Kathryn Caskie (8 page)

“No, of course not.” But there was something wrong. Something most unexpected. Magnus was speaking with another woman.

Though the woman’s back was turned to her, Eliza could see that she was every bit as lovely as Magnus was handsome, with a graceful, swanlike stance and deep emerald gown. Twinkling blue brilliants adorned her copper hair, which tumbled down the back of her pale neck in soft curls.

But the presence of this woman was not what troubled Eliza so. It was Magnus’s reaction to her. Why, his eyes appeared lit from within as he spoke with the lady.

Heavens! What would her aunts think if they saw Lord Somerton fawning over another? Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad. Their ruse was already on weak footing.

Catching her image in the hazy mirror beyond, Eliza raised her hand to her own unadorned, ordinary brown hair. She glanced down and grimaced at her simple pale blue gown.

With an audible breath, Grace interrupted Eliza’s assessment of her own lacking appearance. “I cannot believe it. Lord Somerton is flirting with that—that
woman.”

“No, he isn’t,” Eliza replied, trying with all her heart to appear unaffected. “He is … simply being polite. This is a party after all.”

How she wished her words were true.

It bothered her to see him with another. Not because she was jealous. Certainly not.

She was just… disappointed. He should be taking their
arrangement
more seriously. Did he not realize he was jeopardizing everything?

Grace narrowed her eyes at the earl. “He obviously does not realize you are in attendance. I shall tell him you are here,” she said, pumping her arms as she charged forward.

Eliza reached out to stop her sister, but her fingers only caught the air.

“Wait!” The word was barely out of Eliza’s mouth, when the toe of Grace’s left slipper caught the edge of the carpet and she tumbled, belly first, onto a mound of golden pillows.

Her sister’s eyes rounded in mortification, but within a blink, Grace had jerked herself into a sitting position. There, she came nose to nose with a concerned young man kneeling beside her. Grace raised her eyes to peer up at him. A slow smile spread across her lips.

Eliza rushed forward to help, but her sister’s coy expression told her nothing was amiss, despite the fact that she was now rubbing her ankle.
The wrong ankle.

“Are you all right?” Eliza knelt to her side.

Her sister smiled blandly. “I think so, though I seemed to have turned my ankle.” She batted her thick lashes at the young gentleman, who offered her a supportive arm as she leaned back against the pillows.

“I shall inform our aunts.” Eliza stood and smoothed the front of her gown.

“No need.” Grace was simply glowing in the light of the young man’s attention. “I believe I just need to sit
here
and rest for a bit. Go on, Eliza. Find Lord Somerton. I am sure that—” She gestured to the gentleman hoping, obviously, to coax an introduction.

“Uh … forgive me. Dabney, Mister George Dabney, at your service.” He was a barrel-chested gentleman, the sort more suited to hunting pheasant in the country than attending an elegant party in London.

His hair was a pale blond, nearly the exact shade as Grace’s, which contrasted greatly with his huge chocolate-colored eyes. Or, perhaps his eyes only seemed overlarge, for they were dark with excitement and firmly affixed on Grace. “I will see to your needs, Madam—”

“Miss”
Grace corrected. Then, as if upon hearing the boom of her own voice, she colored and lowered her tone. “That is … Miss Grace Merriweather.”

“In that case, it would be my distinct pleasure.” Dabney remained at Grace’s side on one knee, but for the briefest of moments, turned his head as though he was looking for someone. Then his searching stilled.

Eliza rode his gaze across the room to where Lord Somerton and his lady friend stood. Was it possible he was acquainted with Magnus … or perhaps the young lady?

“You are too kind, Mr. Dabney.” Grace looked up. “You see, Eliza, I shall be fine. Mr. Dabney will watch over me. Won’t you, kind sir?”

Dabney whipped his head around to face Grace. “Of course.” He fashioned a broad smile, but once again, his gaze flitted across the room.

Eliza studied her sister, fighting the upward drag of her own lips.

Feigning injury.
Pretending inferiority.
Mayhap she underestimated the logic behind her aunts’ Rule. For in her sister’s case, its application elicited the desired effect. Grace had snared a potential suitor’s attention.

Aunt Letitia, who’d obviously observed the whole commotion, bustled forward. She greeted Mr. Dabney most enthusiastically and made sure Grace had survived her fall before turning her consideration on Eliza.

