Mary Brendan

by Wedding Night Revenge

  A faint smile tipped Rachel’s lips at the memory, and at the realisation that she and Noreen were settling into quite a comfortable relationship whilst here, alone, in London. Her smile faded as she noticed that Joseph Walsh had not only spotted her, but recognised her. Their eyes held for a moment, then, to her surprise, the butler accorded her an especially deep and respectful bow. He approached them and, waving away a footman who had sprung to attention as his superior approached, Joseph personally ushered her party the length of the colonnaded hallway. At the foot of the stairs he instructed them to proceed to the function rooms above.

  When they were about halfway up the magnificent staircase, Lucinda had conquered her awe enough to engage Rachel in conversation, across her husband’s immaculate waistcoat. ‘This is the most splendid house I believe I have ever set foot in.’ Her shining dark eyes skipped over the blue velvet draperies, the profusion of gilt and marble, the blaze of glittering crystal. Ornate wall sconces and the stupendous central chandelier sparked a diamond fire that competed, gallantly, with a fabulous collection of precious jewels shimmering on pearly female skin. ‘Isn’t it exciting. I hope I don’t look too plain and fat, Rachel,’ Lucinda mouthed to her friend so as not to disclose her insecurities to her soigné husband. Her new lace stole was draped carefully about her rounded abdomen.

  ‘You look absolutely fine,’ Rachel softly encouraged. At the top of the stairs, she added more audibly, ‘And, indeed, it is exciting.’

  Oh, God, it’s far too exciting! raced through her mind as she felt her insides squirm and panic pricked her mind. For the first time, she felt the craven urge to let go of Paul’s arm and creep away, unseen, into a corner. Her darting gaze had just alighted on their host and hostess greeting people, and she didn’t know why she was so shocked and dismayed to be brought face to face with this particular couple. Perhaps it was because they had always treated her with kindness and respect. Perhaps because acknowledging it, even six years later, made her feel guilty.

  Connor Flinte was nowhere in sight; it was his mother and stepfather welcoming guests to this refined soirée. Well, what had she expected? That the Earl of Devane might install his mistress in his drawing room to take on the office of hostess? Much as she despised him, she didn’t think even he would stoop so low as to stand that baggage by his side with her light skirt blowing about her ears while he greeted the Duke of Wellington. And she had heard that that worthy was due to attend at some point during the evening. But then, if gossip were to be believed of the Duke’s lusty appetite for a certain sort of female, it was probably precisely the sort of titillating sight that the old goat would relish.

  They were barely a yard or two away now, and Rachel’s eyes focused again on the tall brunette. Her complexion and shoulders were milk-pale, and perfectly complemented by a daringly low-cut gown of crimson satin. Lady Davenport looked absolutely striking, and, like her son, seemed little older than she had six years ago. A casual glance from the woman’s tawny eyes flicked along the snaking file of guests. Immediately they pulled back to Rachel and registered surprise. Then she was again graciously attending to the stout lady and gentlemen in conversation with her spouse.

  Rachel tilted her chin. Why be humble or timid? She might feel as though she was here on sufferance; actually she was here by their son’s request.

  No doubt, when they discovered just why he had invited her, they would think how very decent and obliging he was being: sparing the woman who had once publicly humiliated him a moment or two of his time before he quit the country. And if they, like everyone else present, privately relished her ultimate humbling…her family’s ultimate humbling, she supposed they of all people had a legitimate entitlement to it.

  She clenched her fists, then wiped moist palms on to her skirts. If she could be a million miles away, she would be. He knew that. He knew how hard it was for her to continue with this pantomime of good manners between them. He must have known how excruciating it would be for her to face his parents. He obviously couldn’t care less how it affected her, but he ought to have spared them this very public ordeal. Lady Davenport had looked surprised to see her, but probably would feign ignorance of her identity. It would be appropriate after such a long time…

  ‘Miss Meredith, isn’t it?’

  The lilting accent was wrenchingly familiar. With a deep, steadying breath Rachel dipped her head in assent and curtsied politely.

  Rosemary Davenport took one of Rachel’s trembling hands in hers, then turned to her husband, who was greeting Paul and Lucinda Saunders. ‘You remember Miss Meredith, don’t you, my dear?’

