“Everyone is in the upstairs parlor,” Roy added. He did not offer to take their coats and things.
“Thanks.” Iefan headed for the stairs, twisting the big buttons of his coat undone as he climbed.
Mairin lifted her dress and climbed beside him, for he still had hold of her hand. “What did you mean, when you said ‘to begin’?”
Iefan paused on the landing. He let go of her hand to undo the last of his buttons. “You are as ignorant as any savage, Mairin. You know nothing of real life. You don’t know how to enjoy yourself. You’ve been so confined within maidenly strictures you wouldn’t know fun if it bit you on the nose. This, tonight, is a tiny corner of a much larger world.” He pulled off the coat. Beneath, he wore a dressing robe. At the collar of the robe, the white linen of a night shirt showed. Iefan’s upper chest and throat were revealed between the open front of the shirt.
Mairin’s cheeks burned. She had seen many male throats, before—especially at the gathers in Cornwall, when even cravats were cast aside in order to bowl cricket balls or to properly wallop a croquet ball. In Cornwall, in the broad light of day, it seemed normal. Now and here, though, the unexpected glimpse of Iefan’s flesh unsettled her. She wore an evening gown, gloves, cloak and had her hair coiled and earrings dangling from her ears. The proximity of Iefan’s bed attire was jarring.
He held his coat out to her. “Hold it for a moment.”
She took the coat, her throat tight, her heart working much too hard.
He reached beneath the robe and tugged down his trousers.
Horrified, Mairin backed away. “What are you doing?”
Iefan glanced up at her. “Taking off my trousers.” He stripped them off and stepped out of them. “One does not wear trousers to bed.” He tossed the trousers over his arm, then held his arm out for the coat.
Now Mairin saw he wore bedroom slippers, not normal shoes.
Iefan tightened the belt of the robe with a sharp tug. He took his coat from her arms. “I said you were safe, remember?”
Mairin swallowed. Her throat hurt.
“Perhaps you should take off your cloak,” he suggested.
She shook her head.
“Come along.”
Mairin stayed where she was as Iefan walked down the wide landing. There were a dozen doors leading off the landing, all of them closed.
Iefan turned back. “If you don’t want to come with me, you should go home. Take off your gown and have an early night.” He waited.
Mairin sighed. “You know I don’t want to do that.”
“I know,” he agreed, with a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
Reluctantly, she moved up beside him. “Which room?”
“All of them, most likely. Pick one.”
Startled, Mairin examined each door. They were all identical. All of them had lamplight showing at the bottom. She pointed to the door nearest them.
Iefan opened the door for her and waited for her to enter. When Mairin hesitated once more, he took her hand in his again and pulled her through.
Chapter Four
It was a bedroom.
Startled yet again, Mairin stopped just inside the door, looking around, while her heart seemed to lodge itself in her throat and beat there with hard, hurting thuds.
A brass bed stood with its head against the wall beneath the window. Five people sat or laid on the bed, all of them wearing dressing robes and slippers, even the lone woman.
In a pair of chairs at the other end of the room, close by the door, were two more women, also in robes, their night gowns pooling around their feet. They were drinking champagne.
Two lamps, each upon the tables beside the bed, were the only light in the room. They spilled warm yellow light upon the people on the bed, who were talking and drinking, too.
Everyone looked up at Iefan and Mairin’s arrival. A chorus of greetings rose from the people on the bed.
Iefan lifted his hand in response. He dumped his coat and trousers over an upright dining chair which had a good collection of coats already piled upon it.
“Who is the lovely one beside you, Iefan?” the woman in the chair closest to them asked. She said Iefan’s name correctly. When she got to her feet, Mairin saw that her robe hung open, revealing her nightgown, which was of the finest linen. She swept toward them and handed Iefan her champagne glass. “It is lovely to see you, mon cher.” She leaned and kissed his cheeks, French fashion.
Iefan sipped the champagne and handed the glass back. “Eloise, this is my cousin, Mairin.”
