where the young men dared each other to dance with her, every ride in the park, where people pointed her out and whispered behind their hands about her, every morning call, where the conversation ceased the minute she walked into the room.
“Did you see that gown Lady Fosterwell was wearing?” Hester asked. “Someone should tell her that her carroty hair is not best set off by mulberry silk. Of course she will insist that her hair is actually blond. And Mary Douglas was wearing azure blue again. Her folly, I fear, is all the result of a certain young man telling her several years ago that blue brought out the beauty of her eyes. She has worn that color exclusively ever since, even though the young man who complimented her offered for Helen Chesterfield and is now the proud papa of two children. But then, Mary was always such a fool, even when she was two years ahead of me at Mme. Millicent’s School in Bath. She is never going to catch a husband, and I wonder why she has not yet put on her caps.”
When her chattering did not elicit a response from either Meribe or Aunt Phillipa, Hester altered her tactics. “I was surprised to see that Thorverton has come to town. He seemed quite taken with you, sister dear—staring at you as if you were ... how did Aunt Phillipa phrase it? ... As if you were in a raree show.”
Knowing full well that her sister was baiting her, Meribe bit her tongue and remained silent.
Aunt Phillipa was not so reticent, however. “That wretched man! You are not to have anything to do with him, Meribe. I have discovered he is nephew to that horrible Humphrey Swinton, and I shall not allow either of you to associate with any member of that family. I still shudder at the memory of how Swinton treated me thirty-two years ago when I was a young thing like you.”
“Just what did he do that was so terrible, Aunt?” Hester asked, but as usual when the subject of Humphrey Swinton came up, Aunt Phillipa refused to divulge the circumstances.
“My lips are sealed,” she said as dramatically as ever Mrs. Siddons declaimed her role on the stage at Covent Garden. “I have vowed to carry that secret to my grave. But as for you, Meribe, you are not to do anything to encourage Thorverton, do you hear me?”
“Yes, Aunt Phillipa, I hear you,” Meribe replied, remembering the kind eyes of the gentleman in question—kind eyes that unfortunately were filled with pity. Pity. Somehow that hurt worse than any of the whisperings and wagers and being stared at. She would have given anything to leave London before her birthday, but to her lasting regret, she had no say in the matter.
“Do not worry, Aunt,” Hester said gleefully. “I will wager Lady Thorverton sent for him after she heard that her precious son Collier danced with Meribe twice at the Bridgefords’ ball last Friday. Doubtless we shall never see either of those two young men again.” At least she hoped not, Hester thought, clenching her fists in her lap.
Thorverton had been in London six years ago, and seeing him again tonight had brought back too many memories. Luckily no one in the ton had ever suspected that Peter had jilted her—that he had waited until the marriage settlements were ready to sign before he had informed her that he was going to marry his childhood sweetheart instead—an insignificant little nobody back in Dorset.
Apparently fearing a scene if he informed her in the privacy of her own home, he had taken her aside at a dance and in a low voice had told her he had sent a retraction to the paper the next day. Unfortunately for him, she had not been so devastated that she had been unable to turn the tables on him.
He had obviously expected her to beg and plead with him, but instead in a scathing voice, which was not moderated in the slightest, she had denounced his character without ever mentioning the fickleness of his affections.
Enough people had heard quite clearly when she called him a hardened gamester and a libertine, that when his retraction had appeared in the paper, he was the one who was the object of the titters and the whispers, and no one had suspected that her heart was broken.
But as bad as he had hurt her, her father’s subsequent betrayal had been even harder to bear. She had thought that he loved her, but after his death she had discovered she meant nothing to him. His love and affection had been as much an illusion as had Peter’s.
The carriage came to a stop in front of their house, and Hester rubbed her forehead, futilely trying to ease the headache that had come over her as soon as she’d seen Lord Thorverton staring at her.
