A Wager for Love (15 page)

“Can I what?” interrupted Lavinia a little dryly. “Do you think I am not capable?” .

“Oh no, indeed,” averred Kitty hurriedly. “It is just that it will be such an undertaking. I ain sure I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” she admitted frankly.

Lavinia shrugged, unwilling to betray her own doubts of her abilities. “Well, I shall be able to call on Lady Elizabeth for help, and then of course, there is Saltaire’s housekeeper. There must surely have been balls at the house before.”

“Well, yes,” admitted Kitty, still a little doubtful. “But …”

Before she could say any more, the carriage was stopping outside the select Modiste patronised by Lady Elizabeth. Lavinia entered the shop in the manner of one about to join battle, and Kitty, who only the previous day had decided that Lavinia must have very little interest in clothes, now found herself gulping with admiration, tinged with dismay, as Lavinia recklessly ordered gown after gown. The Modiste, recognising a good customer when she saw one, bustled forward herself, waving her assistants aside.

“Perhaps if I may be allowed to help, Madam?”

Lavinia, absently fingering a roll of lemon and russet striped tabby, turned. “Yes.” The gowns she had already chosen, walking dresses, afternoon dresses, a riding habit in an emerald velvet which set off` her colouring to advantage, were all very beautiful, but for the ball she wanted something special. She eyed the Modiste shrewdly. “I need a ball gown within the month. Something very special, you understand?”

The Modiste beamed. Indeed she did. “A ball, you say. Ah yes, that must be Lady Arawak’s.”

Lavinia shook her head. Then Kitty, impulsive as always burst in, “No, it is our … I mean the Countess of Saltaire`s ball.”

The Modiste eyed Lavinia speculatively. She had heard of Saltaire’s marriage. Indeed, who had not? And it was true to say that in the past in one way or another a good deal of his money had come her way. So this was the new Countess. Not strictly a beauty, but she had a certain something, and that hair-such a glorious colour. Madam was right to leave it unpowdered. For a few moments she contemplated Lavinia in silence. So Madam wanted a very special gown. “Special, you say?” she murmured, “I think I have the very thing. It is new from France, the doll and the material arrived only this morning. There will not be another to match it, you may be assured of that.”

Before their bemused eyes she unrolled the material. Both Lavinia and Kitty gasped in appreciation. It was pale lemon satin, embroidered in a delicate gold tracery of leaves and flowers, the centre of each flower hung with a minute emerald. Lavinia touched it admiringly. The Modiste smiled in satisfaction. “Admittedly it is a difficult colour to wear. On a blonde, too insipid. On a brunette,” she smiled in Kitty’s direction, “pretty, but it can make the complexion appear a trifle sallow. But on Madam, La Comtesse,” – she glanced approvingly at Lavinia `s locks - “it will be magnificent.”

Lavinia tentatively fingered the material. It was beautiful, and doubtless vastly expensive. She wavered for a second and then, remembering the unpleasantness of the Earl`s remarks, her resolve hardened. He considered her a country dowd, did he? Well, let him see her in this. So busy was she contemplating the occasion when he would see her in this gown, that it did not occur to her that such a desire was rather strange. Especially in one who had declared only a few short hours before that she hated the Earl. She touched the material again, a small secret smile curving her mouth, which the Modiste, an extremely shrewd person, had not the slightest difficulty in recognising. The Countess would surely have the material. And the man for whom she would wear it? Ah, she was far too astute to mention him. Let the Countess keep her secret if she wished.

“l shall have it,” announced Lavinia recklessly. “And now for the style.”

Eagerly the Modiste produced the pattern doll. “If I might suggest, My Lady …” She had no need to say any more. Lavinia was enraptured. Looped over an absolutely plain ivory underskirt and lavishly trimmed with lace, the dress was entrancing. She nodded approvingly. “Yes, that is perfect.”

Only Kitty seemed a little uncertain. “But, Lavinia,” she whispered. “It is a little on the low side, don’t you think?”

The Modiste raised one supercilious eyebrow and Lavinia, who had until that moment been wondering herself if the neckline was not a trifle outre, was reassured. “My Lady would not accuse me of selling anything that was not entirely comme il faut?”

“Oh no. No such thing,” averred Lavinia. “I’m sure you know just what is best. But do you think I could perhaps have gold lace?” asked Lavinia hesitantly.

The Modiste nodded approvingly. “Indeed, My Lady is taste is impeccable. Nothing could be better. Gold lace it shall be. Madam will be ravissement.”

