The Wagered Widow (5 page)

Her heartbeat quickening, Rebecca placed her little hand on his sleeve and allowed herself to be led into the garden.

The night, which before had seemed rather muggy, now became all delight. The moon, hitherto here and gone in a vexing way, was a glory, peeping shyly from behind the lacy fragments of slow-drifting clouds. For the first time, Rebecca noticed the heady fragrance of the flowers, and she seemed more to float than walk beside this splendid young man. He spoke with propriety, his deep voice thrilling her with its gentle cadences. Was there a step to be negotiated, his hand was unfailingly at her elbow, to guide her gently up or down, as though she were a fragility too precious to be allowed to make the attempt unaided. He was overjoyed, he declared, that she and her aunt had been so kind as to accept his invitation on such short notice. “So many of my guests,” he said, with a twinkle, “have been demanding an introduction, ma'am.”

“Yes,” she replied, all bashful innocence, “the ladies have been exceeding kind.”

“Ah, but I had not meant the ladies.”

Rebecca gave a little gurgle of laughter. “Lud, sir. You will quite turn my head with such flattery.”

“That is certainly not my intention. Nor is it flattery, dear Mrs. Parrish. Any host must be delighted to entertain so lovely a guest. I shall hope you will grant us the pleasure of your company again.”

She blushed with joy. “Thank you, sir. Do you mean to make a long stay in Town, then?”

“I had, but I am compelled to soon return to Bedfordshire.” Guiding her to a stone bench beside which a fountain splashed musically, he dusted a section with his handkerchief and, when Rebecca was seated, sat beside her.

“You must love the country,” she said, hiding her disappointment. “I can scarce blame you. London is so exceeding oppressive in the summertime.”

He took the fan from her hand and began to ply it for her. “And do you mean to escape it also, ma'am?”

“Alas, I fear it beyond my means. If my brother can arrange something for us, however, I am sure he will. You are acquainted with Snowden, I believe?”

“We were at school together. Is it presumptuous of me to enquire whether there are others in your immediate family? I seem to recollect Snow mentioning another brother, or an older sister, was it?”

“Yes. I have an elder brother, Jonathan, who bear leads an aristocratic young gentleman through Europe at the moment. My sister, Mary, is married to a clergyman and lives in Wales.”

“So you number two brothers and a sister, in addition to your son. How I envy you. I, you see, am not merely an only child, but an orphan besides.” He said rather wistfully, “I have always thought how fortunate are those with large families.”

Rebecca, who had endured all the joys and torments of growing up with sister and brothers, could not imagine life without them and said kindly, “How very lonely you must have been.”

He smiled and waited for the inevitable coy remark that he must hope to soon establish a large family of his own.

It was not forthcoming. Rebecca was too sincerely interested to remember to be the designing female. She said, “You have cousins, surely?”

“Oh, I do indeed! And what a bother they are.” His rueful grin mitigated the harshness of the words, and he went on, “I am the head of the family, you see, and it is because of my cousin James that I must now return to my country seat.”

“Well, I do think it too bad in him to cut up your peace. Is he in a dreadful scrape?”

“Oh, no.” He laughed. “Well, perhaps he is, at that. He was still a bachelor when his older brother died suddenly of some intestinal disorder. A year later, the widow remarried and went off to India, leaving her ailing daughter in James's care. He is a good-natured fellow, but now he himself has married. His bride refuses to take the girl into her household, and she and James have removed to Norway, where he is attached to the Ambassador's staff.”

“And so they have left the girl with you!” Frowningly indignant, Rebecca said, “Why, I think that perfectly dreadful! The poor creature! Pushed around from pillar to post! She must feel she dwells in a swing, never able to set foot to ground.”

“Oh, it is not that bad, I assure you. She will not lack for food and shelter. But I must find a governess, for a young lady should be properly guided before she makes her bow to Society, do you not agree, ma'am?”

“I most certainly do. How good you are, Sir Peter. Do you mean to keep her with you, then?”

