by Amanda Scott
“I think it would be best if we all go someplace where we might discuss this business without taking the chance of being overheard,” he said decisively. “Come along, the three of you.”
“Where, Tony?” Alicia asked.
“The small parlor?” Brittany suggested.
“No, too near the ballroom,” Faringdon said, his brow knitted in thought. “I have it, the dining room. No one will go back there, for the supper is to be served in the large drawing room. We may be as private as we like.”
They moved together toward the door, all four looking out for the ambassador’s man. Just as they were about to step onto the gallery, however, a hand grasped Brittany’s arm for the second time in less than twenty minutes. She looked up, startled, half-expecting to find the dreaded Fahd materializing at her side. Instead, it was the marquess, and his expression was grim.
“I wish to speak privately with you,” he said harshly.
Glancing up at him and then back at the group disappearing through the doorway, she hesitated only for a moment. Zara would be well-looked-after. Cheriton’s grip tightened, and she realized that she would not be given a choice in the matter anyway. A tiny thrill raced up her spine, and she moved obediently at his side, not daring to look at him again, lest he see the excitement in her eyes.
A moment later she was back in the little parlor, her hands folded at her waist, her eyes demurely downcast. There was a long silence, as though he waited for her to look up at him, but she dared not, lest she grin at him and spoil the scene she hoped was coming. Much better that he declare his feelings for her and demand that she end her engagement.
“I apologize,” he said suddenly, harshly, “for interrupting a second discussion with Faringdon.”
“He will not mind, sir.”
“I doubt that, though I cannot think why he would invite your sister and her friend to accompany you. He seemed to prefer privacy the last time, though I cannot think your father would approve of his having brought you in here to make love to you with so many in the house. Anyone might have walked in, you know. Indeed, someone did.”
“And that someone misinterpreted the scene, sir.” She still did not look at him.
“The devil he did. Here, look at me. What do you take me for, a fool? I saw him kissing you. Not that he doesn’t have every right, which is why I wished to apologize. I embarrassed you, and I ought not to have done so.”
She let the ensuing silence lengthen, waiting for him to tell her he couldn’t live without her. When he said nothing at all, she decided he needed some prodding. Softly she said, “He kissed me only in parting, sir. We have agreed we should not suit.” Cheriton still said nothing, and at last, unable to stand the suspense longer, she looked straight up into his eyes and said, “Our betrothal is ended, my lord.”
Half-expecting to see that same look of mixed joy and bewilderment that she had seen earlier upon the earl’s face, she was surprised when Cheriton’s brows came together even more ominously than usual. “He did not break it off, for he would not. And though I told you myself that you ought never have been allowed to become betrothed to him in the first place, I cannot think why you would do something so addlebrained as to cry off now.”
“Addlebrained? I thought you would be pleased.”
“A good notion you have of me, I must say. Why should I be pleased when you set yourself up as a target to public ridicule? Do you wish to be called a jilt, my dear? For so you will be called, and rightly. And if that idiot Faringdon turns to your sister for comforting, you will be well-served, indeed. Can you not imagine what your life will be like when the tabbies get hold of that bit. Good Lord, Brittany, what could you have been thinking to do such a thing?”
Her first reaction was anger, but then suddenly she knew what he must be doing, and she forced herself to remain calm. “Your concern is most affecting, sir, and I ought to have realized that your primary regard would have been for my comfort, for your thoughtfulness is something I have come to cherish. However, you cannot have considered the whole picture, I think.”
Cheriton was staring at her with increasing astonishment. “What whole picture?”
Her tone was nearly smug. “Dear sir, there is surely no more need to dissemble. I have guessed, you know, and I must tell you that your gifts and flowers have raised my spirits more times than I can number. You could do nothing more while I was betrothed to Tony, I know. Nor could I say anything to you. But I must tell you now without further roundaboutation that I mean to express my feelings clearly to you now, and I shall expect you to do the same. There need be no further secrecy between us now. You may even kiss me if you like, sir.” She tilted her face up to his, expectantly.
