Rendezvous by Amanda Quick
“That will be next door to Miss Claudia Ballinger, then, madam?” Mrs. Gibbons made a note on a piece of paper.
“Yes, exactly.” Augusta smiled and went down the steps to greet Peter. “How good of you to come, Mr. Sheldrake. I do hope you will not be too bored here in the country. Graystone has been telling me for days that country parties are not really your thing.”
Peter’s brilliant blue eyes danced with laughter as he bent his head over her hand. “Madam, I assure you, I do not expect to expire of boredom in your drawing room. I understand your cousin will be here?”
“She arrived but half an hour ago with Uncle Thomas and is presently refreshing himself.” Augusta smiled down at Meredith. “You have been acquainted with Graystone’s daughter, I believe?”
“I have seen her once or twice. But I had definitely forgotten how very pretty she is. What a charming gown, Lady Meredith.” Peter turned the full force of his smile on the girl.
“Thank you.” Meredith appeared unaware of Peter’s charm. She was staring past him at the bright green phaeton with its high springs and elegant, daring lines. There was a sparkle of something that might have been longing in her eyes. “That is a most wonderful carriage, Mr. Sheldrake.”
“I am rather proud of it,” Peter admitted. “Won a race in it just last weekend. Would you care for a ride in it later?”
“Oh, yes,” Meredith breathed. “I should enjoy that more than anything.”
“Then we shall plan on it,” Peter said.
Augusta grinned. “Actually, I would not be adverse to a ride in your phaeton myself, sir. Graystone, as you no doubt know, does not precisely approve of such dashing conveyances. He thinks them unnecessarily dangerous.”
“You shall both be safe enough in my hands, I assure you, Lady Graystone. We shall go quite slowly and take no chances.”
Augusta laughed up at him. “Do not make it sound too safe, sir, or you will take all the sport out of the thing. What is the point of driving about in a phaeton if one does not go fast?”
“Do not let your husband hear you say that,” Peter warned, “or he will probably forbid you and Lady Meredith to go about in it with me. Graystone’s notion of having an exciting time of it is to uncover an old Latin text featuring Cicero or Tacitus.”
Meredith began to look worried. “Is a phaeton quite dangerous, then, Mr. Sheldrake?”
“It certainly can be if it is driven recklessly.” Peter winked at her. “Are you afraid to ride in mine?”
“Oh, no,” Meredith assured him gravely. “It is only that Papa does not like me to do dangerous things.”
Augusta looked down at Meredith. “I have an idea, Meredith. We will simply not tell your father how fast we go in Mr. Sheldrake’s phaeton. What do you think about that?”
Meredith blinked at the novel notion of deliberately not telling her father a fact. Then she said in a serious voice, “Very well. But if he asks me about it directly, I shall have to tell him all. I could not possibly lie to Papa.”
Augusta wrinkled her nose. “Yes, of course. I understand. You must blame me entirely if we happen to land in a ditch during our drive.”
“What’s this? A conspiracy?” Harry asked, sounding amused as he came down the steps. “If Sheldrake lands anyone other than himself in a ditch, he shall have a great deal of explaining to do. To me.”
“A dreadful notion,” Peter drawled. “You were never very understanding or sympathetic about mistakes and miscalculations, Graystone.”
“Keep that in mind.” Harry glanced down the drive as another carriage approached. “I am certain Mrs. Gibbons is about to show you to your bedchamber, Sheldrake. When you have refreshed yourself, I would like for you to join me in the library. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”
“Of course.” Peter gave Augusta another of his laughing smiles and went on up the steps behind the housekeeper.
Meredith looked anxiously up at her father. “Is it truly all right for me to go for a ride in Mr. Sheldrake’s beautiful phaeton?”
Harry gave Augusta a smiling glance over the top of his daughter’s head. “I believe it will be safe enough. Sheldrake has more brains than to take undue risks with the two people in the world who happen to be most important to me.”
