Knave's Wager

  Unquelled, Cecily continued, “I was much amazed. I’d always thought trollops looked like the tavern maid at Squeebles. Molly’s rather stout, but I daresay she’s the best the gentlemen can find in the vicinity when they’re of a mind for that sort of thing.”

  “Cecily—”

  “I wonder if Lord Robert’s friend is witty and clever,” the girl said meditatively. “They say that’s why Harriette Wilson is so popular. Certainly she’s no great beauty. Still, she has a very generous figure, so perhaps it’s not all conversation. When the horses are bred, you know, the stallions—”

  “Cecily!”

  “Well, they do go directly to it,” the girl said, turning her innocent blue gaze to her aunt.

  Mrs. Wellwicke covered her twitching mouth.

  “It looks rather uncomfortable for the mares,” the niece added. “No wonder the gentlemen must pay—”

  “Cecily, pray hold your tongue,” Lilith snapped. “It is bad enough these disagreeable objects are among us. Worse still that they should elicit such unladylike, immodest speculations. You see how depravity taints whatever is near it. I shall have a servant return this package immediately. Furthermore, as of this moment you are to have nothing to do with Lord Robert Downs. He is obviously not a fit person for an innocent girl to know.”

  She marched from the room, bearing the box well in front of her as though it were a chamber pot.

  Cecily chased after her. “But Aunt, you can’t mean it,” she said. “It isn’t his fault.”

  “We shall not discuss this before the entire household.”

  Cecily followed her aunt in silence down the stairs and into the study. She waited patiently while Lilith wrote a short note, sanded and sealed it, summoned a servant, and dispatched box and note to the modiste.

  When they were alone, the girl tried again. “Dear Aunt, you know it isn’t Lord Robert’s fault the package was misdirected. It hardly seems fair to blame him—to cut him-—because of an innocent mistake.”

  “Innocent?” Lilith echoed coldly. “Innocence does not purchase such immodest costumes for—for such persons. Innocence is not acquainted with such persons. And so you shall not be.”

  “Well, what on earth else is a gentleman to do? He must get his pleasure somewhere. That’s how men are. I think it’s far more sensible to keep a mistress than to take his chances in the streets and alleys.”

  “Gracious heavens, child, I cannot believe what I am hearing. Where on earth did you learn of these—these matters?”

  “From Rodger.” Cecily shrugged. “Though living in the country in a horse-breeding family isn’t likely to keep me in ignorance, is it? Though I’ve never understood why I should be. How is a girl to protect herself when she doesn’t know what to protect herself from?”

  “She leaves her protection to her elders,” her aunt said in awful tones. “Which is precisely the case at present. You will have nothing further to do with that man.”

  Further argument, as Cecily later informed her maid, was obviously futile.

  “Still, I tried,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m afraid Aunt Lilith is a bit irrational on the subject. It isn’t logical at all. I’m sure half the gentlemen I know do far worse than Lord Robert does. Why, he’s been with the same woman two whole years, Anne says. Other men are not so faithful to their wives.”

  “Mebbe when you’ve been a wife, you’ll think different, miss.”

  “But I’m not a wife now, am I? At any rate, I certainly can’t cut him without explanation. That would be monstrous rude, as well as unfair.”

  Accordingly, Cecily found her writing materials and immediately composed a note to the ill-used young man. When she attempted to hand the note to her maid, Susan demurred.

  “Your aunt won’t like it,” the abigail said.

  “Then obviously she’d better not know about it, had she?”

  “But Miss Cecily—”

  “Don’t be tiresome, Susan. You know perfectly well how to get this note to him. You and Hobbs have passed along other pieces of news easily enough to his cousin.”

  The maid’s mouth dropped open.

  “I suppose you mean to marry one day, and wish to set something aside. I know Papa does not pay you very generously, so really, I can’t blame you, can I?”

  The maid stammered and protested, but her mistress only looking reproachful, Susan ended by muttering that Miss Cecily had always been a deal too quick.

