Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 02]

by One Night of Scandal

  ‘You are correct, as always, Clarrie,’ she said, slumping on to the window seat and propping her shoulders against the panelling in a deplorably hoydenish manner. ‘It was a silly plan. I shall forget about it and go to dress for Lady Sally’s ball. What do you do this evening?’

  ‘I shall sit here and compose advertisements for the newspapers,’ Mrs Aintree said calmly. ‘They will read: Mrs Prim requires new post as a lady’s companion. She is utterly unable to cope with the demands of her current place and requires a quiet life with a sober, respectable, elderly lady.’

  Deb laughed and hugged her. ‘You know that you would not care for a quiet life, dear Clarrie! You would miss my hoydenish behaviour. Come now, confess it. You would be quite lost without me!’

  But as she went upstairs to dress, Deb reflected that it would not do to dismiss Lord Scandal quite yet. She had not completely relinquished her plan and, unless some other gentleman came forward, he was all that she had. An arrogant reprobate…Deb paused with her hand on the banister. She knew one such man already and if it were not for the fact that she doubted he ever read the local press, she would have sworn that Lord Scandal bore a strong resemblance to Lord Richard Kestrel. That was impossible, of course. Even if he did read the Suffolk Chronicle, Lord Richard would surely never respond to an advertisement.

  At any rate, it did not matter, for she would not take Lord Scandal up on his offer. Soon she would have any number of respectable responses from which to choose and in the meantime she would go to Lady Sally’s ball and greet Lord Richard Kestrel with a cool composure that would soon depress his amorous intentions. It was a good resolution, but she could not help wondering, with a little shiver of premonition, whether she would be able to keep it.

  Chapter Six

  Promptly at nine, the carriage from Midwinter Marney Hall drew up on the gravel sweep outside Saltires. None of the occupants of the coach was in a particularly sunny mood. Olivia and Ross had been sitting in a simmering silence for the entire journey. Deb was torn between exasperation with them and a most unfamiliar nervousness on her own account. She felt as shy and awkward as a débutante at her first Assembly. In consequence she chattered even more than usual, until Ross had brusquely suggested she save her energies for the dancing. The silence had then become even more strained and it was with relief that they arrived at Lady Sally’s ball and made their way under the arched portico and into the hall.

  Many of Lady Sally’s guests had already arrived and the air was thick with perfume and the scent of fresh flowers. The sound of a string quartet tinkled in the background and servants passed unobtrusively through the throng, offering glasses of champagne and lemonade.

  ‘We have only an impromptu dance tonight, my dears,’ Lady Sally said, as she ushered them through into the Great Hall. ‘Society in the Midwinter villages seems sadly lacking these days, with Lord and Lady Newlyn gone to Cornwall on their honeymoon and the Duke of Kestrel and his brother up in London—’

  ‘Richard Kestrel is gone to London?’ Deb enquired. She felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. ‘I thought that he had promised to be here tonight.’

  ‘No, it is not Lord Richard who is absent,’ Lady Sally said, laughing. ‘Justin and Lucas Kestrel are gone, as you know. Richard remains in Midwinter for the time being.’

  Deb bit her lip, annoyed to have betrayed an interest. ‘Oh, how unfortunate,’ she said. ‘I keep wondering when he will be leaving.’

  Lady Sally viewed her face with shrewd amusement. ‘Would you prefer to exchange Lord Richard for one of his brothers, Deborah? A pity, when he told me that he was looking forward to dancing with you this evening!’

  Deborah set her lips tightly. Lord Richard had given her fair warning, after all. The prospect of crossing swords with him again filled her with a shivery anticipation.

  But even as she thought it, she saw Lord Richard through the crowd, chatting to Lady Benedict of Midwinter Bere. Lady Benedict was a most elegant woman and her exquisite gown of pale lilac with an overdress of pearl-sewn gauze made Deborah feel rather provincial in her own two-year-old rose pink satin. Lord Richard seemed very taken with his current companion and, although he met Deb’s eye and inclined his head with studied courtesy, he made no move to leave Lady Benedict’s side. Deb, who had never even entertained the idea of having a rival until that moment, and still less of feeling piqued if Lord Richard showed a lack of interest in her, was suddenly assailed by the alien emotion of jealousy. It seemed that in a short space of time she had begun to consider Lord Richard Kestrel her property. She stared at him for several seconds longer than she ought, saw him glance back at her with raised brows and realised that once again she had given her feelings away. She felt the red colour mantle her face and clash horribly with the pink satin dress. She turned abruptly away, wondering if she would ever achieve the town bronze that she desired.

