Knave's Wager by Loretta Chase
Chapter Eleven
Members of the company who’d noticed Lilith’s departure with Lord Brandon held their collective breath while counting the minutes until her return. They would have all been asphyxiated if Lady Fevis hadn’t decided to have her fortune told.
The Future was no sooner revealed than the heretofore sweet and gentle Lady Fevis burst from the gypsy’s tent, flew at her husband, and began thumping his head with her parasol. When the weapon was wrenched away by her mama, and her husband dragged away to safety, the enraged wife fell back momentarily. She collected herself, then made another mad rush—this time at Lady Violet Porter, whose hazel eyes Lady Fevis showed every inclination to tear from their sockets.
Mr. Porter tried to pull Lady Fevis away from his wife. Lady Fevis’s brother, Mr. Reginald Ventcoeur, ordered him to remove his filthy hands. Mr. Porter made an uncomplimentary observation. Mr. Ventcoeur rushed forward, spun Mr. Porter round, and knocked him down. Mr. Porter jumped up and rushed at Mr. Ventcoeur and brought him down. The two young men commenced to savagely pummelling each other.
Lady Violet screamed. Lady Fevis fainted. Friends rushed forward to help. Two gentlemen, trying to separate the foes, knocked their own heads together. Instantly, they gave up pacifism and began flailing at each other. One of Mr. Ventcoeur’s friends was heard to make a remark regarding “horns.”
Two of Mr. Porter’s friends immediately fell upon him.
In short order, thanks to the enlivening effects of large quantities of champagne, nearly all the younger gentlemen had thrown themselves into the battle. Of their elders, the greater part busily made wagers, while an unheeded minority called for order.
It was during the melee that Cecily slipped off to her forbidden rendezvous with Lord Robert. He, having retired to a distance to await her, was unaware of the excitement until it was well over.
In fact, the battle itself lasted scarcely five minutes. The confusion it engendered, however, continued long after. Though the ladies of the company had been led away to safety, a score felt duty bound to fall into swoons or strong hysterics. Between tending to these and the male wounded, considerable time and effort was expended in restoring tranquility to Redley Park.
Thus, except for those directly concerned, not one person of the several hundred realised Mrs. Davenant had been gone with Lord Brandon nearly an hour. She rejoined her battle-weary fellows to find her reputation safe. Of her virtue, Lilith was not so certain.
The first time Lord Brandon had kissed her, at Cecily’s comeout, he’d taken Lilith by surprise. Though this scarcely made it right, it was an excuse of sorts. Unfortunately, such a frail excuse works but once. What she’d done this time didn’t bear thinking of.
Had her schooling in deportment been less mercilessly thorough, Lilith could never have faced her fiancé. As it was, the strain soon told in the usual way, with a headache. Fortunately, she never needed to plead illness. Thomas was eager to be gone from a party that had turned into a thoroughly barbaric spectacle.
Though Lilith said little during the ride home, her silence went unremarked. Cecily was too busy trying to extricate details about the contretemps from a tight-lipped Sir Thomas. He refused to discuss the cause, except to speak vaguely of silly misunderstandings and a lot of ill-mannered youths drinking more than was good for them.
On the subject of manners, he grew more talkative. Striking one another with fists and rolling upon the ground like a lot of Cockney ruffians was not Sir Thomas’s idea of gentlemanly behaviour.
One of the combatants had been thrown against a servant who carried a tray of champagne glasses. The tray, sent spinning into the air, had struck the back of Sir Thomas’s head. He was lucky, he told the ladies, not to have been cut to shreds by broken glass. It was the sort of episode one might expect in a gin shop—not at a great society affair.
“Young men nowadays,” he intoned, “have no notion of self-restraint. I can only blame this obnoxious fad for boxing. In my day, the gentry set the example. They did not imitate their inferiors. But what can one expect of fellows who consider it the height of fashion to adopt the costume and manners—or lack thereof—of common coachmen?”
