Oh heavens! Cecily smiled brightly at the first footman. “Peters, could you please bring out the white wine? I think it will complement the salmon brilliantly.”
Looking flustered, he nodded. “Of course, my lady,” he said and left quickly.
“This sauce is simply sinful,” she added in an attempt to get past Flavion’s slight to both Lord Blakely and his cousin.
Stephen scowled at Flavion, as did Lord Blakely. Rhoda grinned at her entrée. Emily grimaced painfully toward Cecily. Even Emily was aware that this conversation was not exactly normal.
“Lord Blakely,” Rhoda interjected. “How did you come to be acquainted with Mr. Nottingham? Did you meet during your travels?”
“We’ve been close mates since school, of course,” Lord Blakely said cordially, “but came to know each other even better during his engagement to my sister.”
Stephen stiffened, compressing his lips with a soft grunt, and Cecily would swear he suppressed a groan. This was obviously not one of his favorite subjects. If they, by the grace of God, managed to make it all the way through this dinner without two or more of the participants breaking out into fisticuffs, she would be surprised. And grateful. She would be ever so grateful.
Judging by the expression on Lord Blakely’s face, Cecily realized that it must have been his sister who had caused the rift between Stephen and his cousin all those years ago. And apparently, Lord Blakely did not appear to have been happy with Flavion’s treatment of the lady in question.
“And how is Lady Corinne?” Flavion asked Lord Blakely.
“Lady Corinne is now Lady Hartley, and she fares very well, thank you, at her husband’s principal seat near Surrey.”
“Does your sister have any children?” Rhoda asked, apparently gleeful in the undercurrents traveling between Flavion and Lord Blakely.
Marcus did not look at Rhoda when he answered. Instead, his glare sent daggers flying toward Flavion’s end of the table. “She has three delightful little girls, Miss Mossant,” he answered gratifyingly, “aged seven, four, and an infant.”
Which, after some quick mental math on Cecily’s part, was a very revealing statement indeed.
It had been nearly eight years since Stephen left England.
Flavion had been carrying on with Lady Corinne for a few months after that.
Lady Corinne had been lucky to find a husband so quickly.
Flavion did not look up from his food.
So… Flavion had planted a cuckoo in another man’s nest. No wonder Lord Blakely was not very pleasant toward Flave. It was a miracle he endured Flavion’s presence at all. She wondered what other little secrets Flavion might have tucked away. Suddenly the idea of cuckolding him was not as diabolical as she’d thought.
Stephen pushed his plate away from him but continued to hold his knife. It was a rather sharp knife. Belatedly, Cecily wondered if she ought to have allowed her guests to be given such sharp objects.
Shortly after the white wine was poured, the mostly empty plates of salmon were removed.
The third course was a peppered roast beef. It went quite well with the red wine that had already been served. The guests dug into this course with a purposeful enthusiasm, most likely fueled by a strong desire to finish the entire meal as quickly as possible.
And then there was the herb-crusted fowl. And the delicately breaded shrimp. And then the citrus garnished venison… By the time dessert was taken away, the various faces about the table were either flushed or pale.
Every drop of wine was consumed.
It was as though a great sigh of relief spread through the room when Cecily rose to indicate that the ladies retreat and prepare to leave for the night’s entertainment. She nearly tiptoed out of the room. It felt, after all, as though she were navigating her way through a theater of war, moments before the trumpet sounded.
TWO CARRIAGES WERE brought around to transport the small group the relatively short distance to the Theatre Royale on Drury Lane. The gentlemen rode in one while the ladies followed in the second. By the time the ladies alighted from their carriage, the men already awaited them on the carpet leading into the theatre. The footmen assisted both Emily and Rhoda out, but Stephen leaned in when it was Cecily’s turn.
Taking advantage of a moment of privacy, Stephen clasped Cecily’s hand in his and looked at her with concern. “Are you holding up all right?”
Cecily rolled her eyes heavenward and exhaled loudly. “That, by far, has to have been the most dismally uncomfortable dinner party ever hosted. Why ever would you invite Lord Blakely when he and Flavion are at such odds with each other? Not that any of this is your fault, really. But good heavens, I never thought to discover proof of my husband’s fertility while hosting a dinner party.”
Stephen’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know she had a child, Cecily! Marcus never told me.”
The innocent look on his face was convincing enough for Cecily. How could she not believe him?
“And,” Stephen added, grasping her hand and assisting her onto the pavement, “it’s not every dinner party where the hostess casually admits to nearly drowning her husband’s mistress.” The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, but the rest of his face remained impassive.
Cecily was beginning to comprehend that Stephen Nottingham had a sense of humor. He simply didn’t want anybody else to know about it.
She gave him a wry, sidelong glance. “Talk about farce…” And then they joined the rest of their party and began to make their way into the theatre.
Cecily had forgotten about the very public kiss Stephen had given her earlier that day.
The gossips had not.
As accustomed to being on the receiving end of vicious gossip, she immediately sensed something different. The women, of course, would never look upon her with approval, but dared she believe she saw a hint of respect along with their general disdain?
