Gayle Buck (10 page)

They had reached the refreshment table. Sir Lionel offered a lemonade to her, but Michele spurned it. They stood there a moment, a lovely lady and her handsome escort. Sir Lionel’s blond hair seemed to shine in the candlelight and he appeared very elegant in his formal attire. He was smiling with a faintly quizzical look in his eyes. “You are displeased with me. I am sorry for it. But I cannot change what has gone before. Only believe that if I spoke of you to anyone, it was with the utmost respect.”

Michele shrugged and allowed a smile to cross her face. “It is of no consequence, I suppose. I shall not be staying overlong in London, and so I do not think that my reputation shall suffer too much from whatever revelations Mr. Nathan may summon up.” She pretended not to see the expression of acute disappointment that entered Sir Lionel’s eyes. She had never wished to arouse any hopes in his breast, and perhaps her frankness now would serve to convince him of it. “There is Lady Cowper. I must go to pay my respects, for it was she who bestowed a voucher upon me.”

“Of course.” Sir Lionel escorted her over to greet Lady Cowper, but he was soon edged out of the conversation when her ladyship took Michele off to meet someone.

It was midnight when Michele and the Davenport ladies left Almack’s. Lady Basinberry said that she was very satisfied with the way the evening had gone. “I was happy to see that you were both so circumspect as to stand up no more than twice with any one gentleman,” she said. She glanced at her elder niece. “Though I could not but notice that you and Sir Lionel had rather a long
tête-à-tête,
my dear. I hope that it proved interesting?”

Michele smiled at her aunt’s inquisitiveness. “Quite unexceptional, I assure you, my lady. Sir Lionel and I merely traded observations on some of the company.”

“What a pity,” Lady Basinberry said, not believing a word of it. She had thought at one point to have seen a spark of anger in her niece’s dark eyes while she was in Sir Lionel’s company. But if Michele chose to keep her own counsel, she was certainly not one to beg for enlightenment. It would be interesting to see how that relationship developed, she thought.

The carriage pulled up to the town house and the ladies went inside. Michele said good night to her aunt and her cousin and entered her bedroom. It was not until the maid had undressed her and she was in bed that she recalled Sir Lionel’s observation concerning Lord Randol’s scar.

She thought it over, and in her mind’s eye she could see Lord Randol’s expression when he had presented himself to her in the receiving line at Lady Basinberry’s ball. He had deliberately directed her attention to his face, and had appeared almost surprised by her lack of reaction. It was almost as though he had anticipated a shrinking or a look of revulsion from her, Michele thought. Her breath caught at the sudden thought. Was it possible that he felt his scarred face had so totally marred him that he had been afraid to let her know that he lived?

Michele could scarcely believe that such a thing might be true, but certainly it went far in explaining Lord Randol’s bitterness and his cold hauteur toward her. Michele punched her pillow in a futile attempt to make it comfortable. She said angrily, “Anthony, how could you be such a fool?” She felt that she had to discover if what she had guessed was the truth. Otherwise she would wonder all her life whether his lordship could come to love her again.

Chapter Nine

Michele buttonholed her uncle before he could leave for his club. The night before, she had come up with a strategy that she hoped would kindle more in Lord Randol than his contempt. In Brussels she had shared with him a keen interest in driving and horses. It was possible that their mutual sporting tastes could prove to be a bridge between her and her lordship. “Uncle Edwin, I have a favor to ask of you,” she said.

Mr. Davenport eyed his niece’s determined expression with foreboding. “Of course, my dear. Whatever it is in my power to do, I shall naturally do for you.”

Michele smiled pleasantly. “I appreciate your willingness, sir. It is a small matter, really. I wish to know where I might hire a carriage-and-four.”

Mr. Davenport blinked, completely bowled over. “A carriage-and-four! Why, whatever for?”

“Actually, it had ought to be a phaeton. I want good cattle, not a team of slugs. Oh, and I wish the rig within the fortnight,” said Michele, hardly heeding the growing consternation on her uncle’s face.

Mr. Davenport took hold of her arm and steered her into his study. “See here, Michele. This is quite an expense that you are speaking of. I hardly think that your father would approve of your allowance, as substantial as it is, to be squandered so outrageously.”

