Fortunately, she was spared a response as both Pierre Guyot and Leslie Pearson approached them. After greetings were exchanged, Mrs. Palmer asked, “Mr. Pearson, seeing you here, I assume you have successfully concluded your business?”
Pearson leveled Mrs. Palmer with an invidious look. “So it would seem,” he said, offering her his arm. “However, I believe it is time we meet up with the others?” Not waiting for a reply, he led the widow toward the Hare and Stag.
Chloe was forced to accept the Frenchman’s company. If he suspected her reluctance, he hid it well, plying his silky manners, asking her a few questions about her purchases. But his tone soon changed as he quizzed her on her nocturnal ramblings.
“You go out often with la petit chien, non?”
“Yes, for in the city I am unable to take Lacy Caro out for long walks,” Chloe answered, slowing her pace as the Frenchman took her arm and slackened his.
“You are energuque, er, full of energy.” When she made no reply, he asked, “And do you ever see others?”
“Others?” she parroted innocently.
“Oui, one of the guests?”
The look that accompanied his remark displayed more than idle curiosity. Chloe was instantly suspicious and decided to impart as little as possible. For an answer, she shrugged a shoulder.
But Guyot would have none of it. “The darkness covers many things, oui? It is a way to meet someone without others knowing. A lover, perhaps?” he asked wilily, leaning into her.
They had reached the front yard of the inn, the last to arrive. Chloe, deigning not to reply, broke away from the despicable Frenchman and walked over to the carriages where she encountered the scowling countenance of Viscount Camden. He sat on the black stallion, one booted leg thrown across the saddle. It seemed odd to Chloe that the huge beast was so tractable, especially hearing his lordship’s description of the horse’s vile temperament the other morning. Of course, the Viscount may have been exaggerating . . . Or was it possible that the horse had had the very devil ridden out of him?
Chloe read the displeasure in Camden’s dark eyes and wondered what she’d done to incur his wrath. She was confused by his tenderness last night, then Mrs. Palmer’s revelations today, and now his apparent anger. He continued to stare at her until she felt a burning blush heat her face. Then he gave her a brief nod and turned his attention back to Guyot.
Around her, the other men appeared excessively jovial, discussing the merits of a nearby cockfight, which the majority of them had attended and been fortunate enough to come away winners. Preparing to leave, the ladies and Sir Albert got into the carriages, all eager to describe their new finery on the ride back to the Court.
Though the afternoon had gotten progressively warmer, a chill had seeped into Chloe’s bones that she couldn’t dispel. Still suffering from the shock of Judith Palmer’s pronouncement, she sat docilely, soaking up the warm rays of the sun. The older occupants of the carriage were otherwise inclined to offer disparaging comments on the heat. Always one to take advantage of a situation, Lady Sophia used the weather as an excuse to frequently produce her flask, claiming the need to quench her parched throat. With Chloe distracted by her troubled thoughts, the dowager played a deaf ear to Edwina Reaves’s horrified exclamations and Sir Albert’s indulgent chuckles and managed to tipple the silver flask dry.
It was late afternoon by the time the party reached the Court. Chloe turned her aunt over to Hannah’s ministrations as she barely had time herself to dress for dinner. That affair would have been a tedious ordeal for Chloe if it were not for Sir Albert. Having imbibed most of the afternoon, Lady Sophia was deep in her cups, and Chloe was far from being up to the task of keeping the baroness from disgracing herself, muttering outlandish comments to unsuspecting guests, colliding with the furniture, or worst. Chloe was finding that she’d overextended herself too soon after having sustained a concussion. And that coupled with the shock of Mrs. Palmer’s unsettling disclosures, it was inevitable that she was beset with a migraine.
The ever faithful Sir Albert, however, determined Chloe’s plight early in the evening and took it upon himself to remain by Lady Sophia throughout dinner. Discretely, he monitored the baroness’s drinking and even went so far as to adjourn with the ladies to the drawing room, denying himself the customary glass of port and cigar with the other gentlemen.