  It seemed to Rachel that Sir Joshua frowned down his patrician nose at her in a frighteningly haughty manner. His son grows ever more like him, she thought, recoiling from the memory of Jason Davenport peering at her, from his lofty height, with cold calculation.

  ‘Demme! I don’t think I do, m’dear,’ Sir Joshua eventually said, dragging his eyes from the beautiful woman flushing beneath his emotionless appraisal. ’Who is she, then?’ His features took on an engaging animation as he turned a bright, enquiring look on his soigné wife.

  Rosemary Davenport gave her husband’s arm a punitive little tap. To Rachel she gave an apologetic little smile. ‘I think he’s funning…but then his memory isn’t what it was,’ she gently explained. Her tone of voice, and the pain shadowing her deep hazel eyes, let Rachel know that it was no total jest. Lady Davenport placed an indulgent hand on her absent-minded consort’s thin arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  Obediently, Sir Joshua raised his quizzing glass and peered again at Rachel.

  The grave struggle to place her was clear in his face and was sweetly flattering in its intensity. Rachel felt her defensiveness, her discomfort, melt away. He really had forgotten her. But then, without his wife at his side, she might never have recognised him. Whereas Rosemary looked as attractive and vital as she had six years ago, Sir Joshua was much changed. His hair was now thinning and silver, not fair, and his tall regal frame had lost its musculature and looked to be gaunt beneath his fine clothes. As the wordless scrutiny continued, she realised that quite a few people close by were avid spectators to this little exchange between herself and the couple who had narrowly escaped being her in-laws.

  Sir Joshua suddenly patted contentedly at his hip. ‘Ah, I know. I have it now. This gel’s a friend of Jason’s from his old Surrey days…’

  ‘Miss Meredith is a friend of Connor’s from his old army days,’ his wife corrected in her musical tone. She squeezed at Rachel’s hand in a way that was oddly affectionate before she let it go. ‘Miss Meredith and Connor were once engaged…oh, a good few years ago now.’

  The quizzing glass was swiftly levelled at Rachel. ‘Demme! So sorry, my dear. Have you found yourself a husband since, Miss Meredith?’

  Rachel found her voice at last, aware that people around were smiling, taking their lead from the good humour of this kind couple. ‘No, sir. I am still Miss Meredith…’ Rachel tailed off, hoping that no one deemed she was being sarcastic, for unpleasantness was the last thing on her mind.

  Rosemary Davenport smiled at her, as though she understood and wanted to reassure her no offence was taken. Paul and Lucinda were then included in the radiance. ‘I hope we get a chance to chat later,’ she told Rachel in her soft accent. ‘It would be nice to know how your family do…your parents and your sisters and so on…’

  ‘Thank you, yes, I should like that,’ Rachel said, hoping no mention would be made of Isabel. But something in Lady Davenport’s eyes allayed that fear, too.

  After another polite bob Rachel slipped quickly forward to take hold of Paul’s arm. As the trio proceeded into the vast reception room she heard Sir Joshua demand of his wife, ‘Has she always been that pretty?’

  A nod must have answered him, for what she next heard was, ‘Why the deuce wouldn’t the boy marry her, then?’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Well, I can’t say I was at all pleased when I heard
of the business with Windrush.’

  ‘Indeed, neither was I, Mrs Pemberton,’ Rachel said quietly, congratulating herself on managing such monumental understatement. ‘Is William here with you?’ Wistfully she peered over a shoulder into the crowd of people in the room, hoping to locate her sister’s fiancé. Just a promise of his mild, affable person would have cheered her enormously for she was feeling quite bereft.

  There was a sultry atmosphere indoors and her friend Lucinda was already flagging from the unremitting heat. Thus her husband had taken her to the terrace for a little reviving evening air. Rachel had declined to go too, for she felt quite a gooseberry and refused to sheepishly follow them about. In order that they would not fret over abandoning her, Rachel had voluntarily transferred herself to the company of June’s prospective father-in-law.

