A Regency Charade (17 page)

Gar’s disapproval over Alec’s pursuits and interests did not stop with gambling. He was appalled at the size of Alec’s wardrobe, remarking that the excessive number of his coats indicated “a shocking extravagance and a tendency toward vanity.” According to Gar, Alec’s entire life was reprehensible: he rose too late in the morning, went to bed too late at night and was completely decadent in between. Alec’s friends, Gar said, were too frivolous, his pursuits too mindless and his habits too self-indulgent.

This stream of criticism became so irritating to Alec that he was often tempted to suggest to Gar that he was wasting his time as a bibliographer—that his talent for
preaching
indicated a decided bent for holy orders. But he held his tongue, for in moments of detachment he recognized with amusement that he, Alec, could have been quite the same sort of pedantic nuisance if his life after Oxford had continued as predicted.

But there was a good reason why Gar hammered away at Alec with such irritating persistence. Alec had been the friend he’d most admired, the fellow he’d always tried to emulate. Alec, in their school days, could do no wrong. Gar admired his thinking, his appearance, his character and even the woman Alec had chosen to wed. His devotion to his old friend had been so deeply ingrained that, even now, it would not waver.

Garvin Danforth considered himself an idealist, and it had troubled him deeply when he first began to see the extent to which his friend Alec had changed. Alec seemed to have lost
his
ideals. But he suspected that his separation from his wife had caused Alec great pain, and he soon began to realize that Alec’s descent into dissipation was an escape from the unpleasant reality of his life. Gar understood, and in his mind, he forgave Alec completely.

But understanding and forgiving did not necessarily mean, in Gar’s view, approving. He
could not
and
would not
approve of Alec’s behavior. While he had a breath in his body, he would fight to save Alec from a descent into a life of waste and corruption.

For Alec, however, Gar’s endless sermons were more irritating than uplifting. Although his affection for his old friend remained, his desire to be in the fellow’s company decreased markedly. Ferdie, on the other hand, became more welcome than ever. Ferdie, with his easy disregard for rules and conventions and his outspoken lust for pure, mindless pleasure, seemed to be a companion more suited to a grown man who had faced the realities of life. Gar seemed still a boy, full of romantic illusions. Despite Gar’s patent disapproval, Alec continued to accompany Ferdie on any dissipated course the ex-Major suggested. Alec invited Gar to join them, but more often than not, Gar chose to remain behind. Alec did not often reject Ferdie’s invitations in order to stay at home with Gar, even though he felt guilty for leaving his old friend behind. Now more than ever, he needed the escape from his thoughts which his adventures with Ferdie provided.

Gar, of course, felt rejected during these times when Alec and Ferdie went off without him. He wavered between an urge to cut his holiday short and return to work and a contradictory inclination to remain here with Alec and fight Ferdie for Alec’s character. Musing over this decision one evening, sitting in Alec’s drawing room and brooding in a chair by the fire, he was interrupted by a cough from Kellam, who stood nervously in the doorway. “Yes, what is it, Kellam?”

“Pardon, Mr. Danforth, but there’s a lady ’ere …”

“A
lady
? To see me?”

“To see the Cap’n. But she says she wants t’ wait fer ’im. Where ’m It’ put ’er, eh?”

“Put her? I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean where’s she t’ wait? We ain’t got no sittin’ rooms fer ladies in this ’ere place. This ’ere drawrin’ room’s the on’y place what’s right to put a lady …”

“Oh, I see.” Gar pulled himself to his feet in haste, putting up one hand to smooth his hair and the other to straighten his neckcloth. “I suppose you’d better bring her in here, then.”

Kellam shrugged and disappeared. In a moment he was back, leading in the most spectacular young lady Gar had ever seen. “In ’ere, Miss Vickers. The Cap’n’s chum Mr. Danforth’ll keep ye company.”

“Thank you, Kellam,” the lady said with a gracious smile and crossed over the threshold. She held out her hand to Gar. “Mr. Danforth, how do you do? I had
heard
that Lord Braeburn had an old school friend staying with him.”

