The Wagered Widow (10 page)

Ward's eyes were glowing. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Could you not persuade her, Mrs. Parrish? I cannot express to you how grateful I would be, for such a lady would be the ideal answer to my dilemma. And—and as for leaving you, that is easily got over. Or, at least, it would be if— Oh, I should not press you, I know, but—is it possible you could see your way clear to accompany the lady?”

Resolutely ignoring the grin on de Villars' face, Rebecca gave a gasp and took refuge behind her fan. “Sir! You cannot have considered! Your—yours is a—a
bachelor
establishment!”

“Oh, but I have, dear ma'am!” Ward said earnestly. “There are several cottages on the estate, and one, the closest to the house in fact, now stands empty. I can have it readied in jig time, and you and your aunt can have it all to yourselves. Only think, ma'am, you were but telling me last evening of your concern for your son's health. Might not this pure country air be good for him, also? I would not ask you to remain for very long, I promise you. Only until we could find someone suitable to take charge on a permanent basis. Mrs. Parrish, I beg of you—say you will!”

“Mercy!” said Rebecca, with an anxious frown. “How difficult it is! I should be most pleased to help you, sir. But it does not seem quite…”

“After all,” de Villars put in, his expression grave but his eyes dancing with laughter, “you
are
a widow, ma'am, not a naïve young ingenue. Your reputation would not suffer.”

“Well, dash it all, Treve,
that
has nothing to say to the matter,” Ward protested, in a rare display of anger. “Were Mrs. Parrish a debutante straight from the schoolroom she would be perfectly safe on my property!”

“Have I not said it?” murmured de Villars, with an injured look. “Only think, ma'am, a trout stream runs through the Home Wood, and there is a fine pool where Anthony could sail his boat. Any boy must love it here.”

Rebecca needed no urging, as he knew perfectly well, the sly fiend. Her hopes were soaring to dizzy heights and, however insincere, his words added to her joyous anticipation. She hesitated through a proper space that seemed endless. “We-ell,” she said hesitantly, “I suppose I
could
put it to my aunt.”

*   *   *

Very soon, large hampers were being unpacked below decks, and so many tureens, bowls, and platters were conveyed to the tables that there seemed scarcely room for the plates of the diners. Sir Peter's butler rang a silver gong, and the guests crowded to the board. They found cold roast duck and turkey, ham and beef, shrimp, lobster, and fish in aspic, these accompanied by artichoke hearts, pickled beetroots, glazed carrots, olives, and tiny pearl onions. There were six different types of cheese, breads and rolls and crispy croissants, and mellow, fresh butter. When justice had been done to these offerings came the next remove, with raised veal, mutton, and pork pies, tongue and sweetbreads, herrings in a cream sauce, green peas and string beans, cheese tarts, a chocolate gâteau, lemon puffs, grapes, cherries, rhubarb pie, and bowls of walnuts. Four varieties of wine were served with the meal, and by the time the ladies left the gentlemen to their cigars, two hours had slipped away and most of the guests were not only replete, but decidedly sleepy.

Major Broadbent made his way to the starboard side where sat Rebecca with her aunt, watching the gurgle and flow of the waters. He offered his arm and a “jaunt about the decks.” Rebecca accepted, and several other couples followed suit. A charming picture they made, the great barge with its bright awnings fluttering as it floated along, the shimmering river, the gentlemen in their colourful silks and brocades, the ladies with their highly dressed curls or elaborate wigs, their white shoulders and sweetly curved bosoms, the delicate pastels of their gowns with the tiny waists and the provocatively feminine sway of the great skirts. It was a picture to be treasured through all the years to come and one that seemed, to Rebecca at least, in keeping with the joy of knowing that not only was The Plan working, but it had progressed much faster and further than she had dared to hope.

