Good Earl Gone Bad (6 page)

Just then, a female cry sounded from the direction of the Fleetwood house.

“That was not the sound of a ghost,” Hermione said firmly, her gaze on the wall separating her own garden from her neighbor's. “It was a human woman. And if there is something I can do to help, then surely I must do it. If it is Mr. Fleetwood's sister, then she doesn't necessarily know anything about his oddities.”

But rather than offer a similar condolence for Fleetwood's sister, Mainwaring's generous mouth tightened. “No! You must promise me that you will not venture next door again, Hermione. I must have your word.”

She was very tempted to do as he'd said before and tell him to go hang—especially at his demanding tone. Who was he to tell her what to do, after all?

And yet, there had been something about Mr. Fleetwood that set her nerves on edge—especially considering what Jameson had said about him. So, staying away from the man was not something she found particularly bothersome. Yes, she did have sympathy for the woman—whoever she might be—who lived in the house, but she was not so deaf to her own instincts that she'd ignore them to put herself in danger.

“Fine,” she said with what she hoped sounded like grudging acceptance. It would not do for Mainwaring to take it into his head that he had the power to stop her from doing whatever she wished.

“I realize it goes against your very nature to consider something that I might say to be remotely worthy of notice,” he said with obvious relief, “but pray believe me when I say that I have very good reasons for wishing you to leave both Mr. Fleetwood and his sister—mythological or otherwise—alone.”

“You didn't just happen upon me in Fleetwood's back garden, did you?” she asked suspiciously.

“I did not,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if he very suddenly felt a sharp pain there. “But I can tell you no more than that.”

Noting the tension in his angelic features, Hermione considered, for perhaps the first time, that there might be more to Mainwaring than she'd originally thought. Despite his demurral, she wanted to ask him more about the reasons behind his warning. Not only because it seemed possible that there was a connection between her mysterious neighbor and Lord Saintcrow, but also because it promised to offer her a diversion from her current woes.

But in the face of his obvious reluctance, she did not press him.

 

Four

When she went back inside, after bidding Mainwaring a hasty good-bye, it was to find that her father had come and gone while she was in the mews.

Either he was reluctant to face her in light of his reprehensible actions, or to her mind, worse, he hadn't any notion that what he'd done was so very wrong.

“Thank you, Greentree,” she said to the butler who had delivered the news about her father's whereabouts with his customarily dour expression.

Taking in the shabby entryway of their rented house on the edge of Mayfair, Hermione sighed, then made her way upstairs with the beginnings of a headache gathering between her eyes.

After a hot bath and a brief nap, she felt much more the thing, and later that evening as she descended the steps to where Leonora and Freddy's carriage waited, she did so with a spring in her step.

“You're looking well this evening,” Freddy said with an appreciative smile as he moved to the backward-facing seat so that Hermione could take the one next to Leonora.

“You are indeed, dearest,” Leonora said, kissing her friend on the cheek. “That shade of vermilion is particularly nice with your dark hair.”

The gown was one that Hermione had been saving for a special occasion. Especially since its vibrant color was not particularly appropriate for a young unmarried lady. But as with her quest to join a driving club, her choices when it came to her wardrobe were hardly made with an eye to toeing the line of good behavior. She was finished with blind obedience to the strictures society imposed upon her. Especially since her father seemed so unconcerned with his own actions.

She knew she looked more than presentable in the high-waisted gown, with its low-cut neckline and puffed sleeves. Every time she took a step, she felt the swish of its silk against her chemise and stays beneath. And the cashmere wrap she'd chosen to go with it was achingly soft against her bare arms.

In short, the gown made her feel confident.

And after the debacle she'd suffered earlier in the day, she needed the added bolster the attire provided her.

When they were announced at the Comerford town house an hour later, she was glad of her decision to look her best. Because from the moment she stepped over the threshold, she became aware of fans being lifted to hide conversations and speculative looks from every gentleman who crossed her path.

