Gayle Buck (19 page)

He flashed a brilliant smile, all interest in Captain Hughes dissolving. “Indeed, mademoiselle, I would be most honored to do so,” he said warmly.

Michele smiled as she placed her fingers on his arm. “Then let us go in, sir.” Sir Lionel escorted her into the dining room and seated her with a flourish at their table, at which Lydia was already waiting. Sir Lionel left to fill plates for Michele and for himself. Michele knew that Lydia’s escort must be on the same errand, and she seized the opportunity to talk with her cousin. “Lydia, I spoke to Captain Hughes but five minutes past. He is convinced that you no longer care for him because of your abominable behavior this past fortnight.”

“Oh, no! Bernard
could
not believe such a thing,” Lydia exclaimed, dismayed.

“What else could he think, when you have played him fast and loose these last several days without any explanation? It was obvious that you had not told him everything of your present circumstances,” Michele said.

Lydia restlessly played with her fan. “I thought he understood. About Papa, I mean. That day in the park I told him that I ... Oh, Michele, Aunt Beatrice watches and listens so! I cannot say more than two words to Bernard before she sweeps down on me. I had hoped by being present at every function I would see more of Bernard, but even then I dare utter only the most insipid pleasantries for fear I may be overheard. We are always in the midst of a crowded assembly. I cannot say what is truly in my heart. As for my flirting, I had hoped that if I attracted several admirers, Bernard’s attentions would not be as noticeable to our aunt.” She snapped shut her fan and looked across the table. Michele was startled by the sheen of unhappy tears in her cousin’s eyes. “Michele, Bernard is the only one who matters to me. I pretend to be gay and lighthearted to cover my true feelings. It has all become intolerable to me! I do not know that I can go on in this fashion much longer.”

Lydia’s voice held a desperate note that Michele had never heard before. She reached over to give a sympathetic squeeze to her cousin’s hand. “That is just what Captain Hughes said. We must contrive something before all is lost,” she said. Lydia stared at her, startled and shaken. Her lips parted on a question. Michele saw that the gentlemen were returning to the table and she gave a warning shake of her head. “We shall finish our conversation later, cousin.”

“What’s this? I do believe the lovely ladies are telling secrets, Mr. Thorpe,” Sir Lionel said jovially. His intelligent eyes took in Lydia’s downcast eyes and then traveled to Michele’s bland expression.

“Of course we are, sir. That is a lady’s prerogative,” retorted Michele. “And no, we shall not enlighten you.”

Mr. Thorpe laughed. “That is a set-down if ever I heard one, Sir Lionel.”

“Quite. My ears are scorched,” Sir Lionel agreed. Under cover of the ensuing laughter, Michele smiled encouragingly at her cousin. Lydia straightened and made an obvious attempt to appear as usual, even smiling at Mr. Thorpe’s gallantries.

Sometime during the dinner hour Michele chanced to glance over the crowded tables about them. She met Lord Randol’s somber gaze. There was something speculative, even questioning in his eyes that rattled her composure. She felt the heat rise in her face. He raised his wineglass in acknowledgment of her and then allowed his glance to drift past.

Michele swallowed. She glanced around at her dinner companions, wondering if any had noticed her discomfiture, but the gentlemen were laughing at some artless witticism that Lydia had uttered. Michele was thus afforded a minute of reflection. She did not know what to think of that peculiar expression in Lord Randol’s eyes. His initial antipathy toward her seemed to have abated remarkably since the occasion of his last visit to the town house and Lydia’s clear renunciation of his suit. He had not called there since, and whenever he had met Lydia, Lady Basinberry, or herself, he had merely bowed and made a courteous remark or two in passing before he sauntered on to join other companions. He never remained long in their company, except perhaps for form’s sake to solicit a set with Lydia.

Michele knew that she should be grateful that he no longer goaded her with hateful words, but perversely she would have preferred his active dislike to his present formal indifference. The hope she had held that her driving of the phaeton would elicit an ongoing response from him had not advanced past their one conversation. She had seen him several times out in his own carriage, but he had not again indicated by word or look that he desired to speak with her. Michele was forced to the unwelcome conclusion that he really did not care for her in any way. When she glanced at Lydia, she thought that her cousin’s romantic troubles were but a counterpoint to her own unhappy state.

