Fallen Angel (8 page)

The smile he gave her was seductive ... but also every bit as false as any she had ever seen in London society. Before she could question him further, however, she heard voices in the hallway and knew that their few moments of privacy were at an end.

Quickly and efficiently shunted aside by her sister, Verity soon grew quite fed up with her relatives. Not only was Antoinette flirting far too boldly for a young lady not yet out, but even Petronella was batting her eyelashes at Lord Sherington as if she were not a good eight or ten years his senior.

Paying no attention to the antics of his wife and daughter, Ralph was attempting to discover his lordship’s opinion on various political issues, and to add to the confusion, Bevis and Cedric were trying to interest him in investing in a horse currently running at Newmarket.

Somehow through it all Lord Sherington managed to remain polite and make the correct responses without committing himself to anything, but Verity felt her own frustration mounting with every passing minute.

Retiring to her customary chair in the corner, she wished she could make all these chattering people vanish, leaving her alone with Lord Sherington.

Just when she thought she could not stand it another minute, Otterwall announced that dinner was served.

Standing up, she heard Lord Sherington say, “Since it is potluck, I am sure there is no need to stand on ceremony.”

Then before she realized his intention, he was beside her, offering her his arm.

“Oh, but my lord, we had thought—” Petronella began to simper, but Verity wasted no time.

Quickly, before her sister could intervene, Verity laid her hand on Lord Sherington’s arm. Unless her sister wished to make a spectacle of herself by physically separating the two of them, Lord Sherington was now Verity’s dinner partner.

Unaware of the drama that had just taken place under his nose, Ralph offered his wife his arm and led the way into the dining room.

The meal had been superbly prepared, but closer acquaintance did not make Miss Jolliffe’s relatives any
more palatable, Gabriel decided by the time the ladies withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their port.

Offending Miss Jolliffe’s relatives was hardly the way to make her fall in love with him, but he decided to do his best to keep the contact between the Wasteneys and himself to a minimum during the courtship. And after the wedding he would have no compunction about cutting the connection quickly and ruthlessly.

Luckily, it should only take a sennight, or perhaps a fortnight, for Miss Jolliffe to fall in love with him. Unfortunately, this single evening already seemed to have been dragging on for an entire week. He could only pray that none of the females in the household were musically inclined.

His wish was only halfway granted. Joining the ladies, he skillfully secured a seat for himself and Miss Jolliffe on a small settee, leaving no room for a third party to join them.

Thwarted in that respect, the baroness prevailed upon her daughter to play a tune for them on the piano. As entertainment, it fell far short of the mark, and as punishment for his failure to accommodate his hostess’s wishes, it was much too severe.

“Do you sing?” he murmured to Miss Jolliffe, keeping his voice low enough that the others would not be able to hear above the music.

Glancing up at him, she replied quietly, “I am afraid I am not musically inclined, my lord.”

“I suspect, Miss Jolliffe, that you are not being completely honest with me.”

“No, I assure you, I neither sing nor play on an instrument.”

“But from the slightly glazed look about your eyes, I am inclined to believe that your ear is good enough to recognize the difference between good music and what we are hearing at present.”

With a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she said, “I must confess, I do prefer to hear the pianoforte played more
...
gently.”

“I would appreciate it, Miss Jolliffe, if in the future you would be honest with me.”

Stricken, she looked up at him. “I had not meant—” Her voice faltered, then sitting up a little straighter she met his gaze as squarely as she had at the Crown and Thistle in Northumberland. “I promise I shall never lie to you again.”

Strangely enough, he believed her. Such an odd person she was—and obviously it was not her looks alone that made her a total misfit in London society. He could well understand why other men had not had the wits to recognize her sterling qualities, and any last doubts he may have had that he made the right choice for his wife vanished.

“And you must promise never again, under any circumstances whatsoever, to allow your niece to play the piano in my presence,” he added in an undertone.

“She also sings,” Miss Jolliffe pointed out, this time making no effort to hide her amusement.

“On key?” Gabriel asked, wondering what further tortures he had let himself in for.

“No,” she replied quite candidly, “but Antoinette does her best to make up in volume what she lacks in pitch. Fortunately, as you pointed out before dinner, I do owe you something for your assistance in Northumberland, so I shall contrive somehow to cancel future performances.”

“If you do, you will earn my undying devotion,” he said lightly.

Gabriel perused the invitations that had accumulated during his absence. The Season might still be months away, and London might be almost devoid of company, but even so there were an adequate number of activities for the socially minded to engage in: Poetry readings, musical evenings, improving lectures, political dinners—the ingenuity of London hostesses was impressive.

Unfortunately, having met Lord Wasteney in person, Gabriel knew there was little chance that the baron, despite the name-dropping he had engaged in the previous evening when they were sitting over their port, had received any of these same invitations.

Which meant Gabriel would have to exert himself to an unaccustomed degree today and call upon some of the more socially prominent matrons—those without marriageable daughters, to be sure. A few hints dropped in the proper ears, and the word would soon spread that the elusive Lord Sherington might be persuaded to put in an appearance if certain close friends of his were likewise issued invitations.

Selecting a half-dozen gilt-edged cards, he cast the others aside and rang for his carriage. To alleviate some of the boredom, since making morning calls was not his chosen way to spend an afternoon, he made a bet with himself as to how quickly the news would spread.

When the fourth hostess managed within the first three minutes of his visit to mention casually that she and Lady Wasteney had been schoolgirls together, he decided that he did not need to visit the last two ladies on his list.

