by Gayle Buck
He stayed a few moments more exchanging pleasantries before taking leave of the two ladies. Aware that Mrs. Pettiforth’s impotent regard was boring into his back, he half turned as though he had bethought himself of something. Then he retraced a few steps back in Mrs. Arnold’s and Miss Worth’s direction, enjoying the new look of dismay that passed over his hostess’s face. It was certainly worth the price of exchanging a few additional banalities.
He was obliged to pause in his progress as two gentlemen deep in heated argument over the rival merits of their respective hunting countries passed in front of him. Nevertheless he had already drawn near enough to the ladies to overhear part of their conversation and realize that he was the topic under discussion.
“Oh, had you met Lord Rathbone in London? I would not have thought he would have come in your way that first Season,” said Mrs. Arnold.
“I suppose that I must be considered fortunate,” replied Miss Worth with a laugh that indicated quite well that her words reflected just the opposite of her thoughts. “I fear that it was not an auspicious meeting. His lordship was at Almack’s in swift pursuit of a beauteous widow. He solicited my hand for a dance for the sole purpose of keeping the lady within his sights as she was led around the floor by another admirer. Lord Rathbone trod on the hem of my gown and tore it and, without a word of apology, escorted me back to my chaperone.”
Mrs. Arnold laughed. With a curious look, she said, “But surely you did not hold that against him for long? After all, the viscount is accounted to be very attractive and he is extremely wealthy.”
“Oh, but it was a true indication of his lordship’s careless character, you see. Since then I have heard any number of tales concerning his rakish progress,” said Miss Worth. “And though we never actually met again, I saw enough of his lordship in my visits to London to form what I feel to be a pretty fair estimate of his character. A handsome face and person and a deep purse cannot replace the inner man. Unfortunately, Lord Rathbone has proven his indifference to the feelings of others, being altogether arrogant and completely self-serving.”
Lord Rathbone turned on his heel, in full retreat. He was seething, cut to the quick that a nonentity such as this hired companion could dish out her bad opinion of him so blithely to individuals who were acquainted with him. It did not better his temper to be followed by Mrs. Arnold’s sparkling laughter at the ruthless assessment forwarded by Miss Worth.
He was intercepted by Miss Pettiforth, who had observed with very strong feelings the apparent interest that the viscount had taken in Mrs. Arnold. Though Mrs. Arnold was a matron, Miss Pettiforth recognized in her a competitor for Lord Rathbone’s attentions. She dismissed Miss Worth as negligible. It was Mrs. Arnold who shared a common acquaintanceship with the viscount and who moved in the same London circles. The thought of the orgy of entertainments over which the pair could undoubtedly share reminiscences made her quite sick with envy. Miss Pettiforth decided to do something about detaching his lordship from his very annoying connection.
She laid her fingers gently on his sleeve, causing him to pause, and looked up at him with a melting glance. “My lord, I had hoped to be able to speak more with you. I am so very glad to have met someone who might enlighten me about London manners, for I shall be coming out before many more months and I am so anxious to be a credit to my dear mama. Would you be so kind as to take me under your wing?”
Lord Rathbone replied almost automatically with some driveling gallantry. Whatever he had said made Miss Pettiforth cast down her eyes in a show of pleased confusion. He continued to converse with Miss Pettiforth in a civil manner that gave no hint of his true thoughts.
Lord Rathbone was inured to disapproval from the starchiest of personages. Disapprobation had been his portion ever since he had emerged from out of his mother’s guardianship. Yet he was someone of importance in his own world and so he was excused a few peccadilloes. Society as a whole treated him with the deference due his consequence and wealth and overlooked any faults.
However, that a hired companion could so cavalierly pass judgment upon one who was undeniably her social better was insupportable. Lord Rathbone knew that it was beneath him to give place to Miss Worth’s condemnation, but strangely enough he found it impossible to set aside.
He had been on the point of bestowing a flattering attention upon her. She had therefore dealt a blow to his pride.