“Well, I’m sure it was very disagreeable for you,” said Cecily. “All the same, I do think fists preferable to pistols and swords. I’m glad duelling is illegal. It may be more elegant, but it’s also far more deadly. I do wish I knew what had started it,” she added with a sigh. “I should like to have something exciting to write Rodger.”
Lilith was not altogether surprised to see Lord Brandon at Almack’s the following night, though the assembly hall’s staid exclusivity, unappetizing refreshments, and inept orchestra could scarcely appeal to a man of his cosmopolitan tastes. He would come, of course, because he was the last person on earth she wished to see. She had but to glimpse his gleaming black hair and broad shoulders, and every mortifying detail of the previous afternoon came back to flog her conscience.
When he approached, her heart raced. But the marquess stopped only long enough to exchange a few civilities with her and Thomas.
Brandon danced with several ladies, including two of the patronesses and, to Lilith’s astonishment, Lady Enders, who blushed and giggled throughout. He also danced twice with a very pale Lady Fevis. The second was a waltz, during which the lady’s colour and spirits revived remarkably. Lord Fevis’s colour was observed to heighten about the same time. When the next set commenced, he gratified the company by stalking up to his wife to announce it was time to go home.
Eventually, Lilith realised she was studying Lord Brandon’s movements more intently than was seemly. Her gaze went immediately in search of her niece.
Lilith’s eye lit upon Cecily just as Lord Robert was taking the girl’s hand. The widow did a rapid calculation and began to move even more rapidly across the hall. Before she could reach them, she saw Lord Brandon approach, say something to Robert, then lead Cecily out.
The marquess brought Cecily back to her aunt at the dance’s end.
“You needn’t scold her,” he said. “I’ve just rung a peal over them both. Robert apparently experiences difficulties with higher mathematics.”
“I’m so sorry, Aunt,” said Cecily. “I had my mind on something Anne said and forgot completely I wasn’t to dance with any gentleman more than twice.”
“There are some matters one has not the luxury of forgetting,” Lilith said repressively. “In future, Cecily –”
She was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Ventcoeur, who, sporting a swollen upper lip and bruised jaw, had come to claim his dance.
When the younger man had swept Cecily to safety, Lord Brandon turned to Lilith. “Will you do me the honour, Mrs. Davenant?”
“No, thank you.” She managed a polite smile for the benefit of any interested onlookers.
“I knew you would refuse. I kept away so I would not be tempted to ask. It’s no good, you know. There’s no substitute for dancing with you—a matter I have not the luxury of forgetting.” He turned his gaze to the dancers.
Though she wished he would go away, Lilith was obliged to acknowledge the service he’d performed.
“Thank you for rescuing Cecily from her mistake,” she said, her eyes, too, upon the dance floor.
“I promised to keep watch on Robert. At any rate, it was the least I could do. Miss Glenwood’s timely appearance stopped me in the midst of a greater error yesterday. I should have had more care for your reputation, regardless the heat of the moment,” he added gently. “I was abominably selfish and thoughtless.”
Her chin went up. “My reputation is not in your keeping, my lord,” she answered. “You will please refrain from making me out to be a helpless victim of your irresistible charm. I resent your implying I do not know right from wrong. I am not a backward child.” With another polite smile, she left him.
The next morning, Lilith chaperoned Lord Robert and Cecily on yet another attempt to break their own and the horses’ necks simultaneously.
The black stallion and its master arrived moments after the young pair had dashed across the meadow.
“Is this not devotion?” his lordship asked. “To arise at such an hour, merely to speak with you?”
“I wish,” she said tautly, “Lord Robert did not make a habit of revealing his plans to everybody.”
“He had no need to tell me. I had but to observe his retiring betimes and hear him at daybreak clomping down the stairs. Not that I wouldn’t have stretched him on a rack for the information, had that been necessary. You cannot tease me with provocative statements, madam, and expect to be left in peace.”
She stared blindly ahead, trying to recall exactly what she’d said the night before, when the marquess had so infuriated her.
