by Anne Stuart
A pair of mocking eyes slowly faded from Gillian’s wistful memory, as she prepared to face her next round of duties. “And I have missed them,” she said dutifully, if with slightly less enthusiasm than she usually showed.
In the meantime Ronan Patrick Blakely, Lord Marlowe, the sixth marquis of Herrington, was making abstracted answers to Vivian Peacock’s whiskey-laden inanities as they barreled through the rain-soaked, deserted London streets toward Blakely House on Bruton Street. Had they been traveling directly, they would have been home in less than a minute, Blakely House being adjacent to the Redfern town house. But by carriage the path was particularly convoluted, giving Mr. Peacock more than enough time to observe his lordship’s distracted air.
“See here, Marlowe, you ain’t interested in that bit of muslin, are you? She hardly seems in your line at all,” he protested.
Lord Marlowe gave his companion his singularly sweet smile. “You mistake the matter, Viv. Miss Incognita was none other than Derwent Redfern’s sister.”
This was surprising enough almost to sober Mr. Peacock. “Gammon! I’ve met both his sisters. One’s a great horsey creature in Kent, the other’s a regular out and outer. This one doesn’t fit either description.”
“I gather this is a third sister. One who never married.”
“An ape-leader, eh? I warned you she’d be trouble if you trifled with her, Ronan, my boy.”
Lord Marlowe was leaning back against the cushions, eyeing the dark sky with the rain clouds scudding fitfully about. “I have no intention of trifling with her, Viv,” he said mildly, apparently engrossed in the view.
“That’s not to say. . . . Well, perhaps I should keep my mouth shut,” Vivian said. “But I wonder . . .”
“What do you wonder?”
“Whether she could fall under the fabled Marlowe charm? Do you ever fail, Ronan?” he asked with simple curiosity.
“Not if I put my mind to it.”
“It would be entertaining if you were to have Derwent Redfern’s maiden sister infatuated with you. Rather nice revenge, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Marlowe replied sharply.
“But it was Redfern who managed to get you sent away so long ago. He spread that particularly foul rumor about, didn’t he?”
“It was. Derwent Redfern, not his innocent sister, Viv.”
Vivian cocked a sly eye at him. “Are these scruples I hear coming from my old friend? I know the problem. You doubt your infallible charm. You know there’s no way you could bring a Redfern under your spell.”
Marlowe hesitated for only a moment, having imbibed a great deal of brandy himself not too long ago, and being disturbingly haunted by a pale face and a beguiling smile. “Would you care to place a wager that I couldn’t?”
“What amount were you thinking on?”
Marlowe smiled seraphically. “A thousand pounds, Viv?”
“Done! I have little doubt it’ll do the poor girl good. Imagine having Derwent Redfern for a brother!” Vivian shuddered. “But I’m counting on her to hold out. I’ll watch your progress with interest, my boy.”
Marlowe smiled a slow, sensual smile. “So shall I, Viv. So shall I.”
Chapter Three
IT WAS AN exceedingly attractive family tableau in the upper withdrawing room in Berkeley Square. Gillian sat far removed from the sweltering fire, her dark blue dress unbuttoned at the top, her reddish-blond hair pinned neatly back, her blue eyes surveying her family with tolerant affection.
Her sister-in-law, Letty Wilberforce Redfern, was curled up by the fire, her moon face flushed with the heat, one plump hand moving from the chocolate box to her mouth with monotonous regularity. Her daughter, as slender and delicate as her mother was plump, strode around the room, bursting with her customary energy, her dark eyes flashing, her high cheekbones flushed. There was little question that Miss Felicity Redfern was one of the nonpareils of the season. With her clouds of midnight black hair, the delicate nose, rosebud mouth, and creamy white skin, she found that very few could find fault with such perfection. Certainly not her doting relatives. Fortunately Felicity was as kindhearted as she was beautiful. She was also as high-spirited, which, according to her parents, was not quite so fortunate. “Just like her Aunt Gillian before she settled down,” was the usual judgment, and her Aunt Gillian would make a small moue of distaste at her present staid self.
