by Dorothy Mack
Adrienne’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, you poor man! I had no idea you suffered from impaired vision. It must be a great handicap in your profession.” She derived great satisfaction from the look of consternation that crossed the handsome features of her antagonist as he stammered:
“I … I beg your pardon?”
A soft chuckle reached her from the left, but Adrienne managed to preserve her countenance as she explained gravely, “Well, you have just declared me to outshine all the beauties of Brussels, and here is Lady Tremayne sitting no more than ten feet away. Obviously you suffer from advanced myopia.”
The lieutenant’s ready tongue deserted him for an instant as he stared into her politely sympathetic face. “Well … uh … naturally I would agree with the consensus that holds Lady Tremayne to be a very beautiful woman.” Gaining confidence from the sound of his voice, he went on, “But my own taste runs to redheads, so I stand by everything I said before.”
Adrienne grinned saucily at the irrepressible young man, but was prevented from continuing the contest when Dominic rose to his feet to make the announcement of his betrothal. In concert with the other guests, his cousin smiled, applauded, raised her glass in a toast to Lady Tremayne, and then drank to the couple’s future happiness. As she turned her eyes from the smiling faces of the engaged pair, she discovered herself to be the object of intense study on the part of a gentleman seated across the table. She had the instantaneous impression that he was trying to fathom the deepest secrets of her heart and soul, which left her a trifle discomposed, as she could not help wondering how long she had been under such a pointed scrutiny. Had he witnessed the nonsensical passage-at-arms with Lieutenant Markham? What was he making of her, and why should she be of particular interest to a perfect stranger? She had no recollection of his name, but there was something familiar about his cast of countenance.
Puzzled and a bit intrigued, Adrienne regarded from beneath her lashes the man sitting opposite. A disinterested observer would have to call him well-favoured, although she had reacted to his stare with an instinctive shrinking, which, to be fair, might have been caused entirely by the natural disinclination anyone would experience at being so minutely observed when unaware. The man’s evening attire, what she could see of it, was faultless, his dark hair was painstakingly styled in the popular windswept fashion, and his thin features were of classic proportions and regularity. It was the light shining on amber-coloured eyes as he turned his head to reply to his neighbour that settled the question of his identity for Adrienne. This was Sir Ralph Morrison, and it was the resemblance to his sister that accounted for the sense of familiarity. His interest in herself remained a mystery, however. Offhand, she would set his age at several years older than Dominic, whom she knew to be nine-and-twenty, and from something in his expression which recalled her father’s friends, she would judge him to be very much a man of the world. No reason for more than a passing interest in an anonymous and unfledged young woman suggested itself to her intellect.
It would never have occurred to Adrienne that Sir Ralph, privy to all his sister’s moods, was studying this unexpected addition to Lord Creighton’s life in the light of a possible stumbling block to the very desirable marriage that was going to retrieve the family fortunes. Lord, Pamela had been livid tonight when the red-haired chit had made her big entrance! For a minute he’d feared that temper of hers would explode, but she’d had the wit to keep her tongue between her teeth, thank heaven. Granted, the girl was a long cry from the little mouse his sister had described, but she was still no threat to Pamela. Creighton wasn’t a youngster to be captivated by all that wide-eyed innocence. If unopened buds appealed to him, he never would have fallen for Pamela despite her beautiful face. No, it wasn’t Miss Castle who might yet threaten the consummation of their hopes, but that abominable temper of Pamela’s. She thought she had Creighton wrapped around her little finger, but he was nobody’s fool, not the man to be led by the nose or to live under the cat’s paw. If Pamela couldn’t see that, for all his easy-going manner, Creighton was unmovable as rock in his principles, she wanted her head examined.
Nor would her fiancé stand still while she played fast and loose with other men. They could breathe a sigh of relief now the engagement was official, but if he knew his sister, it would be his unenviable task to keep her on the straight and narrow until she got the earl to the altar, an event that couldn’t happen soon enough to suit Sir Ralph. His own affairs were pressing enough, but acting duenna to Pamela held all the appeal of minding a keg of explosives during an enemy attack. Sir Ralph sighed soundlessly as he cast an assessing eye over his sister’s animated countenance as she sat in rapt conversation with her fiancé. Before the ladies left the room, he must try to catch her ear for a second to warn her to leave the little cousin alone.
