Corey McFadden (18 page)

Edgar could not sleep to save his soul. The room was too hot, he had decided, so he’d opened the window, only to find that the breeze was too chilling across his limbs. His bedclothes were in disarray from his tossings and turnings, but he’d already straightened everything out once and had no wish to spend the night making and remaking his bed. Again and again he replayed his role in tonight’s nasty little fiasco, but no matter how many times he rehashed it, his part had been that of the villain, evil and unforgivable through and through. It had seemed so simple at first, a quick ten pounds to stanch his bleeding foot, a bet won from Thomas and Robert, and a tidy sum to see him through several more years of the
beau monde
.

Why had he not seen his role for what it was: treachery to a good friend, punishing pain to a young lady who had done him no ill, and an ugly, ill-deserved conquest for another young lady who had done nothing to merit such victory? Julian’s rage, Caroline’s smug viciousness, these were bad enough, but if he lived to be a hundred years old, he would never forget the white shock of betrayal on Elspeth Quinn’s face, nor the trembling in her hands that she tried so hard to still, nor the sheen of misery that filled her sad eyes as she had tried to get herself through this vile evening. He had done wrong and now he must live with it, although he’d throw his new shoes into the dustbin and go about bleeding and bare-footed if that would set things to rights again.

* * * *

Julian sat in the brocaded wing chair of his sitting room. He had drunk enough brandy to float the Spanish Armada, but it had not dulled the pain. How could he have been so stupid? How could Caroline have been so evil? The trap was sprung, iron teeth tearing at his flesh. Any number of well-meaning friends had sidled up to him this evening at Sydney Gardens offering whispered congratulations. He had not bothered to acknowledge them. Lady Haverford had certainly lost no time in spreading the gossip. Her presence in the labyrinth this evening had been no accident, of that he was sure. But who else had played a part in this villainy? And how could he ever expect Elspeth to believe, fool that he might be, that he was no philandering jilt? He rose to refill his snifter, and was disgusted to find that he could barely stand, having to clutch at the armrest to hold his balance. With a snarl of rage he flung the snifter across the room, taking pleasure in the sound of it shattering into a thousand glittering shards against the stone of the fireplace. A wave of sodden dizziness overcame him, and he sank back into the chair, head in his hands. When he closed his eyes all he could see was Elspeth’s face as she had looked when he last beheld her, her eyes filled with shock and betrayal, and the death of trust.

* * * *

It had been a long night of waking nightmare. Having cried herself to sleep by dawn this morning, Elspeth had kept to her room all day. Harry, bless his dear heart, had crept in several times, white-faced and frightened. He hadn’t even complained to her of how Roderick was tormenting him downstairs, but she knew. At last, she had allowed an awkward and solicitous Bessie in with a tea tray, surprised to find that she had something of an appetite after all. She had munched the teacakes and toast, and wiped the tears away so that they wouldn’t salt her tea.

Now she had no more tears left, just anger.

In the dark of the evening, she stood in the downstairs hallway, dressed and ready for the ball. Only she would know what it had cost her to drag herself through the preparations, one step at a time. She heard her aunt’s door open, then the woman’s heavy footsteps descending the stairs. She watched as her aunt caught sight of her, the startlement evident in the older woman’s eyes.

“I thought, ah, that you might prefer to stay home this evening, Elspeth,” Aunt Bettina said, obviously taking in her niece’s finery.

“Would you prefer that I not go, Aunt?” Elspeth queried coolly. After all this effort, she would go indeed. She would show the entire
ton
just how little she cared about Julian Thorpe’s coming nuptials. Cool damp cloth compresses these last few hours had brought down the puffy redness around her eyes, and she had made herself presentable. She wore her dark green satin gown but had deliberately ripped out the lace fichu that Caroline had insisted upon to hide her décolletage. Not that she intended to behave like a hoyden this evening, but she planned to make the point that she was not the heartbroken, jilted old maid.

“No, certainly you may do as you please, my dear,” murmured her aunt, looking up the stairs toward Caroline’s door. “It’s just that, under the circumstances...well.…”

“I am quite looking forward to the evening, Aunt. I’ve promised several dances as I recall,” Elspeth lied boldly.

“To whom?” asked her aunt, with unflattering surprise in her voice.