She hoped that he would soon go back to Devon. Seeing him brought back too many unpleasant memories. In the years since she had been jilted, she had acquired a reputation as a hard-hearted, sharp-tongued female, but she did not care. Nothing mattered as much as concealing from everyone how deeply she had been hurt by the two men she had loved.
* * * *
“You wanted to discuss something with me?” Collier asked, his tremulous smile betraying a slight nervousness.
At least Collier had come promptly in response to the note Demetrius had sent around to the Albany, but that was not sufficient to put Demetrius in charity with his brother. “Sit down. Have some breakfast. The grilled kidneys are quite good.”
With alacrity Collier dropped down into a chair, but declined to partake of any of the food spread out on the sideboard. With a bow, the footman left the two of them alone, closing the doors behind him.
Staring at his brother, Demetrius continued to eat, and the longer the silence stretched out between them, the more uncomfortable his brother became. First Collier began to fidget in his chair; then, abruptly getting to his feet, he filled a plate for himself.
“Decided to have a bite after all,” Collier explained, returning to the table. He did not, however, actually eat very much, but at least pushing his food around on his plate gave him something to do with his hands.
When Collier had reached the proper stage of jumpiness, Demetrius began his attack, having decided that any attempt at subterfuge would be a waste of time.
“On Thursday last I received a frantic letter from our mother,” he said calmly. “She informed me that you were courting death by courting Miss Meribe Prestwich.”
Collier let out his breath, then smiled naturally for the first time since he had entered the room. “Oh, is that why you have come to London? I thought Mama had sent for you to make me give up my rooms at the Albany.”
“Which reminds me, how can you afford to rent your own place?”
“Lady Luck smiled at me. Won two hundred pounds playing faro three weeks ago. You needn’t tell Mama, however, because she will get it into her noggin that I am a hardened gamester, and I am no such thing.”
“And what of Miss Prestwich? Are your intentions serious?”
“I should say not,” Collier replied indignantly, “and I think it is a cursed nuisance that m’mother has dragged you away from your horses for such a silly reason. Despite what everyone is saying in the clubs, dancing with her is not all that dangerous. So far this year, no one has died, although Lambreth did take a bad tumble down the stairs directly after he stood up with the Black Widow, but all he broke was his arm. Got a thick skull, Lambreth does.”
His temper inflamed by hearing that repulsive nickname, Demetrius was hard put to resist the impulse to knock some sense into his brother’s thick skull. But with a herculean effort he managed to keep his tone of voice mild. “So you have been asking Miss Prestwich to dance in order to ... how shall we phrase it? To prove your manhood?’’
Collier shifted uneasily in his seat. “Well, you have to understand how it is, Demetrius. Everyone must dance with her at least once or be called a coward.”
“So you think it is a mark of bravery to persecute a poor defenseless female?” Unable to remain still any longer, Demetrius rose to his feet and scowled down at his brother. “You think a real man goes around blithely causing misery to a young lady? Tell me again—how do you justify such odious, dishonorable conduct? Explain it to me, because I must admit it seems to me to be the most low-down, cowardly kind of behavior imagi
nable, and I am ashamed that my own brother has taken part in such a despicable affair.”
His head hanging low, Collier did not immediately reply. “It’s all m’mother’s fault,” he said finally. “I never wanted to be stuck here in London in the first place. There is nothing to do here but gamble or flirt with silly chits who have little on their minds but clothes and dancing. I wanted to go to Spain and fight against Boney, but you know Mama has refused to buy me my colors. If she has her way, she will forever keep me on leading strings, as if I were still in short coats—you can’t know what it’s like, Demetrius!”
“Indeed? At this point, I cannot blame her. You sound exactly like a petulant little boy whining because he cannot always have his own way. You say you want to prove you are a man, and yet at the first sign of trouble you hide behind your mother’s skirts. ‘It’s all m’mother’s fault,’” he mimicked. “And you think Wellesley needs ‘men’ like you in Spain. Bah!”
