Regency Sting (24 page)

“Then why am
I
the subject of malicious gossip?” Lexie asked in sincere perplexity.

Anne looked down at her hands in shame. “Perhaps you were right in your first suggestion—that we are all jealous cats when we see so beautiful a creature as you in our midst.”

“No, it's utter nonsense! Charlotte Firbanke is more beautiful by far, and no one says a
word
about her!”

“But Charlotte is such a
good
little mouse …” Anne began.

Lexie drew herself up indignantly. “And what makes you think that I am
not
?”

Anne couldn't help giggling. “Really, Lexie, you're not comparing your behavior with Charlotte Firbanke's, are you? Why, Charlotte never opens her mouth unless her mama prompts her.”

Lexie's lips quivered and a reluctant laugh popped out. “I suppose my behavior cannot be described as quite so discreet as all
that
,” she admitted with a guilty smile.

“Well, you must own, Lexie, that you are frank to a fault,” Anne said, feeling a sudden warmth for the young woman opposite.

“That's true,” Lexie nodded ruefully. “My wretched tongue. Mama always cautions me about it. But I can't seem to control myself. If a thought leaps into my mind, I blurt it out at once. But it hasn't been such a bad thing today—I'm glad I've been so frank with you, Anne. (I may call you Anne, may I not? You called me Lexie a moment ago.) At least it's broken the ice between us.”

Anne looked at the girl before her with new eyes. She had never realized that the beautiful Miss de Guis could be so vulnerable. Remembering all the unkind thoughts she'd harbored against the girl made her quite ashamed. “I'm glad, too, Lexie. Frankness is a quality I very much admire.”

“That's what Jason says, too. And that brings us back to the reason I've come. Jason's situation with the Regent is the outside of enough, and I've come to enlist your help in putting an end to it.”

Lexie's proprietary tone when she spoke of Jason was enough to cool Anne's feeling of warmth toward her. Nevertheless, her interest was piqued. “Have you some plan in mind which would end the situation?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, I have. If we could bring Prinny and Jason together at a party small enough to cause them to come face-to-face with each other, I feel sure that Jason could charm the Prince out of the sullens. However, my father and mother are not important enough to entice the Prince to attend one of their soirées.”

“I don't see how
I
can help you there. The Prince is hardly likely to accept one of
our
invitations either.”

“No, I've solved
that
problem myself. My maternal grandmother, Lady Lychett, sits high with Lady Hertford, and they've already, between them, arranged a dinner party for the Prince in two weeks' time. The problem is that Jason refuses to attend. He says he has no desire to ingratiate himself with the Prince. I need your help in persuading him to go.”

Anne shook her head. “If
you
were unable to persuade him, I don't see how
I
can do it,” she admitted honestly.

“Do you suppose Lady Harriet might succeed? Perhaps, between the two of you, you might contrive.”

“All I can promise, Lexie, is that we'll try. But Jason is a rather stubborn fellow, I'm afraid.”

Lexie sighed and rose to leave. “Yes, I've noticed that. He keeps insisting that he intends to return to America. I've begun to believe that he really means it.” She started for the door. “Not that I blame him—he makes his homeland sound very inviting.”

Her words smote Anne like a blow. “Oh, has Jason told you … much about America …?” she asked in a small voice.

“Good heavens, yes,” Lexie answered lightly. “He talks about it all the time. Well, good-bye, my dear. I'm so glad we had this chance to become better acquainted.”

Anne accompanied Lexie to the door and said her good-byes with proper politeness, but her mind was in a whirl. She walked back to the library in a daze. Jason's conversation about America that morning had seemed to Anne to be meant for her alone. It had been a moment of shared intimacy. It had made her feel so close to him. Now that feeling was completely destroyed. He had evidently shared
many
such moments with Lexie. Perhaps the relationship between them had developed much further than Anne had suspected. Perhaps—and the thought filled Anne with agony—they were in love!

Anne stood at the library window and watched the rain with unseeing eyes. Lexie and Jason. She remembered them whirling around the floor at the Dabney ball, a spectacularly striking pair. Perhaps they would make a well-matched couple. Lexie was not the detestable girl that Anne had thought. Why, then, was the prospect of a marriage between them so painful to her?

