Chapter Twelve
This was nothing like he had expected it to be. Avery, his features schooled into the expression that worked for sensitive, yet boring, diplomatic parties, circulated the room, displaying an outer confidence while he fought an inner sensation that was something akin to panic.
Young women swirled around him like so many birds in an aviary, charming in their pastels and frills, smiling and flirting and chattering. Previously he would have been civil to the plain ones and the dull ones—not that Godmama had invited anyone who fitted those descriptions—and then admired the pretty ones with an appreciative male eye for their physical features.
Which was just what he would be guarding Alice against when she was their age—men like him. Shaken, Avery kept his eyes firmly raised above collarbone level and set himself to assess character, not curves. There were ten eligible misses assembled for him, the mix leavened—or perhaps the better word was disguised—by three married couples in their early thirties, eight bachelors of his age and younger, a couple of older widowers and a handful of widows of Lady Birtwell’s age. And Lady Laura Campion who was, he decided, neither fish, fowl nor good red herring.
‘Lord Wykeham?’ Lady Amelia Woodstock looked up at him through wide blue eyes, delightfully fringed by darker lashes. ‘Is something amiss?’
‘Am I scowling?’ he enquired. ‘I do apologise.’
‘No, not scowling, merely looking a trifle thoughtful and severe. No doubt matters of state are weighing on your mind.’ Her lips quirked into a confiding smile which managed to convey that she was hugely impressed by his importance, but also recognised that he was a man who might be charmed. By the right woman.
‘To be frank, they are not.’ Avery lowered his voice and leaned towards her. With a twinkle Lady Amelia inclined her head for him to divulge the secret. ‘I was wondering what a red herring was and why, precisely, it is always referred to as good red herring.’
‘Or why it is the term for a deceptive clue.’ Lady Amelia pursed her lips in thought. Full, kissable lips, Avery noted. ‘Perhaps Dr Johnson’s Dictionary would tell us.’
Us, not you. A clever little trick to increase the intimacy of the conversation. Not only a lovely young lady, but a bright one, as well. Not that he was ready to go off to the library and snuggle up on the sofa with only a massive tome as chaperon. Not quite yet, not with the first promising candidate.
He glanced up and saw Laura watching him. No, watching Lady Amelia and with an expression he could not read on her face. It was not approval. Jealousy? After that kiss in his bedchamber any other woman would be expecting either a declaration or a carte blanche, but Laura knew full well why he would never offer either of those. The only kind of relationship they might ever have was a flaming and very short-lived affaire characterised by lust on both sides and liking on neither. And, as he was a gentleman and had no intention of carrying out his threats to ruin her, that must remain in the realms of fantasy. It was a very stimulating thought though and his body reacted to it with a shocking lack of discipline.
With an inward snarl at his inner primitive male Avery wrenched his thoughts back to reality and the sensible thing, which was to avoid the blasted woman, get his rebellious body under control and stop reacting like a green youth whenever the scent of her was in his nostrils. But in the confines of one house, and with an innocent child in the middle of the thing, he was not certain how avoidance was going to be possible. He wondered whether it was still possible to purchase hair shirts.
He was certainly no fit company just at the moment for an innocent young lady, not without a moment or two to collect his thoughts. ‘Will you excuse me, Lady Amelia? It is almost time for dinner and Lady Birtwell asked me to take in Lady Catherine Dunglass, so I had better find her and make myself known.’
‘She is over there by the window in the yellow gown. So brave to wear that shade of primrose with red hair.’
Little cat, Avery thought, amused by the flash of claws. Lady Catherine had dark auburn hair and the primrose gown was a rather odd choice to complement it, but he doubted a mere man would have noticed without that little jibe. Was Lady Amelia aware of just why this house party had been assembled? Or perhaps she considered all single girls as rivals on principle and dealt with them with equal resolution. Perhaps they all did, he thought, startled by the notion that the ladies were hunting the single males with the same determination, although probably with rather different motives, as the gentlemen pursued them.