Augusta felt herself warmed by the expression in her husband’s eyes. Flustered by the look, she smiled at Meredith. “There, now, it is settled. We shall not have to sneak about in order to ride in Mr. Sheldrake’s phaeton, after all.”
Meredith smiled her father’s slow smile. “Perhaps Papa will buy us our very own phaeton.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry muttered. “I am not about to spend good money on such a frivolous conveyance. In any event, I am nearly bankrupt already due to the excessive expenditures Augusta seems to have made lately on her wardrobe and your own.”
Meredith was instantly appalled. She glanced down at the pretty pink ribbons on her dress. “Oh, Papa. I am sorry. I did not realize we were spending too much money on my gowns.”
Augusta glowered at Harry. “Meredith, your father is teasing us most shamelessly. We have not even begun to put a dent in his income and in any event, I believe he rather likes our new clothes. Is that not so, Graystone?”
“They are worth every penny, even if it puts me in dun territory,” Harry said gallantly.
Meredith smiled in relief and her hand stole into Augusta’s as her attention went back to the green phaeton. “It really is a most beautiful phaeton.”
“So it is,” Augusta agreed. She squeezed Meredith’s hand gently.
Harry looked down at his daughter. “I perceive a taste for adventure developing here. It appears my daughter is beginning to take after her new mother.”
For some reason Augusta felt quite ridiculously pleased by that notion.
“I must say, Graystone, you are surviving married life very nicely.” Peter helped himself to claret from the decanter that had been set out in the library.
“Thank you, Sheldrake. I flatter myself that not every man could survive being married to Augusta.”
“Takes a certain degree of stamina, I would imagine. But it appears you are thriving. In fact, I would go so far as to say you have undergone a distinct change in your temperament. Who would have imagined you bothering with a house party in the past?”
Harry’s mouth curved wryly as he took a swallow of his own claret. “Who, indeed? But Augusta seems to enjoy that sort of thing.”
“So you enjoy indulging her? Amazing. You have never been the indulgent type.” Peter grinned mockingly. “I told you she would be good for you, Graystone.”
“So you did. And how are you doing with the other Miss Ballinger?”
“I have succeeded in getting her attention, I will say that much for my efforts. The Angel is proving the very devil to woo, however. But Scruggs has supplied me with a great deal of useful information about her tastes and opinions. You would not believe the sort of books I have been reading lately in order to make conversation on the dance floor. Even had to plow through one of yours.”
“I’m honored. Speaking of Scruggs and related matters, how is Sally?”
The amusement vanished from Peter’s expression. “Physically, she is growing extremely frail. She really will not last much longer. But she has taken a keen interest in tracking down details of Lovejoy’s background for you.”
“I got your letter last week saying there was very little information available,” Harry said.
“The man has an unexceptional past, to be sure. Last of his line, apparently. At least there are no close relatives that Sally or I could discover. Estates in Norfolk seem profitable, although Lovejoy does not appear to pay much attention to them. Some investments in mining, too. Excellent record as a soldier, good at cards, popular with the ladies, no close friends, and that is about it.”
Harry swirled the claret in his glass and considered the matter. “Just another bored ex-soldier seeking to amuse himself with an innocent
“I fear so. Do you think he was attempting to provoke a challenge? Some men enjoy the sport of the dueling field.” Peter grimaced in disgust.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. ’Tis possible. But I had the feeling his goal was to put me off the notion of marrying Augusta altogether rather than provoke a challenge. It was as if he wanted to discredit her in my eyes.”
Peter shrugged. “Probably wanted her for himself.”
“Sally told me Lovejoy did not start paying any marked attention to Augusta until her engagement to me was announced.”
“I told you once that some men enjoy the challenge of seducing another man’s woman,” Peter reminded him.
Harry mulled that over in his mind, unwilling to let the puzzle drop. But there were other, more pressing riddles. “Very well. My thanks, Sheldrake. Now I have a far more interesting task to set you. I believe I have found a clue that may point us in the direction of the Spider.”