“If not ravished,” murmured Kitty, sotto voce, earning herself a reproving smile from Lavinia.

“Now, Kitty, you too must have a new dress. We cannot let Saltaire down.” There was a faint trace of irony in the dulcet tones, which made Kitty look a little suspiciously at the older girl. Her first impression that Lavinia was a quiet, dull sort of person was rapidly undergoing a change. “What think you of this rose brocade, Lavinia?” Kitty asked longingly.

Lavinia shook her head firmly. “I’m afraid not, it must be white.”

Kitty pulled a face, but the Modiste intervened soothingly. “But naturellement, white it must be for such a jeune fille as yourself. Ah, how delightful to be young enough to carry off the very simplest of styles. Mamselle will look like an angel.”

Lavinia hid a smile. It would be difficult to find anyone less angelic than Kitty.

The details discussed and the orders placed, at last the two ladies took their leave. “Now where, Kitty? The milliners perhaps? But I really want some perfume.”

Kitty looked a little uncertain. “It is getting late,” she objected. “Oughtn’t we to be getting back?”

Lavinia gave her a sharp look. “Why?”

Kitty wriggled uncomfortably beneath her penetrating gaze. “Well, it we were to have any callers …”

“… They will doubtless leave cards, and call again,” broke in Lavinia. “Besides we have scarcely met anyone yet.”

Kitty flushed. “But perhaps Richard may call.”

“Richard?” If she had not been so intent on a most satisfying daydream, wherein she appeared in her new gown, and straightaway had the entire male population of London at her feet, Lavinia might have been quicker on the uptake. As it was, she merely said a little sharply, “Lud, Kitty, I dare swear Richard has a hundred better things to do than call on his sister.” Then seeing the younger girl’s downcast face, she added, “Perhaps you are right. We can finish our shopping tomorrow, and it might be as well if I were to see the housekeeper today. There is a good deal to be done.”

“Won’t Saltaire be surprised when he sees our finery?”

Lavinia answered quickly, “You are to say nothing of this to Saltaire, Kitty.”

“But why?” Kitty’s brow creased in perplexity. “Oh I have it, you want it to be a surprise?”

“Er, yes. That’s it,” responded Lavinia, thankfully. “A surprise.

“Oh well, have it your own way,” shrugged Kitty, giggling suddenly in a manner which had Lavinia looking at her speculatively, “Oh, It’s nothing, Lavinia. I was just wondering what Saltaire would think of your riding habit.”

“Oh, as to that,” responded Lavinia airily, “I doubt he will see me in it. Saltaire is far too busy to go riding with his wife, and to own the truth I should not wish it.”

Kitty said nothing. Young she may be, but to her mind it was not right that such a newly married lady should speak so unromantically of her husband. And such a handsome husband at that.

What with the traffic on the roads, and the slowness of the driver, it was well into the afternoon before the two ladies eventually returned to Grosvenor Square. Alighting from the carriage, Lavinia instructed the impassive footman to collect their packages, as she, with Kitty in her wake, swept into the hall.

Lavinia was sitting at her bureau, looking at the many invitations which seemed to arrive in a never ending stream. She sighed heavily, thinking of their own ball. She must pen a note to Lady Elizabeth, requesting her assistance, and she must see the housekeeper. With such intentions in mind, she turned to Kitty who was perusing a copy of the Ladies Journal. There was a discreet tap on the door, and it opened. “My lady, Viscount Ordley and the Marquis of Andover are enquiring if you are at home?”

Lavinia drew in her brows a little. Ordley? That was surely Saltaire’s cousin, the man to whom Richard had lost the seventy thousand guineas. Before she could deny them, Kitty jumped to her feet, the book forgotten. “Callers, oh good. I vow. Lavinia, I find it vastly wearying just sitting here. Show them in.”

Before Lavinia could remonstrate with her, the visitors were being ushered into the room. Viscount Ordley advanced towards her, a rather fixed smile pinned to his heavy features. “Ah, Countess. How charming.” He glanced round. “Saltaire not here? Well, never mind.” He did not see fit to mention the fact that he knew Saltaire to be safely ensconced in his club. With a swift assessing glance at the ladies, he made Lavinia a genteel leg.

