A Crime of Manners (12 page)

“Giles!” she cried happily, placing her hand on the duke’s arm possessively. Then, seeming to realize the impropriety of this overly familiar behavior, she blushed adorably. “I meant to say, your grace, of course.” Much fluttering of eyelashes and a thrusting chest accompanied this correction.

The duke felt somehow relieved to see Lady Clorinda despite her improper use of his name. Somewhere in his mind the voice of duty assured him that Lady Clorinda was of appropriate rank, and possessed a sizable fortune, not to mention her bosom. She was a suitable choice for his duchess. Another, quieter, voice said there was something about her that rang false. That Miss Henrietta Lanford was the true lady. But he had lived his life according to the dictates of his sense of duty, and old habits die hard.

To Henrietta’s disgust, the duke smiled down at

Lady Clorinda, who promptly began an intimate conversation with him that required his full attention. Henrietta looked about the crowds for Lord Baddick.

The viscount saw Miss Lanford and disengaged himself from a flirtatious conversation with a recent widow. He hailed Henrietta, wondering if the time was right to put his plans into action.

“Miss Lanford, Lady Fuddlesby, your servant,” he said, arriving to stand before the ladies and sketching a bow. “How enchanting you look in lilac, Miss Lanford! Won’t you take my arm and walk with me a little?” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a suspicious look from the Duke of Winterton and felt a qualm of unease. He dismissed it, believing the duke’s interest would not be held by a mere squire’s daughter.

As the party moved toward the food tables, Lord Baddick and Henrietta dropped back and followed at a leisurely pace. Holding out his arm for her, Lord Baddick saw with satisfaction the dark shadows underneath Henrietta’s eyes. He began speaking in a low, comforting voice. “I could not rest last night, thinking of your humiliation at Winterton’s hands. You, who are all that is innocent and good, should be protected from such as him.”

Henrietta shuddered inwardly at the memory of her childish behavior at Almack’s. “My lord,” she said quietly, “you are most kind, but I beg you to speak of other matters.”

Lord Baddick, secretly pleased his prey continued in a vulnerable state, placed his gloved hand over hers and squeezed it lightly. “Forgive me, fairest one. Believe that it is my greatest desire you should forget the entire incident. Allow me to obtain a plate of delicacies for you. Something to eat and drink will help restore your spirits.” He led them to the table where people milled about, chatting and nibbling food.

Of its own volition, Henrietta’s gaze sought the duke. He stood with Lady Clorinda and her parents, Lord and Lady Mawbly. Lady Fuddlesby and Colonel Colchester were nearby. As Lord Baddick selected foods from the table, Henrietta idly noticed Lord Mawbly break away from the little group and walk over to Lady Fuddlesby. A puzzled frown appeared between Henrietta’s brows as Lord Mawbly and Lady Fuddlesby moved away to conduct a private conversation, and the duke stepped up to his godfather, taking the lady’s place. Lord Baddick returned to her side, offering her a filled plate, and she turned her attention to him.

Across the lawn, Lady Fuddlesby waited for Lord Mawbly to state his business. She was impatient at this interruption from an affable conversation with the colonel.

“Lady Fuddlesby, thank you for sparing me a few moments of your time,” Lord Mawbly began, his eyes darting back and forth, looking anywhere but at her. Lady Mawbly had not ceased her nagging about Lady Fuddlesby’s pink tourmaline ring. When she saw Lady Fuddlesby arrive, she demanded her husband accost the woman immediately and offer to buy the ring whatever the cost.

“Why, certainly, Lord Mawbly, but I confess I am at a loss to know what this is about,” Lady Fuddlesby prompted with raised eyebrows.

Lord Mawbly bitterly addressed the ornamental lake. “You see, my wife loves jewels. Never has enough. Wants your ring, the pink tourmaline. Pay you whatever sum you name.” He appeared relieved to get the request out, but this proved short-lived.

Lady Fuddlesby was taken aback. The pink tourmaline ring had been a gift from the late Viscount Fuddlesby. He brought it back for her from Russia after a diplomatic mission he undertook shortly after their marriage. It was a particular favorite of hers, being her well-loved pink color and holding sentimental value. The thought of it gracing Lady Mawbly’s hand brought a
moue
of distaste to Lady Fuddlesby’s lips.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Lord Mawbly, but I could not part with it,” Lady Fuddlesby informed him gently but firmly, then turned and walked away.

