The Wolfe Wager (3 page)

“But—”

“You know Mr. Rollins, I believe,” Aunt Carolyn interjected with a warning smile.

Vanessa recognized the smile that her aunt gave to her often. It was a silent command to be on her most polished behavior. Not that Vanessa’s manners were ever questionable. She simply avoided any meeting she did not wish to suffer through, but Aunt Carolyn was clearly going to be insistent that she endure this one.

“Good evening, Mr. Rollins,” she said dutifully.

“My lady.” He lifted her hand. His lips were so moist she could feel the dampness through her glove. “May I say what a splendid surprise it was to hear your lovely aunt telling me that you wished to dance this evening?”

“I’m sure you were quite surprised by my aunt’s fervor,” Vanessa answered. “I always am.”

Aunt Carolyn smiled with satisfaction, and Vanessa wondered how she could prove to her aunt
this
was not the way to provide her with good prospects for a husband. Vanessa had already suffered too much of Mr. Rollins’s company last month, and she had thought when they last parted that he understood she had no more interest in his company.

Knowing it was useless to argue, Vanessa let Mr. Rollins lead her out onto the dance floor. Inspiration blossomed when she saw the furious glance Darla Averill shot in her direction. Although she could not understand why Miss Averill was anxious for the overly effusive Mr. Rollins’s company, Vanessa was ready to take advantage of any opportunity that presented itself.

“Mr. Rollins,” she said in a near whisper so he had to bend his head toward her, “I believe you have broken a lady’s heart by asking me to dance.”

“Yours?” he gasped, his mustache quivering with emotion.

“Miss Averill’s,” she answered quickly to avoid laughing at the hair dancing wildly on his lip. “Look if you can without her realizing, and you shall see that she’s quite distressed you are dancing with another.”

“My lady, I—”

“No need to apologize to me.” She smiled, hoping he would not suspect that she knew he had intended to ignore Miss Averill’s petulance. She would not let this chance to give him his leave pass by. “A fine gentleman like you knows he must soothe a woman’s shattered heart at all costs.” She withdrew her fingers from his arm and pressed them to her heart. “Oh, how I admire your chivalry, Mr. Rollins!”

Again Vanessa struggled not to laugh as the pompous man puffed up his chest and bowed over her hand before excusing himself to hurry to Miss Averill’s side. She guessed he hoped to win the hearts of two ladies with his singular action. She stepped closer to the black walnut walls and released her laughter.

“May I ask what you find so amusing, Lady Vanessa?” asked a deep voice from the shadows behind her.

Vanessa whirled as a man stepped into the light. He was a half head taller than the other men in the room. His dark hair glistened with bluish fire in the glow from the pair of chandeliers. He must have engaged the services of a competent knight of the needle, for his coat fit him well. His valet should be commended for the diligence given to the glittering buckles on his brightly shined shoes. From his black brows along his aquiline nose to the hint of a cleft in his chin, he possessed an aura of arrogant self-assuredness she found disconcerting.

“Do I know you?” she asked, shocked to hear her voice tremble.

“I regret I must be so bold as to introduce myself. Lord Brickendon, my lady.” He took her hand.

She tensed. She had grown exasperated by the parade of men who insisted on kissing her hand as a prelude to the silly talk that sounded like nothing-sayings in her ears. Did none of them have a true thought in their heads?

When Lord Brickendon bowed over her hand, then relinquished it, she was amazed. She was about to smile, then his gaze captured hers. Wanting to look away, she could not, for she was fascinated by his ebony eyes. In them, she saw unfettered amusement and other, stronger emotions she could not decipher. Emotions, she decided with a shiver of uneasiness, she would be wise not to decipher.

“I am pleased to meet you, my lord,” Vanessa murmured when the suspicion of a smile played on his lips. Through her head rang Aunt Carolyn’s entreaty that she be pretty-mannered. She would find that easier if she was not so unsettled by this handsome man.

“If I may be so bold, I would say your words contradict your expression.” He glanced at the room. “You look most displeased with everything around you.”

Although she was tempted to fire back that his polished words did not match the glow in his eyes, she said only, “Anyone who doesn’t find the rigors of the Season fatiguing is stronger than I.”

“Odd, for you don’t appear to be a frail flower. I own—even on such a short acquaintance—I cannot imagine you pining in a corner and watching the world pass by you.”

