But she was not his lightning bolt.
Hazel dragged her gaze free and saw Lord Barden and Selim approach from the house. Her stomach gave an unpleasant little twist.
Joe rose at once, excusing himself to his companions and strode forward to meet Selim with his hand held out.
The prince took it slowly, as if still unsure he was truly being welcomed. Joe introduced him to his mother, who, of course, had already met him. While Lady Sayle then turned her attention to Barden, Joe and Selim stayed in low-voiced conversation.
Lord Barden’s voice rose above the others in the garden, “Why yes, a most interesting day! I met Mr. Isyanci here, on his way to Brightoaks, and you’ll never guess what happened to us. We were held up.”
“By a highwayman?” Emma almost squeaked. “How exciting!” But her excitement did not quite ring true to Hazel. The girl had known of her brother’s plan.
“How outrageous, rather!” Lady Sayle objected. “Joe, surely we don’t have highwaymen in these parts?”
“I believe they pop up anywhere,” Joe said mildly. “I’m glad to see neither of you the worse for your adventure. Did you lose much to this miscreant?”
Barden shrugged. “A few pounds,” he said carelessly. “Fortunately, I did not have a great deal with me.”
“Have you reported it to the magistrate?” Joe inquired.
“Are you not the magistrate?” Selim asked.
“Lord, no. I’m not here often enough to carry out such duties, but I can take you to see him, if you like? Colonel Farraday. His house is about six miles from here. We expect him for the ball tomorrow evening, of course, so there will be time then if you don’t object to mixing such business with pleasure. We can talk about it later. Do sit down, gentlemen, and have tea after your ordeal. Selim, come and meet my sister.”
“The delightful Miss Emma and I have already met,” Selim said as he approached the table. He bowed, and Emma, with a beguiling smile, offered her hand.
That girl, Hazel thought with amusement, will break hearts.
“And Miss Hazel, who is staying with us for a little. Mr. Isyanci, an old friend from Constantinople.”
“Enchanted,” Selim murmured, his eyes dancing as he bowed over her hand.
He sat down next to Emma and was duly brought tea and offered dainty morsels, which he graciously accepted.
Hazel’s gaze strayed to Joe, apparently discussing highwaymen with three ladies who appeared to be enjoying rather delicious frissons of fright on the subject. Barden, too, was in great demand to enlarge on his adventures.
“Oh, he was a big lout of a fellow in ragged clothes, filthy from top to toe, masked, of course, the coward. Barely knew how to hold a weapon or even to speak intelligibly.”
From his own conversation, Joe laughed.
Hazel cast a quick glance at Barden and found him watching her. He smiled like a cat with a mouse. She looked straight through him, then turned her attention back to her closer companions.
Joe was right. The man thought he could do what he liked with impunity. Well, she would not allow it. She would do all she could to bring him down.
*
Lord Barden had had enough. He had finished tiptoeing around the situation, discreetly offering Hazel Curwen a painless way out of her difficulties. The girl’s idiocy plus a healthy dose of luck—hers, not his—meant the matter was dragging out far too much. By now, he should have moved on to the next stage of his plan, and he was damned if he would let Hazel upset that, too. By tomorrow evening’s ball, it would be impossible for her to continue staying at Brightoaks.
At dinner, he sat between Lady Standish and Lady Theresa Thorne. He would have loved to drop the truth about Hazel Curwen’s identity to both of them, except that it was not normally the sort of conversation one opened with ladies. Therefore, he contented himself with merely ingratiating himself to both. Theresa Thorne was rather lovely, he allowed with some regret, an earl’s daughter, and a match that came with wealth as well as connections. However, he had quite other marriage plans that had more chance of success.
In fact, he did not mention Hazel at all until the ladies had repaired to the drawing room and the port was being passed between the gentlemen at the dining table.
“So, where are the oak trees?” Selim Isyanci asked of the company in general.
“What oak trees?” Lord Dowlton asked, mystified.