Unfortunately for Adrienne, Sir Ralph did not manage to drop a hint in his sister’s ear before the ladies withdrew, and by the time the gentlemen had rejoined them, all her earlier pleasure in the party had gone into complete eclipse. Had she been less conscientious, she might have avoided the reversal altogether, but she was persuaded she owed Lady Tremayne an explanation for her late entrance. There had been time for no more than a quick apology before dinner. She would have spoken immediately and gotten the matter off her chest had not Lady Staveley sought her out to present her two daughters once again. It seemed the Staveleys were old friends of the Norcross family, and Lady Creighton had written to Lady Staveley requesting her good offices for her young relative while she was in Brussels.
“Which I am most pleased to offer, my dear child, for Arabella Norcross has always given my girls the run of Harmony Hall, even though they are several years younger than her own daughters. I hope you and Miss Beckworth will call on Marjorie and Eleanor whenever you feel you can leave your young brother for a time.”
The Staveley ladies were of a gregarious nature, and Adrienne spent the next few moments trying to listen equally to all three, who chatted nonstop in unison, continually interrupting one another. At one point, seeing the bewilderment on Miss Castle’s face, Lady Staveley laughed and promised she would soon get the hang of deciphering their jumbled conversations; all their friends soon acquired the knack. Their genuine friendliness was warmly welcome to Adrienne, who vastly enjoyed the interlude, but when Colonel Lacey’s lady approached to speak to Lady Staveley, she excused herself to seek out Lady Tremayne, who had just moved away from Miss Beckworth to sit in one corner of a long sofa.
Adrienne seated herself beside the lovely brunette, who had watched her approach with an unsmiling mien. “Lady Tremayne, I must apologize again for my deplorable lateness this evening and explain how it came about. I —”
“Oh really, Miss Castle, do not trouble yourself. No explanation is necessary, believe me,” replied Lady Tremayne with a tinkling laugh. “I am not so advanced in years that I have forgotten how very important it is to contrive to be noticed when one is — forgive me — young and somewhat negligible in society.”
Adrienne gasped, and the healthy colour drained from her cheeks. “It was not like that at all … I never intended … I pray you to believe that my tardiness was totally unintentional. Jean-Paul accidently spilled some lemonade on my gown, and it became necessary for my maid to remove the stain. She worked on my gown as quickly as possible, but of course it took time to dry the area. We placed the gown close to the fire and fanned it to circulate the air and —”
“You are looking most distraught, Adrienne. What is wrong?” asked Lord Creighton, who had come up soft-footed behind the sofa where the two women were sitting, so intently absorbed in each other they had failed to notice that the gentlemen had joined the ladies in the drawing room.
Adrienne jumped up. “I … I didn’t see you, cousin. N-nothing is wrong! I … I was just explaining to Lady Tremayne that my lateness this evening was due to a stupid accident to my gown. I had to wait while it dried.”
Lady Tremayne rose gracefully and wrapped both hands
around her fiancé’s arm. She glanced up at him provocatively and laughed. “And I have been assuring Miss Castle that explanations are unnecessary. We all understand that very young ladies like to make an entrance.” She shrugged smooth shoulders and directed a brilliant smile at Adrienne. “No offence taken.”
A pale Adrienne faced her cousin’s betrothed squarely. “I’m sorry that you believe I would behave in such a manner, Lady Tremayne,” she replied stiffly. “There is nothing more I can say except to repeat that my tardiness was unintentional. If you will excuse me now, I believe Becky wishes to speak to me.” There was a blind look in the aquamarine eyes that passed briefly over the engaged couple before she turned away.
A short silence thrummed between the pair standing by the sofa; then Lord Creighton said gravely, “Could you not have pretended to believe her, Pamela?”
