Knave's Wager

by Loretta Chase

  They walked on for a while in silence. The air had cooled, as he’d said, but not uncomfortably so. Lilith felt warm enough. Her shawl was cashmere, after all, and exercise was known to aid circulation. The tall figure beside her could not be a source of warmth, unless it were the warmth of security. He was trim and strong, and he moved with the grace of complete assurance. She doubted any ruffian would have the temerity to attempt Lord Brandon. With him, she was safe from others.

  She wished she could feel as certain she was safe from him. She could not comprehend what he was about. Worse, she could not comprehend what she was about, to be ambling through the West End with an infamous libertine. But he had somehow goaded her into it, and now there was nothing she could do about it, except hope no one she knew saw her behaving so improperly.

  For a moment, Lilith almost resented the impropriety.

  She had never before walked about Town at night. Only gentlemen might wander as they pleased. Men had, perhaps, more freedom than was good for them—did not the living proof walk beside her? Nonetheless, she had always rather envied them... when she permitted herself such reflections. Thus, for the present moment at least, she revelled in this mild liberation.

  His low, lazy tones jerked her back to Reality.

  “You are exceedingly quiet,” he said. “Are you tired? I am aware ladies are accustomed to traverse no distance greater than that between front door and carriage.”

  “I am country-bred, my lord. Walking is not new to me.”

  “That is a pity. I had hoped you would ask me to carry you.”

  “A while ago, you hoped I would fly at you. You are either a poor judge of character or in the habit of absurdly fanciful thinking.”

  “If you think I could not realise either of these hopes—if I truly set my mind to it—then you are a poor judge of character.”

  “You need not war—remind me you are accustomed to do precisely as you please.”

  “Yes, I am every bit as willful as yourself. I cannot deny that you have the greater self-restraint, but I have superior physical strength—which makes us even, you see.”

  “You will please refrain from placing me in the same category as yourself,” she said frigidly.

  “But you are willful, Mrs. Davenant. Your carriage alone proclaims it. That haughty lift of your chin, for instance— and one might use your spine as a scientifically exact measure of the perpendicular. It is in your voice as well, and in your terrifying eyes. I should be thoroughly cowed, of course, if I did not find the combined effect so utterly adorable.”

  Some long-stifled feeling fluttered within her at the last words, but she quickly suffocated it, and iced it over for good measure.

  “Yes, I am a great joke to you,” she answered. “Do you mean to mock at me the entire way home? I ask only to be prepared. I know it is futile to hope you will stop.”

  “Now I have hurt your feelings,” he said, all contriteness. “Upon my honour, that is never what I meant. It was a compliment, Mrs. Davenant. I was flirting with you—albeit in my own clumsy, perverse way.”

  “I do not wish to flirt with you, or be flirted with in any sort of way, my lord. I cannot think how I allowed myself to be goaded into this predicament. No more can I comprehend how any gentleman could stoop to provoking a lady with whom he is scarcely acquainted—one, moreover, who has done him no injury she knows of.”

  “Your thinking is lamentably muddled. You saved my life. That is the exact opposite of doing me an injury. Now my life is yours, you see. I am your slave forever.”

  She glanced up at him in alarm then quickly looked away. “You most certainly are not,” she responded, a bit short of breath. “I never heard such nonsense.”

  “Ah, you have some old-fashioned notion of slaves grovelling at the feet of their master... or mistress. Perhaps there are such humble beings yet in existence, but I’m afraid I can’t grovel. Faulty education, no doubt. Or perhaps I can. I’m not certain. I have never tried it, but I shall, if you like. Shall I kiss the hem of your gown while I’m about it? That I should be most eager to do, inasmuch as it may afford me a view of your ank—”

  “You will do no such thing!”

  “No, I will not,” he said, so gently that she feared his sharp ears had detected the edge of panic in her voice. “I was only teasing. I can’t help it, you know. There is some fiend takes hold of my tongue at times and—”

  He stopped as they turned the comer. Lilith looked up to find his lordship’s carriage heading towards them.

