He shrugged. “Who knows, I may even agree to accompany you to Lady Ursula’s dinner once my mind is sufficiently fogged with brandy and exhaustion.”
The hour of eight had come and gone by the time Tristan and Garth arrived at the Ramsden townhouse on Friday evening. But then, time had become so blurred during the sen’night they’d been on the town, they had long ago ceased to distinguish day from night.
A bit worse for wear, they departed the hackney coach they’d hired to transport them from the Clarendon. Standing together at the base of the stairs, they regarded the imposing door of the townhouse with a certain amount of trepidation.
Garth was the first to break the uneasy silence. “We must be more than an hour late. Mama will be furious. She is a stickler where promptness is concerned.”
“Not to worry. Lady Ursula is a dear soul who will excuse our tardiness when we explain the reason for it,” Tristan said with far more assurance than he actually felt.
Garth looked skeptical. “What is our reason?”
Tristan racked his exhausted brain for a plausible answer to his brother’s weighty question, but the effort proved to be beyond him. “I shall think of something if the subject arises,” he said vaguely. “Which I doubt it will. There are always so many people at these affairs; we have probably not yet been missed.”
He glanced about him, suddenly aware that the multitude of carriages which normally lined the street when a member of the ton entertained was nowhere to be seen. He recognized one of the only two drawn up before the townhouse as Caleb Harcourt’s landau, but he could not place the fashionable black barouche that sat behind it.
“This is Friday, isn’t it?” he asked as a suspicion dawned that in their frantic, and fruitless, pursuit of pleasure since arriving in London, they might have managed to outrun time itself.
“I feel quite certain it is.” Garth rubbed his temples as if the very act would stimulate his sluggish brain. “In fact I know it is. I distinctly remember one of the porters at the hotel mentioning as much.”
“Then this is either a very small dinner party or we are, in fact, early rather than late.” The thought was so heartening, they immediately advanced up the stairs arm in arm, raised the brass doorknocker and gave it a resounding rap.
The footman who answered the door was the young Irishman whom Lady Ursula had insisted on bringing up to London from Winterhaven. Relief was apparent on his freckled face. “‘Tis glad I am to see you, milords. You’re the last to arrive. The other guests are all in the small salon off the dining room.”
“All of them?” Garth raised an eyebrow. “It’s a small dinner party then.”
“Very small, milord. A table of nine to be exact.”
“Nine? That in itself is odd. In fact, this dinner party grows odder by the minutes.” Garth glanced uneasily at Tristan. “Mama is usually so careful to perfectly balance her guest lists. I cannot understand what she is thinking of.”
“Actually, ‘tis Lady Carolyn who done the invitin’, with Miss Harcourt’s help, of course,” the young Irishman vouchsafed. A pixie-like grin tipped the corners of his generous mouth. “Lady Ursula has had other things on her mind, if you take my meanin’.”
Tristan surmised he referred to the upcoming wedding. He couldn’t imagine what else could be occupying the countess’s mind with the event but three weeks off.
The footman relieved them of their hats and gloves, then ushered them down the hall. “I’ll be announcin’ you meself if you’ve no objection. For ‘tis that anxious the two young ladies are, and I’ll not keep them waitin’ for old Frobisher, the butler, to do the honors.”
So saying, he threw open the door to the salon and announced, “‘Tis them as you’ve been waitin’ for milady.”
“Garth! Tristan! Thank heavens you’ve finally arrived.” Lady Ursula left Caleb Harcourt’s side to glide toward them, a euphoric smile wreathing her face. “Cook just informed me she cannot keep dinner back one more minute and Frobisher is positively incensed over the disruption to his household schedule.” She blew them each a kiss, sent one Harcourt’s way as well, and glided on to the bell pull hanging beside the doorjamb. “I’ll ring the testy old grouch to let him know you’re here,” she said with what sounded suspiciously like a giggle.
Tristan exchanged a quizzical look with Garth. He could scarcely believe the fey creature who’d greeted them so blithely was the same prim and proper woman he had known since a lad of six. Nor could he equate the huge man regarding her with a mooncalf grin on his face to the stern-featured cit he had dealt with in the past.
