Lady Beware (19 page)

Darien was affably keeping his part of the bargain, and when his eyes met hers across the theater, he bowed slightly, as if saying, “See? I keep my promises.” If his teeth were gritted, it wasn't obvious. Hers were because Avonfort kept making snide comments about rabid dogs and bloody doorsteps.

“Gads,” he said as they rose at the second intermission, intending to stroll in the gallery. “What's Ball doing there?”

They glanced back to see Sir Stephen and Lady Ball entering the Belcraven box, clearly to speak to Darien. Another Rogue, and this time a respected politician.

“Perhaps he hopes to recruit Darien to the reformist party,” Thea said as they continued out of the box.

“Dangerous nonsense,” Avonfort said.

“Recruiting him?”

“Reform.”

“All reform?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

“With riot and mayhem in every quarter, it's the worst possible time to be changing anything.”

“Perhaps there's riot and mayhem because things need changing,” Thea pointed out.

“Typical of a woman to come up with a silly idea like that.”

With difficulty, Thea accepted that this wasn't the time for a raging argument. “Bonnets and trimming are
so
much more important,” she simpered.

He didn't catch her sarcasm. Instead, he smiled indulgently. “Anything that makes you prettier, my dear.”

If her fan were a pistol, she might well have shot him. Darien would have understood, but Darien would never have expressed such narrow-minded ideas. Yes, despite his many faults, he had a quick understanding and an open and flexible mind.

She knew then that she wasn't going to marry Avonfort, but that didn't fill her with joy. It wasn't as if she could marry a Cave instead. Her future had recently seemed solid, stable, and orderly; now she faced uncertainty and even chaos.

She fired the thought in Darien's direction.
My life was all in good order before you came on the scene, you wretched man!

When they returned to their box, two men were taking their leave of Darien in the Belcraven one. One was silver-haired and slightly rotund, and the other was much younger, dark-haired, and elegant.

“Isn't that Charrington?” Thea asked, pointedly. The Earl of Charrington, an epitome of fashion and sophistication, was more Avonfort's type.

“With the Austrian ambassador!” Avonfort exclaimed. “He won't be pleased at having to talk to Darien.”

As if in direct contradiction, the silver-haired man laughed and slapped Darien on the back.

“Probably knows him from the war,” Thea said, managing not to smirk.

She was truly impressed. The Earl of Charrington was a Rogue. He'd been raised in diplomatic circles, but even he wouldn't be able to force an ambassador to go where he didn't want to go, or to show genuine warmth when there. It was genuine warmth. As she took her seat, she could see it reflected in Darien.

At the next intermission, three military officers with a great deal of gold braid indicating high rank crammed into the Belcraven box and carried Darien away, chatting and laughing.

Thea glanced at her mother and they shared a smile.

“Very satisfactory,” the duchess said.

It was, but from Thea's point of view it had been a dull and disappointing evening.

The next day was Sunday, and she and her parents attended service at St. George's, Hanover Square, which they often did. Despite the name, the fashionable church did not sit in the square, but it was close enough to be a natural place of worship for Lord Darien. The plan was that they again show their favor, but Thea attended church in an unseemly eagerness. She looked forward to discussing last night's triumph and how he was feeling about the Rogues.

She saw him across the church, noting as well the people who were still uneasy. Quite a few would be residents of Hanover Square with good reason to distrust a Cave. One of them could be the person responsible for splashing blood on his doorstep.

She leaned close to her mother to murmur, “No more bloody doorsteps?”

“No, but the Rogues set people to watch the house at night.”

“Even before yesterday?”

“Yes.”

Thea hoped he never learned of that.

Darien was with a fat young man in ridiculous clothes. Surely not his beloved brother. No, he'd be in uniform anyway. She wondered who he was. He didn't look like Darien's type at all.

After the service, her mother went straight for Darien and his companion, who was introduced as Mr. Uppington, who'd been a subaltern in Darien's regiment. As an explanation, that left a lot to be desired. The young man seemed both willing to please and very stupid.

She had no opportunity for private conversation with Darien. Most people dined country style on Sunday, quietly with family in the early afternoon. Thea's mother invited Darien and his friend, which gave Thea a moment's hope, but he and Uppington were engaged to dine at Maria Vandeimen's house. How very unfair.