  “You are spared,” he said. “Ezra has a low opinion of his betters’ locomotive powers, I’m afraid, and though I had rather walk with you until dawn, I dare not disappoint him. It might result in a fever of the brain.”

  ***

  For the first time in many months, Lord Robert Downs did not spend the night at his love nest. Instead, he availed himself of a bed at his cousin’s town house. Julian had said he might stay whenever he liked, so long as Robert did not attempt to usurp the marquess’s valet or use the chandeliers for target practice.

  The house was large, luxurious, and impeccably managed. The servants glided about, noiseless and efficient, magically producing whatever one needed before one had even thought of needing it.

  Still, Lord Robert had not deserted his mistress this night because he missed luxury and the attention of fawning menials. He only wanted to be sure of a decent night’s rest before getting up at an ungodly hour of the morning.

  Chapter Six

  Lord Robert arose as he’d intended, at a perfectly inhuman hour, and managed to wash and dress more or less efficiently, despite his eyes’ stubborn refusal to remain open during the process.

  Nonetheless, they opened wide enough when he arrived at Hyde Park in time to see Miss Cecily Glenwood, attired exactly as she had described, dismount from a saddleless horse. Her groom threw him one anguished look, then turned his back and began to resaddle the beast.

  As the young lady met Lord Robert’s stupefied grey gaze, she coloured, as well she might.

  His focus jerked from the top of her cap—from which one golden strand escaped—to stumble at the worn jacket, before colliding with the snug-fitting breeches. Heat stung his neck, and he barely skimmed the scuffed boots before returning to her rosy countenance.

  “You are about early, my lord,” she said brightly.

  “Miss Glenwood.”

  “Oh, you’re going to scold,” she said, “As though Harris hasn’t been doing it half the morning already.”

  Lord Robert yanked his brain back from wherever it had gone, shook it to attention, and got very little for his pains. “I—I can’t scold,” he said. “I hate it when people are always lecturing at me. But Miss Glenwood.” He stopped dead, again at a loss.

  She moved closer to stroke his mount’s nose. His horse nuzzled her, and she giggled. Lord Robert dismounted.

  “Miss Glenwood,” he tried again.

  “I suppose you are very much shocked,” she said, more to the horse than to the gentleman.

  “Well, you know it is not every day that one—one sees a young lady in—in, well, not in a frock, you know. It isn’t the usual thing, actually, and so I suppose it is a sh—a surprise.”

  “You should not be surprised. I did tell you, after all.”

  “Yes, Miss Glenwood, and I do hope you’ve told nobody else.”

  “Oh, no. I shouldn’t have told even you, because now you’ll— No, you won’t, because I warned you, didn’t I, that I have no hope of being a fashionable young lady? Maybe I should not have told you that, either, but you are so understanding.” The wide blue eyes opened full upon him then, a cloudless, innocent sky, and his heart gave such a thump that he started.

  “Well, I do know what it is to be chafing under rules and ordered this way and that, but... but— Oh, really, I can’t think what to say,” complained the sophisticated man of the world.

  “Maybe you’ll think of it later.” She glanced at her now-saddled mare and l
ong-suffering groom. “You can tell me then. I had better not stay, in any case. Good morning, Lord Robert.”

  He watched her wave away Harris’s helping hand and climb lightly into the saddle. Lord Robert should not have watched, because the rear view was even more disconcerting than the front, and the image of one small, round bottom burned into his brain as though it had been applied with a branding iron.

  As Lord Robert dragged his gaze from Miss Glenwood’s retreating figure, he discovered another figure advancing— if so staggering and crablike a motion could be calling an advance—towards him. It was attired in a bottle-green coat and canary-yellow trousers, and its hat was balanced precariously over one ear.

  “Downs!” the figure called out. “What ho, Downs!” It gave a lurch, sending the hat flying, and hurled itself at Lord Robert, who stepped out of the way in time to avoid being knocked over. The figure tottered dangerously towards the horizontal, then clumsily righted itself.

  “You’re abroad early, Beldon,” said Lord Robert.

  “Jus’ goin’ home. But I say, d’you see that?”

