Lord Deverill's Heir (22 page)

“My cousin, of course. The comte. Gervaise. Is he not handsome and altogether wonderful?”

“The comte,” Josette repeated, her voice slower still, so vague she could have said anything at all.

“Dear Josette, is it not marvelous? Am I not the luckiest of women? He loves me, and now that I am independent, I may wed him without the shame of being penniless. My father did love me, Josette. He did.” The old woman became suddenly rigid in Elsbeth’s arms. She shoved the girl away and dashed her stiffened fingers across her forehead.

“Josette, whatever is the matter?” Josette’s face seemed to crumble, as if some great unknown force were collapsing her inward upon herself. The old woman whipped back her head and shrieked, “By all the Gods, no!” Elsbeth recoiled, staring dumbfounded at the old woman. Her mind had finally snapped, she thought, revulsion holding her silent. Then compassion filled her. “Now, Josette, you must speak to me. Tell me what is wrong.”

The old woman’s anguished cry sent Elsbeth staggering back. “No, you cannot wed him, Magdalaine, no. It is against God. It is against everything that is holy.”

“I am not Magdalaine, Josette. Come, look at me. See, I am Elsbeth, her daughter.”

Josette stared at her young mistress and began to shake her head back and forth, wisps of gray hair escaping from her mobcap and whipping across her thin mouth. She whispered in a singsong voice, “It is God in his final retribution. All is finished now. It is over. I should have seen it coming, but I did not.” She could no longer bear to see the eager, concerned young face, and turned away, shuffling from the bedchamber.

“Josette, wait,” Elsbeth whispered, not really wanting the old woman to come back to her. No, not yet. She felt gooseflesh rising on her arms and a knot of fear growing. The door closed and she was alone. Clumsily she dressed herself and coiled her black hair into a thick roll at the back of her neck. She shook her head sadly. Josette was quite mad, her mind slipped irrevocably back into the past. But why, Josette, your muttering about God and His retribution? Of course, you thought I was Magdalaine, but still, why would you say such a thing about my mother?

Elsbeth forgot her questions when she was told by Lady Ann that Lady Talgarth and Miss Suzanne Talgarth were expected momentarily for dinner.

Elsbeth silently bemoaned Josette’s strange mood that had left her to clumsily knot her own hair. Upon the arrival of Lady Talgarth and Suzanne in a flurry of sparkling jewels and clinging satin and lavender gauze, she patted her own black gown, aware that a small lump of jealousy had risen in her throat. She felt awkward and tongue-tied, as she usually did in the presence of the voluptuous and laughing Suzanne. She gazed at Lady Ann and Arabella and decided that all the Deverill women faded into insignificance in their unrelenting black.

She was cheered when, as they filed into the dining room, Gervaise whispered in her ear, “How very fragile and delicate you are, ma petite, not like that pink-and-white English cow. She quite offends me.” She wanted to yell that she loved him, but of course she couldn’t. She lightly slapped his sleeve. She heard the earl chuckle, and looked up to see his dark head bent close to Miss Talgarth’s golden curls. Her eyes flew to Arabella, and she saw with confusion that her half-sister was smiling openly at the couple. Why was she smiling? Why wasn’t she furious at Suzanne Talgarth? Elsbeth thought she would kill any woman who flirted with the comte the way Suzanne was doing with the earl.

It made no sense.

Excellent, Suzanne, Arabella was thinking. I could not have planned for a more effective diversion. Father was really quite wrong about you, Suzanne. Witless, missish little fool indeed. If he could but see you now, I would wager that he would be vying with Justin for your attention.

“I declare, Ann, what am I to do with my little girl?” Lady Talgarth was saying, the weary shake of her crimped sandy curls belied by the ringing pride in her strident voice. “All smiles she is, and happiness. Such a beauty, isn’t she? Those incredible dimples of hers, those eyes so blue the summer skies cannot compete. Two offers of marriage in her first Season, Ann, and my little girl keeps both gentlemen languishing.” She bent her penetrating stare down the table. “Arabella, surely you met young Viscount Graybourn? Such an eligible young man, to be sure. Why, his father is the Earl of Sanbridge, and quite rich, not that it matters, of course since her father and I just want our little girl to be happy.

And their houses—I was told that Lord Graybourn’s father owns five fine estates, scattered throughout England. My darling could live any place that pleased her at the moment. Is she not blessed?” Arabella blinked, sent Suzanne a quick look, and said, “Lady Talgarth, surely you are not speaking about that dear clumsy young man with no chin to speak of?”

