Regency Sting (15 page)

“I hope your sister doesn't say anything to offend Mr. Orkle,” Jason remarked to Peter, making sure she could overhear.

Peter followed his lead. “I know. It would be too bad.”

“Yes,” Jason said, ostentatiously moving a pawn up a square, “he might find it necessary to deal with her as he did with Coyne.”

“Mmmm,” Peter nodded, studying the board carefully. “He might certainly do so.”

After a moment's struggle, during which she made to step out the door, Anne capitulated to curiosity and turned back. “How
did
he deal with Coyne?” she asked, elaborately casual.

“He said it was the only way for a man of his dignity to handle opposition,” Jason explained, looking up at her.

“
What
way?” Anne asked impatiently.

“With
silent contempt
, of course,” Peter said. Then, both men grinning, they bent their heads over the chessboard again, leaving Anne to stand in the doorway agape.

Eleven

The time of Jason's introduction into Polite Society—the night of Lady Dabney's ball—was fast approaching. Anne, with a generosity of spirit she didn't know she possessed, put aside her irritation with the Viscount for flaunting her advice in so many instances (especially in the matter of choosing a valet) and benevolently continued to prepare him for the forthcoming event. She tried to teach him how to bow with grace and without obsequiousness, how to address the Regent, how to approach a lady and ask her to dance, how to lead her to the dance floor, and how to restore her to her chaperone. He had to learn the differences in addressing maiden ladies and married ladies, young girls and elderly dowagers, dukes and barons. He had to become familiar with the relative intoxicating capacities on females of orgeat (none), punch (variable), and champagne (dangerous). And he most certainly had to be able to recognize the difference between innocent flirtations and licentious dalliance. “It's all so complicated,” he complained. “I doubt that I shall ever get it all straight.”

“If only you would pay close attention to me (instead of regarding me with that mocking gleam that makes me wonder if you are taking any of this at all seriously), I'm sure you'd have very little difficulty,” Anne answered with asperity.

“Oh, I take it
very
seriously, I assure you,” he declared, a very slight smile belying his words, “but you must admit that it's difficult to know exactly when a man crosses over the boundary of mere flirting into what you call licentiousness.”

“The best gage of that, sir, is your
intent
,” she said flatly.

“Oh, but my intent is
always
licentious,” he retorted promptly.

“There, you
see
?” she asked in annoyance. ‘You won't be serious.”

“I'm sorry. Seriously, then, I can understand that, while a man is standing in the ballroom with a young lady, with crowds of people all around, he may tell her how lovely she looks, and no one would think it more than innocent flirting. But what if she's asked him to take her outside for a breath of air? There, alone in the darkness of the evening, would those words
still
be mere flirting?”

Anne considered. “I don't know. Are they sitting or standing?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, I believe it does. If they are standing where they can be seen from the windows, for example, and not very close to each other, I would say the words would still be acceptably innocent. If, however, they were seated together on a bench, with shoulders or knees touching—”

“How? Like this?” he asked, drawing her down beside him on the sofa so that they were close enough for shoulders
and
knees to touch. “Is
this
acceptable?”

“Well …” she hesitated.

“Have you never sat beside a man like this?”

“Of course, but—”

“But if we're sitting like this, I mustn't tell you that you look lovely?”

“I … I suppose it would be … acceptable,” she said, growing uncomfortably flushed.

“Would I be permitted to take your hand—like this—and say it? ‘How lovely you look tonight, my dear,'” he said, acting out the scene.

She tried to withdraw her hand. “I don't think so,” she said decisively.

“Don't tell me that takin' your
hand
is licentious! Has no one ever held it so?”

“Well, I suppose it's not
licentious
, exactly—”

“Then I have not yet passed the bounds. What if I put my other arm around you,
so
, and drew you close. Then, droppin' your hand, I lifted your chin like this …”

She found herself pressed against him, his face close above hers. He was smiling down at her with an expression in his eyes that was not at all mocking. Why, the … the …
madman
was going to
kiss
her! For a fleeting moment she considered the possibility of permitting him to do it—she was conscious of a sharp desire to feel his mouth on hers—but almost immediately her fury overtook her, and she pushed him away, enraged. “You … you detestable
sneak
!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “How
dare
you try to play your vulgar American tricks on me!”

