Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] Page 5

  “A gallant hero, Uxbridge,” St. Merryn said, taking no umbrage, “though we must call him Anglesey now that he’s been made a marquess for all his heroic deeds.”

  Lady Ophelia said dryly, “He might be a gallant hero, but that won’t get him inside most London drawing-rooms, St. Merryn, not after the shameful way he treated his first wife—an earl’s daughter, I remind you—and not when he seduced his second while she was still married to Wellington’s poor brother. Any man responsible for two divorces has much to answer for in this life. And as for his brothers,” she added, looking straight at Gideon, “Sir Arthur Paget, at least, is just such another, stealing Lord Boringdon’s wife and creating yet one more scandalous divorce.”

  Lady St. Merryn said sharply, “Do not mention that word. My nerves simply won’t stand it, for I cannot imagine how anyone can bear to be part of such a scandal. Moreover, you cannot blame Uxbridge, or whatever we must call him now, when it was his own wife who brought suit against him, which I am persuaded was a most unnatural thing for any female to have done and could only have been accomplished in such a backward place as Scotland.”

  Gideon, to whom Uxbridge’s faults were as well known as his virtues, waited expectantly to see how Lady Ophelia would reply, but Lady Daintry forestalled her. She had been staring at her sputtering father and said now with the same air of surprise as if neither her aunt nor her mother had spoken, “Surely Charles will be as surprised as I am to learn he has any desire to go to war, Papa. I have always thought him the most devout coward.”

  “Hold your tongue, girl. How dare you say so! Charles is a bruising rider to the hounds and a first-rate shot to boot. He’d have made an excellent cavalry officer.”

  Gideon did not know Charles Tarrant, but he rather thought he had more faith in Lady Daintry’s description of him than the earl’s. Realizing that she had purposely drawn St. Merryn’s fire, he waited with interest to hear what she would say next; but Lady St. Merryn, diverted from the scandal of divorce, sighed loudly and said, “I am persuaded you must want to send me to an early grave, sir, for you know perfectly well my nerves would never have stood for my darling Charles to have been wrenched from my side. Why, I grow quite faint at the thought.”

  “Well, you needn’t do any such thing,” the earl retorted, scowling at her. “He didn’t go, did he? I only said he might have done well as a soldier. Who’s to say but what he might not have ended up on Lord Hill’s staff, or Stuart’s?”

  “Now that,” Daintry said, cocking her head a little to one side, “is entirely within the realm of possibility, for I have heard it said repeatedly that those gentlemen are best known for their noble connections, their gallantry with the fair sex, and for a certain amount of skill at the gaming tables.”

  “They are skilled on the hunting field as well,” Gideon said with a chuckle before he could stop himself. Then, seeing the look of outrage that leapt to St. Merryn’s face, he added quickly, “But there are any number of good men on Hill’s staff, certainly. The Duke mentioned several in his dispatches.”

  His first observation had earned him a look of amused appreciation from Lady Daintry. Ignoring the rider, she said with the same thoughtful air as before, “Charles does like to hunt, but he would not have liked being anywhere near the field at Waterloo. As to the rest, Davina complains frequently about his expertise with the opposite sex—she is his wife, you see,” she added for Gideon’s benefit, “and a fair hand at flirting, herself, so she ought to know—and she certainly complains about the time he spends at the gaming tables, but I should think Hill and Stuart would prefer their staff members to display at least some small sense of responsibility to their duties, and that Charles would fail utterly to do.”

  “Damn it, Daintry,” St. Merryn growled, “I told you to hold your tongue. See what I mean, Penthorpe? I wish you well with the chit, that I do. If you take my advice, you’ll begin with a sound beating—on your wedding night—to teach her who’s master.”

  Lady St. Merryn raised her vinaigrette swiftly to her nose, at which ominous sign Miss Davies knelt hastily at her side, patting her hand and murmuring anxiously, all the while casting beseeching looks over her shoulder at the earl.

