THE RHYTHMIC PELTING OF RAINDROPS DIMINISHED the usual rattle of the hansom’s interior. In the dark confined space that smelled of damp wool, Rafferty fidgeted. The invitation tonight was akin to inviting a lamb for sacrifice. He just wasn’t certain of the manner of slaughter. He’d have to spend a portion of the evening avoiding the advances of an actress planning the next step in her climb toward respectability, and another portion catering to Lady Arianne, who constantly reminded him that she was above his reach. As if that were something he could ever forget. Either way, he was bound to be caught in the middle.
Phineas bumped his shoulder in the process of pinning a white flower to his own lapel.
“Look at you,” Rafferty said with pretended disgust. His head rocked with the sway of the hansom as it rattled along the slick cobblestones. “You look like a popinjay.”
“I happen to believe that one should look his best when invited to dinner, especially when the invitation comes from the sister of a duke.”
“We were just invited this afternoon,” Rafferty reminded him. “The kitchen wouldn’t have sufficient time to prepare a meal worthy of that sort of turnout.” Phineas was overdressed in his estimation.
“Admit it, Rafe. You just haven’t my sense of stage presence.” Phineas twisted in the confined space to appraise Rafferty’s attire. “You managed to dress like a banker . . . How very ordinary.”
“That’s true,” Rafferty acknowledged, checking his pocket watch to measure their progress. “It’s probably the reason Henderson assigned the role of British minister to me. I’m not sure anyone would take a diplomat wearing that embroidered green velvet waistcoat seriously.”
Phineas grumbled, then pulled a mangled bunch of dainty blue blossoms from his pocket. “Here. These should spruce you up.” He reached to pin the stems to Rafferty’s lapel, ignoring his complaints. “Each flower has a meaning,” Phineas explained as he secured the flowers. “I’m wearing a bellflower, which means gratitude. I wish our hostess to know that I’m grateful for being included in this evening’s festivities.” His voice dropped. “I’m not always, you know.”
Rafferty glanced suspiciously at Phineas. “And what’s the meaning of these little blue things?”
“Those are forget-me-nots.” Phineas glanced out his side window. “I think the name is self-explanatory.”
“What message is that supposed to convey?” Rafferty groused. “That I’m afraid she’ll forget about me once this dinner is over?”
Phineas turned to face him. “I don’t think that’s possible. Lady Arianne will remember you long after this venture.” He returned to his perusal of the passing street. “Of course, I’m not entirely convinced of the sentiment of those memories.”
Rafferty scowled, then glanced askance at his partner. He hadn’t thought about it before, but Phineas’s ability to blend into the woodwork most likely caused him to be overlooked for society invitations. His theatrical friend didn’t realize how lucky he was. “It’s difficult to reconcile the old sea dog with an authority on flowers.”
Phineas shrugged. “It’s something the flower vendor said.”
The cab rocked to a stop before the town house. Rafferty exited first to pay the cabman while Phineas proceeded toward the oak door. Rafferty joined him, but before he could rap the door with his silver-capped walking stick, the door opened and Hastings ushered them inside. They shed their outer garments and umbrellas in the grand entrance hall while Hastings hurried off to announce their arrival.
“Rafferty, will you look at this place?” Phineas’s voice dropped in awe, his neck straining to see into the far corners. “It’s a thief’s paradise.” He pointed to a walnut side table. “They put silver candlesticks out in the open, and look at that tray. I’ll bet even the porcelain pot holding the flowers cost a pretty penny.”
“They’ll be counting the silver when we leave,” Rafferty murmured. He glanced at the tray laden with small cards, some with folds in corners, most just a name in elaborate print. He didn’t recall seeing such an accumulation when he first arrived for a lesson with Lady Arianne. He reached in his pocket for his card case and withdrew his own card.
“What are you doing?” Phineas asked. “We’re being announced.”
“She refused my card once before.” Rafferty chuckled beneath his breath. He tossed his card on top of the assortment. “Let’s see her refuse it now.”
Approaching footsteps padded on the thick carpets. They both straightened in anticipation of Lady Arianne’s arrival.
The moment he saw her, Rafferty knew he had again erred. Arianne was breathtakingly beautiful and dressed to the nines in a blue gown that made his fingers twitch to rest on those well-defined curves. He stood frozen, afraid to open his mouth for fear of the gibberish that might spill out.