He should ignore the lady and treat her only with the barest civility demanded of him, forgetting what he had overheard. But he could not do the obvious thing. Instead, he wanted to punish Miss Worth for her temerity. He wanted to teach her a salutary lesson in passing verdict upon one who was due only respect from one of her position. He wanted to make her regret that she had, even so unwittingly, spurned his condescension to recognize her.
Once tea was done, and it seemed assured that most if not all of the expected guests had arrived, Mrs. Pettiforth set about her duties. To her mind, her splendid nephew, Lord Rathbone, was the most important, and she surged toward his lordship with the object of making quite certain that he would have nothing to complain of in the treatment that he received while under her roof.
Mrs. Pettiforth laid her hand on his lordship’s sleeve and smilingly appropriated Lord Rathbone from his companions.
“I wish to assure myself that you are well looked after, my lord. I shall have Horwich show you to your room.” Mrs. Pettiforth ushered Lord Rathbone out of the drawing room and pointed him toward the stairs. “As you have seen, we have quite a little party gathered. I am happy that there are a few personages who are familiar to you. It is always more comfortable thus, is it not?” She told his lordship what time dinner was served and gave him over into the offices of the butler.
* * *
Chapter 11
Dinner was set for the unfashionable hour of six of the clock.
Verity finished setting her earrings, small glistening diamonds that had been a gift from her father upon the eve of her engagement, and regarded herself critically in the cheval glass. The gown she wore was one of her favorites. The pale rose satin suited her.
Verity picked up her shawl to drape it elegantly from her elbows and then left her bedroom. She crossed to Miss Pettiforth’s door and knocked to inquire whether her charge was ready. With a wooden face, Miss Pettiforth’s maid conveyed the intelligence that the miss intended to make an entrance. Verity shrugged silently and nodded. “Very well. Pray tell Miss Pettiforth that I shall await her downstairs.”
Verity was not at all dismayed that Miss Pettiforth had chosen to forgo her company. If the truth was to be known, she scarcely cared. She had had ample time in which to reflect upon the situation. She had already seen that the beauty meant to run her unbridled course. Verity hoped that she had the wit not to be anxious about what could not be changed. She could only trust that those things she had managed to put across to Miss Pettiforth had taken deep enough root that the girl would not completely sink herself beyond reproach.
However, Verity did not think that Miss Pettiforth was altogether a little fool. No, the beauty might do very much as she pleased now. But she did want to attach Lord Rathbone, and he was not a gentleman to be played fast and loose. Verity believed once Miss Pettiforth learned that the viscount was of a different cut than her other admirers, she would adapt herself accordingly.
Verity trod down the stairs, a slight smile of anticipation lighting her eyes. It had been a wonderful surprise to find that one of her own friends had been included in the Pettiforth’s house party. She looked forward to exchanging further quiet confidences with her friend, Betsy Arnold. Such pleasant memories had been recalled already.
Verity regretted that she had not remained in closer touch through the intervening years with one who had once been her best of friends. Oh, it was true that she had seen Betsy Arnold from time to time, whenever she visited London, but that casual contact was nothing to compare with the close relationship that they had on
ce enjoyed. However, their relationship had inexorably altered with Betsy’s marriage and debut as a prominent London hostess, while Verity’s life had again revolved around the quiet doings of Crofthouse.
Lost in her thoughts, Verity was startled when she was addressed from behind. “Good evening, Miss Worth.” She turned, her hand resting lightly on the banister. Her eyes widened a little to discover that it was the viscount who had thus hailed her. “Lord Rathbone!”
He stopped on the step beside her, a brow raised. His deep blue eyes glinted as he smiled at her. “Forgive me, I have startled you.”
Despite his lordship’s sociable tone, there was something in his expression that Verity instinctively mistrusted. “Not at all, my lord. I was merely surprised, that is all.”
“You were deep in thought. No doubt you are as eager as I to sample this evening’s fare.”
“Perhaps, my lord,” said Verity, smiling, as she thought again about being able to sit down with her old friend.