“You will never guess what Bertie has told me,” Felicity was in the midst of saying with a great deal of excitement, her dark eyes snapping. “The entire ton is talking.”
“The entire ton is always talking about something or other,” Gillian observed tranquilly. “And I don’t know if it’s at all the thing to be gossiping with your cousin. After all, he’s supposed to be in London to sop up some learning, not to lead a rackety life.”
“Stuff!” Felicity scoffed. “You’re just trying to sound like Papa. You know you think they’ve treated poor Bertie abominably, sending him down for such a little prank.”
“I’m persuaded your Aunt Gillian has far too much sympathy for Bertie,” Felicity’s mother put in in her customarily exhausted tones. “And you also know perfectly well that despite her high resolve, she enjoys a good bit of gossip just as much as you or I. What has Bertie told you?”
There was a question in Felicity’s fine eyes as she surveyed her aunt, and Gillian gave a little nod, redirecting her own attention to the mending in her lap. Letty was always too tired to look after the mending, and Felicity too scatterbrained, so the bulk of the work usually went to Gillian. Mrs. Redfern was too high a stickler to entrust her fine laces to a servant’s rough touch.
“It’s about the new marquis of Herrington. Lord Marlowe, that is. Apparently he is setting up a gaming club.”
“And what is so extraordinary about that?” Letty questioned peevishly. “I am persuaded any number of gentlemen have invested in such clubs, with no questions asked.”
“But Lord Marlowe intends to do more than invest. He and Vivian Peacock are planning to run the place! Apparently Lord Marlowe ran a gambling hell when he was in Vienna, just before coming into the title, and he has said that he misses it!” Felicity surveyed her female relatives to gauge their reaction to this shocking piece of news.
“I don’t expect he’ll be received after such behavior,” Letty observed comfortably.
“But that’s where you’re wrong, Mama. According to Bertie, all the gentlemen have professed themselves breathless with anticipation, and the majority of the ladies also. It is odd, isn’t it,” she mused, “how one gentleman can do something and be ostracized for it, and another can do the exact same thing and be applauded. I have come to the melancholy conclusion that society is both fickle and shallow,” she announced.
“Such great wisdom for eighteen years of age,” Gillian said cheerfully. “Whatever is left for such a worldly-wise young lady? A convent at best.”
“Silly! I have no intention of abjuring the world. Not yet, at any rate. And I certainly wouldn’t do it if I were still as young as you are, Gilly. I can think of any number of men who would be at your feet if you gave them half a chance.”
“Your aunt doesn’t care for parties and having men at her feet,” Letty said sharply, forgetting her chocolates for the moment. “She’s quite content as she is.”
Gillian looked up from her mending, a smile in the fine eyes. “Thank you, Letty. It’s always nice to be told when one is happy.”
“Didn’t you actually meet Lord Marlowe?” Felicity asked hastily, throwing her slender body down beside her aunt, causing Gillian to prick herself with her needle. “I gather he’s terrifically handsome. I’ve simply been longing to meet him, but so far our paths haven’t crossed. I don’t suppose he’ll be allowed in Almack’s?”
“It would be extremely unlikely,” Gillian
allowed.
“Well, frankly I think it rather tame myself, so I wouldn’t doubt he’d be just as happy not to have to go. Is he as handsome as they say he is?” she continued, ignoring her mother’s look of displeasure. “Ginny Elverston says he makes shivers run up and down her spine when he just looks at her. Did he do that to you?”
“Certainly not!” Gillian lied unhesitatingly. “He’s far too old for you, Felicity. Close to forty, I would imagine. As for being handsome, well, I suppose he is, though I didn’t get that good a look at him. It was a dark, rainy night well over two weeks ago, and I am not certain I would even recognize him again if I were to see him. I am convinced he would not know me.”
“And a good thing it is,” Letty piped up. “Lord Marlowe is not the sort of person Redferns associate with. If we’re forced to meet him we should be distantly polite, but that is all. Derwent says—”
“Don’t you feel it’s a trifle warm in here, Letty?” Gillian wondered hastily.
