Gayle Buck (20 page)

As he drove away he could not stop recalling Michele du Bois’s white face and his own bewilderingly protective feelings upon seeing her attacked. He tried to rationalize that he would have reacted in the same manner regardless of the lady’s identity, but deep down he knew that the unholy rage he felt toward those who had set upon Michele was greater than any he would have felt on another lady’s behalf. He was an intelligent man and it did not take long before he acknowledged that he regarded Michele du Bois with very different emotions than he had once attached to her. He had deliberately and painstakingly fed his hatred of her, but the encounters between them and her manner toward him had served to consistently rob his banked fury of its potency. “Damn her beautiful dark eyes,” he muttered.

His expressed interest in Lydia Davenport had thrust him into close proximity with Michele, a situation that he had quickly discovered to be intolerable. There had been a certain measure of relief for him when he was able to distance himself from Lydia Davenport’s circle after the young lady’s unexpected disclosure.

Lord Randol was still immeasurably grateful that he was no longer obligated to offer for Lydia Davenport. He could not recall why he had ever chosen to press his suit with her when she was not at all what he required in a bride. Miss Davenport was too biddable and too sweet-natured; her hair and eyes were too light; her speech lacked a certain nearly intangible Gallic lilt; her figure, though quite good, lacked the dash and allure of that of another lady. In short. Miss Lydia Davenport was not Mademoiselle Michele du Bois and could never replace her cousin in his affections.

Lord Randol shook his head, a black frown forming on his face. He was still in love with Michele du Bois and it did not please him to realize it. The thought was distinctly unpalatable and he reacted by seeking physical release. Upon reaching the park, he whipped up his team and gave the horses a good run. Then he returned them to the stables that he patronized and sauntered through town.

Lord Randol whiled away an indifferent day, paying a visit to Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon to watch other sporting bloods, who were not constrained by stiffened and damaged physiques, to spar with the master. On catching sight of the viscount, Jackson made a point of speaking with him and offered some private advice on working his shoulder. Lord Randol quietly thanked the pugilist, aware that the clumsy words were meant in the spirit of friendship. He left the saloon soon afterward and made his way to his club to indulge in a few hands of piquet. He lost for the most part, which seemed to fit his mood exactly.

When he returned to his house, he picked up the cards in the tray and carelessly flipped through the invitations that he had accepted for that evening. None appealed to his jaded, restless spirits until he came across the dinner party at the Earl of Kenmare’s town house. He recalled the earl as a pleasant gentleman, quiet but shrewd, who had been a steadying influence in the hectic days before Waterloo, when many of the English tourists in Brussels had been made nervous by Napoleon’s last march. As for the countess, she had always shown him a graciousness that was difficult to resist. All in all, the Kenmare dinner party was exactly what he needed to take his mind off his dour thoughts.

Lord Randol called for his valet, and when the man appeared, the tedious business of dressing began. His coats were cut fashionably close-fitting, and with his stiff shoulder he required assistance in getting in or out of the garments.

Lord Randol stepped out of his town house attired for the evening in a dark blue coat with flat gilt buttons, over a ruffled shirt and silk waistcoat, and pantaloon trousers that strapped under the arches of his Spanish leather dress shoes. He settled inside his carriage, and his driver whipped up the horses for the short ride to the Kenmare town house, which was situated in the most fashionable part of London.

When he arrived, Lord Randol entered the ballroom and was greeted by the Earl of Kenmare and the countess. Lady Kenmare was particularly warm in her greeting. “I recall you very well, my lord. A most dashing and romantic figure you struck in your regimentals,” she said, a dimple appearing in her cheek.

Lord Randol smiled. “You are too kind, my lady. It all seems very long ago.”

“Indeed it does. Such a stirring and terrible time. I hope never to see its like again in my lifetime. There were so many bright young lives lost,” Lady Kenmare said somberly. She shook her head, and her smile returned. “I do apologize, Lord Randol. For a moment I fell into memories that are best left to one’s solitary reflection. On a happier note, I must tell you that I have paired you at dinner with an old friend. I trust you will forgive my matchmaking instinct, but I shall be honest and confess that I did not try very hard to resist the impulse.” Her gray eyes invited him to share in her amusement at herself.

Lord Randol laughed. He made an elaborate bow. “Of course, ma’am. I hold myself completely at your service.”

