Beloved (13 page)

“Yes,” Mama said. “You’ve worried us all.”

“For that, I’m sorry. These have been… unusual times.”

“I expect they’re glad to see you’re in possession of your faculties, old man,” Devlin said, laughing and showing his marvelous
white teeth. “Probably afraid you aren’t capable of handling your estate. Ripe for some unscrupulous type’s shenanigans. Or
an asylum. Now they can put those fears to rest, eh?”

Tension emanated from Saber. “I can’t imagine why they should think such things. A man’s got a right to prefer a quiet life.”

“ ’Course he does,” Devlin agreed seriously. He raised his eyes—and his arched black brows. “There’s Margot. I thought you
said she wouldn’t come tonight. I suppose she couldn’t stay away once she knew we’d be here.”

The woman who approached, her smile for no one but Saber, set Ella’s pulse thrumming. Amber glowed in combs holding the copper-colored
ringlets that cascaded from a plaited arcade at her crown. Even at a distance, Ella caught the glow of the woman’s eyes as
they watched Saber, the glow of joy at the sight of him. Eyes like fine brandy. A face as exquisite as a porcelain doll. And
a body as voluptuous as Ella’s was slender. Voluptuous in patent lace over satin the same color as cinnamon diamonds.

“Mon chi,”
she said huskily when she arrived before Saber. “How happy this makes me.” A wide, square neckline, edged with cream lace,
revealed the tops of full, white breasts.

“Margot,” Saber said, taking the woman’s hand and bowing to kiss it. “It always makes me happy to see you.”

Ella’s arms fell to her side. “This is Countess Perruche,” Saber said to the assembled group. “We are old friends.”

“Very old friends,” Devlin said, his cheerful demeanor showing no sign that he’d noted the stiffness that had crept into the
moment. “Saber and Margot inspire me.”

Ella made herself look away from them and ask, “Inspire you, Devlin?”

He shrugged, and pushed his lips forward. “Devotion is always to be envied and sought after, don’t you think?”

The countess smiled around the circle and moved to Ella’s side. “You must be little Ella. I have heard a great deal about
you.”

Not so little,
Ella longed to say. So it was true. Saber and this lovely creature were…Well, they were, that was all.

“Saber has told me that you were not even sixteen when he met you.”

“Years ago,” Ella said quickly.

Countess Perruche inclined her head. “As you say.” She looked at Saber again. “Saber and I met in India. He has been most
generous to me.”

Ella noted how Mama studied the floor and Papa threaded his hands beneath the tails of his evening coat behind his back. Neither
continued to smile.

A scuffle, accompanied by a high-pitched giggle, broke the tension. Precious Able trotted through the French windows and stopped
when she saw the silent company that watched her arrive.

“It’s lovely outside,” she said in her high, coy voice. “Really lovely, isn’t it, Pommy?”

Smoothing his thin brown hair, Pomeroy Wokingham followed her inside. He passed Precious as if she had ceased to exist and
joined Ella’s group—as if he’d been invited. “I’m damned,” he said, staring at Saber. “Avenall? Thought you weren’t quite
…Well, to be blunt—and I do believe in being blunt—to be blunt, I thought you weren’t quite yourself anymore, old boy.”

“Pommy,” Precious whined, pushing to the center of the gathering. “I’m cold. You promised me a little something to warm me.”
She did not wear the cloak Pomeroy had promised, and her pink dress was crumpled.

“It
is
cold,” Ella said, suddenly feeling guilty that she might have caused this light-brained girl discomfort by abandoning her
to the foul Hon. Pom. “You should go into one of the parlors where there is a fire, Precious.”

Precious’s eyes hardened on Ella. “Pommy’s going to make sure I’m warm, aren’t you, Pommy?”

He ignored her. His gaze lingered rudely on Saber’s face, but he spoke to Papa. “It’s good to see you again, Hunsingore. My
father’s a bit under the weather, or he’d be here. My father holds you and your lady in the highest regard. He said as much
after we visited Hanover Square.” Pomeroy turned his attention to Ella. “Not, of course, in quite as high a regard as I hold
you, Ella.”

