A Breath of Scandal: The Reckless Brides (17 page)

And there was an ancient yew tree, leaning up against the east side of the house as if it were too tired to stand on its own. Oh, yes, Preston would have taken great advantage of that. The trunk must by now be shiny with her comings and goings.

Thomas broke into his idle musings. “Whose house is this?”

“A friend’s,” Will answered, and then amended, “A young lady friend’s.”

Thomas’s face showed no enlightenment. “Why are we here?”

“Because the young lady is my friend, and that is what gentlemen do—they call upon their friends and inquire after their health and well-being.” That was certainly as bland and innocuous a purpose as he could possibly concoct. And it kept him from thinking too much about his real purpose—coming to a right understanding of where things stood between Preston and him, and where things were likely to go. If her mother
had
discovered anything about her whereabouts, or her companion of the previous night, he owed it to both Preston and her family to make his intentions, such as they were, known.

“Are you courting her?” Thomas’s voice was heaped with boyish disdain for humans of the opposite sex.

“No.” But if it came to it, he liked her enough to come courting. Not that anything would come of it. All he had to do was show Mrs. Preston that reasonable and influential people like the Jellicoe family, people who knew Stubby to be firmly in the wrong, could be found in Hampshire. And once Mrs. Preston understood that her daughter would not face any real censure—Lady Barrington, withstanding—she would not be banished to libraries during balls, and could move about freely in society. A girl like Preston would readily find new friends, and new admirers, with whom to pass her time.

Which was, of a sudden, an uncomfortably unpleasant thought.

“Do I have to go in?”

Will affixed his young brother with the long, silent, what-the-bloody-hell-do-you-think look that he had perfected courtesy of years in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, and let it go at that.

Accordingly, Thomas relinquished control of the gig to the stableman who came trotting around the corner of the house, and followed Will to the door.

He let the brass knocker fall. “Commander William Jellicoe and the Honorable Master Thomas Jellicoe.”

The distinguished-looking housekeeper who answered the door took one look at his card, and immediately asked him to step across the wide stone threshold and into the entryway. “If Commander Jellicoe would be so good, my mistress is receiving visitors in the drawing room.”

“Certainly.” The drawing room proved to be a sunny, yellow room where three people—a woman Will assumed to be Preston’s mother, an older man, and a beautiful young woman who must be Preston’s sister—awaited them with varying degrees of surprise and curiosity.

“Commander William Jellicoe and the Honorable Master Thomas Jellicoe,” the housekeeper repeated with a quick bob.

“Thank you, Little.” Mrs. Preston appeared to be an impeccably dressed, waspish matron of middle years, with a dyspeptic demeanor. She looked thoroughly unhappy when they entered, but she managed to scrape a smile off the carpet, and greet him with some graciousness.

“Mrs. Preston.” Will bowed very correctly. “Commander William Jellicoe, at your service.”

“Commander Jellicoe, how do you do.” Mrs. Preston rose and made a slow, elegant curtsy. Her tone was careful. “To what do we owe this honor?”

The woman was pleasant enough, but Will was under no illusions that he had been shown in for any other reason than curiosity about his family name.

“I was introduced to your daughter at the Barrington ball, last night, ma’am.”

“Oh, yes.” Her carefully pleasant expression didn’t change. “There were so many young men wanting to dance with dear Cassandra.”

She made a graceful gesture to indicate the breathtakingly beautiful girl, who rose and made a curtsy. He recalled her instantly from the ball—his brother had been rather taken by her Madonna-like serenity. But dear Miss Cassandra Preston looked genuinely terrified at the prospect of trying to remember him—her grip on the back of the upholstered chair was white. Evidently, beauty was not as great a charm against shyness as he might have thought.

Will took pity on her. “Actually, I did not have the pleasure of being introduced to Miss Preston at the ball. But rather, I was introduced to Miss Antigone.”

If Miss Preston’s expression brightened, the same could not be said for her mother. Mrs. Preston’s pleasant expression faded, and she grew carefully still. “Miss Antigone?” Her gaze went to the pinched-looking older man. “There must be some mistake, sir. Miss Antigone is not…” She foundered on some unseen shoal. “Miss Antigone is not
out
.”

Not out? The idea was laughable—they had certainly had no luck in keeping her
in
. But Will was nothing if not adaptable.

