Gail Eastwood

by An Unlikely Hero

  Gilbey hardly noticed when they were greeted and waved through enthusiastically, so enthralled was he by the majesty of what he saw. Even his doubts and trepidation about being a guest at Rivington were temporarily forgotten.

  ***

  Meanwhile, Nicholas’s twin sisters, Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian St. Aldwyn, were perched on the sofa in the Chinese dressing room between their chambers, their golden heads bent over a piece of paper.

  “It’s just like being dealt a hand of cards—you don’t know what you’ve got until you sort it all out,” Venetia was saying. “Let me see the list.”

  She scanned the paper and groaned, thrusting it back into her sister’s hand. “Aunt Alice did make additions, just as I thought.”

  “Surely it cannot be as bad an assortment as Papa assembled the last time he did this to us.”

  “You think not?” Venetia made a face that caused her twin to laugh, although she sobered immediately. “Consider Colonel Hatherwick. He is much too old. We already know that he comes only for the trout fishing. The only reason Papa keeps including him is because they are such good friends. Can you imagine being married to him? He reminds me of a fish!

  “Then there is Lord Chesdale, ex-cavalry officer. Do you not recall how he constantly peers through his quizzing glass and talks of nothing but horses? He puts me in mind of an eggcup, with those long, spindly legs and that big barrel chest of his. And they say that Lord Wistowe has a different mistress for each day of the week. I wonder how he keeps track of them!”

  “Netia! What a thing to speak of! And I cannot help feeling that we are being uncharitable by judging them so before some have even arrived,” Vivian said. “Should we not try to keep an open mind?”

  Venetia made a rather unladylike sound, something between a snort and a growl. “If I thought there was even the remotest chance that any of them would give us the same benefit, I would perhaps return the favor.”

  Their discussion was interrupted by a discreet knock on the dressing room door. A young footman in splendid black velvet livery and powdered wig presented himself with a formal bow.

  “Lady Venetia, Lady Vivian, I am sent to inform you that guests are arriving. There are two carriages at the front entry now—Lord Munslow’s and Lord Marchthorpe’s and another is approaching along the carriageway.”

  “Lady Colney is not yet arrived, Martin?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Thank you. We’ll come right away.”

  The servant withdrew, and the two young women turned to each other.

  “Lord Munslow,” Venetia said, wrinkling her pert nose. “And Aunt Alice is not here yet to do the greetings.”

  “Lord Munslow? I don’t recall . . .” said Vivian.

  “Come, we’ll reconnoiter from the gallery before we go down.” Venetia caught up her sister’s hand as she rose hastily from the settee.

  “Oh, Netia, they’ll be wondering where we are!”

  “Not if we’re quick enough, and besides, I don’t care if they do. None of this affair was our idea.”

  ***

  Gilbey’s anxieties returned to him in full force as Nicholas’s carriage pulled up in front of Rivington. The massive scale of the house in such close proximity seemed overwhelming and seemed also to symbolize in a most solid form the very different world of wealth to which Nicholas belonged. So did the two other carriages which were drawn up before the grand entrance of the house. Both, Gilbey noticed, were every bit as elegant as Nicholas’s, with gleaming appointments and handsome heraldic arms decorating the doors.

  “Nicholas,” he said, trying hard to control his voice, “I don’t belong here. What could you have been thinking of? This is a mistake, an absurd mistake. If your coachman will take me back as far as Northleach, I will hire a post-chaise to take me back to London.”

  “Nonsense.” The single word was spoken with the finality and unquestionable authority that proved Nicholas was every inch a duke’s son. Further argument was pointless. Gilbey watched helplessly as several servants descended upon their carriage and his friend got out. He had no choice but to follow as one of the footmen continued to hold the door of the carriage open for him.

  As he emerged he saw a bevy of footmen flocking about rather like blackbirds, he thought, in their black coats with silver lacings. They paused to pay their respects to Nicholas, and then returned to unloading what seemed to be more luggage than either of the two carriages ahead could possibly have held. The scene reminded Gilbey of a comic routine he had seen Grimaldi perform at Sadler’s Wells, and that brought a smile to his lips.

