His Lordship's Chaperone (7 page)

“You’ve outdone yourself this time.” Fitzgerald
clapped Haverton on the back, more strongly than was necessary.

By this time the whole roomful of guests were laughing.
The word had spread toward the back of the room that the Marquess of Haverton
had a chaperone for himself.

“She has worked out splendidly,” the Marquess
concluded.

Sir Giles had stopped laughing and considered the
matter with a great deal of seriousness. “That’s a dashed clever idea. Puts an
end to all that ‘compromising position’ business, don’t it?”

It most certainly had.

“Should have thought of it myself,” Fitzgerald
commented to Brewster next to him. “Bang up idea.”

Brewster chuckled, marveling at the Marquess’
ingenuity. “Trust Haverton to come up with something so foolproof.”

“So simple!” Sir Giles stood between Brewster and
Fitzgerald, and clapped his arms around each. “Gentlemen, times are changing …
it is the dawning of a new age … the age of man—the bachelor.”

Brewster and Fitzgerald cheered. Haverton remained
quiet. Among the three of them, more than enough was being said.

“Please … please …” Sir Giles hushed them and
continued. “After tonight most ladies of London will grieve of their loss. Not
only will they fail to
legshackle
a man—he’s robbed
them of the very opportunity to try.

The Marquess glanced skyward when another round of
cheering ensued.

“When my Lord Haverton weds—”

Brewster and Fitzgerald groaned in protest.

“Oh, yes,” Sir Giles admitted. “For we know that
one day he must … we can feel confident it was a deed done of his choosing, not
because he’s been discovered in the arms of a wily, undesirable miss.
Gentlemen, we can say, with full confidence, that the Marquess of Haverton will
never fall victim to a parson’s mousetrap as an unwilling groom.”

Haverton had a devil of a time prying himself away
from his companions. Tolerating attention and admiration from females was one
thing, being worshipped by one’s contemporaries was quite another.

“There you are, Robert.” It was well past one in
the morning when Simon came across him in the ballroom. “I’ve heard the most
outrageous thing—too outrageous, even for you.”

“And what news is that?” Haverton had no doubt his
brother would take his turn and ridicule him for the foolishness of hiring a
chaperone. He pointed to something on his brother’s shoulder. “What have you
here?”

Simon brushed at some small, white petals from his
jacket. “Oh, that’s nothing.”

“Been cornering some chit, I see.” Haverton knew
the telltale signs of a tryst and he found this unusual behavior for Simon. His
brother was a flirt, not a conqueror.

“Just making her acquaintance.” Simon’s cheeks
reddened. Unlike Haverton, Simon was a bit on the shy side and not used to
female attention.

“More than just an acquaintance, I gather.”
Haverton drew a short three-leafed twig from Simon’s hair.

“You’re changing the subject,” he protested.

“What subject?”

“From the extraordinary news I’ve heard—” He paused
and smiled politely past Haverton. “Excuse me.” Simon turned from his brother
and gave a shallow bow to Catherine. He smiled and held out his hand. “I don’t
think I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Are you referring to my chaperone?”

Simon blinked, regarding the woman in disbelief. “I
had heard you have gone beyond the pale yet again, but—a chaperone? I say,
Robert, that
is a fresh idea.” It didn’t take long for Simon
to put the pieces together. “Is this what you wanted to speak to Mother about?”

“Simon, this is my chaperone, Mrs. Hayes.” Haverton
brought her forward with a gesture. “Mrs. Hayes, my brother, Lord Simon.”

Catherine curtsied. “It is an honor, Lord Simon.”

“Mrs. Hayes,” Lord Moreland bowed over her hand, “I
must admit it is more of a shock than a pleasure.”

“That is quite understandable, sir.”

“Now that we have dispensed with the introductions,
I believe I shall circulate among the guests,” Haverton announced. “Mrs. Hayes,
I suggest you rejoin the rest of the chaperones and continue your vigilance
until I am in further need of your presence.”

“Yes, my lord.” Catherine headed for the chaperone
corner.

Lord Simon did not follow his brother. “Are you
coming, Simon?”

