by Jane Feather
Sylvester's mind whirled. To go to London. To face the turned shoulders, the raised eyebrows, the whispers.
To face them and face them down. Either that or he must hide out in this backwater for the rest of his life, waiting in dread for his dishonor to catch up with him. Waiting in dread for his dishonor to be revealed to his wife. Without a wife… without such a wife as Theo… he could have lived with his private shame, as he had done for the last year. But now it was different.
Neil Gerard's face, as it had been at the court-martial, rose in his mind's eye. Neil had averted his gaze, and Sylvester had assumed it was his friend's embarrassment. Gerard couldn't in honesty clear his old friend's name, so he was evasive. And Sylvester had read his own guilt in that evasion and had turned his own head aside to spare Neil further discomfort.
He'd avoided Neil after the court-martial. The one occasion they'd met, his erstwhile friend had given him the cut direct in public, and he hadn't been prepared to court a repetition of that mortification. Like the coward he'd been labeled, he'd fled the scene of his shame. But how long was he to go on in this fashion?
"Lord Stoneridge?" Elinor's soft voice broke into his reverie. She was looking puzzled, and he realized he'd been silent for a long time.
He rose to his feet, crossing to the sideboard to refill his glass. "It wouldn't hurt that ramshackle hoyden to acquire a little town bronze, ma'am," he said with a smile.
Elinor laughed. "My thinking exactly. So you'll open Belmont House for the Season."
"I bow to your judgment, Lady Belmont. But I think I'll leave you to persuade Theo. I don't see her embracing the idea with enthusiasm – she's too wedded to Stoneridge and its affairs."
"Very true," Elinor said briskly. "But her sisters will be most persuasive, and as long as we have your support…" She stood up, drawing on her gloves again.
"You have it for what it's worth," he said wryly.
"Then I'll go and tackle her at once."
Sylvester bowed his mother-in-law from the library and then stood in frowning thought, wondering what he'd let himself in for. Theo would wonder why her husband was a social pariah. She would hear the rumors…
If only he could remember what had happened that day at Vimiera, if only he could prove the rumors false once and for all. There had to be another explanation for what had happened. And there had to be a way to discover the truth.
Chapter Seventeen
"Launching three gals in one Season is quite an undertaking," Countess Lieven observed as the barouche drew up before a tall house on Brook Street.
"But only one of them requires a husband," Sally Jersey pointed out, gathering her parasol and reticule together.
"Well, it's to be hoped they're not farouche," the countess declared with a lift of her narrow nose as she stepped out onto the pavement. "Living in the country all these years."
"I can't imagine any daughter of Elinor's being in the least objectionable," Lady Jersey said with her usual good nature. "I'd be quite happy to supply vouchers for Almack's without meeting them."
"Yes, well you do have an unfortunate tendency to take things on trust," her companion said sharply. "We have standards to maintain, must I remind you?" She ascended the short flight of steps to the house behind her footman, who ran up from the barouche to knock on the door. "And what do we know about this young Fairfax?"
"Perfectly unexceptionable Dorsetshire family," Sally told her. "It's not a great match but an eminently respectable one… a love match, as I understand it."
"I don't know what gets into gals' heads these days," Countess Lieven sniffed. "Marrying for love, indeed. At least the younger one did the sensible thing, marrying Stoneridge."
The door opened, and Lady Belmont's butler bowed deeply at the august visitors. The footman returned to the barouche as the ladies were admitted.
Countess Lieven looked around the square hall with a critical eye before pronouncing, "Remarkably tasteful for a hired house."
She moved in stately fashion to the wide, shallow staircase, her companion bustling somewhat less elegantly on her heels. "Why do I have a feeling there was some scandal attached to Stoneridge?"
"Oh, it was nothing," Sally said. "Some military matter… no one gives such things a thought."
"I feel sure Lieven said something," the countess muttered.
"Yes, men are much more concerned with such matters," Sally declared. "Quite unnecessarily so, I would have said."
