A Prior Attachment (Dorothy Mack Regency Romances) Page 6

  Tonight the party was diminished by one, for the Marquess of Gresham had not returned from his day’s activities in time to grace the family board at dinner, much to his father’s ill-concealed annoyance and his mother’s scarcely better-disguised anxiety that some evil may have befallen him. In the face of this parental ferment, Lady Sophronia permitted herself no more than two or three semi-oblique observations on the undisciplined and inconsiderate nature of modern youth and proposed a hand or two of whist.

  During the past several hours, Mr. Delevan had made the interesting discovery that the lively coquettish Miss Fairmont of the music-room encounter was another girl entirely when under her mama’s all-seeing eye. Even Lady Gemma’s usual high spirits were reduced to demure propriety in her aunt’s company. However, when the duke agreed to a game of whist and Lady Sophronia said, “Come, Coralee,” in her imperious manner, her daughter attempted to squirm out from under the maternal thumb.

  “Cannot my cousin play in my stead, Mama? I have the headache a little from traveling.”

  Mr. Delevan noted the flash of dismay that passed across Lady Gemma’s expressive face, but before he could offer himself in her place, the duke spoke up, “Gemma can’t tell a spade from a club; she has no card sense whatever.” His disarming smile lighted on his niece. “Tell you what, puss. You and I will be partners, and if we win, I’ll buy you the prettiest dress in Bath next week.”

  Coralee’s face cleared immediately, and she tucked a small hand under the arm her uncle presented. “It’s a bargain, Uncle,” she said gaily, and ignoring her mother’s admonition not to employ vulgar phrases gleaned no doubt from her cousin Peter’s vocabulary, she tripped over to the game table by the duke’s side, her headache apparently forgotten in the wake of a challenge to her skill.

  The duchess had located the cards and was making her way toward the same spot while Lady Gemma and Mr. Delevan rallied to aid Lady Sophronia in gathering up all the various accoutrements that she seemed to take with her everywhere. Lady Gemma handed her aunt her reticule, a work bag, and the case containing her spectacles, which she would need for playing cards. As Mr. Delevan solicitously draped a large paisley shawl about her ladyship’s shoulders, he closed one eyelid in the suspicion of a wink, bringing a responsive gleam to Lady Gemma’s eyes. She lowered them quickly as her aunt turned to thank her attendants before making her way over to the card table, where the other players awaited her deliberate approach with the patience acquired by familiarity.

  The three nonplayers immediately fell into an easy conversation. Lucy and Lady Gemma had their needlework at hand, but neither girl set another stitch in the lively hour that followed. They kept their voices low so as not to disturb the cardplayers. Lady Gemma had confided that neither her father nor his sister allowed any light conversation at the table when they were engaged in one of their marathon contests, each regarding nonessential verbiage as injurious to concentration.

  “Poor Mama will have need of a soothing tisane before sleeping tonight, what with Peter’s shabbing off when he well knew Aunt Sophronia was due to arrive, and then having to be her partner at whist. Usually Papa and Aunt play together and all poor Mama has to do is lose graciously, which I assure you she does very well,” she explained seriously, and looked a question when Mr. Delevan emitted a soft laugh.

  “It was nothing, a private thought. Miss Fairmont seems to stand up to the ordeal very well,” he said, to change the direction of her thoughts as Coralee’s voice rang out in triumph.

  “That card takes the trick, Uncle.”

  “Oh, yes, Coralee is a fine player; my aunt trained her.”

  Since neither Lucy nor Mr. Delevan felt they had anything further to contribute in this connection, the talk shifted to other subjects.

  From time to time, the duke spared a glance for the young people grouped near the fireplace. Judging from his expression, the sight of the three engaged in comfortable conversation seemed to afford him considerable satisfaction. Miss Fairmont, following his gaze on a couple of occasions, looked a trifle thoughtful but returned her attention to her cards. With a new dress as incentive, she was calling upon all her skill in playing up to her uncle’s game. In this effort she was aided by the duchess, always an erratic player given alike to flashes of brilliance and strange lapses, both equally inexplicable to her husband, who generally avoided partnering her. Tonight her play was uniformly poor, and the duke and his niece were well ahead when the son of the house strolled in at ten-thirty, still in the casual garb he had worn at lunch.

