Gail Eastwood (10 page)

Maybe somehow they would also get some hint of who might indulge in blackmail. Venetia had been forced to recognize the need to look harder at the other guests when she realized on Sandler’s Hill that she had doubts about Lord Cranford’s guilt. When she had found a moment to consider that revelation, she had uncovered some rather unsettling truths. She did fear and distrust him, partly because he did not seem to be dealing honestly with anyone, but also in large part because he stirred up feelings that she feared and distrusted in herself. She really did not know what to do about Lord Cranford.

“Perhaps we have been mistaken to stay quiet about the poems,” Vivian suggested, unwittingly jerking her sister back to the subject at hand.

“About the poems?”
Confound the viscount, anyway, for taking up so much of her thoughts!

“Perhaps if we showed them around in front of everyone, we might catch some hint of a reaction from the author.”

“Yes, I see what you mean, Vivi—he might betray a flicker of pride or embarrassment or annoyance, even. I think that is a fine idea.”

The twins showed the two poems to their guests a short while later as everyone gathered in the south drawing room, a spacious room in the newer part of the house, with windows to the floor, elegant gold-and-white paneling, and intricately carved decorations gracing mantels, doorways, walls, and ceiling. Scores of candles in each of the three chandeliers festooned with crystals bathed the room in brilliant light.

“How exciting,” gushed Georgina Whitgreave, her brown eyes glowing. “Oh, I would love to have someone write poems to me. Don’t you think that is romantic?”

“You have made a conquest without even knowing it.” Aunt Alice nodded her head in breathless approval.

“But of course, we have no way of knowing who it is,” Venetia said, looking about with a deliberate air of wide-eyed puzzlement. “I suppose it is quite romantic, isn’t it?”

She hoped Vivian was looking about with a more discerning eye, trying to catch some reactions among the gentlemen. She noticed that Lord Cranford was not among them. Neither was Nicholas.

“I thought we might be ready to begin the dancing,” she said, turning to her aunt, “but we seem to be short a few gentlemen as yet.”

Aunt Alice lowered her voice. “I sent Nicholas to fetch his friend Lord Cranford. It simply won’t do if we haven’t even numbers. And that seemed a more likely solution than getting your father to dance.”

“Indeed.”
So, Cranford had thought to escape the dancing session.
Venetia wondered why.
I should be glad if he did,
she told herself.
The less I have to do with him, the better.
But she knew she did not really believe it.

She watched her aunt join the dancing instructor who had been brought in for the event. Like Lord Newcroft, he was short and slightly built, but looked agile. Clapping her hands, Aunt Alice said, “Everyone, may I have your attention? I would like to introduce Monsieur Gervais, a most excellent master of dance, who has taught in some of the most exalted circles in Europe—he has even instructed the royal princesses. We are fortunate indeed to have him with us this evening.”

During the scattered applause that followed, Venetia saw her brother and Cranford slip into the room. Nicholas was holding the viscount by the elbow as if he feared the fellow would flee. She could not help smiling.

“We will begin with the first set, or French quadrille, which I am certain you must know,” the Frenchman announced in a heavily accented and surprisingly resonant voice.

Unlike the “longways” country dances, quadrilles were danced in squares of four couples. Venetia quickly realized that with fifteen couples on hand, six people would have to sit out. Would Cranford try to be one of them? Amid laughing protests, the Duke of Thornborough, Colonel Hatherwick, and the Marquess and Marchioness of Marchthorpe bowed out, along with the Countess of Duncross and Lady FitzHarris.

Too late!
Venetia thought with perverse satisfaction. Now Cranford would have to dance, and he could not choose Lady FitzHarris as his partner, either. She watched as he chose Lady Caroline. She noticed that Lady Norbridge was watching him, too.

Well, it is rather difficult not to notice him,
she thought.
He is taller than anyone else in the room.
He looked particularly handsome in his dark blue dress coat—the deep color made his hair look almost silver in the light of the chandeliers.