“Good Lord,” breathed the marquess, clearly distraught, “I never sent you a thing. What you must think of me, to believe I should indulge in such childish games with the betrothed wife of one of my oldest and best friends! Do you think I have no morals at all, my girl? How could you possibly have believed me to be your idiotish secret admirer?”
14
STARING UP AT HIM, mortified, Brittany could not mistake the sincerity in his tone. She wanted to disappear, to sink straight through the floor. If he was not her secret admirer, then he was not in love with her at all. She had been an idiot, a stupid, blithering idiot. And what was worse, Cheriton would now think her completely devoid of sense. Indeed, he was more than likely too offended by her suggestion ever to think well of her again. Blinking back tears, she turned away and moved blindly toward the door, wanting only to find some quiet, dark place where she could spend the remainder of her days while she prayed for a short life. She had not yet reached the door to the gallery when her progress was arrested by Cheriton’s firm but gentle hand upon her shoulder.
“I have embarrassed you, and indeed, I never meant to do so,” he said quietly. “That you have confided your feelings to me is no dreadful thing, for you must know that a confidence of any nature is quite safe with me.”
“Please, sir, I must go.” But the tone of his voice, if not the words themselves, steadied her. She remembered the fair Circassian and told herself sternly that others had problems far more serious at the moment than her own.
Cheriton continued in that same gentle tone, “Indeed, you must not go if you mean to run blindly from this room, for to do so would be to occasion comment. Wait a moment until you are composed again, and I will escort you to your mother.”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly, dashing a hand across her eyes as she turned toward him in confusion. “I must go to Tony.”
“Tony? Indeed, I had thought—”
“Oh, you do not understand, sir. I have left poor Zara to Tony and Alicia to look after, and by now they have no doubt come to cuffs over the poor girl, and if Fahd gets his hands upon her before we can get her safely back to Berkeley Square, I shall never forgive myself.”
“Then, of a necessity, we must get her back safely. And you will forgive my curiosity, I hope, but who is this unfortunate Zara, not to mention the despicable Fahd?” Even as he said the words, however, Brittany saw the light of understanding dawning in his eyes. He frowned but said nothing, waiting for her reply.
She flushed more deeply than ever, finding it difficult to meet that stern and steady gaze. “You have guessed, I see.”
“Your sister clearly needs a firmer hand,” Cheriton said crisply. “Am I to understand that the Persian ambassador’s fair Circassian is here at Malmesbury House at this very moment?”
“Yes, but it did not come about the way you seem to think it did,” Brittany said hastily. “Not by Alicia’s doing—at least, it was a little, for I should never have thought of inviting Zara to the ball, but it is I who must accept the blame for having brought her here to the house.”
“You?” He looked thunderstruck, and for a long moment his lips folded together as though he were forcibly restraining himself from speaking, perhaps even from shouting. At last, however, he expelled a long sigh and said, “I expect
you had better tell me all about it.”
Telling him was easier than she had expected it to be, for despite her emotional turmoil and the ache in her throat, she was able to speak calmly enough, and now that he had made up his mind to hear her out, he did so without comment. Only by the narrowing of his eyes from time to time could she tell when he disapproved of what he was hearing, and once, however briefly, while she was describing Alicia’s carefree decision to keep Zara in the ducal mansion without bothering to inform any of the other inhabitants of the young woman’s presence, his eyes gleamed with amusement. When she had finished, she felt much better.
Cheriton nodded slowly. “I agree that we must not leave Zara much longer to the tender mercies of your sister and Faringdon. They will all end in the briars and no doubt we shall find ourselves keeping them company there. You would as lief never to have to explain this matter to Malmesbury, I daresay.”
Brittany’s eyes widened. “Tell Papa? Goodness, no.”
“Then, come along. Where have they gone, do you know?”
“The dining room. Tony said it would be empty.”
“Only if the servants have finished clearing the dinner things away,” he muttered, “but we will trust to their efficiency.”
