Regency Sting (20 page)

“Delightful,” Anne muttered drily, hoping to escape without further conversation.

“Isn't it?” Harriet chirped happily. “I'm so completely in alt over his success, I had to retire to my room
four times
today to calm my nerves and to regulate my breathing.”

“I wouldn't fly into alt over this, Mama, if I were you,” Anne cautioned, “or you'll have his lordship so puffed up with his own consequence that there will be no living with him.”

“Nonsense, there's no danger of that. He seems to be handling all this attention with remarkable aplomb. It may be that his unfamiliarity with London society prevents him from fully realizing the extent and importance of his success, but this afternoon he sat with me for a while, and he seemed quite unmoved by all that's happened.” Lady Harriet paused, her smile fading. “There is only one thing I cannot like.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“Did you know that he's taken a fancy to Alexandra de Guis?”

“Yes, I'd noticed that.”

“Do you think he is serious? I believe I've heard that Miss de Guis' reputation is not quite what it ought to be.”

Anne shrugged. “Lexie de Guis is a calculating, man-eating, odious
cat
! As far as I'm concerned, she and your American nephew should deal perfectly together.” She turned on her heel and strode down the hall to her bedroom, leaving Harriet staring after her with a troubled frown.

Anne slammed her door irritably, ruefully aware that, in a mere twenty-four hours, she'd managed to deflate her mother, offend her brother, scold her betrothed, bring chaos on her best friend, and quarrel bitterly with the head of the household. Another day like this and there might be no one in the world willing to speak to her!

Fifteen

Lady Harriet watched with a troubled expression as her stepdaughter stalked off down the hall. What was the matter with the girl? After Jason's triumph of the night before, one would think that Anne would be a bit pleased. Instead, she was ill-tempered and sulky and no; at all like herself. The girl's explanation—that Jason had made a fool of her—was really quite absurd. A tempest in a teapot, nothing more. Harriet hoped that Anne did not intend to bear a grudge against Jason for such a trifle.

Harriet had not forgotten her earlier intention to encourage a match between her nephew and her stepdaughter. Although she no longer felt the need to force Anne into an advantageous match (having every confidence that Jason would do all that he ought for the family in regard to their finances) she nevertheless firmly believed that the two were well-suited. Anne was not the sort of girl to be happy with a man like Lord Claybridge. She was too spirited to be expected to endure life with a fellow who was so oppressively proper as Arthur Claybridge appeared to be. It was too bad that Claybridge was so breathtakingly handsome—his looks tended to blind a girl to the colorlessness of his personality.

Harriet had, for a while, nurtured the hope that Jason, on his part, felt an attraction to her stepdaughter. She'd noted an expression in Jason's shockingly light eyes when they'd rested on Anne's face when he thought no one was watching. Those eyes had held a glow which Harriet was sure signified a dawning affection. But last night at the Dabney ball, he'd taken no notice of Anne. Instead, he'd stood up for three dances with the beautiful Alexandra de Guis. Harriet shook her head in disappointment. She certainly hoped that Jason would not fix his affections
there
. Miss de Guis was not considered to be at all the thing.

Harriet shrugged and started down the hall to the sitting room where she'd left her embroidery. There was no use in brooding over the matter, she told herself. There was very little she could do about it.

She had no sooner settled herself with her needlework when Peter came in. “There's something I'd like to ask you, Mama,” he said in a rather troubled voice.

“Of course, dear. Come and sit down. Is something the matter?”

“I'm not sure. It has to do with a subject on which I'm woefully ignorant, and my books don't help at all.”

“You have me agog with curiosity,” Harriet said, tucking her needle safely into the fabric and thrusting the embroidery aside. “What subject can it be for which books are insufficient?”

“Love,” Peter said succinctly.

Harriet stared at him. “Good Lord! Have
you
met a
girl
? I cannot imagine when you could have done so without my being aware of it.”

“Met a girl?
Me
? Don't be gooseish, Mama. I'm speaking of … someone else.”

“But who?”

