by Brenda Hiatt
"Yes, I suppose you do," said Garvey, rising and leaving quietly. "Poor devil," he added under his breath.
Ravenham was scarcely aware of his departure. His disbelief was passing rapidly into certainty as he recalled past conversations with Brie which had puzzled him at the time. At the Countess Lieven's— there had been something she had wanted to tell him, then she had apparently changed her mind, in favour of discussing her father's profession. Might she have been about to confess her relationship with More?
His thoughts then returned to the episode in the Park last week. It all seemed to make sense in light of what Barry had just told him. No wonder she did not want him to call the fellow out! She was no doubt afraid that would bring everything out into the open. Or... did she secretly still care for Sir Frederick?
He recalled that it was not until after her social position was all but assured by her appearance at Almack's— and after he himself had shown more than a common interest in her— that she had so blatantly snubbed her erstwhile lover. To be sure, Sir Frederick could not compete with his own title or wealth; in fact, rumour had it that the fellow's gaming debts were beginning to get him well into dun territory. But surely there had been more promise in the looks which Brie had shared with him yesterday than mere eagerness to share his money and position?
Dexter ground his teeth, furious that he should have been so easily duped by her seeming innocence. If he had been blind enough to actually marry the girl, she would no doubt have cuckolded him within a month of their wedding! He thanked God that his eyes had been opened in time.
Shaking himself as though to clear her from his thoughts, he rose and left the stables, which reminded him all too poignantly of what had passed between them yesterday. He called briskly for his steward and spent the next two hours attempting to immerse himself in the business of his various estates. At odd moments, however, Brie's winsome face would appear between the columns of figures and he would feel an almost imperceptible softening towards her, rapidly followed by another surge of rage.
After the third such occurrence he became aware of the steward regarding him curiously, as he had failed to answer the man's question regarding the drainage of some newly acquired acreage. Irritated at his inability to better school his thoughts, he abruptly dismissed his curious manager.
"We'll return to this later, John," he said brusquely. "I've other business to attend to just now." He rose and quit the room before the startled steward could reply.
Almost against his will he felt drawn back to the stables, where he and Brie had finally become friends and, yes, a little bit more than friends. Stopping at the stall of Mallow, the bay gelding that had been the cause of their first stormy encounter, he allowed his mind to return to that incident at the Ruby Crown Inn. He then recalled their next meeting, at the home of the Platts, and every other time they had been together, every word that had been spoken. Could she really have been leading him a merry chase the entire time? He doubted it at the moment, but quickly suppressed the feeling. She would not ensnare him again.
But what was he to do now? Now that he had momentarily controlled his rage and jealousy, he realised he had a decision to make. After all, he had been the one to bring her into fashion; he alone was responsible for the high place she presently held in Society. Must he therefore be the one to bring about her downfall?
While he doubted Sir Frederick's sentiment of caring for her—or anyone —enough to prevent his disgracing her, he realised with a shock that it was perfectly true of himself. Whatever she had done before he knew her, Brie had come to mean a great deal to him. More than that. Like a lightning bolt, the knowledge hit him that he loved her, deeply and passionately, and that this possible scandal had not altered that fact.
She would be at Lord and Lady Millingtons' tonight; he remembered Elizabeth saying so at breakfast. Well, he would not. Until he had time to thoroughly sort out his conflicting feelings of love and betrayal, Ravenham felt it best that he not see Brie at all. To do so might be to risk a scene, a declaration of either his devotion or his fury—he was not sure which.
Right now, however, he felt a need to forget, to blot her face from his memory for a few hours. There was a new tavern just off St. James Street which he had heard of. He would give it a try.
* * *
Upon entering the large hall at the Millingtons' town house which would serve as a card room for the first half of the evening and a ballroom for the second half, Brie scanned the crowd already gathered there. The Duke tended to be readily noticeable owing to his unusual height, but he was not in evidence. Probably not here yet, she thought, suppressing an irrational pang of disappointment.
