Eloise paused in the act of straightening the lace collar of her lilac cotton gown to smile. “Lord Nathaniel was here?”
“Indeed. I take it you had not seen him recently?”
“Yesterday, after I gave Mr. Darby his test.”
Cleo frowned. “Had he heard about your escapades?”
“He did not mention it, and I think it likely he would have done so if he had heard. I suppose, however, it is only a matter of time before the ton begins to talk of it. We were rather conspicuous.”
“Lord Nathaniel will not mind,” Cleo predicted. “He is utterly devoted to you.”
Eloise made a face. “So devoted that he has yet to propose! I tell you, Cleo, the man is impossible to pin down. He alludes to his feelings for me constantly, yet when I press him even the least bit, he backs away like a hound from a snarling cat.”
“He could speak of little else but your qualities while he was here,” Cleo insisted. “Surely if you are intent on having him, if you have only to exert yourself.”
Eloise sighed. “I have exerted myself as much as I am willing, I assure you. Perhaps I am not as intent as I thought.”
“Why?” Cleo demanded. “Eloise, I thought you had forsaken the game of leading gentlemen on.”
“I have!” Eloise protested. “I did not toy with Lord Nathaniel’s emotions. I wished his suit. He is handsome enough in his own way, congenial, good hearted. Yet I cannot help but feel that something is missing in our times together.”
“Such as?” Cleo prompted with a frown.
Eloise licked her lips, almost afraid to say the words aloud. “Such as love.” When Cleo regarded her, head cocked so that her cinnamon hair fell over one ear, she hurried on. “Do I not deserve love, Cleo? Would you have me settle for less?”
“Never,” Cleo swore, reaching out to touch Eloise’s arm. “Of course you deserve love. But I fear for you, Eloise. I thought you cared for Lord Nathaniel, and now it seems your feelings have cooled. He has not changed. What has changed is the fact that Jareth Darby has returned.”
“That is quite enough of that,” Eloise informed her, feeling a sudden chill. She pulled her cashmere shawl more firmly about her shoulders. “I do not allow Jareth Darby to dictate my life or my interactions with other gentlemen.”
“I certainly hope not. By the by, Lord Nathaniel thinks Mr. Darby every bit the villain we do. He said as much when he told me the story about Lady Hendricks.”
“What exactly had he heard?”
“The usual—Lord Hendricks caught Mr. Darby seducing Lady Hendricks and drove him off at gunpoint. Only in his story, Mr. Darby struck Lord Hendricks from behind to make his escape.”
“Poppycock,” Eloise pronounced. “Jareth may be a rake, but he’s no coward.”
“He ran away from a child with a pitchfork,” Cleo reminded her.
Eloise wrinkled her nose. “That wasn’t cowardice. That was common sense.”
Cleo raised a ginger brow. “You are defending him.”
Eloise felt herself color. “I am merely seeking the truth, and I do not believe that story of striking Lord Hendricks is such. That is not the same as believing Mr. Darby innocent.”
“Perhaps not,” Cleo allowed, but the look in her dark eyes told Eloise she was not convinced. “And perhaps I have the answer to your question as to who could tell you the truth of the matter. Margaret, Lady DeGuis, should have been on the ton the year he was disgraced. We could ask her.”
Eloise smiled. “Lady DeGuis is not known for her tact.”
“No, but she is known for telling the truth,” Cleo replied with a twinkle in her eye. “She is coming to visit this afternoon. If you wait, you may have your answer.”
Eloise waited, but the answer was not what she expected. Then, of course, things were often not as one expected when one conversed with Lady DeGuis.
Margaret had inspired the ton as a true Original for many years. She was honest, even when it was not circumspect to be so. She lived by her convictions, no matter the cost. Tall and solidly built, she had thick, coarse hair with more silver than black even though she was less then ten years Eloise’s senior. By far her most notable feature, however, was her loud, joyful laugh, which was the first thing Eloise heard when she posed her question about Jareth and Lady Hendricks.
Cleo exchanged surprised glances with Eloise. “You find the situation humorous, Lady DeGuis?”
Margaret chuckled. “And you do not, Lady Hastings? A renowned rake riding to the rescue? Surely you can appreciate the irony.”
Cleo frowned while Eloise interjected, “Riding to the rescue? I fail to see how adultery qualifies him for sainthood.”