“Is anything troubling you, Michele?”

Michele looked up at Sir Lionel quickly, and she considered him dispassionately. He was generally acknowledged to be a handsome gentleman of polished address and style. He had proved himself to be completely devoted to her. Michele knew that she could not ask for more in a gentleman, but even so, she could not love Sir Lionel Corbett. She wondered whatever could be wrong with her that she still loved a gentleman who obviously wanted nothing to do with her. “Troubling me? Why, nothing at all, Sir Lionel,” she said. At once she saw the disbelief in his keen blue eyes. She smiled faintly and made a very Gallic gesture. “Oh, very well, I shall admit to the slightest of migraines. But it is of little consequence, I assure you.”

“On the contrary, I will not have it recalled later that I played part in a dreary evening. I insist that you go home at once, Michele,” Sir Lionel said. He smiled at her, raising her fingers briefly yet warmly to his lips. “I am thoroughly selfish, you see. I wish that every moment in my company be remembered as pleasant. Come, I shall escort you myself.”

Lydia had been listening to the exchange, giving but half an ear to her dinner partner’s latest extravagant compliment, and now she interjected, “Michele, I would feel badly if you were to go home alone. I shall accompany you, I think.”

Despite Mr. Thorpe’s well-bred protests, Lydia was firm in her decision. Within a very few minutes Lydia and Michele had excused themselves to their hostess and notified Lady Basinberry of their intent, promising to send the carriage back for her ladyship, to be available when she had tired of the soiree.

Sir Lionel and Mr. Thorpe saw the ladies to their carriage. Sir Lionel promised to call on Michele with the mysterious assurance of having something that he wished to lay before her for consideration. “I believe it as auspicious a time as any to talk with you on a subject close to my heart,” he said.

Michele felt her heart sink. She put him off as best she could, but she knew it to be inevitable that he would declare himself once more. And she wondered whether she could again reject him with the same confidence that she had before. She was no longer so certain that she wanted to live her life entirely alone. However, the decision was being brought on her too suddenly, and she made Lydia promise not to leave her alone with Sir Lionel whenever he should choose to call.

Lydia looked at her in the flickering of the passing lamplights. “I understand, of course. And I shall do as you ask. But are you certain that it is what you want?”

Michele shook her head. “I no longer know what it is that I hope for. I know only that I need time to choose.”

“Do not leave it so long that you choose wrongly. Only see what has happened to me with Bernard, all because I assumed that he would understand my purpose in flirting with other gentlemen,” Lydia said bitterly.

Michele forgot her own dilemma in the face of her cousin’s wretched unhappiness. “I shall speak with Captain Hughes, I promise you, Lydia. It will all work out, you will see.” She was not so confident as she sounded, but she hoped that for Lydia’s sake she was right.

Chapter Eighteen

Lord Randol looked every inch the fine gentleman that morning. His beaver was set on his head at a rakish angle, well-starched points rose out of his perfectly executed cravat, the fit of his coat was superb, and his legs were encased in buff pantaloons that smoothed without a marring wrinkle into black Hessians of immaculate polish.

He was driving his phaeton down the crowded street when he chanced to sight a familiar figure on the walk. He gave only half his attention to the task of guiding his phaeton safely between a bowling tilbury and a heavy wagon while he wondered what Michele du Bois was doing afoot. Without at once realizing the significance, he saw a roughly dressed individual jostle against her. An instant later another man had stripped her of her reticule and shoved her into the path of a dray cart.

Lord Randol shouted. He came to a stand as quickly as he could haul his team to the curb. Snubbing the reins, he leapt down and thrust his way through the crowd that was already beginning to form. Michele sat on the pavement, half-supported by a burly gentleman. Her face was extremely white. “Michele!” Lord Randol exclaimed sharply. He went down on one knee beside her.

She looked up quickly at the sound of his voice. A glad light sprang into her eyes. “Anthony.”

The burly gentleman, who was becoming acutely embarrassed by the presence of a lady in his arms, was greatly relieved that the lady seemed to know the well-dressed gentleman. “It were a pair of hooligans, sir. Took the young lady’s purse, they did, and pushed her into my cart deliberate-like.”

