Rakehell's Widow (20 page)

Jillian’s eyes were wide. “You are a wicked gambler,
sir?”

“I enjoy to play cards, yes.”

She smiled. “Then I wish you well. I am so sorry I was not at home earlier, sir, but I trust it will not be long before
you are able to give me my first lesson.”

“I fear that I shall be unable to come to you until after
Ascot now, but I will call as soon as possible after that.”

“That will be excellent,” she replied, smiling. “It really
is most kind of you to go to all this trouble.”

“Not at all, Lady Jillian.”

When he had gone, Alabeth turned to Jillian. “And
what have you heard?”

“Heard?”

“Come, now, I know you well enough to know that you’ve heard something about Charles Allister and the
Count.”

“Well, to be truthful, I have, and it’s most interesting. It appears that after the fete last night—or should I say this
morning?—a number of gentlemen, including both
Charles and the Count, proceeded to Brooks’s. They had
been at the table for an hour or so when suddenly Charles accused the Count of having palmed an ace, and it took all
Piers Castleton’s considerable skill to smooth it over and
prevent a duel.”

Alabeth was astounded. “Charles actually accused the
Count?”

“Yes, and the Count hotly denied it. They are most
definitely enemies now.” Jillian looked thoughtfully away.
“It’s strange, but I did not think Charles had it in him.”

“Evidently you were wrong.”

“So it seems. Anyway, the outcome of it now is that the
Count accuses Charles of being vindictive, and Charles is
set upon ridiculing the Count’s musical abilities at every
opportunity. It’s really very childish.”

“Quarrels about honor frequently are.”

Jillian nodded, still looking thoughtful. “I know I
should be more enthusiastic about Charles, but I simply can’t. Oh, he can be entertaining, especially when he’s talking about his amateur theatricals, but I still find him dull and uninteresting on the whole. I want a man to be exciting and different, I want him to be like your Robert,
or Piers Castleton—or even the Count.”

“You would be a lot better off with Charles,” replied Alabeth with some feeling.

“Possibly.”

Jillian went to the pianoforte, leafing through the sheets of music. Alabeth watched her, wondering if it were true
that she had made up that letter to Piers. Jillian smiled
suddenly. “It says a great deal for Piers that he was able to
prevent the duel between Charles and the Count, doesn’t
it? I mean, imagine the scandal. I don’t think the First
Consul would have been well pleased, do you?”

“Hardly. Jillian—?” Alabeth hesitated to ask.

“Yes?”

“Why did you write that letter to Piers?”

Jillian’s smile faded and she put the music sheets down.

“You know that it was all make-believe, don’t you?”

Alabeth said nothing.

Jillian sat down very slowly. “It was all so foolish and
reprehensible, Alabeth, and was a prime example of what I
meant when I said that I always find it difficult to admit to
something when I know I’m in the wrong. After I met
Piers at Chatsworth, I simply couldn’t put him out of my
mind. I suppose really that it was because I met him so
suddenly after that business with Captain Francis.
Anyway, one afternoon I amused myself by imagining I was the woman he loved.” Her cheeks reddened. “I was
only pretending, I had no intention whatsoever of sending
it, but then Father found it. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life and I simply couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth, for the truth was so humiliating. Father was anxious to put an end to the whole affair, telling me that
Piers was not at all suitable, having been involved in that scandalous duel in which the Russian died, and that was
why he set his mind on this being my first Season, for with
Piers due to go to Europe…. I behaved very badly and I
knew it, but somehow it only made me more disagreeable, especially toward you. I was ashamed of myself and I was
totally devastated when you told me you were going to
confront Piers. I was brought up very sharp indeed by
that. I said then that I’d learned my lesson, and so I have.” She smiled ruefully. “Do you think very badly of me,
Alabeth?”

Alabeth went to her, bending to put her arms around
her. “No, sweeting, of course not.”

“I
was
an odious brat, wasn’t I?”

“Yes.” Alabeth smiled.

Jillian put her tongue out. “You aren’t supposed to
agree. It’s all rather amusing now, when I think of it, for I do not think Piers would
ever
have looked at me, not if he is drawn to the likes of Adelina Carver. It was all the talk
at Lady Dexter’s tonight.”

“What was?”

“Piers and Adelina. It appears that Adelina has told several of her friends that she loves Piers and he loves
her.”

“Oh?”

“Well, they were together a great deal at Carlton House,
weren’t they? Everyone remarked upon it, and from what
Adelina herself has said, well….” Jillian’s fingertips
passed gently over the smooth surface of the ivory keys. “I
envy her, Alabeth.”

“Because she has Piers?”

“No, silly, because she has a man
like
Piers. I want to love and be loved by a man like that, Alabeth. I want it more than anything else in the world.” Very softly, she began to play.

Alabeth straightened, looking across at her broken
reflection mirrored in the window. Piers had told the truth
about the letter, he had told the truth about everything.
What a fool she’d been. Well, she was paying the price of
her foolishness now, for it was too late and he loved
another.

The boating party which Octavia had arranged to precede Ascot week was a dazzling affair and further proof that as a hostess the Duchess of Seaham could not be equaled.

