June Calvin (10 page)

Davida turned with a start to look at her mother standing in the door to the morning room, where the family preferred to breakfast informally.

When Davida made no answer, but just looked at her uncertainly, Lady Elizabeth sat down and took up the paper. “Your father said for me to read . . . oh, here it is.”

Davida watched her mother read and reread the announcement, two small frown lines appearing between her eyebrows. Finally she set the paper down and looked into her daughter’s bright blue eyes. Just now those eyes were brimming with tears. For as she watched her mother, Davida realized how many avid eyes were devouring that same news item over breakfast.

“Oh, how could she do it to him? All over the city the
ton
is reading that. Everywhere he goes people will be staring at him, wondering how he is taking it. Why couldn’t she be kind enough to wait until the season was over?”

“Perhaps it was meant to be cruel. The poor young man.”

“Mother, you mustn’t let father throw me at his head. He has some sort of notion . . .”

“Yes, I know, dear.”

“But I believe this is only a temporary start. And even if it is not, Monty needs time. Do you think we could go home as soon as our ball is over? The season is almost at an end.”

“You may be right. It won’t be easy to convince your father, but I’ll talk to him.”

It would certainly have been most difficult to convince her father that Lord Pelham needed time to get over Elspeth before Davida could find a place in his affections. For that young man was just now closeted with Sir Charles in the library.

Chapter Eleven

W
hile Davida was nursing her cold and her bruised spirits, Pelham was coming to grips with his problems with Elspeth. When he returned home the night of the picnic, his mother noted his grim face and tense demeanor immediately.

“May I take it from your Friday face that all was not well at the picnic?” Lady Pelham was close to her son and felt no hesitation in inviting him to share his problems with her.

On a long, tearing sigh, Pelham threw himself into an overstuffed chair opposite her in their comfortable book-lined library. He dangled his legs over one arm and rested his head against the back. “Ah, Mother, I begin to wonder if I have made a serious mistake.” He told her of Elspeth’s waspish, stuffy behavior at the picnic. “Even if I could coax her around, do I want to, I wonder? Perhaps we are not suited.”

A careful silence ensured, and Pelham straightened in his chair. “Mother?”

“Are you asking for advice, dear, or just for a listening ear?”

“Advice, I suppose. Though”—he flashed her his impish grin—“I don’t promise to take it.”

“In that case I shall feel much freer about giving it. Courtship is often very stressful. It may be that Elspeth and you would pull in harness together very well in spite of these spats. However . . .”

“However?”

“It may be that your natures are too dissimilar. You must consider carefully what you know of her nature, setting aside her beautiful and socially accomplished exterior, and what you know of your own.”

Pelham nodded, dropping his head into his hands. “I have been doing just that all the way home, and what I am beginning to believe—well, I have already told you.”

“I hope you will take into account what you need from marriage. If I do not mistake you, it is not just someone to provide you with an heir, but someone who will be a loving partner to you. Coldness and conflict in your marriage will not be as tolerable to you as they are to some other men.”

“You and Father set the pattern for me, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” She smiled warmly in remembrance. “Compared to many women, I was truly blessed in my husband. And the woman you marry will be truly blessed in you, if she only has the wisdom to realize it.”

“You’ve carefully avoided directly giving me your opinion of my marrying Elspeth.”

“I don’t think I should. I think general principles can be applied . . .”

He grinned at her and moved to kneel in front of her, tenderly taking her crippled hands in his. “You don’t fool me for a minute, you know. How long have you felt she was wrong for me?”

Lady Pelham chuckled. “An interfering mother can become very unpopular with her grown children. But to tell the truth, I began to wonder when I heard the
on dits
after your recent visit to Vauxhall. You know there is very little that escapes the prying eyes of the
ton.
”

Straightening and flushing deeply, Pelham began to pace the room. “Didn’t know you’d heard about it.”

“I heard that she had slapped you hard enough to leave the print of her hand on your face.”

“Ah!” Pelham rubbed his jaw in rueful reminiscence.

“I doubt you are the sort to make untoward advances. Is it merely my mother’s pride that tells me you were not terribly forward?”

“I stole a kiss, that is all. And a gentle kiss at that.”

His mother let out her breath slowly. “How glad I am she cried off. You are free, now.” At the pain on his face she shook her head. “Not entirely free—it will be a time before you can get over her, for I am persuaded you felt strongly about her.”

“That I did. Do. It is very hard to give her up, even knowing that it is the wisest thing to do.”

“Do nothing, for a few days, I beg you. This may not be the right decision. They say that love conquers all. Do you think Lady Elspeth loves you?”

“I think that her feelings are somewhat like mine—she loves me but doesn’t like me very well.”

