Dear Impostor (28 page)

          Psyche bit her lip. She should have held her
tongue; the barrier he always girded himself with was back. “Of course not,”
she said slowly. “I have seen you smile many times, but not like that. You
looked–at ease, as if you were among friends.”

          “And why shouldn’t he be?” Aunt Sophie
demanded. “Don’t talk nonsense, child. I am feeling warm; did my maid put in
the bottle of lavender water?”

          By the time Psyche had located the bottle, and
her aunt had sprinkled a fine lawn handkerchief with the scented water and
patted her temples, Psyche had lost any chance at observing Gabriel unnoticed. For
the rest of the ride, he remarked upon the tranquility of the countryside or
listened politely to Sophie’s stories of her childhood and the country house
she had shared with her siblings and parents, but the unguarded smile did not
return.

          What had driven him away, Psyche wondered, not
for the first time. If it was not gambling, what scandal, what transgression
could have uprooted him from his own home, his native country?

          The simplest method would be simply to ask
him, but she had seen the reserve that deepened when she queried, even
obliquely, about his past, especially about his English connections. Gabriel
would not willingly disclose his iniquities, of that she was certain. But the
notion that she might be allowing a dangerous man to have regular conversation
with her little sister still bothered Psyche. As for herself, why, that was
another matter. She could certainly take care of herself. Gabriel had been
heaven-sent to take up the pose of her fiancé; it was merely a business
arrangement, she assured herself. When she had her inheritance, she would make
him a handsome settlement, and they would part.

          For some reason, this thought did not cheer
her as much as it used to, when she had wistfully dreamed of being free of her
uncle’s control and her cousin’s courtship. Sighing, Psyche watched a lark rise
into the blue sky, looking wonderfully free and untrammeled. Someday, she would
feel that way again, Psyche told herself, and it would be worth all the hassle
and danger of scandal.

          Perhaps, she thought, nodding absently to a remark
from her aunt, Gabriel’s scandal was not much more than she risked herself. No,
that couldn’t be. Aside from the fact that he would have had no need to conjure
up a fake betrothal, men could face down social disgrace much easier than
women; her mother would have said it was terribly unjust, but there it was. Psyche
knew all too well that women must toe a fine line; hadn’t her own mother, the
most chaste and honorable person of Psyche’s acquaintance, been whispered about
abominably just because her views on education and rights for women were so
unusual?

          She bit her lip and looked up to see her aunt
frown. “I was right, then,” the older lady said. “This scarf is too bright to
have by my face. Do I look too pale?”

          “No, no, that shade of lavender is quite
lovely,” Psyche assured her relative. She forced her mind back to more mundane
topics and discussed fashion with her aunt until they arrived at

the Countess of Sutton’s estate. Their carriage drew
into the long driveway and made its way up to the house, where several other
vehicles were disgorging passengers.

          Gabriel stepped down from the barouche quickly
and helped the ladies out. Aunt Sophie saw a friend at once, and Psyche had
only time to smile her thanks to him before she had to follow her aunt and make
polite conversation.

          They were all directed by a footman into the
house, where the ladies paused to check their reflections in the mirror–Psyche
found that one blond lock had slipped out of the twist that held back her hair,
and she pushed it back into place and hoped it would stay–before going outside
again to the formal gardens at the side of the house.

          Aunt Sophie spoke to their hostess, and then
Psyche introduced Gabriel, trying not to blush as the Countess, who was the
mother of six rambunctious children and had grown somewhat stout, eyed the man
on Psyche’s arm with frank appreciation.

          “You’ve done well for yourself, my dear,”
their hostess remarked with her usual lack of tact. “Much better favored than
your chinless cousin. Well done!”

          Psyche knew that her cheeks were blazing. “Thank
you, Lady Sutton,” she murmured.

          “You should have very handsome children,” the
other woman continued, eying Gabriel as if he were a prize bull.

