Two columns of chairs faced a slightly raised dais. Each column contained six rows of chairs, and each row held five chairs. Obviously, not all the guests who’d been invited would attend the musical selections, and as Perry chose a chair in the last row, he wondered if he ought not double back and check for a card room or perhaps a smoking room.
But as people began to fill in the chairs around him and ladies’ colorful skirts trailed over the floors and clogged the aisles, he slumped slightly in his chair, resisting the urge to take out his pocket watch. When was it properly possible to call for his carriage and leave for home? He tightened his grip on the silver head of his cane. When did I become the curmudgeon I joked about being with Jensen?
Then a woman entered a row a few up from his position. Peregrine glanced at her, skimmed his gaze to another person seating himself in the chair ahead, and then he slammed his attention back to the woman.
Surely not.
He straightened his back and clenched his hand tighter on the head of his cane. Yes, upon second glance, it was her! The dratted woman from the fair earlier in the day was here, acting for all the world as if she hadn’t cut him to ribbons with her waspish tongue. He’d recognize that profile anywhere: the raven hair done in an elaborate upsweep, the heavy black eyebrows that framed a heart-shaped face, the rose-colored lips that held not a smile for anyone. And most certainly he recognized those indigo eyes that immediately set her apart from everyone.
The urge to further bedevil her surged strong in his chest. He warred with himself, for this wasn’t the time or place, but he’d never been one to give into common sense. No, rash decisions and actions ruled him, a leftover product from his sea-faring days when there wasn’t time to muse about what to do.
Quickly, Peregrine stood, and murmuring apologies, he extricated himself from his row only to relocate to an empty chair next to the woman. She wore a gown of periwinkle satin, muted from the jonquil gown of earlier, but no less pleasing, for she had a very nice bosom indeed, all creamy décolletage resting amidst satin and a cloud of lighter blue tulle, the color a rich contrast against her pale skin. And it strengthened the hue of her eyes.
Damn it, she was pleasing to look at, could attain superior beauty if she would ever smile. Why didn’t she? Was she some sort of a frost queen then?
When she didn’t turn his way in greeting, he tamped down the rising annoyance that flared at the same level he’d attained when he’d left her earlier, and leaning into her personal space, his lips inches from the delicate shell of her ear, he whispered, “I believe we parted ways too fast earlier this afternoon that I couldn’t offer an apology.” At least that much was true. He’d acted the boor and manners demanded he say something, anything, for he hadn’t thought they’d see each other again, yet here they were.
But only if she offered the same. It had not been a one-way conversation.
“I beg your pardon?” Finally, the woman moved her body until she had no choice but to look fully into his face. Her rosy lips, the bottom slightly fuller than the top, parted. Her eyes widened. Astonishment shadowed her expression, quickly followed by annoyance. “You.” The tone suggested he was a member of the rodent family that she might have banished with a broom the day before.
Peregrine ignored the excited leap in his heartbeat at the prospect of another round of verbal banter. “You sound affronted.” He chuckled and nodded at a stranger in the row beside him. “When it should be me who is offended, for you acted like a foolish twit mere hours ago,” he said in a well-modulated whisper.
“You, offended?” She gawked. Then she reared back as much as her seat would allow. “You could have killed me or my sisters, but you already know this,” she hissed at him, her voice filled with disgust.
He allowed himself a tiny smile. “At least they had the sense to run.” He refused to acknowledge how invigorated he felt talking with her again. “Instead of standing as if you’d turned into a pillar of salt.”
One of her eyebrows sailed upward. “Perhaps my life was flashing before my eyes.”
“And perhaps I’ll turn into a gentleman overnight,” he murmured, and then no more chance for conversation was had, for the musical portion of the evening began.
A lady sat herself in front of a pianoforte, yet when she played, there was no passion or feeling in her rendition. She simply sat unmoving and her fingers walked over the keys as if by rote.
Which meant Peregrine was properly bored in all of thirty seconds. Once more, he leaned close to the woman beside him, unable to resist needling her. “How interesting to find you here at a society event, you who are not husband hunting.”
When she glanced at him, her remarkable indigo eyes brimmed with loathing. “Why are you here, since you hate all females?”
“Not hate.” Feeling confident he had the upper hand this time, he smiled. “Don’t trust them. There’s a marked difference.”
She blew out a tiny breath that ruffled the baby fine curls on her forehead. “If you are looking to change your mind, this is not the place, or rather gathering.”
“I can say the same to you, but no, I won’t change my mind.” Feeling rather cocky, he watched the woman on the stage as she finished her last piece. Then another lady, perhaps younger by a couple of years with equally dark hair, took her place. When she put her fingers to the keys, there was more energy to her performance, but the rendition was still lackluster. “I don’t know what I expected from this gathering, but it’s a collection of rather a motley crew, isn’t it? I’m surprised the earl associates with such a crowd.”
“You are not enjoying yourself?” she whispered, not looking at him but instead had trained her gaze on the stage.
“I am not, actually. There is no culture here, only ignorant country folk playing at being sophisticated.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “And what’s more, there is still the refreshment portion of the evening to suffer through.”
