Julia London (70 page)

David, of course, was more than happy to oblige the pretty countess. “Near Pemberheath, you say? I must contrive a reason to visit,” he said. Like a puppy, he eagerly responded to her attention, and began to tell a story of his own encounter with a herd of cattle, drawing laughter from the group. For reasons he could not and did not want to understand, it irritated Alex.

When supper was announced, Alex was seated at the head of the table as was due his rank, Marlaine on his right. Arthur had quite smoothly managed to seat himself next to Lauren, as had David. Throughout the first course of turtle soup, Alex furtively watched Lauren as he tried to respond to Marlaine’s chatter. God, but she had an engaging smile, especially when she laughed. And she certainly laughed freely with Arthur, he thought irritably.

He became aware of Marlaine saying his name, and dragged his eyes from Lauren to his fiancée. “My, but you seem preoccupied this evening,” she whispered, smiling. When he did not respond, she blushed self-consciously. “Mother and I are attending the opera tomorrow night, and I thought that you might like to accompany us.”

“The opera? I thought your mother was returning to Tarriton for the weekend,” he said blandly.

Marlaine’s smile faded a bit and she glanced shyly to her right. “Don’t you recall? Grandmama is doing much better now, so Mother decided to stay and assist the duchess with the wedding preparations.”

“I seem to have forgotten. But I should be pleased to
accompany you,” he said simply, trying to listen to Lauren’s conversation.

Marlaine suddenly leaned forward. “Alex? Do you think we might take a turn about the park tomorrow afternoon?”

He had no idea what prompted that, but she knew very well that he could hardly endure such trivialities. “I am engaged tomorrow afternoon,” he said flatly. Her face paled at his curt response, and she straightened slowly as a chorus of laughter rose from the other end of the table. Expressionless, Alex turned to the other guests. “Did I hear reference to a potato?” he asked, glancing at Lauren.

“Countess Bergen was just telling us that in Bavaria, the potato is so essential to the average diet, they have raised it to the level of deity!” Mrs. Clark cheerfully informed him. “What did you say, Countess Bergen?”

Lauren shrugged sheepishly. “Just that there is an old saying:
‘It is better that it make you sick than you do not eat it at all.’
” Polite laughter was heard around the table.

“And tell them about the Potato Man,” Mrs. Clark prompted. Lauren blushed but politely summarized the story she had just shared by admitting there was a daft gentleman who fancied he saw people’s faces in various potatoes. Lord Pritchit demanded to know exactly how that could be, and Lauren hesitantly explained more fully about the Potato Man. As she spoke, she received increasingly disapproving looks from Lady Pritchit and Lady Whitcomb. It was so typical, Alex mused. The
ton
did not countenance differences in background or culture.

But Arthur laughed appreciatively at her story. “Did you have opportunity to travel beyond Bavaria, Countess?” he asked.

“Not often, but I had the good fortune to travel to Paris. I think it one of my favorite places. What is your favorite place, Mrs. Clark?” she asked, artfully turning the conversation from herself.

Interrupted from her diligent work on a turbot filet, Mrs.
Clark looked up from her plate and blustered, “Oh my! I suppose it is London! Paddy and I went to Paris once, but we did not care for it. Too foreign or something.”

“
Plus je vis d’etrangers, plus j’aimai ma patrie
,” Arthur quipped. Lauren laughed gaily.

“What? What did he say?” Mrs. Clark demanded.

“It’s from a French play, Mrs. Clark. Let me think, loosely translated …
‘the more foreigners I saw, the more I loved my homeland,’
” Lauren offered.

She spoke French
and
German? The woman’s surprises were never-ending. Alex hid his amazement behind a mouthful of fish as Mrs. Clark frowned at Arthur. “Well, I suppose that’s
exactly
what I thought!” she exclaimed to polite laughter.

“Normandy is particularly lovely in the fall,” Marlaine interjected. “We plan to travel there after the wedding.” An awkward silence fell over the room, save Aunt Paddy’s slurp of her wine.

“Do you travel, Lord Christian?” Lauren asked after a moment.