Lord Chesdale presented himself to her and as he led her out, she noticed Cranford leading Caroline to the set forming farthest from her own.
Did he think he would avoid her?
She tapped the earl playfully on the arm with her fan. “Let us join the set on the end, sir, shall we not? I see my sister and Lord Lindell coming—they can take our place here.”

Of course, Cranford probably did not know which twin she was, having come in late. After their afternoon’s mischief, she and Vivian had decided to wear vividly different evening ensembles. She had chosen a favorite gown of lace net over magnificent apricot satin, while Vivi was resplendent in violet silk gauze embroidered with silver and tiny spangles. Could Cranford tell them apart merely by sight? Was he concerned about his conversation that afternoon with one of them? Did he suspect that he had talked with the wrong one?

That might explain his reluctance,
Venetia thought.
If he is suffering uncomfortable second thoughts, it only serves him right.
But she could not pretend to be Vivian now, for the rest of the guests knew she was not. Nor could she betray the ruse she had practiced that afternoon by any reference to the conversation he had shared with her.

She and Lord Chesdale took places opposite Cranford and Lady Caroline and she relished the startled look on the viscount’s face. The very first steps of the dance would put them together. She lavished her most brilliant smile upon him as the musicians at the far end of the room struck up the tune of the dance. On the appropriate beat she and Lord Chesdale advanced into the center, meeting Cranford and Lady Caroline there.

“You glow like the fairest pearl, Lady Venetia,” Cranford said as he joined right hands with her and she went past him to turn.

Coming back, she simply nodded. Her hands and arms tingled from his touch and she felt her face must be flaming. Even her shoulder burned where she had accidentally brushed against him. She had convinced herself that the sensations she had felt from his touch in the river had come from the excitement of the rescue. Her unseemly response to his nearness in the carriage had been harder to explain away. Now she knew she had beguiled herself with a lie. The truth burned like fire inside her. Oh, she had made a grave mistake in deliberately choosing to dance with him. She hardly noticed when her partner reclaimed her hand.

“I had taken you for a diamond and your sister for a pearl,” Cranford said when the dance next brought them together. “I see tonight that I had you reversed.”

What in heaven’s name did he mean by that?
Was it merely a compliment, or did his words conceal a hidden meaning? How could his perfectly polite conversation be making her feel so uneasy?

She risked a glance at him as the side couples took their turns going through the first figure. He was politely conversing with Lady Caroline and watching the others. He looked in every way calm and proper, quite unaffected by Venetia’s proximity, Two spots of color showed over the cheekbones in his pale face, but those were easily explained by the exertion required for the dance. Oh, it was hardly fair!

There were four more figures to get through; she had no choice but to continue, all the while struggling to conceal her reactions to the viscount. She was immensely relieved when it was finally over and Lord Chesdale returned her to the spot where he had found her.

Vivian was waiting there. “Netia, I think Lord Lindell might be our poet,” she said in a hushed, excited tone.

“Heavens, what makes you say so?”

“Let me tell you what he said. He said, ‘Your beauty outshines the brightest star tonight, Lady Vivian.’ Is that not poetic? It is very similar to the words in the first poem.”

“Yes, it is,” Venetia answered distractedly.
Cranford’s compliments had been rather poetic, too.
“Of course, the words might have come to Lord Lindell’s mind simply because we had been showing the poems and reading from them earlier.”

“That’s true.” Vivian was obviously crestfallen.

“We must try to find out if he has any interest in reading poetry, or if he is known to write at all. Perhaps ask Lady Elizabeth. After all, she is his sister.” Venetia did her best to restore her sister’s interest.
Perhaps Lord Lindell would suit Vivian, although he is a bit young. He is kind, and most certainly he is not the blackmailer.

The tiny diamonds at Vivi’s throat sparkled in the light as she turned to look for Elizabeth, reminding Venetia of Cranford’s words. Their grandmother’s necklace complemented Vivian’s dress perfectly. Venetia fingered her own pearl necklace and told herself to relax. Perhaps it was only her own guilty conscience that made her read meanings into the man’s comments.

“I saw you dash off to be in Lord Cranford’s set, Netia,” Vivian said, as if she could read her twin’s thoughts. “Have you finally changed your mind about him? I thought you danced together very nicely.”

