Bernard blinked. “Fine. We’ve just replenished them. I’ll send you over a few bottles if you wish.”
The colonel wheezed out a laugh. “Lord, no, don’t trouble yourself.” He winked. “I have my own stock, as you probably know. I suppose it must all have been delivered as planned.”
It was news to Gillie that Colonel Fredericks bought from the smugglers. However, it was more surprising that he was talking about it. In fact, he was gazing at Bernard as though expecting him to say something more. Perhaps he’d heard a rumor about Jack’s misfortune.
“I suppose it must,” Bernard agreed, looking out of the window.
Braithwaite Castle, once a great looming fortress guarding Blackhaven Bay and Harbor, had, over the centuries, been turned into a large country residence without losing either its threatening presence or its spectacular views over the cliffs to the crashing waves below. Although there seemed to be no waves this evening, the sea barely rippled in the still air.
Gillie had been used to coming here since childhood, but she thought that if she had come upon it for the first time this evening, she would have been totally overwhelmed. The drive, the courtyard, and the public part of the house, were ablaze with light that complimented rather than outshone the moon’s reflection in the sea.
For a couple of years, Gillie had shared a governess with two of the castle daughters, Ladies Serena and Frances, and had often found it difficult to concentrate on her work for gazing out of the window on the dizzying view of the sea, so different from the one she was used to from the town. Sometimes, it was hard to believe it was the same place.
Since the colonel gallantly gave Aunt Margaret his arm, Gillie entered the castle beside her brother. The ballroom had been converted from the old great hall – a massive room with a gallery where a rather fine orchestra played. Chandeliers containing hundreds of candles hung from the high ceiling and more light blazed from wall sconces, catching the glitter of the many diamonds adorning the guests. A sea of color greeted Gillie, the red and gold of the army officers, the gorgeous silks and muslins of the ladies. There were clearly several guests from London staying at the castle, mingling with the local gentry and town worthies.
The Dowager Countess of Braithwaite, as regal as ever, welcomed her guests with her son and one of her married daughters by her side. As always, she was most gracious to the Muirs, even tapped Gillie’s wrist with her fan.
“We must have a little chat this evening, you and I.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Gillie said, faintly surprised, for although the countess had always been kind, particularly just after her father’s death, they had never really been on “little chat” terms. Frances and Serena, however, launched themselves upon her with great delight for an exchange of news. Frances was married now, to an amiable Scottish lord, while Serena was engaged to a mere baronet with a large fortune.
Serena lowered her voice. “What is this we hear about your card parties, Gillie?”
Before Gillie could answer, the orchestra struck up the first dance, and all three young ladies were swept in different directions by their partners. Gillie’s card had already been filled, largely with officers from the 44th, most of whom were regular attendees at the card parties, so at least she wouldn’t have to spend the evening as a wallflower under the pitying eyes of Lord Wickenden. Though in fact, she thought ruefully as she gazed around at the many interesting strangers around her, it was a little like dancing with your brothers.
At that moment, she caught sight of Wickenden himself, not dancing, but standing in a group of people who included one of the most beautiful women Gillie had ever seen. The baron, in perfectly fitting black satin breaches and evening coat, his shirt and cravat almost dazzlingly white, looked much as she’d first seen him, haughty, bored…and ripe, perhaps, for mischief.
No doubt the beautiful lady smiling up at him would be on the receiving end of his flirting tonight. It made Gillie hot and uncomfortable to imagine where that situation might end, where she might have if she hadn’t been both naively shocked and prudish. But then he clearly hadn’t regarded Gillie as a sophisticated equal worthy of a romantic liaison.
She’d lived with soldiers all her life, in however sheltered a fashion, she knew the words for what he’d imagined her to be. And despite her failed apology, she still itched to slap him for it.
His restless eyes suddenly shifted to the dance floor. Fortunately, it was her turn to dance down the line at that precise moment, so surely he wouldn’t have known she’d been staring.
Conducted back to her aunt at the end of the dance by the very proper Lieutenant Green, Gillie was happy to find Lady Serena already keeping Aunt Margaret company. However, since there were several of the older lady’s acquaintances present, Gillie soon found herself in private conversation with Serena once more.
“I’ll tell you what Gillie,” Serena confided. “I’m seriously considering throwing over Sir George for the wicked baron there.”
Gillie’s jaw dropped in dismay. “Seriously?”
Serena gave a peel of laughter. “Of course not seriously, you goose. Mama would kill me, for one thing. For another, I can’t keep his attention for longer than thirty seconds. There’s something about him, though…makes you wonder what he’d be like if he were just a little…different.”
“That’s silly,” Gillie said flatly. “You can’t like someone because you wish they were different. It makes no sense.”
“Well, I do like him, though God knows why. He makes me laugh.”
“I’m sure it’s unintentional,” Gillie said with a curl of her lip. “His main aim seems to be to entertain himself.”
“You’ve met him?” Serena asked in surprise.
“Lord Braithwaite brought him to our card party last night. Who’s the lady with him?”
