Featherbrain though Letty might be, she was an accomplished hostess, as was proved by the guests whom she commanded. Maddy’s gaze moved restlessly through the rooms, but even the exquisite Brummel was beneath her notice. Wilmington had not as yet arrived.
Alathea swept by, on the arm of a young man who could only have been described as an Adonis, fair-haired and with a profile of breathtaking purity. Maddy considered her cousin’s expression to be entirely too triumphant, and thought that Alathea would have been wise to be guided by her mother in matters of dress. In color, Alathea’s gown was unexceptionable; white was considered quite suitable for young girls; but, despite Letty’s protests, the concoction was festooned lavishly with rouleaux of pink satin. The plump Alathea resembled nothing so much as an unpruned rosebush.
Immensely cheered by this observation, Maddy tamed to Kenelm, who was glowering in a most inhospitable way at his guests. Maddy was aware of the source of her cousin’s discontent, for her enforced seclusion had brought her into close contact with him: of all things Kenelm loathed social functions, yet his absence from his mother’s grand rout could only give rise to unwelcome comment. Therefore, Kenelm had no choice but to attend.
“You are excessively glum this evening,” Maddy commented, watching as Alathea flirted outrageously with her Adonis, who had a military air. “I hope I am not to take your sentiments to reflect upon myself!”
“Shockingly bad form,” growled Kenelm. Maddy glanced at him, startled, but he was frowning at his sister. “I do not know why Mama invites the attentions of that simpering fop! The world knows him to be an arrant fortune-hunter, but she will have him besotted by Alathea. I do not know who is the greater fool.”
Maddy thought it prudent to ignore this remark, and allowed Kenelm to escort her through the crowd. “I must confess I’m terrified!” she whispered. “My aunt has told me so many things I must not do that I dare not do anything at all.”
“That is a common problem for those who wish to make a place in Society,” Kenelm replied with a marked lack of sympathy. “Books on etiquette are invariable bestsellers, and are devoured voraciously by snobs and social climbers.” He was undeterred by Maddy’s dismayed exclamation. “I see you are unaware of the countless ramifications of polite behavior. Let me elaborate: it is quite proper to ask your doctor to dine, but never his wife. And it is permissible to entertain the vicar at the family table, but you must never offer the curate more than a glass of wine before sending him about his business.”
Maddy wondered, astutely, if Kenelm’s ill temper was prompted by the fact that this evening, at least, he was prevented from viewing the object of his affections. She experienced strong curiosity concerning the fabled Clemence, and wished very much for a glimpse of that damsel. The actress must be alluring, indeed, for Kenelm had abandoned his clubs to haunt the theatre where she appeared, and had even, on one memorable occasion, forgotten a wager in the heady bliss of receiving a smile from that blue-eyed miss. Even his inventions had been abandoned, to his mother’s delight, for Letty still had no notion of what had caused the change in her headstrong son’s character. Maddy had been privileged to view the results of her cousin’s particular genius, and had been most stricken by an apparatus designed to prevent snoring, with straps that passed around the chin and over the head, thus making it impossible to open one’s mouth. Though the device had been used most successfully by the late Mr. Jellicoe, Letty remained unappreciative of her son’s talents, for her first glimpse of her husband in this remarkable apparatus had sent her into strong hysterics.
In view of Kenelm’s dour mood, Maddy was relieved to be left in the company of her aunt. Alathea soon joined them, and Maddy was privileged to meet the incredibly handsome Captain Adrian Huard. She had no way of knowing if he truly was a fortune-hunter, and his manners were of the best, but she felt his attentions to Alathea were much too particular. She was surprised that her aunt made no protest.
Having already been engaged in several dances, Maddy was glad enough to take a seat by Alathea and survey the illustrious individuals among whom they found themselves. Her satin slippers may have been very fashionable, but they were also exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Kenelm appears to be in a very black mood,” Alathea remarked. “I doubt his actress is of a tractable nature.” Maddy glanced quickly at Letty, but her aunt, deep in conversation with a haughty lady whose hair was an improbable shade of yellow, had not heard. “But then Kenelm is definitely unlucky. Were he not more fortunate with the cards than in general, he would surely be ruined.”
