Confessions of a Little Black Gown (6 page)

Distracted, he pulled her chair out, scraping the legs over the polished floor, the sound like a razor being dragged across a strap, a
scrape
that dug into every ear and only called more attention to him.

He didn’t even dare another look into those dangerous blue eyes of hers, or the other pairs around the room that he had to guess were now boring into him.

If only to have somewhere to look (other than at Miss Langley’s bounteous bosom) he haphazardly glanced up at his host.

Hollindrake had his lips pressed together, dabbing his napkin at them to hide the trembling of his chin.

The ruddy bastard thought this was funny!

Of course he would, for he’d thought Larken’s arrival nothing more than an amusing jest as well. Yes, he’d been more than willing to help apprehend a wanted man, but like Larken, thought it highly unlikely that Lady Philippa or Miss Langley had freed Captain Dashwell from prison, let alone brought the man to Hollindrake House. While it was a large house, it would be nigh on impossible, he assured Larken, to hide someone from the servants.

“Thank you, Mr. Ryder,” the chit said in a purring voice. “But you are allowed to sit down now,” she urged him, politely of course.

“Yes, of course, Miss Langley,” he managed, then stumbled on the leg of her chair as he came around
to his, nearly bumping into his hostess as she returned to her place.

He felt the sudden stillness of the room as everyone glanced at their place setting or their wine-glass rather than witness more of his clod-handed manners.

Really, Larken
, he told himself,
you don’t have to play the chaw-bacon quite so utterly. Besides, you’re here to determine if Miss Langley or Lady Philippa had a hand in freeing Dashwell
.

And given the glances she continued to toss in his direction, she seemed so…
willing…
to be friends, perhaps it would be…well, prudent, to go along with her, gain her trust and then unearth her secrets.

Like how exactly she kept that dress up…
a rakish part of him whispered.

Oh, yes, that would be entirely in character with his disguise. Like some bad Covent Garden three-act comedy.

The Uncouth Vicar and the Innocent.

He took another glance in her direction and there it was again, that look of hers that left him rattled out of his senses. Make that
The Righteous Vicar and the Ruinous Vixen
.

“There now, we are all here,” the duchess said with a regal composure and a serene smile that belied the determined glint in her eyes. “Mr. Ryder, will you favor us by saying grace before we begin?”

Saying what?
Larken glanced up at her. Surely he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Grace?” she said, in a nudging sort of way.

“Yes, oh, yes, grace,” he stammered. “Yes, of
course.” Then he paused and tried to remember what it was one said, for it had been a long time since he’d prayed.

Then for some reason he glanced to his left and looked at Miss Langley.

Rather Miss Langley’s breasts, which from this angle were displayed like a pair of doves on a platter.

Lord, help me…

A
fter dinner, the ladies made their requisite departure for the green salon, and Tally found her elbow in the viselike grip of her sister.

Well, she’d known there was going to be hell to pay for coming down to dinner dressed like this, but really, she thought as she glanced at her sister’s tight expression, it was Felicity’s own fault. Not that her twin would accept the blame.

Still, knowing the best course was to wait out the first wave of complaints, Tally dutifully let herself be led along the long hallways, teetering atop her borrowed high-heeled shoes.

Oh, the dress fit splendidly, but the shoes pinched and were far too high for her less-than-graceful gait.

Though that bit of pain didn’t keep her from smil
ing over Mr. Ryder’s obvious discomfiture—not that Felicity had noticed. No, her sister had remained blissfully unaware of the man’s distress over her pestering questions, while Tally saw all too clearly he had no desire to marry.

Not when every time her sister mentioned the word “bride,” he’d twitched as if he’d been stuck with one of Aunt Minty’s knitting pins.

So what the devil was the man doing here if he didn’t want to be matched? Surely if he’d grown cold feet over the prospect, he would have merely sent his regrets and not set a foot into the duchess’s house party, family obligations or not.

The question became:
Why had Mr. Ryder come here?

That was the mystery, one that piqued Tally more than she cared to admit.

Having waited patiently at the foot of the stairs throughout dinner, Brutus came trotting up to his mistress, giving her a sharp salute in the form of a single
yip
, and then fell in step alongside her, his little tail wagging happily at their reunion.

When they entered the salon, Lady Charles and Minerva made a discrete beeline to the card table in the far corner, while Lady Geneva sat down in a solitary chair near the fire. Without even looking, she reached down and picked up her embroidery, most likely having been positioned precisely by her maid, who was rumored to be as exacting as her mistress.

With similar efficiency, Felicity ordered the tea tray, waited patiently the four seconds until Staines removed himself and closed the door, before turning to Tally quicker than Brutus after a squirrel.

