by Amanda Scott
Sarah Basehart’s sharp voice interrupted her thoughts. “Her grace must be told at once, m’lady.”
Brittany turned upon her. “Upon no account in the world,” she said fiercely. “Mama must not be distressed by what is certainly a mere trifle. Nor must Papa be told.” Both maids blinked at the rider, making it clear that neither had considered for a moment the possibility of approaching the duke upon this or any other subject. Noting their reaction, Brittany went on more calmly, “No doubt Alicia has been thoughtless, but there is no cause for alarm. I shall look into the matter myself. By the by”—she turned to the young maid again—“has Lord Faringdon arrived yet?”
“Aye, m’lady, I was just a-comin’ t’ inform ’r grace when Miss Fellows stopped me and sent me a-flyin’ t’ you. ’Is lordship be below in the master’s bookroom a-waitin’ on ’er grace’s pleasure.”
“My father is not there as well, I trust.”
The maid shook her head. “No, m’lady, ’e’s gorn ter ’is club. But, me lady—”
“Very good,” Brittany said crisply, not waiting to hear what would most likely prove to be an impertinent opinion from the maid. “I shall go down to his lordship at once. Wait several moments before you apprise her grace of his arrival if you please, Betty. And not a word from you,” she added when Sarah opened her mouth in protest. “Faringdon is going to be my husband, after all. I am persuaded there can be nothing amiss in my greeting him without my mama and sister at my side to play propriety.”
Brittany paused briefly, chin lifted, to see if Sarah would dare to object, but she was scarcely surprised, in view of the fact that the maid had already received a taste of her temper when she did not. Silently accepting the pair of long white kid gloves that Sarah held out, she took one final look at herself in the glass and turned on her heel, hoping that Betty would obey her orders to put off telling the duchess that their escort for the evening had arrived.
Until she was on the point of entering her father’s library, on the ground floor of the great house, Brittany gave no further thought to her earlier concern for Faringdon’s possible adverse reaction to her ball gown. But when a liveried footman sprang forward to open the tall carved-oak doors for her, memory flooded her mind, bringing more color to her cheeks than even Sarah might have wished for. Thus it was that she stepped into the room looking even more glorious than usual. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, and her soft, creamy bosom heaved within its frame of roses in response as much to her increasing concern over Alicia as to her anticipation of the earl’s possible comments.
Auburn-haired Anthony, tenth Earl Faringdon, attired with his customary casual elegance in black knee breeches, a black coat, and a shirt as snowy white as his high, starched neckcloth and long clocked stockings, stood leaning against the mantelpiece at the left side of the library fire, holding a half-empty sherry glass in his right hand.
Straightening, he grinned and set the glass down upon the shelf in order to lift his gold-rimmed quizzing glass. “Magnificent, my dear,” he drawled, peering through it at her, “but what is the purpose of such unnatural haste? One must attempt to project just that proper hint of ennui, don’t you know. ’Tis ever so much more fashionable, ain’t it, Cherry?” He glanced aside, his hazel eyes glinting with mischievous laughter. “Tell me, dear fellow, didn’t I hit the mark when I said she was incomparable?”
Brought up short by the realization that his lordship was not alone, Brittany turned sharply toward the second gentleman, who had been standing near the bookshelves to her right, out of her direct line of sight. The becoming color in her cheeks deepened to fiery red when she encountered a brooding look from a pair of dark-gray eyes set deep beneath a jutting brow. The gentleman seemed to be frowning at her, no doubt in profound disapproval of her abrupt and unchaperoned entrance, if not of her very unmournful appearance. She tried to look away, but she could not seem to do so. His dark gaze held hers as though his eyes were gray magnets and hers but powerless blue-violet lodestones. The warmth from her cheeks spread quickly to the rest of her body, and she licked lips that had suddenly gone dry.
2
“DEAR ME,” MURMURED FARINGDON, “I daresay you two ain’t chanced to meet before, which presents me with a pretty quandary. Does a man—even one in my privileged position—dare to introduce a single gentleman to a young lady before acquiring permission from her mama or papa to do so? ’Tain’t a ballroom, after all, where a simple introduction to an eligible partner won’t bond her to recognize the feller again if she don’t choose to do so. I need Toby Welshpool to set me right on such niceties as this.”
