Viscount Vagabond (25 page)

“Really, Cat, must I tell you everything? Haven’t you told me repeatedly that you have no further need of my assistance?”

“Yes, I have—and you are still there. Everywhere I go, there you are.”

This was monstrous unfair—he’d kept away from her for ages, it seemed—but he chose to agree.

“Like a bad penny.”

“Very like,” she concurred.

How tiny her waist was. He could easily span it with his two hands, he was sure.

Aloud he said, “Actually, I’m here tonight as a favour to Jack. He’d much rather have the first waltz with you. Unfortunately he’s antagonised all the great ladies, so he has to wait for the next one.” Max briefly outlined Mr. Langdon’s difficulties with the patronesses.

“I see,” she said in a subdued voice.

“I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Why should I be?” she answered a tad too quickly.

“I mean, that it’s me instead of Jack.”

“Well, My Lord, if you’ll leave off about apple blossoms and talk of Aristophanes instead, I might more easily pretend you are Mr. Langdon.”

She had recovered sufficiently to score a hit, but Lord Rand was not one to yield at the first blow.

“I wish you’d call me Max,” he said, deciding distraction was the best tactic. “‘My lord’ always makes me feel I should be in armour, clanking about and trodding on helpless peasants. Most disconcerting when a chap’s trying to be graceful.”

“I most certainly cannot. That is disrespectful and far too intimate.”

“If you call me Clarence Arthur Maximilian, I’ll shoot you.”

He heard a faint tinkling sound: Miss Pestilence was giggling!

Though she quickly squelched the giggle, she could not suppress the smile as she gazed up at him. “Clarence Arthur? No wonder you prefer Max.”

“Just so.” He answered the smile, despite the sudden, inexplicable thundering in his ears. “Now you’ve said it, I feel warm and friendly and very light on my feet.”

“I wish you did not feel quite so friendly. I believe we are
supposed to be twelve inches apart. Not”—she glanced down briefly—”five.”

Lord St. Denys stood listening to his daughter talk, but his eyes were upon the dance floor, and, in particular, upon his son. When Louisa chided him for not attending, he smiled. “Remember the half-drowned kitten Max brought home that day? He dropped it at your feet and told you to nurse it back to life.”

“I remember. The kitten. A robin. A bat. I spent my childhood nursing a menagerie.”

“I was thinking how that tiny creature terrified my great mastiff out of its wits. I could not understand it then and I cannot now.”

Lady Andover followed her father’s gaze. “If it’s any comfort, Papa, I’m sure he doesn’t understand, either.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” the earl snapped. “The boy’s a fool.”

By the time the waltz was over and Max had relinquished his partner to Lord Argoyne, the viscount was beside himself. How dare she be so cool and proper when she made him so heated? How dare she giggle and act human for once and set off all those warm, cosy sensations and weaken his already beleaguered resistance even further?

He had weakened, he knew. For one chilling moment he would have promised anything—complete reform, a transformation into a stodgy pillar of Society, not a drop of liquor again as long as he lived, not another tavern wench—anything, if she would give him her hand and allow him to make love to her all the rest of his life.

He had stood on the brink of the precipice, looked down, and thought, in that terrifying instant, ‘Very well, I’ll jump.” Now he drew back in horror. That awful girl could do whatever she liked with him! It was not to be borne, not by Clarence Arthur Maximilian Demowery. He would not be managed and reformed by an obstinate little prig.

Could the objective observer have looked into his mind,
he or she would have concluded that Lord Rand was hysterical. Unfortunately, the viscount had no disinterested parties to point this out. Therefore, not half an hour later, when his dance with Lady Diana had concluded, he had asked for and received permission to call upon her papa the following day.

“My dear, you do deserve a severe scold, but in the circumstances, I forgive you.”

Lady Diana gazed wearily out the carriage window.
“Yes,”
she murmured, “at last you have your wish.”

“All the same, you are not to dance with that man again, even after you’re betrothed. The effrontery of the creature—to dare show his face at Almack’s. I cannot imagine what the patronesses were thinking of, to allow that fellow entrance. It is the coat, of course. Women are altogether too susceptible to a dashing uniform.”

Lady Diana said nothing.

“Still, we will say no more on that head. I’m very pleased with you, Diana,” said her ladyship. “I was sure Lord Rand must come to the point soon, once you made an effort, but tomorrow is better than I expected. Lady St. Denys—just as your papa and I have always hoped.” Lady Glencove signed happily. “I can hardly think how your sister Julia can do better.”

“Oh, you’ll think of something, Mama, depend upon it.”

Word of Lord Rand’s proposal was all over London by teatime the following afternoon, Lady Glencove’s servants proving even more assiduous than their mistress in relaying the momentous news. This was no doubt because the betrothal was to be kept secret until Lord Glencove might make a formal announcement at an appropriately grand party.

Catherine was told the secret by Molly, who announced it as one would an unnatural death.

“I ought to’ve told her ladyship first,” said Molly, shaking her head in sorrow, “only she’s sick again and his
lordship there with her and them having a row about sending for the leech. That’s the trouble with folks as are never sick. When they are, they won’t believe it and act like I’d go away on that account.”

What Catherine did not believe at the moment had nothing to do with Lady Andover, but with the cold sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Offered for Lady Diana? Are you certain, Molly? That is to say,” she added hastily, “I would have thought he’d have mentioned his intentions to his family.”

“I don’t see how he could, Miss, as he never comes no more and even her ladyship says he hardly says two words when she sees him anywhere else, either.” She cast a reproachful look at Miss Pelliston, who did not see it, the maid being at her back unfastening buttons.

“That will do, Molly. I can manage the rest myself.”