“I’ll be with you presently.” Simon called out,
“Mrs. Hayes, a moment, please.”

Catherine paused, waiting for Lord Simon. Although
handsome in his own right, he was not quite as devastatingly handsome as his
brother.

Lord Simon leaned forward and she did the same,
keeping their conversation quiet and assuring privacy. “Tell me, Mrs. Hayes,
are you truly my brother’s chaperone? Or is this all a hum?”

Miss Hayward. Catherine almost corrected him but
decided against it. The second thing to occur to Catherine was that Lord Simon
looked at her, and spoke to her, not just in her general direction as her
employer had.

How many more times would she need to confirm or
explain her position? “Yes, as unusual as it may sound, I am Lord Haverton’s
chaperone.”

“If anyone can change the constraints of London
society, he will certainly be the one to do it, all right.”

“I doubt the Marquess intends this arrangement to
go as far as that.” Catherine kept an eye on her charge who stood across the
room.

“Don’t be surprised if you’re not the only
gentlemen’s chaperone after the night is out. I might venture to say it won’t
take long before your arrangement will be considered de rigueur and adapted by
other members of the ton.”

“And what of his lordship’s brother?” Catherine
wondered if he would give in and do the very same. “What happens to you, my
lord, for consorting with the likes of a chaperone?”

“Me?” Lord Simon splayed a hand upon his chest. “I
am the mere younger son of a duke. I need not make an impression nor amount to
much when all is said and done.”

This young man appeared to Catherine to have his
feet solidly planted on the ground, at least more so than his brother. Lord
Simon had none of the airs that the rest of society displayed.

“Did my mother talk you into this?” Lord Simon
murmured with a pretense of scratching the tip of his nose.

“She was the one who recommended me for this
position, yes.”

“I should have known she would have had a part in
all this. I can’t imagine what you thought when she told you that you were to
be a chaperone for a man.”

Lord Simon’s chuckle turned into full-fledged
laughter. Apparently he possessed a very good imagination.

“Just the thought of him in danger of being
compromised.” He couldn’t stop laughing. “That a woman would purposely—I mean,
a lady would have to—have to—” He stopped, the smile faded from his lips and he
cleared his throat before turning scarlet. “I do beg your pardon.”

Catherine tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I
must admit, I, too, was skeptical at first but after what I have observed in
the garden just this evening … well, I suppose the biggest shock is it would
appear that Lord Haverton does, after all, require a chaperone.”

Lady Darlington stalked to her daughter’s room
several hours later. She had mopped away her tears of anger, humiliation, and
failure. Tears she did not wish Honoria to see. “He most certainly has made a
laughingstock out of us all!”

How would she combat such outmaneuvering? A
chaperone—his chaperone was completely unexpected. Whoever would have thought
it was a possibility?

She’d find a way, Lady Darlington vowed. It might
take a while but she would find a way around Lord Haverton’s chaperone.

It was by some stroke of luck that no one had
recognized Honoria when she ran through the crowded ballroom. That discovery
might have proved to be unfortunate.

Lady Darlington tucked her handkerchief into her
sleeve. With staunch determination, she vowed that she would not be thwarted
again. Before the Season was out, Honoria would have him.

Honoria sat calm and wide-eyed in front of her
dressing table mirror, staring into the middle of the room, without the usual
trembling when her mother ranted. It was a most unsatisfactory reaction. Lady
Darlington arched an inquisitive brow, wondering what could possibly be going
through her daughter’s head.

“You don’t seem to have been troubled one way or
the other, my dear,” she said in a much softer, cloying tone.

Honoria sighed. Along with the dreamy quality of
her eyes, it was the gentle expression of a smitten young lady. “He was a most
… agreeable gentleman.”

Relief swept through Lady Darlington. Half the
battle was already won. If Honoria had accepted him, everything would fall into
place. “Of course he is amiable. Did I not tell you? Every woman in Town
desires him!”

Honoria smiled, and exhaled slowly in contentment.
What was going on with the girl? Her behavior was most peculiar.