Her glance slid over him, pausing at the incongruity of the blossoms on his lapel. She bit her lip. Was that amusement he saw in her eyes? His stomach clenched. Hell. Once again he was inappropriately attired. He should have just stayed at Brannigan’s. Well, blast it all! Fashion should be of little consequence given the serious matters at hand.
Beside him, Phineas cleared his throat, dragging Rafferty back to the present. “Lady Arianne Chambers,” Rafe said, “allow me to present Mr. Phineas Connor. You may recall meeting his coat on an earlier occasion.”
“Yes. I remember.” Lady Arianne extended her hand. Phineas bent over her gloved fingers. “Have you any tricks in your pockets this evening, Mr. Connor?”
Phineas blushed. Rafferty thought he’d never seen the like before. She had a charm, Lady Arianne. Too bad she hadn’t seen fit to use it on him.
Phineas smiled. “No, my lady. I do not.”
“In that case, I wonder if you would do me a favor?” Her eyes sparkled, her smile sincere. Rafferty imagined Phineas would be powerless to resist her request. He was already in her spell.
“Just for this evening, could you pretend that you are the French ambassador?”
“Mais oui!”
Phineas exclaimed. “I would be delighted.”
“Excellent.” She laughed, an infectious sound, a bewitching sound. Impatient, Rafferty waited for her to turn back to him. Instead she grasped Phineas’s arm as if they were old friends. “Then I shall play the role of your wife.”
“Even better,” Phineas responded.
Rafferty felt a punch in his gut unlike anything he’d experienced in a fight. Phineas was to play Lady Arianne’s husband? Clearly she didn’t know the lengths Phineas would go to perfect a role. Rafferty’s eyes narrowed.
Phineas responded with something that elicited shared laughter between them. Rafferty didn’t hear the words, but he recognized the sentiment.
She swept her vast skirts aside and said, “Shall we join the others?”
That was it? After their exchange in the salon this afternoon, he was to receive a less warm welcome than Phineas, a complete stranger? And what about these “others”? As Phineas and Lady Arianne started forward, Rafferty had a sinking feeling about the evening.
“Wait!” he called. Lady Arianne stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
“Who am I to play this evening?” he asked.
“Why, yourself, Mr. Rafferty.” He could see the spark of humor in her eyes. “After all, you
are
the British minister.” She faced forward, and together she and Phineas continued down the hall. “This way, Mr. Rafferty. Your wife is waiting.”
He followed Phineas and Lady Arianne into a rose room with enough gilded furnishings to continue the pattern of riches evident in the blue salon. Two ladies engaged in conversation on plush sedans. He almost didn’t recognize Miss St. Claire in her rust gown with lace that reached up her neck. The fringe that had vibrated with every movement of her body had disappeared, as had her bold, suggestive smile, leading him to surmise that the afternoon had not been a peaceful one. He felt certain he’d never met the older woman in the sedate brown.
Lady Arianne made the introductions, elevating Phineas to Lord Connor for purposes of his ambassadorship. Rafferty’s jaw tightened. If a title was important for her make-believe dinner party, how much more important was it in real life? No matter how well he performed at this new assignment, he would never be good enough for—what did Phineas call her?—Lady Upper Crust. Never.
Sobered by this reality, he almost missed the rest of the introductions. He nodded to the woman in brown and recognized her name as the chaperone. She smiled and said the darndest thing. “So you’re the one.”
“I beg your pardon?” He must have misunderstood.
Arianne clapped her hands for attention. Rafferty shifted his gaze, noticing how Arianne’s face glowed with enthusiasm, how her eyes sparkled in the gaslight, and how the cloth of her gown teased and titillated. It hugged her curves in all the places he wished his hands could explore—yet covered them from his eye, keeping her separate, out of reach. His gut clenched. Like all the exquisite furnishings in the Duke’s residence, she was top-drawer, not for the likes of him.
Eva moved close to his side. “I’m to keep this gown for entertaining in Washington. Is it not hideous? All this lace.” She slipped her fingers beneath the lace insert in such a manner that Rafferty suspected the purpose wasn’t for comfort but to draw his eye to her chest. “She said my gowns were not appropriate.”
