A Marriageable Miss (12 page)

Although Lady Kettlesham’s soirée proved to be everything that the countess had predicted—a somewhat staid affair, with random groups of people standing about sipping champagne and making desultory conversation—their own entry into the salon set enough tongues wagging to render the dowager blissfully contented for most of the evening. Lottie, unfortunately, having complained of a headache upon their return from the park, had elected to stay at home.

When the promised dancing did begin, it turned out to be of the country variety; a succession of sets and quadrilles, none of which promoted very much in the way of conversation between partners. In view of the fact that it had been quite some time since she had engaged in such an activity, Helena found that she was obliged to devote the whole of her attention to the performance of the, sometimes, fairly intricate measures. Nevertheless, despite the fact that she and the earl took to the floor for no more than the permitted two dances, they were neither of them left unaware of the undercurrent of interest that continued to filter through the room throughout the evening. In between the dances, Markfield was all that he should have been, finding seats for both the countess and herself and bringing them the requisite platters of sweetmeats and glasses of lemonade. His occasional attempts at conversation, however, were at best perfunctory, leaving Helena with the distinct impression that he would much rather have been elsewhere. But, since he was continuing to observe the terms of their agreement, she knew that she had no right to expect anything more of him, although she could not help comparing the rather cool manner he had adopted of late with the teasing, light-heartedness of his former self. Having spent most of the afternoon reflecting upon what might be the possible cause of such a drastic change of temperament in so short a time, she could only suppose that it must have been some inexcusable lack of decorum on her part that had brought it about—which rather provoking thought had her hurriedly straightening her shoulders and tucking her feet out of sight beneath the hem of her skirt, lest he should have even more reason to deplore her conduct!

A sudden ripple of excited murmurs spreading throughout the room caused her to shelve her somewhat mutinous thoughts whereupon, on looking over to the doorway to see what might be the cause of this unexpected animation, her curiosity was immediately aroused by the fact that everyone’s attention seemed to be centred upon the couple now standing at the doorway. Behind her, Richard, who had, until that minute, been leaning negligently against a convenient pillar nearby, suddenly stiffened.

Conscious of his unexpected movement, Helena turned her head to ascertain the cause, only to observe that his eyes, too, were fixed upon the couple who had just entered. Turning back, she studied the pair who, as far as she could tell, were nothing out of the ordinary—although it was fair to say that the lady, whilst she was no longer in the full bloom of youth, was certainly very striking. With her rich dark tresses artistically arranged in clusters of artfully swirling curls on top of her head, she was dressed in a gown of deep-red slubbed silk that, from Helena’s point of view at least, seemed to hug her highly curvaceous figure just a shade too closely. It was clear to see that it was she who was the real object of everyone’s attention.

Turning towards Lady Isobel, Helena observed that the countess was eyeing her grandson with a somewhat speculative look.

‘Who is that lady who has just come in?’ she whispered. ‘Everyone seems to be staring at her.’

‘She is Lady Kettlesham’s sister—Rachel Cummings by name,’ replied the countess tersely, casting another frowning glance in Markfield’s direction. ‘Widow of the late and clearly unlamented Sir Frederick Cummings.’

‘But why is her presence causing such a stir?’ asked Helena, perplexed. ‘Not that it seems to be bothering her, I must say—in fact, she looks as though she is rather revelling in the attention—although her escort appears somewhat less at ease, don’t you think?’

‘More fool him to have accompanied her here!’ retorted Lady Isobel. ‘The creature is nothing but a lightskirt!’

‘Lightskirt?’ faltered Helena. ‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you, ma’am.’

‘So I should hope, my child!’ was the dowager’s curt response. ‘Hardly a fit subject for tender ears like yours!’

Temporarily nonplussed, Helena allowed her eyes to travel back to Richard who, although he had, by this time, managed to recover something of his former aplomb and had regained his stance against the pillar, still had his gaze focused on the recent arrivals—or to be more correct, as she very soon realised, on the dark-haired lady. Although Helena had never come across the actual expression ‘lightskirt’ before, it had not taken her long to hazard a guess that the term must refer to one of those women who practised the rather unsavoury occupation into which rather too many of her regular female visitors to the soup kitchen seemed to find themselves driven.