In spite of herself, Vanessa smiled. The image he created with his words was ludicrous. No Wolfe ever would be willing to sit quietly. “You’re quite correct, my lord.”

“Then I trust I shall see you in the future at another rout or perhaps in Hyde Park. Mayhap then, my lady, you will share with me the jest that left you laughing this evening.” He took her hand.

Again, she tensed. She swallowed her gasp as she realized she was actually anticipating Lord Brickendon’s kiss upon her fingers. When he surrendered her hand, unkissed, she was shocked at her disappointment. She must be mad! She murmured a farewell, resolved he would not guess the queer course of her thoughts.

“Until we meet again,” Lord Brickendon said with another smile.

“Until we meet again,” she whispered. Then, with a sharp, but silent reprimand to herself, she added in a stronger voice, “Good evening, my lord.”

Vanessa feared she would hear his laughter as she walked away, but either Lord Brickendon silenced it or he found her peculiar behavior as distasteful as she did. After all, she was no swooning miss to be plied with a few fancy words that would send her head spinning.

But then why was her head as light as if she had been drinking too much wine? She did not like the feeling and vowed she would avoid any chance of suffering from it again. That would be as easy as avoiding the handsome Lord Brickendon.

The house on Grosvenor Square glowed with candles as the carriage slowed before its door. Vanessa thanked the tiger who handed her to the walkway and offered Quigley a smile as the butler held the door open.

The tall man had no spare flesh on his frame. What was left of his hair was the same black as his spotless livery. No matter what hour of the day or night, Quigley stood ready to open the door for her, pausing in his other duties to wish her a good day or good evening. She had no idea if he missed Wolfe Abbey as much as she did, for nothing in his ram-straight posture gave her a clue to his thoughts.

It was wondrous to be home, although this house with its simple foyer and the stairs that swept up from the ground floor in a flow of mahogany only made her nostalgic for Wolfe Abbey’s grand oaken hall. She had to admire the delicate art her aunt had chosen to fill the niches along the staircase and the elegantly turned furniture with its pale blue silk upholstery in the parlor on the first floor. This house was splendid, but it was not home. She longed for the thick-legged pieces that were pulled around the huge hearth in the solarium at the Abbey. The furniture had been in the house for centuries; yet Vanessa was sure nothing could be more inviting and comfortable on a wintry night.

Quigley took her wrap and Aunt Carolyn’s pelisse. “Lady Vanessa, this was returned.”

Vanessa accepted the letter he held out to her. She did not need to look at it. Sending a note to the prime minister had been a desperate move, but she had hoped he would read it, even if he could do nothing else. He had returned it, unopened. With a deep sigh, she put it in her bag.

“A problem, dear?” asked Aunt Carolyn.

“Of course not,” she answered, but glanced at Quigley, hoping he would not contradict her words. He must know how much she hated being false with Aunt Carolyn. When he bowed his head and whispered a good night, she released the breath she had not realized she was holding. She would thank Quigley in the morning. He was an unwilling ally in her attempt to discover her brother’s whereabouts, but not once had he betrayed her.

“Then come with me a moment.”

Vanessa glanced toward the stairs, then sighed. The scold she was due must be coming. The only way to get it over was to sit through it and promise to try harder next time to meet her aunt’s expectations. As she followed Aunt Carolyn up the stairs and into the brightly lit parlor, she clenched her hands at her side. Papa had urged her to obey her aunt, but he would be outraged at the rôle she had had to assume to be a part of the Season. Then, with another, much deeper sigh, she wondered if she was forcing her own opinions upon her memories of her father. After all, her mother had been a vibrant part of Society before marrying and moving to Wolfe Abbey.

Vanessa sat on the very edge of a blue-striped chair and watched as Aunt Carolyn paced in front of the white marble mantel. The ruffle on the hem of her aunt’s gown fluttered on every furious step.

“My dear Vanessa,” Aunt Carolyn began in her strictest tone, “how could you embarrass our family by leaving Mr. Rollins alone on the dance floor?”

“But, Aunt Carolyn, I did not abandon him. Miss Averill wished to dance with him and he with her.” Vanessa folded her hands in her lap as she spoke the small lie. She rushed to add, “Papa always implored me to think of others. Do you wish me to do differently here in Town?”