Lord Mawbly, in a panic, sought to prolong the moment he must tell Lady Mawbly of his failure. He slipped away toward the Peabodys’ house in hopes of obtaining a few minutes’ refuge from his wife.

Through narrowed eyes, Lady Mawbly watched him disappear. She and Clorinda stood near Henrietta and Lord Baddick, who were conversing over their plates.

Henrietta’s proximity was not lost on Clorinda. When she saw Lord Baddick move to the end of the table to get some champagne from a footman, she seized the moment.

In a carrying voice she felt certain would reach Henrietta’s ears she said, “Does Papa plan to be at home in the morning, Mama?” Before Lady Mawbly could answer, Clorinda winked at her, tilting her head slightly toward Henrietta, and continued, “I dearly hope so as the duke has an important question to ask of him.” Maidenly giggles followed this lie.

Clorinda’s words struck her target. Henrietta wished she had not eaten anything because she suddenly felt violently ill. So the duke was to marry Clorinda. She should not be surprised. She should not care. She would not begin to cry and bring yet another scene down upon her and her kind aunt’s head.

Henrietta rushed the few steps over to Lord Baddick, placing a hand on his arm to gain his attention. “Please, my lord, I am feeling a bit faint. Would you take me away for a moment or two? A stroll, perhaps, might clear my head.”

Lord Baddick exclaimed solicitously, “At once!” He removed the plate from her hand, setting it on the table. Observing the blank look in her eyes, he felt a thrill of power. Something had happened. ’Twas a shame he missed whatever it was, but no matter. He knew an opportunity when he saw one.

They walked in the opposite direction of the crowded tables toward a small copse of trees. The grass was soft under Henrietta’s lilac slippers. Lord Baddick’s arm felt safe and secure under her hand.

Henrietta felt cloaked in a sense of unreality. Her mind focused on the duke and Lady Clorinda. They would marry, have children. A mental image of the duke, holding a beautiful baby, brought a fresh twist to the icy knot in her stomach.

Lord Baddick walked them around to behind the screen of the trees. He turned to face her. “Miss Lanford... Henrietta, my love,” he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist. He drew her close, bending his head down to hers.

Henrietta did not realize how isolated they were when they reached the other side of the trees away from the party. All she was conscious of was the pain in her heart. Lord Baddick’s face looming over hers, about to kiss her, brought her sharply back to reality.

“My lord!” she exclaimed, stepping back outside his arms. “Indeed you must not.” She raised her hands to her flushed cheeks.

Lord Baddick seethed with rage. The little tease. He would have her. Like any other woman, she was most likely holding out for a marriage proposal. Well, he would not let a few meaningless words stand between him and his desire. He dropped down to one knee.

“Forgive me for rushing you, fairest one! Your beauty momentarily blinded me to the honor I must always show you.” He reached up and grasped one of her hands, a look of adoration marking his features. “I know you do not yet return my love, but allow me the chance of earning that longed-for emotion. Will you be my wife?”

Henrietta blinked in astonishment. A proposal of marriage from this rich and handsome lord! Why, oh, why could it not be the Duke of Winterton? Giles. Her mind registered the duke’s given name for the first time. But he was to marry Clorinda.

She looked down at the eager face of Lord Baddick. It was true she did not love him. But he was kind and he said he loved her. Perhaps in time she would come to love him. Her parents would be pleased. And she must marry! There was no other life for a gently bred female.

Trembling with the enormity of her decision, Henrietta gently raised the hand Lord Baddick held until his lordship rose to his feet. She looked frankly into his hazel eyes and said, “Yes, my lord. I shall marry you.”

Chapter Seven

Lord Baddick felt his pulses quicken in triumph. “Henrietta, you have made me the happiest of men!” He raised her gloved hand and placed a light kiss on it. He could hardly satisfy his lust at this cursed breakfast, so he would not frighten her. “But I am so dreadfully ashamed,” he bemoaned, his eyes downcast.

“Why, what is amiss, my lord?”

Lord Baddick quickly lied. “I must beg Lady Fuddlesby’s leave to pay my addresses to you, and I do not have the family betrothal ring with me in Town.” He looked at her longingly. “It is a large sapphire, surrounded by diamonds. A perfect match for your eyes.”

