by Candace Camp
Irene rolled her eyes. "She was not even involved in the matter."
"Yes, but she is worried that this revelation has thrown her own marriage into question."
Irene shrugged. "I imagine she is right to be. If the first Lady Radbourne was not kidnapped but ran off with a lover, the possibilities are good that she is still alive. And if she is alive, then Lord Radbourne was not really free to marry Teresa."
"Exactly. And if so, poor Timothy is illegitimate and would not be Gideon's heir. It would be quite a comedown for Lady Teresa."
"Of course," Irene reasoned, "Lord Cecil did have Gideon's mother declared dead. He went through the legal process. And she had been gone all those years."
"Certainly he could have obtained a divorce, I would think, due to her desertion," Francesca agreed. "But what Lady Odelia said—which, of course, quite set Teresa off again—is that if Lord Cecil knew that Selene was probably still alive, then he may have committed fraud by petitioning the court to declare her dead. He would have had to swear that he thought her dead, wouldn't you think?"
"I suppose." Irene shook her head. "It certainly is a tangle. I even feel faintly sorry for Lady Teresa."
"I feel sorry for poor Pansy. Lady Odelia rang such a peal over her head!"
Irene grimaced. "I can understand Lady Odelia's irritation. Gideon's father and grandmother seem to me to have handled the whole thing most incompetently."
Francesca nodded. "Apparently, from what Lady Odelia says, Lord Cecil was the sort of man who always acted first and thought later. And Pansy is the most indecisive and weak-willed of people."
"Understandable, I suppose, having grown up under Lady Odelia's thumb," Irene put in.
"Yes, who can blame the poor woman? All the Lilles I have ever known are strong and commanding. They nearly always get their way, and when they clash, it can be horrid." Francesca gave an elaborate shudder. "I imagine that poor Lady Pansy got utterly ground into dust by the rest of them."
They had circled the central portion of the gardens and turned back to the house as they talked. Francesca sighed and looked up at the terrace before them.
"I suppose we should return," she said without any enthusiasm.
Irene nodded. "Yes. I have several more cards to write out before it is time for supper."
Francesca looked at her, then said, "What about you, Irene? Are you ... all right?"
"Yes, of course." Irene smiled firmly at her. "The news was startling, but after all, it did not really concern me."
"It concerns Lord Radbourne, so ..."
Irene shrugged. "Yes, but that affects me only in a peripheral way. Actually, his leaving the house today was a blessing. It gave us more time to deal with the other problems."
Francesca's brows drew together as she studied Irene, and Irene thought she would have pursued the matter, but at that moment they walked through the back door into the hallway and were stopped by the sound of raised voices.
A man's low rumble sounded from behind the closed door of the nearby small drawing room, rising to a loud, "Impossible!"
His words were followed by the sound of a woman's tearful rejoinder, though her more softly spoken words were difficult to understand.
Francesca and Irene glanced at each other uncertainly. It was an awkward situation, and neither was sure whether it would be better to retreat back onto the terrace and wait for an end to the argument or to slip down the hallway as quietly as possible in the hopes that they could get past before the door was opened. For a moment they hung there indecisively as the indistinguishable clash of voices went on.
"No!" the man's voice rang out. There was more rumbling, then, "—don't believe it!"
Irene glanced at her friend and nodded toward the other end of the hall. Francesca nodded, and they hurried forward as silently as they could. They had almost reached the foyer when the door to the drawing room crashed open.
Irene jumped at the noise, whirling around instinctively. A man strode out of the drawing room, glowering. Irene recognized him as Gideon's uncle, Jasper.
Behind him, through the open door, a woman's voice cried, "How do you know? You weren't even here! You had hared off to join the army."
Jasper swung back to the room, biting out, "No, I wasn't here, and I will always regret it! I would have found them and brought them back!"
He turned back to walk away, and for the first time looked up the hall to where Irene and Francesca stood, frozen in embarrassment. He pulled up short.
