Debauchery and the Earl, page 4
“Ah, Calton, so you did make the time,” the old lady greeted him, breaking off her involved conversation to offer him her hand and her cheek, both of which he saluted dutifully.
“As commanded, though Lady Darling looked utterly confused to see me.”
“The Branforth chit is over there,” his grandmother nodded across the room, “by the smaller palm.”
“I shall bear it in mind,” he assured her. “Satisfy my curiosity about another young lady. The one in green, with the dark-haired fellow.”
As the dance came to a final close, the lady in question curtsied to her partner and took his arm, immediately and annoyingly turning her back to Calton. He wondered if she had seen him and if it was deliberate.
“He’s French,” his grandmother said dismissively. “Related to Talleyrand, you know—though he’s shortened his name for some reason—so at least he is a gentleman. No idea who the girl is.”
“Good Lord,” Calton said, not entirely joking. “How can this be?”
“Either she’s new in Town or she’s a nobody,” his grandmother replied airily. “Well, go on, you’ve done your duty by me. Now go away and enjoy yourself.”
“Perhaps, I shall,” Calton murmured, and with a bow, strolled off in pursuit of the unknown girl.
It didn’t take him long to realize that she was deliberately avoiding him, flitting around the ballroom from her dance partner to a group of young ladies, to Lady Darling’s brother and host for the evening, and to another dance partner for the country dance. Unless he was prepared to stride across the room and plant himself right in front of her, she was likely to remain at least one step ahead of him for the entire evening.
Accordingly, he switched tactics, and after making brief conversation with Miss Branforth and her gratified mama, asked the younger lady to dance. Unfortunately, they could not join the same set as his quarry, but he caught sight of her occasionally, enough to know she was not quite so comfortable with her current dancing partner as the last, though she still appeared friendly and unselfconsciously graceful.
Of course, he was never so rude as to ignore his own partner, who smiled at him frequently and chattered whenever the dance brought them together. Only once did he catch an expression in her eyes that looked very like triumph.
It wasn’t so surprising. For a debutante, who was not of his family or related to a close friend, to dance with the Earl of Calton was at least a rarity. His gift of social cachet, he thought sardonically. He didn’t blame her precisely—she was little more than a child, after all, encouraged by her parents, to say nothing of his own grandmother—but he could not help his twinge of distaste. He was fed up being regarded as a prize.
Really, just as soon as he had solved the mystery of last night’s visitor, it was time for pastures new. Returning Miss Branforth to her preening mama, he made his escape and began prowling the ballroom once more. This time, he made no effort to pursue his quarry. Instead, he hunted her first dancing partner and was soon fortunate enough to come upon the man with someone he knew.
“Dearham!” Calton thrust out his hand with genuine pleasure. “I didn’t know you were in Town.”
“Doing my parliamentary duty,” the Duke of Dearham said with one of his infectious grins as they shook hands. “How are you? I heard you were off to Paris.”
“Arranging it,” Calton said easily, letting his gaze flit over Dearham’s companion.
“Do you know Monsieur de Talley?” Dearham said. “On the French Ambassador’s staff. Monsieur, my good friend, the Earl of Calton.”
Calton offered his hand and had it civilly if firmly shaken. “How fortunate to meet you. You must give me a native’s perspective on the best places to visit in your country.”
“You will make a long stay?” Talley asked.
“Possibly. I mean to follow my nose from Calais and see where it takes me. Can I interest you gentlemen in a game of cards?”
“Perhaps later,” Dearham said. “I am committed to proving that it is not unfashionable to dance with one’s own wife. If you will excuse me…”
“Monsieur de Talley?”
“Why not?” The Frenchman began to walk beside him.
“Talking of dancing,” Calton said, watching as Dearham led his wife onto the floor, “who was the young lady I saw you waltz with earlier? I was sure I knew her, but name and context elude me.”
“Miss Josephine Blackwell? She is Lady Darling’s niece.”
Calton blinked. “Is she, by God? How can my grandmother not have known that? Does she have a sister, by chance?”
“Miss Blackwell is stepping onto the floor with Sir Joseph Sayle.”
He followed the Frenchman’s gaze and did indeed recall the elder Miss Blackwell from an early summer jaunt to Brighton. He had solved the mystery, though he felt no desire to smile. “Ah, that explains it,” he murmured as they entered the card room. “I have danced with Miss Blackwell and never met the younger sister after all. Piquet?”
Chapter Four
Josephine did not dare to go near her sister until Calton disappeared into the card room. Unfortunately, he was in the company of Talley, who would be able to tell him anything he asked.
She rather rushed her tolerant partner into the same set as Helena and stood beside her sister. “He’s here,” she murmured.
“I know. It’s fine.” Helena sounded distracted rather than worried, and as far as Josephine could tell, no one was yet looking at them askance.
By the end of the dance, Calton and Talley had emerged from the card room once more. Calton was leaning against the wall as they made apparently amusing conversation together, but the attention of both men seemed to be focused on her. Or on Helena.
