Amanda Scott (23 page)

“Sybilla?”

When Mally touched her arm, she started. “I’m sorry. My thoughts wandered. What were you saying?”

“It doesn’t matter. Look here, Sybilla, don’t let that cat get her claws into Ramsbury tonight. If that were Harry standing over there, I’d be right beside him, ready to scratch her eyes out if she so much as smiled at him.”

“Where is Harry?”

“Right over there, and don’t think I’m not keeping a close eye on him.”

“I’d have thought it would be the other way around,” Sybilla said, smiling fondly at her. “Now don’t snap my head off. ’Tis only that first you castigate Prinny for misbehavior, and now you tell me you are keeping your eye on poor Harry, who to the best of my knowledge has never done anything more outrageous than to care more for hunting and shooting than for this sort of thing—and object to your eloping with Brentford, of course.”

“But now that I’ve got his attention at last, I don’t intend to lose it. Brentford is here tonight, too, but you won’t see me talking to him, for I promised Harry I would not, and I mean to be a model wife, in my own fashion.” She paused, then added gently, “I know you are more accustomed to giving advice than to taking it, Sybilla, but if you can take some from me, you will look after Ramsbury, and even learn to look at life occasionally from his viewpoint rather than your own, for unless you truly intend to live without him, you must learn to live with him.”

“You sound very philosophical, my dear, and quite unlike yourself.” She glanced at Ramsbury again, gritting her teeth when she saw him laugh at something Lady Mandeville had said. Then, thoughtfully, she said, “Though goodness knows you never willingly took my advice, perhaps I will take a bit of yours and at least put a stop to that nonsense.”

Mally laughed. “Thank goodness I am all grown up now, and needn’t take anyone’s advice if I don’t choose to, or obey anyone except dearest Harry. But I have learned a little about myself, and him, too, these past few days, and I am right about Ramsbury as well, aren’t I? Things have changed between you, and you no longer choose to live without him, do you?”

“Don’t I?” But if Mally responded to that murmured question, Sybilla didn’t hear her, for her feet, as though they had minds of their own, were carrying her rapidly toward the group by the fireplace.

Ramsbury was speaking to a young brunette, but Lady Mandeville stood beside him, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, her head held a little forward, as though she listened to them. She started when Sybilla touched her shoulder.

“You will excuse us for a moment, I know,” Sybilla said, looking pointedly at the offending hand. “I wish to have a word with my husband.”

No doubt it was the gentle emphasis on the last two words that brought the spark of bitter anger to Lady Mandeville’s eyes as she stepped aside, but her tone was perfectly civil, if slightly patronizing, when she said, “Certainly, Sybilla. Here is your wife, Ned. I will speak to you later.”

Ramsbury turned away from the brunette and smiled at Sybilla. “Did you want me, my dear? Come, let us go into this room, where we may be more private.”

The door he indicated led into the state apartments, thrown open for the company, and for a moment Sybilla feared that they might interrupt their host and his royal guest, but the first apartment, the bedchamber, though lit by a profusion of wax candles that made its peach and gilt furnishings gleam, proved to be empty. Ramsbury shut the door, and turned to face her.

“What is it?” he asked sharply. “Are you ill again?”

“No.” Face-to-face and alone with him, Sybilla suddenly did not know what to say. She had no wish to quarrel, and she was certain that if she were to accuse me of flirting with Lady Mandeville, he would quickly become angry. Perhaps it would not be altogether wrong to take some more of Mally’s advice and think before she spoke. “I … I merely wanted to talk with you,” she said at last.

To her astonishment he grinned at her. “You really must learn to speak the truth to me, Syb. It answers much better than when you try to dissemble.”

“I don’t—Oh, very well, but you always fly into the boughs when I accuse you of flirting with that scrawny bitch.”

“I wasn’t flirting, but I might do so if you don’t behave. I saw you with Saint-Denis, you know. Bringing you more little gifts, was he?”

“Don’t be absurd, Ned. He was merely complaining and saying he rather thought he’d go back to Bath. Sydney has never given you the slightest cause for jealousy.”