He looked up at her in exaggerated innocence. “But, ma'am,” he drawled, “how else am I to
learn
—”

“I'm sure I don't care
how
you learn! But I'll tell you this, my lord—that's the very
last
lesson you'll have from
me
!” And with a wrathful toss of her head, she strode from the room and slammed the door behind her.

Despite her resolve to have nothing further to do with his debut, Anne found herself, on the day of the ball, giving Jason instructions on what to wear. The whole family was lingering over luncheon when the subject of his evening dress came up. “I hope your fool of a valet knows how to tie a neckcloth properly,” Anne said worriedly. “And be sure to tell him to press the gray loretto waistcoat. That should do well with your evening coat.”

“Orkle thinks the gray waistcoat is
nesh
,” Jason ventured in his irritatingly innocent tone.

Peter, about to swallow a bite of cold ham, choked. Lady Harriet raised a questioning eyebrow. “
Nesh
?” she asked, puzzled.

“I believe it's Orkle's way of saying that something is insipid,” Peter explained.

“Insipid, is it?” Anne asked in frozen accents, putting down her fork and rising. “I can only hope, my lord, that your so-discriminating valet doesn't turn you out tonight looking like a Bond Street Beau!”

Lady Harriet watched with troubled eyes as her stepdaughter stalked from the room. “I don't know what ails Anne,” she murmured, “but, Jason dear, don't be disturbed by what she says. I'm sure you'll be quite up to the mark tonight in every way.” As they all rose to leave the table, she gave Jason's hand a comforting squeeze. Nevertheless, knowing that no one but his peculiar valet would be supervising his dressing, Harriet, like Anne, was feeling distinctly uneasy. “I must remain calm,” she warned herself and went upstairs to take a nap.

There followed a few hours of silence in the household, but by late afternoon the activity in the upstairs hall was hectic. Abigails ran back and forth in the hallways between Lady Harriet's room and Anne's, carrying freshly laundered petticoats, ribbons, curling irons, perfume bottles and sundry other necessities for female evening attire. Orkle was seen running up and down the stairs at various intervals on mysterious errands in connection with Lord Mainwaring's attire. Every servant in the household, including Coyne, found an excuse to hang about the corridors, hoping to catch a glimpse of his lordship, all of them having heard that this was the night Lord Mainwaring was to make his mark. Even Peter was seen pacing the corridor, something no one in the household had ever seen him do before.

Peter, too young to be invited to
ton
parties and too scholarly to have an interest in them, found himself for the first time in his life piqued by this social ritual. His affection for Jason made him concerned. He was dimly aware that such affairs could make a difference in one's life. He wasn't sure how, but one's friendships, one's
affaires du coeur
, even one's self-confidence could be affected by one's success or failure at a ball. He did not want Jason to be changed or hurt in any way by the experience he was about to undergo this evening. For that reason he paced the corridor nervously, hoping that Orkle was indeed the man he claimed to be and was capable of sending Jason off in style. Once Jason arrived at the ball, he had to handle himself on his own, and Peter hoped that the people Jason would meet would be perceptive enough to recognize the excellent qualities which Peter had found beneath Jason's easygoing, informal American exterior.

The Mainwarings had been invited by the Dabneys to partake of a small dinner before the ball, and the carriage was therefore ordered for seven o'clock. When the hour struck, the carriage arrived at the door, Coyne took up his position at the front doorway, and Peter waited in the drawing room for the party-goers to make an appearance. Anne was the first to come down, nervously peeping in the doorway for her first glimpse of her charge. “He's not here yet,” Peter told her.

