A Husband's Wicked Ways (23 page)

Aurelia, still chuckling, rang for Hester.

D
ON
A
NTONIO
V
ASQUEZ
, stretched at his ease before the fire, a glass of port to hand, surveyed his visitor with an expression of distaste.

“I seem to be surrounded by fools. What do you mean, you lost her?”

The man twisted his cap between his hands, his gaze firmly fixed upon his shuffling feet. “Your pardon, Don Antonio, but it was the cows.”

“Cows.”
Antonio stared at him. “What nonsense is this. Miguel, what’s he talking about?”

Miguel was standing discreetly and somewhat anxiously in the shadows during this interview. His head was no longer bandaged, but his forehead was covered with a deep purple bruise, and an angry knot throbbed just above his right eye. But he was back on duty, despite the dull, continuous headache. As luck or misfortune would have it, he had employed the man who had so signally failed in his task that morning, and that fail
ure was bound to be visited upon his wounded head at some point. He was not in Don Antonio’s best books as it was.

Miguel cleared his throat. “Apparently they keep a herd of cows in the park, Don Antonio.”

“What’s that to do with anything?” his master demanded, draining the contents of his glass. “Why would I be remotely interested in bovines?”

“Of course you wouldn’t, sir. But the lady in question somehow became lost in the herd and disappeared. By the time Sanchez here had extricated himself from the fracas, there was no sign of the lady or her dog.”

Antonio frowned, holding out his glass imperatively. Miguel rushed forward with the decanter. “Was this encounter with the bovines deliberate?” Antonio fired the question at Sanchez.

Sanchez shuffled even more uncomfortably. “I don’t see how it could have been, my lord. It was the dog, see. It took against the beasts…dogs don’t like cows in general, in the country—”

“For God’s sake, man, I’m not interested in the relationship between dogs and bovines,” Antonio interrupted. “What kind of a mad country is this, when they keep a herd of cows in a park in the middle of the city?”

“Something to do with public grazing rights, sir,” Miguel explained stolidly, unsure whether the information was truly required.

Don Antonio’s blasphemous response was answer enough. “What do we know of this woman?”

“A widow before her marriage to the
asp
. Nothing of note. Her first husband was killed at Trafalgar. One child, a daughter of five or six.”

“Why would he marry her?” Don Antonio uncurled his lean, slender frame from the chair and rose to his feet. He was dressed in black, except for a shimmering white neckcloth, from whose starched folds glowed a massive ruby. A silver dagger was clipped to his belt.

He took a turn around the small parlor, his body as lithe and graceful as a panther’s. “The
asp
amuses himself with women when it suits him, but there’s never been a permanent woman in his bed before.” He tugged at his square beard, frowning into the fire. “
Why?
Why would he take a wife
now
?”

“Perhaps because he chose to,” Miguel suggested.

“Idiot,”
his master declared. “Of course he chose to. The question is
why
?”

“Perhaps we’ll discover if we watch her,” Miguel ventured.

Antonio spun on his heel to face him. “That bumbling idiot who couldn’t follow an elephant in a desert has made that impossible,” he declared icily. “I told you to find me someone who would
never
be picked up.”

“I thought I had, sir.” Miguel glared at the unhappy Sanchez. “But perhaps it
was
an accident with the cows. There’s no way to be certain.”

“Which is precisely why we can’t take the risk,” his master stated. “The
asp
must not suspect anything. It’s vital that he assumes his real identity remains unknown.
So all surveillance stops as of now. And from now on, I’ll do the job myself. There are better ways to skin a snake than surveillance.”

Miguel bowed, clicking his heels together. “As you command, sir.”

“Get this clumsy oaf out of my sight.”

Miguel gestured to the unfortunate man, who backed hastily and with obvious relief from the room.

Don Antonio stood in front of the fire, rising and falling on his toes and heels in the manner that Miguel knew denoted deep thought, the kind of thoughts that boded ill for their subject.

“What the devil does this marriage mean for us?” Don Antonio murmured finally.

Miguel did not make the mistake of responding.