“We hardly ‘danced together,’ and I did not ‘dash’ over there. I was dancing with Lord Chesdale,” Venetia said sharply.
I won’t make the same mistake with Cranford again.
“I have indeed changed my mind about him—I’ve decided he is too witless and utterly boring to be what we thought.”

Chapter Ten

Like Venetia, Gilbey had thought the first quadrille would never end. He had been in agony trying to hide his reaction to her each time the dance brought them together, and he had no doubt that Lady Caroline would tell others that he danced like an automaton, for he had been as stiff as his fixed, polite smile.

He was quite aware that Venetia had intentionally positioned herself so that she and he would dance together. He blamed himself; no doubt he had stirred up her interest with his provoking remarks that afternoon when he pretended to believe she was Vivian. But he had found one redeeming, surprising source of satisfaction as they danced. The spark of challenge he had seen in Venetia’s eyes when she first joined the set with her partner had disappeared very quickly, to be replaced by something much more difficult to read.

When the dance ended, the set broke up, the dancers drifting off to other locations about the room. Gilbey returned the charming and amiable Lady Caroline to her mother and retreated to a position near the fireplace at one end of the room, where he could watch the twins in safety.

Lord Chesdale stopped beside him and began to survey the room through his quizzing glass. “Lord Upcott did not appear to appreciate your attentions to his daughter, Lord Cranford.” The comment was delivered as a flat statement, without expression.

“You think not?” Lady Caroline’s father had been part of Gilbey’s set and had spent most of the dance observing the couple instead of attending his own partner.

“Indeed. And if I might add a word of friendly advice. I might mention that there are few here who appreciate your interest in Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian.”

“I see.”
In other words, clear off and let the big boys play.
“Well, I thank you for those words of advice, but allow me to assure you that they are not necessary. Perhaps you were not aware that I am merely a family friend—I have no special ambitions towards the young ladies.”

“Indeed? Odd. That is not at all the impression I have received.” The earl was at least polite enough to nod in acknowledgment of their conversation before he walked away. He left Gilbey pondering his words, as no doubt he quite intended.

After a moment, Gilbey shook his head in bafflement. If he were pursuing the twins, no mere words from Lord Chesdale would stop him. But he was
not.
Marriage was something to contemplate years from now, and love was not among his goals. He might admit to himself that he desired Venetia, but he was certain he had not betrayed that to anyone. He had done his best to show disinterest without being rude. Could he help it if Venetia
would
fall in the river right at his feet, or that his arrow had struck truer than anyone else’s?

They are judging me by themselves,
he concluded,
projecting their own hopes and designs upon me.
It surprised him that the suitors seemed to have set their sights on the twins so exclusively—the other four young women were lovely, and while he thought Lady Norbridge was the most tempting of the older widowed countesses, both Lady Colney and Lady Sibbingham were elegant, attractive women.

Ironically, Lady Norbridge chose that moment to approach him. Certainly no one had objected to his “attentions” to her, not that he had paid her any.

“Lord Cranford, there you are,” she said with a playful flutter of her fan. “I was just noting how warm it has become in here, but it is quite dark in the garden to be going out alone.” She had arrived in a cloud of lilac scent.

Gilbey stifled his urge to ask how she could be warm when her dress exposed such quantities of bare skin. Instead he smiled politely. “It is quite dark to be going out there at all, I’m afraid, Lady Norbridge, although I am flattered that you would seek me out to protect you.” He had almost said, “to be your protector,” and only caught himself at the last second. Who knew how she might have interpreted that remark!

“Surely you are not afraid of the dark, sir?” She closed her fan and tapped his chest with it, staring up at him with eyes like dark emeralds.

He felt his resolve softening. “You never know what you might find there.”

“Ah-h. My point exactly.” She took his arm, but when he would not move, she affected an exaggerated pout. “Perhaps it is just me. I imagine you would go readily enough if Lady Venetia were to ask you.”

Another comment! Had they really noticed something, or was she like Lord Chesdale, simply assuming?

Before he could respond, she said, “You might grow old waiting for that to happen, for I heard her say that she finds you witless and utterly boring.”

