The Waltzing Widow/Smith (11 page)

“You have misread my likes before, Lord Avedon.” He stopped and looked a question at her. “If you had bothered to ask me, I could have saved you the embarrassment of leaving you stranded alone in the middle of the floor,” she said, and removed her hand from his arm.

“But why did you come if you don’t want to dance?”

“I
do
want to dance, but a lady has the prerogative of declining any partner who does not please her,” she said demurely.

He saw the mischief glinting in her smile. “Would it please you if I humbly requested the pleasure of standing up with you, Mrs. Percy?”

“The ‘humbly’ pleases me,” she bantered. “Even if you don’t mean it. Since I know so few gentlemen here this evening, it is either dancing with you or warming a chair by the wall.”

He bowed with mock seriousness. “I am flattered that you prefer my company to that of a block of wood. Has your road been repaired satisfactorily? I told my steward to see to it.”

“Yes, and it is a great pity that no tiles were laid, after such a deal of trouble.”

“It was no trouble.”

“It was for me,” she objected. “Had you ever any intention of laying tiles at all?”

“I mean to do it one day.”

His offhand answer was as good as an admission that he had only dug up the road to annoy her. “It was an underhanded trick, sir. I wonder that you thought to get rid of us by such a paltry device.”

“It was only the first step. I was going to pour salt in your well next, but my steward was afraid it would bleed back into my own water,” he admitted with no sign of shame.

“Well, upon my word!”

When he stopped and looked down at her, Lucy saw the laughter lurking in his eyes and didn’t know whether she was angry or amused. “I have apologized to Miss Percy for my error, and now I apologize to you. I am very sorry I inconvenienced you with my underhanded, paltry trick.”

Lucy tossed her curls. “So you should be.”

“It goes sadly against the pluck for me to apologize, Mrs. Percy. The least you could do is accept it with generosity.”

With the taste of victory sweet in her mouth, Lucy accepted it. “You are forgiven, then,” she said.

“Thank you. Now let us begin our acquaintance anew and see if we cannot rub along like two civilized adults this time. You look very charming this evening, ma’am.”

“Thank you, milord. You look quite decent yourself, when I see your face without a scowl for the first time in my life.”

His smile stretched to a grin, for Avedon was delighted to finally achieve a friendly footing with the most charming lady in the room. “Have I really been that ferocious?” he asked, inclining his head toward her.

“You remind me of the wild animals at the Exchange.”

Avedon cocked his head aside and frowned. “Surely not all of them! Which one did you have in mind?”

“The bear,” she replied instantly.

He patted her fingers in a familiar way. “Try honey,” he suggested. “That always turns a bear up sweet.”

Lucy felt a flush suffuse her cheeks at his manner. “I am not trying to make a tame pet of you, sir! A little civility is all I want.”

“Your menagerie at Rose Cottage becomes crowded, does it?” he joked. “If the animals become tiresome, you must come to Chenely and escape them for an afternoon.”

“I have been severely hinted away from that prestigious pile of stones by the owner,” she reminded him. “And his character is such that I dare not disobey.”

“You flouted his orders to stay away from the garden party. If he ordered you to keep out of his house, would you disobey that, too?”

“If he sees fit to issue such an order, we shall see.”

“You have piqued my curiosity, Mrs. Percy. I hereby order you not to come for dinner tomorrow evening, and not to bring your sister-in-law with you.”

Lucy was thoroughly amazed to find such an accomplished flirt hiding beneath Avedon’s harsh exterior. She feared he might revert to his old nature at any moment and hardly knew how far she might push him. “We shall have to wait for another occasion to test my docility. I am having dinner at Milhaven tomorrow.”

Avedon’s voice held an edge when he next spoke. “At Tony’s or Morton’s request?”

“Why, it is usually the hostess who issues invitations. Lady Bigelow asked us.”

Frustrated in his attempt to learn which gentleman held the lead, he pressed on with his own overtures. “The next day, then. Are you free not to come to Chenely then?”

Lucy remembered her Uncle Norris’s visit and preparations for the trip to Canterbury. “No, I am quite busy this week.”

“Oh, doing what and with whom?” he asked, quite as though it were any of his business.