Gar bowed over her hand and then stood fidgeting in awkward discomfort. He didn’t know what to say or do—the situation was not one which he felt competent to handle. In the first place, the lady had brought no companion with her. He had never before heard of a lady of breeding who would pay a call on a gentleman at night without chaperonage of any kind. In the second place, Kellam had taken himself off without properly introducing them. Gar hadn’t even caught her name! And in the third place, the lady herself was so gaudily attired, and her gown was cut so low over her bosom, that Gar didn’t know where to look.

The lady, sensing his discomfiture, laughed coquettishly. “Well, Mr. Danforth, are you going to stand there eyeing me like a fish, or will you ask me to sit down?”

“Oh! Ah … yes. Please. Do sit down, Miss … er … Miss …”

“Vickers. Clio Vickers.” She pulled off the shawl that had been hanging from her arms, placed it on the back of the chair facing the one he’d been occupying and settled herself into it comfortably.

“Vickers?” he asked, his brow clearing in some relief. “Oh, I
see
! You’re
family
, then.”

“I would hardly say that, Mr. Danforth. I
am
his wife’s cousin, but I barely know the woman. Won’t
you
sit down, please? I shall get a stiff neck if I have to look up at you all evening.”

Gar obediently sat down opposite her and colored to the ears as she looked him over in cool appraisal. From the corner of his eye, he appraised her too. He found little to approve of. Her hair, he had to admit, was marvelous, its gleaming redness brushed into a modish Greek style that permitted dozens of little ringlets to frame her face, but she was otherwise shockingly indecorous. The gown she wore was of bright pink which clashed horridly with her hair—he wondered how she managed to look so attractive in spite of it. It was the low
décolletage
, he supposed, that made her look so lovely. It was indecently revealing, but he couldn’t deny that it was effective. In addition, she had seated herself in a most unladylike way—one leg outstretched so that the ankle showed below the hem of her dress and one arm raised and bent enticingly behind her to support her head. She certainly showed no embarrassment or shyness about being in a gentleman’s flat in the company of a strange man.

“I’ve seen you before, I think,” she remarked. “Weren’t you the fellow who stood up for Alec at his wedding?”

“Yes, I was. Were
you
there?” He looked at her in surprise, but, meeting her eye, he uncomfortably looked away again. “I’m sorry. That was rude, I suppose. It’s only that I can’t imagine why I don’t remember you.”

“I was a mere child in those days and quite beneath your notice,” she said, her green eyes glinting at him distractingly. “But you weren’t at all rude, you know. You paid me a compliment.”

“I? A compliment?”

“Yes, didn’t you realize it? You implied that, if I’d looked in those days as I do now, you couldn’t have forgotten me, isn’t that right?”

“Well, yes … I suppose I—”

“That was very nice, Mr. Danforth,” she said, a little gurgle in her voice.

She was obviously quizzing him. He must appear like a bumbling gawk to such a worldly, self-assured creature. “You are teasing me, I think,” he said, stung. “I’m afraid I’m not … er … accustomed to … er … paying compliments to ladies.”

“Or entertaining them in privacy, like this?” she suggested with a grin.

He nodded, threw her a quick glance and quickly looked away again. There was something about her that made it almost impossible for him to speak comfortably. When speaking, one was supposed to look directly into the eyes of the person one addressed, yet with this girl he didn’t know where his eyes would land. He felt himself staring at her
décolletage
, or at her ankle, or at the line of her thighs which showed clearly through the thin, clinging fabric of her gown. (He’d heard that some ladies—very dashing ones—were wont to damp their petticoats to make their dresses cling. He had little doubt that Miss Vickers had employed that technique this evening.) He was very much afraid that Miss Vickers was
fast
! But he couldn’t continue to sit here staring at his boots. “Was Alec … er … Lord Braeburn … expecting you?” he asked, meeting her mocking eyes bravely.

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Oh, I see.”

“And you may call him Alec to me, you know. We are
very
well acquainted.”

“Oh, I see.”

She laughed again and shook her head at him. “Do you know, Mr. Danforth, that you have a habit of saying ‘Oh, I see,’ when you disapprove of something?”

He blushed. “Do I? Oh … I … I beg your pardon. I wouldn’t presume to disapprove … I mean … I have no right to … that is …”

“No, you haven’t any right. But you
do
disapprove of me, don’t you?”

He felt himself redden even more. “I don’t see how you … that is, I didn’t want to … to …” he stammered. “I hope I haven’t said anything to … to offend …”

“No, you haven’t,” she said, propping her chin in her hand, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair, and looking at him frankly, “but I wish you would. It would be more interesting than to make fruitless conversation about nothing at all.”

He would have enjoyed making interesting remarks to her, shocking her in’ some way and shaking the supercilious gleam from her eyes when she looked at him. But what could he say? He certainly couldn’t tell the lady that he thought she was fast! “But you can’t expect … I mean, I don’t know you long enough to …” His voice petered out. He had sounded like a tongue-tied schoolboy. How had a mere slip of a girl—she couldn’t be much older than nineteen—have put him at such a disadvantage?

She looked at him for a moment with her disdainful smile and then rose from her chair. “Well, I see I am making you uncomfortable, Mr. Danforth,” she said, picking up her shawl.

He stumbled to his feet. “No, no. Not at all,” he said hurriedly.

“Yes, I am. You think this visit is improper, don’t you?”

“Well, I—”

“There, you
see
? You
do
think so. And you are quite right. If Mama knew I had come here, she would have an attack of the vapors. Will you give Alec a message for me?”

“Yes, of course, Miss Vickers,” he said, feeling a flood of relief that this painful interlude was coming to an end.

“Tell him that I’ve had quite enough of this severence he’s imposed upon us. I care not a whit about the gossip. Tell him I shall expect him to wait upon me tomorrow, to take me riding. Tomorrow, I say. And if he fails, tell him I shall run off with the coachman. Or Ferdie. Or …” She looked at him with her teasing smile, tossed her shawl over her shoulders and sauntered to the door. “Or
you
!” She gave her gurgling laugh just before she disappeared from sight.

Gar stared after her, completely appalled. Was Alec
involved
with Miss Vickers? From the sound of the message, it certainly seemed so. Had Alec sunk so low that he could entangle himself with so brazen a female as
that
? Why, the girl was worse than fast! She was …
shameless
!

But her visit had done him
some
good. It had made up his mind for him. He would not return to the Hawthornes just yet. Alec, even if he didn’t realize it, required his help and. guidance … and he, Garvin Danforth, was going to supply it. He would be the anchor in the stormy sea of Alec’s life. He would stand by Alec’s side to caution him against corrupt indulgences … and to save him from whatever tragic results would come if Alec didn’t heed his advice.

He went to the writing table and dashed off a note to Lord Hawthorne saying that he might not find it possible to return to work as soon as he’d expected. His friend needed him!

Chapter Thirteen

Lady Vickers never learned what Alec had said to her daughter during that fateful interview, but she knew it must have been dreadful—dreadful enough to have shaken the girl out of a six-year lethargy. She felt, of course, a profound sympathy for her daughter’s suffering (for although Priss had not been seen to shed a single tear since Friday, there was something one could see in the back of her eyes and the set of her mouth that told of her deep inner pain) and she couldn’t help but be glad that the waiting was over. Priss had for much too long been playing the part of Patient Griselda, and Lady Vickers had seen quite enough of it. It was a relief to learn that her daughter’s spirit had been awakened at last from its six-year nap.

Lady Vickers’ new friend, Isaiah Hornbeck, had been furious with Alec when he’d heard her account of the interview. “I’d like to give the boy the thrashin’ he deserves,” he’d said to Lady Vickers.

“Well, we really don’t
know
what transpired, Mr. Hornbeck. A man must be presumed innocent, after all—”

“
Innocent
! When I see the look in the little lass’s eyes, I could wring the fellow’s neck!”

Lady Vickers sighed. “I know. It quite breaks my heart to see her. I’d give my ruby brooch (and just between us, my friend, it’s the only decent piece of jewelry I own) to find out what that beast said to her. But I can’t bring myself to ask. I think it would hurt Priss too much to talk about it.”

Hornbeck nodded. “Y’re right, ma’am. Least said, soonest mended, as they say. Best that ye all forget him and go about yer lives.”

That was just what Priss intended to do. The very same Friday evening after the fateful altercation, Priss announced that they were moving back to Three Oaks in Derbyshire.

“Oh, Priss, do you mean it? How I’ve been
yearning
to go home again!” her mother sighed. “But why now?”

“This house is Alec’s,” Priss said flatly. “I won’t live in it a day longer than I have to.”