  Alexander Pemberton was welcoming and entertaining and had regaled her with anecdotes about William as a young and mischievous schoolboy. It was hard to believe the sensible young man she knew, who was soon to be her brother-in-law, was the same character as the cheeky scapegrace being described by his father. Then William’s other parent had swept up, dampening the humour and very soon despatching Alexander on an errand. Having won seclusion with her quarry, the woman’s calculating regard was making Rachel glumly sure an interrogation was soon to commence.

  ‘William? Here?’ Mrs Pemberton imperceptibly opened proceedings. ‘No. He has gone off into the country for a day or two. Possibly in the direction of Hertfordshire,’ she sniffed with palpable disgust that her son should seek the air close to his fiancée. ‘I imagine he will be sorry he missed this evening. Since the bad business he and the Earl are quite firm chums, you know.’

  Mrs Pemberton’s awed gaze was lingering on a spot to their left, forcing Rachel to acknowledge that their host was, indeed, gaining ground all the time. She slanted an oblique look from beneath her thick lashes at a party of gregarious gentlemen just a few yards away. All looked debonair and distinguished; yet it was the shorter gentleman with the unfortunate profile who was holding court. The Duke of Wellington, Rachel had to admit, was rather a disappointment in the flesh, with his lack of stature, hooked nose and that abrupt barking laugh that cut a wide swathe through all conversation at close quarters.

  Yet he certainly had a powerful, charismatic aura. The younger men being diverted by his guffaw-punctuated yarns deferred to him quite naturally, if not by dint of rank, from respect or affection, she imagined.

  Gentlemen were milling about on the periphery of the elite, awaiting an opportunity to wedge a word or their person into that fêted male circle. Ladies, too, were loitering in the vicinity, their fans snapping open and closed, their figures first posing this way, then that. In their summer-weight gauzes they fluttered hither and thither, like a mist of pastel moths, yet never far from the light as they sought a way to settle without a scald. They trilled laughter at one another, gaily chatted, but kept their eyes fixed firmly on the prize.

  Powerful broad shoulders clad in slate grey were again drawing Rachel’s eyes. Far from having a physiognomy that was hard to behold, their host looked wonderfully handsome. Reluctant admiration registered in her mind as she discreetly regarded his high cheek-boned countenance and ribbons of blue-black hair straying on to his lean jaw and snowy collar. An engaging smile tilted his mouth as he listened to his erstwhile general gesticulating in a way that made his stepbrother, Jason, roar with laughter.

  With something akin to resentment she realised that Connor looked undeniably attractive and the females hovering were aware of it too; the majority were directing their best flirtatious efforts at him.

  ‘No, I can tell you I was not happy about the outcome of the business at all.’

  Rachel’s thoughts were jarred back to Mrs Pemberton. Gratefully she gave up on wretchedly reminding herself that she didn’t give a fig which women contrived to bump against him or daintily drop down to retrieve a lost fan from close by his foot. Just a moment previously she had watched Barbara West, the Winthrops’ niece, pluck from the polished wood floor a scrap of ivory and lace in peril from one of his elegant shoes. She was surely old enough to know better strategies than that! In fact, Rachel thought sourly, she must be about her own age.

  ‘I had every hope that your father’s unhappy situation with his estate would at least turn up some benefit for us all,’ Pamela continued. ‘I was quite sure it would result in the wedding being reconvened at St Thomas’s and the reception at your father’s townhouse. I know it’s small, its appointments rather…rudimentary, but at least it’s in London, which is, after all, what most people wanted originally. At the outset I stated that a wedding that takes place in the Season must take place in the metropolis or everyone is horribly inconvenienced. But of course no heed was taken of my views. Now, had I been allowed more of a hand in the preparations…as indeed I offered more than once…’

  ‘You seem very certain it will not be in London, Mrs Pemberton. Why is that?’ Rachel breathed over the woman’s rambling when she had sufficiently conquered her astonishment to do so. Her eyes darted to Lord Devane again.

