The Ruby Pendant (6 page)

Anne blushed
furiously at the way Mr Devonshire used her name and title, as if he had
mistaken her for a lady! `Oh, Miss Juliette, you said you would not go out of
sight, but you did. I did not know what to do.'

`As you see,
there is no cause for alarm, Anne, no harm has come to me,' Juliette assured
her.

`On the
contrary,' Philip said, 'leaving the carriage and going off alone with Mr
Martindale in full view of half London's tabbies, will certainly not enhance
your reputation, as Mr Martindale well knows.'

`It is none of
your affair, sir,' James said. 'Miss Martindale is my cousin.'

`And what is
that to the point? Are you bent on ruining the young lady, sir?'

`Ruining her?'
James repeated pleasantly. 'Nothing was further from my thoughts. Come,
Juliette, into the carriage. I must take you home. Stand aside, Devonshire.'

Juliette,
annoyed by James's use of her given name without permission, felt his hand
under her elbow and stepped up into the carriage, wondering why it was that
Philip Devonshire always seemed to come off worse in his encounters with James.
It was not weakness, she was quite sure of that, but there was something
holding him back. Was he simply being careful of her, not wishing to quarrel in
her presence? Or was there more to it?

As the carriage
pulled away in the direction of the Stanhope Gate, she was conscious that Mr
Devonshire had mounted and was sitting his horse, gazing after them; she could
feel those dark eyes boring into her back. There was something very mysterious
about the man; this was borne out the following afternoon, when she and Lady
Martindale called on the Countess of Wentworth. The Countess had invited a few
of her friends to take tea with her, simply to gossip, as Juliette soon found
out.

Lady Carstairs
and Lucinda were also there, and the two younger ladies sat together, taking no
part in the conversation, but intrigued by the way the characters of those who
had not been invited were pulled to shreds. Juliette thought it was cruel and
once or twice was tempted to put in a good word for the absent ones, but a look
from her mother quelled her.

'I was
surprised to see you escorted by Mr Devonshire the other night, Elizabeth,'
Lady Wentworth said, during a pause in the flow of talk. 'He is such a strange
man.'

`Strange?' her
mother queried vaguely. 'I see nothing exceptional about him. He is a business
associate of my husband.'

`He may be the
sort of man with whom another man might do business, but that's not to say he
is the sort I would countenance as a suitor for my daughter.'

`Why not?'
Juliette demanded before her mother could stop her.

`Well, I
declare!' her ladyship said, fixing her with a look that was intended to make
her quake.

`Please forgive
her,' Lady Martindale put in quickly. `I am sure Juliette did not mean to be
impertinent. I am afraid she has been used to saying what she thinks and
questioning everything.'

`Such traits
will not serve her well,' her ladyship said, somewhat mollified. 'I cannot
conceive of a young man who would entertain them in a wife.'

Juliette longed
to say that in that case, she would stay unwed, but she dare not. She had
embarrassed her mother quite enough for one, day. She remained silent, while
Lady Martindale tried to retrieve the situation.

`Mr Devonshire
was asked by my husband to escort us both as he was unable to do so,' she said,
while Juliette wondered why her mama should feel obliged to justify herself to
this pompous woman. 'There is no more to it than that. Mr Devonshire has no
interest in Juliette and she certainly has no liking for him.' This statement
astonished Juliette, who had offered no opinion to her mother on the subject.
It was also untrue.

'I am glad to
hear it. After all, what is known about him? He has no family that anyone can
discover, no title or even the sniff of one and though he appears to be plump
in the pocket, that may only be a temporary state of affairs. He comes and goes
and when he goes, no one has the least idea of where he goes to. And then he
reappears as if he had never been away, frequenting White's and being seen
everywhere. I have heard it said he made his money in trade. India, I heard.'

`A nabob!'
exclaimed Lucinda. 'Perhaps he has an Indian wife.'

`That is a
possibility,' the Countess went on. 'I had thought you might know, Elizabeth
dear. You would hardly countenance him escorting your daughter if there were
any chance of that. And he certainly could not be invited to any other social
occasions.'

So that was it,
Juliette thought, they were after information. She felt like telling them he
had several native wives and his wealth was so immense he could buy up all of
London several times over, just to see what they would say, but one look at her
mother silenced her.

`I believe he
is unmarried,' Lady Martindale said coolly. 'And Lord Martindale tells me he
comes from a very good family. You do not suppose my husband would allow me to
entertain a mountebank, do you?'

`No, that is
just what I said,' Lady Carstairs put in, though somewhat overawed by their
hostess. 'I would not have invited him to the ball if I had had any doubts
about him. Viscount Martindale has vouchsafed him, I told myself. Do I need
more than that?'

Very soon after
that, Juliette and Lady Martindale took their leave. Her mother was seething
with indignation. `How dare they quiz me like that,' she said, as their
carriage left the door. 'Accusing me to my face of harbouring a snake in my
bosom.'

`Oh, Mama,'
Juliette said, laughing at her mother's imagery. 'It does not matter what they
think, does it? If you are worried, you have only to ask Mr Devonshire for the
truth.'

`And what would
your father say if I did that? That I did not trust him to know the character
of those with whom he associates. It impugns his judgement.'

`Yes,
especially as he has told me to look favourably on the gentleman and not let Mr
Martindale monopolise me. He would hardly have done that if Mr Devonshire had a
wife already, would he?'

`He said that?'
Her ladyship was astounded. 'He thinks of that man as a suitable husband for
you?'

`He said he
would trust him with his life.' Realising she had said too much, she added
quickly, 'Not that I would countenance Mr Devonshire if he should offer for me,
which I am sure he will not. I do not think I am at all the sort of person he
would look for as a wife.'

