by Joan Vincent
He bowed slightly and waited until she had left the salon. “Does she still hold a tendre for Geoff? Do you know what occurred between them?” he asked his mother.
“She has never spoken of it, but her tears were frequent those first months. I have never understood it, for I was certain they cared for each other. What of this Miss Aderly?”
“I am not sure how Geoff feels toward her. He claims she is merely a good friend and he did ask of Lucille—if she ever spoke of him. If only he would come to London,” he ended, pacing away.
“Affairs of the heart are best not meddled with,” Lady Mandel warned. “Those who would play Cupid are more oft burned by the shaft than those they would pierce.
“What is meant to be, will be,” she sighed sadly. “What do you think of Miss Aderly?”
Slight colour came to Greydon’s face at the unexpected question. “I have not—not met her,” he said, turning from his mother’s curious gaze. “But Geoff speaks well of her.” The earl forced the vision of Audacia from his mind.
“Ah, you have returned,” he greeted his sister with relief and hurriedly bade farewell to his mother.
Chapter 11
The bright April sunshine was held at bay by the heavy damask draperies in Lord Greydon’s bachelor quarter’s bedchamber. A soiree given by Harriet Wilson’s fair set had kept his lordship out until early dawn. He had given orders not to be awakened until late afternoon. His only commitment for the day was the evening escort of Lady Mandel and his sister to the Darbys.
Arguing voices reached Roland’s ears beneath the down pillow. He reached blindly to pull a second atop it. When the tones faded, he relaxed and stretched his full length, determined to sleep once more.
The sound of his door latch and heavy footsteps into his room roused the earl once more. At the squeak of the curtain rings being pulled back, he threw pillows and blankets aside. The brilliant sunlight caused him to blink and shade his eyes while an oath informed the visitor of Greydon’s feelings at being so abruptly awakened.
“What? No ‘thank you’ for not using the trumpet as I oft did in our military days?” Squire Webster asked him plaintively. He poured a glass half full of port and handing it to his friend, who sat on the side of the bed holding his head.
“Drink this,” he instructed. “Your looks indicate need of it.” Taking the emptied glass, the squire returned it to the table and then tossed Greydon his dressing gown.
“When did you arrive in London?” the earl asked as he shrugged into it. “Why didn’t you send word you were coming?”
“Only decided a few days past that I was,” Geoffrey returned. “Will you have space in these quarters for me?”
“It will be arranged of course.” Roland, his eyes finally consenting to stay open and his mind shifting into motion, studied his friend.
“My God, Geoff!” he exclaimed at the rough-bearded, mud-spattered, worn figure before him. “Are you well?”
Geoffrey waved aside his concern.
“How did you manage to get past Cranby in your state?”
“There are few men with my looks seeking entry into an earl’s bedchamber,” Geoffrey replied motioning to his empty sleeve. “It does have its uses, you see,” he joked.
Roland’s eyes narrowed and lips tightened as guilt wrenched him.
“What have you learned about Audacia?” the squire asked as he plopped tiredly into an overstuffed chair. The questions that had driven him in such haste to London Geoffrey wasn’t able to voice.
“Is the chit the reason for your madcap riding across England? I assured you I would see to her. Don’t you realize you could have—”
“Could have done what, Roland? Why am I less fit for the ride than you?” he challenged softly.
“I did not mean that.” Greydon waved his hand irritably, hesitant to continue.
“Perhaps it would be best if I stayed elsewhere—my brother may have returned to town,” Geoffrey said, rising.
“No, friend. I am sorry—for both my words and my temper. Neither of us is fit for humanity at the moment. Have Cranby see to your needs and rest for a time.
“Miss Aderly is quite safe. In fact I am to attend a soiree in her honour this eve. The Darbys are opening the season for us. And young Darby has been seen nowhere,” Greydon answered the question on Webster’s lips.
“I am frightfully worn,” Geoffrey admitted. “I should have gotten lodgings and refreshed myself before calling upon you.”
