Lord Kane's Keepsake

by Sandra Heath

  “Well, if it isn’t the famous Miss Rutherford. Allow me to introduce myself—”

  “I already know who you are,” Emma interrupted, conscious of an immediate feeling of intense and implacable dislike for this ravishingly beautiful but unpleasant creature.

  “Ah, yes, no doubt your dear brother told you yesterday.”

  Emma said nothing. She wished she knew what all this was about, but no doubt she would soon find out, for the countess was not the sort of woman to be coy about speaking her mind.

  Raine smiled coolly. “Well, you aren’t quite the provincial mouse I’d been led to expect, but you’re not exactly the hothouse bloom either, are you? I’ve no doubt that the London atmosphere will soon prove too much for you.”

  “Really? And why should it?”

  “Because you quite patently haven’t the slightest notion of how to go on. Put you at a hunt ball, and no doubt you’d shine well enough, but a London gathering is something else. You’ll make a hash of being Lady Kane, if you get that far.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Come now, surely you know that Gerald’s grandfather is against the match? Oh, don’t be fooled by the Keepsake, for it signifies nothing, and can be taken back as easily as it is given. The old earl doesn’t want you in the Fitzroy family, my dear, and what he wishes becomes law.”

  Emma stared at her, but then, quite suddenly, Raine’s lovely eyes softened, and she looked beyond her victim toward someone else.

  “Why, Gerald, I was just introducing myself to Miss Rutherford. She really is quite sweet, is she not?”

  Gerald took Emma’s arm and began to draw her away.

  Raine smiled. “Surely you don’t mean to cut me, sir?”

  “Good evening, Raine.”

  “I commend you on your choice of bride. And as to the Keepsake, well, it really is quite charming that you should present it so early in the proceedings.”

  “The proceedings are hardly in their early stages, Raine, for the business is entirely settled, as I think you already know.”

  “Is it, Gerald? Are you quite sure of that?” Raine murmured, giving him another sweet smile and then flicking her sheer silk skirts aside as she walked past him.

  He immediately turned Emma to face him. “What did she say to you?”

  “Nothing that I would wish to repeat.”

  For a long moment he searched her eyes, and then he relaxed a little. “Keep her at a distance.”

  “I mean to.” She longed to ask him about Raine, but somehow she just couldn’t. There was something going on about which she knew nothing, but others seemed to know a great deal. With part of her heart she wished to find out what it was, but with the other part she preferred to remain in ignorance. One thing disturbed her very much, however, and that was Raine’s warning about the Earl of Cranforth’s attitude toward the Rutherford match. Was he really opposed to it?

  The thought still occupied her as Gerald led her to rejoin Lord and Lady Castlereagh to ascend the staircase. She was introduced to more and more people, and a bewildering succession of names washed over her, but all she could really think about was whether or not Gerald’s grandfather approved of her as the next Lady Kane.

  They were delayed in the anteroom, and then in the inner lobby on the next floor, but at last they mounted the narrow staircase that led to the tier of boxes containing that taken by Lord Castlereagh. A passage lay behind the row of mahogany doors that gave onto the boxes themselves, and there was a doorman to usher them inside. As they entered, the noise of the auditorium itself seemed to suddenly leap at Emma, startling her a little. There was a loud babble of voices, and the orchestra was now playing Haydn, a dashing piece that rippled brilliantly over the theater.

  The auditorium was horseshoe-shaped, with three tiers of gray-fronted boxes resting on slender golden columns. Gray partitions separated the boxes, so that the occupants could not see their neighbors, and the seats were light blue, but otherwise the predominant color was pink.

  High above, the ceiling was painted to resemble a temple dome, and just beneath it were the alcoves containing the highest seats of all, where servants were pressed uncomfortably together. Down below there was the pit, known as “Fops’ Alley” because it was there that the gentlemen of fashion displayed their persons, lounging elegantly, talking in loud tones, rattling their canes, and snapping their snuffboxes open and closed.

