Lady of Fortune

by Mary Jo Putney

  Sybil tapped her nails on the top of the vanity table, sparing them an admiring glance. She had gone beyond mere gilding by finding an artist who could paint the most delightful designs on her nails. This week it was lotus blossoms on the index fingers, with tiny gemstones set in the center of each flower. She rather thought the idea would set a new style.

  Radleigh might be too much the gentleman to declare himself when she was betrothed to someone else, but it would be interesting to see if he called again. After all, she wasn’t to wed Kingsley for another six weeks. Anything could happen in that length of time. Her eyes became dreamy.

  The Countess of Radcliffe. It had a ring. Much better than “Lady Kingsley.”

  The fair weather held the next day, and Annabelle awaited the Earl of Radcliffe with undisguised anticipation. She thought she was looking her best in a sky-blue pelisse with ermine trim, and when he arrived, the admiration in his eyes confirmed it.

  As the earl helped her into his curricle, she surreptitiously studied his face, deciding that he was every bit as handsome as she remembered. But he was more than just a golden Apollo; there was character, humor, and intelligence in his face.

  Charles left his groom at Kingsley House so they could talk freely. After he had turned the carriage, Annabelle said, “I have thought of a number of questions that didn’t occur to me yesterday, my lord.”

  He shot a quick glance out of the mischievous gray eyes. “Since we may soon have a family connection, shouldn’t you call me Charles?”

  “Only if you will call me Annabelle.”

  “Exactly what I hoped you would say, mignonne.”

  “What did you call me?” Annabelle asked in surprise. She recognized the French endearment, but it was obviously improper of him to use it.

  His answer was properly apologetic but she detected a trace of smile on his face. “Forgive me. For most of the last two years I have been speaking French, and I sometimes become confused between the two languages.”

  Annabelle permitted herself a sniff to let him know that she didn’t believe the reply, but dropped the subject since she wasn’t offended by the familiarity. Quite the contrary. Obviously she still had a weakness for audacity, but as she observed the earl’s firm profile, she knew that this was a man she could trust, quite unlike the late, and now unlamented, Sir Edward Loaming.

  Charles was saying thoughtfully, “It is odd. My sister, who is wholly French, is now more comfortable speaking English, while I, who am much more English, am still thinking in French. I expect it will be several more weeks before that changes and I start thinking in English again.”

  “That was one of the things I was wondering,” Annabelle said curiously. “How were you raised? It must have been a most unusual upbringing.”

  “I suppose so, though it seemed natural enough at the time. My real father, the Earl of Radcliffe, died when I was only two. It’s strange,” Charles mused. “I think of him as old and wise, and yet he was only about my age when he died.”

  Annabelle was silent for a few moments before she said quietly, “And yet you were old enough to remember him?”

  “A little, I think. I can remember a tall blond man tossing me in the air. It must have been him; my Uncle Lewis was never so playful, though physically he resembled my father. I can also remember being carried on the saddle bow before a rider and squealing with delight, but that could have been either my father or my uncle. Or both, at different times.”

  “It must be very hard to lose a parent so young.”

  Charles pulled his horses back to let a mail coach pass in front of him. He gave Annabelle a quick glance, his face serious for once. “It is always tragic when a good person dies young, but you needn’t look so grave on my behalf. I was very fortunate, since my Uncle Lewis and my mother’s second husband, Philippe d’Estelle, were both like fathers to me. An English gentleman and a French philosopher: what more could any boy need?”

  “Then you are to be congratulated.” Annabelle said it with a smile, but could not repress a wistful pang. What would it have been like to have loving parents? She continued, “Were you raised in both countries?”

  “Yes. Until I was old enough to start school, I was usually with my mother, but she and her second family would make long visits to Radcliffe Hall, and my Uncle Lewis visited us in France. He and my mother were my guardians, and Lewis managed my estates until I was of age. After I started at Harrow, I spent more time in England, but would still go to France for the summers. That is why Christa and I are so close. We spent at least as much time together as most full brothers and sisters.”

  They had reached Kensington Gardens, and Charles headed the curricle toward the Orangery. Traffic was light, and he was able to give more attention to his passenger.

  Annabelle said, “One of the things I have been wondering is how Christa could become a lady’s maid so successfully. I wouldn’t have the faintest notion how to do some of the things she did.”

  Charles laughed. “My sister is intimidatingly well-educated. Her mother thought that a lady should understand all the duties of a household, and her father encouraged her to study everything else. Plus, she always had more curiosity than a kettleful of cats. I imagine there isn’t a task in the d’Estelle household or estates that she didn’t have some understanding of.”

  Annabelle sighed. “If she wasn’t so nice, it would be easy for an inferior female like me to dislike her.”

  Charles pulled the horses to a stop and turned to give her his full attention. His gray eyes were very searching as he said, “You must never even think that. I love my sister and wouldn’t change her in any way, but she is not the only pattern of female worthiness. Her education and competence are very much a part of her, but it is spirit that makes someone special.”

