Secrets of the Heart (12 page)

“We won't ask her outright, silly! One doesn't have to prod Lady Belmartin to gossip. Indeed, it's hard to get her to stop. We'll just start talking to her, let her get warmed up a little, and I shall say something, oh, something like there being nothing bad that one could say about Westhampton.”

“Won't she think it's odd?”

“Heavens, no! She will just take it as a challenge. If there is anything bad to be said about Michael, she will do it.”

“With me standing right there in front of her?”

“You obviously don't know Lady Belmartin well. She would be eager to see how you would react. It would be more grist for her gossip mill.”

“How horrid!”

“She is, rather. She is bosom friends with Ian's mother—there is another one with a tongue like a serpent—so I have had a lot of experience at dealing with her. I ply her with flattery and let her think I am the silliest thing ever, and I feed her bits of gossip. Just look awestruck at her knowledge of every
on-dit
for the last twenty years and she will be pleased with you.”

Rachel had not really planned on going out that evening; she had felt tired and listless all day. But she thought of spending the long night alone in the Westhampton mansion, and the prospect was immensely unappealing.

Smiling at her friend, she said, “Very well. I am sure that she will have no gossip to spread about Michael: I am simply being foolish. But it will be nice to confirm that. And perhaps a night out is precisely what I need.”

“Of course. It is always what one needs.”

L
ady Sylvia arrived in her carriage to take Rachel to Lady Tarleton's soiree at a little before eleven o'clock, only an hour later than she had said she would arrive. Rachel, who knew her friend well, had timed her own toilette so as to be ready thirty minutes late and therefore did not have to wait too long. Sylvia was sparkling in a silver tissue gown and the diamonds that Sir Ian had given her upon the arrival of their first son and heir. Rachel had opted for a more subdued gown of blue velvet that went admirably with her pale skin and dark hair. A matching blue ribbon wound through the curls of her hair, and discreet sapphires glowed at her ears and throat.

Tarleton House was lit up both outside and in, and the line of carriages leading to its front door stretched well over a block back. Once they reached the door, there was another long wait in the receiving line, which snaked through the entryway and up the stairs to the grand ballroom. Lady Sylvia kept them both entertained by commenting behind her fan on the dresses worn by the other female guests.

Rachel gave up any hope of even finding Lady Belmartin in the crush, let alone talking to her, and she decided it was just as well. But Sylvia assured her that she knew exactly where to find her, and once they were through the receiving line, she linked arms with Rachel and guided her through the crowd to a row of chairs lining the wall at the opposite end of the large room from where the group of musicians played.

“Lady Belmartin and Mother Montgomery always sit, and they hate to be near the music, as it makes gossiping more difficult,” Sylvia explained as they approached the spot where, as she had predicted, her mother-in-law sat with her friend.

Lady Belmartin was as small and spare as Lady Montgomery was tall and rounded, so they formed an interesting contrast. Both widows, they dressed in black, though it had been many years since their husbands' demises. Lady Belmartin reminded Rachel forcibly of a crow, with her widow's weeds and bright dark eyes, an image furthered by the hair decoration of glossy green-black feathers that rose out of the carefully coiffed twist of hair at the back of her head.

“Sylvia, child,” Lady Montgomery said, regally holding out her hand to her daughter-in-law. “And Lady Westhampton. When did you return to London?”

“Only yesterday, Lady Montgomery,” Rachel answered, dutifully curtseying to the older woman. Sir Ian's mother had the ability to make her feel like an awkward child at her first party, so she generally tried to avoid the woman if she could.

“Not that many people back in Town yet,” Lady Montgomery went on, adding with a disdainful sniff, “Though one could not tell it from the crush here tonight. Harriet never has been able to separate the wheat from the chaff. I see she even invited that dreadful Blackheath woman.”

She proceeded to rip the poor woman to shreds, starting with her accent, which hinted of an upbringing in Northern Britain, and continuing through her hair, dress and manners. She was aided ably in this endeavor by her companion, who added that the woman's father was country gentry, at least, but her mother was merely the granddaughter of a Yorkshire sheep farmer.

“Of course, they never speak of it. Well, one wouldn't, would one? But I have it from Lady Featherstone, who grew up not twenty miles from there.”

