by Brenda Hiatt
She nodded wordlessly, the intensity of his grey eyes having a disturbing effect on her pulse. Had he recognised her? Now she wasn't so sure.
"That would be splendid, your grace," Angela answered for her. "Is it too much to hope that you could see your way clear to obtain the entrée to Almack's for my sister?" she asked then.
"I already have the matter in hand, my lady, I assure you," he replied, suddenly appearing bored again. "And now, I must take my leave, I fear. I am expected at White's."
Brie tried to ignore the obsequious manners of her brother-in-law and, to a lesser extent, of her sister as they bade the Duke farewell, with many protestations of gratitude for something he was clearly doing against his will. Embarrassed, she tried to compensate by taking leave of him as quietly and composedly as was possible without actual coldness. As her eyes were downcast, she missed the look of approval he cast at her before he turned to go.
"Almack's!" Angela exclaimed, almost before the front door had closed behind him. "'Tis too good to be true, I declare! You did very well after all, Seymour!" She seemed in charity with all the world at that moment. "If Ravenham requests vouchers for us, Lady Jersey will never let that little misunderstanding we had stand in the way. Why just everyone knows she positively dotes on him. Almack's," she concluded dreamily.
Turning to Brie, she continued in a more businesslike manner. "First thing tomorrow we must order you that brown velvet riding habit which the Duke recommended. His taste is absolutely impeccable, you know; we must let him guide us as far as possible in matters of dress."
Brie wondered if this would apply to Angela's dress, of which his grace obviously disapproved. She doubted it.
"Perhaps I can change some of the gowns we have already ordered to blue and rose," Angela continued. "Madsen! Bring me paper and pen and send for a footman at once." She engaged herself with writing notes to the dressmakers, and Brie was finally able to slip up to her room to think.
Settling herself upon the chaise among the soothing blues of her bedchamber, Brie carefully reviewed the Duke's visit. On reflection, she was not at all certain that he had recognised her as the shabby girl who had berated him at the Ruby Crown four days earlier. She had changed quite a bit since then, she had to admit. And so had he. Oh, he was as handsome as ever, with his powerful build, curling chestnut hair and cool grey eyes— which had warmed once or twice today. That was just it. He hadn't resembled the cold, arrogant beast at the inn in the least, and she did not know what to make of that.
Remembering the inn, a vision of the Duke's poor mistreated horse jumped unbidden to her mind. Could the man she had met today be capable of such cruelty? It seemed incredible, but she recalled that he had not even attempted to deny her accusations at the time. No doubt he was so affable today simply because he was among people he wished to impress. From what Angela had told her, the Duke held an extremely high position in Society, and no doubt that position would suffer if his true nature became known. She smiled to herself. Perhaps here was a weapon which, properly wielded, could force his grace to treat his animals better.
* * *
The next morning was another whirlwind of activity throughout every shop in London, it seemed to Brie, as her sister sought feverishly to comply with the Duke of Ravenham's recommendations. Half-made-up gowns were disposed of in favour of others of similar style but in hues more flattering to Miss Gordon's colouring. Now despised were the whites and pastels which had been so imperiously demanded but two days before; these were pronounced impossibly passé, and summarily replaced by the deep roses and rich blues his grace had decreed.
Brie could not help feeling that all of this was entirely frivolous, as well as ridiculously expensive. Why, the amount of money being spent, nay, even that being wasted on the changes, would feed most of their small Gloucestershire village for several years!
Even so, she could not bring herself to be displeased with the new riding habit which was ordered, though it alone cost more than some horses would. Surely, if anything was worth the expense, this was: a rich, golden brown velvet that exactly matched her hair, even to its changing highlights. She knew she would look well in it, and could scarcely wait for it to be finished. Its completion would also mean that she could resume riding, which had always been a large, and beloved, part of her life, though most had hitherto been in the course of helping with her father's practice.
