A Sisterly Regard (9 page)

"Miss Hazelbourne, no...no! I cannot keep calling you Miss
Hazelbourne--it is too...too ordinary for such a beauty as you," Lord
Everingham said, as the sounds of the orchestra grew ever fainter.

"My name is Chloe, but only when we are alone, my lord.
Mama does not approve of too much familiarity on short
acquaintance."

"A beautiful name, classical and poetic. And my name is Jeremy.
'My lord' is so formal. It keeps one at a distance, don't you think?"

"Oh, indeed, it does...Jeremy."

The two of them walked among the shrubbery for some time,
Lord Everingham pouring forth extravagant compliments to Chloe and she
positively glowing under the attention. Compared to the fulsome
compliments bestowed upon her by the boys at home, Lord Everingham's
remarks reeked of sophistication.
He is not all that unattractive
,
she decided, peeping at him from under her lashes.
And he is an
earl.

The shadows were noticeably longer when she suddenly realized
that they had been out of sight of the rest of the company for some time.
"I must return, my lo--Jeremy. My mother will be worried."

"Oh, if only I could keep you here forever, my lovely Chloe."
He pressed one hand over his heart. "Alas, I cannot. Come, this path will
take us directly back." He led her along another path, nearly a tunnel
among leathery-leaved shrubs and ivy-twined tree trunks.

When they emerged, Chloe saw her mother seated at a table
under the nearest tent. Mama sent a speaking glance in her direction but
did not summon her, so she followed Lord Everingham into a corner
where he held a chair for her at a small table. At his gesture, a waiter came
to them.

"Bring some of those little sweet puffs for the young lady,
Egbert. I'll have cheese and bread. Champagne for both of us, and
strawberries. Bring a big bowl of strawberries." He leaned forward. "I am
particularly fond of strawberries, Chloe. Aren't you?"

Chloe opened her mouth and closed it again. He was an earl and
he wanted to feed her strawberries. Why not? Surely two or three would
do no harm. Besides, she would likely be at home before the hives
emerged.

From where she sat, her mother was fully visible, and her frown
unmistakable. Chloe mentally crossed her fingers that a mild scold would
be her only punishment for disappearing. She really had not been aware of
time's passage, but she knew that her unchaperoned absence from a party
in the company of a young man was unacceptable.

The footman reappeared with a laden tray full of food. Between
them, Chloe and Lord Everingham made a good meal. Several times he
failed to place the food into his mouth and it fell back to the plate. Chloe
giggled when a strawberry dropped to the table and rolled across, leaving
a trail of pink spots on the cloth.

"But I am so overwhelmed with your beauty that I cannot take
my eyes from your face, Chloe. Forgive my poor manners."

"So there you are, Jeremy!" someone behind Chloe said. "About
time you returned."

Lord Everingham's shoulders drooped and his lower lip
protruded. "We were only walking in the shrubbery, Mother."

"Faugh! You were trying to hide, as you always do. You are the
host here. It is beyond rude for you to disappear as you do. Miss
Hazelbourne, I hold you equally responsible. My silly son has no better
sense than to go walking alone in the shrubbery but I cannot imagine your
mother not cautioning you against it."

"I have indeed," Mama said. Her tone was far more moderate
than her hostess's. "Chloe, you knew better."

"Please, all blame belongs to me," Lord Everingham protested.
"I was thinking only of showing her the gardens."

"Faugh! You were trying to escape, as you always do, at every
one of my parties. Go along, now. It's time you paid attention to other of
our guests."

Lady Everingham rudely turned her back and stalked
away.

"Lady Gifford, Miss Hazelbourne, I am sorry you were forced to
undergo my mother's criticism. Her tongue is often sharp, but she really
does not mean the half of what she says. Please excuse me, Miss
Hazelbourne, for as my mother said, I must see to our other guests." He
bowed gracefully before the ladies.

"Oh, Mama, I am sorry," Chloe said after he had left them
alone. "I truly did not realize how the time was passing."

"I will not speak to you of your actions now, Chloe," Lady
Gifford replied in a near-whisper. "I do not wish to create a scene, nor yet
to allow anyone to see how distressed I am. You must realize that it was
not how long you were alone with Lord Everingham, but the fact that his
mother publicly called attention to your absence together that will cause
gossip."

