The Devil and the Viscount, page 8
She joined Mrs. Fitzwilliam for breakfast with a cheerful, “Good morning, ma’am!”
“Good morning, my dear.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam returned the greeting with a little less enthusiasm—she was not a morning person—though she did rouse herself to say, “You must rest for part of today in order to be at your best for the Carrington’s ball this evening. Oh, and a note was hand-delivered for you a few minutes ago.”
The note lay by her place setting, small and intriguing, but she forced herself to pile eggs and toast on her plate before walking to the table, her heart thumping. Could it be from Rollo? Would he be so indiscreet? He had kissed her hand, but that was really a respectful kiss a friend could not object to.
No, she reminded herself. He kissed my wrist. Which, though only a few inches away, was somehow much more intimate. He had even pulled down her glove to do it. What did…?
She unfolded the note to distract herself—it wasn’t sealed—and read the signature first. Catherine Dove.
It was as well, though that didn’t help the pang of disappointment. Miss Dove was suggesting a morning walk in the park, though she warned Miss Wallace her siblings would be present, along with their large but friendly dog.
In truth, the normal, family walk sounded just what she needed. “May I go alone, Mrs. Fitz?” she asked, passing her chaperone the note.
“The Doves are unexceptionable,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam pronounced. “Eccentric but unexceptionable. Connected to the Earl of Wenning, you know, and by marriage to the Marquess of Sedgemoor. And so, to Lady Rampton, in fact. Take Little, and if you don’t want the carriage, I’ll send a footman with you to the gate.”
Although the expedition now seemed top-heavy with servants, Gina thrust aside her spurt of irritation and prepared to enjoy a brisk walk in the nearest thing London possessed to the countryside.
Trailed by Little and George the footman, she reached the Cumberland gate to the park to discover a laughing family and a massive dog with a bark like a bear’s.
“Oh, there you are, Miss Wallace,” Catherine smiled, while a lad of about sixteen commanded the huge hound to sit. To Gina’s surprise, it did, although it seemed to hover on continually shifting paws. “Pup’s a little impatient because we made him wait. Shall we walk while I introduce you? These are my sisters, Arabella and Susan, and my brother Adrian, who claims to be too ill to return to school.”
“How do you do?” Gina said politely and found a large, canine nose thrust into her palm. She was used to dogs at home, so let him sniff and then ruffled him under the chin.
“He’ll love you forever now,” Adrian said with a grin, and then a young lady in black and a familiar gentleman appeared along another path. “And here’s Archie. What a surprise.”
Catherine ignored him. “I believe you’ve met Mr. Holles?” she said to Gina, who curtsied to the gentleman’s bow. “And this is my closest friend, Miss Hope Darblay.”
“She’s in mourning,” Susan explained unnecessarily.
“And a sort of cousin by marriage,” Arabella added.
“Miss Darblay,” Gina murmured with interest. The girl looked crushed by all her black crepe, and wistful. “I believe I met your brother last night at Lady Rampton’s soiree.”
A flash of indignation crossed Miss Darblay’s face. “He was there?”
“He was,” Catherine said, taking Mr. Holles’s arm. “He escorted Mrs. Snodgrass.”
“Oh God,” Miss Darblay said. “He must be going to do it.” She glanced at Gina, flushing slightly. Then her head tilted. “All of London knows our difficulties, so I expect you also know my brother feels compelled to marry a fortune to save the family.”
“Actually, I think he may have brought her devilment,” Catherine said with unexpected insight. “Just to annoy Lady Rampton. You know how disapproving she always is!”
“Papa has not been dead two months,” Miss Darblay said flatly. “Rollo should not be going to parties, as I’m sure all the tabbies were pointing out.”
“I think people are making allowances,” Mr. Holles said.
“So that he can ruin his life for coin?” Miss Darblay burst out.
“Is he not taking responsibility?” Gina said, then hastily, “Forgive me. This is none of my concern.”