“Did she!” Gilbey felt as if he had just been slapped, but he struggled not to show it. Lady Norbridge had paused, undoubtedly to see how he would take this news. He did not fail to notice the hint of a tilt at the corners of her mouth. Perhaps it wasn’t even true. Heat flushed his cheeks despite his effort.

The countess laughed. “She is obviously not a good judge of men. You are better off with me, sir. I am an expert.”

Still smarting but somewhat recovered now, Gilbey laughed, too, hoping the sound did not come out as hollow and artificial as it felt. “While I cannot attest to that, Lady Norbridge, I can say that you are beautiful and charming.”
And wicked.
“Perhaps you would honor me with the next dance, instead, if you are not too warm to continue?”

“If it is not a dance that I simply abhor.”

The French master called next for a minuet, however, and Lady Norbridge declined Gilbey’s offer.

“That old dance! When is he going to teach us something new? I thought that was the purpose of his coming, silly me.” She cast a sidelong glance at Gilbey and toyed with the top button on his waistcoat, flirting with him quite brazenly. “Ask me again when he calls for a waltz—I’d like to danee that with you. But you may have to hunt for me in the garden.”

Damn but she was talented. Gilbey felt the familiar tingling in his face as she gave him a dazzling smile and swept away. Maybe he would dance a waltz with her later. It might be the highlight of his entire two-week visit, although he thought he would generally be better off to dance as little as possible. Glancing down, he discovered that the minx had actually unfastened his waistcoat button. He fixed it quickly, hoping no one noticed.

Without Lady Norbridge’s distraction, Gilbey’s thoughts returned to Venetia. He watched her dance the minuet with the others, wondering if what the countess had told him was true. Had Venetia truly called him witless and boring in front of everyone? By God, that was going a bit far. He was torn between his urge to confront her and his wish to avoid repeating the torture of dancing with her.

Eventually, he was required to dance again so that no lady would go partnerless. The dance master taught the group a new quadrille, “Duval of Dublin’s Second Set,” and a new country dance called “The Persian Waltz,” which was not a waltz at all but which did have some interesting figures. Inevitably, as he and his partner Lady Sibbingham became active in the dance, he came into contact with Venetia.

“I hope you are enjoying your evening,” he said innocently.

She tossed her head and turned away without replying—the cut direct! The motion of the dance made it less than obvious, but there it was, nonetheless, for all to see.

What had he done to deserve such treatment? Apparently Lady Norbridge’s report was true. Despite his embarrassment, Gilbey realized that he ought to be glad. This should cure him of falling under Venetia’s spell; the lioness had showed her claws at last. This should also lay to rest the other suitors’ fears of his competition.

Other
suitors? He did not count himself as one of them. He did not need or even want Venetia’s respect. But why then did he feel so angry? By God, he wanted to take Venetia by the shoulders and shake her.

***

Gilbey took a long walk by himself the next morning and came in to breakfast determined to enjoy the day ahead of him and to ignore the events of the previous evening. Snatches of conversations reached his ears as he loaded his plate at the buffet, wreathed in the mouth-watering smells of ham, herb-seasoned eggs, and fruit from the hothouses. One of the tables was empty and he chose a seat there, relieved to find the talk among the guests focused on the cross-country race planned for the day rather than on what had transpired between him and Venetia. The glorious weather was still holding, and everyone was looking forward to some good, hard riding along the trails among the wooded hills. He did not see either of the twins.

A vigorous ride is just what I need to purge some of these feelings from my system,
he thought, munching on toast spread with fresh honey butter. If the Duke of Roxley’s stable compared at all to the rest of Rivington, his guests would be mounted on some prime bits of blood. Gilbey reflected that he had rather forgotten how much he loved to ride, immersed as he was in his quiet life at Cambridge. Was his sister right? Had he buried himself there? Was he retreating from life as their father had done? Nicholas had told him nearly the same thing, but he had refused to see the similarity.

He smiled as he heard Lord Munslow at the table behind him laying wagers on the day’s race.

