Emily Hendrickson (14 page)

She deposited the cloth-covered folder on the table at her grandmother’s side, then sat down awaiting a verdict, if there was to be one. Anxious eyes followed the dowager’s thin, elegant hands as they picked up the folder, placed it on her lap, then opened it.

“Hmm,” Lady Dancy intoned when she viewed the drawing of Lady Jersey as an exquisite butterfly, then Emily Cowper as a sad-eyed lamb. “You took a terrible chance, you know.”

“I did say I never intended anyone else to see them,” Chloe quietly insisted.

“Ah, yes, that wretched aunt of yours. Why Hadlow had to marry a second time—and then to one so much younger than he—is beyond me. The old goat.” The dowager surveyed the sketch of the Christmas goose, a faint smile touching her mouth for a few seconds before she returned to her usual expression of severe blandness.

“Pity I did not know him well enough to draw him as one,” Chloe said, her eyes beginning to twinkle with mischief.

A glare from the dowager dimmed the twinkle to a mere flicker. “I truly mean no harm,” Chloe began, then was cut off with a wave of the dowager’s plump arm.

“Where is the one you did of me, pray tell?” she asked in a most ominous, albeit quiet, voice. “Sally Jersey said it was an excellent likeness.”

While Chloe furiously tried to think of an answer that would not be a lie and yet might allow her to escape the revelation of her opinion regarding her grandmother, Scroggins announced a caller.

“Sir Augustus Dabney to pay his respects, my lady,” he said with a stiff bow, ignoring Chloe completely.

Since she did not care in the least whether she talked to Sir Augustus or not, Chloe made no move to welcome the gentleman when he entered the room. She sat, stiff and silent, on the straight wooden chair where she usually retreated when in this room. Yet she supposed she ought to be grateful to the peacock, for he saved her, at least for the moment, from revealing the sketch of her grandmother.

“Madam,” Sir Augustus said, making an elegant leg. As an afterthought—or so it seemed to Chloe—he turned to her and sketched the faintest of bows to her as well. “How lovely to see you both in the best of health.”

“Did you expect otherwise?” Lady Dancy said with a narrowing of her eyes. She closed the folder and placed it on the little table again so that none might see the contents.

“No, indeed. Merely thought it delightful to see such esteemed ladies in prime twig, y’know,” he said with more haste than charm.

He then proceeded to pour the butter boat over the dowager’s head with such extravagant encomiums that Chloe near ached to laugh aloud. What his purpose might be in courting her grandmother she couldn’t guess, until a sudden, rather bizarre, thought struck her all of a heap.

“Miss Spayne and Lady Spayne,” Scroggins announced with a dignified bow.

James the footman entered behind them with a tea tray loaded with every one of the little dainties her grandmother adored plus the necessary for a fine tea.

Shooting him a narrow look, Chloe set aside the problem of little Rose and crossed to greet her dearest friend. “I am so happy to see you,” she said with a darted glance at the dowager, who was holding forth with Lady Spayne on the evils of London Society.

“Miss Spayne,” Sir Augustus said after greeting Lady Spayne. The wife of a prosperous baron and country gentleman was not to be ignored, nor was her pretty daughter. “You look most charmingly.”

“And you, sir, look quite elegant, as usual,” Laura said in reply.

Chloe studied the Petersham trousers worn by Sir Augustus, noting how they flowed to spread widely around the ankles and over the foot. How did he manage to walk? Over this startling creation he wore a coat that was nipped in at the waist and had huge brass buttons. His amazing cravat looked to swallow him.

“Indeed,” Chloe murmured, “garbed in the very latest mode as usual.”

“Quite true,” he said modestly. “One always wishes to be dressed
à la modalité.”
He cast a patronizing glance at Chloe’s frequently worn gown, but most fortunately said nothing about her lack of modishness.

“Who does not wish to appear to be dressed in the latest fashion?” Laura said lightly, then changed the topic—which she knew to be a touchy one with Chloe—to the next party to be attended.

Scroggins paused in the doorway to survey the room, then said in stentorian tones, “Mr. Purcell and Mr. St. Aubyn, madam.”

The two gentlemen followed on his heels, not waiting for him to usher them up.