But a minute later, he forgot both the countess and Caleb Harcourt. Like a homing pigeon gone to roost, his gaze flew to Maddy, to the exclusion of everyone and everything else. She was standing against the far wall, talking to Caro, and she was wearing the same leaf-green frock she’d worn when they’d said their good-byes at Winterhaven. The sight of her literally took his breath away.
His woolgathering was interrupted by a strangled, keening sound, much like that of a morally wounded animal. Startled, he realized it emanated from Garth, who stood beside him in the doorway, his gaze riveted on three people seated on a jade-green Kentian settee a few feet from where Maddy and Carolyn stood.
Tristan blinked, unable to believe his eyes. The stiff-necked gentleman in wine-colored satin evening attire who was perched in the exact center of the lion-clawed monstrosity was Viscount Tinsdale, and the two ladies flanking him were his wife and daughter, Lady Sarah Summerhill.
“How could she be so cruel?” Garth gasped, his rigid fingers gripping Tristan’s arm like an eagle’s talons. But whether he was asking how his sister could be so cruel as to invite her, or how Lady Sarah could be so cruel as to attend a party celebrating his betrothal to another, was not immediately apparent.
A helpless, smoldering rage consumed Tristan. Protocol dictated that, as his brother’s best man, he must expect to be subjected to social contact with Maddy until this blasted wedding was over; but there was no earthly reason why Garth should have to endure the pain and humiliation of seeing Sarah.
Instinctively, he sought Maddy’s eyes, fearful of what he might see. But far from looking bewildered or downcast by the bizarre collection of guests she appeared defiant—even militant, if the fire in her amber eyes could be believed.
Caro stood beside her, her expression equally combative and beyond them sat Lady Sarah, looking more like a small, determined bulldog about to lock its teeth around a bone than her usual timid self.
A shiver crawled along Tristan’s spine and somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach a hard, cold knot formed. It was a reaction remarkably similar to the one that had foreshadowed his entrance into the tortuous traboules of Lyon. Something equally dark and secretive was brewing here. In truth, he felt as if he were sitting on a keg of gunpowder just inches from a lighted flint.
With a few long strikes, he crossed the room to confront Maddy and Caro. “What the devil is going on here? And which one of you is the sadist who planned this hellish party?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper only they could hear.
Two sets of eyes—one pair amber, the other blue—regarded him with stoic recalcitrance. Neither owner of said eyes deigned to answer him.
“Speak up, you two. What is going on here?”
“The party is my doing,” Maddy declared defiantly. “I have gathered this particular group of people together in order to right a wrong done your brother by my father.”
“Maddy has an idea to thwart her father’s plan,” Caro explained.
Tristan groaned. He had witnessed enough of Maddy’s efforts at righting wrongs to be aware that someone usually ended up with his head bashed in. This time it could very easily be Garth.
“Did it never occur to you that you are playing with fire here, Maddy?” he asked, barely managing to control his temper. “Your father is a stubborn, opinionated man who firmly believes he is doing the right thing. It is beyond foolish to tamper with such a man and
his objectives when he holds all the cards.”
Maddy elevated her chin a notch higher. “But he doesn’t—hold the cards, that is. I do.”
“She stole them,” Caro said. “With my help.”
Tristan stared from one flushed face to the other, the knot in his stomach tightening by the second. “She did what?”
He received no answer to his urgent question for the simple reason that at that very moment Frobisher, the butler, appeared in the doorway to announce, “Dinner is served.”
Conversation at the dinner table was desultory, to say the least. But Maddy had expected no less considering the odd collection of guests Caro and she had assembled in Lady Ursula’s name.
Caro was no help whatsoever. She was jumpy as a flea on a hot rock, and the enormity of the project facing them before the evening ended had rendered her virtually tongue-tied.
Viscount Tinsdale was grimly silent, devoting all his energy to gorging himself on the incredibly mediocre turbot fillets Sauvignon and woodcock flambé served up by Lady Ursula’s so-called French chef. Lady Tinsdale, on the other hand, ate little and said less, but merely watched her daughter with worried eyes.
