Maggie MacKeever (22 page)

His removal from London had been temporarily delayed by the necessity of obtaining fresh attire from his lodgings, but he still made good time. The strategy that he had so cleverly devised would go ahead as planned. Theo would lurk in the gardens, though hopefully with more success than the last time. Loveday was certain to seek fresh air sometime during the evening, and if she was escorted, then so much the worse for her unsuspecting swain. Theo was in no mood to tolerate any opposition; he’d brooked all the nonsense he would stand. Once he had the girl in his clutches, he would compromise her, ruin her reputation, and force her to marry him, thus insuring for himself her fortune. It was more than rightfully his, considering the countless discomforts she had caused him.

Theo sneezed, and was forced to admit that he’d made a rare mull of it. It was a lowering reflection: a mere girl had made him look ridiculous. Outrageous, that a young lady of breeding should indulge in such indelicate behavior. It would be no more than she deserved to find herself on the shelf. Theo amused himself with a brief fantasy of Loveday at her last prayers, but had to allow that, though damnably hot at hand, the chit was not yet in danger of becoming an old maid. Especially since he meant to marry her himself.

Even if she
was
prodigiously like her father. Theo thought very poorly of Harry Fairchild, who had behaved in a manner more indicative of a curst commoner than a gentleman. Theo did not consider his own part in this affair to have been exceptionable; he had not compelled Lord Fairchild, who was admittedly three parts disguised, to offer the girl in lieu of monies owed. Dash it, if the man was all to pieces, he could have gone to a cent-per-cent, could he not? Theo had been extremely incensed to learn of his debtor’s flight. To his way of thinking, everything had been on the road to being settled, when Harry Fairchild had, in so ungentlemanly a manner, fled his responsibilities.

As for the girl, Theo was indifferent to her, preferring prime articles of virtue like Felicity. He did not plan to ill-use Loveday, not really, even though he had already been put to a great deal of inconvenience and had no doubt that he would find her queer starts a dead bore in no time. The chit could even go her own road once she’d transferred her funds into Theo’s pocket, a situation that Theo confidently believed he could bring about once he had her safely in his grasp. Whatever else she might be, Loveday Fairchild wasn’t addle-brained.

Felicity had not been advised of his exact plan, lest she take it into her head to prove difficult. Theo wondered how she’d gone on without him, and imagined his
inamorata
was probably extremely peeved. Perhaps she’d even packed and returned, in high dudgeon, to London. Theo thought he wouldn’t stop by his home to discover whether she still tarried there; it would mean too great a delay. Ruthlessly, he laid the whip to his horses’ backs, and savored the thought of his revenge.

* * * *

Isolda had outdone herself; the ball was a resounding triumph, as grand as any Loveday had ever attended. She looked around with frank curiosity. Tibby was a great success; her darkened curls and orchid gown were, in themselves, quite attractive, but Phyllida’s skill with her make-up pots had quite done the trick. Loveday noticed with amusement that Tibby appeared completely indifferent to George’s earnest attentions, and wondered if the girl’s startling change in appearance had resulted in an equally drastic change of affections.

Tibby could easily have answered that question. She was enjoying her sudden feeling of power, and Phyllida’s advice had not fallen on barren ground. Tibby saw no reason to make her exact sentiments known; but she did realize that an alliance with dull George simply would not do. His attraction had been one of proximity, the allure of a goal that was safely within reach. Tibby wondered if she might not now set her sights on a higher star, and eyed Averil speculatively.

The supreme satisfaction was not George’s obvious appreciation of her altered appearance, or his dismayed reaction to her firm statement that they should not suit, however, but Dorcas’s furious chagrin at the sudden transformation of her confidante. The ugly duckling indeed, thought Tibby, and bestowed upon Hilary a dazzling smile.

Loveday saw, and also smiled. Tibby was trying her wings.

“What amuses you?” Averil inquired, as he brought her a glass of lemonade. Loveday had judiciously resolved to bypass the punch, remembering the effect of the concoction served at Charmain’s
soiree.

“Tibby,” Loveday replied, with a gesture in that young lady’s direction. “I fear she’ll lead many a poor lad a merry chase.”

