Fortune's fools (5 page)

"I told you they didn't have what it takes, Tavistoke," said another man, whom she recognized as the Marquess of Cravenwell. Her aunt had pointed him out earlier, calling him the dirty marquess.

Over the head of the father, Kate saw him, her Sir Milton. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and blond. Hmm, she had pictured him dark. He seemed to be looking right at her, and she let the branch fall, taking a step back.

"I have to agree with Papa on this, Tristram. It is rude to leave before dinner."

It was another voice, one similar, but not her Sir Milton ... at least, she did not think it was he. Their voices were so very similar. Perhaps she was mistaken.

Cautiously, she lifted the branch and peered through the plant again to discover what sort of man this second voice belonged to. This one was just as tall, but dark. His back was to her, and she could not see his face.

The tall blond, the one called Tristram, finally capitulated, saying, 'Oh, very well. I will remain, but I am excusing myself immediately after this dashed supper. This is only the first ball."

"First or last, you are wasting both my time and my money if you leave before supper. That's when all the hand-holding and flirtation really begin, and don't you forget it," said the dirty marquess.

"What's more ... oh, blast!" exclaimed the father of the two handsome men.

A trill of feminine laughter severed their intimate conversation, and Kate smiled as a purple-turbaned dame came sailing toward the men. Ignoring the other three, she zeroed in on the young men's father.

"La, there you are, Tavistoke. I vow, I have searched the entire house for you, naughty man. You told me you were going to lead me into supper. Now, come along."

Without further ado, she linked arms with the hapless man and led him away.

The Marquess of Cravenwell took a step to follow. Then, turning to face the two younger men, he said, "From the looks of things, that father of yours may make it to the altar before either of you do. But you just remember, I will have my pound of flesh, one way or the other."

With this, the marquess stalked away, leaving the two younger men behind.

"I wish Papa and Cravenwell had not come tonight," said the blond. "It is going to be very annoying, having them always looking over our shoulders."

"Yes, but perhaps Papa has found someone else to occupy his time. Do you know who that was? Lady Anne Graves," said the dark-haired man. When the blond showed no interest in this information, he said sharply, "Lady Anne is only the richest spinster in England."

Tristram laughed and said, "I only hope she will keep Papa occupied so that he will not bother us."

"Chin up, Tris. Things could be worse. Papa could be

staying with us instead of at Craven well's house. Now, come along to supper. I want to show you the prettiest girl at the ball."

The younger man brightened and asked, "Have you found the mystery lady from the garden?"

"No, how would I know her? I haven't even thought of her. No, I'm talking about the blond beauty from the park. Do you never listen to anything I say?"

Kate stepped back, almost falling through the door to the ladies' withdrawing room as an abigail opened it.

"Excuse me, miss. Did you need some help?"

"What? Oh, no thank you. I am fine," she said, closing the door in the maid's face. She needed time to think.

Max hurried toward the supper room, his long stride matched by his brother.

"What does this beauty look like?" asked Tristram.

"You'll see."

"You haven't actually been presented to her yet, have you?"

"No, but I did find out her name. It is Philippa Beau-champ. Have you ever heard a lovelier name? Look, there she is. That bore, Osgood, is serving her. How the devil did that happen? Palmer was the one who led her out in the supper dance."

"What does it matter? No, there's Palmer, talking to that ... I was about to say lightskirt, but that is hardly likely here."

"Who cares? I know Palmer, and that is enough to secure an introduction. Come on. It won't be so obvious with the two of us choosing to sit at their table."

Tristram tagged along obediently.

"Palmer, how good to see you."

"Darby, I didn't know you had gotten back into town. Understand you have lost that stallion of yours," said Palmer, a slight sneer on his face.

"While I was away, I'm afraid," said Max, reaching behind him and pulling his brother forward. "You remember Tristram, do you not?"

"Darby, good to see you, both of you. Won't you join us?"

Max made a show of looking around for another table before pulling up a chair and beckoning Tristram to do the same.

"Allow me to present Mrs. Beauchamp and her lovely daughter, Miss Philippa Beauchamp. This is Mr. Max Darby and his brother Tristram."

