“Well, if they know all about it, I wish someone will tell me what caused it,” Daintry said frankly, “for from all I can learn, it must have been the veriest piece of nonsense. Even Aunt Ophelia does not know how it began.”
“We must go in,” Davina said. “Nearly everyone else has done so. Charles ought to be here to escort us.” She looked around for her husband. “My goodness, there are Geoffrey and Catherine, and Susan, too. I did not know they were coming.”
Daintry had not known they were coming either, but since everyone else had been seated, and since her place was at the opposite end of the long oval table from the others, there was no more opportunity for private conversation, and she turned her attention to her dinner partner, a young man with whom she was slightly acquainted from her visit to London the previous Season.
Lady Ophelia was seated on his other side, and Deverill was across the way beside Lady Jersey, who was flirting shamelessly with him. Not that he minded. Daintry, her attention straying from her dinner partner’s cheerful discourse, could see that much easily enough. Turning back, she batted her lashes at her dinner partner, who was describing a newly purchased horse to her.
The young gentleman swallowed wrong, and for several moments was unable to speak. Finally, however, after being vigorously pounded on the back by the footman behind his chair, he recovered sufficiently to say, “Dashed if I hadn’t thought I must have offended you in some way, my lady, by talking of horses at the dinner table. Glad to know I haven’t. Beg you will honor me with a dance later. A waltz, perhaps?”
A little startled by the result of her casual flirtation, Daintry agreed at once, then glanced back at Deverill to see to her chagrin that he was amused. Lifting her chin, she shifted her gaze down the table toward her sister.
Susan looked up from her plate, and Daintry, thinking she was looking at her, smiled, but her sister stared straight ahead, her gaze unfocused. Sir Geoffrey, farther down the table, was talking with Lady Catherine, but there was nothing in that, for husbands and wives rarely were seated next to each other at such parties. Charles was flirting outrageously with Miss Haversham, whom Daintry had met in London, and Davina was behaving in much the same way with a dandified gentleman whom she also recognized but whose name she could not at the moment recall.
After dinner, the ladies retired with Albinia Edgcumbe to the crimson drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their port and what Daintry knew they would describe as intelligent conversation. The crimson drawing room was warm and comfortable with a cheerful fire blazing in its white-marble fireplace, and Albinia Edgcumbe was a comfortable woman of Lady Ophelia’s generation who knew precisely how to involve her guests in amusing conversation. Nonetheless, Daintry noted that she was not the only one who glanced frequently at the door through which the gentlemen would come after they had imbibed enough port.
Lady Ophelia murmured under cover of the general chatter, “Do not look so impatient, my love. Sally is looking this way and is bound to misconstrue your lack of interest in this chitchat. Albinia will have made it clear to Mount Edgcumbe that he must not allow the gentlemen to linger over their wine.”
Daintry, deciding that her great-aunt knew perfectly well she was on the watch for Deverill, collected her wits and said, “I do not know what it is about that man, ma’am, but I confess, he affects me in a way that no other gentleman has ever done.”
“So I have noticed,” Lady Ophelia said dryly. “Do not distress yourself, however, for I daresay it is nothing more than the lure of forbidden fruit, which will soon pass.”
Much struck by the suggestion, Daintry wondered if it were possible that the strong attraction she felt for Deverill had its beginnings in nothing more than that. A second, even less palatable thought followed the first. “Is that why he pays heed to me, Aunt Ophelia, because I am forbidden fruit to him?”
“Very likely,” was the placid response, “though it may be no more than habit with him, you know. He was, I am told, actually a member of Lord Hill’s staff before Bonaparte escaped, and you know the sort of things they said about those young men.”
“I do,” Daintry said, her spirits sinking even more.
Thus, when the gentlemen entered a quarter-hour later, she had herself so well in hand that not even Lady Jersey, who was no doubt still watching closely, could have read anything untoward in her expression. The party adjourned soon after that for dancing in the large saloon at the rear of the house, and Daintry gladly accepted the invitation of her dinner partner for the opening set of country dances.