  ‘Allow me to introduce you to Mr Owen Chance,’ Lady Sally said, smoothing over the awkward moment. ‘Mr Chance is but recently come to Woodbridge to visit his uncle and aunt, the Jacksons of Church Place. Mr Chance, may I introduce the Honourable Mrs Deborah Stratton from Mallow House?’

  Lady Sally smiled impartially on them and moved away to speak to some of her other guests, leaving Deb and Mr Chance looking at each other with a cautious friendship.

  Owen Chance was a well set-up young man of about five and twenty, with an open, friendly face and a laugh that came easily. It quickly became apparent that he found Deb a charming companion, and although Deb discovered that her attention was inclined to stray to Lord Richard Kestrel with the same predictability of a compass swinging to north, with concentration she could keep her gaze riveted on Mr Chance instead. They enjoyed two dances together, a quadrille and a country dance, by which time Deb’s card was starting to fill with other partners. Owen Chance then reclaimed her for supper in Lady Sally’s artfully decorated conservatory, and they had the opportunity of furthering their acquaintance.

  The conservatory had been decorated in a rustic style with coloured lamps hung from the ceiling and the water splashing into small rock pools amongst the greenery. Deb thought that Olivia should be in ecstasy to see such picturesque decoration, for horticulture was an interest that she shared with Lady Sally. Olivia, however, was still looking rather glum. As she chatted to Mr Chance, Deb watched her sister, who was taking supper with Mr Lang and his wife and daughter. The vicar was a thin man who looked as though he were sucking on vinegar, and his wife was a plump woman with an aggrieved expression. No one in the party appeared to be enjoying themselves.

  Ross Marney, in contrast, was dining with Lady Sally herself, and seemed to be having a splendid time. Deb noted that he filled his own and Lady Sally’s wineglass with abandon, and at one point it seemed he was about to commit the somewhat questionable act of feeding his hostess with strawberries from his own spoon. Deb felt a little chilled at the sight, and embarrassed to see that Owen Chance had also observed it. In her opinion, Ross was behaving disgracefully and, whilst Lady Sally was gently restraining his wilder excesses, something simply had to be done. Deb decided to tackle Ross about his deplorable conduct.

  Her opportunity arose when Mr Chance went to claim his cousin, Miss Jackson, for the polonaise, and Sir John Norton came to ask Lady Sally to dance. Deb was about to slip into Lady Sally’s vacated seat when she saw Richard Kestrel come across and have a word in Ross’s ear. Richard threw a smiling glance in Olivia’s direction, and Deb saw Ross smile ruefully in return, run his hand through his tousled dark hair and get to his feet. To Deb’s surprise, Ross then went across to the Langs’ table and gave his wife a very creditable bow. The two of them headed towards the ballroom and Lord Richard Kestrel, smiling slightly, came across to Deb’s table.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Stratton,’ he said, with a bow.

  ‘Good evening, Lord Richard,’ Deb said coldly. She had forgotten her earlier vow to rebuff him, but she did remember how elegant Lady Benedict had looked hanging
on his arm—and how pleased Richard had appeared to have her attention. Just the thought of it made her determined to freeze him.

  Richard gestured to the empty seat beside her. ‘May I?’

  ‘If you wish.’

  Richard sat. ‘Your tone implied that that might be in doubt, Mrs Stratton,’ he said, smiling sardonically. ‘I assured you earlier that I was looking forward to our meeting.’

  ‘So you did,’ Deb said, feigning nonchalance and hoping that she could carry it off. ‘I had forgot.’

  Richard’s smiled broadened and challenged the truth of her statement.

  ‘Indeed?’ he said. ‘And I am disappointed that you have not yet delivered the cut direct, but perhaps you are saving yourself for a particularly acerbic set down?’

  Deb smiled, despite herself. ‘I am sure that I can come up with a suitable snub,’ she said, ‘if you will just give me a moment. You took me by surprise, my lord. I thought that Lady Benedict was your companion of choice for the evening.’

