Wedding Night Revenge (19 page)

After another polite bob Rachel slipped quickly forward to take hold of Paul's arm. As the trio proceeded into the vast reception room she heard Sir Joshua demand of his wife, 'Has she always been that pretty?'

A nod must have answered him, for what she next heard was, 'Why the deuce wouldn't the boy marry her, then?'

'Well, I can't say I was at all pleased when I heard of the business with Windrush.'

'Indeed, neither was I, Mrs Pemberton,' Rachel said quietly, congratulating herself on managing such monumental understatement. 'Is William here with you?' Wistfully she peered over a shoulder into the crowd of people jn the room, hoping to locate her sister's fiance. Just a promise of his mild, affable person would have cheered her enormously for she was feeling quite bereft.

There was a sultry atmosphere indoors and her friend Lucinda was already flagging from the unremitting heat. Thus her husband had taken her to the terrace for a little reviving evening air. Rachel had declined to go too, for, she felt quite a gooseberry and refused to sheepishly follow them about. In order that they would not fret over abandoning her, Rachel had voluntarily transferred herself to the company of June's prospective father-in-law.

Alexander Pemberton was welcoming and entertaining and had regaled her with anecdotes about William as a young and mischievous schoolboy. It was hard to believe the sensible young man she knew, who was soon to be her brother-in-law, was the same character as the cheeky scapegrace being described by his father. Then William's other parent had swept up, dampening the humour and very soon despatching Alexander on an errand.

Having won seclusion with her quarry, the woman's calculating regard was making Rachel glumly sure an interrogation was soon to commence.

'William? Here?' Mrs Pemberton imperceptibly opened proceedings. 'No.

He has gone off into the country for a day or two. Possibly in the direction of Hertfordshire,' she sniffed with palpable disgust that her son should seek the air close to his fiancee. 'I imagine he will be sorry he missed this evening.

Since
the bad business
he and the Earl are quite firm chums, you know.'

Mrs Pemberton's awed gaze was lingering on a spot to their left, forcing Rachel to acknowledge that their host was, indeed, gaining ground all the time. She slanted an oblique look from beneath her thick lashes at a party of gregarious gentlemen just a few yards away. All looked debonair and distinguished; yet it was the shorter gentleman with the unfortunate profile who , was holding court. The Duke of Wellington, Rachel had to admit, was rather a disappointment in the flesh, with his lack of stature, hooked nose and that abrupt barking laugh that cut a wide swathe through all conversation at close quarters.

Yet he certainly had a powerful, charismatic aura. The younger men being diverted by his guffaw- punctuated yarns deferred to him quite naturally, if not by dint of rank, from respect or affection, she imagined.

Gentlemen were milling about on the periphery of the elite, awaiting an opportunity to wedge a word or their person into that feted male circle.

Ladies, too, were loitering in the vicinity, their fans snapping open and closed, their figures first posing this way, then that. In their summer-weight gauzes they fluttered hither and thither, like a mist of pastel moths, yet never far from the light as they sought a way to settle without a scald. They trilled laughter at one another, gaily chatted, but kept their eyes fixed firmly on the prize.

Powerful broad shoulders clad in slate grey were again drawing Rachel's eyes. Far from having a physiognomy that was hard to behold, their host looked wonderfully handsome. Reluctant admiration registered in her mind as she discreetly regarded his high cheek- boned countenance and ribbons of blue-black hair straying on to his lean jaw and snowy collar. An engaging smile tilted his mouth as he listened to his erstwhile general gesticulating in a way that made his stepbrother, Jason, roar with laughter.

With something akin to resentment she realised that Connor looked undeniably attractive and the females hovering were aware of it too; the majority were directing their best flirtatious efforts at him.

'No, I can tell you I was not happy about the outcome of
the business
at all.'

Rachel's thoughts were jarred back to Mrs Pemberton. Gratefully she gave up on wretchedly reminding herself that she didn't give a fig which women contrived to bump against him or daintily drop down to retrieve a lost fan from close by his foot. Just a moment previously she had watched Barbara West, the Winthrops' niece, pluck from the polished wood floor a scrap of ivory and lace in peril from one of his elegant shoes. She was surely old enough to know better strategies than that! In fact, Rachel thought sourly, she must be about her own age.

