Regency Secrets, page 28
‘Well, I heard the men on his boat are escaped prisoners, even murderers.’
A hiss of satisfied gasps rippled through the small group.
‘And I heard he has a harem on board.’
‘What is a harem?’ asked a timid voice. ‘Is it some kind of animal?’
‘Animals. Plural,’ answered Lady Sophronia. ‘It means women, Miss Caversham. Not respectable women.’
‘He sounds dreadfully exciting. It is such a pity Grandpapa wouldn’t approve of him,’ said Lady Calista, and sighed.
‘Why not?’ Lady Sarah demanded, a trifle defiantly. ‘He might be all those things, but now he holds the title and the estate he is bound to put all that behind him and settle down.’
‘There is, however, the issue of his…birth.’ Lady Sophronia lowered her voice and there was a swishing of skirts as the group huddled closer. ‘His maternal grandfather was not only a foundling and a shopkeeper, but he trod the boards. There is some talk his mother did the same.’
‘She trod on what?’ asked the timid Miss Caversham as the others gave a gratifying gasp.
‘She was on the stage,’ Lady Sarah Ponsonby said impatiently. ‘An actress.’
‘And she was five years older than his father. They say she bewitched him. Truly! They eloped and set out to sea, and the present Lord Westford was born on a ship. That is how he became a pirate—just like Captain Drake.’
‘Ooh! How thrilling!’
‘Thrilling’ wasn’t the word Genny would employ.
She left the safety of her pillar and headed towards the entrance to the ballroom. Halfway there she was intercepted by the head footman, Henry, his face carefully devoid of expression.
‘Mr Howich wonders if you could be spared for a moment, Miss Maitland.’
Genny followed him into the hall and Henry closed the door behind them, muffling the rumbling rush of human noise.
‘What is it, Henry?’
‘His Lordship, Miss Maitland. He is here.’
This was said with such a portentous tone Genny couldn’t help smiling. Henry would have made a fine chorus for a Greek tragedy.
‘Here…where?’
‘In the library, miss. He asked for Mrs Carrington, miss, but she’s in the lady’s retiring room with Miss Emily, who’s gone and torn her flounce, so Mr Howich sent me to fetch you, miss.’
‘Very good, Henry. You needn’t wait.’
Henry nodded and hurried off, rather in the manner of someone being released from a cage shared with a prowling lion.
Genny entered the library, thinking fast. She had not gone to all this trouble to bring Serena back into the land of the living only for Lord Westford to waltz in and scupper all her efforts. There was too much at stake.
She stopped just inside the door, her thoughts stuttering to a halt. The man by the library window had turned at her entrance, candlelight shifting over his face and distorting its sharp lines. For a moment she was certain that Howich had made a mistake and admitted the wrong man. Eight years had passed since she’d last seen Captain Carrington, but she must have been a child indeed to have forgotten how handsome he was.
Strange.
And—even more strange—she felt a stab of inexplicable disappointment.
She pushed it aside and focused on the man who held her sister’s fate in his hands. And therefore hers as well.
Lady Sarah was right—even in the gloom there was no denying that he was an exquisite specimen of manhood. Julian and Marcus were unfairly attractive men, but Lord Westford was close to being an ideal of thoroughly male beauty.
Scandalous or not, Genny sincerely doubted the new Lord Westford was about to receive the cold shoulder—at least not from the female half of the Ton. And perhaps not from a good portion of the male half as well.
His dark brown hair caught the candlelight, shining with the faintest hint of auburn, and his sun-darkened skin made the famous Carrington blue eyes gleam like shadowed sapphires. He was dressed in the height of fashion, but without a glint of colour to break the chiaroscuro landscape. Even the pin in his cravat was made of something dark, obsidian, perhaps.
If those young ladies were expecting a pirate, they might be surprised by the reality of Lord Westford, but Genny doubted they would be disappointed.
He moved away from the window and his eyes narrowed as they inspected her, a little puzzled. He probably was having difficulty placing her—which didn’t offend her in the least. She would rather not be instantly memorable as the scrawny, taciturn seventeen-year-old he’d known while serving under her grandfather in Spain.
Then a faint smile that would most certainly please the likes of Lady Sarah curved his mouth.
‘Well, well… Genevieve Maitland.’
Ah. She remembered his voice. Her grandfather had always said he had a natural voice for command.
‘Lord Westford,’ she replied, moving into the room. ‘You choose your moments.’
His mouth quirked and those dark blue Carrington eyes narrowed, flashing with either annoyance or humour. ‘Shall I leave?’
‘That might be a good idea…’
His eyes widened, surprise wiping away the smile, and Genny continued.
‘However, I think it is a little late for that. You were seen entering the house and the ballroom is already buzzing in anticipation. It would only make matters worse.’
‘Worse for whom? And worse than what?’ His smile was back as he approached the table, where she saw Howich had cleverly set out a decanter of wine. ‘Would you care for some wine? I have a feeling I shall be needing it.’
‘Probably.’
‘That bad?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On you, Lord Westford. We did not know you were planning to attend.’