“You set me down for taking the blame all to myself for our... indiscretion,” he reminded. “Now I’m on pins and needles to know whether or not you’ve concluded it was entirely your fault. Was it you led me astray, Mrs. Davenant?”
Her face grew warm. “You know that is not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, then?”
“I wish you would not affect stupidity. It is another insult to my intelligence.”
“I want to know exactly what you meant,” he said stubbornly. “Your remarks might be construed in several ways. Shall I conclude you came with me knowingly and willingly? I should very much like to believe that.”
“Though I’m engaged to be married, my lord? I know you have little regard for such commonplaces as vows—but have you so much contempt for me as to believe I deliberately—Why do I ask?” Lilith said bitterly. “I’ve earned your contempt. You were selfish and thoughtless, you said. Does that excuse me?” she asked, pressing her hand to her thumping heart. “I’m no cypher. I have a mind—and a will—and morals—or so I thought. But now I scarce know what to think myself.”
He dismounted, threw the reins over a bush, and approached her. “Come down,” he said, holding up his hands.
“No.”
“Don’t make me pull you from the saddle, Lilith.”
His hands grasped her waist, and she, seeing no alternative, cooperated. She caught her breath as her body brushed his in the process, but in an instant she was on solid ground and he’d let go of her waist to take her hand instead. Even through the leather glove, she felt pulse beating against pulse.
“More than once,” he said, “you’ve spoken of my contempt for you. As if that weren’t bad enough, you persist in claiming you’ve earned it. Because of a few kisses, a few caresses? Be sensible, Lilith. If my disdain is so easily earned, what must I think”—he paused and smiled—“well of the other women, you know.”
She would not be weakened by that slow, affectionate smile. “I’ve never believed you could have a high opinion of women,” she said. “If you had, you wouldn’t make a habit of using and discarding them.’’
“Such habits reflect the frailty of my own character. Therefore, I should be the object of contempt.”
“It’s always the women despised in these cases for their frailty.”
“That’s what Society says, and Society is composed merely of human beings, as fallible as ourselves.”
“It’s hardly necessary for Society to point out my error. No one need remind me I’ve been false to my betrothed— twice—or that I ought—” She stopped herself.
Too late.
“I see,” he said. “You’re in torments because conscience tells you to break off your engagement, while self-preservation warns you’d better not.”
“I have no intention of sacrificing my entire future because of a few foolish moments,” she answered frigidly, drawing her hand away. That sounded mercenary, she knew. Very well, then. Let him think her so. She had rather that than his pity.
He was silent a moment, studying her flushed face.
“Odd,” he said. “I persist in seeing your betrothal as the sacrifice. Why did you accept him, Lilith?”
“I know you have a low opinion of Thomas. Try to understand that others may not share it.”
“I’m trying to understand you,” he answered gently. “Your conscience demands you pay a debt you don’t owe me. The same conscience insists you marry a man you believe you’ve played false. The one I may ascribe to pride. The other? The better I know you, the more difficult it is to understand.”
She turned a bit away from him. “You don’t know me.”
“Not well, perhaps. I know what all the world does—that you’re a model of breeding and deportment. But I know also that you’re astonishingly well-informed. Also, you have an eye for the ridiculous and thus a proper appreciation of raw wit.” He paused, then added more somberly, “And I know you’re in pain. I can’t be the cause of all your trouble. You were suffering before you met me.”
He touched her shoulder lightly, to turn her back to him again. ‘You don’t want me for a lover... and I suppose I must accept that.”
“Yes, I wish you would.’’
“May I be a friend, then?”
“A friend?” she echoed, incredulous.
“Yes. To tell your troubles to. Why should you not, when I know so many already? By now you must be aware I don’t repeat all I know.”
“I know you can be inscrutable when it pleases you.”