“Nonsense, old man. Glad to have you. Told you to come to London. We’ve had some bloody good times here and will do so again.”
“We’ve both changed since then, Roland,” hr replied sadly. “Has . . . have Lord and Lady Mandel arrived?”
“They must have been the first to return. You know my father—eager to see he is not outmanoeuvred.”
“And Lady Lucille?”
“She came with them, of course. You shall see her this eve. She’s in high looks if I may tender a brotherly opinion,” Greydon answered.
“I am certain that is true.” The squire turned toward the door. “Excuse me now while I take advantage of your offer. When must you leave this eve?”
“Oh, no. You are going to go with me or I shall remain here also. The thought of encountering Miss Aderly alone is not comforting,” he half joked. “Sleep till six; we shall still be able to man the parapets in time.”
* * * *
“A letter, sir. From Miss Audacia I believe,” Ballin said, handing the missive to Sir Aderly.
The large, grey-haired baronet broke the seal and read hurriedly. “The date, Ballin, what is today’s date?
“Thursday, sir. The fourteenth.”
“Then it shall be decided this eve.”
“May I ask what shall be, sir?”
“Mayhap the entire outcome of my daughter’s time in London. I needn’t mince words with you Ballin. The Darbys are holding a soiree for Audacia this eve and who attends shall determine a great deal. Audacia has made no mention of making or receiving any morning calls since their arrival. Only writes of shopping expeditions and strolls in the parks. It may prove that I was very unwise to send her off alone.”
“But Miss Strowne is with her,” Ballin protested.
“Her aid to Audacia can only be of a limited sort. If the gentry and peers will not accept Audacia, no one can help her,” Sir Aderly said shaking his head.
“Shall we join them, then, sir?” the butler asked, restraining his eagerness.
“We cannot. Our work must be completed. If all goes well, perhaps we can carry the letters of patent to London in May.”
“Well, then, sir, why are we loitering about?” Ballin asked, striding towards the workshop.
Sir Aderly gaped in surprise. Although a good assistant, Ballin had never before shown anything but restrained interest in the work.
* * * *
“Is this necessary,” Geoffrey protested as Greydon made a fourth attempt at tying the squire’s cravat. “I thought you said this was to be a soiree—not a grand ball.”
“First impressions are the most important. Do you want the guests to think we are merely deigning to appear on a whim? No. You’ve been gone from London too long if you have forgotten the importance of dress,” Roland answered, his face contorted in concentration. “Surely you remember Brummel’s example?”
“Where did you manage to find these dress clothes in so short a time?”
“Hold steady now. You are worse than a schoolboy and your memory just as faulty. As I explained earlier, Weston aided me. There.” He straightened the last fold. “A masterpiece.”
Geoffrey turned to the looking glass and was not unsatisfied. As a gentleman farmer he paid heed to little other than comfort in his garments, but this eve he presented a far different aspect. He eyed the effect of the silver blue cravat lying in artistic folds in the lace of the frilled dress shirt. The darker blue of his waistcoat contrasted sharply with the white, snug-fitting breeches. He nodded approval
.
After shrugging into his own black evening coat, Greydon held out a blue jay-coloured coat for Geoffrey.
“Are you not rather sombre, Roland?” Geoffrey asked, taking in the black breeches, waistcoat, and coat of the other. The stark white of the plain tucked shirt was in complete contrast to the earl’s cravat.
“Suits my humour,” Greydon said, wondering if he was wise not to tell Geoff they were to escort his mother and sister.
What if I err? Uneasy shadows filled his gaze.
“Mine also.” The squire thought of the expected encounter at the soiree. What shall I see in her eyes? he silently questioned. His jaw tightened. “Don’t forget to pin the sleeve.”
Greydon flinched at the look. He motioned Cranby to see to it.
Inwardly sighing, the squire looked past the valet at his reflection. What chance was there?
Seeing his friend’s deep frown, Greydon took him by the arm. “We shall be late if we tarry longer.” He drew him forward.