“Lady Crowmore. Braithwaite says they almost married when he was still only a younger son, but then she married Crowmore as a safer bet. I expect she’s kicking herself now that Wickenden’s as rich as Croesus. Still, they say Crowmore is about to croak, so who knows?” Serena sprang to her feet as the orchestra struck up the next country dance. “I shall be in trouble! I’ll talk to you again at supper.”
Gillie’s next partner was Major Randolph, whom she’d always rather liked. In fact, when she was sixteen, she’d developed a crush on him, probably because he was tall and handsome and seemed both older and more sophisticated than the callow boys and junior officers of her acquaintance. She was almost surprised to remember that now as he led her into the dance, smiling.
“How good to see you looking more like yourself,” he said warmly.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Do I have a smudge on my nose? Has my hair escaped its pins?”
Randolph laughed, “No, no, you look charmingly, I assure you! I was just thinking aloud that light colors become you better. Or perhaps, they reflect a lighter heart. I hope so.”
“Well, I have come with every intention of enjoying myself,” she said firmly, deliberately keeping her attention on the dance and not on Lord Wickenden. “We all have.”
She supposed she must have finally grown up in his eyes, for when the dance was finished, he brought her lemonade and stayed to chat with her and Aunt Margaret until her next partner claimed her.
It was just before the supper dance when Lord Braithwaite himself materialized at her elbow. “My mother has sent me to bring you to her,” he said lightly. “Which works out perfectly, since I particularly want a word with you myself.”
“Really?” she said, pausing to turn to her aunt. “Aunt Margaret, I’m going to the countess.”
“Yes,” Braithwaite pursued as they strolled across the ballroom. “It’s about Wickenden.”
“Do you know, I really don’t want to hear any more about that man,” she said firmly, and not quite truthfully.
“I don’t blame you. I just want to reassure you that his bark is worse than his bite.”
She curled her lip. �
�I assure you neither troubles me.”
“Then he did offend you,” Braithwaite said ruefully. “At least he means to apologize. I assured him you’d let him.”
Then Braithwaite knew nothing of his visit yesterday morning. Or, hopefully, their encounter on the beach…
“Here she is, Mama,” the earl added jovially as they found the countess, seated on a sofa beside a younger lady Gillie didn’t know. The lady thoughtfully relinquished her seat and went off on Braithwaite’s arm as Gillie took her place.
“Now, Gillie,” the countess said, with a sudden frown. “What’s all this I’ve been hearing about setting up a gambling den in your father’s house?”
Gillie laughed. “Oh no, my lady, it’s nothing like that. Merely card parties such as those my father used to hold.”
“For his brother officers and a few select friends.”
“Exactly.”
“But Gillie, you no longer have a connection to the regiment. You are charging subscriptions, I hear, and selling tickets at the door. To say nothing of your faro and hazard banks and the Lord knows what. You must see how this looks to the world. And I understand you invite more than old friends. The complete strangers who’ve flocked to the town for the spring water in the last year or two, people your aunt certainly doesn’t know.”
“I have never encountered any but gentlemen,” Gillie said stiffly. Apart from your own guest, she thought mutinously.
“But no ladies,” the countess said significantly. “Does that not tell you anything?”
“That most ladies do not care for cards.”
The countess narrowed her eyes as though wondering if Gillie were being insolent or merely obtuse.
“Besides, ladies do come,” Gillie added hastily. “The Misses Dundas and Mrs. Percy are frequent visitors. You yourself would be most welcome and I assure you you’d find nothing to disgust you.”
“No, I don’t believe I would,” the countess said with a sigh, “which is what makes this harder. I’ve known you and your parents since you were a child. I know there is no harm or vice in you whatsoever, but it is a matter of perception, and trust me, the world will not see what I do. For a penniless girl like yourself, reputation is everything. You aren’t just ruining your chances of a good match. You’re ruining your chances of any match. You must stop before it goes any further.”
Gillie drew a deep breath, trying to calm the surge of outrage at this interference. “I am very sensible of your good nature as well as your good advice, which I know you mean for the best. But the blunt truth is that if it were not for the card parties, my aunt, brother, and myself would have nowhere to live. We have chosen to rely on our own resources rather than on those of some mythical husband of the future.”
The orchestra had begun the introduction to the waltz and she caught sight of Kit Grantham coming to fetch her. “My waltz partner,” she explained to Lady Braithwaite. “Please excuse me.”
“So long as you understand,” Lady Braithwaite said as she rose, “that I would not allow my daughters to be seen in your house now. Ever.”
Gillie felt her eyes sting with fury and something very like shame, even though she had never done anything to be ashamed of. Forcing herself, she smiled up at Kit and entered into the waltz with enthusiasm.
“I’ve been away too long, haven’t I?” Kit said ruefully.
“We’ve all missed you,” Gillie assured him.
“Well, I wish I’d been here. I would never have advised you to begin these card parties.”
Gillie cast her eyes to heaven. “Oh for the love of—”
“Gillie, they’re not at all the thing,” he said earnestly.
“It didn’t stop you coming,” she retorted.
“And now I’ve seen what’s actually happening there. Your father wouldn’t like it.”
“My father would probably wish he’d thought of it first!” she retorted. “And you have no right to quote his supposed wishes to me.”
