Knave's Wager

by Loretta Chase

  Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Davenant reappeared at the dressmaker’s. Instead of her niece, she brought a footman, who carried several large packages. Mrs. Davenant explained she’d lost some weight. Perhaps Madame would be so kind as to make a few alterations?

  Madame contemplated the dismal colours, then her client, then shook her head sadly. “I never speak ill of a colleague,” she said, “but sometimes I do not understand what they’re thinking of.”

  “These were made precisely as I ordered,” was the defensive answer.

  “Yes, madam, and the question I ask is ‘Why?’ Meaning no offence, because I’d never question your taste. But this taupe...” She took up the offending garment and pursed her lips. “Enough fabric here for two gowns. Such a waste.” She shook her head again. “It wouldn’t trouble me if you had flaws to conceal, but with your figure... well, I can’t understand why the gown had to be made like an overcoat.”

  So saying, and without appearing to hear any of her customer’s stammering negatives or observe the crimson repeatedly suffusing the lady’s face, Madame proceeded to measure and pin and snip and slash.

  What she proposed might be an outrage to her client’s sensibilities, but the client was no match for the evangelical fervour that possessed Madame Germaine. It was in vain to protest that one felt half naked, when one’s dressmaker only cried, “Precisely!” and flourished her scissors like a sword.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mrs. Davenant’s altered garments began making their appearance the following week.

  Tonight, at Almack’s, she was dressed in the same taupe gown she’d worn to the Countess Lieven’s party. Well, not quite the same. At least a yard of fabric was gone from the skirt, causing it to hug her hips as it had never done before. Madame had insisted “only an inch” was taken from the bodice. This was the grossest of understatements.

  Though such renovated costumes did not trigger quite the sensation the blue silk had, they continued to win admiring glances, and not a little flattery. Even Cecily’s beaux seemed less intimidated. Sir Matthew Melbrook had begged a dance of the heretofore terrifying dragon aunt, and Mr. Ventcoeur, Lilith was told, had startled his friends by boldly asserting that Mrs. Davenant had a sense of humour.

  Lilith bit her lip. She’d heard that from Lord Brandon.

  Determined, apparently, to be the gossiping sort of Mend, he’d begun sharing with her every on dit that came to his ears. What he didn’t hear, he invented, leaving her laughing helplessly at outrageous stories of Lady Shumway’s passionate affairs with a series of fictitious Cossacks, or the ancient Lord Hubbing’s adventures at Vauxhall, or any of a host of other imaginative atrocities.

  Yet, ever since Lady Gaines’s ball, he’d become the confiding sort of friend as well, because he had a knack for getting past Lilith’s guard. Once launched upon the topic of Derbyshire, she was easily led to more personal subjects: her grandparents, her childhood, the young parents she scarcely remembered, her nurse, her governess, her studies. Somehow, too, she’d revealed something of her own girlish dreams and hopes, even as she thought she spoke of Cecily and Georgiana and the rest.

  But a few weeks ago, uttering one sentence to him had been an effort, because his presence disturbed her so. Of late, the struggle was to keep from telling him every thought and feeling.

  It was a struggle now to keep her eye on Cecily, dancing with Mr. Ventcoeur, rather than on the tall, dark form that moved so gracefully through Almack’s throng.

  Lilith never knew when she’d find Brandon at her side. She knew only that he always came, and they would dance once and talk a great deal. Strangely enough, no one else seemed to regard this new camaraderie.

  Perhaps the Great World was preoccupied, as Thomas was, with Louis XVIII’s arrival in France and its consequences. More likely, Society wasn’t remotely interested in so dull a matter as mere friendship between a man and a woman.

  After all, Lord Brandon’s compliments were light and civil, no more. He scarcely flirted with her lately, though other gentlemen did.

  This quieted Lilith’s conscience somewhat, but not altogether. She had no defence against his amiability, no excuse for shunning him, yet she wished she had.