"I've never cared for Lavinia Gilbraith… an overbearing woman," the countess pronounced. Sally privately reflected that when it came to overbearing, her fellow patroness of Almack's had few rivals; however, she merely said pacifically, "I don't think that should affect our view of the Belmont girls."
"Yes, well, we shall see." The countess wafted through the double doors of an elegant salon as the butler threw them open, announcing the newcomers in discreet accents.
There were quite a few visitors in Lady Belmont's salon, a gratifying number, considering that London was still thin of company at the start of the Season. Elinor put such flattering attention down to the novelty of her daughters. It would certainly explain the cluster of admiring young men at her first "At Home." But it didn't fully explain the group of men of her own generation, gathered beside the fireplace. She was too levelheaded to consider her own charms might have something to do with the attention. If she remembered being one of society's beauties during her own debutante season, leaving many a languishing suitor when she'd married Kit Belmont, it was a fond and passing reflection, swiftly dismissed in favor of more pertinent matters.
Emily and Clarissa were sitting with their mother on a sofa, Edward perched in proprietary fashion on the arm next to his betrothed. Elinor rose and hurried forward to greet her visitors, followed by Emily and Clarissa, their eyes demurely downcast in anticipation of this vital introduction.
"Elinor, my dear, how wonderful it is to see you," Lady Jersey said with genuine warmth, embracing her old friend. "How could you have hidden yourself away all these years? You've been sadly missed, you know? Isn't that so, Countess?" She turned for corroboration to Countess Lieven, who bowed and gave her habitual frosty smile.
"Indeed," she said, extending her hand. "Sadly missed."
Elinor shook hands briskly, not in the least awed by the intimidating countess. "Allow me to present my daughters." She drew Emily and Clarissa forward and glanced surreptitiously at the clock, wondering where Theo was. She'd promised to be here to meet the patronesses, and she was not one to break promises, however little she might relish the occasion.
Even as she wondered, the door opened and Theo came into the room with her swift stride, bringing the freshness of the September afternoon in her wind-pinkened cheeks and bright eyes, wisps of raven hair escaping from her beribboned chip-straw hat and drifting over her forehead.
"Mama, forgive me for being late." She crossed the room, taking her mother's hands in both hers and kissing her. "We went to Richmond to ride this morning, and it seemed to take a very long time to get back."
"Allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Stoneridge," Elinor said. "Theo, dear, Countess Lieven and Lady Jersey."
"How do you do?" Theo said, extending her hand to each in turn, smiling with her usual frank and easy informality. "I do hope you're going to approve of me."
Lady Jersey smiled, but the countess looked distinctly put out. "Do come and have some tea," Elinor said hastily, moving her guests farther into the salon. "Theo, is Stoneridge not with you?"
"Yes, he's just coming. He took the curricle to the mews himself," Theo explained. A slight frown touched her eyes. In the week since they'd arrived in London, Sylvester had been remarkably reluctant to participate in the Season's social functions, although he'd insisted that Theo accompany her mother and sisters everywhere. She wasn't sure what he did while she was out and hadn't felt able to ask. Their conversations these days tended to be those of polite acquaintances, except when they were making love, and words
played little part in those still glorious exchanges. Ironically, Theo found she missed the challenging edge to their relationship; it was as if a spring had been broken somewhere.
On the drive here from Curzon Street, Sylvester had been distracted, even irritable, and had set her down at her mother's door, saying curtly that he would take the curricle to the mews himself, though he had a perfectly competent tiger for such tasks.
Putting the puzzle from her mind, she went to greet Edward while Emily poured tea for Countess Lieven and Lady Jersey, and Clarissa hovered attentively.
"You're supposed to be doing the pretty with your sisters," Edward said in an undertone as Theo came up to him.
She grinned and murmured, "Emily and Clarry can do very well without me. I couldn't give a tinker's damn if the dragon ladies don't approve of me."
"You are wicked," he said, unable to restrain his answering grin. His eyes went with fond pride to his betrothed, who was looking particularly charming in pale sprigged muslin, her soft brown hair threaded with apple-green ribbon.