  Daintry had stiffened angrily, her cheeks crimson, her eyes flashing sparks, and Gideon thought her more beautiful than ever. Without thought for consequence, wanting only to prevent an explosion, he stepped forward, unfastened the clasp at her throat with a flick of his fingers, and said as he placed his other hand at her shoulder to turn her, “It is much too warm in this room for that cloak, my lady. I cannot think why you have not rung for a footman to take it away. Pray, allow me to do so for you.”

  He heard the breath catch in her throat, but before she could react he swept the cloak from her shoulders. She whirled back, and the speed with which her hand flashed up to strike proved, just as he had suspected all along, that her temper was as quick as his own. Other than to challenge her with a warning look, he made no move to defend himself, but she caught herself and, still glaring, let her hand fall to her side again.

  Her high-waisted, pale green morning frock had been worked down the front in pink with a Grecian scroll pattern, but Gideon scarcely noted such details. Nor did he heed St. Merryn’s hearty congratulations on the way he had put the fear of God into her, for he doubted he had done any such thing. Moreover, he was too busy admiring the effect of rapid breathing on a softly rounded bosom much plumper than he had expected to discover in a girl at least a foot shorter than he was. The pink satin bow tied neatly beneath it underscored the comeliness of that particular asset. Penthorpe had been much luckier than he had ever known.

  “The bell rope,” Lady Ophelia said dryly, “is yonder by the chimney-piece, my lord.”

  Recalled to his senses, Gideon flashed her a glance as he moved to ring the bell, and was inexplicably relieved to note a glint of humor in her pale eyes. There was no reflection of that humor in Daintry’s eyes, however, when he turned back to face her after giving the bell rope a sharp tug.

  “You have just rung for the butler,” she said curtly.

  “And a very good thing, too,” St. Merryn interjected. “He can bring us some wine. I daresay you’ll be glad of a drop after your journey, Penthorpe.”

  “Too early in the day for me, sir, but don’t deny yourself on my account. Shall I ring for a footman as well, Lady Daintry?” he added, seeing her turn away toward the window as though she had washed her hands of him. “You did express a desire earlier to send a message to the stables, did you not?”

  “Medrose can attend to that,” she said, “but since you are determined to be of use, perhaps you will be so kind as to adjust the fire screen for my mother. Is it not too hot for you, Mama?”

  “Upon my word, girl,” St. Merryn said testily, “stop treating the man like a lackey and sit down. You can forget about sending any damned messages to the stables, too, for I tell you here and now that you are not going to go dashing off on a horse when we’ve a guest staying in the house. You are staying, of course,” he added, looking confidently at Gideon.

  “As to that, sir,” Gideon began, thinking swiftly, “I was not by any means certain of my welcome here, since I had not had the good manners to send ahead to warn you of my arrival.”

  “Don’t be daft, man,” St. Merryn said, breaking off when the door behind him opened and the butler entered, followed by a tall young footman. “There you are, Medrose. Take Lady Daintry’s cloak from Lord Penthorpe, and bring us some mountain sherry. Oh, and tell Mrs. Medrose to prepare rooms for his lordship.”

  Gideon said hastily, “Really, sir—”

  “Medrose, send word to the stables that I want horses saddled for myself and the two young ladies the minute the rain has stopped,” Daintry said, interrupting him without ceremony.

  Gideon did not object since the intervention gave him time to think, but he shot her a curious look as he handed her cloak to the butler. Surely she had said she was taking Charlie and Melissa.
Or had he misunderstood? Medrose did not question her order, though he did turn back to her once he held her cloak.

  “I shall attend to it at once, Miss Daintry. Shall I take your gloves away as well, miss?”

  She looked down at her hands in some surprise. “Oh, yes, of course. How foolish of me.” Stripping them off, she handed them over to him. At the threshold, he handed cloak and gloves to the footman and, turning back, closed the doors behind them himself.

  A silence fell but was broken when Miss Davies got suddenly to her feet, saying with breathless eagerness, “Do sit down, Lord Penthorpe. I cannot think why you have been kept standing this age when we are all perfectly agog to hear about your noble exploits against the dreadful Bonaparte. Do tell us everything, for I am sure we shall hang in awe upon your every word.”