They hurried along the gallery to the stairway, and as they approached the dining room, Brittany saw a shadowy figure withdraw into an adjoining room. She looked up at Cheriton to see that he, too, had seen the figure. He frowned, silencing her, and she turned her head quickly away, so as not to betray to the watcher her knowledge of his presence.
Upon entering the dining room, they discovered Zara seated at the table watching anxiously while her two would-be rescuers argued her immediate fate in heated fury. When Brittany crossed the threshold, the pair did not so much as glance toward her, so wrapped up in their discussion were they.
“By God, Lissa, you will listen to me for once and do exactly as I say,” said the earl, clearly exasperated.
“I won’t. Zara is my guest, and if anyone is to see her safely returned, I will.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Brittany snapped, “only listen to the pair of you. ’Tis a mercy your loud voices have not brought the servants or even Papa down upon you. And Fahd himself,” she added in a lowered tone after Cheriton had shut the door, “is standing in the doorway of the anteroom across the way, watching this door. I recognized him as the man who spoke to William Footman on the pavement by Monique’s shop on Friday. He must have heard you.”
The two combatants turned as one. “Never mind that,” Alicia said, her vague tone indicating that she had not really heard what Brittany had said, “you must agree with me that Zara cannot return to Berkeley Square with only Tony for an escort. Only think how that must appear to the ambassador. Hello, Cheriton. What do you say to that? Surely, I must go with them.”
Cheriton eyed her grimly. “I say that we must apply to the person most immediately concerned in the matter.” He turned to Zara. “What must be done, ma’am?”
Zara had leapt to her feet at their entrance, and she had likewise heeded Brittany’s words, for her eyes were wide with fear. However, at Cheriton’s calm query, she lowered her gaze again submissively. “If it please you, sir, I should like only to return to my master.”
“And I have already said I will take her there,” Faringdon said in a tone of long suffering, “but Alicia insists that she must go along to play propriety, of all things, and I won’t have it. She ought never to have got involved at all in this tangle, and that’s the long and short of it.”
“Well,” Cheriton said fairly, “you will accomplish little by bickering with her now about something that is already over and done, you know.”
“There, I told you,” Alicia said.
Brittany said sternly, “And you, miss, would be well advised to hold your tongue. Provoking yet another argument will accomplish nothing at all toward the purpose. And ’tis that purpose you ought to be considering, nothing more. Did you hear naught of what I said about Fahd? He is even now no doubt hovering at the door, attempting to overhear our conversation.”
Zara gave a little cry of dismay, but Cheriton moved quickly to stand beside her. “All will be well, ma’am,” he said quietly. “These doors are quite solid. If we did not hear your would-be rescuers arguing before we entered, Fahd will hear nothing of what we say now. You must have a proper escort, however—more than one, in fact, if you wish to stay out of Fahd’s clutches.”
“Oh, do not let him take me, sir,” she begged, looking up at him anxiously now from beneath her long curling lashes. “My master will be displeased with me for running off as I did, but that will be as nothing to what his anger will be if Fahd drags me back and tells him lies about me, as I believe he would. I would be allowed to say so little in my own defense, you know, for I am but a mere female.”
“You were not present at the reception held in your honor yesterday, were you?” Cheriton asked, changing the subject abruptly.
She looked down again. “No, sir.”
“Then, your master deceived several distinguished ladies of the beau monde, did he not?”
Flushing, she nodded. “He will be most displeased with me for having placed him in such a distasteful position.”
“I think we must capitalize on that situation,” said the marquess slowly. “Tony, stop fretting over who shall and who shall not go to Berkeley Square and go back into the ballroom, where you will find Toby, Gil, and Lynsted, I believe, and perhaps even Carrisbrooke, if he has not gone off already. Since he was making sheep’s eyes at Miss Waring the last time I saw him, we may hope that he is still within. I need them all, at once, but do not frighten Fahd away when you go, and try to return without causing him undue distress.” He glanced toward the opposite end of the room. “Do those French windows overlook the garden?” he asked Brittany.