Demetrius turned his back on his brother and stalked out of the room, pausing in the doorway only long enough to add, “And I warn you, if you ever again refer to Miss Prestwich as the Black Widow, I shall thrash you to within an inch of your life.”
* * * *
“You have just made a green daisy, sister dear.” Hester pointed out the mistake with the usual note of glee in her voice.
Meribe looked down at the embroidery in her lap. Oh, blast, her mind had been wandering again, and she had finished the leaves and continued on without remembering to change colors of floss. Now she would have to unpick the whole flower, which she despised doing ... but which she was well experienced at.
Given her propensity for daydreaming, she should stick to hemming sheets, but Aunt Phillipa insisted that Meribe could become as proficient with all types of needlework as she herself was if Meribe would only put her mind to it. Which was the problem, of course. Meribe had trouble putting her mind to all the tasks Aunt Phillipa assigned her.
The only thing she really enjoyed was growing plants, but her aunt refused to let her have a garden spot of her own. Grubbing around in the dirt was not, in her aunt’s opinion, a ladylike pastime.
“Yes, what is it, Smucker?” Aunt Phillipa looked up from the book of improving sermons she was reading aloud.
“There is a gentleman here to see Miss Meribe,” the butler replied. “A Lord Thorverton.”
“Why are you bothering us, Smucker?” Hester replied before Aunt Phillipa had a chance to answer. “You know we no longer allow gentlemen callers into the house.”
“He said it was most important,” Smucker explained.
“No,” Aunt Phillipa said flatly, and the butler left the room without further argument.
“He probably wishes to gape at you again, Meribe,” Hester said gleefully. “I vow I do not know how you endure being stared at everywhere you go. If ‘twere me, I would have the hysterics, but then, you never had the least sensibility.’’
“That is enough, Hester,” Aunt Phillipa finally intervened. “Now, where was I?”
Neither of the two girls answered. In that one respect Meribe knew she and her sister resembled each other—neither of them actually heard a word of the improving sermons their aunt delighted in reading aloud.
“Beg pardon,” the butler interrupted again. “But my lord insists that it is a matter of the gravest concern.”
“Grave?” Hester said with a titter. “Oh, Meribe, my love, do you suppose you have dispatched another poor young man to his heavenly reward? Oh, Aunt, do let him come in, or I vow I shall myself expire of suspense.’’
“I do not think—” Aunt Phillipa began, but before she could flatly refuse, Hester made another effort to persuade her.
“Only consider, dear aunt, that if he has indeed come to tell us his baby brother has met with an unfortunate accident, how it will appear to others if we turn the grieving man away from our door.’’
As irritated as Hester was making her by talking such nonsense, Meribe was still thankful when the butler was finally given instructions to admit Lord Thorverton.
Would the viscount be as handsome by daylight as he had appeared by candlelight? A ridiculous question when she thought about it, but no matter how she tried, Meribe could not help wondering about the answer.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Lord Thorverton bowed formally, but Aunt Phillipa did not offer him a seat. He was about half a head taller than Smucker, who was only an inch or so taller than herself, Meribe thought. And he was quite handsome enough for any man.
“I wish to extend my apologies to you ladies, and particularly to Miss Meribe Prestwich, for any discomfort my brother may have caused you by his actions. I have spoken to him, and in the future he will not bother you in any way.”
It was very prettily said, but it was quite obvious that his words had not softened Aunt Phillipa’s heart in the slightest. She continued to look at him with an expression of extreme loathing.
“Thank you,” Meribe said softly. “I accept your apology on behalf of your brother.’’
He smiled at her, then caught her completely off-guard by continuing, “It would give me great pleasure if you would drive out with me this afternoon, Miss Prestwich. ‘‘
Hester tittered, and Aunt Phillipa turned to look at Meribe, who hurried to decline. “No, thank you, my lord.”
He looked as if he were going to press her to agree, so she repeated more firmly, “I do not wish to drive out with you.”
