Wedding Night Revenge (6 page)

As they neared the top, Rachel came to her senses and jerked her head away from the sight of the two tall, urbane gentlemen and the dainty, voluptuous woman swaying sinuously between them. It was only then she became aware that a number of people with long memories and malice on their minds were now openly staring at her. While she had been observing the man who had once been her fiance with his mistress—and she was quite aware now, as was everyone, that the woman held that position in his life—she had been, in turn, eagerly watched. Her reaction to that rousing little tableau had doubtless been part of the entertainment, for tomorrow, in their clubs and drawing rooms, they could leisurely dissect it, embellish it, read in to it what they would.

Her sister's prospective mother-in-law was standing close by with Lady Winthrop. The tubby Baroness was slyly regarding her. So was Pamela Pemberton, who seemed equally amused. Much to her chagrin, Rachel could feel betraying blood seeping into her cheeks, confirming their suspicions over her sensitivity to the scene.

The woman is a spiteful bitch, Rachel realised with a pang of pity for her sweet sister's plight. That depressing thought was joined by another: her guilt at having a hand in inextricably linking June's future to Pamela's. She'd been the one to introduce June to William before she fully comprehended what an old besom was his mother. Thank heavens William was nothing like her in looks or character! He seemed to favour his father. Alexander Pemberton had always seemed to Rachel to be a kind and civil man with a pleasanter countenance than his sharp-featured wife possessed and none of her airs and graces.

Rachel succeeded in wiping the smirks from their faces by forcing a serene smile. With a hissed instruction for June to prepare for action, she linked arms with her younger sister and went to do battle.

Without preamble or even a greeting for her son's future wife, Pamela launched into, 'We were just saying, Miss Meredith, was that not the Irish gentleman you once were—?'

'Oh, well spotted, Mrs Pemberton! How very clever of you to recall it all from so many years ago. La, but I had almost forgot about it myself. How odd that such a trifle has intrigued you for the duration. Yes, it is indeed the gentlemen I refused to marry. And how nice it is to feel comforted by one's youthful conduct. I swear at the time, for a day or so at least, I
was
in two minds...'

Lady Winthrop smiled thinly, and faux surprise sent her sooty eyebrows soaring into her chalky forehead. 'I find that hard to believe, Miss Meredith.

'Tis indeed strange that an unwed lady, her debut far behind her, should congratulate herself on having rejected such an eligible catch. Why, above half of the debutantes at Almack's on Wednesday could speak of nothing but Lord Devane and how best to hook his attention. The remainder were already spoken for and looking quite put out. I own I grew mighty tired of hearing young ladies lisping his praises.' Her sparse lashes fluttered at the ceiling, her voice chanted in a squeaky pitch, 'How handsome he is, how charming he is, how rich he is...'

'How unavailable he is...' Rachel descanted.

Lady Winthrop's gaze relinquished the plaster cherubs to stab at her.

'His lordship looks to be well catered for in the romance stakes, wouldn't you say?' Rachel explained innocently.

Pamela Pemberton snickered. 'I think the young ladies my friend spoke of might insist on a more...
regular
relationship with the Earl than perhaps he presently enjoys with Signora Laviola.'

'Oh, I have it on good authority it is a very...regular relationship that the Earl enjoys with Signora Laviola,' Rachel whipped back, squeezing comfortingly at her sister's arm as she heard June choke in embarrassment. She was edging dangerously close to being outrageously coarse. Well-bred ladies, even those with their debut far behind them, did not talk so indelicately. She wasn't sure she cared how that affected
her.
It was damage to her family's reputation, and especially June's, with her marriage imminent, that made her employ a little control and caution. This, after all, was a member of her sister's new family...however horrendous the idea.

Mrs Pemberton glanced uneasily about as though pondering the wisdom of continuing to be party to such rough banter. June was then on the receiving end of one of her glares as though she, the only person present to have contributed nothing, was guilty of something.