But Anne knew the answer to that question. She had known it for weeks. This thing inside her had been growing since the first day she'd seen Jason looming in the doorway of the upstairs sitting room. She loved him. If she did not want Lexie to have him, it was only because she wanted him for herself! What a fool she'd been. She'd bullied him and criticized him and underestimated him and offended him until he couldn't help but hold her in dislike. And all the while, Lexie had frankly and openly admired him. Who could blame the man for choosing Lexie to wed?

Besides, she had no right to think about Jason in this way. She was promised to Arthur. Arthur was so good, so true and loyal—she couldn't hurt him. There was nothing for her but to wish Jason well, go off with Arthur to Shropshire and begin the demanding task of accepting her fate with good grace. She had no other choice.

Arthur, meanwhile, looking like a sodden and abstracted ghost, appeared on the doorstep of the Laverstoke house on Half-Moon Street just as Cpatain Edward Wray was emerging. The Captain's face wore a self-satisfied smile, and Arthur could immediately discern that the Captain had immensely enjoyed his call on Cherry. He glared at Captain Wray with smoldering animosity as he brushed by him on the steps and reached for the door-knocker. The Captain did not understand why he'd been glared at and cut by the disheveled Lord Claybridge, but the matter was of no concern to him. He jumped into his waiting carriage and drove off.

When Arthur was admitted by the butler, Cherry was just about to climb the stairs to her room. However, after taking one look at Arthur's tempestuous expression, she flew to his side, quickly drew him into the drawing room and closed the door in the butler's disapproving face. “Arthur, you really must cease this running about in the rain,” she scolded. “You will surely contract an inflammation of the lungs if you are not more careful.”

“Never mind that,” he burst out angrily. “What was Wray doing here?” Then, taking note of Cherry's startled expression, he immediately became contrite. “No, don't answer. I've no right …! I don't know what I'm saying.” He dropped into a chair and stared at Cherry miserably. “Here, read this.” And he thrust Anne's note into her hand.

Cherry scanned it quickly. “Oh, Arthur,” she murmured in her most consolatory tone, “how disappointing! A
postponement
, when the date of your departure was so
near
!”

“It is not the postponement which troubles me, I assure you. It is the tone of that note. Is
that
the letter of a lady who is in love and eager to be married?”

Cherry looked at him in perplexity. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Is there a single ‘dearest' in the entire epistle? Is there a ‘my love' to be found anywhere? Is there a ‘sincere regret' expressed either within or between the lines?
Is
there, Cherry?”

“Well, I …”

“Don't be afraid to speak honestly to me, my dear. Too much has passed between us to hold back now. Is this the sort of letter
you
would write if you had to postpone our wedding?”

Cherry's eyes filled with tears, and she turned away. “I don't think it's fair to ask me that, Arthur,” she said quietly. “Perhaps this letter
is
a bit … hasty. But Anne has a great deal on her mind these days, you know.”

“Don't try to defend her to me. She may have a great deal on her mind, but I venture to guess that
I
do not figure prominently in her thoughts!”

Cherry turned back to him, dismayed. “Are you trying to suggest that Anne doesn't
love
you?”

“Yes, that's
just
what I'm suggesting. And I want your advice on what to do about it.”

Cherry dropped down on the sofa aghast. “You
can't
believe what you're saying! She has been completely devoted to you for
years
! I am her very best friend, and she's
never
given me any indication of a decline in her love for you. You cannot let yourself forget your feelings for her merely because of a hasty note.”

“Let us not speak of my feelings for her,” Arthur said bitterly, turning his face away from the earnest eyes staring at him. “You, at least, should have guessed that my feelings have undergone a change.”

“Arthur, you mustn't—!”

