by Jo Goodman
Lady Rivendale’s correspondence that detailed her evening at Lord Ferrin’s card table finally arrived the day following Penwyckham’s new year celebration. Cybelline smiled as she read her aunt’s account. There was a great deal more said about her skillful card play that night than was mentioned about the tenor of the conversation.
The countess did, however, provide some interesting descriptions of her companions at the table. Mr. Porter Wellsley—and Lady Rivendale confirmed his relation to her friend the Viscountess Bellingham—had a perfectly agreeable countenance and was possessed of a cordial manner and even temperament. His card play, though, was unexceptional, and it had fallen to the countess to make their bids.
Mr. Restell Gardner was handsome beyond what was good for a gentleman of his means and manner, her aunt wrote, but he was in every way an amusing companion. His competitive nature made him an excellent foil at whist, and she thought she enjoyed playing more because he was her opponent rather than her partner.
Lady Rivendale saved her observations about Lord Ferrin for last:
He is not what he seems to be, though I have never been able to ascertain whether that favors him or presents a liability. You will know yourself from attending his stepsister’s masquerade that he is a most gracious and congenial host. I find him to be as unfailingly considerate of his guests as he is of his family. I imagine you have heard that he is a great favorite with young ladies and their mamas. (This is understandable when one takes into account the perfectly vulgar amount I have heard in regard to his income, though one cannot help but notice he is almost as handsomely favored as his stepbrother Mr. Gardner.) Ferrin has a fearsome intellect, I have observed, and is excellent at cards whether he is one’s partner or opponent. I had the greatest pleasure fencing with him, as he put me in mind of your dear brother.
Imagining the conversational thrusts and parries that had taken place that night, Cybelline’s amusement surfaced. She suspected there had been enough bloodletting that even Dr. Epping would have approved.
As Cybelline read on, she came at last to her aunt’s recounting of Ferrin’s questions about Boudicca. Lady Rivendale made no accusations or posed any questions of her own in the correspondence, but it was clear to Cybelline that no point had been missed. Her aunt knew quite well that she had attended the masque not as a shepherdess but as Boudicca.
It appears to me, my dearest Cybelline, that your friend has been successful in securing the interest of a most curious gentleman. It stretches the imagination to suppose he will not wish to seek her out. It has occurred—most belatedly from your perspective, I am sure—that I have been remiss in bringing this to your attention. You will forgive me, of course, as I forgive you for certain peculiar lapses in your own memory.
Cybelline was gratified that no one was present to observe the flush that colored her cheeks. Lady Rivendale’s rebuke was rather gentle, but there was no mistake that it was meant to upbraid her for being much less than forthcoming regarding the masquerade.
Knowing the reproach was well deserved, Cybelline could do naught but sigh in acceptance. She regarded her aunt’s expansive closing and signature with fondness, then her eyes dropped to the postscript.
If it should come to your attention (but only by a most reliable source) that Mr. Wellsley and Miss Wynetta Gardner mean to become affianced, you will inform me. I have placed a discreet wager to that end and hope to collect a perfectly vulgar sum myself for my prescience.
Cybelline laughed loud enough at this last to attract the attention of her daughter, who was playing with Holly in the bedchamber. Anna came running into the sitting room, the terrier at her heels, and launched herself like a Roman candle at the window bench were Cybelline was sitting.
“Are you being good to Holly?”
Anna nodded, though she swung her stockinged feet up quickly so Holly could not nip at her toes.
Cybelline set her letter aside and pulled Anna onto her lap. Holly ran back and forth in front of the bench, leaping at intervals as she tried to reach the seat. “I think Holly wants one of these piggies,” she said, tugging on Anna’s littlest toe. “The one that goes wee, wee, wee—”
“All the way home!”