“My lord, it does not matter. You may ask my aunt without producing a ring, and I am sure—

Lord Baddick’s mind raced. “Never! It would be an insult to you. I planned to offer you my escort to the Royal Italian Opera tonight. Catalani is to perform. I could leave Town for my estate the first of next week.” This much was true, Lord Baddick thought, unwillingly remembering the suspicious look on the Duke of Winterton’s face earlier. He thought bleakly he would probably have to rusticate again.

“I could be back at your side, with the ring, by the end of next week. Oh, ‘parting is such sweet sorrow,’ fairest one!”

Henrietta really did not care one way or another about the ring, but if it mattered to this man she would one day call husband... “Very well, my lord. We will wait until you have returned with the ring to ask my aunt.”

Lord Baddick grinned. “A secret betrothal, then?”

Her answering smile was bittersweet. How the old Fantasy Henrietta would have relished this! “Yes, a secret betrothal. But only until you return to Town.”

He put his arm around her and gave her a friendly squeeze, as if they were children and had formed a secret pact.

They began walking back to the alfresco meal. No sooner had they rounded the copse of trees when they came face-to-face with a stony Duke of Winterton.

Henrietta shot him a startled look. “Your grace!”

The duke eyed the pair grimly. “Miss Lanford,” he said, his cold gray eyes on the viscount, “I wondered at your absence.” His tone was relatively civil, but his jaw tensed. It appeared the girl had totally ignored his warnings about the blackguard.

Henrietta glared at the duke with burning, reproachful eyes. “It appears your ‘brotherly’ instincts are once again coming to the fore, your grace. I do not know what has given you fancies, but I assure you I am perfectly safe!”

Winterton’s sharp gaze ran the length of her. As he addressed Henrietta, he turned his attention to Lord Baddick. Lazily he drawled, “I hope you may be right, Miss Lanford. I have no desire to visit Chalk Farm.” He bowed mockingly before turning and walking leisurely back to the party.

Henrietta, caught up in her own anxieties, did not see Lord Baddick’s complexion pale at the mention of the famous dueling grounds. She had no idea what Chalk Farm was. Confused, she asked, “Pray, my lord, what did the duke mean by not wanting to visit Chalk Farm?”

Seemingly interested in a small beetle on the path, Lord Baddick replied, “I neither know nor care. It may be one of his properties.”

“But why should that have anything to do with me?”

Lord Baddick squashed the bug with the toe of his boot. “Bless me if I know. Perhaps Winterton’s in his cups.”

As they walked back to the others, Lord Baddick kept up a light flow of conversation regarding the Royal Italian Opera. No mention was made of the betrothal or plans for their wedded future, which would have alerted Henrietta that something was dreadfully wrong here, had she a tendre for Lord Baddick.

Instead she allowed herself to be diverted, her youthful enthusiasm growing at the prospect of her first opera. “Oh, my lord, I must ask my aunt if we may go! I would so love to hear the famous Catalani sing!”

They approached Lady Fuddlesby a few minutes later with the plan. She and Colonel Colchester were enjoying thin slices of Westphalian ham. The lady pronounced herself in alt at the prospect of hearing the diva. “Yes, we would be quite delighted to attend, Lord Baddick. How kind you are to offer your escort.”

Colonel Colchester’s eyes narrowed. There was to be a reunion of several of his retired military friends that evening. He had committed himself to the festivity and could not draw back at this late time. While he did not like the idea of the ladies being alone with Baddick, he could see no way out of his obligation. “I would like to accompany you, Lady Fuddlesby, but fear I cannot.” After a moment’s consideration he added, “Perhaps I could meet you after the opera, and we could all enjoy a late supper at Grillons.”

The pleased ladies quickly agreed to this plan, and Colonel Colchester decided he had bested the viscount.

Lord Baddick felt he needed to go carefully when planning his next move. The duke and his godfather were proving to be a nuisance. “I shall call for you tonight at nine of the clock.” He bowed and took his leave.

Watching his lordship’s retreating back, Henrietta wished she could confide her betrothal to Lady Fuddlesby. But she suppressed the emotion when she remembered her promise to keep it a secret. There could be no harm in waiting a week, she reasoned.

Lady Fuddlesby looked at her with a decidedly matchmaking gleam in her eye. She leaned close to her niece and whispered encouragingly, “You see, my dear, did I not predict gentlemen would be about you like bees around a rose?”

“Something like that, Aunt,” Henrietta said, and laughed. She impulsively leaned forward and placed a swift kiss on Lady Fuddlesby’s rouged cheek. She did not like keeping secrets from this lady whom she had grown to love.