  He was conveying a message beyond just his words, and Annabelle almost turned away from the intensity of his expression as her old feelings of unworthiness fought for control of her mind. What could a man like this possibly see in me? But there was some thread of connection between them, and she intended to do everything in her power to strengthen it.

  She touched his hand lightly. “You are very like your sister, in both the generosity and the wisdom.”

  Charles relaxed with a smile. “Much of that is due to my mother. She is the most remarkable woman I have ever known. Quite apart from her attributes of character, she is a countess three times over: once at birth and twice by marriage.”

  “I hope that I meet her someday.”

  “Oh, you will,” Charles said as he slapped the reins to start the horses again. He slanted a glance at her, then said, “You remind me a bit of Marie-Claire. You have some of the same gentleness of spirit.”

  Annabelle’s throat tightened alarmingly, and it was several moments before she replied, “Thank you. I will endeavor to be worthy of your regard.”

  They rode in companionable silence for some time, enjoying the relative warmth of the day. Eventually Annabelle said, “I keep hoping we are right that there is an attachment between Alex and Christa. I expect that Christa could have just about any man she wanted, but I’ve never seen my brother so relaxed with any other woman. Except me, I suppose,” she added meticulously. “But if she doesn’t care for him …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Well, I can’t swear to her feelings, but she is assuredly missing someone, and Lord Kingsley is by far the best prospect. I just hope he can handle her,” Charles said with a laugh. “Christa is a rare handful.”

  “If Alex can control a ship with three hundred men on it, I imagine he can manage one small Frenchwoman.”

  “The two things are not comparable, but I sincerely hope you are right, for everyone’s sake. By the way, how did Christa come to your house? It was her second position, wasn’t it?”

  “You hadn’t heard the story? Alex literally caught her in midair when she was bodily thrown out of her previous household.”

  “Why on earth did that happen?” Charles said in surpri
se.

  “Your sister repulsed the master’s advances with some violence, and—”

  Charles interrupted Annabelle’s recital, fury in his voice. “Who was the man?”

  Annabelle realized too late why Christa had not chosen to tell this particular tale. “Lord Radcliffe, please use your sense. While it would doubtless be quite satisfying to avenge your sister’s honor, what would that do for her reputation?”

  The earl looked a bit sheepish as his good sense started to return. “I suppose you are right. But I hate the thought of what she must have endured.”

  “If it is any comfort, she took care of herself quite well. Alex said that she also rearranged the face of the footman that threw her out when he behaved improperly.”

  “Good Lord,” Charles murmured. “I apparently have been underestimating my little sister. I would still like to darken the man’s daylights at the very least, but I suppose you won’t tell me who he is.”

  “No, I will not,” Annabelle said firmly. “And for the same reason Christa did not. It is very bad that she had to endure the impropriety, but she managed very capably, and took no permanent harm.”

  Charles accepted that the episode was beyond his ability to avenge and changed the subject. “I called on the Gilded Lily yesterday, and she seems quite willing to accept my compliments, and perhaps a good deal more.”

  Annabelle chuckled. “Good. Even if our matchmaking efforts fail with Alex and Christa, I will feel no compunctions about separating Sybil from my brother. It is not a match that will make either of them happy.”

  “I think we have talked quite enough about our siblings. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” Charles suggested as he turned the carriage back toward St. James’s Square.

  “Shall I start with the best or the worst?”

  “Oh, the worst, of course. Vices are so much more interesting than virtues.”

  Annabelle thought long and hard as she looked at the earl’s classic profile, with the lines of humor crinkling around his eyes. She believed that he shared his sister’s tolerance and understanding, and with that thought in mind, she made a decision based on pure impulse.

  You asked for it, my bonny earl. With hesitation Annabelle told him of her infatuation and elopement with Sir Edward. It explained some of what she owed Christa; more than that, if there was really something special growing between her and Charles, it was best that she tell him of her mistake now. She wanted no shadows between them, and if it sank her beneath reproach in his eyes, at least she would know quickly, before matters went any further. She gave him a quick sideways glance. It might already be too late for common sense.

  Charles listened seriously, understanding how difficult the episode must be for her to discuss, but he couldn’t restrain a whoop of laughter when she told about upending the trifle on her suitor’s face. “Oh, well done!”

  Annabelle laughed aloud, feeling immeasurably freer for her confession. “That is exactly what Christa said. She even applauded. It must have been very amusing, but this is the first time I have appreciated the humor.”

  They had just pulled up in front of Kingsley House, and the earl’s groom came forward to the heads of the horses. Charles held Annabelle’s hand for an extra moment when he helped her from the carriage, looking down into the wide blue eyes. “It took a great deal of courage to tell me about that.”

  “You wanted to know the worst of me, and now you do. Besides, if I can’t be wise, I might as well be honest,” Annabelle said wryly, taking Charles’s arm as they climbed the steps.

  “Wisdom comes from experience, so how can a person who never makes mistakes become wise?” Charles said. “Besides, paragons are boring.”

  “Thank you for your understanding,” Annabelle said in a low voice as the door opened. With a smile she added, “Do you have time for tea?”