  On the stage, a partially lowered gold-fringed curtain made of crimson velvet revealed a fully lowered canvas drop curtain depicting a temple dedicated to Shakespeare. Bright lamps illuminated everything, including the orchestra, in its well just before the stage.

  The appearance of Lord Castlereagh’s party caused another stir, and Emma was careful to keep her eyes lowered as she sat in the blue chair Gerald drew out for her. She felt as if the Keepsake was brighter even than the lamps on the stage, drawing all attention to her, but she was still preoccupied with the Earl of Cranforth. If he was against the match, it would surely become clear tomorrow afternoon when Gerald took her to Cranforth House to meet him.

  The two ladies were soon seated, but before the gentlemen joined them, something in the pit caught Gerald’s attention. He touched Lord Castlereagh’s sleeve. “I say, Robert, do you notice anything odd down there?”

  “Odd? In what way?”

  “The fifth row back, about halfway along. Do you see that piece of paper that is circulating?”

  Emma sat forward, peeping over the edge of the box. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper being passed from person to person. Each gentleman read it carefully, nodded at the one who’d passed it to him, and then gave it to his neighbor on the other side. And so it moved along the row, and at the end was passed to the row behind, where it proceeded from person to person in the same way.

  Lord Castlereagh’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “What is it, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, but I fancy it signifies trouble in the offing. I know that there is a great deal of resentment about the inflated prices being charged for this rebuilding.”

  “A planned demonstration, d’you think?” murmured Lord Castlereagh.

  “It’s possible. If anything happens, I think we should beat a prudent retreat straightaway, don’t you?”

  “Agreed,” Lord Castlereagh replied, glancing down at the intriguing piece of paper once more, and then taking his seat.

  Gerald sat down as well, and then smiled reassuringly at Emma’s rather alarmed expression. “Don’t be anxious, Miss Rutherford, for we will show a very clean pair of heels if anything starts.”

  There were only a few minutes to go now, and the orchestra prepared to play the songs made famous by Madame Catalini. An air of expectation passed through the audience, and there was less conversation and laughter as everyone prepared for the rising of the curtain.

  No one in Lord Castlereagh’s box was aware of the door opening softly behind them, or of the silent entry of a tall, elegant gentleman with a black velvet patch over one eye. He was about thirty-five years old, lean, and coldly good-looking, with his fair hair combed back from his high forehead.

  The patch concealed his left eye completely, but the other was dark and shining, like that of a cunning dog. He wore the same formal evening clothes as both Gerald and Lord Castlereagh, and he paused just inside the box, surveying the occupants without their knowing he was there.

  Emma suddenly sensed his presence, and turned with a quick gasp to find his gleaming eye upon her. There was something so speculative and calculating in his gaze that her heart missed a beat, and it was not an agreeable sensation. She was immediately on her guard, disliking him as intensely as earlier she had disliked the Countess of Purbeck.

  Chapter Eight

  Gerald heard her gasp, and looked sharply behind. In a moment he was on his feet, his eyes very hard and cold as he faced the intruder. “What do you want, Avenley?” he demanded tersely.

  Emma stared at the newcomer. So this was t
he infamous Lord Avenley.

  Lord Castlereagh had also risen to his feet, his expression less than welcoming when he realized who had entered the box. Lady Castlereagh’s lips parted in dismay, and she busily employed her fan, her eyes determinedly averted to the stage, to avoid any possibility of having to acknowledge a gentleman who was quite obviously not a friend.

  The moment Gerald had risen, Lord Avenley tore his glittering gaze from Emma and sketched him a rather contemptuous bow. “Kane.”

  There was nothing amiable in his manner, indeed everything about him suggested that his sole purpose was to cause mischief of some sort. Stephen’s opinion of him echoed in Emma’s ears. He’s a splendid fellow, friendly and agreeable. To Emma’s mind, Lord Avenley was none of these things.

  Suddenly his single bright eye was turned upon her again. “Miss Rutherford, I presume?”

  “Sir,” she replied coolly, for she liked him less and less with each passing second.