Maddy stared at her cousin, but Alathea’s expression was bland. Her attention was focused in a most improper way on Captain Huard, engaged with another young lady on the dance floor. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Why, that he is singularly ill fated,” Alathea replied with marked disinterest. “All manner of accidents befall Kenelm. I suppose we should consider him fortunate in having survived. He was also a sickly child, but he’s long outgrown that. Mama once asked him if he had an enemy who wished to end his life, but you know what Mama is.”
Maddy, surprised, turned to look for Kenelm. She did not see him, but her glance brushed that of a tall raven-haired gentleman who was staring at her with marked intensity. Maddy blushed and quickly looked away.
“Who is that man?” she whispered to Alathea. “The one who’s staring so rudely?”
Alathea, indiscreet at best, craned her head. “Lord Bechard!” she replied, for once in suitably low tones. “I cannot imagine what he sees in you, and it is pointless anyway, for Mama would never countenance such a connection. He has a shocking reputation, and is also the leading aspirant to the favors of Kenelm’s actress.”
“Alathea!” Maddy wasn’t inclined to explain that her brief inspection of Lord Bechard had not inspired her with the tenderer emotions, but with curiosity. “How would you know that?”
“They place bets on such matters in the clubs.” Alathea frowned at the far end of the room. “He’s said to be a very unpleasant man, fond of innocent young ladies whom he may despoil, and they also say Kenelm’s actress has taken his fancy to an alarming degree. Look! There’s your precious Wilmington.”
Maddy thought that her aunt had not proved successful in guiding either Alathea’s tongue or behavior into young lady-like ways. Her cousin rose to better view the newcomers. “Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson!” Alathea exclaimed. “I am surprised that she would appear here, for she loathes Mama, but there is no telling what Mathilda will do. She is said to be quite eccentric.” Maddy had only a brief glimpse of a stunning creature dressed in a gown of black lace shot with traceries of yellow and ruby silk. “But,” Alathea admitted grudgingly, “she is of impeccable lineage, and her presence can only add distinction to a rout. Mama will be thrilled.”
Indeed, Letty had hurried to offer the newcomers an effusive welcome. Maddy was possessed of a burning curiosity to learn more of the flame-haired woman who enjoyed the Earl’s attentions.
“Mathilda and the Earl were betrothed at one time,” Alathea continued, “but she broke it off, and both of them married elsewhere. Dominic Tyrewhitte-Wilson died over a year ago in a hunting accident, but Lady Wilmington’s death was a great deal more mysterious. Some say she killed herself, but others believe the Earl murdered her.” Alathea studied the subjects of her discourse. “I wonder if they have now resumed their liaison. It’s said he’s cast off his gypsy mistress since she’s returned to town.”
This information sent Maddy’s spirits plummeting to accountable depths. “You cannot be serious,” she protested. Mathilda Tyrewhitte-Wilson was not serious competition, but it did not suit Maddy’s notions to have the Earl a murderer.
* * * *
Tilda was not unaware of the sensation caused by her appearance. It was not an uncommon reaction; though she did not aspire to the ideal of feminine beauty, Tilda had only to enter a room for heads to turn. Her height was a partial cause of this phenomenon, as was her fiery hair, but eve
n Tilda’s enemies could not deny that she had a style uniquely her own.
“Letty Jellicoe has outdone herself,” she murmured, and gazed nearsightedly upon the crowded room.
Tilda’s companion surveyed her appreciatively. It was appropriate that matrons, and Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson averred that her advanced years must delegate her to this category, clad themselves in lace and embroidery in shades of black and white; but Tilda’s black lace gown was not only shot with color, its neckline was cut scandalously low. Only those as well acquainted with the niceties of feminine attire as was Lord Wilmington might guess that beneath this stunning creation Tilda wore very little at all. Around her slender neck hung a huge diamond pendant set in heavy Roman gold.
“Barbaric,” murmured the Earl, “and magnificent. You are going to arouse a great deal of envy in many virginal breasts.”
