The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown (Lady W 1) (29 page)

Horrid male. All males were horrid, even feline ones.

Lord Rake went another couple of yards, and then turned about the railing and picked his way delicately down the stairs to a small alcove beneath the main entrance that hid the servants’ door.

Well, at least she now realized how to reenter the house without being seen. Linney followed the cat and rapped on the kitchen door.

As they waited for Cook to let them in, she and Lord Rake stood in silence. He was nothing at all like his grandmother, her very best friend growing up at Ivy Park, Mr. Winky.

Mr. Winky had obviously turned into Mrs. Winky when Linney had discovered her ensconced on a bed made of her mother’s best satin dress, a litter of six kittens about her.

One of those kittens had been Duchess, who, in turn, had given birth to Lord Rake and Miss Spit. And though Lord Rake rarely acknowledged her and Miss Spit was nearly always in a snit, Linney loved them all. They were, in fact, a major reason she wanted to marry Lord Pellering.

Her dearest barn cats desperately needed a barn.

Linney heard the front door above them open and pushed her back against the far wall. The last thing she wanted was for Lord Darington to find her shivering outside the kitchen. What a horrid way to ruin a most embarrassing, but truly dramatic exit.

It was that damnable pride. One would think she hadn’t any pride, really, but had it she did, in spades.

The heels of Lord Darington’s boots struck each stair sharply as he descended to the street. Linney held her breath, and then cringed when Cook finally decided to open the door.

“And what you be doin’ out here, Lady Caroline?” she cried loudly. “You’ll catch your death!”

Lord Rake slithered through Cook’s feet and disappeared.

“Lady Caroline?” It was, of course, Lord Darington. It was much too much to ask that he had not heard Cook.

Linney wished she could slither and disappear as well. Wouldn’t it be nice? But, instead, she glanced up at Lord Darington, who was now leaning over the railing, a questioning look on his incredibly beautiful face.

At the very least he should have looked like an ogre, being one as he was.

“I did not mean to offend,” Lord Darington called down to her with what seemed sincere earnestness.

Cook stood looking perplexed. And Linney just wished she could go back to only a half hour before and inform her mother that she certainly could not and would not meet Lord Darington in the drawing room.

She never said or did the right thing, ever. So she did try to say and do nothing at all. This whole horrible scene was proof that she ought to get married as soon as possible and retire to the country, forever.

“I am sure you did not offend, Lord Darington,” Linney said quickly.

“But…”

Cook was obviously out of her comfort level as well, for the traitorous woman backed into the house and shut the door.

Lord save her. Linney shivered.

Lord Darington hurried down the stairs, doffing his coat as he did. “Here,” he said, thrusting the piece of superfine cloth at her.

She did not want to take his coat, and they both stood staring at the article of clothing for a rather long and very cold moment.

He shook the coat out and then tried to help her on with it.

Oh for goodness’ sake. Linney stuck her arm in one sleeve, then bent to put her other arm in, and stopped suddenly as she felt Lord Darington’s breath upon her neck.

It was warm and brought out goose bumps all along her back and down her arms. Lovely.

“Are you all right?” he asked, bending closer.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord. Linney shivered again, only this time it had nothing to do with the fact that she was a few short minutes away from freezing to death.

She shrugged into the coat and turned around quickly. Only they were now standing in a very small alcove and so there just wasn’t enough physical space between them. Linney could see the dark hairs just under the skin of Lord Darington’s jaw. She could feel his breath fan warmly against the top of her head, and she could now smell him all around her, a mingling of spice and cigar, coffee and man.

Oh Lord.

Lord Darington just stared at her, and then he frowned. He seemed awkward, and with all that Linney knew of him, she knew that he would never be awkward.

She sighed. “Really, Lord Darington, I do not understand…”

“Will you go with me to the Morelands’ skating party?”

Now that was unexpected. Linney glanced around, wondering if maybe someone weren’t listening to this. Perhaps this was all some sort of joke or a dare or some other stupid male prank.