He wheeled about, crossed the room and confronted her. “Don't you think I
know
I mustn't? I've wrestled with myself for days and days. I am quite prepared to sacrifice myself … I am quite prepared to give you up …! Don't look at me so, Cherry. I
love
you! Let me say it just this once!” He sat down beside her on the sofa and grasped her hands. “I love you! But I know that a gentleman can never go back on his word. I am ready to honor my obligations to Anne. But I begin to suspect that her wishes to go through with our plans are no stronger than
mine
.”

Cherry's full lips trembled pathetically. “That's not
true
. She most truly loves you. I know it. You are … I hate to say this, Arthur, but I must!… you are letting your own wishes interfere with your judgment, I fear.”

He lowered his head. “Is that what you think? That I'm clutching at straws?”

“I … I'm very much afraid so, my dear,” she said tenderly.

He sighed deeply. “What am I to do, my love? I'm at my wit's end over this affair.”

“There's nothing you
can
do but wait until Anne is ready and proceed with your plans. She will be ready soon, I'm sure.”

“Yes, you're right, of course.” They gazed at each other sadly. “I can see no hope. No hope at all.”

“Don't say that, Arthur. You will be happy. I know you will.”

“Are
you
going to be happy married to Captain Wray?”

Cherry smiled wanly. “I'm not going to marry Captain Wray.”

“Oh, Cherry,” Arthur sighed, much moved, “is it because … of me?”

She nodded her head.

“Will you tell me, just once, that you love me? Just once … before I go?”

She lifted his hand, still holding hers, to her face and rubbed her cheek against it. “I love you, Arthur,” she whispered tearfully, “and always will.”

They sat for a moment in silence. Then Arthur rose abruptly and ran to the door. “Arthur,” she cried, “wait, just a moment. I must not … you must not … ever …”

“I know,” he muttered in a choked voice. “I must not ever come here again.” And he ran out into the unfeeling rain.

Nineteen

The combined efforts of Lady Harriet and Anne to coax Jason into attending Lady Lychett's dinner for the Prince were unavailing. Jason adamantly refused to attend. In desperation, Harriet suggested to Anne that perhaps another plan might succeed. “What have you in mind, Mama?” Anne asked interestedly.

“I wonder if perhaps a
gift
might do the trick. If Jason bought a magnificent mantel-clock, for example, of bronze or that ormolu that the Prince likes so much, and sent it to the Prince with a little note—”

Anne frowned. “It sounds like a
bribe
. I don't think Jason would approve of such a plan.”

“Perhaps we can convince Jason that giving a gift to the Prince is a gesture which is
expected
of a peer.”

“But for what reason? The Prince's birthday was more than a month ago …”

“I'll think of a reason,” Harriet promised.

“Even if we
could
convince Jason to do it, do you think the Prince would be influenced by such an obvious device?”

Harriet shrugged. “I believe he might be. He does
love
beautiful things, you know.”

“I suppose there's no harm in
trying
to persuade Jason to do it. Go ahead, Mama, and see what you can do.”

Not ten minutes after this conversation had taken place, Anne was surprised by a light tap at the sitting-room door. It was Mr. Orkle who answered her call to come in. The valet entered the room with unusual hesitation and stood regarding Anne dubiously before he spoke. “Is something on your mind, Mr. Orkle?” Anne asked encouragingly.

“Yes, miss, beggin' yer pardon. Y'see, I been puttin' me brain to work on a ticklish problem. It's this 'ere disagreemint 'tween 'is lordship an' 'is 'ighness, the Prince. It's a rotten shame wot 'appened, ain't it, miss?”

“Yes, Mr. Orkle, a very rotten shame,” Anne agreed, studying the fellow in some surprise. “Do you have some ideas on the subject?”

“Jus' one, miss. Y'see, I've invented this 'ere new fold—for a neckcloth, y'know. An' if I may say so as shouldn't, it's the grandest fold since Mr. Brummel devised the famous Trone d'Amour.”

“How very interesting. But I don't quite see what—?”

“Well, I been thinkin'… what if' is lordship'd go about town sportin' the new fold. Everyone'd be bound to ax 'im about it … wot's it called an' all. An' 'e'd say it's called the
Regent
! Now, I axes yer, wouldn't
that
be pleasin' to the Prince?”