Thea's Marquis (10 page)

“Miss Kilmore and Miss Megan, Aunt,” said Will.

They curtsied. Without opening her eyes, Lady Hazlewood gave a feeble wave of the hand, apparently intended to serve as both greeting and dismissal.

As the others had moved on. Will presented Thea and Meg to the duchess, who acknowledged the introduction with an air of boredom. He hustled them onwards.

“Deuced bad ton,” he said disapprovingly. “Rod may have forced my aunt to receive Lady Kilmore, but that’s no excuse for out-and-out rudeness. I’ll apologize if Rod hasn’t.”

“Pray don’t, Mr. DeVine,” Thea begged. “To remark upon Lady Hazlewood’s incivility can only increase Penny’s discomfort.”

“You have a point there. Best not draw attention to it. By Jove, but she carried it off well, didn’t she? As if she had moved in the First Circles all her life. Oh, there’s Giddy Turner. He complained the other evening that his mother was making him squire yet another husband-hunting sister. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Thea saw a lanky young man leaning against the wall, half hidden by an urn. In front of him, a bran-faced young lady and her mother sat with rigid spines on the edge of their seats, their expressions masks of polite attention. Opposite them sat another mother and daughter, equally stiff, the elder making some remark that appeared to be of no great interest to anyone.

Either they were all as starchy as the marchioness, Thea decided, or their excessive decorum was designed to curry her favour. In either case, they had probably noticed how she snubbed the Kilmores and would take their lead from her. Thea did not want to face them.

Feeling cowardly, she retreated to her mother’s side, while Meg went off happily with Will. The oddly named Giddy Turner brightened as Will approached, and within a few minutes the whole group was chatting with animated faces. Meg’s cheerful laugh made heads turn.

Near the window, Lord Hazlewood and Penny were talking to a dark, pretty woman of about thirty. She must have taken her cue from the Duchess of Trent rather than the marchioness.

“Do you know who that is, Mama?” Thea asked.

“Lady Cowper. Hazlewood offered to make me known to her, of course, but I was afraid...”

“I know, so was I. But she must be perfectly amiable if she is talking to Penny after Lady Hazlewood was so odious.”

“Emily Cowper is one of the patronesses, Thea. In the circumstances, I thought it best not to approach her here. I don’t know how Penny can put herself forward like that. She may ruin Meg’s chances.”

“Oh, fustian. Mama! I beg your pardon, but Penny cannot be called forward when it was the marquis who made
her
acquainted with Lady Cowper. He himself has said there is nothing to blush for in her manners.”

At that moment a tall, thin, elderly lady approached them in a flutter of lilac gauze draperies. Even her cap had fluttering lilac ribbons, contrasting oddly with shrewd blue eyes and an eagle’s beak of a nose. Her lack of outdoor clothes proclaimed her a resident of the house.

“You are Lady Kilmore,” she announced. “Let me introduce myself, ma’am. Lady Anne DeVine, dear Roderick’s aunt. How do you do, ma’am. And this is your daughter. Happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Kilmore.”

Every statement issued disconcertingly from her lips as an announcement. Curtsying, Thea felt herself being scrutinized with uncommon astuteness, which might have been alarming had not Lady Anne proved her goodwill by the very act of speaking to them.

Having shaken the dowager’s hand with a manly vigour, Lady Anne went on, “Do my best to avoid these nonsensical affairs of my sister-in-law’s. Shocking waste of time, ma’am.”

“My younger daughter...” bleated Lady Kilmore.

Lady Anne patted her shoulder sympathetically. “Different when there’s a chit to be turned off. Can’t be helped. Never married, myself.”

The sound the dowager produced might have been commiseration; though, her husband having been what he was, it could also have been envy.

“I am a bluestocking, ma’am,” Lady Anne declared with pride, raising the hem of her skirt to reveal bony ankles clad in cotton stockings of ultramarine blue. “I am engaged in translating a medical treatise from the German.”

Nothing could have been better calculated to set the dowager at ease. For many years she had taken care of all the medical needs of tenants and neighbours in Newkirk and the surrounding area, the nearest apothecary being miles away. She was always eager to discover new cures. She and Lady Anne settled happily to a discussion of symptoms and treatments.

Left to her own devices, Thea watched the ebb and flow of guests in Lady Hazlewood’s salon. The proper time for a call being no more than fifteen or twenty minutes, the marchioness was kept busy by a constant stream of greetings and farewells.