“I’m engaged, Lord Darington,” she said, even though she wasn’t. “Well, at least, I will be soon.” She hoped. At least she thought she hoped.

And then she again felt that horrible sensation burn the backs of her eyes, and her heart just felt like a stone anvil beating away at her chest.

Lord, she was going to cry.

She really must stop thinking about Lord Pellering and his impending request to marry her while in the presence of others, because without fail it made her wish to cry.

And, really, it was bad enough that she was such a horrible hanky drencher in the seclusion of her room. When she started displaying her newfound weakness to all and sundry, it just did not bode well.

Linney bit hard at her bottom lip and stuck her chin in the air. She would not cry in front of Lord Darington. Of course, she knew that her eyes were probably a bit shiny, because she could feel those tears burning and trying to be free.

It would be awfully nice when she just got the married part over and she could be sensible once more.

And it would have been really nice if her tears had at least waited until she was inside, and preferably alone.

And it would have been really, really nice if Lord Darington hadn’t been standing in front of her, staring at her, watching her fall apart…again.

No, damn it, she would not fall apart.

Linney took a deep breath, clenching her fists at her sides and shivering again, just as Lord Darington said something.

She didn’t really understand what he said, but then he shook his head sharply and put his arms around her and pulled her against his wide chest.

Linney spent a tiny second shocked, a part of her brain telling her to shove the man away for he was taking liberties. And he was most probably laughing at her or something more horrible.

But then her brain basically stopped functioning as it should entirely. Lord Darington was the only man in her whole life to hold her so, and, once her brain sort of melted into mush, she found that she most definitely liked it.

Who knew that one could feel so incredibly warm when the world about them was gripped in the tight fist of a winter freeze?

And was it not truly amazing to spend a few precious moments held in such wonderfully strong arms against such a nice muscular chest, listening, as she was, to the soft thump of another’s heart beating?

She had forgotten entirely that she had been fighting to keep from crying. Why on earth had she teared up, anyway? And, oh bloody hell, what was she doing in Lord Darington’s arms?

Linney pushed away.

“Are you all right?” Lord Darington asked, his voice low and really very nice sounding.

No, goodness no, she was most certainly not all right. “I must go. Immediately!” Linney turned and banged on the door with all her might.

It opened quickly as if Cook had been standing there the whole time. Wonderful. This incident would be old news among London servants within the hour. Linney made a small sound of distress and then did just as Lord Rake had before her; she slithered past Cook and disappeared.

Chapter 3

Lord Darington appears to have dispensed with all semblance of normal behavior and etiquette. Upon meeting Mrs. Featherington in Piccadilly last week, he informed her that she appeared to have a dead bird on her head. (This Author shall—uncharacteristically—refrain from comment about Mrs. Featherington’s unfortunate choice of headwear.) Not to mention that when he asked Miss Ballister to dance with him at the Worth ball last week, he did so by looking her in the face and quite bluntly stating, “I want to dance.”

Such candor would be refreshing if it weren’t so bizarre.

And if that weren’t enough, Lord Darington was seen Sunday last, walking along the streets of Mayfair without a coat.

Good heavens, has no one told the poor man that the Thames has frozen over?

L
ADY
W
HISTLEDOWN
’
S
S
OCIETY
P
APERS
,
2 F
EBRUARY
1814

“W
ell, first of all, Dare, you called upon them way too early yesterday.”

Terrance sat back with a sigh. “Right, I forgot about that.”

Ronald Stuart shook his head. “A week in London, and you are still on country time. I shall have to keep you out late tonight, perhaps then you might sleep at least until noon.”

Terrance laughed and sipped his tonic.

“You know, you could have a brandy. It’s only me you’re with. No one you’ll need to keep your wits up for.”

Terrance glanced around White’s. “Thanks, but I like my wits.” It had been a very long time since he had last sat with Stu at White’s like this, a lifetime, really.

“Secondly, Lady Caroline is not anyone you should waste another thought on. Though it’s a bit of a slight to lose such a fine coat.”

“She had it sent to my home. I did not lose it.”