“Never mind who. Just listen. Suppose you came into a room and saw a young lady being held by a man … and saying ‘Don't you dare!' And then, when they saw you, they jumped apart, and the fellow went away. Then, the lady said he was detestable, but not because he'd been … er … making
overtures
, but for an entirely different reason.”

Lady Harriet studied her son closely. “I'm afraid I'm not following this very well. What is it you're asking me?”

“What I
suppose
I'm asking is if the lady was making excuses for the gentleman so that
you
would not make a scene.”

“I still don't understand. All these hypothetical people … it makes the situation so confusing. Did you come upon a couple embracing? And if so, why should it concern you?”

“You see, if the man was behaving in an ungentlemanly way, shouldn't I … the observer …
do
something about it?”

“Do what? Call him out?” Harriet asked in some amusement. “I don't see why it is your affair.”

“Well …” Peter paced about the room in some awkwardness, trying to find a way to explain his predicament. “… suppose the girl in question—and we're only
supposing
, mind—was the observer's sister.”

“Peter! Did you come upon someone mauling
Anne
about?” Harriet asked, getting to the root of it.

“I wouldn't call it ‘mauling' exactly …”

“Was she upset about it?” Harriet asked interestedly.

“She was upset, but she claimed it was not about that. She said the embrace was nothing.”

“I see.” Harriet paused, her mind busy with speculations. “You know, Peter dear, that Arthur Claybridge and Anne have been … close … for some time. Even if he
were
to make an advance, I don't believe it should be considered improper. She would not be in any danger from him, you know.”

“But … the man was not Lord Claybridge …”

“
Not
—? You don't mean it!” She stared at her son with dawning comprehension. “It
couldn't
have been … you couldn't mean
Jason
!”

“I will not say,” Peter declared, coloring in chagrin.

Lady Harriet peered at her son closely. “Can you tell me when this incident took place?”

Peter hesitated for a moment and then shrugged in self-disgust. “I've made such a mull of this already, I suppose I may as well tell you, although I don't see the relevance. The incident occurred last night.”

“Last night? But they were at the ball.”

“Anne came home early, remember?”

“Yes, but Jason remained. He took me home after Anne had already gone to bed.”

Peter lowered his head, feeling very much like a traitor to a man whom he held in great affection. “Jason came home to ascertain that Anne had arrived safely. Then he went back to the Dabneys' for you.”

“Did he really?” his mother asked. To his astonishment, her eyes brightened and a smile dawned on her face. “What
interesting
news! I was beginning to lose hope.” She jumped up, ran over to Peter and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, dear. You've brightened my day considerably.”

Peter was completely confused. “Mama, what are you talking about? You cannot
like
learning that Ja—that a certain gentleman has made improper advances toward your daughter!”

“I know this will be hard for you to understand, my dearest boy, but not
all
advances should be considered improper. It depends entirely on who the gentleman
is
. If the gentleman were, let us say, someone like Lord Claybridge, I would find the circumstances unremarkable and untroublesome. If he were a notorious rake like, for example, Sir Miles Minton, I would be considerably upset. And if it were Jason, I would be quite delighted.”

Peter frowned at his mother in utter stupefaction. “If you don't mind my saying so, Mama, I find that explanation both repugnant and illogical. However, if Anne were likely to agree with your analysis, then I suppose I should not have to trouble myself about the matter any longer.
Would
Anne be likely to agree with you?”

“That, dearest, is a very good question. I wish I knew the answer. You have no idea how very interested I am in learning the answer to that question.”

“But, then, what is
my
responsibility in this matter? As Anne's brother, isn't it my duty to protect her?”

Harriet patted his cheek affectionately. “When a lady is in distress and cries out for help,
any
gentleman should certainly go to her assistance. But otherwise, I think the wisest course is to ignore the situation.”

Peter sighed in considerable relief. “Good. I'm glad I need do nothing about this. I didn't relish having to speak to Ja—to this person like a Dutch uncle. I would have felt a damned fool. Thank you for your help, Mama.” He started for the door. “I didn't understand very much of what you were saying, and I admit that these matters of love are beyond my comprehension, but I
did
surmise, from your remarks, that you are hoping that Jason and Anne will make a match of it.”