It was only after she'd followed Leonora and Freddy into the ballroom proper, however, that the true onslaught began.

“Lady Hermione,” said Mrs. Charity Glendenning, whom Hermione had known since they were both in the nursery, in a breathless voice as she rushed forward. “You are so brave to come here tonight. I told Felicity that any lady bold enough to join the Lords of Anarchy would most certainly not be ashamed to show her face at a ball. And I was right.”

She was shadowed by her dear friend, and sometime partner in crime, Lady Felicity Fremont, whose expression was frozen in a perpetual frown. Both ladies had married shortly after their first season and had not hesitated to use their matronhood as a blunt instrument with which to batter the other ladies who had not been so lucky.

Since neither had married gentlemen whom Hermione found at all tolerable, she was not so much jealous of the pair, as annoyed by their continuous attempts to shame her for remaining unwed. If her only choices were eternal celibacy and marriage to a man cut from the same cloth as Peter Glendenning and Lord Charles Fremont, then celibacy it would be.

“I'm not sure what you're speaking of, Charity,” Hermione lied with a bright smile. “You don't mean that business at the park this morning, surely?”

“Of course that's what I mean, silly,” said Charity with a shake of her guinea-gold curls. “It's all anyone is talking about, my dear,” she continued sotto voce. “You must have been utterly mortified. Bad enough for your father to lose your horses, but for Lord Saintcrow to demand them from you in the middle of the park.…”

As she spoke, Charity's fan moved faster and faster. As if it were propelled by the power of her anticipation of Hermione's embarrassment.

“I heard you were forced to walk home,” said Lady Felicity in a low voice. “That you hadn't even brought your purse so you could take a hackney.”

“What nonsense is this?” Leonora demanded, moving to stand by Hermione's side. “Of course she didn't walk home. We took her up in our carriage with us.”

Because Leonora was a celebrated poet, and as such was still a bit of a novelty in most
ton
circles, the two women's eyes widened at her championship of her friend.

“I'm sure we don't mean anything untoward, Miss Craven,” Charity said, her face flushed. “Of course we didn't.”

“It's Mrs. Lisle,” said Hermione with a brittle smile. “You do remember that Leonora is married to Lord Frederick Lisle, now don't you?”

Since both ladies had been overheard wondering aloud why an eligible
parti
like Freddy Lisle would ally himself to a poetess of all things, Hermione was fairly certain they did remember, but it felt good to call attention to the mistake given how gleeful Charity had been upon seeing Hermione enter the room.

“Of course, we remember,” said Felicity, blinking owlishly. “And of course we meant no disrespect to you, my dear Lady Hermione. Naturally, we wished to offer you our sympathies after all you endured earlier today. Especially given our long acquaintance.”

At that moment, Hermione saw Charity's eyes widen, and her fan, which had begun to slow while Felicity spoke, began to beat furiously.

Turning, she saw that Freddy, who had gone off in search of Mainwaring and Trent as soon as they arrived, had been successful in his quest, and the two men flanked him on either side, like guards of a sort.

She took a moment to survey the three men, each handsome in his own way. Freddy, his burnished curls a little longer than was fashionable, was the tallest, and wore his evening dress like a second skin. The Duke of Trent, on the other hand, was every inch the military man for all that he'd left off his gold braid and scarlet coat for the understated elegance of an evening coat and an elegantly tied cravat.

But it was to Mainwaring that her eye was drawn. By any reasonable measure he was handsome, offering a darkly beautiful contrast to Freddy's golden good looks. A little shorter than his friend, the earl even so held himself with the poise of a man who had known from an early age that he stood to inherit a peerage, and all that it entailed. There was no question of his authority, and despite her natural aversion to masculine power, Hermione felt herself shiver a little in the face of it.

When he bowed over her hand, she couldn't help the stab of satisfaction at Charity and Felicity's consternation in the face of his singling her out.

