"I have good news." Valeria said as the coach jolted into motion. "My niece, Concordia Lannington, is coming to stay with me for the Season. I plan to give a grand come-out ball for her. I can hardly wait. It will be such fun."
"But what of the other matter we discussed? Have you forgotten?" Amaryllis said.
Val stared at Amaryllis blankly, then enlightenment dawned. "Oh, yes! Of course! Well, you must host it, Ryl. We still have plenty of time to settle dates."
Amaryllis turned to Lucia. "Valeria and I have a wonderful surprise for you, my dear. We are going to present you and Robin to Society at a ball in your honor."
Lucia's eyes widened. "But-but surely no one will accept your invitation?"
"When the Earl and Countess of Malkent and Sir William and Lady Blayne appear together as your sponsors on the invitation, Society will attend, I assure you. The ton's curiosity will be greater than its disapproval," Valeria said.
Lucia looked from one smiling face to the other. "You would do that for Robin and me after -- after everything that has occurred?"
Valeria leaned forward to pat Lucia's hand. "It's time to forgive the past, I think."
"Robin will be grateful for your kindness, of course, but I'm not sure he will welcome a ball," Lucia said. "It has not been easy for him, returning to England in disgrace. Old friends cut him wherever he goes. He says it does not matter, but I have seen the pain and fury in his eyes. He may feel that attending a ball in his honor is akin to being thrown into the lions' den."
"Oh, dear! I had not thought of that." Ryl frowned. "And it would not be very pleasant for you either, would it?"
Lucia smiled. "I am prepared to meet with a great many insults if it will ease Robin's way back into Society. I just don't think he will condone this scheme, well-intentioned though it is."
Silence descended on the coach momentarily. "It seemed like such a good idea!" Ryl sighed.
Lucia's heart went out to her new friends. Very few people had ever endeavored to do her a genuine, unselfish act of kindness. "Let me ask Robin about the ball," she said impulsively. "He wishes Society and, most especially, Lord Mountheathe to acknowledge our marriage. What could be more persuasive than a ball in celebration of our union?" As the ladies chattered around her, Lucia contemplated possible arguments to convince Robin that Amaryllis's ball was in his best interests, but she held little hope of swaying him.
***
After Tracy's departure, Robin attacked his ledgers with a will, determined to drown his anger and resentment toward the earl in work. At noontime, he absently waved Laddock and his luncheon tray away. Three hours passed, during which only the scratching of his quill disturbed the silence. Robin sat back and rubbed his eyes, ready for a little diversion, when Laddock entered to announce, "A Mr. Handon and a Mr. Baldrake to see Your Grace. Tradesmen, I believe."
"Tradesmen?" Robin stretched his arms and stifled a yawn. "Probably something to do with the new draperies, I suppose. Show them in."
The callers entered the library, hats in hand. The first gentleman was portly, a peacock in a bright red coat and a green waistcoat. His colleague, evidently of a more somber character, was tall and thin in a tan coat and dark brown smallclothes.
"Gentlemen." Robin rose and bowed.
The visitors returned the courtesy nervously, then the somber one said, "Thank you for receiving us, Your Grace."
"Be seated. How may I help you?"
"I am Mr. Baldrake," said the peacock, "and this is Mr. Handon. We represent the Bridland Home for Orphans." Mr. Baldrake halted expectantly.
"I have never heard of your institution, gentlemen, but, judging from the name, I'll hazard a guess. One of Lord Mountheathe's charities?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Mr. Handon said. "Only..."
"Only we've not heard from his lordship since the beginning of this venture a year ago," Mr. Baldrake finished.
The duke leaned forward. "Explain."
"When we decided to open the orphanage last year, we needed a rich patron to help us with the financial burdens of our new charity. Having heard of his philanthropy, we approached Lord Mountheathe, and he was eager to aid us. He gave us a thousand pounds toward construction of the orphanage and pledged to cover half the annual cost of operation. In return, we were to name the orphanage after him.
"As soon as the building was finished and Lord Mountheathe's name was upon it, Your Grace, we received no more money. We wrote letters and called on his lordship several times, but to no avail," Mr. Baldrake said.
