Rakehell's Widow (2 page)

“But I didn’t disinherit you, did I? And besides, you’ve
been an entirely respectable widow for two years how.
Beth, it is important to me that Jillian be brought out this
year, and I need you to do this for me if I am to go to
Madras in two days’ time without this weight on my shoul
ders. Please do it, please take charge of your sister’s first Season.”

Slowly Alabeth got to her feet. “It isn’t fair of you to ask
me such a thing in such a way, for you place me in an impossible position.”

“I have to, for it is imperative that I reach Madras as
swiftly as possible. Bonaparte isn’t about to sit on his hands while I make my plans in a leisurely way, is he?”

“It may be imperative for you to go to Madras, but it certainly isn’t imperative for Jillian to be brought out this
year. Why can she not wait until your return?”

“Because I’ve given her my word.” Again his eyes slid
away in that uneasy way.

“She’s old enough to understand that you have to break
your word.”

“But I don’t
want
to break my word,” he cried. “I want
her to be launched
this
year. Just think, Beth, it’s the first Season after eight years of war, and society is determined to make it the most dazzling summer possible.”

She held her ground, determined not to give in to the
pleading in his eyes. “If I have charge of Jillian, she
cannot be guaranteed a dazzling Season, and you know it, Father. To begin with I am still
persona non grata
at Almack’s, and a young lady like Jillian would need to be
seen there.”

“The Duchess of Seaham is prepared to escort your
sister to Almack’s, for there is no need for you to be caused embarrassment at the hands of those patroness
vixens—”

She was aghast. “You’ve been talking to Octavia about
all this?”

“Of course I have, she’s your closest friend still, isn’t
she? Damn it, Beth, I’m desperate to get this all sorted
out, and Octavia is always guaranteed to be a fount of
wisdom.”

Alabeth thought of her friend the Duchess who, although fifteen years her senior, was most certainly her dearest and most trusted friend. Octavia was cheerful,
amusing, and the brightest of London’s hostesses. Seaham House rivaled Melbourne House, Devonshire House, and
even Carlton House, and invitations there were much
sought after by the
ton
. The only blot on the Seaham
escutcheon was the noble Duke himself, for he was as dull-witted as his wife was sharp. He had long since deserted the
marriage bed in pursuit of a succession of Cyprians, whose
intelligence in no way matched the Duchess’s and who
were only too pleased to be able to boast of having con
quered a Duke. Octavia had accepted the situation, finding
her spouse decidedly uninspiring anyway, and having dis
covered that there were many other gentlemen, more
charming and witty, with whom she could enjoy liaisons.
Yes, Octavia had undoubtedly sinned a great deal more
than Alabeth had ever done, but she was accepted at
Almack’s and Alabeth was not, having committed the un
forgivable sin of being at the center of a
cause célèbre
,
having flouted convention, and having stepped on the sensitive toes of the Treguard family, whose tentacles
reached throughout society, even in the Royal Family it
self.

The Earl cleared his throat. “Octavia said I was to do my utmost to persuade you to take Jillian on. She said that
you’d be the best person to do it and that anyway you’d
enjoy Town again if only you’d give it a chance.”

“Octavia has never stopped trying to persuade me.”

“She’s right.”

“I’m not ready to take society on again yet, Father.”

“Nonsense, you’re wilting away out here in rural seclusion. What you need is the diversion of London’s drawing
rooms.”

“I’m perfectly happy here, and am determined to
remain here, dazzling Season or no dazzling Season.”

He searched in his pockets then and drew out some
papers and cards. “Look at all these, Beth, and see then if
you feel so strongly. You may have offended the Tre
guards in the past, but it’s over now, especially as Robert is
no longer with us. There is even an invitation to Carlton House, surely proof enough that you are welcome back
into the fold.”

Reluctantly she took them. Without exception they were
invitations to events of the highest class, including, as he said, a fete at Carlton House, where the Prince of Wales’
guests of honor would be luminaries from the French world of art, this being the Prince’s contribution to the
new peace. She set the gold-edged card aside and looked at
the next, an invitation to a grand regatta at Ranelagh
Gardens, to be followed by a feast in the Rotunda and
a magnificent firework display. The other cards an
nounced masquerades, routs, assemblies, dinner parties, supper parties, boating parties, and even breakfast parties. There were to be numerous balls—including, of course,
Octavia Seaham’s famous annual ball on the King’s birth
day—and there was a special dispensation for ladies to visit
the British Museum. There was the private viewing at the
Royal Academy, Ascot week, the opera season—  The list
was endless, and as exciting to her as her father knew it
would be, for he was right when he said she needed the
diversions of London, for she was born to revel in a high
society life.

The Earl saw indecision creep into her eyes, and he pressed home his advantage. “You’d have the full use of
the house in Berkeley Square, and ample funds to cover
any eventuality—including the most lavish of balls for
Jillian.”

She hesitated on the brink of agreement, and then drew
back. “No, I cannot do it.”

“But why? Is it because you fear encountering Castle
ton?”

“Sir Piers Castleton has not entered my thoughts,” she
replied stiffly.

“It is immaterial, anyway, for the fellow is about to take
himself off to Europe, touring all those places which have
been closed to us because of the war.”

“I don’t refuse because of him.”

“Why, then?”

“Because I know that Jillian will not come around to it, she simply will
not
consent to be put in my charge.”

“Ah, but I believe she will, for there is a very enticing
lure.”

“What lure?”