“Come with me, Lizzy,” her aunt whispered, her command hissing like lard in a hot skillet. “There is naught you can do here and if I am not mistaken, I believe I see Lord Somerton standing near the hearth—and he is
not
alone.”

“Oh, I know,” Eliza began, gesturing emphatically in Magnus’s direction. “His uncle, Mr. Pender is …” But as she jerked her head around and saw Pender conversing with Lord Hogart several paces from the hearth, her words faded on her lips.

Magnus was alone with the copper-haired young lady. Eliza winced. “What I meant to say, Auntie—”

“Now.”
Her aunt’s firm hand pressed against the small of her back and suddenly Eliza found herself propelled before Magnus.

The earl’s eyes widened the moment their gazes met. Clearly he had not expected to see her this eve. Or, mayhap he was still shaken from their moment together in the courtyard. Yes, far more likely, Eliza decided.

But Magnus quickly recovered and greeted both Eliza and Letitia warmly.

Eliza smiled and held his gaze as long as she could without bursting with burning color.

When she glanced away, Eliza noticed a stern-looking older woman standing beside the fiery-haired young lady at Magnus’s right.

Aunt Letitia seemed to recognize the pair of women and her countenance quickly lightened. “How lovely to see you again, Mrs. Peacock, Miss Peacock,” she exclaimed, then began her own introductions.

Mrs. Peacock was a bone-thin woman with a nose like a beak and three signature peacock feathers stuffed into her gleaming jet hair.

Aunt Letitia placed her hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “Eliza, surely you remember Miss Peacock? She accompanied her father to the Smitherton rout early last month.”

The young woman with the flaming hair turned her head then and looked straight at Eliza.

Yes, she remembered Caroline, all right. Caroline Peacock had to be the most selfish chit in all of London—nay, surely all of England.

“Of course. Wonderful to see you again.” Eliza affixed a stony smile to her lips to mask her blatant lie.

When last they met, Eliza’s party had just arrived at the Smitherton rout, when Grace, looking utterly beautiful in white satin, drew the notice of several suitors, robbing Caroline of their attention. In a fit of jealousy, Miss Peacock plowed into Grace,
accidentally
spilling a glass of red claret down the front of her white gown, ruining forevermore the embroidered bodice of worked fleurs-de-lis.

When Grace collapsed into tears, Eliza snatched up the claret decanter and, had Letitia not prevented it, would have emptied it over Caroline’s perfectly-coiffed head.

But Magnus, Eliza realized with some disgust, seemed oblivious of Caroline’s foul character. For he gazed admiringly at her as she prattled on about the rising cost of tortoiseshell hair combs.

Then, something caught Eliza’s eye, and she suddenly realized how Caroline had earned Magnus’s undivided devotion.

Miss Peacock’s breasts were elevated, by some hidden contrivance no doubt, and now sat perched atop her bodice like two plump oranges on a tray—offering themselves up to be devoured.

Now feeling pathetically inadequate, Eliza forced her gaze to return to the woman’s face. To her great fortune, Caroline Peacock was not possessed of her mother’s sharp appearance. In fact, much to Eliza’s utter vexation, her features were as graceful as her form.

Just then, Caroline’s critical gaze swept Eliza from head to toe, concluding with an amused flick of her copper brow.

“Such an elegantly simple gown, Eliza,” she said, without an ounce of sincerity. “But then I told you as much at the Smitherton rout? It is the same gown, is it not?” She smiled politely, then shot her mother a wry glance.

Mrs. Peacock’s thin lips drew inward, stifling what Eliza was sure would have been a smirk.

Caroline glanced across the room and, spotting Grace chatting with Mr. Dabney, sneered. “How
fortunate
that your younger sister is also out this season. But I suppose, since you are still unmarried and she is well of age, your aunts had no other choice.”

Eliza bit back the heated retort simmering on her tongue when she noticed Aunt Letitia’s left eye begin to twitch. The poor dear was trying to temper her anger, but none too successfully. Surely even Miss Peacock could see that the old woman was about to ignite.

Hoping for a distraction, Eliza nudged her aunt toward Lord Somerton, earning Letitia a neat bow.

Then, the earl looked warmly at Eliza, a second or two overlong, for his gaze felt more like a touch. Eliza curtseyed. “Lord Somerton.”

A whisper of a smile touched Magnus’s lips as he grasped Eliza’s hand and raised it toward his warm mouth. “Miss Merriweather. As always, a great pleasure.”

He did not kiss her hand this time as he had done in her aunts’ courtyard, evidently choosing this eve to play the mannered gentleman. Or so Eliza had convinced herself until his thumb gently stroked her inner wrist, causing her pulse to quicken and throb beneath his touch.

A hot blush raced through the thin skin of her cheeks and neck. His touch both embarrassed and flattered her, but more than anything, it pleased her immensely.

Hurriedly, she glanced at the two Peacocks. Thankfully, Eliza being a social oddity of the first order, what had actually transpired between she and Magnus passed completely beneath the notice of either woman. But their familiarity with each other did not.

Mrs. Peacock assessed the pair of them for one overlong moment before speaking. “You know each other then?”

“Yes, they do,” Aunt Letitia cut in.
“Quite well,
too, if you take my meaning.”

The edge of Mrs. Peacock’s lip trembled almost imperceptibly. “So you know of my daughter and Lord Somerton’s betrothal.”

What? Magnus… betrothed to Miss Peacock?

Letitia’s hand tightened painfully around her forearm. Eliza’s blood seemed to drain downward and puddle in her toes, making her feel confused and oddly light in the head.
It can’t be.
She stared up at Magnus and saw the muscles of his jaw tense.

Why had he claimed to need a rich bride when he had one all along? Eliza stifled a small laugh then. The reason was blinking back at her. Caroline herself. How unlucky the poor man was to have formed a connection with such an utter shrew. She could not blame him for wishing to cry off.

He did not love Miss Peacock. That was clear. Else why would he have thought to kiss
her
while in her aunts’ courtyard? At least, she thought he had been about to kiss her. After all, she had no real experience with these matters. But the way he looked at her. How he made her feel all warm and tingling inside.

“Miss Merriweather,” Mrs. Peacock cut in. She took Eliza’s hand and deliberately drew her away from Lord Somerton. “Though I was unable to attend the Smitherton rout, I know you somehow, do I not?”

Eliza thought a moment, but was sure she’d never seen the woman before. “I don’t believe—”

“Of course!” Mrs. Peacock’s eyes narrowed as she finally made the connection. “At court. I recall your presentation to Queen Charlotte. You
sneezed
on her, I believe.” She leaned back on her heels and slid a sidelong glance at Magnus as if waiting for his reaction.

But before Eliza could say a word, her aunt surreptitiously hoisted her silver-headed cane behind Mrs. Peacock and lightly flicked the tallest feather. Several fuzzy blue shreds detached.

Oh, no, Auntie.
Eliza watched in horror as the feathers fluttered through the air as if drawn by invisible threads to her own face.

Wisps of blue fluff rained down on Eliza causing her nose to itch. It twitched, and before she could cover her mouth, a tremendous sneeze shot right into Mrs. Peacock’s face.

“Oh! I beg your forgiveness,” Eliza exclaimed. “The sneeze came upon me so suddenly … I—”

Mrs. Peacock opened her mouth wide. “W-well, I never!”

Aunt Letitia smiled triumphantly. “You are quite correct, Mrs. Peacock. Eliza did sneeze. As you can see, she is quite ill-affected by feathers. Pity, isn’t it?”

Caroline glared at Eliza. “If you are unwell, Miss Merriweather, perhaps you should stay at home.”

“Oh, Eliza is quite well,” Aunt Letitia said. “As long as there are no
peacocks
flitting about.”

Caroline and her mother gasped.

Auntie, please stop.

Tears flooded Eliza’s itching eyes. There was no holding them back now.
Blast.
She dug inside her reticule for a handkerchief, but everything was fast becoming a complete blur.

“Excuse us,
please”
Caroline sniped.

With an icy backward glance, the Peacock pair made for the withdrawing room.

Magnus brought his fist to his mouth to conceal a grin.

Tilting her head back, Eliza blinked several times to clear her watering eyes. “Oh, Auntie. How could you?”

“Love and war, dear. All’s fair,” Aunt Letitia replied, dropping her own handkerchief into Eliza’s hand.

As embarrassing as her sneeze had been, Eliza had to applaud Aunt Letitia. The Peacocks had gotten no more than they deserved. She only wished her nose had not been her aunt’s weapon of choice.

“Well then. My work is done,” her aunt declared, clasping her hands together. “I shall leave you two lovebirds to sort out this Peacock engagement nonsense.” With that, she turned and tottered off in Aunt Viola’s direction.