Chloe smiled in welcome to these gentlemen. They were closely followed by two ladies. Mrs. Robynhod and Miss Springthorpe cast coy glances at the young men, then clustered about the tea table for a bit of gossip.

Suddenly Mrs. Robynhod spoke up, turning to Chloe with a simper. “My dear, I am awaiting my sketch. I will be devastated if you fail to draw me.”

“Oh, I have not had time as yet,” Chloe began.

“I forbid her to create any more of those scandalous sketches,” the dowager declared in a loud voice.

“What?” St. Aubyn said with a shocked look at Lady Dancy. “Why, she is a sensation. Everyone in London is clamoring to be sketched by your granddaughter.”

“I am a peacock, that most beautiful of birds,” Sir Augustus said with obvious pride, waving his handkerchief about in the air and quite forgetting his annoyance of the evening before. “Poor St. Aubyn has to content himself with being a lion rampant, and Purcell is naught but a horrid magpie—sorry. Lady Chloe,” he added when he realized he was criticizing the artist.

Laura and Chloe exchanged looks. Chloe glanced to where the batch of sketches were safely tucked in the folder, thankful that they were hidden from view.

Sir Augustus unfortunately followed her gaze and smiled with triumph. “Aha! Do I detect the presence of the celebrated drawings?” He darted across the room—no small feat given the nature of those beastly Petersham trousers—and grabbed the folder up from the table with a cry of achievement.

Mrs. Springthorpe, not having seen the drawings before, hastily moved to peer over his arm when he removed them from the folder.

“How terribly clever,” she cried with surprise. “I have always thought Lord Hammersleigh resembled a plump goose,” she said with appreciation.

“I’d not viewed this one before. Dashed clever,” Sir Augustus said promptly and with evident approval.

Julian watched for his chance, then drew Lady Chloe to one side after an appealing look at Miss Spayne.

“I saw your aunt with Twisdale again this morning while I was out riding. They were driving alone in his carriage and deep in conversation.”

“Heavens!” Lady Chloe whispered. “What are they up to now? I fear I do not trust them in the least. That makes several conversations they have had—that we know about. What do they find of such great interest, I wonder?”

“We had best be prepared.”

“Are we to have our drive this afternoon?” she said hesitantly.

“Bring your scullery maid,” Julian instructed with a patient look at the unfortunate girl at his side. She resembled a ghost in her soft grays, as though she might waft through a wall, or something. Had he the dressing of her she would be a vibrant chrysanthemum or a ripe peach.

“Rose will be most grateful. And I will, as well. I think it is quite beastly that she has no protection, no one to turn to, and must bow to the importunings of a servant of higher rank…or lose everything.”

James the footman entered the room bearing a tray with fresh tea and additional biscuits and cakes.

Casting a pensive look in his direction, Chloe said, “I find it reprehensible that a man is permitted to have his way with a maid and not be punished.”

“I gather that he is the one involved,” Julian observed, taking note of the footman’s sleek, possibly pleasing looks.

“I say, you two, not fair to leave us out of your discussion,” Theo said in his jovial and totally improper manner. “Do you still drive out this afternoon? If so. Miss Spayne and I will join you, if you have no major objection. After all, we are in on nearly everything going on so far.”

Julian did not allow his annoyance to show, but gave Theo a gracious nod. “But of course, we would be delighted with company.”

“Probably wish me to perdition,” Theo mumbled, “but dash it all, I cannot hope to match your grays.”

Julian laughed, forgiving his friend for his interference.

Following a promise to complete a drawing of Mrs. Robynhod as soon as might be, Chloe walked with the younger people to the landing. She made her farewells, which were brief as they planned to meet in a short time, then watched while they strolled down the stairs to the front door. Here they all paused, while Laura adjusted her bonnet and readied her parasol and Lady Spayne checked her reticule.

Scroggins opened the door in response to a pull of the bell and before Chloe could move, ushered in Lord Twisdale.

At once Julian looked up to where she still stood. He wanted to call out to her to have a care, the enemy approached. However, he figured that she would guard her words while the older peer was around. If her grandmother would only reconsider. But then, Julian realized that his problem would most likely not go away at once and he required Lady Chloe’s support and assistance.

There was a flurry of comments and polite exchanges before Julian left the house with Theo and the others. First seeing Lady Spayne and her charming daughter safely to their carriage, he urged Theo along with him.