Michele acknowledged the truth of his observation. “Indeed, you are correct, sir. Hiring a rig would be terribly uneconomical. Papa would never have countenanced it. I shall buy a phaeton and a team instead. Where does one go to arrange for that sort of thing?”

Mr. Davenport stared at her. Then he said heavily, “A lady does not go to arrange the procurement of a carriage.’’

“I understand, of course. Then I must request the services of a gentleman to do so for me,” she said. When her uncle did not immediately offer to take on the service for her, she put up her brows to express well-bred surprise.

Mr. Davenport accurately read her expression. “I am sorry to have to disappoint you, Michele, but I shall not be that gentleman. I cannot condone such an unnecessary expenditure. Indeed, I do not think that your father would thank me if I took it upon myself to pauper you by acceding to this whim of yours.”

Michele looked at him. There was a distinct coolness in her midnight-blue eyes. “You mistake the matter, sir. It is not for you to render or withhold your permission. However, that is neither here nor there. You have given me all the information that I shall require of you.” She swept out of the study, leaving her uncle prey to conflicting emotions, primary among them the strong wish that he had never agreed to have his niece visit for the Season. She reminded him on occasion too strongly of a younger version of Lady Basin-berry.

Michele was angered by her uncle’s refusal to aid her, but she was not entirely without recourse. She recalled that Lord Randol had spoken of a certain Captain Becher with admiration. His lordship had described the racing that some of the officers got up across the Spanish plains between engagements with the enemy, races that were dangerous for both horses and riders because of the numerous rabbit holes. Captain Becher had been a talented and intrepid rider with a keen eye for horseflesh.

Michele thought since she had been in London she had seen Captain Becher’s name more than once in the newspaper. She went to the library to scan the racing news, and it was not long before she found the reference to Captain Becher. She smiled to herself. She would have her carriage yet. Michele penned a quick note to Captain Becher, requesting that he wait upon her at his convenience.

Late that afternoon she was gratified to be informed that a Captain Becher had called. Michele agreed to see the gentleman, and the butler withdrew to inform the visitor.

“Captain Becher? Who is that, Michele?” Lydia asked, curious.

Michele shook her head warningly, aware that her guest was close by. The gentleman entered the drawing room and Michele greeted him with an outstretched “hand. “Captain Becher, how good of you to honor me with a visit.”

He bowed, slanting an amused glance at his hostess. “I could hardly ignore such an intriguing request, mademoiselle,” he said.

Michele introduced Lydia, who frankly stared at the gentleman. He was a well-knit man, not above average height, his countenance dominated by a long nose and firmly held lips. His whiskers were dark and extremely heavy, growing far down his jawline to his chin. Lydia thought she had rarely met a gentleman who exuded such an air of nervous energy.

Michele gestured for Captain Becher to be seated and offered him refreshment before she began to tell him why she had approached him. Briefly she explained what she had been told by Lord Randol. “And as I do not know any gentlemen in London who might be depended upon for their good sense in choosing decent horseflesh, I have been so bold as to call upon you, sir. I hope that I may persuade you to act as my agent in purchasing a phaeton and a team of four, since I have been told it’s not usual for a lady to do so for herself,” Michele said.

Captain Becher reflected a moment. “I have no objection to doing so. However, may I be permitted to ask a question?” Upon Michele’s nod, he said, “I have seen Lord Randol at some of the races, as well as heard that he has taken up his old position with the Four-Horse Club. He was always a deft one with his left hand, and his wound has hardly affected the excellence of his driving, I am told. The point is this, mademoiselle. Surely his lordship, who is well-known to you, would be more properly the personage to approach for this commission than a stranger such as myself.”

“His lordship and I are no longer as close friends as we once were,” Michele said quietly.

Captain Becher was intelligent enough to allow the matter to drop. “Then I shall be most happy to act as your agent, mademoiselle. Only give me your instructions and I shall endeavor to have a worthy rig for you in the shortest possible time.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Michele told him exactly what sort of carriage and team she required, as well as the amount that she was prepared to pay. She mentioned a commission for the captain’s services that he accepted with every sign of gratification. Shortly thereafter Captain Becher took his leave, promising that he would communicate with her again very soon. He bowed to Michele and Lydia and left the drawing room.