  She could no longer deny she’d been drawn to him from the start, attracted in spite of herself by his compelling physical beauty and charm. Now the pull was stronger. She’d discovered kindness, sense, compassion, intelligence—oh, and too many common interests.

  Or so it seemed. She frowned.

  “Your brows are knit,” came a low voice behind her. “Brummell will be cross with you for wrinkling the flawless surface of your complexion.’’ The marquess moved to her side, brushing her arm in the process.

  “I can live with his disapproval,” Lilith answered coolly enough. “Until a week ago, the only notice I got was a singularly pained expression whenever he happened to glance my way.”

  “Which only shows he’s not so discerning as he appears. Why do you linger in this dismal corner? Are you hiding from your beaux? Or waiting for one? If so, he’s unforgivably dilatory. I’d better take his place and teach him a lesson.”

  Lilith caught the edge of impatience in his voice. Wondering at it, she threw him a puzzled glance. He stood with his usual careless grace, but the tension in that stance was not usual. He seemed... angry?

  “What is it?” he asked. “Have you discovered a crease in my lapel?”

  “If I had, I should never dare tell you, for fear your valet would be found murdered in the morning. You seem a trifle out of sorts this evening, my lord,” she said frankly.

  Surprise flickered in his green eyes, only to be hooded in the next instant. “Hardly. I’ve been dead bored, as usual— until now, of course.”

  “You were with Thomas. If he bores you so much, I wonder you bother to speak with him at all.”

  “I’m obliged to appear as friendly with the gentleman as I am with his fiancée. If I’m not, my motives become suspect, and the fiancée suffers for it. Society punishes the victim, while the alleged criminal goes scot-free. A curious kind of justice, is it not?”

  “Society is hardly a court of law,” she answered uneasily. “One might well be blamed for not avoiding dangerous company.”

  “You think so? Why shouldn’t my alleged victim decide for herself whether I’m a menace? You believe we must none of us think for ourselves, but always adhere to the general opinion?”

  More disquieted still, she glanced away. “I used to wonder how Eve could have been so foolish as to listen to the serpent. But whenever you and I debate morality, I can only conclude he must have had your gift for turning right and wrong inside out, plain black and white to shades of grey.”

  “It isn’t morality we discuss, but the appearance of it. My wish to enjoy your company is a crime for which you’ll be punished, unless I dress it up as a general wish to enjoy every damn fool’s company as well.”

  “Sir Thomas is not a fool,” Lilith reproved, as she must. “Because he isn’t as witty and entertaining as you, you find him boring. All the same, he doesn’t want intelligence.”

  “He wants something in his upper story—or in his heart—to neglect you so shamefully. If you were my affianced bride, I’d exploit the privilege. I’d talk with you the whole day and dance with you all the night.”

  She made herself smile and pretend he’d spoken lightly, though the intensity burning in his eyes told her otherwise. “That is mere theory. When you get a fiancée, we shall discover whether or not you live in her pocket.”

  “I don’t speak of imaginary females. It’s your company I want, your voice I want to hear,” he said, his tones dropping lower. “It infuriates me—he can have all I want so easily, incurring no one’s displeasure, and he doesn’t care. I meanwhile must make do with five minutes snatched here, ten stolen there. I must amiably accept every interruption, all the while anxious lest your reputation be sullied by my contaminating presence. God knows,” he went on with suppressed fury,
“I don’t dare touch you.”

  Thus he shattered all the fragile tranquility she’d achieved in the last few days.

  She’d wanted his company too. She’d needed to look at him, hear his voice, find him near. No wonder her conscience would not be quieted. Under the veneer of friendship, her shameful longing had only grown. Why else should he make her heart ache when he spoke so?

  “You will not disparage Sir Thomas to me,” Lilith made herself say. “Our relationship is our own affair.”

  “What of ours, Lilith?” he demanded. “Is this all there is for us? Are we to share nothing but what can be found in a few minutes, with all the world watching and listening?”

  She remembered where she was then, and made herself glance easily about her. Lady Jersey was smiling at her. Lilith smiled back, before turning again to the marquess.