"Well, Gabriella, are you up on the rules of Vingt et un? I hear that is the only card game Lady Millington considers worth playing," said Angela, glancing about as eagerly as her sister.
"I'm certain I will manage," Brie replied. "After all, it is among the simplest of games." Sir Seymour had spent a half hour or so explaining this and one or two other popular games of skill and chance to his sister-in-law that afternoon, that she might not find herself at a loss come evening.
"No one has ever accused Lady Millington of possessing a first-rate intellect. Her husband is quite influential, however, and it will do none of us harm to be seen here. The stakes are to be low or imaginary, I have been informed —I hope for your sake that is true."
Sir Seymour looked somewhat disgusted at this news. "Perhaps some tables will prove to be mote interesting than others," he drawled and ambled off in hopes of discovering that to be so.
Angela spared him scarcely a glance. "Look, Gabriella, here comes the Lady Elizabeth! I wonder where the Duke is?" she said in an undertone as Brie's friend approached on Lord Garvey's arm. Having finally become reluctantly aware that Elizabeth did not care overmuch for her, Lady Platt drifted off in the direction of the card tables as soon as they had exchanged greetings.
Brie thought Elizabeth seemed uncomfortable when she mentioned that Dexter would not be attending this evening, almost as though she were hiding something. And Lord Garvey was worse— he would not even meet her eyes. He led Elizabeth away before Brie could so much as ask after Diana's health.
Brie forced a smile to remain on her face. She had very much hoped to see Dexter tonight, as they had parted on such good terms yesterday. Was he intentionally avoiding her? Judging by Elizabeth's strained expression, it seemed all too likely. She reflected wretchedly that Angela must have been right, after all.
* * *
For the first time since meeting Brie, Elizabeth had been almost happy to escape her company. What could she possibly say to her? Dexter had spoken to her earlier that evening to inform her briefly that he would be dining out tonight and that Garvey could escort her to the Millingtons', as he would not be attending. When she had asked whether he had any message for Brie, she had been shocked at the anger and pain which contorted his face.
"No. No message," he had said tightly. Elizabeth could tell that he was holding some powerful emotion in check, but dared not question him further. He had slammed out of the house a few moments later.
She desperately hoped that whatever misunderstanding had occurred between her brother and her best friend might be resolved before her ball, which was now but two days away. She and Lord Garvey had reached an understanding during the drive here tonight, and hoped to announce their engagement on that evening. After the way Dexter had acted, however, she wondered if he might not find some way of absenting himself, as Brie was to be in attendance. That would spoil everything! She determined to force her brother to speak to her sometime during the next day, even if she had to tie him down to do it.
* * *
In spite of Dexter's absence and her own suspicions, Brie managed to glean some enjoyment from the evening. Cards were stil
l novel enough to her not to seem at all dull, and she found that her luck seemed to be in. She mused to herself that it was rather a shame that the stakes were not real, as she would have stood to have made a tidy sum over the next two hours. Then, remembering the old adage, she reflected that she was no doubt equally unlucky at love and her spirits plummeted again.
As she rose to go in to supper, she was dismayed to see Lord Timothy Gardiner advancing towards her with a middle-aged matron at his elbow.
"Miss Gordon!" he called before he was within discreet earshot. "Might I hope to have the honour of leading you in to supper?"
Unfortunately, Mr. Harden, who had been sitting to her left and whom she had expected to partner her, had not yet actually asked, so she was obliged to agree.
"Splendid, splendid!" he exclaimed, still a shade too loudly. Brie wondered uncomfortably if he had been drinking. She hoped not; he was difficult enough to control when sober.
"Mother, is she not as exquisite as I told you? Miss Gordon, I'd like to present you to my mother, Lady Montrose." He gestured from Brie to the lady at his side, and Brie immediately dropped the appropriate curtsey to the Countess.