“You’ve wrought a startling transformation,” Averil commented. Just then, Tibby caught his eye and smiled. He’d not been aware that she possessed such possibilities, and remembered suddenly that her father was a man of some substance, a fact that had also stricken Isolda when she first viewed Tibby’s transformation. He turned back to Loveday.  “I’m surprised that you should concern yourself with her.”

Loveday shrugged. There were times when the nobility’s sublime unconcern for others irritated her greatly. “We had nothing better to do.” Averil, aware that he had blundered yet again, fell silent. Loveday scanned the room for Phyllida, and found her friend with Charles.

Phyllida’s pregnancy had not yet begun to thicken her figure, and she looked her best in a high-waisted, three-quarter dress of white spider gauze worn over a slip of lime green satin. She had obviously taken pains with her appearance, and Loveday wondered if her friend was contemplating a move that could only end in disaster.

Phyllida, too, wondered. “You have forgiven me, then?” she murmured, treating Charles to a coquettish glance through her lashes. Charles laughed and pressed her hand.

“My darling Phyl,” he countered, “what’s to forgive? You took me to task, and rightly so. Your concern for Dillian does you nothing but credit, and I would be the greatest beast in nature were I to blame you for the affair.”

Phyllida allowed him to lead her into a dance, and wondered how a life with Charles might compare with that shared with Adolphus. She caught Loveday’s eye, and winked.

Loveday was not deceived, but in this matter she could do nothing but hope that Phyllida would not embark on a romantic, and ruinous, course. Loveday had little faith in the durability of Charles’s affections. In that she did him a disservice, for Charles would have liked nothing better than to spirit Phyllida away, in spite of her husband, family, and her often uncomfortable habit of frank speaking—and regardless of the resultant scandal and loss of his avocation.

Averil looked down upon the dusky-curled lass beside him. Assheton was a bounder; with his betrothal to be announced that very evening, he was lavishing his attentions on Charmain, who seemed to be enjoying a marvelous private joke. Averil glanced at his grandmother, but Isolda was studying Tibby thoughtfully.

“Shall we step into the garden?” he murmured. “Do you feel the need for some fresh air?”

Loveday, who had just borne witness to the unsettling sight of Charmain’s whispered intimacies, and Jasper’s obvious amusement, quickly agreed.

“There is something I must say to you,” Averil murmured, as they reached the relative privacy of the gardens, “though this is doubtless not the time.”

“What is it?” Loveday was startled to see her escort looking so glum.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Loveday stared at him with surprise. “I realize this is too abrupt,” Averil continued, “but I could not allow you to depart without making my position clear.”

Loveday had a moment’s indecision, in which she imagined herself being petted and pampered by her lord husband, and stifled by Isolda. “No,” she said baldly, then flushed. “I mean, I am truly aware of the honor you do me, sir, but there are reasons why I must refuse your kind offer.”

“Nonsense!” interrupted Averil. “There’s no need to try and spare my feelings. You haven’t dealt me a mortal blow, and I am not so imperceptive as you might imagine. It’s Assheton, is it not?”

Loveday said nothing.

“Strange,” Averil mused. “You didn’t mention your betrothal in that pretty refusal of yours.” Loveday’s eyes fled to his face. “Never mind, I shan’t betray you, or ask you more questions. My silence has a price, however.” He bent and kissed her.

Jasper chose that moment to escort Charmain into the gardens, ostensibly for fresh air and actually to keep an eye on the wayward Loveday. He had not expected to find her in Vere’s arms, and stopped dead in his tracks. Startled, Charmain glanced up at his impassive face. Averil took Loveday’s hands into his own.

“I think we’d best return,” Loveday said, in stifled tones. “Our absence will have been remarked.” Her heart sank down to her toes when she turned and saw Jasper; she was not even aware of Charmain’s glance of pure malice. One look at Jasper’s frozen features confirmed her worst fears.

“Come for a stroll, Assheton?” Averil inquired complacently. “I trust you’ll find our gardens pleasant.”

Theo, in his hiding place, swore mightily to himself. His opportunity had come, but he’d been so startled by Averil’s proposal of marriage that he’d momentarily forgotten his purpose in being there. He settled back for a long wait. Perhaps another opportunity might yet present itself.

Excusing herself to Averil, Loveday made her way to Phyllida’s side. “I must speak with you!” she hissed into her friend’s startled ear.