  Lady Ophelia said tartly, “Don’t be a zany, Ethelinda. His most memorable exploit must be Waterloo, and even you cannot be so insensitive as to wish to hear the details of that frightful conflict. His lordship must have lost many friends that day, so we must not ask him to relive it for our entertainment. Sit down at once, and you sit, too, Daintry, for regardless of what you want this young man to think of you, you have no reason to act as if you’d had no breeding whatsoever. Now then, sir,” she said when Daintry had obeyed without a murmur, “you may take a seat, too, and tell us if you will, without further roundaboutation, if you do or do not mean to remain with us for a sensible visit.”

  “Of course he will stay,” St. Merryn declared, beaming at him. “We’ve plans to make, upon my word.”

  Fully aware that he was treading on thin ice, Gideon remembered belatedly that the reason he generally took care never to lie, aside from the utter reprehensibility of such behavior, was that he had never, even as a child, done so successfully. He still had enough sense left to stick to the truth where possible and was determined to avoid the obvious pitfalls of an extended visit, so repressing a sigh, he said cautiously, “Since I could scarcely count on such a generous welcome when I had not written first, sir—that unfortunate habit of procrastination you spoke of earlier, I fear—I decided I’d do better to put up elsewhere in the neighborhood until I had paid my respects.”

  “And where,” Lady Ophelia said, “might that be, my lord?”

  Realizing that she had not once called him Penthorpe, he wondered if she suspected his imposture. In any case, he must end it soon, and to avoid further untruths, and hoping too that the dratted feud would keep them from paying a formal call, he said, “At Deverill Court, ma’am. I daresay you know—”

  “Oh, we know of Deverill Court,” she said, nodding. “Do we not, St. Merryn?”

  “Upon my word, lad,” the earl exclaimed, “what are you about to stay with Jervaulx? Bad enough that he’s back in Cornwall at all when we thought ourselves rid of him—and I daresay you know nothing of the relationship betwixt our two families—but damme, I can’t have you staying there! You’re to remove to us at once.”

  Gideon stiffened but said with forced calm, “I believe I must make that decision, sir. It would be the height of bad manners to leave before I am expected to do so, but the Court is less than an hour’s ride from here, so I daresay you will see more than enough of me in days to come. I have every wish to know Lady Daintry well before we set a date for our wedding.”

  “Damme, man, but Ollie was right. You’re a damned procrastinator!”

  For the second time that day, Gideon blessed his friend’s well-known dilatory nature. “Be that as it may, sir,” he said, “I can see nothing to be lost and a great deal to be gained by going gently to work here.” He glanced pointedly at Lady Daintry, who had chosen that moment to look out the window again as though she took no interest whatsoever in the conversation.

  Following his glance, St. Merryn grimaced and said, “Oh, very well, but you disappoint me, lad. I had not thought you would so easily discount my excellent advice on that head.”

  The drawing-room doors banged back on their hinges, and Gideon turned to stare in astonishment at the small whirlwind that blew into the room. “Aunt Daintry, the rain has stopped, and we’ve got our habits on and everything! Oh, please, may we go at once?” The child was almost an exact miniature of her aunt, and faced with such exuberance, Gideon nearly didn’t notice the slender blond wraith who slipped in behind her.

  “Upon my soul, Charley!” St. Merryn snarled in outrage.

  Lady Ophelia said calmly, “Go out and come in again, Charlotte, this time like a lady of quality, if you please.”

  Without missing a beat, the child turned on her heel and ran past her silent shadow, out of the room, pulling the doors shut behind her. There was a lengthy pause before they opened again, revealing the stately Medrose with tray, decanter, and glasses. Stepping into the room, he paused for effect before announcing majestically, “The Honorable Miss Charlotte Tarrant, madam.”

  Gideon ruthlessly stifled laughter at the vision next revealed upon the threshold. Carrying herself with the dignity of a queen, and a far more dignified queen than the present one, Miss Charlotte swept into the room and made a profound, even a graceful, curtsy. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and he saw that they were not the same color as Daintry’s but were so dark as to appear black; however, the roses in her cheeks were the same, and it was as clear as could be that in a few years she would be every bit as beautiful as her aunt.

