But she supposed it only fair that he be upset if she refused to believe him, and she still did. She could not imagine why he would put such a thing in the paper, unless to thwart her mother, but even so, it seemed unlike him.
If only he had not looked so guilty in his denial. Lady Alana was convinced that he had lied to her. It seemed such a silly thing to be upset over, but she prized honesty above all things and even in a matter so insignificant she was adamant the truth be told.
It was a sign of the strain she'd been under of late that she had been so blind to her own foolishness. Perhaps a bit of her willful, autonomous nature had asserted itself.
She reluctantly admitted: Because I am very frightened of being wed and answering to a husband. Having spent the last several years totally independent of anyone's control, Alana had qualms about uniting her life with another. Yet, she doubted not that she loved and wanted Rothburn.
It was one thing to live one's life in anticipation of sexual congress, quite another to be governed by everyday rules set by a husband.
Sighing in regret, she turned away as the carriage disappeared 'round the corner.
Heart heavy and sensibilities totally confused, Alana ignored the whisper of her heart saying she was wrong. Obstinate to the core, the peeress resolved it best they part now—for after all, were he to deceive her in this, what other lengths might he go to once they were wed?
* * * * *
The gloom that had lifted from the Pendleton household resettled quickly as Lady Alana did not hear from Rothburn the next day or the next. Her wedding plans were put on hold.
Allie, keeping to her rooms as well with a melancholy disposition, re-read Griffin's most recent letter over and over—they came every other day—and tried to be brave about waiting three years to be wed. It was such a very long time. She began to pen a response, careful not to allow her tears to drop on the page. She had promised to be brave and she would.
Sir Gordon seemed the only one having any luck in his love life and he was so caught up in dashing about from one gathering to another, accepting congratulations from his friends on his upcoming nuptials he, for once, did not notice the sadness overlying his household.
At least not in the beginning.
Assuming the small quarrel between his aunt and Rothburn would soon blow over, he'd ignored the Rothburn and his mother's absence at dinner, not asking questions. When he didn't see Rothburn at White's or any other hang-outs, he assumed the man busy preparing to be wed.
Determined to make the best of it, and refusing to mope about any longer, Alana went to see Lady Eleanor to get out of the house. The pair went to the shops, hoping the diversion of a new hat or pair of gloves might lift Alana's spirits.
It did not, for nothing less than reconciliation with Rothburn would. Still, she tried doggedly to ignore the fact that he had not called upon her or sent a message since storming from her house.
When they returned, they were caught up in Countess Avonleigh's plans for the betrothal ball. She insisted that the young women start planning their gowns and inundated them with pattern books, cloth samples and fashion magazines. She then left them at their task while she went to confer with cook regarding menu plans.
The actual ball and announcement would not be for another month, but the news had spread quickly. Everyone who was anyone knew that Sir Gordon Pendleton, wealthy man of business from a very old and respected family line, was to wed Lady Eleanor, Daughter of The Earl of Avonleigh.
There were few things left unnoticed once the Times had printed an on dit about anyone and there was only one person who fit the description of Sir G, though there might have been some speculation in the beginning about Lady E, for there were several of those.
After dancing and being seen together in Hyde Park numerous times, speculation had died, and it was obvious the pair were in love and going to be wed, just as the Times had said.
Sir Gordon arrived at the townhouse, hoping to take Eleanor for a drive, only to discover she had company, his very own aunt. He went along to the drawing room, resigned to taking both ladies and wishing Rothburn would appear and sweep the third party away.
He came upon them seated at a large table with a fashion book open before them. Their heads close over the pages, they discussed bodices and ruffles and such—things he knew nothing of.
"Good afternoon, Ladies." He bowed to his aunt and went forward to take Lady Eleanor's small hand, kissing it with a lingering air. "I had thought to take you for a drive. Such a lovely day, you know."
