Maggie MacKeever (21 page)

Lady Camilla might well have pursued these startling revelations, had not Lord Pennymount at last put in an appearance in the drawing room. Abruptly she abandoned Dolph, who in turn abandoned his enactment of a pious choir boy and peered suspiciously at the guests. No enterprising bailiffs had stormed the house that he could see. Just to be safe, he moved closer to his sire.

That gentleman’s native irascibility had been soothed neither by conversation with his caper-witted son and heir, nor by the dilatory misconduct of his prospective son-in-law. Still, one must make allowances for the behavior of peers, especially the particular peer whose inclusion in one’s family would elevate one several notches on the social scale. With the demeanor of a starving mongrel who espies a particularly meaty bone, Sir Edward gazed upon his daughter’s fiancé.

Milly and her fiancé appeared to be engaged in the exchange of strong opinions, Sir Edward realized, as did the majority of his dinner guests. Those observers who stood closer to Lady Camilla and Lord Pennymount were considerably less surprised than Sir Edward when Milly and Vidal turned suddenly and simultaneously on their heels, in opposite directions, one striding out the drawing room door, the other stalking with no less determination across the hand-knotted Turkey carpet.

Milly came to a halt before her startled papa, fists planted firmly on her lace-and-satin-covered hips, and a belligerent set to her lovely lips. Sir Edward suffered dire premonitions. “What the deuce have you said to Pennymount, miss?”

“I have said I will
not
marry him!” explained Lady Camilla in ringing tones. “And to that I shall hold fast! I am very sorry if it does not suit you, Papa, but it will not suit
me
to be married to a gentleman who will glower at me every morning across the breakfast cups.”

“Not?”
Feeling the social ladder crumble beneath his feet, Sir Edward cast a fulminating glance at his fascinated guests. “Have you been into the champagne, miss? I think you must have been! Because you was telling me marriage to Pennymount would suit you to a pig’s whisker only days past.”

On the rare occasions when the biddable Lady Camilla took the reins between her teeth, no force on earth had power to sway her from her chosen course. That this was one such occasion, she immediately made clear. “It is not me that marriage to Pennymount will suit, but you! Not that I mean Pennymount wishes to marry you; despite what Adolphus tells me, I do not think he is
that
depraved! But that it will suit
you
to have Pennymount marry
me!
Well, I am very much afraid you will
not
be suited, Papa, because I refuse to be made miserable by such a brute. He truly is the greatest beast in existence, as Jessabelle claimed—yes, and if the terrible trimming I just endured is any example of the turn-ups Pennymount had with her, it is no wonder poor Jess eloped!”

“Poor Jess?” So
great was Sir Edward’s wrath that he forgot his fascinated dinner guests. “You have spoken to the jade?”

“Jessabelle is
not
a jade!” protested Lady Camilla, in her own turn providing a defense. “She is a very kind lady whom Pennymount has sadly abused. Dolph could tell you more about that, I’ll wager; he’s the one told me Pennymount is depraved. You should thank him for it, Papa; even to have a peer in the family you would not wish me made miserable, I think! And now pray excuse me; I have quite lost my appetite!” Majestically she trod back across the hand-knotted Turkey carpet and out the drawing room door.

The Honorable Adolphus wished nothing more than to emulate his sister’s excellent example. That he did not summarily exit also was due to his sire’s firm grip on the back of his coat. “Oh, I say!” protested Dolph.

“You had better say!” announced Sir Edward grimly. “To begin with you might provide an explanation of this crack-brained notion your sister has taken that Pennymount is depraved.
Depraved!
And from there you might go onto how your sister came to have conversation with Pennymount’s first countess. And after that you may try and convince me why I should
not
cut you off without a farthing, my lad!” All of which was of great interest to the dinner guests, and of even greater interest to Lady Camilla, lurking in the hallway.

Chapter Twenty

Business in Capitaine Chançard’s gaming-hell was brisk. The tall and lofty saloon was crammed with gentlemen of leisure and fashion bent on drinking hard and plunging deep. Indeed, among their numbers were some individuals whom one would not have expected to find in such surroundings. This house with its distinguished entrance front and casing of white brick, located so conveniently near the barracks of the Second Life Guards in King Street, had become all the crack.

Capitaine Chançard was not especially surprised, and even less gratified, by his success, although such vast sums changed hands at his tables that his establishment would soon rival White’s, where a luckless gambler had lost £32,000 at a single game of hazard. With that unknown gentleman Michon sympathized, because his own luck was out. What had he done to deserve that Dame Fortune should turn her back on him, after so long and mutually satisfactory an
affaire de coeur?
he wondered, as he moved among the tables of green cloth, the beswagged oval chairs. Then his attention was attracted by a footman who hovered discreetly at his elbow. A young lady awaited him in the reception room, he whispered; a young lady in considerable distress.

Perhaps Dame Fortune had not spurned him after all.  Michon had no doubt whatsoever concerning the identity of his visitor. Lady Camilla would not realize what potential disaster she courted by coming to King Street, the adorable little fool. Capitaine Chançard deserted his footman in mid-speech.

She looked a perfect vision in her gown of lace over a pink silk slip, full in the skirt and pleated at the waist, trimmed with festoons of flowers that matched the posies in her hair. The skirt afforded a tantalizing glimpse of a well-turned ankle; the low-cut bodice hinted at other treasures no less pleasingly formed. Hastily Michon elevated his gaze to his visitor’s face. Unaware of his presence, she was inspecting the marble mantelpiece. As the footman had whispered, she looked considerably distressed.

“Lady Camilla,” Michon murmured, remaining at a prudent distance. “You should not have come here.”

“Oh!” She started, then blushed. “I knew you would not like it, but truly this is not what it seems! I daresay I may be a trifle spoiled, but I am
not
forward or pushing or bold! I quite see that you have taken me in disgust, and though I do not understand it, neither do I mean to complain. The thing is, Adolphus is about to let the cat out of the bag!”

Two things made themselves clear to Capitaine Chançard during Lady Camilla’s artless speech: first, that explanations would not be concisely delivered; second, that the young lady cherished a most erroneous impression of his sentiments regarding herself. Hard on the heels of these conclusions came the realization that this conversation was best continued in a more secluded setting. Alas, the house was overrun with fashionable gamblers. Michon whisked his caller down to the basement, through the large flagstoned kitchen, into the cool and somewhat dark larder.

“Lud!” said Lady Camilla, as her companion lit a candle. “Dashed if I understand what you’re about! Unless you think this will make a good hiding place?” Doubtfully she surveyed the brick floor and slate shelves. “It will do well enough for the moment, I suppose; one would not go hungry, at any rate!”

In response to this somewhat plaintive statement, Michon smiled. “Have you missed your supper,
petite?”

“I have.” Lady Camilla sighed. “Which only proves how very foolish I am, because if I had waited until
after
supper to break off with Pennymount, then I should not be ravenous! Not that I
meant
to break off with him, but he had found out that I spoke with Jessabelle—and I don’t think it was unreasonable in me to wish to ask her what mistakes I should not make!”

On the shelves behind him, Michon discovered a Stilton cheese covered with a napkin soaked in stout. He brought it forth. “Pennymount did not agree with this so-reasonable viewpoint?”

“He did not.” Looking like a damsel presented with the keys to heaven, Lady Camilla eyed the cheese. Michon whisked off the stout-soaked napkin. