Sherri Cobb South (12 page)

* * * *

The next morning saw Lisette sufficiently recovered to receive callers, the most significant of whom was Étienne Villiers. This worthy arrived promptly at two o’clock with a posy of flowers with which he hoped, he said, to speed Lady Waverly’s return to good health. In point of fact, he had not known prior to arriving in Park Lane that she had been ill; nor, for that matter, had he known that she was Lady Waverly until his comrade, Raoul, had read the announcement in
The Morning Post.

“Imbécile!”
had cried Raoul, never in the sunniest of temperaments before breakfast. “She is not his
fille de joie
at all! She is his wife!”

Étienne clicked his tongue sympathetically.
“Alors,
it appears you will not have your forty thousand pounds after all.’’

“Perhaps,” Raoul said thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the table. “Or perhaps there is still a way.”

Raoul had not seen fit to inform Étienne of his plans, but he had beseeched his henchman to try and remember if he had said anything to imply that Lisette had abandoned her convent for a sisterhood of quite another sort.

“Mais non, of
this I am certain,” Étienne stated emphatically. “It was not until I overheard her instructing the clerk to send the bill to Lord Waverly that I suspected that she was no longer a respectable female.”

“And what, pray, would a respectable female have been doing jaunting about Amiens in breeches? But never mind that,” Raoul amended hastily, lest Étienne be distracted by trivialities. “We must make certain we—you, that is—have not offended her in any way.”

Hence Étienne’s presence in Park Lane. It was at first his intention to call on the pretext of congratulating his countrywoman on her recent nuptials, but upon hearing the footman who admitted him inquire of the butler whether Lady Waverly’s fragile health would permit her to receive visitors, Étienne hastily revised his plans. He did not think Raoul would object.

“I understand you have been ill,” said Etienne, offering his floral tribute.  “Now I know why the sun, he refused to show his face yesterday.”

Lisette did not for one moment take his extravagant compliments seriously, but she would have been less than female had she not enjoyed hearing them. “You are too kind,
monsieur.
But
la grippe,
she is my own stupid fault.”

“Mais non!
I will not believe it!”

“Still, it is true. I dampened my skirts to make them hang just so, and took the chill.
Alors,
as milord says, I am well and truly punished.”

“He must be a monster!” exclaimed Etienne, much shocked.

Lisette’s cheeks flushed, but not with fever. “He is
not
a monster! You will not say such things of milord!”

“Mille pardons!
I meant no offense,” Étienne said hastily, eager to correct an obvious misstep. “I meant only that such a delicate flower as yourself should be cherished, not scolded.”

Lisette could find no fault with this sentiment, and so Étienne soon coaxed his way back into her good graces. By the time Lord Waverly returned from his club some ten minutes later, they were apparently on excellent terms, as the earl noted to his dissatisfaction when he stopped by the morning room to assure himself that his wife had not taxed her recovery too far. He found her in blooming health, which pleased him, and in lively conversation with a young Frenchman, which did not. He knew his reaction to be unreasonable, and so forbore from making any of the rather biting observations that sprang to his mind. He had, after all, told Lisette that she might choose her friends to please herself; he had not, however, expected her to do so quite this promptly—at least not with friends of the masculine persuasion. And surely she could do better than this foppish puppy! Rather curtly declining an offer of tea, he took himself off to his library for a stiff brandy and a hand of that most inappropriately named of all card games, Patience.

* * * *

Alas, Lord Waverly’s trials were only beginning. He discovered this fact three days later, when he and Lisette were promised to attend a ball at the imposing residence of Lord Langerfield. As this edifice was some few miles removed from Town and possessed the luxury of a small garden in the rear adorned with a Grecian temple, it made an ideal location for intrigues of an amorous nature.  It was, therefore, not unnatural that Lord Waverly paced the hall like a caged animal, impatient for his wife to complete her toilette so that they might be on their way.