“I’m sure the people in charge have done their best, and besides, social protocols in the country are different than in London.” Her words were short, clipped, with anger fairly pouring out of them.
They watched in silence for a while, and when the performer finished and polite clapping went through the audience, Peregrine tried once more to talk with her in the hopes of provoking her further.
“I understand why some of these people are here, for they have nothing better to do in their provincial lives, but what I don’t understand is why the devil you’re here with this dreadful menagerie.”
Like a vengeful east wind, she turned on him, all flashing eyes and a veracity of rage lining her face. In whispered tones that clanged in his head with the noise of church bells, she said, “This is my house, you arse, and everyone you insulted is dear to me.” She narrowed her eyes. “I really don’t know why you’re here or who you are, but make no mistake, I will find out. Country society, as you have noted as being beneath your notice, will give you the cold shoulder.”
Then her name was called—Lady Isabella Fortescue—and with much elegance and stiff pride, the lady stood. She gathered her skirts about her in an effort not to brush him at all as she passed him by. With her chin set at an alarming notch and fire in her eyes, she marched up the center aisle and then resituated herself behind the pianoforte, fairly quivering with rage, her lips pressed into a straight line.
Hellfire and damnation.
The heat of shame slammed into his chest, and he sat in stunned silence as she played a sonnet from Beethoven with such passion that he felt the notes inside his person. With a few ill-chosen words he’d managed to disparage not only her whole family but her friends as well. With a furtive glance here and there over the company, he tried to pick out the earl and his countess—her parents—but he didn’t see anyone that might resemble her.
I should have left as soon as I arrived.
Horrified by his behavior and when he’d meant to apologize, he stared at the lady. Her eyes were closed. She swayed with the force of
her play as if the music had embodied her soul, her fingers dancing, mere ghosts upon the keys as she built into a crescendo. Despite her acerbic wit and tongue, she didn’t deserve the slights he’d hurled at her. But verbally fencing with her had been one of the most exciting things to happen to him in recent years.
Not an excuse!
Before her piece ended, he scrambled to his feet, murmuring apologies as he trampled toes in an effort to flee. He left the room, determined to wait for her in the hall near the refreshment room, to truly apologize.
He was obliged to wait for a while, and during the time he nodded and smiled at passing guests who moved between the rooms. All the time, he mentally kicked himself. How could I have been so stupid? Of course the women who’d appeared on the stage before her were her sisters. He hadn’t paid them much mind in the rain.
Finally, Lady Isabella appeared. He repeated her name in his head so he wouldn’t forget. How could he, not after it was seared into his brain.
When she came near, her blue skirts whispering across the floor, her eyes flashed as she looked at him. Peregrine stepped into her path. “If I could have a word?”
“Haven’t you said enough?” She halted not two feet from him.
Fair enough. He deserved that. “We have gotten off to a bad start—two actually.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Yes, well, I feel terrible and wish to apologize.” He tightened his grip on his cane. Would she let him?
“You should.”
A swath of annoyance shot through him. “So should you.” Pregnant silence brewed between them while people laughed and chatted as they passed through the hallway around them. Stuffing away his pride, Peregrine offered her his free hand. “I am your neighbor, Captain Peregrine St. John.”
She looked from his hand to his face. Anger lit her countenance, but underlying that was embarrassment that colored her cheeks and… a trace of vulnerability he couldn’t understand. Her chin went up a notch. “I don’t care who you are.” Lady Isabella closed the remaining distance between them, pulled back a hand and then she slapped his cheek with such force his head snapped back. “Leave this house. Immediately.”
With a stinging cheek and his chest tight with shock, he nodded. Sudden silence rang throughout the corridor. Everyone in attendance stared. “Very well. Thank you, once again, for an entertaining time.”
No, his first assessment was correct: there was nothing redeeming whatsoever with the females of the species.
Chapter Five
June 1, 1818
“Tell me, why are you grumpy today, Captain?”
Peregrine ignored the satirical annoyance in his valet’s voice and continued to sip from his coffee cup while contemplating the front of his property from the parlor window. It had become a habit of his not to take breakfast in the morning room. He needed no such luxuries. What was the point of having so many rooms in a house when one only used a few? More often than not, he enjoyed coffee and perhaps a few French pastries in the morning, for he’d developed a liking for the things while fighting the seemingly never-ending war against Napoleon.
“Ah, good, surly silence. I had begun to think starting the mornings any other way was sheer foolish hope on my part.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “Good God, Jensen, don’t be a stick in the mud.” He took another sip of his coffee and relished the warmth of the rich brew down his throat. “Perhaps I don’t feel like talking this morning.”
“Which makes today different than any other how?” the valet inquired as he drew near and refreshed Peregrine’s cup.
“You cannot hide your mood from me, you know,” Perry said as he slowly turned to face his friend.
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps I’m grumpy, but then, you are too, stuck here in the country with nothing to do but badger me.” After another sip, he continued. “However, would it help alleviate your boredom if I told you of how I stuck my foot in my mouth and my head in arse by antagonizing my nearest neighbor, all quite by accident?”
