Gail Eastwood (20 page)

“The same two, ain’t they?” he asked in astonishment. “The two from Taunton? They looked demmed fine, dressed to the gills. Said all along the chit was a prime article. What on earth have you been up to, you old fox?”

Rafferty took Archie by the arm and followed in the wake of Gillian and her aunt, heading for the outer hall. “Let us find a more private spot and I shall reveal all,” he promised.

***

The monstrous pier glass in the ladies’ salon more than served the purpose to assist Lady Culcarron in repairing Gillian’s coiffure. With the rebellious curls once more anchored by the pearl-trimmed comb, the countess replaced the satin rose and ribbons that had nestled before it in her niece’s hair.

“There, my dear,” she approved with a satisfied smile. “As lovely as ever.”

Gillian adjusted the position of one sleeve at her shoulder and tested a smile in the glass.

“I suppose it would be unspeakably rude not to indulge Lord Brinton by meeting his mother and sisters tonight?”

Her aunt eyed her searchingly. “Do you not wish to meet them? You know, when a gentleman sends such a gift as a fan, it usually indicates he is courting.”

Gillian’s eyebrows went up in what was almost an unconscious imitation of the gentleman under discussion. She had not previously considered his gift in that light, but after his behavior on the terrace, she could accept that her aunt might be right. Could he really want to marry her? He had sought her out. He had said that he missed her. Her heart began to beat faster. “Perhaps I am just a coward, Aunt Elizabeth. Five sisters! I am so used to having only Gilbey!”

“Tush, child. You are the farthest thing from a coward that I have ever run into. I haven’t the slightest doubt that you will charm them all. Let us not keep them waiting!”

In the ballroom, however, there was no sign of Brinton. Gillian expressed her concern as she stood in the doorway, scanning the room.

“Sometimes he has trouble, Aunt Elizabeth, especially in crowds and in overheated rooms. He was wounded at Waterloo, and it left him with a bad lung. I have seen him overcome in just this kind of setting.” She did not elaborate, although Lady Culcarron fixed a curious eye upon her. She had omitted certain details from her account of her travels, including the incident in the anteroom at the Assembly Rooms in Bath. “Perhaps I can find his friend, Mr. Spelling. Although I do not see him, either.”

She gave her aunt’s hand a quick squeeze of reassurance. “I see Gilbey, dancing there in the middle. When the dance ends, could you send him to help me? I am going to see if I can discover what has happened.” Before her aunt could protest, Gillian turned and made her way back out into the hall.

The room had marble columns and arched niches with statuary around the walls, but some archways opened onto passages that led to other rooms. There had been no gentlemen in the passage she had come through from the salon, so she started down a different one. Just before she came to the intersection of another passageway, she recognized the voices of the two men she sought.

“They are brother and sister—twins, no less,” Brinton was saying. He was not coughing, and he did not sound to be in any distress. She knew she should go back to the ballroom and wait for him, but his next words stopped her. “The bet was made on erroneous assumptions, my friend.”

“Ah, but they did go to Gretna Green, you’ve just told me so yourself,” replied Spelling.

“Not for marriage!—to escape one,” Brinton protested

“Believe you wagered that they were not going there, and, if I recall, that the whole business had ‘nothing to do with marriage,’” Spelling said. “I’d say escaping a marriage is still something to do with the matter.”

“You just want to get your hands on my Tristan, Archie. Was that what I said?”

Gillian had heard quite enough. “A wager!” she exclaimed, rounding the corner in high dudgeon. “Was that what it was all about? I could not help overhearing—I was afraid you were in distress and I came to look for you.”

Spelling merely looked startled, but Brinton’s face had turned ashen.

“Gillian, no! It’s not as you think. There was a wager, it’s true—Archie and I made it that night in Taunton, but—”

“I did wonder why you were helping us, all those first days! I suspected all sorts of reasons, but I never dreamed of this! After a while I began to believe it was because you cared about us, foolish me.”

“I did care. I still care. Gillie, let me explain!”

But Gillian had put her hands over her ears. Their raised voices had attracted some attention, and it was fortunate that Gilbey and Lady Culcarron arrived at that moment.

“Gentlemen! This is most unseemly,” admonished the countess.