The older gentleman, whose turn it was to look dyspeptic when Will swung his eyes to him, echoed, “Yes. Not out.”

Will waited politely for the introduction that would surely come, but something in his gut told him he already knew the name of the Prestons’ visitor—Lord Aldridge.

Will was curious to match the man to the disembodied voice from the Barrington library. He was surprised to find Lord Aldridge a man of more advanced years, who had the underhanded, nip-cheese look of a ship’s purser who was secretly cheating on stores. Perhaps the man had an interest in the widow, which would explain both his presence with the family, and Preston’s resentment at his involvement. Three months of mourning a husband was an almost obscenely short amount of time for a widow.

Who did the honors with as little grace as possible. “Are you acquainted with Commander Jellicoe, Lord Aldridge?”

Lord Aldridge did Will the courtesy of accepting the introduction. He bowed, stiffly and correctly. “How do you do? May I ask after the health of your family, Commander Jellicoe.”

“Good afternoon, sir.” Will knew exactly how the game was to be played. “The earl and countess are well, I thank you, sir. May I introduce my younger brother, the Honorable Master Thomas Jellicoe.”

Another set of polite bows and curtsies all around. “Please give them our kindest regards,” his lordship said.

“I will. Very kind of you, I’m sure.”

“Thank you.” Another stiff nod. “But you are not here to chat with me.”

“Yes, I came to inquire after Miss Antigone.” Will turned back to give Mrs. Preston his most charming smile, the one that even his own mother could rarely resist. “Not
out,
you said? I beg your pardon. I did not think that the case. We met, you see, at Lady Barrington’s ball. And Antigone is such a singular name, is it not? Her next dance was promised to me, before she had the misfortune to be importuned by Mr. Stubbs-Haye, who has been well-known in Hampshire, I am sorry to report, to try his worst behavior on young ladies new to the district. I should like to know who recommended Stubbs-Haye as a partner to Miss Antigone. They have a lot to answer for, don’t you think?”

That tacit mention of Lady Barrington went perhaps a bit too far, judging by the frightened flare of Mrs. Preston’s nostrils.

“Well,” Will carried on, “I thought I owed Miss Antigone another dance, or at the very least a walk, as compensation for our missed dance, since the day is so fine. Or at least much finer than it has been for quite some time. Or like to be for quite some time more.” He laughed at his own little meteorological joke, while a veritable barrage of silent, pointed looks were volleying between the lord and his hostess.

Will tried another sally. “I was concerned for her when she quit the ballroom after her unfortunate dance with Mr. Stubbs-Haye. I came in the hopes of showing her that at least some men in Hampshire society know how to act the gentleman.”

“That is very good of you, Commander Jellicoe. And I’m sure we’re very sensible of the honor you do us, and Miss Antigone”—Mrs. Preston again looked to Lord Aldridge—“but I’m afraid Miss Antigone will not be able to take you up on your very kind offer. As I said, she is … not
out.
”

But the lady’s eyes were on Lord Aldridge as she spoke, and not on Will.

Will brought her attention back. “Oh, dear. I hope she has not taken ill? I can imagine how Mr. Stubbs-Haye’s incredibly bad behavior—someone needs to strike him off the invitation lists, don’t you agree—might have overset her, but—”

Lord Aldridge belatedly took his cue from his hostess. “Yes, very sensible of the honor, I’m sure,” he cut in. And then he gestured to the door, as if he would see Will out. “Good of you to call. Perhaps I might walk out with you. I am always interested in getting a closer look at Downpark’s famous bloodstock.”

Will felt himself being routed. But he was confident he could do as well with the gentleman as he normally did with the ladies. He could charm Lord Aldridge as well if need be.

Thomas made a good start of it as they walked out to the drive. “I drove the Stanhope with my father’s best near-side leader—one of the chestnuts with the white stockings.”

“One of a pair?” Aldridge made the appropriate sounds of admiration, and stood and watched as the Stanhope was brought round, and Thomas ascended to take the reins. But it was clear Lord Aldridge’s only true purpose was in waiting for an opportunity to speak to Will alone.

“Commander Jellicoe, I hope I can rely on your discretion as a gentleman,” the older man asked quietly with his gaze fixed resolutely on the carriage.

