Maggie MacKeever (14 page)

There was a look of reluctant, and somewhat rueful, amusement on Evelyn’s face. “Fudge!” he said. “Aunt Tess, you are the most complete hand! I confess I’d as lief not be married at all.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, and most sensible of you it is,” the countess agreed cordially. “The wish to be leg-shackled is a piece of madness that generally comes upon gentlemen in later years, I believe. Now come here and sit by me!”

Evelyn did so. “He must’ve followed us, that man,” he ventured, nibbling on a stalk of grass.

“I suppose so.” Tess eyed him cautiously. “Shall it be our secret, Evelyn? Since no harm was done?”

A lad of the viscount’s age might be expected to relish the prospect of such a conspiracy, but Evelyn shot Tess a glance that was surprisingly shrewd. “I’ve already said,” he protested, “that I’m not bacon-brained. You needn’t try and bamboozle
me.”

“So you mean to tell all.” Tess thought, rather grimly, of the diamond necklace and of the rough man who had accosted her, whom she had recognized as being among those in the taproom at the inn. It appeared that she must make it clear to Sir Morgan that she would not give him away.

“No!” Evelyn was offended. “Not if you don’t want me to, Aunt Tess. I wouldn’t behave so shabbily! But it’s plain as the nose on my face that you have windmills in your head.”

Chapter 11

Lady Tess might have been unable to avoid the formal dinner party which preceded her sister’s coming-out ball, and which consisted of seventy dishes, among them four soups, four fish, four hors d’oeuvres, sixteen entrees, three joints on the sideboard including a haunch of venison, and six roasts; but she could, and did, hold herself aloof from the ballroom festivities. Many alcoves opened off that huge chamber, with its vaulted ceiling that was painted bright blue, and the walls that were paneled with ebonized wood inlaid with Amboina in a heavily gilded floral pattern, the center panels containing olive-colored Wedgwood plaques. Tess settled in one of these alcoves and watched with some amusement the antics of the
ton.

Clio, who looked lovely in the simple white muslin gown deemed appropriate for the occasion, was a gratifying success. Though Tess knew well the mischief that hid behind that young lady’s modest demeanor, she wasn’t the least surprised that Clio should prove so popular. It would be no great marvel if Clio achieved her greatest ambition, and married a gentleman of rank and fashion in St. George’s, Hanover Square.

But Tess—who considered herself so far removed from such ambition that she not only wore a gown of an unusual turquoise shade that exactly matched her eyes, but was virtually unchaperoned—was not long left on the sidelines, for no less a personage than Brummell himself sought her out, offered her his arm, escorted her through the glittering crowd, procured for her refreshment, and engaged with her in animated conversation all the while. The countess, unaware that she had received a supreme mark of approval, one that in itself was sufficient to establish her socially, laughed at his more outrageous remarks, parried his subtle efforts to learn more of her background with acerbic observations of her own, and in all concluded that the Beau possessed exquisite manners and an old-world courtliness and charm. At length—after sufficient time, in fact, that no person among the assembled guests had failed to note his marked preference—Brummell surrendered her, with nicely phrased reluctance, to one whom he claimed as a particular friend.

“So!” said Tess, her eyes sparkling, her heavy hair already threatening to escape its pins despite the efforts of the fashionable hairdresser who had with mingled praise and dismay drawn it into a huge chignon with curls escaping to caress her temples. “I suppose that I should have suspected some chicanery.”

Sir Morgan quirked a brow. He looked very fine in evening dress, she thought, though he wore his long-tailed coat, frilled shirt, knee breeches, and silk stockings with an air of carelessness. “Brummell is in the way of being my good Samaritan.
I
could hardly rout you from your lair without giving rise to unwelcome comment.”

“Heavens!” Tess was suddenly enjoying herself. “Is your reputation in such bad odor that you would be thought capable of ravishing a female in the middle of a crowded ballroom?”

“No, fair wit-cracker!” He chuckled. “Else I would not be standing here with you. However, I cannot say the gossips would be so tolerant were we to be closeted alone.” Recalling their last encounter, Tess flushed, a fact that did not escape Sir Morgan’s sharp eye. “I believe I owe you an apology, little one. It was not my intention to cause you embarrassment.”

