Inconvenient Affair Page 8

  “Yes, so you said before. I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Why, the weather, ma’am,” he said, smiling.

  “Oh, of course. The weather.”

  “Mind you, I’m not sure I trust our hostess. I’ve been wondering for the past few days what she is up to.”

  “You think she plans mischief, sir?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “Oh.” Thea stopped to admire an early bloom. “I did wonder about the choice of guests.”

  “Let us be honest, shall we, ma’am? About Stanton and me, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed, the droop of his shoulders denoting supreme dejection. “It is a trial, but I will bear up.”

  Thea couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. “Oh, gammon, sir! You sound like a much put-upon young girl!”

  Roger’s eyes, no longer hooded, gleamed with unexpected brightness, and he let out a laugh. “See through me, do you?”

  “Yes. I must tell you, sir, that I never was much of an admirer of Byron.”

  “The ladies seem to like the pose.” Roger studied her. “Do you know, I think Stanton’s a fool.”

  Thea’s eyes flew to his. “Why, what a thing to say, sir!”

  “Really? When he has treated you as he has?”

  “I’ve no complaints.”

  “I don’t know, myself, what he sees in that ninny when he has you.”

  “Gammon!” she said, roundly. “To compare me with Miss Powell!”

  “Of course. My apologies. There is no comparison.”

  “Of course not. She is young and lovely and—”

  “Silly, which is one thing you are not. And you have your own beauty, ma’am.”

  Thea stared at him, and then laughed. “You deal in Spanish coin, sir.”

  “Not in this.” Roger tucked her arm through his as they resumed their walk. “You are much to be preferred to her.”

  “Most people would not agree with you.”

  Roger’s gaze was peculiarly intent as it traveled over her face. “Ah, but I like to believe I am more discriminating than most people. Stanton is a bigger fool than I thought.”

  “I beg your pardon?” a voice said frostily behind them, and they turned to see Jeremy. Thea started, and pulled away.

  “Good afternoon, Stanton,” Roger said, urbanely. “Good to be out of doors at last, is it not?”

  Jeremy looked at him, hard, but his voice when he spoke was civil enough. “Good afternoon,” he said, his eyes cool. “The duchess is looking for you, sir.”

  “Is she, indeed. I must not keep her waiting, then. You will excuse me, my dear?” He turned to Thea, bowing over her hand. “You are becoming most popular.”

  “Thank you,” Thea stammered, her cheeks pink as he sketched a bow and then strolled away. It was a most novel sensation, to have two men competing for her attention. And this, in company with the lovely Miss Powell! Very odd, she thought. And most pleasant.

  “Damned man-milliner,” Jeremy growled beside her, and she looked up.

  “Did you wish to see me about something, sir?”

  “Yes. What the devil do you think you’re doing with him?”

  “With whom?” Thea asked in surprise.

  “DeVilliers, of course.”

  “Jeremy, what in the world—”

  “I don’t wish to see you with him again, Thea.”

  “Who are you to order me about?” she demanded. “As we are both very fond of telling the world, Jeremy, we are merely friends!”

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Thea’s anger left her as quickly as it had come, and her shoulders slumped. “Jeremy, don’t you know what people say about us?”

  “Idle gossip.” Jeremy dismissed all the talk, all the speculation, with a wave of his hand. “We know better. But you are right, of course. I have no right to tell you what to do. Except as a friend, of course.”

  “Of course.” Thea linked her arm through his and they continued down the path. “Where is Miss Powell?”

  “With her mama and the duke.” He snorted with laughter. “Learning about the prices of the duke’s more exotic flowers.”

  Thea smiled. “Mrs. Powell is in alt being here, is she not? What an odd collection of guests we are.”

  “Yes. Some odder than others.”

  “Jeremy, what is between you two?”

  “DeVilliers, you mean?” Jeremy shrugged. “Old history.”

  “Then, why—”

  “The man’s a blackguard. I would not see you hurt.”

  “I’m sorry, Jeremy, but I find him charming. I do!” she exclaimed, when he turned toward her. “I am more than twenty, you know, and I can take care of myself.”

  Jeremy eyes searched hers. “Perhaps. In some ways.”