“Of course I will, darling, if you wish it,” Lady Tremayne responded cordially, slanting a seductive smile up at him. For once the earl seemed unmoved by the charming picture she made with her regal dark head thrown back and her perfect profile emphasized. He sprang almost eagerly to obey a summons from one of the footmen who suddenly appeared at his side, though his apology to his fiancée was courteously spoken.
Lady Tremayne stood quite still, staring after Lord Creighton until her brother, who had been hovering a pace away, said in an undertone, “That was not very wise of you, Pamela. This is your night of triumph. You could afford to be generous to the girl. She is Creighton’s cousin, after all.”
Lady Tremayne’s sculptured nostrils flared as she whirled to face Sir Ralph. “Are you suggesting I should have allowed her deliberate attempt to steal the limelight to go unmentioned? You don’t know me very well, Ralph.”
“I know you all too well, my dear,” came the weary retort. “What I am suggesting is that you curb your jealousy. Creighton won’t thank you for showing up his cousin.”
“Jealousy!” She almost spat out the word, and her brother raised a warning eyebrow. Lady Tremayne moderated her tone to a soft hiss, but the venom came through clearly. “How dare you accuse me of being jealous of that little nobody!”
“Now, now, Sir Ralph, can’t have you monopolizing the guest of honour, you know, even if she is your sister. Must give the rest of us a chance.” A jovial gentleman sent his booming voice ahead of him to break up the tête-à-tête.
Lady Tremayne made a graceful play with her gold lace fan and her gold-toned eyes. “How sweet of you to rescue me from my dreary brother, Lord Staveley,” she purred, turning her back squarely on the former.
Miss Beckworth had had the foresight to have the pianoforte in the drawing room tuned that week in the event the company should prefer music to conversation or cards. When several of the gentlemen requested the pleasure of hearing Lady Tremayne sing, Lord Creighton opened the instrument and led the fair performer to it, seating her with a smile.
Lady Tremayne was possessed of a husky soprano voice that she used to great advantage, and she was a competent performer on the piano. She sang a ballad of her own choice and then accepted several requests before turning resolutely away with a little crash of chords. “My throat is becoming dry, and it is time we had a little variety. Perhaps Miss Castle will favour us with a song or two?” She flashed her famous smile at Adrienne, who sternly willed herself not to blush or stammer.
“I am so sorry but I don’t sing.”
“Well, play for us, then. I am persuaded everyone is tired of feminine trilling and would welcome an instrumental work,” said Lady Tremayne in an encouraging voice.
“I’m afraid I don’t play either. Perhaps another lady will oblige?”
“My cousin insists that she has no accomplishments,” said Lord Creighton before an awkward silence could develop. “She does not regard the acquisition of five languages as worthy to be deemed an accomplishment, but I believe those of us who struggle daily with the intricacies of the French tongue would beg leave to differ with her.”
“By Jove, wouldn’t we just!” Major Peters concurred feelingly.
Lord Creighton allowed the little ripple of laughter that followed this remark to die before adding, “Meanwhile, though I am aware that Miss Forrester is no less modest about her skill on the pianoforte than Adrienne is about hers with languages, I hope we may persuade her to give us the great pleasure of hearing her play.” He directed his delightful smile at the young lady in question, who flushed faintly.
There was a prompt chorus of requests to Miss Forrester, who quietly took Lady Tremayne’s place at the piano. For the next half-hour, the company was treated to a performance of exquisite talent and sensitivity from the general’s self-effacing daughter. She was familiar with the works of all the prominent composers and played selections from several.
During the two or three periods of relative affluence when the Castles had possessed a pianoforte in their lodgings, Miss Beckworth had given Adrienne some elementary tuition on the instrument. The opportunity to hear a gifted performer had been at the top of her list of special treats ever since, but tonight Adrienne’s expression of rapt interest was difficult to maintain because her mind was in a turmoil that music could not soothe. The confrontation with Lady Tremayne in which the beautiful brunette had made it plain that she did not choose to believe Adrienne’s explanation for her tardy entrance had robbed the evening of all its pleasure and left the inexperienced girl thoroughly shaken. To be accused of putting herself forward, to be thought capable of trying to steal the attention away from the guest of honour, was so shaming to a gently reared girl that she would have welcomed it if the floor beneath her feet had opened and swallowed her up. And to have her humiliation witnessed by Dominic, who had been their kind and generous benefactor, had put the seal on her misery. That he should think she would repay his kindness in such a manner! Physical escape was denied her; to make her excuses would be to draw more attention to herself, but it took every ounce of moral courage she possessed to sit quietly by Becky and produce the occasional smile or response required by civility, all the while avoiding a meeting of glances with her cousin’s fiancée. It had been a relief when the musical portion of the evening began, but her respite had been cruelly brought to a halt by Lady Tremayne’s gay challenge to her to perform.