“Yes, I am,” his mother admitted frankly. “It was very clever of you to have deduced that.”

“Not so very clever. You see, I'm of the same mind myself,” he said with a grin and left the room.

Later that evening, in spite of a heavy downpour, Arthur Claybridge returned to Half-Moon Street. Hatless, nervous, and soaked through, he appeared on the doorstep of the Laverstoke house and requested the butler to send for Miss Charity. He was left cooling his heels in the drawing room for almost half an hour. Finally, the door opened and Cherry entered timidly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she had covered her shorn locks with a lace cap like those worn by widows and elderly ladies. “Did you wish to see me, Ar—?” She gasped at his appearance, her question forgotten. “Heavens, you're
soaked
!” she cried in consternation.

“It's nothing. I walked here, you see. It's been raining,” Arthur explained abstractedly.

Cherry was immediately transformed into a bustling
hausfrau
. “Come here to the fire
at once
,” she ordered, “and let me have your coat. I'll hang it here near the fire and see if it will dry off.”

“No, thank you, Cherry. I'm fine, truly. I don't want to sit in your drawing room in my shirtsleeves,” Arthur demurred.

“Oh, pooh, who cares for that? I insist that you take it off. I don't want it on my conscience that I permitted you to take cold.”

Arthur obediently did as he was bid. Cherry hung the coat over the back of a chair and pushed it close to the fire. Then, inviting Arthur to take a seat equally close to the fireplace, she urged on him a large brandy which she'd poured for him herself. “Now we may be comfortable,” she said and took a chair opposite him. She looked across at him questioningly and waited for him to tell her why he'd come.

Arthur gulped a mouthful of brandy, coughed, shot a glance at her and spoke quietly. “I had to come, Cherry, to tell you how sorry I am …”

“Sorry?” she asked, puzzled.

“For making you cry this afternoon. I don't know what to say … to explain …”

Cherry blushed. “There's no reason at all for you to explain,” she told him hastily. “It was all my fault. I never should have given way to the impulse to …” She raised her hand to her head nervously and dropped it again. “… to cut it. I don't know why I did it.”

“But you don't understand! I want to explain that I didn't mean that you didn't …
don't
look perfectly fine—”

“I l-look
hideous
!”

“That's not true! You
couldn't
look hideous,
ever
, no matter what you did to your hair! That's what I've come to tell you.”

“You are very kind, Arthur, b-but it's not necessary to tell me t-tales …” Cherry said, her head lowered.

“Please believe me,” Arthur begged. “You see, it's only that I've always thought your braids were so beautiful—”

Cherry fixed a wide-eyed gaze on Arthur's face. “Oh, Arthur,
did
you?”

He nodded glumly. “Yes, so much so that I couldn't
help
crying out when I saw what you'd done. Forgive me. I never should have presumed to express my feelings on so personal a matter.”

Cherry lowered her head again. “That's all right, Arthur. I never sh-should have cut them off. If I had known …” Her voice trailed off in a pathetic little sniff.

Arthur got up and crossed to her chair. Kneeling down before her, he took her hands in his. “I hope you will forgive me for offending you. I assure you I never meant to disparage your appearance. I didn't even take a proper look, you know, for you ran away so abruptly.”

Cherry kept her head lowered, although she made no attempt to free her hands. “I don't want
anyone
to have a proper look. I shall wear c-caps for the rest of my l-life!”

Arthur couldn't help smiling. “Little ninny, of
course
you won't. I'm sure you look charming.” He reached up and pulled the cap from her head. Cherry lifted her head in fright and pulled her hands from his grasp, raising them to try to cover her hair again. He grasped her wrists and held them tightly against his chest while he stared at her face. She was more enchanting than he'd ever seen her, the dusky curls tousled about a face that looked more wide-eyed, full-lipped and vulnerable than he could bear. “Why, you're …
beautiful
,” he whispered.