Max was lost in the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen. Smiling, he gave a nod of his head to the beauty, but he could not manage to speak.

"Now, Mr. Palmer, there is no harm in being truthful, is there? You need not play the shy gentleman with me. I would never hold it against you if should you introduce us as the lovely Mrs. Beauchamp and her daughter. You needn't play on my sympathies by complimenting my little girl. And a child she is, don't you know, gentlemen? Not to say one cannot be wed at her age. I was her mother by the time I was her tender years. A child bride, they called me."

The table fell silent while Mrs. Beauchamp's amazed listeners digested her words. All at once, the gentlemen realized that a compliment had been called for, and they rushed to comply.

"Of course, Mrs. Beauchamp, it is easy to see that Miss Beauchamp is a striking copy of her mother," said Palmer.

Osgood piped in, "A shadowy copy."

"Indeed, I thought you were sisters," said Max, who had guessed that his access to the daughter depended on his flattering the mother.

"Sisters? You must be ..." Tristram fell silent beneath the others' shocked expressions. He clamped his lips together in mulish defiance.

"We are delighted to meet both of you charming ladies," said Max, trying to cover his brother's faux pas.

"You are too kind," said the matron, leaning forward and pursing her lips at him. "Looking at the two of you, I can hardly credit that you are brothers. You look nothing alike."

"We are both quite tall," said Max, smiling at the daughter.

"But you are dark and . . . well, I know you will not mind my candor, you are such a fine figure of a man. Your little brother, however, is blond and—ah, but then I suppose he will fill out nicely when he is grown. Dear me, I seem to have upset my plate," said the matron.

Mr. Osgood leaped to his feet, the contents of the overturned plate slipping off his lap.

"I am dreadfully sorry, Mr. Osgood. How clumsy of me. You go and get cleaned up. I'm sure Mr. Darby, Mr. Max Darby, will accompany me to the tables for a new plate."

As Mrs. Beauchamp rose, she managed to knock over her glass and said, "Oh, Mr. Palmer, not you, too. All that lovely champagne. Oh, dear. Philippa, my sweet, why don't you keep Mr. Tristram company while Mr. Max Darby and I take care of refilling my plate?"

"Yes, Mama."

Max offered his arm to the boorish mother, manag-

ing the smallest of smiles as he led her back to the buffet tables.

As he left, he heard Tristram say, "I am glad the plate did not soil your lovely gown, Miss Beauchamp."

"No, it does not usually do so," she replied before ducking her head shyly.

"I beg your pardon?"

She glanced up at him through her long lashes and smiled. "I should not have spoken. It is just Mama's way of ridding herself of gentlemen who have begun to bore her."

"I shall hope I never fall into that category," murmured Tristram.

"Oh, no, Mr. Darby. You would never . .." The girl blushed a rosy pink and failed to finish her statement.

Smiling, Tristram said, "I think I saw you in the park the day we arrived in town."

"Yes, I thought that was you," whispered the girl.

"My brother has seen you several times. It was he who wanted so badly to meet you tonight."

"Really? And you?"

"Well, I had forgotten . . . that is, I have been very busy since we arrived in town. As for myself, I prefer ... quieter pursuits."

"What sort of pursuits, Mr. Darby?"

"Oh, drawing, reading. Nothing as exciting as my brother," said Tristram.

"I like to draw, too, but I have very little talent," said the girl, still looking at her plate.

"You might be very surprised. Perhaps you would show them to me sometime."

"I would be too embarrassed," she whispered.

"Nonsense. If you never show them to anyone, how will you improve? I taught a young man back home ..."

"You teach drawing?" she breathed, gazing up at him as if he had hung the moon. "Do you think ... I mean, I would be honored if you would help me. I have the most difficult time with noses."

"Noses are not so difficult when you learn a trick or two. I would be happy to teach you. I mean, if we have the chance to meet again."

"But we must," she replied. "I... oh, here they come. Perhaps we will have another opportunity to speak of this?"

"Of course we shall. I know that my brother wants to get to know you better. He's a capital fellow."

"Yes, I'm sure he is," she whispered, falling silent as her overbearing mother and Max returned.