She had seen Deverill approaching, but she did not think he could accuse her of breaking her word to him, since she had said only that she would allow him a dance. She had not promised him any one in particular.
Susan was dancing with Lord Alvanley, a plump, rather witty member of the dandy set and a particular friend of Mr. Brummell, the man who had for a number of years fixed the standard for that set. Alvanley was a favorite of Daintry’s, and she was glad to see him with Susan, for he would be certain to cheer her up.
When Sir Geoffrey claimed Daintry’s hand for a cotillion, complimenting her on her lavender, lace-trimmed gown and generally behaving with all his customary gallantry and charm, she took advantage of a pause in the pattern to ask him if anything was amiss with his wife.
He smiled. “She is tired, I think. Traveling always exhausts her, and although we had only a short distance to come, and in a well-sprung carriage, she insisted upon taking the forward seat so my cousin would not be forced to ride with her back to the horses. It was generous of Susan, but I think that may be the reason she seems a trifle out of spirits now.”
“Does Lady Catherine make a long stay with you, Geoffrey?” Daintry asked bluntly. “I thought she intended to go on to St. Ives, to visit other relations of hers.”
“Oh, yes, she will certainly do so after Christmas,” he said, “but Susan prevailed upon her to extend her visit to us. My poor little wife was not looking forward to being the lone adult female in the house again, as you might guess, after first enjoying the gaiety of a London Season and then a lengthy visit to Tuscombe Park. I am sure you must understand how she feels.”
Daintry thought she did understand, and since, when Geoffrey escorted her back to Lady Ophelia, Deverill was standing beside her with a look of definite purpose in his eyes, she put Susan out of her mind altogether for the time being.
“My dance, I believe,” he said as the band struck up the first waltz.
“Is it, sir?”
“It is,” he said firmly, taking her hand in his.
His hands were large. Indeed, she thought, looking up at him, all of him seemed larger than she remembered. As he drew her onto the floor, she experienced a sudden, not unpleasant thrill of danger, and looking up at him, said, “Ought you not to have asked me first if I am permitted to waltz, sir?”
“I was under the impression that you do not seek permission for anything you wish to do. Was I mistaken?”
Twinkling, she said, “I am quite capable of making my own decisions, certainly, if that is your meaning, sir.”
“It wasn’t.” But he smiled as he took her right hand in his left and, placing his right firmly in the small of her back, drew her closer. The commanding way he held her made her aware of his strength, not just of body but also of personality, and although she had danced the waltz many times in the few years since its acceptance in fashionable ballrooms, she had never before been so conscious of the vitality and penetrating warmth of her partner’s touch. When her body responded with a spreading warmth of its own, she understood for the first time exactly why so many people still disapproved so strongly of the controversial dance.
As Deverill whirled her into the pattern of dancers, he murmured provocatively, “In my opinion, you simply have not yet been broken to bridle, but that day cannot be far off now.”
Forcing herself to ignore the delicious sensations stirred by his touch and the sensual warmth of his voice, she looke
d up at him in what she hoped was a challenging manner and said, “Do you think I can be so easily mastered, sir? I warn you, I have yet to meet a man to whom I would willingly submit.”
“Not yet?” He was looking directly into her eyes, his gaze holding hers hypnotically, daring her to look away. “Are you so certain of that, my lady?”
She swallowed, unable to look away, following his lead as automatically as Tender Lady followed Charley’s Victor over a leap, without conscious awareness of her surroundings, her attention focused on her partner’s face, not trusting her traitorous emotions any more than she trusted those she saw written on the countenance so disconcertingly near her own.
He chuckled, and discerning satisfaction in the sound, Daintry pulled away, the spell broken. “You hold me too closely, sir. It is not seemly and will be remarked upon.”
“Very well,” he murmured, relaxing his hold, “but you will not so easily escape your feelings, my dear, for you have met your match. You may believe that if you believe nothing else.”