Lydia leaned back against the settee and regarded her cousin with astonished admiration. She had listened to the transaction with growing wonder, and now she shook her head. “Michele, I am utterly awed. I would never have thought of engaging the services of a professional rider to set me up with a phaeton-and-four. Indeed, I would never have thought of getting a carriage at all. I have driven only the veriest bit, and I was quite unbelievably clumsy at it.”

“I am used to driving myself about. It is an activity that I took much pleasure in at home,” Michele said.

Lydia eyed her contemplatively. “Is what Captain Becher said true? Is Lord Randol an excellent driver?”

“His lordship was always something of a whip.”

“How strange that I was not aware of it. But then, Lord Randol rarely speaks of himself and he has never offered to take me up for a drive,” Lydia said. She asked in an offhand manner, “Did you often drive with his lordship?”

“Yes,” Michele said shortly. She was reluctant to have Lydia probe further into her past and she was therefore glad when Lady Basinberry entered the drawing room. Her relief was short-lived, however, as Lydia immediately informed her ladyship of Michele’s startling decision to possess a carriage.

“Indeed! How very suitable. It is becoming the fashion for young ladies to tool themselves sedately about the park. I do trust that you are a handy whipster, Michele, and shall not discredit yourself,” Lady Basinberry said.

Michele smiled. “I am accounted a fair whip, ma’am.” She had been schooled in driving by a gentleman well-versed in the activity, and as she recalled the leisurely and memorable instruction that Lord Randol had shown her, she could not keep from hoping that their shared passion for driving could somehow bridge the yawning gap that presently lay between them. She assured herself that she did not want to cut Lydia out with the viscount, but only to discover what had happened that had so changed his feelings toward herself.

Lady Basinberry nodded, satisfied. “Good, I am happy to hear it. You shall do me credit, despite yourself, dear niece.” She smiled at Michele and then glanced at Lydia. “Lydia, the reason I have come in is that I recalled that you had purchased a length of blue velvet ribbon. Might I have a bit of it for one of my gowns? My maid has pointed out that the gown needs a freshening touch if it is to last another wearing. As it is quite my most favorite gown, I really do not wish to replace it at this time, particularly as I intend to squeeze every last groat that I can into our entertaining.”

“Of course, Aunt Beatrice. I shall come at once to find it for you,” Lydia said.

“Pray do not trouble yourself, Lydia. I can as easily ask your maid for it, and she will be the more likely to know where the ribbon has been put.”

Lydia giggled. “Indeed, aunt! I do not think that I could put my hand on any one thing without my maid’s aid.”

“That is precisely what I was thinking,” Lady Basinberry said before she swept out of the drawing room.

Lydia sat down to thumb through the latest issue of
The Lady’s Magazine
while Michele wandered over to the window. Michele lifted the drapery so that she could look out. “I hope that Lady Basinberry does not plan grandiose entertainments, since I have no wish to make any more of a splash than I must,” Michele said meditatively.

Lydia looked up from her contemplation of a fashion plate depicting an elegant walking dress. “The purchase of a dashing phaeton is just what one needs to enable one to fade into the background,” she said affably.

Michele laughed throatily and conceded the point. “You are so right, cousin. I have erred indeed. But perhaps I shall not excite so much notice if I make a point of taking you up beside me to deflect any curious stares.”

“I should like that. I wish to gather as much interest as I can,” Lydia said frankly. When Michele laughed, she shrugged her slim shoulders. “It will be my one and only Season before I am wedded, you see, so I wish to dance and to be as merry as I can. Once I am a settled matron, it will not be respectable for me to kick up my heels.”

Michele turned away from the window, dropping the drapery. She shook her head in amusement. “I wish I might see you a sober matron! Why, it is the height of improbability. You are nothing less than a whirligig when you become excited. I cannot imagine you in any other guise.”

Lydia dimpled a shy smile. “Bernard says it was my liveliness that first attracted him to me.”