And something was different amongst the male members as well. An… interest that had been absent before this evening.
Stephen grasped Cecily about the waist and steered her quickly through the lobby as they ducked through a gauntlet of raised eyebrows and lascivious sneers. Once in Flavion’s private box, the gossipmongers were only slightly easier to ignore. Cecily sat in the back, between Stephen and Flavion, and Lord Blakely was flanked in the front by both Emily and Rhoda.
Cecily was thankful that they had not arrived much earlier. It had taken more than a little courage to stride through the lobby with her chin held high, as though the gossip around her was of no matter. And she was going to have to get used to this!
But of course, after the divorce, she would eventually be shunned altogether. And then she would have no need to worry about what the ton thought at all.
The thought was both freeing and depressing. She would not have imagined she would feel the latter.
She pulled out her opera glasses and made a show of looking below at the gathered crowd and then over into other occupied boxes. Every seat was full. This production had received glowing reviews, and tonight’s performance was obviously sold out.
As unobtrusively as possible, she surveyed the people around her.
Of course, Miss Cunnington was present. She appeared to be a guest, along with her mother, in the box directly across from theirs. Cecily noted with a very small, very tiny amount of satisfaction that the lady’s eye appeared to have been blackened. She had attempted to cover the bruises with face paints, but Cecily knew where to look, and thereby noticed what somebody else perhaps might not.
Stephen, ever the protector, was observing their surroundings as well. When he leaned back comfortably into his seat, Cecily could feel the heat of his body all along her right side. On her left side where Flavion sat, she felt nothing.
Why should a woman’s body respond so differently to one man’s than to another’s?
Stephen leaned over to her and whispered, “Marcus’ parents are here. He hasn’t spoken with them in years.”
&
nbsp; “Where?” Cecily said, giving into the spirit of people watching completely.
“Two boxes to the left,” he said without pointing or looking. “Marcus’ father betrothed him to a friend’s daughter years ago. Since she was in the nursery, in fact. Of course, Marcus refuses to give in to his father’s wishes. The standoff has gone on for over five years now.”
“Poor Lord Blakely,” Cecily said. “Do you know who the lady is?” She liked that Stephen shared secrets with her. This was how she had imagined having a husband would be. His cologne was the same and yet different. Perhaps the texture of his clothing changed the scent of it. It had smelled warmer last night… in her bed…
“I do not. Although I gather she is one of his father’s friends. Could be the young chit in the box with them, for all I know. In fact, that’s a distinct possibility.”
Cecily glanced over slyly. “Oh, but she is lovely. Why won’t he come up to scratch?”
Stephen laughed. “Would you wish to marry somebody merely because you were ordered to do so?”
At that, Cecily laughed as well. “Well… when you put it like that…” She smiled and then pointed out another box as discreetly as possible. This one was filled with what looked to be very prominent looking nobility. “Oh, look, Sophia is in the Duke of Prescott’s box beside Lord Harold. I do hope he realizes how lucky he is to have her company this evening. Sophia missed my utterly magnificent dinner party to instead mingle with such lowly personages as his and her grace and whatnot. Poor, dear Sophia.”
Rhoda turned around to capture Cecily’s attention. “Cece,” she mouthed and then gestured with her fan to a suite across and over, “that is the colonel’s daughter.”
But Stephen had understood as well.
As had Flave.
The lady was quite lovely and appeared to be seated in between her father and mother. And then the father caught sight of Flavion.
Without removing his eyes from Cecily’s husband, the man stood and made his excuses to the ladies before stealthily exiting the private box. He obviously had some urgent business to attend to.
Cecily looked over at Flave and saw more than a little concern beneath all of his bruises and swelling. He quickly stood up and, without making any excuses, abruptly departed as well.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cecily noted that Miss Cunnington, having seen Flavion exit, was sneaking out of the back of her box. Cecily leaned back and wondered at the drama that might take place in the lobby…
Lord Blakely purposefully ignored his father, the duke, and gave both Rhoda and Emily an inordinate amount of attention.
As the lights were doused, Cecily reached over and, without thinking, grasped Stephen’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he laced his fingers through hers and then rested both of their hands in her lap, amongst the folds of her dress. She wished she could tilt her head and rest it on his shoulders. In darkness now, the day’s events would finally catch up with her.
The curtains were drawn to reveal a mystical castle scene. An actor stepped out, Bernardo, of course. “Who’s there?” he cried out…
Cecily let her eyes droop shut as the actor’s voices soothed her muddled mind.
STEPHEN WAS TORN.
A part of him, an old familiar part, urged him to follow Flavion and make sure his cousin made a quick enough getaway to evade the colonel. The colonel had looked murderous. Unlike Miss Cunnington’s father, this man could in no way be described as feeble. Based upon what Stephen knew of the colonel’s military accolades, Flave did not stand a chance if the man challenged him to a duel.
The other part of Stephen wasn’t feeling so very loyal to his cousin. The only person who could possible save Flavion at this point, was Flavion. Sure, Stephen’s money and some of Cecily’s dowry were helpful, but Flavion had need of something altogether different, something he had neglected for a great part of his life. He had need of honor.
