Emily Hendrickson (10 page)

“I meant what I said earlier; beware of your aunt. I do not trust her in the least.”

Chloe tossed him a worried glance before wending her way to the dining room with Laura.

The usual buzz of conversation met her ears when she entered the pleasantly sized room. After selecting a plate of rather delectable foods, she sought her grandmother and Mrs. Spayne, who were seated on a sofa in the next room. Laura followed, but not without several backward glances at Theo Purcell.

Settling herself on a chair while balancing her plate and glass of lemonade most carefully, Chloe listened to the flow of conversation about her.

“I say it is nothing more than one of her little whims. I doubt if Effie has anything extraordinary planned. After all, who does she know that the rest of us do not also know?” Mrs. Spayne pointed out when the topic of the supposed surprise came up.

It was not long before they discovered what it was that Mrs. Robynhod intended as her treat.

When the people were about finished with their supper, the hostess climbed on a step that had been placed at one end of the drawing room. Rapping for attention on a wooden stand that somewhat resembled an easel, she spoke when all was quiet.

“My dear friends, it is not often that we are given the pleasure of enjoying true talent found among one of our own. This evening I have that pleasure. Through the assistance of a dear friend I am able to display the extremely clever drawings of our dear Lady Chloe Maitland. They are arranged on this stand for all to see and enjoy. Lady Jersey, perhaps you would care to be the first viewer. Or Lord Twisdale?”

Chloe knew she must have paled considerably. She felt chilled and her hands had turned to ice. Turning slightly, she met Laura’s horrified gaze with one that must have been equally shocked.

“Good grief,” Laura cried softly in an understatement of the very highest. “This could destroy you.”

“It depends on how they view themselves and how others react, I fancy,” Chloe whispered.

Since she adored the unusual. Lady Jersey had managed to stay close to her hostess and now was among the first to study the clever little sketches. When she saw herself depicted as an elegant butterfly, she merely laughed with apparent delight. When she viewed Mrs. Drummond-Burrell as a hawk, she smiled a trifle wickedly. She turned to the gentleman not far away. “Come, St. Aubyn, see yourself.”

The press of people around the drawings was impossible and Chloe alternately turned pale and blushed when the patronesses present looked at the sketches.

Lord Twisdale, who had not the slightest sense of humor, was utterly furious, although he concealed it fairly well.

“These are delightful spoofs,” St. Aubyn declared in a loud voice that carried throughout the room. “What a charmingly witty talent Lady Chloe has, to be sure.”

Those in the room appeared to relax after that pronouncement from one depicted and the buzz of conversation rose to a more intense degree while this was discussed.

Chloe wished she might sink through the floor. When Mrs. Robynhod sidled up to her, wagging a finger beneath her nose, Chloe stifled her wild urge to bite it.

“What a naughty girl you are, to hide such ability from us all. May I beg you to sketch me? I cannot wait to see what wicked little thing you draw. It will be the thing, you know, to have a fiendishly clever sketch of one to display.”

Chloe murmured something that must have sounded like an assent, for the hostess went off trumpeting that
she
was to be the next victim of the drawing pencil belonging to the talented Lady Chloe.

“You have survived, just barely. But I fear you have not heard the last of this, my girl,” predicted a voice over her shoulder.

Chloe feared that Mr. St. Aubyn had the right of it and she wished with all her heart that she was back in Wiltshire. But one good thing—what misfortune could befall her after this?

Chapter 6

“I am most displeased,” the Dowager Lady Dancy declared after whisking Chloe along with her to a small library down the hall from the drawing room.

While dreading the confrontation, she appreciated her relative’s desire to keep this meeting private. The warmth of a small fire drew Chloe to it, for she felt dreadfully chilled. She glanced about the wood-paneled room glowing with rows of leather-bound books in many hues, all touched with gold lettering and trim. She found a small comfort in the quiet, appealing setting. Then she turned to face her grandparent.

“Believe me, Grandmama, I had not the least intention of ever showing those drawings to anyone,” Chloe said with a catch in her voice. “They were done for my own amusement. However, I have a notion that my dear aunt had something to do with their appearance here this evening.”

