Improper Ladies Page 8

  She held the stones on her palm, turning them a bit so they sparkled in the candlelight. Really, she should have sold them; they were so distinctive in design that she could hardly wear them again.

  But she had not.

  “Caro, they’re beautiful!”

  Startled, Caroline looked up to see Phoebe standing behind her. She was so distracted that she had not noticed her sister’s coiffure had been completed.

  “Can I wear them?” Phoebe continued. “They would go so well with my gown.”

  Caroline pushed the earrings back into the box and shut the lid firmly. “Certainly not! They are too old for you. You have Mama’s locket, and it looks lovely.”

  Phoebe touched the gold oval hanging on the chain at her throat. “But those earrings would add such dash to my ensemble.”

  Caroline laughed and stood to hug her sister. “My dear, I am sure you will be the most dashing young lady there!” And indeed she would be. Or at the very least, the most distinctive. Caroline had persuaded her to wear one of her more subdued gowns, a sea-green muslin, but it was trimmed with such copious amounts of lace, so many white satin bows, that Phoebe was sure to be noticed.

  “Are you quite certain?” she asked anxiously, fluffing some of the lace on her sleeve. “You do not think the color too . . . pale?”

  “Not at all. It is very stylish.” Caroline linked her arm in Phoebe’s and hurried her toward the door, anxious to have her away before she could decide to change her clothes again. “Now, we must be going, my dear, or we shall be late and miss the supper.”

  She was not here yet.

  Justin paused just out of sight before he entered the drawing room, surveying the guests assembled there. His mother and Lady Bellweather sat talking by the window. Sarah stood behind them, looking pretty in pink silk but rather bored. Harry paced restlessly by the empty fireplace, tugging and smoothing at his waistcoat, a black satin embroidered with copious yellow butterflies.

  The rest of the guests, a few friends of his mother’s and their sons and daughters, stood about in small groups, talking, laughing, waiting for supper to begin.

  Mrs. Aldritch was not among them.

  Justin felt a prick of disappointment. He had been looking forward to seeing her again, without the wide brim of her bonnet obscuring her face.

  His gaze went to the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was almost time for supper, but not quite. Surely they would be here very soon.

  His mother saw him then, and called out “Justin! There you are, dear. Lady Bellweather was just telling me of a concert to be held on Saturday evening that I think we should attend. It is a program of Renaissance songs, which I know you enjoy.”

  Justin smiled at her and came into the room to stand next to her. “Of course, Mother. It sounds delightful.”

  “Do you think perhaps Mrs. Aldritch and her sister might enjoy it, as well? I did hear Mrs. Aldritch say that she was very fond of music.”

  Lady Bellweather gave a loud, disapproving sniff.

  Before Justin could answer, the two ladies in question appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by the mention of their names. Mrs. Aldritch was turned away slightly to hand her shawl to a footman, while Miss Lane bounced merrily on her feet, her gaze lightly skimming over the crowd.

  Then Mrs. Aldritch faced the room, and he saw that she was even prettier than she had been in the tea shop. Her hair was caught up in soft, pale waves by a bandeau of ribbon and seed pearls. Her gown, a subdued cinnamon-brown silk, was perfectly respectable, but showed off a white throat and sloping shoulders.

  A small, polite smile curved her rose-pink lips as she looked around, one kid-gloved hand reaching out to catch her sister’s arm and still that bouncing.

  Amelia stood and started forward eagerly, tugging an unresisting Justin along in her wake.

  But they were not quite fast enough to be the first to reach them. Harry beat them handily, rushing up in a blur of black and yellow to bow politely over Mrs. Aldritch’s hand and eagerly over Miss Lane’s.

  “I do say!” he said breathlessly. “So good to see you, both of you, again. I must say I never . . .”

  Justin nudged Harry a bit to get him to cease prattling and release Miss Lane’s hand.

  “Good evening, Lady Lyndon, Lord Lyndon, Mr. Seward,” Mrs. Aldritch said softly. “It was indeed very good of you to invite us, but I fear we are rather late. I do apologize.”

  “Not at all,” Amelia said. “We were only just now thinking of going in to supper, my dear. Justin, would you escort Mrs. Aldritch? And Harry, I do believe you are to escort Miss Bellweather.”

