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And just maybe, she concluded with a tremor of exhilaration and longing, she would gain Rob’s love and a secure place to belong.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE WEEKS LATER, Will sat at Lady Domcaster’s dinner table, a smile stamped on his lips as he cut his gaze to the head of the table, trying to catch his cousin Lucilla’s eye while giving nominal attention to the young lady seated beside him.
“I declare, Lord Tavener,” Miss Benton-Wythe exclaimed in her flat, nasal voice, “when the governess opened her door and the chicken Harry had hidden flew out, flapping and squawking, she shrieked so loud we were like to die laughing!” Apparently envisioning that occasion, she went off into a fit of giggles.
Wincing, Will turned to his other side to address the honoree of the evening, Miss Cecelia Rysdale, daughter of Lucilla’s friend Lydia. “Miss Rysdale, do you recall any similar amusing events from childhood?”
Color came and went in the young lady’s cheeks as she hastily dropped her eyes to her plate, muttering an unintelligible syllable Will took to be “no.” ’Twas about the extent of the response he’d been able to eke from her during the course of this interminable dinner.
Having no idea what one talked about with young ladies, he’d first mentioned the progress of the peace accords in Vienna, then asked about the current offerings of the Philharmonic Society, then attempted to elicit opinions on the performance of Hamlet now at Covent Garden. After these conversational overtures evoked puzzled silence, a rather desperate compliment about the young ladies’ bonnets finally drew a response from Miss Benton-Wythe.
Though not even the mention of fashion managed to entice Miss Rysdale into speech, her companion more than made up for her silence. Miss Benton-Wythe launched into a detailed description of the design and construction of her headgear, and having begun, needed no encouragement whatsoever to keep on chattering.
Will calculated that over the course of this dinner, Miss Benton-Wythe had produced enough words to fill three conversations, all delivered in a penetrating voice and punctuated by high-pitched giggles that were giving him the headache. He wished he’d stuck to a monologue about diplomacy.
Finally catching Lucilla’s attention, he cast her a beseeching look. Though she returned him a stern glance, the corner of her mouth twitched as she rose, signaling it was time for the ladies to leave the table.
Will leapt to his feet. “Ladies, my pleasure,” he told the two girls as he bowed.
“La, my lord, ’twas my pleasure, too,” Miss Benton-Wythe said, giving him a frankly assessing look.
Hard-pressed to suppress his relief, Will watched Lucilla lead the women from the room. Thank heavens all the attendees at this dinner were proceeding to other engagements, sparing him the necessity of sharing brandy and cigars with the male guests, mostly fathers of Miss Rysdale and her friends and mostly unknown to him. He understood now why Domcaster, despite his obvious affection for his wife, had chosen to return to the country.
Even as Will nodded and smiled, the gentlemen started to follow the ladies out. When the last one exited, Will sat back down and took a long, fortifying pull on his wineglass. It appeared this business of finding a rich wife would be even more distasteful than he’d envisioned.
He had just finished the wine when Lucilla returned. “Bless you, cousin,” he said. “Two more minutes and I would have cast myself facedown into the syllabub.”
Though Lucilla clucked in disapproval, her eyes danced. “I’ll allow that Miss Benton-Wythe’s voice is a trifle…grating.”
“I should have enjoyed hearing more of Miss Rysdale’s. But after I delivered a very mild tribute to her appearance, she looked as if she thought I meant to ravish her upon the spot and spent the rest of the meal communing with the china.”
Lucilla sighed. “Someone must have carried tales to her about your wicked reputation. She is rather timid.”
“Perhaps I should have reassured her that I do not seduce children,” Will returned. “I must warn you, grateful as I am for your support, if this is a sample of what I can expect in the Marriage Mart, I’d rather resign myself to my rooms in Chelsea.”
Lucilla shook her head. “Not all the eligible young ladies are being fired straight from the schoolroom, as Cecelia and Miss Benton-Wythe are. You shall encounter a much larger variety shortly at Lady Ormsby’s rout. Besides, you promised to be my escort for the Season and I’m not about to let you wiggle out of that! Let me collect my cloak and we can be off.”
“Will there be a card room? Winning a few hands of pique would help restore my good humor.”