Tilda smiled. “Trying to turn me up sweet?” she inquired. “There is no need. I do not mean to quarrel with you tonight. You are my escort, after all, and I am not so rag-mannered.”
“Have you considered,” the Earl inquired, “how your reputation must suffer for this?” Tilda idly noted his unusual seriousness. “Agatha cannot have thought; the gossips will link your name with mine.”
“To my discredit?” Tilda smiled vaguely at an old acquaintance. “Nonsense! What can they say but that I am your latest flirt?” She grinned. “And that can only add to my consequence, for you are known to be a most discriminating gentleman.”
“Are you so determined to be thought dashing?” The Earl took her arm. “The gabble-mongers might say a great deal worse of you.”
“They may say what they please,” Tilda retorted. “It is not like you, Micah, to be so concerned with propriety.”
“Propriety?” Micah laughed, bringing upon them even more speculative glances. Wilmington was not a man given often to mirth. “My dear girl, half the people here are now convinced that I mean to seduce you.”
Tilda shrugged. “I do not care for that.”
“On the contrary,” remarked the Earl, “you would enjoy it excessively.”
Tilda refused to rise to this bait, and merely awarded her companion a twinkling look. In full evening regalia, Micah was so fine that he not only drew the eye of every unattached young female present, but aroused the warmer emotions in the breasts of more mature ladies who should have known better. The Earl wore a corbeau-colored double-breasted dress coat with covered buttons, a white single-breasted waistcoat, and cream-colored kerseymere breeches, and Tilda, under no circumstances, intended to let him know that she considered his appearance the most splendid in the room. Micah had been smothered with feminine adulation since the moment of his birth. Tilda suspected they dealt so well together simply because she had long ago demonstrated her immunity to his not inconsiderable charm.
“Palaverer!” she murmured. From long experience, Tilda knew it prudent to place little importance on the Earl’s more outrageous remarks. He was adept in the art of flirtation; his exploits in the field of amorous dalliance were legendary, despite his dangerous reputation; and it had been a very long time since he had cherished any emotion stronger than friendship for her. All the same, it was pleasant to make such a successful reentrance into Society, on the arm of one of the town’s most notorious gentlemen, and in a gown that even Agatha, after her initial shock, had agreed would render its wearer most satisfactorily conspicuous.
They made their way through the multitude. Had Tilda not cherished few illusions about her contemporaries, she might have been overwhelmed by the welcome she received; but she knew that much of this attention was due to her unexpected escort. She glanced at him, but the Earl wore his habitually sardonic expression. “Letty has managed to lure White’s select inner circle to her daughter’s come-out,” he remarked. “I wonder how she accomplished it.” Since no lady who valued her reputation would dare be seen passing that select gentleman’s club during the afternoon hours when its elite membership displayed itself so advantageously, he kindly explained the famed bow-window set. “Brummel, of course, and the Duke of Argyll, along with Alvanly, Sefton, Worchester, and Foley.” He paused. “I do not see Poodle Byng, Sir Lumley Skeffington, or Golden Ball Hughes.”
“How I should love to observe them!” Tilda’s eyes danced. “I doubt they deign to look down upon those lesser folk who pass beneath them.”
Micah smiled. “You shock me, Tilda! And continue to delight me, as I have said before.”
“Then you are an oddity,” Tilda parried. “I am generally considered shockingly outspoken. Paugh! Like Caro Lamb, I should have been born a boy.”
Micah spared a glance for the object of that unconventional young woman’s affections, for Letty had persuaded even Byron to attend. No social affair was considered a success without the poet’s brooding presence. “That would have been a great pity,” he remarked. “Come, Tilda, I realize you are angry with Agatha for forcing you to attend this dull affair, but you shall not convince me that you do not enjoy being the cynosure of all eyes.”
Tilda gave voice to her husky laugh, thus drawing even more attention to them. “We’ve set tongues to wagging, I fear, with our apparent enjoyment of each other’s company. Where is the chit that has filled Agatha with such enthusiasm? Introduce her to me, so we may make our excuses and depart. I confess a livelier curiosity concerning this actress who’s become the rage, and I shall hold you to your promise to escort me to the theater. What is it they call her? La jeune fille aux yeux bleus?”
