Candlelight Wish (9 page)

“Like you, I am to enjoy the Season.” The soft musical voice conveyed complete confidence, the air of one in absolute control.

It didn’t fool Miles. He could admire her manner—in fact the more he saw of her, the more he found to admire—but could sense her underlying uneasiness. He approved her ability to disguise it.

“You must allow me to present my nephew—” Mrs. Mannering broke off in uncertainty. “That is unless you have also met?”

“I have not had the pleasure.” Lady Xanthe held out her hand. “How do you do, Sir Miles?”

Miles made a leg and found himself the subject of a rather amused scrutiny. His own humor welled and it was with difficulty that he turned a relatively sober countenance upon her companion. “Miss Caldicot I am acquainted with, though we have never been properly introduced. A pleasure as always, Miss Caldicot.”

Her eyes, an intriguing shade of misty gray, flashed in what could only be sheer animosity. “You can have no idea how I have looked forward to it,” she said with a dryness only he could appreciate.

His smile broadened. “Counting the moments, to be sure,” he said softly so only she would hear.

“Until we leave,” she murmured in the same tone. Her polite smile belied the acidity of her words.

Lucy, despite engaging in polite conversation with Lady Xanthe, had cast frequent furtive glances in their direction while they spoke. Now with all the air of one who could no longer contain her curiosity she joined them, taking Miss Caldicot’s arm and drawing her toward the sofa. “Pray tell me how this has come about,” she begged.

So his littlest sister entertained hopes that he and her former instructress might develop a
tendre
for one another. Miss Caldicot would shortly set her straight on that account, he felt certain. He watched them, noting Lucy’s respect and obvious affection for her former preceptress and noting Miss Caldicot’s air of good breeding in the face of this adversity.

He also noted the profuse amounts of her coppery brown hair, drawn up to the back of her head from where it cascaded to her shoulders in a riot of curls. He much preferred it to the rather austere chignon he’d seen her wear before. This style enhanced the delicacy of her features, the large wide-set eyes, the retrousse nose—and the very determined chin. He had noted her elegant carriage before. Now she wore a gown suited to it. He knew himself to be no expert on ladies’ fashions but he found her half robe of sea-foam green gauze, open over an underdress of white silk, to be attractive in the extreme.

Abruptly and not quite sure why, he said, “I trust the remainder of your ride this morning was less eventful, Miss Caldicot.”

“Ride?” Lucy looked from one to the other of them. “Miles, you never said anything about encountering her. And what was so eventful about it?”

Miss Caldicot’s eyes kindled. “Your brother staged the most dashing of rescues but I fear I was wholly unappreciative. You see he believed my mount to be bolting with me when in fact I merely indulged in a gallop.”

Lucilla fixed him with a withering eye. “Really, Miles, if that isn’t just like you! You are forever jumping in and fishing people out of troubles even when they don’t want your aid.”

“Oh, Lucy, pray do not say so.” Her aunt regarded her in dismay. “Miles is such a gentleman, any lady must be delighted to be rescued by him. And dear Miss Caldicot, what a perfectly startling experience it must have been for you. Quite unpleasant, I fear. I do trust my nephew apologized.”

Had he? Miles couldn’t remember but he rather doubted it. He’d been enjoying himself too much. But Miss Caldicot said all that was proper, winning a smile from his aunt and a rolling-eyed grimace from his sister who promptly drew Miss Caldicot back into an earnest conversation. Miles poured glasses of ratafia for their guests and engaged Lady Xanthe in polite small talk. His gaze though returned frequently to his sister and her companion.

Lucilla laughed, cast a mischievous look over her shoulder at him and turned back to Miss Caldicot, speaking rapidly in a voice so low he could barely make out the sound.
Minx
, he reflected. Probably matchmaking with a vengeance. He’d take her to task for it at the first opportunity—if Miss Caldicot did not beat him to it.