  “Well, I shall not pry into your private affairs,” Cecily said magnanimously. “Everyone says Lord Brandon is irresistible, and of course he is dark and devilish-looking, so I collect you couldn’t help yourself. Still, if you’re not very discreet, my aunt will find out what you’ve been about, and I daresay she won’t be best pleased.”

  She thrust the note into her mortified abigail’s hand. “So you’d better be discreet, hadn’t you?”

  The note reached Lord Robert some hours later, when he and his cousin had returned to dress for the evening. Dressing being a wearying business, they had elected to fortify themselves first in the library with a glass of Madeira.

  The note was presented on a silver salver.

  Lord Robert took it, stared at it a moment, then opened it.

  The butler glanced enquiringly at Lord Brandon, who shook his head and gestured the servant away.

  Betraying not a smidgeon of interest, the marquess poured the wine and handed a glass to his cousin. The young man absently took it while he perused the note a second time. Finally he looked up.

  “I have been cut off,” Robert said in disbelief. “I am banned, banished, and outlawed.” He handed the sheet of paper to his cousin. “Did you ever hear the like?”

  The older man quickly skimmed the round schoolgirl script. “I have never seen the like,” he answered. “She has not mis-spelt a single word. Moreover, she states the case so plainly and simply, it might be a receipt for a poultice. Most extraordinary.”

  “I told you she was levelheaded. I only wish her aunt were. You’d think I’d tried to ravish the girl.’’

  “You did not order up lingerie for Elise?”

  “How should I know? We’re always at the dressmaker’s or the milliner’s or somebody’s. That is to say, of course I must have—but what’s that to do with anything?”

  Lord Brandon dropped gracefully into a chair. “It has everything to do with everything, Robin. Miss Glenwood is fresh from the schoolroom. She is not supposed to know of mistresses and their intimate attire. Now the girl is no longer ignorant, and, unluckily for you, Mrs. Davenant knows precisely where to pin the blame. This is what comes of excessive letter-writing.”

  “It’s completely irrational. I’m banned because some fool servant delivered the wrong package to the wrong house. Banned—and I’m not even cowling her niece, drat it. Does she mean to investigate the private affairs of every fellow who talks to the girl? Ventcoeur isn’t banned, and he spends half his nights in the Covent Garden alleys. Even that loose fish, Beldon, who has the bailiff camped on his doorstep—”

  “Their indiscretions have not been waved under Mrs. Davenant’s nose as yours has been by this unfortunate accident. An accident of fate, Robin. Drink your wine and put the matter from your mind. We shall dine with Scrope Davies tonight and bury our disappointments in wine and laughter. He is a very amusing fellow, an intimate of Byron’s. Perhaps the poet will join us. I understand he’s decided not to accompany Hobhouse to Paris after all.”

  “He’s a moody, pretentious bore,” was the sulky answer.

  “I admit he has not Miss Glenwood’s immense blue eyes and guinea-gold curls, and being some years older and lame as well, he cannot be as lively—”

  “It’s nothing to do with her looks, Julian. It’s the—the principle of the thing, dash it! Here I’ve been dutifully going about in company to pacify the family. I meet one girl who doesn’t bore me out of my wits. At last there’s someone sensible to talk to, so the evening isn’t an endless punishment—and now
I’m not to talk to her, not to go near her. I feel like a damned leper. Confound her aunt. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell isn’t half such a prude.”

  Robert stomped to the tray and refilled his glass. “It’s all the more astonishing to me now how you ever got such a stiff-necked prig to even speak to you—let alone dance with you.”

  “Perhaps I took advantage of a fit of temporary insanity,” said the marquess. He rose. “I believe I shall dress now. You, of course, may amuse yourself as you wish. Freers will bring you another bottle when you have done soaking up that one. I expect he’ll also provide a litter to carry you to bed when you have completed your liquid meditations.”

  Lord Robert had not meant to drink himself unconscious. Still, he was exceedingly put out, and in the course of execrating Mrs. Davenant at length, grew thirsty. Since he continued grumbling to himself for hours, he had frequent need to soothe his parched throat, with the result his cousin had predicted.