Parents were obviously searching for just the right husband for their daughters, but surely these girls, innocent, sheltered and privileged, were not ruthlessly seeking men? Weren’t they supposed to wait passively to be chosen, exhibiting their accomplishments and beauty? He glanced across at Laura again. The fast young women like her were after excitement, obviously, but these other young women? He was obviously hopelessly naive in this matter of courtship and he did not like feeling at a disadvantage. It was not a sensation he experienced often.
Avery murmured a word to Lady Amelia and made his way across to the window and Lady Catherine, passing close by Laura as he did so. She turned and looked at him, her gaze clear, limpid and implacable. Was it only obvious to him that she had been kissed to within an inch of ravishment only a short while before? Her lips were full and a deep rose-pink and a trace of rice powder glinted on her cheek where he must have roughened the tender skin with his evening beard. Marked her.
Mine, something primitive and feral growled inside him. Madness, his common sense hissed back. This woman was a threat to everything that was important to him. He had tried to put aside the knowledge that she was Alice’s mother, his daughter’s blood kin, and that by following his instinct, to keep the two apart, he was both punishing Laura and preventing Alice from ever knowing and loving her own flesh and blood.
Of all the awkward times and places to have an attack of doubt! Avery moved behind an ornate screen to try to collect himself for a moment. Alice would never stop wondering why her mother had left her. As she got older she would speculate on why her parents had not married—and would doubtless place the blame on Avery’s head.
I could tell her the truth—but then she will know Laura sent her away, completely out of her life. How could she face that rejection? She will know I am not her father. And if she blames me? I sent her father back to war and his death. I am stopping her mother from being with her. The shock would be terrible, her trust would be destroyed, not just in me, but in the whole basis of her life.
Fear was an alien emotion, except when he thought about Alice having an accident, being ill, being frightened. Now he knew he was afraid for himself. If Alice discovers the truth, I will have hurt her. And if I lose Alice, I have lost the only person I love.
Exerting all the control he had, Avery stepped out of cover and found Laura’s eyes still on him. Hell, he wanted her. If he had not known all the things he knew about her he would have liked her as much as he had liked ‘Mrs Jordan’. Her dubious reputation as Scandal’s Virgin meant nothing to him now, he realised as he met her gaze, filled with pain and fear and pride.
It took a physical effort to break that exchange of looks, to move. Then he was past her and asking Mr Simonson, a club acquaintance from White’s, to introduce him to Lady Catherine. Avery forced a smile and turned all his attention on the young woman.
She was shyer than Lady Amelia, but with a sweeter expression. By the time dinner was announced, with Lady Catherine seated to Avery’s left, she was chatting quite naturally, with no little tricks of flirtation. They agreed that they both preferred the theatre to opera, that the state of the king’s health was very worrying and disagreed over the paintings of the artist Turner, which Lady Catherine found inexplicable.
‘I prefer the work of Sir Thomas Lawrence. Papa had Mama painted by him and it is very fine. And I like paintings that tell a story.’ She smiled nicely at the footman serving her soup, which earned her points with Avery. ‘But then I like novels and I expect you think that very shocking.’
‘Minerva Press?’ he enquired. ‘Gothic tales of horror and romance?’
‘Of course!’ She laughed, then hastily put her hand to her lips as though anxious her mama would chide her for expressing herself too freely. ‘Do you despise novels, Lord Wykeham?’
‘Certainly not.’ He did not read them himself and the plots of most Gothic tales seemed improbable in the extreme, but he knew perfectly intelligent diplomatic wives who adored them, so he was not going to cross this young lady off his list just because of her tastes in reading.
Avery passed her the rolls and butter and found himself meeting the quizzical gaze of Lady Laura, diagonally across the table from him. Her glance slid from him to Lady Catherine and her mouth curved into a faint smile before she went back to her soup. Had he imagined that burning look with all its agonising emotions a short while ago? It appeared Laura approved of Lady Catherine. Perversely, he began to find the redhead a trifle vapid.
