His at Night (10 page)

Lady Avery did not help matters by immediately setting out to grill Elissande on the provenance of the Douglases, and refusing to believe that Elissande in
truth knew nothing of her uncle’s origins and only a little more of her aunt’s.

“The West Cheshire Douglases?” Lady Avery asked. “Surely you must be related to the West Cheshire Douglases.”

Was Lady Avery a student of Lord Vere’s particular school of genealogical exploration?

“No, ma’am. I’ve never heard of them.”

Lady Avery harrumphed. “Most irregular. Who are
your
family then? The Edgertons of Derbyshire?”

Well, at least this she did know. “The Edgertons of Cumberland, ma’am.”

Lady Avery’s brows knitted. “The Edgertons of Cumberland. The Edgertons of Cumberland,” she mumbled. Then, triumphantly, she cried, “You are the late Sir Cecil Edgerton’s granddaughter, aren’t you? By his youngest son?”

Elissande stared at her in shock. She’d believed Lady Avery’s expertise in gossip to be about as valid as Lord Vere’s knowledge of animal husbandry. “Sir Cecil was my grandfather, yes.”

“Ah, I thought so,” said Lady Avery, satisfied. “Quite the scandal when your father ran off with your mother. And such an unhappy end, both of them dead within three years.”

Lady Kingsley, Miss Kingsley, and Miss Beauchamp entered the drawing room. Elissande was suddenly as alarmed as Lord Frederick must have been. Her parents’ story had not only been tragic, but also not fit for polite company, as her uncle had repeatedly
impressed upon her. What if Lady Avery decided to disclose the less savory details to everyone present?

“Lord Vere says you frightened his brother away, Lady Avery,” Miss Kingsley called out cheerfully.

“Nonsense. I’ve already extracted everything out of Lord Frederick during the Season. He has nothing to fear from me at the present.”

Miss Beauchamp sat down next to Lady Avery. “Oh, do tell, dear lady. What did you extract from Lord Frederick?”

“Well…”
Lady Avery drew out that syllable for a good three seconds, obviously relishing her role as the dispenser of juicy tidbits. “He did see her in June, when she was in town to marry off that American heiress, Miss Van der Waals. And you would not believe this, but they have also met in Paris, in Nice, and in New York.”

Everyone looked shocked, including, Elissande imagined, herself. Who was this “she”?

“They have?” Lady Kingsley exclaimed. “What does Lord Tremaine think of it?”

“Well, apparently he approves. The two men have dined together.”

Lady Kingsley shook her head. “My goodness, will wonders never cease?”

“No indeed. I asked Lord Frederick if she looked well and he asked me when had she ever
not
looked well.”

“Oh, my!” Miss Beauchamp squealed.

Please let it not be. “Does Lord Frederick have an
understanding with someone?” Elissande ventured to ask.

“My apologies, I forgot you do not know, Miss Edgerton. Lord Frederick
did
have an understanding with the Marchioness of Tremaine. And in the spring of ’ninety-three, she was prepared to divorce her husband for him. It was going to be quite the scandal, but the divorce never took place. She reconciled with her husband and withdrew her petition.”

“Poor Lord Frederick.” Miss Kingsley sighed.

“No, lucky Lord Frederick,” Lady Avery corrected her. “Now he can marry a nice young lady like Miss Edgerton here, instead of someone who would forever be referred to as ‘that divorced woman.’ Don’t you agree, Miss Edgerton?”

“I don’t think Lord Frederick has any plans to marry me,” Elissande answered with, alas, no false modesty whatsoever. “But I do, on the whole, believe that it is more…convenient not to have a divorce in one’s spouse’s past.”

“Excellent,” said Lady Avery. “My dear Miss Edgerton, you understand the essence of the issue. One must not be a romantic in this life. Look at the cynics; they were all once romantics.”

“Is—is Lord Frederick now a cynic?”

“No, bless him, he is still a romantic, would you believe it. I suppose not every disappointed romantic turns into a cynic.”

Such a good man, Lord Frederick. If only Elissande could entice him to ask for her hand, she’d love him so much better than that faithless Lady Tremaine.

In fact, she would be the best wife in the history of matrimony.

Vere needed to be at the house. But when Freddie came to him, wanting some company, he could not refuse. They walked for miles in the country, rowed on one of the meres that dotted the very northern tip of Shropshire, and took their luncheon at the village inn.

“I’m going back,” Vere said at the end of the luncheon, rising from the table and yawning. He must know what instructions Holbrook had sent and coordinate with Lady Kingsley on getting Nye into and out of the house. “I need a nap. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Nightmares?” Freddie rose too and fell in step beside Vere.

“No, I don’t get them so often anymore.” In his last year at Eton, Freddie had to come into Vere’s room almost every night to shake him awake. “Anyway, you stay here if you’d like. I’ll hire the inn’s carriage to take me back.”

“I’ll come with you,” Freddie said quietly.

Vere experienced another stab of guilt. Freddie no doubt wished to stay away for the rest of the day—Lady Tremaine was ancient history, yet Lady Avery still pounced upon him as if he’d freshly waltzed with Scandal. But Freddie had also made it a point always to accompany Vere whenever they were out somewhere unfamiliar.

Vere briefly clasped his hand on Freddie’s shoulder. “Come along then.”

Back at the house, Vere found Lady Kingsley waiting impatiently for him. Nye would be arriving shortly before the start of dinner. They agreed that Vere would let him in through the doors that led from the library to a terrace on the east side of the house—the side away from the kitchen, and therefore less likely to be seen by the servants.

“And what do we do after I must relinquish Miss Edgerton at night, if Nye is still not finished?” asked Lady Kingsley.

“I’ll think of something.”