"She had no right--"

"Perhaps not, but as I warned you earlier, she is a force in the
ton
. Her approval could have been of great benefit to you, and
now..." Her mama chewed her lip. "Well, we can only hope for the
best."

"I did nothing untoward, I promise," she whispered, near to
tears. "Please do not tell Papa."

"I must, for it would never do for him to hear of it as gossip. I
shall also tell him that you drank champagne. He will be most disappointed
in your behavior."

Chloe hung her head. Her mother gave her arm a small
shake.

"Chloe, you must not look so. After Lady Everingham's loud
comments, you must not act as if I had reprimanded you. It is only by
behaving as if you had done nothing shameful that you might be able to
avoid gossip about your actions this afternoon. Now smile."

Chloe smiled until her cheeks ached.

* * * *

The evening following his attendance at the opera, Wilderlake
dropped in to Watier's, more for lack of anything else to do than any
interest in cards. He rarely gambled, knowing all too well from his father's
example where gaming could lead. He was restless, aware of a curious
sense of something being amiss but reluctant to recognize it. For several
days now, his mind had often held an image of immense brown eyes
surrounded by short, thick lashes and a dimpled chin set with disapproval.
He told himself that it was merely curiosity, but himself was not entirely
convinced.

The club's library was practically empty. Most of those present
were of an older generation and not well known to him. He made his
bows to several, then caught sight of a familiar face in a corner. Wanting
conversation, he walked that way.

"Hello, Reggie, am I interrupting your nap?"

The tall dandy opened his eyes and answered. "Not at all,
Herne. Or should I call you Wilderlake, now you've the title? Haven't
seen you for an age. I was drowsing out of boredom. Sit down."

"Thank you. I was suffering from the same affliction. Perhaps we
can together stave it off." He pulled a comfortable chair into the corner
and sprawled into it. "I see you haven't changed your style, Reggie. Still
playing the fop."

"Of course. It suits me." He waved a lacy handkerchief under his
nose. "But tell me, how is it with you? I can't remember the last time you
came to Town."

"Ten years ago, shortly after I came down from Oxford. You
weren't about that Season. To tell the truth, if the little I've seen is an
example of how things haven't changed, I would wait another ten to
return, if it weren't for my mother." A waiter came to take his order for
brandy. Wilderlake relaxed, truly comfortable for the first time since he
had come to London.

"You refer to the hopeful mamas and their darling daughters, I
suppose. Gets a bit daunting, does it not?"

"It does, indeed. One would think that the stories of my father's
excesses would serve to depress the hopes of the predatory mamas, but
they have not."

Farwell laughed. "You are new blood. Fair game. Your father's
sins occurred so many years ago that many of the
ton
have
probably forgotten him. Gossip only lasts as long as the next
scandal."

He raised a delicate quizzing glass and peered through it. "I see
you follow the Beau's lead in style. How dull it is, all those somber colors
and so little jewelry."

"By God, Reggie, you do that well. But I cannot believe that
you've changed so--" A quick shake of his friend's head made him bite off
the rest of his words. "Interesting waistcoat," he said, to cover the
moment of silence. "I don't believe I've seen that particular combination of
colors before."

"Puce and apricot? Lovely isn't it? I had it specially woven, from
my own design."

"It's...interesting." Wilderlake wondered if his leg was being
pulled or if Reggie had truly changed so much from the young man he
remembered. He eyed the other's footwear. "The shoes are an especially
good touch. One would not expect someone of your height to increase it
even more with such heels."

Their drinks arrived. Each raised his glass in a silent salute to old
friendship.

After a suitable pause in respect to the liquor's fine flavor,
Reggie stretched a long leg before him and appeared to admire his fine
leather shoes with their tall red heels. "Ah, my boy, should you breathe a
word of my drab past, I shall call you out. I have no desire to be
considered a potential husband by the insipid chits who flock to the
Season. What mama would take me seriously, dressed as I am and with
neither title nor fortune? I am the eternal dancing partner, the salon
conversationalist, the safe escort for innocent young ladies. But I am not
an eligible match."