Laura was partnered by Lord Mellham, one of the slightly older bachelors. She looked exquisite, beautifully coiffed, dressed in an amber-silk gown that skimmed lower over her bosom and shoulders than the styles worn by any of the other unmarried girls. And she was wearing coloured gemstones, yellow diamonds, he rather thought. A slightly daring choice for a single lady, just as her rubies had been that night on the terrace, yet her behaviour was perfectly modest and not in the slightest flirtatious.
Avery studied her partner. Mellham kept glancing at the creamy curves displayed so enticingly close to him and seemed a trifle disappointed that he was not receiving more encouragement for his sallies. Soup finished, he put down his spoon and one hand vanished under the table. Avery felt himself stiffen. If Melham was touching her... Laura bit her lower lip, shifted slightly in her chair and whispered something. Mellham grinned and both hands appeared above the table again.
Avery caught Laura’s eye again. She lifted one dark brow and murmured something to Mellham, who went red. Obviously the lady had no need of protection tonight. Avery felt a curious sense of disappointment. Something in him wanted action, would have welcomed violence.
The soup plates were removed, the entrées brought out and Avery turned to his other side to make conversation with Mrs de Witt, the wife of a politician and a notable society hostess. With her he had to make no effort. The conversation flowed with the ease, and at the level, he was familiar with from countless diplomatic receptions. As his inner composure returned he reflected that it was tactful of Godmama not to surround him with unmarried ladies and settled down to enjoy Mrs de Witt’s opinions of the vagaries of various ambassadors.
* * *
Laura turned from Lord Mellham to chat to Mr Bishopstoke, the younger son of an earl and an old acquaintance. This gave her an excellent view of Lord Wykeham’s averted profile as he talked to Mrs de Witt.
‘Lady Birtwell has assembled a very creditable number of guests, considering the Season is still under way,’ Mr Bishopstoke observed.
‘I expect we all need a little rest and, besides, she always gives excellent parties.’
‘I suspect she has another motive than simple entertainment on this occasion.’
Laura, who had just popped a slice of lobster cutlet in her mouth, could only look the question.
‘Lord Wykeham is her godson,’ Bishopstoke murmured. ‘I think she is wife-hunting on his behalf.’
Laura disposed of the lobster in two irritable bites. ‘You mean at his request?’
Bishopstoke nodded. ‘He’s too downy a bird to find himself the victim of a managing old lady’s matrimonial schemes. No doubt he has decided it is time to settle down.’
‘I imagine he is perfectly capable of finding himself a spouse without help. He is not a green youth in need of guidance.’ Was he ever? It was difficult to imagine Avery was once as unsophisticatedly open as Piers had been.
‘He has been out of the country a great deal and can hardly be familiar with the field, shall we say.’
‘The field, as you put it, must be familiar with Lord Wykeham’s standing and reputation, though. They can mark out an eligible bachelor when they see one: titled, wealthy, intelligent, powerful and acceptably good looking. He only has to stand around and the pack will hunt him down, if that is not mixing our metaphors somewhat.’
Mr Bishopstoke gave a snort of laughter. ‘If you find him only acceptable, then the rest of us must surely give up the contest. I have it on the authority of all my sisters that the man is a positive Adonis.’
‘Hmm. Are you not a trifle tactless in discussing Lady Birtwell’s motives with someone who might be one of the field, Bishopstoke?’
‘Would you have him? You will never give any of the rest of us a second’s serious consideration, cruel one.’
‘Oh, poor Bishopstoke! And I never realised you were dying of love for me.’ She spared him a teasing pout and flutter of her lashes before she recalled her determination to be done with such nonsense. ‘I am sure I am too scandalous for Lord Wykeham. Besides, there is a slight problem with his impeccable credentials, is there not?’
‘The child, you mean? Would that matter to you?’
‘No.’ She made a show of considering it. ‘Not if I liked the man.’