  “Why, what does that mean?”

  “It means you may not be aware of a person’s true nature. You do tend to hold people at a distance, Thea.”

  “Nonsense, I don’t do that!”

  “I think you do. You hold me off.”

  “Just because I wouldn’t become your mistress, sir?”

  “No, Thea, of course not!” He looked down at her, exasperated. “Very well, have it your way. But be careful of DeVilliers.”

  Thea freed herself from his grasp. “I shall see whom I wish, sir. I am not your fiancée,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

  Jeremy hastened to catch up with her. “You’re taking everything I say the wrong way, Thea.”

  “Then stop telling me what to do! That may work with Miss Powell, but it does not with me.”

  “I’m aware of that,” he muttered. “You’re too damned independent. Come.” He held out his arm. “I believe we’ve seen enough of gardens for one day.”

  “Oh, very well.” Thea took his arm. “Perhaps we’ll find that the duke has thought of something for our entertainment.”

  “Spare us from that, at least,” Jeremy said.

  A silvery laugh caught their attention as they neared the castle, and they looked toward the source. Evadne, clad in sunny yellow muslin, much beruffled about the hem, with a parasol to match, was walking with Lord Ware and Lord Pelham, apparently laughing at something the latter had said. The muscles of Jeremy’s arm tightened under her hand, and he muttered something under his breath.

  Thea glanced up at him in surprise, and then back at Evadne, who was now smiling up at Lord Ware. The idea that had flitted into her mind earlier came back, stronger now. It just might be possible to shift Evadne’s affection from Jeremy to someone else, especially if the match were more advantageous. It would be meddling, she admitted, but it would be worth it, to ensure Jeremy’s happiness.

  In her room later, dressing for dinner, Thea stopped in the motion of fastening her string of pearls and leaned forward to study her reflection. Two different men had told her two vastly different things about herself this afternoon. Perhaps she did hold people at a distance, as Jeremy had accused, but she had her reasons. As for being a beauty... She frowned, studying her reflection, but, try though she might, she could see only the same collection of features that had looked back at her all her life, the high forehead with its widow’s peak, the large, too-intelligent gray eyes, the short, snub nose, the firm chin, and a mouth that was considered too wide for beauty. “Oh, nonsense, Thea!” she snapped, and whirled toward the door, the silk of her severely-cut dark blue gown swirling around her. She opened the door, and came face to face with Evadne.

  For a moment they stared at each other, and then Thea smiled her most gracious smile. “Good evening, Miss Powell.”

  “Good evening, ma’am.” Evadne, wearing a gown of white muslin, cut low at the neck, with short, puffed sleeves, fell into step beside Thea, eyeing her warily. “I had no idea you were to be a guest here.”

  “A late invitation,” Thea said. Evadne looked young, and more than a little defenseless. In spite of herself, pity mingled with Th
ea’s annoyance. “You are enjoying your stay?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  So much for defenseless, Thea thought. “I am not surprised. Lord Ware seems quite taken with you. Not to mention Lord Pelham.”

  “Oh, do you think so?” Evadne brightened. “Ma’am, is that your brother who came with you?”

  “Yes, my brother Francis. Why?”

  “Oh, no reason.” Evadne’s fingers toyed with the blue satin ribbons that streamed down the front of her gown. “Do you think Lord Pelham is really taken with me?”

  Thea glanced down at her again, and her heart contracted. Young, so young, and so lovely. No wonder if Jeremy preferred her. And Mr. DeVilliers thought that she was a beauty? Hah! “Why, yes, I do. He seemed most impressed by the Bach you were playing this afternoon, you know. And so did Lord Ware.”

  “Yes, that is my best piece,” she said, naively. “Do you know Lord Ware well, ma’am?”

  “Why, no, he’s somewhat younger than I.” But just the right age for Evadne. Thea’s brain raced. Here was the opportunity she had sought. “But the on-dit has been that he is looking for a wife.”

  “Really? I mean, that is most interesting, ma’am. Of course, that means nothing to me. I am engaged to Stanton, as you know.”