As well she might. Sarah had done nothing but stare soulfully into Garth’s eyes since the moment they entered the dining room. In retrospect, Maddy realized it had been a serious mistake to seat the two of them across the table from each other. Unless Sarah pulled herself together, she would be of even less help than Caro in the confrontation to come.
Maddy found herself wondering if Tristan would ever again look at her with his heart in his eyes. He had reverted to his old, surly self once she had confessed her plan to do battle with her father, and the looks he was casting her way at the moment were anything but soulful.
She sniffed. But wouldn’t the ungrateful wretch sing a different tune once she’d accomplished her mission!
Surreptitiously, she stole a guilty glance at her father, wondering if he had any inkling what was in store for him. It was all too obvious, from the ridiculous look on his face, that he had nothing on his mind except his silly flirtation with Lady Ursula—and the countess appeared every bit as engrossed in him.
This came as no surprise. Caro had warned earlier, “Do not count on Mama to side with us against Mr. Harcourt. The two of them have been smelling of April and May ever since they announced the betrothal of their offspring.”
Maddy sighed. She could plainly see that if anything were to be accomplished this evening toward convincing her father to see reason, she would have to be the one to accomplish it. So be it, then. The weeks since her grandfather’s death had taught her she was made of stern enough stuff to face any challenge.
Finally, the interminable dinner was over and the service plates removed. Maddy swallowed the lump of fear filling her throat, took a last furtive look at Tristan’s handsome, scowling face, and with Father Bertrand’s cross clutched tightly in her fingers, rose to her feet. Clearing her throat, she launched into her shocking edict before Lady Ursula could suggest the ladies withdraw to leave the gentlemen to their port and cheroots.
Chapter Fifteen
“I have two announcements to make,” Maddy said in a clear, strong voice, though her knees where knocking so badly, she had to brace her hands on the table to keep from dropping back into her chair.
All eyes turned toward her. The incredulous expressions on the various faces around the table reminded her that this kind of public display was not what was expected of a well-bred young lady. But with dogged determination, she plowed on.
“First, I have come to the conclusion that I am one of those ‘heaven forbid bluestockings’ both the earl and Lady Ursula find so unacceptable,” she continued, “and as such, I flatly refuse to attend any more of the boring social affairs of the ton, except possibly the Ladies’ Book Review Club and the Friends of the British Museum Society.”
A cumulative gasp rose around the table, with the exception of Caro and Lady Sarah, who smiled their agreement, and Tristan, of course, who showed no reaction whatsoever. Taking advantage of their shocked silence, Maddy continued. “Such questionable delights as amateur musicales, Venetian breakfasts, and especially those dreadful Wednesday evening affairs at Almack’s are a complete waste of time for an intelligent woman.”
“Stow it, Maddy,” her father growled. “I’ll have no such blasphemy spoken in the presence of refine gentlewomen.”
“Hush, my dear. Let me handle this.” Lady Ursula laid her small white hand over Caleb Harcourt’s large tanned one. “I understand your feelings in this matter, Madelaine. Naturally, the lifestyle of the British aristocracy is much more demanding than that to which you have been accustomed and you will have to put forth a certain amount of effort to fit in. But one must look at such things sensibly. How can you hope to be a proper Countess of Rand if you refuse to fulfill your social obligations?”
“My point exactly, my lady. I have been doing my best to persuade both you and my father that I am not at all suited for the position. But neither of you will listen to me.”
“You’ll do just fine,” her father insisted. “All you need is a few of the lessons Lady Ursula suggested…and a change of attitude.”
“My attitude is not going to change, Papa, and I cannot think of a single accomplishment required of a proper lady of the ton that is of the slightest interest to me. Why should I take lessons to learn how to do things that bore me to flinders?”
“But my dear Madelaine, think of Garth,” Lady Ursula exclaimed, looking ready to burst into tears. “Surely you would not want to disgrace him.”