  The intervening nine hours had not improved the young marquess’s appearance. If the Belcher handkerchief tied around his neck in place of a cravat had seemed inappropriate at lunchtime, it was doubly so in the evening with the addition of numerous creases. Mr. Delevan’s quick eyes noted that his blue coat was missing a button and the morning’s carefully windswept arrangement of his gold-streaked locks, known as the Brutus, was now merely windblown. Evidently young Gresham had had enough to drink to dissolve his sense of discretion, for he advanced boldly into the room, declaring cheerfully that he had remembered on his way home that his aunt and cousin were arriving today and thought he must just pop in and welcome them before retiring. He treated the assembled company to a bright, vacuous smile before making his way toward the card table, where his aunt had drawn herself up stiffly. It was a blessing — albeit a small one — that he was perfectly steady on his feet.

  At Mr. Delevan’s side, Lady Gemma sat unmoving, but he could feel the tension in her bearing, and a glance at the duke’s rigidly controlled features was sufficient to assess his lordship’s censure. The duchess was covering her son’s progress with disjointed questions about the reason for his delay, the possibility of some accident befalling him having been uppermost in her mind for hours.

  Peter looked astounded for an instant, then swept away her worries with a careless wave of one hand. “What could happen to me in Bath?” he asked in honest surprise. “I ran into some fellows I knew, and we got to talking and the time just flew by.” Turning to Lady Sophronia, who had removed her spectacles and was studying him with no discernible pleasure, he bowed over her hand with a flourish. “How do you do, ma’am? I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

  “As pleasant as traveling ever is, thank you, Gresham, given the state of these beastly roads. I daresay it is not necessary to present you to your cousin?”

  “Lord, no, ma’am,” agreed her nephew, turning with relief to the smiling girl at his left. “Though I must say you’ve certainly changed for the better since I last saw you, Coralee.”

  Fortunately, this tactless speech did not appear to offend his cousin, who giggled and replied demurely, “Would that I could return the compliment, Peter, but really, that costume!” Raised eyebrows and a pointed look at the neckcloth completed her remark.

  Peter grinned, unabashed. “I have no ambition to be regarded as one of your dandy set, thinking of nothing more interesting than the cut of one’s coat or the perfection of one’s cravat.”

  “How fortunate,” murmured Miss Fairmont sweetly.

  The marquess was not so befuddled as to be taken in by the look of studied innocence on his cousin’s lovely face. “Some things haven’t changed,” he drawled. “You still have a viper’s tongue, Coralee.”

  Everyone save Lady Sophronia, who had bristled up for an attack on her nephew, regarded the arrival just then of Stansmere and the tea tray with thankfulness. Conversation became general when the duke inquired into his guests’ wishes for the next morning. Lady Gemma was urging a morning ride, should the weather prove promising, when her brother, who had evidently been trying to reverse the effects of a prolonged fast, judging by his repeated forays on the trays of sandwiches and cakes, spoke up between mouthfuls.

  “Almost forgot. Guess who I ran into in Bath tonight — old George! Had no notion he was coming home. Did you know, Gemma?”

  Had Peter not immediately turned his attention to the vital task of selecting ano
ther sandwich, he could not have missed the radiance that sprang to his sister’s face before she got her expression under control. Certainly Mr. Delevan noticed it, and if the look of annoyance that replaced the duke’s benevolence for an instant was anything to go by, so did her father. The duchess sucked in a breath and concentrated her regard on the contents of her teacup after one swift peek at her daughter’s face.

  Realizing that Peter, sandwich in hand, was awaiting her reply, Lady Gemma denied any prior knowledge of George’s intentions in a sedate voice that revealed nothing of her feelings.