Lord Rathbone offered his arm to her. “May I have the honor, Miss Worth?”
Little as she wished it, Verity was obliged to accept his escort. She laid her fingers on his elbow, murmuring polite thanks. They continued down the stairs at a leisurely pace that was dictated by the viscount.
Unexpectedly, he said, “You were surprised because you did not expect someone as top-lofty as I to recognize a mere acquaintance.”
Verity was disconcerted by his uncanny reading of her thoughts and was betrayed into indiscretion. “Yes—no. Of course not.”
When he laughed, she realized that she had been neatly trapped into being discourteous. She regarded the viscount with a kindling gaze. “You have succeeded in putting me firmly in the wrong, my lord. I must apologize.”
“No, do not do so. I beg of you to serve me my just desserts,” he said.
“What a very odd creature you are,” she murmured, her slim brows drawing together in puzzlement as she stared up at his profile.
Lord Rathbone glanced at her. He said almost apologetically, “You see, I am trying so very hard to enliven what promises to be a respectable and very dull evening.”
“I cannot imagine that this is precisely your sort of entertainment,” agreed Verity, emboldened by the sardonic gleam in his eyes.
“That is much better. Miss Worth,” he said approvingly. “You have managed to set me neatly in my place, implying that I am something of a frippery fellow. I allow you that much wit, at least.”
They had by this time descended from the stairs and crossed the hall to the drawing room. Lord Rathbone paused to allow her to proceed him through the door. Verity glanced over her shoulder at the viscount, wondering at his singular attitude. There was a smile on his lordship’s face that she found to be vaguely disquieting. But as their eyes met, she was disturbed even more at what passed between them. The strong magnetic pull startled and shocked her. She looked hastily away and stepped into the drawing room.
Verity knew that her color was considerably heightened, for warmth had suffused her cheeks. Fortunately for her peace of mind, those who had already gathered in the drawing room were all laughing at some joke or other that had been told, so that her moment of discomposure went unnoticed.
Verity at once moved away from the viscount and sought a seat beside another lady on the settee. Much to her relief, Lord Rathbone did not pursue her, but instead joined the group of gentlemen standing before the blaze in the fireplace.
Replying to her companion’s friendly greeting, Verity entered into a genteel conversation that allowed her ample time for private reflection over the viscount’s extraordinary behavior. Lord Rathbone had actually seemed to be flirting with her, but surely that was ridiculous. She was the least of consequence among the ladies.
There was a stir among the gentlemen and they turned almost as one to the door. Miss Pettiforth had made her entrance. She stood just inside the doorway, her charming pouting smile emphasizing the loveliness of her face. She was enjoying the admiration, and when her father stepped forward to draw her into the room, she at once broke into vivacious speech as she greeted the guests. Almost lost to notice was the entrance behind her of Mrs. Pettiforth and Mrs. Arnold.
“The girl is such a beauty. It is no wonder that the gentlemen flock about her. Why, even my Dudley, who is a veritable slow-top over anything that does not use gunpowder, is completely bowled out,” said the lady seated beside Verity. She seemed to be highly amused at the sight of her portly husband making such sport of himself.
“Yes, Miss Pettiforth is very beautiful,” said Verity, her eyes going to the viscount’s tall figure. He, also, was amongst those paying court to the beauty, but whereas others were eager to catch her ear, his lordship merely stood on the periphery with a faintly mocking smile upon his face. She wondered what he was thinking.
Almost as though her thoughts had been heard by him, his eyes lifted and met hers. A heartbeat only, and then the viscount’s gaze wandered back to Miss Pettiforth’s winsome face.
Her heart beating ludicrously quick, Verity shook her head at herself. If Lord Rathbone had been indulging in light flirtation with her on the stairs, it was but a momentary aberration. No doubt it was simply habit for someone whose reputation for cutting a rakish dash was well-established.
The remainder of the guests soon gathered. Mrs. Pettiforth gave the nod to the butler to announce dinner. The company paired off, each of the ladies given escort into the dining room and seated at table.