“And how could that dreadful woman have had access to your personal things?” the dowager inquired in an ominous voice.

When her grandmother glared down at Chloe with those icy green eyes, she wished to be somewhere far, far away. They made her feel so frightfully small, somehow.

With a gulp, Chloe made a stab at what must have occurred. “While you had your afternoon rest and I went to Hatchards, she must have wormed her way to my room. When I returned to the house, I noticed the drawings were not where I had left them, but I believed Ellen had neatly stowed them away.” Then Chloe’s fears burst forth. “What am I to do now?”

“Lord Twisdale is furious, as well he might be. How
dare
you portray your intended in such a light!” Fury and disgust were equally clear in the dowager’s voice.

“I do not wish to marry him,” Chloe countered, wishing she were not quite so timid. “Perhaps he will choose to end his interest?” She devoutly hoped so.

“It would serve you well if he did.” The dowager glanced away before continuing in a different tone altogether. “He informed me that he feels you merely exhibited poor judgment and he is willing to overlook this little faux pas. He said something about schooling you to learn discretion in your actions. Your mother has done poorly in training you, my girl.”

“My dearest mama is a wonderful mother; none could be better,” Chloe whispered, daring to challenge that assessment.

“In spite of those odd starts she has from time to time?” The dowager gave Chloe a knowing look as though to remind her of the little superstitions and beliefs Lady Maitland, now Lady Crompton, had harbored.

“Well, they came true. Lord Leighton was the first man Cousin Elizabeth saw on Valentine’s Day and she ended up marrying him.” Chloe realized she had a “so-there” note in her voice, but it irritated her when anyone, even her mother’s mother, criticized her beloved parent.

“My son’s girls are a harum-scarum lot and I washed my hands of them years ago. Best not offer any of them as an example.” The dowager sniffed her disdain for the celebrated Dancy girls.

“But they all married extremely well into the peerage.” From the dull rose that flooded her grandmother’s face, Chloe suspected that it rather galled the lady that her granddaughters had made excellent marriages without her assistance. Not that it had been sought. Chloe thought the girls were clever to have kept their distance from the old dragon. Goodness knows, Chloe wished she might.

“It remains to be seen how things go,” Chloe said, after recalling the disheartening words regarding the lessons from Lord Twisdale. Had his first wife needed such lessons? And what, pray tell, were they?

Opening the door to the hall, the dowager motioned Chloe before her and walked at her side to where people still clustered about the clever renditions of the cream of Society.

“Disgraceful,” the dowager murmured. “A true lady never does anything to call attention to herself.”

“It is
not
my fault,” Chloe whispered back.

Lady Sefton approached and Chloe wanted to crawl beneath the carpet. Then a smile from the lady brought a ray of hope.

“Depicting me as an adorable spaniel with soulful eyes is most intriguing. Am I really like that?” the lady demanded with a twinkle in her pretty eyes.

“I am very fond of spaniels; they are so dear.” Chloe gave her ladyship an affectionate look.

Then Lady Castlereagh followed her, waving her fan energetically before her as she shook her head at Chloe. “A fancy bird, all plumes and dotted feathers. I do not know about that, a trifle exotic for a plain barnyard hen, my dear. But Emily portrayed as a lamb is delicious.”

Lady Sefton nodded, then added, “Brummell may not forgive you for depicting him as a preening raven with a black hat and cane.”

Chloe closed her eyes and prayed that she might be able to leave before long. While reaction had not been too bad so far, it was bound to change sooner or later. Lord Twisdale had yet to approach her, nor had Aunt Elinor.

“I thought you might wish to take these home with you,” Mr. St. Aubyn said from over her shoulder.

Lady Chloe whirled about to accept the pile of drawings from him, her gratitude shining from luminous eyes. “Thank you,” she said in a soft little voice.

The chit looked near to tears, Julian decided, glad he had thought to gather all those outrageous sketches up before someone decided to sneak one or more away.

“If you will have the goodness to assist Chloe, I should be pleased,” the dowager unbent to say. She was quite aware that Mr. St. Aubyn was of the highest ton and well liked by all the patronesses.