Mr. Handon took up the story. "Suspicious, we inquired into his lordship's financial background. As a banker, Your Grace, I have access to such information. What I discovered appalled me. Lord Mountheathe owes incredible sums of money to tradesmen and moneylenders all over the City. His estates are heavily mortgaged and he has yet to settle gaming debts amounting to thousands of pounds which he incurred in some very unsavory establishments.
"And we found that we are not the only charitable institution to which Lord Mountheathe has made commitments he cannot or will not honor," Mr. Handon said. "He has pledged support to many worthy causes over the years, but as soon as his name is on the building and the opening ceremonies, amply attended by his noble friends, are over, he refuses to acknowledge the charity any longer."
Mr. Baldrake smiled nervously. "I trust we have not offended Your Grace with this bit of plain speaking, but it has been a very lean first year for our little orphanage without the proper funding."
"All of which brings us to the reason for our visit, Your Grace. Since you are his lordship's cousin, we were hoping that -- er -- " Mr. Handon hesitated.
"That I would meet Lord Mountheathe's commitments," Lynkellyn finished for him with a sigh.
"Well, yes." Mr. Handon admitted, eyes lowered. "We are barely able to keep the children above starvation, Your Grace, and -- "
Robin held up a slim hand. "Spare me. I already know a great deal too much of starvation and homeless waifs." He rose from his chair to pace the room. His guests glanced at one another, each reading pessimism in the other's eyes.
"très bien, gentlemen," Robin said. "I will assume Lord Mountheathe's responsibilities, but I have a few stipulations of my own."
Mr. Baldrake leaned forward. "Do you want his lordship's name replaced with yours, Your Grace?"
"Hardly!" Robin sneered. "My name would only harm your endeavor. My background is every bit as unsavory as Mountheathe's and a great deal more public. I have more practical demands to make." He returned to his desk. "First of all, I want my involvement in your charity to get as little publicity as possible. You have undoubtedly heard the scandals about me. My black reputation will not help your cause."
"Second, I want the right to examine the orphanage's books and to visit the place without warning at any time, day or night, to see that all is as it should be. I deplore abuses, gentlemen, especially when children are involved. There will be no beatings, mistreatment, or starvation and, when it is cold, I want a warming fire in every occupied room."
Mr. Baldrake and Mr. Handon nodded their consent.
"And last, gentlemen, each child, male or female, will be taught a trade. I will pay for the apprenticeships, if necessary. Perhaps, knowing a skill, the little ones will fare better as adults and their children will not end up abandoned in your orphanage. Maintenant! How much money is involved?"
"His lordship pledged two thousand pounds a year," Mr. Handon said, "and we will match that amount."
"I will give you thirty-five hundred. That should provide for a few luxuries like an extra log on the fire or occasional sweets for the children, héin? I'll have my solicitor draw up the papers and give you a bank draft. Call upon me in three days' time to settle our business."
"Thank you, Your Grace. Until our next meeting, then." The gentlemen bow and moved toward the door.
Suddenly Robin stood. "One moment, Mr. Handon! Mr. Baldrake! I've a mind to see the orphanage today."
"Now, Your Grace?" Mr. Baldrake lifted a
brow.
"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Robin looked from one man to the other.
"No, Your Grace." Mr. Handon answered. "It is merely that the orphanage is a depressing place in a filthy part of town. Not a diversion for a gentleman like yourself."
"Nevertheless, I want to visit the children and see what needs to be done." He held the door open for his guests. "Lead on, s'il vous plâit."
***
Lucia glanced down the length of the dinner table at Robin and took a deep breath. The meal was drawing rapidly to a close. They had discussed Robin's orphanage project and her shopping expedition at length, but she still had not dared to broach Amaryllis's proposed party.
Dessert was served and the servants bowed themselves out. Lucia took another deep breath, fixed a brilliant smile upon her face, and initiated an admittedly Machiavellian conversation. "I want to thank you for today, Robin," she said sweetly.
Frowning, Amberley looked up from his strawberry tart. "Today?"
"Why, yes. You weren't here waiting when I returned as you usually are. I am grateful for your trust."
"Oh! Well, I told you about the orphanage. I wanted to tour it today." Robin realized uneasily that for a few hours he had dropped his guard.