  Lord Richard’s sardonic smile deepened. ‘I see. I hope that you felt suitably jealous, ma’am?’

  ‘Jealous? Not I!’ Deb said, with an airy wave of the hand. ‘It would be too much to expect you to confine your attentions to one lady.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’ Richard looked vaguely offended.

  ‘Of course,’ Deb said. ‘You are as fickle as the day is long, my lord. Everyone says so.’

  ‘You should trust your own judgement rather than the observations of others, ma’am,’ Richard said.

  ‘Oh, I do.’ Deb toyed with her glass, then looked up and met his eyes. ‘When we met this afternoon I told you that I considered you faithless and unreliable and downright dangerous—’ She broke off, realising that her tone demonstrated her feelings for him more clearly than any words. She looked down, vexed, and concentrated rather intensely on the leftover strawberries in the bowl.

  A second later, Richard’s hand covered hers and stilled her fidgeting fingers. ‘You should give me the chance to show myself faithful,’ he said. ‘You might be surprised.’

  Deb summoned up all her resistance. ‘I should be surprised,’ she said tartly. ‘Very surprised.’

  Richard’s grip tightened for a second. ‘Take a risk,’ he said softly. ‘After all, you also told me this afternoon that you were drawn to me.’

  Deb set her jaw. ‘I caught the measles when I was a child, my lord,’ she said, ‘but I recovered. It is in no way a fatal affliction.’

  The warmth in Richard’s gaze threatened to overset her.

  ‘It is not a flattering comparison, ma’am,’ he said, ruefully, ‘but I take your point.’

  His wry appreciation of her words made Deb feel ungracious. She almost apologised, but managed to stop herself in time. She cleared her throat and struggled to find a less personal topic of conversation.

  ‘I was about to ring a peal over my brother-in-law when you intervened in my place just now,’ she said. She frowned as she thought about it. ‘Whatever did you say to Ross, my lord, to send him hurrying to solicit Olivia for a dance?’

  Richard laughed and sat back in his chair. ‘Why, I merely told him that if he did not snap up his beautiful wife, some other man would be there before him. It works every time.’

  Deb looked enquiring. ‘What does?’

  ‘Challenging a man’s possessive instincts,’ Richard drawled. ‘As soon as your brother-in-law knew that I wished to dance with his wife, he was there to claim his own before I could approach her.’

  Deb smiled slightly. She could not help but admire his strategy and it had worked splendidly well for Olivia. One had to give Lord Richard credit where it was due.

  ‘It was most kind of you,’ she said. ‘They have been at daggers drawn all evening, so if you have manoeuvred a reconciliation I cannot but be grateful. At the least it spares me their bad temper in the carriage going home!’

  Richard laughed. ‘I am glad that I was able to be of service, Mrs Stratton,’ he said. ‘I would like above all things to see Lord and Lady Marney settle their differences.’ He touched the back of Deb’s hand lightly. ‘However, I assure you that I would rather spend my time with you than with any of Lady Sally’s other guests.’

  There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, but Deb hardened her heart to it. She smiled reluctantly. ‘You always speak very prettily, my lord.’

  ‘And you do not believe a word of it.’ There was a challenge in Richard’s voice, but beneath it Deb thought that she could hear an unexpected note of regret.

  ‘I believe one word in every two,’ she said, and saw him smile.

  ‘So you will not admit to jealousy, Mrs Stratton, and further you will not believe me when I say that I was suffering its pangs myself when I saw you with the charming Mr Owen Chance.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Chance is entirely delightful,’ Deb agreed, with deliberate obtuseness. ‘I am so glad that he has come amongst us. He is indeed an asset to Midwinter society.’

  ‘I rather doubt that,’ Lord Richard said with a whimsical smile. He glanced towards the ballroom door, where the tall figure of Owen Chance could be seen conversing with Lady Sally Saltire.

  ‘Did Mr Chance tell you about his profession?’ Richard continued.

  Deb raised her brows, slightly surprised. ‘Should he have done? We did not speak of matters so mundane as business, my lord. We were far too busy chatting on things that were more interesting.’

  ‘I see,’ Lord Richard said. ‘Well, perhaps he did not wish you to know. Mr Chance is a Riding Officer.’ He turned back to look at her. ‘And as such he is not welcome in many houses in these parts.’

