The Notorious Widow (16 page)

Stepping outside, he pulled the door closed, then ducked around the corner.

William was leaning against the wall, staring at nothing.

“Trouble?” asked Blake, joining him.

He shrugged.

“She is not worth such melancholy,” he said daringly, for it was not the thing to interfere in a gentleman’s courtship, even if the man was a close friend.

“That is not the problem. Alicia must follow her parents’ lead, and they are understandably cautious about the rumors. But I had not realized how bad those had become. Bringing Catherine was a mistake. We should leave before the situation grows worse.”

“She is here on my orders. Hiding from her detractors makes her seem ashamed. And now that we are here, leaving would cause even more harm.” He paused to make sure William understood. “As to Miss Wyath, while I am sure she is a dutiful daughter, I doubt she disagrees with her parents on this point. I have met many girls like her in London. Their sole ambition is to attach the greatest fortune and highest title available. She would never consider yours without first testing her charms on a wider market.”

“You wrong her.” His fists clenched, driving off every trace of low spirits. “Her parents may have hopes, but Alicia is sweet and kind.”

“Perhaps, though my own impressions are otherwise. Her eyes reveal the sort of calculation I’ve seen before – on Miss Edgerton, for example. She made her bows in London two Seasons ago, flirting lightly and smiling sweetly. Not until accepting a wealthy earl did she reveal her true nature. One of my friends owns the adjacent estate. He reports that she makes constant demands for jewels and clothes and trips to London. And she despises her husband’s sisters and two aunts, who live with them.”

“Alicia would never hurt my family.” But his protest lacked force.

“Three observations, Seabrook.” He kept his tone friendly. “First, she not only cut Catherine, but referred to her as a harlot barely five minutes ago in the retiring room. Second, it is my experience that girls usually become much like their mothers after marriage; from what I’ve heard, Mrs. Wyath is not a comfortable wife. And third, she has been trying to catch my eye all evening.”

Seabrook’s own eyes seemed troubled. “She
did
express surprise when I mentioned that I’ve no interest in London society, but she never raised the subject again.”

“It is my guess that she has been practicing her flirtation skills on you. If you offered, she would refuse, but she would prefer to keep you at hand in case she fails to find a better match. You
do
have a title.”

“Perhaps.” He sighed. “No, there is no
perhaps
about it. You are right. She deflected an offer last summer. I thought it was because I had not yet spoken to her father.”

“You should return.” Blake nodded toward the ballroom. “Implying that either Miss Wyath or the cuts drove you away will do no good.”

“Of course,” William acknowledged. “I should not have left Catherine to face people alone.”

Pasting on a smile, he headed back to the assembly.

Blake waited several minutes before following, not wanting to suggest that he had fetched the baron. But one glance from the doorway had him cursing under his breath. Laura had joined Mary and Fester in the corner, her tremulous smile hinting that she was close to tears. Mrs. Telcor was reading William a scold, judging from his expression. And three men had backed Catherine against a wall, their leers making it clear that dancing was not on their minds. One of them was three sheets to the wind.

Grinding his teeth, Blake shoved his way through the crowd. “My set, I believe,” he said when he reached her side.

“Wait your turn,” suggested the drunk. “We was here first.”

“Do you wish to postpone our dance?” he asked Catherine, shifting so he stood between her and the men.

“Of course not, my lord.” She emphasized the address, making one of the men blink.

“The lady has chosen.” He put steel in his tone, his look promising trouble if they persisted.

The drunk raised a fist to protest, but one of his friends grabbed his arm. “Let’s go, Jake. This ain’t your lucky night, after all.”

They headed for the door.

“Thank you.” Catherine managed a smile as they joined a set. “Now you understand why I wished to stay home.”

“Forgive me,” he begged. “I should not have stepped out.”

She moved into the first figure, relaxing now that the danger was past.

His own mind was less sanguine. The men had not been in the room when he’d left, so they must have come solely to find the harlot – which meant news of Catherine’s attendance was spreading. That was hardly a surprise, given that at least one girl had been ordered home to avoid her.

But the potential of outside trouble was not as important as the damage they had done inside. Expressions had hardened, putting glares on faces that earlier had seemed neutral.