          Psyche had her hand tucked into Gabriel’s arm,
and she felt it shake slightly. Hoping he would not disgrace them both by
laughing aloud, she escaped as soon as she could, giving way to other new
arrivals, and they walked rapidly off toward the tables and chairs that had
been set out on the smooth lawn.

          She tried to draw her hand away, but Gabriel
held it fast. “Don’t be so cold, dear Miss Hill,” he murmured. “We have, after
all, a charge to fulfill–we must start those beautiful babies very soon.”

          “I think not,” she said, her tone icy.

          She retrieved her hand as a footman held out a
silver tray and offered them their choice of slender crystal glasses filled
with pale liquid. “Have a glass of champagne.”

          Not that he needed the sparkling wine to lift
his spirits, Psyche thought crossly. For some reason, Gabriel seemed very
merry. “Come,” he said now, sipping his wine. “Let us go and admire the
daffodils.”

          She accepted his escort through the thick
garden wall toward the flower beds, but made sure to stop and greet everyone
she saw, determined that people should know that she was out in company with
her fiancé. Let Percy put that into his slanderous mouth, and she hoped he
choked on it!

          But taking Gabriel into company was not such a
simple matter as she had imagined. The women, married or not, tended to flock
around him, captivated by his looks and charm.

          “Miss Hill, we are so glad to see you out,”
said a woman whom Psyche barely knew. “I missed you sadly at the theater party
Monday night.”

          “I was indisposed,” Psyche said, trying to
keep her tone even as the woman simpered and smiled at Gabriel. She could have
said, ‘I had a trained monkey in my drawing room,’ and the woman would hardly
have noticed, Psyche thought.

          Mrs. Cunningham joined them, with her two
daughters, both of marriageable age and both, sadly, possessing a slight
squint. “Miss Hill, so lovely to see you,” the matron gushed. “Do introduce us
to your charming fiancé.”

          “Lord Tarrington, Mrs. Cunningham, Miss
Cunningham, and Miss Lavidia Cunningham,” Psyche said obediently.

          Gabriel made his bow to all three women. The
two girls blushed and batted their eyelashes, and their mother beamed. What
business did they have flirting with an engaged man, Psyche thought, irritated
again. At least, as far as
they
knew, he was spoken for.

          Yet another trio of ladies joined them; they
were going to look ridiculous, Psyche thought. And how could these women have
so little sense. Just because he had such amazing good looks, they had no idea
of his character or his heart! If they knew what–

          Someone tapped her arm, and Psyche looked
around, frowning. It was Sally Forsyth.

          “Do you wish an introduction to my charming
fiancé, too?” Psyche demanded, grinning reluctantly as Sally laughed. She
stepped back to talk to her friend and allowed the bevy of women to flock even
closer to Gabriel, who appeared to be accepting all the attention with a
regrettable calm.

          “If you were not my best friend, I would
certainly try to cut you out,” Sally agreed cheerfully.

          “I’m sure your husband would approve,” Psyche
said drily.

          “Oh, my sweet Andrew would never notice,”
Sally said fondly. “He’s sitting back there in the shade of an oak tree. It’s
too fatiguing to walk about in the sun, he says. Anyhow, he lets me do whatever
I wish.”

          “Which is why you accepted his proposal in the
first place, no doubt,” Psyche noted.

          Sally pursed her pretty lips into a playful
pout. “Why, you fiend, to say such a thing. Just because it’s–almost–true. I
was having such fun being courted, I hated to give it up, you know. And the
most passionate romances in the Ton, I have found out, occur
after
one
has married.”

          Psyche was startled. “Sally, you wouldn’t?”

          “Of course not, I am very fond of my Andrew,”
her friend said. “And he’s very generous with my dress allowance. But that
doesn’t mean one can’t flirt. And if I ever did decide to stray, I can tell
you, your husband-to-be would be high on my list.”

          “Yours and every other woman’s within a
stone’s throw, from the look of it,” Psyche said, her tone dark as she glanced
back at Gabriel, still surrounded by women. “I think I have unleashed a
monster.”