“Well, good then. Now.” Stu pulled a bit of parchment from the pocket of his waistcoat. “Miss Rellton isn’t going to do?” He dipped a quill in an inkpot on the table beside him and held it above the paper.

“No.”

“Then we shall go on to the next.” Stu scratched out Miss Rellton’s name.

Terrance frowned. Stu had the subtlety of a rampaging bull and the tact as well. A fine man, and the most loyal friend Terrance had ever had. But suddenly the businesslike way they were going about finding Terrance a bride seemed rather crass.

And he did not think Lady Caroline should be dismissed out of hand quite so quickly. “I asked Lady Caroline to the skating party.”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked—”

“Are you mad? She’s exactly what you told me you did not want in a wife, Dare. And, if I remember correctly, you wanted to get this done in a timely matter.” Stu stuck the quill back in the inkpot. “‘I need to get married, Stu, help me find a wife. But for God’s sake don’t make me stay through a Season.’ Does that ring a bell, Dare? That was you giving me instructions on this whole thing, wasn’t it?”

Yes, but how horrible his words now sounded coming from Stu’s mouth.

“And, anyway, Lady Caroline does not meet your requirements in the least,” Stu continued. “You asked me to find you someone who would be able to represent you well in society. Someone who—how did you put it?—glitters? Someone who can keep up a good conversation so as to divert the attention away from the fact that yours isn’t as glib. Well, I’ll tell you now, Dare, Lady Caroline is most definitely not the one to do that. She’s positively”—Stu grimaced—“positively bland, Dare, is what she is.”

Bland? Terrance thought of Caroline’s dewy complexion and large eyes, then remembered her strange words and obviously passionate demeanor.

If there was one thing that Lady Caroline Starling was not, it was bland.

“She refused me,” he said. And if he thought this information would calm his friend, Terrance was sadly mistaken.

“
She
refused
you? She
refused
you?
” Stu stood. “How dare she! As if she could do any better!”

“Stu,” Terrance said quietly. “Sit.”

Stu sat. “Well, really, she does think she’s quite the thing, doesn’t she?”

“No.” Terrance stopped for a moment, trying to find his words. “Actually, she seems not to like me.”

“She doesn’t like you?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Of course, but you don’t always say what you mean, now do you? Or at least you really never use enough words that I am sure I understand completely. And I really must understand this completely: Lady Caroline doesn’t like you?” Stu held up his hands as if surrendering to someone. “What on earth does
liking
you have to do with anything? I mean, Lady Caroline is the quintessential ape leader. She really ought to be most grateful to anyone who offers her a way off the shelf. She has no room to be picky.”

“I must disagree. Lady Caroline should be very picky. She is a beautiful woman.”

Stu furrowed his brow. “Fine, she’s beautiful. But no woman with any kind of intelligence would turn down an invitation from a well-heeled bachelor with a title in front of his name. Especially a woman who is well past her prime.” Stu waved his hand in the air. “Beautiful or no. It has nothing to do with liking at all.”

“Well, Lady Caroline doesn’t like me.”

Stu just shrugged. “Women, strange bunch, the lot of them. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because she’s not for you.” With a shake of his blond head, Stu returned his attention to the list. “But Miss Shelton-Hart most definitely is.” He looked up, his dark eyes alight with triumph.

A bit premature to think in terms of triumph, it seemed to Terrance. And anyway, he did not want to think of the next person on the list. He wanted to think of Caroline Starling.

So much for staying away from her.

“I shall call upon Miss Shelton-Hart this very moment and tell her that you shall be escorting her to the skating party,” Stu announced.

Lovely, he could just see Stu pounding into Miss Shelton-Hart’s drawing room and demanding that the woman go to the skating party with Lord Darington. “Shouldn’t you
ask
her, Stu?”

Stu blinked. “Right, that’s what I said, Dare.” His friend leaned in toward him and whispered, “Really, do try not to say things that make you sound touched.
We
know you are fine, but if others know of your problem, they will give you horrible grief. And believe me, this list of probable brides will be whittled down to nearly nothing.”