The Wicked Cousin

by Stella Riley

  There was no need to ask who ‘he’ was. On the other hand, reflected Cassie, Nell didn’t know about the beautiful, smug-looking mistress.

  ‘It’s too early to tell. Are you really going to hold a supper party?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her ladyship’s dark eyes sparkled with laughter. ‘And unless Harry objects, I’m considering inviting Monsieur Delacroix and his sister. He owns the gaming club where all the gentlemen go these days. It’s as respectable as White’s, apparently and --’

  ‘All which gentlemen?’

  ‘Harry, Nick, Lord Sarre, Rock when he’s in Town – all of them,’ returned Nell impatiently. ‘Harry says Nick is fascinated by Mademoiselle Delacroix which is something I wouldn’t mind seeing. Of course, she and her brother might not come but --’ She broke off as, around them, everyone started rising and preparing to return to the ballroom. ‘I’m promised to Lord Sarre for the quadrille. I made him exchange it for the supper-dance so I could trap Mr Audley.’

  Cassie had to laugh. ‘Nell, you’re incorrigible!’

  ‘Nonsense. I just arrange matters so that the things I want to happen will. What’s wrong with that?’ And over her shoulder, ‘You should try it some time.’

  * * *

  On the following day, Cassie received flowers from two gentlemen. Both were equally surprising.

  First came an unostentatious posy of violets tied up with silvery-green ribbon – a neat tribute, she realised, to the gown she had worn the previous evening; and on the accompanying card were the words, In appreciation of your company, Y.W.C.S. It took Cassie less than a minute to work this out … but most of the morning to stop giggling every time she thought about it afterwards.

  The second bouquet, two dozen pink and white roses, was delivered later in the day and in person by Mr Penhaligon. Glimpsing him in the doorway and half-tempted to doubt the evidence of her own eyes, Cassie was glad she was sitting down. Across the room, Olivia – who had been permitted to join the company because it consisted mostly of young people – stared at him in slack-jawed admiration.

  As it turned out, Mr Penhaligon’s actual call was much less momentous than the fact he’d paid it. He laid the roses in Cassie’s hands with a graceful compliment, thanked Lady Delahaye for receiving him and awarded the other visitors with brief, amicable greetings. Then, precisely fifteen minutes after he had arrived, he bowed over Lady Delahaye’s hand, invited Cassie to drive with him the following afternoon … and left.

  Later, when everyone had gone, Olivia sailed into her sister’s bedchamber and said dreamily, ‘I think Mr Penhaligon is the best-looking gentleman I’ve ever seen. Is he courting you?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘But he brought you flowers and is to take you driving,’ argued Olivia. ‘And --’

  ‘Stop.’ Holding up a hand to stem the flow, Cassie said, ‘Although those things can be an indication of courtship, one can’t assume that they are. Firstly, not all gentlemen are looking for a bride – and those who do intend to marry, take time making their choice.’ She hesitated and then said, ‘Look at it this way. When you go to buy a new hat, how many will you try on before you decide?’

  ‘Lots. Half a dozen, at least.’

  ‘Exactly. And that’s what the gentlemen are doing. They’re shopping.’

  ‘Shopping?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cassie firmly. ‘One or two of them may be hoping they’ll find love. But the majority are looking for the biggest dowry or the best family connections or the most biddable disposition or the prettiest face.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound very romantic,’ grumbled Olivia.

  ‘Usually it isn’t – though I believe it can be.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Fortunately, the gentlemen aren’t the only ones who can pick and choose. You don’t have to accept the first one who asks.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed.’

  ‘Quite. And it would be nice if you tried to understand why.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  While the Road Improvement Bill was passing its final reading in the House, Mr Audley disappointed his many female admirers by giving his new carriage its first airing with beautiful Anna Whitcombe sitting beside him. Truth to tell, her looks aside, he found the young lady tedious and would have much preferred the more invigorating company of Cassandra Delahaye. But he’d danced with her at the Amberley ball and sent flowers … so here he was on a sunny April afternoon, being bored half to death by Mistress Whitcombe.