He let out a soft exclamation under his breath, and for a moment he stood, struggling to gain control of his anger. Finally he let out a sigh and bowed his head toward them. "Ladies. Please forgive me."
Pansy came to the doorway, wringing a handkerchief between her hands. Her eyes were red from crying, tears streaked her face, and she looked even more fragile than normal, as if a good gust of wind would topple her. "Oh!" she gasped when she saw the other women. "Oh, dear."
She brought her handkerchief up to dab at her eyes. "Jasper ..."
"Yes, Mother. I know. Ladies, I apologize for creating a scene."
He half turned back toward Pansy, not quite looking at her as he went on. "Mother, I hope you will forgive me. The news was ... a shock." His lips tightened, and then, as though he could not restrain himself, he added, "But you were wrong."
He looked back to Irene and Francesca, saying, "I never knew a better woman or mother than Cecil's wife. I am certain she did not run away. And she would never have abandoned her child."
With those words, he turned and strode past them out the front door.
His mother tottered into the hall, still dabbing at her tears.
"Jasper ..." When he did not respond, she looked at Francesca and Irene.
"He doesn't understand," she told them mournfully. "He just doesn't realize what a scandal it would have been."
* * * * *
The guests began to arrive the next day, and nearly all of Irene's time was taken up with helping Francesca deal with them, as Gideon's grandmother insisted on keeping to her room despite Lady Odelia's best efforts to make her come down to greet their guests. Lady Teresa did come down to the drawing room, but it was soon apparent that, despite her earlier haughty manner, she was ill-prepared for a party such as this. She knew none of the arrivals, and she seemed somewhat overwhelmed at greeting a large number of blue-blooded guests. She was silent beyond a few commonplaces about the weather, and if asked a question, she quickly referred it to Francesca or Irene.
The first guest to arrive had actually been Gideon's friend. Piers Aldenham. As fair as Gideon was dark, he was slender and elegantly dressed, and when Horroughs, a look of disapproval writ plain upon his narrow features, ushered Piers into the drawing room, Aldenham swept a very creditable bow to the ladies of the house.
"It is an honor to meet you," he said with a winning smile. "As well as a pleasure. I must take my friend Gideon to task. He did not prepare me for the beauty of the ladies I would meet here. I am overwhelmed."
"Nor did he inform us of how smoothly you could talk," Irene replied with a smile, liking his merry grin and his complete lack of self-consciousness. Here was obviously a man who felt at home wherever he was.
"No doubt I wax more eloquent around fair ladies," he told her.
"Piers!" Gideon strode into the drawing room, smiling broadly. "Never tell me you got up early enough to make it here by this hour."
"Gideon!" Piers turned and clapped his friend on the shoulders, shaking the hand Gideon offered him. "I can assure you that I did not. I got in too late yesterday evening to call on you. I went straight to the inn and fell into bed."
"I shall send one of the grooms down to the inn to get your bags."
Piers shook his head, grinning. "Nonsense. I'm quite content there. 'Tis a very good room."
"Don't be absurd. Of course you will stay here."
Piers' gaze flickered toward the women in the room. "You may have been raised without a mother and sisters, my f
riend, but I was not. I can tell you that a last-minute guest throws all their plans into a terrible state, and they will hate both of us for it."
Irene saw the crease between Gideon's brows. She felt sure that he suspected, as she did, that his friend was staying at the inn in order to lessen Gideon's conflict with his relatives. It made her respect the man. However, she was also certain that Gideon would not be well-pleased with Piers doing so. Besides, at the present time, given what he had learned, Gideon was in need of every friend he had.
"Oh, no, Mr. Aldenham, you wrong us," Irene put in lightly. "We are more capable than that. We already have a room made up for you." That much was true. She herself had made sure that the room was ready for Aldenham's arrival.
Piers smiled at her, surprised. "You are kind and efficient, as well as beautiful, my lady. Still, I think it would be unpardonably rude of me."
"It is not rude of you at all," she rejoined. "The late notification of your arrival must be laid at Lord Radbourne's door, so if there is any rudeness, it is entirely his, and I can assure you that we are all quite accustomed to Lord Radbourne's rudeness."