‘And you do not even like him?’ Bishopstoke raised an eyebrow. ‘You amaze me, Lady Laura. Wykeham is being held up as a paragon of desirability.’
‘I find him arrogant, manipulative—’
‘Both useful characteristics in his profession, wouldn’t you say? The hauteur to maintain his country’s position and the ability to turn people and events to his will.’
‘Admirable in a diplomat, but not comfortable characteristics in a husband, though.’
‘Aha! Wicked girl, you want a man you can dominate.’
‘Of course. And if I found one that I could, then I would despise him for it. Do you wonder I have not married?’
‘It will have to be a marriage of equals for you then, Lady Laura my dear.’ He raised a glass. ‘Here is to that impossible creature, a man who is your equal.’
Laura forced a smile and touched her glass to his. ‘To a mythical beast, I fear.’
* * *
Lady Birtwell withdrew with the ladies after dessert, leaving the gentlemen in no doubt that they were not to linger over their port and nuts. Laura drifted over to the married ladies, unwilling to join the unmarried ones who, she was certain, would be chattering about the gentlemen and comparing their virtues. Or lack of them.
‘Lady Laura, how pleasant to see you again. Such a sad business, the loss of your parents.’ Lady Herrick patted the sofa next to her. ‘Come and tell me how you get on these days. Who is chaperoning you?’
‘My mother’s cousin, Lady Carstairs.’ She really must write and confirm the arrangements with Cousin Florence or word would get around that she was living scandalously alone with only the servants to maintain the proprieties and that would just about finish her reputation. Lady Herrick looked around and Laura added hastily, ‘Lady Birtwell is chaperoning me here. I hardly liked to impose another guest on the party when I know I can rely on her.’
‘She is a notable matchmaker, our hostess. I have hopes that she will steer someone suitable in the direction of my Emma.’ Lady Herrick nodded in the direction of her daughter, a very shy brunette who was hovering on the fringes of the group of girls.
‘There are a number of eligible gentlemen here, certainly.’
‘And one for you perhaps, my dear.’ Lady Herrick lowered her voice. ‘Lord Hillinger, perhaps?’
Lord Hillinger was forty, a widower with two daughters and a passion for racing. His looks were distinguished, his stomach flat, his hair all his own and his fortune large. ‘He is certainly a most eligible gentleman, from what I hear,’ Laura agreed with caution.
‘You have not met him? He is a connection of my husband’s family, I will introduce you. See, the gentlemen have returned to us.’ She waved to the third man through the door and he bowed slightly and came over. ‘Max, my dear, may I present you to Lady Laura Campion? Lady Laura, Lord Hillinger.’
They exchanged greetings and the earl took the chair opposite them and launched into perfectly unexceptionable small talk. Laura reciprocated with half her attention. She could discuss the Prince Regent’s latest building projects in her sleep.
‘I’m not certain Nash is the man for the job, though,’ Lord Hillinger remarked. ‘What do you think, Wykeham? Is Nash the man to create what Prinny wants down in Brighton?’
Laura was sure the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up as Avery’s deep voice came from right behind her. ‘Depends whether Nash can pander to the Regent’s shockingly bad taste. If he can, then he’ll do as dire a job as any architect. If he tries for restraint or elegance, he’ll be out on his ear. He’s got an eye to the main chance though, so no doubt he will prostitute his talents to order.’
‘Lord Wykeham!’ Lady Herrick turned with a shake of her head for his choice of words. ‘How nice to see you again. It seems an age since we met at the Congress, does it not? Come and sit down, do.’
He could hardly refuse, Laura realised, not without being unacceptably rude to the older woman. Avery came round the end of the sofa and took the other armchair in the little conversation-grouping.
‘Do you know Lady Laura, Wykeham?’ Lady Herrick was obviously more than happy to introduce Laura to men she would not consider suitable for her own, very young, daughter.
‘We are acquainted, yes, ma’am.’ There was nothing but polite acknowledgment in his slight bow to Laura and she flattered herself that no one could read a thing in her careful social smile in return. ‘Do you have an opinion on the planned works to the Pavilion, Lady Laura?’