"If you say so, Gordon. I vow, this day is no different than the one before." Lady Alana rose from her seat and gathered her gloves and reticule, looking at her hostess. "I believe I shall just go along home. You two go on to the park."
"I won't hear of it. You must come with us. The fresh air will do wonders to lift your gloom." Lady Eleanor linked her arm through Lady Alana's and pulled her across the room, smiling sweetly at her betrothed.
Sir Gordon, though at first disappointed, realized his aunt would be the perfect chaperone. The formidable old Mrs. Crofts who normally accompanied them could easily be left to her knitting for once. Then Lady Eleanor's words registered and he turned to her with raised eyebrows.
"What gloom? Alana, are you not well?" He gave her a solicitous pat on the shoulder and looked more carefully at her. "What's amiss here?"
As his aunt pulled away, bursting into tears, he drew her about. "Tell me. Has Rothburn done something to hurt you?" His eyes had gone from troubled to angry in seconds.
"It is not he, but I, who have been the fool. Leave it, Gordon, for I shall not see him again and you have other things to do that are much more important, I am sure." She spoke through hiccups and sobs, her face buried in her hands.
When Sir Gordon refused to leave the subject until she had told him all, he discovered the news of the juicy tidbits in the Times.
"Grandmamma has surely done this. Rothburn would not, I am sure." Sir Gordon was beginning to see his grandmother needed a strong setdown. "This is probably retaliation for my threat to her purse strings."
"Of course my mother is responsible for the nastiest tidbit in the paper, but the other had to be Rothburn's work. He denied it, of course, but he looked too innocent. You know how he can be when he's hiding something. He should have consulted me before putting such an item in the society column. I'm mortified beyond words by the whole thing."
As she realized what he had just said, she changed topics immediately. "What about her purse strings?"
"If she interferes in your wedding plans I will cut off her trust."
"Oh, you could not. Surely, she has other funds."
"No. She does not. What Lord Champlay has is not enough to keep her in the grand style she covets. I see I will have to speak with her again."
He bowed to the ladies and took his leave, saying, "I regret that I find I cannot take you riding after all. I must see Grandmamma at once, before she does further damage."
* * * * *
When Sir Gordon arrived at the Champlay townhouse, he was in a fit of temper and not alone. Both Lady Eleanor and his aunt had insisted on accompanying him, though he had protested hotly, not wanting his betrothed exposed to his harridan of a grandmother.
Eleanor had argued she would have to meet the lady sooner or later, and there was no reason to prolong the inevitable. The party was met in the foyer by a very surprised butler who beamed at Lady Alana with pride and ushered them into the small salon to await the pleasure of their hostess.
"Are you sure it is Milady you wish to see Master Gordon?" The butler remembered well how his mistress had reacted to the other gentleman's visit—and being certain that her grandson was on a similar errand—wanted to be assured that he had heard correctly.
"We are certain it is my mother we wish an audience with, Sutherland." Lady Alana spoke to the old butler with gentleness, having known him all her life and being quite fond of him. "Also, please bring us some refreshments, as I
'm sure my mother will not order them herself."
She then grinned at the retainer, who grinned back in understanding.
When the butler returned to say she would not see them at all, Lady Alana responded they had ample time to camp in her mother's parlor until she consented. "We shall be here awaiting her pleasure. I'm sure cook will prepare a generous menu for dinner, should it become necessary."
Having said what needed saying, Lady Alana removed her shawl and gloves, kicked off her shoes and sat near the hearth. The other's followed suit and before long they were lounging in comfort, enjoying the good Port and the cozy fire. They were served cook's finest pastries and tea and sat for nearly an hour before Lady Grace deigned to join them.
Lady Eleanor was not as comfortable as her companions about forcing Lady Grace to attend them—after all, she was not yet a relative.
She stared at her shoeless feet with amazement, for she had never done such a thing in her life, but surely it was needed in order to support her good friend and her betrothed.