  “Definitely. Unless my palate betrayed me yesterday, you have a French chef hidden away in the kitchens.”

  As he followed Annabelle into the house, Charles admired the grace of her movement, the yielding feminine sweetness that made a man feel ten feet tall and invincible. He had never met a woman so lovely who was also so completely lacking in vanity, and he thought of Sybil Debenham and repressed a faint shudder. The earl also found it gratifying to discover the honesty and quiet strength of character that lay beneath the admirable surface. He shook his head in mild wonder: his desire to aid his sister was bearing quite unexpected dividends.

  While his campaign to detach Sybil Debenham from Lord Kingsley was avowedly altruistic, the Earl of Radcliffe had a splendid, mischievous time implementing it. If he had thought she had a heart he would have been ashamed of himself, but the woman’s vanity was so monstrous as to defy belief—no matter how florid the compliment, she accepted it as her due. He interspersed admiration with occasional tantalizing remarks implying that he was devastated that she was no longer available.

  One of the best parts of the campaign was the necessity of frequent calls on Annabelle, and they very quickly reached easy terms with each other. For all her quiet sweetness, she had the ability to gently bring Charles back in line when he became too outrageous, and she herself was blossoming under his appreciative eyes.

  After consultation with Annabelle, the earl decided to make his move the day before Kingsley was due back in town. He had engaged Sybil for a drive if the weather cooperated, which it did, and it was pleasant driving in Rotten Row at a time when it was not congested with other carriages.

  Conversation was general—which meant Sybil prattled on about the compliments she had lately received—until they had left the park and were returning to her house. Then Charles said hesitantly, his eyes fixed on his horses, “I would like to ask your advice, Miss Debenham. I fear my absence from society may have coarsened my sensibilities, and that what I wish to do might be considered offensive. No one has a greater understanding of society than you, and perhaps you will lend me your guidance.”

  He looked at her askance. She was quite dramatic in turquoise velvet, with three yellow ostrich plumes and sapphire earrings set in gold. Dashing, but as usual, a bit too much.

  Sybil smiled demurely. “I will do anything in my poor power to aid you.”

  As he concentrated on controlling his horses in the bustling commercial traffic, Charles said, “Two years ago, before I went to France, I met the most beautiful girl in the world. I hesitated to speak to her because I was sure she did not return my regard. For all the time I lay in the prison in France, I dreamed of her, the memory of her golden hair and blue eyes bringing light into the darkness. I cursed myself for never having offered my heart, wondering if I might have won her had I dared speak.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye, finding Sybil raptly listening.

  “When I escaped to England, I swore that I would open my heart to her if by some wondrous chance she was still free. Alas, though she is not yet married, I … have been told that her affections are engaged by another man.” He stopped talking and negotiated a tricky turn around a dray unloading tuns of wine.

  “Yes?” Sybil prodded.

  “I was always taught that a gentleman should not speak to a woman who belongs to another.” He gave her a quick, burning glance. “I am torn between my heart and the code I was raised by. Would it destroy my honor to declare my love, to hope that by some miracle she might return it? Or would she despise me forever?” He pulled the chaise up before Sybil’s town house and stepped down, reaching up to assist her out.

  Sybil could have shrieked with frustration that the journey was ended. In just a few more moments he would have declared himself. As he delivered her to the door, she said, “Would you join me for tea?”

  “Alas, no. I am expected elsewhere.”

  She would just have to make the most of the moments left; it would never do to let him go off the boil. Putting one graceful hand on his sleeve, she said in a throbbing voice, “No woman would despise a man for speaking his heart. Indeed, you may find the miracle has
occurred and she returns your affections.”

  He said eagerly, “Do you really think it is possible?”

  “I know that it is,” she purred.

  Charles shook his head doubtfully. “It is so hard to go against the training of one’s boyhood; so … ungentlemanly to take advantage behind another’s back.”

  “Faint heart never won fair maiden,” she declaimed, resisting the urge to shake him. “And a woman loves a man who dares to be different, to defy convention in her name.”

  Still he hesitated. “My heart cries out to do it, yet I am not sure …”

  Sybil could have spat with vexation. What would it take to get him up to scratch? “If you knew that the lady was free, would you have those doubts?”

  “None whatsoever! I would count that a sign that the heavens favor my suit.”

  She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, then decided the game was worth the candle since he had all but declared himself. “Will you call on me tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock? I will have some special news to impart to you. News that may gladden your heart.”

  Charles gave her his most brilliant smile, then kissed her hand. “You have given me much to ponder on. I will call on you tomorrow.” He looked burningly into her eyes. “I, too, may have something to say of great moment.”

  Then the earl was gone in a clatter of wheels on cobblestone. Sybil smiled for the rest of the day, the satisfied expression of a boa that had just swallowed a goat. How fortunate that Kingsley was due back tomorrow. He had sent a note that he would call on her in the late morning if it were convenient. She would be able to wrap everything up very neatly. The Countess of Radcliffe!

  Alex would not have returned if Admiral Hutchinson had not summoned him, since it was a long journey from Plymouth and being in London reminded him of too much he would rather forget.