“And there is Lady Vesey!” Lady Montgomery went on disgruntedly. “I cannot imagine what she is doing here. Surely even Harriet would not be foolish enough to invite her.”

Rachel swung around to search the room with her eyes.
Leona Vesey!
She would have to be careful not to run into her tonight! There were not many people whom Rachel could truthfully say she hated, but Lady Vesey was one of them. Leona had seduced Dev when he was a young man first in London, even though she was both older and married. She had introduced him to bad companions and widened the split between Dev and their father and—the worst thing in Rachel's opinion—had separated him from his art. Until Miranda appeared and changed Dev's life, Rachel had begun to fear that Leona had destroyed her brother's future. It had given Rachel a great deal of pleasure when Miranda had vanquished Leona, but still, she could hardly stand to see the woman.

“The Veseys are a step away from debtor's prison—everyone knows that,” Lady Belmartin added. “Of course, I have heard that Leona has a new admirer—a wealthy one, I would judge by that bauble she's wearing tonight.”

“My, Lady Belmartin,” Sylvia said admiringly, with a sidelong glance at Rachel, “you know everyone.”

“Oh, yes,” the older woman agreed with pride. “I have been privy to some of the best-kept secrets of the
Ton.
”

“But I must imagine that there are some people who haven't any secrets, aren't there?” Rachel offered mildly.

Her words earned a hard stare from Lady Belmartin. “Nonsense. Everyone has secrets. It is simply that some of them haven't been found out yet.”

“Well, but you must admit that some people lead exemplary lives,” Sylvia persisted. “Sir Ian, I'm sure has—”

Lady Belmartin let out a hoot. “Sir Ian is no better than he should be, as I am sure Lady Montgomery will tell you. But, of course, I do not gossip about my friends.”

“Well, perhaps Ian was not a good choice. Then let's say Rachel's husband. I'll warrant you have nothing bad to say about Lord Westhampton.”

Rachel looked at Lady Belmartin, aware that her hands were suddenly damp inside her evening gloves and her heart was beating faster than a mere conversation would warrant.

Lady Belmartin sent her a piercing look. “You are married to Michael Trent, are you? Well, I can tell you that his father was an utter roue. A libertine.” She nodded sharply. “Gave his poor wife nothing but grief, that one. She died years ago, poor thing, and I am sure his escapades did quite a bit to shorten her days. I have heard that he fathered several children on the wrong side of the blanket. Well, men do, of course, but he never honored his responsibilities. If a man is going to behave in that fashion, the least he can do is support the poor benighted babes.” She paused, then added judiciously, “Never knew a better horseman, though. Always threw his heart over a fence.”

“But that is nothing about Michael,” Rachel said stiffly.

Lady Belmartin shrugged. “Well, the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree, my dear.”

Color flamed in Rachel's cheeks. “What? What sort of unfounded calumny is that? Are you saying that Michael—”

“Dear girl!” The old lady chuckled. “Don't take my head off. I merely meant—Well, he is a man, after all.”

“He is an honorable man—and nothing like his father.”

“No, of course not.” Lady Belmartin's eyes twinkled in a sly way that Rachel did not like at all.

Sylvia quickly linked her arm through Rachel's, firmly pulling her with her as she backed away from the older women. “I fear we must go now. I must introduce Rachel to, um, another friend of mine.”

“Of course, dear.” Lady Belmartin and Lady Montgomery turned back to each other and started in on another hapless vicitim.

“The idea was not to argue with Lady Belmartin but to get information from her,” Sylvia whispered to Rachel. “Thank heavens she did not take it poorly.”

“It's obvious she knew nothing about Michael,” Rachel replied, still feeling rather heated. “She was much too vague—making little hints like that. If she had actually known something, she would have said it outright.”

“Mmm. Probably,” Sylvia agreed, obviously losing interest. “Well, there you are, then—there is nothing secret in Michael's past. Oh, look, here comes Perry Overhill.”

Rachel smiled and looked across the floor, where a fashionably dressed gentleman was hurrying toward them. Peregrine Overhill, better known to his friends as Perry, was an amiable soul, not quite portly, but certainly not slender, either, whose beaming round face could be found at almost every social occasion. Although a friend of Michael's, he had none of Michael's love of the country, preferring to spend his entire life within the environs of London. He was given to a love of clothes, and though he was not the sort who would follow the extremes of fashion—he never put a bouttoniere the size of a nosegay in his lapel or indulged in pink or puce waistcoats—he would generally be dressed in the forefront of style. His first thought, by his own genial admission, was always for his own comfort, but he was also a firm and loyal friend.

