The Black Widow (4 page)

“Decided to have a bite after all,” Collier explained, returning to the table. He did not, however, actually eat very much, but at least pushing his food around on his plate gave him something to do with his hands.

When Collier had reached the proper stage of jumpiness, Demetrius began his attack, having decided that any attempt at subterfuge would be a waste of time.

“On Thursday last I received a frantic letter from our mother,” he said calmly. “She informed me that you were courting death by courting Miss Meribe Prestwich.”

Collier let out his breath, then smiled naturally for the first time since he had entered the room. “Oh, is that why you have come to London? I thought Mama had sent for you to make me give up my rooms at the Albany.”

“Which reminds me, how can you afford to rent your own place?”

“Lady Luck smiled at me. Won two hundred pounds playing faro three weeks ago. You needn’t tell Mama, however, because she will get it into her noggin that I am a hardened gamester, and I am no such thing.”

“And what of Miss Prestwich? Are your intentions serious?”

“I should say not,” Collier replied indignantly, “and I think it is a cursed nuisance that m’mother has dragged you away from your horses for such a silly reason. Despite what everyone is saying in the clubs, dancing with her is not all that dangerous. So far this year, no one has died, although Lambreth did take a bad tumble down the stairs directly after he stood up with the Black Widow, but all he broke was his arm. Got a thick skull, Lambreth does.”

His temper inflamed by hearing that repulsive nickname, Demetrius was hard put to resist the impulse to knock some sense into his
brother’s
thick skull. But with a herculean effort he managed to keep his tone of voice mild. “So you have been asking Miss Prestwich to dance in order to ... how shall we phrase it? To prove your manhood?’’

Collier shifted uneasily in his seat. “Well, you have to understand how it is, Demetrius. Everyone must dance with her at least once or be called a coward.”

“So you think it is a mark of bravery to persecute a poor defenseless female?” Unable to remain still any longer, Demetrius rose to his feet and scowled down at his brother. “You think a real man goes around blithely causing misery to a young lady? Tell me again—how do you justify such odious, dishonorable conduct? Explain it to me, because I must admit it seems to me to be the most low-down, cowardly kind of behavior imaginable, and I am ashamed that my own brother has taken part in such a despicable affair.”

His head hanging low, Collier did not immediately reply. “It’s all m’mother’s fault,” he said finally. “I never wanted to be stuck here in London in the first place. There is nothing to do here but gamble or flirt with silly chits who have little on their minds but clothes and dancing. I wanted to go to Spain and fight against Boney, but you know Mama has refused to buy me my colors. If she has her way, she will forever keep me on leading strings, as if I were still in short coats—you can’t know what it’s like, Demetrius!”

“Indeed? At this point, I cannot blame her. You sound exactly like a petulant little boy whining because he cannot always have his own way. You say you want to prove you are a man, and yet at the first sign of trouble you hide behind your mother’s skirts. ‘It’s all m’mother’s fault,’” he mimicked. “And you think Wellesley needs ‘men’ like you in Spain. Bah!”

Demetrius turned his back on his brother and stalked out of the room, pausing in the doorway only long enough to add, “And I warn you, if you ever again refer to Miss Prestwich as the Black Widow, I shall thrash you to within an inch of your life.”

* * * *

“You have just made a green daisy, sister dear.” Hester pointed out the mistake with the usual note of glee in her voice.

Meribe looked down at the embroidery in her lap. Oh, blast, her mind had been wandering again, and she had finished the leaves and continued on without remembering to change colors of floss. Now she would have to unpick the whole flower, which she despised doing ... but which she was well experienced at.

Given her propensity for daydreaming, she should stick to hemming sheets, but Aunt Phillipa insisted that Meribe could become as proficient with all types of needlework as she herself was if Meribe would only put her mind to it. Which was the problem, of course. Meribe had trouble putting her mind to all the tasks Aunt Phillipa assigned her.

The only thing she really enjoyed was growing plants, but her aunt refused to let her have a garden spot of her own. Grubbing around in the dirt was not, in her aunt’s opinion, a ladylike pastime.