  Harry blushed a bright, unflattering pink, and frowned. “Miss Bellweather! Dash it all, Mother, I did say . . .”

  “Yes,” his mother said firmly. “Miss Bellweather, who is waiting for you now. Miss Lane, do allow me to introduce you to your dinner partner, Mr. Allen.”

  Amelia led Miss Lane away, while Harry shuffled off reluctantly to Miss Bellweather, who looked just as crestfallen to have him for a supper partner as he was to not have Miss Lane. This left Justin quite alone with Mrs. Aldritch.

  Her dark eyes seemed rather anxious as she watched her sister walk away. Justin tried to smile at her reassuringly.

  “I do apologize for my brother’s puppyish behavior,” he said. “I will speak to him and tell him to cease bothering your sister at once.”

  She laughed wryly. “I must confess, I fear your brother’s . . . botherations are not entirely unwelcomed by my sister. I have spoken to her, but she is still quite young and rather headstrong.”

  Young and headstrong. Words that described Harry perfectly.

  Words that once would have described Justin, as well.

  He looked across the room to where Harry stood dutifully next to Miss Bellweather. Harry’s gaze was avidly fastened onto Miss Lane, where she stood laughing and talking with Mr. Allen. Every impatience, every passionate emotion was clearly written across his face.

  Lud, had he, Justin, ever really been that young?

  “So you knew my husband, Lord Lyndon?” Mrs. Aldritch said, drawing his attention back to her. She watched him closely, seriously. Her face was as blank and cool as Harry’s was open and obvious.

  “Larry Aldritch. Yes, I knew him. We were all friends, he and I, and Freddie Reed and James Burne-Jones. Back before I went out to India.” He shook his head. “That seems a hundred years ago now.”

  “Yes. A hundred years at least.”

  Justin looked down at her. She was so still, so dignified. How had she ever ended up married to such a wild youth as Larry Aldritch? Surely this woman, who seemed such a lady from the top of her pale hair to the hem of her brown silk skirt, had experienced much difficulty tolerating the sort of behavior Larry had gotten up to.

  Of course! That must be the reason she seemed so cool to him, so tense in his presence. She remembered him as being a friend of Larry’s, and disapproved.

  Perhaps that was the explanation for the very odd sense of recognition he felt around her, as well. Maybe he had met her back then and had been too foxed to recall the meeting clearly.

  Could he have insulted her in some way?

  By Jove, but he hoped not.

  “Did we meet before?” he said slowly, half dreading her answer.

  She shook her head. “No, Lord Lyndon, not that I recall. I did meet some of my husband’s friends, of course, but I seldom went out. I do not remember you, though I do remember Mr. Reed and Mr. Burne-Jones. You will have to tell me of your . . . adventures together sometime.”

  “So Larry never spoke of me?” he persisted. He had a burning desire to know what he might have done to insult her, so he could make it right.

  “No. But then, it was a long time ago. I have long forgotten most of my husband’s ramblings.” Her delicate jaw tightened.

  Justin’s stomach unknotted in relief. She hadn’t seen him at his very worst, then. He forced himself to give a light laugh. “Well, Mrs. Aldritch, I fear you wo
uld be quite bored by my tales of adventures, as you call them. They were all very commonplace and dull.”

  “As the follies of youth so often are,” she answered, smiling at him for the first time that evening. “I know that very well. But I am sure that your true adventures in India were hardly commonplace at all.”

  Justin shook his head, remembering the mosquitoes, the heat, and the appalling rain of the monsoons. “Some of them were very dull indeed, I assure you.”

  “At the tea shop yesterday your mother said you hunted tigers and fought battles with rebelling natives, where you saved a colonel’s life and won copious medals. That you survived fevers and plagues. That hardly seems dull to me.”

  “First of all, they were hardly battles. More like skirmishes,” he protested. “And I spent four years in India, Mrs. Aldritch. Of those, perhaps only six months were exciting.”

  “Exciting or dull, I should like to hear about them nonetheless.”

  He looked at her, surprised and rather pleased. “Would you really?”

