Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (19 page)

Meryon turned to his small audience, disappointed that none of The Gossips appeared to be in attendance. “I have it on good authority that Bendas will be on the front page of the papers tomorrow.”

With a nod to the group, who curtsied and bowed in return, Meryon crossed the room again, as far from Bendas as was practical, where Garrett stood looking only mildly interested in what had transpired. “The marchioness is liable to come over and box my ears for not keeping you under control.”

“That could be the beginning of something interesting.” Meryon smiled as he sipped his wine.

“Not with her husband in the same room. As God is my witness, Lyn, this will come to no good.”

“Oh, stop being such a doomsayer.” Meryon surveyed the room, noting familiar faces. “I enjoy this sort of gathering more than any other.”

“Yes, you have a chance to ruin a man’s reputation and then entertain yourself with conversation and cards.”

“Conversation will flow as freely as the wine.” Meryon sipped his again. “I will find a sympathetic audience and
begin a discussion of my ideas on the care of widows and their children.”

“Meryon, people are here to relax. You yourself insist that politics descends to gossip at parties.” Garrett nodded to someone and raised his glass in greeting. “Though your interest in widows and orphans would be the perfect entrée into discussion with the right lady.”

“You are newly married, Garrett. To my sister.”

“Yes, and very happily married, but I am not struck blind. There are some lovely women here. And you, need I remind, are not married.”

“If I find the opportunity I will bring up my ideas for a bill with whoever will listen, even if she has a mustache and he wears a puce waistcoat.”

“God spare me.” Garrett winced, closing one eye as if in pain.

“He may but I won’t.” As he spoke Meryon scanned the room and found more than one person who he thought would be receptive to his ideas. “Or I could ask one of the artists to recommend someone to do a painting of the children. Hardly a portrait, not at their ages, but something to have of them when I am away from them. A miniature perhaps.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Garrett said.

“I live for your approval, brother.”

It was so obviously not the case that Garrett laughed as he grabbed another glass of wine. The laughter drew Straemore’s attention and he turned to welcome them both.

The marchioness called to Garrett to come answer a
question about divorce and annulment and with a glance filled with alarm, Garrett left Meryon with Straemore.

They talked in a random way of Parliament and horses. All the while Straemore kept his eye on Bendas, who looked unhappy and irritated as though he would order torture for anyone who approached him. Straemore shook his head. “I have you to thank for his ill humor. He does not belong here at all.”

“You must have known that when you invited him,” Meryon said, offering no sympathy.

“You try telling my wife ‘No,’ about something important to her. Marguerite thinks being estranged from one’s family is the greatest sin in the world. I told her she could invite both Bendas and Lord William but that she could do nothing, absolutely nothing, to bring them together.”

Meryon patted his school friend on his arm. “Good conversation is not enough for your wife. She hopes for a little drama too.”

Straemore rolled his eyes. “She wants everyone to be happy.” He imitated her French-accented English. “To which I add, ‘whether they want to be or not.’ And here are Lord William and Signora Verano now.”

The marquis excused himself to greet his newest guests.

Huzzah, Meryon thought, feeling like a man who had won the lottery. He’d hoped she would be invited to this mix of art, science, and the ton. He joined the group Garrett was entertaining and watched Elena Verano as his brother-in-law told a story Meryon had heard at least three times before.

———

L
ORD
W
ILLIAM AND
the Signora glanced at Bendas and then put their heads close together. With a firm nod from the Signora, the viscount went down the hall, apparently to the card room.

Elena Verano stepped into the salon and inclined her head when she saw Meryon. He smiled and she smiled back. If he had been a virtuous man he would have said the smile made his evening complete. But he wanted more.

He wanted to hold her, touch her, undress her, and be with her in every intimate way possible. He forced himself to look away and laugh as Garrett finished his story.

Within a few minutes the Signora joined their group and listened to the discussion of a regency versus the abdication of a monarch. Her real interest in the subject impressed him as much as the way the gown she wore emphasized her statuesque body and the upsweep of hair accentuated her lovely neck.

After a few minutes she posed a question. “Is it not like any family, where there is always hope that the patriarch will recover, will be able to resume his position as the head of the family? Or am I being too simpleminded?”

With the one question she sparked an animated debate on the similarities that all families shared. He watched her expression change as she followed the discussion. Agreement, skepticism, amusement. He could see her mind work as her expressions changed.

“Do you not agree that there are times when the head
of the family must be relieved of decision-making responsibilities lest he endanger the family well-being?” Meryon thought of Bendas as he spoke. “Essentially, that is what happened when the king became too ill to govern.”

“But, Your Grace, is it not true that a man can be relieved of decision-making not only when the family is endangered but to further the family’s well-being?”

Meryon did not recognize the speaker. A man of science, he decided. He had the distracted air of a man who spent most of his time thinking and was not quite sure how he had wound up in this salon, much less this discussion.

The statement silenced them all for a moment as they considered his idea.

“When men joined the army to fight Bonaparte,” Elena suggested suddenly, looking pleased with her idea.

“Or to look for work after the war,” Meryon added, thinking of Alan Wilson’s father.

“Exactly. In both cases the family is better off without the head of the household, even though he is not a threat to their well-being,” the gentleman persisted.

“How can that be? The children and the mother are left behind with no one to see to their safety.”