A short while later Geoffrey looked out the window of the earl’s closed coach as it slowed. “Why this is Berkeley Square.” He recognized Landsdowne House. “What?” He had a sudden insight into Greydon’s tenseness when the coach halted before the Mandel’s town house.
“Promised to escort Mother and Lucille,” the earl said with strained cheerfulness. “Your coming happily evens out the number.” He stepped down.
“But I cannot come without warning.”
The earl’s haunted gaze halted his words.
“I sent a note, Geoff. You are expected and welcome.”
Taking a deep breath, the squire joined him.
“‘Twill be better here than amongst a crush of strangers,” Greydon attempted to explain. “And if you appear as friends less note will be taken of the past.”
“Best be to this quickly then.” Webster walked past him and through the door open by an alert footman.
“Earl Greydon. The Honourable Geoffrey Webster,” the butler announced to the two women in the salon.
“Geoffrey, it is a pleasure to see you once again,” Lady Mandel rose immediately, walking to him with a warm smile.
“And you also.” He bowed, his stiffness lessening beneath the sincerity of her greeting. His eyes swung involuntarily to Lady Lucille and could think of no one, of nothing but her.
He walked slowly forward and took the hand Lady Lucille offered, raised it to his lips as he hungrily drank in a vision he had despaired of seeing again. He loved her still.
“I was . . . I was surprised that you . . . that is,” Lady Lucille faltered; her carefully practised welcome a shambles. She paled, lowered her eyes from his questioning gaze, not daring to reveal further his effect on her.
“I am in London to see a friend, Miss Audacia Aderly,” Geoffrey said with forced nonchalance. “I imposed on Roland for quarters while I’m in town. He felt obliged to bring me this eve. I am sorry that it dismays you,” he apologized with a stiff bow.
“Nonsense.” Lady Mandel rescued the pair from further damage. “You will always be welcome.” She looked pointedly at her daughter.
“Yes, I did not mean otherwise.” Lady Lucille managed a smile. “It is good to see you looking so well.”
“I am far better than when we last met,” the squire agreed.
The smile froze on her lips; her eyes darkened with an old sorrow as she took in the pinned sleeve for the first time. Lucille turned to her brother, reaching for his arm. “I do believe we should be going.”
“Our wraps,” Lady Mandel said as she nodded to the butler. “It is still cool of an evening,” she chatted with Geoffrey. “Ah, here they are.”
Greydon took his sister’s wrap and laid the tasselled silk garment about her shoulders.
Realizing the squire could not do likewise, the butler hesitated momentarily, then placed Lady Mandel’s for him.
The earl’s jaw clenched as he watched the look exchanged by Lucille and Geoffrey. Had he done no more than bring them pain once again?
* * * *
For Audacia the day had been filled with the harried activity of last-minute details for the soiree. Accustomed to the small gatherings of the gentry at Bedworth, she could see no reason for Lady Darby’s excessive nervousness and went calmly about arranging flowers and checking the various appointments while the other fluttered at their tasks. At last the viscountess deemed preparations complete and sentenced everyone to their rooms for rest.
At six the alarm was raised throughout the house as Lady Darby ordered everyone to begin dressing for the evening. Curling irons, petticoats, cravats, and hair ribbons caused much running about as abigails and maids attempted to satisfy all.
In her room Audacia found it difficult to restrain her laughter as even Lord Darby’s man scurried back and forth with freshly ironed shirts and unmentionables. Having allowed Miss Bea to assist her with petticoat and gown, Audacia then sent her to aid Helene, who was to be allowed to attend the gathering.
The excitement generated by the others was proving contagious. Impatient, Audacia decided she would walk about the house. At the stairs she encountered Trotter.
“Miss, I was just bringing this to you. A boy brought it with instructions it be given you,” he said, holding out a white box.
“What can it be?” she asked, looking suspiciously at the box with thoughts of Helene’s pranks keenly in mind.
“One will have to open it. Perhaps the sender has enclosed a card,” Trotter suggested.