“Entertaining a gentleman,” Lucy said unhelpfully. “We designing widows, you know, do not waste our time on ladies.”

“Is another apology called for?” he asked, with a disarming smile.

“If you truly think I came here to angle after your nephew, it is. You have completely misjudged my motives in running to ground. I came to escape a gentleman, not to chase one.”

“How intriguing! And the visiting gentleman—he is not the one you wish to evade, I assume?”

“Certainly not!”

Curiosity robbed Avedon of his manners, and he quizzed her bluntly. “Is it because of this unwanted gentleman that you don’t return to Dorset?”

“No, Fernbank was sold, as I believe Miss Percy has already told you.”

“I meant return to your own home. Surely your family—the Walcotts, isn’t it?—would be happy to welcome you. Miss Percy mentioned it was close to Fernbank.”

With the excuse of an unwanted lover ready to hand, Lucy did not hesitate to use it. She had not foreseen the plausible expectation that she should return to her own home. “Yes, and now you have the whole story,” she said, hoping to put an end to the discussion.

“Not quite the whole,” he countered. “There are a few details that still puzzle me. Would your family not protect you from an unwanted suitor?” He saw Lucy’s frown, and found his own answer. “Or is it your family that press the match forward?”

“You ask a good many questions,” she parried.

“I am interested to learn all about you,” he said simply. The remark was accompanied by a steady gaze that unnerved her to no small extent. Avedon felt the swelling of pity and a desire to protect this woman, so recently considered an intractable foe, from all male advances, whether welcomed by her or not.

“It is a long story. I cannot think you would be interested to hear it.” Yet she felt a strong desire to unburden the whole of it onto Avedon’s chest.

“I am extremely interested,” he persisted.

“Another time. This is hardly the place. We should be joining a square.” She glanced to the floor, where sets were forming.

Avedon made no move to join the dancers. “Let me call on you tomorrow morning.”

Lucy looked at him uncertainly. Why was it to this stern adversary that she wanted to tell her story and not to either of her more amusing and closer friends?

“Please let me come,” he said, sensing her uncertainty, and consumed with curiosity to know her history, for he was now quite convinced she was not at all the kind of woman they had all believed.

“Very well,” she said.

“I look forward to it. And I shall get a look at this whelp Morton has given you, too. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted a dog? I have a new litter I want to be rid of.”

“What a lot of unwanted creatures have come to disturb your peace this summer.” Lucy laughed. “A pity you could not just give me away to someone, or drown me, as you probably will the puppies.”

“I shan’t drown them. They’re valuable animals. Much better than Plimpton’s. Sure you won’t have one?”

She noticed he was minutely aware of her smallest doings, and smiled to herself. “One is sufficient. Puppies are liable to be jealous of each other, you know.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said playfully. “Morton and Tony are at each other’s throats.”

“You cannot call Mr. Carlton a puppy.”

“You don’t hesitate to call Tony one, eh? Poor devil, he’s been run off by that hound of a Carlton.”

“I didn’t mean that! I am very fond of Tony.”

“Is it a bitch Morton gave you? I have a male in my litter. Males are less trouble.”

“That has not been my experience. And in any case, I am very fond of Sinbad. We call the puppy Sinbad.”

“We do, do we? If he takes after his dame, Morton has given you a load of trouble.”

“No, he takes after his papa. The same coloring, and such a lively nature. He teases the chickens to death.”

“He wants a good thrashing.”

“Morton says it ruins their disposition to be harsh on them.”

“I see Morton has a deal of nonsense to say, as usual,” Avedon charged, peevish to hear his cousin quoted as an authority.

Lucy stared to see him so angry at nothing. “You are a confirmed grouch, Lord Avedon. You cannot even discuss a puppy without losing your temper.”

“I shall require a good many lessons to tame me,” he said, and smiled to show her how eager he was to be tamed.

When the music resumed, it was a waltz that was played. Avedon drew her into his arms and they floated around the floor in a giddy whirl. It was like no dance Lucy had danced before. Ronald was just learning the waltz and performed it awkwardly. With Avedon it seemed to come naturally. Conversation ceased, and they gave themselves over to the reeling rhythm.