"You know something," Theo said thoughtfully. "I believe the Earl of Wetherby has a tendre for Mama. Have you noticed how he's always at her side?"
"He and Bellamy," Edward said, watching the gentlemen in question as they bent solicitously toward Lady Belmont.
"Yes… oh, here's Stoneridge." She turned to the door as her husband entered. He really was a very imposing figure, she thought, surprised by a flash of pride. His coat of dark-blue superfine and pale-blue pantaloons showed off the power of his shoulders and the muscular strength of his thighs; his cravat was simply but gracefully tied, and he wore only a single fob at his cream waistcoat. The restrained elegance of his appearance was in marked contrast to the younger men in the room, sporting wasp waists and impossibly high starched cravats. Even Edward had succumbed to the elaborate cravat, although he'd never be seen dead in a wasp waist or a violently striped waistcoat.
Sylvester stood for a moment on the threshold of the salon, steeling himself for whatever reception he was about to receive.
Despite his resolution to face up to his first social occasion, in the week since they'd arrived, he'd managed to avoid events like this. He'd escorted his wife to the theater, he'd ridden with her in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour, but he'd not visited any of his clubs, and he'd not accompanied Theo on any of the visits she'd made with her mother as Lady Belmont picked up the threads of her old life, or to the rout party they'd all attended at Carlton House. But he hadn't been able to avoid this afternoon's informal "At Home," designed to introduce the Belmont girls to the most important members of the ton, without offending his mother-in-law and puzzling his wife.
His eyes were hard, his mouth taut, as he looked around the salon, recognizing faces among the older contingent, although most of the young sprigs were unknown to him.
"Stoneridge." Elinor came to greet him, smiling warmly. "I'd almost given you up. You're acquainted with Countess Lieven and Lady Jersey, of course."
"Of course." He bowed to the ladies, receiving a frosty nod from the countess and a smile from Sally Jersey. The chill of the countess's reception didn't trouble him, since it was her customary greeting to all but her intimates.
"And I'm sure you know Lord Wetherby and Sir Robert Bellamy. And I expect Viscount Franklin is an old army colleague." Elinor smilingly indicated the group by the fire, her gesture encompassing the five men she hadn't mentioned by name.
There was a silence. An almost palpable touch of ice in the warm room. Theo stared at the men, who as one swept her husband with a disdainful stare as he bowed, his features carved in granite. He made no attempt to cross toward the group, and not a hand was extended in greeting.
Theo saw the telltale muscle jump in Sylvester's cheek; then he turned and strolled over to the window, where he stood alone, his arms folded, the gray eyes hard as iron, a peculiar twist to his mouth. In astonishment she glanced up at Edward. His expression was stricken. Lord Wetherby suddenly broke the silence, addressing a careless observation to the viscount. A teacup clattered in a saucer.
Without conscious decision Theo marched across the room to the window, the skirt of her cambric driving dress swishing around her ankles. "I don't believe I've made the acquaintance of Viscount Franklin, Stoneridge. Won't you introduce me?" She slipped her hand in his arm, smiling up at him, her eyes brilliant with fiery purpose. She almost pulled him around toward the fire, turning her blazing countenance on the men who'd insulted her husband.
"Do you care for tea, Stoneridge?" Emily's clear tones rang across the room. "Unless you'd prefer claret. I know how you enjoy a glass at this time of day."
"I'll ring for Dennis," Elinor said calmly, reaching for the bell-pull. "Gentlemen, do you share my son-in-law's tastes? Or are you content with tea?" Her smile as she addressed them could have frozen hell's fires.
"Try one of these macaroons." Clarissa snatched up a plate from beneath the wandering hand of Countess Lieven and brought it over to her brother-in-law. "They're your favorites."
He was suddenly surrounded by Belmont women, the center of their attentions, ministering to his needs and his wishes as if he were the sun to their earth. It reminded him of a pride of lionesses protecting an injured cub. Mortification that they should witness his humiliation warred with gratitude. They didn't know what was behind the insulting reception he'd been given, but it seemed they didn't care.
