Gail Eastwood (2 page)

Venetia made a rather unladylike sound, something between a snort and a growl. “If I thought there was even the remotest chance that any of them would give us the same benefit, I would perhaps return the favor.”

Their discussion was interrupted by a discreet knock on the dressing room door. A young footman in splendid black velvet livery and powdered wig presented himself with a formal bow.

“Lady Venetia, Lady Vivian, I am sent to inform you that guests are arriving. There are two carriages at the front entry now—Lord Munslow’s and Lord Marchthorpe’s and another is approaching along the carriageway.”

“Lady Colney is not yet arrived, Martin?”

“No, my lady.”

“Thank you. We’ll come right away.”

The servant withdrew, and the two young women turned to each other.

“Lord Munslow,” Venetia said, wrinkling her pert nose. “And Aunt Alice is not here yet to do the greetings.”

“Lord Munslow? I don’t recall . . .” said Vivian.

“Come, we’ll reconnoiter from the gallery before we go down.” Venetia caught up her sister’s hand as she rose hastily from the settee.

“Oh, Netia, they’ll be wondering where we are!”

“Not if we’re quick enough, and besides, I don’t care if they do. None of this affair was our idea.”

***

Gilbey’s anxieties returned to him in full force as Nicholas’s carriage pulled up in front of Rivington. The massive scale of the house in such close proximity seemed overwhelming and seemed also to symbolize in a most solid form the very different world of wealth to which Nicholas belonged. So did the two other carriages which were drawn up before the grand entrance of the house. Both, Gilbey noticed, were every bit as elegant as Nicholas’s, with gleaming appointments and handsome heraldic arms decorating the doors.

“Nicholas,” he said, trying hard to control his voice, “I don’t belong here. What could you have been thinking of? This is a mistake, an absurd mistake. If your coachman will take me back as far as Northleach, I will hire a post-chaise to take me back to London.”

“Nonsense.” The single word was spoken with the finality and unquestionable authority that proved Nicholas was every inch a duke’s son. Further argument was pointless. Gilbey watched helplessly as several servants descended upon their carriage and his friend got out. He had no choice but to follow as one of the footmen continued to hold the door of the carriage open for him.

As he emerged he saw a bevy of footmen flocking about rather like blackbirds, he thought, in their black coats with silver lacings. They paused to pay their respects to Nicholas, and then returned to unloading what seemed to be more luggage than either of the two carriages ahead could possibly have held. The scene reminded Gilbey of a comic routine he had seen Grimaldi perform at Sadler’s Wells, and that brought a smile to his lips.

“That’s the spirit—smile in place, head up,” counseled Nicholas in a low voice. “If you don’t own the world, at least try to look as if you do, and half the people will believe it. Shall we go in?”

The vast entry hall had a marble floor and marble columns and a gallery that ran around all four sides of the huge room. The vaulted ceiling must have been forty feet from the floor and was lit by a skylight in the center. There were a number of people in the hall at that moment, including footmen depositing luggage and the guests who had arrived just before Nicholas and Gilbey. More servants entered bearing additional luggage, some of it from Nicholas’s carriage.

Nicholas appeared to be looking for someone. “I don’t expect my father to—”

Just as he began to speak there was a cry and a sudden commotion behind them. Gilbey had a sinking premonition of disaster as he turned to look.

***

Until that moment, Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian had been observing the hubbub below them from a relatively unnoticeable position behind the rail of the gallery.

“That is Lord Munslow who just handed his hat to Blaine,” Venetia said in a low voice. “I suppose because he is tall he thinks no one will notice that bald spot on the top of his head. And that is the Marquess and Marchioness of Marchthorpe and their daughter, Elizabeth. We met them in London, Vivi—I distinctly remember how shy Elizabeth was. Their son Lord Lindell is on the guest list also.”

She paused for a moment, surveying the guests under discussion. “Look, there is Nicholas! And I would say Elizabeth has been miraculously cured of her affliction, would you not agree? She cannot seem to tear her eyes away from that fellow who just came in with him. Who is he, I wonder?”

“He is even taller than Lord Munslow. Is he not on the list?” Vivian peered down curiously, leaning a bit over the railing.

Venetia ran her finger down the paper. “I am quite certain he is not. Unless—perhaps this is he: Gilbey Kentwell, Viscount Cranford. I have no idea who that might be. We have already suffered most of these other people at one time or another.”

“Netia, you are incorrigible! My, I do think he is quite handsome. Look! Now he has removed his hat. His hair is so pale it is almost silver.”

Venetia did look up and noticed her sister’s position at the rail. “Hssst! Don’t hang over so, Vivi—someone will notice us! Then we’ll have no choice but to go down and do the pretty. We’ll be subjected to that soon enough as it is.”