Upon leaving the last of the shops, that of the particularly exclusive (and expensive) modiste, Madame Boujais, the sisters encountered Sir Frederick More. He immediately turned to walk with them, as charming and affable as ever. Angela preened under his compliments and possessively took his arm, though he still managed to bestow a flattering amount of attention on Brie. She still found him every bit as pleasant as she had at the theatre, and could not but be pleased at his comments about her changed appearance.
"Gadsteeth, 'tis like a miracle, Miss Gordon!" he exclaimed almost at once. "You were pretty enough the other night, but now you have added fashion to your other charms. Once the Season is well under way, I dare swear I shall have to stand in line to so much as speak with you." She was quick to deny this, replying that no amount of popularity could cause her to forget his kindness on her first evening in London. He took his leave as they reached their carriage, his smile bestowed equally upon the sisters.
"I must warn you against taking Sir Frederick's flattery too much to heart, Gabriella," said Angela abruptly as the coach began to move. "He is very pleasant, to be sure, but it can do you no good to encourage him, nor to be seen too much in his company."
Brie looked at her sister in surprise, for she herself had treated Sir Frederick as a close friend. One look at Angela's discontented face, however, told her that jealousy, rather than concern for propriety, had motivated her speech.
"I was not aware that I was 'encouraging' the gentleman," she replied stiffly, embarrassed that it might have appeared so. "Surely, though, as he is your friend, there can be no harm in my being seen with him?"
"As long as it is in that context, no," said her sister, softening slightly. She did not wish to antagonise Gabriella just now, she remembered. "I only advise you to be cautious. You would not wish to be considered fast, you know."
"Certainly not!" exclaimed Brie, even more embarrassed. "I thank you for the advice, and will endeavour to abide by it." And she almost meant it.
* * *
That afternoon, as promised, the Duke of Ravenham arrived to take Brie driving in the Park. Before she left, Angela drew her aside for a parting admonition.
"For pity's sake remember to say nothing about our father's profession! Ravenham is one of the highest sticklers in Town, and would no doubt wash his hands of the entire bargain if he were to discover that."
Brie was unwise enough to roll her eyes at this repetition of previous advice, at which her sister hissed, "I mean it! If you ruin this chance for me, I shall never forgive you!" At that moment, the Duke strolled within earshot, making a reply impossible, but her sister's final words lingered in Brie's mind as they departed for their drive.
The high-perch phaeton was a new experience for Brie, but soon she bethought herself to make a close inspection of the matched greys which drew the conveyance.
The Duke watched her closely for a moment, as though expecting some sort of reaction, but once she settled herself, he simply said, "Shall we be off?" She nodded, watching the paces of the greys as they began trotting. These horses, at least, had obviously been well cared for, to judge by their sleek coats and smooth gaits.
They drove in silence for some way, Brie enjoying the sight of London from this new vantage point. As they entered the gates of Hyde Park, the Duke began to outline some of his plans for her debut. His tone was cool and formal, as though to contradict the warmth she thought she had detected in him yesterday. She tried to listen as he spoke of certain
balls and routs that she had to be seen at, but her senses were all but overwhelmed by the scene before her.
Why, half of the fashionable world, and some not so fashionable, must be out driving in the Park at this hour! Not all the horses, she noticed, were as healthy as the Duke's; some were little better than broken-down nags. For the most part, though, these were driven or ridden by men who could hardly be considered members of the ton, though that certainly did not excuse them.
"...by the middle of next week," Ravenham was saying. Brie realised with a start that she had completely lost the thread of his conversation —or lecture, to be more precise.
"I beg your pardon, your grace?" she asked in some embarrassment. "I fear I was not fully attending."
He raised an eyebrow at this, but merely repeated, "I said that I hope to have your voucher to you by next Wednesday or Thursday. For Almack's, you know."
"Oh! Thank you, your grace." She felt that some show of gratitude must certainly be called for here. Angela had thoroughly impressed her with the importance of being seen at that holy of holies, and she knew that her sister would be pleased.
"I will escort you there the following Wednesday, and to Lady Bellerby's ball and one or two other dos. By the end of May, if your brother-in-law agrees, we can consider this matter at an end. You should be quite firmly established by then, I imagine, and should do very well for yourself." His tone was cynical, and Brie coloured uncomfortably.
"I wish you to know that I had no part in this whatsoever, your grace." It seemed imperative that he understand that. "My opinion was not sought before this…agreement was entered upon. If it had been, I would have refused, I assure you."
"But you do not draw back now, I notice," he drawled, the half smile playing about his lips belied by the coolness in his eyes.
"Your grace, you may consider yourself released from any obligation to me or my family as of this moment!" she exclaimed hotly, stung by his look. "Pray return me to my sister's house at once."
"If that is your wish," he replied equably, turning the horses. She could not help but notice the strength in his large hands as he effortlessly controlled the ribbons. "We cannot, however, end the agreement yet. I have never been a man to go back on his word, and do not intend to change now. I have not yet paid my losses."
She favoured him with an eloquently indignant glance at his phrasing but said nothing and they completed their drive in silence. She forbore to invite him inside, even though she knew this would vex her sister, and bade him a cool farewell at the door.
Brie next saw Angela when she and her sister were descending to dinner that evening. Lady Platt was attired in an evening gown of pale pink gauze with gold leaves strewn across the tight-fitting and low-cut bodice, as she and Sir Seymour were to go out after dinner.
Brie was not to accompany them, which suited her completely, as she had managed to obtain two books for Gabe at one of the booksellers the day before and wished to read them herself before sending them off to him. One was Sir William Moorcroft's treatise on horseshoeing, which she had purchased not so much because she felt that there was more that she or her brother needed to know about the subject as because Sir William had been a contemporary and friend of her father's before Sir William had left England to become a celebrated explorer in India. The other was a general anatomy of the horse, which looked as though it might be very useful.
Upon meeting Brie at the head of the stairs, Angela bombarded her with questions. "How went your ride with Ravenham?" she asked eagerly. "What did he say? What are his plans? Does he mean to squire you about himself, or merely to be seen talking to you?"
"Apparently he intends to escort me to at least two evening functions, as well as to Almack's a fortnight hence," replied Brie, certain that this information would put her sister in the best possible mood. Nor was she disappointed.
"It is true, then, as he said! Did he give you our vouchers today?" Angela's eyes fairly glowed.
"No, he said he would send them round next week. He also mentioned Lady Bellerby's ball, I believe, as well as a rout at a countess's house— Levy? Something like that."
"Lieven," breathed Angela, almost reverently. "The Countess Lieven, one of the patronesses at Almack's. My— your— social position is assured, dear Gabriella." They had halted by the double doors to the dining room. "Come, let us tell Seymour the good news!" she exclaimed, as Madsen belatedly opened for them. The butler evinced surprise when, instead of the scold he clearly expected for his tardiness, his mistress favoured him with a dazzling smile.
The Platts could talk of nothing else during dinner, Sir Seymour congratulating himself on his own good sense and quick thinking three days prior and his lady chattering excitedly of the social triumphs she confidently expected. There was even some talk of giving a ball herself for her sister's come-out, something she would not have dared to consider a few days earlier, for fear of being snubbed by the more highly exalted.
"Perhaps by the fourth week of the Season," she mused aloud. "We shall just see how things develop. Who knows? By then it may even be an occasion to announce your betrothal, Gabriella!"
Brie quickly changed the subject with a question she had been meaning to ask. "I was wondering, Angela, whether I will meet the Duchess of Ravenham at one of these events, or whether I should perhaps call on her first. I wish you would advise me in what would be proper."