“Please open it for me, Mr. Trotter,” Audacia instructed, stepping back.
The impenetrable face didn’t flinch even though the gloved hand hesitated before removing the lid. A faint smile came to his lips as he gazed into the box.
Audacia stepped closer and looked also. A soft “ohh” came from her as she reached in and gently removed the posy of wild Warwickshire flowers.
Wood sorrel, greater stitchwort, and white dead nettles, each with its delicate white blossom, combined to make a bewitching fairy’s bouquet. All the loneliness Audacia had been carrying within for the countryside was answered by these flowers’ delicate fragrance. Her eyes flew eagerly back to the box to see who had met her heart’s need. “There is no card,” she said, her disappointment keen. “The boy made no mention of who had given it to him? Are you certain it was for me?”
“He said it was for Miss Aderly but did not mention any other name. It is a most unusual posy and must have been meant for you,” Trotter offered, bending his usual nonchalance slightly.
“Audacia, why are you standing about there? You should be resting,” Lady Darby called from her room’s doorway. “What is that you hold?” she asked, walking briskly toward the pair.
Bowing, the butler withdrew to retake his post at the main entrance. The time for the guests’ arrival was drawing near.
“Why, is it a posy of flowers? Oh.” The viscountess stared at the bouquet. “You did not tell me you had a beau,” she accused.
“But I have none. Who could have sent them?”
“They are most curious—almost like . . . weeds.”
“Some may consider them just that,” Audacia noted, keeping a rein on her temper. “But to me they are lovelier than any common rose, for they speak of home to me.” She tenderly caressed the fragile foliage.
“Of your home? Oh, then your father would have sent them. Of course you wrote and told him of our little fete.” The viscountess’ look and manner eased. “They are absolutely perfect for your gown. Why, look how they reflect the silver tissue.
“Let me fasten it for you. Patrick will simply not believe his good fortune,” she twittered on. “There—lovely, my dear. I must write and congratulate your father on his taste.” Lady Darby gathered her skirts in hand.
“Helene! Everyone! Come along,” she called out and sailed regally down the stairs.
Following slowly, Audacia gazed at the dainty posy and wondered who had sent it, for her father could scarcely have gotten her letter telling of
the soiree. He never would have had time to send the wildflowers. Who?
* * * *
“My lord,” Lady Darby whispered to her husband, “can you believe our good fortune? Why we shall be able to say we had a true crush. Even Lord and Lady Saltoun are here, and you know they attend only the best affairs.” She paused as another couple was announced and approached the receiving line.
Busy greeting these newcomers, Audacia did not hear those who were announced next. It was Lady Darby’s voice droning another introduction that caught her attention.
“Lady Mandel, may I introduce the daughter of Sir Maurice Aderly, Audacia. Audacia, this is the Marchioness of Mandel and her daughter, Lady Lucille.” Lady Darby preened herself through the introduction of yet another much sought-after guest.
Greetings were barely finished with this pair when Audacia found her hand engulfed by a much larger one.
“The Honourable Miss Audacia Aderly, I present Earl Greydon. Lord Greydon,” the viscountess said unctuously.
Having been benumbed by all the constantly changing names and faces, the name Greydon made no impression. She curtsied and mechanically raised her eyes only when the gentleman’s large hand did not free her own.
A sharp indrawn breath marked her recognition of those dark, probing eyes. Trying to pull her hand back, she found it remained a prisoner.
“My lady,” Greydon spoke to Lady Darby while keeping his grip, “may I have the honour of the first dance with your guest?”
“Oh, my. I had hoped Patrick would be here,” she twittered. “He was to have been Audacia’s partner in the opening set. It would be so nice a touch that he and Audacia follow us . . .” The viscountess paused to reflect: her son was tardy and it would be quite a social feather to have this most eligible lord escort Audacia. The grimace she saw settle upon the young woman’s face as the earl gazed upon her settled Lady Darby’s hesitancy.
“Of course, my lord. Audacia will be most honoured if you would escort her. We shall form the set in just a few moments.”