Lady Sara sat in a corner, watching her brother make a fool of himself over the waltzing widow, as all her other male relatives were doing. She decided it was time to enlarge the widow’s circle of male acquaintances and looked around the hall for a likely candidate for presentation. She settled on Mr. Edgar, a successful merchant of Ashford, and sallied forth at the end of the music to make the two known to each other. She took Avedon’s arm and drew him away while the other two chatted together.

“You shouldn’t have presented Edgar to Mrs. Percy,” Avedon said. “He is the very sort to take advantage of a woman in her circumstances.”

“Au contraire,
Adrian. He is the sort she ought to be taking advantage of. God knows there is nothing she prefers to traipsing through the village fingering the buttons and mauling the ribbons. A tradesman will do very well for her if she insists on having another husband. Or a husband, I ought to say, as she was very likely never married at all.”

“Of course she was,” he said gruffly.

“It was you who told me she was not! I know I told you to play up to her a little to make sure she doesn’t trap Morton, but I hope you aren’t going to be the next one requiring extrication from her clutches. Really I think the woman is part witch. She seems to bewitch everyone who gets near her.”

“She is a charming lady.”

“My dear, you have no idea how besotted you looked dancing with her. Everyone was smirking to see you so easily gulled by a nobody. You must think of your position, Avedon. Would you really want that woman to rule at Chenely? Another man’s leavings ...”

Lady Sara let her eyes stray to the floor. She observed that Mr. Edgar, too, was smiling like a moonling. Perhaps Mrs. Percy had a supply of jokes that she used to entertain her partners. Lady Sara took the precaution of separating the parties from Milhaven and Chenely for dinner. She sat Lady Beatrice at Avedon’s elbow, where she was largely ignored while her companion looked jealously across the hall to the table from Milhaven.

The next morning at breakfast Lady Sara received her reply from the Wesleys in Hampshire. A smile of triumphant astringency settled on her broad face as she read it.

“What have they to say?” Avedon asked.

“Just as we supposed,” she answered, her bosom swelling with importance. “There was no Captain Percy killed at Ciudad Rodrigo. There was no Percy there as an
officer
at all. George Wesley knew them all, and there was no one there by that name. He does not even recall any noncommissioned Percy, and if the husband was only an enlisted man, you know, he was nobody.”

Avedon set down his cup with a blank look on his face. “It’s impossible,” he said.

“There was an unmarried chap named Percy from Dorset in the Light Dragoons. He left his sweetheart at home and spoke of her often. George was there; he would know. And anyway, he says nothing about that Percy being killed. She is a liar, as we always suspected. She heard of the Percys somehow— perhaps she is from the area, but she is not at all who she says she is. And I greatly fear, Adrian, that she has got Morton under her spell.” She lifted her brows and nodded her head.

“But she is a lady! So well-spoken and genteel.”

“Genteel? Oh, my dear, you make me laugh out loud to hear you say such a thing. A pretty wench may do as she pleases with you men. Do but recall her having Tony hold her ice while she licked it—so vulgar, I nearly retched. And how well she got on with Mr. Edgar last night. Two limbs from the same tree, I swear. There is a little money there, I grant you. The establishment is well run, and she had on those diamonds. She might be a cit’s daughter, looking for a leg up the social ladder. Or an actress ...” Her voice trailed off as she mentally considered other possibilities.

Avedon listened critically. “I noticed she doesn’t wear a wedding ring,” he said.

“I didn’t notice it! Well, that settles it. A grieving widow would not be in a hurry to remove the pledge of her husband’s love.” She looked at her own ring finger and smiled wanly. “I would not remove mine for worlds. Odd she didn’t think of such an obvious thing as buying herself a gold band.”

“I took another look at her letter applying for the house last night. It says quite definitely her husband is in the Peninsula. We thought the husband was supposed to be alive when she came here,” Avedon said.

“She sat right there, bold as brass, and said, ‘He is with Wellington,’ or some such thing. She definitely indicated he was alive. She only decided to be a widow when she saw Tony, single and rich and ripe for plucking.”

“But why did she come here in the first place, if she planned to pose as a wife and not a widow?” Avedon asked. “She could have had no thought of marrying at the time.”