“Yes, what is it, Smucker?” Aunt Phillipa looked up from the book of improving sermons she was reading aloud.

“There is a gentleman here to see Miss Meribe,” the butler replied. “A Lord Thorverton.”

“Why are you bothering us, Smucker?” Hester replied before Aunt Phillipa had a chance to answer. “You know we no longer allow gentlemen callers into the house.”

“He said it was most important,” Smucker explained.

“No,” Aunt Phillipa said flatly, and the butler left the room without further argument.

“He probably wishes to gape at you again, Meribe,” Hester said gleefully. “I vow I do not know how you endure being stared at everywhere you go. If ‘twere me, I would have the hysterics, but then, you never had the least sensibility.’’

“That is enough, Hester,” Aunt Phillipa finally intervened. “Now, where was I?”

Neither of the two girls answered. In that one respect Meribe knew she and her sister resembled each other—neither of them actually heard a word of the improving sermons their aunt delighted in reading aloud.

“Beg pardon,” the butler interrupted again. “But my lord insists that it is a matter of the gravest concern.”

“Grave?” Hester said with a titter. “Oh, Meribe, my love, do you suppose you have dispatched another poor young man to his heavenly reward? Oh, Aunt, do let him come in, or I vow I shall myself expire of suspense.’’

“I do not think—” Aunt Phillipa began, but before she could flatly refuse, Hester made another effort to persuade her.

“Only consider, dear aunt, that if he has indeed come to tell us his baby brother has met with an unfortunate accident, how it will appear to others if we turn the grieving man away from our door.’’

As irritated as Hester was making her by talking such nonsense, Meribe was still thankful when the butler was finally given instructions to admit Lord Thorverton.

Would the viscount be as handsome by daylight as he had appeared by candlelight? A ridiculous question when she thought about it, but no matter how she tried, Meribe could not help wondering about the answer.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Lord Thorverton bowed formally, but Aunt Phillipa did not offer him a seat. He was about half a head taller than Smucker, who was only an inch or so taller than herself, Meribe thought. And he was quite handsome enough for any man.

“I wish to extend my apologies to you ladies, and particularly to Miss Meribe Prestwich, for any discomfort my brother may have caused you by his actions. I have spoken to him, and in the future he will not bother you in any way.”

It was very prettily said, but it was quite obvious that his words had not softened Aunt Phillipa’s heart in the slightest. She continued to look at him with an expression of extreme loathing.

“Thank you,” Meribe said softly. “I accept your apology on behalf of your brother.’’

He smiled at her, then caught her completely off-guard by continuing, “It would give me great pleasure if you would drive out with me this afternoon, Miss Prestwich. ‘‘

Hester tittered, and Aunt Phillipa turned to look at Meribe, who hurried to decline. “No, thank you, my lord.”

He looked as if he were going to press her to agree, so she repeated more firmly, “I do not wish to drive out with you.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps?”

She shook her head. “I prefer to stay at home.”

Aunt Phillipa signaled the butler, and Smucker said smoothly, “If you will come this way, my lord.’’

Thorverton paused, but then followed the butler out.

“Do you suppose he came here on a wager?” Hester asked.

“No, I do not,” Meribe said, then wished she had held her tongue. Every time she responded to her sister’s deliberate baiting, it only encouraged Hester to continue.

“How many pounds do you think he has won by such great daring? Do you suppose it was one hundred pounds? Or perhaps even more?’’

Doing her best to ignore her sister, Meribe looked down at her embroidery. Whatever had induced her to attempt a fire screen? She had already been working on it for an eternity, and between unsnarling tangles and unpicking green flowers, she was not even a quarter of the way done. If there had been a fire in the grate, she would have thrown the wretched thing into the flames.

* * * *

Demetrius looked around the room to see if he had forgotten anything, then buckled the straps on his portmanteau. As he had hoped, he had managed to clear up this mess quickly, and he would be back in Devon before the week was up.

Leaving his bag where it was, he ambled over to the window and looked out. The two days he had been here had only confirmed him in his dislike of London. He would be overjoyed to get back to his beloved horses. But he continued to stand staring out at the street.