When at last a slight sound drew his gaze upward, however, all thoughts of Lady Helen Brundy flew from his mind. Descending the staircase was a vision in palest blue, a color Waverly had previously thought flattering only to the angelically fair. He now revised his opinion. Lisette, though clearly no angel, was far more alluring than any heavenly being. A pale blue ribbon had been woven through her cropped curls, banishing forever the image of “Cousin Luc.” The hem of her gown was fashionably short, revealing not only her small feet encased in blue kid dancing slippers, but also a pair of neat ankles in white silk stockings. Her
corsage
was more daring than any she had previously worn, exposing the swell of her small, high bosom. Lord Waverly’s mouth went dry.

“Milord?” said Lisette, rendered uncomfortable by his close scrutiny and long silence.

When the earl spoke, however, it was not to his wife, but to her dresser, following at a discreet distance with Lisette’s velvet cloak.

“What—” Hearing his voice come out as little more than a squeak, Waverly cleared his throat and tried again. “What have you done to her?”

“I trust I have done what I was hired to do, my lord,” Winters said placidly. “Turn her out in a manner befitting her station.”

Waverly waved a vague hand in the general vicinity of Lisette’s white bosom. “This is hardly suitable for a schoolroom miss!”

“Very true, your lordship, but if you will forgive me for pointing out the obvious, my lady is not a schoolroom miss. She is a countess.” Seeing that her employer could not dispute this home truth, she continued. “My lady should, of course, wear jewels, but she has none. Unless, perhaps, there are family pieces kept elsewhere?”

Waverly thought of a particularly fine set of sapphires which had been sold to keep his creditors at bay, and felt a momentary pang of regret for the licentious living which had robbed him of the opportunity to clasp them around Lisette’s slender throat.

“No, no family pieces,” he said brusquely.  “If you’re ready, Lisette, we’ll be on our way.”

Chapter 9

O! beware, my lord, of jealousy.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
Othello

Upon reaching the Langerfield residence, Lord Waverly lingered at his wife’s side just long enough to see her provided with a glass of champagne, a plate of lobster patties, and a coterie of young people for companionship before taking himself off in the direction of the card room. To be sure, Waverly reflected, most of these young people appeared to be young men cut from the same cloth as that damned intrusive Frog, but what would you? He had told Lisette she might choose her friends to please herself, and if she took pleasure in the company of a collection of mewlings still wet behind the ears, he would not be the one to say her nay. At any rate, the time still lacked half an hour before he was to meet Lady Helen in the Grecian temple, and he would be damned before he spent it listening to some overdressed coxcomb composing odes to Lisette’s eyelashes.

Once inside the card room, he strolled nonchalantly between the tables, dropping a word of greeting here, pausing to watch a player take a particularly neat trick there.  At length he allowed himself to be persuaded to join in a game of whist, and when at last the long-case clock chimed the half-hour, he mentally tallied his winnings and found himself several hundred guineas richer.  He thought again of the Waverly sapphires, and resolved to make inquiries of his solicitor as to who had purchased them, and whether they might consider selling. Then he tossed in his cards, rose from the table, and sallied forth into the garden in search of Lady Helen.

The Grecian folly, located in the center of the garden, appeared as a pale ghost in the moonlight, its domed roof supported by marble columns. As Lord Waverly drew nearer, one of these detached itself from its fellows and moved forward, eventually resolving itself into the tall slender figure of Lady Helen Brundy.

“So there you are!” she whispered, the plumes on her aigrette bobbing in agitation. “I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind.”

“Changed my mind?” echoed the earl. “On the contrary. I have been awaiting this moment for four long years.”

Taking her elbow, he guided her up the shallow steps into the shelter of the temple. The brilliant lights from the ballroom did not reach this far, but as Waverly’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed that the folly contained no furnishings save a rug on its smooth marble floor.

“Convenient,” he remarked, smoothing the rug with the toe of his evening pump. “One might suppose someone to have been expecting us. Then again, I daresay such structures are often put to such a purpose.”

Lady Helen’s darted a glance at the rug, and licked her lips nervously. “I suppose so.”

“Well, then, shall we?” suggested the earl, putting his arm about her waist and drawing her closer.