“A certain Polish aristocrat by the name of Count
Adam Zaleski.”

“Who?”

“Oh, come now, surely you’re heard of him—the dar
ling of the First Consul, the matchless poet of the piano
forte. Surely a newspaper reaches this outlandish spot
from time to time?”

She smiled. “Now you mention it, I have heard of him.”

“Well, the signing of the peace treaty has resulted in him
deciding to honor London with his presence, giving recitals
and so on. He is also intending to give tuition to certain
favored pupils. Your sister wishes to be one of that select
band; she wishes it so much that I believe she will agree to
be in your charge.”

“She
must
admire this Zaleski person,” remarked Alabeth dryly.

“She does, and rightly so, for he is acknowledged to be
the greatest exponent of the pianoforte in the world, and I
am told he justly deserves his reputation. Beth, that
business with Captain Francis is over now and should be
forgotten. I believe I can guarantee Jillian’s agreement—and so all I need is yours. Please, Beth, do what I beg of
you.”

Something in his tone warned her that he was still uneasy, and sure enough, when she looked at him, he could not meet her gaze. “Father, is there anything you’re
not telling me?”

“Not telling you? Why ever do you ask that?”

“Because I know you very well.”

“There isn’t anything.” He met her gaze then, but she
knew he was finding it difficult. There
was
something else,
but he was determined not to divulge it, and she could hardly pursue the point without virtually accusing him of
lying.

Outside, another nimble of thunder wandered across the
heavens, closer now, for the flash of lightning which
followed came almost simultaneously, glinting on the suits
of armor standing around the great hall.

“Will you do it, Beth?”

Reluctantly she nodded. “Very well.”

He looked relieved. “Thank you, my dear. I don’t think you’ll ever know how grateful I am to you.” He turned to pick up his hat and gloves from a nearby table. “And now,
I must return to Town—”

“You aren’t staying the night?”

“I’ve very little time to set all my affairs in order. I’ll see that the Berkeley Square house is in readiness and that my solicitors are aware of what plans have been made. By the
way….”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let’s beat about the bush, for we both know that the whole purpose of bringing a young lady out is to find a
suitable husband for her. I believe that your own
experience will make you an excellent judge of who is and
who is not suitable for your sister.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that, unfortunately, we all learn from our mistakes.”

Her chin came up at that.
“
My
marriage to Robert was
not a mistake.”

“Forgive me, my dear, but I believe it was. The fact that by some miracle you and Robert were happy together does
not make one iota of difference. He was everything that
was unsuitable. Maybe you managed because your
character is different, a little stronger, but Jillian would be
entirely unable to cope with a gentlemen like Robert, and I believe you know it. She is impressionable and impetuous,
given entirely to romantic daydreamings, and she would be
at the mercy of a charming rogue like Manvers. Forgive
me, my dear, for I don’t wish to sound hard or
thoughtless, for I know how much he meant to you, but I
beg you to understand how I fear those like him when I
consider how Jillian will react to them. The gentlemen she
will encounter this coming Season will fall into two
categories—they will be either suitable or unsuitable. Those like Sir Charles Allister, the son of my dearest
friend, are entirely suitable, for there is nothing I would
like more than to see him allied with Jillian. Those like Sir
Piers Castleton, who is in some ways as notorious as
Robert was, for he too has been involved in unsavory
duels, are most definitely unsuitable.”

She smiled a little. “But unfortunately it is the likes of
Piers Castleton who have the charm and engaging
manners.”

“I believe it was ever thus,” he agreed, sighing heavily at
the injustices of life.

“You may rely on me to do everything as you would wish it and to always have Jillian’s best interests at heart.”

He kissed her fondly on the cheek. “Forgive me for my past stubbornness, my dear, but you were a very precious
kitten to me.”

* * *

She stood beneath the stone porch watching his carriage
drive away through the storm. Thunder ranged over the
dark skies again and the wind soughed through the trees of
the park, tearing blossoms from the nearby cherry
orchards. She could hear the crash of the English Channel
on the shore some distance away, and the lanterns swung
so wildly on their chains that they cast eerie shadows over
the fierce stone griffins guarding the entrance to the house. She was filled with misgivings about the wisdom of her decision, and filled with an uneasy suspicion that there was
something her father had not told her—the real cause of
his determination to bring Jillian out that year and no
other.

The carriage vanished from sight beyond the windblown
rhododendrons, and holding her shawl closely around her shoulders, she went back into the house, her steps taking
her inevitably up to the long gallery where Robert’s
portrait held pride of place. Lighting a candle from one of
the wall brackets, she approached the great door of the
gallery, and it creaked loudly as she opened it.

The portrait seemed to spring to life in the candlelight,
and his lazy blue eyes laughed at her again. For a
breathless moment she even imagined she heard his low,
teasing voice, but there was only the silence of the house
and the raging of the storm outside. The candle flickered
over his face. How handsome he had been with his graceful
figure and curly fair hair, he was at once effortlessly
elegant and nonchalantly casual, and it was typical of him
that his irrepressible humor should come through even in
such a formal portrait.

Tears shone in her green eyes as she traced the outline of
his lips with her fingertip. How enchanted their first meet
ing had been. He had made her cast caution to the winds, made her want to flout convention, do anything just to be with him. It had not mattered that he was said to be such a
wicked rakehell; she knew only that he was loving and
gentle, witty and charming, that his eyes could court her
with a glance and his kiss melt her very soul.