Halfway home a further thought occurred to him, and he ordered his coachman to proceed to the Wasteneys’ residence. He arrived on the heels of the lackey wearing Lord Finzel’s livery, who handed over a gilt-edged invitation to the butler, who admitted Gabriel to the drawing room, where Miss Jolliffe was sitting with her sister.

Lady Wasteney accepted the invitation from the butler’s hand with open astonishment, and even Gabriel found it somewhat astounding, since Lady Finzel’s had been the last name on his list, and he had not even called upon her that day.

Seating himself beside Miss Jolliffe, he said, “I wish to thank you both for the pleasant evening last night.”

The baroness did not immediately reply, and turning to her, he saw she was caught in a most unfortunate dilemma.

She could not quite manage to hide her curiosity to know the contents of the invitation, but on the other hand, she could not be so rude as to read her mail while entertaining a caller. Her eyes kept darting from him to the missive lying on the little table beside her, and as a result her conversation was most disjointed.

As amusing as it was to observe, Gabriel had no wish to spend the rest of the afternoon watching her dither. “I see you have also received an invitation to attend Lady Finzel’s musical evening today. I have heard that she has engaged the services of that new Italian soprano everyone is talking about.”

At his words, Lady Wasteney snatched up the missive and broke the seal. Unfolding it, she glanced quickly at the contents, then laid it aside. “We have not yet decided if we shall attend, for in general my husband finds such events boring.” She smiled suggestively at Gabriel and batted her eyes.

Only a fool would have missed such a blatant hint, and Gabriel was no fool. “Then you must allow me to escort you,” he said promptly.

“Oh, you are too kind, my lord,” Petronella simpered, “but I should not wish to put you to any inconvenience on my behalf.”

“It will be no trouble. I shall be delighted to act as escort for you ladies this evening.”

Verity should have been happy at the reappearance of Lord Sherington in her life. After lying awake for hours the night before remembering every look he had given her, every word he had spoken to her, she should have been delighted that he was to accompany them to the party.

But one thing she knew she could count on—her sister would see to it that she, not Verity, was the one hanging on to Lord Sherington’s arm this evening.

“It is settled then,” Lord Sherington said, rising to his feet. “I shall pick you ladies up at eight this evening. And now, Miss Jolliffe, might I prevail upon you to drive out with me?”

“But it is too chill outside,” Petronella said immediately. “It will be so much more cozy for us all to stay inside by the fire, and besides, I am expecting Antoinette to return from her shopping at any minute.”

“I shall fetch my cloak,” Verity said, ignoring her sister’s objections and hurrying from the room.

Her hands were trembling so much she had difficulty tying the strings of her bonnet, but still she was ready to go by the time Otterwall had helped Lord Sherington with his greatcoat and top hat.

The day was damp, and there was a sharp wind out of the northwest that cut to the bone, but sitting beside
Lord Sherington in his carriage, Verity was so happy just being with him, it seemed as if an intense warmth were radiating out from her heart to every limb of her body.
But just as they were about to go through the gate into Hyde Park, he began to swear softly under his breath.

5

“My Lord?” V
erity asked, wondering why Lord Sherington’s mood had changed so suddenly and without any warning.

“Why did you not tell me you were becoming chilled?” he asked, scowling down at her.

She opened her mouth to reply, but her teeth began to chatter too much for her to speak, and she was forced to clamp them tightly together.

“All females are cork-brained idiots,” he muttered under his breath, but instead of turning the horses around and taking her back to her sister’s house, which she fully expected him to do, he sent the pair tro
tting
briskly along in the direction of Oxford Street.

Halting the carriage in front of Nicholay’s Fur and Feather Manufactory, which had on display a beautiful sea-green cloak, he said curtly, “Come inside, and we shall see how that cloak in the window will suit you. It appears to be lined with fur, which will at least stop the wind.”

“Oh, but I am sure it will be much too expensive. I could not possibly afford such an elegant cloak,” Verity said, even while she gazed with envious eyes at the beautiful garment.

“You needn’t worry about the cost. I have every intention of paying for it,” he said, climbing down and reaching up to assist her.

Pulling back, she said, “You may buy whatever you wish, of course, but I am afraid it would be most improper for me to accept such an expensive present from you, my lord.”

For a moment he looked so angry she rather thought he intended to drag her bodily out of the carriage and force her to do as he bid, but apparently upon further consideration, he saw the wisdom of her words.

He did not, however, allow her objections to deflect him from his chosen course of action. “Then I shall give you the money, and
you
shall go in and buy the cloak, Miss Jolliffe.”

“Which is no less improper, my lord,” she felt obliged to point out even though she was sure he was well aware of the rules of society.

“But much more discreet, which is all that matters in such instances.”

Still she hesitated, and finally in exasperation he said, “I am not a patient man, Miss Jolliffe, and I dislike being crossed. You would do well to keep that in mind.” Knowing in her heart that what she was doing was morally wrong, Verity nevertheless allowed him to help her out of the carriage. He tucked a leather pouch heavy with coins in her hand, gave her a shove, and with great trepidation, she entered the shop, which was heavenly warm.

There was but one customer, a rather stout woman who appeared from her dress to be the wife of a prosperous merchant. She was keeping both clerks busy fetching out ostrich plumes of assorted colors for her inspection.

Verity tried several times to catch the attention of one of the young men, but they had apparently decided she was not rich enough to afford anything in their shop, and after a single glance in her direction, they rather pointedly ignored her.

After about five minutes, the door of the shop was thrust open, allowing a gust of very cold air to enter and with it a most irate Lord Sherington.

The elder of the two clerks immediately rushed to his side and asked if he could be of any assistance, but Lord Sherington merely scowled and pointed out crossly that another customer was ahead of him.