  “Perhaps,” she said, “we’d better not share even that.” And with the same civil smile pinned to her face, she walked away.

  “How kind of you to take so much trouble for me,” Miss Glenwood told Lord Robert as he swept her into the waltz. “I was sure it would be months before the patronesses let me waltz.”

  “It wasn’t any trouble at all,” he said. “Why shouldn’t they let you? They’ve all had plenty of time to approve your behaviour, the tiresome prudes.”

  “Still, I was much amazed when the Countess Lieven presented you.”

  “Because she’s so haughty? Or did you think I wasn’t a respectable enough partner?”

  “Good heavens, why should I think that? If you weren’t respectable, they wouldn’t let you in, would they? But you’re right. I shouldn’t have been amazed at your gallantry. You always know what to say and do to put a girl at her ease. I never feel clumsy when I dance with you.”

  He smiled. “You’re never the least awkward, Miss Glenwood, and you waltz exceedingly well. Not at all like a beginner. You’ve been practicing in secret.”

  She did not appear to hear the compliment. Her attention had fallen upon something—or someone—past his shoulder. Lord Robert experienced a twinge of irritation. “What is it?” he asked. “Has someone fallen into a fit?”

  Her gaze came back to him. It was troubled. “I rather think someone has,” she said softly. “Only look at Lord Brandon.”

  Robert drew her into a turn in order to observe his cousin. The marquess’s countenance was black as a thundercloud.

  “He looks like murder,” said Robert, taken aback. “He’s a devil of a temper, you know. Usually he doesn’t show it— not in public, I mean. What’s set him off, I wonder.”

  “I think he’s quarreled with my aunt,” said Cecily. She sighed. “Oh, dear, how tiresome of them.”

  “Quarreled with— Well, it’s none of our business, of course.”

  “Of course it is. He can’t go on glaring at her all night. People will notice.”

  “I wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t called my attention.”

  “That’s because you’re not a prying busybody. But Lady Enders is, and half a dozen other ladies as well. Now everyone will begin buzzing again. I’m sure I’m not the only one saw how they were arguing. And then my aunt marched off in that horrid outraged Empress of the World way of hers, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off her since. Lord Robert, you must do something.”

  “I?”

  “You must make him stop.”

  “I? Make Julian stop?” he said, aghast. “What do you expect me to do, drag him from the premises?”

  Miss Glenwood’s small gloved hand squeezed his, and her enormous eyes opened wider yet. “I know you can think of something,” she said confidently. “You’re so clever. Probably you’ll find some tactful way to let him know he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve—though of course you’d never say anything so silly as that.”

  Although the pressure of her hand sent a surge of strength through him, it was not quite enough to conquer all Lord Robert’s sense of self-preservation.

  “Egad, I should hope not, Miss Glenwood. Not if I mean to keep all my teeth in my head,” he said, feeling beleaguered as her gaze grew reproachful. “I shouldn’t say so, but Julian’s hideously touchy about any references to your aunt. When he’s in a good humour, he only delivers a set-down, but when he’s moody he... well, he doesn’t know his own strength.”

  “Then you must be sure to step out of the way quickly, mustn’t you?” the pitiless girl responded.

  The waltz ended far too soon, in Lord Robert’s opinion. He dutifully returned Miss Glenwood to her aunt and saw the girl promptly swallowed up in a crowd of admirers. Then, reluctantly, he made for his cousin’s gloomy figure. Julian’s gaze was not welcoming.

  “I’ve had enough of Almack’s,” said Lord Robert. “I think I’ll be going now.”

  “I am not your nurse. Do what you like.”

  “Still, a man can’t always do what he likes, you know. Most of the time, he can’t even show what he’s thinking, which is even harder... well, for me at least...”

  “Robert, I hope you’re not about to honour me with boyish confidences. I’m not in a humour for confidences.”

  Not open to hints, either, apparently. Nothing for it, then, but to state the facts... and step quickly out of the way.