  ‘Because people are too snobbish, perhaps,’ Deb observed sweetly. ‘You surprise me, Lord Richard. I had not thought you a man to whom rank was important, but perhaps as the brother of a duke, you are conscious of such things?’

  ‘You deliberately mistake me,’ Richard said, smiling at her. ‘I believe that Mr Chance’s pedigree is as good as my own; if it is not, that makes no odds to me. What makes him an unwelcome guest is the propensity of the Riding Officers to frighten away our smugglers, Mrs Stratton. And then where will we get our brandy and tea and all our other commodities?’

  Deb’s lips twitched. ‘Is smuggling then something in which you take a keen interest, my lord?’

  ‘The purchase of good French brandy is certainly an ardent pursuit of mine,’ Richard agreed feelingly. ‘I am sure we are all wishing Mr Chance in Hades!’

  Deb laughed. ‘You are too harsh. A man should have a profession,’ she added, giving him a sideways look. ‘You said so yourself when you spoke to me about your time in the Navy. It is not beneficial to sit idly by all day with nothing to amuse oneself but brandy and a book of seventeenth-century poetry!’

  Lord Richard gave a crack of laughter. ‘Touché, ma’am! Is that how you envisage I spend my days?’

  ‘I have no notion,’ Deb said lightly. ‘I did not mean you, my lord! I have never given any thought to how you spend your time.’

  This was transparently untrue and she could see from the look on Richard’s face that he knew it. His dark eyes searched her face.

  ‘It disappoints me that you never think of me,’ Lord Richard said. ‘Perhaps in speaking of brandy drinking and poetry reading you were describing the activities of the Midwinter reading group?’

  Deb laughed. ‘We do not care for brandy, my lord, although Lady Sally’s port is a fine vintage. As for the poetry, I confess I have read some of the book you gave me, and very pretty the verse is too.’

  ‘I am glad that you like it,’ Lord Richard said. ‘A great deal of it is very romantic, is it not?’

  Deb’s lashes flickered as she looked down. ‘It may well be. However, I am more struck by the pastoral poems. I was reading the odes to the beauty of the sunset rather than Shakespeare’s sonnets.’

  ‘Perhaps you are afraid that too much romantic poetry would turn your own thoughts to love,’ Richard suggested.

 
Deb fidgeted. ‘Certainly not.’

  Richard laughed. ‘I remember—you do not look for male companionship. I have the feeling that it seeks you out all the same, Mrs Stratton. How could it not, when you are young and beautiful, and have such a zest for life? It is asking too much of a man not to view that as a challenge.’

  Deb sighed. ‘Your compliments are very polished, Lord Richard, but they fall on stony ground.’

  Richard was looking at her thoughtfully and she felt a frisson of anticipation go through her. He leaned closer.

  ‘What would you say if instead of a compliment I issued a dare, Mrs Stratton?’ he said.

  Deborah’s eyes opened very wide. Her curiosity was caught. ‘A dare, my lord? Of what nature?’

  Lord Richard leaned closer still and beckoned her to draw near to him. After a second’s hesitation, Deb complied. Immediately she was distracted by an entirely new set of sensations. Richard’s lean cheek was close to hers and she could smell his sandalwood cologne. Her gaze focused on his lips and she blinked and hastily cast her gaze down. She felt his breath stir a tendril of hair.

  ‘You told me earlier this afternoon that you did not believe I could seduce you,’ Lord Richard murmured, for her ears alone. ‘I dare you to let me try.’

  Deb almost snapped the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, so great was her shock. Images, heated and provocative, raced through her mind. She looked up at Richard, saw the dancing flame in his dark eyes, and looked away quickly.

  ‘No! I cannot accept that dare.’

  Lord Richard covered her hand with his again. ‘But you want to.’

  Deb felt her fingers tremble beneath his and his grip on her hand tightened in response. She felt part-appalled, part-exhilarated. What was the matter with her that she was even considering accepting such a scandalous wager? This man was a rake and so dangerous that she should not even be giving him the time of day. He was particularly perilous to her, for a part of her responded to him in a manner that could only be considered reckless. And whilst these thoughts chased across her mind, she saw him watching her face and reading her thoughts as clearly as though she had spoken them aloud.