Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (36 page)

"Surely it isn't all Napoleon's fault," Beth pointed out. "Major Beaumont lost his arm in the Americas, and that war can't be laid at Bonaparte's door. Men, after all, don't seem to need much excuse for war."

He flashed her an irritated look but then gave a brief laugh and said, "Oh no. I'm not going to be entangled in a topic like that just now. I'm pleased you want to get to know the Delaneys," he said. "I think you'll like Eleanor, though she's not bookish. If you're wise you won't tangle in a battle of wits with Nicholas."

"He's a genius?" Beth queried skeptically.

"I don't know what he is. He never went up to university. Took this mad fit to travel then went to some strange places. Any meaningful conversation with him travels equally unpredictable roads. I once saw him reduce a parson to incoherence. I'm not actually sure," he said thoughtfully, "that he's a Christian."

"Good heavens."

Lucien looked at her in mock astonishment. "Have I shocked you? Drag your mind out of narrow, conformist paths, my dear."

Beth was shocked. She and Aunt Emma had questioned many things but never Christianity. She and Lucien had arrived at a neat, narrow house which at least did not look pagan.

"What is he, then?" asked Beth nervously.

Lucien just grinned and applied the door knocker.

An immensely proper butler answered the door and smiled. "Welcome, my lord. They are at home." Beth was somewhat reassured. This was not a house of disrepute.

"Good," said Lucien. "My dear, this is Hollygirt. Hollygirt, make known my wife, Lady Arden."

The butler bowed. "Honored to make your acquaintance, your ladyship."

It soon became clear formality at number eight, Lauriston Street, stopped with the butler. Lucien swept Beth along and into a large drawing room which had more the look of the senior girls' parlor at Miss Mallory's, except that most of the occupants were male.

Nicholas Delaney was sitting on the floor with two young men—one an amazingly handsome russet-haired specimen and one snub-nosed ginger—apparently playing with a large toy soldier. Another man, a fine-boned blond, was sitting at a table by the window writing. Hal Beaumont, Eleanor Delaney, and a noticeably pregnant young lady were sitting in a group being amused by a beautiful, amiable baby. A darkly poetic man was playing the piano. He looked up as they entered and swung into a creditable version of a fanfare of trumpets.

Everyone looked up and in an instant Beth was caught up in a whirlwind of welcomes, introductions, and questions. It was like a large and very strange family.

She was snared by Eleanor and cut out of the group. "You'll never remember who's who," said Eleanor, "so pay no attention. Come and meet Arabel instead. She has more manners than anyone else here."

Beth found herself on a sofa beside Hal Beaumont, meeting him for the first time since that extraordinary conversation in the rose garden. He smiled at her without constraint. "You're looking well, Elizabeth. I was sorry not to be at the wedding. Problems at my estate."

That had been his excuse. Beth saw he was keeping to his word; now she was married there was no hint of the warmth he had expressed just that once. "We missed you," she said and added, "I have to tell you that I prefer to be called Beth."

He looked intrigued but said, "Beth, then."

"And I'm Amy Lavering," said the girl holding the baby. "And this is Arabel. I hold her a lot in the hope she can teach my little one some decorum. My husband's Peter, the handsome one on the floor."

Beth looked over. Peter Lavering certainly was handsome but since Lucien had now joined that group, Beth felt she could debate the singular. She let it pass. "What are they doing?" she asked.

Eleanor explained. "Miles Cavanagh—he's the gingery one—brought that thing as a gift for Arabel. Entirely unsuitable for a girl, but Nicholas, of course, said there was no reason Arabel shouldn't grow up to be a soldier—horrid man. It doesn't work. Instead of marching it hurtles like the mail. It shot right off the table and broke its musket, so now it's restricted to the floor."

Someone released the switch and the rosy-cheeked grenadier shot forward about three feet and fell on its nose. Its feet gave a few pathetic little twitches. Arabel's attention was caught, and she gave a squeal and stretched for it.