“Don’t be an ass, Tony,” the unknown gentleman said with a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I told you it was a mistake to attempt to foist me into her grace’s party tonight.”
Brittany recovered her poise quickly upon hearing these words. The gentleman was, after all, a guest in her father’s house, invited or not. She managed a gracious smile. “Pray do not heed Lord Faringdon, sir,” she said. “He is merely funning at our expense. I assure you I have no qualms about receiving any friend of his at Malmesbury House.” When the amused glint in the stranger’s eyes only deepened, she turned hastily to face Faringdon. “Do have done, sir, and introduce this gentleman properly to me.”
“There is no need, my lady,” the stranger said quietly. “It is apparent to me that you wish to speak privately with his lordship. I will leave you.” He turned abruptly toward the door.
“Now who’s being the ass, Cherry?” Faringdon demanded. “The lady ain’t asked you to leave, has she? No, and what’s more, she won’t. Will you m’dear?”
“No, of course not,” Brittany said quickly, glancing first at the stranger, then back at the earl, “but he is quite right in saying that I wish to speak privately with you, sir.”
“Don’t be daft, girl. Like as not I’d tell him the whole later, anyway, unless you swear me to secrecy, of course. A fellow don’t split after giving his word he won’t, but Cherry’s got a dashed fine head on his shoulders. If you’ve flung yourself into the briars, which is as like as not if I’m any judge of such matters, he’s as good as Gil is at giving advice. Now, what’s amiss?”
She bit her lip, looked again at the stranger to discover stronger amusement than ever in the deeply set dark-gray eyes, then turned back to her betrothed. “Very well, Tony, but do you not think you ought to introduce him to me before I tell him all? Even if he is as clever as Ravenwood?”
Faringdon clapped a hand to his forehead. “If this business of good manners don’t beat all good sense. Our precious Lady Jersey wouldn’t approve, nor the sweet Cowper, nor the haughty de Lieven, nor any other patroness neither, that I can tell you flat out. Why, a fine lady these days don’t even introduce one caller to another in her own house, for fear that one will think himself above the other and be offended. ’Tis a pack of nonsense, and so I tell you to your head. If we Inseparables had been as stuffy at Waterloo as we are now expected to be in a London drawing room, old Boney’d have won the day while we was still debating the propermost way to address his men, and that’s a fact.”
“Please, Tony,” Brittany begged, “you’re being out-of-reason ridiculous. The difficulty concerns Alicia, and I simply cannot babble the lot of it to a man whose name I don’t even know. And Mama and Arabella will be down in a trice.”
The stranger grimaced. “This situation grows farcical, Tony. Her ladyship cannot wish to discuss private family matters in my presence. I shall go on ahead and meet you at Almack’s, since you are determined to put in an appearance there.”
“No, don’t,” protested Faringdon on a note of near panic. “Don’t desert me now, man. I ain’t going merely to put in an appearance, and well you know it. Her grace has as good as dragooned me for the duration, and you promised to come along to support my spirits, so you dashed well can’t shy off at the last minute. Damn that Alicia. What in blazes has she done now?” He glared at Brittany, who glared back briefly before
glancing pointedly at the man he had called Cherry. “Oh, very well,” said the earl with an exasperated sigh, “this is Cherry—no, dash it, that ain’t right. Lady Brittany Leighton, I beg you will permit me to make known to you one Jordan Verridge, who has the honor to be twelfth Earl of Inglesham and ninth Marquess of Cheriton.”
“Cheriton would have sufficed, you rag-mannered twit,” muttered his friend as, feet together and hands relaxed at his sides in the approved fashion, he made a slight bow to Brittany. “Your servant, ma’am. If you like, I can certainly await his lordship in the front hall. He does not call my tune.”
Brittany sighed, shaking her head. “There is no need, sir. Somehow I feel as though you will stand my friend. Indeed, if you have survived this nonsensical farce of Tony’s, you will no doubt survive any drama my wretched sister has chosen to enact upon this stage we call life.”
