Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire

by Juliet Landon

  ‘Your father, you mean.’

  ‘Anyone.’

  ‘Well, then, if you really want to know, he’s probably had more women than I’ve had suppers, and I shall not say another word on that subject while Miss Chester’s cheeks are so flushed. So there.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s any more I need to know, thank you. Shall we change the subject then? How well do you know Lord and Lady Ensdale?’

  ‘Well enough to know that their house parties are never dull. They used to entertain the regiment at Brighton, you know. Kept open house there. Look, Cat …’ Lord Rayne said, leaning forward a little from the buttoned velvet seat, ‘if you’re concerned about Boston, about him … you know … calling on you, you send for me, eh? I’m at home for a while and we can always ride out, or drive, and if you need an escort I shall more than likely be available. If you need an excuse, use me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Caterina said. ‘That’s very thoughtful. I may well do that. It will only be temporary.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Lady Dorna, jauntily, ‘send Sir Chase on to me at River Court and I’ll do my best to take his mind off you.’

  Privately, Lord Rayne did not believe his lovely widowed sister would succeed in diverting Chase Boston from anything he had set his mind to. But if Caterina was as unhappy with the possibility as she appeared to be, he himself would gladly help her out, for they had once been good friends and he had not made a promising start of their second phase. Besides that, he would not mind being seen with her on his arm.

  With that offer in mind, a certain peace was established for the first time in twenty-four hours and, because she did not want to put a damper on a weekend so much looked forward to, Caterina brightened up. The five days ahead would surely be enough time to displace thoughts of Sir Chase Boston and her father from her mind. She wished Hannah’s youngest twins no harm, but their high temperatures had been a godsend in forcing their mother to relinquish her duties as chaperon, duties she took far too seriously for most people’s enjoyment. Lady Dorna, known to her friends as The Merry Widow, had quite different ideas about what a chaperon ought (and ought not) to do, and the two sisters had no doubts who was most in need of a duenna.

  The journey through the rolling countryside of Hampshire and Wiltshire, however, provided ample opportunity for memories of Sir Chase’s unforgettable presence to intrude upon Caterina’s peace, whether she wanted them or not. In the light of Lord Rayne’s high opinion of him, heard at first-hand, it was hardly surprising that he should have taken it for granted that a woman would jump at the chance of being driven behind his team of chestnuts in a curricle, of all things.

  Not surprisingly, Lady Dorna had noted only Sir Chase’s most memorable features, but then, she had not suddenly discovered herself to be indebted to him by twenty thousand guineas. She might have looked upon matters less facetiously if she had not been proposed by her father as the means of paying him off, simply because her brother was not in a position to do so.

  Caterina and Sara had visited Sevrington Hall once before, but that had been two years ago when snow had prevented their return home on the appointed day, and the delayed house-guests had made good use of the new plaything by arranging snowball fights, sledging on trays, snowman-building and skating on the lake. Now it was early May, with pink and white blossom lying thickly on the roads instead of snow, whitening the hedges and flying behind the wheels. With two rests and a change of horses along the way at Farnham and Winchester, it was almost dinnertime when they came in sight of Sevrington Hall near Salisbury, gleaming like a golden ingot on the blossomed hillside.

  Turning through a solid Renaissance gatehouse, they drove through herds of deer in the parkland towards the Elizabethan house whose many window-panes flashed apricot in the late sun. They were neither the first nor the last guests to arrive, but to judge from the ecstatic welcome of their ebullient hostess, they might have been the first people she had seen for a year.

  Lady Ensdale was one of those rare aristocrats about whom no one spoke unkindly except, on occasion, about her voice, which any regimental captain would have been proud to own. One also had to accept her slight tendency to overdress, though there was no hint of cheapness in the finery. Her quiet husband and two charming sons adored her as, it seemed, did everyone else. Still blooming well into middle age, she possessed an enviable energy and zest for life, and now her welcome rang through the Great Hall, where the odd mixture of Tudor minstrels’ gallery and Georgian staircase epitomised the whole house and its eclectic contents.