“Please, Lady Culcarron. I must talk with Gillian, uh, Miss Kentwell,” said Brinton, desperation making his voice break. “She has the wrong idea.”

The twins’ aunt looked at Gillian and shook her head. Gilbey was attempting to talk to his sister, who still had her hands over her ears.

“You must call on us tomorrow,” the countess said to Brinton. “She is too upset now to pay attention to what you say. I think we had best just take her home.” She sighed, looking at the curious faces around them. “I will have to make my apologies to Lady Darley and her daughter in the morning.”

Chapter Twenty

Gillian awoke in the morning, full of remorse. How could she face anyone today after behaving so abominably last night? With a groan she pulled the coverlet up over her head.

She had done the unthinkable—created a scene! She had repaid all of her aunt’s kindness by committing one of the worst social sins, and at the very event which had brought her aunt to London. She had also deprived her aunt and her brother of an evening they had been enjoying, but perhaps worst of all, she had been horridly unfair to Brinton.

Why hadn’t she let him explain? Why had she let anger overwhelm her common sense? She had so looked forward to being with him. Memories filled her mind: the taste of his kiss, the touch of his hand, his smiling eyes as they shared a meal on their journey. The images were so real, she could almost smell his scent and feel the strength in his body. Did it matter if a wager had motivated him in the beginning? Wasn’t the important question whether he loved her now?

Gillian threw back the covers and sat up. She would start with apologies to everyone, of course. She would try to atone for her misconduct, if that was possible. When Brinton came, she would listen to anything he wanted to say, and she would tell him that she did not care about the wager. She loved him. Perhaps she would even tell him that!

Her first disappointment of the morning was the discovery that both her aunt and her twin had already gone out by the time she had dressed and descended. She ate a solitary breakfast and pondered what it meant that they had “gone to see the family solicitor,” according to the butler. Would her aunt do business with a London firm?

She learned that her aunt had left orders for a nuncheon to be served at noon, so they clearly expected to be back by then. She would find something to occupy her in the meantime. She suspected Brinton was far too proper to call before the afternoon.

During the next hour she frequently consulted the ormolu clock on the library mantel, but it seemed to mark the time very poorly. Its hollow ticking filled the quiet room as she perused the titles upon the shelves. She jumped when the butler, doubling as hall porter, came to announce a visitor.

For a moment she was excited to think that Brinton might have come early. Her second disappointment of the day came when she learned that her caller was Lord Pembermore.

She sighed. “I’ll see him in the drawing room, thank you, Thornton.” She could think of no excuse not to receive her own guardian, much as she would have preferred to ignore him. If only she could convince him to give up his scheme!

Gillian entered the drawing room with a confident air that belied the mixture of dread and curiosity in her heart. The baron had kept himself very much in the background since their arrival in London, but she was not fooled into believing that he had abandoned his plans.

“Good morning, uncle,” she managed to say civilly. “Shall we sit down? Or is it really my Aunt Elizabeth that you would like to speak with?”

“I am aware that your aunt and your brother left the house some time ago and have not yet returned,” Pembermore said dampeningly, selecting a chair quite close to her. “My business does not require them.”

She had no choice but to sit as well. She held herself stiffly, feeling a shiver of dismay crawl up her spine. How did he know who had already come or gone this morning? Did he have someone watching the house?

Her uncle raised his quizzing glass and surveyed her through it with a grimace of what was apparently approval. “You are looking very well this morning, niece.”

His quizzing glass always had the bizarre effect of magnifying one watery blue eye all out of proportion to his other one. Gillian usually found the effect comical, but not this morning. She was at a loss, not knowing why he was there or how she was to convince him that she would never concede to his scheme. “Thank you. Can I offer you tea?” she said finally.

“Not necessary,” said the baron. “I have come to tell you that, thanks to your ill-considered attempt to avoid the inevitable, poor Grassington has had to come to London. I have seen him, and I must say that for a man of his advanced years, he weathered the journey surprisingly well.”

Gillian said nothing as she registered this unexpected news. Was she supposed to feel guilty that the old man was forced to travel? Most likely it had been at her uncle’s request.

“One might begin to think that the man has more years left than we supposed.” A wickedly cold smile suddenly creased Pembermore’s face.