“Then give me the right,” he said at once. “Marry me.”
Her feet stumbled. “I beg your pardon?”
“It would be for the best.”
She stared at him, tugging her hand free and coming to a halt. Of all the reasons to propose marriage that was the worst. “No, it wouldn’t! You’re judging me! Wrongly! There is nothing for you to forgive me!”
“Gillie—” he began helplessly, glancing around him to see if their confrontation was noticed. Which was when his braided red coat was eclipsed by a plain black one.
“Never leave a lady standing,” Lord Wickenden reproved, and simply took her in his arms and returned her to the waltz as if no break had occurred.
Chapter Four
For once in her life, Gillie could think of nothing to say. After their last few encounters, she hadn’t expected him to come near her in public. Now that he had, she was wildly suspicious. On top of which, the waltz was still considered fast in some quarters and she wasn’t yet used to dancing so intimately with a man. Waltzing with a stranger seemed to be very different to doing so with her brother or with an old friend like Kit Grantham.
“What are you doing?” she blurted.
“Waltzing,” he said in apparent surprise.
“Why?” she asked bluntly.
A hint of amusement sparked in his rather hard grey eyes. “What a suspicious little creature you are. Don’t you know?”
“After our conversation yesterday, I hate to imagine.”
“You were making a scene,” he said tranquilly. “I decided to make you talked of for other reasons.”
She curled her lip, “Because I have been granted the stupendous honor of dancing with the great Lord Wickenden?”
“Sadly, yes.”
She narrowed her eyes mistrustfully. “Why sad?”
“I have to agree with you it is a dire commentary on our society that anyone pays a blind bit of attention to anything I do, but there you are.”
“Are you trying to ruin me?” she asked bluntly.
Both devil’s eyebrows shout up. “Of course. Having had my amorous advances rejected and then being thrown out of your genteel gambling den, there’s nothing else I can do. I, too, have a reputation to consider.”
Uncertainly, she searched his veiled face. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then why do you look so frightened?”
“I am not remotely frightened!” she exclaimed.
“Oh good,” He turned her, dancing her directly toward the balcony door, “Then let me show you the spectacular view from the terrace.”
“Absolutely not.” In panic, she tried to tug her hand free, but his grip tightened.
“Hush,” he said as though gentling a horse. He even stroked the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger, making her shiver with apprehension. At least it might have been apprehension. “I was only joking you. In fact, my plan for your rehabilitation depends on my flirting with total respect.”
She had the terrible feeling that her jaw had dropped again. Hastily, she closed her mouth, then, barely opening it again, she uttered, “I do not need rehabilitating.”
“I beg to differ. Lady Braithwaite thinks otherwise. So does Captain Grantham by the look of him and his quarrelsome face. You can’t blame them. If I was your friend, I’d tell you the same thing.”
“You are not,” she pointed out in a small, hard voice, “my friend.”
“No, I’m not, which is why I can say I actually admire what you’re doing. In many ways it’s preferable to selling yourself to a rich or even a merely respectable husband.”
A thousand thoughts flitted through her mind at once. He must have overheard her conversation with the countess. He understood. It was a trick to win her confidence and ruin her from spite. He was making fun of her.
“You are deluded,” she said. “Even up here in provincial ignorance, no one would believe you would ever look at me. Respectably, at least.”
“My dear, observe,” he drawled. “All eyes are upon
us. And mine are upon you.”
Appalled, she glanced around and discovered he was right. Surreptitious glances from the dance floor, quickly averted. More blatant observation from beyond, and from the gallery above.
Her eyes stung. More than anger, the injustice seemed to paralyze her. Only his relentless arm at her back kept her moving.
He said, “I never dance. Yet I waltz with you and take you into supper.”
“Why?” she said. “You really ask me to believe your one desire is to save my reputation?”
His eyes sparked, an echo of the flustering warmth she’d glimpsed there before. When he’d kissed her. “God, no, it wouldn’t be remotely true. Look on it as an experiment. A wager, if you like.”
She eyed him with fresh suspicion. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged without disrupting the grace of his steps. “If my attentions do you social harm – or even if they simply do you no good—then you were right and you win.”
“Win what?”
He appeared to consider. “I’ll buy your little gambling den at a fair business price and run it accordingly. You and your brother would then have the financial freedom to go anywhere, do anything you liked.”
She couldn’t look away. And yet it was all nonsense. It had to be. “And if I lose?” she asked, at last. “If the countess decides I am respectable after all simply because you deign to dance with me?”
“Oh I think we need to give it more than one dance. A few days. Then you’ll lose.”
“And what will I owe you?”
“If you accept the wager? A kiss seems fair.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said, struggling and failing to subdue the flush rising to her cheeks.
“You are so sure you’ll lose?”
“I won’t lose!”
“Excellent. Then it’s a wager. Now, let me take you to supper.”
*
Bernard, having sustained a lecture from the countess on the subject of dishonoring himself, his father’s memory, and his sister by holding card parties, felt somewhat hot under the collar. He remembered he hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place. He wasn’t much of a dancing man. His tastes tended more toward sport – especially boxing, racing, and cock-fighting – and cards.
Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two Page 5