Chievers, his aunt’s butler for as long as Miles could remember, announced dinner and Miles escorted Lady Xanthe up the stairs to the dining room on the first floor at the back of the house. The other ladies followed and he seated them, Lady Xanthe on his right and Miss Caldicot on his left with Lucy just beyond her. Lady Xanthe at once turned her attention to his aunt which left him to regard his other partner.

As the host he knew it behooved him not to provoke her. The impulse though to draw her into another argument and enjoy her indignation proved almost irresistible. But resist it he did. He set down his glass of burgundy and fixed her with a conciliatory smile. “I believe I must thank you for not denouncing me as an unprincipled meddler after this morning’s contretemps.”

Miss Caldicot looked up at him over the rim of her own goblet, her large eyes holding a considering expression. “Amazing restraint on my part, did you not think?” she agreed with false sweetness.

“Most amazing.” So much for the offering of olive branches. “I suppose my sister has been reinforcing your low opinion of me?”

Again that sweet smile. “There is absolutely no need for that, I assure you.”

Irritation stirred in him but before he could speak one of the footmen appeared at his shoulder and he held his tongue until the man had finished placing several slices of salmon, swimming in a rich cream sauce, on his plate. The conversation became general and he did not find an opportunity to speak to her with any degree of privacy until they had retired to the drawing room and Lucilla seated herself at the pianoforte to show off some of the skills drilled into her by Miss Caldicot’s persistence.

Miles drew up a chair near his guest and considered her austere expression. Seldom had he encountered a lady less desirous of being pleased. And seldom, he admitted to himself, had he encountered one he would so much like to please. Just why, he couldn’t be certain. Perhaps it had something to do with the proud carriage of her head or the delightfully melodic timbre of her laugh or maybe the independence she wore as armor. Before he could explore the matter more thoroughly though he had to settle a little matter between them.

“Miss Caldicot,” he said softly so as not to attract the attention of his aunt or Lady Xanthe.

Miss Caldicot kept her gaze on Lucilla and made no answer.

Stubborn, he reflected. If she weren’t so angry with him and if he weren’t so determined to end their feud he would find that trait amusing. He tried again, this time without preamble. “You persist in blaming me for something for which I am not responsible.”

“Indeed?” Just that one cold word. She still did not look at him.

“I never suggested you should lose your position. In fact I never mentioned your name.”

She turned the penetrating regard of her fine mist-colored eyes upon him. “But you did reprimand the Misses Crippenham for not keeping a sufficiently watchful eye upon your sister, did you not?”

“Would not you have done the same had our positions been reversed?”

This time her look held nothing but withering contempt. “I suppose you believe it to be a very simple matter to know at every single moment the whereabouts of fifteen girls? And before you say I should check on them even after they have retired to their beds, I can only ask how you think I discovered her missing in the first place!”

“Your dismissal was wholly unjust,” he agreed.

She opened her eyes to their widest and said, with no attempt to veil her sarcasm, “I cannot tell you how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

“I shall say so to the Misses Crippenham if you should wish it,” he offered.

“I do not!” came her sharp response. “I have had quite enough of your interference, thank you.” She rose and went to sit beside Lady Xanthe.

She proved a challenge, he reflected. And it was one he intended to meet—and defeat. He could always concoct some scheme by which he could place himself in her good graces but she would undoubtedly consider that further evidence of his interfering. He would have to give the matter some thought.

He had not yet arrived at any viable plan for melting Miss Caldicot’s anger by the following evening. His tentative ideas concerning an early morning ride in the park had been nipped in the bud by the simple fact she had not put in an appearance. That had disappointed him more than he’d expected. He indulged Cuthbert, his rawboned roan, in a reprehensible gallop and regretted she had not been there to see. He very much would have enjoyed her outrage after the lecture he had given her for just such behavior.

He did not see her again until that night when he escorted his aunt and sister to the Arnsdales’ card party. A crowd of people already filled the rooms and the hum of voices assaulted him as soon as he stepped through the door. And the Season, he reminded himself ruefully, had barely begun. He greeted his hostess then ushered the ladies in his care into the rooms beyond.