“Not in the slightest. Derwent says you’ve always been overheated. My fingers can be practically numb from the cold, and you suggest opening the windows! I trust you weren’t about to make any such callous suggestion?”
“No, Letty,” Gillian said meekly. “I thought Felicity and I might go for a walk. I need some new ribbons for my green dress, and the air would do us good.”
“Derwent does not approve of that dress, Gillian,” Letty said darkly. “Even with new ribbons. It’s too young for you.”
“That’s as may be, but I happen to like it. The empire won’t collapse if I wear a dress that is a trifle frivolous,” Gillian replied with unimpaired good nature.
“I would love to go with you, Gilly,” Felicity broke in quickly. “Is there anything we can get you, Mama?”
Letty leaned back against the cushions, resting her plump arm along the tufted back. “Nothing, dear. I believe I shall have to rest this afternoon. I am absolutely exhausted,” she said in a plaintive voice. “If you do happen to pass the confectionary . . .”
“We’ll get you some more chocolates,” Felicity supplied cheerfully. “Of course, Mama. You get a rest. You mustn’t overtire yourself.”
“Someday,” she confided to Gillian a short while later as they were strolling down the sidewalk, “she will get too lazy even to breathe.”
Gillian laughed. “Unkind girl. Your brothers and sisters can be very exhausting, you know.”
Felicity nodded her head beneath the fetching green creation, whose bill had sent her father into a screaming tantrum a few short days ago. “I know that perfectly well. Which is why she leaves them entirely in your care except for holidays and when guests arrive.”
“Hardly in my care, Felicity. Nurse and Miss Hammersmith do a marvelous job,” she said seriously. “But I didn’t bring you out with me to discuss the children.”
“I was afraid of that,” Felicity said ruefully, her eyes downcast. “What have I done now?”
“Done?” echoed Gillian, startled. “I wasn’t aware that you had done anything. Am I such an ogre that you always expect me to reprimand you?”
“No, of course not, best of all my aunts! And besides, I’d rather you take me down a peg or two than anyone else. You always make such sense when you do, and don’t make a person feel like a loathsome worm or the most ungrateful creature alive. Bertie agrees with me—we both think you’re a great gun.”
Gillian was not impervious to flattery, but she had a goal in mind and refused to be distracted. “I wanted to ask you about Liam Blackstone.”
Felicity’s creamy complexion turned a deep rose that was scarcely less attractive. “Who told you?” she demanded in a strangled tone.
“I hardly think that matters,” Gillian said gently.
“It does to me. I want to know who it is that I can’t trust. Was it that little skunk Bertie? I should have known he’d rat on me the moment my back was turned.”
“No, it wasn’t Bertie. And I thought, dear Felicity, that you trusted me.” The reproof was delivered in very gentle tones, but had the effect of making the younger girl look up at her aunt, completely stricken.
“Of course I trust you, Gilly. But I know how Papa terrorizes you, and I thought you would be better off not knowing. That way you wouldn’t have to lie for me and feel miserable doing it.”
“Very sacrificing of you, my dear,” Gilly said with only the hint of a smile. “And you also remembered how I turn bright red when I lie, so that my brother knows immediately that something is up.”
“That too,” Felicity admitted, unabashed. “It must have been Marjorie who told you. She thinks just because she’s been my maid forever she can interfere in my life. Well, she can’t.”
Gillian didn’t trouble to deny it. “Marjorie was only worried about you, Felicity. As I am. Didn’t your father order you not to see Mr. Blackstone again?”
“Yes.”
“Then, though I can’t say I’m surprised at your disobeying him, I am surprised at Liam Blackstone’s being so unprincipled as to encourage you behind your father’s back.”
“He didn’t!” Felicity shot back. “He hasn’t encouraged me, not one tiny bit. He’s always telling me to go away. He just doesn’t mind that I go down to his mission whenever I can, and help him.”
“To Stepney?” Gillian questioned faintly. “Do you realize how dangerous it is?”