Her father leapt to his feet and came to sweep her up. "No, no, little plum. Learn to resist wounded soldiers. They've been the ruin of many a fair maid." He grinned at Hal with no awkwardness about the injury at all, then smiled over the child's head at Beth. "Welcome. What form of insanity does your heart crave? Here we satisfy all."

Beth was a second too late to stop the betraying flicker of her eyes towards Lucien, and she saw it register on Nicholas Delaney though his expression never altered. "I don't know," she said hastily. "I think I like sanity."

He promptly popped the baby on her lap. "Talk to Arabel. She's the only sane one here."

Beth had never held a baby before. The youngest girls at Miss Mallory's had been seven. The baby at least was a professional and settled happily against her chest mouthing one of her own knuckles.

Beth looked at Eleanor. "What a lovely child."

For a moment Eleanor looked very serious. "Yes. We receive precious gifts from strange places." But then she smiled. "She's due for a feeding and her nap. If you'd care to come upstairs we could all take tea in civilized peace while I feed her."

Though the notion was startling, Beth agreed, as did Amy.

Eleanor took the baby and carried her over to her father who kissed her softly on the lips. "Sleep well, Plumkin." Arabel gave him a smile but turned straight back to her mother with a serious look. Clearly the demands of her stomach were beginning to wear down her manners.

Beth wondered if such a sweet nature was the cause of the devotion everyone showed the child or the result. She had no experience of family life, but she'd never imagined a father as warmly loving as Nicholas Delaney.

Her eyes sought Lucien's. He smiled. "Go and learn how it's done. I want a child just as charming and well-behaved as Arabel."

Beth raised her brows. "I thought you wanted an heir for Belcraven."

"No," he said, "that's my father. I want a string of little Arabels. Then," he added mischievously, "an heir for Belcraven."

Considering her virginity, Beth was finding this discussion in front of a roomful of strangers rather challenging. "What a shame," she said tartly, "men cannot carry and birth the children. We could share the load." There was a burst of laughter, and Beth took the chance to escape and catch up with Eleanor and Amy.

"Good for you," said Eleanor. "Men sometimes talk as if producing babies is as easy as making a loaf of bread. Ah, Hollygirt," she said as the butler appeared. "We'll have tea in my boudoir and then please see what the gentlemen want."

Beth spent an enjoyable hour drinking tea and chattering. The conversation was mostly of pregnancy and babies, but she didn't mind. Presumably she would come to that one day though at the moment she didn't quite see how. She wished she had the nerve to ask these two friendly and clearly happily married ladies for advice on husband management, most specifically how to make him want to seek her bed, but she didn't dare.

When it was time to leave Eleanor Delaney drew Beth in for a warm hug. "I'm glad you came. You must come again. It isn't normally quite so chaotic. Everyone is gathering in Town hoping to hear first news of the battle. Peter has a brother with the 42nd, and there's four of the Company over there. For some reason," she said with a smile, "they all gather here."

"It's... it's a very happy house."

"Yes," said Eleanor "it is. But it's happiness that's been worked for."

That was all she said and yet it was a message of sorts.

* * *

When the ladies left the room, Nicholas Delaney said, "Your attention, gentleman." The six men turned to look at him.

"Eleanor doesn't much care for talk of Deveril. Doesn't much care for me to be dabbling my fingers in mischief again, but we can't let such a man get away with anything."

There was a chorus of quiet agreement.

"I've looked into the situation. It's clear he has a lot more money this year than last. I have to assume that he somehow relieved Thérèse Bellaire of most of her swindled fortune, which warms my heart, but I can't say I care to see him prosper. For one thing, he's the sort of man who'll use money for evil."

"How are we going to get it off him?" asked the pianist, Lord Middlethorpe.

"I don't know, Francis. As far as I can tell he's not keeping it in any bank, nor has he made investments. My guess is he has it in gold in chests in his house."

Hal Beaumont grinned. "We're going to crack the ken?"

