Chance the Winds of Fortune (16 page)

“I took a slight tumble, that is all,” Rhea declared. Her impatience at being kept in her wet clothes in her own home while a guest conducted a private inquisition was beginning to show in the telltale tapping of her small, booted foot.

The earl's aristocratic nostrils twitched ever so slightly. “But
where
did you fall?” he couldn't resist asking, despite his good manners and better judgment. Chagrined though he was, he could not control the look of distaste that passed across his features when he received an even stronger whiff of wet wool, dirty puppies, foul mud, and horses.

“'Tis of little import, Wesley,” Rhea replied, reluctant to divulge their afternoon's activities.

But Francis was not so reticent and cheerily informed the earl, “Actually, we rescued a litter of half-drowned pups from a ditch. Or,” he added, with a slightly malicious look in his blue gray eyes, “I should be more precise and say that Rhea did the rescuing.”

“Rescued them?” the earl expostulated with an incredulous look that Francis could have predicted. “Good God, whatever for?”

Francis hid his satisfied grin as he glanced between their faces: the earl's was mystified and Rhea's was flushed.

“If you need to ask that, then 'tis only too obvious you'd not understand the reason why,” Rhea told him frigidly, her voice going well with the cold shivers she was feeling as she stood conversing in wet clothes.

With a glance far surpassing in haughtiness anything the earl could have produced, Rhea looked him up and down with lazy indifference. “Seems to me you've arrived a few days before we were expecting you?” she inquired softly, yet there was no mistaking the slight note of censure in her voice.

The Earl of Rendale turned a dull, painful-looking red, for he knew he'd committed a serious breach of etiquette, and if there was anything that the Earl of Rendale deplored, it was bad manners—especially in himself. “I arrived with Sir Jeremy and Caroline,” he explained rather stiffly, feeling very ill at ease. Not that Wesley Lawton truly regretted his decision, for he had hoped to have a few private talks with Lady Rhea Claire, and since Sir Jeremy was His Grace's good friend, and Caroline was Sir Jeremy's daughter and Lady Rhea Claire's friend, and both Sir Jeremy and Caroline were related to him by marriage, why, what better kindness than to have offered them the use of his carriages? He stayed often at Winterhall, the country estate of Sir Jeremy, and this time he'd carefully planned his arrival to coincide with their departure for Camareigh. He had made up his mind to have Lady Rhea Claire as his wife, and if there was one thing a Lawton was, it was determined.

“Caroline is here?” Francis and Ewan spoke simultaneously and exchanged less than pleased glances.

“We weren't certain that Sir Jeremy and Caroline were going to come at all after we heard that he'd had another attack of the gout. You know how Sir Jeremy suffers with it,” Rhea said, thinking how grumpy the usually jovial Sir Jeremy became when his joints began to swell and throb.

“I remember last time he was here and he had an attack,” George contributed with a grimace. “He nearly bit my head off! Told me to shut the demmed window because the breeze was buffeting his big toe.”

“I just hope the carriage didn't jostle him around too much on those bumpy roads and aggravate the condition,” Rhea declared, thinking of all concerned. “Even at the best of times Sir Jeremy and Caroline are not very good traveling companions,” she added, sidestepping the earl and hurrying up the stairs, leaving him in an awkward silence with Francis and the Fletcher brothers.

The earl coughed, clearing his throat as if about to resume his lecture, but before he could utter a word, George began to sneeze violently, causing the earl to take a precautionary step aside, thereby clearing the stairway. Francis and the Fletcher brothers wasted no time in vaulting past the openmouthed earl, who now found himself standing alone, except for several smug-faced footmen, in the grand entrance hall of Camareigh.

“Well timed, George,” Francis complimented his cousin, knowing well that lad's accomplishments in artful deceptions, for they'd pulled that same expedient ploy on many an unsuspecting person when they'd found themselves in difficult situations.

“Thank you, Francis,” George replied seriously.

“Why did you mention the pups, Francis?” Ewan now asked his cousin as they wended their way through the long halls of the great house toward Francis's wing. Ewan eyed him speculatively, waiting patiently for an answer, for past experience of his cousin's ways had taught him, partly for his own self-preservation, to always suspect Francis's motives.

“Why not?” Francis answered innocently. “The earl wanted an answer.”

