Elizabeth Mansfield (20 page)

Clive, resplendent in his black evening coat, satin breeches and high, starched shirtpoints, gaped at her when she came down the stairs. "You are a
vision!"
he exclaimed. "Every fellow in the theater will envy me."

"You
do
look well, my love," Eva said complacently, pleased that her plan seemed to be working. "But come along, or we shall be late."

They were not at all late. There was plenty of time, after their arrival at the King's Theater, to mill about the lobby. Eva turned right and left, greeting friends and exchanging gossip, the feathers of her turban bobbing. Clive, too, saw a number of chaps of his acquaintance and took a good deal of swaggering enjoyment in introducing Cicely to them. But Cicely did not see a familiar face, especially the one she wanted to see. Not until the gong sounded the first-act warning. Then, making her way up the crowded stairway to the box, she thought she caught a glimpse of him.

She turned out to be right, for immediately after taking her seat, she glanced into the adjoining box, and there he was! The box seemed crowded with people, five or six at least. He was holding the chair for a woman in a dark red gown with a shockingly low decolletage. The woman was lushly beautiful, with black hair, dark lashes framing green eyes, and a truly magnificent figure. Cicely felt her insides clench with jealousy.

As soon as he'd seated the woman, Charles glanced up and saw her. "Cicely!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting with delight. (Yes, she was certain, when she reviewed the events of the evening later, that "delight" was the proper word for his expression.) But his expression immediately changed to one of embarrassment. He glanced uneasily at the woman he'd help seat and, seeing that she'd turned away to chat with one of the other women in the group, made his way through the press of people to the edge of the box. Eva and Clive now saw him, too. "Why, it's Lord Lucas," Eva exclaimed warmly.

"Lady Schofield, good evening," Charles murmured with a polite bow. "And Miss Beringer. How do you do? I'd heard from Clive that you're in town for the season. I hope all is well at Crestwoods."

But Eva, who by this time had taken a good look at the company he was with, lost her smile and warmth. "Very well, thank you, my lord," she said shortly.

His face flushing, Charles patted his nephew's shoulder. "I hope, ladies, that you are finding yourself in good hands," he said, giving Cicely a small but meaningful smile.

Does this man think Clive and I are courting?
Cicely asked herself in irritation.
And does he believe he deserves the credit for it?
"Yes, Clive is an excellent escort," she said, putting up her chin.

"I'm glad to hear it. I do hope you enjoy the music. I understand Madame Pesta has great vocal power and range."

Eva, to Cicely's surprise and chagrin, snapped open her fan and, waving it vigorously, coldly turned her face to the stage. "So I hear," she said dismissively.

If Charles was offended, he did not show it. He merely made a bow to both ladies, nodded to Clive and turned back to his friends.

Cicely, heartbroken by this worse-than-formal exchange, took her seat in a daze. Eva was annoyed by him, that much was clear, but Cicely didn't understand why. Nor did she understand why Charles hadn't introduced them, if not to his friends, then at least to the woman he was escorting. All during the first act, and the second, too, she surreptitiously cast her eye over to the next box. The woman with Charles looked luxuriously at her ease, one arm over the back of Charles's chair, one leg extended. Every few moments she lifted her fan to cover her mouth while she whispered something to him. Sometimes he laughed at whatever she'd said. There was undoubtedly some sort of intimacy between them. Cicely felt her fingers clench. She'd never before felt like a cat, but at this moment she had a startlingly feline urge to scratch the woman's eyes out.

During the second interval, Eva went out to greet a friend, and Clive excused himself to hobnob with some cronies who were milling about in great spirits down in the pit. Cicely, alone in the box, was startled by the touch of a hand on her shoulder. With a little cry, she looked up. It was Charles. "Oh!" she said, her pulse racing.

"I just stopped in to tell you how perfectly charming you look," he said, smiling down at her in the way he used to at Inglesby Park.

"Thank you," she said, blushing. 'That's because you've never seen me in evening clothes." Emboldened by the happy awareness that he'd sought her out, she looked him over brazenly. "I've never before seen you quite so elegantly attired, either. Clive is right when he says you are up to the mark."

"He says that, does he? I must remember to thank him. It's not often a young whippersnapper has a kind word for an old man's appearance."