“I met two ladies named Clara and Hortense,” he said when they came together. “Who are they?”

“The Peters sisters.”

Blake raised his brows in silent question as they separated.

“Spinsters who live in that cottage just outside of town,” she explained at their next meeting.

“With the roses over the door?”

She nodded.

Two patterns later, they reached the bottom of the set.

Blake waited a moment to catch his breath – the lead fiddler was picking up speed, making this dance unusually energetic. “I suspect that Hortense does not like Mrs. Telcor.”

“Nor does Clara, though she is less obvious about it. They grew up together and have long been rivals. Mrs. Telcor feels superior for having landed a husband, however short-lived, while the Peters sisters did not.”

“Her husband died young?”

“After barely six months of marriage. She miscarried a month later.”

No wonder she had turned her maternal urges on Jasper.

“Their most recent tiff is over Jasper,” Catherine continued as if reading his mind. “The Peters sisters dismissed his explanation of the Jones incident, informing Mrs. Telcor that he was too old for heedless destruction and juvenile pranks. She tolerates criticism of herself, but never of Jasper.”

“Perhaps we can use that rift,” he murmured as the dance reclaimed them. And just as well, for he had no real ideas how he could use them beyond what he’d already done.

When the set ended, he left Catherine with William, then turned toward Mary’s corner. But Mrs. Telcor pounced. “You haven’t met Miss Wyath, my lord.” She performed the introductions. “Her mother is granddaughter to Lord Seaton and cousin to the Duke of Everleigh.”

Tenth cousin, at best, he decided as he greeted her in a very bored tone. He doubted if either lord knew the Wyaths. Miss Wyath’s long nose and amber eyes reminded him of a hawk.

How had she wangled this introduction? Mrs. Telcor might be smiling now, but she’d been furious with him for escorting the Seabrooks. But perhaps she was also unhappy with Alicia. This might be her way of repaying both of them.

The hairs on his neck stiffened under his cravat. Alicia had reportedly made a bid for Jasper’s hand before turning to William, but Mrs. Telcor would never approve such a low connection for her favorite.

“I’ve always admired men who are active in politics,” Miss Wyath said, fluttering her lashes. “You must tell me about your plans for reform.”

“I doubt you would understand rotten boroughs or the rules of taxation,” he said untruthfully.

“Nonsense. My father often debates such matters with me.” She laid a hand on his arm.

“Lead the girl out,” suggested Mrs. Telcor. “You can talk during this cotillion.”

“Another time, perhaps,” he said, stepping back. “I promised this set to Miss Mary. Mrs. Telcor, Miss Wyath.” Bowing, he fled.

The last thing he wanted was to dance a cotillion with a fortune hunter. It was the one dance that would keep her at his side for most of the set. He had hoped to share it with Catherine, but that trio of drunkards had forced them into the country dance. Fortunately, Mary was free. And dancing a second time with these two should force Laura to recognize his disinterest.

An hour later, he wished that none of them had come. The crowd remained cool, though Catherine was the only one being actively shunned. William had danced every set since their talk, forcing a gaiety he did not feel. Blake hoped the gossips would attribute his strain to Catherine rather than dashed dreams. Laura was flirting with every man in the room. He’d refused to stand up with her a second time, even to avoid Miss Wyath, who was clearly stalking him. So far, he’d evaded her by asking strangers to dance, but he wasn’t sure how long he could escape her clutches.

Yet when deliverance finally came, it made Alicia’s stratagems seem benign.

Jasper arrived.

Blake held his breath, for Catherine and William were standing just inside the entrance. Even from across the room he could see the fire in William’s eyes. If Jasper cut Catherine or greeted her with the false familiarity he’d used in Exeter, William would attack.

The outcome hung in the balance for a long moment while Jasper examined Catherine from head to toe with an ornate quizzing glass. Then he greeted her civilly.

Blake cursed under his breath. He should have known Jasper would employ cunning. A brawl would terminate the evening and would allow Catherine to claim that Jasper was behind the rumors. She might also reveal his other crimes. To maintain his own façade, he provided no excuse to accuse him – not that he accepted her; his demeanor announced that he was overlooking her reputation to protect the other guests from William’s violence.