Lady Cowper departed, bowing and smiling as she passed Thea. Penny and the marquis came after her, but the marquis was waylaid en route by a ravishing blonde, who hung on his arm, gazing up into his eyes. With his invariable courtesy, he bent his head to listen to her with no sign of impatience. Why should he be impatient? Thea demanded of herself. Unable to think of a reason, she sighed. Any man would be flattered to have such a beauty casting such obvious lures at him.

Penny joined Thea. “Lady Cowper is prodigious good-natured,” she reported. “If it were up to her alone, I might conceivably be admitted to Almack’s. However, I thought it best not to request vouchers even for you and Meg. If they are not offered, someone of high social standing must approach the patronesses for you.”

“Lord Hazlewood will,” said Thea with confidence. “For Meg, at least. I do not care to go.”

“Very wise, Miss Kilmore.” Lady Anne had overheard. “A more insipid entertainment cannot be imagined.” She nodded to Penny. “You must be the new Lady Kilmore. Don’t let ’em frighten you, ma’am. A woman should be judged on her own merits, not her father’s or her husband’s.”

Penny was nonplussed. While the dowager presented her in proper form, Thea turned her attention back to Lord Hazlewood. At that moment he gestured in her direction, his gaze on his beautiful companion. The blonde shook her head with a pettish frown, and glared after him as he deserted her to rejoin the Kilmores. Catching Thea’s eye, the woman gave her a black scowl.

Thea guessed that she had refused to meet them. “I fear your friend is vexed,” she said to the marquis when he reached her, after exchanging brief greetings with several of the people he passed.

“My friend?” he asked in surprise. “Oh, you mean Lady Daphne. A mere acquaintance.”

“With ambitions to something warmer,” said Will, coming up with Meg. “Like a dozen others, she has been setting her cap at Rod since she made her come-out, even, to my certain knowledge, refusing other offers. He’s the greatest prize on the Town, you know.”

“You flatter me, coz. Aunt Anne, I’m glad you managed to bring yourself to quit the library for a while. You are free to return thither now, since we must be leaving.”

She beamed at him. “Anything, dear boy,” she said obscurely. Turning to the dowager, she promised, “I’ll hunt down that pamphlet for you, ma’am.” With that, she rose and strode from the room, her extraordinary lilac draperies swirling.

“Aunt Anne has a mind above fashion,” said Will mournfully.

Thea sprang to her defence. “She has a kind heart!”

“Well said.” Lord Hazlewood smiled at her.

Meg’s new acquaintances had already gone. Few of those now present had seen the Kilmores’ arrival, but their departure was equally illuminating to anyone who cared for the marchioness’s opinion. When Lord Hazlewood informed his mother that they were leaving, she waved her vinaigrette vaguely in their direction, then raised it to her nose and sniffed.

This time, following Penny’s lead, they all took polite leave of her as if they had noticed nothing untoward in her behaviour. Thea thought she saw Lady Hazlewood’s drooping mouth tighten for the merest instant.

Perhaps that was a victory of a sort, yet she could not regard the visit as a success. Lady Anne was no Society hostess. Lady Cowper might acknowledge them if they met by chance, but was unlikely to go out of her way to invite them. And though Meg had been the most successful at breaking barriers, even she now looked glum.

CHAPTER NINE

“If only we had a respectable address!” Meg cried passionately from her usual hopeful post at the morning-room window. “They were friendly until Sir Gideon asked permission to call and they found out where I live.”

“So you have told us a hundred times,” said Thea without raising her eyes from her book. “Can you think of nothing else? At least stop talking about it, for Penny will be down soon.”

“Do come and sit down, dear,” their mother said in mild reproof, her fingers busy with a netting shuttle. “If anyone
should
call, they would be shocked to see you peering out at them like an ill-bred schoolgirl.”

Thea set aside the book. “Shall I help you with that difficult bit of drawn-thread work you gave up on last night?”

Her volatile sister was happily absorbed in her needlework when Penny came in, pale after her daily bout of morning sickness.

“You all enjoy embroidery,” she said, smiling, “yet I recall Meg telling me that none of you is a good needlewoman.”

“That was when we had to do all the plain sewing,” Meg explained. “Shifts and sheets and suchlike we managed, though they were so very dull! We are all utterly inept when it comes to making patterns for gowns and stitching them together so that they fit.” She dropped her work, ran to Penny, and hugged her. “Dearest Penny, you are a darling to be so generous to us. It is fun sewing little, pretty things, but I vow I never want to make up a gown again. Now come and sit down by the fire and I shall bring your footstool.”

