His Lordship's Chaperone (6 page)

The butler opened the front door and Catherine
pulled her wrap about her while the Marquess headed straight for the waiting
carriage. Without hesitation, he entered and Catherine, after his lordship had
settled, followed discreetly behind.

During the trip, Lord Haverton never spoke to her,
never looked at her and never in any way acknowledged her presence. Catherine
might as well have been invisible. Better that he not notice her than take
interest in her, she thought.

Music from the Trowbridge residence spilled into
the streets upon their arrival. Stepping out of the coach, she glanced over the
top of her spectacles, marveling at the line of carriages and the splendor of
the house stretched out before her.

Upon entering, Lord Haverton paused at the top of
the stairs, gazing down on the room where the guests congregated. “Mrs. Hayes,”
he said over his shoulder.

Catherine moved forward, closing the distance
between them. “Yes, my lord?”

“Remember, you are to keep careful watch over me.
If I should leave the room, I expect you to follow directly.”

“Understood, your lordship.” Only when she followed
him into the Trowbridge’s grand saloon did Catherine understand why.

Glancing over the rims of her spectacles, she
watched the Marquess until he descended the stairs and moved partially out of
her sight.

A sea of women stopped and parted to face him when
he reached ground level. As he approached, line after line of women curtsied,
sending a rippling effect to the back of the room. Catherine would not have
believed it if she hadn’t seen it for herself.

Lord Haverton bowed his head, greeting the ladies
on either side of him. He stopped and bent to the ground. Rising, the Marquess
held out a red-tasseled, ivory fan, returning it to its owner.

A small, delicate gloved hand reached out and
grasped the proffered fan. “Thank you, my lord.” A quite lovely young lady in
white with a pale green overskirt dropped into a deep curtsy and proffered a
shy smile.

Catherine removed her reading glasses and slipped
them into her reticule. There was certainly no need for them. How silly of her
to think the Marquess of Haverton would ever notice her when he had his choice
of all these breathtakingly beautiful ladies.

Instead of the great blur of light shining from
above, Catherine could see the details of the large crystal chandelier,
flooding the room with light. Down below, the lavishly dressed guests and
bejeweled lords and ladies dripped with gemstones of every imaginable color.

Catherine had never seen such splendor. Even her
grandfather’s manor had not been host to a gathering such as this.

The next several hours resulted in a countless
number of recklessly tossed fans tumbling to the floor. Each time Lord Haverton
retrieved the wayward item with patient gallantry. He stood up for only a few
dances. To break the monotony of retrieving fans, Catherine joked to herself.

As of yet, she had not been needed and had sat with
the dowagers and other chaperones in a corner. Even they did not seem to notice
her. They looked on, watching the couples on the dance floor and whispering,
commenting to each other.

Three chaperones stood only a few feet away. She
had not intended to eavesdrop but heard Lord Haverton’s name as the topic of
their conversation.

“The Marquess of Haverton has gone beyond the pale,”
one of the women said.

“Who would not forgive the Handsome Haverton
anything?” a short, red-haired lady standing next to the first asked.

“What’s he done now, Miss Trueblood?” a third
interceded, ignoring the red-haired woman.

“He has installed a young woman at Moreland Manor,
Miss Price,” the one named Miss Trueblood announced. “For what purpose one can
only guess.”

The red-hair woman gasped. “He cannot possibly have—”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Baldwin, it is true. I had it of Mrs.
Brooks, Lady Stratton’s lady’s maid.”

Moved into Moreland Manor? Catherine had just moved
in—could they possibly be talking about her?

“It was only a matter of time.” By the tone of Miss
Price’s voice, she had expected something along these lines to occur.

“It’s positively scandalous!” Mrs. Baldwin said.

“In his own home?” Miss Price exclaimed, clearly
shocked beyond belief. “Utterly unimaginable.”

The ladies could not have been talking about her,
could they? Good sense prevailed and Catherine held her tongue. Her job was not
to correct wayward gossip, but to protect the reputation of her employer, even
if the malicious gossip was about her and him. Gossip, she reminded herself,
was harmless.

The thought of him, Lord Haverton … the very idea
that he or she—that they might engage in anything improper … Catherine felt the
flush of warmth creep up her cheeks. What these ladies were insinuating was so
very far from the truth. She was his chaperone and nothing more. For heaven’s
sake, he couldn’t even recall her name.

“And as you can see for yourselves,” Miss Trueblood
gestured to the dance floor before her, “he has the attention of every lady in
attendance, if not the entire Town.”

Mrs. Baldwin shrugged. “Why does one man need so
many women?”

Miss Price and Miss Trueblood glared at the third
of their trio whose face had turned as scarlet as her hair.

“Some men are simply not satisfied with one woman,”
Miss Price enlightened the red-haired Mrs. Baldwin.

She pressed her palm to the base of her throat.
“Not my Lord Haverton—”

The truth was, Catherine noted, catching a glimpse
of him on the dance floor, Lord Haverton seemed especially careful not to pay
too much attention to any one lady in particular. He had danced his first set
with a blond and this set with a dark-haired beauty.

“I see it is not only the young chits who make a
cake of themselves over him.” Miss Trueblood gave Mrs. Baldwin a scathing look.
“Would you wish yourself twenty years younger so you could compete for a
fraction of his attention? Drop a fan at his feet, perhaps?”

“For him to notice me, I’d need to be thirty years
younger.” Mrs. Baldwin laughed. “And he half-blind.”

“You are naughty,” Miss Price scolded but laughed
in good humor.

“I fear it would take more than beauty to gain his
favor,” Miss Trueblood said with her gaze firmly fixed on the Marquess,
studying him.