As she drew her twin back from the rail she took a good look at the unknown visitor. “Hmph. Too tall, too blond, and too thin by half,” she pronounced. “Do you not think his nose rather long? He looks like a schoolmaster with those spectacles. I would hardly count him as a likely prospect!”

“I wonder if he is meant to be a prospect at all—for one thing, he is only a viscount, if indeed he is who we suppose,” Vivian answered. “Perhaps he is just a friend Nicholas brought with him from Cambridge.”

Venetia’s gaze sharpened with interest. “You don’t think Aunt Alice put him on the list? He is obviously not as wealthy and connected as Lord Newcroft, or surely we would have met him before now. After all, Lord Newcroft is on the list, and he is only a viscount. But that does put a different cast on things.”

It was Vivian’s turn to groan. “Nicholas will never forgive you if you get up to tricks with his friend, Netia. And Papa will never forgive you this time if you drive off all the men he’s lined up.”

“What about you, Vivi? Would you forgive me? Do you think there is anyone in this batch who could be the husband you need?”

At just that moment the sharp exclamation that claimed everyone’s attention broke through the sound of voices in the hall below. Both young women rushed back to the rail to see what was happening.

They were just in time to see a cascade of personal effects spill forth from a heavy portmanteau carried by one hapless footman. It was he who had cried out as the worn straps on the shabby luggage in question let go. A small amount of snowy linen fell into a heap, and books—dozens of books—scattered across the polished floor.

The reactions in the hall were as varied as the number of people standing there. Lady Marchthorpe exclaimed loudly in astonishment while her daughter Elizabeth shrank back as if she feared contamination. Lord Marchthorpe turned his back on the scene and shepherded his ladies to one side of the room as if he shared his daughter’s fear. Lord Munslow merely stepped to one side and surveyed the accident disdainfully. The footman turned to Gilbey and Nicholas and began to apologize in frantic tones. The other servants appeared to be frozen in horror.

“Nicholas is laughing,” said Vivian in scandalized tones.

“His friend is turning bright red,” observed Venetia. Smiling mischievously, she added, “Perhaps now is a good time to go down and join them, after all.”

Chapter Two

If only the earth could have opened and swallowed him, his books, and his broken portmanteau, Gilbey would have been eternally grateful. Unfortunately, the stone floor beneath him remained as solid as ever. When he felt the blood rush to his face he mentally cursed for the thousandth time the nearly alabaster skin he had been born with. He groaned and turned to Nicholas, who was laughing rather unhelpfully beside him.

“Confounded baggage! Forgive me, Nicholas. What a scene! You see? I told you—”

The duke’s son stopped laughing long enough to draw a breath and punched the young viscount playfully on the shoulder. “I should have known I couldn’t separate you from your books for two weeks, Gilbey.” Turning to the room at large, he added in a louder voice, “What a splendid joke on me, my friends, don’t you agree? You have to admire Lord Cranford’s originality.”

Quite naturally, no guest would risk being so rude as to disagree with the son of their host. Gilbey watched the others transform their various negative reactions into artful titters of laughter. While most did not appear entirely convinced that they should go so far as to admire Gilbey, at least he would now be spared their immediate scorn. He thought Nicholas was the one who should be admired—he could turn a situation around so easily!

The poor footman who had been carrying the ill-fated portmanteau was still apologizing profusely, obviously afraid that he would be held to blame for the accident. Gilbey hastened to reassure the man, and Nicholas ordered the servants to start gathering together the collection of books.

“We’ll find something else to put them in,” he said with a chuckle still lurking behind his words.

Gilbey stooped to pick up a volume that had landed by his feet. As he inspected it for creased pages or a cracked spine he happened to glance up and saw a vision he thought he must have dreamed. Two young women, more lovely than any he had ever seen, had entered the room and were walking toward him. They had to be Nicholas’s sisters, for although they had dressed their glorious, guinea-gold hair in somewhat different styles, they seemed in every other respect identical. They had the same graceful, slender figures, the same flawless, creamy skin, and the same delicate facial features. They wore matching gowns of apricot muslin. As he watched, transfixed, one of them bent gracefully to retrieve a book from the floor and held it out at arm’s length.

“You never told me,” Gilbey said accusingly to Nicholas under his breath.

“What?”

“That they were so exquisite!”

His friend shrugged, as if the omission did not signify. Gilbey reflected that perhaps it did not, for certainly he had heard others say that the St. Aldwyn twins were beautiful. Somehow the report had never impressed him, and perhaps the truth from Nicholas would not have made any difference. But a man would have to be made of stone not to feel an attraction to such goddesses, and Gilbey felt more certain than ever that the two weeks looming ahead of him would be miserably difficult. Immune? Ha! How could he have believed that his desire to remain unattached and uninvolved would render him both numb and blind? How could Nicholas have thought so, too? They had only taken into consideration the attitudes of the others at the party, never Gilbey’s own feelings.

