The Wolfe Wager (13 page)

The red-haired man recalled his manners in time to bow over Lady Mansfield’s hand, but his attention focused on the younger woman, who was giving her Indian shawl to a maid. When he raised Lady Vanessa’s hand to his lips, a wide grin on his lips, a peculiar tightness cramped Ross’s stomach. He frowned. Perhaps the wine had not been as excellent as he had thought.

He walked to where Swinton was stumbling over his words in his eagerness to impress the two ladies. Tapping his host on the shoulder, Ross smiled at Swinton’s sharp glance. He resisted retorting that he could not enjoy this if he watched from halfway across the room.

“Good evening, my lady,” Ross said to Lady Mansfield, then he added, “and to you, my lady.”

“My lord,” Lady Vanessa answered tersely.

He saw her glance at her aunt, then quickly away. He could not guess what message had passed between them. When Lady Vanessa gave Swinton a smile and accepted his offer of a glass of wine, he watched them walk toward where chairs were set for the abominable performance ahead of them.

Lady Mansfield mused, “Not an impossible match.”

“Not impossible,” Ross agreed.

She looked at him, a smile lilting at the corners of her lips. “You sound distressed, my lord. You need not look the sad scamp. Vanessa has given no more than her ear to Mr. Swinton at this point.”

“My lady, you mistake a bit of queasiness from soured wine for heart-sickness.” He held out his arm. When she put her fingers on it, he led her toward the chairs. “I consider it a point of honor never to have more than a casual
amitié
with a lady my friend has expressed an interest in.”

“So Mr. Swinton is interested in Vanessa?”

Ross nearly laughed.
This
was what Lady Mansfield had hoped to discover. “I can assure you that Bruce Swinton would find winning your niece’s heart very worthwhile.”

“I have few doubts about that,” she replied dryly, then chuckled. “You play with words as readily as Vanessa. I own to being astounded that you stand back while Mr. Swinton commands her attention. Your sense of honor is exemplary.”

“No, my lady, only my determination to enjoy others’ pursuits of matrimony.”

“Something you do not wish for yourself?”

“Mayhap someday, when I am senile enough not to know better.”

Across the room, Vanessa heard her aunt’s light laugh. Looking back, she saw the amazing sight of her aunt on Lord Brickendon’s arm. Their heads were bent toward each other in earnest conversation. When Captain Hudson strode toward them, she heard what sounded like a snort from beside her.

“Mr. Swinton?” she asked pointedly.

The red-haired man seated her in the front row of chairs, the tails of his black evening coat flapping about his legs. “Excuse me, my lady, but I cannot help being amused about the collection of admirers your aunt is gathering.”

“You can’t?”

Mr. Swinton smiled and sat next to her. “You are misreading my words. I meant no slight to your charming aunt. You Wolfe ladies should be named for the perfect flower, for you intrigue a gentleman into thinking of gentleness instead of the feral temper of your family’s namesake.”

“You are the one mistaken.” Vanessa relaxed, for Mr. Swinton was trying to be agreeable company. Just because she had been in the dismals since her aunt’s ultimatum did not grant her the right to inflict her low spirits on him. “The Wolfe women are not sacrosanct from our family’s many faults.”

“May I say you and your aunt have shown rare aplomb in light of the distasteful escapade of earlier this week?”

“’Twas no escapade, Mr. Swinton. It was—”

“Intolerable of Franklin,” he supplied, his smile broadening. “Franklin can be a boor when sober. When blind as Chloë, the man is a knight and barrow pig and loses every manner he ever possessed. I must offer my abject condolences for your discomfort at the hands of my friend.”

“You cannot be held responsible for the behavior of your friend. I am, I must own, just glad to be shut of him.”

“I am pleased to hear that you do not judge a man by the cup and can he enjoys at his club. I have found that those companions, who are boon about the card table, can be an embarrassment when we are amid the fairest blossoms of the Polite World.”

Vanessa was about to reply, but the orchestra began playing even more loudly again. Rising, for she was certain her ears could not abide the noise for long, she saw her motion had set up Mr. Swinton’s bristles. His brown eyes, which were not as dark as Lord Brickendon’s, were wide with dismay.

And dismay was what
she
felt as she found herself comparing Mr. Swinton to the viscount. In spite of herself, she looked across the room. Lord Brickendon was no longer talking with Aunt Carolyn, and she had no chance to discover where he was, as Mr. Swinton asked if she would like to see the painting that he recently had had commissioned.