  ‘Perhaps your papa has not disclosed all to you, so I ought be discreet. It wouldn’t do to be deemed interfering. It is, after all, gentlemen’s business.’ When that dangled carrot elicited no hungry snaps, Pamela speculatively eyed the lovely young woman who was training a look of frowning intensity on their host. She interestedly noted that a casual look from Lord Devane had strayed their way and prompted Miss Meredith’s large blue eyes to dart back to her own. ‘Have you seen much of Lord Devane since you arrived back in town, Miss Meredith? And I have to say—although I know how some…older ladies foster an arrogant independence—should you not be here with your mother? Or at least your sister?’

  ‘My mother and sister are very busy, as I’m sure you must appreciate. I am here to visit and be of assistance to my good friend, Mrs Saunders.’

  ‘Ah, yes…’ Pamela disdained to glance at the terrace. ‘I know who you mean. The lady who looks to be in, ah…a delicate condition. I’m surprised she is out of doors.’

  ‘Why? She is in good health, Mrs Pemberton, I assure you, and does not need to be quarantined. In five months she is to have a baby, not the measles.’

  Pamela’s lips thrust into a knot. Her eyes narrowed on Rachel. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s not quite comme il faut. But as she is here with her husband, presumably he has no objections to the risk to her health or her reputation. Doubtless they will ignore the tattle tomorrow…’

  Rachel turned the full effect of her gelid eyes on the spiteful woman. The icy blast had an unexpected effect. Mrs Pemberton, for reasons best known to herself, repealed discretion and divulged exactly what Rachel wanted to know.

  ‘The day after the gambling, William and your father had a meeting with the Earl. It was arranged that the venue for the nuptials would remain unchanged, although, at a risk of becoming a veritable echo, London is undoubtedly the place for a wedding at this time of the year. His lordship needn’t have done it. And I for one wish he had not. I say he’s been far too decent and obliging, when one considers all things past…and present…’

  Even before Rachel looked back his way she sensed he would be watching her. Their eyes held infinitesimally, but long enough for her to read the message there: he wanted to speak to her and his patience was wearing thin in the pursuit of it. From his mannerisms she knew he was excusing himself from the circle of jovial dignitaries.

  He was again expecting her to stay still so he could approach her. Despite what she’d just learned of his honestly obliging her family with a dispensation, she once more felt panic making queasy her stomach. Why couldn’t she just get this over with! He had stalked her virtually the entire length of the room. Must she let him be vastly amused…vastly irritated by watching her flit like a hunted deer from one thicket of people to another in the hope of keeping him sufficiently at bay?

  What a fool he must think her! What a fool she thought herself!
The intention in coming here at all had been to do a deal with the dratted man. Oh, why had she come?

  She had come, she forced herself to calmly acknowledge, because she had not anticipated just how badly that first sight of him would affect her. The first clash of their eyes and all she could see were brown fingers on her wobbly white hand as he mopped spilled tea. All she could hear were his ruthless words, his callous laugh as he left her with her clothes in disarray. All she could feel was the hard pulsing heat of him thrust against her melting body. Her lips had burned, parted as if again under that violent kiss. Through the myriad mingling aromas in his hot drawing room she could detect the powdery perfume of crushed rose petals…the redolence of his woody cologne wafting from her feverish skin.

  How could she bear to make a pretence of conversing politely in public with him when privately they both knew of the insults and embarrassments each had caused the other? Why had he made her come here at all? Why had her tormentor not simply sent her the paper to take home? Did he intend humiliating her further before he quit England for Ireland?

  A blur of a dark figure was looming on the periphery of her vision. At once she murmured an excuse to Mrs Pemberton about seeking her friends and veered away towards the right and the terrace.

  ‘Miss Meredith…’

  Rachel braked her speedy pace and with a deep breath turned sedately about. As a hand was extended towards her, she dropped the skirts she still held from being trampled in her fleet-footed escape, and clasped those elegant white fingers with her own. ‘Lady Davenport…I…I was just about to catch up with Mr and Mrs Saunders. I believe they await me on the terrace.’

  ‘Ah; I believe my son was just about to catch up with you. But I dare say he can wait a little while longer.’

  Rachel blinked, smiled, searched for a topic of conversation somewhere to be had in amongst the guests. Finding none, she burst out in desperation, ‘You look very well, Lady Davenport. Just as I remember you…and no older at all,’ she trailed off, wondering if such an observation was diplomatic or wise.