“I’ll keep out of your way,” Josephine muttered and all but bolted across the room to her father’s side. He looked somewhat surprised to see her but happily introduced her to the serious older gentlemen he’d been conversing with. The serious older gentlemen seemed charmed.
Her nerves skittered when she saw Calton approach Helena. But to her surprise, he said something that made her sister smile and accept his hand for the next dance. A sense of foreboding came over Josephine. She even shivered as though, as Nurse had put it, someone had walked over her grave.
“Forgive me, ma’am, but I think you dropped this?”
Josephine blinked. A stranger stood in front of her, blocking her view of Helena and Lord Calton, offering her a wisp of embroidered lawn.
“Oh, how foolish,” she managed, reaching out to take the handkerchief. Then she paused and frowned. “Actually, that is not mine. I am glad to say the folly was someone else’s.”
“Mine,” the stranger admitted with a rueful smile that invited her to share the joke. “I hoped you would not notice, but the truth is I have been looking for an excuse to speak to you and no one has introduced us.”
“Why do you want to speak to me?” she asked curiously as the handkerchief vanished into his pocket. “Do you keep a lady’s handkerchief in your pocket just in case you wish to accost someone?”
“I want to ask you to dance. And of course not. I found it by my chair this evening and could not find its owner. So will you honor me with the dance?”
Josephine hesitated. Although it was not quite proper to dance with strangers, she had never seen the harm in a room positively awash with chaperones. And since he was here at all, he was clearly known to her aunt. Besides, on the dance floor, she would be nearer to Helena in the event of her sister needing her for any reason.
And then, she realized now that she looked properly, the man was good-looking, with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
“I will, if you tell me your name,” she said.
He bowed. “The Honorable Cyril Gough, at your service. And you, I think, are Miss Blackwell.”
She laid her fingertips on his proffered arm. “I am. Although Miss Blackwell is more properly my elder sister. I am Miss Josephine Blackwell.”
“How charming. Were you named for the late empress?”
“My father has always denied it.” She allowed him to turn her and take her hand, circling her waist with his arm. Beyond him, she could see Helena, who looked slightly flushed but not unhappy.
The waltz began.
“I gather you traveled all over Europe with your father,” Mr. Gough said.
“And beyond.”
“Then you must have had an unusually varied upbringing for a young lady.”
“I suppose we did, but since I knew nothing else, I accepted it. We were well looked after, you know,” she added with amusement. “My father did not abandon us alone in the jungle!”
“Of course, he did not. I am merely intrigued by the views of such a well-traveled lady. And perhaps a little jealous. Did you meet Lord Calton abroad?”
She blinked. “No.” Then, remembering her part, “I don’t believe I have met him at all.”
“Oh, I thought I saw you looking at him when I first approached you. I thought he might have made you unhappy.”
“Acquit him, sir,” she said lightly. “It was my sister I was watching. She was feeling a little under the weather earlier today, and I was worried for her.”
“You are a careful sister. And yet she is the elder.”
“We have always looked after each other.”
“Well, I am glad to hear it. Not that I wish ill health upon Miss Blackwell, you understand! But I would worry considerably more were you smitten with Lord Calton.”
“You would have no right,” she pointed out. “And you certainly have no reason.”
“None beyond the fact that he is the kind of aristocrat I most dislike—entitled, wasteful, and careless of the feelings of lesser mortals.”
Annoyingly, she had to stop herself from leaping to Calton’s defense, which was odd to say the least. “Are you not also from a titled family?” she asked innocently. In fact, he had made sure she knew it by introducing himself as the Honorable Mr. Gough, which was hardly usual.
“Heir to a mere barony,” he said dismissively.
“Mere? I am sure it comes with many responsibilities.”
“It does, but why are we discussing me? I had much rather talk about you?”
“Why?”
He laughed. “That is why! That and your quite unusual beauty.”
Which was, she knew, another way of saying she didn’t have any beauty at all. Helena had all the looks of the family, which was fine by Josephine, though it annoyed her slightly when people tried to console her by saying things like “unusual beauty,” as though physical appearance was the only reason to be alive, let alone admired.
*
Calton rather liked Helena Blackwell. In fact, he remembered rather liking her the last time they had danced, several weeks previously, although the feeling had been vague and easily forgotten. Now, as they danced and walked and went into supper together, he wondered how to bring the conversation discreetly around to her problems, all without being overheard.
It was she who pushed aside her barely touched supper and said, “I believe I would like a little fresh air before returning to the ballroom.”
“Allow me to escort you,” Calton offered, rising. “In fact, let me bring a plate and we can continue al fresco on the terrace.”
They were not the only people on the terrace, but a small table set between two cushioned benches at one end was secluded enough for private conversation while still being easily seen by everyone else.
“The autumn evenings are chilly,” Calton said, handing her onto one of the benches and placing the plate on the table. “Shall I fetch a shawl?”
“Oh, no, I won’t stay long enough to notice,” she said with something of her sister’s unflattering honesty. “I just wanted to say something to you.”
He sat opposite her. “Say on.”
She eyed him with a mixture of wariness and conscious courage. “I understand you met my sister last night. Where she had no business to be.”