Nicholas Delaney frowned. "We are not. We are all respectable men here and besides, we have a member of parliament present."

The fine-boned blond turned back to his papers. "I'm deaf as a post," he said.

"So?" asked Hal.

"So," said Nicholas, "the first thing Deveril did on returning to England was to hire a squad of bullyboys. They guard him and the house pretty well. It's tempting to break in and steal the lot, but it would suit him to catch me in the act and haul me before the courts. I'm looking for a more subtle way to rearrange his fortune."

"I hear rumors," said Lord Middlethorpe, "that he's looking to use some of his money to buy a bride."

"All the more reason," said Nicholas Delaney, "to render him penniless. His tastes are too foul for even the street drabs of Saint Giles."

Stephen Ball, M.P., recovered the use of his ears. "He was implicated in the death of that girl a few months back. Body was found in the river. She'd been badly used. Just up from the country, as fresh and innocent as a lamb. Nothing ever came of the enquiries, though. No real evidence."

"Or carefully used money," said Lucien angrily. "God but the man's a nasty specimen."

"We'll sort him out," said Nicholas. "There's no hurry."

He wound up the soldier. With a whir the grenadier began to march, head turning first left then right. Everyone let out a cheer. Then, with a loud and ominous twang, the toy stopped dead.

Nicholas picked it up. "I hope that isn't an omen," he said.

* * *

Beth found that as soon as they returned to Belcraven House she was expected to drive in the park with the duchess. She had done this a few times before her marriage. It was, apparently, essential to see and be seen again now she was the marchioness.

Only she and the duchess were in the carriage which rolled slowly through the fashionable throng, and this was generally the case. The gentlemen rode, drove themselves in curricles and broughams, or strolled nearby, quizzing the beauties. The Belcraven carriage was frequently stopped for pleasant exchanges, and Beth recognized some of the people from the days before her wedding. She was warmly welcomed back to Town. She was beginning to feel just a little less of an outsider, and she couldn't help but realize that as the Marchioness of Arden she was now a person of importance.

She wished she felt it. She knew she would be happier with the simple, chaotic lifestyle of the Delaneys.

"How on earth do you remember who is who, Duchess?"

The duchess waved a hand and bowed at a rotund gentleman. "Sometimes one pretends. That was Sefton, by the way. People of significance tend to impress themselves on one's mind. Do you know," said the duchess, between more inclinations of the head and slight waves of the hand, "I think you should call me Maman as Lucien does."

Beth found the conventional notion disturbing. She had never had a mother, in any real sense. But then she realized she could think of the duchess as her mother with no trouble at all.

"I would be pleased to, Maman." she said, and the two women shared a warm smile. Then she saw Clarissa and her mother, accompanied by Lord Deveril. Clarissa waved to Beth like a drowning person, but the duchess gave the carriage only her slightest acknowledgement in passing.

"Is that young lady a friend?" she asked mildly.

"She was a pupil at Miss Mallory's. She called on me yesterday."

"I see. I do not much care for her family or the company she keeps, but I will not try to restrict your acquaintance. I would advise you, however, to have nothing to do with Lord Deveril."

"Willingly,
Maman.
Poor Clarissa, however, is going to have to marry him."

The duchess paused a moment. "That is unfortunate," she said.

"Very. I wish I could do something to help her." Beth hoped for some guidance or expression of support.

The duchess looked seriously at her. "Such marriages are not uncommon," she said with meaning. "Any family can experience difficulties, but in the case of the Greystones, the evil, I believe, is gaming. Without that so many people would not be brought low."

Beth discovered later that she had neatly been deflected from Clarissa's problem to the larger problems of Society.

* * *

Beth was inexorably drawn back into the mad social whirl and wondered when she would have the opportunity to visit the Delaneys again. She supposed Lucien went there, for the rigorous socializing seemed largely to be a female occupation. If he didn't, then perhaps he was spending all his time with the White Dove. Beth certainly saw little of him.