  He smiled, glancing at the Keepsake. “Ah, the seal of approval, no less,” he murmured.

  Gerald stiffened. “Why have you come here, Avenley? The theater is hardly your usual haunt.”

  “I abhor the theater, Kane, but occasionally there are attractions to be viewed.” Again Lord Avenley’s eye was fixed solely upon Emma.

  “Avenley—”

  “Kane, I pray you not be so damnably touchy, for I mean no offense. I merely wish to make the acquaintance of your bride-to-be. Is that so heinous a crime?”

  Lord Castlereagh endeavored to take the sting from the situation. He went to the door of the box, holding it pointedly aside. “I’m sure you have other things to do, Avenley,” he murmured.

  Lord Avenley gave him the thinnest of smiles. “I trust you mean to defend your honor where Canning is concerned, my lord, for if you do not, then I fear I shall lose a rather large wager.”

  “Please leave, sir,” Lord Castlereagh replied, a nerve flickering at his temple.

  Lord Avenley bowed to him, and then to Emma. “Farewell for the moment, Miss Rutherford, but I am sure that you and I will meet again. I will be sure to tell your brother that we’ve met, for I shall be seeing him at my club in Pall Mall in about …” He took out a golden fob watch, glanced down at it, and then closed it with a snap. “About half an hour,” he murmured, then turned and left.

  Lady Castlereagh breathed out with relief. “Oh, what an odious, odious reptile that man is,” she muttered, still employing her fan to full effect.

  Lord Castlereagh put his hand briefly on Gerald’s arm. “Pay him no heed, Gerald, for he simply isn’t worth it.”

  “That is easier said than done.”

  “It’s past, and should remain as such.”

  “Maybe, but it’s unresolved past,” replied Gerald.

  Emma glanced from one man to the other. What were they thinking about? She remembered what Stephen had said concerning the dealings between Gerald and Lord Avenley. They despise each other, it’s a well-known fact. It was something that she now knew to be true, for their mutual loathing had been almost tangible.

  She looked toward the stage, her thoughts moving on from Gerald and Lord Avenley to the now disagreeable realization that Stephen had lied about his activities tonight, and had gone to Lord Avenley’s exclusive private gaming hell!

  Gerald resumed his seat next to her, and now leaned a little closer. “I must ask you to forgive that unpleasant interlude, Miss Rutherford.”

  “The only thing that was unpleasant was the presence of Lord Avenley, Lord Kane,” she replied.

  “I trust you now understand to the full why I advise you so strongly to do all you can to steer your brother away from him.’’

  “I understand to the full, sir, but I fear that so for my pleadings have fallen on the stoniest of ground. Stephen gave me his word that he was merely an onlooker at the club, but now that I have found him out in a monstrous untruth about his whereabouts tonight, why should I believe anything he has said to me?”

  “Miss Rutherford—”

  Whatever Gerald may have been about to say to her remained silent, for at that moment the orchestra began to play the opening bars of Madame Catalini’s best-known song, and the canvas drop curtain was raised to reveal the renowned singer standing in the center of the stage. A burst of approving applause drowned her first notes, but then the audience fell silent, its attention fully upon the shimmering bejeweled figure of the world’s most famous prima donna.

  Madame Angelica Catalini was possessed of an extremely rich and powerful voice, and this, together with her penchant for wearing scarlet and diamonds, made her very impressive, indeed almost intimidating. Audiences adored her, but behind the scenes she was known to be a grasping, temperamental virago, much given to fits of rage and jealousy.

  She sang with a constant smile on her face, even in tragic roles, and it was murmured that this was entirely due to her satisfaction with the huge sums she could demand for her services. The management of the new theater was rumored to have paid her an exorbitant amount for her present contract, and this had added to the general public displeasure about the new prices that had been imposed.

  As she launched wholeheartedly into the song, there came the first hint that a disturbance had indeed been planned, just as Gerald and Lord Castlereagh had feared. It began in the pit, where the circulation of the mysterious piece of paper had apparently primed the gentlemen to begin a demonstration. They erupted into a cacophony of noise, stamping their feet, whistling, and shouting, while some of them waved banners, blew whistles, and even produced some drums to beat.