'I had every hope that your father's unhappy situation with his estate would at least turn up some benefit for us all,' Pamela continued. T was quite sure it would result in the wedding being reconvened at St Thomas's and the reception at your father's townhouse. I know it's small, its appointments rather...rudimentary, but at least it's in London, which is, after all, what most people wanted originally. At the outset I stated that a wedding that takes place in the Season must take place in the metropolis or everyone is horribly inconvenienced. But of course no heed was taken of my views. Now, had I been allowed more of a hand in the preparations... as indeed I offered more than once...'

'You seem very certain it will
not
be in London, Mrs Pemberton. Why is that?' Rachel breathed over the woman's rambling when she had sufficiently conquered her astonishment to do so. Her eyes darted to Lord Devane again.

'Perhaps your papa has not disclosed all to you, so I ought be discreet. It wouldn't do to be deemed interfering. It is, after all, gentlemen's business.'

When that, dangled carrot elicited no hungry snaps, Pamela speculatively eyed the lovely young woman who was training a look of frowning intensity on their host. She interestedly noted that a casual look from Lord Devane had strayed their way and prompted Miss Meredith's large blue eyes to dart back to her own. 'Have you seen much of Lord Devane since you arrived back in town, Miss Meredith? And I have to say—although I know how some...older ladies foster an arrogant independence—should you not be here with your mother? Or at least your sister?'

'My mother and sister are very busy, as I'm sure you must appreciate. I am here to visit and be of assistance to my good friend, Mrs Saunders.'

'Ah, yes...' Pamela disdained to glance at the terrace. 'I know who you mean.

The lady who looks to be in, ah...a delicate condition. I'm surprised she is out of doors.'

'Why? She is in good health, Mrs Pemberton, I assure you, and does not need to be quarantined. In five months she is to have a baby, not the measles.'

Pamela's lips thrust into a knot. Her eyes narrowed on Rachel. 'Well, I'm sure it's not quite
comme il faut.
But as she is here with her husband, presumably he has no objections to the risk to her health or her reputation.

Doubtless they will ignore the tattle tomorrow...'

Rachel turned the full effect of her gelid eyes on the spiteful woman. The icy blast had an unexpected effect. Mrs Pemberton, for reasons best known to herself, repealed. discretion and divulged exactly what Rachel wanted to know.

'The day after the gambling, William and your father had a meeting with the Earl. It was arranged that the venue for the nuptials would remain unchanged, although, at a risk of becoming a veritable echo, London
is
undoubtedly the place for a wedding at this time of the year. His lordship needn't have done it. And I for one wish he had not. I say he's been far too decent and obliging, when one considers
all
things
past...
and present...'

Even before Rachel looked back his way she sensed he would be watching her. Their eyes held infinitesimally, but long enough for her to read the message there: he wanted to speak to her and his patience was wearing thin in the pursuit of it. From his mannerisms she knew he was excusing himself from the circle of jovial dignitaries.

He was again expecting her to stay still so he could approach her. Despite what she'd just learned of his honestly obliging her family with a dispensation, she once more felt panic making queasy her stomach. Why couldn't she just get this over with! He had stalked her virtually the entire length of the room. Must she let him be vastly amused...vastly irritated by watching her flit like a hunted deer from one thicket of people to another in the hope of keeping him sufficiently at bay?

What a fool he must think her! What a fool she thought herself! The intention in coming here at all had been to do a deal with the dratted man.

Oh, why had she
come?

She had come, she forced herself to calmly acknowledge, because she had not anticipated just how badly that first sight of him would affect her. The first clash of their eyes and all she could see were brown fingers on her wobbly white hand as he mopped spilled tea. All she could hear were his ruthless words, his callous laugh as he left her with her clothes in disarray.

All she could feel was the hard pulsing heat of him thrust against her melting body. Her lips had burned, parted as if again under that violent kiss. Through the myriad mingling aromas in his hot drawing room she could detect the powdery perfume of crushed rose petals... the redolence of his woody cologne wafting from her feverish skin.

How could she bear to make a pretence of conversing politely in public with him when privately they both knew of the insults and embarrassments each had caused the other? Why had he made her come here at all? Why had her tormentor not simply sent her the paper to take home? Did he intend humiliating her further before he quit England for Ireland?