Anna’s giggle never failed to lift Cybelline’s spirits. She glanced out the window. The sky was cloudless, and the winter sun seemed warm as it pressed its light through the glass. Cybelline estimated several hours of daylight remained. That presented sufficient opportunity for what she wanted to do. She bent her head and whispered against the perfectly shaped pink shell of her daughter’s ear. “How would you like to go with Mama to visit Misterlee?”
Ferrin carefully trimmed the end of the wire he was holding and threaded it into the bottom of a glass cylinder. He was on the point of affixing the wire when he heard the snuffling of a horse at the front of the cottage. Sighing, he set aside his work on the table and prepared to give Mrs. Lowell his most polar look when she stomped her way through the front door, then he would have a word with Mr. Lowell.
Mrs. Lowell had assured him she would be gone for all of the afternoon visiting her married daughter in Bell’s Folly. Mr. Lowell had indicated that he would see that she stayed away much longer, using physical force if it should come to that. At least that was Ferrin’s conclusion, though he freely admitted he had not yet mastered the shades of meaning attached to Mr. Lowell’s various grunts.
Prepared as he was for Mrs. Lowell’s entrance, a crease appeared between his eyebrows when he was greeted by a knock instead. He pushed back his chair from the table and rose to open the door.
Cybelline stood on the path directly in front of the cottage with Anna in her arms. Her mount was tethered to a sapling. “Have we come at a poor time?”
“What?” Ferrin shook his head and wondered if he looked as unsettled as he felt. A lock of dark hair fell forward over his brow, and he raked it back somewhat apprehensively. “No. Oh, no. It is just unexpected, that is all.” He stepped aside. “Please, won’t you come in?”
As Cybelline started across the threshold, Anna extended her arms to Ferrin. He looked to Cybelline for permission to take her daughter.
“She will be devastated if you do not put her upon your shoulders, my lord.” She realized only when Ferrin darted a look from her to Anna that she had misspoken. “I mean, Mr. Wellsley,” she said quickly. “Anna will be happy for your attention.”
“Then she shall have it.” He took the little girl up and closed the door behind Cybelline. “You will want to know, I think, that Mr. and Mrs. Lowell have absented themselves. They have gone to visit their daughter and left only a short time ago. I actually thought some mishap had caused them to return when I heard your horse outside.”
“Oh, I hadn’t given a thought to them being gone.” She paused in the act of removing her bonnet. “Perhaps this is not—”
“If it is a matter of a chaperone, then Anna can fill the position admirably.”
“A chaperone is rather a quaint notion in Penwyckham,” Cybelline said. “It is just that I imagine you have little enough time to yourself here. There is a contraption on the table that would seem to indicate we have disturbed your work.”
Ferrin shrugged, dislodging Anna from his shoulder so that he could catch her again on her descent. “One more time,” he said when she begged him prettily not to put her down.
Cybelline smiled as she set her bonnet aside and began to remove her gloves. Ferrin was perfectly helpless in the face of Anna’s coquettish demands. When Cybelline finished taking off her pelisse, she made to rescue her host. “I must get her out of her coat, else she will become overheated.”
Ferrin gave her a grateful look over the top of Anna’s head. He pulled out a chair at the table with the toe of his boot and allowed Anna to stand on the seat while Cybelline untied the ribbons on her bonnet and removed her coat and mittens.
“Does your contraption have a name?” Cybelline asked, pointing with her chin toward the cylinder and wire on the table.
“It is a variation on a voltaic pile, or it will be when I am finished. Do you know what that is?”
“I have heard of such, but I’ve never seen one before. It has something to do with electricity, I believe.”
“Very good. Lightning in a bottle, or so I am attempting. The glass has insulating properties and will permit me to carry the battery even when the current is running though it. By alternating copper and zinc disks separated by pads soaked in brine, I will be able to create an electrical current. The wires at the bottom, when touched together at their ends, will produce a spark.” His crooked smile was slightly self-conscious. “There, I have succeeded in boring you. Forgive me.”
“No, not at all. It is fascinating.” She observed that his skepticism mingled with hopefulness. “Will you show us?”