“Pray don’t regard it; you did not.” Tess looked up at him ruefully. “I think your life must be an exciting one, Sir Morgan, to attract such marked comment wherever you go! Doesn’t it sometimes feel like living in a fishbowl? I should think it would be uncomfortable to be forever under observation, with one’s every action arousing comment.”

“Do you?” Sir Morgan offered her his arm. “I suppose you may be right, though I confess I hadn’t thought of it. Tell me, do you think it too late for me to change my ways?”

“Certainly.” Idly, Tess wondered where he was leading her. “Nor do I think you have the least desire to do so. Why should you? It is obviously a way of life that suits you admirably.”

“I am glad you think so,” he remarked, amused. “But you yourself are this evening exciting no little comment. Mistress Clio is like to be cast into the shade.”

“How can you say so?” Tess was genuinely astonished. “If people look at me, it is because of my infirmity, not that I thank you for reminding me! For I have found that when I
think
of it, I limp much worse than I do otherwise.”

Perhaps Sir Morgan did not realize that this frank reference to a debility that Lady Tess abhorred was unprecedented; he certainly did not treat the confidence with the respect that it deserved. “I don’t know where you learned your fantastic notions,” he said merely. “It is not because of your limp that all eyes are upon you.”

“No,” Tess retorted, then laughed. “It is because I am with you.”

Sir Morgan might be a man of dangerous reputation, a devil with the ladies, and a demon with the cards; but he was also the darling of the
ton,
and even those mamas who warned their daughters to have nothing to do with him were not beyond nourishing warm feelings for the Wicked Baronet. He might lay claim to the ensnaring of countless feminine hearts, but it was the ladies themselves who speculated upon such matters; no word of his conquests ever passed Sir Morgan’s lips. His
amours
were confined to dashing members of the
demi-monde;
his flirtations were limited to well-born ladies of experience and discretion; he did not trifle with inexperienced girls who did not know the rules of the game. Lady Tess was unaware that his marked pleasure in her company had given rise to vast curiosity among the members of polite society, who had never before seen the Wicked Baronet pay court to a female who was both unworldly and unmarried; Tess did not know that he paid her court at all. Nor did she realize that Brummell’s intervention had prohibited her being considered “fast,” or that even the unpredictable Sally Jersey, long accustomed to numbering Sir Morgan among her beaux, only laughed and said that Drusilla’s nose was being put out of joint, as indeed it was.

“I have wished to speak with you,” Tess said, awarding Sir Morgan her clear pure glance. “First, I must thank you for having my cane mended after the incident at the inn. It is shockingly remiss in me not to have done so before.”

“It is,” agreed Sir Morgan, “the height of ingratitude. Fustian, little one! Had I more time, I would have effected further repairs. Where came you by the thing? It is entirely the wrong height for you.”

Tess paid little heed to this intimation that Sir Morgan himself had made the repairs; it was not the cane that occupied her mind. “I had an odd encounter in St. James’s Park,” she announced abruptly, reaching a decision, “a couple days past, with a villainous-looking man who demanded that I hand over some unspecified item to him.” Suddenly she realized that she was being guided onto the dance floor. “What are you doing? You must know that I do not dance!”

“I suspected you did not,” Sir Morgan disclosed. “Nevertheless, you will.”

Having been accorded little choice in the matter, Tess danced, and due to Sir Morgan’s firm support, did so very well. She was no stranger to the steps, having witnessed Clio’s lessons. But the countess was not one to gloat over every new accomplishment. Having determined that Sir Morgan would not let her fall, Tess returned to the attack. “You are the most vexatious man! I must tell you that I recognized my would-be assailant as a habitué of that dreadful inn.”

“You intrigue me,” remarked Sir Morgan, and nothing would do but to recount to him the whole. “You have no idea,” he inquired when she had finished, “to what the man referred?”

“I have every idea!” retorted Tess. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Pretty companions for a man of honor! It is not at all necessary to offer me violence, you know.”

“Believe me,” Sir Morgan protested sincerely, “violence is not among the things I have considered offering you.”

“I suppose,” said Tess, fast finding herself out of charity with this aggravating man, “that you are playing some devilish deep game. I see that I must not be vulgarly inquisitive! I only hope that I may not get my throat cut over this business.”

