by Brenda Hiatt
This piqued Garvey's curiosity, as Sir Frederick had intended it to. "Anything you'd like to talk about, old boy?" he asked.
"I doubt you'd care to hear my maudlin little tale," replied Sir Frederick. "Though I must admit 'twould be a relief to share it with someone. But, I've no desire to bore you with what is no doubt a common enough story."
"No, I assure you, I'd not be bored in the least. Pray unburden yourself, if you think you might feel better thereby. Was it a woman, perchance?" prompted Garvey.
"Aye, isn't it always?" asked Sir Frederick wryly. "It would be indiscreet to mention her name, as she moves— now— in high circles, but she was all in all to me upon a time. And still is, in truth, though she'll have nought to do with me lately."
Lord Garvey thought with a pang of the gallants that constantly surrounded Elizabeth whenever they were in public, though he thought she favoured him, and was instantly sympathetic. "Set her sights higher, has she?"
Sir Frederick grunted morosely. "Once, and not so long ago— only a few weeks, though now it seems years— she'd have overflowed with gratitude had I offered her my name. Then she was content merely with my protection, though, of course, I had every intention of, ah, regularising our relationship as soon as I could see my way clear."
"Noble of you, I must say!" exclaimed Lord Garvey in some surprise. It was virtually unheard of for a gentleman to offer marriage to his mistress; after all, where was the need? "You must have been exceedingly fond of her."
"I was," sighed Sir Frederick, "and still am, though she has used me abominably of late."
"You say she moves in high circles now. Do you mean she is actually accepted by the ton, and that they have no notion of her past, er, association with you?"
"That is precisely what I mean. A mere knight, though of noble stock, as I am, has no attraction for her now. She looks to be a peeress. Perhaps even, so I have heard, a duchess."
Though he was not generally much of a gossip, Lord Garvey's curiosity was by now thoroughly aroused. He realised that this "lady," whoever she was, must almost certainly be known to him, if she had become as prominent as Sir Frederick claimed. Their meal arrived at that moment, but he was only momentarily diverted.
"But how could she have so thoroughly insinuated herself into Society without anyone knowing her background?" he asked, as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.
"There is little wrong with her background, save that interlude with myself that she would now, no doubt, sooner forget. And that occurred in Gloucestershire, before ever she came to London." He sent a sidelong glance at Garvey as he absorbed this casual clue. "She comes of good family and has a married sister in Town who was already established among the ton," he continued. "It was through her sister, a good friend of mine, that I became acquainted with her, as a matter of fact."
Garvey's usually candid eyes narrowed. He, like most of London, had heard the rumours linking More's name with Lady Platt's, and he formed a sudden unwelcome suspicion. And Dexter was a duke! They ate in silence for a few minutes, but Garvey could not let the subject drop.
"Does the lady in question not realise the risk she runs by snubbing you?" he enquired, still treading cautiously. After all, the reputation of one he had thought of as a friend might be at stake. "You could destroy her with a word. Does she not see that?"
"She trusts to my love to keep me silent, I daresay, though she has pushed me a bit far recently." His eyes flashed dangerously for a moment. "Still, I care too much for her to be the cause of her humiliation. If she can find happiness as Duchess of Ravenham, I shall not seek to prevent it, though it wound me to lose her."
"Ravenham?" asked Garvey sharply, his suspicion crystallising into certainty. "Is the lady we speak of perchance Miss Gordon, Lady Platt's sister?"
"Please, please, my lord," admonished Sir Frederick in apparent anguish, "lower your voice, I pray. I was unforgivably indiscreet. You must not bruit this story about. I only meant to mitigate my suffering a bit by sharing it with another and I thank you for your forbearance in listening to my maunderings."
While Lord Garvey was still frowning, attempting to absorb what he had just learned, Sir Frederick rose smoothly. "Well, it grows late, my lord, and I must hurry if I am to have time to dress for my evening engagements. Thank you again for sharing your table and your time."