Her throat closed. “Thank you,” she muttered, loath to incite further unpleasantness. “Perhaps we should consider going home.”
She could not look at Saber again, or at the gorgeous Countess Perruche, whom he clearly admired—if that was the appropriate
term for his feelings toward the woman.

“May I call upon Miss Ella tomorrow, Lord Hunsingore?” Pomeroy asked pretentiously.

“I have appointments with the modiste tomorrow,” Ella said rapidly.

“Perhaps you would allow me to accompany you,” Pomeroy said, his pointed teeth showing.

“The devil she will,” Saber snapped. “What d’you think—”

“Ella’s mother will accompany her,” Papa said, his dislike for Pomeroy evident. He turned his attention to Viscount Hawkesly,
a handsome Cornishman, and his lovely wife. “Calum has spoken of you often lately. I hadn’t realized you were such close neighbors.”

“I say,” Devlin said, stooping. “Some lady’s lost a gewgaw of some sort, what?” He flourished a piece of red chiffon aloft.

Ella could not move.

Devlin studied each of the females in the group. “Doesn’t look as if it belongs here.” He looked at the chiffon. “A lady’s
topknot’s missing its crowning glory, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Ella met Papa’s eyes. He smiled, and in his smile was reassurance, and a warning. She was not to react in any way to what
might be a cruel joke, or merely a sickening coincidence.

“Oh, dear,” Mama exclaimed suddenly. She reached for the wisp of scarlet material and took it from Devlin. “Now my surprise
is out.” She tucked the piece into her reticule.

Devlin folded his arms and grinned. “Surprise, my dear lady? Do you intend to appear at some masquerade ball as a harem girl?
Dashed appealing you’d be, I’m sure.”

Papa’s frown was thunderous.

“Oh, no,” Mama said, laughing self-consciously. “Ella has such striking coloring, I decided we would dispense with tradition
and have her wear red for her ball rather than something pale. You do not enjoy pale colors, do you, Ella?”

“No.” Her own croaking whisper appalled Ella. “I am tired, Papa.” Poor, dear Mama. She knew the story and she, too, had overreacted
to the chiffon. Red chiffon.

She’d worn a blindfold as she was led into the room. “Ella.” The creature who had held her captive spoke imperiously and removed
the blindfold. “It is time to take off your cloak.”

Ella had clutched the neck of the velvet cloak tightly, but the voice barked out again, “Ella is an innocent. Such a prize.
Take off the cloak, child.”

The woman who had blindfolded Ella had issued a warning: “Do wot she says. Do it quick. It’ll go easier wiv yer if yer don’t
fight. You’ll be sorry if yer fight.”

“Take off the cloak.”

She’d pushed the velvet from her shoulders and let it fall. And the men and women in the room—bejeweled and drunken, some
half-naked, had gasped loudly. Men had begged her to come to them. Women had urged their partners on, demanding to “see more,”
while some had laughed and said that there couldn’t be much more to see.

Clad only in a dress fashioned of transparent red chiffon, she had stood before a room crowded with lascivious strangers.

“Ella?”

She heard Papa say her name and managed to smile at him. Anger toughened his lean, handsome face. “Does the hour grow late?”
she asked him, at a loss for a more inventive remark.

“Very late,” he told her.

“Red chiffon for your ball, my dear,” Pomeroy said, his heavy eyelids drooping. “What a delicious vision you’ll make.”

“We shall all look forward to that,” Devlin said heartily. “What say you, Saber?”

Saber took a long while to answer, and when he did, it was without as much as glancing at Ella. “Will you all excuse us, please?
I must escort Margot to her lodgings.”

Holding Countess Perruche’s elbow, he walked away.

Ella watched him go.

“I shouldn’t care to wear red for my ball,” Precious said. “My parents would say it wasn’t at all the thing.”

Mrs. Able chose that moment to put in a belated appearance. With her came a tall, stoop-shouldered man dressed entirely in
black.