“I’ll put my money on Lord Newcroft, this time,” the earl said. “He’s built like a jockey and he’s always out to prove himself.”

“What about you, Munslow? Have you plans to make a showing? What odds should we figure?” That sounded like Nicholas, playing devil’s advocate.

Lord Ashurst’s voice answered with a cynical chuckle. “I wouldn’t throw away money on him, Edmonton. He’s too lazy to do anything more strenuous than lay odds on what someone else is going to do.”

Apparently Lord Munslow agreed with this assessment, or else he was too lazy to take offense. The rest of the little group laughed.

Gilbey had no intention of trying to win the race himself—he had more to lose by such an effort than he had to gain.
Look at what happened with the archery competition.
However, it did seem to him that Lord Chesdale had the advantage over the other contenders—the man had been trained to hard riding as an officer in the hussars. Usually frugal with his money, Gilbey found this contest tempting.

Go ahead, place a wager,
he told himself. The visit to Rivington had so far proved quite hard on his clothes, and winning a tidy sum could help to cover the needed replacements. Before the riders all adjourned to the stables he quietly put in a word with Lord Munslow.

***

The participants in the race made up a sizable group even though several men and a greater number of the ladies had declined to risk their necks dashing through the countryside. Gilbey could not help being impressed by the sheer quantity of magnificent horseflesh that awaited them in the paved stableyard. Gleaming animals for eleven men and nine ladies stood in the large courtyard with grooms at their heads, some standing patiently and others moving about with restless energy, eager to be off.

The riders were almost equally resplendent in their fine riding clothes; the men were garbed for the most part in sober reds and browns, while the ladies wore fashionable habits in practical colors, predominantly blues and shades of gray. Gilbey could not help noticing Venetia as soon as she arrived—the brilliant amethyst of her beautifully fitted habit stood out amongst the others. Her golden hair peeped out from beneath a beaver hat that could only be distinguished from those of the men by a matching band of color and a lace veil draped artfully around the brim. Vivian was not with her and apparently was not going to join them.

It took some time to sort out the riders and match them up with their assigned mounts. A handful of the guests had brought their own horses and grooms. While the rest were waiting, Nicholas joined Gilbey at one side of the fairly crowded courtyard. Voices and laughter bounced off the surrounding walls of stone and seemed to fill what space was left.

“I say, Nicholas, looks like your sister had to borrow one of your hats,” Gilbey joked. “You haven’t been letting her go down by the river again, have you?”

“No, but I am thinking I ought to encourage her to do so, after the way she treated you last night, old man. I imagine about now you are wishing that you hadn’t fished her out for us the last time.”

If you only knew,
Gilbey thought.
Nothing has been the same since the moment I touched her then.
But try as he might, he could not bring himself to wish that some other man had been there in his place.

“I am truly sorry for her abysmal behavior,” Nicholas continued when Gilbey did not answer immediately. “I cannot conceive of what has suddenly got hold of her to treat a guest so badly.”

“Don’t let it concern you. I am not so fragile that her scorn can cause any damage.”

“I suppose it is a good thing that she had not won your heart. People tell me those are more fragile than we think.”

Ah, that.
Well, Gilbey did not care about his, anyway. He considered it a liability. “I see that quite a few of the ladies are not joining us, including Lady Vivian,” he said. “Is it such a rough course, or do you think they were just disinclined to race?”

Successfully diverted, Nicholas launched into an enthused discussion of the course the race was to follow, and explained in passing that Lady Vivian seldom rode. He did not say why. Then he was called away to claim his horse, and Gilbey was left to wait by himself.

He began to get a sinking feeling as each of the finest animals was assigned to a rider and he continued to stand by, waiting. The tamest horses were given to the ladies who requested them, of course, but he noticed that Venetia and Lady Caroline were both mounted on spirited animals who danced in place and were obviously eager. Gilbey was given the very last horse, an old chestnut mare who looked as if she achieved a fast gallop only in her dreams.

Gilbey took one look at the horse he’d been given and gave thanks that his own part in the race meant nothing. He’d been given the closest thing to a nag in the lot. Had Lady Venetia had a hand in this, or was it purely by chance?