Suzanne laughed, full and deep, not a young lady’s trained laugh, but a very real one that brought smiles to nearly every face at the table. “You see, Mama, Arabella quite agrees with me. You forgot to add, Bella, that at but twenty-and-five, he is already paunchy. I had it on the best of sources that the only reason Lord Graybourn rises before noon is that he is afraid that he will miss his breakfast. I’m told he adores kidneys. It is enough to make me flee to France in naught but my petticoats.”

“Suzanne! Well, now, not exactly that, I trust. That is hardly kind, my little darling. Really, now, just think of all those delicious gowns and jewels you would own. Just think about all those houses, five of them.

Spread all over our fair country. Five, Suzanne.”

“But I already own all the delicious gowns I could ever want, Mama. As for jewels—” Suzanne shrugged. “I don’t think I could bear to have to be nice to Lord Graybourn just to have a rope of diamonds around my neck.” Suzanne laughed toward Arabella, then raised coquettish wide eyes to the earl, pursed her pink lips, and said with all the wickedness of a born actress, “I think that I would prefer a gentleman with more worldly experience. Perhaps a gentleman with military training—like you, my lord.

A gentleman who is decisive, yet a gentleman who knows exactly how to treat a lady. How very protected and secure you must feel, Bella.”

“I am only two years older than poor Lord Graybourn,” the earl said, smiling into his wineglass. Suzanne Talgarth was a baggage.

As for Arabella, her fingers tightened about the stem of her wineglass.

She noted with a passing glance that the earl’s eyes had narrowed ever so slightly. She forced a smile at Suzanne. “I think it wise to look to oneself first for such things as protection. It is many times difficult, I think, to determine beforehand the actions of another.”

“Good grief, whatever that means,” Suzanne said. “But I don’t doubt that you have again defended my opinion.” She turned to the earl. “Bella always agrees with me. Those few times that she didn’t, why I talked and talked until she fell in a faint at my feet, finally nodding her head.”

“I feel some small amount of pity for your future husband,” the earl said.

“Dear Miss Talgarth,” the comte said, his accent heavy and obscure,

“surely it cannot be so very important, these years of worldly experience you speak of. My dear mademoiselle, a French gentleman comes into the world with such gifts.”

“In my opinion, it is all one and the same,” Lady Talgarth said, confusing everyone. She harked back to her grievance. “I’m certain that neither Arabella nor you, Suzanne, can accuse Lord Hartland of being paunchy of or having no chin. I have it on the best authority that he never gets up early to eat kidneys. No, he doesn’t even arouse himself before two o’clock in the afternoon. So, you see, all is fine in that quarter.”

To Arabella’s surprise, Suzanne faltered. Arabella said quickly, “Indeed, you must be right, ma’am. And as to experience, why, he is at least fifty years old, has already buried two wives, not to mention supporting his several quite expensive aspiring offspring. Yes, Lord Hartland would appear quite unexceptionable. I imagine he wants a mother for the younger four children, and a housekeeper. I trust he doesn’t also expect a brood mare as well. But you know,” she added, perfectly serious, “I heard that he didn’t rise before two o’clock because of his gout. Does not your father suffer also from the gout, Suzanne?” Lady Talgarth wanted to smack Arabella. It was a very close thing. Her fingers itched.

Justin barely stopped the laugh. Goodness, she was good. Well, sometimes she was good. With him, she was—He stopped the thought. There was nothing to be gained.

“Has the prince gone to Brighton for the summer?” Lady Ann asked in a loud voice.

“How odd Arabella looks sitting in your chair, Ann,” Lady Talgarth said.

“I think she looks positively matronly,” Suzanne said, and laughed aloud when Arabella choked on a bite of peas.

“About the prince and Brighton,” Lady Ann continued, her voice even stronger.

Suzanne turned to Lady Ann and said, “Oh yes, and although Papa is complaining sorely from his own gout, Mama has persuaded him that I, at least, should pay a long-overdue visit to my aunt Seraphina. Her house faces Marine Parade, you know, and one can observe simply everyone going to and from the pavilion.”

“I wonder,” Arabella said, “if Lord Hartland and Viscount Graybourn plan to set up in Brighton?”

“I can only pray that breakfast kidneys will stop the one and the gout brought on by excessive numbers of offspring and brandy will stop the other,” Suzanne said. “Besides, there will be more fish swimming about.