“I am not at all sure how to deal with that kind of relationship. Your father was ever my best friend.”

“Yes, I remember. It seems to me something very precious, something that eludes me completely with Elspeth.”

Lady Pelham stood and stroked his cheek tenderly before taking his arm. “Do you dine with me this evening? I believe it is almost time.”

During the course of their mostly silent meal Pelham turned over and over in his mind the events of the day and the conversation with his mother. As the last cover was removed and the sweetmeats placed before them, he suddenly burst out, “But hang it all, whom shall I marry?”

Eyes twinkling, Lady Pelham rose to leave him to his port. “That, too, I suggest you do nothing about for a while. Perhaps next year . . .”

He shook his head. “I really wanted to marry this year. The . . . the succession, you know.” The fact was that Pelham was a grown man with needs that weren’t being met. His conscience wouldn’t let him play the rake, and thus marriage had become an urgent priority with him. There were some things you just couldn’t say to a mother, though, however understanding she was.

“But I can’t think of anyone else right now I would want to marry, except . . .”

“Except?”

“Perhaps I ought to court Miss Gresham. She is a delightful girl.” Pelham groaned. “Who is probably accepting an offer from Harrison Curzon even as we speak. If ever there was a buck truly caught in the parson’s mousetrap, it is he. He looked daggers at me each time I spoke to her. And I think she means to have him if he asks her.”

“Well,” Lady Pelham offered as she left the room, “Davida is a very sweet girl, but if she has given her heart elsewhere, I do not think you would want her even if Curzon doesn’t offer for her.”

“She cares for him, certainly, but I do not think her affections are seriously engaged. Still, that father of hers is pressuring her to marry well, and Curzon’s fortune must weigh heavily.”

“Such considerations often do. Truly, Monty, I think you had best give yourself some time.” Lady Pelham closed the door and left her son to mumble over his port.

Pelham buried himself in neglected correspondence and estate business the next two days, deliberately keeping himself too busy to think of Elspeth. By the third evening after the picnic he was quite tired of duty and domesticity, and sallied forth to Brook’s to see who was abroad. He was in no mood for Tories tonight, even if White’s was the place he’d most likely find Lord Carrothers, whose dry wit and trenchant observations he would have valued greatly.

His search for lively company was successful. He found several friends at the faro table observing Harrison Curzon, among others, betting heavily. On catching sight of him, Curzon waved Pelham over. “Join us, Monty. I’m in luck tonight. Gonna break the bank.”

Pelham was a little surprised to find Curzon well-to-go, his speech slightly slurred and his stance unsteady. Harrison could drink like a fish and never show the least sign of being drunk, a capacity which Pelham had envied him on more than one occasion.

“You know I don’t bet against the house, Harry. One always loses in the end. Whist’s my game.”

Somewhat truculently, Curzon snapped, “Never lose. Don’t lose anything. Do I, Oscar? Peter?” He applied to others in the group, who cheerfully called out various insults.

“Nope, never lose. Except at love. Come, then, Monty. A game of whist.” He walked a little unsteadily toward a card table, drawing with him two other players.

Pelham sat down with misgivings. He was stone-cold sober, and the other three had obviously been drinking heavily. It seemed a bit unfair, but they insisted. “You’ll soon catch up. Have a brandy.”

That was too true to deny. Pelham was as well known for his limited capacity for strong drink as he was for his skill as a whipster and marksman.

Several hours of deep play ensued, with sums moving back and forth across the table with no clear advantage. It seemed to Pelham that Curzon had some need to prove himself against him. There was an undercurrent of anger running through all his conversation. When at last Pelham stood up, swaying slightly, and threw down his cards, Harrison had won a tidy sum from him. “I’m out,” Pelham announced.

“Whatsamatter, Elspeth jerking your chain? What will she say when she learns you’ve been a bad boy again?”

Pelham looked down at Harrison, whose usually clear blue eyes were somewhat out of focus. “It’s nothing to do with Elspeth. I’m a great believer in the Golden Mean, and I’ve given you as much
gold
as I
mean
to.”

The others chuckled, and Curzon stood up. “Beat you again. Beat you in the race, beat you at cards. Damn you, the only prize I’ve lost to you is one you don’t even want.”

Pelham met Curzon’s glare, but shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know what you’re on about, but I think for once you’re as foxed as I am. Let’s call it a night.”

“Call it what you like. I’m invincible.” Curzon shoved his chair back impatiently and headed for the faro tables again.

Pelham turned a puzzled face to the other two players, Arnold Lanscombe and Sir Oscar Rhodes. “What’s up with Harry tonight? Never saw him so out of curl before.”

Lanscombe drawled insinuatingly, “Could have something to do with the fact that Miss Davida Gresham has shut herself in her room and sees no one.”