“Make sure it’s not something you’ll regret,” said Lady Kingsley.

Twenty-four hours had yet to pass since he first laid eyes on Miss Edgerton. Little wonder then the memory of his infatuation was fresh in Lady Kingsley’s mind. Yet it already seemed impossibly distant to Vere, a time of long-ago innocence.

“I’ll be mindful,” he said coolly.

Knowing Miss Edgerton’s aim, as soon as he concluded his tête-à-tête with Lady Kingsley, he looked for his brother. He found Freddie—and Miss Edgerton—in the otherwise empty dining room, Freddie gazing into his No. 4 Kodak camera, Miss Edgerton, in a most becoming day dress of pale apricot, gazing adoringly at Freddie.

The ardor in her eyes cooled considerably as she noted Vere’s presence. “Lord Vere.”

Vere ignored the caustic sensation in his heart. “Miss Edgerton. Freddie.”

Freddie pulled up the brass button on top of the box camera to cock the shutter. “Hullo, Penny. How was your nap? It’s only been”—he glanced at the clock—“three quarters of an hour.”

“My nap was superb. What are
you
doing?”

“Taking some photographs of this painting. Miss Edgerton was kind enough to grant me permission.”

“Be churlish for Miss Edgerton to refuse you, wouldn’t it?” Vere smiled at her.

She smiled back at him, her expression as sunny as his. “It most certainly would be. Besides, I’ve never seen a camera before.”

“I’ve seen tons of them. And they all do exactly the same thing,” he said dismissively. “By the way, Miss Edgerton, Miss Kingsley said the ladies would like you to join them for a turn in the garden.”

“Oh,” she said. “Are you sure, Lord Vere?”

“Of course. I saw her not three minutes ago in the rose parlor.”

He
had
seen Miss Kingsley less than three minutes ago in the rose parlor. Miss Kingsley, however, had been engaged in a game of backgammon with Conrad, her admirer—and had no intention of going anywhere. But by the time Miss Edgerton realized this, it would be too late; Vere would have whisked Freddie someplace safe—safer, at least—from her calculating grasp.

“And she was quite keen on your company,” Vere added.

“I suppose I’d best go see her then,” said Miss Edgerton reluctantly. “Thank you, Lord Vere. Excuse me, Lord Frederick.”

Vere watched her. At the door she looked back. But Freddie was already busy with his next snapshot. Instead her eyes met Vere’s. He made sure his gaze shifted obviously to her breasts. She left quickly after that.

He turned his attention back to Freddie. “Fancy a game of snooker, old chap?”

Of course Lord Vere was wrong.
Of course
.

Miss Kingsley and Mr. Conrad, both chortling, told Elissande not to worry. Perhaps it was someone else who had asked Lord Vere to convey a message, and Lord Vere, with his slightly inaccurate memory—a most charitable turn of phrase—had made mistakes concerning both the originator and the recipient of the message.

Miss Kingsley even kindly rose and offered to take a turn in the garden with Elissande, if she was still in the mood for it. Elissande, who had never been in the mood for it, thanked Miss Kingsley profusely and begged that she and Mr. Conrad forgive her interruption and continue to enjoy their game.

By the time Elissande returned to the dining room, Lord Frederick was gone. She did locate him in the billiard room fifteen minutes later, but the room was full of men—everyone except Mr. Conrad, it seemed.

“Miss Edgerton, would you like to join the
game?”
Lord Vere asked cheerfully.

The other gentlemen chuckled softly. Even without any experience to guide her in the matter, Elissande understood that she could not possibly accept the invitation. It would give Lord Frederick quite the wrong impression of her character—an accurate one, that was, and that would not do.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with what she hoped was a lighthearted tone. “But no, thank you. I was only passing through.”

She still had dinner, during which she would have Lord Frederick next to her.

Alas, the next blow came precisely then. Lady Kingsley had prepared the seating chart the evening before, since Elissande had never dealt with rules of precedence. Elissande fully expected the seating to remain the same. To her dismay, however, Lady Kingsley produced a new seating chart for the evening, a chart that placed Lord Frederick three seats away from Elissande.

She hardly ate. The squeeze in her throat prevented any kind of meaningful swallowing—a whole day gone by, and she’d made no progress at all. Her uncle’s return, edging closer by the hour, was a chill between her shoulder blades, a chill no coat or fire could dispel.

The only silver lining was that Lord Vere had also been seated away from her. A very fortunate thing for him. If she caught him staring at her bosom one more time, she might just brain him with the epergne.

After dinner, the company played charades until quarter to ten. When her uncle was at home, this was usually the time when Elissande would gratefully bid him a good night and escape to the sanctuary of her own room. Last night, the ladies, after the ordeal of the rats, had retired at about the same time. Lord Vere, however, was determined to change things.

“The night is yet young,” he said. “Let us play something else.”

Miss Kingsley immediately took up his cause. “Oh, yes, do let us. May we, Auntie dearest?”

Lady Kingsley appeared hesitant.

“Oh come, Lady Kingsley,” wheedled Lord Vere. “There is no rule written in stone dictating that ladies must be in bed when the clock strikes ten.”

Elissande ground her teeth. She seemed to do that whenever Lord Vere made his presence known.

“Quite so. I say we play something else.” Miss Beauchamp joined the campaign.

“Well, the decision is not up to me,” said Lady Kingsley. “We are here at Miss Edgerton’s gracious hospitality.”

A chorus of pleas came at Elissande. There was not much she could say, other than, “Of course we can play something else. But what shall we play?”

“How about Pass the Parcel?” asked Miss Melbourne.

“We don’t have a parcel prepared,” said Miss Duvall. “I say
La Vache Qui Tache.”