“The girl with the blue eyes,” drawled a voice from behind them. “You must not imagine that she is another Madame Vestries, my dear.”
Tilda turned and extended her hand; the speaker bent over it in a most gentlemanly way. His cold eyes lingered on the heavy pendant at her throat. “Alastair!” she exclaimed. “I did not expect to see you here. Are your pockets so to let that you must avoid your clubs?”
Lord Bechard acknowledged this palpable hit by a tightening of the lips. There were few who would dare speak to him in such a manner, but he was well acquainted with Tilda, having been an intimate of her late spouse, and knew there was little she would not dare. “I leave you speechless, I see,” Tilda commented with satisfaction. “It has long been an ambition of mine.”
“And an unworthy one,” remarked Lord Bechard. “I am glad to see you so well recovered from Dominic’s death.” His glance at Micah was not without significance. “It was a grievous blow for those of us who were his friends.”
“Cry peace,” Micah interjected, thus drawing two pair of eyes, one indignant and the other coolly amused, to him. “This is not the place for the renewal of your hostilities. Have you met the guest of honor, Alastair?”
Lord Bechard’s cool glance swung to where Maddy was in animated conversation with a brown-haired youth, aloof in both demeanor and pose. Although many found Lord Chesterfield too haughty to be a comfortable companion, Tilda was fond of Agatha’s grandnephew, and suspected that Lionel’s awareness of his consequence was a result of succeeding to his title at an absurdly early age. For any young lady to attract Lionel’s disdainful attention was a signal honor. Tilda considered Agatha’s reaction should her grandnephew choose to upset her plans.
“It is a pleasure,” Lord Bechard replied, “that I anticipate. The chit bears a marked resemblance to her mother.”
Tilda thought the gentleman’s tone held a note of pique. “You know the family?” She scented mystery.
But Lord Bechard was not inclined to continue the discussion. He awarded Tilda a glance that made her seethe with rage, then turned his attention to the Earl. “Lady Henrietta Whipple was the ruling belle of her day, and created quite a scandal when she ran off with a penniless younger son.” He inspected Maddy through his quizzing glass. “The girl cannot hold a candle to her mother. I observe that she already holds Chesterfield in thrall.”
Tilda glanced at her companion, curious to see if, as Agatha had implied, this girl had succeeded in sparking some emotion
in the Earl’s jaded breast.
Micah’s countenance expressed only boredom. “This is not the first young lady to so affect Lionel,” he commented. “Nor do I expect her to be the last.” The Earl had long been an influence on Lionel, though this interest had been at his godmother’s insistence, and not of his own inclination. Catching Lionel’s eye, he signaled imperiously.
Maddy allowed herself to be escorted to the Earl and his companions, and hoped her features didn’t reveal the conflicting emotions that she felt. Mathilda Tyrewhitte-Wilson was even more attractive at close view than she had been from afar, and Maddy found herself instinctively resenting this tall and ethereal creature with the soft brown eyes and curling red hair. “You must allow me to call on you,” Tilda said. “Agatha also asked to be remembered, and I was to tell you that she will make every effort to see you again as soon as she recovers from her infirmity.”
“It is very good of the Duchess, and you,” Maddy murmured, at her most demure. “I trust that she is not seriously ill.” She thought, with some chagrin, that even the light freckles scattered across Tilda’s nose didn’t detract from her undeniable beauty.
“Not at all,” Tilda replied, with a kind smile. “She merely suffers from overfatigue, and assures us that she will be herself again in a few days’ time.”
“I told her how it would be,” Lord Chesterfield remarked, “but she was determined to persist in this racketing about the countryside.”
“Ah,” interjected Micah, “but with what happy results! Not only has Agatha restored Tilda to us, but she was instrumental in delivering the dazzling Miss de Villiers to London.” He treated Maddy to a bewitching smile. “We must not scold Agatha for her impetuousness, but express our gratitude instead.”
Tilda might be immune to flattery, but one glance was sufficient to assure her that Miss de Villiers was not. The girl’s mischievous glance indicated that the Earl’s remarks had not been misunderstood.
A Banbury Tale Page 6