  ‘You’ll know almost everybody,’ she called over her shoulder as she led them up the wide white staircase. ‘Only a small gathering this time. I’ve put all the ladies in the west wing and you, Seton dear, are in the east wing with the other men. Now don’t pull a face like that, wicked boy. What you get up to in the middle of the night is your business, but don’t trip over your hounds and wake us all up, that’s all I ask.’ Her laughter was infectious; even when they had closed the doors of their rooms, it could still be heard over the barking of dogs.

  Millie, the sisters’ maid, opened one of the small casement windows to see a flight of honking swans with peachy wings on their way towards the lake, the rippling V-shaped ribbon dropping lower and lower until it shattered the mirror of water with a splash and a flurry of feathers. Caterina and Sara leaned out to watch. ‘Only a small gathering this time,’ Sara murmured, smiling.

  Dressing for dinner as a guest in someone else’s house was always more fun than dressing for one’s own family, and Millie’s expertise was such that she could easily attend to both her charges at the same time, having once been a dressmaker’s talented apprentice. There was nothing she didn’t know about the latest fashions, accessories and hairstyles, or the art of wearing them with panache, nor was there ever any argument about what the sisters should wear when their tastes were so different.

  Before the long cheval mirror, Sara observed the swing of her pale blue gown with borders of fine gold beading. Her silk stockings were embellished with clocks of gold thread which she hoped to be able to show off discreetly during the evening. ‘The sapphire earrings?’ she asked Millie.

  ‘The small pearl drops, Miss Sara,’ said the maid, without explanation.

  There had been a time when Caterina had needed advice, too, but now she needed her sister and maid for little else but approval, the twitch of a seam or the lift of a curl from one side to the other. In the half-gown of figured silver silk worn over a grey silk under-dress, low-cut at front and back and with tiny petal sleeves that barely covered her shoulders, the warm peach blush of her skin set off the cool colours, as did the rich tones of her hair. Bound with narrow silver braids, it had been piled into a high chignon from which curls fell provocatively down her long neck, not quite hiding her diamond earrings, like frozen tear-drops.

  Draping a snowy silk shawl over her arms and shaking out its long fringe, she smiled at Millie. ‘Thank you. Ready, Sara? You look enchanting, love. Which one are we aiming for this time? Constantine, or Titus?’

  Sara giggled. ‘Either will do nicely, thank you.’

  Although Caterina had dismissed Lord Rayne’s first offer to keep them both company that weekend, she had appreciated the spirit, if not the casual delivery. As she walked with her sister and Lady Dorna along the open landing above the Great Hall, her quick peep over the beautiful white balustrade was intended to find him. There were, as expected, far more than the estimated small gathering, bearing in mind their hostess’s distorted perception of the world, so they were not too surprised to find that the hall was almost filled with guests, some of whom were well known to them. Her eyes, however, continued to scan even after she had identified Lord Rayne’s black long-tailed coat amongst all the others, for although she was accustomed to having so many eyes turned upon her when she sang, she felt that something down there in the assembly was compelling her attention with an unresistable force, like a mag
net.

  Her gaze swung and stopped and, instead of feeling surprise, alarm or even irritation, a strange sense of inevitablity stared back at her from the face she had not managed to banish from her mind. Sir Chase Boston.

  Someone was talking to him, but he was paying no attention.

  Someone was speaking to her, someone else calling her name, but she heard nothing except the hollow thud behind her ribs, reaching her throat. And of all the eyes that watched each of her slow steps down to their level, the only ones she was aware of were his.

  Chapter Three

  He came to meet them, weaving his way through the crowded room ahead of Lord Rayne, bowing to all three ladies with faultless grace. ‘Lady Adorna, Miss Chester, and Miss Sara. Were you expecting a small gathering, too? Or has our hostess ceased to surprise you?’

