The Spinster and the Earl (17 page)

“Yes, ma’am,” the young gentleman murmured uncomfortably, reaching up to his stiff cravat where a stranglehold on his carefree bachelor days was making it most difficult to breathe. “If you and Felicity will kindly excuse me, Mother. I do believe my man is signaling to me.”

“Of course. Do go your merry way. Enjoy yourself, Reginald, dear. But first,” the mother added with steely determination, “take this opportunity to ask Lady O’Brien if you mightn’t take her out riding on the morrow. Although I hear tell her father, Lord O’Brien, has given the Earl of Drennan permission to court her.” A worried frown crinkled the smooth forehead of the matron. “But that announcement carries little weight. And as they are not yet formally betrothed, there is still a chance of her making a match of it elsewhere, isn’t there?”

“Yes, Mama,” her heir replied blandly, and reluctantly headed in the direction of their hostess.

Many pleasant diversions were planned for the fête. Along with the usual hunt, there would be picnics, music recitals, boating on Kilkarney’s lake, and a fireworks display had been planned to coincide with the letter of recognition arriving from Prinney. It was expected he would congratulate the newly named Earl of Drennan on his title and peerage. The earl, shortly thereafter, would be invited to visit the English court where he would present himself formally for the final nod of recognition from the Prince Regent. A moment, which would undoubtedly serve as his public acceptance into the haute ton and the uppermost echelon of English society.

*    *    *

Lady Beatrice found herself dancing in a country set comprising of herself and Beau Powers as the first couple. Young Lord Reginald Fortescue and his sister Lady Felicity were the second. The ball had just become very gay with dancing. A hired orchestra played above in the ballroom’s minstrel’s gallery and the newly cleaned chandeliers sparkled above the guests.

Beatrice was just about to pass under young Lord Reginald’s outstretched arm when she was interrupted in mid-step.

Tommy Flanders, the footman, bowed before her.

“A gentleman has arrived, my lady. He says he has no card, but he insists on speaking to you in private,” he said, frowning haughtily with disapproval. “He isn’t on the guest list, ma’am. Shall I send him away?”

“No, don’t. Perhaps it’s one of His Grace’s family who decided to make an unannounced appearance,” she said hopefully, thinking how wonderful it would be if at least one of His Grace’s relations had come. “We wouldn’t want to offend him if that is so. Best show the gentleman to the yellow study. Oh, and leave me to deal with the matter of where to place him for the night, Flanders. You may, however, inform His Grace of our guest’s arrival.”

She added to herself that if the dungeons weren’t already occupied with rat skeletons, she’d put the guest there. It was extremely rude to show up at the last minute and expect to be housed. Perhaps she could send him off to her father’s?

Frowning over the matter, she finished the country set. She made a final curtsy, and cordially excused herself from her partner’s presence.

The study was cool, despite the warmth of the lit peat fire on her right. She paused, uncertain if she ought to enter. For even with his back to her in the dimly lit study, she recognized him. The arrogant tilt of his head gave him away. When he turned, twirling a quizzing glass nonchalantly in one hand, leaning on the white and black marbled fireplace mantle with the other, she knew her first guess to be correct.

“Vi—Viscount Linley,” she said, astounded at the sight of the man she had once almost married.

“Lady Beatrice,” he said and gave an effusive bow. Taking up his quizzing glass once more, he surveyed her. Small, squinty, brown eyes covered by thick eyebrows stared at her. His youthful handsome face had changed, she noted. His once flawless skin was now full of large, pitted scars. The result, no doubt, of having caught some sort of sexual contagion from one of his favored soiled doves.

She felt his insolent scrutiny. It made her cringe. She felt as if she were some sort of loose woman of the streets he were about to consider purchasing for his personal pleasure, instead of an intelligent, highborn lady worthy of respect.

“Aren’t you the thing, old girl,” he drawled, his lips curling upwards in a slight haughty smile as he eyed the almost translucent blue pelisse of her Liberty silk. Its empire waist and silver slit underskirt outlined her feminine form.

“Not t’all the stiff, top-lofty spinster I left behind when I went to war, are you? Been having a good time, m’dear, whilst I was away fighting for our country?” He sneered openly. “Obviously, not given me another thought, eh?”