She held out her hand to him once more. “Thank you, my lord. I know how awkward it is when one is placed in such a position, but just this once I thought I would give fate a gentle nudge.”

The earl had listened to the exchange with some amusement. “Mary, I suspect that his lordship is beginning to regret his coming tonight. I think I shall take him off with me before you render him completely a
blancmange.”

Lady Kenmare was not at all offended by her husband’s dry manner. “Yes, do; but do not allow Lord Randol to stray too far. I have high hopes for him this evening.” She waved them off and turned to greet another arriving guest.

Lord Randol spent a congenial half-hour with the earl and several other acquaintances before dinner was announced. He was in a mellow frame of mind when Lady Kenmare came up and presented to him his table partner. When his eyes fell on the countess’s companion, all his enjoyment in the evening fled. Michele stared at him, and her expression was as incredulous as he knew his must be. Lord Randol made an effort to appear indifferent. He took Michele’s nerveless hand and raised her fingers to his lips. “Indeed, this is a surprise. When you mentioned an old friend, Lady Kenmare, I had no notion how dated the acquaintanceship would be.” He felt rather than saw the shudder that went through Michele, and his lips tightened.

Lady Kenmare’s smile wavered. A slightly anxious look appeared in her eyes. She had caught the twin looks of astonishment that had been in their faces before polite masks came down over their expressions. There was none of the quick delight in their eyes that she had anticipated seeing. “I suppose I should have informed each of you of the other’s identity. It was such a silly trick, really. But after the manner in which Michele clung to hope in finding you again, only to learn that you were among the dead, my lord, I assumed that ...” Her voice faltered way in dismay.

Michele gave a swift smile of reassurance for Lady Kenmare. “It was a kind thought, my lady. Lord Randol and I are both conscious of it.”

Despite the shock that he had just sustained, Lord Randol was not to be outdone in courtesy. “Indeed, Mademoiselle du Bois and I should have much to talk about over dinner. I anticipate a most interesting evening.”

Lady Kenmare was relieved. For a moment she had had the sinking sensation that she had committed an unforgivable
faux pas.
“I am so glad. For a moment I wondered . . . But that is neither here nor there. Pray enjoy yourselves.” She was gone in the next instant, to find her own escort, and Lord Randol and Michele were left standing awkwardly together. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then he offered his arm to her and they followed the other guests in to dinner.

Chapter Nineteen

The day after the Kenmare dinner party, boxes delivered from the modiste arrived while the ladies were idling away the afternoon. Lydia insisted that the boxes be brought directly into the drawing room, and when Michele gently remonstrated, she said, “Oh, what can it matter? We have not had a visitor in hours.” Without further ado, she lifted the lid of one bandbox and tore through the white tissue. A folded domino of pale rose was revealed. “How lovely it is!” she exclaimed. Lydia freed the silken garment from the box and slipped it over her day dress. She went to look at herself in the large mirror that hung above the fireplace mantel, and was immensely pleased at what little of herself she could see. “It goes marvelously with my blue eyes and my blond coloring. Not that my hair will show when I have drawn up the hood, but one must think of these things,” she said.

“Quite true,” Michele said, undoing the strings of the other bandbox. She lifted the lid and moved aside the top layer of tissue paper. She noticed that Lydia had drawn near to watch with avid curiosity. She laughed and offered the bandbox to her cousin. “Would you like to unbox it, Lydia?” she asked teasingly.

Lydia smiled sheepishly. “You know me so well, Michele.” She carefully laid her own domino across the settee so that its long folds cascaded down over the seat before she took the bandbox from Michele’s hands. Lydia lifted the domino from the bandbox. White tissue fell away from its silken folds to drift to the carpet. The domino of slate blue shimmered in the sunlight. Lydia drew in a delighted breath. “The color is even more beautiful than it was on the bolt!” She flung the domino about her cousin’s shoulders and stepped back, clapping in approval of the effect. “It suits you perfectly, Michele.”

“I rather think it does,” Michele agreed, fingering the domino. The silk was cool and smooth to the touch. She was surprised how much she was anticipating the masquerade night at Vauxhall.

The drawing-room door opened and a gentleman stepped in. He paused at sight of the drifting tissue and the dominoes. “I hope that I am not intruding.”

