Wedding Night Revenge (18 page)

But it was another reason entirely that kept her lips sealed. By slandering the Earl she would put Lucinda in an awkward position, perhaps even divide her loyalties. Her husband was chief partner of Saunders and Scott, attorneys at law and marine insurance specialists. And that firm had successfully secured a contract to administer an amount of the Earl of Devane's shipping affairs.

Lucinda had discovered from her husband just last night that the contract had been won and this morning had recounted to Rachel some of the background to the work.

The late Earl of Devane had left his grandson not only his Irish estates and his noble title, but a brace of rotting merchantmen in dry dock that needed extensive refitting. Paul had doubted a firm as young as his would be chosen. But Saunders and Scott had received a directive to estimate whether repairing the creaky hulks was a commercially viable undertaking. As Rachel had listened, dismayed, to Lucinda recounting how valuable a client Connor Flinte was, and how his patronage should bring prestige and other rich noblemen to her husband's partnership, she had brooded that Devane was intentionally stealing away every ally she had. And already they were scarce...

'I must say, Rachel,' Lucinda said softly, 'you seem to be taking the loss of Windrush very calmly. Perhaps losing the safety net of that estate is the little push you need to keep you from embracing the life of an old maid. Or a kept woman! How could you say that that day?' she scolded. 'I told Paul and he thought it funny. He says you have a wicked sense of humour.'

Rachel dragged her thoughts to her friend and frowned her confusion.

'You must remember the occasion. We were in your father's new landau on that terribly hot afternoon. You said you'd as soon Moncur sent over his proposition as his proposal. We saw Connor,' she reminded. 'It was that day when the apple cart turned over and the carriages got in a crush. Then that beast of a magistrate told Ralph off, and the young lad driving the brewer's dray...'

Rachel, who had been helping Alan pull his train across the carpet, suddenly looked up. The brewer. That young man who had delivered Devane's letter had been the man driving the damaged dray. She had thought she'd probably spied the liveried page somewhere about his house in Berkeley Square. In fact, she recalled him now, dressed anything but smartly, preparing to hit her driver Ralph! And now Devane had him in his employ!

'Your papa is still hale and hearty, is he not? You might never want Windrush at all. If married, you would live with your husband at his home.

Paul says perhaps Windrush might have become a burden on you at some time—because of the cost of its upkeep and so on. He says perhaps the Earl has, oddly, done you a favour in taking it off your hands...'

T hope he never says as much to me,' Rachel remarked sweetly. She gave her friend a smile. 'I've no intention of marrying, no doubt if I'd been a boy my inheritance might have been taken far more seriously... by everyone.'

Lucinda looked apologetic. 'I didn't mean to trivialise it, Rachel. And Paul would be horrified if he thought you deemed we were doing so. I just thought, as you seem, so...so resigned to things...'

'I'm doing my best to be philosophical about it all,' Rachel said tightly.

'There's little else at the moment to be had but wretched wisdom in Windrush's stead.'

Lucinda gave her friend a penetrating look, searching for the sarcasm she knew would be lurking in her lucid blue eyes. Intending to mollify her, she added, 'Paul said that it was clear your father held no grudge against the Earl for winning that game. They were seen in White's together the following day, even though your papa had a dreadful hangover. Paul thinks Mr Meredith was relieved Connor won Windrush and not that weasel Lord Harley. He was in the game too. He came close to taking the pot instead, you know.'

'No. I didn't know,' Rachel admitted on a sigh.

'Your father has taken it philosophically, too...'

'Obviously a family boon, then.' Rachel regimented the infantry on the table.

The smart black-coated Hussars she swept to the floor, making the little boy laugh.

So it was to be a glittering affair, then, Rachel noted sourly as she allowed Paul Saunders to help her from the carriage and they joined the queue of fashionable ladies and gentlemen sedately ascending the stone steps to gain entrance to the Earl of Devane's mansion.