“A cousin, hmm?” Eloise smiled at her.
Iefan pressed against Mairin’s shoulders to turn her. He unwound her cloak from about her shoulders and pulled it away. “I convinced Mairin that a pajama party would be far more interesting than Bycombe’s annual dinner.”
“Oh, by far!” someone called from the bed.
“Is that what this is?” Mairin asked. “A pajama party? What is pajama?”
“You haven’t seen the Chinamen in their pajamas?” Eloise asked.
Mairin shook her head.
Eloise leaned forward conspiratorially. “Frenchmen now wear silk pajamas to bed, to sleep in. Such decadence!”
Iefan rubbed his chin. “Is it a decadence? Pants and shirt for bed seems sensible.”
“Yet you wear a night shirt,” Eloise teased him. She laughed. “This is a pajama party, yet we are all in night clothes which are not pajamas. It is ironic, do you not think?” The question was put to Mairin.
Mairin watched as Eloise tugged at her colorful robe. Eloise was in her thirties and wore a wedding ring.
“Here,” the other woman in the chair said. She had risen, too and now held out a fresh glass of champagne. Iefan took it with a nod and handed it to Mairin. “I’ll find another one.” He moved over to the table beside the bed, where the lamp sat. A champagne bottle was beside it. As he walked the length of the bed, someone thrust an empty glass toward him, which he took with a murmured thanks.
Eloise and the second woman both studied her.
“What a glorious color!” the second woman declared, her gaze on Mairin’s gown.
Mairin smoothed the satin down with her free hand. “Thank you.”
“You look nervous, dear,” Eloise said. “Have you never attended one of Gordie’s house parties before?”
Gordie must be the Brigadier, the host. Mairin shook her head and sipped the cold, bubbly liquid. “I don’t think I’ve met the Brigadier before.”
“I can arrange that now,” Iefan said, appearing beside her once more. He had a full glass now, too.
“I believe he is in the front room on the other side,” Eloise told him.
Iefan nodded and opened the bedroom door once more and held it aside for Mairin.
Mairin passed through, moving carefully so the champagne did not spill. Her heart was still racing.
“See?” Iefan said as he closed the door. “Quite harmless.”
“And quite peculiar,” she added wryly. “Who attends a social function wearing their bed attire?”
“I suspect you would be surprised,” Iefan assured her. “Eloise, the lady you just met?” He nodded his head back toward the bedroom. “She is the Duchess of Markham.”
Mairin’s lips parted. “No!” she breathed. She knew the Duke of Markham. He sometimes attended public events, especially the Regatta in June and July. “Here?”
“Eloise has no time for the pretensions of the ton.” Iefan opened the other door and held it aside.
Mairin made herself step through.
There was no bed in this room, which she was thankful for. It appeared to be an upstairs sitting room. There were comfortable chairs and tables for each chair. Bookcases sat against the wall, stuffed with books. The books would have stolen her attention, except for the people sitting in the chairs.
There were three woman and five men, all wearing bed clothes bar one. The man in evening wear sat in the far corner, by a table with a floor-le
ngth cloth and a soft lamp. He sat on the edge of the wing chair, a glass of champagne in hand, leaning forward to speak to the man and woman sitting on smaller chairs in front of him. They leaned closer, too, as if the three of them were sharing secrets. The man in the wing chair had a hawk-like nose, rounded cheeks and full sideburns.
Mairin drew in a shocked, icy breath. She knew the man only because six years ago, in her debutante year, she had been presented to him and his mother at Buckingham Palace. It was the Prince of Wales.
“See, the Duke of Markham,” Iefan murmured, drawing her attention to one of the men in the chairs by the window.
Mairin glanced at the tall man, recognizing him.
“Beside him, your host,” Iefan added. “First, though, you should meet Bertie.”
“Bertie?”
Iefan picked up her hand once more and tugged her toward the Prince of Wales.
Mairin’s heart jammed in her throat once more as she walked toward the royal.