“If, against all the odds, our friend has somehow succumbed to the softer emotions…” Antonio’s thin lips twitched in a sardonic smile. “If he has feeling for this woman, then she’ll prove very useful. And if he’s using her in some way, then we shall also find a use for her. I look forward to making her acquaintance.”

“Yes, Don Antonio.” Miguel bowed again. “I see what you mean.”

At that his master gave a short, unkind laugh. “Do you, Miguel? Do you indeed? If you do, it’ll be the first time in my experience.”

Miguel bowed his head beneath the contemptuous statement and made no attempt to defend himself. He turned to go.

“One minute.” Antonio raised a hand. “What’s her name?”

“I believe it to be Aurelia, sir.”

“And of what countenance is she? What does she have that would attract the
asp
?”

Miguel considered. “In truth, sir, I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’ve only seen her briefly, but she seems nothing out of the ordinary. Pleasant enough countenance, rather small frame, no bosom to speak of…or at least that I could see. Nothing special, Don Antonio.”

“And you don’t consider that to be of interest?” Don Antonio inquired with a deceptively pleasant smile.

“I didn’t, but I do now.” Miguel bowed hastily. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.” And he beat a prudent retreat.

Aurelia stepped out of the barouche at the Buxtons’ house in Stanhope Gardens and mentally gave herself a shake. The morning’s adventure had left her feeling rather foggy for some reason. At the time she hadn’t realized how much nervous energy it had taken, but she needed all her faculties this afternoon. Countess Lessingham, as Aurelia had told Greville, was a demon at the card table and she needed to impress her.

She ascended the steps and was welcomed by an austere butler, who escorted her to the back of the house and into a large salon that was set up with four card tables. Edith Buxton turned from a group of ladies by the fire as Lady Falconer was announced and came forward
to greet her. “My dear Lady Falconer, welcome. I hope your wits are sharp for the cards.” A warm and friendly lady, Edith was well liked even by the most malicious gossips, and she beamed with pleasure at the prospect of her afternoon’s entertainment.

Aurelia responded with her own warm smile, even as she was casting a quick eye over the assembled company. It astonished her how she had learned to see in this way, to take in a scene in one sweeping glance. The hours with Greville, poring over pictures of complex scenes or groupings, absorbing the most minute details, learning mnemonics for memorizing trays of unrelated objects, had all enabled her to feel certain that one inclusive view of a scene would give her the salient facts.

Lady Lessingham stood out in the crowd. Aurelia had thought before what an imposing figure she cut, and she seemed to stand out like a peacock in full feather among the more subdued English ladies. A mantilla was fastened to her jet-black hair, her curvaceous figure encased in a dramatic afternoon gown of coffee and cream lace.

Aurelia moved towards the group of women, smiling, acknowledging greetings with a small bow and a handshake. “Lady Lessingham, how are you?” She shook hands. “Have you been out of town? I haven’t seen you in a week or two.”

“I was in the country, Lady Falconer…oh, do permit me to congratulate you.” The lady spoke with a
slight lisp as she fluttered her eyelashes behind a skillfully manipulated fan. “Such a surprise. Is it true…an elopement? How romantic.”

“We felt that a very quiet ceremony would be appropriate,” Aurelia said calmly. She was getting used to the slightly scandalized questions, and quite adept at deflecting them, but they did grow tiresome and she couldn’t wait for the nine days’ wonder to be replaced with another. “You’ve been in the country, you said?”

“Oh, yes…I have been nursing one of my countrymen.” The countess was happily diverted. “So ill, after the most dreadful journey, such a narrow escape from Spain, with the barbarian at his heels.” She sighed behind her mantilla.

“Countess Lessingham…our dear Spanish friend, you are so good to your fellow countrymen,” Edith declared, patting the lady’s arm with her silk-mittened fingers. “And so welcome among us…poor King Carlos…to have been forced from his throne by that monster.” She gave a well-bred shudder.

“I’m so glad to run into you here, Lady Lessingham,” Aurelia said warmly. She slipped an arm through the countess’s and adroitly drew her slightly apart from the circle around the fire. “I’m so curious about your country and I haven’t had the opportunity to ask you any of the hundreds of questions I have. Do tell me about Madrid. I must own to a long-standing urge to see the Prado…such a beautiful palace, from everything one has seen and heard.”