Now was she supposed to feel threatened? Her patience snapped. “Why are you doing this?” she burst out. “Why do you wish to punish me so? What have I ever done to you?”

“Gillian, Gillian. Such dramatics. I never arranged the betrothal as a punishment for you. You, personally, had little to do with it. You are the only attractive, marriageable female over whom I have any legal control. Still, I do not take it kindly when someone tries to cross me. And you, my dear, have cost me considerable time, trouble, and sums of money I could ill afford to spend.” His voice hardened as he spoke. “If I felt any regrets about this earlier, you may be sure that none remain now.”

Gillian stared at her uncle with wide eyes. It was clear she would never persuade him to give up his plan. She still did not understand the reason behind it, but she had one other hope. She would have to convince Grassington.

Almost as if he had read her mind, Pembermore said, “Now that he is in town, Lord Grassington wishes to see you. He indicated that this morning would be quite convenient.”

“You mean, right now?” Gillian asked in disbelief. Wouldn’t the old earl have at least sent a note first? She did not want to go now, with her aunt and brother out, and Brinton expected.

Yet, she thought, if she could just talk to Lord Grassington herself, perhaps he would see how ridiculous the whole scheme was. Perhaps she could succeed where Gilbey had failed. Perhaps she could get back again before Brinton arrived, and could greet him with the news that the problem with their uncles was solved!

That idea had enormous appeal. After all his help, she wanted to prove that she was capable of dealing with at least some part of her own troubles. “All right,” she said, “I’ll go. I’ll fetch my bonnet and pelisse.”

Her uncle was clearly surprised, but he recovered quickly. “Now, that’s what I call a good, obliging girl.” As Gillian left the room, she thought she heard him add, “So much easier if you come along willingly.”

***

At almost precisely the stroke of noon, Brinton arrived at Lady Culcarron’s rented house in Mount Street. He stuck the square package he was carrying under his arm and had already begun to strip off one glove when he was surprised to learn that no one was at home.

“I’m quite sure they were expecting me,” he said, handing the butler his card with a sinking heart. Had Gillian decided she did not wish to see him? Could such a foolish thing as a wager ruin his entire future happiness?

Thornton’s furrowed brow cleared as he peered at the earl’s engraved name. “The young lady, Miss Kentwell, left a message for you, my lord, in case she had not yet returned.”

Ah, there was hope
.

“Let me see, she went with Lord Pembermore—”

“Pembermore! The devil she did!” Brinton’s burgeoning hope turned instantly into an angry, black despair. He advanced on the poor butler. “Where did he take her? When?”

Thornton recoiled from the unexpected onslaught. “If you would allow me, sir. She went with him something less than an hour ago. She said they were going to Lord Grassington’s.”

“Was that the message?”

“She said to inform you that she hoped to be back shortly.”

“How much less than an hour ago?”

“Well, I would say it was most of an hour, my lord—just after eleven.”

The front door opened behind the earl and he turned quickly, hoping to see Gillian safely returned. He stared blankly into the faces of Lady Culcarron and young Cranford, instead.

“Lord Brinton! Whatever is the matter?” exclaimed the countess, clearly astonished by the scene she had interrupted.

“Pembermore was here. He’s taken Gillian to my uncle’s, or at least that is the message she left. I do not know that my uncle is in town, or that his house is even open. I don’t know what to think, but—begging your pardon, Lady Culcarron—I’ll be damned before I’ll stand here and do nothing about it. I will go first to my uncle’s and see if anyone is there.”

“Of course,” said the good lady faintly, “and we will go with you.”

Gilbey said nothing at all, but disappeared out the door in a flash. “I think he will try to catch our carriage before it turns into the mews,” Lady Culcarron said. “Oh, dear. And to think we thought we were bearing such helpful news. Perhaps it will still be of some use, however. We will tell you on the way. Where is your uncle’s London house?”

***

Gillian had not counted on Lord Grassington’s residence being quite so far from the fashionable West End. As Lord Pembermore’s carriage drove westward beyond the familiar parks and Kensington Palace, she realized she would be completely dependent upon her uncle or Lord Grassington to transport her back to Mount Street, and she would not be able to accomplish her mission as quickly as she had hoped. She had begun to wonder, too, how Brinton would react to the message she had left for him if he called before her return.