          Sally’s light laughter trilled. “Come, let us
walk a little away from them; otherwise, they will say you are jealous, and
that would seem very provincial.”

          “I’m not sure he’s safe to leave,” Psyche
protested, but she followed Sally toward another display of flowers and
pretended to admire the showy blossoms.

          “It’s a heavenly day,” Sally was saying,
glancing up at the clear skies from beneath her wide-brimmed hat with its
fashionable trim of ostrich feathers. “Oh lord, do look at Mrs. Tweaton’s
maize-colored turban; she looks like an over-ripe stalk of wheat.”

          “Hush, she’ll hear you,” Psyche protested, but
she laughed unwillingly. Sally was quite right. The thin woman with the green
gown and the gold turban could have easily blended into a field of grain.

          “I’m glad to see you relaxing, you know,” her
friend said, some of her native shrewdness showing in her expression as she let
her usual frivolous mask slip a little. “You’ve been much too prim and sedate
since your parents’ death.”

          Psyche frowned and looked down, allowing her
hat to hide her face.

          Sally’s voice was gentle. “I know it was a
harsh blow, my dear. But if you can learn to enjoy life again, I will be most
thankful for your new find.” She smiled, and her impish tone returned. “Not to
mention that you’ve provided us all with a sinfully gorgeous man to brighten
the social landscape.”

          “You scamp,” Psyche said, and ignored the
reference to her parents’ death. It was still painful to discuss, and Sally
knew it, so the subject veered back to the inconsequential. When they were
joined by a young sprig of fashion who seemed to be Sally’s latest flirt,
Psyche let the other two talk and allowed her thoughts to wander.

          Had she really become too prim, too guarded,
as Sally said? She remembered that Gabriel had remarked upon her sedateness. Irked,
Psyche glanced covertly from her own perfectly stylish muslin gown to Sally’s. Perhaps
Sally’s neckline was cut a bit lower, perhaps her bodice was a tiny bit more
fitted. Did Gabriel really see Psyche as boring and staid? It shouldn’t concern
her, she scolded herself, but the reflection did not please her.

          She roused herself to answer a query from
Sally.

          “What shall you be, Psyche? Mr. Denver, here,
is coming as a highwayman.” Sally dimpled as she gave the young man one of her
best smiles. “Unless I persuade him otherwise.”

          “Um, I haven’t decided yet,” Psyche said,
trying to find her way back into the conversation. What was Sally talking
about?

          Her friend seemed to read her confusion. “Our
big masked ball, silly. My household has been all astir. I have been working
madly on the plans for weeks.”

          “You mean your housekeeper and butler and the
rest of the servants have been working madly,” Psyche corrected, smiling as her
friend made a face.

          “No, no, I dictated the list of guests myself,
and it was sadly fatiguing, let me tell you!”

          “You poor thing,” Mr. Denver said, gazing
soulfully at Sally’s pretty pout.

          She gave him a roguish smile, then turned back
to Psyche. “But what shall you be, my dear? My costume is a secret, you must
not ask. Although, perhaps I will reconsider my plan. I could dress as
Persephone, and perhaps Lord Tarrington can come as Pluto, lord of the
underworld.”

          “What do you say that?” Psyche demanded, a little
too sharply.

          Sally blinked in surprise. “Why, he has that
dangerous look, don’t you know. Don’t worry, it only makes him more
attractive.”

          Psyche looked back at the crowd of women still
hiding Gabriel’s well-shaped form; only the top of his head could be detected
amidst the flock of nodding plumes and high-crowned hats.

          “I don’t doubt that,” she agreed, her tone
wry. “But if anyone should be Persephone, I think that should be me, Sally.”

          “Spoil sport.” The other woman sighed. “Determined
to keep him all to yourself, I see how it is. Just because you are engaged to
be married to the man . . . Oh, Mr. Denver, you must console my broken
spirits.”