Anne came into the room, buttoning her long white gloves. She had not neglected her own appearance, and she looked very lovely in a ball gown of rose-colored Tiffany silk cut low over her shoulders and clinging softly to the lines of her body. Her hair was tied back with a gold ribbon,
à la Sappho
, with tantalizing little curls escaping to frame her face. The only decorations she wore were a simple gold necklace at her throat and ornate little gold slippers that peeped out from below the hem of her dress. Although Peter noted that his sister was in excellent looks, he didn't comment on her appearance, his mind and eyes being fixed on the doorway where Jason would soon appear. Anne took no notice of the omission of compliments. Absorbed, herself, in watching for Jason, she didn't even notice his lack of attention to her costume.

Harriet hurried in eagerly. “Is he down yet?” she asked, the answer apparent even before she'd finished the question. She, too, was looking festive in an embroidered gown of dark blue lustring and a silver turban decorated with a diamond brooch and an enormous ostrich feather. Also occupied with worry over Jason, she did not exhibit any more interest in her own appearance than Anne had shown in hers.

They did not have long to wait. Within five minutes of Harriet's entrance, Jason appeared in the doorway. He paused and cleared his throat importantly. His aunt and his two cousins turned and stared. From the top of his carelessly brushed curls to the bottoms of his black leather dancing shoes, Jason was every inch the immaculate, exquisitely-turned-out Corinthian. His black evening coat, cut short at the waist across the front and falling in long tails at the back, fit across his shoulders to perfection. His frilled shirt gleamed, his neckcloth was elegantly tied, his knee-breeches and silk stockings showed his shapely legs to advantage, and his waistcoat, of Italian silk with subtle stripes in three shades of green, added a needed touch of color which made a masterly blend of the whole ensemble.

There was a moment of appreciative silence. Before it was broken, Jason, with a wide grin, removed from his pocket an enameled snuffbox, flipped it open with his thumb and, with an air of insouciance, took a pinch of snuff. Lady Harriet squealed delightedly, rushed across the room and flung her arms about his neck. “Oh, Jason, you're
perfect
!” she cried.

Jason signaled Orkle, who was hovering about in the hallway behind him, to come in. The valet stepped into the room proudly. In his hand he held two nosegays. One, a small bouquet of surprisingly blue violets, Jason took and presented to his aunt with a small bow. “For you, my dear,” he said smiling, and he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Lady Harriet blushed with pleasure. “How very thoughtful,” she murmured, putting her nose to the bouquet.

Jason took the other nosegay from the valet, a charming confection of pink and white rosebuds, and brought it to Anne. “If I may say so without being
licentious
,” he said with his mischievous grin, “you look lovely tonight, Miss Hartley.” He presented the bouquet with a bow. “Do I meet with
your
approval, ma'am?”

“Yes, you do,” she said warmly and turned to Orkle. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Orkle,” she said generously. “He is complete to a shade. A nonpareil. And the waistcoat is an excellent choice. Even the neckcloth is magnificent. What do you call that fold?”

“It's one o' me own devisin', miss, but akin to the Trône d'Amour. I calls it Knight's Reward, 'cause I invented it for Sir Timothy Knightsbridge, but 'is lordship 'ere, 'e wants to call it the Nuisance, 'cause I used up four neckerchiefs afore I tied it proper.”

“Well, whatever it's called, it's beautiful. You've done a superb job with that great gawk,” Anne said with a smile. “And if, as I suspect, these nosegays were your idea, I have a great deal for which to be grateful to you.”

“Thank yer, me lady, for all yer kind words, but I 'as to admit that the flowers was 'is lordship's idea.”

“You don't say!” Anne said, looking up at Jason saucily. “Will surprises never cease?”

As Anne walked gaily out of the room to don her cloak, she did not dream that her words were prophetic—that surprises would not cease during the entire evening ahead of them.

Coyne helped the ladies on with their cloaks, and they started for the carriage. Left alone with Jason for a moment, Peter fixed his eyes on his cousin earnestly. “I hope you have a successful evening,” he said shyly, shaking Jason's hand, “but even if you make a cake of yourself, it won't matter a bit, you know. Not to people who count.”