Garvey nodded absently as Sir Frederick took his leave. He was deep in a mental struggle. He was trying to remember everything he had ever heard about Miss Gabriella Gordon, the girl his Elizabeth called Brie. She counted the girl her best friend, she had told him so; had she been taken in by her? And Dexter... he seemed to be paying Miss Gordon more attention that was strictly necessary to fulfill the terms of their wager. That wretched wager! He himself was responsible for the two people he cared most about having their names linked with that of a possible harlot. Whatever was he to do?
When he rose some ten minutes later, he had come to a decision of sorts. He would closely watch Dexter's behaviour with Miss Gordon and attempt to determine whether his friend was truly smitten before saying anything. Besides, there was always the chance that Sir Frederick was being less than honest; his reputation, after all, was far from savoury. However, Garvey felt he owed Dexter too much to allow him to risk his life's happiness when he might be the means of preventing it.
What luck that he had made no promise to Sir Frederick to remain silent! As Sir Frederick had asked, he would not "bruit the story about," but if he found Dexter to be serious about Miss Gordon, he would certainly have to be told.
* * *
CHAPTER 14
As Brie dressed for the rout at the Countess Lieven's, her feelings were hardly those which might be expected of a young lady about to be received by one of the most influential women in London. Instead of a nervous flutter of happy excitement, she was conscious of a deepening depression of the spirits. Glancing at the window, where a steady rain beat against the glass as it had all day, she felt that the weather was appropriate to her mood.
This evening, the last of May, would mark the end of the Duke of Ravenham's agreement; after this, there would be no particular reason for him to seek her out or to stand up with her in public. Unless he wishes to, came the unbidden thought, which she quickly suppressed. After all, she told herself, the Duke was not the only reason for her gloom.
Since Lady Bellerby's ball, Brie had increasingly felt that her rise in Society had taken place under false pretences. She was particularly concerned that the Duke of Ravenham, and, even worse, Elizabeth might become implicated in any scandal created when— if— the truth about her father's profession and her lack of fortune became common knowledge. For that reason, she had resolved to tell the Duke— tonight— of her late father's profession, lest he discover it first from another source. She had also resolved to be the first (if it was not already too late) to tell him of the rumours circulating that she was some sort of an heiress and, yes, that she had not disabused anyone of that notion last night when she had had the opportunity. At least she could console herself that he had never been deceived as to her financial standing.
The same could not be said of her father's profession, unfortunately. Why, oh why, had she not told him of that the very first day, when he could still have backed out of his bargain? She very much feared that the timing of her disclosure would make her look exactly like the scheming fortune-hunter he had taken her for at their first— no, second— meeting. Be that as it may, however, she would not put it off another day. She needed her sleep!
Though she had determined to broach these matters during the course of the evening, she had no idea how the information might be received. Would he cut her at once, as her sister seemed so certain he would? Or would he merely laugh and treat the whole as a joke? She had no way of knowing, but would soon find out. If only it did not matter so much.
* * *
"We shall never get inside before the dancing starts!" exclaimed Elizabeth worriedly, observing the long line of carriages ahead of them, each waiting to deposit its occupants at the Countess Lieven's doorstep. The weather, and the resultant state of the streets, only added to the delay.
"Afraid Garvey will already be engaged for the first set when you arrive?" teased her brother. That courtship seemed to be progressing nicely, and he had no fault to find with it. He never would have thought Barry would be such a slowcoach, though. Obviously no understanding had been reached between them as yet.
He glanced sideways at Miss Gordon, who was unwontedly quiet. She was looking lovelier than ever, in a slip of white satin with an overdress of white net shot through with blue and green spangles, but something appeared to be troubling her.
"May I steal a march on the competition by claiming your first dance, Miss Gordon?" he asked, as much to bring her out of herself as to secure her agreement.