Chloe could do no more than pick at her food and had next to nothing to say to her dinner partners, Sir Clarence and Leslie Pearson. After dinner, she sat by her aunt and Sir Albert and managed to avoid any real conversation. When the gentlemen later were heard coming down the hall, Mrs. Palmer was on her feet to position herself by the door to greet the Viscount. Then she announced to one and all her intention to play the pianoforte.
“That is, of course, if my lord will be kind enough to turn my sheet music,” she purred while gripping his arm.
Neatly trapped, the Viscount agreed to her scheme with apparent good grace, though judging from his facial expression, it was the last thing he wanted to do. Once seated at the pianoforte with the Viscount standing close beside her, Judith creditably executed several jaunty ditties, to which she added her high soprano voice before urging Lady Sarah to sing a light aria. The Marchioness’s daughter, a gifted soft soprano, gave a delightful performance, and Chloe was able to relax somewhat.
But hardly had Lady Sarah sung her last note when, to Chloe’s chagrin, Lady Sophia volunteered her to sing. “My niece has a fine voice. Dare say, she’d put Mrs. Palmer’s to shame.”
At first Chloe demurred, but in the end, headache or no, she was forced to capitulate to keep from appearing churlish. She chose a favorite old Scottish ballad, Barbara Allen, and was pleased that her voice sounded clear and strong.
From where Chloe stood, poised in front of the pianoforte, the Viscount remained out of her line of vision, still handling the music for the beautiful widow. Finishing to a sincere spate of applause, Chloe dutifully turned to thank Judith Palmer for her accompaniment and met Camden’s scowling countenance. Returning to her seat, she felt his midnight blue eyes following her progress across the room. When she was seated, he kept his gaze on her, even as Mrs. Palmer tried to regain his attention.
“Really, Oliver, you are being most uncooperative. How can I play if you persist in looking about the room?”
With a steely glint in his eyes, he humbly offered the widow his apology. “You must allow, then, that I’m a poor excuse for a page turner. Perhaps Sir Clarence can more ably assist you, my dear,” he said, masterfully snagging that unsuspecting lord as he passed by to take his place.
Camden then took up a stance by the fireplace on the other side of the room, directly across from where Chloe sat with her aunt.
Every time she glanced up, Chloe found his gaze on her. Such scrutiny was distressing, especially since she saw that the Frenchman kept a speculative eye on her and Camden.
She was also acutely conscious of having angered the Viscount in some way, and quite unexplainably, was feeling guilty because of it. Mentally she castigated herself, for such a rogue deserved nothing better from her than her contempt. Yet, she was helpless to control her emotions. Knowing he was watching her, she steadfastly avoided his midnight blue eyes. With her head throbbing painfully, she remained quietly by her aunt until after the tea tray was removed, then at last made excuses for both the baroness and herself to retire.
As the evening had progressed, Lady Sophia consumed only a goblet of wine. Apparently her thirst had slacked off considerably, but so too had her contributions to the conversations around her. Still and all, Chloe had a difficult task getting her aunt to budge.
“I don’t want to go to bed,” the baroness snapped when Chloe tried to help her up from the settee.
“Yes, Aunt Sophia, but it has been a long day,” Chloe almost whispered, all too aware of Camden’s eyes boring into her back. “Please, Aunt Sophia,” she pleaded.
It was Sir Albert who came to her aid. “Here now, Lady
Sophia, give me your arm and help an old man up the stairs.”
“What fustian, Morley! Think I don’t know you’re in cahoots with my niece?”
“And if I am, dear lady, ‘tis only because we both wish the best for you,” replied the old gentleman, linking one arm through the baroness’s. “Besides, at our age, Sophia, we need all the beauty sleep we can get. Now come, my dear.” And without further ado, he led his lady friend slowly from the room.
Between them, Chloe and Sir Albert guided the besotted baroness up the stairs to her bedchamber where Hannah was waiting. When Chloe offered to help put her aunt to bed, the abigail would have none of it and shooed her out, but not before Chloe snatched up Lady Caro’s leash and slipped it on the excited little terrier. Chloe was determined to get some fresh air to clear her foggy brain.