The hair on the back of Will’s nape lifted, just as it always did when someone was about to lie to him. So he gave Aldridge his best version of a grave smile and lied right back. “Of course, sir.”

“It was very kind of you to call upon Miss Antigone as you have. But you needn’t do so, even for politeness’ sake.” Aldridge spoke hesitantly, as if he were feeling his way along in a fog. “Miss Antigone is young, and has not been out much in the world. I’m sure you understand.”

Not much out in the world? They could not possibly be talking about the same girl—the one who had laid Stubby out with such efficient dispatch. Who had handled that great beast of a mare with ease and confidence. Who had thrown herself into a tavern brawl with a breathtaking lack of concern for her physical well-being. Did they even know her?

“Miss Antigone? Tall girl, blue eyes?” Right like a cannon.

“Yes. Just so. I thank you.” Lord Aldridge gave Will a kind smile and bowed, indicating the interview was at an end.

He was being warned off. Rather clumsily. Clearly Lord Aldridge didn’t understand what he was saying.

Will smiled, just as kindly. “What I understand, my lord, is that old Stubby behaved abominably, as he usually does. And I wanted to make sure Miss Antigone suffered no lasting hurt from the incident.”

“No.” Lord Aldridge smiled politely into the middle distance, and waved his hand genially, but Will could see the tightness around his mouth. “She is quite fine—no lasting hurt—but will not be moving in society for … quite some time. I hope you understand, Commander.”

Will didn’t understand at all. He refused to.

He is nothing to me,
she had said.

But Lord Aldridge, crabby aristocrat that he certainly was, was clearly something to her. No. That was not exactly correct. What was true was that
she
was something—something important and valued—to Lord Aldridge.

But why was Aldridge warning him off?

Most men with a wayward girl for a potential stepdaughter would be only too happy to pawn her off on a well-connected, well-employed fellow like William Jellicoe. True, he wasn’t the heir, and at present he was not exactly well employed, but he wasn’t small beer, either. He’d earned his own respectable fortune in the navy by his share of prizes. The man seemed to know his father—a few well-placed words of inquiry would have been all that was needed for Lord Aldridge to confirm Commander William Jellicoe’s rather shockingly superior marriageability.

Not that he was proposing marriage—not at all—but he was marriageable, goddamn it.

But Aldridge was already backing away, and the horse was growing as restive as his driver. It was time to take their leave.

He had been well and truly warned off.

He was going to need another plan.

*   *   *

“Antigone?” Cassandra poked her nose around the door of their bedchamber, where Antigone was curled up in the window seat reading a novel. She had gone to ground there as soon as Lord Aldridge’s carriage had been visible in the drive, and for once, Mama hadn’t protested.

One look at the bruises that were Antigone’s souvenir from the night before had seen Mama hauling her out of bed at Northfield, and dragging her home, lecturing all the way about how fortunate they were that Lord Aldridge hadn’t seen the grim reminders of her unfortunate and unseemly incident upon the dance floor. Antigone saw no reason to enlighten her mother as to the true nature of the bruises, nor how she had acquired them, and happily used the excuse to hide from Lord Aldridge

Her sister’s whispered greeting was all the warning Antigone got before Mama followed hard upon Cassie’s heels.

“How do you know Commander Jellicoe?” her mother demanded.

Antigone was very careful not to sit up too fast, because the blood was already rushing from her head. “Who?” she queried with as much innocence as she could fabricate.

“Commander Jellicoe. He was just here.”

Oh, good bloody Lord. Antigone had to grip the cushion to keep from craning her head out the window to try to catch a glimpse of him. She hadn’t expected that—for Jellicoe to come calling. What on earth had he said? Mama was certainly in a lather.

Antigone tried to keep her voice even and unconcerned. “What did he want?”

“So you do know him—” her mother began at the same time as Cassandra came to her aid.

“He said he met you at Lady Barrington’s ball.” Cassie’s whispered rush, and small smile behind their mother’s back, was encouraging. “And he brought his younger brother, the Honoroable Thomas, with him.”

But Antigone wasn’t going to play all her cards at once. Especially not when she held a losing hand. “Oh, I suppose I may have met him. What did he look like?” She was not by nature comfortable with lying, but this uncomfortable situation with Lord Aldridge required delicate maneuvering.