The golden moments drifted past; the air grew warmer. By half-past three the afternoon was very still, the countryside seemed to be dozing, and all that could be heard were the gurgling chuckle of the river, the snores of several guests who had dropped off to sleep, and the occasional drowsy song of a bird. The musicians, having been given trays and tankards, were happily occupied in the stern; the servants were enjoying their own meal; and even Mr. de Villars seemed content to perch quietly on the rail close to The Monahan. Having returned Rebecca to her chaise, Major Broadbent went off to throw dice with Ward. Mrs. Boothe and Mr. Melton were standing in the bows together, and Rebecca watched them thoughtfully. The gentleman appeared to be saying very little. It was debatable whether her aunt would be able to bring him up to scratch, yet surely this delightful excursion must be a perfect opportunity—

“May I join you, ma'am?”

The gentle voice was that of Letitia Boudreaux, lovely in her blue muslin trimmed with white lace.

“Pray do,” said Rebecca warmly. “I have been hoping for a cose with you.”

A blush of pleasure warmed Miss Boudreaux's cheeks. She occupied the chair Mrs. Boothe had vacated, murmuring shyly, “Do you know, I feel as though we were old friends.”

“And I expect we would be, had I not been in mourning, for we would certainly have met at some function or another. Perhaps you are acquainted with my brother?”

“Do you mean Mr. Snowden Boothe?” Miss Boudreaux pleated a fold of her gown with nervous fingers. “I have danced with him a time or two. It was brave of him to stand up with me, under the circumstances.”

Rebecca's gaze sharpened. The blue eyes were lowered, but the blush in the cheeks had deepened. She thought, “Oh, no!” but said kindly, “Why, I am sure Snowden was honoured.”

“He said so, of course, for his manners are beyond reproach. But—” Miss Boudreaux gave a wry smile. “I am so
wretchedly
tall, you see. He could only have been embarrassed.”

Despite the deprecating words, she was very obviously in hopes of an encouraging reply, and Rebecca positively ached with sympathy. The poor girl harboured a
tendre
for Snow! And there was no hope at all, for not only was he enjoying a mild flirtation with a petite damsel, but Rebecca suspected that he had a pronounced interest in a certain Green-Eyed Cat who was at present exerting every wile at her command to keep The Lewd Rake at her side. What a pity it was, to be sure, for there was not another girl in all London Rebecca would sooner have had for a sister-in-law, or who might have made her rackety brother a more suitable wife.

“I am sure he was not at all embarrassed,” she lied staunchly. “If you did but know how I envy you your height, for tall ladies always look so superb in their garments. Have you never noticed that all the styles in the fashion magazines are worn by extreme tall creatures—so very elegant.”

“Yes. And one wonders if any woman living could have such incredibly long”—Letitia glanced around cautiously and lowered her voice—“long
legs!
I vow even so tall a gentleman as my cousin de Villars would not dare stand up with one of them!”

They laughed merrily together, and by the time Miss Boudreaux went over to chat with Martha Street, their friendship was firmly cemented.

Rebecca was not accustomed to taking a large luncheon and, although it seemed wasteful to nap, she was beginning to feel drowsy. She yawned, put back her head and prepared to close her eyes, just for a few minutes. She had reckoned without the wide brim of her straw, and found it necessary to remove the obstructing article.

“Would you wish that I place your bonnet on the table for you, fair conspirator?” asked de Villars, suddenly materializing at her side.

She jerked her hat away, even as he reached for it. “I most decidedly would not! And furthermore, Mr. de Villars, I never have, nor ever shall, conspire with you in aught, and would be grateful did you not address me in such fashion.”

The gleam left his grey eyes. He looked levelly at her for a moment, then, as though invisible guards had been lowered, said wistfully, “That is unkind in you, pretty one. Did I not pave the way for your—er, summer amusement?”

However she might begrudge the admission, it was truth. She had been rude, behaviour as foreign to her as was this new side of Trevelyan de Villars. Confused because she felt so at sea, she stammered, “If you consider it amusing to guide a young lady to her come-out—yes. And I
do
thank you for your, er, help.”

His gaze held on her, but in some subtle way his expression had changed. He said, “Patience? I take it that Ward has described her to you?”

“Not in so many words.” He had sounded faintly incredulous. The poor girl must be
extreme
ill-favoured! Uneasy, Rebecca pointed out that it was her aunt who might perhaps guide Miss Ashton. “I,” she reminded, “shall be here purely—”

“Oh, very purely, I do not doubt.”