“Why don’t you go to bed, dear?” Lady Darlington
gave her daughter’s arm a loving squeeze. What’s this? A twig? With a small,
white bloom. She must have snagged a bush on her way into the house, after
Haverton’s woman had intruded.

Lady Darlington didn’t need to be reminded of the
failure of tonight’s plan. She crushed the twig in her hand.

Oh! The shame!

The Duchess of Waverly stood in the front parlor of
Moreland Manor and watched her son come to an undignified, abrupt halt in the
hallway. Dressed in a fine Hunter green morning coat and tan pantaloons, Robert
made the detour in her direction.

“Mother, whatever are you doing here? I hadn’t
expected to see you today.”

“Aren’t you glad to see your mother?” she returned,
rather pointedly. The Duchess wasn’t sure if she was to be pleased or cross
with her eldest today.

“It is always a delight to see you, you know that.”
He took her hands in both of his and greeted her with a kiss on each cheek.

“Oh, save it for someone who’ll believe it,
Robert.
Your charm is useless on me.”

Without a word, he led the way to the sofa and
invited her to sit. “Shall I send for some tea?”

She settled onto the sofa and replied, “No, dear.
I’m not here to see you.” As much as she loved him, the Duchess knew her son
believed the world revolved about him. “Miss Hayward is expecting me.”

“Who?” The momentary confusion on his face cleared.

“Your chaperone.” The Duchess could hardly wait to
hear what went on last night. She wanted to know what Catherine thought of
Robert and how society had received her presence.

“Yes, of course,” he replied in that tone the
Duchess recognized as one of noncompliance. She knew not to press him further.

She leveled a discerning gaze at her son. Although
Robert would have something to say regarding his chaperone, the Duchess was
certain she would not get a clear answer to what he thought of Catherine.

“I am to take her for new gowns this afternoon,”
the Duchess announced. No need for her to repeat that he would be receiving the
bills. When they arrived, he’d remember well enough.

Robert squeezed his eyes closed, adding to his
expression of disapproval.

“Don’t be so clutch-fisted.” She slapped him on the
shoulder. “You can well afford it.”

“It’s not the blunt, mother. It’s—”

“If you hire a lady, you must expect to assume all
expenses of employing that lady. I should think you more than anyone would know
that. I know what goes on in Town, you know. I don’t bury my head in the
country like your father.” She pointed in the general direction of Suffolk.
“Now tell me, how was the Trowbridge soiree last night? And what of Miss
Hayward, dear?”

“Couldn’t have gone better. I should have done this
years ago. Employing a chaperone has proven to be a complete success.
Unfortunately, I seem to have drawn much more interest with her than I would
have expected.”

The Duchess returned a look of disapproval. “I am
not asking about the performance of her duties. I am speaking about Miss
Hayward, herself.”

Clearly she had surprised Robert. He was, if she
were to believe what she saw, speechless.

“Honestly, you have more hair than wit,” she
announced in no uncertain terms.

Robert’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped open.

She cut off any protest by immediately continuing.
“Just like your father. I gave birth to you. I should know if you’re a ninny.”

“I am not accustomed to being spoken to in that
manner, not even by my mother,” he managed after her stupefying words.

“Get used to it! If you’re going to act as if you
haven’t a brain in your head, you might as well be treated as such.”

Robert stood and rubbed his forehead. “Mother …
what are you going on about?”

“Your chaperone, of course. Have you not paid her
any attention?”

“Of course I’ve noticed her. I breakfasted with her
just this morning. She accompanied me last evening to the Trowbridge do. How
could I not have noticed her?”

The Duchess pursed her lips in concentration. She
hated to be the one who caused the smooth, handsome forehead of his to wrinkle.
But he simply had to learn to pay attention.

“I doubt you would notice your own nose except it
is stuck between your eyes. Only the good Lord knows what would have happened
if he saw fit to place it on the back of your head.”

Robert’s puzzled expression deepened. “Why would my
nose be on the back of my head?”

“That is not the point!”

“Mother, you are making it quite difficult to
follow this conversation.”

Trying to keep her patience, the Duchess leaned
back, closed her eyes and regained her composure. “All right, then, tell me
exactly how old do you think Miss Hayward is?”