“Oh, not that, surely.” Sir Morgan wore his crooked smile. “Though there are those, I’m sure, who would consider it a preferable fate.”

Perhaps, thought Tess, the threat of recrimination might induce him to confide in her. It was not a question of how the necklace had come into his possession that concerned Tess; she could not imagine that Sir Morgan, despite his reckless reputation, was less than honorable; she only sought to learn what he wished done with the gems. “I know little of such matters,” she added, holding his eyes, “but I would think that the penalty for such a thing would not be inconsiderable.”

“Not at all inconsiderable,” agreed Sir Morgan cheerfully. “I shouldn’t settle for less than life, I think.”

“So long!” gasped Tess, astonished. “You are a gambler indeed, if you can speak so calmly.”

“Do I seem calm?” Sir Morgan tightened his grasp and twirled her about expertly. “Then there is a great deal to be said for experience. May I hope that you will not hold it against me, little one?”

Tess was feeling slightly giddy, but whether it resulted from the movements of the dance, or the novel sensations attendant upon being clasped in a man’s arms, or the disclosure that her partner was no novice at skullduggery, she could not say. “Apparently I do not,” she mused, incurably honest, “since I am ready to assist you. I do wish you would tell me what to do!”

Sir Morgan wore an arrested expression, in his amber eyes a look so warm that even Tess understood its significance. “I have told you already that I await your pleasure!” she said crossly. “It is not at all necessary that you should get up a flirtation with me!”

The dance had ended; Sir Morgan escorted her from the floor. “You misunderstand,” he murmured, “but I fear we cannot discuss the matter further at the moment without suffering dire consequence.” He gazed upon Drusilla, elegant in a gown of pink tulle adorned with myriads of silver stars and an extreme
décolletage.
She peremptorily beckoned him. “Accept my assurances that I do not mean to flirt with you, my beautiful bluestocking.”

“Hah!” replied the countess. And then she was given over into the keeping of the dowager duchess, who appeared quite in charity with her until Giles, having done his duty by Clio, took a place by her side. “Crowded as the very devil, isn’t it?” he commented, with obvious boredom. “I suppose my sisters will account it a great success.”

Tess studied him. The duke was very correctly attired in a corbeau-colored full dress coat with covered buttons, a white marcella waistcoat, light sage-colored breeches, and an exquisite cravat; and so aloof as to appear unapproachable. Then he smiled at her, with the effect of ice melting. “You will think me impertinent,” he said, “but I would consider that I had done less than my duty if I did not drop a hint or two.” He glanced at Drusilla, who, her anger temporarily forgotten, was coquetting outrageously with Sir Morgan.

“You mean to warn me once more about your friend,” Tess responded. “I wish you would not! I have heard too much of the wretch already, fiend seize the man!”

Giles lifted his gold-handled quizzing glass and studied her as if she were a rare specimen that had hitherto never come his way. “You do that very well!” approved the countess, returning his regard. “I suppose it has quelled countless encroaching mushrooms and sent many an erring servant away in tears. I myself feel as if I’d been dealt a crushing set-down, which is I presume what you intended, though I must confess I find it just a trifle rag-mannered, Your Grace!”

Those doughty individuals who had already remarked the lovely stranger’s popularity with such disparate, yet discerning, gentlemen as Beau Brummell and the Wicked Baronet, were further astounded when by a remark she sent the haughty Duke of Bellamy into peals of laughter. But whatever warning Giles had meant to offer went unvoiced: no sooner had he recovered himself than Clio interrupted to draw her sister aside.

“Tess, it is the most famous thing!” said that damsel, so flown with the compliments she’d received from numerous young courtiers that she didn’t begrudge an instant of her sister’s popularity. “There is someone here who wishes particularly to speak with you.” Tess was awarded a sly look. “Isn’t Giles the most
amusing
gentleman?”

“If you think so, child,” agreed the countess, still wrapped in contemplation of a certain diamond necklace.

“Of course I do!” enthused Clio, “and you must also. He is certainly far more agreeable than that odious Sir Morgan! It is Drusilla’s business, I suppose, if she meant to settle in matrimony with him. I shouldn’t think he’d be a
comfortable
husband, but he has been accepted by the family, and I suppose it will be an unexceptionable match.” Again she glanced sideways, hoping to see the seeds of doubt take root in fertile ground.