Elspeth was saved from having to come up with names that would prove her a liar later on by the sound of Caroline’s door opening, then slamming, her footsteps slapping hard on the carpeted hallway floor. Aunt Bettina cast an apprehensive eye on her daughter as she descended the stairs.

“Well, I see you’ve decided to rejoin the living, Elspeth,” Caroline said as she reached the last step. She ran her eyes up and down Elspeth’s dress, stopping at the décolletage. She started to say something, then obviously thought better of it, shrugging and continuing on, leaving her mother and cousin to follow in her wake. The footman scrambled to open the door quickly, and the trio made their exit. The carriage waited at the front curb.

“Did you hear from dear Julian this afternoon, Caroline?” Aunt Bettina asked after they had settled themselves in the cramped, dark interior.

“No, but I did not expect to,” Caroline answered. “He has business to tend to.”

“Well, I do think a wedding is business enough,” sniffed her mother.

“I’ll discuss it with him this evening,” Caroline snapped, closing the subject.

The badly sprung carriage rattled through the badly paved streets of Bath. Elspeth’s heart pounded faster and faster. Of course he would be there. She had known that. She was prepared to give him a haughty, careless greeting, then ignore him for the rest of the evening.

It seemed to take forever to get to the Viscountess Alderson’s grand establishment in the Crescent. But then all too soon they were there. Elspeth alighted from the Quinn carriage, and found herself scanning the line of black conveyances along the street for the one she most did not want to see. It was not there.

* * * *

“Julian, you must go to the Alderson ball. Everyone is expecting you to be there. The announcement of your betrothal will be made. It will look dreadful if you are not there.” Edgar was exasperated beyond measure. Julian was foxed. Foxed and angry, disheveled and cantankerous. He’d spent the afternoon downing one brandy after another at their club, refusing to stop even when Wesley Ames had tried to put a flea in his ear.

“Don’t speak to me of my betrothal,” Julian growled deep in his throat. “And I tire of doing what ‘I must do.’ I want to do what I want to do for a change.”

Wesley and Edgar exchanged glances over their drunken friend’s head.

“I’m leaving now to go home and dress for the ball,” Wesley said, rather tentatively. “Why don’t I see you home? You’ve several hours yet before you need to put in an appearance.” Edgar rolled his eyes. Several hours wouldn’t be nearly enough time to sober Julian up.

“Leave me be!” Julian roared, attempting to rear himself to his feet. “I’ll get myself home, thank you very much.” The effort failed. He sank back down, unfortunately missing the actual seat and hanging up on the arm of the wing chair, where he teetered precariously, until Edgar shoved him toward center. He landed with a whoosh of upholstery.

“Well, I’ll be off then,” Wesley said, lifting his eyebrows to Edgar in a gesture of defeat.

“A word, please, Wesley,” Edgar murmured over Julian’s head. He took Wesley’s arm and pulled him away. “Let’s see if Julian’s footman is here,” he said, voice low. “We can have him hauled out if necessary. It doesn’t matter how much of a scene we make. There aren’t enough gentlemen here to notice.”

“Do you think that’ll work?” Wesley asked, casting a dubious eye back toward Julian, now a sodden lump listing to port in the wing chair.

“We haven’t any other plan, have we?” asked Edgar, trying to hide his exasperation. “I’ll go home with him in the carriage. Surely he has enough menservants that we can get him into a hipbath of cold water. That will sober him up.”

“I’m glad it’ll be you and not me trying to get him into a bath,” said Wesley. “The mood he’s in, I’d watch my teeth if I were you. What’s wrong with him anyway? Every time I mentioned Caroline this afternoon, I thought he’d have my head off. I’ll warrant there’s something odd about this betrothal. I’ve never seen a groom so glum.”

‘Glum’ wasn’t the word Edgar would have chosen. ‘Homicidal’, perhaps. “Well, as to that, I couldn’t say,” he put in distractedly. Watching Julian drink himself insensible this afternoon had been excruciating. His friend was a man in torment, and Edgar knew just where to place the blame.

Edgar signaled the steward and passed the word that Mr. Thorpe was ready for his carriage. The steward cast an anxious glance into the room. No doubt Julian’s immoderate consumption was the talk of the back rooms and below stairs. And, of course, there remained the matter of actually getting Julian into the carriage, much less a cold bath....