“I’ve taken the grand tour, of course, but unlike my roving brother, I have spent most of my life in England. I, for one, prefer British soil to all other,” he said, to which Lord Whitcomb offered a hearty “here, here.”

Impulsively, Lauren recited: “ ‘
I traveled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea. Nor England! Did I know till then what love I bore to thee!
’ ” She grinned. But the other guests, momentarily taken aback by her recitation, grew quiet.

“Wordsworth,” Alex said quietly from the end of the table.

Lady Pritchit sniffed disdainfully and stabbed her fish. “They
do
teach poetry in the girls’ schools, your grace! My Charlotte also knows poetry. Recite something, Charlotte,” she hastily bid her daughter. Charlotte’s face mottled with terror.

“Oh, that is hardly necessary,” Lady Paddington said, attempting to intervene.

“But she is quite poetic! Go on, dear, recite something!” Lady Pritchit said a little more forcefully. Clearly mortified, poor Charlotte clumsily attempted to recite a passage from
The Canterbury Tales
with the magnanimous help of everyone at the table, who called out what pieces they could recall. Alex stole a glimpse at Lauren as the others butchered the work. She glanced shyly at him with what he would have sworn was a faint smile of gratitude. Inexplicably, his chest tightened, and he hastily turned his attention to Charlotte.

   After dinner, the women retired to the drawing room, leaving the men behind to enjoy their cigars. Lady Paddington began to tell a rather convoluted story about the hiring of a housemaid, during which Mrs. Clark frequently clarified what she thought were the salient points. Lauren was simply too confused to listen to their prattle. In all her twenty-four years, she had never been so affected by the mere
presence
of a person, but Alex Christian was able to turn her inside out. She could
feel
him in a room, aware that his eyes were constantly on her, whether she was looking at him or not. Worse yet, she was keenly aware of his lovely fiancée, and she had heard enough tonight to know that theirs would be the wedding of the decade. The very thought made her queasy.

Dear God, this was slowly becoming the longest supper party she had ever attended, longer even than the one where Herr Mietersohn, sitting next to her husband, Helmut, tried to grope her under the table while a Frenchman delivered an excruciatingly boring monologue about the revolution. In broken German mixed with French, no less.

But this was
far
worse. All Alex had to do was smile, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and her stomach would flutter madly. She was a giddy little fool—no,
imbecile
was a better description. Alex Christian was as far removed from her as a
person could be, yet here she sat, practically pining for him. While she was sitting with his fiancée, for Chrissakes!

She wearily glanced around her. The women were listening to Lady Paddington—except for Lady Marlaine, who smiled nervously when Lauren caught her staring at herself and Charlotte.

When the men finally rejoined the ladies, her tension soared. Lord Westfall came immediately to the circle of women and sat next to Charlotte, causing the poor girl to turn two shades of red. The duke sauntered over and chose a seat next to Lady Marlaine—directly across from her, of course. As if he sensed what that did to her, he flashed an indolent smile.

She retaliated against the raw impact he had on her by immediately engaging Lord Westfall in conversation, hardly noticing when Charlotte seemed to sink in her seat. For the rest of the insufferable evening, Lauren managed to avoid any conversation with the duke at all. Trying gamely to include Charlotte, she chatted with Lord Westfall about the horse races at Ascot. Although a bit of a dandy, she discovered that Lord Westfall was charmingly witty and personable. When she confessed she had been to Hyde Park only twice, she was actually rather pleased when he asked if he might drive her around the next day.

As Lord Westfall mapped out a plan for their excursion, she was conscious of the duke watching her. Having endured his unnerving scrutiny long enough, she was vastly relieved when Lady Whitcomb stood to leave along with Lady Marlaine. Alex also came to his feet, prepared to escort them home. Lauren kept her eyes on her lap as the trio bid all a good night. When at last the departing guests made their way to the door of the drawing room, she could not help stealing a final glimpse of him. Though he was speaking with Arthur, he was looking straight at her. He smiled very faintly at her blush before following the ladies out.

Lauren sagged when he left, the tension finally leaving her.

“Come sit and talk with me, Countess,” Lady Paddington called from her armchair. Oh God, no more conversation, she thought, but reluctantly did as she was bid. The moment she seated herself on the footstool, Lady Paddington eagerly leaned forward. “I think they make a handsome couple, don’t you?” Beaming, she nodded toward Lord Westfall and Charlotte, still seated on the settee.

