Maggie MacKeever (14 page)

Phyllida sniffed and took her leave.  Neither of them was deceived; they both knew that he would miss her sorely when she’d gone.

Sylvester sank into a chair and stretched his legs toward the fire. Though no longer in his prime, he was still a remarkably handsome man. His son shared his aristocratic features, but Sylvester’s were unleavened by humor. Jasper’s twinkling eyes were also a heritage from his laughing mother, an irrepressible scapegrace who had captured Sylvester’s hardened heart at their first meeting, and who still held it, twenty years after her death. Sylvester adored his son, as much for himself as for the flashes of Damian that so often appeared.

The world thought him an arrogant man, and Sylvester knew he was. His family would never have agreed, for he showed them alone his innate kindness and consideration. The Earl of Dorset had no servant problem; his retainers were devoted to him, as were his children. It was not enough, of course. He remained wretchedly lonely.

Dipper entered the room quietly, and found his master deep in thought. Dipper cleared his throat.

“Took you long enough,” Sylvester grumbled. “Was there a reply?” Dipper accepted the rebuke meekly, despite his long and grueling ride. He handed his master a note, and Sylvester waved him to the sideboard, where he poured himself a healthy drink. Lord Dorset thanked his servants with gestures, not words. Dipper was content.

“Impudent puppy,” said Sylvester, folding his son’s note. He was greatly intrigued by Loveday’s latest scrape, though it did not promise to turn out precisely as he would have hoped.

Dipper moved quietly toward the door. His master would want him later, but he had time to remove his travel dust. The earl’s voice stopped him.

“Dipper?” The manservant turned. “Thank you.” Dipper walked on air.

Sylvester poured himself a glass of brandy, his second of the evening—but Phyllida would not know—and thought of Loveday. She was one of the few people outside his family to engage his affections, and she’d done so from the start, the day when Jasper had first brought her home, a mud-covered ragamuffin who’d clutched an equally disreputable mongrel triumphantly in her arms. She’d been but a child, and had escaped from her governess to rescue a long-suffering hound from its youthful tormentors. Sylvester had kept the wretched beast, which lived to a fat and pampered old age; he’d also kept Loveday, whenever he could. Due to her father’s indifference, that had been often.

Lord Dorset had hoped that she and Denis would make a match of it, but that hope had been dashed. It had been Jasper always to whom she turned, and Sylvester had no doubt that it had all begun when his quixotic son had rescued her, and that ill-conceived hound.

He sighed. Unfortunately, he had no idea of his son’s sentiments. Jasper had continued to cheerfully extricate Loveday from her various dilemmas, but he’d given no indication of regarding her as anything but an amusing hoyden. Sylvester sometimes despaired of his son’s ever getting himself a wife.

The earl read Jasper’s brief but highly irreverent note once again. He didn’t like the sound of it, nor did he care for Loveday’s presence at the castle, for he knew Isolda’s iron will of old. It was a pity the child hadn’t come to him, though he understood her reasons and respected them, even if he could not agree with her. He wanted the girl’s cheerful, unpredictable presence in his house again.

At that moment Sylvester Arthur Assheton, Earl of Dorset, reached a momentous decision. “Dipper!” he bellowed.  His manservant skittered into the room. “Set to packing. We depart for Ballerfast on the morn.”

Chapter 9

Loveday surveyed herself critically. Her
eyes appeared even larger than usual, shadowed as they were by sleeplessness. She had lately been troubled by nightmares, in which Isolda’s husband and son played a mad game of hide-and-go-seek with an elusive shadowy third person, while she herself tried desperately to avoid discovery. But her hiding place had a tendency to vanish, leaving her defenseless and exposed, and Averil tried countless times to rescue her, while Jasper watched and laughed.

The evening dress she wore was of gossamer satin, its bodice and slashed sleeves of an amber shade that matched her eyes.  With it she wore long gloves, matching shoes, and her mother’s topaz set. She carefully wound a ribbon through her unruly curls, and wondered incuriously what the next few hours might hold in store. An evening spent with Lady Laurent and her friends held little appeal.

Dillian came to fetch her. Loveday thought wryly that she was not even permitted to walk the hallways alone. Clad in a high-waisted gown of white spider gauze, the girl looked enchantingly like some fairy-tale creature come to life, and her delight at attending her first party was contagious. Loveday’s spirits rose as she contemplated Dorcas’s inevitable reaction to Dillian’s loveliness.