“Yes, there should be some play. And I don’t mean to be unreasonable. Once I’ve introduced you around—and you have stood up with me twice, for I must dance!—if you meet no lady who engages your interest, I will cede you to the card room.”
“In that case, I am yours to command,” Will said.
AN HOUR LATER, wearing the most beautiful gown she’d ever owned and knowing she looked her best, Allegra stood in the shadows of Lady Ormsby’s entryway. A Lynton footman had caught up with them just as they arrived with a note for Rob from his estate manager that, Rob said, apologizing to them for the delay, required an immediate response. Retreating out of the press of arriving guests, she waited with Mrs. Randall for Rob to complete his business so they might go up.
She should be giddy with anticipation at attending her very first ton party. Instead, she was tense and wary despite the promise of having Rob beside her all evening, looking, she thought, a pleasant flutter in her chest as she gazed over to him, handsomer than a prince in his elegant evening attire.
Unfortunately, in the three weeks since Rob had dramatically altered her life, it had quickly become evident that Mrs. Letitia Randall, the cousin he had invited to London to fill the roll of chaperone, was no match for the cunning—and malice—of Sapphira Lynton.
Beginning soon after the slamming of the door and the wail of weeping that had followed Rob’s proclamation of Allegra’s change of status, Lady Lynton had done all within her power to circumvent and frustrate Rob’s intention to raise Allegra to a place within the ton. With a feminine guile that was impossible for Allegra to prove and would be difficult for Rob’s masculine mind to comprehend, her intervention had been by indirection or subterfuge.
“La, I’m much too cast down to traipse all over town spending Lynton’s blunt,” Sapphira had proclaimed when the meek Mrs. Randall asked her to advise them on the acquiring of Allegra’s wardrobe. “I suppose I could pen a note to the modistes I favor, recommending styles, colors and fabrics for Allegra’s gowns. Fitting her out fashionably is going to be difficult, though, Tall Meg that she is.”
And write she had, Allegra thought, clamping her lips together as she wondered just what exactly Sapphira had penned. For had Allegra not insisted upon following her own judgment, honed by years of observing costumes in opera and the theater, the modistes would have persuaded Mrs. Randall into purchasing Allegra a wardrobe of pink and white frocks profusely trimmed in lace and ribbon that would not have become her in the least.
While Lady Lynton also proclaimed herself too ill to accompany them paying social calls, she expressed an avid interest in discovering from Mrs. Randall each morning where they planned to visit. On numerous occasions, as they alighted from a hackney at the house of one or another of the ton’s hostesses, Allegra spied Lady Lynton’s carriage just leaving.
When they entered the drawing room thereafter, Allegra was met with stilted politeness, speculative looks—or outright silence, as conversation ceased while the ladies already present turned to stare at her.
Sapphira’s heavy floral perfume hanging in the air like the scent of smoke after a candle is snuffed, it was obvious from the careful omission of any inquiry about Allegra’s parents that someone had just re-illumined all the details of Lady Grace’s scandal. At times, annoyed and frustrated by the hypocrisy, only Allegra’s desire not to embarrass poor Mrs. Randall prevented her from boldly asking if her hostess had met Lady Grace after her marriage…and had that lady ever had the privilege of hearing her father play?
Even more dispiriting, since returning her to the family, Rob had left her entirely in Mrs. Randall’s care. She’d seen him but seldom and until tonight, had had no champion to stand beside her in the glare of society’s faintly hostile scrutiny.
She wouldn’t have minded the female disdain had she felt she was making some progress in luring Rob to act upon his observation that his little cousin had become a desirable woman. Though on the few occasions they’d met at home, she’d seen the same heated appreciation in his eyes, she could hardly bewitch him if he was so seldom present to be bewitched.
Thanks again to Sapphira, she thought with irritation. Apparently not content with her initial attempt to entice Rob, the first night he’d dined at home with them, Sapphira had been at her most alluring, gazing up at Rob, soliciting his comments and opinions, leaning down to display her bosom while passing him dishes, letting her fingers rest on his during the exchange. Grimacing with a distaste that was thrilling to Allegra, Rob had pointedly pulled his hand free, then quit the dining room as soon as dessert was served. He’d not eaten a meal with them since.