Paul offered both Rachel and his wife an elegant arm each as their turn arrived to step over the threshold. Immediately, Rachel spied the salt-and-pepper hued head of Joseph, the butler, overseeing the lordly proceedings. A warmth needled her cheeks. It was impossible not to recall the spectacle she had made of herself the last time she was here. She smoothed her silk skirt and fiddled with a sinuous coil of sleek golden hair, whilst she repressed her annoyance at feeling intimidated by a servant. Had she imagined she might sneak in without the butler seeing her? How ridiculous! Still, a niggling hope lingered that the man might not recognise her.

Her other persona, that shabby spinster with a fit of the sullens, was nowhere in evidence this evening. She had paid particular attention to her choice of gown tonight; the cut was elegant and ladylike, something perhaps her mother might have worn. But for all its sedate style, the steel-blue colour was a perfect foil for her golden-blonde looks and accentuated her eyes. She had used a little carmine to define her full lips and warm her cheeks and a little soot to darken her lashes. When Noreen stepped back to regard the full effect of her handiwork, having just twined a rope of lustrous pearls into her hair, the frank admiration in the maid's face had made Rachel flash her a warm smile.

'Sure, an' you look good enough to eat, m'm,' the maid had boldly opined as she put away the accoutrements that had brought about Rachel's transformation into that delectable lady.

A faint smile tipped Rachel's lips at the memory, and at the realisation that she and Noreen were settling into quite a comfortable relationship whilst here, alone, in London. Her smile faded as she noticed that Joseph Walsh had not only spotted her, but recognised her. Their eyes held for a moment, then, to her surprise, the butler accorded her an especially deep and respectful bow. Hp approached them and, waving away a footman who had sprung to attention as his superior approached, Joseph personally ushered her party the length of the colonnaded hallway. At the foot of the stairs he instructed them to proceed to the function rooms above.

When they were about halfway up the magnificent staircase, Lucinda had conquered her awe enough to engage Rachel in conversation, across her husband's immaculate waistcoat. 'This is the most splendid house I believe I have ever set foot in.' Her shining dark eyes skipped over the blue velvet draperies, the profusion of gilt and marble, the blaze of glittering crystal.

Ornate wall sconces and the stupendous central chandelier sparked a diamond fire that competed, gallantly, with a fabulous collection of precious jewels shimmering on pearly female skin. 'Isn't it exciting. I hope I don't look too plain and fat, Rachel,' Lucinda mouthed to her friend so as not to disclose her insecurities to her
soigne
husband. Her new lace stole was draped carefully about her rounded abdomen.

'You look absolutely fine,' Rachel softly encouraged. At the top of the stairs, she added more audibly, 'And, indeed, it is exciting.'

Oh, God, it's far too exciting! raced through her mind as she felt her insides squirm and panic pricked her mind. For the first time, she felt the craven urge to let go of Paul's arm and creep away, unseen, into a corner. Her darting gaze had just alighted on their host and hostess greeting people, and she didn't know why she was so shocked and dismayed to be brought face to face with this particular couple. Perhaps it was because they had always treated her with kindness and respect. Perhaps because acknowledging it, even six years later, made her feel guilty.

Connor Flinte was nowhere in sight; it was his mother and stepfather welcoming guests to this refined soiree. Well, what had she expected? That the Earl of Devane might install his mistress in his drawing room to take on the office of hostess? Much as she despised him, she didn't think even
he
would stoop so low as to stand that baggage by his side with her light skirt blowing about her ears while he greeted the Duke of Wellington. And she had heard that that worthy was due to attend at some point during the evening. But then, if gossip were to be believed of the Duke's lusty appetite for a certain sort of female, it was probably precisely the sort of titillating sight that the old goat would relish.

They were barely a yard or two away now, and Rachel's eyes focused again on the tall brunette. Her complexion and shoulders were milk-pale, and perfectly implemented by a daringly low-cut gown of crimson satin. Lady Davenport looked absolutely striking, and, like her son, seemed little older than she had six years ago. A casual glance from the woman's tawny eyes flicked along the snaking file of guests. Immediately they pulled back to Rachel and registered surprise. Then she was again graciously attending to the stout lady and gentlemen in conversation with her spouse.

