Amanda Scott (21 page)

“Too pompous and humdrum here for the likes of him,” she said. “You won’t find Oliver either, I’ll wager. Lady Ulcombe does not attend, and they have no sister to demand their escort. If they were on the catch for wives, that would be different, for Almack’s is known as the Marriage Mart. But Oliver is too young to be thinking of marriage, and until now Vexford was not looking to marry either.”

That Vexford had spoken impulsively when he declared himself, Melissa did not doubt. And having spoken without deliberation, he had undoubtedly regretted it since, though he had not said as much to her. She had noticed that he rarely expressed his thoughts or feelings aloud, and as a result, she found it hard to understand him. The incident with Rockland was a case in point.

Although Vexford had said he preferred women who played the game of life by the rules, and with confidence, he had assumed when he found her with Rockland that she did not know what she was doing. She had diverted him easily enough, and that thought comforted her now, because he did not seem like a man who clung buckle and thong to imagined grievances. Still, it was unsettling to know that once they were married, his authority over her would be as unquestionable as that of a father, with the right to force her obedience to his every whim and caprice.

These thoughts and others of their ilk plagued her from time to time in the next few days. However, dress fittings, shopping excursions, and an apparently unending round of calls, routs, parties, and plays filled her time, so that Saturday arrived in what seemed like the blink of an eye. That it dawned weeping, in a fierce downpour of rain punctuated at regular intervals by cracks of lightning and crashing thunder, was convenient. But since Lady Ophelia and Charley had taken it upon themselves to arrange everything else, Melissa was content to let them worry about the weather, too.

Lady Ophelia had gone to see what could be done to salvage their plans, when a footman brought the post to the morning room. Melissa searched quickly through the cards and letters, sighing in disappointment when she found none from her mother.

Charley, standing at the window with her arms akimbo, as if she could stop the rain by sheer strength of will, looked over her shoulder and said, “Still nothing?”

“No, I’m afraid they must have been delayed in their return from the Highlands.”

“But there must have been the greatest commotion over your disappearance. Surely, the servants would have sent your letter on to them.”

“Oh, yes, if they could do so, but if Mama and Penthorpe did not return when they had planned, I cannot think who in the house would know exactly how to find them. Their friends live in a most remote part of the Highlands, you see.”

Lady Ophelia, returning in time to hear the end of this exchange, said cheerfully, “Don’t trouble your head about such things, my dear. You must think only pleasant thoughts today, if only to make up for this dreadful weather. Where did I put my cane, Charlotte? If I must stand to direct those idiots in the drawing room—and I must, of course, because they’ve removed every stick of furniture to make room for our guests—but never mind that. Come away from that window and make yourself useful. Go and speak to that Frenchman in the kitchen, for I daresay he will have forgotten, in this dreadful weather, to send someone to Gunter’s for the ices. Melissa, you should be upstairs. Your hair won’t dry in time if you do not have it washed at once, and since your cousin has ordained that you shall wear it spilling all down your back—”

“That’s traditional, Aunt Ophelia,” Charley said. “Even if it were not, Melissa’s hair is so lovely, she ought to show it off whenever she can do so without stirring comment.” Glaring out the window one last time, she turned away, adding with a sigh, “I hate this rain, but perhaps it will stop before two o’clock.”

“Even if it does,” the old lady said flatly, “we are not moving the ceremony outside. The courtyard flagstones will be wet. In any event, since I have had to exert myself to arrange the thing indoors, indoors we will stay. Melissa, go up right now, and ask my woman to attend you. She will be quicker than any of the younger maids. You must arrange to hire your own, you know, as soon as you can do so.”

Melissa agreed and as she moved to obey Lady Ophelia’s command, she found herself hoping Vexford would not object if practically the first thing she did was to request a proper dresser. To do him credit, she did not think he would. Not only would he consider a personal servant a necessity, but it had been he, not she, who had thought of arranging for Mag to accompany her to London.

Before she reached the morning-room door, it opened and Lady Ophelia’s butler said quietly, “Lord and Lady Penthorpe, madam.”

“Mama!” Melissa flung herself into the arms of the tall, slender blond woman who entered the room. “Oh, Mama, you came, you came!”