Her prediction proved correct.  Dorcas was as much infuriated by Loveday’s appearance as by Dillian’s, and Isolda watched them with amusement. Dorcas’s sulky looks, even enhanced as they were by the exquisite creation of pale blue gauze and white satin that she wore, were of too common a sort to show to advantage beside the other two girls. Isolda foresaw, with no little satisfaction, that Dorcas would pass an uncomfortable few hours.

“Come here, child.” Isolda gestured to a chair beside her.

Loveday obeyed. “You look wonderfully, ma’am,” she remarked, regarding Isolda with admiration. The deep blue satin gown set off the older woman’s eyes, and her sapphires, admirably.

“Thank you, child.” Isolda nodded her turbaned head, ostrich plumes waving gently. “It is good of you to say so.”

Loveday spared a glance for the other people in the room. All were present save Jasper, and she suspected that his valet was even then aspiring to the heights of sartorial elegance. Dunbobbin despaired of his master, who generally eschewed such niceties as watch fobs, snuffboxes, and quizzing glasses, and the valet welcomed every opportunity to dress Jasper as befitted his station. To Dunbobbin’s ceaseless sorrow, his notion of the proper attire for a duke’s son and heir greatly differed from the ideas of the son and heir himself. Therefore, state occasions all too often resulted in tears on the valet’s part, and extreme irritability on his master’s. Loveday wondered if Dunbobbin would consider a country ball a suitable occasion for his expertise.

Jem was very correctly attired in a long-tailed coat, frilled shirt, white waistcoat, knee-breeches, and silk stockings; Hilary’s coat was blue, and his stockings were striped. Loveday eyed the hose with some amusement, though they were actually unremarkable, their only distinction being that their owner had none of the air that his attire might lead one to expect.

“I have been thinking,” said Isolda, “that we too must have a
rout.
We’ve done little entertaining of late.”

Loveday did not reply; she had caught sight of Averil. The duke was magnificent. Clad in a long-tailed evening coat and breeches of deep blue velvet, with a Florentine waistcoat, a frilled shirt and silk stockings, he was a sight of such arrogant masculinity as to make a young maiden’s breath catch in her throat. Loveday did not quite gasp, but her gaze was definitely appreciative.

“I’m speaking to you, miss!” Isolda rapped Loveday’s knuckles sharply. “Kindly take your eyes off my grandson and give me your attention!”

Loveday flushed and murmured an apology.

“He is a handsome devil, isn’t he? But I requested your help with the invitations. Dorcas is far too conscious of her station to so demean herself, and Dillian’s hand is illegible, though I suppose I should be grateful the girl can read and write at all.”

“I should be glad to pen the invitations for you,” Loveday replied politely. “When is the party to be?”

“In a few weeks’ time.” Isolda sent Loveday a wicked glance. “Perhaps you will permit me to announce your betrothal at that time. It would add a nice touch, I think.”

“What’s this?” inquired Jasper, entering the room just in time to hear Isolda calmly planning his future. Loveday noticed that her betrothed was looking somewhat harassed, though if this was due to Isolda’s presumption or his valet’s ministrations she could not say. He was wearing a coat that he detested, though it fit his figure to great advantage.

“Ah, dear boy,” Isolda said. “We were discussing the possible announcement of your betrothal at a ball that I plan to give for Loveday. You cannot keep it forever secret, and Loveday will soon be of age to do as she pleases.”

Loveday shot Jasper a beseeching look; this scheme was none of hers. And how the devil did Isolda know when my birthday was? Loveday supposed she should not have been startled; Isolda seemed to have access to all sorts of information.

“That seems an admirable scheme,” Jasper replied, to Loveday’s astonishment. “I could not agree, but for the fact that I have just had word that my father plans to visit us here. His presence must set the seal of respectability on the match.”

Loveday felt herself sinking ever deeper into the morass of falsehoods she had initiated, and wondered how she was ever to extricate herself. “Sylvester? Coming here?” she echoed.

“He considers it far too long since he has seen you, my love,” Jasper remarked. “You have been sadly neglecting him of late.”

Isolda did not care for Jasper’s insinuation that her apparent approval of the union would not be sufficient. High sticklers, the Asshetons; it was a wonder they’d tolerate a match with the disreputable Lord Fairchild’s daughter. If such an alliance there was to be, and Isolda wasn’t yet certain about that. “We shall be pleased to welcome him. When do you expect his arrival?”