“For the time, at least. And only listen to me boring on about my troubles.” Rising, he asked in his courteous way if Rebecca wished to go back inside. “There is a new summer house I had hoped to show you, but perhaps…”

She lost no time in asserting that she would love to see the new summer house, and they walked slowly along the path that wound through flower beds and little clumps of trees and shrubs towards the centre of the garden. Sir Peter did not again refer to his family, and the conversation turned gradually to politics and the recent tragic conflict. “How sad it is,” he observed, “that so many fine fellows should have flocked to the banner of that pretty princeling, with never a thought for the consequences to themselves or their loved ones. Such gullibility is very well for callow youth, but for mature men to have taken up the Jacobite Cause shows a sad want of steadiness, do not you agree? For myself, I can but deplore the irresponsibility of those who plunged into so sadly lost a Cause, and must now pay so frightful a price for their folly.”

This view was not one that Rebecca shared, but despite her admiration of the gentleman beside her, her own thoughts were much taken up with other issues. As he expounded on the subject she made few comments other than to murmur an occasional acquiescence, so that he judged her a very comformable girl, this strengthening his good impression of her.

It was not until they were leaving a rose arbour to come out onto the hedge-lined path leading to the little summer house that either of them realized the structure was occupied. A sudden burst of feminine giggles was followed by a squeak, the sound of a slap, and the abrupt emergence of The Monahan. Laughing softly but hilariously and concentrating upon lifting her paniers so as to negotiate the three shallow steps down to the pathway, the statuesque beauty did not at once see the approaching pair, but fled towards them, still looking back and calling, “No,
really,
Treve! You would not dare—”

A shout from her amused pursuer alerted her too late. Rebecca had made a belated effort to step aside, but was trapped by the hedge. Glancing around at the last instant, The Monahan swung in the same direction. For two ladies wearing the wide-hooped paniers and voluminous skirts of full evening dress, a collision could only be disastrous. Caught off balance, Rebecca staggered backwards. The Monahan stumbled over Rebecca's foot; Rebecca was undone by the hedge, and down they both went.

Paniers had been designed for dramatic effect. They had never been intended for reclining. Scarlet with mortification, Rebecca saw her skirts shoot into the air. Her efforts to contain them were as fruitless as her attempt to get back on her feet. Not only was she revealing a shocking expanse of her chemise, but her romantic interlude with Sir Peter was quite ruined, for how could he do anything but laugh at so clumsy a finish to their walk? Her humiliation was magnified as she heard a smothered male chuckle. That
wretched
de Villars! Of all the men she would least prefer to be rescued by!

His strong hands gripped her upstretched ones. His mocking countenance bent above her. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” he chortled. “What a contretemps!
Poor
Little Parrish!” He slipped an arm about her waist, steadying her as she stood, and breathed into her ear, “We
did
spoil things for you. But it would not have worked, you know. Did you hurt yourself?”

Pulling away and glaring at him ferociously, she hissed, “You are
horrid!
Did you know it?” And, remembering her manners, “No, thank you. I am not hurt.”

“I think I am in love with you,” he countered, grinning broadly.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, yearning to scratch him.

“Who could blame me? You look extreme edible. Especially with your hair so deliciously at right angles.”

She reached up. It was truth; her elaborate coiffure had paid a dreadful penalty. She gave a little whimper of despair.

De Villars gripped her wrists as she attempted to rectify the matter. “Let be, girl!” He proceeded to busy himself with her hair. “There! Good as new!” He stepped back, eyes dancing with laughter. “I apologize. No, really. I will prove it. I shall be so unselfish as to contrive in your behalf. It might be amusing, at that.”

“How I dread to deny you amusement, sir,” she said coldly. “But—pray do not contrive!”

He stepped closer again and, with a very different gleam warming his eyes, breathed, “You mean I am free to be—
selfish
with you, m'dear?”

Seething with indignation, she turned her back on his impertinence and managed to smile as her host came anxiously to console her.

*   *   *

Sir Peter Ward stretched his long legs, sank deeper into the comfortable chair in his parlour, and sighed his satisfaction. “It went off quite well, eh, Treve?”