Lucilla, gowned in a rather becoming creation of white muslin festooned with a score or more of pink riband knots and roses, hurried forward, eyes wide and eager. Her first party, Miles reflected. He would have his hands full with the little minx.

Still following the girl, he strode into the next drawing room and looked about. Miss Caldicot, he noted with a surprising touch of pleasure, stood on the far side of the room, a tiny figure quite overshadowed by the tall gentleman of fashion at her side. Miles’ gaze narrowed. Not just any gentleman. She captivated Lord Arnsdale himself, that notorious dandy and connoisseur of the ladies. Quite a feather in her cap to keep him at her side. But then he’d already discovered that she possessed a wit and intelligence commensurate with her undeniable beauty. She certainly had charmed their host.

He found he worked his way toward them, exchanging polite greetings with acquaintances without really noticing whom he passed. Miss Caldicot, he noted with an odd mixture of pleasure and something he couldn’t quite identify, was decidedly in looks. The pale blue crepe of her gown set off the copper highlights in her hair which clustered in becoming ringlets about her face. She stood very straight, very proud. It was no wonder Arnsdale regarded her with that…that damn lecherous expression.

He slowed, gripped by a sudden new problem. How did one warn a lady with whom one was not upon terms about the man? Or for that matter about any number of seducers and libertines who cluttered the
ton
? She would never listen to a word he uttered.

He glanced back, looking for Lucy and his brow snapped down. She stood somewhat aside from the other guests with a dashing young lieutenant resplendent in scarlet regimentals, gazing up into his face with an idiotish expression on her own. Damn the girl, he couldn’t take his eyes off her for two minutes without her discovering some half-pay officer with whom to flirt.

He strode up to them, awarded the young man a distant bow and turned to Lucy. “Have you paid your respects to Miss Caldicot yet?” he inquired in a tone from which he kept his vexation.

“Oh has she arrived already?” Yet she sounded distracted and her gaze returned at once to her companion.

Miles took her arm. “It would not do to be backward about such things, my dear.” He directed a dismissive nod to the officer and drew Lucy away. “Who was that?” he asked, still trying to keep his voice noncommittal.

“Oh is he not the most handsome man you have ever seen?” breathed Lucy. She looked up at Miles, her eyes glowing.

His heart sank. “I cannot consider myself an expert.”

“Well he is,” she declared. “And so very charming. Oh Miles, I am so happy you brought me to town.”

Miles, at the moment, felt quite the opposite. With admirable restraint he said merely, “I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” and led her toward her former instructress.

As they approached he had the dubious pleasure of seeing Arnsdale kiss Miss Caldicot’s hand then walk away. Lucy hurried forward, her hands extended and greeted her former instructress with delight. Miss Caldicot turned and Miles clearly saw the glow in her lovely eyes. Apparently the earl’s gallantries were much to her liking. He could only regret her taste. But the glow faded as her gaze came to rest on him and once more he faced the cool composed Miss Caldicot. She greeted Lucy with warmth, himself with restraint and excused herself promptly to go to one of the card rooms.

Lucy watched her retreating figure. “What a perfectly delightful idea. I believe I too shall play at cards. It cannot be too difficult to find a partner.”

Something in the airiness with which she spoke put Miles instantly upon the alert. He followed until a familiar voice, calling his name, caught his attention. He turned to find himself facing a young gentleman whose impeccable attire, muscular build and tanned features proclaimed him a Corinthian.

“Ashby!” he declared in real pleasure and strode forward to take the hand of his Surrey neighbor. “What are you doing in town so early? I thought you were settled in Leicestershire until May.”

“I came back for my cousin’s wedding and figured I might as well stay.” He turned to regard the crowded room in distaste. “What brings you here?”

“Lucy. Finally found a chaperone for her. My Aunt Jane Mannering.”