Submitting to His Lordship (12 page)

They rode in relative silence. Deana wondered if his thoughts were upon the Lady Isabella. She knew she could never claim the affections of a man such as Lord Rockwell, but she would have liked to have had him to herself for the duration of their time at Chateau Follet.

Rockwell allowed her some solitude before dinner. Bhadra assisted with her half dress, a beautiful French dress of sheer ivory muslin embroidered with vermeil in an Oriental style and possessing a daringly wide décolletage that exposed the majority of her bosom. Worn over multiple petticoats, it flared from the empire waist and was accented by two long tassels down the front. Bhadra added a plumed turban and velvet slippers.

In truth, Deana had little wish for dinner company, but her curiosity regarding Rockwell and Lady Isabella had prevailed. She sighed at the new feelings Rockwell had engendered, for better and for worse. Anger and shame, titillation and euphoria, brazenness and jealousy. What a mix of emotions for one day! And throughout it all, a thrill unique to anything she had felt before.

“I find the styles and colors of the Orient to be singularly attractive,” Deana commented and eyed the maid. “Do you miss India much?”

After a pause, Bhadra replied. “I am satisfied with England.”

Though the maid had spoken in a noncommittal manner, Deana respected her reserved nature and did not press for more details.

Bhadra tended to her hair next.

“One does not tend to craving when grateful to be alive,” she said after some silence.

The sentiment tugged at Deana’s heart. She could not despair the inconveniences of her own situation knowing what the maid had had to endure.

“You have family back in India?”

Bhadra nodded. “My mother and grandfather. We write to each other, but letters take so very long to travel between us.”

Deana had a dozen questions at the tip of her tongue, but as this was the most the maid had spoken in one spell, she allowed Bhadra to dictate the pace.

“His lordship offered to bring my family to England, but my grandfather is too old to make the journey.”

“How kind of Baron Rockwell to have offered.”

“His lordship is beyond generous.”

Bhadra spoke with a wistfulness that made Deana suspect that the maid had some tender feelings toward Rockwell. She considered her own experiences with the man and his gift to her of the ivory elephant. While it was true he had the means that made generosity easier, he had had no obligation to do what he had for Bhadra. Despite her earlier anger with his lack of position when it came to Company policy, deep in her bosom she knew he could not possess any evil or he would not have been able to arouse her as he had.

“My mother had watched over him since his days in leading strings,” Bhadra added.

Deana smiled at the thought of a young Rockwell and was about to ask what sort of boy Rockwell had been, but a knock at the door interrupted them.

The Baron was dressed simply in white trousers, a high cravat, and dark cut-away dress coat with high collars. Deana felt a twinge of vanity knowing that she would be escorted to dinner by such a fine specimen of man. From his appreciative appraisal of her, she could be satisfied that she did him some justice as well. He presented an elegant arm. She slid her own between its crook, her heart palpitating a little more rapidly. Perhaps it was the dress, or his fine manners, or the triumph that came from having pleased his eye when no doubt he crossed paths with women who had her countenance tenfold, that made her feel rather like a princess.

The dining room proved more intimate than Deana predicted from such a stately structure, but she found the lack of fancy appealing. The table was adorned simply with two vases of roses spaced perfectly so as not to obstruct view and discourse across the table and china that gleamed with luxury but averted the ostentatious. The proprietress, wearing a feathered tocque and large gold hoop earrings, presided at the head of the table. To her left sat a pretty young woman who seemed to have eyes only for Madame. To her right sat an officer of His Majesty’s Army in full regimentals. Beside him was a brunette who could not stop giggling.

Though she did not think to find anyone she knew, Deana was relieved to find her hope confirmed. After seeing her to her chair, Rockwell took his seat opposite her. Lord Devon and Lady Isabella were similarly situated across the table from one other with the former beside Deana and the latter beside the Baron. Deana could not help wonder if that had been by design. A server came to pour her a glass of wine. She glanced at Rockwell, who nodded his head ever so slightly.

Sitting across the table, Lady Isabella appeared nothing short of radiant in a gown of embroidered tulle, breasts pushed high above the décolletage as to almost touch her chin. She leaned in close to Rockwell and spoke in low tones. Unable to hear, Deana could only observe Rockwell respond with equal intimacy. Lady Isabella smiled. Deana took a long sip of her wine.

“Miss Sherwood,” Lady Isabella said, “I could not help but think on the remark you made regarding gaming hells. Are you yourself a patron of gaming hells?”

Her ladyship arched a shapely eyebrow. Deana smiled politely. “With such frequency, they could pass as a second home.”

Their exchange perked the interest of others around them.

“You must be an accomplished gamer,” Lord Devon noted.

“Lady Luck has been more often gracious than not.”

She felt but avoided the gaze of Rockwell.

“How refreshing that your admittance is given so freely. You must be quite daring to be an unmarried woman patronizing a gaming hall,” Lady Isabella commented before turning to Rockwell. “I had no idea you trolled such places.”

“If my gracious hostess will allow,” Deana said, “what infamy may come from frequenting a gaming hall could hardly be compared with a visit here.”

“Too true, my dear!” cried Madame Follet, “and I should be deeply saddened if my Chateau could not best a gaming hell.”

The guests chuckled. Lady Isabella did not laugh but maintained a tight smile.

“How interesting you are, Miss Sherwood,” she purred. “Pray tell us more about yourself.”

“On the contrary, I am most
uninteresting
.”

“Surely you do not mean to insult the preferences of Baron Rockwell? He is quite a selective man and of exceptional taste.”

Lord Devon had clearly partaken of an aperitif or two for he exclaimed with a broad smile, “And you mean to praise yourself by such a statement, Isabella, for he courted your favors not so long ago!”