  “He said he’d ride over to pay his respects tomorrow. He told me he’s selling out,” her brother confided to the company at large, explaining for the benefit of the Delevans that George Godwin was a friend and neighbour who had been with Wellington’s army for the past four years. “Having old George around will liven up our dull existence. He’s a great gun, is George, up to every row and rig.” Peter fell silent, munching on his cake and presumably contemplating the benefits they would secure from the presence of their old friend in their midst once again.

  “Well, I have a bone to pick with George Godwin,” declared Miss Fairmont to the surprise of everyone present.

  “Nonsense, you were a mere child the last time you met Captain Godwin,” her mother stated positively. “If he offended you, doubtless you invited it by following him around like a tantony pig.”

  Lady Gemma had turned to her cousin in surprise. “Whatever do you mean, Coralee? What bone have you to pick with George?”

  The blond beauty tossed her curls and put up her chin with a distinctly challenging air. “He called me a scrubby brat the last time we met. I shall make him take that back.” The calm confidence with which Miss Fairmont uttered this statement jolted a crack of laughter from her uncle and sent Miss Delevan’s eyes to her friend’s in quick apprehension.

  “I’ll back you to do just that, puss!” The duke’s former mood of joviality, shattered since his son’s entrance, surged back in full rein as he leaned forward and pinched his niece’s chin playfully.

  Mr. Delevan’s eyes sought Lady Gemma’s, as had his sister’s, to offer comfort, but if she felt at all threatened by this turn of events, it was not to be discovered in her manner.

  “George would not have meant to hurt your feelings, Coralee,” she assured her cousin earnestly.

  Miss Fairmont lowered long lashes, then swept them up. “I shall still make him take it back,” she said with a glinting smile.

  Mr. Delevan, saying goodnight to his sister in the gallery later, surprised her by asking in a cautious undertone if she knew Miss Fairmont’s age.

  Lucy’s eyes searched his for a moment before she answered, “Why, yes, Gemma was saying only this morning that Coralee’s eighteenth birthday is next month.”

  “Only seventeen! Good Lord, I’d have supposed her to be older than her cousin from her self-possession and her … her…”

  “Her forward manner?” suggested Lucy dulcetly. “She’s a born flirt, if that’s the word you are seeking.”

  “Now, Lucy, your claws are showing, my dear,” reproved John with a quick grin that was gone almost as soon as it appeared. “I hope this George of hers is the constant sort,” he growled, spinning abruptly on his heel and leaving her staring after him open-mouthed.

  CHAPTER 6

  Mr. Delevan’s first opportunity to assess the constancy of Captain Godwin did not come until late afternoon on the following day. When the enlarged family met together for breakfast, the duke raised the subject of the morning ride proposed by his daughter the evening before, but Lady Gemma seemed to be having second thoughts on the matter. She apologized for having forgotten the existence of some household tasks she had promised to accomplish for her mother, and then went on to point out the rather threatening aspect of the sky to the west, which might indicate the wisdom of postponing the ride till another day. As the duke’s face started to take on an aspect as threatening as the sky, Lucy hastily declared her preference for spending a quiet morning indoors if the others would excuse her. Coralee followed suit, declaring herself unable as yet to contemplate the motion of a horse without arousing symptoms of travel sickness. It was decided that the male members of the party would not allow anything as negligible as possible poor weather to interfere with an outing, with the result that the house party split up along gender lines for the morning.

  Mr. Delevan played out his role of a guest willing to fall in with all the host’s plans for his entertainment with the calm good temper that always distinguished his behaviour, but today it was in the nature of mechanical courtesy. His imagination kept returning to the hall, where two out of the three resident young women were eagerly anticipating the arrival of a gentleman, unknown as yet to Mr. Delevan but about whom he was beginning to entertain the liveliest curiosity. It was most probable that the captain would pay a morning call, which would mean that Mr. Delevan would miss the first meeting in two years between Lady Gemma and the man she loved. He would also miss the captain’s reaction to Miss Fairmont, who had evidently been a mere adolescent on his last visit home, not that Mr. Delevan could picture Miss Fairmont as having been in any way an awkward adolescent. The girl was a honey pot and must always have been lovely to look at. Ah well, though he might not be present at the initial encounter, doubtless the captain would be a frequent visitor to the hall. There would be ample opportunity to observe the relationships existing among all the parties. The logical question as to what possible interest these relationships might have for a virtual stranger he preferred for some obscure reason not to address at the moment.