“Mama and Papa,” Precious trilled. “Do persuade dear Ella that she shouldn’t wear red for her ball. Papa, you tell Ella and
her mama and papa.”

Devlin bowed his head. Taking advantage of the musicians’ enthusiastic play, he spoke quietly to Ella. “I don’t know what
has happened here, but I want you to listen carefully to what I say. There is something not at all as it should be, and I
mean to find out what it is.”

Ella closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. He must not probe. No one must probe. And she would hope that the thing
Devlin had found was, indeed, a gewgaw from some lady’s hair.

“Leave it to me,” Devlin persisted. “And do not think badly of Saber. He is very fond of you.”

Very fond.
So fond he had left with a woman who was obviously far more than the object of his
fondness
. And he had walked away with that woman without as much as wishing Ella goodbye—after what had happened between them in this
very house.

Well, Lord Avenall had not heard the last of her yet. She had pursued him tirelessly before. Now she had even more reason
to pursue him—at least until he had the courage to tell her he did not love her.

Saber had not said he didn’t love her. He hadn’t said he
did
love her—other than as a friend. But she would not give up yet. She might not know a great deal about such things, but she
was aware that men often sought the companionship of a certain type of female for comforts of a kind Ella could certainly
guess at now. The thought of Saber seeking solace with anyone but her turned Ella’s heart, but she would be brave. She would
prove to him that he didn’t need a ladybird because he could have Ella.

“So deep in thought, Ella,” Pomeroy Wokingham said as if he were her conspirator. “And so pale beneath that golden skin. Let
me take you for some refreshment. There is nothing like a little confection to put roses back into lovely cheeks.”

“That’s another thing,” Precious said. “Red wouldn’t do a thing for someone with such a sallow complexion, would it, Mama?”

Devlin offered Ella his arm, and she leaned gratefully upon it. Her parents moved closer together and began moving through
the crowd. Ella and Devlin followed.

“Well, it wouldn’t,” Precious said. “And you said you were taking me for refreshments, Pommy.”

The last thing Ella heard “Pommy” say was “Shut up, Precious!”

P
omeroy Wokingham’s father belched and spread his legs farther apart. “Fool,” he spat at Pomeroy. “Never should have listened
to you. Should have insisted on going with you.”

Pomeroy leaned from the purple velvet divan to pour more Madeira. The drink slopped over the rim of the glass and splashed
the knee of his trousers. “A pox on it,” he shouted, screwing up his eyes to focus. “Not my fault, I tell you. How was I to
know that damned North fella would be there to turn her head. Then Avenall, in the name of the devil!
Avenall,
with his destroyed face. And she looks at him as if he’s a God!”

The faces of gaudy
putti
ran together on panels that covered the walls and ceiling of the salon in the Wokinghams’ Grosvenor Street house.

Father hitched his embroidered, Chinese silk robe over his bare, skinny thighs. “Should have gone with you,” he said into
his glass, and sucked the contents greedily. “Never send a boy, and all that.”

If only he didn’t need the old bastard, Pomeroy thought. If only he could find a way to get his hands on enough blunt to be
free. He’d change things around here. And he’d have heard himself called a boy for the last time.

The room was warm. Satin-fringed green velvet draped the windows, closing in heavy Jacobean furnishings. Ornate crystal lamps
shone on father’s collection of statues. Nude females in sexual poses.

Pomeroy wanted a nude female in a sexual pose. He wanted a live one, and he wanted her now.

“You should have found a way to get her outside,” his father said, and coughed, spewing droplets of liquor-laced phlegm. “You
said Hunsingore was off talking to Caster-bridge—and you couldn’t have your way with a bit of a female?”

“I told you things went wrong. Then North was there monopolizin’.”

Father waved his glass unsteadily. “North’s a nobody. New money.
New
money, Pom! People like the Hunsingores don’t waste even their so-called daughters on new money. I should have … What the
bloody hell is that?”

Voices were raised in the hall, one female, the other no doubt belonging to Boggs, the useless butler father refused to dismiss.

“It’s three in the morning,” Father grumbled. “Damned impudence. Visitin’ at this hour of the night.”