“I don’t recall it.”
She smiled. “Yes, you do, but thank you for saying so. I don’t want you to think badly of her. She was only trying to help me and never thinks how her actions might be misconstrued.”
“I understand.”
“I think you probably do,” she said ruefully, “which makes it even more strange that you are sitting here rather than cutting me dead.”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “It takes two, Miss Blackwell, and it is not fair that women must pay the price.”
“That is true. Neither is it fair that it was your name I gave my sister, just to make her leave me alone. I should have known she wouldn’t leave you alone. My only excuse is that my mind is…preoccupied. But I hope you will accept my apology.”
“There is no need,” Calton said. “I would rather know how I might help you.”
She frowned at him. “You should be running from me. Aren’t you afraid I will try to trick you into an offer of marriage?”
“By compromising me on the terrace?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes.
It drew a short laugh from her. “Don’t worry, I shan’t be so stupid or so ill-bred. In any case, I thank you for the offer of help, but there is nothing you can do.”
“There might be. If I knew who it was I should speak to.”
“No,” she said in quick alarm. “I will not have him—” She broke off, biting her lip and staring at her food.
“Inconvenienced?” Calton said in disbelief, and when she flushed, he pressed home his point. “My dear girl, you will be ruined, and if you choose that over a point of pride, it is, of course, your decision. But your sister will fall with you. And your father’s career is likely to suffer, too.”
She closed her eyes. “I know that. And I will do my very best not to let it happen. I just cannot quite see my way.”
“If a quiet word—or a thrashing—would help, I am your man.”
Her eyes flew open again. “I would not have you think ill of him. He is a good and honorable man, and I cannot press him into a marriage he is not prepared for.”
That he should have been prepared the moment he touched her went without saying. Especially as another realization hit Calton with force. “He doesn’t know.”
Her eyes fell again, and she shook her head.
Calton leaned forward. “He needs to know. You are worrying yourself sick like this. And that is not good for the child or you.”
“How do you know about such matters?” she retorted. “Do you have many children of your own?”
“No. But I am responsible for a lot of people.”
She regarded him with some curiosity. “You are not at all what I expected.”
“Like everyone else, I have my good moments along with the bad.” Some movement beyond her shoulder caught his attention. Josephine Blackwell leaned out of the French doors to the ballroom, caught sight of them, and whisked herself inside again. Calton’s lips twitched as he returned his gaze to the elder Miss Blackwell. “If you won’t let me help you, please speak to him.”
She seemed to think about that. “If you would really like to help me, and the worst comes to the worst, will you do your best for Jo? Despite everything, I think she trusts you. Likes you, even.” She rose to her feet. “I shall go and find my aunt. Thank you for your kindness, my lord.”
And she walked away, leaving him gazing thoughtfully at the slightly less-full plate. Taking a small pastry, he swung his leg over the back of the bench and gazed out over the small garden to the mews beyond.
“I think she trusts you. Likes you, even.” A smile began to play around his lips. He had no reason to hope it was true, and yet he did.
*
Josephine had spent the first hour of the ball avoiding Lord Calton. He then appeared to lose interest and ignore her, but along with the relief of that had come fresh anxiety. What was he saying to Helena? Was he flirting with her? Making horrible assumptions because of Josephine’s idiocy last night?
She had been appalled to see them leave the supper room together, and, when she casually followed, to discover them tete-a-tete on the terrace. Not that this was compromising in any way. Another couple at the near end of the terrace had the same idea, and several people strolled between. But still…
As she jerked herself back inside, hopefully before either Calton or Helena noticed her, she was conscious of an unpleasant little twist of emotion that she could not identify. Something worse than anxiety and impatience, something to do with the comfortable intensity of their talk. Unwilling to examine it, she merely made a brief visit to the ladies’ cloakroom and then hurried back to the terrace.
Whether from the chill or because the supper hour was all but over, people were beginning to drift back inside. Lord Calton was still there, though she could not see Helena.
Did the terrace wrap around the other side of the ballroom, too? She could not remember ever looking. Was Calton just waiting there until everyone else was back inside to…
To what? she asked herself fiercely. Compromise Helena? Take advantage? She might imagine him to be honorable enough to keep her secrets, but she did not know him. And since he seemed to be deep in thought and facing the other direction, she flitted down the length of the terrace to find only a narrow vegetable patch between the end of it and the kitchen door. And, of course, there was no sign of Helena or anyone else there.
She began to creep back the way she had come.
“You could just speak to me,” Calton said without turning.
“Why would I do that?”
“I could tell you that Miss Blackwell went back inside a few minutes ago and is probably with Lady Darling.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. Then, “How did you know it was me?”
“Your perfume.”
She scowled at his back. “I don’t wear perfume.”
“Then your body smells naturally delightful.”
“You,” she said crossly, walking toward him without meaning to, “are trying to provoke me.”
He rose and turned to face her, and she paused mid-stride. Somehow, she had forgotten how large he was, and even in the poor light, the fresh realization caught at her breath. Or something did.