“Also sympathetic. However, we must draw the line at your crying upon my shoulder or into my neckcloth. No matter how great the emotion, there is no excuse for wrinkling fabric. Not to mention the proximity of... well, we won’t mention it.” All the same, his eye fell upon her somber riding hat.
She remembered how, a few days before, his fingers had lovingly stroked her hair. Though at the moment she wanted solace, she was wary of that species of comforting.
“I don’t think we can be friends,” she said. “Not, at least, the confiding sort.”
He seemed to be studying her face still, though he answered lightly enough. “Very well. Let us be the gossiping sort, then. What do you make of Lady Fevis’s extraordinary behaviour?”
Lady Fevis’s rout was that evening.
Routs are intended to be crushes. Always there must be more people than square feet to accommodate them. This one was a suffocation.
Cecily had elected to go with Anne Qeveson and her mama to a small card party. Cecily, her aunt reflected as yet another person trod upon her toes, had better sense than to go to a gathering the sole purpose of which was to make everybody hot, tired, bruised, and—since refreshments were rarely provided—hungry and thirsty as well.
Lilith stood next her betrothed. He was reviewing with Lord Gaines the Grand Duchess’s latest machinations on behalf of Princess Caroline. The two men had been talking nearly half an hour, and Thomas was just getting his steam up.
Lilith was very weary with standing in one place listening to the same opinions she’d heard two dozen times before. The air was stale and heavy with clashing perfumes. She would have liked to step away, to try to find a cooler, less crowded spot, if such was to be found. Around her on all sides was an impenetrable mass of bodies—some, she noted, in grievous want of soap and water.
She interrupted Thomas to remind him they hadn’t yet danced.
“Yes, my dear,” he said. ‘Certainly. In a moment.” Then he turned back to Lord Gaines.
Lilith gazed about her in despair. She was looking longingly down at the staircase they’d scaled with such difficulty when her gaze fell upon a head of crisply curling hair, black as midnight. Lord Brandon looked up at that moment. The boredom left his green eyes, and he smiled.
It had taken Lilith and Thomas twenty minutes to move from the first landing to the first floor. Lord Brandon covered the distance in one tenth the time. In another minute, he was at her side.
“Mrs. Davenant looks ready to faint, Bexley,” said the marquess. “Shall I hew a path for her to an open window?”
“Oh, yes—That is... are you ill, my dear? Only too happy, of course, if my lord Gaines would—”
Lord Brandon assu
They found Lady Fevis by a window embrasure at the far end of the corridor.
She appeared very embarrassed, and very young, as they came upon her. “I did not mean to hide from the company,” she explained, “but I needed a breath of air, and this is the only place where any is to be found.”
“If you will share it with Mrs. Davenant, she will be much obliged,” said Lord Brandon.
“Oh, of course. I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Davenant. I know these affairs are supposed to be shocking squeezes, but this is altogether unbearable—and all because I was—”
At which point, she swooned.
Brandon caught her, lifted her easily in his arms, and carried her to the nearest room. Lilith meanwhile got the attention of a servant and, adjuring him to complete discretion—lest the entire crowd bear down upon his mistress at once—ordered water and sal volatile.
Lady Fevis came to before the remedies arrived, but Lilith made her sip the water and lie still while Lord Brandon went in search of her husband.
They returned a few minutes later. Lord Fevis rushed to his wife, fell to his knees before her, clasped her hands, and cried, “My poor darling! Oh, such an idiot I’ve been. The woman was nothing to me, I promise, nothing. Oh, but Clarissa, my dearest, why did you not tell me?”
The marquess was already escorting Lilith from the room. He closed the door upon the reunited couple.
“She ought to have told him, you know,” he said as he led her back to the secluded embrasure. “A man has a right to know he’s going to be a papa.”
“How did you know?” Lilith asked, astonished. “She could not have told you such a thing when you danced with her.”
“When I danced with her? When was that?”
Lilith looked up at him. His green eyes glittered wickedly.
“I had no idea my actions were under such close scrutiny,” he said. “I must exercise more caution in future.”