“Yes,” she answered. At that moment, she was eager to agree to just about anything to escape the crash of the music and her thoughts of the equally disquieting viscount.

Vanessa breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged from the ballroom into a small alcove.

“They are thunderous,” Mr. Swinton said with an apologetic smile. “I must speak with them before the beginning of the musicale. The selections for that are much more serene.” He pointed to an ornate, gilt frame. “This is the painting, my lady.”

A gasp of admiration burst from her lips as she stepped to where she could better see the canvas, which was more than her height and twice the length of the mahogany library table beneath it. Rolling hills of spring’s freshest green provided the backdrop for almost life-size figures of riders in their pinks mounted upon fine horses. About the steeds’ feet, dogs pranced, eager for the hunt across the stone walls and through fields stroked with the first gray light of morning.

“See the dog in front of the lead rider?” Mr. Swinton asked with undeniable pride. “He is of the Swinton Park kennels. The white patch just above the dog’s forepaws marks my kennels’ distinctive marking.”

“They look like excellent dogs. I can imagine them flushing the fox from its hold in no time.”

“You sound as if you enjoy the hunt, my lady.”

“I do. We often rode out at Wolfe Abbey before …” Her voice nearly broke as she thought of the halcyon days before Corey left for the continent and while her father had still overseen Wolfe Abbey. The longing for those simple diversions, for mornings chasing the fox across a dew-dappled field, for evenings when they sat by the hearth and shared a hot drink and read from the books they all adored, swarmed over her, as stinging and fierce as a hive of bees.

“My lady?”

She smiled, although she feared her expression would appear as feigned as it felt. “Forgive me. I lost myself in thoughts of hunts past.”

“And of hunts future?”

“I fear there is little worth hunting in Town.”

“If one isn’t seeking a spouse on the Marriage Mart?”

Thoughts of the past evaporated as Vanessa’s smile became genuine. “Those words could be considered blasphemous by certain parties.”

“I find the desperate search for a whither-ye-go can stand in the way of friendships.” He took her hand and held it between his. “Why should we not become friends? We share a love of the hunt and a dislike of that cacophonous music.”

“I would like that.” Guilt pinched her, for Mr. Swinton’s offer gave her the best opportunity to please Aunt Carolyn. Mr. Swinton was honest enough to say he was not setting his cap on her. She appreciated that and the fact that she could be seen enough in his company to discourage the insipid men she had met during the Season. She wanted little to do with any of them, save … Lord Brickendon, she had to own to herself, who was not in the least insipid. Yet, by appearing to live in Mr. Swinton’s pocket, she could avoid the viscount’s touch, which had been so unsettling. So deliriously unsettling.

She glanced back at the ballroom. She saw Lord Brickendon as clearly as if no one else stood within the huge room. He looked over his shoulder, and their gazes touched, as intimate and eager as a caress. As her fingers clenched in the silk of her dress, she fought the craving to surrender herself to the passions in his dark gaze. So easily she could have walked to him, drawn to him in a spellbound rapture.

Mr. Swinton’s pleasant tenor intruded, and she flinched. “Is something wrong, my lady?” he asked.

“No—no, I am fine.”

Puzzlement furrowed his forehead, but he said, “I would be honored if you and your aunt would join a small party I have arranged at Swinton Park this weekend. My master of the hunt has informed me that the dogs are anxious to be put to the scent, and I wish to oblige both him and them by setting them after the fox. Do join us.”

“I wish we were able to,” Vanessa said with regret. After months of being confined amid cobbles and marble, she longed to exult in the commonplace wonders of the country. Also—and perhaps more importantly—she would be far from Lord Brickendon. “Your invitation is generous, Mr. Swinton. However, I have promised a friend to be her hostess for the remainder of the Season. I could not be so remiss as to leave her right after we had opened our house to her.”

“Of course not.” A smile blossomed across his thin face. “I have just the dandy. Our party is small. Please offer your friend an invitation to join us in our hunt.”

Vanessa put her hand on his arm as they walked toward the ballroom. Her voice trembled when she saw Lord Brickendon talking again to her aunt. Getting out of London now would be prudent. A few days away, while she talked Aunt Carolyn into seeing sense, and she would have a better perspective on everything in Town. “That is generous of you, Mr. Swinton. I would be delighted to,” she said with a smile. She was glad she could be honest when she said, “I can’t imagine anything I would enjoy more.”