She could think of nothing worth replying to such an impudent statement, and decided to leave it to the future to prove his error to him. He was certainly more fascinating than the three other young men who had so fleetingly attached her interest, but he was entirely too sure of himself and deserved a sharp lesson for daring to challenge her in such a manner. It would serve him right if she flirted with him for a time, merely to amuse herself, and then snapped her fingers under his nose.
When he returned her to Lady Ophelia’s side, she thanked him politely and turned away at once to look for Susan, having still had no opportunity to speak with her since her arrival. She spotted her at last nearby, talking with a friend, and to Daintry’s fond eye, she appeared still tired and out of spirits. Excusing herself to her great-aunt, Daintry moved to join them.
Hugging her sister, she waited only until Susan’s friend had moved away to speak to someone else before she said, “I have not even had a chance to say hello to you, and you did not so much as tell us you were coming to Mount Edgcumbe, you silly goose.”
Susan smiled. “I did not know myself until a few days ago, and then it was all flurry and uproar to prepare. Geoffrey had got the invitation in Brighton and, just like any other man, had forgotten to mention it to me until Catherine chanced to do so. She had been invited, too, you see, but had cried off, thinking she would be in St. Ives. As soon as Geoffrey heard her say so, he insisted we must come. You may imagine my surprise.”
“Yes, indeed, for he rarely brings you to such parties, but it is no wonder you look so fatigued. You ought to be in bed.”
“Oh dear, do I look as bad as all that?”
“You do.”
Susan laughed ruefully. “Only a sister would be so blunt. Very well, as soon as I can manage it without drawing attention to myself, I will retire.”
“You will go now, my love, and no one will be the wiser, for I will go with you and anyone who notes our departure will simply think we have gone to the ladies’ withdrawing room. By the time anyone chooses to wonder why we have not returned, they will no longer care. Unless, of course, you think we ought to tell Geoffrey,” she added, looking toward the floor where Sir Geoffrey was dancing with a bright-eyed miss in a stunning pink gown.
Susan followed her gaze and shook her head. “Oh, no, I daresay he will not notice if I go now. We do not live in each other’s pockets, after all, and Geoffrey enjoys this sort of entertainment much more than I do.”
“Why, I thought it was he who disliked it,” Daintry said in surprise as they made their way toward the door to the corridor. “You used to enjoy all manner of parties.”
Even Susan’s smile was tired. “I did, I suppose, in the old days. I daresay it is a sign of old age creeping up on me.”
“Don’t be nonsensical, and for heaven’s sake don’t go about saying such silly things to anyone else, or people will think you are sinking into a deep decline.” They were on the stairs now.
“Don’t scold,” Susan said. “You sound like Davina.”
Daintry smothered an improper exclamation. “If Davina has been scolding you, just tell her to mind her own affairs and leave you to yours. She is not your sister—well, only by law.”
“It’s all the same, for you both have a habit of telling me what I ought and ought not to do. No one considers my feelings in the least, Daintry. Doesn’t anyone ever think about what I might want? Why does everyone insist he knows what is best for me when I am perfectly capable of deciding matters for myself?”
Hearing a note of near hysteria in her voice, Daintry ruthlessly repressed an urge to reply in kind, to tell her that no one was attempting to tell her what to do. Instead, as they approached Susan’s bedchamber, she said calmly, “I know you are capable of anything. Are you not my big sister, the person to whom I so frequently go for her excellent advice?”
“Well, no,” Susan said, but her eyes were twinkling now. “You go to Aunt Ophelia, of course, and have done so ever since I got married. You rarely even ride over to visit me anymore.”
“You know very well it was Geoffrey’s joking that I was underfoot all the time that made Papa forbid me to visit so frequently,” Daintry said, opening the door to the bedchamber. “That was only at first, of course, but then somehow we all seemed to get out of the habit. Now that Charley and Melissa have become such friends though, I daresay you will see more of us in future.” Finding Susan’s maid awaiting her, she added, “You may go, Rosemary. I will attend to Lady Susan tonight.”
As the door shut behind the maid, Susan sighed. “You see that, she did not so much as ask my permission to go.”