  “You’ve been staring daggers at her for half an hour now,” Lord Robert said, moving back a pace. “If even I noticed, don’t you think half the world is going to?”

  Instantly, the familiar mask of boredom was back in place.

  “If this is half the world,” said Lord Brandon languidly, “we’re best advised to seek out the other half tonight, I think.”

  Lilith was badly shaken, yet she chatted with her normal composure and danced with her betrothed without stumbling. Tonight of all nights, Thomas danced with her several times, as though Lord Brandon’s vexation had somehow communicated itself to his rival. Not a rival, Lilith hastily amended. She’d already made her choice—not that there had been or could be any choice. It was a husband she needed, not a lover.

  Thus she behaved as she always did, and when Thomas had taken her and Cecily home, Lilith invited him, as she often did, to stop for a glass of wine.

  Brandon thought her betrothed took her for granted. This wasn’t just. To Thomas, socializing was business, and she’d never expected or wished him to neglect his chosen business on her account. During these quiet times at the end of an evening, Thomas would share with her his thoughts and wishes, reporting on what he’d said and learned. He even solicited her opinion from time to time.

  He did not take her for granted, she argued with the sardonic masculine voice in her head. He simply chose an appropriate time and place for private conversation.

  Tonight he was occupied with Norway, and vexed at the prospect of a blockade of that nation, for it was Sir Thomas’s firm belief that Norway was the King of Denmark’s problem, as Earl Grey maintained.

  Lilith did not remind her fiancé that Lord Liverpool had already taken measures towards a blockade. For one, Thomas was already troubled by his mentor’s actions. For another, she had no wish to prolong the monologue. She had rather hear of the Corn Laws or even the Catholic Question. The technicalities of peace treaties made her head spin.

  Her confusion must have shown, because Thomas stopped mid-speech to give her a rueful smile. “Ah, the matter shall be debated all the coming week, and a word or two on my part would have sufficed. Yet every issue these days seems to go against me,” he said, shaking his head. “I am concerned that sufficient precautions have not been taken regarding Buonaparte’s move to Elba. I wish I might have spoken to Castlereagh myself. If only I had been on the spot as Hobhouse was, to carry those dispatches.’’

  “One day you’ll have a direct voice in such matters,’’ Lilith said loyally. “I’m certain of it. I wish for your sake you had it now, Thomas.”

  “Well, I cannot altogether regret it. Had I gone with the dispatches, I must be away from you, and that I should be sorry for.”

  He
set his empty wineglass upon the tray and stepped towards her. “It seems to me you become more elegant every day, my dear. Is that a new frock?”

  “You’ve seen it before.”

  “It appears different somehow. You have appeared different.”

  “A few alterations.” She made herself smile. “A great man ought not be shackled to a dowd.”

  He took her hand. “I have never approved of slavishness to every fashion, as you know. Yet you wear the change with dignity, and it becomes you.”

  “You hadn’t mentioned it before. I thought perhaps you disapproved of this... this frivolousness.”

  “You are never frivolous, my dear. We two are past frivolity, I hope. Still, I am not so aged a fellow as to be unmoved by grace and elegance, though I do not shower you with flattery every minute.”

  He brought the hand he held to his lips. The kiss he placed there was a lingering one, as was the glance that fell upon her bodice. Thus, Lilith was not altogether taken aback when her heretofore decorous suitor enfolded her in his arms.

  Nonetheless, she stiffened when his mouth touched hers. The warm, moist kiss did nothing to warm her inwardly. On the contrary, her muscles grew more icily rigid, and within was the familiar rush of anxiety... and distaste. In seconds, it seemed, he grew more heated, while she grew frantic to break free. She endured it as long as she could, which was not very long, though it seemed an eternity. Then she made a slight struggle, and he released her.

  He appeared not at all happy about it. A few strands of hair stuck damply to his forehead, and his brown eyes were clouded.

  “My dear, we are betrothed,” he said, a shade of irritation in his voice; “and you are not a green girl.”