Margaret raised a feathery silver-black brow. “Who said adultery was involved?”
“Oh, everyone,” Cleo put in as Eloise frowned in confusion.
“Then everyone is wrong,” Margaret proclaimed. “Which does not surprise me. The ton at times has no more sense than a flock of turkeys.”
“If Jareth Darby wasn’t having an affair with Lady Hendricks,” Eloise ventured, “why was he forced to flee London?”
“No doubt because Lord Hendricks was out for blood.” Margaret shook her head. “Perhaps I should start from the beginning. Cecelia, Lady Hendricks, attended school with me. We were fairly close and kept in touch during our debuts. She was sweet natured and blessed with a lovely head of golden curls. Her besetting sin was her need for notoriety. I warned her not to marry Lord Hendricks, but his title and fortune blinded her to his faults.”
“What do you mean?” Eloise probed.
“He beat her whenever he drank, and he drank to excess.”
Eloise cringed, and Margaret gave a tight-lipped smile. “You know I cannot abide wrapping the dark in clean linen, Miss Watkin. The story of Cecelia Hendricks isn’t a pretty one. She was trapped in a marriage that I am convinced would have been the death of her, if it hadn’t been for the championship of Jareth Darby.”
“Unlikely hero,” Cleo muttered.
“I cannot agree,” Margaret said. “Darby has ever been kind to the ladies, the lovely and those less favored. But by far the best thing he ever did was take up with Lady Hendricks. He had flirted with her before her marriage, of course. It should not be surprising that he came to her rescue that particular night.”
“Why exactly did she need rescuing?” Cleo asked suspiciously.
“Her husband had at last shown his true colors. He got drunk at the Duchess of Richland’s ball and shoved his wife down a flight of stairs.”
Eloise gasped and heard Cleo do likewise.
Margaret nodded. “You may well look shocked. It was horrible. Unfortunately for Cecelia, there were few nearby at the time to see her. Darby was one. He insisted on taking her home alone. Only he did not take her home right away.”
Eloise knew she must be white. “He took advantage of her in that state?”
“Do not believe it for a minute,” Margaret insisted. “No woman would be in the mood for romance after being bruised and banged about. Cecelia wrote me afterward. She went with him to the Fenton, where he was staying. He apparently hoped to keep her safe from her husband and urged her to leave the fellow altogether. Cecelia still thought she might make amends, as if she had done anything wrong. She insisted on returning home, then thanked Mr. Darby with a hug. Lord Hendricks found them together in her dressing room, locked in that embrace.”
“And Jareth Darby left her to face the monster alone,” Eloise murmured, seeing all too easily a mirror to her own life.
Margaret chuckled. “Actually, he planted the miscreant a facer. Cecelia insisted that he flee. She took the first ship for Canada. She writes me regularly. She is a painter now and quite happy about it.”
“Then Mr. Darby is the hero after all?” Cleo said incredulously.
“In Cecelia Hendricks’s eyes he is.”
“That does not exonerate his other dalliances,” Cleo insisted. “I still say he is a rake and a scoundrel.”
“A rake, perhaps, but not a scoundrel,” Margaret maintained. “I rather like his dash. Pity he’s infected with the Darby pride.”
Eloise wasn’t sure pride was his motivation. But then, she couldn’t say what was. She left Cleo’s with too much on her mind.
She and Cleo had vouchers for Almack’s that night. Struggling as she was to see Jareth in the new light Lady DeGuis had offered, she considered staying home. Unfortunately, she was afraid to think how the patronesses might respond if she did not appear. Her reputation was much improved from last Season, it was true. But if her stunt on St. James’s had become known as she suspected, she would be better to go brave it out, behave like a lady, and put the rumors to bed.
Unfortunately when she arrived at Almack’s beside Cleo and Leslie, she found it difficult to behave.
For one thing, Lord Nathaniel followed her about like a child’s wooden pull toy. As she had begun to realize that what they felt for each other was not the kind of love upon which one built a marriage, she was no longer certain how to respond to his attentions. She thought she should give him the opportunity to declare his feelings, in case they were stronger than she suspected. Yet when she attempted to encourage him, he immediately paled, stammered, and offered to dash off for refreshments, her shawl, or one of her friends.