"What? Oh, yes, of course, your grace," she replied absently. She had realised that here, right now, was the perfect time and place for her confession and had been steeling herself to make it. She took a deep breath, but Elizabeth forestalled her.
"'Miss Gordon' and 'your grace'?" she mimicked. "I should think you two would be Brie and Dexter to each other by now!"
Both of them flushed slightly at her outspokenness, though in the darkness of the carriage Brie was aware only of her own embarrassment. Clearing her throat, she tried again.
"I would like to thank you both again for your kindness to me these past few weeks," she began, with the air of reciting a rehearsed speech. "I sincerely hope you will not have cause to regret it." Brother and sister were regarding her curiously by this time, and Brie felt her colour deepen as she forced herself to continue. Her heart was pounding now, and she wondered if they could hear it. If only she knew how they would react!
"There is something I—"
At that moment the door of the carriage was opened from the outside by the footman posted at the entrance to the Lieven mansion. They had arrived.
Brie was consumed by an almost overwhelming sense of relief that the moment had been postponed, followed by guilt that she had not spoken more quickly. Had she unconsciously planned it this way? she wondered. She stepped from the coach, her pulse slowing almost to normal, and renewed her resolve to speak before the evening ended.
"Don't worry," whispered the Duke as they passed through the imposing portico. "Whatever you were going to say will wait, and it can't be anything worth spoiling your evening over." Brie hoped desperately that he was right.
If Lady Bellerby's house had been an unexpected improvement over Almack's, Countess Lieven's left both in the dust. She had chosen fresh flowers as her "theme" for the evening, and had obviously paid well-qualified professionals to arrange them; the effect was that of a tropical paradise. It was absurdly easy to forget one was in a house at all and to imagine oneself in a marble-floored garden instead. Brie was completely enchanted.
"Your rooms are lovely, my lady," she told her hostess sincerely at the first opportunity. "I've never even had a dream so beautiful!" She spoke with the simple directness which was natural to her, with none of the gushing flattery so evident in most of the young ladies who were out to ingratiate themselves to this notable hostess. Countess Lieven was charmed at once.
"Thank you, my dear," she replied, all smiles. "It was in hopes of inspiring just such feelings that I had it arranged so. You make me feel I have succeeded."
"Oh, yes," breathed Brie, gazing about her in delight.
Countess Lieven moved on, telling various highly placed friends how lovely and well mannered she found Miss Gordon. "She'll do well this Season, you mark my words," she said later to the Princess Esterhazy, with the air of a prophetess.
Unaware of the boost she had just given her own social standing, Brie hurried to catch up with the Duke and Elizabeth, who had moved on ahead. Not at all to her surprise, Lord Garvey came forward eagerly to greet them, although the second dance was already under way.
"Eliza!" he exclaimed, all but ignoring her companions in his relief. "I had begun to fear you would not be here at all!" He clasped both her hands and gazed rapturously into her face.
The Duke of Ravenham cleared his throat at this point, causing Elizabeth and Lord Garvey to start apart self-consciously. "It is good to see you, too, Barry," he said drily, only one twitching eyebrow betraying his amusement. "I fear the roads are worse than I had made allowance for. If you intended to lead my sister out for the next dance, you have my blessing."
Ravenham wondered whether his phrasing might give Barry a hint. And why was the fellow suddenly staring so fixedly at Miss Gordon? He glanced at her himself, but could see nothing amiss. The music had stopped and the next set was forming, so both couples moved onto the floor.
There was no opportunity for talk for the next fifteen minutes, as it was a lively country dance, and Brie allowed herself to forget the task ahead of her and enjoy this moment of pleasure. To be sure, she had to admit she preferred waltzing with the Duke above all else, but now she was just as glad such a chance for conversation was denied her.
The next dance was a waltz, but for that Brie was claimed by Lord Timothy, who had by no means given up his suit. He seemed to have resigned himself to waiting for her mother's arrival in London before receiving an answer, however, so he was not as importunate as she had feared.