Edward Albert straightened as they approached and smiled at Iefan. “Iefan, by God!” He held out his hand.
Iefan handed Mairin his glass and took the Prince’s hand and shook it.
“You’ve been in France, they tell me?” Edward added.
“Business, as usual,” Iefan replied. “Made more interesting by the need to dodge Prussian bullets. But needs must.”
“Indeed,” Edward said. His gaze flickered toward Mairin. “Mistress, Iefan?”
“Cousin,” Iefan replied. He took the two glasses from Mairin’s trembling grip and nodded to the Prince. “Mairin, daughter of Seth Williams. Do you remember him, Bertie?”
Edward’s brow lifted. “By reputation, I do. Well, well. Welcome, Mairin. If you have your father’s spirit you will fit in well here.”
Mairin gave a little bob of a curtsey. “Your Highness.”
“Bertie,” he replied. “We leave all that nonsense at the door. Iefan will explain it to you. Drink up. Go on.”
Mairin stared at the Prince. He was telling her to drink?
Iefan handed her a glass. She didn’t know if it was hers or not. She sipped.
“Oh, you can do better than that, surely?” Edward said.
“Not without practice,” Mairin shot back, then felt her jaw sag. Where had that come from? How dare she speak to the Prince of Wales in such a way!
Edward threw his head back and roared with laughter. The man and woman sitting with him laughed, too, and it seemed to be genuine amusement, not just a polite twitter.
Edward’s gaze roved from her head to her hems. “Are you married, Mairin?”
Iefan shook his head. “She has the Duke of Gascony in her sights, Bertie. I whisked her away tonight to make him sweat a little.”
“Louis could do with some honest sweating,” Edward replied. “You should have let him fight his own way out of France, Iefan. He doesn’t know the meaning of hard work.” He raised his brow at Mairin. “Although I’m told he understands the meaning of other work very well.”
Mairin’s cheeks heated once more. She glanced at Iefan. Iefan smiled and shook his head. “Do take it easy on my cousin, Bertie. She’s never stepped foot outside society until tonight.”
“You intend to corrupt her, then?” Edward asked.
“I would put it no higher than education,” Iefan replied.
“You’re too honorable, Davies!”
“To my eternal shame. Don’t tell anyone else that.” Iefan picked up Mairin’s hand once more. “I must introduce Mairin to Gordie.”
Edward waved them away. “Enjoy the party, cousin Mairin!”
“Thank you,” Mairin replied, just barely suppressing the “your Highness” which automatically followed.
Iefan pulled her over to the window. Another woman was with this group, sitting on a chaise lounge with her knees up against her chest and her arms around them. The posture was only possible because she wore bed clothes, not a corset and gown. She looked to be as young as Mairin, with light brown curls and green eyes which regarded Mairin frankly.
The man beside the Duke of Markham looked up. “Iefan, you came! I didn’t know you were back from France.” He was also a younger man, with dark hair and hazel eyes and a flourishing mustache.
“Just this week,” Iefan replied. He rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I brought my cousin, Mairin. You know Cian, her oldest brother, of course.” Iefan glanced at her. “Mairin, your host, Brigadier William Gordon.”
“Everyone calls me Gordie,” William Gordon replied. “Welcome to my house, Mairin. I know Cian quite well. I know Neil much better, of course. I was his commanding officer before he left for Australia.”
Mairin drew in a breath, pleased. “Oh, I do miss Neil. We haven’t had a letter in the longest time.”
The woman on the chaise lounge patted the brocade upholstery in front of her feet. “Do have a seat, Mairin.”
Mairin glanced at Iefan. He nodded, so she settled herself on the lounge.
“I am Daisy Gordon,” the woman said. “Gordie’s wife.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Mairin replied, as Iefan pulled up another upright chair.
“You look a little bewildered,” Daisy said. “You’ve not been to a party like this before?”
“Not at all,” Mairin admitted.
“Drink, then, and relax. You don’t have to stand on formality here,” Daisy replied.