Stoneleigh Park, the Seaham ancestral home, was only
three miles from Windsor and was therefore admirably
placed for London, and Ascot. The ruins of an old abbey made a splendid setting for the magnificent new house
straddling the low, south-facing hillside, and the park
swept down from the grand terrace to the shallow valley where the lake sparkled in the June sun. In the center of the lake was the island where Charles Allister’s masque
would be performed in the pavilion and where the guests would repose beneath the trees on yellow velvet cushions.
There were arbors of flowers and filmy silk draperies
which fluttered gently in the light breeze, and music was
provided by the orchestra on the golden barge anchored a
little way from the island. The strains of Handel’s
Water
Music
drifted over the water and provided the perfect
accompaniment for the occasion.

The elongated flight of steps descending from the
house’s grand terrace was adorned with tall white poles
holding colorful banners. Hundreds of orange trees and
other exotic plants had been placed advantageously on the
grass, flowers and garlands decorated the wooden jetty,
and there were more flowers in the little boats which were
beginning to carry the guests to the island. A little earlier, a
procession of footmen had conveyed the famed and exor
bitantly priced luncheon hampers from Gunter’s, and they
now waited in the shade of the island’s trees. Countless
bottles of iced champagne were in readiness, having been
chilled overnight with ice from the icehouse in the heart of
the wood to the east of the house.

Alabeth and Jillian waited their turn to be taken across the lake, and they occupied their time by strolling along the
water’s edge. Jillian was in pale green and Alabeth in
lavender, the long lace veil of her jockey bonnet fluttering
softly down her back. She had come today with the express intention of at least attempting to tell Piers that she was sorry for her past conduct, but as yet there had been no
opportunity—and besides, his liaison with Adelina was
causing a great deal of speculation.

Everyone at Stoneleigh Park that day appeared to know
of the new
amour
,
although naturally enough no one
mentioned it within the hearing of Octavia or the Duke, or indeed within the hearing of Harry Ponsonby, whose black
expression was very telling indeed of his displeasure at the
new state of affairs. Adelina herself was not on Octavia’s
list, which was hardly surprising, but she might as well
have been, for the number of times her name was
mentioned. Piers alone appeared to be oblivious to all the
interest, and had apparently not spoken once of Adelina.

At last it was time for Alabeth and Jillian to take their
places in one of the boats. Alabeth could see Piers
approaching with a group of gentlemen, and as she sat
down on the cushion-strewn seat, she knew that he would
be among the other passengers. As he reached the end of
the jetty, however, he glanced at his fob watch and
announced that he really did not have time to enjoy
Octavia’s island feast as he had to return to Town. As he spoke, the only remaining seat was right next to Alabeth; he glanced straight into her eyes, and she felt certain that
he had no appointment to keep at all, he was simply avoid
ing any contact with her. She looked away, trying to hide
the immeasurable hurt this snub had dealt her, but then
perhaps she deserved it, and he had said that all was past
now— But the tears pricked her eyes as the boat cast off and the jetty slipped away behind.

* * *

A day later she saw him again, only this time he was accompanied by an obviously adoring Adelina. Charles Allister, fresh from a resounding triumph with his famous masque, had invited Alabeth and Jillian to share his box at
the opera, where Mrs. Billington, the renowned singer, was
to give a concert. Charles looked very splendid in his
formal clothes, a sword at his side and a tricorn hat tucked under his arm, and Jillian looked very eye-catching in a
crimson taffeta gown, her short curls hidden beneath a
trencher cap of the same color and stitched with pearls. She had deliberated over wearing such a daring and vivid
color, having had second thoughts from the outset about
the suitability of such a shade for a young lady, but some
how it really did suit her, making her look not wicked, but
carefree.

Alabeth wore a turquoise tunic over a low-necked white
silk gown, and on her head a turban adorned with
aigrettes. After the misery of the boating party, she was determined not to sink further into despair, and so tonight
she had set out to be cheerful company, and she succeeded
admirably for the first half of the concert. It wasn’t until
the intermission, when the box was thronged with gentlemen eager to pay court to the Earl of Wallborough’s beau
tiful daughters, that she happened to glance past them all at the box opposite, just in time to see Piers and Adelina take their places.

Adelina wore a very
décolleté
white muslin gown, a great
deal of her magnificent bosom being displayed to the
admiring glances of gentlemen in nearby seats. She wore
rouge and jewels sparkled in her hair, and there was a look
in her lustrous eyes which proclaimed to one and all that she was well versed in the art of love. She leaned close to Piers, her smile warm and inviting, and they appeared
totally absorbed in each other. Alabeth’s buoyancy
evaporated, her smile fading unhappily, and it was all she could do to look attentive as a young gentleman rattled on
about a particularly knowing tip for the first race at Ascot
the following week.

* * *

The concert resumed, but Alabeth could no longer enjoy
it, her glance going time and time again to the box
opposite. She knew it was foolish to let it hurt her so, but she felt as if her heart were breaking and suddenly she
could no longer bear it. Leaning across to Charles, she said
that she felt a little hot and would walk awhile in the
corridor extending behind the boxes. Hastily he rose to his
feet to accompany her, but she bade him stay with Jillian,
and a moment later she had escaped to the deserted
passage with its elegant line of console tables and wall-
hung mirrors.

Slowly she walked up and down, listening to the muffled
sound of the concert and thinking about the futility of a
love which had at first been forbidden and which must now
be forgotten. She paused, looking at herself in one of the
mirrors. The heartbreak was written very large in her green
eyes and in the air of sadness which pervaded her. Oh,
Alabeth Manvers, she thought wryly, you could have been
in Charterleigh and safe from all this.

She heard Piers’ voice suddenly and turned sharply to see him beckoning to the footman who stood by some
velvet drapes. “Will you see that some water is taken to the
lady in my box?”