“Why not indeed, when I suspect you knew all along what the earl's response would be to your explanation,” Ewan said persistently.

Francis returned his look unrepentantly. “Let me put it as bluntly as I can,” he said suddenly. “I do not fancy the earl as a brother-in-law. I've nothing against the man. I just don't want him in the family. Let's face the cold undeniable facts of the matter,” he continued, sounding so serious and stern that he had his cousins' rapt attention, “and that is the Earl of Rendale is a strutting peacock and an unbearable snob. If he raises that nose of his any higher and gets caught out in the rain, he'll most likely drown,” he stated, much to the appreciation of his cousins. “Can you imagine the pall his pomposity would cast over our picnics?” he added with a look of such exaggerated horror that it should have been enough in their eyes to damn the man for life.

“And so you thought to show the earl up in a rather petty light,” Ewan said. “You knew how Rhea would react to his words.”

“Naturally, and 'twas his own words and actions that tightened the noose, Ewan,” Francis defended himself, thinking privately that Ewan was beginning to sound more and more like his father the general, whose voice still sounded at times as if he were ordering his troops into formation.

“But 'twas you, Francis, who put that noose around his neck, and very carefully and skillfully tightened it with the earl's own hand,” Ewan said, a grin curving his mouth, for he didn't care for the earl any more than Francis did.

“I must plead guilty to the devilish deed,” Francis admitted proudly. “But I truly do have Rhea's best interests at heart,” he confided in a more serious tone. “She's far too kindhearted for her own good, and I'm afraid the earl is not above using that to advance his cause. Well, enough of that for now. I think I've successfully spiked his guns for the moment,” he added with a satisfied grin. “We'd better hurry. I'm starved for tea, and the earl will have had a good half hour's start on us, and you know what an appetite he has for Mrs. Peacham's gooseberry tarts.”

“Well, I just hope Caroline doesn't go on and on about this ball and that one, my lord this and my lord that, what dress she wore, and when, and how awful you-know-who looked,” James said with a deep sigh of soon-to-be martyrdom. “She said something snide to me the last time she was here when I wanted another piece of cake,” he reminded them, still smarting from her rebuke.

“Well, it was your fifth piece,” George reminded him.

“Well, if we don't hurry, none of us will get any cake,” Francis pointed out, suiting his actions to his words as he ran the rest of the way down the silent corridor.

* * *

Rhea was quickening her step along the corridor too, but it was in the opposite direction, toward her own bedchamber. Her thoughts were centered on Caroline Winters as well, but not in speculation, for she knew with no uncertainty what she would find in her bedchamber. The door was partly opened, and Rhea's expression was one of familiar annoyance as she quietly stepped inside and found Caroline Winters prowling through her gowns with an almost feverish curiosity.

In that moment Rhea felt more pity toward Caroline Winters than she felt anger, for although Caroline had everything she could possibly want or need, she was never satisfied and never would be, because she always wanted more. It was not in Sir Jeremy's nature, nor had it ever been, to deny his only child her heart's desires. With the best of intentions he had unsparingly lavished love, devotion, and riches on his motherless daughter's fair head, thinking mistakenly that this overindulgence could make up for the loss of her mother. The results had been less than successful, for Caroline Winters had grown into a selfish and petulant young woman who wheedled and threatened tantrums, whined and connived whenever she was faced with opposition to her wishes. Poor Sir Jeremy had long ago given up trying to placate her, or even to rebuke her for her misbehavior, turning a slightly deaf ear to her ranting and raving as she tyrannized over him.

“Hello, Caroline,” Rhea greeted her now. “Have you lost something?”

“Oh, Rhea!” Caroline gave a frightened squeal and spun around at the sound of Rhea's slightly mocking voice. “You did startle me so. I do wish you wouldn't sneak up on a person that way. Lud, but I feared one of those savages from the colonies was going to scalp me,” she complained, seemingly not in the least embarrassed at being caught snooping through another's possessions. “I did knock, but you weren't here, so I came on in. I knew you wouldn't mind. I just had to find out if you had the same divine silk that Papa got for me in Paris. You do always seem to have something finer than me, so I was just making certain that I had the only gown fashioned out of that silk,” she explained with a smug glance at Rhea. But as she became aware of Rhea's bedraggled appearance, her eyes grew wide and an incredulous look settled on her pretty features. “Lud! What the devil happened to you? You look horrible!”

