Fallen Angel (14 page)

“Then you think Lord Darley was the most powerful person there?” Lord Sherington asked when she was done with her recital.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I noticed that even Lord Darley deferred to you.”

He did not contradict her, nor did he compliment her on how well she had done, but instead he merely asked her how her sister and brother-in-law had enjoyed the evening.

“They had a marvelous time. They completely accepted the illusion for reality. My brother-in-law believes that he persuaded you to attend the dinner, and my sister—” Verity hesitated, then said daringly, “my sister believes that you are so smitten with her charms that you cannot keep away from her.”

Lord Sherington did not laugh at her last remark, nor did he become angry at her. Instead he merely stared down at her for the longest time with the oddest expression on his face. Finally he said, “And you, Miss Jolliffe—what illusions do you harbor about me?”

“None, my lord. I am fully aware that you are deliberately trying to manipulate me, but I have not yet figured out what it is that you are trying to achieve—what it is you want from me.”

Although his tone remained mild, she could now see a spark of anger in the back of his eyes. “Last night’s little exercise in observation has proved that you are not lacking in intelligence. If you make an effort, I am sure you will discover exactly what I want from you.”

“It would be easier if you would tell me,” she said, keeping her own voice just as calm as his.

His temper flared up, and without warning he reined in the horses, grabbed her chin, and pulled it around so that he could stare directly down into her eyes. “I give no charity, Miss Jolliffe, and sooner or later you will discover that nothing worthwhile is ever given to you.” She could hardly hear what he was saying. The touch of his hand on her face made it impossible for her to think. Only by locking her hands together under the folds of her cloak was she able to resist the need to reach out and touch his face.

Every day her love for him grew stronger and deeper.
Every parting from him was like death—every time she saw him again was like rebirth. If she were given the power to change him in any way, she would not make use of it. He was ruthless, uncaring, harsh, often bad-tempered, but she loved him with every particle of her being.

“Well, Miss Jolliffe. Do you think you can discover what it is that I want from you? In case you have not noticed, I am not a patient man.”

His horses began to fidget restlessly, and Verity started to tell him that she would do her best to be quick, but then she changed her mind. Let him have a taste of his own medicine, she decided. “Your impatience is not my problem, Lord Sherington. I am not the one who is wanting something from you.”

For a moment she feared she had gone too far, but then he gave a bark of laughter and released her chin. Flicking the reins, he dropped the subject of power and he began instead to tell her fanciful tales of the exotic places he had visited on his travels around the world.

Listening to him, she could not be quite sure if what he was telling her was the simple truth or if he was fabricating the stories out of thin air, but it mattered not in the slightest, because every word he uttered was fascinating.

She felt quite let down when he returned her to her sister’s house, and mounting the steps to the front door, she was strangely reluctant to open it and return to her normal life. But the day was too cold to remain standing outside, so she overcame her aversion and went in.

She had not been lying when she had told Lord Sherington she loved her family, and she could not imagine ever ceasing to love them. But up until this time she had not actually considered the question of whether or not she also liked them. Loving and liking, she had discovered, were a world apart.

Except where Lord Sherington was concerned. She not only loved him with a passion that frightened her by its intensity, but she also liked him better than anyone else she had ever met.

Both liking and loving seemed to be such rare commodi
t
ies in the world, especially in London. Was it ambition that allowed a lady to compliment a friend to her face even while decrying that friend’s lack of fashion behind her back? Was it fear of being hurt that made the ladies of the
ton
k
iss one another’s cheeks while still managing somehow to hold each other at arm’s length?

All Verity knew was that even while her hours spent with Lord Sherington were becoming more and more enjoyable, her hours spent in the Wasteney residence were becoming more and more difficult to endure.

8

“
Lady O
t
tillia h
as been awaiting your return for over an hour,” Kirkson said, taking Gabriel’s coat. “I have put her in the rose salon.”

“Calling before noon again,” Gabriel said mockingly when he joined his aunt. “Have you come about yet another unbreakable family tradition that I have broken?”

“I will not have it, Sherington,” she said, her jowls shaking with rage. “I will not have it, do you hear?”

“I hear, but I confess I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about this time.”