Meg was fussing with shawls and fire-screens when a thunderous knocking at the front door startled them all. The bell pealed violently three times, then, in a sudden hush, they heard hurried footsteps in the hall as Dunmow rushed to answer the summons. Before he reached the door, the din resumed.

The thunder ended in a crash and a bellow. “Where’s my niece?”

Penny turned deathly white. “Uncle Vaughn,” she whispered.

Thea had almost forgotten about Mr. Vaughn since the evidence of his malice had been concealed by the redecorating. She knew he had driven Penny to elope with Dr. Angus Knox, but she knew little else, as Penny refused to talk about him.

“Y-your niece, sir?” stammered Dunmow in the hall.

“Lady Kilmore, she calls herself now, the ungrateful hussy.”

“Her ladyship is not at home,” the butler said resolutely. His dignity would be irreparably compromised if he admitted to the house someone who called his mistress a hussy.   

The ladies listening petrified in the morning-room heard a thud and a gasp.

“Not at home? If you mean she’s not receiving visitors, she’ll see her uncle or I’ll tear the place down about her ears.”

“I believe her ladyship is still abovestairs.” Dunmow sounded shaky.

“Then go and see, man!” roared the intruder.

The butler did his best to regain his composure. “Whom shall I announce, sir?”

“Say her dearest Uncle Vaughn has come to pay a bride visit.” The suddenly smooth, unpleasant tone was somehow more frightening than his noisy threats.

“Jason!” Penny moaned faintly. “Oh, Jason, where are you?”

Meg, her eyes bright with excitement, patted her arm. The dowager cowered in her chair. Thea discovered her hands were trembling. Every gaze was fixed on the door to the hall in horrified anticipation.

Dunmow entered through the connecting door to the dining-room. “To mislead him as to your whereabouts, my lady,” he explained in a hoarse whisper, exploring his shoulder gingerly with his other hand.

“That was clever of you,” Thea said softly, though it could not delay the brute more than a few seconds. “Did he hit you?”

“Yes, miss, but it’s all right.” He straightened his back, tugged down his waistcoat, smoothed his black coat, and continued in a low voice, “Mr. Vaughn to pay a bride visit, my lady, and what are we to do? He’s too big for me to tackle alone, and that’s a fact.”

“The footmen?” Thea asked, though she knew the answer all too well.

“George is out running errands, miss, and it’s Geoffrey’s day off.”

“I’ll tell him Penny is ill and cannot see him,” Meg suggested with undaunted spirit.

She was so small and young and pretty, he would never take her seriously. If he came to blows again, she might be badly injured. Thea stood up, taking a deep breath.

“I shall speak to Mr. Vaughn, Dunmow,” she said, amazed at the steadiness of her voice. “We shall go through the dining-room.”

He followed her reluctantly, hanging back.

Mr. Vaughn was still in the hall, near the open front door, staring suspiciously at the morning-room door. A fleshy bear of a man, tall, with massive shoulders slightly hunched, clenched fists half raised, his very presence was a threat. His clothes, once good, were neat but on the verge of shabbiness, his boots well polished but run down at the heels.

“Mr. Vaughn?”

He swung round, glowering, reddish eyes overshadowed by a heavy brow. “Who’re you?” A whiff of stale gin accompanied the words.

“Thea Kilmore, Penelope’s sister-in-law.” She held herself tightly, afraid that if she relaxed a single muscle she would turn and run. “She is unwell and cannot see anyone.”

“Unwell, hey? Doing it too brown, missy. She’s never ill.”

“I assure you, sir, she is not fit to receive guests.”

“Got a bun in the oven, I suppose. At it like rabbits, they was, before the ink hardly dried on their marriage lines. I’m no guest, though. Family, I am. Her own mother’s brother-in-law. She’ll see me, or she’ll regret it.”

I
must keep him talking,
Thea thought. Perhaps he would calm down. Perhaps George would return soon. “I will take her a message. What is your business with her?”

“Business! Two years of my life I gave the jade, neglecting my own business so as I could take care of her affairs for her, treating her like a daughter, and what do I get? She up and cheats me, runs off with that fine, featherless brother of yours, and not a shilling do I get for my trouble.”