Fallen Angel (51 page)

"Were you? Oh no! I don't hold with meddling in the affairs of one's own grown children. But your mother's peace of mind—that is a different matter. I may rely on you, I trust, to do everything in your power to alleviate her distress?"

"Quite."

"Thank you, my boy. Unfortunately, you see, she has this notion that you are your father's son. It has been known to keep her awake at night. To be frank, I don't like it when she's troubled."

"I'll lay her fears to rest," averred the viscount with filial piety and a sincerity that was later to be proved entirely misplaced.

When Maddie entered the portals of Lady Rossmere's house, she balked at the unexpected crush of people, many of whom were gentlemen. The answer to the terse question which she directed to her companion, Lady Rutherston, did nothing to soothe her overstrung nerves.

"Open house?" repeated Maddie, her mind going blank.

Catherine's eyes warmed with concern. "Does it make a difference?" she asked gently. "I never thought to mention it."

"I don't think that what I have to say will be received warmly by our opposite gender," disclaimed Maddie in a small voice.

Catherine's clear laugh rang out. "Don't let that weigh with you. This is our one chance a year to give these arrogant coxcombs a well deserved set-down. Even Richard, liberal as he is, verges sometimes on the condescending. The male animal, as I make no doubt you've learned to your regret, considers himself the superior of our species."

"I heard that," said
Lord Rutherston coming up behind them. "Mind your manners, Catherine, or you'll find out soon enough just how superior this condescending male animal can get." And he chucked his wife under the chin in a condescending manner which Maddie eyed with marked disfavour.

By the time they had availed themselves of the refreshments which were laid out in adjoining rooms, Maddie had begun to get a hold of herself. She scanned the crowd for a glimpse of

Deveryn's blond head. When she could not find him, her confidence increased. Max Branwell, however, soon disabused her of the notion that she could avoid her husband's presence.

"If you're looking for Deveryn, he'll be here directly," he told her with a knowing smile.

"How . . . nice," she murmured inanely.

At two of the clock precisely, Lady Rossmere opened the meeting to standing room only. The two speakers were introduced and took their places at a long table facing the audience. Maddie listened as her friend began, a little hesitantly at first, then gradually with more confidence, to argue her thesis, namely, that the golden age of Athens was golden for only half its citizens—and that the male of the species.

Maddie's eyes travelled the room, absently noting the members of the audience with whom she had an acquaintance. In the front row was Caroline Lamb flanked by her husband and her mother, Lady Bessborough. Lord Rutherston was off to the side. She might have been mistaken, but Maddie thought his eyes glinted with more than a little pride as Catherine carefully and persuasively made her presentation. Freddie Ponsonby was stationed near the entrance, his head inclined to catch something that Lady Elizabeth Heatherington was whispering in his ear. Lady Elizabeth turned to the side revealing the presence of another lady. Cynthia Sinclair, stunning in black, inclined her head gravely in Maddie's direction. Maddie, equally polite, returned the gesture, and wondered if the pomona green silk which she had donned that morning could legitimately be regarded as half-mourning.

Catherine's discourse drew to a close. Her parting comment was that women throughout recorded history had been relegated to a low place in the scheme of things by men.

"How low is a pedestal?" demanded Perry M'ontford in a stage whisper, eliciting a host of appreciative, masculine chortles.

Lady Rossmere was on her feet, explaining with a cautionary glance at the offender that the question period would be deferred until the second speaker had had her say. There was a polite round of applause.

Her palms were damp; her throat was dry. Maddie reached for the glass of water which had been thoughtfully set out for her, and sipped slowly.

According to the gospel of Miss Maitland, the besetting sin of orators was a failure to capture the interest of their audience. "For what's the point," she was used to demand of the senior girls, "of wasting hours and hours in doing your research and even more hours in fashioning your facts into a logical exposition if nobody pays attention? From the moment you open your mouth, you must get their interest and hold it." She had not told them what to do when their minds went blank.

Maddie carefully replaced her glass on the table and rose to her feet. She looked out at a sea of expectant faces. She opened her lips and tried to speak, but her tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of her mouth. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, and quite literally, her knees knocked together. Stage fright, she thought, and gripped the edge of the table till her knuckles showed white.

At the entrance to the library, two latecomers paused to take in the scene. It was the younger, taller gentleman which riveted Maddie's attention. Deveryn took one step into the room and caught sight of her. Maddie could almost feel the shock of recognition as it rippled all through his body. For a moment, he looked to be bewildered. His eyes roved the room and then returned to the speaker's table. After a moment, a smile of mingled surprise and comprehension gentled his features.

The audience grew restive, and some turned to stare at the gentleman who had captured the attention of the guest speaker. Deveryn, conscious of several speculative glances, turned aside.

His appearance acted on Maddie like a douse of cold water. She expelled a great shuddering breath and, to her great relief, finally found her voice.

"What is the worst thing that can happen to a woman?" she asked her listeners in an arch tone.

It took a moment for the audience to realise that the question was not rhetorical. She repeated it, and one of the bolder debs, who was known to be in her fourth Season and the despair of her parents since she frustrated their ambition to marry her off to some eligible gentleman, answered boldly, "To remain unmarried, or so I've been told since I was in the cradle."

A gale of feminine laughter swept the audience. The gentlemen remained predictably stoic.

"And what," asked Maddie, in the same bantering tone, "is the worst fate that can overtake a
married
woman?"