  Having speculated at length on Mr Penhaligon’s reasons for calling on the Delahaye household the previous afternoon, she now had her teeth into the forthcoming masquerade ball at Bedford House. Sebastian was just smothering a yawn when a familiar voice said, ‘A sedate drive in the park, Mr Audley? How respectable of you!’

  And he looked down into Miranda Silvarez’s gentian gaze.

  The gentleman on whose arm she was strolling allowed her to draw him to a halt – which meant that Sebastian had to pull up his team if he was not to appear rude. Inwardly groaning, he said, ‘Is it? I can’t imagine what makes your ladyship think so.’

  ‘Really?’ She drawled the word and followed it with an overtly sensual purr of amusement. ‘I seem to recall that in Lisbon your amusements were very much more … physical.’

  ‘Lisbon?’ Sebastian kept the rising temper out of his voice. ‘It is some considerable time since I was last there – but perhaps your memory is better than my own.’ He turned his gaze to her companion and said, ‘Lord Harding, isn’t it? I believe we met at Sinclairs one evening. And I imagine you know Mistress Whitcombe?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ His lordship bowed. ‘Always a pleasure.’

  Anna inclined her head but before she could speak, Miranda said, ‘I, however, do not know her. Perhaps you would care to introduce us, Mr Audley?’

  It was the last thing Mr Audley wanted to do – and the situation was getting worse by the minute. The carriage approaching from the opposite direction was driven by Richard Penhaligon; and sitting beside him beneath a cream lace parasol, was Cassandra Delahaye. Having formed a poor opinion of Mr Penhaligon, Sebastian thought Cassandra deserved better. More importantly, having danced the quadrille in the same set, she couldn’t fail to recognise Miranda as the lady who’d pursued him to the library of Cavendish House and was therefore probably having her misconceptions reinforced.

  He said curtly, ‘Mistress Whitcombe – Lady Silvarez. And now I believe I must drive on before we bring the traffic to a standstill.’

  Before he could put his horses in motion, however, Miranda struck again.

  ‘A pleasure, Mistress Whitcombe. I do so respect your courage – out driving with a gentleman like Mr Audley and you so very much the type of beauty he most admires.’

  This, since both ladies were almost equally fair-haired and blue-eyed, was so blatant that even a complete idiot couldn’t misunderstand it. And though Anna Whitcombe’s intellect was not of the highest order, she could detect a rival at twenty paces. She said icily, ‘Indeed? I fear I must take your ladyship’s word for that.’

  In a minute or less, Penhaligon’s carriage would be alongside his own and Sebastian could see himself being left with no alternative but to introduce Miranda to Cassandra. It didn’t bear thinking about. He said swiftly, ‘I’d get her ladyship to safety if I were you, Harding – before you both get squashed.’ And wasted no time in urging his horses forward.

  Thanking God there was a carriage waiting behind him, he drove on merely tipping his hat and saying briefly as he went by, ‘Good afternoon, Mistress Delahaye – Penhaligon.’ And then the nasty moment was behind him.

  Anna Whitcombe, on the other hand, wasn’t. Sebastian sighed.

  * * *

  After due consultation with her husband, Lady Elinor Caversham sent out invitations for a supper party to a select group of friends – and two people she’d never met at all.

  Lord Sarre, preparing to depart for Kent, sent her ladyship his regrets then walked round
to Sinclairs to take his leave of Aristide. Half-way along the corridor leading to the private office, Madeleine’s raised voice informed him that – as so frequently happened – he was about to walk in on an argument.

  ‘No,’ snapped Madeleine. ‘You may do whatever you wish – but do not expect me to accompany you because I won’t.’

  ‘Why? You’ll be acquainted with most of the other guests.’

  ‘I’m acquainted with the gentlemen. I have never laid eyes on the ladies. And I very much doubt if any of them have the slightest wish to associate with someone as far below their social standing as myself.’ Or you either, her tone suggested. ‘Indeed, I cannot imagine why Lady Elinor sent us a card. It is quite ridiculous.’

  ‘No, Madeleine. It’s not. And it isn’t an attempt to belittle us, either.’

  ‘Since, like me, you’ve never met her, how do you know?’

  Aristide opened his mouth to reply and then, catching sight of Lord Sarre leaning against the door-jamb, said instead, ‘You tell her. She might even listen.’