Molly departed with the air of one following a funeral procession, and Miss Pelliston stumbled to her dressing table. Perhaps she had tripped over the truth, because she sat for a long while staring at her reflection in the glass, then spent another long while after, weeping.

That night Catherine attended a rout with her host and hostess. Lady Andover seemed to be in excellent health and spirits, despite the “shocking squeeze” that signifies a successful entertainment. She was well, that is, until they were heading home again. She climbed into the carriage wearing a very odd expression, sat down, and fainted dead away.

Sir Henry Vane, the family physician, was sent for the following morning. Half an hour after he departed, Catherine was summoned to her cousin’s study.

When she entered, the earl was standing by his desk, an odd, faint smile on his noble face as he gazed at the papers neatly arranged there.

“My Lord, is she all right?” Catherine asked immediately, forgetting her manners in her anxiety about the countess.

The earl came out of his daydream though the smile remained.

“Catherine, you are very obstinate. You have been living under my roof at least a month now. You are my cousin. Ours is a distant kinship and I know you like to be respectful, but surely you might omit my style. Louisa threatens to wash your mouth out with soap if you ‘my lady’ her again.’’

“Cousin Edgar,” Catherine said obediently, “do tell me. What did Sir Henry say?”

“That is better. I had meant to save the physician for last and tell you my news in order of social consequence, but I see you have contracted the Demowery impatience. Please sit down, my dear.” He indicated the chair by his desk.

Catherine sat, wishing she could shake the news out of him. Her cousin had such a fondness for roundabout preambles.

“As you must know by now,” he began, “once Louisa gets a notion, there is no preventing her putting it into action. According to Sir Henry, my lady wife has taken it into her head to commence a family. Reasoning with her is of no avail.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Louisa plans to present me with a son or daughter before Christmas. There is no stopping her, according to Sir Henry.” Lord Andover did not appear in the least desirous of halting his wife’s impetuous progress. His dark eyes glowed with pride and happiness.

Catherine jumped up from her chair to hug him. “Oh, that is wonderful news!” she cried. “I know how you have wished for children. How excited you must be, and how happy I am for you both. Louisa is going to have a baby.” Her eyes grew moist. “That is marvelous news.”

Abruptly she realised that in her enthusiasm she’d crushed her elegant cousin’s neckcloth. She let go of him with a stammering apology.

“Don’t be silly, Catherine. On such an occasion even my dour valet must forgive you. Besides, Louisa has already made rather a shambles of my
ensemble,
and in all the excitement I forgot to change before sending for you. Really, this has been a very busy day. Do sit down, Cousin. I have something more to tell you.”

Though Catherine had much rather dash up to her ladyship’s chamber, she quelled herself and sat down once more.

“As you know, Catherine, your papa has entrusted you to my care and engaged me to act in his behalf, which was wise of him. Once cannot forever be consulting him on every question. The distance is most inconvenient and his self-imposed isolation from his peers equips him ill to judge objectively.”

Isolation—intoxication was more like it,
Catherine thought, though she said nothing.

“While I act in his stead, there are some matters in which your opinion is paramount.”

Papa would hardly thank you for that,
was the silent reply—
but I do.

“Lord Argoyne has asked permission to pay his addresses.”

Catherine immediately abandoned all thoughts of her papa to turn a startled gaze upon her cousin.

“His timing was unfortunate,” the earl continued. “I was expecting Sir Henry at any moment. I explained that my wife was ill, and in the circumstances I could not possibly give proper attention to any other subject. He seemed to find that startling. It is just as well. That is a man who wants startling at frequent intervals. He may be a duke, but he is a very dull duke. He has no business being so. It sets a bad example. I hope you have not conceived a
tendresse
for him, Cousin. I should, of course, accede to your wishes, since it is you who would have to marry him. Still I must warn you that if you do, Louisa and I cannot possibly visit you above once a decade.”

“Good heavens—a duke—offered for me—why, I hardly know him.”

“That is just as well. He does not improve upon acquaintance. I take it, then, I might tell him to go to blazes?”

Catherine thought rapidly. “It is a very good match. He might have looked much higher. Perhaps I’d better have him. I can scarcely expect a more advantageous offer—or even another,” she added, frowning.

She had rather have Mr. Langdon, she thought, ruthlessly banishing another image from her mind. He was most attentive, but he was so shy and so preoccupied with matters literary that likely he’d never come to the point this century. She began to wish she’d acquired a few of those feminine arts she’d always scorned. Sometimes men required firm guidance. Now, with Louisa
enceinte,
there was no time to waste. Catherine could not expect to reside with her cousin forever, and Louisa would soon be unable to chaperone her.

“Maybe it would be best to accept him,” she said with a dreary sigh.

“Catherine, it is most unlike you to be so silly. Argoyne only wanted to be ahead of the other fellows. I must say I find his haste indecent. You have only been out a few weeks. Perhaps he takes his example from my impetuous brother-in-law.”

He must have noticed Catherine’s wince, because he added, “Still, as you appear so terrified of finding yourself on the shelf, I shall ask him to call again in another month or so if he is still of the same mind.”

With that, and reassurances about Louisa’s health, and further assurances that the Dowager Countess of Andover would be delighted to take over as chaperone whenever Louisa was prevented by her condition, the earl dismissed his cousin.

“
Where the devil’s Jemmy? I haven’t seen him in days.”

Lord Rand tore off his coat, neckcloth, and waistcoat, and flung himself onto the bed. He had not drunk an unusual quantity of wine, but lately he did not require very much alcohol to become dizzy and tired. Perhaps that was because he’d spent the past eight nights thrashing among the bedclothes instead of sleeping like a good Christian.

“I couldn’t say, My Lord. Evidently, Madame Germaine is extremely busy these days. He has not been by since—” The valet hesitated.