by Candace Camp
It was really no wonder that he felt spurned by his family. His uncle seemed at best awkward around him; his father's widow obviously disliked him; and clearly they all viewed him as something of an embarrassment that could somehow be covered up by marriage.
Though she did not want to, Irene could not help but feel for the man. Even though she had her share of problems with Maura, and before that had frequently clashed with her father, at least she had always been sure of her mother's and brother's love. What must it be like not to have known your parents? To be unceremoniously deposited in the midst of an unloving family?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Francesca's arrival. Lady Haughston was, unsurprisingly, the last to join the group, and soon after she entered the room, they went in to supper.
The atmosphere at the meal was rather stiff, and words did not flow freely. Lady Odelia, usually the sort to dominate the conversation, seemed more interested in eating than in talking. Pansy seemed unable to say anything without looking to Odelia or Teresa first, and neither Lord Radbourne nor his uncle contributed much to the conversation. Even Francesca's ample social skills were not enough to keep the talk flowing smoothly around the table, though she, aided by Lady Claire, strove valiantly to maintain polite small talk.
Finally Francesca seemed to give up, and the table lapsed into a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of the cutlery against the china plates and an occasional tinkle of crystal. The longer the silence lasted, the more uncomfortable it became, and Irene glanced across the table at Francesca in appeal.
But before Francesca could come up with something to say, Teresa spoke. "It is so kind of you, Lady Haughston," she said, with an insincere smile, "to come help us with Lord Radbourne."
Teresa cast a glance up the table at Gideon, whose face gave no indication that he had heard her. He did not even acknowledge her look, but continued to eat in a stolid fashion. Irene's nerves began to prickle and her stomach tightened, reminding her of mealtimes spent in her father's presence. There had often come a moment when suddenly she would realize that her father had passed some point in the course of his drinking, and that danger was once again hovering over the table. She would always grow taut with dread, knowing that at any moment he might do or say something that would lead to an inevitable scene.
"I am, of course, quite happy to help Lady Odelia," Francesca responded coolly.
"I fear it will be a test of your skills," Teresa went on, with a little titter. "Lord Radbourne has been away from society for a very long time."
Irene's fingers curled tightly around the handle of her knife, and she said, "Yes, what happened to Lord Radbourne was indeed a terrible thing. However, I am certain that his family was overjoyed to find that he was alive and well, were you not?"
Teresa turned her gaze to Irene. "Why, yes, of course. It is simply astonishing that he could have survived in that sort of place all those years. One would think that it would have been almost impossible for one of our sort to have lived in such conditions."
"I would think that being cold and hungry would be difficult for a child from any class," Irene responded.
"I suppose." Teresa looked doubtful.
"I can assure you, Lady Teresa, that it was equally difficult for my companions and for me," Gideon said, clearly surprising everyone by speaking up.
"Of course it was. What nonsense are you talking, Teresa?" Lady Odelia put in decisively.
Teresa shot the older woman a venomous glance, but said mildly, "I meant only that it would seem to me that such an existence would be very difficult for one of higher sensibilities."
"Ah, but then, my sensibilities are distressingly plebian, are they not, my lady?" Gideon responded, giving her title a sardonic stress.
Teresa again affected a little laugh as she cast a look around the table, inviting them to share in her amusement.
"I fear Lord Radbourne does not like to be reminded of his shortcomings. Do you remember the first night you were here, my lord?" She looked at him, challenge in her gaze. "La, that look upon your face when you saw the array of knives and forks and spoons beside your plate! I knew at once that we would have to do something to bring you up to snuff. I believe that is when Lady Pansy wrote to you, Lady Odelia."
Irene set down her utensils on her plate with a clatter, resentment burning in her on Gideon's behalf. She could not bring herself to look at him.
Across the table from her, Francesca said mildly, "I often feel that way myself. One wonders why it's really necessary to have a different utensil for every course. Could not one use the same fork for fish and meat?"
"Oh, Lady Haughston, you are jesting," Teresa said gaily. "I have been told that you are very light in spirit." She leaned toward Francesca and went on in a confidential tone. "However, I fear that you will find that explaining place settings will be only the beginning." She nodded wisely. "There simply are things that are ingrained in people, things that cannot be learned, which are the hallmark of good breeding."
"Indeed?" Francesca replied in so chilly a tone it would have warned someone less oblivious than Lady Teresa.
"Oh, yes. When one is lacking in refinement ..." Teresa threw a little look at Lord Radbourne, just in case there might be someone at the table who missed her meaning. "Well, it shows, and it is very difficult to change that. How can one learn good breeding?"
She sat back in her chair, looking self-satisfied. For a moment the table was silent. Francesca glanced at Irene, looking decidedly and uncharacteristically uncomfortable.
Irene smiled, her eyes glinting with a dangerous light, and turned toward Teresa. "Lady Teresa," she began in a deceptively friendly tone, "I am surprised that I have never met you before. A woman of such obvious taste and refinement as yourself must surely have come to London. Why have I not seen you at any parties there?"
The face Teresa turned to Irene was cold. "I am afraid that Cecil—my husband, Lord Radbourne—did not care to visit the city. He was a man who liked his own home and hearth. And of course, I felt it my duty to stay with him."