  When everyone reassembled in the small dining parlour used for breakfast and lunch, it needed only one sharp glance from normally lazy blue eyes to inform Mr. Delevan that the promised call had not been made. Lucy was her usual collected self, smiling a general greeting to the masculine contingent as she slipped into her chair. Miss Fairmont’s brilliant smile slid over her relatives to linger on Mr. Delevan. Lady Gemma smiled too, but it was an absentminded effort that barely disturbed the smooth surface of her cheeks.

  On an acquaintance of less than two days, Mr. Delevan had learned to judge her mood by the depth of the twin dimples that dented those cheeks. He had discovered a smile was not necessary to bring them into play — even a rueful grimace would do the trick. It was only when she remained utterly still that they disappeared completely, except for the ever-present one in her chin. Those dimples were a source of fascination to the young barrister. He had never seen their like and found himself anticipating their appearance as their owner reacted to the scene around her.

  Now he thought, poor baby! He hasn’t come, and she is determined to conceal her disappointment. To aid the process and, incidentally, distract the duke’s attention, he initiated an animated discussion of the places they had gone on their morning ride. Lunch passed off very smoothly with Lady Gemma contributing her share to the conversation. Only when her brother teased her about her inability to read the weather, as proved by the still-sunny skies, did she look a trifle conscious.

  “I still hold that we shall see some rain before sunset, and sooner rather than later,” put in Mr. Delevan, accepting as his reward a grateful look from warm brown eyes.

  In the event, Mr. Delevan and Lady Gemma were proved good weather prophets, for the sky clouded over rapidly during lunch and burst open shortly thereafter. A glimpse of Lady Gemma’s small person, taut with impatience as she stood staring out at the rain, was mute evidence of how little satisfaction she derived from having her judgment vindicated. Obviously, the rain would keep Captain Godwin away at least during the early part of the afternoon. His old friend would have to content herself with the thought that the reunion would be all the sweeter for the anticipation.

  As it happened, Mr. Delevan was a witness to the initial meeting between the alleged lovers, and sweet was not among the terms he would have employed to describe the event. He had gone off to play billiards with Gresham after lu
nch without seeking any conversation with the duke’s daughter. It was considerably later in the afternoon when he saw her again and under circumstances that caused him to forget the proprieties momentarily.

  “Gemma!” he cried, rushing forward. “What has happened?”

  Anyone might be pardoned the lack of preface, but Lady Gemma didn’t even notice. She had just entered the passageway through the door that led to the kitchen area, and she was dripping wet or, to be more precise, half of her person was emitting a stream of water while half remained dry. She wiped a hand across wet curls, brushing them behind her ear as she addressed herself to the concern in Mr. Delevan’s manner.

  “It is nothing, sir, merely a stupid accident. I went to the kitchens with a message from Mama. One of the maids had been washing down the flagstones in the scullery. I imagine she was preparing to empty out the wash water just as I passed. I saw her slip on the wet flags, and naturally I jumped forward to try to save her from falling.”

  “Naturally?” he murmured with a little smile and an inquiring lift to his voice.

  “Of course.” Lady Gemma looked her surprise. “The poor girl could have injured herself in a fall on that stone floor.”

  “I take it that you saved her from this fate and —” pointing to the bedraggled skirt of her yellow gown — “this is the result?”

  “Yes,” she replied ruefully. “The bucket dropped and splashed us both. And now I’d best excuse myself and go upstairs to change before anyone else sees me in this condition.” The dimples made their appearance as she smiled up at him. “You seem fated, or cursed, to see me always at my worst.”