He poured her a glass and approached her. His smile was still there, but it had changed into something of a warning, and in a way she was grateful for that. He was an intelligent man—there was little point in playing games. There was also very little time to beat around the bush.
‘This is my house, Miss Maitland,’ he said with quiet emphasis as she took the glass from his long fingers. ‘I am not required to announce my comings and goings.’
She smiled at the rebuke. Her memories were returning with each word he spoke. ‘Certainly not, my lord. But unless it is your express purpose to put Lady Westford…and thus your family…at a disadvantage, I think it is best that we ease her into the knowledge of your arrival at her first big social appearance since coming out of mourning. Which, unless I am mistaken, is why you sent for Mary rather than going directly to the ballroom.’
He leaned back against the table, gently swirling the wine in his glass as he listened to her. ‘I can almost hear your grandfather when you speak, Miss Maitland. Where is Mary, by the way?’
‘I believe she is helping Emily with a torn flounce. Howich will fetch her the moment she is available. I think it best that she and Emily accompany you into the ballroom, and after I have a word with your grandmother I shall ensure Marcus and Julian are on hand for a show of family solidarity. This is best done during the pause in the dancing and before everyone goes in for supper. When the dancing recommences after supper you should dance with several of the young women, starting with the Duke of Burford’s granddaughters as the Duke is a particular friend of your grandmother. Mary will make the introductions. Marcus and Julian have already done so, and it will be expected. Oh, and you should take Her Grace the Duchess of Firth in to supper. She has precedence.’
His brows rose and rose as she spoke. ‘Anything else, Miss Maitland?’
‘No. My grandfather always said that of all his officers you were the one with the greatest degree of common sense and self-discipline, and I trust his judgement implicitly. I also infer from what Mary has told me over the years that you care deeply for her and Emily and would do nothing to jeopardise their happiness.’
‘Good God, you do nothing by half-measures, do you?’
‘There isn’t time. By now everyone in the ballroom will be waiting for your grand entrance. Some are expecting a hunchback. Others are hoping you have brought a few members of your harem with you.’
‘Hell and damnation.’
‘Yes. Now I must go and prepare your grandmother and your cousins…’ She paused as the door opened and Mary hurried in, a smile lighting her face.
‘Kit! I didn’t think you would come!’
Lord Westford straightened away from the table, his smile changing again, softening.
‘I wasn’t going to—but then guilt overcame good sense. I should have warned you.’
‘Nonsense! I’m delighted you decided to come after all, and Emily will be aux anges. Come…’
She took his arm. But Lord Westford merely threw Genny a slightly cynical look. ‘In a moment. Miss Maitland has to smooth my path first, apparently.’
Mary, utterly guileless, smiled. ‘Oh, that is probably best. When should we follow, Genny?’
‘Ten minutes—no more.’
‘Such faith in oneself is admirable,’ he murmured. ‘Go to it, Miss Maitland.’
Genny ignored the undercurrents in his voice. She didn’t need Lord Westford to like her. He was intelligent enough to do what was right without being coaxed. Still, his tone pinched at her as she left the room, as if her laces had been tugged by an inexperienced maid.
She found Julian and sent him to prepare Marcus, then went in search of Lady Westford. That lady was still holding court in the dowagers’ corner, a densely packed jungle of jewelled and feathered turbans, shawls and politics. Two patronesses of Almack’s, one duchess, and three countesses flanked Lady Westford, and it was evident from their watchful smiles as Genny approached that they had heard the gossip. Genny, who had hoped to speak with Lady Westford in private, realised that would be a mistake.
She widened her smile. ‘Wonderful news, Lady Westford, Kit has arrived!’
Her tone sounded a little over-bright to her own ears, and for a moment she wondered if Lady Westford would spoil her hand. Then the heavy lids lowered, and when they rose Genny knew that Lady Westford’s self-interest had won over her antipathy.
For the moment.
‘How marvellous, my dear Genevieve. I don’t believe you have yet met my grandson, Lord Westford, have you, ladies? He has been much away these years.’
Genny happily fell into the background as the seasoned dames of society made polite enquiries while they awaited the grand moment. Again she tensed at the sound of society ruffling its feathers as Lord Westford finally entered, but to her relief he exhibited none of the antagonism she’d felt roll off him in the library. He looked completely at his ease, with Emily on his arm and Mary by his side.
Julian, bless him, approached them, and the two men spoke with every external sign of amiability. Marcus didn’t follow suit, but came to stand beside Lady Westford as the cavalcade proceeded, a faint smile playing at his mouth as he watched. Genny was tempted to poke him in the back with her fan, but remained where she was. There was always a point at which any additional act was likely to do more ill than good.
Talk rose and fell like gusts of wind about the room, and the musicians, as instructed, played a subdued but cheerful tune in the background. Lord Westford finally reached Lady Westford and stopped, his gaze holding his grandmother’s.
‘Good evening, Grandmama. You must tell me your secret. You haven’t changed at all since last we met.’
There was the faintest grunt of amusement from Marcus, and Genny waited in mute agony for Lady Westford’s reaction. Finally, her gloved hand was extended, quivering a little before Lord Westford took it and bowed over it. The silence felt a trifle too long, but then it was over, and Lady Westford was introducing him to the ladies seated beside her.