* * * *

Coming here this evening had been a mistake, a terrible mistake. Elspeth stood alone in a corner of the Viscountess Alderson’s ballroom, willing the floor to collapse beneath her feet so that she could have an excuse to leave. She had convinced herself that making an appearance would show anyone who was interested—and apparently they all were—that she could take a joke as well as the next young lady; that her flirtation with Julian Thorpe had been nothing more than an idle and amusing way to pass the time. Whether the ploy was working or not, she could not tell. And did not care.

Caroline had thus far spent the evening standing in the middle of this colorful clot and then that one, reveling in the attention, accepting felicitations with a haughty grace and satisfied smile. Once in a while she turned the smile Elspeth’s way, probably making sure that her cousin had not snagged the attention of any eligible young men. As if there were any chance of that. Elspeth had spent much of the evening alone, or in the company of dowagers and elderly maiden ladies who seemed to accept her now as one of their own. So much for her plan of showing the
ton
that she was not an old maid.

Of Julian Thorpe there was no sign. Elspeth did not know whether that was a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, she hadn’t yet had to face him. On the other, her heart would not stop pounding with apprehension. Perhaps it would be better to get it over with, but Elspeth was quite sure that the entire room waited with bated breath to see how she would react to the sight of him. Of course, that thought was self-centered in the worst way. It was more likely that most in the room cared nothing at all about the little Quinn spinster from the country, except to think she was a blithering idiot.

With a sinking feeling, she noticed poor old Sir Richard tottering her way. He was still a good distance from her. Perhaps she might have an opportunity to escape before he reached her. At least she could still outrun him. Turning on her heel, she moved quickly toward the large mahogany doors that gave onto the magnificent hallway. There were a few ladies coming down the grand staircase, so Elspeth assumed that the retiring room was upstairs, and made her way up. She cast a glance behind her, and saw through the great doors that poor old Sir Richard now stood alone, looking doddering and confused. Feeling guilty and ashamed, she nevertheless continued her climb. There was only so much she could bear this evening, and Sir Richard was not on that list.

There was no one in the hallway as she slipped into the ladies’ retiring room. Perhaps if she wasted enough time out of sight, Sir Richard would fasten upon some other hapless soul. She slipped behind the modesty screen, hoping no one would come in.

She heard the door open and a burst of giggles with it. Sighing at her bad luck, she made a bit of noise with her skirts to keep them on the other side of the screen. It was bad form to tie up the facilities unduly, but with any luck they were just here to tidy hair and clothing and would move on before she had to give up and show herself.

“Oh, my dear, it is quite the scandal of the Season!” A voice floated over the screen. As every day produced a new scandal of the Season, Elspeth’s ears did not perk up.

“It’s quite the match of the Season, actually. Although I must say I thought he’d escaped her coils,” said another voice.

“Yes, several Seasons ago, as I recall,” said a third.

“
On dit
has it that he was making her jealous by playing up to the cousin. I can’t remember her name....”

Elspeth froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“Nor I. She’s from somewhere in the country, I believe.”

“Still, it’s not very nice of him. The cousin looks quite pale this evening. Poor thing....”

“Cecilia, you are such a bore, really. It’s all part of the game. If the cousin doesn’t know the rules, she should not play. She’s brought it on herself.”

“He’s a cad, nonetheless. They deserve each other. I never liked her, really. Terribly arrogant,” came another breathless voice.

“The cousin seemed quite taken with him. You don’t suppose she let him...?” put in another. They giggled.

“Oh, Lenore, you are so naughty! She cannot be such a fool as all that. Still, her reputation will suffer. Pity, isn’t it?” They laughed uproariously, and no one seemed to think it was a pity at all.

Elspeth heard the door open and close again, and then all was silent. Lenore Watkins, of all people! Tittle-tattle, the more spiteful, the better. Elspeth peeked out from behind the screen. She was alone. Her knees would not hold her up. She sank to the chaise longue and willed her heart to stop pounding. She must find her aunt right away, and tell her she needed to go home. She had had enough of this vicious nonsense. She wanted her mama and her little house in the country. And if she never saw any of these vile people again as long as she lived, it would be too soon.