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Adrian before Madeleine could add vitriolic words to the glare that was impaling him. ‘But if you think Harry Caversham would be party to anything spiteful, you’re doing him an injustice.’

  Knowing this was true but unwilling to say so, she shrugged irritably and said, ‘There’s no guarantee his wife isn’t a different matter. Men are often stupid about such things.’

  ‘Harry isn’t.’

  ‘Perhaps and perhaps not. But I will not go. And that is an end of it.’

  ‘So you say,’ sighed Aristide. ‘But you still haven’t said why you won’t.

  ‘The answer to that is pretty clear, I should think,’ remarked Adrian with a provocative smile. ‘It’s because Nell Caversham’s brother is likely to be one of the party.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Madeleine narrowly avoided stamping her foot. ‘Lord Nicholas has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Doesn’t he?’

  ‘No! Why should he?’

  ‘You’re the only one who can answer that,’ said Adrian calmly.

  ‘There’s nothing to answer. Moreover, none of this has anything to do with you and I refuse to discuss it further.’ Upon which note, she stalked from the room in an affronted swirl of jade green taffeta.

  Aristide and Adrian looked at each other. Finally, Aristide said, ‘It is Nicholas, of course. But it might have gone better if you hadn’t said so.’

  Adrian laughed. ‘You think so?’

  ‘No. Probably not. I still haven’t persuaded her to so much as set foot in the house – even though it is furnished, staffed and ready for occupation. Tired as I am of the arguments, I will give her another few days to reconsider. After that, I’ll have everything she owns packed up and moved to Duke Street whether she likes it or not.’

  ‘What is it she’s objecting to? Or rather, what does she say she’s objecting to?’

  ‘She says it’s a pointless extravagance when the fact that we run a gaming establishment means we will never be socially acceptable. That translates as I won’t give people the chance to snigger behind their hands.’ He shrugged. ‘She may be right. But I would like her to have a life outside the club and the chance to make friends – perhaps even to marry one day. Leaving the matter of Sinclairs aside, her birth is genteel enough. Our father was a gentleman; weak and a wastrel, of course – but presumably Mama only saw the gentleman part when she ran off with him.’

  This was the first time Aristide had ever mentioned his father.

  Adrian said, ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. He abandoned us when I was sixteen and we never saw him again. But even through the worst times when it was a struggle to put food on the table, Mama insisted on maintaining standards. I think Madeleine sometimes forgets that … or fails to recognise she now has a chance of the life Mama would have wanted for her.’

  ‘And this invitation from Nell Caversham could herald the start of that?’

  ‘Perhaps. But though I can probably force her to move into the house, I can scarcely drag her kicking and screaming to a private party, can I?’ Aristide turned away to pour brandy. ‘It would help if I knew what is going on in her head with regard to Lord Nicholas – but of course she simply denies that anything is.’

  ‘A fact which tells its own story, don’t you think?’ Adrian accepted the glass and took a sip. ‘Call her a coward, then. Or say Nick hasn’t been invited.’

  ‘Hasn’t he?’

  ‘On the contrary, I think he most assuredly has. His attempts to engage Madeleine’s attention haven’t gone unnoticed, you know.’

  ‘Wonderful. That makes it all so much better,’ grumbled Aristide. Then, ‘Will you be there?’

  ‘No. I’m leaving for home first thing tomorrow morning. And before you ask – no, I can’t put it off. I’ve already stayed longer than I intended and aside from the fact that I miss Caroline, I want to see what her grandfather is doing to our house.’

  * * *

  On the point of stepping into his carriage the following morning, Adrian said cheerfully, ‘Six weeks left, Sebastian. Think you can do it?’

  ‘Six and a half,’ corrected Mr Audley. ‘And yes. Possibly. But in the meantime, the wager is serving its turn. I’ve been able to dodge two further challenges in the last three days – one to scale Westminster Abbey on the outside and the other to smuggle an opera dancer into Sinclairs.’ He shook his head. ‘The idiot who came up with that one actually suggested recording it in Aristide’s book, for God’s sake. I sometimes wonder about certain gentlemen’s mental capacity.’