  “Of course. I have never left England, and I probably never shall. I would love to hear of other lands. Other lives.”

  The butler appeared to announce that supper was served.

  Justin held out his arm to Mrs. Aldritch, and she slipped her hand softly into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to escort her into the dining room.

  “I would be happy to tell you of India,” he said, as he seated her at her place at the table. “Sometime soon?”

  She seemed to hesitate for a second, then slowly nodded her head. “Soon, Lord Lyndon.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Has your mother known Lady Lyndon very long?” Phoebe asked Sarah Bellweather. The two of them sat in one of the cushioned window seats after supper, watching the others play cards and whispering together.

  “Forever, it seems.” Sarah sighed. “They were quite the bosom bows when I came home from school. They expected me to marry Lord Lyndon, you know.”

  “No!” Phoebe, shocked, looked over to where Lord Lyndon played whist with her sister, Lady Lyndon, and Mr. Allen. He said something to Caroline, who nodded and smiled.

  How could he possibly marry Sarah Bellweather when Phoebe had picked him out especially for her own sister!

  “But . . . he’s so old,” she said faintly.

  Sarah grimaced. “I know. And I intend never to marry. I want to be an archaeologist.”

  Phoebe found this even more shocking than the thought of Sarah marrying old Lord Lyndon. Even though she had been widely considered the most daring girl at Mrs. Medlock’s School, Phoebe had never thought of doing anything but marrying.

  Her esteem for Sarah Bellweather grew by the moment.

  “You mean you want to dig about in the dirt for old bones?” she asked, having only the vaguest idea about what archaeologists did.

  “Yes, and old treasure, too. I have been reading all about ancient civilizations, and I have corresponded with several members of the Antiquarian Society in London. It is my greatest dream,” Sarah said wistfully. “But I fear it will never come true. Mama thinks all a lady should think about are babies and needlework. She’s been going on for weeks about how I should be charming to Lord Lyndon.”

  “You . . . you’re not really going to marry him, are you?” Phoebe asked, her gaze still on Caroline and Lord Lyndon. Caroline laughed, actually laughed, at something he was saying to her. “You absolutely cannot!”

  “I know that. I even told him I intend never to marry, just in case his mother had the same idea as mine. He was really very nice about it, and he agreed that we probably would not suit.”

  Phoebe smiled in relief. That was all right, then. Lyndon was safe for Caroline.

  “Now, though, I fear Mama has set her sights on Harry Seward for me,” Sarah continued. “She keeps saying that the brother of an earl is better than no connection to an earl at all.”

  What! Phoebe almost leaped out of her seat. No, that could not be! Harry Seward was hers; he admired her.

  Didn’t he?

  She turned to look at Harry where he sat playing cassino. She had little experience with gentlemen, it was true, but surely she could not have imagined his admiring glances?

  “And what do you think of the idea of marrying Mr. Seward?” she asked.

  Sarah gave an unladylike little snort. “That is even more absurd than the idea of marrying Lord Lyndon! Why, Harry Seward would not know a first-century amphora if it hit him over the head. No, I just need to disabuse Mama of all her ridiculous notions of marrying me off.”

  “I see. Yes.” Phoebe sat back against the wall, tapping her finger thoughtfully against her chin.

  “Oh, my dears, I win this trick!” Amelia cried delightedly, laying down her cards. “That means Mr. Allen and I have beat you most handily, Justin.”

  Justin laughed. “So you have, Mother! I fear I let Mrs. Aldritch down, after working so hard to persuade her to partner me.” He looked sheepishly at Mrs. Aldritch, who smiled as she laid down her own cards.

  “It was my own fault entirely, Lord Lyndon,” she answered. “I have not played whist for so long, my skills have become quite rusty.”

  “No, it is Mother’s fault for being such a cardsharper,” Justin teased.

  “Lord Lyndon!” Lady Bellweather cried from the next table. “You should not say such things about your own mother. A cardsharper, indeed!”

  “Nonsense, Dolly,” Lady Lyndon said, looking rather pleased at the thought of being a “sharper.” “I am quite a dab hand at whist. Now, my dears, I find myself in need of some refreshment.”

