Inconvenient Affair Page 7

  A moment later she laid down the invitation and stared into space. She had been invited to a house party at Rochester Castle, of all places. Why, she didn’t know; she was not particularly friendly with either the duke or his new duchess. Nor did she think she’d enjoy herself, honored though she was. In the act of placing the invitation with those she planned to refuse, however, she stopped. Had she not heard that Jeremy was to be invited to the house party, as well? With the lovely Miss Powell, of course. Lord Ware, being the duke’s son, would be there, too, and Miss Powell would likely flirt with him. It would not do. Jeremy would be hurt.

  Thea sat straighter. She couldn’t allow it. No matter her inner battles, she could not allow Jeremy to be hurt. It might be foolish beyond permission, but she was going to accept the invitation. She was going to go to Rochester Castle, and she was going to try to win Jeremy back.

  Moira, the Duchess of Rochester, adored making mischief. The widow of one elderly duke and now the wife of another, Moira sometimes found life dull, though she had everything she could want. Thus she had to find ways to add spice to her days. Arranging house parties with the most unlikely combination of guests was one such way. An avid lover of gossip, Moira knew well who was conducting affaires with whom, or who might have a quarrel with another, and would send out her invitations accordingly. That this usually led to situations that could best be described as awkward bothered her not in the least, nor did her doting, foolish husband appear even to notice. Her house parties were the talk of the ton, and she always had delicious stories to tell. What more could she ask?

  Her current house party hadn’t been planned with quite such an object in mind, however. The duke’s daughter, Lady Catherine, had at last settled on a suitor, the young Earl of Pelham, and this after Moira had thought she was at her last prayers. It would be a deadly dull affair, of course, entertaining the earl and his very proper mother, but worth it, to have Catherine off her hands. She had been quite vexed when Lord Ware, the silly moonling, had, without consulting her, invited that vulgar Miss Powell and her mother. Of course she had confirmed the invitation; it was the only polite thing to do. Thank heavens they would be accompanied by Stanton; that alone would make their presence bearable.

  It wasn’t until the day before her guests were due to arrive, however, that she thought of another way to make her house party interesting. Before leaving London she had, of course, heard the talk about Stanton and his friendship with Mrs. Jameson. Being observant, she doubted that any of the rumors were true; Mrs. Jameson certainly didn’t look like a woman who was happily having an affaire. That she was displeased about Stanton’s engagement, however, was, if not obvious, evident. Bored already with the thought of the week ahead, Moira succumbed to impulse. An invitation was sent, by special messenger, to Mrs. Jameson.

  So far, matters had fallen out quite as Moira had expected. Lady Catherine had sulked at Evadne’s presence, especially when that girl flirted so outrageously, not only with Ware, but with Pelham. Jeremy was charming; Pelham’s mother was a pillar of rectitude; and the Earl and Countess of Chatleigh, originally invited so that Moira could flirt with the earl, were proving to be agreeable guests, forming friendships with everyone. Even Roger DeVilliers was pleasant. Last night he had read some of his poetry; the ladies had loved it, while the gentlemen had found convenient excuses to leave. Today, however, there was a distinct feeling of boredom in the castle. It was the third day of the house party. It was also the third day it had rained, and everyone was growing restless.

  Late on this damp morning, the guests had assembled in the Blue Drawing Room to await the announcement of nuncheon, for lack of better things to do. Jeremy, not used to being so inactive, sat hunched forward in his chair, his fingers restlessly tapping out a tattoo on his leg, and smothered another yawn. Why he had been invited to this gathering was quite beyond him. He had little in common with his host and the other guests, with the exception of the Earl of Chatleigh, who, like him, had served on the Peninsula. Nor was he interested in setting up a flirtation with the duchess, though more than once over the past days she had signaled her availability to him. Even now, with her husband in the same room, Moira occasionally blinked her sleepy cat’s eyes at him. Wearing a gown of crimson muslin that was rather inappropriate for morning wear, she lounged back in her chair, carrying on a conversation with Roger DeVilliers, who hung over her, his eyes hooded in their usual fashion and a lock of dark, glossy hair falling onto his forehead. Undoubtedly he was spouting some bit of poetry, in that world-weary way he had. Apparently no one had told him that the Byronic mode was somewhat out of favor, with Byron himself in disgrace. Nor did Moira seem to mind. Women could be fools about men, Jeremy thought. Why in the world had he and DeVilliers been invited to the same house party? Everyone knew of the enmity between them. He suspected, as Moira sent him another slantwise look, that the duchess was up to mischief.