Cheriton lifted his heavy brows. “You wax poetic, ma’am. Does a theatrical turn of speech come naturally to you, or has it been stirred into being by circumstances?”
Warmth rose quickly in her cheeks again as her gaze met his, and she spoke more sharply than she might otherwise have done. “If you mean to inquire as to whether I am capable of falling into a distempered freak, sir, let me tell you frankly that if I cannot find my sister before my parents discover her absence, I may well produce a Cheltenham tragedy on this very spot that will astonish everyone in the house.”
Faringdon’s hand clamped down upon her shoulder before she was aware of his having moved from the hearth. He turned her sharply about to face him. “Look here, Brittany, what has that idiotish wench done now? You say she is not even in the house?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “No, Tony, she is not. And what is more to the point, no one seems to know where she can have gone.”
“Deep in mischief, like as not,” said Faringdon, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Dash it, what that child wants is a sound thrashing. I wonder his grace ain’t seen to it lately.”
“Alicia is nearly seventeen,” Brittany said, retaining a firm grip on her temper. “She is no longer a child, but she can certainly be exasperating. What am I to do, Tony?”
However, Faringdon had turned away to pace toward the hearth and back again, his hands jammed into his coat pockets, his quizzing glass swinging loose on its golden cord. It was Cheriton who answered, his deep voice sounding extraordinarily calm by contrast to the earl’s agitation. “Is it not possible that your sister is merely napping in some out-of-the-way place, Lady Brittany? ’Tis a large house, after all.”
Faringdon snorted, turning to face his friend. “You don’t know the chit, my lad. Napping? Ha! I wish I may see it. That brat don’t rest for an instant—always up to mischief, and that’s a fact. Where do you think she has gone, Brittany? Not planning to meet his worship, the Persian ambassador, at Dover, is she?”
“The Persian ambassador,” Cheriton exclaimed. “What nonsense are you prattling here, man? What can a young girl not yet out of the schoolroom know of ambassadors?”
Brittany chuckled low in her throat. “My sister no longer considers herself a schoolroom miss, sir, and I can assure you she knows a deal about the Persian ambassador. Like many others among our set, she has avidly followed reports of his progress across the Continent. However, neither I nor his lordship believes for one moment that she has gone to meet the ambassadorial ship. For one thing, according to this morning’s Times, the party is still in Paris. For another, my sister has more important fish to fry. You will remember, Tony, that she has insisted she will make her come-out this Season despite Papa’s orders to the contrary.”
“Good Lord,” Faringdon breathed, staring at her.
Again Cheriton’s calm voice broke the ensuing silence. “Surely, ma’am, your sister cannot present herself. If your father has forbidden her to make her bow this Season, there is no more to be said.”
Faringdon shook his head. “I tell you, you don’t know this chit.” Frowning heavily, he looked at Brittany. “She won’t merely show up at Almack’s, expecting to be let in on her own, will she? Lord, she’d never recover her reputation if she did such a thing.”
“No, of course not,” Brittany said impatiently. The doors to the library stood ajar and she could hear the sound of voices from the top of the grand, winged stair in the hall. Only minutes remained before the duchess would join them. “Lissa means somehow to force Papa’s hand, that is all. I fear she will do something outrageous, thinking—erroneously, of course—that he can be forced to agree to let her have her own way. The only possibility I have been able to call to mind is that Penelope Waring might know her plan. Indeed, I nearly sent a footman to Arden House to inquire as to whether Alicia had dined there. But then I remembered that Lady Arden is bringing Penelope out this Season, so Arden House will be in a bustle tonight, and I cannot think that even such a widgeon as Lady Arden would consent to allow a schoolgirl to join them for dinner the night of the first subscription ball at Almack’s. Still, Penelope is Alicia’s bosom bow. If anyone—”
“If anyone knows what the brat is up to, Penelope will,” Faringdon cut in. “Say no more. I’m off.” He had taken two hasty steps toward the door before Brittany’s sharp protest stopped him.