“Saw an uncommon sight this morning,” Julian began. “Old Twisdale and Elinor Hadlow out for a drive. They were alone—no groom for propriety who might repeat anything that was said. Twisdale tooled along the road north from the park, quite as though he wished to chat with the charming Elinor and not be overly bothered with traffic.”

“And what do you suppose was the topic of conversation between that unlikely pair?” an intrigued Theo inquired.

“I’d give a pony to know,” Julian said with a wry twist of his mouth. “She is a schemer—we both know that. Lord Twisdale I’d not trust as far as I could throw him. And since he is no lightweight, that is not very far.”

The two gentlemen exchanged looks, then hailed a hackney to take them to Jackson’s for a round of sparring.

Chloe watched Lord Twisdale huff his way up the stairs, then politely walked at his side into the drawing room. She said nothing beyond her cool words of greeting. When the fragrance of the eau de cologne he had poured over his head reached her nose, she could not restrain her sneeze. It exploded into the quiet of the room.

At once his lordship left her side to make his bow to the dowager. “Lady Dancy, so charmed to see you again.”

Chloe searched her reticule for her dainty handkerchief, then she sneezed—rather violently—again.

“I say, Lady Chloe,” Sir Augustus cried in dismay, “I do hope you have not contracted something dreadful.”

“No,” Chloe replied with a faint sigh. “I often sneeze when encountering certain scents. I cannot say why it happens. It is a frightful nuisance, you may be sure.”

“Wonder if it is catching?” he mused, looking at Chloe as though he debated something of significance.

“That I cannot say,” she replied, thinking she might have discovered a highly useful tactic.

“Dabney,” Lord Twisdale said in an overly hearty voice. “Delighted to see you. Been on the lookout for you, my boy.”

“Really, sir?” Sir Augustus looked rather alarmed at this remark from a man who usually ignored his existence. As he did not owe the fellow money, it was clear that something else was on his mind.

Chloe could not imagine what in the world Lord Twisdale might have to do with a twiddlepoop like Sir Augustus. And she suspected that Sir Augustus was not best pleased to be threatened with an encounter from his lordship.

A glance at her grandmother revealed a look of puzzlement on her face as well. So, this was not a part of the plot to marry Chloe to the odious and slippery Lord Twisdale. Chloe thought of a serpent, how one could slide in and out at will wherever it wished.

The hour for paying afternoon calls had drawn to a close. Sir Augustus had far overstayed his time and Chloe could not help but wonder at his motive. Goodness, she was becoming more suspicious by the day. But, truth to tell, his behavior was decidedly odd. So was Lord Twisdale’s, for that matter.

She watched the two gentlemen pay homage to her grandmother and barely sketch a bow in her own direction before departing together. Lord Twisdale determinedly clutched the elegant coat that covered Sir Augustus’s arms. With a darted glance at her grandmother, who was leaning back on her chair as though in fatigue, Chloe backed from the drawing room and then slipped along the upper landing.

From here she could watch the entry below. Although she could not hear the words, she perceived that Lord Twisdale commanded Sir Augustus join him for something.

The look of fright on that young man’s face might have been amusing had not Chloe wondered at the cause.

When she peeked into the drawing room again, her grandmother had gone out the far door. Empty teacups littered the tables and little remained of the elaborate tea Grandmother usually ordered.

Chloe ran over to gather up the remaining biscuits to take to her room for later this evening. Catching sight of the fabric-covered folder with her sketches, she snatched it up, then returned to her room with her bounty.

She really had to make a drawing of Mrs. Robynhod. That woman would give her no peace until she saw herself depicted as a wicked something or other. Now what might she be? Chloe settled onto her favorite chair, curling one foot beneath her while contemplating a solution.

Ah, she decided at last, she would draw Mrs. Robynhod as a cat—not a kitten like dear Laura, but a mature, inquisitive, sly cat. Sleek and shrewd, Mrs. Robynhod would make an admirable cat.

Once decided, Chloe set to work, quickly delineating the gossip. Before long the sketch was complete to her satisfaction and there on the pad was the cat in a pose of watchfulness with the gaze of a predator. Perfect, even if Chloe knew it was as wicked as could be.

‘That is the woman who came to visit your grandmother earlier,” Ellen observed quietly. “Is she as disgraceful as all that?”