  “What?”

  “That.” Mr. Beldon flung his arm in the general direction of the vanishing figure of Cecily Glenwood. “A girl, don’t you know? A girl in chap’s clothes.”

  “You’ve had a long night of it, Beldon,” said Lord Robert calmly as he retrieved the hat. Equally composedly, he handed it to his acquaintance. “Those were my cousin’s stable lads, exercising his cattle. You had better get yourself to bed before you begin seeing pink elephants and purple tigers as well.”

  “Good heavens, Robin,” said Lord Brandon when his cousin—after going back to bed and making a futile attempt to sleep—came in to breakfast. “You are as pale as a ghost. Was there a pea in the mattress?”

  “No,” said Lord Robert. “I was perfectly comfortable, thank you—that is to say—well, I was not comfortable in my mind.”

  “I wish I could sympathise, but I am always quite comfortable in that way. I have a very well-regulated conscience. It never troubles me, and I return the favour, and so we get on famously.”

  “It isn’t conscience—at least—no. But I can’t think what to do.”

  “Why, nothing easier. There is the sideboard. Fill your plate, or summon someone to fill it for you. Personally, I prefer to do without my staff’s assiduous attentions at breakfast. A dollop of austerity in the morning gives me a properly balanced view, I find.”

  Lord Robert rubbed his forehead and walked with a vacant air to the sideboard. He stood there for several minutes, staring helplessly at the array of covered dishes.

  “It doesn’t matter what you take, Robin. The affairs of state will continue grinding, even if you choose a rasher of bacon over a sausage.”

  His words proving ineffective, Lord Brandon rose, filled a plate for his cousin, and guided the young man to a seat.

  “Take up your fork,” said the marquess. “That is a scientifically verified mode of beginning.”

  “Thank you,” said Robert absently, and absently he swallowed a few mouthfuls before putting his silver down. “I am confused,” he said.

  “Indeed you must be. You have just emptied the saltcellar upon your bacon.”

  “Regarding a young lady,” said Robert. “That is to say, I feel I ought to do something, but I can’t for the life of me think what it is.”

  “Perhaps you will think of it later,” said Lord Brandon, betraying not a glimmer of curiosity.

  “That’s what she said. Yet I’ve been churning at it for hours now, and nothing I contrive will do. No, it won’t do at all,” he said, shaking his head.

  Lord Brandon calmly stirred his coffee. “I never pry, Robin. Still, if you wish to unburden yourself—and would not violate a trust in doing so—I shall give an excellent appearance of attending.”

  The younger man threw him a look of gratitude. “Yes, please, if you will—that is—well, it is a secret, so I must ask—”

  Lord Brandon solemnly swearing himself to eternal silence, his cousin proceeded to relate the morning’s experience.

  “Ah, yes,” said the marquess when the tale was done. “I recollect her. Miss Glenwood struck me as a young lady of uncommon energy.”

  “She’s very high-spirited, Julian, and really she’s practically a child—so how could I read her horrid sermons about propriety? But you know it won’t do. Beldon saw her, and if he hadn’t been utterly cast away at the tune, I’d never have convinced him it—she—was one of your grooms, and the news would be all over London by now. So she must be got to stop, of course, and I suppose her ogre aunt could stop her—but then, I should be carrying tales, you know.”

  “No, you had better not upset her aunt.” Lord Brandon might have added that Mrs. Davenant was sufficiently upset for the present, thanks to him, but he did not, for he was not, generally, a boastful man.

  “Then what’s to be done?”

  Lord Brandon reflected for a few minutes as he sipped his coffee, while Lord Robert strove for patience.

  “Well?” the young man prodded, when his short supply of that article ran out.

  “Being very young and country-bred, Miss Glenwood is likely accustomed to far more freedom than she has in Town. Her family is horse-mad, I understand. Undoubtedly, she has been riding since her infancy. In that case, sedate trots along bridle paths cannot be satisfying. If she had a riding companion equally skilled and daring, and if she rode out sufficiently early with proper chaperonage, I daresay she might have a decent gallop, even in London, without causing a stir. Perhaps that would obviate the necessity for dawn rides in breeches.”