“Nor I, my lady.” His eyes glistened. “Nor I.”

Opening her parasol, Vanessa took a deep breath of the fresh air as she stepped out onto a small terrace overlooking the gardens of Swinton Park.

“To think,” said Eveline with a soft laugh, “that I threatened to fling out of the house when Papa said we would be going to daisyville. Now here I am.” She wrapped her arms around herself beneath the bright colors of her fringed shawl. “This shall be so much fun, although I look forward to the hunt with dread.”

Vanessa tilted her head, so she could see past the wide brim of her green Oldenburg bonnet. She smiled as the wind pulled at Eveline’s Scottish-style bonnet and twisted the plume attached to one side. “You need not dread anything. You can stay here in the house. Few women ride to catch the fox.”

“But you do.”

“Papa and Corey insisted that I ride as they did.” She laughed at Eveline’s gasp of shock. “Don’t worry. I shall not shame you or Aunt Carolyn by riding astride tomorrow. Everything I do or say shall be
comme il faut
.”

“As I am sure you always are, my lady,” answered Mr. Swinton as he climbed the trio of stone steps to the terrace. “I am delighted to see you have arrived here in such good humor. The journey from London can be tiring.” His eyes widened as he looked at Eveline. “Miss Clarke, this is a surprise.”

“For me as well,” Eveline answered as she offered his hand. When he bowed over it, dimples pocked her cheeks. “I was delighted with the invitation you asked Vanessa to present to me.”

“So you are staying with the Wolfe ladies.”

“We are dear friends.” She squeezed Vanessa’s hand, then added, “I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Swinton. I make it a habit, any time I travel, to be certain that my abigail has unpacked my fripperies properly.”

“Eveline—”

“I shall be but a minute, Vanessa.” She walked toward the double doors opening into the book-room, pausing only long enough to wink brazenly at Vanessa.

Smiling, Vanessa walked with Mr. Swinton in the opposite direction. Trust Eveline to try to give her an unchaperoned moment with their host. She resisted the urge to be honest with her dear friend. Eveline would be sure to let the secret slip, and Aunt Carolyn soon would be looking for another suitor for her.

For now, everything was better than she had dared to hope. Coming to the country had been a grand idea. She would have fun with her bosom-bow and keep in with Mr. Swinton. Aunt Carolyn had been quite the prattle-box on the journey to Swinton Park, and Vanessa had said nothing to disabuse her of her notion that Vanessa and their host would soon be coming to a permanent understanding.

Vanessa walked with Mr. Swinton in companionable silence across the eider soft grass toward a rose garden, which was surrounded by a waist-high stone wall. Within it, the rose vines contorted as if mad with a fever. She was surprised to see that little pruning had been done to keep the vines blooming longer.

“They must have been lovely,” Vanessa said.

A smile widened Mr. Swinton’s thin face. “I need only look at the beautiful blush in your cheeks, and I can understand why they surrendered before your loveliness.”

“Mr. Swinton, you flatter me needlessly.”

“I speak the truth. Isn’t that the obligation of friends? To be honest with each other?”

Vanessa walked along the low wall to hide the truth. She was honest with too few people now. “It is so quiet here after the clatter of Town.”

As if to make her words false, the furious clucking of chickens and the sharp sound of hoofbeats splintered the afternoon. She laughed, but stopped when she perceived Mr. Swinton was not sharing her merriment.

“My lady, I hesitate to say this, but I feel I must.” His voice was funereal.

“Didn’t you just say that friends owe each the duty of honesty?” She leaned against the wall and set the parasol on her shoulder, so she could more easily see his face. It was set in somber lines.

“Then I shall not insult you by lathering you with goose’s gazettes. My lady, I own to a great consternation at discovering that the friend you brought with you to Swinton Park is Eveline Clarke.”

Vanessa’s smile fell. Telling herself she should have expected this as soon as he faltered on his greeting to Eveline, she straightened. Her fingers bit into her gloved palm as she clutched her parasol more tightly. “Mr. Swinton, Eveline and I have been oars first with each other since our childhood. I know well what is said of her family, but I know Eveline. She has been grossly misjudged, for her heart is as warm as this sunshine and as large as the sea.”