“It is scandalous—
scandalous
—and you must put a stop to it at once. It is unsupportable.”

“Have you been nipping at my brandy again
,
Aunt Cudmore?” Gabriel held the decanter up to eye level, as if estimating the amount remaining.

“As if a Rainsford would ally
him
self with such a nobody. Why her father is only a knight, and I doubt if her dowry is above a thousand pounds.”

Gabriel now understood the nature of his aunt’s errand, and he no longer felt the slightest urge to tease her. “You are speaking of Miss Jolliffe, I presume?”

“It is so utterly preposterous—everyone is linking her name with yours. Really, Sherington, it is up to you to squelch such malicious rumors. Though doubtless if the truth were known, one would discover the gossip is all your fault. I should not be at all surprised if such scurrilous stories were started by some irate husband whom you have cuckolded.”

“The rumors are not unfounded,” he said calmly, and at first he was not sure she had heard him, for she continued to rant and rave for some time.

Then suddenly she fell silent, as if her brain had finally caught up with what her ears had heard. “You are—you are—” she gasped out, shaking her head as if still unable to believe what he was saying. “No, it cannot be true!”

“I am indeed courting Miss Jolliffe,” he said simply.

Rising to her feet, she glowered up at him. “I shall not allow it, do you hear me, Sherington? I shall not allow it!”

“If you or any of the other Rainsfords make any attempt to interfere in my life, you will discover what it feels like to be the target of scurrilous gossip. You will find that I myself am capable of an astounding degree of maliciousness. In short, Aunt Cudmore, you will find not only yourself and your husband ostracized from society, but also everyone you care about. I will allow you Bath and Tunbridge Wells, but not even your children’s children will ever dare show their faces in London again by the time I am done.”

“You could not be so ruthless,” she said weakly, collapsing back into her chair. “I begin to think you are the Devil himself.”

“But of course, Aunt Cudmore. You yourself have already pointed out that I am a fallen angel,” Gabriel replied.

For the first time in his memory, his aunt was reduced to utter silence. On the way down to his study, he instructed Kirkson to assist his aunt to her carriage.

He had intended to drop in on the Wasteneys that evening, in the hopes that he might see Miss Jolliffe, but now he reconsidered. Perhaps it might be better to go to his club instead, to see for himself what was being said.

Verity sat alone in her room, staring into the fire. Normally she was a very energetic person, but lately she had become quite a dreamer, and every one of her dreams was centered about Lord Sherington.

Hearing a commotion in the hall, she awoke from her reverie and realized that her sister and niece had returned from a round of morning calls. Verity had begged off, giving as an excuse that she had too many tasks to do around the house.

Actually, she had done none of the chores and now found it difficult even to remember what it was she had intended to do.

There was a light tap at the door, and Verity assumed it was one of the maids, wishing to consult with her. But it was her sister who opened the door, her cheeks flushed and her eyes feverishly bright.

“Ah, Verity, might I have a word with you?” Without waiting for an invitation, Petronella entered the room and pulled a chair over to where Verity was sitting.

Verity did her best to hide her astonishment at her sister’s unaccustomed behavior. As a general rule, Petronella did not go traipsing about the house seeking people out. When she wanted a word with Verity or her daughter or even her husband, she invariably sent a maid to fetch the desired person.

“It has been so long since we have had a chance for a comfortable coze, dearest Verity,” Petronella continued.

Verity was tempted to point out that they had never had a comfortable coze—that Petronella rarely seemed to notice her except to issue orders, which Verity then did her best to carry out. But instead of baiting Petronella, Verity merely nodded her head and waited to hear what was on her sister’s mind.

“Oh, dearest Sister, I think you are the only one in the world who can understand how desperately I want my beloved daughter to make a good match, for you are the only one who knows how unfairly I have been treated all my life—how I have suffered.”

Verity was so astounded by her sister’s words, she leaned forward slightly to smell her sister’s breath, because the immediate explanation was that Petronella must be bosky. But there was no indication that she had been drinking anything but tea.