“The devil you have.” The glass in Peter’s hand made a sharp cracking sound as he set it down on the desk. His blue eyes were riveted on Harry. “What have you got on that bastard?”
“He may have been a member of the old Saber Club. Do you recall it?”
“Gone. Burned down a couple of years ago, did it not? It was not around long.”
“Correct. What we need,” Harry said as he opened the desk drawer and removed the bloodstained poem, “is a list of the members.”
“Ah, Graystone,” Peter murmured as he took the small sheet of paper from Harry’s hand. “You never cease to amaze me. May I ask how you came by this?”
“No,” said Harry. “You may not. Suffice it to say we would have had our hands on it two years ago if Crawley had not been the one sent to make inquiries after a certain suspicious incident.”
Peter swore. “Crawley. That bumbling idiot?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Ah well, what is done is done. Tell me what this means.”
Harry leaned forward and started to talk.
Betsy was fastening the clasp of the ruby necklace around Augusta’s throat when the urgent knock came on the door of the bedchamber. She went to answer it and frowned when she saw the young maid hovering anxiously in the hall.
“Well, what is it, then, Melly?” Betsy demanded imperiously. “Her ladyship’s busy gettin’ ready to greet her guests downstairs.”
“I’m sorry to bother her. It’s Miss Fleming. I’m ’avin’ a terrible time. Her ladyship told me I must help her get ready for the evenin’, but Miss Fleming don’t want ’elp. She’s in a frightful takin’, she is.”
Augusta got up from the dressing table, the skirts of her deep golden gown swirling about her golden satin slippers. “What on earth is the matter, Melly?”
The young maid looked at her. “Miss Fleming won’t wear the new gown you ordered, ma’am. Says it’s the wrong color.”
“I will speak to her. Betsy, come with me. Melly, run along and see if any of the other maids need help tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Melly scurried off down the hall.
“Come along, Betsy.” With her maid at her heels, Augusta swept along the corridor and flew up the staircase to the next floor, where Clarissa’s bedchamber was located.
At the top of the stairs she nearly collided with an unfamiliar young man wearing Graystone’s black and silver livery. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“Beg pardon, your ladyship.” The young man looked flustered and embarrassed at having nearly run down his mistress. He was heavily muscled and the livery strained across his shoulders. “The name’s Robbie. Got taken on two days ago as a footman to help out with the house party.”
“Oh, I see. Well, run along, then. They’ll be needing help in the kitchens,” Augusta said.
“Yes, your ladyship.” Robbie hastened off.
Augusta continued on down the hall and came to a stop in front of Clarissa’s door. She pounded loudly on it. “Clarissa? What is going on in there? Open the door at once. We have very little time.”
The door opened slowly to reveal a besieged-looking Clarissa who was still wearing her wrapper. Her graying hair was tucked into an old muslin cap. Her mouth was set in militant lines. “I shall not be coming down, madam. Do not concern yourself.”
“Nonsense, Clarissa. You must come down. I am going to introduce you to my uncle tonight, remember?”
“I cannot possibly come down to join your guests.”
“It is the gowns, isn’t it? When they arrived late this afternoon, I was afraid you would be concerned about the colors.”
At that an astonishing glimmer of tears appeared in Clarissa’s handsome eyes. “They are all wrong,” she wailed.
“Let me see them.” Augusta marched to the wardrobe and opened the door. An array of gowns hung there, all in deep jewel tones. There was not a slate gray or dull brown one in the lot. Augusta nodded in satisfaction. “Just what I ordered.”
“What you ordered?” Clarissa was astounded. “Madam, I allowed you to talk me into new clothes for your house party, although as you know I held strong opinions on the impropriety of a governess attending such an event. But I distinctly told that silly dressmaker that I wanted everything done in dark, subdued shades.”
“These are dark shades, Clarissa.” Augusta fingered a deep amethyst silk and smiled. “And they will look divine on you. You must trust me on this. Now hurry and get dressed. Betsy will help you.”