Clever like a fox
, admitted Blake reluctantly, though he cringed at Jasper’s taste. His clothes would have made even a London tulip flinch – a yellow wasp-waisted coat with enormous buttons, blue pantaloons, and a red-striped waistcoat embroidered with lavender flowers. The fact that his friends hadn’t told him how ridiculous he looked indicated that they knew him well. It also proved that the infamous waistcoat must have been truly awful.

Five minutes later Blake pricked to attention, cold clutching his stomach. A new rumor was spreading as knots of gossips formed and reformed. Voices rose in agitation. “Scandalous … Lansbury affair … Parrish … they don’t even try to hide…”

“Lies! All lies!” shouted a man into the rising furor. “There’s not a word of truth to any of it.”

Blake couldn’t see the speaker through the shifting crowd, but it had to be Lansbury.

Catherine rushed up to clutch his arm, panic filling her eyes. “We have to leave.”

He covered her hand. “No. Leaving now will make it worse.”

“Tarradiddles, every one, I tell you!” shouted Lansbury, his face purple as he shook a fist at a matron. “Plumpers and clankers of the first order!”

Blake cursed. “His protests make him seem guilty.” Already the crowd was condemning Lansbury for ignoring indisputable evidence, though no one seemed to know what that evidence was.

“Poor man. We should get him away before his wife returns,” Catherine murmured. “She is in the retiring room.”

“Try to warn her—”

But it was too late. A screech drowned the music, pulling every eye to the door. Mrs. Lansbury clutched her heart, cried out once more, then collapsed on the floor.

“Fool!” Mrs. Telcor shook a fist in Lansbury’s face. “What were you thinking of to hurt that dear lady? You should be transported.”

“I did nothing!” he protested, but a dozen others shouted him down.

“You should have turned that whore off months ago,” yelled a youth in the opposite corner.

“Don’t you dare insult my family,” snarled William in reply.

Damn!
Blake jerked his head around in time to see William land a facer on a young dandy he suspected was Lansbury’s nephew.

“My God!” gasped Catherine as several men jumped into the fray. Two ladies shouted for hartshorn as another swooned. Furniture cracked when William bore his opponent to the floor.

Blake grabbed Catherine’s hand and headed for the fight, dodging people who were trying to escape.

“See what you’ve done!” cried a lady, shaking a fist as she blocked their path.

Clara Peters shoved her aside to spit in Catherine’s face. “And to think I’ve entertained you in my own drawing room!”

Blake slipped Catherine behind him. “She has done nothing wrong,” he swore. “Nor has Lansbury. Will you allow Mrs. Telcor to dictate your every thought? You are capable of thinking for yourself.”

“Hmph! I have eyes and ears and decent morals besides.” Clara glared at Catherine. “Stay away from Exeter. We don’t need your sort disrupting our lives and seducing decent men.” She stalked away to add her smelling salts to those already waving under Mrs. Lansbury’s nose.

“Steady,” Blake murmured to Catherine, sensing her fury. He offered a handkerchief. “Hysterics will play into Jasper’s hands. William’s temper is bad enough.”

“You expect me to do nothing after that?” she demanded.

“I expect you to control yourself. You are a dignified widow who is above these childish lies and above this low behavior.” He wanted to comfort her, but this was neither the time nor the place. “Hold your head high and remain calm.”

“Do you know what you are asking?” Yet she straightened her spine and unclenched her fists like the warrior she was.

“Yes, but you cannot succumb to fury just now. Find Laura and Mary. They were in the corner with Fester when Jasper arrived. I will fetch William.”

“Harlot!” Mrs. Lansbury screamed, overriding Catherine’s response. She was propped in a chair, glaring through a break in the surging crowd. “Jezebel! Fiend!” She tried to rise, but her knees wouldn’t support her, so she increased her invective.

Lansbury formed a counterpoint to his wife’s accusations as he accosted lady after lady to proclaim his innocence, making himself seem guiltier with each repetition.

Mothers hustled their daughters out of the room, some clamping hands over their darlings’ ears to block the increasingly graphic charges. Most cut Catherine as they left.

“Fetch the girls and meet me back here,” Blake ordered, nodding toward Fester’s corner. The thinning crowd revealed Laura in tears. Mary was trying to calm her. “I must keep William from hurting anyone.”