“
A Defense of Ancient Architecture,
by Morris,” read the twin who had picked up Gilbey’s book. She quirked an elegantly arched eyebrow in a manner so like her brother’s that Gilbey was forced to smile, releasing his momentary paralysis. She was a few steps ahead of her sister and reached the young men first.

“Really, Nicholas, what a unique arrival. We seem to have more underfoot than a mere houseful of guests.” She gave Nicholas a sisterly hug and stepped back to inspect Gilbey with a frankly appraising stare.

“Hullo, Nicholas. Welcome home.” The second twin hugged her brother as well and then moved next to her sister to await the introductions. She glanced at Gilbey curiously, but the look was fleeting and demure.

“Allow me to present my good friend Lord Cranford,” Nicholas said, bowing to his sisters quite formally. He winked as he turned toward Gilbey. “My sisters, Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian St. Aldwyn.”

They held out their gloved hands to him in turn, and he dutifully kissed them. He tried very hard to keep his own hand steady.

Around them the servants had retrieved most of the errant books and collected them into a pile under the watchful eye of Blaine, who was apparently in charge. Someone magically appeared with a trunk in which to pack them.

“If I am not mistaken, this volume belongs to you, Lord Cranford.” The twin who had greeted Nicholas first, Lady Venetia, also addressed Gilbey first. She held out his book. “I must say, most people do not feel the need to bring such things to a house party.” She treated him to a heart-melting smile that revealed an enchanting pair of dimples in her cheeks. “Did you fear that we would not keep you amply entertained?”

For a moment Gilbey felt as tongue-tied as the greenest schoolboy. Nicholas’s sister was flirting with him and trying to provoke him at the same time, he knew. She had uttered the last sentence in a most suggestive tone, and when he looked into her eyes—her gorgeous violet-blue eyes—he saw the devil dancing there as surely as he had often seen it in his own sister’s eyes. How was he supposed to answer? She clearly knew the effect she had on a man.

“Netia—,” Nicholas began in a warning tone, but Gilbey was not about to let his friend fight all of his battles. He forced a cool smile onto his face and accepted the book from Venetia’s hand with what he hoped would pass for indifference.

“Thank you, Lady Venetia. As your brother knows, I find it difficult to be parted from my studies for long. My eccentricity is no reflection on your family’s hospitality, I assure you.”

That was the role he would play, he decided—the eccentric scholar, too devoted to his books to be of interest to anyone. How could he possibly keep his feelings under control if Nicholas’s sisters paid any attention to him at all?

“You are far more polite than my sister deserves,” Lady Vivian said with a reproving glance toward her twin. “Welcome to Rivington, Lord Cranford. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.” Gilbey caught only a sweet smile and a quick flash of her violet eyes before she added, “If you are a friend of Nicholas’s, you must be quite an exceptional fellow. I hope you will enjoy your stay with us. Please, will you excuse us while we greet our other newly arrived guests?”

Gilbey nodded and could not help watching in admiration as the twins moved away.

Beside him Nicholas chuckled. “Your ‘eccentricity’? I must say, friend, you slipped out of that one quite handily. I do apologize for Venetia’s behavior. She has gotten away with it for so long now I fear she cannot change. I trust you do not need me to tell you now which one of my sisters is ‘the lioness’ and which one ‘the lamb’?”

“They are both utterly enchanting, Nicholas. I can see that coming here was an even bigger mistake than I thought.”

Nicholas took him by the arm and began to walk. “Oh, nonsense. You’re not in love. Every man is bowled over the first time he meets them—why should you be different? Trust me, you’ll soon get caught up in the swim of things. There will be a good deal going on to hold your interest.”

Gilbey was not altogether pleased with the casual way Nicholas dismissed his reaction, but perhaps his friend was right. Why indeed should he consider himself different? Perhaps as he became a bit more accustomed to the twins, he would find their effect on him less powerful.

“You definitely had an improving effect upon Vivian, I must say,” Nicholas added. “She seldom has so much to say to anyone she has just met.”

The speculative gaze he turned on Gilbey made the young viscount distinctly uncomfortable. Before Gilbey could reply, however, Nicholas abruptly changed the subject. “Here, let me introduce you to these other guests while we are still here in the hall. There will be many more unfamiliar faces for you when we gather for dinner, and I must greet these people, anyway.”

He glanced about once again, as he had done just before the accident with the books. “My father does not condescend to greet guests upon their arrival, but I am surprised that my Aunt Alice is not here to supervise the ritual. She has served as hostess for my father ever since my mother’s death. I can’t remember her ever arriving later than I have, for anything!”

He pulled Gilbey toward Lord Munslow, casting back a grin. “Not to worry, old fellow. Refreshments will be served on the terrace outside the salon very shortly whether Aunt Alice is here or not. Tradition is tradition, after all.”