  Thea glanced quickly at her, but Evadne’s face looked guileless. “Of course, but pardon me for thinking that you haven’t much in common with him.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter.” Evadne waved her hand in dismissal of Thea’s words as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I shall be a viscountess, Mrs. Jameson,” she said, laying the slightest bit of stress on the word “Mrs.”, and glided into the drawing room. Thea followed, fuming with sudden anger. She had to rescue Jeremy from the clutches of that vain, silly girl! She had to.

  Dinner, consisting of course after course, rare roast beef and a baked ham, poached trout and a ragout of veal, and, to finish, a wheel of cheddar and a trifle, was long and uneventful. Afterwards the ladies retired to the Blue Drawing Room, where Lady Catherine played on the pianoforte and Lydia sat on a sofa with Lady Pelham, discussing needlework patterns. When the gentlemen came in, the talk turned to the sights that might be visited in the neighborhood, and an expedition to view the nearby ruins of the original castle was proposed for the next day. All welcomed the idea as a release from the tedium that had gripped them for the past few days. When someone suggested setting up tables for cards, the idea was met with much more enthusiasm than it would have been just one night previously. “Come, Mrs. Jameson,” the duke said, holding out his hand. “I’ll exercise a host’s privilege and ask you to partner me.”

  “I’d be honored to, sir,” Thea said, taking the duke’s hand. The guests stood, talking idly, as servants came in to set up the tables.

  “Pity the weather is what it is,” he went on. “Hoped we could get in some shooting. Hear you’re a crack shot, what?”

  Thea didn’t look at him as she sat at a table. “My father taught me, yes.”

  “Then it is settled. Must come back in the fall for the hunting.”

  “Rochester loves to shoot,” Moira volunteered, leaning for a moment on her husband’s shoulder. “Pray do not let him bore you, Althea. He’ll go on for hours if he can.”

  Thea concentrated on shuffling the cards. “Actually, Your Grace, I dislike shooting.”

  The duke looked scandalized. “What? And you taught by one of the best—”

  “I am sorry, sir,” she said, firmly. “I hate guns.”

  “Nonsense, girl, just because of what happened with your husband—”

  “Was Mr. Jameson shot?” Evadne asked in seeming innocence.

  Moira shot her a look, and then, seeing that Thea, riffling her cards, pretended not to have heard, answered. “Mr. Jameson was killed in a duel.”

  “But how romantic!” Evadne exclaimed. “What did you to do provoke him, ma’am?”

  Francis cut across her words. “Do you think Parliament will do anything about reform this session, duke?”

  The duke blinked at him. “Reform? Reform, sir?”

  “Yes.” Francis’s gaze was steady, in spite of the duke’s glare. “Parliamentary reform.”

  “Really, Fran,” Thea protested, before this could become a full-scale argument.

  “Reform isn’t needed,” Lord Ware said, for once aligning himself with his father.

  “Of course it is.” Francis leaned forward, a lock of hair falling untidily over his forehead. “It’s not fair, power being held in the hands of the few—”

  “As it should be,” the duke growled. “We’re bred to it, boy. What, you’d have us ruled by a rabble, like in France?”

  “No, sir, but times are changing, and people want some say in their destiny. Good God, sir, we asked the common man to fight our wars, and what have we given him in return? Most can’t even find work.”

  “So you’d give power to an ill-educated mob?” Roger said, sounding amused.

  “No, of course not,” Francis said, impatiently. “I don’t want to see mob rule any more than anyone else, but if something’s not done, that’s what might happen. People are starving and can’t feed their children. Why, the Corn Laws—”

  A low growl interrupted him. “The Corn Laws,” the duke began, his voice rising to a roar, and Jeremy broke in.

  “Why do not we discuss this after dinner tomorrow, when the ladies aren’t present? I’m sure they don’t want to hear this. Evadne?” He smiled at her, holding out his arm.

  Evadne tossed her curls. “Speak for yourself. I don’t want to play boring old cards. I’d rather try the spinet in the music room.” She turned to Francis, her smile ravishing. “Will you escort me there, sir?”

  Chapter Seven

  Stunned silence at Evadne’s rudeness filled the room, and all eyes turned to Jeremy, to see how he would react. “Sir?” Francis said. “Do you mind?”