  His restless gaze passed from Moira to the spinet, where Evadne was cheerfully mangling a Bach sonata while Lord Ware turned the pages of the music for her. If Jeremy had no idea why he had been invited, he had no doubt as to why Evadne had been. Lord Ware was gazing down at her with as fatuous an expression as Jeremy had ever seen, and she was preening herself under it. Lord Pelham, a close friend of Ware, was leaning on the other side of the spinet, much to Lady Catherine’s displeasure. Jeremy frowned. After three days of watching his fiancée practice her wiles on another man, he was becoming annoyed. Not that he was jealous, but he wished she’d show a bit more discretion. She would have to learn, he thought, grimly. He would not have her acting in such a way once they were married.

  “Evadne? Play that little tune you do so well,” Agatha Powell said, and Jeremy’s annoyance abruptly changed to amusement at the arch way Mrs. Powell smiled at Lord Ware. Jeremy would not have rated Evadne’s chances of a match with Ware very highly even had she not been engaged, but Agatha clearly thought otherwise. Nothing too good for her Evadne, he thought, wondering if she had already calculated the cost of everything in the room. Jeremy doubted the duke would allow his son to marry the daughter of such an avaricious woman.

  And that brought Jeremy’s attention back to his host, whom he had been trying to avoid for the past few days. Rochester was a pleasant enough man, but his interests were narrow. He cared only for riding and hunting and shooting, and he tended to recreate in words every course he had run, every covert he had flushed. At the moment he was talking, in great detail, about a deer he had bagged last fall. Next to Jeremy, Chatleigh and his young countess contrived to look interested, but Jeremy suspected they were as bored as he.

  Jeremy grunted with annoyance, and the duke looked up. “Say something, Stanton?” he said, his face genial.

  “No, no, just something caught in my throat,” Jeremy said quickly, leaning back and crossing his legs. Good lord, why had he ever wanted to come here, he wondered, as the duke went on with his tale. Life had been much more interesting in town. Where, he wondered, was Thea now?

  The door to the drawing room opened and the butler came in. “Your Grace,” he said, and Moira looked up. “The rest of the guests have arrived.”

  “More?” Roger drawled. “I thought we were quite content as we are.”

  Moira gave him her secret cat’s smile, and again looked slantwise at Jeremy. “Why, of course we are, but we have been so dull of late, sir. I do expect things to be livelier presently. Mrs. Jameson, welcome to Rochester,” she said, and Thea walked in.

  Chapter Six

  Thea! Without realizing it, Jeremy jumped to his feet, his heart pounding. Good God, Thea, here! He felt strange, disoriented, as if his thoughts had somehow conjured her up. She was no beauty, not compared to Evadne, yet there was something about her, about her smile. Jeremy swallowed, hard, and forced his hands, by his sides, to relax.

  “Mrs. Jameson.” Moira crossed the room, her hands held out, as Thea entered the room. With her were Francis and Lydia. “How good of you to come.”

  �
��How nice of you to invite us,” Thea said, touching cheeks with the other woman and quickly scanning the room. Her eyebrows rose a little when she saw Jeremy, and, oddly enough, he felt himself relaxing. It was only Thea, after all. Only his—friend. There was no need for him to feel as if he had been stabbed by lightning.

  “Do come in.” Moira took Thea’s arm, guiding her into the room. “You must be tired after your journey.”

  “Quite brave of you to come out in this weather, ma’am,” Roger drawled. “Are the roads very bad?”

  Thea looked up from tugging off her gloves and smiled. “Tolerably so. We only got bogged down twice. Have you ever seen such a spring?”

