Lord Perfect (41 page)

Accordingly, the visitors found hot baths quickly
readied for them, and freshly made up rooms in the guest wing.
Servants swarmed in to attend to them. A physician arrived to examine
Olivia and Peregrine—then Northwick, at Bathsheba's insistence.
Naturally, his lordship objected. But his wife and mother took
Bathsheba's side, and he was obliged to submit, though he did not do
so meekly.

In a few hours, all were clean, dry, warm, and fed.

Benedict told himself he had nothing to complain of.

Though he could not make love to Bathsheba this night,
he told himself he was not disappointed, because he had not expected
to make love to her ever again. Meanwhile, all else had proceeded far
more happily than he could have hoped. Olivia did not appear to be
ill, and both she and her mama were treated kindly and respectfully.

He told himself they were no longer his responsibility.

He made himself focus on Peregrine, who was.

Bathsheba and her daughter shared a room in another part
of the guest wing. Lord Lisle, though only a boy, had been given a
large chamber next to Benedict's. Before going to bed, Benedict went
to look in on him, to make sure he had not turned feverish.

He found his nephew broad awake, sitting on the rug
before the hearth, watching the flames. When Benedict entered, the
boy rose hastily, his face red.

"You ought to be asleep," Benedict said. He
sat in one of the chairs Peregrine had ignored.

"I'm sorry, sir," Peregrine said. "It was
impossible to sleep until I apologized for causing you so much
trouble. I couldn't say it properly before, with so many people
about. But if I am to tell the whole truth, as I have resolved to do,
the truth is, that's all I'm sorry for."

He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "If I
had it to do over, I should probably do the same thing. I couldn't
let Olivia go with Nat Diggerby. He was an idiot and a bully and I
didn't trust him. I couldn't let her go alone, either. She would have
done, you know, because she didn't care what I said or how I said it.
I try to speak to people exactly as you do, but the effect is not the
same. No one heeds me. I could scarcely manage her at all—not
that I am blaming her, merely explaining the facts as I saw them."

He stood so stiff, it was obvious he was steeling
himself.

Against hurt. Rejection.

He was prepared for the usual reaction, in other words.

He had never been a submissive, obedient child. His
elders found him annoying at best and infuriating at worst.

Benedict wondered what it was like to be Peregrine.
Adults either swatted him out of the way or tried to crush him. What
was it like, to grow up being made to feel like an insect?

'Tell me what happened," Benedict said. "From
the beginning."

The lad told him, stiffly at first, then, as he realized
his uncle was listening, not judging, he relaxed, and grew more
animated.

When he was done, Benedict was silent for a long time.
He was not trying to keep the boy in suspense. He simply couldn't
speak. He knew, too well, what these last few days had been like for
Peregrine, and why he had kept on, even today, when he was surrounded
and had no hope at all.

But the lad was looking anxious. It was unkind to make
him worry.

Benedict spoke past the constriction in his throat. "I
shall send an express letter to your parents," he said, "though
I suspect they will have taken alarm by now and may already be on
their way to London. It is impossible to say what will happen.
Matters are… complicated."

They were a good deal more than that.

But scenes were for the stage. Grand passions and the
heartbreak that went with them were the stuff of melodrama. They had
no part in the life of a gentleman.

Benedict refused to brood about the state of his heart.
He would endure it, as he'd endured his depressing marriage. None of
this affected Peregrine. What did affect him was the scandal about to
break.

One could not predict precisely how Atherton and his
lady would react. Benedict doubted they'd drop him on account of a
scandal. After all, half their friends figured in society gossip.

Still, they might prefer not to have Peregrine spend
time with his uncle while the uncle was the darling of the scandal
sheets and his caricature appeared in print sellers'

windows and umbrellas. Perhaps, after all the excitement
died down, Benedict might regain a little of the ground he'd lost.
Perhaps he might yet have a say in the boy's future. It was a most
uncertain "perhaps."

Benedict rose. "Clear thinking and optimism are
difficult when one is fatigued. Go to bed, Lisle, and we'll look at
the matter fresh tomorrow."

The taut expression on the young face eased. "Yes,
sir," Peregrine said. "Thank you, sir."

"Mind you, I am not at all pleased about the
clandestine correspondence," Benedict said as he watched the boy
climb into bed. "It is ridiculous at your age. It is absurd at
any age. Prying servants are forever finding illicit letters and
demanding large sums not to publish them. It is the sort of thing
that belongs in a stage farce."

Peregrine winced. "I know that, sir. I knew I ought
to resist them, but I simply couldn't."

There was a pause while Benedict beat down emotion and
reassembled his sangfroid.

"Other than that, your behavior was…
acceptable," Benedict said.

"Was it, really?" The boy's countenance
brightened further. "I have not disappointed you?"

"You are thirteen years old," Benedict said.
"One makes allowances. I do, at any rate. What my father will
say to you, on the other hand, when we return to London…"

Peregrine's eyes widened.

"On second thought, you need not be anxious about
Lord Hargate," Benedict said. "He will be too much occupied
saying things to me to have breath to spare for you." He patted
the boy's shoulder. "Go to sleep, and be glad you are not quite
grown up yet."

"LORD FOSBURY HAS never seen his granddaughter?"
said Lady Northwick. "How foolish that seems. She is the very
image of Jack Wingate."

"But for the eyes," said Lady Mandeville. "She
has the DeLucey eyes."

Bathsheba had been greatly surprised when the servant
had come with a message from the ladies, asking if they might visit
this morning.

Now they were here, she was not so surprised. They were
curious about Olivia.

And Olivia, the little beast, sat, all limpid innocence,
while the maid brushed out her hair. The maid would enjoy that,
naturally, because Olivia had beautiful hair like her father's. The
soft red curls did not tangle into nasty knots, as her mother's did.