“You needn’t play the martyred soldier with me, Viscount Linley. Last I heard you were with the China Tenth Regiment,” she said coolly, referring to the regiment that was under the Prince Regent’s personal patronage, and thus far had seen no battle.

“’Tis well known that the young aristocrats which comprise your regiment, Lord Linley, parade about in sunny Brighton in their meticulously tailored uniforms singing at the top of their lungs, playfully flirting with the ladies. ’Tis disgraceful, especially when one thinks of all the other brave, young men in the Union risking their very lives fighting against the French.”

The viscount opened a box of snuff and lined some of the noxious substance on his sleeve. He sniffed it up his nose, delicately knocking the rest back into his box.

“All that may change very soon, m’dear. Indeed, I might smell gunpowder yet. There’s talk that we may be sent to reinforce Wellington’s troops in Spain. Dashed, if I can’t buy my way out. But the commander won’t release any of us to go home. Says we’re less than a bunch of cowards if we try. So, my dear, you may get your wish yet.”

“I see,” she said, bristling with dislike at the manner in which he referred to her as “my dear.” She’d never been his “dear” anything. Not even when they were almost betrothed.

She eyed him cautiously. “And what brings you here to Drennan Castle, Viscount? Are you known to the earl? Old school chums? Perhaps comrades dating as far back as boyhood days?” She doubted the earl would have developed, even at such a tender age, a friendly alliance with this overbearing bore. He had better taste than that.

“The new earl and I are not acquainted,” Linley answered, moving as close to her as he could without actually touching her. He invaded her personal space, his eyes staring impudently down into the low neckline of her frilled bodice.

“Faith, you ought to be flattered, my dear,” he whispered into her ear, so close to her she could smell the foulness of his brandied breath.

She wrinkled her nose. He’d obviously taken the liberty of helping himself to the earl’s liquor decanter while he waited. His fake courage was evident in his overly familiar manners towards her.

“I came here expressly to see you, Lady Beatrice.”

She felt her skin crawl, dreading what he would reveal next.

“Indeed. How, uh, delightful,” she lied, flicking her fan open, using the silk screen as a barrier between them. The mantle clock ticked, the only sound in the semi-dark room as she waited for him to continue his revelations.

By the holy rood, she fumed inwardly. The viscount always did enjoy the dramatic. His cat and mouse games had always been one of his more vexing characteristics. One she had found utterly detestable. It was as if he took a certain joy in discomforting others.

She took a deep breath. All she needed was to be patient. Eventually, the pompous cad would tell her what had really brought him here. She waved her fan back and forth, an outlet for her nervous energy.

The mantle clock continued its rhythmic ticking till he at last complied.

“Mother wrote to me, urging me to pay you a visit. She says that you’ve changed,” he said, a boyish tone of devotion in his voice when he spoke of his mother.

“Did she now?” echoed Beatrice in mock surprise. “And I always thought your dear mama disliked me so. I do believe she once even called me a . . .” She changed her voice and manner to match that of the large, haughty countess. “‘A common, sheep-shearing shrew,’ among several other equally unflattering phrases.”

She stopped and shrugged. All of that horrid exchange was in her past. As far as she was concerned, it was never to be relived.

“But, Viscount, you didn’t come all the way to Ireland to tell me that your dear mama believes I’ve changed. I refuse to believe it if you did. She and I were always on the verge of scratching each other’s eyes out, as you well know.”

“Lady Beatrice, you misunderstand,” he said taking her hand into his own. His voice was firm with the high-handed manners of one born with a silver spoon in his tiny clenched fists.

“I’ve come back to fetch my bride. She who was deprived of me when I loyally enlisted in his Royal Highness’s guard. And here she is miraculously waiting for me, still unwed, and eager for my touch. Is that not so, my dear?”

“It most certainly is not,” she said, glaring at him with dislike, an angry smile on her lips. “Perhaps, Viscount, you’ve heard of the legend that tells of when Saint Patrick drove all the snakes out of Ireland and put a curse on all the other lowly reptiles here, as well.”

She eyed him meaningfully as if he were one of the unwanted low life that had unexpectedly crawled out from under a rock. “If I were you, I’d make haste and rejoin my regiment. Before you catch some terrible wasting sickness,” she advised with pointed loathing.