Susan, Viscountess Penthorpe, said as she hugged her, “But of course we did, darling, just as fast as we could manage the journey. Indeed, I feel as if I had been running this past sennight and more, so do let me sit down and catch my breath. How do you do, Aunt Ophelia? Here we are, you see, just as you commanded.”

“I’d nearly given you up,” Lady Ophelia said. “Thought maybe Penthorpe’s tendency to procrastinate had delayed you,” she added, smiling at the lanky, red-haired gentleman who followed in Susan’s wake. Despite the words, she spoke in a more approving manner than she generally accorded to members of his sex. When he grinned at her, she said, “Sit down, the pair of you. You’re looking well, Penthorpe.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, making a bow. “You are looking mighty stout yourself. Don’t mind telling you, I’m not altogether convinced that this notion was one of your knackier ones.”

“As well to face things now as later, don’t you agree?”

“Aye, perhaps, but I’m glad we left the twins at home.”

Melissa looked from one to the other, settling at last on her stepfather in hopes of some enlightenment, but he only beamed and gave her a hug. “Damme, but you’re looking fine as fivepence,” he said. “What a thing, eh? Never would have thought even Seacourt could serve you such a dashed scurvy trick. Is it true he tried to auction you to the highest bidder?”

“Only in part, sir,” she said. “Do sit down. I am so happy to see you both. I just pray that you are not dreadfully vexed with me.”

“Good Lord, why should we be vexed?” Penthorpe demanded. “Not your fault your father’s a damned scoundrel. Knew that before this happened, didn’t we? Only wish your Uncle Gideon were here. He’d sort him out, dashed if he wouldn’t. If it ain’t just like him to be in France when he’s needed here! Don’t suppose, ma’am, that you thought to write to him and Daintry as well as to us, did you?”

Lady Ophelia shook her head. “I have no notion where they are at the moment. Daintry’s last letter came from Paris, but Charlotte’s parents had joined them, and she mentioned that they might be traveling south. I did not believe a letter could catch them, and it would only distress them to learn that they couldn’t get home in time. I didn’t notify your parents either, Susan. Thought you’d like to do that.”

“Who is this fellow Vexford?” Penthorpe demanded, turning back to Melissa. “Don’t know the name.”

Melissa said, “He is the Earl of Ulcombe’s elder son, sir.”

“Ulcombe, Ulcombe …” Penthorpe frowned. “Dash it, name sounds familiar, but I don’t immediately call to mind …” He looked at Lady Ophelia in clear expectation of an enlightenment.

She said, “Your uncle has most likely mentioned him to you in his correspondence. It was Ulcombe who founded that experimental village near Tattersall Green some years ago.”

“By Jove, yes, of course,” Penthorpe said with a laugh. “My uncle don’t get about so well these days, or take pen in hand, for all that—rheumatism, you know—but I do recall his reaction to that village. Some nonsense about everyone living together as equal partners. Lasted less than a year before they were all at each other’s throats. That was Ulcombe’s notion, was it? Hope his son ain’t cut from the same bolt of cloth.” He arched an eyebrow at Melissa.

She tried to imagine Vexford organizing an experimental village, and had to smile. “I don’t think he can be, sir, for he prefers gaming and horse racing to doing good works.”

“Stout fellow, but nothing good about that particular work of Ulcombe’s. Just told you, didn’t I, that they nearly murdered one another. Seems to me, they called the place Harmony, though as I recall the matter, they’d have been a sight more accurate to have named it Unholy Discord.”

The clock on the mantelpiece struck noon, and Lady Ophelia exclaimed, “Melissa, you must go up and get ready. Take your mama with you, and you can enjoy a comfortable coze whilst you bathe and dress, but do hurry, child. You don’t want to begin your marriage by keeping the groom waiting. Be sure to wear the nice diamond earrings he sent you, too. Time enough to teach him his proper place later.”

“Yes, darling,” Susan said, “do let me help you. I want to hear everything that happened. I can’t begin to describe how distressed I was to learn your father had abducted you, or how dreadfully frightened the children were by your sudden disappearance. It must have been horrid for you, but are you absolutely certain you want this marriage? I am persuaded that you need not—”

“Don’t talk fustian to the child,” Lady Ophelia said curtly. “As I took pains to explain in my letter to you, there is every chance that some fribble or other will take it upon himself to describe to the world what took place in Newmarket. Though I’m convinced most folks wouldn’t believe it, you’d be foolish even to suggest that she delay. Once she’s safely married to Vexford, no one will dare gossip about her, believe me. Am I likely to have helped her into a marriage that was not necessary?”