She would have liked nothing better than to sit him down and demand to know his intentions toward her. Unfortunately, she could hardly do so in so public a place as Almack’s, and she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t faint even if she attempted the discussion in private. Her frustration was harder and harder to hide, and she was certain it showed in her face and conversation.
She also found it difficult to behave as some might have expected on the dance floor. Lady Jersey had insisted on a number of quadrilles, and Eloise loved dancing to the fast-paced music. While other ladies complained of the exertions, she delighted in the freedom. Lord Nathaniel seemed mildly concerned with her dancing and when he did not offer a second set, she promptly requested Lord Hastings to partner her.
She had found partners for three quadrilles and a country dance when she spotted Jareth. Then it was even harder to behave. How could she act civilly toward him when he persisted in flaunting his dalliances? He was partnering Portia Sinclair, and it was easy to imagine that he was bent on seduction. Why else would he smile in so charming a manner that the light glowed from his blue eyes? Why would he allow his hand to brush her gloved arm? Why would he bend near as if to whisper into her tiny ear?
And Portia seemed just as bent on attracting attention. Miss Sinclair had outdone herself. Her apricot-colored gown was so sheer as to be nearly transparent, her lashes obviously blackened, and her lips rouged. She looked ripe for the picking, and Jareth looked all too eager to sample the fruit.
He was wearing the blue velvet coat and trousers again, and the richness of the color only made him look more opulent. Portia was obviously captivated. What could the girl be thinking to gaze at Jareth so heatedly? Could she not tell that her skirts kept brushing his stockinged calves? Did she not see the fans plying as they passed, hear the gossip, smell the whiff of censure? The girl was out to ruin herself, and Jareth in the process.
Eloise started. Was she actually concerned about how Portia’s attentions could affect Jareth’s reputation? Surely there was no need. His reputation for seduction needed no embellishment. And if he had truly reformed, wouldn’t he stay away from the ladies’ lures? And why should she care either way?
Unfortunately, she found that she cared all too much.
Chapter Ten
Jareth had to remind himself that he was reformed every time Portia Sinclair brushed her lithe body against his. Surely this was some sort of test. He’d only recently become reacquainted with the Bible, as Eleanor had taken to reading passages aloud on the evenings they did not go out. However, he was certain the story of the prodigal son did not end in forty days of temptation in the desert.
Yet Portia Sinclair seemed designed to test him. She was lovely, she was intelligent, she was vivacious, and worst of all she seemed to have lost all interest in the major and was directing her youthful energies toward capturing him instead.
Take now, for instance. They had just finished a staid country dance that should never have winded a spry young lady like Portia, yet she used fatigue as an excuse to lean against him as he led her to an innocuous sofa to rest. Her gloved hand lingered in a caress on his arm as he straightened away. Her smile seemed to promise more. Parts of him were only too happy to oblige.
Yet he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong with the delightful Miss Sinclair. At times her attentions seemed almost desperate, as if much more were at stake than a mere flirtation. Her soft gray eyes held a longing that did not seem to have anything to do with her attraction to him.
He also could not understand why her stepmother, who chaperoned her tonight and kept casting them furtive glances from across the room, allowed her to behave with such familiarity. Portia was hardly subtle. Already they had raised brows. Other mothers held their daughters safely at their sides as he passed. Why hadn’t her stepmother noticed Portia’s fascination with him and come to drag her away?
Of course, someone else had noticed, and he had to admit that the fact was unaccountably pleasing. Several times his gaze had been drawn to Eloise’s. Each time she had looked away with a blush, but not before he’d seen the speculation in her green gaze. She thought him enamored of Portia. A shame she would not believe him if he told her that he found himself far more enamored of her.
He had spent the better part of the last two days looking to understand why Eloise was so chary of their past. Against his instincts, he’d tried calling on Lady Hastings, but she had refused to see him. He had found several of Eloise’s classmates, using various pretexts to call on them, but none seemed willing to volunteer information. He could tell they admired her; indeed, some seemed to envy her beauty, fortune, and wit.
If tonight were any indication, her popularity had only increased since their walk down St. James’s the day before. Lord Nathaniel was in evidence, fawning over her hand far more often than Jareth thought necessary. He also spotted several other gentlemen showing interest.