“Tomorrow, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “I prefer to stay at home.”
Aunt Phillipa signaled the butler, and Smucker said smoothly, “If you will come this way, my lord.’’
Thorverton paused, but then followed the butler out.
“Do you suppose he came here on a wager?” Hester asked.
“No, I do not,” Meribe said, then wished she had held her tongue. Every time she responded to her sister’s deliberate baiting, it only encouraged Hester to continue.
“How many pounds do you think he has won by such great daring? Do you suppose it was one hundred pounds? Or perhaps even more?’’
Doing her best to ignore her sister, Meribe looked down at her embroidery. Whatever had induced her to attempt a fire screen? She had already been working on it for an eternity, and between unsnarling tangles and unpicking green flowers, she was not even a quarter of the way done. If there had been a fire in the grate, she would have thrown the wretched thing into the flames.
* * * *
Demetrius looked around the room to see if he had forgotten anything, then buckled the straps on his portmanteau. As he had hoped, he had managed to clear up this mess quickly, and he would be back in Devon before the week was up.
Leaving his bag where it was, he ambled over to the window and looked out. The two days he had been here had only confirmed him in his dislike of London. He would be overjoyed to get back to his beloved horses. But he continued to stand staring out at the street.
His mind was not on the street vendors peddling their wares from house to house. He kept seeing a pair of large dark eyes with long silky lashes. Beautiful eyes ... but also the saddest eyes he had ever seen. So much pain in them.
“Oh, blast it all,” he said, leaning his forehead against the cool pane of glass. He could not persuade himself that his responsibility to that poor girl was ended simply because she had accepted his apology.
Knowing very well what course of action he should take, unpalatable though it might be, he did not allow himself any further vacillation. He rang for a footman and gave orders for a message to be sent to Devon requesting his valet to join him in London.
* * * *
Meribe checked her list to be sure she had gotten everything—five ells of yellow ribbon for Hester’s orange sarcenet, a packet of pins, two ells of lace for herself, and blue floss to match the sample Aunt Phillipa had sent along. Yes, all the purchases were taken care of, which meant they had nothing left to do but stop at the lending library and exchange books.
Looking around for Jane, the abigail she shared with Hester, Meribe found her view blocked by a pair of broad shoulders and kind brown eyes.
“Good afternoon, Miss Prestwich.” Lord Thorverton tipped his hat to her. “May I offer you my escort while you do your errands?”
Now—now, when it was too late—Jane appeared, carrying the parcel of books to be exchanged. The maid’s eyes got big at the sight of Meribe conversing with a man, and the expression of awe on Jane’s face made it overly clear she thought Lord Thorverton to be quite a man.
“I am done with my shopping,” Meribe said faintly.
“Except for the books,” Jane blurted out. “Don’t be forgetting, miss, that we still have to go to Hookham’s. Hester will be that displeased if you don’t fetch her home some new novels.” Although ostensibly speaking to Meribe, Jane’s fatuous smile was directed at Lord Thorverton.
“Hookham’s?” he said with what Meribe could only describe as a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Why, that is precisely where I was headed myself.” He offered his arm to Meribe as if it were the most natural thing to do.
A single glance around sufficed to show her that they were already the center of attention. He could not know what an imbroglio he was getting himself mixed up in. Without doubt by evening his name would be on everyone’s lips, and wagers would be laid in the clubs as to the length—or shortness—of his life expectancy.
Clearly it behooved her to explain to him the dangers inherent in associating with her, but she could not do it here—not with all the eager listening ears.
With great trepidation she laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to escort her out of the shop. Behind them there was a scurry of movement accompanied by whispers, and knowing exactly what it all signified, Meribe felt her face grow hot.
“Lord Thorverton,” she said earnestly, “you must have been rather isolated in Devon, for it appears that you are unaware of my reputation.”
“Not at all,” he said calmly. “That is precisely why I have sought you out.”
The Black Widow Page 3