Rebecca blushed scarlet and lowered her lashes, scored by guilt and yearning to scratch the odious creature.

De Villars grinned. “I assume that Boothe is capable of arranging his own summer holiday and will not require my assistance.”

Stiffening, Rebecca rested a frowning gaze upon him.

“However,” he went on musingly, “unless I mistake the fellow, he will wish to express his—ah, appreciation for my efforts in your behalf. If you've writ him…” Rebecca not rising to the bait, he nodded and said in a thoughtful way, “It would be better, of course, had you not mentioned my part in your … scheme.”

Feeling like a conniving Jezebel, Rebecca unclamped her locked jaws and uttered a saintly, “I do not lie to my brother, sir.”

“No.” His head bowed. “Of course you do not. One can tell at a glance that you are all that is pure and good. And … there's the snag, d'you see? Any brother worth his salt, and Boothe is worth that at least, would seek to shield so innocent a girl from such an—ignoble rascal as … I.” Lifting his head, he revealed again that oddly boyish humility, so that Rebecca, who had bristled because of his sly jibe at Snowden, was inexplicably touched.

“I had not heard you described in just that way, Mr. de Villars. Your reputation, so far as I am aware, has largely to do with the ladies.” She glanced at the dozing Monahan, and could not forbear to add, “Of a certain class.”

He turned swiftly away and when next he spoke his voice was somewhat muffled, as though choked by emotion. “You are too kind. Ah, had I only been so fortunate as to meet a girl of your character long ago. Alas, it was otherwise. And I, a stupid young fool, betrayed by my love, and—” He broke off with an impatient gesture. “Forgive me. You cannot wish to hear all that ancient history.”

“From what little I
had
heard, sir,” she said, watching his averted profile intently, “the shoe was rather on the other foot.”

He turned back to her, a whimsical half-smile on his lips. “You do speak your mind, Little Parrish!”

Again flustered, she gasped, “Oh, good gracious! I have no right—I mean—”

“No, no. Never guard your tongue with me, I implore. So few people say what is truly in their hearts. Is what makes you so refreshing. As for your remark, 'twas well justified, perhaps—” He shrugged. “But, enough. I will not bore on about my lamentable past—it was all very long ago.”

Intrigued despite herself, she said, “You cannot be
that
old, surely!”

Down went his head once more. He said meekly, “I was but nineteen at the time.”

“Oh, my! And—and the lady?”

“Older.”

This was a most improper conversation that must not be pursued. Rebecca lowered her voice and probed, “
Much
older?”

“Fifteen years.”

“But—but … she must have been nigh twice your age!”

“But very lovely, ma'am. One of your ethereal beauties. I worshipped her.”

“And—she betrayed you?”

A reluctant nod of that abased head. Waiting, fascinated by the story her romantic heart could relate to so well, Rebecca asked, “But—you did run away with her?”

He nodded again, but said nothing for a moment. Then in a remote, sad voice, he murmured, “She left me. After three glorious days. And nights.”

“How dreadful,” she breathed, overlooking the innuendo. “But—could you not have prevented her?”

“You must be thinking me a very great fool. And rightly so. But—I was in no condition to prevent anything, ma'am.”

“No con— A
duel?
” she gasped. “The lady's father or brother, perhaps?”

“Nothing so proper, I grieve to confess. We were overtaken by her—lover.”

Rebecca's eyes were very round indeed. “She had—more than—than you?”

“Alas, had I but known that ghastly truth, I could have spared myself a mortifying and painful defeat.”

“Good … God!” Breathless, she could all but see that misty field in the dawning, and the valiant youth fighting vainly, staggering back at last to lie with his blood soaking and soaking into the dewy grass.… Clasping her hands, she cried, “Never say they just went off and left you lying there? Whatever happened to you?”

“I recovered, of course. Eventually.” He said heavily, “But—the word had got out, you see. My reputation was forever fouled. Dishonour … disgrace … inevitable and unrelenting.”

A lump came into her throat. Almost she could have wept for that cruelly betrayed youth. “And—the lady?” she asked in a much more kindly tone. “What became of her?”

“She chose to stay with her lover.” He looked at her, his eyes grave. “The last time I visited her, she had twelve children.”