Unhooked fish. At least I hope it will be so.”

“I shall, of course, accompany Suzanne to my sister’s,” Lady Talgarth said pointedly to Lady Ann, ignoring her daughter, whom she would deal with later.

Justin tapped the stem of his wineglass with his fork to gain everyone’s attention. “Let us drink to your visit to Brighton, Miss Talgarth, and to the gentleman who will be so lucky as to pluck such a lovely rose.” As Arabella drained her glass—it was a delicious Bordeaux—she thought how very adept Suzanne had become in her handling of gentlemen. She was certain that the lovely rose could show her thorns most effectively, if crossed the wrong way. Lady Ann cleared her throat and stared at Arabella.

Arabella rose and nodded to the earl and the comte. “If you gentlemen will excuse us, the ladies will now repair to the Velvet Room.” Justin rose also and said pleasantly, “I don’t think we need to linger over our port this evening, my dear. If you ladies do not mind, we would join you now.”

Lady Talgarth said to Lady Ann in a whisper calculated to penetrate even Crupper’s ears, who stood at the far end of the dining room, “It still seems very strange for Arabella to be in your place, my dear Ann.” Arabella pretended not to hear and looked back only when Suzanne tugged on her sleeve. “Goodness, you walk so very quickly. Come, Bella, don’t mind Mama. You must know that she is jealous because you have contracted such an eligible alliance before I have managed even an ineligible one.”

“As if you would ever care.” Arabella gave one blond curl an affectionate pull. “You make it sound like I’ve caught some vile disease, like measles.”

Other blond curls fluttered and bobbed over small shapely ears.

“Certainly not. I think your groom very handsome, not at all like measles. And if you caught an earl, no doubt I shall become a duchess.

Mayhap this wondrous duke will have seven houses scattered all over England. He will throw at least three ropes of diamonds around my white neck.”

Arabella looked at the dimpled laughing face and found herself smiling.

“You will make a perfect duchess, Suz. I just hope you can find a young one.”

“Well, old dukes have to have sons, don’t they? Surely they can’t all be snapped up. You know, it would serve Mama right were I to marry our chinless paunchy viscount. All the money that has been lavished on clothing for my back for the Season—why Papa was livid when the only result he saw was one visit from a gentleman who could not play at whist and the other visit from a gentleman who could talk only of his mistress.” She paused, then turned. “Yes, Mama, it’s true. Don’t look so shocked. No, no one said that in front of me. I, er, was standing just outside Papa’s library and overheard it.” She paused a moment and sat daintily beside Arabella, arranging her lavender skirt in becoming folds about her. “Oh, my, Elsbeth is going to play. I do hope Mama will not insist that I follow such a performance. She is so very talented. It is depressing. It is difficult to keep up pretenses.”

“I know. It’s as if she puts all her passion into her music. If she would speak as she plays, I think she would be an excellent orator.” After a third Bach prelude, Suzanne began to fidget. She put her blond head next to Arabella’s ear and whispered behind her lavender-gloved hand, “How very lucky you are, Bella. The earl is so very handsome and, well, handsome as the devil actually. If I were not a properly brought-up young lady, I should long to be wicked and ask you all about your wedding night. So, how was it?”

The stark memory of pain and bitter humiliation sent bile into Arabella’s throat. She finally said, “I will forget what you asked. Just know that wedding nights aren’t—no, forget that. Be quiet. Listen to Elsbeth.”

“Such a spoilsport you are.”

After Elsbeth’s performance had received its usual loud applause, and Suzanne had complained convincingly to her mama of a sore finger that would render her in horrible pain if she had to strike a single pianoforte key with it, Arabella found herself paired with the comte against the earl and Suzanne in a game of whist.

She soon discovered that the comte’s skill was nearly on a par with hers.

She began to play with the daring and skill that her father had taught her. Without intending it to be so, she found herself engaging in silent battle against her husband, the comte and Suzanne fading out of her thoughts, out of her sight. When Lady Ann halted their game for tea, Arabella and the comte had soundly thrashed their opponents. Suzanne, who was in reality as competitive as Arabella, merely laughed gaily and fanned the deck of cards in colorful profusion about the tabletop.

“You were just like Jeanne d’Arc, strewing her enemy in her path,” the comte said, admiration and something else in his voice. He clasped Arabella’s hand and kissed her wrist.