“Yes, and there is a rostrum with a flight of steps leading down to the terrace, similar to the long balcony off the ballroom.”
He nodded at Faringdon. “That’s the dandy, then. We are going to provide a full escort for Miss Zara here, one that Fahd will know nothing about but will think twice about confronting if matters don’t go entirely according to plan. Don’t argue, Tony, there isn’t time. Just do as I tell you and leave by the door as though you are fed up with whatever has transpired in here.”
Faringdon obeyed at once and Alicia said nothing at all when he had gone. She seemed too much in awe of Cheriton’s crisp decisiveness to argue with him.
Brittany, however, had no such qualm and had been reminded of an earlier point. “Alicia was right, you know, sir,” she said. “It will scarcely appease the ambassador if Zara should return with only a lot of gentlemen for company. Shall I find my maid, Sarah, to act as her chaperon?”
“Let me think,” he said. He looked at Zara and then back at Brittany. “Seems to me that the biggest problem we have is in keeping that Fahd person distracted until we can get his victim out of this house. You are rather tall for the part, I think, but your gown is nearly the same color as hers, so if you borrow that shawl thing she has draped over her elbows, perhaps we can make him believe you are Zara if we plan the thing well enough.”
“I am more her size,” Alicia pointed out diffidently.
“But you are wearing white and Fahd has been following you as well as Zara,” he replied. “Moreover, I can trust your sister to do as she is bid.” He did not elaborate, but Alicia grew bright red and turned away, rather quickly.
“But you have not said about Sarah,” Brittany protested. She did not dispute his notion that she might pretend to be the slender little Circassian. If he said it could be done, that was enough. But she feared he did not comprehend the full difficulty that would be involved in attempting to return Zara to Berkeley Square without mishap.
He did not reply, for he was thinking, and there was silence in the room for several moments until the French windows opened to admit Faringdon, looking distraught and followed closely by Raven
wood, Lord Toby Welshpool, Sir David Lynsted, Roger Carrisbrooke, and a tall, slender, white-haired lady, elegantly attired in purple satin, a lady upon whom Brittany had never before clapped her eyes.
“She would come,” Faringdon said, his tone a mixture of apology and sardonic humor, “and Toby would have it that she might be of help, though I cannot think how.”
In a tone filled with deep amusement, Cheriton said, “I might have expected it, I suppose. Good evening, ma’am. I trust you are enjoying the ball. Lady Brittany was afraid Malmesbury’s servants might forbid your entrance at the door.”
Turning nearly as red as Alicia, Brittany muttered furiously, “Of all the things you might have chosen to say, Cheriton, that is surely the worst. I presume this lady is your mama, but if this is the way you customarily introduce people to her, why, your manners are worse than … than Tony’s.” She stepped quickly forward. “How do you do, ma’am? I am Brittany Leighton, and I fear you discover us in a rare pickle.” Her earlier image of Cheriton’s mother had altered a number of times already, but none of the possibilities, she saw now, had even begun to approach the reality.
With her sparkling blue eyes peering shrewdly through a gold-rimmed lorgnette attached to a gold-and-ivory wand, the dowager looked Brittany over from tip to toe rather as though she were a prize mare, but the examination was a swift one and the words that followed were spoken in a light voice that rippled with suppressed laughter. “You are far more beautiful than I had thought you might be, my dear. Someone Cheriton never got ’round to mentioning your looks in his letters, which is one reason I found it necessary to hie myself to London to get a proper look at you.”
“Mama,” the marquess said hastily with a sharp sidelong look at Brittany, “we are in the deuce of a tangle here, but you can help us if you will. This is Zara. Zara, my mother, the dowager Marchioness of Cheriton.”
The girl curtsied deeply and the marchioness nodded her head. “How do you do, gel? Does he mean to imply that you are the problem? I thought it rather odd of all these gentlemen to insist upon effecting an entrance to this room by way of the garden, but one was curious, you know, and one can still manage stairs. I suppose someone will explain it all to me in due time.”