*** Chapter 8 ***
Meanwhile, Camden also departed the drawing room, brushing aside Judith’s protest with the flimsy pretext of needing to turn in early. He then beat a stealthy exit out the French doors of the rear salon, glad to be rid of Judith’s stifling possessiveness.
Heading for the woods, he remembered how refreshing Miss Woodforde’s sweet voice sounded after listening to Judith’s high pitched screeching. He also remembered Miss Woodforde’s pinched features as she’d sat quietly next to her aunt all evening.
When he arrived at the old oak, Raikes was there waiting. “Anything to report?” asked Camden.
“Nary a word. Looks like the knave’s gonna lay now, Gov.”
“Time will tell. Pearson pawned another piece of jewelry at the Golden Goose this morning. You might tell Captain Hawker to drop by and pay his respects with a warning for Demby to keep his mouth shut. Have you seen any sign of Pearson’s fellow conspirator?”
“No, but I ain’t given up yet. There’s been talk that the foreigner’s still running about.”
“Good, but truth is, I’m damn tired of crossing this bruiser’s path. I’ve been lucky so far in that I’ve caught him off guard, but he’s vicious.” He was pensive for a moment. “We need something to connect either Guyot or Pearson with that brute, and then we’ll have our man.”
“What about the quiet mort?” Raikes asked with a keen eye on the Viscount.
“She’s nothing for you to worry about,” Camden said cryptically.
“Funny, ain’t it, how she keeps popping up. Enough to make a bloke wonder?”
“Leave her out of this.” Camden’s retort was gruff, intractable.
A moment passed before Raikes shrugged. “One other thing,” he said, studying Camden’s closed countenance. “Captain sent word a dispatch’ll go out by the end of the week.”
“That means Pearson’s got to make a move soon.”
“I’m good and ready, Gov,” the wiry agent said as a parting shot.
For several minutes, Camden remained behind. He didn’t like the fact that Raikes thought Chloe was somehow involved. She was, of course, but not the way his comrade imagined. He was finding he could do little else but think of Miss Chloe Woodforde, and that, he knew, had to change.
As he came out of the woods, hurrying through the gardens, his sharp eyes picked out the silhouetted figure of a slender female, walking close about the illuminated house. Cursing under his breath, Camden slowed his gait and watched as she turned on her heel to go in the opposite direction after she’d spotted him going toward her. He smiled grimly to himself. It appeared the normally undaunted young woman intended to slink away and avoid him. Completely contrary to his earlier musings, he decided he would not allow that.
“Miss Woodforde, what are you doing out?” he asked, sounding exasperated.
“Lady Caro--”
“Save your breath.” He held up one hand to stop her explanation. “The old gal’s jug-bitten, and rather than stay the night in your room where you belong, you’re out with this worthless mutt.”
“Lady Milbanke is a little under the weather,” she hedged, lowering her eyes.
“You’re wrapping it up in clean linen. The dowager baroness got a grand start, tippling the contents of that silver flask all afternoon.”
“The weather often makes her bones ache.”
“More like she was trying to drown a parched throat, if I heard right,” he said, laughing derisively.
Chloe saw it was useless to defend her aunt’s foible and, in truth, wasn’t up to sparing with Camden. She tugged on Lady Caro’s leash and turned away from him when he took her arm and pulled it through his.
He began walking slowly toward the rear salon French doors. “You have a lovely voice,” he said. After she thanked him, he added, “It was foolish to over tax yourself. How is your migraine anyway?”
“How do you know my head aches?” she asked, raising her eyes to his. His face was so close, inches from hers, but shadowed and unreadable even though he wore no hat. She could feel his warm breath on her face, spreading a delicious warmth through her body.
“You’ve lost the bloom in those fair cheeks. I also noticed how strained you appeared tonight. Instead of gallivanting about the countryside, you should have stayed in bed another day.”
“I will admit to not feeling quite myself, but I could not endure another whole day confined like an invalid,” she replied with spirit. The mention of her bed brought the unbidden memory of waking up yesterday to find she only wore her chemise, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She was glad of the darkness.