“Don’t try to twist things your way, my girl.” Wagging her finger at Vanessa, Aunt Carolyn lamented, “What your father wanted was for you to marry a man who could take care of you and Wolfe Abbey. Each time I introduce you to a fine gentleman, you rid yourself of him as quickly as a fox loses the hounds. At first, I thought it was nothing but girlish shyness, but, I fear, Vanessa, you shall end up on the shelf if you do nothing to change your ways.”

“Do leave off,” she begged. “I have found Mr. Rollins a disagreeable bore each time he has imposed his company on me. Just like every other man I have had inflicted upon me during this interminable Season.”

“Even Lord Brickendon?”

“Lord Brickendon?” she choked, not prepared to hear his name. Her aunt had not mentioned him during the ride home from the rout.

“Do you think me blind? I saw you talking to him.” Her aunt shook her head and sat on the white settee. “Not that you spoke to him for very long. Did your acidic wit chase him away, too?”

“I merely exchanged a few pleasantries with him.”

“Pleasantries?” Aunt Carolyn’s brows rose nearly to the perfect curls across her forehead. “My dear child,
you
exchanged pleasantries? This night should be heralded as a first.”

She smiled. “You need not make it sound as if I have no manners, Aunt Carolyn.”

“Manners you have, child. Pretty ones, but you use them too sparingly. Dare I believe that you have met a man who doesn’t bore you?”

Vanessa hesitated too long, for her aunt’s smile widened. She should answer, but she had no answer. Lord Brickendon certainly had not been boring, although she had found some of his comments impertinent. Then, she reminded herself sharply, they had spoken for such a short time. Probably he would become as tedious as the others crowding the Season if she had shared more conversation with him.

She rose and knelt next to her aunt. “I implore you to listen to me. Let us be done with this travesty of finding me a husband. I wish only to return to Wolfe Abbey.”

Her aunt’s long fingers stroked her hair. “Dear child, you know your father left you to my care because he was sure I would do the best for you.”

“Marrying the wrong man is not the best thing for me.”

“Indeed.” Standing, Aunt Carolyn assisted Vanessa to her feet. “And that is why we must remain a part in the Season until you find the man who is best for you. Go to bed, child. You have a fitting at Madame deBerg’s tomorrow morning.”

Vanessa murmured a good night and, giving her aunt a quick kiss on the cheek, hurried up the stairs. As she walked toward her bedroom door, she ignored the grim faces of her ancestors in the portraits hanging in a row over the gold-striped wallpaper. Why were they so dour? They had not had to endure this Marriage Mart!

She laughed ironically. She
was
enjoying parts of the Season. Going to the theater with Aunt Carolyn, strolling through the Park, being with her newfound friends—she loved that part of Town. If only her brother could have been here to laugh with her over the men who were anxious to wed her for the Abbey, it would have been perfect. Of course, those eager suitors would have scanty interest in her then because Corey would possess the Abbey.

Only one lamp lit her bedroom, but Vanessa needed no light. The chamber seemed too cozy after her massive room in the Abbey. She had to own—albeit reluctantly—that this chamber with its light pink walls and chintz curtains had become a welcome sanctuary from the Season’s craziness. Here, where she could look out over the green in the middle of the Square, she might imagine, for a moment, she was back in the Abbey and listening for her father’s gruff voice and Corey’s answer.

Her abigail helped her change into a lacy, muslin nightgown. Leale did not ask if Vanessa had enjoyed her evening, and Vanessa was grateful. The gray-haired woman had accepted Vanessa’s lack of interest in the Season. Yet, how surprised Leale would be if Vanessa spoke of the viscount and her reaction to his teasing eyes and strange comments!

Vanessa scowled at the thought. “’Tis nothing,” she reassured Leale quickly to soothe her abigail’s dismay.

“You’re frowning, Lady Vanessa. Such expressions can freeze into your face.” She clucked under her breath. “Then who would wish to marry you?”

“I think it would matter not if I was as ugly as a fishwife.”

“Lady Vanessa!”

“Forgive me,” she said, smiling. “I’m just tired.”

For once, she thought her abigail would refuse to accept such a nebulous answer. Then the short woman went, mumbling, into the dressing room to hang up Vanessa’s gown.