“You know, Miss Trueblood,” Miss Price countered,
“I believe you are right. It will take more than mere beauty to interest that
man.”

The music had come to an end. Haverton bowed to his
partner. She was lovely, he noted, and quite pleas ant to dance with, as were
all the ladies he had partnered, but it was time to retreat. He returned Miss
Darrow to her chaperone, bowed over her hand, and excused himself.

Tonight he need not give a second thought whether
he ought
not
try to find solitude or if his actions
would chance another questionable encounter. For once, he simply could do as he
wished. Escaping the stifling heat of the ballroom, the Marquess stepped
through the guests milling about on the dance floor and beyond the room, into
the back garden for a breath of air.

So far, the evening had gone well. Uneventful but
the night was still young. Something would transpire before the evening came to
an end. He had no doubt at all.

“Lord Haverton?” came the soft, sultry, feminine
voice. A slender, tempting silhouette stepped out from the shadows. It wasn’t
one he recognized.

“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” He
tried to discern any distinguishing characteristics that might help him
identify his company.

“Is that really so important?” She turned to the
right, looking away from him. “We have not, as of yet, been properly
introduced. However, I believe we could become very well acquainted.”

Haverton glanced to his left, wondering what … or
perhaps who, she looked at. One could not guarantee privacy in an outdoor area,
he thought. It would not do at all to be caught, but she … whoever she was, was
so very intriguing. And with his chaperone ready to intervene in a thrice, he
could allow this scene to play out—perhaps even enjoying himself.

The Grace with which she moved, the lilting voice
and the soft, pleasant scent, were factors working together, convincing him to
remain in her company. He need not worry about leaping out a window or into a
fountain to escape when the time came.

After all, was he not a man? Haverton stepped
toward her and she moved back, her feet skidded across the flagstone in quick,
nervous retreat.

Interesting … what was she playing at? Her words
might have suggested an invitation but her actions told Haverton otherwise.

Go on—go on, Honoria, Lady Darlington urged
silently from her darkened corner. She had told her daughter to be forthright,
daring, and bold!

What was her daughter waiting for? All the girl had
to do was embrace him. In turn, he would embrace her. Discovering the couple in
a kiss would not hurt their cause either.

An innocent young lady on her first year out, such
as her Honoria, would certainly fall victim to a known roué such as Haverton.
Lady Darlington would step out and catch him—
them together—and
the deed would be done.

“Go on, Honoria, go on,” Lady Darlington whispered.

Honoria stepped forward—finally. Yes, that’s it.
She held out her hand, reaching for the Marquess.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Take hold of his coat
lapel, just as I told you, then slide your hand around his neck. “Closer, now,
closer—”

Someone stepped toward the couple from the far side
of the courtyard. “I beg your pardon.” It was a woman.

Honoria drew away from Lord Haverton and stepped
back.

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice interrupted. “I’m
afraid I must ask that if you wish to converse with his lordship, young lady,
you should do so from a distance.”

Who was she? Lady Darlington’s chest tightened. Who
was this … this … intruder? Just when Honoria was making progress!

Honoria broke into tears and fled toward the house,
burying her face in her hands.

Lady Darlington nearly stepped out of her hiding place
and pushed that hussy back into the ballroom.

“Pity, don’t know who that young woman was,”
Haverton said to the unwelcome woman. “But she was a fetching thing.”

“Have I acted improperly, my lord?”

“No, Mrs. Hayes. You have done precisely what I had
wished.”

Mrs. Hayes? What Lady Darlington could not fathom
was what was Mrs. Hayes doing here? And who, exactly, she was.

The Marquess peered around the garden. Catherine
followed the path of Lord Haverton’s gaze around the darkened perimeter.

“Unless I miss my guess, her mother is hiding
somewhere, standing ready to pounce when the moment proved right,” he said.

The man was simply too much. Did he really think
women were lying in wait for him? Or looking at him as the prize to be won?

“Mrs. Hayes, I believe I’ve had enough fresh air
for the time being. Let us join the other guests, shall we?”

Catherine followed Haverton into the house. She
stopped before entering and made a final scan of the shadows surrounding the
garden. A movement caught her attention. Was it the turn of a leaf in the
gentle breeze? Perhaps the scurry of a rodent? Or was there truly someone out
there hiding?

Entering the ballroom, the Marquess met his
companions Sir Giles, Lord Fitzgerald, and Mr. Brewster where he had left them
earlier.

“What’s going on out there, Haverton?” Sir Giles
gave a half-interested glance out the French doors. “A young girl’s just run
through here like the hounds were after her.”

“Another near miss, I’m afraid.” Haverton
straightened the cuffs of his shirt.

Fitzgerald looked over Haverton’s jacket. “You
don’t appear to have damaged your coat—and you have managed to keep from
climbing into the trees.” He lifted the Marquess’ arm, checking on the
condition of his coat sleeve.

“You’re dry,” Brewster told the surrounding gentlemen.
“You missed hiding out in the fountain. How’d you manage to escape this time
around?”

“I would have at least expected you to scale the
wall and catch the seat of your pants on the brambles.” Sir Giles stole a look
at Haverton’s backside.

“Quite simply,” Haverton smoothed his evening coat,
hoping to indicate that nothing of the kind had happened, “the chaperone
intervened.”

“Do you mean the young lady’s chaperone stood there
and allowed you to—
”

“No, my chaperone.”

“Yours?” Brewster said wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
Fitzgerald and Sir Giles broke out into wild laughter. “You did say your
chaperone, did you not, Haverton?”

“You are correct.” He proudly displayed a smug
smile. “I most definitely did.”

“Gad! I’d never thought I’d see the day.” Sir Giles
wiped the tears from his eyes with a dark blue silk handkerchief. “A man with a
chaperone!”