"And do you garb yourself this way in the country?"

"At house parties, yes."

Aware his question had been only partially answered,
Wilderlake contained his unsatisfied curiosity. "You almost convince me
to adopt your style. Almost, but I fear I couldn't carry it off as you do. I
would burst into laughter each time I saw myself in a mirror."

He thought Reggie's lips twitched, but the small motion--it
there had been one--was so slight, so quick, that he might have been
mistaken.

The two of them sat in comfortable silence, for several minutes.
At last a thought occurred to Wilderlake. "Tell me, Reggie, when I had to
leave Eton for a year, to pick up the pieces of my inheritance, you were
speaking of going for the army when you finished your education. Did
you?"

"I did not. Instead I took a position with a trading company in
India, and lived to regret it. The place is hot and filled with nasty insects
and snakes. No place for a gentleman, I tell you, particularly one with my
delicate sensibilities. I vow, I spent four years fearing for my life and
health, until my great aunt Charlotte died and left me everything. I sold
out and came home as soon as I could."

"Wasn't she the one who wed the Nabob? The aunt you used to
visit during the long holiday?"

"The very one. A formidable woman, but one with a good
heart. I would have wished my deliverance to have come at a lesser
cost."

"So you are a country gentleman. I cannot imagine you in that
role."

"No need. I leave such bucolic worries to my agent. London is
my milieu, except for the occasional house party" He yawned, a sure sign
to Wilderlake that no more personal information would be forthcoming.
Reggie had always been reticent about himself.

Wilderlake changed the subject. "You are probably acquainted
with most of this Season's offerings on the Marriage Mart. Have you met a
Miss Hazelbourne?" He waited tensely for the answer.

"I have. Were you wishing to make her acquaintance?"

"Yes, I am. Actually," he paused, "I have already met her under
rather unpleasant circumstances. But it was not a formal introduction so I
cannot claim an acquaintance."

"Aha! You're the chap they rescued on the road to London. You
owe them a great deal. They have not breathed a word of your identity,
except to the Duchess of Verbain, who told only me. If the
ton
only knew that a member of the FHC--you do still have your membership,
I trust?--had been thrown from his phaeton.
Tsk tsk.
Now I know
you will keep my secret, else I will tell your tale."

"My lips are sealed."

"As are mine." Reggie made an appropriate gesture and his eyes
gleamed with laughter. "Have you an invitation to Her Grace's ball next
week?"

"No, I do not."

"You will receive one, for she told me so last night. Do you
make sure to attend and I will see that you are introduced to Miss
Hazelbourne." He laughed aloud, but gave no reason for his
amusement.

"What is the joke? Is Miss Hazelbourne a secret drinker,
perhaps? Or is the family dirt poor and she hanging out for a husband of
great wealth? Not that it matters. I should merely like to correct her
impression of my rudeness. I was not myself when I regained
consciousness after the accident."

"No, no. Miss Hazelbourne is all that is respectable. Rather a
lively young lady, in fact. There is no joke; I am only amused by the vision
of your lying broken on the roadside, only to be rescued by one of the
Season's hopeful mamas and her darling daughter. What a perfect way to
become noticed by the ladies."

Wilderlake snorted. "I think I will look in at White's and then
make an early night of it," he said, rising. "My mother has requested my
escort tomorrow morning. I shall see you again soon, Reggie, and will be
interested in viewing you in the role of eternal dancing partner. Good
night."

"Good night, Herne." As Reggie spoke, his eyelids lowered and
he seemed to fall immediately asleep. Wilderlake left him, chuckling to
himself as he recalled stories about Reggie Farwell's sleepiness. He
recalled one, which had never been confirmed but which he fully believed,
about the time Reggie had been involved in a seduction. Apparently he had
been well on the way to success when he fell asleep. While he slept, one
of his friends had interfered and had won the fair Cyprian's favors for
himself. Reggie had professed himself vastly disappointed, but had done so
with a smile on his face. Scarce two months later, the friend had had to
empty his pockets to buy himself free of what had turned out to be a
ruinously expensive relationship.