"If you're so old," she taunted, "you must be tired of standing there. Won't you sit down?"

"I suppose we have a few minutes before the others return," he said, taking the chair beside her.

"Speaking of the others," Cicely ventured boldly, "why didn't you introduce us to the lady with you?"

His cheerful, friendly expression changed at once. "Never mind why," he said curtly. He shook his head at her in avuncular disapproval. "Will you never learn to stop asking outrageous questions?"

"How can I stop if I don't know they're outrageous?" she asked reasonably. "Though, since I've already made you angry, I may as well go ahead and ask a question I
know
is outrageous. Is that lady... Are you... ? Confound it, I'll just say it without roundaboutation. Do you love her?"

He jumped to his feet, red-faced, and glared down at her. "That does it, Cicely Beringer! As usual, you've put me completely out of frame. This tête-à-tête is at an end. I shall bid you good evening. I hope you enjoy the rest of the opera. You've certainly succeeded in ensuring that
I
will
not."

"I'm glad of that, at least," she muttered to his retreating back.

But for the rest of the evening, though she watched the next box as assiduously as possible, she could see nothing in his demeanor toward his companion that showed any lack of enjoyment.

When Clive brought the ladies home, Cicely lingered at the doorway after her aunt had gone inside. "Clive," she said nervously, "I want to ask you a question which you may find outrageous. But even if it is, I want you to promise to answer it."

He snorted. "I know your outrageous questions, my girl. I won't make any such promise."

"Will you at least try not to be shocked? And not to be prudish in your answer? I'm not a little innocent babe, you know."

"You do seem a little innocent in that gown," he said, grinning at her fondly.

"Do I?" She looked down at herself in disgust. "Perhaps that's why—! Dash it, I should have worn something red. With a real decolletage."

"I don't know what you're prattling about. You look as pretty as the prettiest girl at the opera. Prettier. I'd even kiss you, if I thought I wouldn't get my face slapped for my pains."

"Yes, but if I looked less innocent, perhaps you'd feel
compelled
to kiss me, slap or no."

"That's a challenge if I ever heard one," he said, and he reached out to embrace her.

She held him off with a not-so-innocent display of skill. "Don't be a clunch. You know we don't care for each other in that way. Do you want to hear my question or don't you?"

He sighed in defeat. "Go on and ask."

"It's about your uncle. Why didn't he introduce us to the lady he was with?"

"You
are
an innocent," the young man declared. "Couldn't you tell what sort she was?"

"What do you mean? What sort?"

"The
wrong
sort, you goosecap. That was Mrs. Moreslow. The rather notorious Mrs. Moreslow. I've heard the fellows call her Mrs. Not Moreslow."

"I don't understand," she said, her brows knit.

He laughed, gave her a peck on the cheek and started down the walk. "Because, my little innocent," he threw over his shoulder, "the woman is known to be
fast."

Cicely went to bed that night with much to think about. She was not surprised, after all, to learn that her Charlie associated with fast women. She'd known from the first that he was a rake. That fact had never disturbed her; rakes could be reformed. But she had to win him first, and that was evidently going to be harder than she'd expected. He was adamantly clinging to the difference in their ages as the barrier to what she was certain was a mutual attraction. She hadn't figured out how she might overcome that barrier... until now. But now she had a clue.

She smiled to herself as she blew out her candle and settled into her bed. "Very well, my lord," she whispered into her pillow, "if it's a fast woman you want, a fast one you shall have."

Chapter 28

Jeremy arrived at the Inglesby house in Dover Street quite late at night and thus was surprised to learn from Beecks, his mother's elderly butler, that his mother had not yet retired for the night. Lady Sarah, who occupied the London house most of the year (having taken an eccentric dislike to all the other Inglesby residences), had fallen asleep in a winged chair in the downstairs sitting room, her feet up on an ottoman and a book open on her lap. "She don't like it if I wake her," Beecks confided. "She usually rouses herself before midnight an' goes on up, but she's spent the night in that chair more'n once."

"Let's try not to wake her, at least until I've made it to up to my bed," Jeremy whispered. "I'd rather not have to face her until morning."