“I realize it better than you, GiIly. And I don’t mind. If Liam has chosen the poorest, dirtiest slum in London for his work, then there is nothing I’d rather do than help him. He lets me, sometimes. I’ve helped ladle out the soup for those poor unfortunates, and I’ve been trying to get Mrs Buddles to teach me how to cook. I am determined to be worthy of him, Gilly. And I will be.”
Her aunt stared at her usually flighty young niece, and was touched. “You still love him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“More than ever.” There was a dignity about her, despite her extreme youth. “It’s been three years since we met, nine months since Papa forbade me to see him. And every time I see him I love him more. I’m going to marry him, Gilly. I’m not going to let my family ruin my life as they did yours.”
“My family did not ruin my life,” Gillian said calmly.
“You spend your life watching other people’s children,” Felicity said cruelly.
“It was my choice.”
Felicity eyed her aunt speculatively. “I don’t know that I quite believe you,” she said frankly. “But I do know that that sort of life is not for me. Neither is being married to a vicious lecher like Uncle Sinford, or a dull stick like Uncle Talmadge.”
“I don’t think either of them offered for you, my dear,” Gilly pointed out with a trace of amusement.
“You know perfectly well what I mean. They’re just the sort Redfern women marry. I would rather be a spinster than marry someone like that, and I would most of all prefer to marry Liam. If I could only persuade him.” She wrinkled her fair brow as she pondered her problem, and Gillian resisted the impulse to reach out and smooth the cares away.
“Well, you will have to be a little more careful, my dear,” she said instead in a prosaic tone of voice. “What I found out others can also discover.”
Felicity caught her hand between hers, her dark eyes beseeching. “Then you won’t tell my parents?”
“Tell them what? That you’ve done some charity work for the poor people in Stepney? I wouldn’t think that would interest them all that much.”
“Bless you, Gilly.” Her voice throbbed with intensity.
“In the meantime, do you suppose we might go into the shop?” she inquired, merriment dancing in her blue eyes.
Felicity looked about her in surprise. “We’re here already?”
“We’ve been standing outside Madame Racette’s for the last
five minutes, attracting no end of attention. If we might go in . . . ?”
THE MISSES REDFERN were some of Madame Racette’s most honored customers, and Madame herself always waited upon them, no matter who else was at that moment enjoying her patronage. To be sure, Miss Gillian Redfern could never be persuaded to wear anything but drab grays and navy blues, all of the most depressing cut, but her taste was unerring when it came to the dressing of her beautiful young niece. Now there was a lady it was a pleasure to dress, not like some of the fat old harridans who came to her shop demanding dresses that were designed for girls twenty years younger and twenty pounds lighter.
And there had been a ray of hope where Miss Gilliam Redfern was concerned. Two weeks ago, upon returning from a visit to the country, she had unexpectedly chosen an absolutely charming dress in nile green, cut daringly low for Miss Redfern, though boringly high for most of Madame Racette’s customers. Madame Racette had had visions of a complete transformation of the elder Miss Redfern’s boring wardrobe, though such a grand order had yet to materialize. But hope sprang eternal, and when her assistant came to the private showing room and whispered of the Redferns’ arrival, she made a hasty excuse to the saturnine gentleman and his companion and rushed from the room, promising to return momentarily.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Redfern!” she cried as she swept into the room, two mannequins in her choicest creations trailing along behind. “What an honor it is to see you this lovely spring afternoon. Is it too much to hope I might interest you in another dress? The one Babette is wearing I might have designed with you in mind. Such a color was made to be worn with hair such as yours. Notice the sweep of the skirt, the embroidered detail on the bodice.” Madame Racette was too experienced a businesswoman to miss the light of covetousness that filled Gillian’s blue eyes.
Gillian controlled her sudden longing. The dress was too young, the color, a soft aqua, was outrageous, and as for the cut—there was no bodice at all. She would look like a courtesan. “No, madame, I have not come for another dress,” she said nobly, looking away. “I merely needed some ribbons to go with my last dress.”