"But before you married him, surely you made your come-out in London. When was that?"
A flush started in the other woman's pale cheeks. "I did not visit London then, either. My father was a not a social man, and he disapproved of the 'fripperies and foibles of the London life', as he liked, to say. And then, of course, I married Lord Radbourne when I was quite young."
"Of course. How sad that both your husband and your father kept you from the sophisticated life to which you are so obviously suited." Irene smiled at her. "It explains, of course, why we never met. But I am sure that I must have heard of your family. What was your father's title? I suppose he is an earl, like Lord Radbourne."
Teresa's cheeks flamed with color as she shook her head. "No. He is not an earl."
"He is of higher station, then?" Irene asked, looking impressed.
Across the table, Francesca raised her hand to cover her mouth, her eyes bright with laughter. She shook her head at Irene, but Irene ignored her, saying to Teresa, "Your father is a marquess? Or perhaps a duke, like Lord Radbourne's cousin, Rochford?"
"Goodness me, no." Teresa let out a nervous titter and glanced around the table with a trapped expression.
"Oh. A baron, then?" Irene pursued relentlessly.
"My father is Mr. Charles Effington, the son of Sir Hadley Effington," Teresa told her stiffly.
"I see," Irene responded, locking gazes with the other woman.
"One does not need a high title to be well-bred," Teresa said in a faintly defiant tone.
"No doubt you are right," Irene relented. "You are saying that it is not a man's family that makes a gentleman, but his manners—education and courtesy, a refinement of taste."
"Yes, exactly." Teresa seized on this explanation with an air of relief.
"So, then, a well-mannered, well-spoken, well-educated merchant is no doubt the equal—or even the better—of a nobleman."
"What?" Teresa stared at
her. "No, of course not. I—I didn't say that."
"But if it is not one's bloodline that provides good breeding but a courteous air or the manner of one's speech—"
"I didn't say that!" Teresa cried. "No, you are twisting my words." Thoroughly flustered, she looked around the table as if for help.
"Irene, stop baiting the girl," Lady Odelia interrupted, sounding amused. "It is hardly fair to engage in a battle of wits with an opponent so ill-equipped as Teresa."
Francesca let out a short bark of laughter, quickly smothered and turned into a cough. Teresa shot Lady Odelia a murderous look but said nothing.
"Please forgive me, Lady Odelia," Irene replied, ignoring the glare that Teresa had now turned on her, and returned her attention to her plate.
After the meal, when the gentlemen had retired to the smoking room for port and cigars and the women were making their way to the music room, Francesca slipped her arm through Irene's as they walked down the hall.
Leaning her head close, Francesca murmured, "It was quite admirable of you to defend Lord Radbourne as you did. However, I think you have made a bitter enemy of Lady Teresa."
She nodded toward the woman in question, who was walking alone ahead of all the other women. Irene knew that Francesca was right. Even Teresa's stiff back radiated displeasure.
Irene shrugged. "I have earned far worse anger than hers, I'll warrant." She smiled a little. "And I have survived. I have little doubt I will survive Lady Radbourne's wrath."
"I would put my money on you," Francesca agreed. "But I would not discount the countess. She dislikes you, and you stand in her way."
Irene glanced at Francesca in puzzlement. "Stand in her way? How can I do that?"
"Maisie filled me in on the gossip in the servants' hall. Apparently Lady Radbourne is counting on Gideon's not marrying. As long as he does not marry, her son Timothy is his heir. Once Gideon marries, Timothy's status is much less certain. Gideon will likely have a son—indeed, he could have several. So she would like to see the earl remain unwed."
"It seems a faint hope to me," Irene opined.
Francesca shrugged. "I imagine she hopes that if she plays up Gideon's impossibility as a husband, she will frighten off prospective wives."
"I should think the man's personality would do that well enough by itself," Irene commented.
Francesca looked over at her. "If you feel that way about Lord Radbourne, why did you come to his defense?"
It was something Irene had wondered about herself. She gave Francesca the only response that she had been able to come up with. "I liked Lady Radbourne's needling him even less."
Francesca just nodded, making no comment.
"I have always disliked unfairness in any form," Irene went on. She did not add that she herself had been somewhat surprised by the fierce blaze of anger that had shot up in her at the other woman's remarks.
"No doubt," Francesca murmured.
"I realize that it was quite unnecessary, of course. After all, Lord Radbourne is clearly a man who can take care of himself and needs no defense from me."
"Mmm. Well, I suppose that necessity had little to do with it," Francesca replied.
"What do you mean?" Irene cast a suspicious glance at her companion.
"Why, what would I mean?" Francesca asked, turning to look at Irene with an innocent expression.
"I did not do it because of any sort of feeling for the man," Irene pointed out.
"Oh, no. Of course not," Francesca said agreeably.
Irene drew breath to comment on Francesca's answer, which she felt was meant to imply the exact opposite of what she said, but at that point it struck her that to protest the other woman's words would only serve to make her look foolish. So, not without some degree of frustration, she swallowed her response.
