Regency Rakes 02 - Rescued By A Viscount (2 page)

How would she face Lord Kelkirk this evening? It was the Harrison ball and everyone would be there, so he definitely would be unless he fell ill–really ill–this afternoon.
That doesn’t make me a bad person, wishing an illness on a man I don’t wish to see.

“Yes it does,” she sighed. It made her a very bad person.

Perhaps she could fall suddenly ill? Tell her mother she had a sore head and needed quiet and bed rest? But then what about tomorrow evening and the one after that? She’d have to face him sometime, and knowing Simon as she did, she knew he would never let what happened today drop until he had all the facts. He was tenacious and would hunt her down until he had answers to all his questions. Simon did not understand social boundaries or the restrictions these placed on a person. If he wanted to ask a question, no matter how delicate, he did. She would need to stay composed in his company when next they met, because only he could provoke her enough to drop her calm façade and turn into a sharp-tongued shrew in seconds.

All she’d had to do today to quash his curiosity was say something like, ‘Lord Kelkirk, what a surprise to see you here. My maid comes here often and today I accompanied her to see what has her so excited.’ She could have then offered a polite titter, perhaps, and asked after his health. Why hadn’t she? If Claire was good at one thing, it was social chatter. She’d done nothing because she’d panicked. The fear of exposure had rendered her speechless, and she had reacted instinctively and without thought. No one had known she was going to Tuttle Lane, and she’d wanted it kept a secret, so she’d fled like a fool. Of course, now he did know she’d been there and with a few well-placed words, could make her life difficult.

Walking from the hackney minutes later towards her family’s townhouse, Claire counted the six steps up as she trod them and then stepped over the small crack on the top one, as she did every time she left or entered the house. The door opened before she reached for it and her brother’s butler, who used to be her father’s butler, stood waiting for her.

“Hello, Plimley.”

He looked at her intently for several seconds before he spoke. “Miss Belmont, are you well?”

“Yes, thank you, Plimley,” Claire said, stepping inside.

Plimley had been Claire’s friend when she did not have many. He had played cards with her, listened as she’d practiced piano and read her books when her brother or mother could not. He’d been a constant in her life and was someone she cared for very much.

“And how was your slumber last night, Miss Belmont?”

Lowering her eyes, Claire mumbled something vague and waved her hand about. Plimley knew her sleeping habits were not good, just like he always knew if something was worrying her. However, she was not about to get into that with him now.

“Are you wanting these taken to your room, Miss Belmont?” the butler added, looking at the faded cloak and bonnet he had just taken from her.

Claire was used to Plimley, having known him since she was ten, however sometimes he still made her blink. He was possibly one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. His hair was thick and blonde even at fifty-five years old; he had the bluest eyes and kindest smile of any person she knew. Her mother’s friends—any woman callers, in fact–swooned over him. Even men stopped and stared at him, yet he remained calm and surprisingly un-conceited always. Even when Lady Carmichael had pretended to trip and fall into his arms, he’d simply righted her and remained unflustered as she’d twittered about his strong arms and firm, muscled torso.

“Yes, take them to my room, please,” Claire said and she could hear the tremor in her voice. She was tired, having not slept last night with worry. She needed to reach her room and rest, and then she could think about what next she would do about that note.

“Is there a problem, Miss Belmont? Something I may help you with?”

“I’m well, thank you, Plimley,” Claire said, patting his hand.

“Perhaps a nap before this evening’s entertainment would set you to rights?”

Plimley was a watcher. He knew what each member of the Belmont family needed before he or she needed it, and most especially Claire. She’d been fooling herself when she’d thought to deter him from her tired state.

“Yes, you are right, Plimley, but I shall visit with mother and Mathew before I do so.”

“I shall see to preparing a herbal tisane to calm your thoughts, Miss Belmont, and have it placed in your room.”

Claire began to turn away and then faced the butler once more. She squeezed his hand briefly. “Plimley, I have no right to ask this of you, but if I ever marry, will you come with me to whatever household I end up in and be my butler?”

“I would be honored.”

“And Amanda and Liam, of course,” Claire added. Plimley was married to one of her brother’s maids, a pretty, sweet-natured woman who had a practical soul and did not fall about the place swooning when her husband was near. It was the belief among the staff here that if the Plimley child Liam, aged eight, who was already showing signs of resembling his sire, turned out as good-looking as either of his parents, then no woman within five miles of him would be safe.

“I shall be sure to tell her there will be a move in the future for us all.”

Claire’s smile wobbled slightly, and then she drew back her shoulders and made for the stairs. Gripping the banister, she walked up slowly, the carpet muffling the sounds of her footfalls. The Belmont townhouse was decorated tastefully, if a little fussily, thanks to her mother. If there was an available space, then Lady Belmont tended to place something into it. The staff grumbled incessantly about the dusting, and many things had been broken over the years, however her mother rarely noticed, or if she did, she simply went out and purchased something new. Nodding to the portrait of her father, Claire turned left at the top. She had not known the late Lord Belmont well, as he’d died when she was a child, yet her mother said the portrait depicted him perfectly, and if that was the case, she was sure he had been just a touch wicked. His smile held a knowing gleam that always made her own lips tilt.

She could hear the sound of someone tapping a spoon against his or her cup as she reached the door to the morning room, where she knew her family would be. Pushing aside thoughts of Anthony and the note, she walked through with a forced smile on her face. She’d noted that if her smile was wide enough, no one noticed if she was troubled. Most people were busy worrying about their own problems. Claire entered quietly to the sounds of her mother gossiping about the flirtatious behaviour of Miss Tattingham last night.

“Atrocious. I hardly knew where to look when she lifted her skirts to show Lord Milton her ankles.”