“Tony, you cannot bolt off like this. You are to escort Mama, Arabella, and me to Almack’s. Indeed, you must, for you know Papa will not set foot in the place, and Mama don’t like to go without a gentleman to see to her comfort.”
“Not to worry,” Faringdon said airily. “Cherry will attend to all that. He’s more of a dab at seeing to the ladies than I am anyway.”
“Now, look here, you devil,” Cheriton said, “I’ll thank you not to give Lady Brittany any such odd notion of my habits.”
“Oh, dash it all, you know I meant nothing of the sort.” The earl cocked an ear toward the great hall. “Here comes her grace now. All I meant, Brittany, is that Cherry is accustomed to seeing to his mama’s wants. Daresay the old lady is known to her grace, for that matter. You’ll see, everything’ll be all right and tight. You hop along with Cherry and I’ll see to young Alicia. You needn’t bother your head about her any longer, my word on it.”
Brittany glanced at the marquess, whose brow was even more furrowed now than before, but his gaze met hers ruefully just as the Duchess of Malmesbury and the Lady Arabella entered the room, and she relaxed when she saw the unholy twinkle still lurked in his eyes. Faringdon made the necessary introductions with far greater grace and aplomb than he had managed earlier, then casually announced that he had urgent, unspecified matters to attend to and would leave them in Cheriton’s capable hands. “I’ll join you at Almack’s before the cat can lick her ear, ma’am, assure you.” He bowed deeply to the duchess, grinned at Arabella, and took himself off before anyone could offer the slightest objection.
The duchess blinked in bewilderment, then turned her attention to the marquess. “Cheriton? I knew your papa, of course, when he was on the town, and your mama. How does she go on these days? I’ve not laid eyes upon her since your papa’s unfortunate demise.” She took a seat in one of a pair of matching blue brocaded Adam chairs some distance from the cheerful fire and gestured for Arabella to take its mate.
Cheriton moved toward the mantelpiece. “Mama does very well, thank you, ma’am. It was she who ordered me up to town for the Season. Insisted I had rusticated at Cheriton Manor long enough.”
“I daresay you had your work cut out for you there, did you not? Let me see, your papa, rest his soul, died these three summers past, the same year our Cicely married Ravenwood, as I recall, and Cheriton was never one to attend to his estates when he might rather be gaming or making merry.”
The marquess smiled, a slow smile that deepened the lines in his face and revealed strong, even, white teeth. “I was sorry to miss Gil’s wedding. After being companions so long, first at school and then on the Continent, I certainly never thought I’d miss so important an occasion. But my father, as you know, chose that mome
nt to take a turn for the worse, and we expected to lose him. I couldn’t leave. As it happened, he lingered well into the summer. The aftermath was painful for my mother, and the time simply hasn’t seemed right until now to leave her to her own devices. She insists that she has had enough of London to last her for years to come, so I could not prevail upon her to accompany me, though I still believe she would enjoy the opportunity to renew old acquaintances.”
The duchess nodded. “You will say all that is proper from me, I hope, when next you correspond with her, sir. Indeed, I believe I shall write to her myself. I have been remiss.” She glanced then at Brittany, waiting quietly where she had stood since entering the room. “Have you your cloak, my dear? ’Tis time and more that we were off. The carriage is at the door.”
Brittany moved to pull the bell cord, then asked the tall young footman who entered a moment later to fetch her cloak from her maid. Ten minutes later, they were settled in the duchess’s town carriage, driving along streets shadowed in darkness wherever the radiant glow from the gaslights did not reach, until they came to King Street, St. James’s, where the entrance to the famous assembly rooms was lit as bright as day in welcome to those members of the beau monde so fortunate as to be permitted entrance to its hallowed rooms. A line of carriages preceded them, but it was not long before their own was drawn up before the entrance. A footman opened the door, and Cheriton stepped down first, holding out his hand to assist Arabella, then Brittany, and lastly the duchess herself to the flagway. The duchess allowed him to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they led the way, Brittany and Arabella following closely behind, up the broad steps and into the entrance hall.