Curiosity shadowed Jensen’s eyes. “It might.”
“I thought as much.” With his mind at sixes and sevens, Peregrine regarded the scene out the window once more. Another gray day, with fat clouds scudding through the skies—definitely rain in the offing. And his thigh hurt, which was a more accurate barometer than sight. Buggar it. There’d be no riding today. Best get on with confessing. “So then, allow me to tell you exactly what sort of bacon-brained idiot you happen to be friends with.”
He told the valet what had occurred at the gypsy fair, of having his fortune read, and then of bedeviling the woman at the musicale evening last night, of discovering who she was and that he’d insulted basically her whole family.
At the end of it, Peregrine waited for his friend’s judgment.
Of course, Jensen looked properly horrified. His eyes rounded and his jaw hung slack. “You insulted her family.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m afraid so. Do bear in mind, I didn’t know that’s who they were, and the words more or less fell out of my mouth.”
“No excuse.” The valet gestured with his hands, presumably to refer to the whole area at large. “I sent you to the musicale for the purpose of getting on with the neighbors, at making an effort, to show you are a valued member of country society.”
“I am aware of that. However, these were extenuating circumstances.” Was he arguing for or against himself at this point?
“That is no reason to let go your manners. I’d venture to say you were more polite on the damned ship.” He stared at Peregrine. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Only God knew. “Perhaps country life doesn’t agree with me.” No, that wasn’t true. Something about that woman got under his skin and irritated him like a pebble in a shoe. Yes, she’d goaded him at their first meeting to say the vile things that he had, but what he’d said during their second was on him.
Jensen shoved a hand through his hair. For long seconds, he stared at the floor then he raised his gaze to Peregrine’s. “After she slapped you, what did you do?”
“What could I do?” He shrugged. “I left, came home and retired.” He took another deep swig of his coffee. “Now here I am, no doubt shunned by the one family that could have seen me nicely entrenched into Buckinghamshire society.”
“You ruined your chances quite handily.” The valet shook his head. “Is that the reason you’re out of sorts this morning?” He came closer, peering into Peregrine’s face. “Ah, but that might be what anyone else would think, but I, your only friend knows differently.”
“What do you presume you know?” His chest tightened with foreboding and he laid his coffee cup on the fireplace mantle.
A tight smile curved the valet’s lips. “You are miffed because you’ve ruined your chances with her.”
“Her?”
“The lady. What was her name?”
As if he could forget. “Lady Isabella.”
“Yes, her. What will you do?”
“What can I do?” Absently, he rubbed his cheek. “I might have to move back to London.”
Jensen snorted. “And take rooms in a rubbish building somewhere so you can fight against the noise and crowds every day and brood on an ugly, second-hand sofa? I don’t bloody think so.”
“She slapped me, Jensen.”
“Yes.” He laughed, didn’t even try to hide it. “This woman despises you so much that she slapped you at her family’s event in front of everyone.” Snickers followed the statement. “She hasn’t got manners to speak of either, it seems. Perhaps you’re well-matched.”
“I rather doubt that. I could never aspire to an earl’s daughter, even if I wished to start in the petticoat line.”
“Good God.” Jensen rolled his eyes. “She’s not a prostitute, man.”
“Right.” Peregrine rubbed his hands over his face. “Forgive me the erroneous terminology. It appears whenever she’s concerned I’m forever saying the wrong
things.”
“You’re quite daft.”
“So it would seem.” He eyeballed his abandoned cup of coffee and wished there were something stronger in it.
“Answer me this.” Mischief danced in the valet’s eyes. “Has this lady gotten under your skin?”
“Hardly.” Liar. “I’m mortified about what happened, not infatuated.” What the devil was his friend on about?
“No doubt.” Jensen clasped his hands behind his back. “So is she.”
Peregrine rolled his eyes. “Again, I would apologize if I could, but I’m fairly certain I’d be shot upon sight of the house.”
“Yes, I’ve heard rumors the earl is a crack shot when he’s hunting,” Jensen said, his tone droll.
“Not. Helping.” Peregrine grabbed up his cane that rested against the wall nearby. “I’m much too restless to remain here. I’m going into the village for a bit.”
“Ah, good. Perhaps the villagers will run you off with torches and pitchforks, for I’m quite sure they’ve heard the gossip by now.”
“Not amusing, Jensen.” But Peregrine’s lips twitched.
The valet grinned, undeterred. “Let us hope you conduct yourself with more decorum there than you’ve shown thus far.”
“I mean to pop into the book shop, Jensen. How much trouble could there possibly be?”
A new book or two was just the thing he needed to divert his mind from the tart-mouthed but interesting Lady Isabella.
Peregrine had no sooner been happily ensconced among the shelves of the tiny bookseller’s shop for all of twenty minutes when he heard the voice that had haunted his every waking moment.
“Good morning, Mr. Wiltshire.” Pleasantries were exchanged. “I look forward to browsing in the hopes you might have another adventure novel or a travelogue, perhaps.”
Lady Isabella's Splendid Folly: a Fortune's of Fate story (Fortunes of Fate Book 7) Page 5