She had not removed her gloves, being too conscious of the proprieties to go quite that far. A pair of slippers, after all, could be put back on quickly if necessary. She couldn't help asking, "How long do you think she'll keep us waiting?"
"She won't be much longer, I'm sure." Sir Gordon consulted his timepiece and settled back in his chair. "If she doesn't appear soon, we'll simply stay for dinner. She'll have to come down here sooner or later."
"Don't be so sure of that. My mother is a stubborn woman and she could keep to her rooms for days. I may have to beard the lioness in her den, so to speak." Lady Alana looked at the ceiling as she spoke, a smug expression crossing her features.
"No one in this house would dare try to prevent me seeing my own mother, regardless of her wishes." She then stretched her feet to the fire and wiggled her toes at the flames in contentment. To all appearances, she was enjoying herself immensely, as indeed she was—the winning cards were all in her hand. Having dealt them herself, she had no fear of besting her parent, and looked forward with some relish to the interview.
Her mother would soon learn that she had overstepped herself just once too often and her daughter would not tolerate such interference again. It did help that Gordon held his grandmother's purse strings, a surefire way to draw her to a halt.
* * * * *
Rothburn drove his curricle at a mad pace over the Brighton Road toward London. For two days he had been out and about, visiting friends in the country, trying to keep himself away from thoughts of the very stubborn, very lovely woman who had crushed him totally.
Of course, he had thought of nothing but her for the entire time and had quit a house party in midday, telling his surprised host he had forgotten a business appointment and needed to return at once to London.
Determined to see Lady Grace and give her the setdown of her life for interfering in his affairs, he then would seek out the lady who held his heart. He intended to demand Lady Alana have faith and trust in his word, or else they would be finished. Satisfied that he had set his course in the right direction, Rothburn never thought for a moment that Alana would not fall into his arms with all speed once he had made his demands.
* * * * *
"Well, I see you have all availed yourselves of my hospitality quite nicely." Lady Grace entered the room, leaning heavily on a cane, the awkwardness of her gait telling that she had never used it before. It was a ploy on her part to gain sympathy, though she should have known she would receive not one whit of compassion from this trio.
"It is my understanding that you have refused to leave my house." She looked from one face to the other, her narrowed eyes full of anger and frustration. "Well then, I am here to tell you. Get out. All of you."
"Grandmamma, your graciousness and manners are just what they should be, all things considered, but I think not." The sarcasm of Sir Gordon's speech appeared not to have touched Lady Grace.
The knight sank back in his chair, eyeing his relative with disgust. "You doubtless know why we have come and I'm sure that Rothburn delivered my letter the other day, so leave off with your tiresome attempts to oust us before we have had our say."
The Countess stomped to a chair, leaving off pretence of using the cane to aid her and sat abruptly. She looked at her daughter and curled her lip, saying, "I have met the scoundrel you propose to waste your life with and I can tell you now you will never get my blessing,"
Interrupting with a haughty snarl to her own lip, Lady Alana overrode her mother in a calm voice. "I care not for your blessing, Madam. I have not come for that." She glanced at her nephew, his cue to finish for her.
Clearing his throat, Sir Gordon leveled his grandmother with a stern gaze, but said nothing. The Countess looked back at him and the unspoken delivery of his earlier message lay between them. He then turned his eyes back to his aunt and nodded at her, giving back the reins.
"Mother, you have put an article in the paper that has a vicious connotation and I would have a retraction in tomorrow's paper." She raised a hand to stop the other woman speaking. "No, do not attempt to deny it. I know perfectly well it was you, for I can think of no other who would have cause to do such a thing. I'm sure that it would embarrass you no end were I to put a rejoinder in the times, naming you as the perpetrator. Then we would see just how well you are received in society."
"Do your worst, you ungrateful chit. I have no notion of what you say and I will be sure to retaliate in kind should you be so foolish as to attempt to malign me publicly."
"As you have done to me?"