Kate spent the remainder of the night looking around the ballroom for her Sir Milton. It tickled her that his real name was Tristram. In the garden, he had called her his Iseult. Did that mean he thought they were destined to be together?

It was nonsense, of course, but it kept her mind occupied while her feet followed the movements of various dances. She smiled and murmured polite replies to her partners, but in her distracted state, that was the best she could manage.

After supper was over and two sets had passed, he was gone. She looked for him in vain. His dark-haired brother remained, but Tristram, her Sir Milton, was gone, and so was the sparkle in her green eyes.

The next time Kate returned to her mother, she said, "You look weary, Mama. May we go home?"

"Are you tired of dancing so soon? Why, during my Season, I danced till dawn every night."

"I am sure you did," said Kate with a weary smile. "However, I am not you, so may we go?"

"No one has said anything untoward to you, have they?" her mother asked anxiously. "I could not bear it if anyone maligned you because of me."

"Please believe that no one has said anything untoward about you or Papa. And why should they? When has being poor been more important than bloodline? We have nothing to be ashamed of," said Kate proudly.

"Oh, I know. I am just being silly. Perhaps I am more fatigued than I care to admit. Very well, I shall send for your father."

On the ride home, Kate's mind remained firmly fixed on the intriguing Tristram. She resolved to meet her neighbor face to face as quickly as possible. If there was one man in all of London who might convince her to give up her home and marry, it was Sir Milton. She had never heard her heart beat in such a irregular manner, like the silly schoolgirls said it did—never until this night.

Perhaps five and twenty was not too old for true love after all.

Three

Max paid a formal call on Miss Beauchamp and her mother the next day. He tried to persuade Tristram to accompany him, but his brother had had his fill of Mrs. Beauchamp at the ball. Mrs. Beauchamp had several gentlemen in attendance, but they did not seem overly interested in her daughter, preferring the mother's company to the daughter's, or so it seemed to Max.

Palmer and Osgood were there, and once again, Mrs. Beauchamp ignored them in favor of her latest acquisition, Maxwell Darby. She giggled, she rapped his arm with her fan, she flirted for all she was worth until finally Mrs. Beauchamp was ignoring everyone in favor of Max.

He glanced at Miss Beauchamp from time to time, but she never lifted her beautiful eyes.

After the requisite thirty minutes, Max resisted Mrs. Beauchamp's insistence that she needed him to remain longer and left.

The next day, Max sent some lace handkerchiefs, folded into the shape of a heart. Though he did not know it, these were appropriated by the mother.

After almost a week, Max felt he was making progress with the mother, which was what he needed to do, according to everyone who knew the family. Though he could not discover what scandal Mrs.

Beauchamp had embroiled herself in the previous spring, he assumed it had something to do with a man, perhaps even a lover.

As distasteful as Max found the mother, he was intrigued by the daughter. He could not believe she was as retiring as she acted. How could she be, with a mother like she had?

"What do you mean, she's gone?" said Mr. O'Connor the next morning, glaring at his head groom. "I left strict orders that she was not to go riding in the mornings. You know what she does, riding like the hounds of hell are nipping at her heels. Why did you let her go?"

MacAfee cocked one bushy brow and said tartly, "And how do you think I should go about stoppin' Miss Kate, sir? If you cannot stop her, what makes you think I can? If the young mistress tells me she's goin' for a ride on that stallion, who am I to tell her no? It would be naught but a waste of breath."

Kieran O'Connor snorted and sat down on a barrel, saying, "It's a cryin' shame that she is too old to turn over my knee."

"Ah, those were the days," said MacAfee, leaning against the doorsill of the tack room.

"How long has she been gone?"

"An hour. She did take the boy along, though he'll never keep up wi' her if she runs the beast."

"If?" said O'Connor, pulling a flask out of his pocket and taking a long pull. He offered it to the groom, who did the same before returning it.

"You and your missus, you have only boys, do you not?"

"Aye, and glad I am of it. Not but what Miss Kate isn't

a fine young lady, because she is. Why, she's practically like a daughter to me. Still, it's a terrible responsibility, raising a girl," said the groom.