She barely acknowledged his greeting, for one amazed glance at his companion had set her pulses racing. It was the man she had seen so briefly at the rout party the previous evening. He strolled easily across the floor, hardly glancing at Kitty. In the daylight he was even more attractive than she had remembered, with his aristocratic features and vivid blue eyes. He was modishly dressed in blue velvet with a quantity of foaming lace.

Viscount Ordley could barely restrain his delight as he saw Lavinia’s expression. She was far better than he had dared hope. Trust Andover to know how to make the best of the situation, he thought cynically. “Pray allow me to introduce a good friend of mine, The Marquis of Andover. He is but recently returned from France.”

Andover stepped forward and raised Lavinia’s fingers to his lips with easy grace, eyeing her a little quizzically.

Despite her intentions, Lavinia found herself blushing a little, glad of the fact that she had found time to change into one of her new afternoon gowns. Did he hold her hand just a fraction too long? Perhaps not. But there was no mistaking the firm pressure of his warm fingers on hers.

Ordley’s voice broke the spell. “I took the liberty of calling on you, cousin, to enquire if you would care to make up a party for Lady Harrington’s ridotto tomorrow night?”

Bemused, Lavinia shook her head, a little surprised by his invitation, “I don’t really know what plans Saltaire might have.”

“SaItaire?” The Viscount’s eyebrows rose in well-bred surprise. “But surely-I thought you must know. Forgive me, if I am obtuse but …”

There was an ominous silence, whilst Lavinia tried to conceal her very natural embarrassment. How foolish of her. Doubtless Saltaire would have his own plans for the evening, and just as doubtless they would not include her, but was it really necessary for him to flaunt them before the world? She frowned a little. She was behaving like the veriest country clod, but she was wary of making any definite arrangements, even though Ordley was Saltaire’s cousin. Her husband’s warning still rang in her ears, and she had an uncomfortable suspicion that he would not look too kindly on such a plan.

Before she could voice her objections. however. Kitty burst out, “Oh say we may go, Lavinia.”

“Kitty,” she reproved. “You must forgive her. I fear she has but recently left the schoolroom.”

Although the words were addressed to Orrdley, it was the Marquis who replied. “Indeed a charming child. ” His voice dropped a little. “But I, for my part, prefer ladies of, shall we say, a few more years.”

His meaning was quite plain. The colour came and went in Lavinia’s face. A smile dimpled her mouth. “I fear you are flattering me, Sir.”

He shook his head and replied gravely, “Madam, I never flatter.” This delicious compliment had her lost for words, but the Marquis, ever the gentleman, came to her rescue. “Perhaps then I may be permitted to add my pleas to those of Ordley’s. I own I should very much like you to join our little party, but, of course, if Saltaire does not …”

He left the sentence unfinished, and Kitty, who had come to join them, pouted prettily, “Oh, Lavinia, please say we may Richard could come,” she coaxed. “Why, it will be most pleasant. A family party.”

Lavinia smiled. Kitty was adept at twisting things to suit her own ends. A family party indeed. Kitty waited, her dark eyes shrewd. She had not missed the looks the Marquis was giving Lavinia, and was honest enough to admit to a slight feeling of jealousy. Such a vastly handsome man. Such an air. Something of the rake about him. She shivered delicately. Something dangerous and untamed. Like Saltaire himself, she realised with a start.

Ordley, judging it time to add a little fuel to the fire he had so carefully lit, took a pinch of snuff and inhaled delicately. Making much ado about brushing away the specks from his satin, he said, “Lud, it is a rare joke. Saltaire has become so convenable since he got the title. I swear one wouldn’t know him if it weren’t …” His speculative eyes rested just for a second on Kitty. “It don’t seem a few months since he was setting the town by the ears.”

“Why? What did he do?” asked the irrepressible Kitty, whilst Lavinia sighed, stifling a small feeling of dislike for her cousin by marriage.

Ordley raised one eyebrow, his eyes malicious. “Well. I’m afraid I cannot really …”

Andover cut in smoothly. “Really, Ordley, I’m afraid you are becoming positively boring, isn’t he, Countess? Surely we needn’t waste the whole afternoon discussing Saltaire’s peccadillos?”

Lavinia shot him a grateful glance, but, despite their pleas, she steadfastly refused to give in to the gentlemen’s entreaties to join their party, and thus it was with many regrets that they eventually took their leave.

Once the door had closed behind them, Kitty rounded on Lavinia, eyes sparkling. “Why, Lavinia, I declare it is vastly unfeeling of you. It would have been a most enjoyable evening.”