A quick smile, alarmingly like Rollo’s, caught at Miss Darblay’s lips. “I rather think I have made it your concern by bleating about family matters in your company. I should ask for your forgiveness.”
“There is no need. Nor should you worry about my discretion. Being trapped with one’s own grief and a grieving parent can make one burst out occasionally.” She paused, guiltily. “Though I suspect that is not a polite expression.”
Miss Darblay laughed. “I like it. And I think it’s exactly what I’m doing. Have you lost a parent, Miss Wallace?”
“My mother. It was several years ago, now, but my father was inconsolable for a long time. The worst of it passes.”
“My mother does grieve,” Miss Darblay said. “My sister and I grieve. My brother…will not. He is too set on taking the responsibility he never would before. And when he wanted to, my father would never let him.”
“Everyone grieves in their own way.”
“Yes, but Rollo’s will tie him for life to a woman he neither likes nor respects. I cannot believe he will thrive in such a situation.”
Gina’s stomach twisted. “Have you met Mrs. Snodgrass?”
Hope shuddered. “No, but I saw her in the park once.”
“She is a little older than your brother, but I suspect she shares a little of his sense of humor.”
Miss Darblay’s eyes widened. “You know her?”
“I have spoken to her.”
“Is she not appallingly vulgar?”
“Apart from dress choices, no more than I. My father is a Manchester mill owner.”
Miss Darblay flushed to the rim of her black bonnet. “I beg your pardon. I meant no disrespect to your family, only to her appearance. It seems I am still bursting out. I shouldn’t be saying any of this to a stranger. Your eyes are too kind. And honest.”
For a time, they watched the dog chasing sticks thrown by the children and Mr. Holles.
“Would it be easier for you in the country?” Gina suggested.
“My mother will not go. She is too busy pointing Rollo toward heiresses.” She sighed. “And I am not the kind to hook a rich man and save him the trouble.”
“You’re not?” Gina said warily.
“Bookish and dull, with only passable looks and no dowry. No.”
In fact, Hope Darblay was rather charmingly pretty, although the black crepe did little to show it.
“He wanted to do it before, you know,” Hope said. “Improve the estate. Rollo runs on enthusiasm and that was the one he found when Papa wouldn’t buy him a commission. But Papa didn’t trust the ideas of a wastrel, even after Oliver—my brother-in-law—let him learn with his steward. I’m afraid if he marries for money, he will go straight to the devil thereafter.”
Gina looked at her. “Perhaps it is you who doesn’t trust him now.”
Hope’s eyes widened again. “You look at the world differently and aren’t afraid to say what you see.”
“Have I offended you?”
“Goodness, no.”
A piercing whistle rent the air, causing the dog to skid to a halt, head up and ears cocked. A man loped across the grass toward him, hat in hand. It didn’t need anyone to say his name for Gina to recognize Rollo Darblay.
Her heartbeat quickened. With the reality, she acknowledged she had hoped to see him here, even before she left the house, and especially after his sister had joined the party. He must have seen her among them, but he only waved his hat at the company in general by way of greeting, while he ruffled the dog’s head casually with one hand. Clearly, they were already acquainted.
“What are you doing here?” Hope asked dubiously.
He gave her a crooked smile. “Mama noticed you had gone and sent me after you.”
Hope groaned. “Am I not allowed half an hour to myself?”
“Of course you are. I’ve obeyed and found you. Now I can either shab off again or join the party.”
“Join the party!” Susan said with a cheer, and among the laughter, he did. He exchanged a few words with the children, threw a stick for the dog, and bantered with Catherine and Mr. Holles with the ease of old friendship.
Then he walked beside Gina and Hope, occasionally veering to play with the dog. It reminded Gina of their carefree day in the pleasure gardens at Maida, before she had complicated everything. His company was just as beguiling now—friendly, amusing, irreverent, and often surprising. She could never afterward remember what they had talked about, what he had said, but by the time they all parted ways, she felt relaxed and content once more.
And just a little excited, for he had asked everyone if they would be at the Carringtons’ ball this evening. Of course, he was in mourning. He shouldn’t be attending balls, but somehow, she didn’t put it past him.