  ‘Only sometimes?’ Adrian held out his hand. ‘I daresay I’ll be kept abreast of your doings through Caroline’s correspondence with Cassie. And speaking of that lady – don’t forget what I said.’

  ‘Trifle with Mistress Delahaye and Caroline will pursue me with a hatchet,’ recited Mr Audley dutifully. ‘Yes. I know. Just take yourself back to Kent, will you? Absence from your lady is plainly making you tetchy.’

  After Lord Sarre had taken to the road, Sebastian sat down with a pot of coffee and evaluated his progress. He’d avoided having to do anything stupid; he’d charmed and surprised his various hostesses with his impeccable manners; and he had begun paying scrupulously equal attention to several ladies. This even-handedness, he had quickly realised, was of paramount importance if he didn’t want to find himself in deep water. The whole thing was as big a balancing act as travelling the length of Bond Street via the rooftops – a feat he’d accomplished three months after leaving Cambridge.

  Although he was mindful of Adrian’s strictures, Sebastian rather regretfully suspected that they were unnecessary – partly because Cassandra Delahaye knew something about him he wished she didn’t and partly because she had too much intelligence. And in addition to that, the fact that he and her brother had once spent three hilarious months setting society by the ears was hardly likely to endear him to her Papa. In fact, of all the fathers in London, Sir Charles Delahaye was the one most likely to show him the door.

  As soon as that thought occurred to him, Sebastian wished it hadn’t. It was one thing to kill his reputation as a dare-devil but quite another to eradicate his basic inability not to enjoy challenging himself. Would Sir Charles show him the door? On balance, he suspected probably not. One didn’t order one’s butler to deny a caller without a damned good reason. And Sir Charles was nothing if not courteous. Not that he was particularly friendly, either – having so far shown no signs of wanting any closer acquaintance with Sebastian, distant cousin or not.

  He’s waiting to see if I keep up the good behaviour, thought Sebastian with a slight grimace. And after the larks his son and I indulged in – most of which Gerry will have laid at my door – who can blame him?

  But though the temptation to call in Conduit Street lingered, he resisted it. A week went by and during it, the novelty of his return to London society began to wear off. The number of young ladies competing for his atte
ntion at every assembly he attended gradually lessened and, aside from one unpleasant encounter, he found he could enjoy a hand of cards without some young blood proposing a lunatic wager.

  It had been a few days after Sarre left for Kent and Sebastian had called in at the Cocoa Tree but failed to find any of his friends. Instead, he’d found two mildly inebriated fellows – one of whom had wagered that he couldn’t seduce Cecily Garfield.

  His expression one of frigid disgust, Sebastian said, ‘And you are?’

  ‘Viscount Norville. Ned, to m’friends.’

  ‘Of whom I am not one. The answer is no. Now get out of my way.’

  ‘Don’t be hasty, Audley. Girl’s shrew-faced and virtually on the shelf. She’d probably be grateful. Reckon even I could do it. And ain’t you supposed to be game for anything?’

  ‘What I am,’ snapped Sebastian cuttingly, ‘is a gentleman. Now move.’

  It was as he strode from the room that he caught sight of Richard Penhaligon watching closely from a nearby table … and, as he passed him, could not resist saying, ‘Friends of yours, Penhaligon? Or trained poodles?’ And walked on without waiting for a reply.

  However, with the exception of that one occasion, it seemed that the Beau Monde was beginning to accept that the twenty-eight year-old Sebastian Audley who had returned was not the twenty-two year-old who had left. It was all eminently respectable and … dull. The only outlets for his energy that wouldn’t get him into trouble were fencing at Angelo’s or a gallop in the park at some ungodly hour of the morning while there was no one to witness it. Sebastian found that he was starting to grit his teeth.

  It was at the end of his second wild morning ride when he was cantering sedately toward the gates, that he realised he no longer had the park to himself. Two riders, still some distance away; a lady and presumably her groom – though the fellow had dismounted and appeared to be checking his girth. Frowning, Sebastian continued onwards at an easy pace. Then, even as he watched, something shot between the hooves of the lady’s mount, causing it to half-rear before taking off at a gallop, its rider clinging desperately to the reins and seemingly unable to control the sudden flight.