“What am I to do?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Well, I—” Tally began, a little confused, for she’d expected a harangue over her choice of gown.

“He’s a dullard!” she declared, throwing up her hands and pacing in front of Tally. “Did you listen to him at dinner?”

“Well, I—I—I—”

“I thought not. Good gracious heavens, Tally, you could have at least tried to converse with the man?”

“Yes, well—”

“Were you attending at all?” Felicity asked, not really looking for an answer, for she continued with the next breath, “The weather, Tally! The weather! All the man could speak upon was the weather. Cumulous this, and some nonsense about rain all next week. Rain!” Felicity shuddered. “What a terrible thing to be saying to a hostess on the eve of her first house party.”

Tally closed her eyes to try and get this all straight. Felicity was upset about the weather?

At her feet, Brutus made a snuffling sound and when she glanced down at him, the little dog shook his ruffled head as if he were just as confused.

Her sister’s pacing came to a quick halt, her foot a mere hair’s breadth from Brutus’s small paw. Tally reached down and plucked him up to keep him from being trod upon. In her current state, Felicity could mow down an entire battalion of affenpinschers and probably not notice.

“He’s not at all what I expected,” her sister said, her finger wagging at Tally as if this was all her fault. “A bit sedate, barely affable would be acceptable. That I could work with, but this? This boring,
shabby fellow! What will
we
do? However can
we
match Mr. Ryder with Miss DeFisser now?”

Three words finally resonated in Tally’s whirling thoughts.

Mr. Ryder
. And
we
. As in Felicity
and
Tally. Not Felicity’s ridiculous, solitary scheme to play matchmaker, but
their
plan.

She shifted Brutus onto her hip, only thinking for about two seconds that she was going to have dog hair all over the velvet, but that was hardly the most vexing problem before her.

No, her real problem was right in front of her.

Her sister.

We
, indeed! As if Tally had had any say in any of this. In this house party from Hades, in the invitation list, or even in her inclusion, which quite frankly, she would have been just as happy without and more than content to remain in London with Aunty Minty as chaperone, where she and Pippin could have continued writing their new play in peace.

“If my house party is an utter failure, what will people say next Season?” Felicity whispered. “If I don’t make at least one, nay two, brilliant matches in the next fortnight, I will be deemed a fraud.”

Tally heaved a sigh. Of course, it was all about Felicity and her place in Society as the premier matchmaker. No amount of assurances could make her sister believe that just being the Duchess of Hollindrake was enough. She had gotten it in her head that if she were known for making matches,
good
matches, her place amongst the
ton
would be guaranteed.

A cold chill ran down Tally’s spine as she saw
herself spending the next two weeks being shoved before every aging, albeit rich and respectable, marquess or earl Felicity could muster from within a fifty mile radius.

She glanced down at Brutus, who with his large, soulful eyes seemed to be pleading, “
Save yourself…save us.
”

“I hardly think you need to start worrying about Miss DeFisser just yet,” she told Felicity hastily. “I do believe Mr. Ryder was merely nervous at being seated so far up the table. You made too much of him and embarrassed him.”

Felicity paused, which was a feat in itself, since her twin rarely relinquished the field when she was plotting. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes, for I believe there is much to recommend Mr. Ryder,” Tally lied. Truly, she almost felt guilty sending her sister after the man.
Then again, better him than me…

Felicity studied her through narrowed lashes. “What do you mean by saying he has much to recommend him? Have you looked at the man? He’s dressed no better than a rag merchant.”

It was on the tip of Tally’s tongue to remind her sister that they hadn’t been much better off not six months earlier, living on Brook Street in a nearly empty house they had “borrowed,” and wearing gowns three Seasons out of fashion, but Felicity took great exception to being reminded of their first tenuous weeks in London.

“If he were encouraged,” Tally prompted, like a co-conspirator.

“Properly so,” Felicity added, latching on to the idea as if it were a lifeline, and beginning to rally. “Yes. Yes. I see what you are saying. Some lessons in conversation, a trip to the tailor, perhaps a dancing master…I wonder if he must wear those spectacles? Well, no matter. All of it must be done immediately if he is to make an acceptable candidate for Miss DeFisser.”

“I don’t see how you could fail,” Tally told her. “Why in the right light, Mr. Ryder might even be handsome. You may even find a Corinthian lurking beneath the surface.”

Felicity laughed. “Oh, Tally, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve had too much wine! Mr. Ryder? A Corinthian? I doubt even I could manage such a deception. Hollindrake is handsome. His cousin is…well, he certainly isn’t what one would expect from the Sterling family.”

Tally smiled and then opened her mouth to argue the subject, but snapped it shut just as fast, realizing that in doing so, she’d have to confess her own mistake about the duke’s cousin.