Meryon tried to find the speaker, since this statement played right into his interests, and waited to see what the philosopher would say.

“They will manage with the help of family and friends. Ask any woman who was alone throughout the war. The difficulty is that the head of the household will return to different circumstances than when he left. When a family
member is detached from the family, the family is never the same.”

Several people turned away from the discussion. Meryon stepped closer, as did Elena.

“The Regent would be a completely different man if his father had remained healthy. Anyone who has suffered a loss of child or spouse knows this, but death is not the only way to lose someone.”

There were nods of agreement and some uncertainty, but no one appeared willing to take on a debate that would show them as insensitive.

Meryon thought of Rowena first, then Elena’s Edward, and looked to her again, surprised to find her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together, angry rather than melancholy at the reminder of her loss.

Someone approached Elena and she stepped away from the group. She listened to the woman with sincere interest and then answered. Both of the women laughed and walked toward the drinks table as their discussion continued.

The few others left, leaving Meryon alone with the man of science. “I beg your pardon, I do prose on, Your Grace, but the way man behaves fascinates me. It will be a study all its own one day.”

“I should like to talk to you about your studies in regard to a bill I am considering.”

The man bowed, clearly flattered.

“Contact my secretary and he will set an appointment at your convenience.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Meryon moved away, perfectly content to watch Signora Verano talking with a group of women. The way she enlivened any group she joined fascinated him.

“May I know what you are smiling at, Your Grace?” The artist who had painted his portrait was at his side. “It must be prodigiously amusing to make you look like that. Or have you won the support you need for a bill in Parliament?”

“Good evening, Lawrence. My daughter called me Papa for the first time today. Thinking of her makes me smile,” he lied, hoping the homely little tale would also explain his discomfiture at being caught grinning. “Do you honestly think that success in Parliament is all that makes me happy?”

“Your Grace, I’m not sure I have ever seen you look quite that pleased. Could I convince you to pose for me again?”

Meryon shook his head but did ask him if he could suggest an artist for the miniature of his children.

Lawrence had several friends who would like the work, and they talked about the way the current economic and political difficulties were influencing the artist.

The next time Meryon searched her out, the Signora stood alone. Bendas’s man, Rogers, approached her before Meryon could join her to offer a glass of wine he had collected from a waiter. “Signora, excuse me, but the Duke of Bendas would like a word with you. He is old and infirm and would be honored if you would come to him.”

She looked surprised. As she accepted Rogers’s arm Meryon realized he had never before seen Signora Verano look ill at ease.

———

E
LENA FORCED HERSELF
to smile. For the first time in sixteen years her father had sought her out.

She felt nervous in the way she had in her first years of singing before an audience and that reminded her that this was just another kind of performance, even if Bendas had set the stage to his advantage.

Several of the party watched with curiosity, which was several too many. Bendas stood when she came up to him, making it look as though it were the most difficult thing he’d done all day. Rogers came closer to him in case he should need assistance. He was old, yes, she would admit that, but no more infirm than most men who had lived too long.

Elena curtsied deeply to Bendas, as one should to a duke. He wore a black coat and a garish green waistcoat. It was easier to deplore the green vest than acknowledge the fact that he was wearing a scent she recognized. As a child the trace of it in a room could make her feel like a failure.

You are a grown woman
. His scent was no more than the pointless vanity of an old man.

“I see you have been well trained, madame.”

Several thoughts passed through Elena’s mind. In how to curtsy? Or was he referring to her singing?

“Grazie
, Your Grace,” she said, after a pause that made it clear she did not consider his words a compliment.

“Speak English, woman.”

So this was a test
.

Elena inclined her head with a polite smile on her
face. For the first time she realized those fourteen years under his roof had prepared her for the life of an artist, subjected to criticism of her heart’s work. She should thank him someday, but not tonight.

“I heard you sing at the Regent’s and will hire you to perform at my house in town. Next week.”

It was the last thing she expected him to say. Unsure of whether this was a peace offering or an insult, she gave him the same response she would give to any stranger.

She held up her hand before he could go any further. “Thank you for the honor, Your Grace. It is not a matter of hiring me, as I do not accept payment for singing. If you would like to invite me to sing for you, I will have the gentleman who handles my performance calendar call on you.”

“So you are angling for an invitation,” he said, as though he had not this moment suggested it to her. “Do have your
gentleman
call on mine,” he added derisively. “Rogers will make the arrangements.” He did not even look at the man.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Rogers bowed to her and Elena nodded.

“If no one pays you to sing, madame, then why do you do it?”

“It is a gift that is best shared. My only wish is to make people happy.”

“What a noble sentiment. But I don’t believe it for a moment. If that were true you would never have sung that ballad last night.”

He had recognized the song. And he was right; she had sung it for the meanest of reasons.

“Besides,” Bendas went on, “what you give for free, no one properly appreciates.”

“Price is irrelevant. I am not in trade.” This conversation was becoming dangerous.

“You’re not? So you would have the ton accept you as a lady.”

“I
am
a lady, Your Grace.”

It was now beyond dangerous. She was going to lose her temper, which was most likely what the duke was hoping for. If he could not convince the ton that she was common, then he would show her as a shrew. And simply walking away was not the way a lady would behave. Elena prayed for rescue.