“Of course not. I am very fond of the earl,” Maddy declared, secretly congratulating herself that she had so cleverly maneuvered the countess into saying exactly what she wanted to hear. “Which leads me to my second announcement.” She turned to face Garth, who looked even more pale and unhappy than usual. “I hereby release you from the offer of marriage which my father coerced you into making me, my lord.”
A flush suffused the earl’s cheeks and his mouth opened and closed, then opened again, but not a sound passed his lips.
“Sit down and behave yourself, Maddy,” her father ordered in a voice that in its day had sent a shipload of sailors scurrying up the rigging of one of his brigantines. “We have had this discussion before. I told you then where I stood; nothing has happened since to change my mind about pursuing certain actions should this marriage fail to come about.”
He shrugged. “And as for the earl, he will just have to be patient until his mama can take some of the rough edges off you. After all, he made his choice of brides of his own free will. No one held a pistol to his head.”
“Of his own free will, eh?” Maddy knelt down and retrieved the stack of debts accrued by the Fourth Earl, which she had hidden beneath her chair earlier in the day. “And what of these interesting documents, which have all been endorsed over to you by the original note-holders, Papa? Did they not play some part in his decision?”
Her father’s eyes widened in astonishment, as did those of the earl and Tristan. “Devil take it, you devious little baggage, where did you get those?” he bellowed.
“She stole them from your desk with my help,” Carol said, leaping to her feet. “And how dare you call Maddy devious, you…you blackmailer.”
Maddy watched her father’s face turn a virulent purple, and she held her breath, afraid he might have an attack of apoplexy. Whatever havoc he had wrought with his foolish plan, he was still her father, and she had come to love the stubborn old tyrant.
“Caleb, dear, do not overset yourself,” Lady Ursula urged. “I am certain this is all just a misunderstanding that can be cleared up with a simple explanation.”
Her voice hardened to a tone Maddy had never before heard her use. “Sit down this minute, Carolyn,” she demanded. “And you, too, Madelaine. I don’t know what the two of you have done, but it sounds terribly wicked and I am certain you owe dear Caleb an apology.”
“I will not
sit down and I will not apologize, my lady,” Maddy declared. “It is my father who should apologize to me and to the earl for trying to force us into a marriage neither of us want. If he had truly loved me, as he claimed, he would have destroyed these records of the old earl’s debts and set us both free to marry where our hearts lie.”
She stole a look at Tristan to see his reaction to her telling statement, but the scowl on his handsome face was anything but encouraging.
“I, too, refuse to apologize,” Caro said in a show of stubborn support that gladdened Maddy’s bruised heart. “I stand with Maddy. Mr. Harcourt should be ashamed of himself for playing God with other people’s lives.” She folded her arms and glazed defiantly at the table in general.
“Dear, oh dear, what a coil.” Lady Ursula slumped in her chair and promptly dissolved into tears.
“I also stand with Maddy.” Lady Sarah rose to her feet. “And Mr. Harcourt is not the only person at this table who should be ashamed of himself.”
“Sit down, Sarah! Immediately!” Viscount Tinsdale raised his quizzing glass to stare coldly at his daughter. “What has possessed you to act in such a manner? This tasteless business is none of your concern. In fact, I believe it is high time we took our leave of this ill-begotten gathering.”
Sarah tossed her head defiantly. “I will not sit down, Papa and I will not leave. I have never before disobeyed you, but in this you are wrong. Anything to do with Garth Ramsden is very much my concern. I am twenty-four-years old and I have waited for him since we made our pledges to each other when I was but fourteen…”
“Sarah, darling, don’t do this. I cannot bear it,” Garth cried, covering his face with his hands.
Sarah stared at Garth’s bowed head for a moment, her eyes bleak. Then she faced her father anew. “You knew I loved Garth. Yet, when I begged you to help him, you said you couldn’t spare the money because you had contracted to buy a series of expensive paintings for your famous collection. I wish you joy of them, Papa. For if I cannot have Garth, I will have no man. I will go to my grave a spinster, and you will never have a grandson to cheer you in your old age.”
The Misguided Matchmaker Page 23