As June flushed miserably beneath that spiteful, silent censure, Rachel bridled and became more determined to squarely take the blame. 'Actually, I have a little related
on dit
to share...' she whispered, then deliberately paused and inclined her head conspiratorially. The older women exchanged a glance, then, too intrigued to care of vulgarity, moved their gross turbans closer to the sleek golden ringlets. 'I understand that it is with great regularity that his lordship...attends the
signora's
recitals. He is not known to have missed even one.' She smiled as the disappointed women recoiled in unison. Their rouged lips became more corrugated as they straightened their necks.

Actually, Rachel understood nothing of the sort. She hadn't the faintest notion whether his lordship listened to his mistress sing or not. Nor did she care a jot either way. What did vastly annoy her was that she'd come here unaware what was in store for her. Had she known, she would as lief have spent the evening locked in a library with nothing to read but Philip Moncur's poetry. As it was she couldn't even retreat home to that task. If she cried off, pleading illness, it would only agitate more gossip. There was nothing to be done but endure this evening as best she could.

'Well, I dare say your parents don't find the whole matter as amusing as you seem to, miss,' the childless Baroness primly lectured. 'Four daughters to settle is no joke. I know I should not like it above half if a younger girl of mine were married before the eldest were off the shelf.'

'It is as well then that you will never be so troubled, ma'am,' Rachel said sweetly, pointedly.

'Indeed, no, I should not like it either,' Pamela interjected shrilly as she noticed her friend's ruddy countenance boiling at that jibe. 'Although now, of course, I believe I'm right in saying there are but three Meredith girls. For poor Isabel is gone...and what a terrible to-do that must have been for your poor mother. I can't imagine such private grief...'

'Indeed...and that's why it's best not to speak of it. Especially on such a public occasion as this.' The masculine voice was unyielding and held more than a hint of cold disgust.

Pamela's complexion pinked beneath her powder as she looked at her only child. She adored him and was chary of his scolding over her love to gossip, although as she impressed on him, time and again, there was no harm done, for no malice was involved... To reinforce this, she gave her beloved boy a sugary smile; he returned her one that bled further colour into her cheeks.

June's relief at the sight of him was almost audible, and, with a tender smile, he drew his willing fiancee close to his side.

'And, of course, I was mistaken,' Pamela self- reprimanded with a jovial hand flap. 'La, I forgot to say that June is settled by soon marrying into our family... and very welcome...which just leaves Miss Rachel and little Miss Sylvie at home. And several years, I'd say, to that youngster's come-out by the look of her. Although, when last I saw her, I thought, My! isn't she growing tall! And so pretty! Quite a heart- breaker in the making, to be sure...' Aware that perhaps that was an unwise observation, taking into account Miss Rachel's history, she ceased her chatter and fiddled with her thin ringlets.

'I'm sure you're right, ma'am,' Rachel sighed, enjoying the woman's discomfit. 'And no remedy for it; I believe it's a family trait.'

Pamela stabbed a fierce look at her tormentor, then swivelled her eyes about, seeking an escape route. 'Why, June, I think I see your mother over there,'

she burst out. 'I must just go and speak with her over essentials... the wedding, you know...' With a meaning-, ful nod at Lady Winthrop, the two matrons were hurrying gladly away.

'I'd like to say she means nothing by it,' William offered quietly, 'but I'm not sure how honest a statement it would be.'

'Well, we must give her the benefit of the doubt,' June said gamely. 'I believe she sincerely finds Sylvie pretty.'

'And do you believe that she sincerely welcomes you to our family?' % June looked flustered, her eyelashes aflutter, as she strove for a diplomatic answer.

'You are sincerely welcomed by me, with all my heart, my love.'

'I know,' his fiancee whispered, her glistening hazel eyes clinging adoringly to his face.

'Well...' Rachel said, feeling exceedingly contented yet also intrusive, T

think I'll just go and seek out Lucinda and Paul. I know they arrived some while ago—before we did—I saw their carriage stopped at the curb as we drew up outside.' With a few backward steps she happily turned away. She knew that neither her sister nor William were really conscious of her poor excuse to discreetly depart. Their eyes, their thoughts, were with each other.