D
arien had no idea why his goddess looked cross, but he would have liked to spend time with her and find out. Having Pup around, however, was like having a troublesome child. He couldn't be let out of sight without some mishap—last night it had been cockfighting and he'd had his pocket picked and his watch stolen—but Darien was busier than ever. He needed a keeper, preferably a wife, and Maria had offered to help.

As they walked to Van's house, Darien tried to prepare the ground. “So, Pup. What are your plans?”

“Plans?” Pup repeated the word as if this might be a new game. Then he said, “Astley's?”

Astley's was the theater known for circuses and spectacles.

“I mean for your future. Now you've had a taste of London, are you ready to settle down?”

“Settle down?”

Holding on to his patience, Darien laid it out. “You've a neat little fortune now, Pup. You'll want a place of your own. A house. An estate. A wife.”

“Wife?”

“A pretty woman to come home to. Someone who'll delight in arranging everything just as you like it.” A sensible person who'll take care of you like the overgrown child you are.

“Oh, a
wife
,” Pup said, as if it were a novel idea. “Don't know about that, Canem. Ladies don't seem much interested in me.”

Darien almost said,
You have money now. You only need to show yourself to be hooked.
That wasn't the image to plant in Pup's mind.

“You're here in London in the season. Lovely ladies hanging on every bough, waiting to be picked.”

“Like at Violet Vane's?”

“Ladies, Pup. Respectable women. The sort you marry.”

“Oh. Wife, eh?” Pup said, clearly still getting to grips with the concept.

His tone was that of a lad presented with his first hunter—thrilled, but nervous about the animal's size and power. He'd never been a coward, however. Foxstall would say he hadn't the wits to know when to be afraid, and he might be right, but that meant that if the right lady could be found Pup would probably mount her without flinching.

Darien pushed that image out of his mind and steered Pup into Van's house.

Maria greeted Pup with good manners and a motherly touch, instantly putting him at his ease. As they dined, she gently interviewed him, framing questions so simply that he soon relaxed and adored her. Darien began to worry that Pup would try to become Maria Vandeimen's lapdog. He'd not intended to off-load his burden in that way.

She introduced the subject of marriage in a roundabout way, rambling on about her first and second marriages. Both were painted as havens of calm and stability. Darien knew nothing of her first marriage, but if Van provided calm and stability, Canem Cave was a ninety-year-old washerwoman.

Amusement died when Maria turned to ask Darien about his own marriage plans.

“None as yet.”

“You will want an heir,” she stated, ringing for servants to bring the second course.

“Doubt it. Frank may oblige. If not, the Cave line will die. Who will mourn?”

“It deserves to live if only for you.”

That startled and perhaps embarrassed him. “We're here to discuss Pup's prospects,” he reminded her.

“I am capable of driving two horses at once, Darien.”

“In different directions?” he countered, and she chuckled.

“Touché. I will steer one and then turn my attention to the other.”

“My head's spinning at the image presented.”

She laughed again. “You are very literal, are you not? Ignore images and put yourself in my hands and you will be the beginning of an honorable line.”

“You terrify me,” he said in complete honesty.

“A familiar sensation,” Van murmured.

Maria turned to Pup, smiling and softening her voice. “Mr. Uppington. Arthur, I believe?”

He nodded, frozen with a mouthful of something.

“An excellent name, drawing on an ancient king and a modern hero. You should use it more. You will like to be married?” It was a question, but she somehow managed to make it an instruction.

Pup swallowed. “Think so, ma'am. Better than Violet Vane's,” he added helpfully.

Van choked. Maria's smile struggled with outright laughter.

“An older lady, I think,” she said. “Not
old
, of course, but a little older than you. Young ladies can be so very demanding, and you will like a wife who can run your house for your comfort and advise you how to go on.”

Canem thought Pup might object to this, but whether by force of Maria's will or his own inclination, he nodded. “Yes, I would.”

She smiled like a madonna. “I'm giving a small dinner party next week, and I will invite a lady of my acquaintance. If you do not care for her, of course we will say no more about it, but I think you will. She's a widow with two young children, but you won't mind that.”