Brie did not see the Duke or his sister for quite some time after that, as every gentleman of her acquaintance seemed ready to partner her as soon as she returned from the floor. Though she managed to keep up a pretence of polite interest in whatever her current partner chose to regale her with, she was in reality deep in thought.
She was beginning to think that the easiest, though perhaps not the bravest, thing to do would be to make her confession to Elizabeth alone and to let her pass the information on to her brother later. Would that not serve her purpose just as well? The more she considered this option the better she liked it, though she knew she was playing the craven.
This decision made, she began to scan the room for the Lady Elizabeth, and at length she found her some distance away, dancing with a dark-haired gentleman whose name she could not at the moment recall. When the set ended, Brie tried to work her way through the mass of humanity (Countess Lieven's rout could be described as a most successful "crush") in the direction she had last seen her friend. Before she was able to reach her, however, the strains of a waltz began to play.
"Might I have this dance?" came a familiar voice from just behind her, and she swung round to look directly into the Duke's grey eyes.
"I can't believe my luck in managing to find you in this mob just in time for a waltz," he continued. "Personally, I prefer the comfort of a room one can breathe in to social distinction, but I fear that is not the current fashion."
Brie was obliged to agree as they moved onto the dance floor. Her heart began to hammer again, as it had in the carriage. What excuse could she have now for remaining silent?
"Elizabeth wanted me to inform you of the time of her come-out ball, as she neglected to do so. She would be desolate if you were unable to attend, I know."
They turned gracefully in time to the music as he spoke, but Brie was unable to properly enjoy the experience; his words had served to emphasise that she was here under false pretences. It was one thing to impose upon Society, but to her it seemed far worse to deceive these people who had become her friends.
"You are silent tonight," the Duke observed. "You are still allowing something to bother you, I see."
He was fairly certain that Miss Gordon was troubled by the fact that this was the agreed-upon last night of his "payment" and wished to set her mind at ease. He fully intended to continue seeing this unexpectedly fascinating young lady and wished her to know that, but he was unsure how to reassure her without having his
motives misinterpreted. He chose a safe topic, hoping to work his way round to the subject he really wished to discuss.
"Elizabeth told me about your doctoring of Velvet, your kitten. I was impressed. Not everyone can handle a frightened cat without suffering harm in the process. Do you have a natural affinity for felines?"
His tone was light, but Brie felt her heart freeze within her. This was the moment! She had to tell him now!
"For all animals, actually. You see, your grace, my father—"
"Taught you extremely well," finished the Duke for her. "He must have been a very talented veterinary surgeon. Was he educated here in England, or abroad?"
The shock she had received when she discovered he had recognised her from the Ruby Crown was as nothing compared to what she felt now.
"You knew? How... how long have you known?" The room seemed to suddenly take on an unreal quality, and not because of the flowers.
"For several weeks, actually," he replied, surprised at her stricken look. "After all, I had to know a little bit about the girl I was going to bring into fashion, didn't I?" His grey eyes twinkled teasingly.
Brie's knees nearly buckled beneath her, so overwhelming was her relief. In apparent concern, the Duke tightened his grip upon her to keep her from stumbling.
"What? What is it?" He sounded alarmed.
Brie recovered her footing at once and continued the steps of the dance, nearly forgetting what had caused her lapse in the delightful sensation of being held so closely in his arms. The music seemed to engulf her, and she was barely able to resist an overwhelming desire to rest her head on his chest and tell him what she felt.
"Miss Gordon?" he was prompting, and she brought herself back to earth with a start.
"I—I'm fine," she managed to say. What had she been thinking of? "It is just that my sister seemed to think it would cause a scandal if anyone were to know of our father's profession." This last was almost a question.
"Hardly that," he assured her, "but still, we probably do not need to have it put into the papers. It is not as though we have told everyone that he was something else. We have just been discreetly silent on the subject."