Phyllida came back to the present with a wrench and, after one look at Loveday’s stricken face, led her briskly to a secluded comer. “Now, what’s amiss?” she inquired. “I don’t mind telling you that you look wretched.”

Loveday related the events of the past half hour with great confusion, but Phyllida was able to piece the tale together. “I declare, a greater assortment of gudgeons I have never met! And if you cry, Loveday, I swear I’ll wash my hands of you!”

Loveday sniffled, but bravely held back the tears. “But what am I to do?”

Phyllida snorted. “No more than you already have, I pray! Jasper doesn’t care to be made to look a fool, and that’s how it must appear to anyone who doesn’t know the reasons behind this wretched coil of yours.” She took pity on Loveday’s woebegone countenance, and patted her hand. “Never mind, child, I’ll fix it up all right and tight, no matter what idiot notion Jasper has got in his head.”

Dillian appeared with a glass of punch, which she promptly forced upon Loveday. “Drink this,” she said firmly. “You cannot hide here all the evening.”

Phyllida gave her a sharp glance. “Did anyone else notice?”

Dillian shook her head. “I think not. I was watching Loveday closely, or I would not have remarked it myself.”

“Very well.” Phyllida was firm. “You are going to act as if nothing untoward has taken place, Loveday.”

“But Isolda will announce the betrothal and Jasper will never forgive me. You didn’t see his face—there’s no chance that he’ll go through with it now!”

“Piffle! I must speak with my father.” With that cryptic remark, Phyllida left them.

Loveday and Dillian returned to the festivities, Loveday feeling as though the emeralds that Jasper had given her earlier as a birthday gift were a heavy weight around her neck. She noticed that Charmain now flirted with Averil, and Jasper and Phyllida were nowhere to be seen. Loveday tried to focus her attention on the dancers, and not to think of what Sylvester might be saying to Isolda, or why that lady’s countenance bore so furious an expression. It occurred to Loveday that in this fashionable throng might be someone who fervently wished her death and, momentarily distracted, she surveyed the merrymakers thoughtfully.

It was then that it happened, a trick of the light, a sudden fleeting expression. “Oh, Lord!” Loveday gasped, and gripped Dillian’s arm.

Dillian, if fey, was not dull-witted. She followed Loveday’s stricken glance. “Just as I had thought,” she said. “You must leave this place immediately!”

Dillian stood up well to emergencies; in but a few seconds’ time, she whisked Loveday from the ballroom, with none the wiser as to the immediacy of their departure. “Quick!” she hissed. “And be quiet as the grave. If he saw your face, he’ll know he’s been found out, and we will find ourselves with the very devil to pay.”

Loveday obeyed, and the two girls fled silently toward the castle’s ruined wing. “Why here?” she whispered.

“There’s a secret passageway,” Dillian replied. “Known, I pray, to none but me. Listen!” Loveday heard determined footsteps. Dillian tugged feverishly at her arm, and Loveday followed her into an alcove hidden by a tapestry.

She could not see what Dillian did, but the younger girl pushed her into a narrow tunnel. For a horrid moment, Loveday remembered the oubliette and wondered if Dillian too wished her death.

“I would not have chosen this way,” Dillian hissed, and Loveday felt a great relief. “Let me squeeze past you, and hold onto my gown.”

“Are you sure he won’t find us in here?”

Dillian chuckled without mirth, a macabre sound in the darkness. “No one will find us here,” she replied, as she began to feel her way along the passage. “I only hope I can discover the way out, for I have never completely explored this tunnel. If it is caved in further along, we are truly in the suds.”

* * * *

Sylvester considered it high time that he had a talk with his extremely stubborn son, and accordingly took him aside. He fished a paper from his pocket.

“What’s this?”

“A special license. Phyllida thought it wise to have one on hand.”

“Phyllida was mistaken. If you are referring to Loveday, I haven’t the slightest reason to suppose that I am at all favorite in that quarter.”

Sylvester regarded his exasperating son. “When I learned of this false betrothal, I confess I thought the matter might resolve itself felicitously.”

Jasper smiled without humor. “Did you? I feared you might. I regret your disappointment. I arrived upon the scene only to find our incorrigible Loveday casting out lures to Vere.”

Sylvester was momentarily distracted. His expression was one of interest. “Surely she didn’t do such a thing.”