Her uncle had sat opposite her in the closed carriage, saying little. Her growing concerns must have been apparent, however, for at length he had said, “Do I see a little frown of worry on that pale face, Gillian? Having second thoughts are you?” He had smiled coldly, but added nothing more.

After what seemed to Gillian a painfully long interval, the carriage entered a lane lined with stately chestnut trees and stopped before a handsome Georgian house of mellow brick. Pembermore assisted her out and took her arm, patting her hand in a way that to most observers would have appeared fatherly and reassuring.

“Did I mention to you that Grassington had succeeded in obtaining a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury?” he said with an expression of mock innocence. “It seems that there is nothing left now to hold up your wedding except the arrival of the parson. Congratulations, my dear.”

“No!” cried Gillian angrily, struggling to pull her arm away from him. “You cannot do this! You have tricked me! I won’t go through with it!”

He tightened his grasp. “I want you to know, Gillian, that there will be no going back from this point on. To do so would mean scandal and ruin for our entire family, including your precious brother. Grassington can sue for breach of promise. If you do not cooperate, I am prepared to sedate you. Anger me enough, and I will keep you drugged right through your wedding night, just to be certain there is no talk of annulment. Do you understand?” He paused at the door, squeezing her arm painfully.

Gillian realized she had better keep her wits about her. Although his words shocked her, she nodded, covering her thoughts with an air of submission. Once they were inside, her uncle instructed the servants to take her to a room where she might refresh herself, and to see that she remained there.

Gillian considered resistance—outright rebellion right there at the bottom of the stairs. She could kick up a great fuss, yelling and screaming and fighting until the old earl himself appeared, assuming that this was indeed his house. But if Lord Grassington was here, a fit of screaming hysteria was not likely to incline him to listen to her. If she demanded to see him immediately, then her uncle would suspect her motives. Meekly she allowed herself to be led upstairs.

When she heard the key turn in the lock, however, icy fingers of panic gripped her heart. Could they really go through with the wedding? What if her uncle tried to drug her? How much time did she have? She had to get out, and she had to find Grassington. But she must act calmly.

She waited a few minutes to be certain that she had been left alone, and then began a thorough exploration of the room. It was an old-fashioned salon, its walls covered from floor to ceiling with painted and gilded paneling. Such rooms often had a connecting door disguised by panels that matched the surrounding walls. If she was lucky, it might not be locked.

She found it in a matter of minutes and cautiously slipped into the next room. From there she made her way down the hall, listening at doors, with stealth perfected in childhood practice. She stopped when she reached a chamber where she could clearly identify her uncle’s voice.

“Oh, yes, I believe she is eager now to get back to Devonshire after her little adventure,” the baron was saying. “You could even leave this afternoon, after the ceremony. She has acquired a few things since she left home, but you could send for them later. I imagine you will want to dress her to your own taste, my lord.”

The other person had to be Grassington. Gillian took a deep breath to calm herself. Now was not the time to be angry, although Pembermore’s words made her furious. For the moment she would have to play a role befitting a stage actress. She adjusted the pleated ruff that showed above the collar of her pelisse and stuck out her chin. Brinton had said that confidence was the secret of command. Pasting a determined smile in place, she opened the door and sailed in.

“Gillian!”

“Miss Kentwell!”

“Why, uncle, here you are with the earl. I grew so tired of waiting, I just had to come find you!” She relished the look of astonishment on Pembermore’s face as he rose from his chair.

“My dear, we are not ready—the parson is not yet arrived,” Grassington began, also struggling to his feet. Although he must have once been tall and imposing, he looked now as if a light wind would quite blow him away. He was every bit as wrinkled and frail as she remembered. Only his thick crop of wavy, snow white hair gave any clue that there was still vitality left in him.

“We won’t be needing him,” Gillian said, her smile disappearing. She hoped her revelation would not be too great a shock for the elderly earl. “I believe my uncle has misrepresented certain things to you, my lord. I do not wish to marry you. I have been opposed to it from the beginning.” She spoke quickly, before her uncle could stop her.