“Every role has its costume,” he said, looking back at Arianne. “You’re here to learn from her.”
Eva’s eyes widened a moment before she purred low, running her hand down his lapel. “You should follow your own advice.”
Capturing her hand, he moved it back to her side. “Careful.” He tilted his head in reprimand.
She sighed longingly, then glanced about the room. “This place . . . can you imagine living here? I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”
His gaze never left Arianne. “Neither have I.”
“IN THEIR NEW POSITIONS,” ARIANNE ANNOUNCED, “MR. and Mrs. Rafferty will be expected to host and attend formal dinners of state. I am pleased to report that the kitchen staff rose to the challenge of displaying their talents on short notice. While I’m not certain the Americans follow this exact protocol, tonight’s dinner shall be presented as a formal dinner of state with eleven courses.”
“Eleven courses!” Eva gasped. “How can a body eat that much food?”
“Small portions,” Mrs. Summers replied, patting Eva’s hand.
Arianne smiled to herself, both enjoying the rare opportunity to play hostess instead of guest at a grand dinner and pleased with her inspiration to use a formal dinner to prove her worth to Rafferty. Expecting him to be overwhelmed and humbled beyond his experience, she shifted her gaze to meet his.
Far from what she anticipated, she caught a glimpse of yearning before his expression changed to resignation. He turned and murmured something to Miss St. Claire, who wrapped her arm around his as if she were a delicate flower and he the supporting trellis. It could be that he yearned to be free of the clinging vine, but . . .
“Perhaps we should pair up to attend dinner, dear,” Mrs. Summers prodded, reminding her that this was a teaching experience.
“Yes, of course,” she replied with a mental shake. She raised her voice in imitation of Mrs. Summers’s teaching tones. “Often envelopes are placed in the hallway to instruct the gentlemen who to accompany into dinner. However, with only two gentlemen present, I thought we could dispense with this formality. Remember that the lady you escort should be seated to your right.” She glanced to Phineas. “Mr. Connor, you shall be my escort. Mr. Rafferty shall accompany his wife and Mrs. Summers.”
As the person of highest social standing, Arianne was obliged to enter the dining room first, but in this instance she wished she was on Rafferty’s arm. She’d have to wait for Mrs. Summers’s report to hear if he stood and gawked at the dizzying display of her brother’s silver and crystal. He would surely recognize that he was out of his depth and in need of her assistance when he sat down to a plate surrounded by four forks and knives. Perhaps then he would take her contribution to this venture seriously.
“Is it only the five of us?” Phineas asked, hesitating in view of the dining table. “Or are twenty more guests scheduled to arrive?”
“My brother tends to entertain large gatherings.” She had requested only a portion of the table be set for their needs. Even so, the opulent sight carried an impressive impact. Phineas guided her to the head of the table, a position that allowed her to clearly observe her other guests.
A footman assisted in seating Miss St. Claire, who managed a dramatic flair even in that small exercise, while Rafferty escorted Mrs. Summers to Phineas’s left. He showed none of the surprise or discomfort that she had envisioned. Blast!
“Is something not to your liking, Lady Arianne?” he asked, taking his seat to her right. “I detect a frown.”
“Oh no,” she brought herself back to her surroundings, ignoring the tingling down her spine at the lyrical sound of his voice. “I was just . . . woolgathering, I suppose.”
While one footman served the hors d’oeuvres, another poured white wine into one of the three glasses by each plate setting.
“Oysters!” Miss St. Claire laughed. “And I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize the food.” She began to lift the half shell with her fingers.
“Mrs. Rafferty.” Rafferty’s velvety smooth murmur caught Arianne’s ear. He discretely wiggled the trident-shaped oyster fork.
“Oh!” Eva replaced the shell on the plate, then looked about the table before selecting the correct utensil. She smiled her appreciation at Rafferty. “Pardon
moi
.”
Phineas cringed.
“It’s probably best to stick with English,” Mrs. Summers suggested with a sympathetic smile. “I don’t think the Americans speak French.”
Eva rolled her eyes before she sampled two of the mollusks. With a sly grin, she glanced toward Rafferty, her oyster fork dangling from her fingertips. “You know they call these Aphrodite’s delight. It’s said that eating oysters increases one’s—”