‘They will certainly add to its entertainment value for those who spend the summer in Brighton. Whether it is an aesthetic experience or a circus show remains to be seen. Are you familiar with Brighton, Lord Wykeham?’
‘Only on the most fleeting visits when it has been necessary to report to his royal highness. I may consider it for a summer break this year. I imagine my daughter would enjoy the seaside.’
Beside her Laura felt Lady Herrick stiffen so she kept her voice light. ‘The beach is pebbles, unfortunately. But it is safe for swimming and her governess could take her out in a donkey cart. And there are delightful walks.’
The older woman relaxed, reassured, presumably, that Laura was not going to faint at the mention of the scandalous love child. ‘Will you excuse me? I see my daughter wishes to speak to me.’ The men rose and then sat again as she swept off.
‘And boat trips,’ Laura added, rather desperately. She really did not want to be talking to Avery at all, not in public and certainly not in front of anyone else. ‘And the air is very healthy. Do you not agree, Lord Hillinger?’
He did not have a chance to respond as a pleasant baritone voice remarked, ‘The air is always healthy and fragrant wherever you are, Lady Laura.’ Mr Bishopstoke dropped into the newly vacated seat beside her. ‘Never tell me you have identified two mythical beasts?’
‘Sir!’ Lord Hillinger was looking decidedly put out.
‘I beg your pardon, my lord. A little joke Lady Laura and I were sharing, as old friends do. She seeks a husband who is her equal, one who she is neither dominated by, nor can dominate. I tell her that she seeks a mythical beast.’
‘I do not find your humour amusing, sir.’ Lord Hillinger got to his feet, favoured Laura with a stiff bow and stalked off.
‘Philip, you wretch,’ Laura hissed, unable to look at Avery.
‘He is a stuffed shirt, as well to get rid of him for he won’t do for you, my girl. Now you have only got one mythical beast to deal with.’ He flashed his charming, mocking smile at Avery.
Laura braced herself for Avery’s crushing retort. There was silence. She risked a glance.
‘What sort of mythical beast are you imagining?’ Avery asked. He seemed faintly amused. Or perhaps that was simply the smile of a man about to knock another man’s head off. ‘I have wyverns on my coat of arms. Would that suit you, Lady Laura? Wings, scaly legs and a dragon’s head? No doubt it would be a fair contest.’
‘My goodness! That sounds like a proposal, Lady Laura.’ Bishopstoke appeared to find his own dubious wit hysterical. ‘Or a deadly insult. Shall I call Wykeham out for you?’
‘Do go away, Philip,’ Laura said with acid sweetness. ‘Or you may find that both Lord Wykeham and I will upend our teacups over you.’ He went, chuckling, leaving only Avery for her to be angry with. ‘A fair contest? What kind of creature do you consider me to be, to equal a wyvern?’
‘Perhaps they are like unicorns and will lie down at the command of a virgin.’ He watched her from beneath heavy lids, like a big cat contemplating a dead antelope and wondering if it could be bothered to get up and eat it. ‘Or no,’ he added in a low voice that would not reach beyond their little space, ‘that will not work, will it? A mermaid, do you think?’
Laura knew the symbolism as well as he did. ‘The female embodiment of lust? The creature that lures men to their doom?’ Why did he dislike her so? What was it about her relationship with Piers that seemed to anger him beyond reason? She found her hands were shaking and clenched them in her lap to still them. ‘Sending you to your doom seems very tempting, Lord Wykeham.’
‘I would like to see you try.’ He looked completely relaxed, that faint, infuriating smile still curving his lips. Those lips... No one glancing in their direction would guess he was mortally insulting her.
‘Then I would be delighted to oblige you, my lord.’ Laura got to her feet, inclined her head and swept over to join the single ladies where she could retrieve the rags of her temper unobserved amongst their self-absorbed gossip.
Avery Falconer was going to pay for his insults. Just as soon as she worked out how to punish him.