“But I cannot possibly wear such brightly colored gowns,” Clarissa said, looking frantic.
Augusta fixed her with a stern expression. “You must remember two things here, Miss Fleming. The first is that you are a member of his lordship’s family and he will expect you to dress appropriately for this evening. You would not want to embarrass him.”
“Oh, good heavens, no, but …” Clarissa broke off, her expression hunted.
“The second is that my uncle, even though a scholarly sort, has been living for some years now in London and has grown accustomed to a certain style among the women of his acquaintance, if you see what I mean.” Augusta crossed her fingers on that last bit.
She had a hunch Sir Thomas would not notice whether a woman wore sackcloth or silk, but it would not hurt to have Clarissa make a good impression. And she knew how badly Clarissa wanted to impress Sir Thomas. At this point Clarissa no doubt had only intellectual passions in mind, but Augusta had hopes for a more fundamental relationship developing between the two. Getting Clarissa into a flattering gown was only prudent.
“I see.” Clarissa drew herself up, her eyes going to the array of new gowns in her closet. “I had not realized your uncle held opinions on female style.”
“Well, the thing is,” Augusta said in a confidential tone, “he has spent his whole life studying the lives of the ancients. And I fear that most of those women of antiquity were noted for their stylishness. Only think of Cleopatra and the fine draping on all those Greek statues.”
“Oh, dear. I see what you mean. Sir Thomas has no doubt absorbed a certain classical ideal of how a female should appear, is that what you are saying?”
Augusta smiled. “Precisely. As it happens, the gowns we have ordered for you will give you a classical silhouette and Betsy will arrange your hair in the Greek style. You shall look exactly like a goddess of antiquity when you descend the stairs tonight.”
“I shall?” Clarissa was clearly awestruck by that image.
“Betsy will see to it, won’t you, Betsy?”
Betsy bobbed a curtsy. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
Augusta’s brows rose. “I shall depend upon you, Betsy. Put Miss Fleming in the amethyst tonight, will you? Now, then, I must be off. His lordship will no doubt be pacing the floor, wondering where I am.”
Augusta rushed back downstairs to her bedchamber and threw open the door, only to discover Harry. He paused in midstride and scowled ferociously. He glanced meaningfully a
“Where the devil have you been?”
“I am very sorry, Harry.” Augusta gazed at him in deep appreciation. Harry looked elegant and powerful in his black and white evening clothes. “Clarissa balked at the notion of wearing something besides gray or brown. I had to convince her that she would severely embarrass you if she did not wear one of her new gowns.”
“I do not care in the least what Clarissa wears.”
“Yes, well, that is somewhat beside the point, my lord. Where is Meredith? I distinctly told her to be down here by half past so that we could all walk downstairs together.”
“I still feel Meredith is much too young to be allowed to attend this sort of thing,” Harry said.
“Nonsense. She has been extremely helpful in the preparations and she deserves to be allowed to participate for at least a short while. My parents always allowed me to come downstairs long enough to be introduced to their friends. Do not concern yourself, Harry. Meredith will be off to bed before you know it.”
Harry looked doubtful, but he apparently decided not to do battle over the issue. Instead he allowed his gaze to skim over Augusta’s golden gown. “I was under the impression, madam, that you were going to start ordering your gowns cut a bit higher at the neckline.”
“The dressmaker made a slight miscalculation, my lord,” Augusta said breezily. “No time to repair it now.”
“A miscalculation?” Harry took two strides forward and inserted his finger just inside the low bodice. He slid the finger slowly, tantalizingly over one nipple.
Augusta sucked in her breath, partly in shock and partly because she always reacted fiercely to his touch. “Good grief, Harry. Stop that at once.”
He slowly removed his finger, his gray eyes gleaming. “Do you know what I think, Augusta? I think the miscalculation was yours. As you will no doubt discover later this evening when I come to your room with a measuring tape.”
Augusta blinked and then laughter bubbled up inside her. “You are going to measure me, sir?”