That when she’d met him, she’d thought him the most rakishly handsome man she’d ever seen.

“Oh, yes, I do think you are onto something, Tally,” Felicity said, with far more enthusiasm. “And I am so relieved that you have finally come around. I daresay when I saw you in that dress, I bore an ill suspicion that you were…well, never mind that now. I am so glad you are willing to help.”

“Help?” Tally sputtered. And here she’d thought she’d escaped her sister’s machinations.

“Well, of course.” Felicity sighed, a loud aggrieved huff that suggested Tally was losing her wits. “I need you to oversee Mr. Ryder’s transformation.”

“Felicity—”

Her sister waved her hands, “I would do the same for you. And it is as Nanny Rana always said, ‘as two of one, we must always be of one mind so as to live in harmony.’” Felicity smiled brightly, as if that was the end of the argument.

But Tally didn’t think their former nanny meant for Felicity’s way to be the only mind that ever mattered. Yet, before she could open her mouth to argue the point, the door opened and Hollindrake came strolling in. And much to her dismay Tally found herself looking for
him
.

Oh, not the mild-mannered, dull Mr. Ryder who’d come to dinner, but the rake she swore she’d seen in the study. Was it madness to believe there was a Corinthian behind his vicarly façade?

That didn’t mean she wasn’t shocked by the keen sense of disappointment that tugged inside her when she looked again for him and found Hollindrake was indeed alone.

Not her heart, certainly, but somewhere inside her longed to see the man she’d spied in the study once again.

Oh, yes, that was all well and good
, she told herself.
But if you found him, then what would you do?

This was Hollindrake’s cousin…a country vicar. Hardly the sort of man she dreamed of sharing her life with.

Best stop tempting the Fates, Thalia Langley
, she told herself.
Or else you’ll find yourself living in
—shudder—
Lincolnshire with a houseful of children and your days mapped out carrying baskets to the poor and ironing shirts, without a hope of ever venturing one foot past the next village.

“Where is Mr. Ryder?” Felicity was asking in that very direct and so utterly unnonchalant manner of hers.

“He went for a walk in the garden,” the duke told her. “Something about it being good for the digestion.”

Felicity groaned. “Oh, gracious heavens. I do hope he hasn’t any ailments. Did he say he was dyspeptic?”

Hollindrake laughed. “No, I believe it was just an excuse for some fresh air.”

“Then you needn’t have frightened me unnecessarily,” she said, taking hold of his arm and smiling up at him.

Hollindrake’s eyes sparkled mischievously at his wife, and then he waggled his brows at her and nodded toward the door, as if asking her to depart with him.

Tally glanced away. Really! Sometimes, her sister and her husband were far too intimate in public. She had never thought of her sister possessing a passionate nature, but around the duke, she was quite indecent.

“Which garden?” Felicity asked, returning with her usual single-minded determination to the problem at hand.

“The upper terrace,” he offered.

Felicity shot a significant glance at Tally. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“That wouldn’t be proper,” Tally whispered in return.

“He’s a vicar,” Felicity shot back. “I hardly think your virtue is at risk.” She followed this with a not-so-subtle nudge in her back. “Tally, dearest, you are the only one I trust to do this.”

Oh, demmit
!
Why me?
Her jaw worked back and forth. Yes, cursing, even in her thoughts, was utterly unladylike, but botheration, whoever had made up such a rule hadn’t a sister like Felicity.

“Please, Tally,” Felicity pleaded, giving her that sad-eyed ploy that said,
We have only each other
. Unfortunately it worked, for despite all her complaints about Felicity, Tally loved her sister fiercely.

“Fine, I shall help. But remember, you’ll owe me.”

But even as Tally left the salon, with Brutus at her hem, she had no doubts that the moment she was out of sight, Felicity would consider the favor quite forgotten.

Tally paused at the doorway to the gardens, halfway inside the shelter of the house and halfway out, lured by the spice of roses and the soft summer breeze whispering in the night.

It was so utterly romantic, she wished she was slipping outside for some illicit tryst, not this mercy errand for Felicity.

Sighing, Tally glanced up at the moon shining over the fouteenth duke’s infamous Terrace Gardens. But instead of being inspired by the vista, she felt altogether foolish.

She’d worn this gown to see if she could rouse Mr. Ryder—a vicar, for heaven’s sakes. Not that he’d
shown any recognition of her beyond asking her “to pass the salt.”

Glancing down at Brutus, who sat on the close-cropped lawn, she said softly, “I fear Felicity’s opinion is altogether correct. He’s a rather dull fellow, and I’ve let my imagination run away with me.”