Her brow furrowed in thought, she stared across at the stunningly attractive brunette, finding it almost impossible to believe that any high-society lady would feel the necessity to involve herself in the sort of dubious activity in which the likes of Bet Mooney and Cissie Pritchard were forced to claw a living. It was clear that the ruby necklace she was flaunting, for instance, was worth a small fortune, so too that matching pair of bracelets and earrings. Such a woman, surely, had no need to debase herself in the way that those other poor souls did. Rather more puzzling, perhaps, had been Markfield’s strange reaction to her unexpected arrival. If this Lady Cummings really was the sort of woman that the countess had given her to understand, what could possibly be the earl’s connection with her?

However, no sooner had she really put her mind to the matter, than a violent blush suffused her face and she was obliged to bring her fan into quite vigorous use. Fearful that Lady Isobel would spot her sudden discomposure, she edged the chain of her reticule off her wrist and allowed the purse to fall to the floor at her feet, hopeful of using its retrieval to explain away her high colour.

Unfortunately, she was forestalled by Richard who, stepping forwards, reached down and, picking up the fallen article, handed it back to her.

‘Allow me,’ he said, executing a swift bow.

Despite his concern over Rachel Cummings’s unexpected arrival, Helena’s suddenly altered demeanour had not escaped the earl’s attention and he was hoping against hope that he might be mistaken as to its cause. However, when she failed to meet his eyes and merely took back the reticule with a muffled ‘thank you,’ he was obliged to concede that his somewhat unguarded reaction to Rachel’s unexpected arrival had not escaped her notice.

Frowning with unsuppressed irritation, he returned to the relative security of his pillar, telling himself that, regardless of how Helena might or might not choose to interpret his behaviour, any conclusion that she eventually reached could hardly be of any consequence, since it could not affect the arrangement in hand. Her views on gentlemen’s indulgences did not enter the equation; whether or not he chose to keep a mistress was his business, not hers and, as far as he was concerned, she had no right to pass judgement on his activities when they could not possibly affect her.

As his annoyance diminished, however, he began to realise that his reaction to Helena’s attitude had not emanated from anything that she had said or done but rather from some unaccountable feeling of guilt on his part. Never having experienced feelings of this sort before he had met Helena, he was at a loss to understand why it should suddenly matter now. He was beginning to wish he had never allowed himself to be drawn into the affair with the Cummings woman.

She, having set up home in the village of Chelsea the previous year, following the demise of her elderly husband, had become noted for throwing the most lavish of parties, entirely designed to appeal to the more liberally minded members of the
ton
. Finding himself at something of a loss one evening, shortly after his return from the Continent, Richard had accepted an acquaintance’s invitation to accompany him to one such entertainment and, unaccountably, as it now seemed to him, had found himself utterly beguiled by the lure of unspoken promise in his hostess’s dark, sultry eyes. Up until a week ago, his visits to her had been on a more or less regular basis but, after setting up this recent
agreement with Helena, he had had every intention of putting an end to the liaison.

But why on earth her blessed sister had chosen to invite the woman here this evening, with so many prestigious guests in attendance, was beyond his understanding—it not having escaped the earl’s notice that several of her ladyship’s most devoted paramours had already sneaked out of the salon in order to seek sanctuary in one of the adjacent card rooms. This rather sudden depletion of male guests now made it highly unlikely that Rachel would fail to spot his own rather obvious presence. He could only hope that she would not take it upon herself to come over and greet him in person since, finding oneself obliged to present one’s
chère amie
to one’s elderly grandparent—who, as well as being a stickler for convention, was nobody’s fool—must rate as one of the most socially unacceptable situations in which a man might ever expect to find himself. And, if that were not quite enough for him to cope with, there was the additional problem of what might be going on in Helena’s head to compound the difficulty!

To his chagrin, however, he perceived that Lady Cummings was, indeed, heading in his direction. Although he was almost overcome by the desire to take to his heels and run, he resolutely stood his ground and forced himself to return her greeting with a stiff bow.