Piers let out a bark of laughter. "All right, then. You have convinced me, my lady. Send for my bags, Gid."
"Of course." Gideon glanced at Irene, and for an instant the harsh look his face had worn the past day was gone, replaced by a flash of warm gratitude. Then his expression returned to its cool indifference, and he turned away. "Come. Piers, I will show you about the place. If you will excuse us, ladies?"
Piers favored them all with another grin and a bow, and the two men left the room.
"Well!" Lady Odelia said. "A well set-up young man, I must say."
"He is not quite what I had expected," Francesca admitted. "His speech and dress would certainly pass for those of a gentleman."
"I suspect that Lord Radbourne misled us a bit about what to expect from Mr. Aldenham," Irene said drily. "No doubt he enjoyed watching everyone squirm over the possibilities of embarrassment."
"Well, everyone will wonder who the man is," Francesca said. "But at least they will not declare themselves insulted and leave in a huff."
Irene grinned. "You may wish that he did drive off some of them before it's all over."
The next guest to be admitted to the drawing room was Miss Rowena Surton, a pretty doll-like blonde with blue eyes and a strawberries-and-cream complexion. She arrived a couple of hours later and was accompanied by her brother, Percy, who had the same coloring as his sister and a pleasant, if rather vacuous, expression, and their mother, a plump, easygoing woman who, Irene thought, was probably the image of what Rowena herself would look like in twenty-five years.
Gideon, unsurprisingly, did not appear in the drawing room again, and Irene felt sure that it would be supper before any of the young women they had invited actually got to speak with him. She did not, however, offer any explanations or excuses for his absence. After all, the girls would have to deal with the man's nature sooner or later; they might as well find out about his manners up front.
In the middle of the afternoon Mrs. Ferrington and her daughter Norah showed up, and, most unfortunately, Lady Salisbridge and her two daughters swept in almost on their heels. As soon as she spotted the attractive dark-haired Mrs. Ferrington ensconced on the sofa in the drawing room chatting in a lively manner with Lady Odelia, Lady Salisbridge drew herself up to her full height and threw a furious look at Francesca.
"Lady Salisbridge. And Flora and Marian." Francesca hastened over to them, smiling and holding out both her hands. "How wonderful to see you again. I am sure you wish to go up to your rooms and freshen up a bit before you meet everyone. I am afraid Lady Radbourne is indisposed this afternoon, in any case. I am sure she will be here to greet you this evening, however. Irene? Why don't you show Lady Salisbridge and the girls to their rooms? You know Lady Irene Wyngate, do you not?"
Irene smiled and whisked the three women out of the room before Lady Salisbridge could comment on the presence of her rival at Radbourne Park. Diplomacy was not Irene's strong suit, but she managed to avoid any complaints from Lady Salisbridge by keeping up a steady stream of comments about the weather and questions about their journey as she led the three women up the stairs. Francesca had strategically placed them in rooms near the front of the house, at the greatest possible distance from the room given to Mrs. Ferrington and her daughter at the back, just as they would be seated as far apart as could be arranged every night at dinner.
As the Countess of Salisbridge was known to be a proud woman—though also always notoriously close to Dun Territory—Francesca had been careful to put her and her daughters in large and pleasant rooms close to the family. Mrs. Ferrington, on the other hand, was a realistic sort who knew that her husband's wealth was greater than his standing among the ton, and whose confidence was firmly embedded in her own status for the past twenty-odd years as a reigning beauty. She would be unlikely to quibble at where she and her daughter were placed.
Irene cast quick sideways glances at Lady Salisbridge's two daughters as she led them up the stairs. They were similar in looks, with medium brown hair and hazel eyes, and the same long, aquiline nose as their mother. They had. too, that woman's habit of looking at one down the length of that nose, giving them an air of disdain for the rest of the world.
She left the three women exploring their rooms and ordering about the abigail who had accompanied them, as well as the housemaid who had been sent to help with the unpacking. She returned to the drawing room, where she found that Mrs. Ferrington and Norah had also decided to seek the comfort of their room.