Maddie's design was caught by some of the brighter ladies. Several voices called out at once.

"To be barren."

"Not to have children."

"To produce only daughters for her lord and master."

Maddie put up a hand to halt the spate of excited chatter. "My next question is this—who told you so? Who decreed that that's the worst fate that can befall a female?"

"Men, of course!" someone instantly responded.

"You've got the picture," said Maddie. "Shall we ask the gentlemen the very same question? Gentlemen, what is the worst fate that can befall a male?"

From the back of the
room,
a young buck challenged, "You surely don't expect a
gentleman
to answer that question in mixed company?"

Hoots of masculine laughter greeted this not so oblique sally. A few of the ladies were seen to be blushing. Lady Rossmere threw a look of anguished appeal at Maddie.

"We'll excuse that last remark," said Maddie, flashing her heckler a smile of patient amusement. "Mr. Shea is not long down from Oxford. He has,-as I understand, just turned twenty. Little does he know that his days are numbered."

More laughter followed, this time from both sexes.

"What Mr. Shea has yet to discover, or perhaps won't admit to," said Maddie lightly, "is that men—want—heirs. A man's ambition is centred on his sons. With sons, a man reaches for posterity. He can found a dynasty. Establish his house. Continue his name. Deprive him of those heirs and you rob him of his life's blood. Sons are, at one and the same time, his greatest strength and his most profound weakness."

She paused and allowed her eyes to roam the room. "What man," she said softly, "has not regretted at some time or other that women are a necessary tool in begetting his heirs?"

She waited till the laughter and cat calls had died down before continuing. "Women, you see, are the weak link in the chain of his ambition. A clever woman, if she wants to, can use that weakness against him.

"Euripides wrote a play entitled Medea. It's a cautionary tale for all men who would underestimate the power of a defenseless female. For Medea, a wronged wife and without recourse to law or kin, exploited her husband's weakness to exact her own retribution, and in so doing she brought his hopes to ruin. Gentlemen, in the name of self-interest, you had better pay attention to Medea before her influence spreads to your own wives and daughters."

The silence seemed to pulsate with tension.

For the first time since she'd begun to speak, Maddie looked directly at Deveryn. Their eyes locked.

She's as fragile as porcelain,
he thought.

Then Deveryn blazed with sudden, heart-stopping comprehension.
Is it true?
his eyes hotly demanded.

He saw her poise as if to take flight, sensed each panicked heartbeat, felt every difficult breath, but he refused to release her from his unrelenting gaze until she answered him.

Her eyes blazed a reply.
Yes, it's true.

He felt himself stagger as if she had reached out and struck him. By the time he'd recovered, she had withdrawn, her head studiously averted. She did not look near him again.

He bided his time with diminishing patience as he waited for her erudite and humourous exposition to reach its conclusion. When the question period became prolonged, his annoyance intensified. But when the thing was at an end and no one showed any sign of going home but hedged her about, his temper became explosive.

"What a jewel," breathed Max Branwell in exaggerated accents, his eyes following Deveryn's gaze as they traced Maddie's path through the crush.

The viscount betrayed no interest in this observation save perhaps that his expression became a trifle more haughty.

Nothing daunted, Mr. Branwell continued in the same mischievous vein, "Poetic justice, old boy. Who would have believed that the fallen angel would have fallen victim to an ardent bluestocking? I'm sure I've listened to a score or more of your scathing diatribes on the folly of clever women. Quite

Byronic, I thought, if you don't mind my saying so! I say, this is famous! I can scarcely wait for your intended to make an appearance at Sunday dinners. D'you think you're up to it, Jason? A word to the wise—better start now, brushing up your Greek and philosophy, and so on. The girl is positively brilliant. Your mother and sisters are going to be hard pressed to look to their laurels. Don't tell me—I get it—the countess, herself, hand-picked the girl for you. Well, it stands to reason. Who else would fit into the family as if she's been bred to it? D'you know—something tells me that this is all a shock to you? I collect that the females in your family have been holding out on you, Jason. Sue 'em, that's my advice. I'll even act for you if you like." He slapped his brother-in-law consolingly on the shoulder. "It couldn't happen to a more deserving fellow!" And having delivered himself of this left- handed compliment, he gave a bark of laughter and sauntered off.

But Mr. Branwell was far off if he supposed that the viscount was out of countenance because his wife had turned out to be more than he'd bargained for. Deveryn could not have cared less, so he told himself, if Maddie's interests ran to mountain climbing, or balloon flying, or pearl fishing, or tight-rope walking. None of that signified because, naturally, whatever interested Maddie would also be of interest to him. He'd make it so. And as for the scathing diatribes on clever women in which he had formerly, quite sincerely, indulged, he dismissed them all as the arrant nonsense of a mere male uninitiated in the mysteries of love. Maddie and he had a lifetime before them to discover what made each of them unique. He looked forward to it. But of far more import at that moment was the reason for his wife's evasive tactics. She had not wanted him to know that she was with child—he had seen it in her eyes. Even now, he could tell that she was conscious of his every movement and anxiously waiting for her chance to come when she could break cover and make a run for it.

Ostensibly relaxed, he watched the proceedings from behind the veil of his lashes. When he observed that the crowd around Maddie was thinning, he made his move. Like a ravenous, prowling lion, circling, feinting, with consummate skill and unnerving speed, he cut her out of the herd.