“I’m not sure what the formalities are, so that is just as well.”
Gordie and the Duke of Markham laughed.
“Your father was a straight talker, too,” Markham said. “God rest his soul.” He lifted his glass. So did everyone else. Then they drank.
Mairin sipped again, her pulse still thready.
Iefan put his glass on the table between Markham and Gordie. “Is it my imagination, or is Bertie worried about something? He’s cuddled up with Jack.”
Markham sighed. “Then you haven’t heard about Mordaunt’s divorce hearing?”
Iefan shook his head.
“Bertie was called as a witness,” Markham said.
Gordie lowered his voice. “He was seen visiting the Mordaunt’s house while Charles was sitting in the House of Commons. The papers are making the most of it, of course.”
“The Queen is beside herself,” Daisy murmured. “The suggestion of impropriety is damaging.”
Iefan glanced toward the Prince and crossed his arms. “He’s lucky he wasn’t named co-respondent,” he said.
Gordie snorted and picked up his glass. “I’m not sure how he avoided it.”
“No wonder he’s looking glum,” Iefan replied. He reached for his glass once more.
Daisy reached down beside her and picked up a bottle of champagne which had been sitting on the floor beside the lounge. She refilled Mairin’s glass, even though more than half of it remained, then her own glass. “That is the loveliest color dress,” she said. “It makes your skin glow.”
“Thank you.” Mairin took a bigger mouthful of the chilled liquid. “Although I feel overdressed right now.” She looked once more at the comfortable dressing robes everyone but the Prince wore and brought her gaze back to Daisy and her unconventional posture.
“You could always curl your legs up beneath you, if you wanted to, or cross them the way the Indians do,” Daisy suggested.
“I’m not sure I could,” Mairin admitted. “After so many years of making sure my feet are together, I think I am incapable of doing anything else.”
“I see we have much work to do, if you are to relax properly,” Daisy said.
Mairin glanced at Iefan, reassuring herself that he had not abandoned her in this odd, disjointed and unconventional party. He was speaking to Markham and Gordie, his voice low. When she glanced at him, though, Iefan raised his brow and gave her a quick smile, before turning his attention back to the two men.
Reassured, Mairin drained her glass of champagne in four big swallows, gasped and held out the glass. “May I have some more, ple
ase?”
Daisy smiled and reached for the bottle.
MAIRIN DIDN’T DRINK A great deal of the champagne. She knew well the power of liquor to undermine her better sense and she wasn’t quite relaxed enough to let down her guard.
Yet step by gradual step, the conversation, the effortless friendliness of the guests and the interesting conversation unwound her inhibitions.
While she did not move from the chaise lounge, everyone else circled through the rooms in a free-flowing mix. Often, they parked themselves on the seat beside Mairin and introduced themselves if they had not already done so. Or they spoke to her for a few minutes and actually listened to her answers.
There were far more people in the house than Mairin had realized. As the evening wore on, the doors were left open and everyone passed from room to room as they wished.
Daisy seemed to be on friendly terms with Edward, sitting on his knee and holding a glass to his lips, while everyone clapped and encouraged him to drink. Later, Daisy paused for a moment on the end of the lounge, breathless.
“The Prince likes you,” Mairin observed.
“He likes a great many women,” Daisy said, her smile knowing. “I would not be a good hostess if I did not do everything in my power to help him relax, would I?” Then she was off again, a whirl of purple silk and white linen and soft brown curls.
Iefan passed from room to room just as the others did, although he reappeared in the front room rather more often than the others. Usually, he paused to glance at Mairin, or refill her glass, before leaving again.
Later in the night, though, he sat on the lounge and tilted his head to examine her. “You are sitting facing the end of the lounge, yet your feet are nowhere to be seen. What have you done with them?”
Mairin hesitated. It seemed too intimate to admit she had folded her legs, Indian fashion, under her gown. It was a surprisingly comfortable position, letting her remain upright as her corset dictated.
Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7) Page 4