  Sure that Caterina would wish her to divert Sir Chase’s attention, in view of her dislike, Lady Dorna Elwick was happy to oblige, drawing Sara into the conversation, then by some meaningless chatter about the guests, and finally by an alluring flutter of long eyelashes that Caterina took as a signal of her availability.

  For some reason that eluded her, she felt a twinge of annoyance, as if the matter of her dislike had so soon been dealt with, which she knew it had not. Sir Chase was expecting a greeting from her, although from a distance their eyes had already greeted. The bow of her head was perfunctory, her words lacking welcome. ‘Sir Chase,’ she said, looking beyond him. ‘You brought a partner, did you?’

  You know I did not, his eyes told her. ‘I followed her,’ he said, quietly. ‘Ah, Rayne. Fortunate fellow to have three ladies at your elbow.’

  Lord Rayne made a jesting kind of reply meant to sound as if they might curb his enjoyment, but Caterina was hardly listening, faced once more with the man she now knew had offered for her, however she had chosen to interpret the arrangement earlier. He would certainly respond to Lady Dorna’s flirting, but he would be obliged to pursue her, nevertheless, and all his attempts to ingratiate himself would be no more than an effort to win his wager.

  His brief reply to her question had been understood by them all, but it was Sara’s large sympathetic eyes that rested longest upon her sister. In Sara’s experience, one either wanted a man or one didn’t. Caterina could do both at the same time. As the two men stood side by side before her, she was able to compare them, to note their similar build and powerful physique, the upright graceful carriage and Lord Rayne’s nonchalance that had once taken her heart by storm. She set this beside the overpowering force of the other man’s controlled energy and the sheer magnetism that had drawn her halfway across the room, unwillingly. She felt it now, and was still unsettled by it, disturbed not around the heart as she had been six years ago, but deeper down into her roots where her passions lay.

  Recognising the source of her interest, she knew that he also would be familiar with the purely physical response and that this would surely have been why he’d made his spontaneous and absurd offer for her. That, and his love of gambling.

  According to Lord Rayne, he was a man with large appetites, though a glance at the lean, square, dimpled chin showed no extra folds overlying the white cravat, but tanned healthy skin with a faint blue shadow reaching up to the long sideburns of black hair. He had raked his mop back with his fingers, probably without a mirror, she thought, for some strands had fallen forward over his broad forehead in a casual disarray that others took hours to achieve. His mouth was wide and firm, not at all red like that of the awful suitor who had kissed her.

  Her observation of his mouth was caught before she could withdraw it, but she felt his hazel eyes lazily examining her lips as she had been doing to his, and she was glad when Lord Rayne stepped smartly to her side, intending a more efficient display of protection this time. As dinner was announced, he offered her his arm with a wink. ‘Miss Chester, you will partner me, I hope?’

  Smiling, she accepted his offer just as her sister’s hand was being drawn through the arm of the Honourable Constantine Ensdale, eldest son of their host, while Lady Dorna was attaching herself like a pretty limpet to Sir Chase, who had little choice but to put a happy face on it. Caterina was well satisfied with Lord Rayne’s gallantry, but she wished that Lady Dorna had not thrown herself with quite so much relish into the business of steering Sir Chase’s thoughts away from its intended course. A little reticence would have done very well, at this early stage of the game.

  Watching carefully for precedence as they shuffled into the dining room, Caterina whispered to her escort, ‘Did you know he’d been invited?’

  ‘He said nothing about it yesterday, but then, I didn’t mention it either. Could your father have told him you’d be here?’

  ‘Well, I certainly didn’t.’

  ‘You dislike him as much as that, do you?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t ask me why.’

  ‘Well, then, stay close. He’ll get the message. Anyway, once Dorna’s taken him in hand, he’ll be kept busy.’

  With her natural liveliness and good nature, Lady Dorna wore her desires with the same transparency as her gown, the minuscule bodice of which was the focal point for everyone within range. Caterina had no doubt that Sir Chase’s attention would be securely held for the rest of the evening, and perhaps beyond.