His mind was not on the street vendors peddling their wares from house to house. He kept seeing a pair of large dark eyes with long silky lashes. Beautiful eyes ... but also the saddest eyes he had ever seen. So much pain in them.

“Oh, blast it all,” he said, leaning his forehead against the cool pane of glass. He could not persuade himself that his responsibility to that poor girl was ended simply because she had accepted his apology.

Knowing very well what course of action he should take, unpalatable though it might be, he did not allow himself any further vacillation. He rang for a footman and gave orders for a message to be sent to Devon requesting his valet to join him in London.

* * * *

Meribe checked her list to be sure she had gotten everything—five ells of yellow ribbon for Hester’s orange sarcenet, a packet of pins, two ells of lace for herself, and blue floss to match the sample Aunt Phillipa had sent along. Yes, all the purchases were taken care of, which meant they had nothing left to do but stop at the lending library and exchange books.

Looking around for Jane, the abigail she shared with Hester, Meribe found her view blocked by a pair of broad shoulders and kind brown eyes.

“Good afternoon, Miss Prestwich.” Lord Thorverton tipped his hat to her. “May I offer you my escort while you do your errands?”

Now—now, when it was too late—Jane appeared, carrying the parcel of books to be exchanged. The maid’s eyes got big at the sight of Meribe conversing with a man, and the expression of awe on Jane’s face made it overly clear she thought Lord Thorverton to be quite a man.

“I am done with my shopping,” Meribe said faintly.

“Except for the books,” Jane blurted out. “Don’t be forgetting, miss, that we still have to go to Hookham’s. Hester will be that displeased if you don’t fetch her home some new novels.” Although ostensibly speaking to Meribe, Jane’s fatuous smile was directed at Lord Thorverton.

“Hookham’s?” he said with what Meribe could only describe as a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Why, that is precisely where I was headed myself.” He offered his arm to Meribe as if it were the most natural thing to do.

A single glance around sufficed to show her that they were already the center of attention. He could not know what an imbroglio he was getting himself mixed up in. Without doubt by evening his name would be on everyone’s lips, and wagers would be laid in the clubs as to the length—or shortness—of his life expectancy.

Clearly it behooved her to explain to him the dangers inherent in associating with her, but she could not do it here—not with all the eager listening ears.

With great trepidation she laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to escort her out of the shop. Behind them there was a scurry of movement accompanied by whispers, and knowing exactly what it all signified, Meribe felt her face grow hot.

“Lord Thorverton,” she said earnestly, “you must have been rather isolated in Devon, for it appears that you are unaware of my reputation.”

“Not at all,” he said calmly. “That is precisely why I have sought you out.”

Feeling betrayed that he had turned out to be no better than any of the other “gentlemen,” she tried to pull her hand free, but he caught it with his other hand and held it in place.

“No,” he said, “you need not be angry with me. I have made no wagers—accepted no dares. My purpose is merely to help you. It seems to me that what you need most is a friend, preferably one who is not swayed by superstitious nonsense.”

Eyes downcast, she said, “Suppose it is not nonsense? Suppose I am truly ... cursed.’’

“Do you believe that? Do you honestly think you are in any way responsible for what happened to those young men?’’

She could not answer, and finally he touched her chin, and using no pressure at all, raised her head so that he could look into her eyes. “Do you believe there is even a grain of truth behind the gossip?” he repeated.

“Does it matter what I believe?” she asked. “Reality or illusion, the effect is the same. Dozens of young men have ‘shown their bravery’ by dancing with me. What do you think is the likelihood that at least one of those men will catch a chill or fall off his horse or get himself shot in a duel? And whom do you think everyone will blame if that happens?” Again she tried to retrieve her hand, and still he held it fast. “I can only be grateful that I never had occasion to meet the prime minister, so that at least his assassination has not been laid at my door.’’

“But suppose there were only one man courting you—do you not think people would forget about all those others if they were supplanted, so to speak?”

She looked up at him in horror. “Surely you are not suggesting ...?”

He smiled, but this time his smile was quite terrifying to behold. “But I am, Miss Prestwich. I intend to defy all this superstitious nonsense, and I also intend to remain quite hale and hearty in the process.”