  There was absolute uproar, and it wasn’t long before the trouble spread to the rest of the theater, for missiles began to rain down from the alcoves near the ceiling. Rotten tomatoes and eggs pelted the stage, a snow of torn-up programs fluttered in the air, and someone even threw an old boot, which landed on the stage at Madame Catalini’s feet.

  The singer faltered, for even a voice as powerful as hers could not hope to be heard above such a din. For a moment she was too nonplussed to do anything but stand there, but then her Latin temperament boiled over, and she waved her fist and launched forth into a torrent of Italian abuse, which Emma guessed to be anything but ladylike.

  Gerald and Lord Castlereagh were already on their feet, as were many gentlemen in the boxes, for the new Covent Garden theater was suddenly no place for their ladies. The boxes were emptying quickly, and as Gerald took Emma’s hand to lead her along the passageway toward the inner lobby and the staircase, there was such a crush of departing theatergoers that they became separated from Lord and Lady Castlereagh. The grand staircase was a positive melee, and still there was no sign of the Castlereaghs, who seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

  Emma caught a glimpse of the Countess of Purbeck, her geranium tunic dress a vivid splash of color in the vestibule, but then she too vanished from sight in the press. Gerald managed to retrieve their outdoor garments from the cloakroom, and then he and Emma emerged beneath the portico into the cold night air, where a mist had begun to creep across the city from the Thames.

  The line of carriages was in some chaos, for few of the coachmen had expected their services to be required just yet. The footmen were calling out the names of the ladies and gentlemen who were leaving, and various vehicles endeavored to maneuver toward the steps. Gerald looked around for any sign of Lord and Lady Castlereagh, but they were nowhere to be seen, and their carriage was not there either.

  Someone touched Gerald’s sleeve suddenly, and they turned to see Lord Yarmouth. “I say, Kane, are you looking for Castlereagh?’’

  “Yes, have you seen him?”

  “He and his wife have already left, I fear. La Purbeck approached them a short while ago, to tell them she’d seen you both leaving with someone else. She said that Miss Rutherford was close to the vapors on account of the riot.”

  “Did she, indeed?” Gerald murmured.

  Lord Yarmouth drew a long breath. “No doubt it’s Raine
’s notion of an amusing jape.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Look, I came in my carriage, but I’ve just been invited to go on somewhere with friends. I was about to send my vehicle home, but you and Miss Rutherford are most welcome to use it, for I am sure you wish to escort her safely home.”

  “I would indeed, and if you’re quite sure you don’t require the carriage yourself, I’d be most grateful,” Gerald said.

  “Oh, I’m quite sure, Kane. Come with me, and I’ll show you where it is.” He led them down the theater steps toward the line of vehicles, halting when they reached a particularly handsome maroon barouche.

  “Just send it back to my address in Seamore Place when you’ve finished with it,” he said, holding the door open himself so that Gerald could assist Emma inside.

  She took her place on the mustard velvet upholstery, shivering a little, for the evening was very cold, and then she glanced out at the brightly lit facade of the theater. Why had the Countess of Purbeck done something so petty and spiteful? What did she hope to achieve?

  Beside the barouche, Lord Yarmouth and Gerald were speaking for a moment.

  “I’m in your debt for this, Yarmouth,” said Gerald.

  “Think nothing of it, Kane. Besides, I think that you and I are about to see a great deal of each other in the next few days.’’

  “Because of Castlereagh?”

  Lord Yarmouth nodded. “He’s my cousin and I know him well enough to realize that he can’t possibly let this Canning business drift. He’s too proud a man for that, and so I think he’ll issue a challenge.”

  Gerald drew a long breath. “I think you’re right.”

  “He’ll ask us to be his seconds, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s a rum do, and no mistake,” murmured Lord Yarmouth. Then he turned to Emma, doffing his tricorn and bowing. “Good night, Miss Rutherford.”