Jasper smiled. “Well, as to that, ma’am, he’s already arranged that they put up at the inn.”

Isolda wondered grimly if Sylvester Assheton had grown too grand to accept her hospitality. “Phyllida’s not feeling quite the thing,” Jasper added apologetically.

“Phyllida accompanies him?” Loveday’s delight at the prospect of seeing her friend was tempered by the thought of what the plain-speaking Phyllida would have to say about this latest predicament.

“She does. I gather Father meant to come alone, with only Dipper, and to accomplish the journey in one day’s time, but he reckoned without Phyllida, who promptly overrode him. She also made him aware of ‘various pressing obligations’ that must be attended to before their departure, which will be some days hence.”

“Jasper!” Loveday interrupted, stricken by a ghastly suspicion. “She cannot mean to bring the children?”

“Lord, no!” Jasper blanched at the thought. “They’ll be left with their nurse, poor woman.”

“I wonder at your sister’s imprudence,” Isolda said. “Isn’t this an uncalled-for risk? Or am I mistaken in assuming that she’s increasing?”

“It’s nothing to bother yourself with,” Jasper replied lightly. “Phyllida’s strong as an ox.”

“But surely her husband will object!”

“Montague? Never in the world. He’s quite fond of her, and shockingly indulgent.” Jasper’s tone suggested that indulgent husbands were much to be admired, and Loveday suspected that he had reason to be grateful for such creatures. Isolda sniffed.

* * * *

Jasper swung Loveday into a graceful waltz.

“Jasper!” she hissed, as she smiling politely. “Whatever are we to do? This is an abominable fix!”

“What’s amiss?” he inquired solicitously. “Did I tread on your foot?”

“Wretch! How can we allow Isolda to make an announcement?”

“How can we not?” replied Jasper, who in truth danced very well. “What odds can it make? You can always cry off, you know.”

“On what possible pretext?” Loveday snapped. “I am not exactly deluged with suitors at present.”

Jasper looked pointedly at Averil. “I would not say you lacked them, my love. Shall we call off this betrothal now?”

“Good gracious, no!”

“I thought perhaps you might have changed your mind. You could always say we should not suit.”

“Which no one would believe to be anything but a blatant taradiddle since you are such a catch.”

“Ah, well,” Jasper said philosophically. “I daresay between us we shall hit on something.”

When he bowed and left her, Loveday glanced around the room. It was decorated charmingly with flowers and lit with attractive ornate lanterns. She quickly spotted her hostess flirting outrageously with Averil. Charmain was dressed in a gown of fiery silk, a color that enhanced her exotic coloring, and an elaborate headdress comprised of, among other things, lace, brilliants, and ostrich plumes. She looked majestic, and Averil appeared to be thoroughly appreciative of his hostess’s dark beauty.

“Oh, Loveday,” Dillian breathed, at her elbow. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Loveday was amused by the girl’s wide-eyed  excitement, which was diminished not at all by Isolda’s firm refusal to let her waltz. “Have you ever seen anything so grand?”

Loveday had in fact attended much more elaborate functions, and she thought of London with a homesickness that was intensified by the knowledge that her days there were ended. No more would she ride in Hyde Park, or visit the opera, or indulge in the many amusements that a young lady of good family took for granted. There were still the pleasure gardens at Vauxhall; since this place of amusement was open to all classes, none could gainsay her entrance, but even that small delight now seemed flat. Jasper had once escorted her to a masquerade there, but she knew her enjoyment of the escapade had largely been because it was forbidden. Well, she was a young lady of good family no more, and could indulge in masquerades to her heart’s content—providing she survived her stay within Ballerfast’s venerable walls.

“Loveday, you look marvelous.” Loveday emerged from her unpleasant reverie to find Tibby smiling shyly at her. Loveday wondered who was responsible for the girl’s dressing, for Tibby was attired in a richly figured gauze and satin gown, and the white dress made her look like a sallow-complexioned little squab. But the glow of pleasure on her face when Averil solicited her hand for a dance transformed Tibby into something approaching prettiness.

Loveday was suddenly bored. Her thoughts were of too somber a tone to allow her to enjoy the festivities, and she hadn’t the heart for the fulsome compliments paid by her dancing partners. With a sigh of relief, she allowed Hilary to fetch her a glass of punch, and when she saw George’s determined approach, she fled quickly through the french doors.