Susan flushed, and said hastily, “Of course not, ma’am. I beg your pardon. I simply wasn’t thinking. We’ll go up at once. Come, darling.”

Melissa went without another word.

Nick, too, was preparing for the wedding. Dressed except for his coat, he sat at his dressing table, allowing Lisset to pare his nails while he watched Oliver pace impatiently from window to window.

“Looking for one with sunshine outside instead of rain, Ollie?”

Oliver looked startled, then smiled ruefully. “This ain’t my sort of thing, Nick. Dash it, just look at me, all rigged out in knee breeches and this plain yaller waistcoat.”

“Lady Ophelia ordained what we must wear. She called it a suggestion, but—”

“I know,” Oliver said with a sigh. “What a dragon that woman is! She don’t look like she’s nearly a hundred, does she, Nick?”

“No, and for goodness’ sake, don’t suggest in her hearing that you imagine she can be anywhere near the century mark.”

“As if I could. Look here, do you—”

“Ready, my lads?” Lord Thomas Minley asked, entering without ceremony. He raised the quizzing glass he wore on a long black ribbon around his neck and peered at Oliver through it. “That you, my boy? Dashed if I wouldn’t have overlooked you in a crowd. Those your togs, or did you borrow them from a Member of Parliament?”

“Don’t provoke him, Tommy,” Nick said. “He’s as near as can be to abandoning me at the altar, even though I’ve promised him he need not stir a finger once the ceremony begins.”

Oliver said with great dignity, “I’ll leave you two to talk. I daresay you don’t want me anyway, and I promised Rigger I’d drive to Berkeley Square with him.”

Nick said calmly, “I did not know he was to be one of the guests. I hope you are not shabbing off, Ollie.”

“I wouldn’t do such a thing. Dash it, you’re my brother! But of course, Rigger’s going. Dashed well everyone’s going, by what I can tell.”

Tommy waited only until the door had shut behind the younger man before saying bluntly, “Who the devil is this Rigger?”

Nick flicked a glance at Lisset and said, “Ollie’s friend from school. You’ve seen him about. Same height as Ollie, brown hair combed straight back, a similar, unrestrained taste in waistcoats but a much shrewder cast to his countenance.”

“Yes, yes, I know the one you mean. One sees Oliver with him everywhere, especially at the Billingsgate. I just never paid much heed. Don’t mix much with the yearling set. Seems friendly enough, I suppose, but what sort of name is Rigger?”

“A school nickname, apparently, but now that you mention it, I’ve never thought to inquire into his antecedents. In truth, I’m not interested, and I daresay my father has looked into them. If he hasn’t, he will when he finds cause to do so.”

Catching his gaze in the mirror when Lisset finished buffing his nails and had moved away to fetch his coat, Tommy said in an undertone, “Will he find cause, Nick?”

Nick shrugged. “Oliver has spent nearly every minute since he arrived in London with the fellow, that’s all. No, I’m exaggerating,” he said with a rueful grimace. “I don’t think Rigger arrived till last Saturday or Sunday, but Ollie quotes him at every opportunity, and seems to think him a dab hand, particularly at card-play.”

“Jealous, Nick?”

“Not in the least. The fellow seems to encourage those of Ollie’s habits that my father seeks to discourage, that’s all. It’s a pity, but neither of his sons seems inclined to follow his excellent example of philanthropy. On the other hand, I don’t make it a practice to give away as much money to the gaming houses as my father does to his charities. Oliver appears to be doing just that.”

“And you believe this Rigger might be pressing him. Could he be a flat-catcher, Nick, or a Captain Sharp?”

Again Nick shrugged. “You always suspect the worst, Tommy. You could be right in this case, but I neither know nor care. Oliver must make his own mistakes and learn his own lessons. I am not his keeper. Let’s talk of something else.”

“Very well,” Tommy said obligingly, “but speaking of being one’s brother’s keeper, let me tell you the latest about Dory. He’s still dodging his predatory widow, of course, but do you recall that ridiculous tale he told us at Newmarket—the one about the mysterious chess player and his invisible opponent, playing in the Devil’s Dyke?”

“I remember. Don’t tell me he’s encountered that lunatic again.”