“All the time I was growing up, Mama and Papa treated me quite shabbily, as I am sure you know from your own experiences. It did not matter how hard I tried, I could never please them. The only one they ever cared about was our dear brother Francis. As the only son and heir, he could do nothing wrong. There was always money enough to buy him a new horse or a new gun or a new jacket, but they resented every penny they had to spend on me. I cannot tell you how many nights I cried myself to sleep.”

Verity was surprised that Petronella was expressing her feelings so freely. Due to the large difference in their ages, the two of them had never shared confidences. But perhaps now that Verity was older, things were going to change? Perhaps Petronella truly wanted them to develop a closer relationship?

“You were so much younger, I suppose you were unaware of all that was going on. Then, too, you were always Grandmother’s favorite,” Petronella said, a momentary note of bitterness creeping into her voice. “All those miserable years I yearned to escape from Oakwood Manor—to find someone who would love
me
the best. I dreamed of the man I would marry, who would adore me and do everything in his power to please me.” Suddenly she began to sniffle. Confused by the sudden change of mood, Verity handed her a handkerchief, and Petronella wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and with no apparent effort regained her composure. “Archibald was so wonderful. You never met him, so you could not possibly imagine how handsome he was.”

Archibald? Verity had never heard of anyone by that name who was connected in any way with her sister.

Petronella smiled sweetly, and her eyes took on a distant look. “His father was a viscount, and Archibald was considered to be quite a catch, you know. All the other girls envied me, and everyone said he was sure to come up to scratch.”

Her lower lip began to quiver, and Verity quickly got up and fetched another clean handkerchief from her drawer.

“But then his father took ill, and he had to leave London, and I could not wait for him to come back because I knew Papa would never allow me to have a second Season. He told me before I left for London that if I came home I would have to settle for Squire Millard’s son. So—so—”

Tears welling up in her eyes, she wailed, “So I had to marry Ralph. Oh-h-h—” She burst into tears, and Verity hurried to her sister’s side. Dropping to her knees, she put her arms around Petronella and began crooning and rocking her back and forth.

“But now it does not matter anymore,” Petronella said, her sobs stopping abruptly. Grabbing Verity by the shoulders and holding her at arm’s length, she enunciated each word very carefully. “Because now I have a beautiful daughter, and I vowed when she was born that she would have everything I was never able to have. She is going to make such a good marriage that years from now people will still be talking about it. You will help me, will you not, Verity? Of course you will. You are my sister, so it is your duty to help me.” Petronella smiled coyly.

“Of course I shall help you,” Verity said soothingly.

“It will be the marriage of the Season,” Petronella said, rising to her feet. “Once people see the way the wind is blowing, I shall be invited everywhere.” Without a backward glance, she sailed majestically out of the room.

Verity let out her breath, which she had not even been aware she was holding. So much for a comfortable, sisterly coze. It was now no longer a mystery why Petronella had sought her out. She wanted Verity to use her influence with Lord Sherington to facilitate Antoinette’s entrance into society.

Unfortunately, Verity’s understanding of the situation had come a bit late. Even though she felt a deep aversion to manipulating Lord Sherington for her own end—or for her sister’s purpose, which was essentially the same thing—she rather thought she had just promised to do precisely that.

But on the other hand, how could Verity refuse her own sister? All these years Petronella had had so much resentment bottled up inside of her—it was no wonder she was so difficult to live with.

And she had been right about one thing—Verity had been exceedingly lucky to have had their grandmother’s love. Without her influence, Verity knew she would have grown up to be a far different person.

The only thing to do was to be honest with Lord Sherington rather than deceitful. If she explained the situation to him without any attempt at roundaboutation, surely he would be willing to dance occasionally with Antoinette once the Season started, and perhaps even take her up for an occasional turn around the park?

Knowing how strong-minded he was, Verity was quite certain that if he did not wish to be obliging, he would not hesitate to refuse point-blank. He was not, after all, a man who allowed social customs and polite manners to dictate to him what he might and might not do.

Gabriel was not pleased to discover that the betting book at Brooke’s corroborated his aunt’s story. The majority of the bets entered in it during the last week concerned him and his intentions vis-a-vis Miss Jolliffe. As much as he would have liked to put a stop to such wagers, he was enough of a realist to know that any action he might take would only make matters worse.