“She has a cold, that’s all,” protested Sir Oscar.

“That is what her parents put about. But I saw her in his curricle quite late one evening, looking very disheveled and upset. And everyone thought Harry was on the point of offering for her, but have
you
seen any announcement?”

Pelham straightened up. Usually alcohol made him sleepy or silly, but his drowsiness was suddenly burned away in a surge of pure fury. He recalled Stanley’s question: “Afraid Curzon will give your protégé a slip on the shoulder?”

He stormed over to Curzon, grabbing him by one arm and spinning him around. “Damn you, if you’ve injured Miss Gresham in any way, I’ll call you out!”

Curzon, too, suddenly seemed sober. Eyes narrowed, he drew himself up, his six-inch advantage on Pelham emphasized. He shrugged his shoulder free of the strong restraining hand and looked furiously at the other two men, who had followed Pelham from the card table.

“Who says I’ve hurt Miss Gresham?”

“Talk is that her ‘cold’ was caught by staying out too late and going a bit too far with London’s celebrated ‘Golden Rake.’ Some say she is ruined but refuses to marry you, and her parents have locked her up until she agrees. Some say you want her for a mistress and her family is preventing her from coming to you. Some . . .” Lanscombe seemed either too drunk or too caught up in spreading his malicious gossip to sense his danger.

Curzon pushed past Pelham and lifted Lanscombe by his shirtfront, suspending him one-handed in midair. He wrapped his other hand around the dandy’s formerly exquisite mathematical cravat, tightening it ominously.

“If Miss Gresham’s parents say she has a cold, she has a cold, and that is all. She is a pure, proper, and entirely innocent young lady, and I’ll have the gizzard of anyone who spreads anything to the contrary!”

Lanscombe had turned pale. He choked out past his taut cravat, “C-c-certainly won’t hear it from me. I’ve nothing but the g-g-greatest respect for Miss Gresham.”

“Don’t forget. If one word to the contrary gets back to me, you’ll know my steel!”

Curzon dropped him as if he were a dirty rag, and turned back to Pelham. “Good to know Miss Gresham has a champion in you, Monty, but in this case, there’s no need. She’s taken no harm from me. Rather the reverse.” He looked down at his feet for a moment and then continued. “Offered for her and she turned me down. I haven’t given up yet, though. Once you and Elspeth are leg-shackled, I’ll renew my suit.”

He gave Pelham a hard, assessing look and then shrugged his shoulders angrily. “Poor sot, to prefer a bear-leader like Elspeth Howard to Davida Gresham.”

Sudden silence brought to Curzon’s attention the fact that all eyes in the room were riveted on him. Throwing up his arms and laughing, he challenged, “What’s the matter? Hasn’t anyone else ever been disappointed in love? Drinks for everyone on me, and then gather round. Mean to break the bank.”

As the group surged around the tall blond, Pelham turned away. His fury had abated at Curzon’s defense of Davida, but Harry’s words gave rise to interesting speculations.
It sounded as if he believed Davida refused him because of a
tendre
for me
, Pelham thought.

Wide awake and feeling quite sober, the young baron decided to walk home. As he strolled the few blocks, he mulled matters over.
Could
Davida have a
tendre
for him? At their last meeting she had seemed to be contemplating marriage to Curzon. Yet she had hardly been heartbroken by the thought of having alienated her wealthy suitor.

On the other hand, she had never given any hint of feelings for himself other than friendship. Well, there was that evening when he escorted her to Almack’s. His mouth turned up a little at the memory of her startled reaction when he had kissed her hand. Still, mere awareness of him as a man didn’t qualify as a
tendre.
And at every turn she had willingly abetted him in winning Elspeth back, hardly the behavior of a woman in love.

No, if Davida had refused Curzon, it was for some other reason. Perhaps they had quarreled over her interest in fossils? But Curzon didn’t seem the type who wanted an empty-headed ninnyhammer. And as for his sharing Elspeth’s theological qualms, the mere idea was laughable.

The tale of Davida being seen with Curzon, disheveled and upset, bothered Pelham. The thought of it made him curl his hands into fists and wish he had Harrison in front of him so he could plant him a facer. Though probably exaggerated, this story sounded of a piece with what he knew of Curzon’s amatory style. If he’d tried anything rough with Davida, that was probably why she’d refused him. She seemed the sort of girl who would hate being man-handled.

Curzon was likely looking for a reason to blame someone else for her refusal. As Pelham climbed the steps to his family’s mansion, he concluded that Davida didn’t have a
tendre
for him. But as she had turned down Curzon, she was free. They liked each other—that friendship that his parents had so treasured was already blossoming between them. She could perhaps learn to love him, if he played his cards right.