“Oh, it is you, Sir Lionel! Of course you are not. Is not Michele’s domino perfectly lovely?” Lydia said, gesturing proudly at her cousin as though she had conjured up a delightful vision.

“It is indeed.” Sir Lionel sauntered in and greeted Michele, who had hastily removed the domino and folded it over her arm. He raised Michele’s fingers to his lips. Still retaining her hand, he smiled down at her. “I take it that you and Miss Davenport will be attending a masquerade.’’

“We are going to Vauxhall Gardens. Lydia had a desire to experience a masked ball, which activity Lady Basinberry frowned upon. This expedition is to be Lydia’s reward for giving way so graciously,” said Michele, smiling at her cousin. She unobtrusively regained her hand as she turned from Sir Lionel to refold the domino into its box.

Lydia blushed and protested what she felt was a slur on her youth. “Sir Lionel, surely you of all gentlemen must understand. A masquerade is so romantic, so out of the common way.”

Sir Lionel seated himself across from the ladies. He crossed one knee over the other and swung his booted toe gently. “Quite so, Miss Davenport. I myself have a definite fondness for such an entertainment. Perhaps I may see you at Vauxhall. When will this party of yours take place, Miss Davenport?”

“Oh, it shan’t be a party precisely. My aunt considers masquerading a rather frivolous and forward entertainment, so it will be just the family and perhaps a few friends. But do join us for dinner in our box if you should find yourself at odds, Sir Lionel. I believe that Papa means to take us to the first masquerade night in June,” Lydia said. She cast another admiring glance at her domino and fingered it with satisfaction.

“A fitting capstone to a fine Season,” Sir Lionel said, nodding in his pleasant way. He slanted a laughing glance in Michele’s direction. “And you, mademoiselle? Do you also anticipate this summer evening’s entertainment?”

“Certainly, Sir Lionel. I was always one to enjoy to the fullest whatever entertainment was offered,” Michele said quietly.

“So I recall,” Sir Lionel said in a warm voice. He glanced at Lydia. “I had hoped that you might indulge me for a few words, Michele.”

Lydia looked up quickly. She met Michele’s gaze of appeal and knew that her cousin wanted her to remain. She began to fold her domino carefully, as though oblivious of whatever else was happening in the room.

“Certainly, Sir Lionel. What is it that you wish of us?” Michele asked, her tone cool and inquiring.

Sir Lionel appeared reluctant to begin. He threw another glance toward Lydia, but it was obvious to him that she had not taken the hint. He said blankly, “Do you know, I have forgotten. How very awkward of me, to be sure. But I am certain it will come to me again, perhaps at a more propitious time.” He stayed for only a few minutes and then took his leave.

When he was gone, Lydia shook her head at her cousin. “I do not know why you do not give Sir Lionel some encouragement, Michele. It is patently obvious that he still adores you. And you must wed sometime.”

Michele’s eyes sparked with laughter. “You sound so like a determined lady of our acquaintance, Lydia. Do not tell me that you have joined Lady Basinberry’s camp and have become determined to marry me off!”

“It is not precisely that, but I do wish you happiness. I know that you still cannot reconcile Lord Randol’s indifference. But, Michele, you must consider the remainder of your life. Here is Sir Lionel—and I daresay I can name one or two others as well—who positively dotes upon you and who could make you very comfortable. Pray, what should stop you from accepting the best that any of these other gentlemen can offer to you?”

Michele’s smile held a touch of sadness. “Perhaps I do not encourage any of these fine gentlemen because their best falls short of what I once had. Lydia, I do not think that I can settle for comfort when once I loved to the depths of my soul and that love was returned in full measure.”

“But—”

“Lydia, after knowing the tenderness of your passion for Captain Hughes, could you willingly pledge yourself to another?” Michele asked.

Lydia was silent. She began to fold one of the dominoes so that it could be replaced into its bandbox. “You are right, Michele. It would be impossible, I think. Since we have made peace, I see ever more clearly that Bernard and I are perfect for each other. No one else could possibly fill his place.” She looked up, pity in her gaze. “How I wish that it was different between you and Lord Randol. I had hoped ... I suppose there is no harm in telling you now, but I had hoped that your constant presence at my side would induce his lordship to transfer his attentions from me to you. I had visions of playing the fairy godmother and of bringing the separated lovers back together. I see now that was a rather idiotic notion.”