  The young man awoke very late the following day and, suffering the usual consequences, was more out of sorts than ever. He spent that night in a fit of the sullens with his mistress.

  Elise’s forbearance only compounded Lord Robert’s unhappy state, for she added a generous dollop of guilt to the already indigestible compound of indignation and frustration. Consequently, Robert spent the greater part of the following week in his cousin’s company.

  The constant companionship of a young man behaving like a petulant little boy must eventually irritate even the most serene of natures. Otherwise, Lord Brandon would have been his normal unruffled self. Certainly he could not be chafing yet over the mere pin-prick of one lady’s displeasure.

  Lord Brandon had known he’d be unwise to seek the widow out immediately. He’d told himself she wanted time. She was not a stupid woman. Given time to reflect, she must surely come to see the injustice of her accusations. Being the soul of rectitude, she must therefore repent of them.

  He was confident of this. The waiting was tiresome only because Robert was tiresome. This, clearly, was the sole reason Lord Brandon rounded upon his cousin on the seventh night of Lord Robert’s banishment, as they were leaving Wader’s.

  “What the devil is the matter with you?” the marquess snapped as they reached the street. “You’ve been growling and sulking without cease for a week. I do wish you’d entertain your mistress with your megrims. She’s paid to endure you. I merely have the misfortune to be related to you.”

  “Why should I talk when there’s nothing to say? Everyone says the same things and makes the same jokes over and over. Why can’t a man hold his tongue if he wants? He might as well, when he’s a damned leper. An outcast. A—a—”

  “A bloody bore is more like it. I see we are about to play once again the monotonous tune of your persecution.”

  “She danced twice tonight with Ventcoeur,” muttered his unheeding cousin. “And twice with Maddock. And once with that lout, Beldon. And once with Melbrook. And she went in to supper with—”

  “You’ve already been through the catalogue with me three times this night. Confound you, Robert. You might try to understand the aunt’s position.’’

  “She’s a stiff-necked old cow. Aargh.”

  This last remark was occasioned by Lord Brandon’s taking his cousin roughly by the neckcloth and lifting him several inches off the ground.

  As he put the young man down again and released the mangled cravat, the marquess said in low, dangerous tones, “Mind your manners, boy.”

  He was answered by a series of croaks as Lord Robert strove to recover from near strangulation. When he’d regained his wind, he apologised.

  “That sounds more like reason,” said Lord Brandon. “A reasonable man would understand that Mrs. Davenant was obliged to take the steps she did. A reasonable man would also clearly perceive her to be neither ancient nor in any way bovine. That her posture is stiff may be blamed upon the board strapped to her spine at a tender age. Your mama was once so accoutred. Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

  Subdued, Robert withheld further comments until they were at the marquess’s town house.

  Never one to hold a grudge, Lord Brandon invited his cousin into the library for a brandy.

  “I suppose,” said Robert after sipping quietly for a time, “I have been rather disagreeable.”

  “I will not debate that.”

  “Still, you must admit the situation is provoking, fair or not.”

  “The situation is provoking,” said Lord Brandon, gazing at the amber liquid in his glass, “though probably fair enough.”

  “Gad, I wish I had your cleverness. If it were you in my place, you’d have her talked round in no time.”

  “Would I? I wonder.”

  “What would you do in my place, Julian?”

  “Whatever it is, I suppose I had better do it,” came the bored reply. “Since you are not philosophical by nature, you’ll go on worrying the thing forever. Even as a child, a word of denial would send you into fits for hours. Now you are a man, you have graduated to weeks.”

  “You mean you’ll talk to her aunt?” Robert eagerly asked, disregarding the aspersions on his maturity.

  “I shall try. But be warned, my impetuous cousin. I am not at present in Mrs. Davenant’s good graces myself. My interference may do you more ill than good.”

  Chapter Ten

  Though it was a nearly two-hour journey to Redley Park, no one who received an invitation thought of declining. The elderly Earl of Redley and his young countess were reclusive, rarely seen in Town. Once a year, however, they invited half the Beau Monde to a lavish entertainment on their sprawling estate.