  “That’s the spirit—smile in place, head up,” counseled Nicholas in a low voice. “If you don’t own the world, at least try to look as if you do, and half the people will believe it. Shall we go in?”

  The vast entry hall had a marble floor and marble columns and a gallery that ran around all four sides of the huge room. The vaulted ceiling must have been forty feet from the floor and was lit by a skylight in the center. There were a number of people in the hall at that moment, including footmen depositing luggage and the guests who had arrived just before Nicholas and Gilbey. More servants entered bearing additional luggage, some of it from Nicholas’s carriage.

  Nicholas appeared to be looking for someone. “I don’t expect my father to—”

  Just as he began to speak there was a cry and a sudden commotion behind them. Gilbey had a sinking premonition of disaster as he turned to look.

  ***

  Until that moment, Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian had been observing the hubbub below them from a relatively unnoticeable position behind the rail of the gallery.

  “That is Lord Munslow who just handed his hat to Blaine,” Venetia said in a low voice. “I suppose because he is tall he thinks no one will notice that bald spot on the top of his head. And that is the Marquess and Marchioness of Marchthorpe and their daughter, Elizabeth. We met them in London, Vivi—I distinctly remember how shy Elizabeth was. Their son Lord Lindell is on the guest list also.”

  She paused for a moment, surveying the guests under discussion. “Look, there is Nicholas! And I would say Elizabeth has been miraculously cured of her affliction, would you not agree? She cannot seem to tear her eyes away from that fellow who just came in with him. Who is he, I wonder?”

  “He is even taller than Lord Munslow. Is he not on the list?” Vivian peered down curiously, leaning a bit over the railing.

  Venetia ran her finger down the paper. “I am quite certain he is not. Unless—perhaps this is he: Gilbey Kentwell, Viscount Cranford. I have no idea who that might be. We have already suffered most of these other people at one time or another.”

  “Netia, you are incorrigible! My, I do think he is quite handsome. Look! Now he has removed his hat. His hair is so pale it is almost silver.”

  Venetia did look up and noticed her sister’s position at the rail. “Hssst! Don’t hang over so, Vivi—someone will notice us! Then we’ll have no choice but to go down and do the pretty. We’ll be subjected to that soon enough as it is.”

  As she drew her twin back from the rail she took a good look at the unknown visitor. “Hmph. Too tall, too blond, and too thin by half,” she pronounced. “Do you not think his nose rather long? He looks like a schoolmaster with those spectacles. I would hardly count him as a likely prospect!”

  “I wonder if he is meant to be a prospect at all—for one thing, he is only a viscount, if indeed he is who we suppose,” Vivian answered. “Perhaps he is just a friend Nicholas brought with him from Cambridge.”

  Venetia’s gaze sharpened with interest. “You don’t think Aunt Alice put him on the list? He is obviously not as wealthy and connected as Lord Newcroft, or surely we would have met him before now. After all, Lord Newcroft is on the list, and he is only a viscount. But that does put a different cast on things.�
�

  It was Vivian’s turn to groan. “Nicholas will never forgive you if you get up to tricks with his friend, Netia. And Papa will never forgive you this time if you drive off all the men he’s lined up.”

  “What about you, Vivi? Would you forgive me? Do you think there is anyone in this batch who could be the husband you need?”

  At just that moment the sharp exclamation that claimed everyone’s attention broke through the sound of voices in the hall below. Both young women rushed back to the rail to see what was happening.

  They were just in time to see a cascade of personal effects spill forth from a heavy portmanteau carried by one hapless footman. It was he who had cried out as the worn straps on the shabby luggage in question let go. A small amount of snowy linen fell into a heap, and books—dozens of books—scattered across the polished floor.