“Brightoaks,” Selim said, apparently surprised.
“We’re not completely sure which oaks the name refers to,” Sayle admitted. “There are several in the woods and elsewhere on the estate, as you might imagine, but the ones we’re named for could have died out centuries ago. Still, there is a grove of three very old oaks about a mile or so over the hill. When the sun is at his highest, it really does make the trees look as if they’re shining. If it’s fine, we could ride out there tomorrow morning.”
“I expect the ladies would like that, too,” Dowlton said.
Barden pushed the port toward him and used the opportunity to murmur, “Always such a charming party at Brightoaks. Which makes me all the more surprised.”
“By what?” Dowlton asked, pouring himself a glassful.
“By Sayle letting his mother be so taken advantage of.”
Dowlton’s eyebrows flew up. “By whom?”
“By the sly Miss Hazel, of course. Don’t you know who she is?”
“Some kind of family friend, I gather.” Dowlton pushed the decanter on before turning back to Barden, frowning and clearly displeased at the tone of the conversation.
Barden lowered his voice, though, in truth, he wanted everyone to hear—everyone except Sayle, of course, who was clearly protecting the girl for his own ends. “She’s Hazel Curwen. You know, one of the Princess of Wales’s ladies caught in the last scandal at Connaught Place.”
“Oh. No,” Dowlton said at once. “You must have that wrong.”
“Not at all,” Barden said with a shade of hauteur. “I am not accustomed to having my word doubted. Particularly not when I was there and saw her.”
The poor boy looked devastated, which entertained Barden a great deal. Dowlton was clearly developing a tendre for the hussy. Well, Barden was glad to close another door on her.
Another word confided here and there, and Barden was quite ready to join the ladies in the drawing room and watch his poison take effect.
Of course, no change in people’s attitude to Hazel was immediately apparent. She had never been the kind of girl to thrust herself forward or demand attention, which was one of the things Barden had first liked about her. She had a certain quiet elegance that he had admired when he had called on the princess. In fact, her beauty had begun to haunt him. He had wanted to possess such a ladylike creature as his mistress. He had rather thought it would make him the envy of most men of the world. In some ways, he had even considered it a pity he could not marry her, but the girl was poor as a church mouse and would not do for matrimony. For the bedchamber, however, and for playing hostess to his more sophisticated friends, she would do very well indeed.
Except, of course, that she had spurned him. And in such a way—so haughty in her manner and yet so vulgar in her violence. And the fuss the princess had made! Even writing to her estranged husband to complain of the “insult,” and insisting he utilize another member of his court for any communication between them. It had done Barden no good with Prinny, which was another grudge in his list.
However, this evening, he was, at last, well on his way to vengeance. He noticed that after the first hour, she frequently sat alone, that no one invited her to play on the pianoforte or sing. And, in fact, when the mysterious Selim began to suggest it, the moment was glossed over, and another young lady asked to play again instead.
Barden was so euphoric he almost overplayed his hand. After refreshing himself later in the evening, he returned to the drawing room in time to overhear a conversation between Lady Theresa Thorne and Lady Standish.
The pair were
sitting alone near the door, and Lady Theresa was saying, “…believe it, for I have never heard of Sir Joseph being taken in by anyone. Nor can I imagine him bringing such a creature to his mother’s party! But at the same time, Roberta, I cannot be silent if this girl is taking advantage of your poor mama, of all of you! If I am wrong, forgive me, but if you have any suspicions at all, please speak to Lady Sayle before it is too late.”
Barden felt positively cock-a-hoop. Until he saw the flash of irritation in Roberta Standish’s eyes. Only irritation. Not astonishment or the remotest surprise. She already knew.
Were they all protecting Hazel Curwen, then? Why?
It didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, he needed to make it impossible for them to do so.
“Oh, what nonsense, Theresa,” Lady Standish said. “It’s all a fudge. I assure you the girl is perfectly innocent.”