"Viscount Franklin, were you also in the Peninsula?" Theo addressed the viscount, her arm securely linked in Sylvester's. The viscount, an upstanding gentleman of some thirty-eight summers, resplendent in his regimentals, quailed before the rage in the young countess's purple eyes. Her little white teeth flashed in her sun-dappled face, but it was the smile of a shark closing in on her prey.
Viscount Franklin had fought all his military battles in the political corridors of Horseguards and had never faced an enemy on a battlefield. He cleared his throat, and his booted feet shifted on the carpet. "As it happens, I haven't had the good fortune to serve overseas, countess."
"Oh, really." Theo raised an eyebrow. "Good fortune seems an odd choice of words, sir. I'm sure my husband and Lieutenant Fairfax would describe it differently." Her predator's smile swept the rest of the group. Edward, who'd moved from his perch to stand beside Stoneridge in his own gesture of solidarity, looked embarrassed and muttered something about the honor of his country.
Not a flicker crossed Stoneridge's impassive expression, but the irony of the situation struck him with full force. Theo had no idea what lay behind this ostracism, yet in her eagerness to defend him, she'd hit the target full square.
The viscount seemed at a loss as to how to respondto the countess's dripping sarcasm. His eyes drifted involuntarily to Edward's empty sleeve, the slashing scar across Lord Stoneridge's forehead.
Lord Wetherby broke the uncomfortable pause. "I understand you've acquired Melton's breakdowns, Stoneridge," he said stiffly.
Sylvester didn't bat an eyelid. "Yes, for a steal." He took a glass of claret from the tray that had miraculously appeared at his elbow. "But I'm also looking for a well-mannered pair for Lady Stoneridge to drive." He glanced down at Theo, who, having achieved what she'd set out to achieve, was looking pensive. Her hand was still firmly tucked into his arm, however, and he had the conviction she wasn't about to abandon him to the wolves again. Just in case he couldn't defend himself.
"Are you going to drive yourself about town, Theo?" Edward said, moving the conversation along general lines.
"Stoneridge has agreed to acquire a curricle for me," Theo responded. Her gaze swept the circle with a distinct challenge. "I trust that doesn't shock you, gentlemen?"
"You're to be commended for your skill, ma'am." Sir Robert bowed.
"Well, I trust I shan't overturn it," she returned, her smile now mischievous, bearing no relation to the fire and ice of a minute ago.
"If there was the slightest danger of that, my love, you wouldn't be driving it," Sylveste
r said blandly. "But I have complete faith in your ability… to do anything you set your mind to," he added, and a glint of humor touched his hard expression.
Before Theo could respond, a piercing voice behind them announced, "Stoneridge, there's something I most particularly wish to remind you about."
"Rosie, whatever are you doing here?" Startled, Theo turned to her little sister, who was regarding the earl intently from behind her glasses. A hair ribbon had come undone, her muslin dress had grass stains on it, and she was holding a jam jar, the palm of one hand carefully over the opening, presumably to prevent whatever it contained from escaping.
"I've just come back from the square garden with Flossie. We were gathering specimens, and Dennis told me you and Stoneridge were here," Rosie explained earnestly. "And I thought I'd take the opportunity to remind him that he'd promised to take me to Astley's at the earliest possible chance. I was wondering when that would be." Her round eyes remained fixed unwaveringly on her brother-in-law.
Sylvester laughed, and a ripple of amusement ran around the circle by the fire.
"Rosie!" Elinor had just noticed her youngest child's unconventional arrival and came hurrying across the room. "You're not supposed to be in the drawing room this afternoon. Look at you." She gestured in some chagrin to the child's appearance. "And whatever have you got in that jar?"
"Don't ask, ma'am," Sylvester said, still chuckling. "But I beg you to excuse her – she had a most urgent question for me."
"Oh, dear." Elinor sighed. "What was it?"
"About Astley's," Rosie told her, spreading her fingers slightly over the top of the jar and peering between them. "I hope it hasn't escaped. It's a stick insect, and it's very difficult to see if it's still there or not."