"I am honoured, my lady," she said demurely, while toying with the idea of saying or doing something outrageous in front of Lord Timothy's mother as the easiest way of discouraging a match. Even Angela would hardly expect her to marry him against his parents' wishes, she thought cynically; they might possibly disinherit him.
From the hostile glare she received from Lady Montrose, however, it appeared that such measures would not be necessary. She nodded, as civility demanded, but spoke no word to her son's chosen one as they proceeded into the supper room. Her forbidding silence continued throughout the meal, casting a blight over the party, which also included Sir Seymour and Lady Platt.
Angela began the meal in high good humour, no doubt encouraged by the sight of Lady Montrose and Gabriella sharing the same table, but it must soon have been evident to even the dullest observer that Brie was not in the Countess's good graces. After a few attempts at polite conversation, Angela and Sir Seymour fell silent, leaving the burden of speaking to Lord Timothy, whose spirits seemed unimpaired by his mother's frigid manner.
"I trust I can claim you for the first dance, my divine one," he all but cooed to Brie in such an intimate tone that she blushed in spite of herself.
"No, I'm sorry, but I have already promised it to Mr. Harden," she was able to truthfully say, and was rewarded by a grudging flash of approval from Lady Montrose.
"The second, then?" asked Lord Timothy, undaunted.
Reluctantly, she nodded and the Countess's face resumed its icy hauteur. Brie hoped very much that Lord Timothy's parents had more influence over him than was readily apparent this evening.
The rest of the party went smoothly enough, for she refused Lord Timothy more than the two dances propriety allowed for an unengaged couple and successfully parried all his attempts to get her alone, either in the garden or in one of the rooms set aside for those who preferred to continue at cards rather than dance.
There was no other opportunity for speech with Elizabeth, as she and Lord Garvey appeared completely absorbed in each other, and by the end of the evening Brie was both tired and frustrated. She recalled, however, that she was engaged to go to the theatre the next evening with Elizabeth and she hoped to contrive a moment alone with her friend to wring an explanation out of her, no matter how painful the truth might be.
* * *
CHAPTER 18
Sir Frederick More was getting tired of waiting. It had been a week since he had dropped his hints to Lord Garvey, confident that they would soon find their way to the Duke of Ravenham's ears, as Garvey was well known to be his best friend. But so far there was no sign that this had happened. Only two days ago he had seen Miss Gordon in Lady Elizabeth's curricle, which Ravenham would never have allowed had Garvey confided the story to him. Who would have thought a silly young buck like that could be so close-mouthed?
He looked about the cosy, exclusive pub he had chosen to while away an hour or two in cards and drink. Yes, there were several influential members of the ton present, although it was gone midnight. This place had become quite fashionable of late. Perhaps it was time to speed things along.
Rising casually from his chair, he sauntered about the room, looking for a likely group to share his "troubles" with. He settled on a table near the door at which were seated four highly placed members of the nobility, including the influential Marquess of Dunstable. More to his purpose, however, the group also included Lord Blenny, whose lady was well known as one of the leading tattle-mongers in Town. Anything uttered within her husband's hearing was sure to be the talk of London within twenty-four hours.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Sir Frederick said smoothly, drawing up a chair. "I find myself at loose ends this evening. Do you mind if I join you?" None seemed to object, so he sat down next to Blenny, his back to the door.
He took little part in the conversation at first, which ranged over a variety of such commonplace topics as the past hunting season and Prinny's latest waistcoat. Eventually, however, as Sir Frederick had known it would, the talk turned to the current favourites in the muslin company, including which lady was under whose protection.
"The beauteous Genevieve has gone to Melton, if you'll believe it," offered Lord Belknapp, a middle-aged roué who clung desperately to the trappings of more youthful dandies. "I'd have thought she'd hold out for richer prey."
Into the clamour of agreement and argument which greeted this tidbit, Sir Frederick quietly observed, "I find I prefer a bit of breeding in my, ah, companions. Makes for a generally more rewarding association."
The attention of his audience was immediately caught. Sir Frederick's exploits among the married ladies of the ton were all but legendary, though he and his paramours were generally discreet enough that little was known for certain.