"And I also want to thank you for restoring my portmanteau to my possession. It holds all my keepsakes and mementos, everything I could not bear to leave behind at Saddewythe Manor while I was in London."
"You're welcome," he said, suspicious of this entirely too pleasant conversation.
"In the spirit of that trust," Lucia plunged on, "I will tell you that the trunk contains my Papa's dueling pistols, thirty pounds that I have scraped together over the last four years, and certain articles of male attire put by in case a hasty departure was necessary."
"Well. Well." Robin leaned back in his chair. "Quite a confession."
"You seem surprised."
"I am! Oh, not that you have these things hidden away. That is but self-preservation. I am amazed, however, that you would tell me about them."
"You trusted me a little, Robin, so I will trust you -- a little. Perhaps we shall go on rather better than we have been. You shall want us to appear a loving couple at the ball after all."
"The -- ball?" Robin frowned, genuinely at a loss.
"Amaryllis wants to give a ball in our honor and launch us into Society."
Robin stared at her for a full minute, thunderstruck. "Have the pair of you run mad?" he roared. "Even assuming I agreed to such a fiasco, which I will not, who do you think would attend?"
Lucia's voice shook a little as she answered. "Amaryllis says that if both the Blaynes' and the Malkents' names appear on the cards of invitation, people will come. Out of curiosity, if nothing else."
"Amaryllis says!" he mocked. "Ryl is a silly little widgeon and always has been. No one with sense would listen to her. I will not lend myself to a situation which will subject us both to intense ridicule and humiliation. 'Come out of curiosity', enfin! Mon Dieu! So we're to be displayed like carnival freaks for every blue- blooded jackanapes in London to gawk and laugh at! And we must not forget, naturellement, that you shall doubtless find your chance to bolt while I am fetching you a glass of ratafia like some ludicrous Bond Street Beau! Non! Jamais! A ball is out of the question! C'est finis!"
Lucia lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, Robin. I didn't realize that you felt so -- so strongly about this. We all meant well. Truly we did." She let the hint of a sob enter her voice. "And I swear I never thought for a second of escape. I have promised that I will stay, haven't I?"
"Ce bal est une mal idée," Robin said gruffly, trying to ignore the hurt in her eyes.
"Amaryllis merely thought that the Blaynes' and Malkents' sponsorship might foster forgiveness and acceptance of us within Society, but I quite understand your reluctance to..."
"Forgiveness! Lucia, there is nothing to forgive! I am innocent!" Robin leaped from his chair.
Knowing immediately that she had blundered, Lucia summoned the last weapon in her arsenal. Calling forth bitter memories to force tears, she looked up at Robin from beneath moistened lashes. "Yes. Yes, I know you are innocent, Robin. Now I've made you angry. Oh, I wish I'd never heard of this wretched ball. You are right. It was a stupid idea and so I shall tell Amaryllis." Her face woebegone, a tear sparkled on her cheek.
"Ma chérie. 'Tis only that -- " Robin sat down with a sigh, despising himself for making Lucia cry. Over the years, he had faced and ignored thousands of feminine tears without the smallest stirring of guilt or compassion, but Lucia's weeping pierced his armored heart. Perplexed that her unhappiness should touch him so, he sipped his wine and tried to sort out his confusion. "Ryl's ball would be a nightmare, ma chérie." he said, his voice a coaxing caress. "These people detest us, héin? They only want to ridicule us!"
Lucia sniffed, dashing away the tears that seemed to flow faster and faster. "Just as you say, Robin. There shall be no ball."
Robin stared at her, willing her to give up her foolishness. Candlelight glinted on her wedding ring and visions of their first night together flooded his mind. Had he not vowed to make amends? This party was not such an outrageous request, considering his past conduct, and she did want to go, although he could not fathom her reasons.
Lucia had not mastered the art of weeping prettily. Her eyes puffy and her nose red, she sniffed again, inadvertently banishing the last shreds of Robin's resolve. "très bien! très bien!" he said, lifting his hands in defeat. "As you wish. We shall go to Ryl's ball, but you will see. It will be a truly horrendous evening."
Lucia tried to smile, but her tears would not cease. Moving to her end of the table, Robin knelt to hug her. "Don't cry, ma chérie. I daresay it will not be so bad. I daresay we'll enjoy it immensely."