Chin on fist, de Villars surveyed him thoughtfully. It was almost dawn, and both men had shed their finery and wore dressing gowns over their night rail. Even
en deshabille
the difference between them was marked, for de Villars' dressing gown was an Oriental design of black with heavy red frogging down the front closure, and although the sardonic gleam was still apparent in his grey eyes, he looked rumpled and far more human than the elegant exquisite who had graced the ball. Sir Peter's hair had been brushed free of powder and neatly tied back, and he was if anything better looking than he had appeared earlier, the lamplight waking a rich golden sheen on his head, and his fair colouring enhanced by the blue quilted satin of his dressing gown.

“It went very well,” de Villars acknowledged. “Did you suppose it would not?”

Ward shrugged. “It has been a long time since I hosted a London ball. I am very glad you agreed to come, my dear fellow. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enormously.” De Villars took a pull at the liqueur in his glass, then said with a slow smile, “I've not laughed so much in years.”

A tiny frown touched Ward's eyes. “The collision?”

“Mmmnn. Lovely ankles has the widow.”

“Which one?”

De Villars glanced at him and thus glimpsed the frown. “By Jove, you're right! Two widows!
L'embarras des richesses!
” He chuckled. “Now, why do you scowl? Never tell me you have a
tendre
for the chit?”

“You came with The Monahan. I'd have supposed her woman enough for any man.”

“Oh, she's a delicious creature, I grant you, but…” De Villars paused and asked curiously, “
Are
you warning me off, Peter?”

“Why should I? I am not in the petticoat line.”

“No. As I told her.”

“The deuce you did!” With uncharacteristic heat, Ward snapped, “You had not the right!”

“Aha! So the gentleman
is
interested!”

“No, but she is a Lady of Quality. I'd not wish to see her ruined, de Villars.”

“De Villars, is it? Woe is me! I am in deepest disgrace!” He laughed at Ward's tight-lipped exasperation. “She is a
widow,
my dear Peter. A lonely little lady, ripe for the taking, I'll warrant. And besides, why should you assume I mean to ruin her?”

The injured air brought Ward to a reluctant smile. “Spare me a seizure. Do not say you mean marriage.”

“I could not bear to see you suffer a seizure.” De Villars held his glass to the light and scanned it drowsily. “She amuses me, merely. One might be spared boredom for a year, perhaps, with her in keeping.”

Ward was silent for a moment, then asked, “What of your present lady?”

De Villars yawned. “Rosemary is delightful. And desirable. She excites, but—” He interrupted himself with a gesture of impatience. “Our relationship was entered into with the awareness on both sides that it could not become permanent, for temperamentally we do not suit. From the start we agreed that if either of us found our situation becoming—
ennui,
we would part while still friends.”

Sir Peter threw him an awed look. “And you have found
The Monahan
to be
ennui…
?”

“Now, what a fellow you must think me, that I should make so gauche a remark about so enchanting a lady. Let us instead own that she has become bored with me.”

“Gallant,” thought Ward, “but not true.” He warned in his grave fashion, “Have a care, Treve. I suspect The Monahan would make a loyal friend, but a bad enemy, and does she suppose you to slight her because you find another lady more alluring—”

“Alluring! Did I imply that? By God, but I must be extreme inarticulate tonight! Rosemary has sufficient and to spare of
that
commodity.” He went on slowly, “'Tis just that…”

“That—what?”

“Lord! What an inquisition! If I must be blunt then, I find Rebecca Parrish to be a rare article. An honest woman who balances practicality with a—a sort of elfin gaiety; who copes with many problems that are, I fancy, somewhat crushing, yet who has retained a naïve and rather heart-warming romantical outlook…” His eyes even more thoughtful, he said, half to himself, “And who, withal, manages to be a very lovely little creature.”

“I'll allow she is different,” mused Sir Peter. “When I expected a platitude, she showed me sincerity.”

“And when I rescued her, she asked me did I know I was horrid!” De Villars chuckled. “Outspoken to a fault, The Little Parrish. Now you frown again. My poor Peter. For how many years have you endured me?”