“Indeed, madam.”

“You should invite Miss Pritchit to join you for your little turn about the park tomorrow. My dear David would like that very much. Now stay a bit, will you? I rather think my nephew is enjoying Miss Pritchit’s company, but she will be uncomfortable if you go,” she whispered. She could hardly refuse, and the longest supper party in the history of mankind fast became eternal damnation as she sat and listened, stupefied, to Lady Paddington and Mrs. Clark turn a discussion of a new wool cloak into an argument about the proper care and feeding of sheep.

When at last Lord Westfall stood to go, she smiled and assured him she would remember their engagement on the morrow. She very carefully did not look at Lady Pritchit, but she could feel the daggers the woman was staring at her. When Lord Westfall finally made his exit, Lauren stood, determined to take her leave.

“Might I offer you a ride?” Arthur asked after she had wished Lady Paddington and her guests good evening.

“Oh no, but thank you kindly,” she said, and with an airy wave, slipped into the foyer before he could press the issue. “Where might I find a hack?” she asked the butler breathlessly as she quickly slipped into her cloak.

“I shall call one for you, milady.”

“No! I mean … do not trouble yourself. I shall walk to the park—surely I might engage a hack there?”

“Forgive me, ma’am, but I could not recommend it. Wallace!
A conveyance for the lady!” he snapped, and pulled the front door open. Lauren hurried after the dispatched footman, who looked as if he were on an afternoon stroll as he moved down the street toward the park. She debated calling out and urging him to hurry. Never in her life had she wanted to be gone from a place so badly. She just wanted to go home so that she might forget this horrid evening. God, she was such a
fool
for letting Alex unnerve her so badly.

She turned eagerly toward the sound of a coach turning onto the street, her face falling when she saw the ducal crest. It couldn’t be. It simply
couldn’t
be. Dear God, was she in
hell
? She turned so that her back was to the coach, listening as it drew to a stop. The coach door flung open; she heard the fall of expensive heels on the cobblestone, and mouthed an unladylike curse when the footfall stopped just behind her.

“My, my, if it isn’t the countess. I rather thought David would have escorted you home by now so that he might speak to your uncle about his intentions,” he said mockingly.

One thing was certain—his extreme arrogance had not lessened since the ball. “I beg your pardon, your grace, but should you not be with your fiancée?” she snapped.

His chuckle was soft and low. “Perhaps. But I promised Arthur a nightcap at White’s.”

She could feel him standing very close to her; it was just a strange coincidence that her stomach seemed to climb to her throat. She took a nervous step forward. “Well then, just run along and fetch him why don’t you? A driver will be along for me any moment.” A long moment passed as she waited for some response, but he said nothing. What was he doing? Why did he just stand there? She waited, the curiosity killing her, the need to look almost overwhelming. When she could not endure it another moment, she abruptly peeked over her shoulder.

The insufferable man was grinning.

“Oh! By all that is holy, you are the most
unbearable
man!” she cried impulsively.

His grin deepened. “That is a rather heavy mantle, but I shall very graciously consider the source.”

“I beg your pardon? Whatever do you mean by
that
?” she gasped, truly affronted.

“I mean, Countess Bergen,” he said, sobering, “that since our reacquaintance at the Granbury reception, you seem quite put out with me.”

Put out
with him? Really, just because he seemed to think
she
was a fortune-seeker while
he
was to be married to a very pretty woman, she was not
put out
with him. Not in the
least.
The hired hack turned onto the street.

“I had honestly hoped the gardenias would take the edge off your disdain.”

That startled her. “The gardenias? But they were from—” Oh God, she had thought they were from Magnus, but she had not actually looked at the card! Her heart started to beat erratically. He had sent her
flowers
! And gardenias, her very favorite!

“Ah, I see,” he said quietly. “Too many suitors.”

“I … I did not know,” she murmured as her thoughts tumbled wildly over one another. Why had he sent her flowers? What had the card said? What had the bloody card
said
? She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled graciously. “They … they were lovely. Thank you.”