*
As Little helped Gina dress for her first grand ball, the maid’s face was a mask of lofty disapproval. At last, Gina sighed. “Very well, out with it, Little. What have I done to incur your wrath?”
“If you don’t know, Miss—”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”
Little jabbed in a hairpin with unnecessary force. “That swaggering fellow. The one in the park. He was at Renwick’s Hotel.”
Damn. There was still nothing wrong with Little’s powers of observation. How much had she seen? “Yes, I went for a walk with him.” And danced with him. And went to his bed…
“Lord Longton wouldn’t like it.”
“If his lordship did not wish me to associate with London society, he would not have suggested I come,” Gina said, rising to her feet. “And frankly, Little, this is hard enough without you spying and scolding.”
“Spying!” Little gasped, affronted.
“The sapphire set, if you please.”
Little, who had always been given the privileges of an old retainer and made full use of them, all but gawped at her. But Gina had had enough. If she was adult enough to be sold for a title, then she would at least be treated with the respect due to a lady, not a naughty child.
Downstairs, Mrs. Fitzwilliam fussed and preened over her, and Fitz showed a gratifying tendency to goggle. From which she gathered she looked good enough to impress. She tried not to examine who this impression was aimed at, beyond her fellow guests. Lord Longton would be there, of course, as would Miss Dove and Mr. Holles. Fitz asked gallantly for the first dance, for which she was grateful since she had no desire to be a wallflower. Lord Longton had already told her he did not dance. For which she was also secretly grateful.
As it turned out, Lord Longton was the first person she noticed on entering the glittering ballroom. Although Gina had never seen so many bejeweled people in one place before, his lordship stood out, close to the door, in conversation with Lord Sedgemoor and a couple of other older gentlemen.
He saw her immediately and bowed. She inclined her head and then several people swept into the space between them. It came to Gina that he was still assessing her worthiness to be Lady Longton. He might want her money and her youth to bear him sons, but he would consider only a ladylike wife. She knew a defiant urge to shriek with laughter and stomp rather than glide across the floor as she had been taught.
And then she saw Rollo, prowling the floor as though looking for someone. Me?
“What is young Darblay doing here?” Mrs. Fitzwilliam exclaimed. “He really is not taking his mourning seriously, is he?”
“He did for a month,” Fitz defended. “Mostly. I daresay he won’t dance.”
“No, he’ll be in the card room losing the shirt off his back. Oh, look, Gina, there is Princess Hagerin. She is the widow of some German princeling, I believe, although everyone was surprised she married him and not Dearham. In any case, she is frightfully fashionable and just a little fast, but I should probably introduce you… Princess, how do you do? Allow me to present my protegee, Miss Wallace.”
Princess Hagerin was one of these devastatingly attractive women whom no one notices is not actually beautiful. She smiled graciously at Gina. “I believe I saw you at Lady Rampton’s the other night. Admiring Mr. Dornan’s portraits with Lord Longton.”
Gina’s own smile became fixed, for the princess’s eyes were extremely shrewd. “I liked the portraits very much, though I’m afraid I did not recognize many of them.”
“Oh, you will. Lord Longton should ask Mr. Dornan for a likeness of him. You will come to my Venetian breakfast, will you not, Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”
“Of course. We are looking forward to it.”
As the princess drifted onward, Gina was left with the feeling that she was meant to have understood something from the encounter, though she wasn’t sure what it was.
In any case, there followed another bewildering array of introductions, curtsies, and smiles, so it was a relief when the dancing opened, and she could join Fitz in a country dance. She enjoyed dancing, so her vague feeling of oppression lifted. Until she saw Rollo once more, almost plastered to the side of an astonishingly beautiful young woman in pink.
*
Rollo had just seen Gina joining the dance set with Fitz when he was ambushed by Miss Smythe and her mother. Their appearance took him entirely by surprise, for he hadn’t considered Mrs. Carrington would invite them. Fortunately, he was not obliged to dance with her, being in mourning, though at least the dance would have kept her to a proper distance more of the time. He’d had very naughty ladybirds who behaved with more decorum in public, he thought austerely, though it was not something he could say to the girl clutching his arm to her bosom.