“I saw it from the street,” Lord Randol said shortly, sparing a brief nod of thanks for the man. He held out his hand peremptorily to Michele. “Let me help you stand.”

Michele bit her lip. Her eyes appealed to him. “I have twisted my ankle, my lord.”

“It were a bad tumble, guvnor. Like as not the ankle be broken,” the drayman said helpfully.

Lord Randol was irritated by the man’s pessimistic prediction when he saw that Michele’s face whitened to an even greater degree. He said brusquely, “There is nothing for it, then.’’ Without further ado he lifted Michele up into his arms and carried her toward his phaeton, several of the curious onlookers trailing in his wake. Lord Randol was surprised by how light she felt in his arms. She was pressed close against him and her breath was warm on his cheek. When he turned his head, he met her midnight-blue eyes. The dark color, just short of true black, had never ceased to amaze him, and he remembered likening her eyes to a dark velvety sky. The whimsicality of his thoughts annoyed him, but not as much as his own feelings. The sensations stirring in him had little to do with acting the good Samaritan. Quite the contrary, he thought grimly. More harshly than he intended, he said, “You must let go my neck and grasp the rail if I am to help you into the phaeton.”

Michele’s face flamed and she averted her wide gaze, depriving him of the wonder of her marvelous eyes. She said not a word until she was settled on the seat and he was preparing to climb up beside her. “I . . .I dropped some books, my lord.”

Lord Randol grunted. He turned, to find the drayman with the volumes already in hand. He thanked the man and handed the books up to Michele. Then he sprang up into the phaeton. Taking up the reins and his whip, he pointed his horses into the milling traffic. Only then did he glance again at Michele. “I apologize for my rough tone earlier. It was uncalled-for.”

She made a dismissive gesture, not looking at him. “It was nothing, my lord,” she said formally.

He saw that she favored her right foot, resting it on top of her other foot, and that she winced when the phaeton took a particularly hard jolt. “If it is any comfort to you, I do not think that your ankle is broken, but only sprained.”

“Your consideration is appreciated, my lord.”

Lord Randol felt a spurt of annoyance that she did not meet his eyes. “What the devil were you doing walking at all, and unchaperoned to boot? You should know better than to go traipsing off without your maid, at the least.”

“My maid has the cold. And I was walking only a few blocks to the lending library. I never thought that—” Michele bit off what she had started to say, realizing of a sudden that she was not required to answer to him. She turned an indignant expression on him. “What gives you the right to censor me, my lord?”

“As a gentleman I have the duty to express concern for a lady of my acquaintance,” Lord Randol said stiffly.

“Your concern is noted, my lord. Pray let’s leave it at that, for you have made it plain these months that any claim that once lay between us no longer exists,” Michele said with a touch of bitterness. “There is the town house. I wish to be let down at once, if you please.”

Lord Randol swung the phaeton over to the curb and snubbed the reins, his thoughts revolving about the odd catch in her voice when she had spoken. It could not be entirely owing to the pain she was suffering, he knew. He leapt down from the seat and went around the phaeton to offer his aid to Michele. She had already risen from the seat and started to maneuver herself down, when her ankle seemed to give way. She practically fell into his waiting arms. She made a determined movement to be set down, but he tightened his hold about her and carried her up the steps to the front door, which was opened by the porter. “My lord! Mademoiselle, what has happened?” the servant exclaimed.

“Mademoiselle du Bois was set upon by a pair of thieves,” said Lord Randol shortly. He strode toward the drawing room, and the porter, realizing his intent, ran ahead to thrust open the door.

Lady Basinberry started up from her seat beside the fireplace. Her embroidery hoop dropped from her hands as she stared in astonishment. “Lord Randol! Michele, child! You are white as a sheet. My lord, what has happened?”

He set Michele down on a convenient settee. She averted her face from him and he looked across at Lady Basinberry. “I shall allow Mademoiselle du Bois to explain. Perhaps in future you will see that she does not go walking about unattended, my lady,” he said. “I have left my team standing. Pray excuse me, my lady. A pleasure, as always.” He bowed himself out of the drawing room and left the town house.