“I shall escort Lady Chloe with the greatest of pleasure,” the elegant gentleman said with a correct bow to the dragon.

Chloe gave him an amused look, then willingly walked at his side to where the maid waited with her hooded cloak.

The dowager rustled along behind them, intent on a dignified escape.

“Excellent anticipation,” Julian murmured while he slipped the velvet garment over her shoulders. In the soft candlelight her curls shone like polished mahogany above the dove gray nap of the fine velvet. Heliotrope wafted up to tease his nose. His hands lingered for a moment longer on her slender shoulders, feeling the delicate bones, the surprising strength she must have to endure the old dragon.

“Laura sent for it, just as soon as everything exploded. The dear girl knew I would wish to leave as soon as I might.” Lady Chloe moved and broke the spell that had transfixed Julian for those odd moments.

“And you leave with me, not Lord Twisdale,” Julian reminded, feeling more like his usual self.

“And Grandmama,” Chloe added in an afterthought.

“Never mind the dragon,” he said softly, close to her ear. “What sort of scold did she read you while closeted down the hall?”

“She informed me that contrary to my expectations Lord Twisdale did not cry off, rather, he said I was in need of a few lessons in discretion, which he would be happy to administer.” She turned to give Julian a worried look. “What do you suppose he intends to do?”

Julian thought it sounded ominous, but merely said, “Most likely, nothing.” Nonetheless, he intended to do a bit of investigation regarding Twisdale’s first wife.

When the dowager joined them, the trio bade farewell to their triumphant hostess. Mrs. Robynhod was aware that her party would be talked about for weeks and she gave Chloe the warmest of smiles for her unwitting contribution.

They left the house to enter the carriage. Julian elected to go along. He thought the little Chloe could use someone to deflect the dowager’s anger. He had another reason to leave; the party had become too dangerous for him to remain.

Julian had approached Elinor regarding the drawings after the initial flurry of revelation. She was the only one he could think of who might have access to them—other than Chloe, and he knew she wouldn’t release them to anyone. Elinor’s response had nearly undone him.

“Julian,” she had purred after tacitly admitting she had taken the drawings, “if you think dear Chloe is in trouble now, I can do far worse. Ignore the chit. I have a much better proposal for your time.” Her look had been inviting and insinuating. Her words had chilled him to the bone.

Upon arrival at the Dancy house, he walked into the entry with the ladies. Then he turned to the dowager and said, “I wonder if I might beg a glass of something. The evening has been not without trials. Mrs. Robynhod is not the hostess you are, ma’am.”

Gratified to be praised—even by a scoundrel, for he was the darling of the patronesses—she responded with an invitation to join them in the drawing room.

While she conferred with Scroggins, Julian drew Chloe up the stairs with him, indulging in harmless chit-chat on the way. Once inside the drawing room, he put his hastily formed strategy into action.

“We agreed you are to pretend to have an interest in me, Lady Chloe,” he reminded her. “If you wish to survive this affair unscathed it would be better for you to be thought to be my intended instead of Twisdale’s. I am far better ton,” he said in a matter-of-fact way, acknowledging what Society accepted.

“I thought I
had
been showing an interest in you,” she retorted quietly.

“You will have to do much better than that, my girl. Can you not gaze after me with a sigh? Or look at me with stars in those lovely eyes? Or place your hand on my arm in the most confiding of manners?” He tilted his head, considering her, then added, “We had best have another lesson in flirting, I believe. I shall pick you up for a drive in the park tomorrow afternoon at five of the clock.”

Chloe swallowed the astounded reply that had longed to leap from her lips. Just like that? He dared to assume she would jump at the chance to drive in that superb carriage with him, parade with a handsome gentleman before all of Society? Of course she would, but he was so odiously sure of himself.

“I shall ask Grandmama if it is acceptable.” That she felt dubious about permission rang clear in her voice.

“Allow me, infant. She will bow to my wishes more quickly than yours,” he said with that supreme confidence that Chloe was beginning to find annoying.

She almost kicked the wretched man in his shins. He was so frightfully self-confident, and the worst of it all was that he had earned that right by his polish, looks, and wealth, not to mention his surfeit of exquisite manners.