  “No, ma’am, but I believe things will be brighter now.” Roger looked down at her, his one-sided smile highlighting his scar. Jeremy had the sudden, irrational desire to give him a matching scar on the other side of his face.

  “Perhaps.” Thea smiled brilliantly at him. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I’d like to change out of all this dirt.”

  “Of course.” Moira smiled. “Rathbun will show you to your rooms.”

  “Thank you.” Thea gave everyone in the room a quick, general smile, and went out, with Lydia and Francis behind her, leaving Jeremy standing stiff and still, his hands clenched at his side.

  “Why, look, Stanton, I do believe it’s stopped raining,” a soft voice said beside him. A hand stole out to touch his arm, and blue, dark-fringed eyes gazed up at him. “Do you think we might walk outside?”

  Jeremy glanced out and saw that the rain had indeed ceased. “It’s still rather damp,” he said, smiling down at Evadne. “Perhaps this afternoon.”

  Evadne pouted. “But what shall we do until then, sir?”

  “Why don’t you play for us some more?” he suggested, and she gave him a brilliant smile.

  His own smile faded, though, as he found his seat. Good lord, what had just happened to him? For a moment, all he’d seen was Thea, all he’d been aware of was Thea. It didn’t matter that Evadne was in the same room, or Moira, seductive though she was. Thea, in her plain dove-gray traveling gown, looked almost plain in comparison, and yet he hadn’t been able to look away. For a moment, as his eyes had met hers, he’d felt the world tilt, shift. For a moment, he’d seen something in her eyes he’d never imagined she possessed. There was fire within her. He’d never realized that before. Thea, here. What did he do now?

  Thea sank down at the dressing table in her room, pressing her fingers to her aching temples. She’d brushed through that tolerably well, she thought, trying to pay no heed to the maid who fussed behind her, hanging her gowns in the wardrobe and pouring out water for her to wash in. It had been hard, though. At the moment when she stood in the doorway to the drawing room, her courage had faltered. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. She had, though, and had been rewarded by the look of utter shock on Jeremy’s face. He didn’t want her here, that much was plain. Her own emotions were less simple. At her first glimpse of him, she had felt a rush of pure happiness, and a feeling similar to what she felt when she returned to Linwood. A feeling of homecoming, a sense of belonging. And then she had seen Evadne.

  A knock on the door made her look up. “Come in.”

  Francis ambled in, his hands in his pockets. “I say, Thea, have you ever seen such a pile as this?” he said, gesturing with his hand as he sank into a chair.

  Thea smiled at him in the reflection of the dressing table mirror. “It is a castle, Francis, even if a new one. And thank God for that! At least, it’s comfortable.” She leaned forward, frowning a bit, and tucked a loose strand of hair back into place. “How is your room?”

  “Well enough. Thea, did you know Stanton was going to be here?”

  Thea didn’t look at him. “I’d heard it, yes.”

  “I see.” Francis looked at her for a moment, and then, when she didn’t go on, shifted, unable to get his long legs comfortable in the velvet-upholstered lady’s chair. “Miss Powell is dashed pretty.”

  Thea looked at him in the mirror again. “Yes, she is.”

  “Are you sure you want to stay, Thea? We could leave. Say there’s trouble at Linwood, or something—”

  “Don’t be silly, Fran!” Thea forced herself to laugh. “There’s nothing between Stanton and me.”

  “I don’t want you to be hurt,” he said, quietly.

  “I won’t be.” She patted Francis’s cheek as he rose. “Was that the bell for nuncheon I heard a few minutes ago?”

  “Yes, I think so. Shall we go?”

  “Let me just wash my face, and I shall be with you directly.”

  A few moments later, having changed her gown, Thea emerged into the hall where Francis waited for her. The corridor was long, lined with carpets and lighted by cast-iron sconces. “It’s like a maze,” she said.

  “I remember the way.” Francis took her arm and conducted her down the corridors to the wide marble staircase. “Thea, what do you suppose she sees in him?”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Powell. What does she see in Stanton? There’s no denying his reputation, and he’s too old for her by far.”