“Don’t be foolish, love. She has been acquainted with us both nearly all our lives and knows you would never contradict an order of my giving—at least, not while I stood beside you. You may be very certain she will be listening for your bell and will return in a trice if you want her. Do you?”
“No, but I wish … Oh, pay me no mind. I am—”
“You are exhausted,” Daintry said, beginning to unfasten the row of buttons down the back of Susan’s gown. As the gown fell open, she saw, above the lace edging of Susan’s shift the dark shadow of a bruise. Clicking her tongue, she said, “What have you done to yourself this time?”
Susan laughed. “Nothing that will entertain you in the least, I assure you. Just my usual clumsiness, tripping over my own feet. I don’t recall precisely what I did, but if it’s the one on my shoulder, I believe I backed into my wardrobe at home. At all events, it is nothing. I can dress myself now if you have undone all those dreadful buttons.”
“There is warm water waiting for you in the basin yonder, with a fresh towel, and your nightdress is laid out on the bed.” Daintry said no more until Susan was tucked beneath the covers, but she had been thinking. Pulling the dressing chair up beside the bed when Susan was settled, she said, “Look here, is anything amiss? You really have not seemed at all yourself tonight.”
“No, of course there is nothing—” She broke off when the door opened and Sir Geoffrey entered the room, the frowning look on his handsome face turning instantly to an anxious one.
“There you are, my love! I turned away for a moment, and when I turned back, you had disappeared into thin air.” Grinning at Daintry, he said, “Did you abduct my wife, lovely sister-in-law, and carry her bodily off to bed? For I swear no one else could make the foolish child admit her exhaustion.”
“I suppose I did carry her off,” she said, smiling back at him and moving her chair to make room for him nearer the bed.
Susan sat up at once to put her arms around him when he sat on the bed, and he hugged her, still smiling at Daintry. “You have done her an excellent service, little sister. I am in your debt.” He smoothed Susan’s hair back from her face and kissed her gently on the lips, then said, “You did not plait your hair, sweetheart. It will be all tangles in the morning.”
Daintry said, “I was sitting in her dressing chair, Geoffrey, and her hair
never tangles very much, anyway. Rosemary will deal with it in the morning.”
“Ah, but it will be better to attend to it now,” he said, “and as it happens, I am an expert at such matters. Hand me her hairbrush there on the dressing table, will you, before you go?”
Accepting her dismissal, Daintry did as she was asked. As she handed him the silver-backed hairbrush, she smiled at Susan, who was blushing furiously and avoiding her gaze. “Very well, I can take a hint. I will see you in the morning, Susan.”
“Late in the morning,” Sir Geoffrey said.
Shaking her head in amusement, Daintry left them, and when she saw Susan the following day, though they scarcely had time to talk, she was impressed by the change in her spirits. Susan appeared to be much more cheerful. Her movements were animated, and her conversation was lively. It was, Daintry decided, a definite improvement. Clearly Geoffrey did have his moments.
The weather had not improved. Rain beat down steadily on Mount Edgcumbe’s verdant gardens, so the entertainment was of a necessity limited to the confines of the house, but there was no lack of amusement. By day there were roles to be learned for amateur theatricals, and a host of indoor games to play. Rooms had been set aside for correspondence, reading, cards, or merely for conversation, and the evenings sparkled with the theatricals, as well as with musical performances and more dancing.
Daintry saw a good deal of Deverill in the course of these events, and she rapidly came to the conclusion that Lady Ophelia had been perfectly right in her assessment of his intentions. He had only to meet her gaze across a room to flirt with her, and if she was with someone else, he showed a flattering determination to cut out the other gentleman. It soon became clear that, like the capable soldier he was, he counted her as yet one more military objective to be achieved. Enjoying herself now, certain it would be only a matter of time before he betrayed himself, and knowing she would gain more by frustrating him a little than by seeming to leap like a hungry salmon to his lures, she forced herself to pay his attentions as little heed as possible.
Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] Page 14