‘How delightful to see you again, Ricky, my sweet!’ she addressed him huskily, as she fluttered her long dark lashes up at him. ‘You are quite the last person I should have expected to see at one of my sister’s tedious routs!’

It occurred to him that, having simply spotted him lounging against the pillar, she might well have been under the impression that he was unaccompanied. Taking her arm, he endeavoured to draw her to one side, saying, ‘This is most improper, Rachel. My grandmother is sitting scarcely two yards away from us!’

‘So I observed,’ she said, pursing her lips and shooting him a mischievous smile. ‘Along with the little heiress that I have heard so much about, I perceive. Although, if your somewhat less than en
thusiastic welcome is anything to go by, I must assume that you have no intention of introducing me to your illustrious companions!’

‘I most certainly am not!’ he replied curtly. ‘And I would be highly gratified if you would refrain from any more of this foolish nonsense and return yourself to Lord Ruskin at once!’

Her eyelashes fluttered impishly. ‘But you haven’t paid me a visit for over a week now, Ricky,’ she reproved him, with a coy little moue. ‘And I cannot help but recall your enthusiasm at our last meeting!’

‘I have been somewhat occupied of late,’ he grunted, a faint colour staining his cheeks as he shot an apprehensive glance in Lady Isobel’s direction. To his unbounded relief, it appeared that both she and Helena were deeply engaged in conversation. If he could just persuade Rachel to move further down the room!

‘Ah, yes! Preparing yourself for parson’s mousetrap, I hear!’

Flicking him playfully with her fan, Lady Cummings then turned her attention to the seemingly oblivious Helena. After casting her eyes calculatingly over what little she could see of her face and apparel, a little curve of satisfaction appeared on her lips. Then, lifting her eyes to the rigid countenanced earl, she offered him the benefit of one of her most seductive smiles and murmured softly, ‘I see no problem there, Ricky, my love. I feel sure that a week or so in that sweet virgin’s arms will soon have you clamouring for something a little more—shall we say—invigorating!’

‘For God’s sake, madam!’ ground out Richard who, having witnessed her flagrant disregard for propriety, was now becoming thoroughly revolted, not only with Lady Cummings, but also with himself for ever having allowed himself to be captivated by what he had lately come to realise were decidedly overblown charms. ‘You go too far!’

In reply, she simply let out a throaty chuckle and then, leaning much too close for decency, she bade him a whispered ‘
Au revoir,
my sweet!’, after which, exhibiting the most provocative sway of her hips, she sauntered casually back to the hapless Viscount Ruskin.

As his eyes followed her progress across the floor, Richard’s face was tight with anger. Apparently quite impervious to the dis
dainful looks and low mutterings of disapproval being cast in her direction, she rather gave the appearance of one who had grown bored by the whole proceedings. Having reached the doorway, where her highly embarrassed sister had been doing her best to entertain her abandoned escort, the unabashed Lady Cummings merely offered her a swift peck on the cheek and, after waving an ostentatious ‘farewell’ to the now stunned assembly, took hold of her
cicisbeo’s
arm and exited the room.

A pensive frown upon his face, Richard did his utmost to ignore the speculative stares that were being cast in his direction, as he found himself reflecting that, all things considered, perhaps it was just as well he had been in a position to view the creature’s true nature, since it had been his intention to visit her later that same evening, in order to terminate their relationship. Now, however, thanks to her blatant disregard for propriety, the woman had earned herself no more than a curt note informing her of his decision. What the devil he had ever seen in her, he was hard pressed to bring to mind.

Rather to his surprise, the anticipated reproach from his grandmother failed to materialise, although the dowager’s manner towards him for the remainder of the evening was noticeably lukewarm. A good deal more disconcerting, perhaps, was Helena’s failure to respond to any of his resolute attempts to engage her in conversation in anything other than a polite but somewhat preoccupied manner, causing him to suspect that it would not be long before his name was added to her growing list of failed suitors, an outcome that, for reasons that had nothing whatsoever to do with his monetary problems, the earl shrank from dwelling upon. Fortunately for his increasing sense of unease—owing to the fact that Lady Cummings’s unexpected attendance seemed to have put rather a damper on the whole proceedings—the party broke up shortly afterwards.