“Innocent?” Barden repeated, as though flabbergasted. As both heads whipped around to face him with annoyance, he smiled winningly. “Forgive me. I couldn’t help overhearing a certain name and the end of your conversation. But you should know, especially you, Lady Standish, that Hazel Curwen is far from innocent. I have had cause to visit the Princess of Wales on many occasions, and I know that is Miss Curwen. Moreover, I know she was present on that evening at Connaught Place because I saw her there.”
An eyewitness of his rank was indisputable evidence. And Lady Theresa certainly looked horrified.
Too late, he saw that Lady Standish was curling her lip. “And what were you doing there, sir? Helping to clear out Her Highness’s cellar? Excuse me.”
They walked away, leaving Barden flushed at the accusation. But still, it didn’t matter. It was the way of the world that men could do much as they chose with impunity. It was women who tended to pay the price. And he rather thought Hazel would pay it now.
Chapter Seventeen
Hazel sat in the window seat of her comfortable bedchamber, her gown loosened for undressing, and yet her thoughts were far too busy and anguished for sleep.
Being observant by nature, she was well aware of the subtle changes in the guests’ behavior toward her. They kept their distance. Even the newcomers weren’t curious. She caught more than one glance of distaste, and even a few male flashes of speculation.
It was Barden’s doing, of course. Since she had escaped from his clutches, he was making her life here impossible. For more than her own discomfort, she had to consider that of her hosts. She had to think of Emma’s first ball and Joe’s career and recognize that her presence here was a liability for all, even for Amelia’s siblings, who had come here with her.
It really was time to leave. She should never have allowed herself to stay, for she had known all along how this would go. And yet, she could not regret one moment in Joe’s company and would remember each of his family with pleasure.
But it truly was time to go.
The heartache would pass. In fact, it would pass quicker if she went away. How could she even be imagining this great love when it had only been a week since he had found her at the Blue Boar? Mere infatuation, obsession…
A scratch at the door made her jump.
Joe?
Her heart hammering, she clutched her shawl tighter across her breast, stood, and walked to the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it a crack.
Roberta Standish stood there. Taking advantage of Hazel’s astonishment, she ducked inside and closed the door.
“Congress in my mother’s apartments in an hour. Will you still be awake?”
Hazel closed her mouth and swallowed. “Yes. Yes, of course. What sort of a congress?”
“Concerning all this mess,” Roberta murmured. “No point in talking now. Do you know where my mother’s rooms are?”
Hazel shook her head. “Only vaguely.”
“I’ll fetch you, then. Don’t want you blundering into anyone else’s chamber.”
“Lord, no,” Hazel agreed with a shudder. “Wouldn’t that just take the cake?”
Roberta, already reaching for the door handle, cast her a last, quizzical look. By the light of her flaring candle, there was almost a smile in her eyes.
The following hour was difficult to pass. Hazel spent most of it pacing across the floor and planning how best to proceed. She knew what they were going to discuss, of course—her departure. And she would make it easy for them. Knowing it was right for Joe and his kind family would make it easy for her, too. She just wanted it over with.
Almost exactly an hour later, the scratching sounded on her door once more. Picking up her candle, she left the chamber and joined Roberta. It seemed a long walk through dark, twisting passages, from this wing of the house to the main part, but Roberta led the way without hesitation. Hazel could well imagine Joe and his siblings playing wild games of tag and hide-and-seek through the house, especially on dark winter nights. She could almost hear the ghosts of those earlier, childish voices and running figures.
At last, Roberta scratched at a pair of double doors, and they walked into brightness.
Hazel blinked rapidly and looked in some surprise around the assembled “congress”. Not only Lady Sayle and Emma, but Joe and Selim. It was a pleasant, very feminine sitting room, lit by several lamps. Two armchairs and a sofa were clearly meant to be there, and another chair and stool had been brought in from elsewhere to accommodate everyone.
Hazel blew out her candle and set it beside Roberta’s by the door.