Cousin Phillip was the one betting most heavily that Gabriel would not come up to scratch. It would appear that Phillip had not only inherited the Rainsford jaw, but also the Rainsford propensity to gamble with money that he did not actually possess.

Well, if he thought he could rely on Gabriel to keep him out of debtor’s prison, he would soon discover that he had made a serious error in judgment.

“Sherington, just the man I was looking for.”

Gabriel turned to see Ibbetson approaching him.

“Thought you might like to play another hand or two of piquet,” the round little man suggested.

Amused at his persistence, Gabriel said, “And how are your lovely daughters?”

“Oh, they are quite well pleased with their father. I managed to catch me two sons-in-law at Christmas, and another one is hooked but not yet reeled in,” Ibbetson said, puffing himself up with pride. “M’third daughter wants to have a Season before she ties the knot, but the marriage contracts have already been signed, so there’s nothing to worry about there.”

“I begin to believe I should have enjoyed spending the holidays with you after all. It sounds as if you provided quite lively entertainment for your guests.”

“Livelier for some than for others,” Ibbetson said, winking a
n
d nudging Gabriel with his elbow. “Now about that hand of piquet?”

“If it is your fourth daughter you have in mind—” Gabriel began, but Ibbetson interrupted him.

“No, no, the chit ain’t actually going to be out for another year. Still in the schoolroom, you know.” He eyed Gabriel speculatively, then grinned. “Devil take it, I might have known you’d be suspicious. Thing is, I thought you might be persuaded to give me a hint—just a clue as to which way you was meaning to jump? I’d be happy to give you a cut of my winnings.”

Amused by the man’s candor, Gabriel shook his head with mock regret. “I am afraid if we played, all I would do is take your money again, leaving you considerably poorer and none the wiser.”

“Ah, well, no harm in trying. Buy you a drink?” Ibbetson said with all the expansive good humor of a man newly freed from the burden of having four unmarried daughters.

Why not? Gabriel thought. Ibbetson obviously kept up with the gossip, and after a drink or two, he would probably not even notice that Gabriel was pumping him for information rather than vice versa.

Following the little dandy into the card room, Gabriel came face to face with his cousin, who was accompanied by two cronies. As unsteady as they were on their feet, it was readily apparent that all three had been drinking for some time.

Phillip glared at Gabriel with loathing. “You bastard,” he said, slurring his words. Then with no warning he swung his fist right at Gabriel’s face.

The swing was glaringly abroad, and sidestepping it easily, Gabriel caught Phillip’s arm and twisted it behind his back.

“If you will excuse us,” Gabriel said to Ibbetson and the other two men, who were all three gaping at him in astonishment, “my cousin and I wish to have a private discussion.” Shoving Phillip ahead of him, Gabriel headed for the door.

Phillip’s two friends were obviously too foxed to understand what was happening, but Ibbetson trotted along behind. “Does this have anything to do with Miss—” he started to ask, but a single look from Gabriel was sufficient to halt the little dandy in his tracks and convince him that it was not in his best interest to speculate on such matters.

There were, unfortunately, several other members present, and Gabriel knew the story of this little contretemps would be all over town before morning. He therefore made no effort to be gentle when he forced his cousin out of Brooke’s and into a hackney coach. Giving the driver instructions to take them to the Albany, where Phillip had rooms, Gabriel climbed in and took the seat opposite his cousin.

“You hurt my arm,” Phillip said sulkily, rubbing the injured limb.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Gabriel said. “The next time you accost me in public you shall not get off so lightly.”

Obviously Phillip was not properly repentant, because he answered with a string of curses, ending with, “How dare you! How dare you!”

Gabriel sighed. Dealing with obnoxious drunkards was not one of his favorite pastimes, and under normal circumstances, he would simply have walked away and allowed his cousin to vent his spleen—and make an ass of himself—in public. But Gabriel wanted no scandal attached to Miss Jolliffe’s name, and he rather thought she was involved in whatever burr was under Phillip’s saddle.

“How dare I what?” Gabriel asked, wishing all his relatives did not suffer from an inability to speak concisely and to the point.

“I shall never forgive you for this—never! Do you hear?”