Her ladyship frowned for a second but regained her composure. “I assure you, Miss Sherwood, I am old news. The Baron clearly favors companions of an entirely different flavor.”

Before Deana could respond, Madame Follet intervened, “I forbid talk of old lovers. ‘Tis
tres
tiresome. Let us have a toast instead.”

“Indeed!” seconded the army officer. “To our lovely mistress of Chateau Follet. Our unequivocal gratitude for your hospitality.”

They all raised a glass to her. Deana took a hearty gulp. At another time, she would have savored the quality burgundy, but she barely tasted it. She was, at least, relieved from the attentions of Lady Isabella during the first and second courses. Rockwell looked at her often, but she could not discern his thoughts.

The wine flowed freely throughout dinner, and Deana noticed Lady Isabella laughing with greater frequency and volume, leaning in often toward Rockwell, close enough to touch him. Deana reminded herself she had no cause to be jealous. She had no claims upon the Baron, not even for the time that they were to be at the Chateau. But rather than bear witness to Lady Isabella fawning over Lord Rockwell, Deana turned to Lord Devon.

“Are you new to Chateau Follet?” Deana asked of Lord Devon.

“
Au contraire
. I am a frequent guest,” Lord Devon responded proudly. “Perhaps with as much occurrence as you patronize your gaming hells. I confess I am not that lucky in cards or dice. Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two. Which card game do you favor?”

She named the game that had led to her encounter with Rockwell, “
Vingt-et-un
.
”

“Simple and straightforward.”

Glancing across the table, she saw Rockwell eyeing her with a frown. She dismissed his look and turned her attentions back to Lord Devon. “Yes and no. I have established certain rubrics depending on which cards I hold, but they have permutations depending on what cards are visible among others.”

“This is why I have no talent with cards. The very word ‘permutation’ puts to mind a dull and dreary science. My penchants tend toward a more
active
persuasion.”

“Sports?” she offered, though she knew full well what he meant by the salacious gleam in his eyes.

“Of a kind, I suppose.”

He grinned at her and leaned toward her. She could smell the wine upon his breath. A server came by to fill her glass. She saw Rockwell shake his head. Lady Isabella chose that moment to put her hand upon his shoulder and whisper into his ear. Deana decided to ignore him and allowed her glass to be filled.

“Have you enjoyed your stay here thus far?” Lord Devon asked her.

She wondered if she ought to encourage the drunken attentions of the man, but he had an affable demeanor to him and the redhead sitting on the other side of her showed no interest in conversation as the woman had her head in the lap of her companion.

“The grounds are beautiful and the dinner impressive,” she replied to Lord Devon.

“And the company? Has our friend the Baron been a skilled host?”

Deana took a sip of wine to avoid answering. She was also saved by the dessert service.

Distracted, Lord Devon forgot his question and instead asked, “Are you staying in the West or the East Wing, Miss Sherwood?”

“The West Wing.”

Her answer attracted the attention of Lady Isabella. She raised a brow at Rockwell. “Only the West Wing? Have you no courage to attempt the East Wing?”

“Are you in the East Wing?” he returned with surprise.

“Of course,” Lord Devon answered. “I never bother with the West Wing anymore.”

Rockwell looked upon Lady Isabella with greater surprise. She blushed.

Lord Devon turned to Deana, “Perhaps you would wish to pay us a visit there?”

“We are not staying overlong,” Rockwell said with a tightness that confirmed he was not too keen upon Lord Devon.

Realizing that her companion had been conversing too much with Deana, Lady Isabella split her attentions between the two men for the rest of dinner. Deana was content to ignore the looks of admonition from Lord Rockwell despite the warning from her wiser self that she was being foolhardy. She knew he was not pleased and suspected it had to do with the nature of the relationship between Lady Isabella and Lord Devon. Well, she did not intend to be the recipient of his frustrations over Lady Isabella.

“Shall I have the card tables brought out?” Madame Follet asked when dinner had concluded and the guests had risen to their feet.

“Surely you will grace me with sitting at the same table?” Lord Devon requested of Deana. “I insist upon a game of
vingt-et-un
.”

Lady Isabella waivered and had to grasp the arm of Rockwell to steady herself.

Deana smiled at Lord Devon. “Of course.”

Rockwell’s jaw hardened. “Miss Sherwood and I will be unable to join as we have matters to attend.”

Lady Isabella frowned. “Matters to attend? But the night is young yet.”

Madame Follet intervened. “Lady Isabella, as this is your first visit here, I wish to show you my private collection of paintings. I can tell you are a woman of refined taste and will appreciate the artwork.”

Even in her inebriated state, Lady Isabella was too well brought up to refuse her hostess.

Deana wondered if she, too, should attempt to persuade Rockwell to join the rest of the party, but her thoughts were slowed by the wine. She felt Lord Devon at her elbow.

“My invitation still stands,” he purred. “If you find you seek more excitement, the East Wing will provide it. The Baron Rockwell is no stranger there, but neither is his presence required.”

They both looked up to see Rockwell staring down at them. Lord Devon cleared his throat and sauntered to where Lady Isabella stood. Rockwell extended his arm, which Deana took reluctantly.

She swore to herself. It was obvious Rockwell was not happy.

Chapter Ten

WITH MISS HERWOOD UPON his arm, they proceeded back to her chambers in silence. Miss Herwood had defied him twice. Blatantly.

Halsten attempted to calm the boiling of his blood. She was not wholly responsible for his discontent, he allowed, but she had seen his disapprobation and willfully ignored him, partaking freely of drink and encouraging the attentions of that rakehell, Lord Devon. Devon was worse than the Earl of Blythe for the former knew no discretion and chattered away more than a member of the fair sex. How could Isabella have attached herself to such a man?