  “Shall I fetch you some tea, Mother?” Justin said, folding his cards neatly and rising to his feet.

  “So good of you, dear! Perhaps you would escort Mrs. Aldritch to the refreshment table, too? I am sure she must be fatigued after sitting for so long.”

  Justin peered closely at his mother, but she looked back at him steadily, all innocence. Could she possibly have suddenly switched her matchmaking machinations from Miss Bellweather to Mrs. Aldritch?

  Of course she could. And Justin found that he did not half mind the idea of being thrown together with Mrs. Aldritch. In fact, he rather liked it.

  “Would you care to accompany me, Mrs. Aldritch?” he asked her.

  “Thank you, Lord Lyndon. I think I would like some tea.” As she took his arm and they set off across the room to where the refreshments were laid out, she leaned closer and said quietly, “I would also like to find my sister. I fear I played too intently at the game, and she and Miss Bellweather have quite disappeared.”

  He looked around the room quickly and saw that she was right. Miss Lane and Miss Bellweather were gone.

  And so was Harry. He no longer played at the cassino table where Justin had left him after supper.

  “I am afraid my brother is also missing,” he muttered.

  “Oh, no! You don’t think they all would have gone off to get into some mischief, do you?” The fine, fair skin of her forehead wrinkled in a concerned frown.

  “With Harry, anything is possible,” Justin answered ruefully.

  “As with Phoebe. Oh, I am a terrible chaperon! I should have known better.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Aldritch. I am certain they have just gone into the library or some such place.”

  “Phoebe? In a library?”

  Somehow, Justin could not picture Harry there, either. “Perhaps not the library. But there are a great many other rooms in this house. I could search for them, if it would make you feel more at ease.”

  She nodded decisively. “I will go with you, Lord Lyndon. I do not have a good feeling about this at all.”

  “Mr. Seward! Do be careful. Those rocks look slippery,” Phoebe cried, clasping her hands together tightly as she watched Harry climb out on some rocky outcroppings over a small, sheltered cove.

  He had claimed there was smugglers’ treasure hidden there, just beneath the rocks, when he had come to sit with her and Sarah after
his card game ended. When he offered to show it to them, it seemed a fine lark.

  Now Phoebe was not so sure. Harry’s thin-soled evening shoes slipped and slid on the wet rocks as he inched his way out.

  “Oh, do be careful!” she called again.

  Sarah Bellweather was more blunt. “You’re a silly fool, Harry Seward,” she said, pausing in drawing a stick through the sand to watch his hapless progress. “There’s probably no treasure there at all.”

  “There is!” Harry shouted back. “I saw it just last night. Silks, no doubt, and brandy and wine.”

  “Well, even if there is a treasure, I’m sure the smugglers would not take kindly to your stealing it,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “They would probably shoot you down.”

  “Shoot him!” Phoebe cried, appalled. “Oh, Mr. Seward, do come back, please.”

  “Smugglers don’t frighten me, Miss Lane,” Harry answered stoutly, kneeling down and stretching his hand between an outcropping of two rocks. “I think I just about have something now. Yes, I definitely feel something—” He broke off with a high-pitched scream. “Ahhh!” he shrieked, falling down flat on his face, his hand still caught in the rocks.

  “Whatever are you carrying on about?” Sarah called, her eyes wide.

  “It bit off my hand!” Harry screamed in reply, flailing his black satin-clad legs about.

  Phoebe felt herself tilting swiftly into hysterics. The man she was falling in love with was dying right before her eyes!

  It was just like The Sins of Lady Lydia.

  She turned and fled up the incline toward the Sewards’ house, tears streaming down her face. All she could think of was finding Caroline and making her save the day, while Harry flailed and screamed and Sarah called out futile instructions to him to keep breathing.

  “They are not in here.” Caroline pushed aside the last large plant in the conservatory and fell down wearily onto a wrought-iron chaise. “I feel we have searched everywhere.”

  “We have, almost.” Justin brushed some flower petals from his hair and sat down in a chair next to her. “They were not in the library or the morning room or the upstairs gallery. The servants have not seen them. The only place we have not searched is the attic, and I am sure Harry would not muss his attire by going up there.”