“Yes, but—” Lady Helen’s hands splayed against his chest as if to ward off the very advances which she had herself solicited.

“But what?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s only that—well—I’ve never done this before—”

“Never?” the earl echoed mockingly. “Surely you do not expect me to believe that your four children were immaculately conceived!”

“Of course not!” said Lady Helen, annoyed. “I meant I have never done such a thing with anyone other than my husband!”

“Four years of fidelity?  In that case, your husband is more fortunate than most of the gentlemen of the
ton.
I must remember to congratulate him.”

“You will not dare to mention this to him!”

“No? But how can you expect to punish him if he is not to know he is being cuckolded?”

Lady Helen had not previously recognized this flaw in her plan, but she was not prepared to acknowledge as much to the earl. “I did not come here to discuss my husband! Now, if you please, may we just get on with it?”

“Your eagerness overwhelms me, my dear.”

Waverly’s arms tightened around her and he lowered his head to hers. He could feel her warm breath on his face, could almost taste her lips, when a shriek from the shrubbery nearby made him release Lady Helen so quickly that she nearly tumbled to the floor. He vaulted over the low wall of the folly, then rounded the edge of the ornamental shrubbery just in time to see Lisette struggling in the arms of a rakish young officer in scarlet regimentals.

“Mats non!
Stop at once,
monsieur,
or I will—”

Her captor only laughed. “You will what? Come,
ma petite,
let us cry friends! Consider it an exercise in diplomacy between your country and mi—”

He got no further before Waverly seized him by the collar. The earl never raised his voice, yet it was as cold—and as lethal—as forged steel. “Your diplomatic skills are superfluous, since the hostilities are long since over. However, the peace could end very quickly, at least as far as you are concerned, unless you unhand my wife and remove your miserable carcass from her presence. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir—I didn’t know—I meant no offense—”

Stammering incoherent apologies, the soldier took his leave, sped on his way by a swift kick to his derriere.

Alone with his wife, Waverly regarded her expectantly. “Well, Lisette?”

“Oh, milord, do not be angry with me!
Vraiment,
I did not know what he meant to do! He asked me if I would like to step into the garden for a breath of fresh air, and as it was very hot inside, I said I would like it very much. But then, when we reached the shrubbery, he tried to—to—”

As Lisette concluded this speech by bursting into a hearty bout of tears, it behooved the earl to gather her in his arms and pat her consolingly. “There, there, child, it’s all right.”

Lisette looked up, and the tears trembling on her long lashes sparkled in the moonlight. “Then you are not angry?”

“On the contrary. I am extremely angry, but not with you.”

“I swear to you, I never did anything to make him think I wanted him to kiss me!”

Waverly stared down at the woman in his arms, at a loss for words. How could he explain to this innocent creature that she didn’t have to
do
anything, that she merely had to
be
to have this effect on men? He’d been aware of it since he’d seen her descending the stairs earlier this evening, not dripping wet this time, nor garishly painted with kohl, but looking entirely too grown up—and entirely too desirable—for his peace of mind. What insane notion had possessed him, to assure her that theirs would be a
mariage blanc!
His lip curled in derision as the answer came to him: honor. And just when he had convinced himself that he had none! What a damnably inconvenient time that overrated quality chose to make its presence known! Now he was trapped, living like a monk while he played nursemaid to his young wife, who had no more idea of how to go about in Society than a babe newborn. “Let’s step outside for a breath of fresh air,” indeed! That one was so old, it had whiskers.

“Milord,” Lisette said meekly, interrupting his thoughts, “would you mind very much taking me home now?”

Lord Waverly thought of Lady Helen waiting impatiently for him in the garden folly. God,
yes,
he minded taking her home! He minded very much, indeed. But one look at Lisette’s woebegone face informed him that only a cad would abandon her after such an ordeal in order to keep an assignation, and whatever else he might be, he was apparently not a cad. Would that it were so, he thought with a sigh of regret for what might have been. Then, tucking Lisette’s gloved hand into the crook of his arm, he led her out of the moonlit garden.