  The reactions in the hall were as varied as the number of people standing there. Lady Marchthorpe exclaimed loudly in astonishment while her daughter Elizabeth shrank back as if she feared contamination. Lord Marchthorpe turned his back on the scene and shepherded his ladies to one side of the room as if he shared his daughter’s fear. Lord Munslow merely stepped to one side and surveyed the accident disdainfully. The footman turned to Gilbey and Nicholas and began to apologize in frantic tones. The other servants appeared to be frozen in horror.

  “Nicholas is laughing,” said Vivian in scandalized tones.

  “His friend is turning bright red,” observed Venetia. Smiling mischievously, she added, “Perhaps now is a good time to go down and join them, after all.”

  Chapter Two

  If only the earth could have opened and swallowed him, his books, and his broken portmanteau, Gilbey would have been eternally grateful. Unfortunately, the stone floor beneath him remained as solid as ever. When he felt the blood rush to his face he mentally cursed for the thousandth time the nearly alabaster skin he had been born with. He groaned and turned to Nicholas, who was laughing rather unhelpfully beside him.

  “Confounded baggage! Forgive me, Nicholas. What a scene! You see? I told you—”

  The duke’s son stopped laughing long enough to draw a breath and punched the young viscount playfully on the shoulder. “I should have known I couldn’t separate you from your books for two weeks, Gilbey.” Turning to the room at large, he added in a louder voice, “What a splendid joke on me, my friends, don’t you agree? You have to admire Lord Cranford’s originality.”

  Quite naturally, no guest would risk being so rude as to disagree with the son of their host. Gilbey watched the others transform their various negative reactions into artful titters of laughter. While most did not appear entirely convinced that they should go so far as to admire Gilbey, at least he would now be spared their immediate scorn. He thought Nicholas was the one who should be admired—he could turn a situation around so easily!

  The poor footman who had been carrying the ill-fated portmanteau was still apologizing profusely, obviously afraid that he would be held to blame for the accident. Gilbey hastened to reassure the man, and Nicholas ordered the servants to start gathering together the collection of books.

  “We’ll find something else to put them in,” he said with a chuckle still lurking behind his words.

  Gilbey stooped to pick up a volume that had landed by his feet. As he inspected it for creased pages or a cracked spine he happened to glance up and saw a vision he thought he must have dreamed. Two young women, more lovely than any he had ever seen, had entered the room and were walking toward him. They had to be Nicholas’s sisters, for although they had dressed their glorious, guinea-gold hair in somewhat different styles, they seemed in every other respect identical. They had the same graceful, slender figures, the same flawless, creamy skin, and the same delicate facial features. They wore matching gowns of apricot muslin. As he watched, transfixed, one of them bent gracefully to retrieve a book from the floor and held it out at arm’s length.

  “You never told me,” Gilbey said accusingly to Nicholas under his breath.

  “What?”

  “That they were so exquisite!”

  His friend shrugged, as if the omission did not signify. Gilbey reflected that perhaps it did not, for certainly he had heard others say that the St. Aldwyn twins were beautiful. Somehow the report had never impressed him, and perhaps the truth from Nicholas would not have made any difference. But a man would have to be made of stone not to feel an attraction to such goddesses, and Gilbey felt more certain than ever that the two weeks looming ahead of him would be miserably difficult. Immune? Ha! How could he have believed that his desire to remain unattached and uninvolved would render him both numb and blind? How could Nicholas have thought so, too? They had only taken into consideration the attitudes of the others at the party, never Gilbey’s own feelings.

  “A Defense of Ancient Architecture, by Morris,” read the twin who had picked up Gilbey’s book. She quirked an elegantly arched eyebrow in a manner so like her brother’s that Gilbey was forced to smile, releasing his momentary paralysis. She was a few steps ahead of her sister and reached the young men first.

  “Really, Nicholas, what a unique arrival. We seem to have more underfoot than a mere houseful of guests.” She gave Nicholas a sisterly hug and stepped back to inspect Gilbey with a frankly appraising stare.

  “Hullo, Nicholas. Welcome home.” The second twin hugged her brother as well and then moved next to her sister to await the introductions. She glanced at Gilbey curiously, but the look was fleeting and demure.