And no amount of money could purchase this.
Thinking of honor made Stephen somewhat ill-at-ease about the bargain he’d made with Cecily. It also made him a little less comfortable about the fact that she had fallen asleep and her head now rested upon his shoulder. He knew she’d fallen asleep by the deep even rhythm of her breathing. Smiling, he thought about how deep of a sleeper she had proven to be the night before. He wondered what it was going to take to awaken her when it came time for intermission.
Except he didn’t want to awaken her.
Again, that protectiveness emerged strongly for a lady he ought not to have strong feelings for whatsoever.
He still held her hand in his, tucked into the silky material of her dress.
Her hand felt fragile and soft and… trusting…
Odd that she could trust him so much in some matters but continued to keep other affairs from him.
He would have preferred knowing where she’d gotten off to that afternoon. Stephen watched the stage, not really following the story, as Hamlet’s characters came to life. What was she keeping from him? If she told him, did she not think that he would act in her best interest?
And then the thought occurred to him. Regardless of their bargain, she thought he would consider firstly, Flavion’s interests. He’d adamantly told her that he would do anything to aid and abet the only flesh and blood relation he had left. He’d told her about his uncle… He’d told her more than he had thought…
Did she have some more money tucked away, protected from Flavion? Was that what she hid? She had trusted Flave, and he’d taken her money and then betrayed her. Did she think that he, Stephen, would do something similar? By God, he would never do anything to help his cousin get his hands on her personal funds!
Considering her lack of protest at the spending limitations, Stephen began to believe this might be the case. And if she had funds tucked away, it was likely she had a man of business who handled it for her — or for her and her father. And if there was a man of business working for her father, that person would know of any instructions her father had left to his employees regarding his daughter and her newlywed husband.
Of course, Thomas Findlay would no more leave his daughter unprotected than he would allow one of his ships to sail without a captain.
No sooner had this thought taken shape when Cecily turned sleepily and let out a soft moan. Luckily a great deal of action was taking place on stage at that moment, and the other members of their box did not seem to hear her.
She had tucked herself quite cozily into his side, forcing Stephen to release her hand and place his arm around her shoulders. As he did so, he silently wished the armrest to perdition.
Without even considering where they were, his fingers began drawing small circles on the soft, delicate skin at the top of her arm. Her sweet, feminine scent was difficult to reconcile with the girl who’d been flinging mud in the Serpentine earlier that day.
Why was he so drawn to her? Was it because she was Flave’s wife, or was it more complex, more fateful than that? If he had met her anywhere else, away from London, would he have felt this same irresistible pull? He tried to imagine any situation where she would not capture his attention immediately, but could not.
Perhaps it was simply her.
Which, had it been the case for anybody else, he might have considered it something of a farce. Except facing such an untenable situation himself, it rather felt more like a tragedy.
CHAPTER NINE
THE REMAINDER OF the evening, thankfully, was comparatively uneventful. Marcus insisted on relaying both Emily and Rhoda in his carriage to their respective homes, leaving Stephen and Cecily alone for the short ride back to Nottinghouse.
Flavion had not returned to the theatre, nor his box.
Once deposited in the Kensington Coach, Cecily leaned back lazily and stifled a yawn. “I cannot believe I missed most of the production. And I had been so looking forward to it.” Stephen sat across from her, but did not recline; instead, he looked rather proper and formal. “Did you enjoy it?”
“But you said you’d read his works in school,” Cecily reminded him. “You quite possibly understand more than most.”
“In school,” Stephen began tentatively, “the study of Shakespeare devolved to that of what was most interesting to the imaginations of adolescent boys.”
Cecily felt her brows furrow and then mentally relaxed her eyes. She did not wish to cultivate wrinkles before she was thirty, after all. “And what was that?”
Again, that twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Well, Shakespeare sneaks in some interesting concepts… interesting to curious lads, that is.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Cecily was intrigued. As a married woman, she was privy to much more stimulating conversation than she had been as a debutante. “Give me an example.”
“I oughtn’t,” Stephen said.
“Oh, pish!” Cecily rejoined. “Come now, I’m not an innocent anymore. I won’t be offended.”
Looking out into the darkness beyond the window, Stephen let out a long sigh and then slanted his gaze toward her. “Often words have two meanings. One of Shakespeare’s favorites was ‘nothing.’”
“Nothing? So, besides the obvious, what is the secondary meaning?”
Without taking his eyes off her, he spoke in a deadpan tone. “In Elizabethan times, the word was also used to indicate a lady’s very private attributes.”
As comprehension dawned, Cecily covered her opened mouth with one hand. “Oh, that is scandalous! Tell me another!”
“To this day, I think it is one of Shakespeare’s finest qualities. The fact that there can be so many different interpretations of his writings. Most of polite Society is none the wiser and perhaps they are the better for it.” Stephen grinned at her, and his eyes twinkled. “Perhaps it was just us lads. Our minds were in such low places. We could not help but find innuendo in the Bard’s words. As a horde of randy youths, I’ll imagine you can guess that there was a great deal of snickering during classroom readings.”
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 14