“Yes, indeed…” The countess sighed heavily, helped herself from a plate of sticky sweetmeats on a side table, and launched into a description of the exquisite marbles, frescoes, and paintings in the royal family’s palace.

As soon as Greville had asked her to further her acquaintance with the countess, Aurelia had set herself to learn enough about Spanish customs and art to be able to pose intelligent questions and murmur sympathetically at the losses her companion had sustained. Within fifteen minutes the countess had insisted she call her Doña Bernardina and was announcing to their hostess that nothing would do but that she be partnered at cards with dear Lady Falconer.

Even if Greville thought two tours de force in one day no great achievement, she certainly did, Aurelia reflected, as she played to her partner’s ace. Doña Bernardina’s skill at the cards was everything she had been led to expect. They partnered each other well, and at the end of the afternoon were, to all intents and purposes, the best of acquaintances.

“My dear Lady Falconer, you must come to one of my soirees,” the lady said as they made their farewells. “I hold a small salon for my unfortunate compatriots every Friday evening…they are so grateful to be able to talk with their own countrymen, and we have some most stimulating intellectual discussions…I’m sure you would find them so entertaining. You are so knowledgeable about the art and culture of my country.”

“You flatter me, Doña Bernardina,” Aurelia de
murred. “I have but a smattering of knowledge, but I own to a great interest, and a desire to learn more.”

“Then you will come?” Doña Bernardina clasped her mittened hands in front of her with an expression of delight.

“I should be delighted. Only…only, forgive me, Doña Benardina, but my husband is also…”

“Oh, splendid…nothing could be more delightful,” the lady exclaimed. “I shall send you an invitation directly.”

Aurelia’s smile gave no inkling of her triumph as she made her farewells to her hostess and fellow guests. She rode home behind Jemmy with her blood singing in her veins, wondering how she could ever have reached the grand age of thirty without ever really knowing this astonishing exultation at performing a difficult task to perfection. She raised her head, smiling up into the sky, where the first faint glimmer of the evening star showed. Fanciful, foolish, an impulse born of this moment of jubilant self-congratulation…but she enjoyed the moment nevertheless.

She entered the house on South Audley Street still on wings. Morecombe was no longer in the hall, and she guessed he was having supper in the kitchen with the twins. She hurried to the library, flinging open the door with a dramatic gesture, standing on the threshold, one hand on her hip. Only the room was empty.

Ah, well, she should have expected it. With a shrug Aurelia turned back to the hall. She had rather hoped,
after their play that morning, that Greville would have arranged to spend the evening with her…she had also rather assumed that he’d be waiting to hear the result of her afternoon’s excursion. Not so, it seemed.

She went up to her bedchamber, feeling deflated for the second time that day. Quite clearly she had not fully grasped the importance of this work, she decided as she went into her chamber. It wasn’t a game, where jubilation and congratulation at a win might be appropriate. In this business, one might be entitled to indulge such feelings if one succeeded against expectation. But she expected herself to succeed. And Greville certainly did. This morning he had indulged her need for praise, but she was fairly certain he wouldn’t always do that. They were partners and she was no novice who could be allowed to make mistakes. And she couldn’t expect a reward just because she didn’t make mistakes.

A good lesson. Aurelia rang for Hester and unpinned her bonnet. Greville would have no inkling of her moment of weakness and subsequent revelation. She was going out for the evening, and if he came in before she left, then she would tell him what had happened, and if she didn’t see him until later, then she would describe the afternoon’s action in as cool and businesslike a fashion as he could wish for.

And he didn’t return before Lord David Forster came to escort her to Almack’s Assembly Rooms. Greville had made it clear from the beginning that standing idly around the Assembly Rooms with an insipid glass of lem
onade or a dish of tea and a piece of wafer-thin stale bread and butter watching decorous couples circling the dance floor was not his idea of an entertaining evening. Aurelia had laughed and said he was not alone in that opinion, and she would not expect his escort on the occasions that she felt obliged to attend the weekly Wednesday ball.