  Lord Robert considered. “You think I ought to go with her, Julian?”

  “Oh, any skilled horseman—or -woman—will do, I suppose,” said the marquess, covering a yawn. “So long as the individual is not objectionable to the aunt. She—or her companion at least—will be a tiresome but necessary adjunct.”

  “Gad,” said Robert. “Now I must turn the aunt up sweet, and I don’t think it can be done.”

  “Perhaps not. That is a great deal of exertion on account of one high-spirited miss.”

  “But if I don’t, she’ll be found out, and everyone will say she is a hoyden—or worse—and really, she’s a very good sort of girl. A child, actually, though—” He stopped short, flushed, and cleared his throat, then hastily rose and excused himself.

  As early as was decent, Lord Robert Downs presented himself at Davenant House. He could do no more, unfortunately, than leave his card.

  The family was not at home to visitors today, the butler informed him, though naturally they would look forward to seeing his lordship on the following evening.

  When Lord Robert’s face went blank, Cawble unbent sufficiently to say, “Miss Glenwood’s comeout ball, my lord. I was given to understand you had accepted the invitation. It was sent to Lord Brandon’s domicile, along with his own, inasmuch as the family had not your direction.”

  Lord Robert showing no signs of moving, and appearing, if possible, further at sea than ever, Cawble unbent a bit more.

  “Perhaps,” he invented, “the notice being so short, his lordship accepted on your behalf and neglected to mention it in the press of his numerous obligations.’’

  Lord Robert’s face cleared then. “Yes, he must have done. Yes. Quite so. Thank you. Good day.”

  ***

  “I do not understand,” said Lilith. “How can they accept invitations I never sent?”

  She, Emma, and Cecily were in what would be the supper room, revising arrangements. Following the Countess Lieven’s ball, some score or more invitees had discovered they did not have previous engagements after all.

  They were coming, Lilith knew, to obtain tidbits about her imagined relationship with Lord Brandon. Until this morning, she had enjoyed the prospect of disappointing them, for she had not and had never intended to invite the marquess. Now the vexatious man was coming anyhow.

  “Oh, my,” said Emma. “It wa
s I sent them.”

  Lilith looked at her. “But they were not on my list.”

  “No.”

  Cecily came to Mrs. Wellwicke’s rescue. “I asked her,” she said. “The other day, I asked if she had sent Lord Brandon and Lord Robert invitations yet, because Lord Robert never mentioned coming, though all the other gentlemen have - and so I thought his might have gone astray, you see. You did invite all the others I’ve met, so naturally I thought—” She studied her aunt’s stony countenance, “You did not mean to invite him at all, Aunt?” she asked, evidently baffled.

  “Oh, dear,” said Emma. “I simply assumed she had discussed it with you beforehand. Meanwhile, obviously Cecily assumed I would know who might be invited and who might not. Well, this is a muddle.”

  Lilith’s mouth tightened a bit, and her shoulders straightened a bit, and she said in her usual cool way, “Not at all.” And that was the end of it.

  The matter was ended, that is, until Lady Enders arrived to help.

  She worried that the flowers would not be delivered on time, and if they were, they would be the wrong ones and the colours would clash and the lobster patties would upset Lord Enders’s digestion, and the Prince Regent would come after all, which meant the windows must be kept tight shut and everyone would faint, and other like catastrophes. Then, done with “helping,” she set upon the real object of her visit, the satisfaction of raging curiosity regarding Lilith’s ride home the previous evening.

  Rachel would not dare question her directly, Lilith knew. Regardless how she was questioned, the widow had no intention of confiding any of her troubles to anybody—and most especially not her future sister-in-law.

  Still, Lilith had to endure a set of apologies: Rachel and Matthew should never have consented to being taken home first, and if that could not be helped, they should have taken Lilith with them and sent her on in a hired vehicle, if necessary, with Matthew as escort, and they would never forgive themselves, especially if Lord Brandon had been disagreeable in any way, which Rachel hoped he had not been?