Rachel tilted her chin. Why be humble or timid? She might
feel
as though she was here on sufferance; actually she was here by their son's request.

No doubt, when they discovered just why he had invited her, they would think how very decent and obliging he was being: sparing the woman who had once publicly humiliated him a moment or two of his time before he quit the country. And if they, like everyone else present, privately relished her ultimate humbling... her family's ultimate humbling, she supposed they of all people had a legitimate entitlement to it.

She clenched her fists, then wiped moist palms on to her skirts. If she could be a million miles away, she would be. He knew that. He knew how hard it was for her to continue with this pantomime of good manners between them.

He must have known how excruciating it would be for her to face his parents. He obviously couldn't care less how it affected her, but he ought to have spared them this very public ordeal. Lady Davenport had looked surprised to see her, but probably would feign ignorance of her identity. It would be appropriate after such a long time...

'Miss Meredith, isn't it?'

The lilting accent was wrenchingly familiar. With a deep, steadying breath Rachel dipped her head in assent and curtsied politely.

Rosemary Davenport took one of Rachel's trembling hands in hers, then turned to her husband, who was greeting Paul and Lucinda Saunders. 'You remember Miss Meredith, don't you, my dear?'

It seemed to Rachel that Sir Joshua frowned down his patrician nose at her in a frighteningly haughty manner. His son grows ever more like him, she thought, recoiling from the memory of Jason Davenport peering at her, from his lofty height, with cold calculation.

'Demme! I don't think I do, m'dear,' Sir Joshua eventually said, dragging his eyes from the beautiful woman flushing beneath his emotionless appraisal.

'Who is she, then?' His features took on an engaging animation as he turned a bright, enquiring look on his
soigne
wife.

Rosemary Davenport gave her husband's arm a punitive little tap. To Rachel she gave an apologetic little smile. 'I think he's funning...but then his memory isn't what it was,' she gently explained. Her tone of voice, and the pain shadowing her deep hazel eyes, let Rachel know that it was no total jest.

Lady Davenport placed an indulgent hand on her absent-minded consort's thin arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Obediently, Sir Joshua raised his quizzing glass and peered again at Rachel.

The grave struggle to place her was clear in his face and was sweetly flattering in its intensity. Rachel felt her defensiveness, her discomfort, melt away. He really had forgotten her. But then, without his wife at his side, she might never have recognised him. Whereas Rosemary looked as attractive and vital as she had six*

years ago, Sir Joshua was much changed. His hair was now thinning and silver, not fair, and his tall regal frame had lost its musculature and looked to be gaunt beneath his fine clothes. As the wordless scrutiny continued, she realised that quite a few people close by were avid spectators to this little exchange between herself and the couple who had narrowly escaped being her in-laws.

Sir Joshua suddenly patted contentedly at his hip. 'Ah, I know. I have it now.

This gel's a friend of Jason's from his old Surrey days...'

'Miss Meredith is a friend of Connor's from his old army days,' his wife corrected in her musical tone. She squeezed at Rachel's hand in a way that was oddly affectionate before she let it go. 'Miss Meredith and Connor were once engaged...oh, a good few years ago now.'

The quizzing glass was swiftly levelled at Rachel. 'Demn\e! So sorry, my dear. Have you found yourself a husband since, Miss Meredith?'

Rachel found her voice at last, aware that people around were smiling, taking their lead from the good humour of this kind couple. 'No, sir. I am still Miss Meredith...' Rachel tailed off, hoping that no one deemed she was being sarcastic, for unpleasantness was the last thing on her mind.

Roseipary Davenport smiled at her, as though she understood and wanted to reassure her no offence was taken. Paul and Lucinda were then included in the radiance. 'I hope we get a chance to chat later,' she told Rachel in her soft accent. 'It would be nice to know how your family do.. .your parents and your sisters and so on...'

'Thank you, yes, I should like that,' Rachel said, hoping no mention would be made of Isabel. But something in Lady Davenport's eyes allayed that fear, too.