  Thea’s lips thinned. She’d thought they were done discussing Jeremy’s engagement. “Miss Powell knows what she’s doing, Fran. You can depend on that.”

  Francis stared at her. “Thea, are you jealous?”

  “Don’t be silly!” Again, she forced a laugh. “But I am not as blinded by a pretty face as you gentlemen are.”

  “No, only by a handsome one,” Francis muttered.

  “There’s no call for that,” she said, sharply.

  “Sorry.” His voice was sulky. “But you make her sound calculating.”

  “I think she is. Or, rather, her mother is. Francis.” Thea stopped, her hand on his arm. “It doesn’t do to ignore a person’s faults, no matter how attractive she might be. I learned that the hard way.”

  “Dash it, Thea, you don’t have to lecture me! I know she’s not perfect.”

  “Do you?” Thea’s look held mingled amusement and concern. “She is betrothed, Fran. Even if she weren’t, she’s a terrible flirt.”

  “I know,” he said, gloomily. “I saw the way Ware was hanging all over her.”

  “Well, there’s no danger of anything there, though I’m sure Mrs. Powell would like there to be. I wonder,” she began, and then stopped.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Thea shook her head. “Come, we must hurry. They’ve waited nuncheon long enough for us.” She hurried Francis into the dining room before he could enquire again just what she had thought of. If Evadne thought she had a chance at a higher title, she might just take it, especially if someone encouraged her. Thea had no reason to believe that Evadne would listen to her, but she might be able to convince her that Lord Ware was interested in her. It was appalling that she would even consider doing such a thing, but the idea had taken possession of her mind and would not let go. For, if Evadne set off after bigger game, Jeremy would be free.

  The sun came out while the party was at nuncheon, and afterwards the weather was considered dry enough for a walk through the estate’s extensive gardens. Everyone seized on a plan that most would have considered dull several days earlier, with pleasure. “My dear, you have no idea how dreary it’s been here, with all the rain!” Moira said to Thea as they walked down still-damp gravel paths in the rose garden, not yet in bloom. Overhead the sky was a watery blue, and the sun peeped fitfully out from behind clouds. “Rochester had such plans, and he was unhappy at having them upset, poor dear. But I expect things will change now.”

  “Yes,” Thea murmured, adjusting the cashmere shawl she had tossed over her shoulders. At nuncheon she had noticed that the guests were an odd assortment. She wasn’t pleased to see Lord Pelham, who had been Francis’s boon companion in town, and it was unusual to see Jeremy and Mr. DeVilliers at the same gathering. Nor had Evadne been pleased to see her. Surely Moira knew of the gossip concerning her and Jeremy, Thea thought, and wo
ndered just what the duchess was up to.

  “But you planned it that way, did you not, ma’am?” Roger appeared beside them, bowing briefly over Moira’s hand, looking up at her from under hooded eyes.

  “Why would I do such a thing, sir?” Moira smiled up at him. “I merely wished to bring my friends together.”

  “Mm-hm.” Roger brushed carelessly at the curl on his forehead as he fell into pace with the two women.

  “You sound as if you don’t believe me, Roger.”

  “Do I?” He feigned innocence. “Forgive me. Rochester appears to be enjoying himself.”

  “Yes, he does like having guests here. He’s quite proud of the castle, the dear.”

  “And he appears to be about to show it off to Lady Chatleigh,” he mused.

  Moira followed his gaze, and her eyes narrowed. To Thea, Lady Chatleigh was only smiling politely at the duke, but Moira must have seen something else. “Pray excuse me,” she murmured, and went off in pursuit of her husband.

  “Moira protects what is hers,” Roger commented, and turned to Thea, who was gazing at him steadily. “Ma’am?” He held out his arm.

  “Thank you.” Thea rested her hand on it as they began walking again. She had the oddest feeling that he had engineered this meeting, though she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why. Though she didn’t know DeVilliers well, she had noticed that, for all his seeming languor, he usually managed to get his way. “Are you enjoying your stay here, sir?”

  Roger shrugged. “Well enough. I expect matters will improve now.”