But she could not so easily cut off her own speculations about her actions. Why had she been so quick to defend Lord Radbourne? One would think that she would have sided with a woman who disliked the man, for she herself had decided that he was a thorough boor. Certainly his childhood must have been tilled with a great deal of pain and sorrow, and the man doubtless carried scars from those years. It made her shudder to think of any child being subjected to the sort of life he had led. But those facts did not change his personality. They did not make him better or kinder or less obnoxious.
True, Teresa had been rude and insensitive in her remarks, but Francesca had responded to the woman as most ladies would, with a chilly disdain. Why had Irene felt compelled to charge into battle with her?
It was her nature, she told herself. She simply could not sit idly by while Lady Teresa made such hurtful, arrogant remarks. She would have done the same if the remarks had been directed at anyone else. She was, she hoped, not so unfair as to allow comments that hurt someone to pass just because she disliked the man.
And yet ... somehow she could not dismiss what had happened and what she had said quite that easily. Her thoughts kept circling back to the matter all through the next tedious hour in the music room, as Lady Odelia told the vicar's wife a seemingly interminable story about a woman whom she and her sister had known forty years earlier. Odelia paused now and then to urge Francesca to play a tune upon the piano, but then she returned to her tale, raising her voice to be heard above Francesca's soft playing.
Francesca obediently remained seated at the piano, running quietly through her repertoire of music, though she rolled her eyes comically at Irene from time to time. Teresa sat in a chair at some remove from Irene and occupied herself by staring daggers at Irene, and Lady Claire took up her place beside Irene on the narrow sofa, fretting quietly about Irene's having methodically sliced Lady Teresa's pretensions into ribbons at the supper table.
The men did not join them after the postprandial cigars and port. Irene could scarcely blame them. Doubtless they had experienced such excruciating evenings before.
When enough time had passed to satisfy the requirements of civility, Irene spoke up, pleading tiredness from the journey as an excuse to retire early. Francesca, she noticed, was quick to agree that she was ready for bed. Lady Odelia waved them off with a few caustic comments about the lack of hardiness in young women today, and Irene and Francesca wasted no time in escaping the room.
They spent a much more enjoyable hour in Francesca's room, talking, but when they heard sounds of the group breaking up downstairs, Irene slipped down the hall to her own room. She went to stand by the window again and looked out into the dark garden below. It was difficult to see anything, for there was only a quarter moon, barely illuminating the shapes of trees and shrubs. But Irene gazed out anyway, thinking about the evening more than looking at the view.
Then, at the edge of her vision, a light appeared, catching her attention, and she leaned closer to the glass, intrigued. The light was from a lantern, she realized, bobbing with the steps of a man. She cupped her hands around her eyes to cut out the glare of the light inside her room and narrowed her eyes. Who was walking about the garden at this time of night?
The man bent to open the latch of a gate, raising the lantern to see, and the light fell on his face. It was Gideon.
Irene straightened, her curiosity engaged. She watched as Lord Radbourne walked through the garden until he disappeared from her sight in the trees at the far end. Then, beyond the stand of trees, she caught sight of the bobbing light again. A moment later it was gone.
What, she wondered, was Lord Radbourne doing tramping about the grounds so late? It certainly did not seem as if he were out on a casual stroll or smoking a late-night cigar before he turned in. His stride had been purposeful, and he had taken a lantern to light the way. Nor had he stayed in the garden. The last time she had seen the light, it had surely been some distance away.
She supposed he could have been headed toward the tavern in the village; it seemed a likely enough place for a man to go, especially after a difficult evening with his relatives. And while it might be too common a place for many gentlemen to rela
x, it could very well suit someone who felt uncomfortable in his gentleman's role.
However, the village and the tavern were in the opposite direction from that which Gideon had taken, and, moreover, it seemed a rather long way to walk. Surely he would have taken a horse. But he had not been headed toward the stables, either.
What was he about, and where was he going? What lay in that direction besides fields and woods and the occasional cottage? Was he meeting someone? She could think of little reason to meet someone at this time of night. It seemed rather late for any sort of activity ... unless, of course, he was meeting a woman. Could it be that he was heading for a romantic rendezvous?
Nonsense, she chided herself. No doubt there were a number of other logical reasons why a man might be setting out into the countryside—alone—at nearly midnight. The fact that she could not think of any of them did not mean they did not exist.
Besides, even if he was sneaking off for a tryst, it was no concern of hers. Irene could not imagine why she was even wasting her time thinking about it. And there was certainly no reason for that suspicion to cause such a painful little twist in her heart.
Chapter Nine
The next day Francesca and Irene began their campaign to improve Gideon's marriage prospects. There was, Lady Odelia had assured them, no time to waste. The prospective brides had been invited and were expected to arrive in a little over a week.
Irene and Francesca met in the dining room after breakfast was over. Gideon, however, was late by almost thirty minutes. Perhaps, Irene thought with some annoyance, the man had overslept this morning after his midnight tryst. The more she had thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Lord Radbourne had been sneaking away to meet a woman. He was clearly a sensual man; she had felt the power of his kiss, after all. And there would be a number of willing women around, she felt sure, given his looks, wealth and position.