“It is not quite finished; you will have to allow me a moment.”
“Certainly. Perhaps I might put the kettle on for tea.” Cybelline saw that he was prepared to apologize yet again for what he felt certain were his poor manners. She had never observed him so discomposed. Gone was his easy manner and sureness of expression. She held up her hand, staying him. “It is no trouble at all and the least that I might do for imposing upon you. Indeed, you are gracious to invite us in. I hope you will continue your work. Anna will attend me.”
By the time Cybelline and Anna had prepared the tea, Ferrin was ready to demonstrate his battery. The air crackled as he touched the wires together, and the spark made Anna jump and reach for her mother, then promptly insist that he do it again. Chuckling, he obliged her.
“What is the application?” Cybelline asked.
“How practical you are, Mrs. Caldwell. I fear you have no romantic streak at all. Is it not enough that it is merely fascinating?” Before she could defend herself or take exception to his words, he went on. “I suppose the applications are as few or as many as society will tolerate. I might have used it myself to light the fuses for the pyrotechnics. The wind and wet would have been of no consequence, but the disks had not yet arrived from London.” He shrugged. “Electricity also has the power to separate compounds to their individual components, so being able to apply the current in such a controlled fashion will contribute greatly to other experimentation.”
“You do such experimentation?”
“On occasion.”
“Though my aunt makes no accusation of fraud, she warns me that you are not what you seem to be. I am inclined to believe she is right once again.”
Ferrin set the wire leads on the tabletop and regarded Cybelline with the fascination he’d previously reserved for the voltaic pile. “Warns you? That is rather more intriguing than not. Am I to suppose that you have received a letter from her?”
“Yes, only today. It’s why I’ve come. Mr. Henley mentioned in passing this morning that you were still in residence at the cottage. Until I had it from him, I wasn’t at all certain that was the case. I brought the letter. I do not believe Aunt Georgia will be seriously put out with me if I share it with you.”
“But she will have an objection.”
“She will pretend to. It is not the same thing at all.”
Ferrin nodded, understanding. “I am familiar with the ruse. My own mother practices such subterfuge upon occasion. She moves us about as if we are pieces on a chessboard, then absolves herself of all responsibility for it.”
“Then you know there is nothing for—” Cybelline broke off as her daughter’s high-pitched wail of distress charged the room with more electricity than the voltaic pile.
Chapter Ten
When Cybelline returned from putting Anna down for her nap, Ferrin was sitting by the fire reading Lady Rivendale’s recent correspondence. He looked up as Cybelline reached the bottom of the stairs. “Is she sleeping?”
“As deeply as if she were drugged. She cried herself out, I think.”
He set the letter on his lap. “I am not certain I can satisfactorily express how sorry I am that she was hurt.”
“But she was not hurt, my lord. She was startled, certainly, and shocked, most literally, but there has been no lasting injury.” Cybelline’s gentle smile underscored her reassurance. “In any event, it was not your fault. I was sitting at the table also and did not observe Anna picking up the wires. My daughter and I should apologize to you for the distress we’ve caused. In fact, we do apologize, and I thank you most particularly for your forbearance and the use of the Lowells’ bedchamber for my daughter’s nap.”
Because Ferrin looked as if the weight of the entire voltaic pile was still settled on his shoulders, Cybelline sought to distract him. “Have you finished reading Aunt Georgia’s letter?”
He shook his head. “I am to the part where she is describing her intelligent card play in detail. It is incredible that she recalls the hands so well. I am glad she was my partner for most of the evening, and I now understand perfectly how Restell and I were defeated when she took Wellsley to her side.”
“Pray, do not tell me she cheated.” When she saw Ferrin’s startled look, the smile that had hovered around her mouth deepened. “She does, you know, though to my knowledge she has never done so when it mattered. Certainly not when there is an important wager on the table. It is a game she plays with Sherry. She cheats, and he tries to catch her out. The scoundrels have been brought into the fold, I’m afraid, so you must never play cards at Granville Hall.”