Somehow he sensed her anxiety. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not exactly. I did wonder, though, how I came to be . . . that is, when I awoke the other morning, my gown . . .” She let her voice trail off as she brought her hand up in a defensive gesture to her bosom where his dark eyes watched her nervous fingers fidget with the lace trim of the bodice.
They’d reached the back terrace, and in the light from the salon she saw his devilish smile. “If, Miss Woodforde, you are trying to determine how you went to sleep completely clothed but awoke in your shift, it is because I took the liberty of removing your gown.”
She was speechless. He had saved her life and meant her no harm, yet he’d disrobed her. Dear heavens, if this ever were to become known, even her great aunt would be hard pressed to ignore her disgrace. Indeed, the implications of such an act would put her completely beyond the pale.
And there he stood, his smile mocking her prudishness. But in the dark depths of his eyes, a fire lurked, an intimate warmth that he did not bother to disguise. She lowered her eyes in confusion, and his laugh sounded harsh to her ears.
“Go to bed, Miss Woodforde, and stay there. I warned you once before that virginal young ladies should never venture out alone at night, especially one as attractive as yourself.”
He opened the French door to the salon and let her pass with the little terrier in tow. When she heard the latch click, she whirled about to see that he had not followed her. Instead, he vanished before her eyes as his dark clothes melded into the shadows of the night.
~~~~~
Over the next two days, it rained continuously, spoiling most of the activities Lady Clairmont had planned for the guests. Consequently, the gentlemen took possession of the rear salon to play billiards by day and cards late into the night. The ladies mainly occupied the drawing room where gossip was rehashed or, when that became dull, they reverted to doing needlework. By the second day, this forced inactivity was taking its toll on the majority of the company and tempers became short.
It fell to reason that Lady Sophia would be least affected by the inclement weather. She was more than content to use the opportunity to partake of an extra cup of tea or two of her special brew. Ultimately, Chloe and Sir Albert were kept on their toes as the baroness became less steady on her feet.
The incessant drizzle finally let up on the afternoon of the third day, and Chloe used the opportunity to slip outside with Lady Caro to walk about the garden paths while her aunt napped. Her wish for peace and quiet was spoiled, much to her disappointment, as several
guests had conceived the same notion.
Hanging on the arm of the Viscount, Judith Palmer smiled prettily. The Marchioness was also strolling with Lady Howard among the short boxwood that lined the gravel paths.
Chloe, however, preferred solitude to an encounter with any one of these personages. Reaching a juncture in the garden path, she had turned toward the rolling parkland with Lady Caro tugging on her leash, antsy for a run, when Lady Clairmont hailed her. After an about face, Chloe joined her hostess and Lady Howard.
“Miss Woodforde, how is your aunt faring?” the Marchioness inquired solicitously.
“She is enjoying her stay, my lady, and is presently resting, thank you,” replied Chloe, touched by the Marchioness’s graciousness. She was forestalled from making any further comment when a footman approached to inform the Marchioness that she was urgently needed to settle a domestic crisis that had erupted in the kitchen.
Left with Lady Howard, Chloe searched for an excuse to depart with Lady Caro, but Lady Howard insisted Chloe amble about the meticulously groomed walkways with her. An attractive, petite woman with light brown hair shot with silver strands, Lady Howard fixed her intelligent blue eyes on Chloe.
“I understand you are cousin to Sir Cedric Milbanke, Lady Sophia’s nephew?” Lady Howard asked.
“Yes, we were raised together, although Cedric is several years older than me,” Chloe replied.
“You will forgive me if I say you do not resemble your cousin, Miss Woodforde?”
Chloe laughed good naturedly. “No, my lady, I would not take offense. My cousin tends to be prosy and stiff-necked. I have never been accused of that.”
As both women shared a merry laugh at her pompous cousin’s expense, Chloe saw the Viscount a short distance ahead turn at the sound of their laughter. When he took a step towards them, Judith Palmer immediately drew his arm closer to her side and spoke a few words to him. Though he looked far from pleased, the Viscount allowed the widow to change their direction, veering off onto another path.
The Poor Relation Page 7