"Y-yes, I'm certain we will." she sobbed, laying her head against his shoulder. "Thank you, Robin. Thank you. I am ever so pleased. I cannot wait to tell Amaryllis."
Endeavoring to bury his misgivings, he pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve cuff and dabbed at the tears on her cheek. "How can you weep, Lucia, when I am looking forward to dancing with you around a ballroom?"
"Are you?" She searched his eyes, her sobs slowly abating.
"With infinite joy. Absolument! We must certainly attend Amaryllis's ball." Robin gazed into her bewitching blue eyes, gratified that his capitulation had brought such a gleam of happiness into them. He dropped a light, gentle kiss on her salty, smiling lips.
Her tears finally under control, Lucia left a bewildered Robin to stare into his port. In five minutes' time, he had gone from "jamais" to "absolument". He sipped his wine with the confused and distinctly uneasy feeling that he had, as a former mistress liked to phrase it, just been 'managed'.
Chapter 13:
In Which Miss Lannington Considers Her Beaux and Lord Mountheathe Ruminates Upon His Troubles
At eighteen, Concordia Lannington bore a striking resemblance to her aunt, Lady Malkent, save that her chin was more determined, her mouth fuller, and her eyes an arresting green rather than Valeria's warm brown. If she also possessed a modicum of spirit and determination foreign to the countess, these were not deterrents to the many gallants who clamored for her attention. Although she had only been in London a fortnight, she already found herself drawn to two gentlemen in particular.
Giles Bridland, Baron Mountheathe, sent her flowers daily, paid her extravagant compliments and treated her rather like she was made of porcelain. She liked the way he dressed; always point de vice. His manners were exquisite and he gave her every consideration -- and those golden brown eyes of his. They bewitched her, gently lulling her into acquiescence in any love- struck folly his lordship might care to propose.
Peter Tallant, Viscount Norworth, in contrast, paid little more attention to her than any other lady, flirted outrageously when he did choose to look her way, and, with his curling black locks and finely chiseled features, was quite the handsomest man she had ever met. He affected a reckless, rakish s
tyle, disdaining the fastidiousness in dress that Giles cultivated. Norworth radiated excitement and danger -- and something more. When those bored, black eyes met hers, her heart galloped, her body burned with an insistent, primeval hunger she barely understood, and she felt such a delicious giddiness that she could not help blushing in his presence.
According to her uncle, Norworth possessed a roving eye, a tarnished reputation, and was, not to put too fine a point upon it, wild to a fault. She tried to obey the earl and refrain from encouraging Norworth, saving all her smiles for Lord Mountheathe. The viscount, however, seemed particularly displeased with Mountheathe's gentle but determined courtship, seeking her out whenever Giles was escorting her.
At Lady Fortescue's musicale only the night before, she had been sitting beside Mountheathe through most of the evening, listening with polite boredom to a tone-deaf soloist who sang an interminable aria. When intermission came, Giles had hurried away to find her some lemonade.
The viscount, who had arrived at the musicale unconscionably late with only the most casual apology to his hostess, sauntered up to her as soon as Mountheathe left and bowed over her hand. "Good evening, Miss Lannington. I trust you are enjoying yourself?"
"The concert is pleasant enough, I suppose," Concordia said noncommittally, trying to still her pounding heart.
"Why, Miss Lannington." Norworth grinned. "Do I detect a lack of enthusiasm in your response? Could it be that you don't share Lady Fortescue's taste for opera? Or perhaps 'tis her choice of tenors with which you have found fault?"
Concordia opened her fan, held it before her face, and glanced left and right as if she were about to impart a secret. "The soloist is awful!" she said in a low voice, leaning a little closer to him. "If I could escape without offending our hostess or upsetting my aunt and uncle, I would run off to some ball and dance all night!"
"Would you take me with you, I wonder?" Peter mused, gazing into her intriguing green eyes, beguiled by the untamed innocence he saw there.
"Here we are, Miss Lannington." Mountheathe's cheerful voice shattered Norworth's reverie. Peter frowned as Giles handed Concordia a glass of lemonade and made a great show of settling her comfortably in her seat.
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