  “We don’t need to ask his permission.” Evadne tugged at his arm. “Come on, I want to see the spinet.”

  Lord Pelham jumped to his feet. “Er, perhaps I could join you. That is,” he went on, as he caught his mother’s eye, “perhaps Lady Catherine and I could accompany you.”

  “If you wish,” Evadne said, sounding supremely bored, and turned. With her hand still on Francis’s arm, she all but dragged him away, leaving him little choice but to follow.

  Thea’s first impulse was to go to Jeremy, an idea she rejected after taking a look at his face. He was, for once, absolutely still; she didn’t need to touch him to know that his arms would be stiff with anger. Had Evadne no sense of decorum, than to treat him so in front of others? She was young, yes, but youth did not excuse such poor manners. And to choose Francis, of all people, to go with!

  Someone snickered, and Jeremy’s head swiveled toward Roger. For a long moment they stared at each other, their gazes cool and measuring. “Can’t say I blame her,” Roger drawled, and something sparked to life in Jeremy’s eyes.

  “I daresay she’ll be safe enough,” he said, mildly. “Even if she’d gone with you.”

  DeVilliers half-rose, and then sat again. Thea found herself holding her breath. There was something between the two men, though no one seemed quite to know what it was. “Of course.” Roger picked up his cards with a practiced, negligent air. “Unless you’ve reason to mistrust your fiancée.”

  Jeremy took a step forward, his hands clenched, and Moira intervened. “Come, sir,” she said, smiling winningly up at him, her eyes very green. “I intend to have you.”

  Jeremy looked down at Moira, startled for the moment out of his anger. “I beg your pardon?”

  “As a partner, of course. For whist.”

  “Oh, of course. For whist.” He gave DeVilliers one last look, and then escorted Moira to a table.

  Thank heavens, Thea thought, as play began, with DeVilliers and Lady Chatleigh at her table. There would be no trouble between the two men tonight. Heavens, what a week this would be! It had seemed as if DeVilliers wer
e goading Jeremy for some reason, something that had to do with Evadne. And that was another thing, she thought, discarding a card. Jeremy’s engagement wasn’t yet broken, but she suspected he was not pleased with his fiancée. That served her purpose quite well, though in this case he should know better. Miss Powell and Francis? Really!

  “A good-looking young man, your brother,” Roger said, after the game had been going on for a few moments.

  “Yes, he takes after our father,” Thea said absently, tossing down a card.

  The duke grunted. “Really, Mrs. Jameson, I fear your mind isn’t on the game,” he remonstrated.

  “Which is to our advantage, is it not, ma’am?” Roger said, smiling across the table at Lady Chatleigh. “In fact, I believe we take this trick.” He spread his cards on the table, and the duke rumbled again. “Miss Powell seemed quite taken with him.”

  Thea turned from saying something to Lady Chatleigh. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “I believe Miss Powell is taken with your brother. She was flirting quite a bit with him this evening.”

  “Miss Powell flirts with everyone.”

  “So she does.” Roger glanced at Jeremy, who appeared amused by something Moira had said. “It could be useful.”

  “Sir?” Thea said, looking up.

  “It is of no moment, ma’am. Our hand, I believe,” he said, smiling, and laid down his cards.

  “Oh, I say! We cannot let them get away with that, Mrs. Jameson,” the duke protested, and all other considerations were forgotten in the competition to win at cards. It was only much later that Thea would remember, and wonder about, DeVilliers’ words.

  The morning dawned cloudy, and the members of the party held their breath, fearing that rain would again confine them inside. There was a collective sigh of relief, then, when the sun came out at midmorning. The expedition to the nearby ruins would not have to be canceled. The duke was the most delighted of anyone, arranging for transportation and a picnic with childlike glee. The older members of the party would travel sedately in several carriages; everyone else would ride.

  The duke set himself the task of finding suitable mounts for everyone. Thus Thea found herself staring, her heart sinking, at a broad-chested, slightly sway-backed mare, whose gentle disposition made her perfectly appropriate for a lady’s mount. The duke meant to be kind, she told herself, letting the groom throw her into the saddle. He probably didn’t realize that she had been riding since before she could walk.