“Unless I am prepared to be a better cheat,” he said dryly.
“Precisely.” Cybelline took the chair opposite him, glancing at her aunt’s missive. “Please, go on. You will be vastly entertained, I believe.”
Ferrin picked up the letter and continued reading. His grin became more pronounced in time. “Your aunt has a certain felicity of expression. She finds Wellsley to possess an agreeable countenance, while I have told him that his face does not stop clocks. I think he would prefer Lady Rivendale’s remarks.”
Cybelline watched him chuckle as he read what her aunt had to say about his brother, then fall silent as he was apprised at last of her views of him. When he looked up, she could not divine what he was thinking.
“She says I am not as favored in my looks as Restell,” he said. “I do not think that is a fair observation. She saw him largely in profile, while I was directly across from her for most of the evening. Restell has a noble profile, but when he is seen from the front, I have always thought his eyes were a tad too close together. You saw him at the masquerade. The Viking, remember? What is your opinion?”
Cybelline stared at him a long moment, wondering how she might respond. It was only when she was on the verge of speaking that she caught the twitch of Ferrin’s lips. “Oh, that was very bad of you, my lord. You made me believe you were offended, and I was so certain you would find it amusing. I was afraid I had mistaken the matter.”
Ferrin’s grin resurfaced. “It does no good to be offended by the truth. Restell is greatly favored. I most particularly like her description of my annual living as perfectly vulgar. It is. I am accounted by many to have very deep pockets, though my father did his best to make me a pauper.” He settled back in the chair, his head tilted at a thoughtful angle. “Tell me, do you think when she remarks that I am a curious gentleman, her meaning is that I am odd and eccentric, or that I have an inquisitive nature?”
“Is the answer of great consequence to you?”
“Do you mean will I take exception to your answer?”
“Yes.”
He considered that. “No, I don’t suppose I will, though I am interested—even curious, you might say—as to how you view the thing.”
A smile edged Cybelline’s lips. “You mistake Aunt Georgia when you suppose she means one or the other. She means both.”
“So I am odd and prying. That is your perspective also?”
She laughed. “I say you are singular and am done with it.”
“Clever.” His eyes saluted her before he returned his attention to the letter. He read on, remarking, “She gets
a little of her own back, I see. She comprehended quite well from our conversation that you were Boudicca. I notice, too, that she does not inquire as to the why of it.”
Uncomfortable, Cybelline’s eyes darted away. “No, she doesn’t.”
“I suppose it is never wise to ask questions when one truly doesn’t want to know the answers.”
“I believe that is her thinking, yes.” Cybelline could have added that she also hoped it was his. She waited, aware that she was holding her breath in anticipation of his question. When it did not come, she exhaled slowly and silently, trying not to call attention to her relief as he read on. She knew when he arrived at her aunt’s postscript because he gave a shout of laughter.
In deference to Anna sleeping above stairs, Ferrin made an effort to compose himself and lower his voice. He shook his head in admiration. “Your dear aunt is a considerable piece of work.”
“I like to think she is a piece of considerable work. It is an important distinction.”
He smiled. “It certainly is. So she has made a wager that Wellsley and my sister will become betrothed. That is most interesting. I wonder if she based her thinking on her observations of that particular evening or whether she has seen the pair of them about. I sincerely hope it is the former. Wellsley will surely be in Dutch with his grandmother if it becomes known that he is still in town.”
“Then you are not concerned that a tendre is perhaps developing between the two of them?”
“A tendre hardly describes how Wellsley feels, though you will understand that I cannot disclose the particulars. He was deep in his cups as he confessed all, and it would be very poor form for me to repeat every word of his devotion. In truth, I only suspect that it is Netta that he loves. He would not reveal as much to me, but I observed the very same as Lady Rivendale.”