  There, champagne flowed like a mighty river, delicacies of every kind beckoned from the great table under its ornate canopy, while jugglers, magicians, and fortune-tellers practised their amusing arts. The atmosphere was that of a street fair, but untainted by the vulgar rabble that usually mobbed such events. For those of higher sensibilities, a string quartet performed in a shady arbor of the vast garden. Perhaps most delightful of all, the half who had been invited enjoyed the sweet prospect of lording it over the half who were not.

  The house itself was a small, rather shabby relic of Tudor times, to which little except basic maintenance had been done in centuries. The Earls of Redley preferred to devote their energies and incomes to improving upon Nature.

  For the previous earl, Lancelot “Capability” Brown had built gently rolling slopes where before had lain a generally flat expanse of meadow and woodland. A lake, replete with swans, now glistened where once had been a narrow stream and minuscule duck pond. Even the village had been relocated another mile distant, because the present Lord Redley’s mama had complained of its cluttering the landscape.

  Redley Park, in short, was a kingdom unto itself. It was also an excellent place in which to become lost, as amorous couples knew. Twisted, maze-like paths and shady, private nooks abounded, and so long as the heavens did not loose a downpour, one could always declare an urgent need to find shelter from the sun’s fierce rays.

  Following a luncheon best described as wretched excess, one after another lady made such complaints of the heat and glaring sun to Lord Brandon. He sympathised, he spoke charmingly, and then—to the bafflement of each lady in turn—he vanished.

  It happened that, just as he eluded these others, one lady eluded him. Certainly, he always knew where to find her. The trouble was, she had constantly someone clinging to her like a leech—her companion, her fiancé, her future sister-in-law—and she and the leech of the moment would be found amid a group. One bodyguard Lord Brandon might detach her from; a host of them was too much even for his ingenuity.

  He waited with mounting impatience until his opportunity arrived at last. His gaze lit upon Miss Glenwood just as she was slipping away from a crowd of young people watching a juggler. He glanced at Mrs. Davenant. She, excellent chaperon she was, had her eye upon her niece.

  Lord Brandon promptly made for the niece.

&nbs
p; He’d scarcely uttered two sentences before the aunt was upon them.

  “Ah, Mrs. Davenant,” he said. “I was about to recommend Miss Glenwood not allow herself to become separated from her friends. Redley Park is a veritable maze of paths and byways, and on her own, she might be lost for weeks.”

  “I know,” said Miss Glenwood. “That’s why I was looking for Anne. I can’t think where she’s got to.”

  Though she appeared not at all flustered, Lord Brandon was certain the girl was lying. The particular lie, however, was a gift from Heaven. He decided he approved of Miss Glenwood.

  “Your aunt and I shall find her, Miss Glenwood, never fear,” said he. “You may watch the juggler with an easy mind.”

  The girl left, and he turned to Mrs. Davenant.

  “Perhaps I was presumptuous,” he said. “Perhaps you would prefer I sought Miss Cleveson on my own?”

  “Thank you, my lord, but I’m sure Sir Thomas will be happy to assist me,” she said stiffly.

  “He is well-acquainted with Redley Park, I take it? If not, I must accompany you both, or we shall have three lost sheep instead of one.”

  He saw her glance towards Bexley. The baronet, true to form, had promptly got himself entangled with Clancarty.

  She turned back to Lord Brandon, her cheeks tinged a faint pink. “He has never visited here before today, my lord, and—”

  “And at present he is occupied with more momentous matters.”

  They soon spied Anne Cleveson, for she had hauled her brother only far enough from the others to quarrel without being overheard. From what Lilith caught of the debate— she and Brandon were several yards from the two—Freddie had hurt Lady Shumway’s granddaughter’s feelings, and Anne, in her own way, had decided to call him out.

  “Shall we leave them to their squabble, Mrs. Davenant?” said the marquess, moving towards an alternate path. “Miss Cleveson has the right of it, and he wants his ears blistered, I think.”

  Lilith was surprised, though perhaps she shouldn’t be. The marquess was not, she knew to her shame, entirely without compassion.