"The Duchess?" asked Angela, obviously perplexed. "Ravenham's mother? She died before his father did, I believe. Perhaps it is his sister you mean, the Lady Elizabeth. I believe she is still abroad but, even were she in Town, I am afraid it might be thought presumptuous if you were to call on her. After all, it is not as though Ravenham is doing this out of the kindness of his heart."
Lady Platt resumed planning for her hypothetical ball, but Brie was not attending. Her thoughts were completely taken up by what she had just heard. So there was no duchess? Her feelings vacillated between embarrassment at the implications of the scene she had witnessed at the Ruby Crown and a definite sense of relief.
But why should she feel relief? she asked herself. This only went to prove that the Duke of Ravenham was as immoral as he was cruel. So telling herself, she gave her attention to the sweetmeats being served and resolved to put the man out of her thoughts entirely— at least until the next time they met.
* * *
CHAPTER 6
"No, Barry, I can unequivocally say that neither Sir Seymour nor his wife improve in the least upon closer acquaintance. Rather the opposite, in fact."
The Duke of Ravenham was lounging at his ease in the study of his own town house, with his friend sitting across from him and one of his famous hunting hounds curled up at his feet. He was entirely unconcerned that the damp nose resting on his right boot might dull its dazzling shine; it was well known to his intimates that his dogs were the one thing which took precedence over fashion with the fastidious Duke.
"Not even Lady Platt, eh?" returned Lord Garvey sympathetically. "I seem to recall her as a taking little thing when she first came to Town— was it five years ago?— as a new bride. Haven't seen her about as much lately, though."
"Having been subjected to her version of the social graces, I'm not surprised. She's bold as brass, and not very polished brass, either, for all she is still physically attractive enough. I daresay she has offended more than one of the higher sticklers."
"Yourself, for one," stated Garvey, surveying his companion's expression of distaste. "But what of the sister? Is she the drab country bumpkin Sir Seymour described, or a younger version of her lovely but tasteless elder sibling?"
"Neither, I would say," replied Ravenham thoughtfully. "In fact, I can detect no family resemblance whatsoever, which is all to the good, in my opinion."
"Speaking of the family, I suppose that is all right? No tradesmen in the background or any
thing of that sort?"
"No, no, I did a bit of research there. Father the second son of a viscount, mother granddaughter to the fourth Earl of Wyndover. Only thing a bit off is that the father was a veterinary surgeon, but that's perfectly respectable— not as though he were a blacksmith, after all. Besides, he's dead, so his profession is hardly likely to become common knowledge." He decided against confiding the date of that gentleman's death, as neither of his daughters appeared to be observing mourning.
"Your campaign sounds quite hopeful, then. If she were completely outré, I would have to consider your debt paid with an honest attempt at establishing her. As it is, perhaps the girl should have to contract a respectable marriage for full payment."
"Not in the bargain, Barry! However, I think I shall have a fairly easy time getting her to take, if I can successfully keep her relatives out of the way. I hear that Lady Platt is no longer welcome at Almack's, so that problem is already disposed of."
"Who will act the chaperone, then? Elizabeth?" Garvey's tone was careless.
"Of course. She's back in Town now, after finishing at that seminary and spending the past year or so with Aunt Charlotte in Paris. She hasn't had much of a chance to meet anyone as yet, and should enjoy the companionship."
"This Miss Gordon must be to your liking if you're willing to have her intimate with your sister," conjectured Garvey, blatantly probing for more details.
"So far," replied Ravenham, with a look that told his friend he was perfectly aware of what he was about. "Still, she is Lady Platt's sister, and will bear watching. Already she has not been as honest with me as I could wish."
"Oh?" Garvey was alert. "What has she done?"
"It's what she hasn't done— or said." He briefly recounted the meeting at the Ruby Crown, and had Garvey howling with laughter at the end of it.
"You, of all people!" he gasped. "To have that laid at your door! But if she was dressed as a serving wench, as you say, it's no wonder if she's hoping you haven't recognised her. Just trying for a clean slate, I should say. Nothing particularly dishonest in that— not as women go."