"Is Lady Platt still high on your list of favourites?" asked Lord Blenny, who had had a drop more than was good for him. "Or are you looking to move on to some other poor blighter's wife?" He laughed loudly at his fancied perceptiveness. "If you're done with her, nod her my way. She looks to be a toothsome mouthful; always did fancy blondes." Lady Blenny was dark haired, and the only thing toothsome about her was her overbite.
"No, I found some time ago that dear Angela can't hold a candle to her little sister."
"Miss Gordon, you mean?" asked Dunstable incredulously, glancing over Sir Frederick's shoulder. "Bit above your touch, I would have thought; she's been moving in Ravenham's circle since the Season began."
"She is now," admitted Sir Frederick. "There was a time, though, not two months gone, that she wasn't nearly so high in the instep. Younger than her sister, of course, nearly as lovely, and a luscious armful in private. The young ones are always so eager to learn! Miss Gabriella Gordon was a pleasure to teach, I assure you."
Before he could launch into his tale of recent abuse at Miss Gordon's hands, Sir Frederick was yanked roughly to his feet by the collar. A powerful grip on his shoulder turned him round and he found himself face-to-face with the Duke of Ravenham himself. He opened his mouth to say he knew not what, but was felled by a shattering blow to the jaw before he could utter a sound.
"Name your seconds," said the Duke coldly as soon as Sir Frederick began to stir. The implacable set of his jaw was suggestive of a white-hot fury seething just below the surface, held rigidly in check —for the moment.
Sir Frederick struggled to a sitting position, wondering whether his jaw was broken. His mind flicked this way and that, seeking a way out of his predicament.
"Garvey will act for me," Ravenham said, when his adversary still did not speak. "Who shall I have him call on?"
"Ancroft. Harry Ancroft," Sir Frederick finally mumbled. "I'll speak to him before I go home t
onight."
Sweeping the fascinated onlookers with an icy glare, the Duke said, "I trust none of you will feel the need to repeat anything you may have seen or heard here tonight." Heads shook to the accompaniment of muttered assurances, but Sir Frederick noted with some small satisfaction that Lord Blenny had already sidled out of the room. No, Miss Gordon would not escape unscathed.
After allowing Ravenham ample time to leave the vicinity, Sir Frederick departed the pub, saying no more to the assembled company than the Duke had after his warning —which was precisely nothing. He hired a hack to take him to the Ancrofts' modest town house and was admitted without question by a slightly inebriated butler.
"T' master should be back soon, Sir Fred'ick," he informed the familiar visitor. "You can wait in the parlour 'f you wish."
Sir Frederick nodded and proceeded to the indicated apartment, hoping that his friend would not be too long. He helped himself to a generous measure of brandy to assist his vigil, but it was in fact less than fifteen minutes before Ancroft joined him.
"What's to do, Freddy?" he asked airily as he kicked the door shut with a negligent foot. "Finally decided to fly the country and wished to take your leave?"
Sir Frederick winced slightly, as this was precisely what he had decided to do during his short drive here. The only reason he had originally told his story to Lord Garvey instead of to the Duke of Ravenham himself was to avoid the very predicament he now found himself in. The Duke was well known to be among the top two or three duellists in England, while Sir Frederick, in spite of a rumour to the contrary that he himself had circulated, was blessed with no more than average skill. Besides which, his debts had been increasingly nudging him towards the Continent these past few months. Better an exile than dead or in Newgate, he philosophised. But there was no need for his circumstances —or his cowardice —to become common knowledge.
"No, it's a matter of a duel," he informed Ancroft before his hesitation could be noticed. "I've come to ask you to second me."
* * *
Early on the morning of Elizabeth's ball, the Duke of Ravenham paid an unexpected visit to the Platt residence. Lady Platt was still at breakfast; indeed, most mornings she would be still abed at this hour, but she had been obliged to rise unusually early this day.