But Hickham, who hated coming to the London house (it being the only place where he had no other role in the household than valet to his lordship, and thus had to take second place to Beecks in the staff hierarchy), let out his dissatisfaction by making a considerable racket with Jeremy's baggage. He even dropped a portmanteau with a great clatter. "Damnation, Hickham, must you make such a bustle?" Jeremy hissed from the stairs. But it was too late. The noise had reached all the way down the hall, where her ladyship awoke with a start. "Who's there?" she cried out.

"Only me, Mama." Jeremy, after throwing his valet a glare, poked his head in the sitting room doorway. "Sorry I didn't have time to let you know I was coming."

"What rubbish! As if you have to notify me when you want to stay in your own house. Come in, Jemmy, my love, and let me take a look at you. It's good to have you home."

Jeremy, shrugging with the aplomb of a good-natured loser, crossed the room, bent over her and kissed her cheek. Mother and son surveyed each other for a moment, each one with a smile of approval. "You are remarkable, Mama," Jeremy said in admiration. "How can you manage to look dignified even when being awakened from a nap?"

"I was
not
napping. I do not nap. But never mind me, you makebate. It's you I wish to speak about." She withdrew her legs from the ottoman and motioned for him to sit on it. "I'm quite put out with you, you know. I heard, only yesterday, that Cicely Beringer is back in town, still not—"

"Still not betrothed," her son finished for her. "Yes, I'm well aware of that. But don't get on your high ropes, Mama. I've come to town for the express purpose of rectifying that situation."

"Have you really? I'm relieved to hear it. But I can't imagine why it's taken you so long to get to the point. It's been more than a month since I called on you at the Park. Why didn't you do something about Cicely at once?"

Jeremy ran his hand through his hair, wondering just how much his mother should be told. "I tried," he said with studied casualness, "but her mother objected."

"Objected? To
you?"

Jeremy had to smile at her motherly indignation. "Not everyone thinks as highly of me as you do, Mama. Besides, you must remember that I'm twenty years the girl's senior, which fact hardly qualifies me as an ideal suitor."

"Nonsense. There isn't a mother in all of England who wouldn't want to snatch you for her marriageable daughter, no matter what the daughter's age."

"There was one. Lady Beringer informed me quite bluntly that she didn't want me anywhere near her daughter."

"Oh, she did, did she? Well, then, my love, she shan't have you. As far as I'm concerned, that releases you from any obligation in that direction."

He smiled sardonically. "Good of you, my dear, but you are not the only party concerned. In any case, let me hasten to assure you that Lady Beringer has changed her mind since then. In fact, she is now quite enthusiastic about my becoming her son-in-law."

Something in his tone caught her ear. "You don't say," she murmured, eyeing him closely. "How did this delightful change come about?"

"Very simply. The woman took a tumble down the outside stairs—the very ones you so dislike—and injured her head. She had to recuperate in my house, during which time she came to appreciate my finer qualities. You certainly can't find fault with that, can you?" He got to his feet, placed a quick good-night peck on her cheek and went swiftly to the door, congratulating himself on having given her all the salient points with admirable brevity and without revealing the tiniest hint of the heartbreak underlying the outward details.

But his mother did not let this smug feeling last beyond the few seconds it took him to reach the doorway. "You may scurry off to bed if you like, my love," she said, "but you don't fool me for one moment. There's more to this tale than you've seen fit to tell me."

He stopped, leaned his head against the door frame in weary resignation and sighed. "I knew this should have been kept till tomorrow. What did I say to make you believe—?"

"Do you think I don't know despair when I see it in my son's eyes? But never mind, I shan't keep you now. I'll dig out the missing pieces sooner or later, will-you nill-you. Good night, my dear, and sleep well."

Chapter 29

Jeremy had dressed with care for this occasion; it was not every evening one went out to make an offer of marriage. And even though it felt more like offering his head on the chopping block, he was nevertheless eager to make a proper appearance. He'd put on his light gray camlet breeches, he'd let Hickham have his way with the folds of his neckcloth (which Hickham considered a great honor and by which he was much cheered), and he'd topped it all off with a satin waistcoat, whose embroidered fleur-de-lis design was nothing if not discreet, and one of his finest blue coats.