“Lady Hermione,” he said, holding her hand for a shade longer than was proper. “You are looking lovely this evening.”

Though she knew it was only Mainwaring, Hermione felt a blush steal into her cheeks. Clearly she was spending too much time in the man's company if he was able to stir such a response from her.

Neither of them made mention of their encounter that afternoon in Half-Moon Street.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said when she'd recovered her breath. “That is kind of you. If I may say so you're looking quite well yourself.”

With a smile that indicated he had guessed the direction of her thoughts, Mainwaring thanked her. “I hope you will save a waltz for me,” he said, pointing to the dance card dangling from her wrist. “As well as the supper dance. If they haven't already been claimed, of course.”

Seeing that they would get no more of a reaction from Hermione or her friends, Charity and Felicity excused themselves and slunk away to share whatever rumor and innuendo they could with their fellow guests.

“What did those two have to say for themselves?” Trent asked once the gossips were out of earshot. “I could almost feel the enmity radiating from them.”

“I've never been a great fan of either lady,” Leonora said with a frown, “but I admit I had no idea they'd be so bloodthirsty in the face of potential prey.”

“Thank God we were here,” Freddy said, bowing slightly to Hermione. “Else who knows what they might have got up to.”

Hermione found herself wanting to object to being made out to be such a poor-spirited creature when Mainwaring surprised her by speaking up.

“I have little doubt that Lady Hermione would be able to hold her own against those two, or any other harpies who might decide to go after her.” At Hermione's gasp, he winked at her. “This is, you must recall, the same lady who persisted in her quest to join a driving club until one finally invited her in. That is no small feat.”

“Oh yes,” she said, reminded of just why she might need the others' protection, “I am such a force of nature that my own father thought nothing of wagering my personal property over a game of cards. Clearly, I am to be feared by all.”

“That was not your fault, dearest,” said Leonora, squeezing her shoulder. “In truth, I cannot think your father would have behaved any differently if you were Lord Herman Upperton instead of Lady Hermione. Your sex had nothing to do with it.”

“So it was merely a bad coincidence that his loss of my horses happened the night before I was to parade them through Hyde Park?” she asked with raised brows. “If so, it was a case of wretched bad luck on my part.”

“Trent and I were there at the gaming hell where he lost them,” Mainwaring said with a kindness that made Hermione's gut clench. “And he spoke of your horses as if they were his own. In truth, I think he only thought of them as a means for him to keep playing.”

“I suppose that's true enough,” she said glumly. “But I no longer have my horses all the same.”

“We came here tonight to get your mind off your loss,” Leonora said with a pointed glance at Mainwaring, who shrugged. “Now, I believe I saw Ophelia standing near the punch table. Shall we go in search of her?”

And before Hermione could object, she found herself being escorted across the ballroom.

“What was that for?” she demanded of her friend once they were a little ways away from the gentlemen. “I was enjoying Mainwaring's company for a change.”

“I am sorry for that,” Leonora said in a low voice, “but something just occurred to me. And I thought it best not to speak of it within earshot of Freddy, for I feel sure he'd do his best to dissuade you from it.”

“From what?” Hermione whispered. She couldn't imagine what sort of scheme her friend was concocting. Unbidden, the memory of her hand grasped in Mainwaring's rushed back to her.

“Remember what I said about your father not paying any attention to whether you were a son or a daughter when he gambled away your horses?” Leonora asked as she pulled Hermione into a small alcove on the other side of the ballroom.

Wordlessly, Hermione nodded.

“What if you
were
a son?” Leonora asked, her eyes bright with excitement.

Clearly, her friend had lost her mind.

“But I am
not
a son, dearest,” said Hermione patiently. As if the fact that she was a female was something she needed to share with Leonora.

“But what if you were to pretend to be your father's son?” the poetess explained. “To confront Lord Saintcrow?”

“But my father has no son.” Hermione wondered if she should fetch Freddy so that he could take Leonora home to rest. “Only me.”