Rhea smiled a trifle crookedly. “Thank you for your concern. I took a fall, that is all. I'm quite all right,” Rhea said, moving toward the warmth of the fire that had been lighted by a diligent maid.

Caroline eyed Rhea up and down, a look of delicate distaste turning down the corners of her mouth. “You've absolutely ruined that divine riding habit. 'Tis a pity.”

“I've another one exactly like it, so you needn't worry,” Rhea reassured her. “Mother liked the material so much, and knew how often I would be wearing it, that she had the foresight to order two identical ones made.”

“How extraordinary,” Caroline breathed, thinking the duchess quite ingenious. “'Tis, or I should say 'twas, a beautiful shade of blue. It really would go better with my coloring than yours. We are of a similar size, aren't we?” she asked entreatingly, her eyes straying to the wardrobe where the second riding habit must be concealed.

Rhea glanced over at the other girl, recognizing well that tone of voice. “No, Caroline,” Rhea told her firmly, refusing to give in to her and wishing the maids would arrive with her bath so that she could gracefully have Caroline ejected from her bedchamber. “This is my favorite riding habit, and now that I've ruined this one, I shall wish to wear the other one. I am sorry, but I'm sure you understand. Haven't you a favorite gown or hat?” Rhea was trying, unsuccessfully, to reason with Caroline; already, a small pout was beginning to form on the other girl's lips.

“Very well, but I'm sure
I
wouldn't be so selfish if I had something you wanted to wear,” Caroline said, frustrated anger trembling in her voice. She drifted over to Rhea's dressing table and began to sniff each of the various perfumes collected there in porcelain, clear-cut glass, and silver bottles. Her jeweled hand lingered over an amethyst glass bottle with a millefiori pattern.

“I'm completely out of this scent, and I do love it so,” she sighed with a melancholy look at the delicate bottle of scent.

“Please take it, Caroline,” Rhea told her, hoping she would take her treasured prize and leave. “It has never been a favorite of mine.”

“Oh, it hasn't?” Caroline asked, sounding a bit disappointed by the remark. Still, her greedy fingers wasted no time in grasping Rhea's possession to her breast. She glanced in the mirror at her reflection, her pleased smile fading from her lips, for although she was similar in size and coloring to Rhea Claire, her eyes were a lackluster blue and her hair a paler gold. It was a never-ending source of irritation to her that Rhea's eyes were an incredible violet and her hair a dark, fiery gold.

Caroline fingered an elaborately engraved, silver brush-and-comb set before moving on to touch a silver patch box inlaid with precious stones. With a bored expression she flicked open the top of a small music box sitting next to a delicate porcelain pastille burner, and the tinkling notes filled the room with a soft, sweet melody that blended well with the fragrance of honeysuckle and roses that scented the room.

The colorful assortment of toiletries crowded on Rhea Claire's dressing table were most of the necessary aides a young beauty of fashion might find useful, and they differed little from the articles that would be found on Caroline's dressing table at Winterhall. But still, to Caroline's jealous eye, Rhea's seemed more elegant and far more expensive than her own.
Lady
Rhea Claire Dominick had so much more than she did, Caroline thought now, including a duke as a father. Her own father was merely a baron, and hardly anyone of consequence at that, and Winterhall seemed positively shabby compared to the magnificence of Camareigh. Rhea would be much sought after by all of the eligible beaus in London, and certainly far more sought after than a mere
miss
like herself.

Caroline stared across Rhea Claire's lovely bedchamber, dislike for the beautiful girl filling her with a growing bitterness. It just was not fair. Rhea Claire had everything. And even though she, Caroline, was three years older than Rhea, it would most likely be Rhea Claire who wed first. And unless she did something about it, it might very well be the Earl of Rendale who Rhea Claire would wed. Caroline's small, square jaw tightened at the thought, for there were three things that she was determined to have—unlimited wealth, a title, and the Earl of Rendale. She had thought it all out carefully, and it was really quite simple. If she married the Earl of Rendale, she achieved, with little or no effort at all, her other two goals. Wesley not only had a great fortune, but his family name and title were almost as ancient and noble as that of the Dominicks'. And even though there was no dukedom to show for it, the Earls of Rendale had seldom not been on an equal footing with the most powerful and titled of England.