Howich, with impeccable timing, opened the doors to the supper room and Lady Westford rose. The Duke of Burford’s corset creaked as he hurried towards her, while Lord Westford extended his arm to the Duchess of Firth and all the rest fell into their designated pairings with the ease of long practice.
Genny watched the procession, her shoulders lowering as it advanced. She realised she had a death grip on her fan, and eased her hands before the poor thing cracked under the pressure.
Chapter Four
Genny had always agreed with Wellington’s words after Waterloo: ‘Next to a battle lost, the greatest danger is a battle gained.’
It was precisely what kept her from declaring the battle gained, despite supper passing without incident and nothing horrid happening as the new Lord Westford led damsel after damsel on to the dance floor for the next hour.
If he noticed her watching him like a hawk, he gave absolutely no sign. Like Julian, he possessed the skill of seeming to bestow his total attention upon his partners, and as she’d predicted, the Ton was at least temporarily bowled over by his external attributes, more than willing to be indulgent of this new and exotic toy dropped into its pen.
Finally, exhausted from her vigil, Genny relaxed enough to leave the ballroom in search of Howich. Barring any disaster yet to occur, the final verdict on the success of the Carringtons’ return to society would not only be measured in the family’s behaviour, but in the quality of the supper, the musicians, and the uninterrupted flow of spirits. There was no more she could do in the ballroom, but at least she could ensure the flow of wine to the card rooms.
She had just reached the hall leading to the servants’ entrance behind the main staircase when a voice hailed her.
‘A moment, please, Miss Maitland.’
Oh, dear, what now?
Genny didn’t speak the words aloud as she turned to face Lord Westford, but her face must have expressed her thoughts quite faithfully.
His smile was mocking as he surveyed her, and there was no sign of the charm he’d recruited in the supper room and on the dance floor. The shadow cast by the rise of the stairs softened the hard-cut lines of his face. It should have dimmed the impact of his unfairly handsome visage and imposing size, but it merely added a predatory threat.
But if he meant to intimidate her by looming over her like that, he would be sorely disappointed. She’d never responded well to intimidation.
‘Well, Miss Maitland?’ he asked as she remained silent.
‘Well, Lord Westford?’ she echoed.
‘“Well” as in did I pass muster?’
‘Surely you don’t need a subaltern’s opinion on that, Captain Carrington?’
‘Hardly a subaltern. Come.’
‘Where?’
‘Time to face the music, Genevieve Maitland.’
‘What does that mean?’ She frowned, her nerves tingling.
‘It is a phrase I learned from an American friend after the wars. It means answering the call of the bugles into battle.’
‘Oh, no, what has happened now?’ She was too weary to keep the exasperation from her voice, and a strange look, almost of satisfaction, crossed his face.
‘You shall see.’
She squared her shoulders and allowed him to lead her back into the ballroom. She scanned the landscape, but nothing horrible was apparent. There were fewer people than before supper, but that was to be expected as some of the older guests had left after supper, or gone to sit down and ease the effects of overeating in one of the dimly lit drawing rooms set up for that purpose.
She noted with resignation that Marcus was nowhere to be seen, but she wasn’t overly surprised. At least Julian was still there. He was dancing with a rather dashing countess whose husband was always the first to populate the card tables. He caught her glance and his cheek twitched in something approaching a wink.
She sighed and frowned up at Lord Westford. ‘I don’t see anything…untoward. What is it?’
‘Your penance. Come.’
He took her arm, directing her towards the dance floor and instinctively she resisted.
‘No.’
His hold tightened. ‘That frightening Mrs Drummond-Burrell is watching us. You wouldn’t wish to blight Emily’s chance of entering the hallowed halls of Almack’s by leaving me standing on the dance floor, would you?’
Genny snapped her mouth shut and they moved forward again. To her further dismay, the musicians, who had finished a sedate country dance, were beginning the first strains of a waltz. Unlike the waltzes before supper, this was not at trois temps but at deux, its slower tempo more suited to the now pastry-and-champagne-heavy guests. Now she wished she’d not requested this modification from the musicians—the faster waltzes made talking rather difficult, and she was not feeling amiable enough to smile and converse with Lord Westford.
‘It cannot be helped now, but in future you should ask a lady before presuming she wishes to dance,’ she said under her breath.
‘Just as you asked each and every one of us if we wished to be dandled from your puppet strings this evening?’
‘I see. So this is by way of revenge?’
‘For making Emily’s first ball a success? I am not so petty. Besides, I don’t think any of my partners these past couple of hours considered their dances with me punitive.’
‘I am certain you can be charming when you wish, Lord Westford. But, although I am also certain you did not notice, I have chosen not to dance tonight. Dancing with you now, and in particular a waltz, will occasion precisely the kind of comment I was hoping to avoid during this already challenging evening.’
‘You are wrong.’
‘You may be an expert in many fields, Lord Westford, but this is not one of them.’
‘I wasn’t referring to my social skills, or lack thereof. Merely that I did notice you were not dancing. Mary has told me you prefer to focus your energies on ensuring that the grand return of the Carringtons to the bosom of the Ton goes smoothly.’