It was easy now to negotiate a path through the assembly: just a few groups of people, absorbed in their private conversations, were about the flagged hallway. Most of the guests had already moved to the music room bn the first floor, or were on the stairs, en route. Rachel scoured the colourful mass of bodies, garish as exotically plumed birds soaring beneath a glaring light.

Halfway up, on the left-hand side, she spied her parents, with their hostess.

The woman's turban was almost horizontal as she craned her neck to see past her father to talk to her mother. Inwardly Rachel smiled. Mrs Pemberton was apparently all amiability now she had takfen a set-down from her son.

William obviously knew how to deal with his mother. He was a fine gentleman... a wonderful gentleman. Rachel was once more pleased to acknowledge her sister's good fortune and accept praise for having a hand in it.

About to start up the stairs herself, for she could hear the fluting opening bars of a melody, she gave one last peer about the emptying vestibule for her friends. As a group of men moved away from where they had been lounging against the wall, she located Lucinda and Paul Saunders just behind. She ignored the dandies ogling her and, tilting her chin, set off to join them.

Before
she
was halfway there, her pace was faltering. On closer inspection, they, too, had the look of people who would prefer to be alone. Lucinda was coyly angling her dark eyes up to her husband's face with a very fond expression animating her countenance. Paul seemed oblivious to all but his wife's ardent attention. Slowly he raised a single finger to caress one of her flushed cheeks.

Rachel took two swift steps backwards, desperate not to be noticed by the couple. Swishing about, she diverted out of sight back to the stairs. She hesitated, a solitary figure on the bottom step, the melodic air drifting down doing nothing to lift her sudden melancholy. Her long slender fingers began sliding agitatedly over the slippery polished banister while she attempted to quell a tightening in her chest. Horrified, she realised that she might cry.

That absurd notion prompted her to instead stop a laugh behind an unsteady hand.

How could she feel lonely with her family and- friends close by? she impatiently rebuked herself. She had every reason to feel elated. Her best friend was
enceinte
and in love, and her dear sister June would soon be married to the nicest gentleman of anyone's acquaintance. The hurting lump in her throat seemed undiminished by thus bolstering her spirits. Blinking her eyes, she swallowed, gripped the handrail and took a determined step up.

After two more she felt better, recovered enough to part her damp lashes.

There was no shame in entering a room unaccompanied by friend or relative.

It was only an odd circumstance that she should be on her own. She drew a shivery, steadying breath, bravely shaking back her hair that gleamed beneath a thousand flames like spun gold, and looked up.

The ensuing gasp was involuntary and quite audible. Dismay held her momentarily spellbound; then, with a clumsy bob, she was sidling sideways on the damson carpet to grab at the opposite banister. Gripping it as though it might save her life, she again began to mount the stairs whilst, with blurred eyes, she minutely examined William's ancestors, marching off up the wall.

Peripheral vision kept her aware that a pair of muscular black-clad legs, a step or two above her, were keeping pace with her escape. Then, as though irritated with climbing stairs backwards, he crossed the tread. He came so close she stopped, desperately smearing away tears with her fingers while studying an especially fearsome-looking warrior glowering at her from beneath a visor.

'Shall we get this over with?'

'I beg your pardon.'

'I said...shall we get this over with?'

'I heard the words, sir, it's the meaning that escapes me.'

Realising that speaking to a gilt-framed portrait might seem strange, she abruptly spun about on the wide stair, and rested her back against the banister. She looked Boldly, challengingly at him through spiky wet lashes.

He was handsome, she had to admit. And very imposing. Quite frighteningly so. She didn't recall, six years ago, ever having felt intimidated by him. Now she did. Or perhaps she just felt stupid...for crying for no reason. But then she wouldn't cry now. Not in front of him. He wouldn't know, any way... it didn't show...

A corner of his mouth tilted her a smile, while his very blue eyes lingered on her face. He was still watching her when his head flicked, indicating the top of the stairs. There are above a hundred people here tonight who are anxious for an incident to gossip over tomorrow. They'd like it to concern you and me.'