Rachel had met him her first Season, a few weeks before Michael came into her life, and ever since that time Perry had been one of the men who made up the circle of Rachel's admirers. Any acknowledged Beauty, single or married, worthy of the name had such a retinue. The names and numbers varied. Some were young men truly enamored for the first time; others were older, confirmed bachelors who simply enjoyed the opportunity for light, meaningless flirtation; still others were, in Rachel's opinion, men who had not the slightest interest in her as a woman but who approved of her style and beauty in a purely esthetic way.

The rules of flirtation were delicate and differed a great deal from the married Beauties to those just making their first debut. A man's interest in an unmarried young woman was considered serious; with a married woman, the purpose was exactly the opposite. For the woman, her admirers were handy escorts when her husband could not or would not do so. They could be counted upon to make pretty compliments or bring one refreshments or stand up with one for a dance. For the men, much of the appeal lay in being able to do all those things without being measured as husband material by calculating mamas. There was, of course, the possibility of an affair between a married woman and one of her admirers, but such a thing would be conducted in secret, separate from the formalized interaction of a Beauty and her
cisibeos.

Perry was a friend of Michael's and quite fond of Rachel. As he was the only one of her admirers who had remained one of her retinue since her coming out, Rachel was sure that his continued attendance on her sprang more out of Perry's laziness than from any actual love. Rachel found him comfortable to be with, which was one of the factors that made him her favorite escort. The other was that he had been a good friend of Michael's for years, which meant that Michael would not have the slightest reason to doubt her intentions. She had been determined all the life of her marriage not to let the slightest hint of scandal attach to any of her actions.

Perry was grinning broadly now as he approached her through the crowd. Despite his love of fashion, there was almost invariably something a trifle off about whatever he wore—buttons done up wrong or a handkerchief tucked haphazardly into a pocket or a hat a trifle askew. Tonight was no exception; his cravat, knotted in an elegant style and pinned with a large pearl, had gotten turned a half inch off center, giving him a lopsided look.

Rachel returned his smile. Perry's somewhat bumbling ways were part of his charm, as was the boyish aspect of his face, a fact which caused him great despair. His face was round, with apple cheeks, and was usually adorned with a smile.

“Lady Westhampton!” he cried from several feet away and swept her a grand bow. “I had thought the sun was brighter today, and now I know why. It shone because you had returned to the city.”

Rachel chuckled and extended her hand to him. “Perry, you goose, stop posing and come here.”

He came forward and took her hand, raising it to his lips to bestow a light kiss upon it. “Rusticating must agree with you—you look stunning. But London has been dreadfully dull without you.”

“I am sure you found something to amuse you.”

“Poor substitutes for you,” he retorted.

“Can you not even spare a greeting for me, Perry?” Sylvia scolded.

“Lady Montgomery.” He turned slightly toward her to execute another bow. “You are a veritable vision tonight—a, um, star come down from the heavens.”

Sylvia tilted her head to the side. “All right; you have saved yourself with that compliment. I shall forgive the lack of greeting.”

“I need not ask how you have been,” Rachel told him. “You look exceedingly well, despite your supposed boredom.”

He smiled and looked somewhat abashed by the compliment.

“How is Gypsy?” Rachel asked, referring to the ill-tempered, snuffle-nosed pug that was Overhill's much loved pet.

“He has missed you terribly. I shall have to bring him by to see you.”

Since Rachel had never known the dog to do anything but snap peevishly at her when she approached it, she had serious doubts about Perry's oft-held claim that Gypsy adored her. But she did not express her reservations, merely smiled and nodded.

“How is Michael?” Perry went on, glancing around. “Did he come with you?”

“Actually, he did escort me to London, but I am afraid that he has left already to return to Westhampton. You know how he is about planting season.”

Perry grimaced. “Yes. Well, I will have to take him to task for leaving without even paying me a visit.”

“Perry…” Rachel began impulsively. “Do you know anything about Michael's secrets?”