As Miss Forrester moved into a Beethoven sonata, Adrienne cast about in her mind to recall whether she might have mentioned her lack of musical talent to Lady Tremayne during that abysmal tea party. Not that it really signified. There could be no question after the earlier incident that it was Lady Tremayne’s intention to humiliate her fiancé’s cousin in retaliation for what she perceived as an affront. The lovely notes of the musical selection washed over her unheeded as Adrienne endeavoured to cope with the appalling discovery that she had made an enemy. Her hands twisted uneasily in her lap while she continued to direct an unfocused gaze at Miss Forrester. She had been loath to admit even to herself that she might have taken Dominic’s betrothed in dislike, and, guilt-ridden at her inability to like the woman wholeheartedly, had striven mightily with herself to disguise this disloyalty from everyone, even Becky. Perhaps she had been unsuccessful at hiding her distaste? Perhaps Lady Tremayne had sensed an unadmitted animosity and had been hurt by it? Perhaps she had seen confirmation of it in Adrienne’s tardiness tonight and had reacted in anger and chagrin? Adrienne was miserably conscious that she was very much at fault, and the worst of it was that she could see no avenue of reparation ahead.
Through the rest of the interminable evening Adrienne was withdrawn in spirit from the other guests, trying mentally to assess her future position vis-à-vis her cousin’s fiancée. The best she could come up with after much unhappy ratiocination was simply to avoid being in company with Lady Tremayne and Dominic as much as possible. She felt Becky’s eyes on her once or twice as she evaded being singled out by one or another of the young officers while tea was being served. Perhaps if she told her friend the whole story tomorrow, Becky would be able to advise her as to her
future conduct. She had religiously avoided meeting Lady Tremayne’s glance from the moment she had declined to perform, but she had been uncomfortably aware of an inimical regard directed at her on several occasions when she had chanced to raise her eyes to reply to some conversational overture. This awareness of latent hostility produced a sensation not unlike a chill on the back of one’s neck and was not something she would care to experience with any degree of frequency.
It was surprising, therefore, when the guests had finally departed, to find herself being profusely thanked by Lady Tremayne for her efforts toward making the announcement party such a success. Surprising and rather disconcerting, for when Adrienne looked up hopefully, it was to discover that no trace of the cordiality in Lady Tremayne’s voice was reflected in the amber eyes. They were as cold as if carved from the stone they resembled. She had at first directed her gratitude solely to Miss Beckworth, who had mentioned Adrienne’s part in creating the flower arrangements that had evoked expressions of admiration from a number of the guests. There had been no hesitation as Lady Tremayne graciously included Adrienne in her thanks while Dominic tenderly wrapped her evening cloak about her shoulders, but those implacable eyes told Adrienne she was unforgiven. Despite the warmth of the May evening, she shivered a little as her troubled gaze followed the betrothed couple from the room. It was with a feeling akin to release that she said goodnight to Becky and sought the peace of her own chamber.
CHAPTER 10
Colonel Lord Creighton of the field marshal’s staff nodded to a passing neighbour and climbed the steps to his house, his expression abstracted. It was unusual to be coming home in the middle of the morning, but he’d just received orders to go to Ghent to the French king’s court in exile. He needed to instruct his batman about packing, and he intended to write to Pamela before he left. She would have to make his excuses for a number of upcoming social events in the next few days. His mind busy with last-minute details, he didn’t hear the front door open and nearly collided with Luc running down the stairs. He put out a hand to steady the boy.