"You are a stupid girl and know not your place. I would see you wed to a man who is not a bounder, a rake hell and a—a—" Lady Grace stumped for further insults, face red with anger, drew to a halt as double doors opened and Sutherland announced Lord Rothburn.
The object of her tirade appeared in the doorway. She lifted hands to her chest as though she had pain there. Her face paled as he looked at her with such venom that for the first time in her life she was frightened.
"Countess Champlay." Rothburn, not seeing the others as his gaze was directed solely to the old woman, bowed shortly and came further into the room, saying as he came toward her with a purposeful stride, "I read the papers, as do all my friends and I wish you to know I have spread it about that you are the author of the smear upon myself and your daughter."
He turned at the sound of an intake of breath, and noticed there were others in the room. His face went from anger to pain and settled somewhere in between at the sight of Lady Alana seated by the hearth.
"It will do you no good. I will simply deny it and tell everyone you have done it yourself for spite, since I would not countenance your suit." Lady Grace braved it out, bluffing her opponent with a voice that quivered only slightly, though her heart raced at his renewed look of rancor.
"I think not, Lady Grace. I think not. I have come from a visit with my old friend Prinny. He was not amused to discover your maliciousness and has sent me with a message for you."
Though Rothburn had not actually visited with the King, she had no way of knowing this and her heart quaked at the thought of incurring royal displeasure. She slumped in her chair, defeated, staring with hatred at the man who had bested her, as promised. "What is the message?"
"Well, let me see—" Rothburn thought furiously, trying to pull together what he thought Prinny might have said to such a thing, while appearing to draw out the suspense and antagonize the old woman at the same time. "He said to tell you, Madam, that such behavior has been known to cause court exile and he would not countenance further displays from you of a detrimental or devious nature."
Having spoken and seeing his words sink into his opponent's consciousness quite nicely, Rothburn then turned his attention to Lady Alana. His voice strong and stern, he asked, "Would you accompany me in the garden for a moment? I have something to discuss that cannot wait."
He then walked to his quarry and put his hand out to lift her from the chair
, which he did with ease, for Lady Alana appeared to be in a trance as she stared at his implacable visage. Placing her hand upon his arm, he strolled with her from the room, nodding to his good friend and Lady Eleanor with a solemn cast to his features. "Afternoon, Gordon, Eleanor. We'll be back shortly, I'm sure."
When they had gone, Lady Grace, Countess of Champlay, sat staring at her grandson with a furious expression, her eyes boring into him, hoping to intimidate. "You have threatened what is mine, Gordon. Do you think I will sit still for this?"
Sir Gordon stared in return. "Grandmother, to be sure you will if you value your status in society, and the allowance that keeps the food on your table and the clothes on your back."
Though it did not sit well with him to deal so heavily with her, he knew only a very strong stance would quell her mischief in future. Sir Gordon consoled himself—what he did now was best for all. "I have control of your purse, as you well know and will not hesitate to beggar you should I need to. You have ridden roughshod over your family long enough. A retraction—prettily phrased—will appear tomorrow and you can rest assured Rothburn will bring your words to the attention of the Crown. Therefore, I advise you to be astute in your apology. Very astute."
Lady Grace rose from her seat with care and groped for the cane, her use of it now a reality as her legs were weak and wobbly beneath her. She went to the small desk below the portrait of herself as a young girl. "I will sketch the damnable thing now for your approval. Will that serve?"
She did not look at him, her voice was a low growl. Though defeated, she was too proud to comply without at least some show of defiance. "When I have finished here, I want you all out of my house at once."
"As you wish, Madam. I will be only too happy to quit your parlor and your presence, as soon as you have done as I wish." Sir Gordon kept his features carefully blank.
This unsavory business—threatening an old woman, no matter she deserved it—he liked not at all. No matter she'd otherwise do worse harm. No matter she was his own flesh and blood.
A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) Page 20