  “Allow me to present my good friend Lord Cranford,” Nicholas said, bowing to his sisters quite formally. He winked as he turned toward Gilbey. “My sisters, Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian St. Aldwyn.”

  They held out their gloved hands to him in turn, and he dutifully kissed them. He tried very hard to keep his own hand steady.

  Around them the servants had retrieved most of the errant books and collected them into a pile under the watchful eye of Blaine, who was apparently in charge. Someone magically appeared with a trunk in which to pack them.

  “If I am not mistaken, this volume belongs to you, Lord Cranford.” The twin who had greeted Nicholas first, Lady Venetia, also addressed Gilbey first. She held out his book. “I must say, most people do not feel the need to bring such things to a house party.” She treated him to a heart-melting smile that revealed an enchanting pair of dimples in her cheeks. “Did you fear that we would not keep you amply entertained?”

  For a moment Gilbey felt as tongue-tied as the greenest schoolboy. Nicholas’s sister was flirting with him and trying to provoke him at the same time, he knew. She had uttered the last sentence in a most suggestive tone, and when he looked into her eyes—her gorgeous violet-blue eyes—he saw the devil dancing there as surely as he had often seen it in his own sister’s eyes. How was he supposed to answer? She clearly knew the effect she had on a man.

  “Netia—,” Nicholas began in a warning tone, but Gilbey was not about to let his friend fight all of his battles. He forced a cool smile onto his face and accepted the book from Venetia’s hand with what he hoped would pass for indifference.

  “Thank you, Lady Venetia. As your brother knows, I find it difficult to be parted from my studies for long. My eccentricity is no reflection on your family’s hospitality, I assure you.”

  That was the role he would play, he decided—the eccentric scholar, too devoted to his books to be of interest to anyone. How could he possibly keep his feelings under control if Nicholas’s sisters paid any attention to him at all?

  “You are far more polite than my sister deserves,” Lady Vivian said with a reproving glance toward her twin. “Welcome to Rivington, Lord Cranford. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.” Gilbey caught only a sweet smile and a quick flash of her violet eyes before she added, “If you are a friend of Nicholas’s, you must be quite an exceptional fellow. I
hope you will enjoy your stay with us. Please, will you excuse us while we greet our other newly arrived guests?”

  Gilbey nodded and could not help watching in admiration as the twins moved away.

  Beside him Nicholas chuckled. “Your ‘eccentricity’? I must say, friend, you slipped out of that one quite handily. I do apologize for Venetia’s behavior. She has gotten away with it for so long now I fear she cannot change. I trust you do not need me to tell you now which one of my sisters is ‘the lioness’ and which one ‘the lamb’?”

  “They are both utterly enchanting, Nicholas. I can see that coming here was an even bigger mistake than I thought.”

  Nicholas took him by the arm and began to walk. “Oh, nonsense. You’re not in love. Every man is bowled over the first time he meets them—why should you be different? Trust me, you’ll soon get caught up in the swim of things. There will be a good deal going on to hold your interest.”

  Gilbey was not altogether pleased with the casual way Nicholas dismissed his reaction, but perhaps his friend was right. Why indeed should he consider himself different? Perhaps as he became a bit more accustomed to the twins, he would find their effect on him less powerful.

  “You definitely had an improving effect upon Vivian, I must say,” Nicholas added. “She seldom has so much to say to anyone she has just met.”

  The speculative gaze he turned on Gilbey made the young viscount distinctly uncomfortable. Before Gilbey could reply, however, Nicholas abruptly changed the subject. “Here, let me introduce you to these other guests while we are still here in the hall. There will be many more unfamiliar faces for you when we gather for dinner, and I must greet these people, anyway.”

  He glanced about once again, as he had done just before the accident with the books. “My father does not condescend to greet guests upon their arrival, but I am surprised that my Aunt Alice is not here to supervise the ritual. She has served as hostess for my father ever since my mother’s death. I can’t remember her ever arriving later than I have, for anything!”