  The second child had not moved from the spot she had taken after their first entrance. She stood so still that it seemed almost as if she were not breathing, and she, too, reminded him of someone. For a moment he could not think who it was. Then, with a start, he realized that Lady Susan must be the child’s mother. The fact that Susan had been present in the room the entire time he had been there and had scarcely uttered a word was reason enough to have missed the resemblance. He glanced at her now, seated quietly near the window, and saw that she was watching, warily, not her irrepressible niece but St. Merryn.

  Daintry, too, shot a look at her father before stepping forward with a laugh to hug Charlotte. “Charley, you dreadful girl, will you never learn to behave?”

  “But I did do it properly the second time, Aunt Daintry, so do say you will take us. Who is that gentleman?” she demanded abruptly when her gaze came to rest at last upon Gideon.

  St. Merryn snapped, “Children should be seen and not heard.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Ophelia retorted. “How is the child to learn anything if she does not ask questions? Introduce him.”

  When the earl’s face darkened in anger, Daintry said quickly, “He is Viscount Penthorpe, darling.”

  “The man you are going to marry?”

  Daintry paused, but Gideon, surprising himself, said firmly, “The very man.”

  The child looked him over from head to toe, then smiled happily at her aunt. “He is much better looking than you thought he would be, isn’t he?”

  Gasping, Daintry shot him a look of laughing embarrassment before she said, “If I am to take you riding, girls, I must change out of this gown, so now if everyone will excuse me—”

  Seeing that St. Merryn was about to object again, Gideon quickly interrupted, saying, “An excellent idea. I will be very happy to accompany you.”

  But if she was grateful for his intervention, she did not show it, replying curtly, “We ride toward the shore, sir, not toward Bodmin Moor.”

  Still determined to frustrate St. Merryn’s opposition, Gideon said evenly, “Then we can ride together as long as our routes coincide, my lady. Surely you do not wish to stand here debating the point when you could more efficiently employ the time in changing to your riding dress.”

  For a moment she looked as if she would stand her ground, but then, with a swift look at the two girls, she nodded, said abruptly, “Wait for me in the hall, Charley,” and swept from the room with the same air of dignity that the child had assumed to enter it. Only, in Daintry’s case, the attitude was clearly a natural one and inspired not the least urge in Gideon to laugh
.

  “That’s the dandy,” St. Merryn said, his humor rapidly improving. “A firm hand, that’s what you’ll need with the chit. You just show her who’s master, lad, and you’ll have no regrets.”

  Lady Ophelia, chuckling, said, “All things are possible, I suppose.”

  Four

  DAINTRY’S AIR OF DIGNITY deserted her the moment the drawing-room doors closed behind her, and she hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, where walls papered above white linen-fold wainscoting in a mock-India pattern of colorful flowers and birds on a sky blue background provided an elegant background for dark wood furniture. The hangings at bed and window were of matching blue silk, and a cheerful fire crackled on the white marble hearth.

  Ringing for her maid, she crossed the pastel-colored floral carpet and flung open the doors of her wardrobe. Then, kicking off the pink satin slippers she had worn with her morning dress, she untied her sash with one hand while with the other she riffled through the clothes hanging in the wardrobe.

  “Merciful heavens, Daintry, whatever are you doing?” Susan demanded from the doorway. There was amusement in her voice, and when Daintry, startled, whirled to face her, she said, “Wait for Nance to help you, for goodness’ sake. You know how much it annoys her when you disarrange the things in your wardrobe.”

  “Good gracious, Susan, do you try to please even your maid? Nance is very good in her way, and I prefer her services to those of that awful dresser Aunt Ophelia insisted I hire my first Season in London, but I do not exert myself to please her. Where the devil is she, anyway? And what are you doing here?”

  “I came to help you choose what to wear, of course, and to discover what you think of your betrothed.”

  “He is a typical man, overbearing and arrogant,” Daintry said, laughing at her, “but you can’t fool me, my dear. You just wanted to escape from the drawing room. Not that I blame you in the least, but won’t Papa be displeased by such base desertion?”