With a smile, Verity thanked the gentleman who had seated her and then turned her eyes on the party. She had noted that Lord Rathbone had taken Mrs. Pettiforth in on his arm and she acknowledged that his lordship, whether or not his interest was in the daughter of the house, had impeccable manners. Now she was amused to see that Miss Pettiforth had maneuvered herself into a seat beside the viscount.
Verity suspected that the beauty meant to monopolize his lordship, but the attempt would probably fall short of expectation. Verity had already seen that Lord Rathbone’s company manners were of the best. He would address himself equally to the ladies on either side of him. Unless Miss Pettiforth was so lost to place as to throw herself into a tantrum, she would have to bear the frustration of her purpose with smiling fortitude.
A gurgle of laughter escaped Verity. Hearing it, the gentleman on her right smiled and addressed a civil question. Verity responded and abandoned all thoughts of Miss Pettiforth as she gave herself up to enjoyment of the dinner.
Verity’s complacency lasted only until the ladies had left the gentlemen to their after-dinner wine and retreated to the drawing room. She saw at once that Miss Pettiforth’s sapphire eyes were bright with anger and that the girl was on the edge of ripping out. Verity sighed, wishing not for the first time that she did not have the responsibility for heading off the beauty’s worst impulses. But there was no point repining, for she had agreed to do just that when she had accepted Mr. Pettiforth’s offer.
Verity walked over to Miss Pettiforth, who stood at the window. The girl was staring out at the night while her slim fingers twitched the edge of the drape in short jerks. Verity regarded that sign of agitation with wary misgivings. She devoutly hoped that what she said would defuse the girl’s obvious fury. “Miss Pettiforth, you did exceedingly well with the viscount at dinner,” she said in a low voice.
As she had meant it to, her statement at once arrested the beauty’s attention. Miss Pettiforth turned her head. Sparks of anger shot from the beautiful eyes. “What do you mean? He hardly spoke to me at all! And he escorted Mama into dinner, not me!”
“Yes, it was very wise not to be seen as too eager or to demand his lordship’s undivided attention,” said Verity, nodding. “A peer prizes good breeding and manners above all else. He wants a lady who can play a gracious hostess.” She paused, as though she had made the most casual of observations, and pretended to glance about the company.
The gentlemen had come into t
he drawing room to join the ladies while Verity stood talking to Miss Pettiforth. The coffee um was being brought in and Verity seized upon the opportunity it represented. “Excuse me, Miss Pettiforth. I believe that I see your mother signaling to me. Perhaps she wishes me to serve coffee this evening.”
Verity walked away, but not before she had seen the thoughtful look that crossed Miss Pettiforth’s face. Congratulating herself upon her success, she crossed over to Mrs. Pettiforth and offered her services in serving the coffee.
“Of course, Verity. I certainly have no objection,” said Mrs. Pettiforth with a superior smile. She addressed her companion, saying, “Miss Worth is such a help to me, you can have no notion.”
Verity turned away, hiding a smile. She knew that Mrs. Pettiforth had very expertly catalogued her offer, not as the gracious gesture that it was, but as a service to be expected of a hired companion.
As she went over to the coffee um, Mrs. Arnold came up to her. The lady’s expression was quizzical. “Really, Verity, how do you stand such nonsense?” she asked quietly. “You are scarcely to be thought of as a servant.”
“I suspect that if Mrs. Pettiforth had her way, I would be relegated to an attic garret and only allowed the light of day when she needed me to draw off Miss Pettiforth’s ill humors,” said Verity, her eyes dancing.
“I think it detestable the way that woman puts you down. Why, you have more breeding in your little finger than—oh, very well! Laugh at me if you must, Verity. Just be sure that I shall show you the respect that you deserve. At least, I shall in company. I hope we are still good enough friends that I might tease you now and again,” said Mrs. Arnold, also laughing.
“I am so looking forward to a comfortable cose with you, Betsy!” exclaimed Verity. “It seems like just yesterday that we had our heads together wondering what gentlemen would come to steal away our hearts.”