Her mother did
not reply. She said very little for the remainder of the short journey from
Piccadilly to Mount Street and as soon as they arrived went up to her boudoir,
pleading a headache.

Juliette spent
the remainder of the afternoon reading the latest of Miss Austen's novels,
though her thoughts constantly strayed to Mr Devonshire. The popular conception
of him and the high esteem in which her father held him were at odds and she
wondered who was being deceived, her father or Society in general. And why did
Mr Devonshire and Mr Martindale dislike each other so much? She was not so
conceited as to think it had anything to do with her, but if her father had
intimated to them both that they were rivals and therefore in competition for
her dowry, it might account for it. She wished she had no dowry, then she would
not be constantly looking for motives and she could choose for love. She smiled
to herself. James Martindale had certainly seized his opportunities but Mr
Devonshire, though never far away had not shown his hand. If she were a flirt,
she might play one against the other, but it was not in her nature either to
deceive or to tease. By the time she had dressed ready for a visit to the opera
that evening, she had decided to put them both from her mind and enjoy the
occasion.

Although it was
her first Season, she was a year or two older than was usual and, because white
did not suit her very fair colouring, Lady Martindale had decreed that she
might wear muted colours. She came downstairs at seven dressed in a gown of
pale blue crepe over a white silk slip. It had a high waist and a round neck
and was topped by an evening cape of dark blue velvet.

Anne had spent
over half an hour on her hair and the result was a young lady who was confident
of her looks and not over-awed by the prospect of meeting the Prince Regent,
who was expected to occupy his box. It was, so her father had told her, to be a
celebration of Lord Wellington's latest success in the Peninsula. He had
completely routed Napoleon's brother, Joseph, and driven him out of Spain and
back into France. The country was beginning to sense victory.

Her parents
were in the library; she could hear them talking as she descended the stairs,
but just as she was about to join them, she was halted by their raised voices.
`I was never so humiliated,' her mother was saying. `Sylvia Wentworth was
gloating over it. And then for Juliette to tell me you had encouraged him to
offer...'

`I said nothing
to him.' Her father's voice was pitched a little lower than her mother's but
she could tell he, too, was annoyed. 'I spoke to Juliette, not to him. It is my
wish that she should think carefully before accepting anyone.'

`Yes, I am
perfectly aware that you would like her to have her own way in this as in
everything else. I know that she is everything to you, but sooner or later, the
truth will out and then what will you do?'

`Nothing.'

`It would be
easier if she were safely married.'

`And is her
husband to know?' her father asked, so quietly that Juliette could barely hear
him.

`Her dowry will
keep him silent. And better it were James Martindale, who probably has an idea
of the truth anyway and is too poor to care.'

`That is
exactly my point. I should like to think that, above everything, whoever
marries Juliette cares for her. And she for him.'

Dear, dear
Papa! But whatever were they talking about? What truth? She was so busy
questioning herself that she did not hear her mother's reply, until she became
aware of the words, 'She is your daughter, Edward, you must do what you think
is best. But I wish you would consider my position.'

`Oh, I do, my
dear, believe me, I do. I would not for the world have you embarrassed, but Mr
Devonshire's services are unique and important. And truly the gossip will die
down. Hold your head up and pretend not to hear it...'

Juliette was
astonished to hear her mother say, 'Bah!' in a most scathing tone. 'There is no
talking to you.' She retreated a little way up the stairs and stood waiting so
that when her mother opened the door and came out, she appeared to be just
descending.

Lady Martindale
was dressed for the opera, except for her cloak, which lay across a chair in
the hall. She looked up when she saw her daughter and visibly pulled herself
together. 'There you are, Juliette, we must hurry or we shall be late.'

Lord Martindale
appeared behind her, smiling up at Juliette as if nothing had happened and
ushered them out to the waiting carriage.

Juliette could
not afterwards recount anything of the opera or the host of well-known people
who attended it. She vaguely recalled dropping a curtsy to the Prince when she
was taken to his box to be presented, but what he said or what she replied, she
could not remember.

Her whole being
was filled with the conversation she had overheard. None of it made sense. Her
mother had been concerned about the truth. What truth? She could not rest nor
choose a husband until she knew what it was.

Lady Martindale
was indisposed the following morning and it was left to Juliette, chaperoned by
Anne, to entertain their callers. There were a great many and she was sure they
came as a result of the Countess's remarks about Mr Devonshire, hoping to find
out more. It was all she could do to be polite to them. And then the gentleman
himself arrived. He had come, he said, to speak to his lordship, but the
Viscount had gone to Horse Guards and was not expected back until the afternoon
and she had perforce to invite him to join them.

He was soon
chatting amiably with all her mother's friends, making them laugh with his wit,
until he had won them all over. By the time he took his leave, everyone was
convinced that the Countess of Wentworth would one day be cut by her own tongue
and you did not need a title to be a true gentleman. Juliette, catching his
eye, knew with certainty that he was doing it for her benefit and was grateful.

`Thank you,'
she said, as she accompanied him to the door when he took his leave. 'I truly
could not handle them all at once.'

`It seemed to
me you were handling them very well, Miss Martindale.' He paused as if
considering something, then added, 'But if you really wish to thank me, perhaps
you would come riding with me one morning. You do ride, do you not?'

`Oh, yes. I
ride most mornings when I am at Hartlea. I have a mare in the stables here -
not my usual mount, because he is a little spirited for town, but she goes well
enough.'

`Then tomorrow
morning. At ten, shall we say?'

It was very
early, but she decided there was no harm in agreeing, so long as Thomas, one of
the grooms, accompanied her. 'I shall look forward to it.' Which was nothing
less than the truth.