  Yet for all the formality of the dining room and the impressively decorated tableware, the silver candelabra and fruity centrepieces, the crested cutlery and snow-white napery, there was a contrasting gaiety and leg-pulling about who should go in with whom, about the proper seating, and Lady Ensdale’s loudly boisterous admission that she hadn’t given it a moment’s thought, dears.

  ‘Sit ye down where ye will,’ she bellowed across the table, waving her arms about. ‘Loughborough, over there by Perdita … no, over there, dear. What? Oh, that’s Barbara, is it? Well, of course I knew. Now, Chase, my boy…. Oh, you’re with Dorna, are you? Right. So who’s got our little songbird? Ah, Seton! There you are. Do sit down … I’m famished.’ She looked round for the butler. ‘Sanderson, get on with it, man!’

  Sanderson had seen it all before.

  From experience, Caterina knew it would be a lengthy affair, testing both her social skills and her stamina, for it was not going to be easy for her to relax and enjoy herself with Sir Chase and Lady Dorna sitting almost opposite with an uninterrupted view between two enormous epergne.

  But with six years of news to exchange, Caterina and Lord Rayne suffered no shortage of conversation, and although they could not indulge themselves completely so soon, it might have been thought by some of the guests that their interest in each other signified the rekindling of an old tendre. He was assiduous in his attentions, and she responded accordingly with smiles and private jests that belonged to an earlier time, which seemed to be the easiest way for her to avoid a certain pair of eyes that watched from between a pineapple and a large yellow peony.

  Even so, with the lax rules at Lady Ensdale’s merry table, there were times when the conversation flowed in all directions, when Caterina was obliged to reply to Sir Chase’s questions from across the table to which a simple yes or no would have been impossible. She could not help her feelings of surprise at his own part in the general conversation, which showed a seriousness quite different from the Banbury stories recounted by some Tulips and would-be beaux with whom she had sometimes been obliged to dine. He did not regale them with bragging accounts of his daring exploits, even when Lord Rayne offered him the chance, nor did he talk about himself at all except in the most amusing and self-effacing terms that seemed to imply a genuine boredom with the subject. This not only made his listeners laugh, but it showed Caterina a side of him she had not suspected. Whatever reasons she might give to refuse his offer of marriage, she would never be able to say that he pitched the gammon too far, or that he had maggots in his head, for he certainly did not.

  But nor did he pay Lady Dorna the kind of attention that lady had hoped for, providing no foundation of flirtatiousness upon which she
could build something deeper. She was not so addle-pated, though, that she could ignore the way he took every opportunity to glance across the table to where Caterina and Lord Rayne chattered, seemingly absorbed in each other. On the other hand, Lady Dorna could not have known how Caterina and Sir Chase were more aware of each other than of anyone else in the room or that, although their eyes rarely met, Caterina’s danced and flitted like a moth around a candle flame, more than once coming perilously close to being singed.

  By the time the covers had been removed to reveal the glorious satinwood table and a new experience of reflections, Caterina had at last begun to enjoy herself. Lady Dorna’s efforts to keep Sir Chase’s attention had become an amusing charade that was only partly for her sake, the other part being a sensual woman’s natural reaction to a physically attractive male. For her own part, Caterina thought how fortunate it was that Lord Rayne had returned home at this opportune moment to offer his services, and how satisfying it was to know that their friendship had so soon been questioned by Sir Chase. That, at least, was going according to plan.

  Dabbling her fingertips in the glass bowl, she took up the small napkin to wipe them, raising her eyes to find that Lord Rayne was watching her with an expression of tenderness and a smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. ‘My lord?’ she whispered, dimpling.

  ‘You’ve become a very beautiful woman, Cat,’ he replied, softly. ‘I’m not the only one who can’t keep his eyes off you.’

  ‘I’m obliged to you, my lord. Can you keep up the pretence a while longer?’

  ‘It isn’t pretence. You know how poor I am at pretending.’

  ‘Now that’s a pity, because we may be obliged to play at charades later. I shall make sure you’re not in my troupe.’