Instead, he said, “Here, this is more the thing.” And prizing her hand off his upper arm, he set it on the sleeve of his lower arm instead, using his elbow to fend her off to a safer distance.
She pouted. “Anyone would think you didn’t want to be close to me.”
Anyone would be right. “You’ll get the kind of reputation you don’t want,” he said bluntly.
“Like yours?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Yes. Which does a lady more harm than it ever will me.”
“Not if she was Lady Darblay, surely?”
“You’re not. And my mother is always a lady.” Apart from the gambling and an excessive fondness for sherry, but this was not something Miss Smythe needed to know.
Her eyes spat venom for a moment, then she smiled. “I was only jesting, silly. It’s awfully crowded in here, is it not?” She wafted her fan. “I might need air.”
“Then I shall return you to your mother, who is better able to deal with fainting fits.”
She subsided once more, and before the dance had properly ended, he was able to fob her off on Calton, who was an earl and therefore outranked him. And Calton was more than able to take care of himself.
Free of her, he felt like dusting off his hands. All the same, he didn’t like her possessiveness. She really had thought he was in her pocket, and the needing air comment was clearly an effort to get him alone where, presumably, they would be discovered in a compromising position.
He should have been flattered, for no woman had ever pursued him to that extent before. Instead, he shuddered and watched Gina Wallace cross the floor on Fitz’s arm. Longton awaited her beside Mrs. Fitzwilliam and handed her into a chair beside his.
“Stop scowling, Rollo, you look like Lord Byron,” said a voice at his side. “Who is she?”
Rollo turned in some surprise to face his brother-in-law. “Wenning?” He thrust out his hand, and Lord Wenning shook it. “What are you doing here? Is Grace in town, too?”
“Yes, I left her with Hope and your mama. She seemed to think Hope needed a little…company. She’s trying to persuade them both to come back with us.”
“That would be an excellent idea.”
“Come, too, if you like.” The offer was made casually, by a man Rollo had once despised for making his sister miserable, but whom he now liked and grudgingly respected. Oliver Harlaw, Earl of Wenning, was also living proof that one could mature into sense and understanding without becoming a bore.
“I’d like to,” Rollo said with a touch of wistfulness, “but I have to see to my own estates.”
“Your mother believes she has to oversee your marriage. Hope believes she has to make sure you don’t marry.”
“It’s nothing to do with either of them,” Rollo said.
“Or me?” Wenning suggested, easily reading the unspoken message. “My interest is purely impersonal. Who is she?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Who inspired the Byronic scowl?”
“Lord, no one in particular. Just the whole situation. For example, see the beauty dancing with Calton? She is one of my mother’s favored choices.”
Wenning followed his gaze. “A diamond of the first water,” he agreed.
“She’s delightful from a distance. Anyway, what are you doing here without Grace? Did my mother send you to be sure I went about my mercenary courtships aright?”
“I imagine she thinks she did.”
Rollo gave a reluctant grin. “You’re a devious creature, Wenning. God knows why my sister puts up with you.”
“Game of piquet?” Wenning suggested.
“Why not?” Rollo said and walked with him across to the card room.
While Rollo dealt the cards, Wenning placed two glasses on the table and sat opposite him. They didn’t discuss what they were playing for. They both understood Rollo couldn’t pay, and Wenning would neither ask nor cheat in his brother-in-law’s favor.
“Why are you here?” Wenning asked as they began to play. “If the heiress isn’t the draw, who is?”
Rollo’s lips twisted. “Another heiress, if you must know. And one I can’t marry.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s betrothed to another. Play.”
“Rollo,” Wenning said with oddly kind mockery. “Faint heart never won fair lady.” Before Rollo could retort, Wenning, glancing toward the door, fixed his gaze. “And that has to be the famous Mrs. Snodgrass.”