“I’m sure it was an accident, mother. Miss Tattingham has been nothing but polite in my company.”

“Of course she is polite to you, Mathew–she wants to marry you. Or anyone with a fortune,” Lady Belmont added.

“So the only reason I’m worthy of her attention is because I’m eligible, mother? I can’t tell you how happy that thought makes me.”

Lady Belmont sniffed, which was meant to mean something, however Claire was not sure what.

“Claire, where have you been?” Her brother noted her then and rose as she moved into the room. Tall and lean, Lord Mathew Belmont was the image of their late father, with his thick straight brown hair and green eyes. However he did not have the twinkle, nor was he even the tiniest bit wicked. In fact, he was serious-minded and humorless. Older than Claire by six years, he had been the one to censure her when required and had been more father than brother to her for as long as she could remember.

“I went to visit with a friend,” Claire said calmly.

“Alone?” He lifted one eyebrow to glare down at her. She always found that action irritating, even more so when she was tired. In fact, everything compounded when she was tired. People tended to annoy her more, noises seemed louder, and small things like a hole in the end of her gloves could make her angry or weepy.

“I took a maid,” she lied and then smiled sweetly.

“No you didn’t.”

“How do you know I didn’t?” Claire felt the smile slip and struggled to hold it in place.

“I asked.”

“For pity’s sake, Mathew, I’m twenty years old–practically a spinster. I do not need a maid to visit a friend. Nor do I need you checking on my movements with the household staff.”

His brows now met in the middle. “I will check on your movements until you are married. And what friend did you visit at such an early hour?”

“My favorite one,” Claire snapped, stepping around him, thus, to her mind, ending the conversation. “Mother, I’m a bit weary today, so I thought to have a nap before this evening. Will you please excuse me from any activities you may have planned?”
Where Mathew looked like their father, Claire and Anthony had taken after their mother. Her strawberry blonde curls had now turned grey, and her hazel eyes were shadowed with the grief she still carried from losing her husband and youngest son. Yet Lady Eliza Belmont was as lively as she had always been.

“Of course, darling. You must look your best this evening. I have great hopes for you this season, especially as we now have a wonderful crop of noblemen in town.”

“I have just been likened to a field of wheat,” Her brother said.

Claire felt the silly urge to giggle at his disgusted expression, so she pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself from talking further. She was tired enough that it would not take much to set her off, and she had no intentions of falling into a fit of hysteria in front of Mathew.

“Well, she has already turned down three proposals, so let us hope for someone to fill her exacting standards this season.”

“Would you have me wed to a man I did not respect, Mathew?”
“No, Claire, that was never my wish for you.” Mathew said solemnly.

“I’m sure I will find the perfect man soon and you shall be rid of me,” Claire added and then forced out a laugh so her family knew she was merely making light of the matter, when in fact the topic was a painful one for her. She had nearly reached the door before Mathew’s voice stopped her.

“Are you well, Claire?

“Of course I’m well, Mathew. Why would you think otherwise?” Claire kept her tone light as she reached out to grab the door handle to steady herself. He saw too much and she did not want him to know about the note, so she kept her eyes on the panel of wood before her.

“It is not like you to take to your bed in the middle of the day, sister.”
“I have a slight headache, Mathew, nothing further. A short nap will put me to rights.”

Before he could say anything further, she left the parlor, closing the door softly behind her.

Her room overlooked the gardens, but as the curtains were drawn when she entered, she saw only the muted shadows of furniture. Shutting the door behind her, Claire felt the pain in her head start to ease. It had begun to throb after her encounter with Lord Kelkirk. Lord, how was she to face him tonight?
Not now, Claire
. Right now, she needed to rest, as she would need all her wits about her when next they met. Her maid arrived and she was soon down to her chemise. Picking up the glass holding the tisane that Plimley had prepared, off the bedside table, she swallowed the vile liquid with a shudder and then slid between the sheets.

What had Anthony left behind in France? Would she receive another note soon? How was she to avoid Lord Kelkirk? Staring into the darkness, Claire let the thoughts tumble around inside her head until finally she felt the bliss of sleep settle over her. With another tired sigh, she turned on her side and was soon slumbering.

…

When the Belmonts arrived at the Harrison ball, the rooms were already filled with guests. Smothering a yawn, Claire tried to shake the fog from her head. The sleeping tisane had given her sleep but also horrid, heated dreams in which she was clad in only her undergarments and Lord Kelkirk stood there laughing at her. She was feeling listless and dull-witted, which was never a good sign when she was stepping into the bosom of some of the ton’s more voracious gossips.

“Come along, Claire. You’re wool-gathering.” Mathew held out his arm to his sister and she gladly took it, feeling better, now she was anchored to something solid.

The season was well advanced, and of course Lady Harrison had invited everyone and everyone had accepted, as there had been whispers that the king himself would arrive. Claire knew this was a ploy quite a few of the hostesses used to ensure their gatherings were successful.

“Quite a crush,” Lady Belmont said, smiling. Claire’s mother, unlike Claire, loved a crush.

“God help us all.”

“I thought you enjoyed these things, Mathew.” Claire looked up at her brother as he spoke. He was handsome in his black jacket and grey and burgundy striped waistcoat.

“Being jostled, spilling beverages on myself as people pass, dancing with silly, empty-headed debutants. Of course I love it, sister.”

Claire looked forward as they walked deeper into the room and then back at her brother. “If that is indeed the case, Mathew, then you hide it very well.” Obviously, she was not the only Belmont sibling with acting talent.

“Would you have me walk about scowling, Claire?”

“Do you want to scowl?”

He looked down at her briefly. “Constantly.”