“No,” Pup said obediently, but added, “Is she pretty?”

“She's pleasingly plump.”

Canem had no idea whether Pup liked plump women, but he could see the seed grow shoots and leaves in Pup's mind. Plump equaled pleasing, pleasing equaled pretty. Maria Vandeimen was a truly terrifying woman.

“Her name is Alice Wells,” Maria went on. “She is twenty-seven years old and was married to a naval officer who died two years ago. She comes from an excellent family, but unfortunately there's little money and she is obliged to live on her brother's charity, which is not abundant.”

She continued a flow of Mrs. Wells's excellence to such effect that when Canem and Pup left the house, Pup was saying “Alice…” under his breath. “Pretty name, don't you think, Canem?”

“Lovely.”

“And twenty-seven's not too old.”

“Not at all.”

“Won't mind a couple of children. Like children. Have children of my own, I suppose.”

“It does tend to happen.”

That led to silence, whether of trepidation or anticipation, Canem didn't know.

“Marriage,” Pup said as they neared Hanover Square. “Best thing in the world, marriage, don't you think, Canem?”

From seed to shoot to mighty oak.

“Absolutely splendid,” Canem said as he ushered Pup into his house, but he promptly took refuge in the office, Sunday or not. Here he was, surrounded by apparent friends—Rogues. Gad—and now Pup could be safely settled in days. All it needed was a letter from Frank to say he was betrothed…. But it was too early for that.

All the same, the change in his situation in less than a week would be gratifying if it weren't so alarming. He felt as if he were in a runaway carriage, lacking all control over his destiny.

Damn women.

But at this rate he soon might have to return hospitality. Entertain in Cave House? Hard to imagine, but he'd better look over the house with that in mind. He visited the drawing room again. It would do, but it'd need a thorough cleaning, which meant more servants. That raised the problem of the Prussocks. They were doing their best and it went against the grain to dismiss them, but the sort of servants he should have wouldn't work under their rule.

Was it possible to hire some maids for the day? He made a note to consult Maria on this and other matters. His pen wandered into curlicues before running out of ink.

Thea Debenham had claimed to know how to run a house.

No. Far too dangerous to involve her in his domestic affairs.

He summoned Prussock and asked for a tour of the wine cellars. Prussock scowled, perhaps over doing extra work on Sunday, though Darien had seen no sign of piety.

“Not much left,” Darien said a few minutes later, surveying empty racks.

“I gather the old viscount drank a lot, milord.”

“I'm sure he did. I'll order more. I might be doing some entertaining. Show me how we stand for china, silver, and such.”

Now every line of the man's heavy body showed annoyance, but he gave Darien the tour of cupboards of china and glassware. The stock couldn't be called elegant, and no set was complete, but there seemed enough. Darien had no difficulty in imagining a great deal of china and glass being smashed by his family. But silver did not break. When unlocked, the silver cupboard was almost bare.

“Sold, I assume, milord,” Prussock said.

“More than likely, but you should have alerted me. What if I had a sudden need of it?”

“You didn't seem to be in the way of entertaining, milord.”

Darien nodded and returned to his office. He had long experience of men, many of them scoundrels, and his instincts were ringing alarms.

Sold, or stolen? By the Prussocks? He couldn't accuse them on such scanty evidence, but the viscountcy of Darien and all its possessions were his to take care of now. He wrote a note to his solicitors requesting the inventories made upon his father's death. He sealed it, and then sat there, realizing that Maria's words about him starting an honorable line had settled in his mind like seeds. No shoots and leaves as yet, but there they lay, full of strange promise.

Line meant wife, and wife fired his mind straight to Thea. But he laughed without humor. Thea Debenham, mistress of Cave House? Mistress of Stours Court? One of the Caves?

His revulsion was so strong he rose. He should probably release her from her promise to attend the Harroving masquerade, but he wouldn't, not least because she needed to do it.

He was going to free her from the cobwebs of formality, set her free, so she could fly as she was meant to fly, high and strong. And he'd told her the truth when he'd said he could keep her safe. She'd be no worse for her adventure, but perhaps she wouldn't trap herself for life with that stiff-rumped clotheshorse, Avonfort.

He could do no more than that for her, however, or for himself.