“Not Sydney, perhaps, but there have been others. We will not quarrel about such stuff tonight, however. I’ve more important matters to attend to, and I believe that they will be announcing dinner very soon. Shall we go and see? Unless, of course, you’ve something else you wish to say to me.”

She sighed. “No, there’s nothing.” But when she moved toward the door and paused, waiting for him to open it, he surprised her again.

“Just a moment, love. You have forgotten something.”

She looked at him, bewildered. “Forgotten what?”

“This.” He pulled her close to him, tilted her chin up, and kissed her before she could react. Then, his arms went around her, and the kiss became more demanding. She felt his tongue, first against her lower lip, then pressing until she opened her mouth to him, sighing, her body melting against his, her hands moving to his waist and around to hold him.

A moment later he released her, and she stood silently for a long moment, gazing up at him, trying to read his expression. Her own feelings were mixed. She felt disappointment that the moment had not lasted longer, but also a certain amount of consternation. Things were moving too fast. She had not had time to think. The only thing she knew for sure was that she wished it were not necessary to leave London quite so soon.

She thought he would speak, but he did not, and she could think of nothing to say to him, so when he held out his arm, she placed her fingertips upon it and allowed him to take her back into the saloon. Dinner was announced only a few minutes later, and the guests began moving toward the north end of the room, where two doors led into a pair of rooms that had been thrown together for use as a dining room for the large company.

Lady Mandeville’s sweet voice sounded from behind them as they moved with the others. “Ned, darling, I believe you are my dinner partner. You will forgive us, I know, Sybilla dear.”

Sybilla turned angrily to tell the woman she was mistaken, but Ramsbury spoke before she could think of any words she might use that could be properly overheard by other guests.

“I intend to keep Sybilla by me tonight, Fanny.”

“But her proper partner is Brentford,” Lady Mandeville said. “I know she would not wish to disappoint him, for he has been looking forward to renewing his acquaintance with her.”

“How do you know?” Sybilla demanded. “That is,” she added when she realized how rudely she had spoken, “how can you know he is meant to be my partner? The matching cannot be by rank if that is the case, or indeed,” she went on as growing anger overcame good sense, “if you are to be my husband’s partner.”

Lady Mandeville shrugged. “The duke don’t care for any rank but his own,” she said, “and he don’t take in the highest ranking lady, but the most comely. He believes the other men should also have interesting dinner partners.” She winked at Ramsbury.

He winced when Sybilla’s hand curled into a tight claw on his forearm, but when he spoke his voice was calm. “I am persuaded that you will find Brentford an amusing partner, Fanny, and I really must insist upon keeping Sybilla at my side. As you know, she has been ill. This is her first outing, and I want her under my eye. Ah, here is Brentford now.” He nodded to the tall, handsome, dark-haired man who approached them. “You and I have exchanged partners, Brentford, and you are so lucky as to be taking Lady Mandeville into dinner.”

There was nothing Lady Mandeville could say after that, but Sybilla did not miss the furious glance her adversary shot her before they went in.

“Sybilla, do you mind not clawing my arm to shreds?”

Instantly relaxing her hand, she glanced up at him guiltily. “I’m sorry, but I do not like that woman.”

“Is that a fact? She does not like you either, I fear. Hasn’t since I married you. I do hope you are not incensed with me for commanding your presence at my side,” he added. “I know you don’t like me to play the heavy-handed husband, but I was not about to allow Brentford to set you up as his next quarry.”

“Goodness, do you think that is what he intended to do?”

“I don’t know what he intended, but I’d wager it is what Fanny intended him to do. She adores making mischief, but she’d better watch it with Brentford. He’s a more dangerous sort than she’s accustomed to.”

“Oh.” Sybilla found herself wondering whether he would have been so protective if Lady Mandeville had not chosen Brentford, but she soon had other things to think about, for as it happened, the other couple were seated across the table and no more than two places up from them, and it quickly became obvious that Lady Mandeville had a carrying voice.

She did not commit the solecism of speaking to anyone other than the gentlemen on either side of her, but her comments were clearly not meant for their ears alone.