Lady Sayle bustled to meet her, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Thank you for coming, my dear. It feels almost like the midnight feasts I used to have with my sisters when I was a girl. Such excitement! Come, sit by me.”
Hazel allowed Lady Sayle to take her hand and lead her to the sofa, but as she sat, she said calmly, “I believe I know the subject of your congress. The revelations concerning me. I thank all of you for kindness and support, but I have the perfect solution in my own hands. I shall leave in the morning, preferably before anyone is awake. I would ask only one more thing of you—the means of a conveyance to London, from where I can easily reach my grandmother in Scotland.”
If she had expected to take the wind out of their sails with this speech, she was disappointed. As she glanced round her companions, their expressions betrayed surprise, amusement, even irritation, but no relief.
“Oh, we’ve already decided against that,” Emma said. “You are outvoted.”
“What a very democratic congress,” Hazel murmured. “But in this matter, I’m afraid it is only my vote that matters.”
“Then you must change it,” Joe said.
Just looking at him made her heart ache, so she dragged her gaze free. “Joe, I have to consider—”
“Everything,” he finished for her. “Have you considered the consequences of letting him win? He will only follow you, Hazel.”
“Perhaps. But I do not intend to let him find me.”
“Are you imagining becoming a governess?” Roberta demanded. “A companion? Really? With this reputation hanging over you?”
Hazel flushed. “Of course not,” she said with dignity. “But I would make a reasonable housekeeper. Perhaps in Scotland, where no one knows my name.”
“They read in Scotland, too,” Joe remarked.
“I shall manage,” she said, glaring at him, for his eyes contained too much understanding, too much amusement. For God’s sake, what is so wretchedly funny?
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” he said. “But leaving that aside, what of Barden? Do you really mean to leave him free to spread his poison? Believing he has impunity to lie as he wishes about anyone? Consider your friends in the princess’s household. Or anyone else he takes in dislike for some petty reason.”
“Besides, it not fair,” Selim observed from the stool next to Emma’s chair. “He lies, and you leave? I say, the liar himself should leave.”
“That would achieve nothing except more talk,” Hazel disputed.
“It depends how it is done,” Joe said. “An
d whether or not you are brave enough to face what comes after.”
She tilted her chin before she realized this was exactly the reaction he had wanted. A smile flickered across his face, and her heart turned over.
“Society is complicated,” Lady Sayle said. “Not least with reputations, rumors, and innuendos. Admitting fault wins most people no society favor. While blatancy can backfire and achieve merely the cut direct. In our situation, what will work best is a little blatancy and a lot of support. There will be no more coy Miss Hazel. You are Miss Curwen with no guilt and nothing to hide. I am not nobody, and I am the hostess of this party. No one will cut you here. Barden’s absence and our clear support of you will speak volumes. Perhaps not to everyone but to enough to cast some doubt on whatever stories are currently flying around London.”
“Barden will learn that his lies don’t necessarily win him what he wants,” Roberta added. “A few doors might be shut on him.”
“More, hopefully, than are shut on you,” Emma said enthusiastically. “Especially if—”
“The point is,” Joe interrupted, “that it will be a difficult evening for you, wondering what people are thinking of you, facing disapproving stares and whispered conversations that stop when you walk past. You may feel very alone. But by the end of the evening, there will be doubts.”
“Wait a moment,” Hazel interjected with a frown. “What evening are we talking about?”
“Tomorrow evening, of course,” Emma said. “The ball!”
Hazel stared at her. “But I don’t want to spoil your ball.”
Emma laughed, her eyes sparkling as Joe’s sometimes did. It seemed to betoken excitement. “Spoil it? Hardly! Joe asked me if I would rather have a smooth and successful party or a memorable one. Obviously, I chose memorable!”
“But…but what is the point?” Hazel asked helplessly. “With you supporting me on one hand and Barden whispering his lies on the other, we will achieve nothing except a ball with a horrible atmosphere, and I will never be convinced that Emma or anyone else would ever want that.”
Pursued by the Rake Page 18