She had little chance to rest, however, for she was immediately embroiled in a crisis with the cook and after that had to soothe the ruffled feathers of the housekeeper, whom the Salisbridges' haughty abigail had offended with her demands.
It was not long afterward that Lord Hurley and his daughter came in, windblown and in high spirits, having chosen to ride instead of being cooped up in the carriage. The pair were as alike as a father and daughter could be, with the same hearty, pleasant manner, sandy hair and square, freckled faces. They told a long and detailed story of their ride, including, Irene thought, every fence, hedge, stream and other hazard their horses had jumped along the way, one of them taking up wherever the other dropped off. Listening to them, Irene suspected that Lady Hurley had probably been just as happy that the two of them had not ridden with her in the carriage.
Lady Hurley, arriving an hour later and in a more decorous state, was a small, languid woman who, after greeting Lady Odelia and the others, opted to retire to her chamber for a restorative nap.
The last guests were the Duke of Rochford and his sister, Calandra, a pretty young girl whose black hair and dark eyes were very like her brother's, but whose lively personality was most unlike the duke's imperturbable elegance.
By the time they arrived, even as spacious a house as Radbourne Park was stuffed to the bursting point, despite the Salisbridge girls and several mothers and daughters sharing their rooms. It was fortunate, Irene thought, that the duke, though leaving his sister at Radbourne Park, was himself going to stay with a friend who lived not far away and would simply ride over each day to partake in the festivities. Even Lady Odelia could not persuade the duke that familial duty required him to reside with his family at Radbourne Park.
Lady Calandra, standing beside Irene, cast a laughing glance at her and raised her fan to murmur, "What Aunt Odelia does not realize is that her presence is one of the reasons Rochford would rather be elsewhere."
Irene smothered her grin. "Still, it does seem too bad that he must ride over here each day."
"Nonsense," Callie, as she was called by her brother and Francesca, replied. "He will enjoy things far more as they stand. He will get to talk to Mr. Strethwick about all those boring subjects that he enjoys, like plants and rocks and things with long Latin names. Besides, Mr. Strethwick. being a scholar and very little aware of the world, shows Rochford no deference except
for his brain, which Rochford quite enjoys. He gets so tired of everyone fawning over him because he is a duke. Not, of course," she added, "that he doesn't like being a duke, because he can be quite toplofty too, if someone offends him, and he never gets anything but the very best. But really, I think he is often rather lonely, too."
Irene glanced at her in some surprise, for she had never met anyone who appeared more self-contained and aloof than the duke.
"Oh, dear." Calandra looked a little conscience-stricken. "There, I have said too much, as I so often do. My brother would not like for anyone to think that he felt—well, anything, really." Her irrepressible grin popped back onto her face.
"I will not give you away, I assure you," Irene told her.
"Nor will I think any the less of him to find that he does not go through life feeling nothing."
Irene found that she rather liked the pert girl, who displayed none of the haughtiness that might be expected of one in her position. Was she, too, here to enter into the bridal race? The thought left Irene with a strangely cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.
But she pushed the thought aside and took Calandra up to her bedchamber, regaling her with the entertainments that Francesca had planned for the next few days. Afterward Irene returned to her own room, for there was little enough time left in which to get ready for supper.
The dress she had chosen earlier was laid out on the bed, but when she looked at it and thought of going down to supper in this plain frock, while all about her the women would be dressed in their prettiest finery, she realized that she could not bear to do so. She might be here only as an assistant matchmaker, but she was suddenly determined that she would look her best while doing her job.
She rang for the maid and went to the wardrobe to pull out one of her new dresses, a silk evening gown of a dark green that would not flatter most complexions but that looked wonderful against her coloring. Once her maid, with a smile of approval at Irene's rejection of the plainer gowns she had been wearing recently, went off to get rid of any wrinkles in the chosen dress, Irene went down the hall to Francesca's room to ask Maisie for help with her hair.