He waved a perfumed handkerchief languidly, as if to disregard the insult.

“I’m gratified to see that you’re not completely indifferent to me. Mayhap then I can hope we can come to some sort of understanding?” he asked, lightly grazing a finger along the line of her exposed shoulder blade.

She gritted her teeth at his touch. Why the devil did gentlemen always think they had the liberty to touch her? Couldn’t they use words to make their meaning known?

She shrugged his hand off, raising one dark eyebrow at him for his audacity. No one touched her unless she wished it. He knew it better than almost anyone. There had been numerous times in their previous acquaintance she had demonstrated that very well defined point.

“Long loneliness is better than bad company, Viscount,” she bit out. “And pray do not forget, sir, ’twas you who left and broke our engagement, not I.”

The viscount drew back a little and smiled, as if the thought of leaving her to uncomfortably explain to a ballroom full of guests on the night of what was to have been their formal betrothal had been merely a highly amusing event. One he would have liked to have witnessed for his own personal entertainment.

“I do remember taking my leave of you,” he said simply without any apology.

“Frankly, sir,” she sniffed with indignation, “you left me t’ hang the day of our betrothal. No doubt, you’ve now come looking for me tonight because you’re once more in need of my fortune. I paid your bills once, sir, but never again. I strongly advise you to take your leave.” She stopped, hesitating over her next move. Then in a stronger voice uttered her decision, “Or I shall be forced to scream and bring the entire household down upon your head.”

“With your reputation as a conniving shrew, Lady Beatrice, I rather doubt anyone would pay you any heed.” The lord sneered, laying a menacing hand on her.

“There, sir, you are wrong,” a familiar voice said darkly from the door. The Earl of Drennan entered the room.

He strode into the dimly lit study followed by two of his liveried footmen. The footmen stood guard, seeing to it that no one entered the room.

In one quick glance, the earl took in the contemptible sight of a young buck standing intimately near Lady Beatrice, quite rudely ignoring her obvious dislike. He raised dark eyebrows questioningly at the cad’s audacity. He felt the strongest urge to give the viscount a facer for daring to come near her, let alone for having the temerity to touch her.

“And just who the devil are you?” he demanded. He felt as if the unwelcome guest were a footpad caught in the act of trying to rob him of one of his most prized possessions, namely the beautiful lady standing before him.

“I am Viscount Linley of South Dwighton,” said the gentleman unwisely. “I’ve come to pay my intended, Lady Beatrice, my heartfelt respects.”

“That, Your Grace, is a lie.” Beatrice huffed, shaking herself free of the cad’s hold on her. She was thoroughly tired of his venomous presence. She glowered accusingly at Linley, her fan almost breaking in her hands as she twisted the stays in anger.

“I have never in the past, nor in the present, ever been his, Your Grace!” she said with vehement loathing. It was as if Linley were speaking of an unlikely match betwixt herself and a veritable demon monster.

“I suspected as much,” he said dryly, putting a white-gloved finger along the mantle as if inspecting for dust. “And knowing, Lady O’Brien, how meticulously you had all the rooms in the castle cleaned, I thought your ladyship might wish to have some help with removing this unwanted vermin.”

“If it should so please, Your Grace,” she said sweetly, deeply curtsying to his pleasure. “Your desire in this instance is entirely in accord with mine, sir.”

He signaled to the footmen behind him to take action. They stepped forward and grabbed the viscount roughly by the arms.

The young aristocrat tried to shrug them off as they laid heavy hands upon him. Silently, with what little dignity he could muster, Viscount Linley walked through the study doors. The footmen flanked him on each side as they escorted him out of the room and to the front portal.

“Did he harm you?” James asked, his voice filled with concern.

“Nay,” she said, shaking her head. She smiled at him. “Your entrance was perfectly timed. I’m fine.”

“Shall I escort you back to our guests? It’s a certainty that they have been pining away for their lovely hostess’s presence. I’ve been practically besieged by every young buck in the ballroom demanding to know where you were, my lady. Demme, if the ball hasn’t come to a complete standstill. No one, especially myself, are enjoying themselves without your lovely presence. I was hoping you’d return to us and enliven the room once more with your gracious smile and charm.”