A blur of a dark figure was looming on the periphery of her vision. At once she murmured an excuse to Mrs Pemberton about seeking her friends and veered away towards the right and the terrace.

'Miss Meredith...'

Rachel braked her speedy pace and with a deep breath turned sedately about.

As a hand was extended towards her, she dropped the skirts she still held from being trampled in her fleet-footed escape, and clasped those elegant white fingers with her own. 'Lady Davenport...I...I was just about to catch up with Mr and Mrs Saunders. I believe they await me on the terrace.'

'Ah; I believe my son was just about to catch up with you. But I dare say he can wait a little while longer.'

Rachel blinked, smiled, searched for a topic of conversation somewhere to be had in amongst the guests. Finding none, she burst out in desperation,

'You look very well, Lady Davenport. Just as I remember you...and no older at all,' she trailed off, wondering if such an observation was diplomatic or wise.

A musical chuckle put her at ease. Her fingers were squeezed, then released.

'Thank you very much, my dear, for that compliment. And to return you one: you look more beautiful than you did as a teenager. I've never forgotten you; perhaps we should have made a better effort to properly get to know one another six years ago. I know we had very different social circles at that time, and you seemed so confident and popular that I didn't want to intrude on you and your young friends and spoil your fun.' She gave Rachel a sweetly rueful look. 'But, for some reason tonight, something has been plaguing me. I hope you won't mind me mentioning it. When you were engaged to Connor, I didn't seem too...haughty or unapproachable...or unfriendly, did I? I would always have been pleased to chat or shop...or take a drive...'

'No! Please don't think it. It wasn't anything like that.'

Rosemary smiled. 'I had to ask; I know that mothers- in-law can be very daunting.' Her tawny eyes strayed sideways to where Pamela Pemberton, her jaw incessantly wagging, stood with her downcast husband.

Rachel understood the subtle indication and gave a wry smile. 'Yes, indeed...' was all she said.

'I remember that my first husband's mother quite terrified me,' Lady Davenport said. 'They were very clannish...very proud people. And Michael was her blue-eyed boy. He looked very like Connor, actually.' A maternal look sought and found her son's sapphire eyes. She gave him a twinkling smile. 'I think Connor would like me to leave you alone.'

'Please don't,' Rachel quietly beseeched without looking around.

'Ah, I see. Yes, gentlemen can be daunting, too. I understand that. I hope I don't sound too much of a coward, but Connor's father fair scared me witless, too. At first.'

'He did?'

Rosemary nodded. 'But only at first. I wasn't used to being kidnapped, or rough-handled, you see. I was the Earl of Devane's daughter and used to being protected and pampered all my life. A handsome, eligible son of an Irish chieftain didn't impress me. But he impressed the local colleens, which was why he hadn't previously found it necessary to learn much about courting etiquette. I soon taught him all he needed to know.'

'Kidnapped?' Rachel breathed, her eyes wide.

'Our marriage settled a feud: a matter of honour between our families that had festered through generations. As I didn't respond to his initial overtures, he forced my hand...if you will. The Flintes were quite barbaric...very dynamic, and the most beautiful people ever. Connor didn't tell you much of his father's fabled background, I take it?'

Rachel shook her golden head, her wide eyes fixed on Rosemary's face.

'I'm not surprised. I imagine he considered some things better left till after you were man and wife. I know he was keen at that time to seem a most conventional, honourable suitor. He wanted to be worthy of you. And he was,' she stated with quiet, adamant pride. 'But Connor could be...wild. He could be very like his father, actually. His grandfather...my father... would despair of him, at times. Yet how they loved one another. He should have had the fairest hands should my father,' she said, her accent thickening with her memories. 'Mother of Mercy, the amount of times he washed them on account of my son!' Rosemary trailed off on a husky chuckle. 'Enough. I've said more than enough. All I meant to say, Miss Meredith, was that I'm glad we've had an opportunity to meet again and talk a while. I see that supper is about to be served. I must go and find Sir Joshua and see to things.' She moved away a little, pausing only to add, 'I hope all goes well on your sister's wedding day. In spite of the unfortunate distaff side, William Pemberton seems a fine young man. Convey my good wishes to the rest of your family, won't you now?'