***

The twins watched the last footman stagger out of the hall carrying several pieces of Lady Marchthorpe’s baggage. As they followed him into the grand salon behind the hall, Venetia sighed.

“I hope that is the last of the guests for a while,” she said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt. “I have quite completely lost track of who has arrived and who has not, except for Aunt Alice, of course.”

“We’ve nearly everyone, I think,” Vivian replied. “Lord Amberton, the Upcotts, Lord Munslow, Lord Lindell, the Whitgreaves—”

“Oh, do stop!” exclaimed her sister, laughing. “You are making my head spin. We had best prepare to feed them all for the first of countless times ahead of us.”

She paused and looked at Vivian with concern. “Are you quite certain that you are up to this? We have dinner and the entire evening still to get through. Perhaps you should rest. I can pour tea and make your excuses, if you like.”

Vivian shook her head. “I am fine. Besides, what kind of an impression would it make if I am absent so soon? I’ll be all right.”

Venetia shrugged and opened one of the French windows that gave access to the terrace outside. “I am just concerned that if you don’t rest until after you are already tired, you will have a more difficult time for these two weeks, Vivi. Please promise me that you will take some time to rest each day.”

“I promise. I am certain that some of our guests will wish to do the same.”

Venetia gave an unladylike snort. “Undoubtedly! Father will want every minute to be filled with activity.” She sighed again. “If only he would accept that you—”

“Never mind about Father right now,” Vivian interrupted, her voice firm. “I shall be fine, and we will get through this. Where shall we have them put the table?” She gestured toward a pair of approaching servants who bore between them a long table already adorned with a snowy linen cover that fluttered in the breeze.

“Under the tree, there, in the shade,” Venetia directed, pointing to the ancient beech at one corner of the terrace and shading her eyes from the afternoon sun. Turning back to her sister, she added, “Will you want your parasol? Shall I send someone to fetch it?”

Vivian rolled her eyes heavenward in obvious annoyance, sending a clear message to her sister even before she replied. “Do stop fussing, Netia! I am not a bit tired, I shall sit in the shade under the tree, and if I want my parasol I can certainly send for it myself!”

Venetia knew that she would have to bury her concern for the time being. In the space of an instant she gave her twin a sheepish smile that begged forgiveness and received an answering one that absolved her. As a steady procession of servants began to supply silver platters filled with cakes, fruit, and cold meats to the table along with brightly polished serving trays, steaming pots of tea, and vast quantities of porcelain teacups and plates, the two young women arranged themselves beside the table ready to do the honors for their guests.

“Let me see your smile, Netia,” teased Vivian.

“Let me see yours, Vivi.”

They made faces at each other and burst into laughter, quite unaware that one of their guests had arrived to join them. Only when Venetia looked up did she notice a thin, somewhat elderly gentleman standing quite still in the doorway.

“Sh-h! Lord Amberton!” Laughter still lurked in her voice as she nudged her sister.

The man came forward with a bow. “Ladies, with all candor I must tell you what a delightful picture you present, with your innocent laughter and beauty and surrounded by such a sumptuous feast. I suspect it might be almost too much for a weaker man’s sensibilities.”

Venetia avoided her sister’s eye, afraid that any exchange between them would free the laughter she suppressed at the man’s fulsome flattery. “Quite clearly you are not overwhelmed, Lord Amberton,” she replied with perhaps a touch too much sweetness. “I’m so glad.”

He reached for Venetia’s hand and raised it to his lips. “As am I, my dearest, as am I.”

She thought she detected a glint of challenge in his eyes and snatched her hand back quickly. A wary glance about her reassured her that there were plenty of servants about and that several stood in position near the table, ready to serve the food to any who wished it. Even so, she felt the absence of her father, brother, or aunt quite acutely.

Her father, she knew, would remain in his study until close to dinnertime. Only then would the duke emerge to preside over their guests. But where was Nicholas? Where was Aunt Alice? Would they leave her and Vivian so unsupervised for the entire two-week party? Surely her family could not hope that one of the invited suitors would trap her or Vivian into a compromising situation and solve the marriage problem once and for all.

“Some tea, sir?” She did not wish him to see that he discomposed her even slightly. “As you can see, you are the first to descend and join us.”

“I did not want to wait,” he said in a low, smooth voice that gave his words a suggestive tone.

Venetia managed to pour his tea with a steady hand and to pass him the cup without flinching, even though he very deliberately pressed his gloved fingers over hers as he took the cup from her. What if all the unattached gentlemen behaved this boorishly? How could she and Vivian stand two weeks of it?

“I hope you found your accommodations acceptable, Lord Amberton,” Vivian said politely. Twin to the rescue! Venetia shot her a look of gratitude for her obvious attempt to distract the man.