“You say your cousin is ill?” she said to the man on her right, but she did not wait for his reply before adding, “Are you certain? You know, so many women exaggerate their symptoms in order to call attention to themselves. Why, I’ve even known one who fainted merely because her husband had been ignoring her—quite rightly, in my opinion. We will name no names, of course.”

Sybilla, furious, could feel the heat in her cheeks and knew she must be flushing deeply enough to convince every person at the table that hers was the name not mentioned. Though the gentleman next to Lady Mandeville did not speak so loudly, his reply was clearly a protest, but her ladyship merely patted his hand and turned to Brentford on her other side.

Sybilla felt Ned’s hand brush her thigh, and when she looked at him, he was smiling at her. She muttered, “How you can smile at behavior like that, I cannot imagine!”

“ ’Tis not her words, but your reaction. Do not give her the satisfaction of seeing that she can stir your temper.” He spoke low and kept smiling, but she knew by then it was only to keep others from guessing what he talked about.

He was right, and she knew it, but it didn’t help, for her temper was already aroused. And fifteen minutes later, more fuel was added to the flame when Lady Mandeville’s clear voice rose once again above the murmur of conversation. “I do think ladies ought not to dash about the countryside on horseback or driving gentlemen’s carriages—at least, I consider a high phaeton to be more a gentleman’s carriage than a lady’s, do not you, my lord?”

Unlike his fellow, Brentford took no care to lower his voice. He said, “Some ladies are more dashing than others, I daresay. ’Tis nothing to me.”

“Oh, but surely you prefer the company of a woman who is decorative rather than outrageous, sir, one who submits to a man rather than one who makes her name with her whip.”

“Depends what she does to outrage.” He grinned at her. “I can think of things that I’d like very much for her to do. A woman with a whip can be dashed exciting, you know.”

The other diners had grown ominously silent, and Sybilla dared not look up from her plate for fear she would do something as outrageous as anyone could wish. As it was, she had all she could do not to fling her gold dinner plate at Lady Mandeville’s flaxen head, and her teeth grated so hard against one another that she thought it a wonder everyone did not hear them. Her breathing came faster and faster until she felt light-headed.

It was Mally who broke the silence with a sudden loud burst of laughter, drawing everyone’s attention to herself. Looking around with astonishment, she said, “Oh, forgive me, but his highness has just told me the most diverting story and I couldn’t help laughing. Do go on with your own conversations and pay no heed to me.” And she turned pointedly back to the prince.

Sybilla, having turned toward her just as everyone else had, found herself wondering how on earth her sister had got a seat at the Prince of Wales’s right hand. But remembering where they were and that although Prinny, as guest of honor, had escorted his hostess in, he enjoyed a pretty face almost as much as he loved food or gossip, she decided that he, too, must have learned about the abortive elopement and wanted to hear the details from one of the participants.

She was able to breathe again, and either Mally’s interruption or the reminder that royalty was present had silenced the Mandeville for the moment. At least there were no more audible comments from that portion of the table. Sybilla’s appetite had fled, however, and she did less than justice to the wonderful meal that was set before her. In honor of the prince, there were twenty-three entrées, so the hour was advanced when the ladies, in response to a signal from Lady Katharine, arose to leave the gentlemen with the port.

Ramsbury, getting to his feet with the rest of the men, looked sharply at Sybilla and said quietly, “How are you feeling? You look worn to the bone.”

“I am a little tired,” she said, hoping he would accept her at her word and not press more closely. Her temper had cooled but was still perilously near its boiling point.

He grimaced. “We won’t linger long, I daresay. Though the duke likes his wine, he likes the ladies more, and Lady Katharine is not so meek that she would not have a thing or two to say if he kept all the gentlemen to himself.”

Reluctantly, Sybilla went with the others. Mally caught up with her as they neared the great saloon and muttered angrily, “I should like to use that woman as bull bait!”

“If you love me, don’t speak of her,” Sybilla replied. “I only hope I may get through the rest of the evening without committing murder.”

“Well, she has made a great mistake, if you ask me, for no gentleman likes hearing his mistress deride his wife, not even privately, and that was hardly private. She would have done better to keep her mouth shut.”

“Do you know, I begin to wonder if she ever was his mistress,” Sybilla said. “Surely, Ned would never have been attracted to such a piece.”