"Perhaps it is for the best," Lady Northwick
told Bathsheba. "If Fosbury had seen her, he might have taken
her away from you."

"But then she would grow up with every advantage,"
said Lady Mandeville. "A mother ought to consider her child's
future above all things."

"I believe I have," Bathsheba said tightly.

"I am sure you have," said Lady Northwick
soothingly. "Perhaps, Mama-in-law, you have forgotten that Mrs.
Wingate has only the one child. Those of us who have larger broods
could perhaps spare one more easily."

"Atherton has given his only son to Rathbourne,"
said Lady Mandeville. "One makes such sacrifices for the good of
the child. Lisle will have a superior upbringing among the
Carsingtons."

"I do not believe he has given him up, precisely,"
said Lady Northwick.

"If he has not, he ought to," said Lady
Mandeville. "The Dalmays are famously undisciplined. Atherton
would be utterly hopeless had he not spent the better part of his
youth with Rathbourne's family."

The elderly countess regarded Bathsheba for a long
while, her expression completely inscrutable. Then she said, "It
was Lord Hargate's mama who sponsored me in my first Season. When I
found myself in the fortunate position of choosing among several
acceptable suitors, she recommended Lord Mandeville. I have always
considered myself under the greatest obligation to her ladyship."

Lady Northwick gave a little sigh. Then, like the tide
drawn to the moon, she left her place beside her mother-in-law and
went to Olivia.

"I do not wish to distress Lord Hargate's family or
place yours in an awkward position regarding them," Bathsheba
said in a low voice to the older lady. "If not for Lord
North-wick's fears for Olivia's health, we should have been gone from
here yesterday."

"Where do you mean to go?" said Lady
Mandeville.

"The Continent." It was harder than Bathsheba
would have thought to keep her voice steady.

"Heavens, I can hear your stomach growling, Miss
Wingate," said Lady Northwick. "Mama-in-law, we must not
keep them from their breakfast."

"Oh, I am in no hurry," Olivia said, so softly
and diffidently. "A maid brought me chocolate before. On a
silver tray. With a flower. It was beautiful."

"What a sweet child," said Lady Northwick,
lightly stroking Olivia's hair.

"No, she is not," Bathsheba said. "Pray
do not be taken in."

"Mama!" The blue eyes flashed indignantly.

"We are not staying here, Olivia," Bathsheba
said. "You may bat your eyes all you like and pretend to be shy
and sweet and innocent, but you are wasting your talents. We are
leaving directly."

Lady Northwick stared at Olivia, then at Bathsheba.

"That is a Dreadful DeLucey," Bathsheba said.
"Now you will know, if you ever encounter another one. You may
stop admiring yourself in the glass, Olivia. It is time for your exit
scene."

"It is not yet time," said Lady Mandeville.
"You and Olivia will join us for breakfast. I want Mandeville to
make her acquaintance."

"IT IS DREADFUL," Bathsheba whispered to
Benedict. "I cannot possibly control her at this distance. She
ignores every look I send her. Oh, it is too much. She is giving him
that wide-eyed gaze, as though he were the sun and the moon and the
stars."

Benedict gazed down the length of the table at Olivia,
who sat to Lord Mandeville's right, apparently hanging on his every
word. 'That is how you have looked at me," Benedict murmured. "I
thought you meant it."

"Of course I did not mean it," she said. "I
only wanted to wrap you about my finger. I find you merely tolerable.
Can you make out what she is saying?"

Perhaps because it was more than a family gathering,
they breakfasted in state, in the dining room rather than the morning
room. Still, Benedict was as surprised as Bathsheba when the countess
placed Olivia at Lord Mandeville's right hand and Lady Northwick on
his left, and directed Benedict and Bathsheba to sit next to each
other at the hostess's end of the table.

Their hostess, however, was conversing with Peregrine at
present. He, too, was watching Olivia, though he was making his best
effort at polite behavior. For once, Peter DeLucey, seated beside
Bathsheba, was not staring in that aggravatingly dazed way at her. He
was gazing raptly at Olivia.

Even Lord Northwick showed signs of succumbing.

Now at last Benedict saw what the trouble was, and why
Bathsheba feared her daughter would go straight to the devil. Olivia
was not merely clever and cunning. She had a strong personal
magnetism. The combination was exceedingly dangerous.

But she was not his problem, Benedict told himself.

"All I can discern is that she is taking care to
speak softly and shyly," he said. "It is useless to try to
read her lips, because she ducks her head, so that the gentlemen must
bend their heads very close to hear her."

He dared to bend his head toward Bathsheba. He gazed at
her silken skin and remembered its scent. He could not draw near
enough to drink it in, as he longed to do. He could only watch the
pink wash over her cheekbones. He could only stare at the black curl
that had hooked itself over the top of her ear.

"You must not look at me in that besotted manner,"
she said in an undertone. "You are making a spectacle of
yourself, Rathbourne."

"I don't care," he said. "Everyone here
knows I am besotted."

She met his gaze, then turned quickly away, and returned
to pushing the food about on her plate. "No one knows any such
thing," she said. "If you would only maintain your dignity,
everyone will assume I was merely a passing fancy."

"I shall be maintaining my dignity for the rest of
my life," he said tightly. "I think I am entitled to look
foolish this once."

"But of course it is nonsense!" Lord
Mandeville said, loud enough to bring the other conversations to a
halt. "What fanciful creatures you females are."

Benedict looked that way in time to catch the spark in
Olivia's eyes.

"Papa said there was a treasure," she said.
"Papa would never lie to me."

"Olivia," Bathsheba said warningly.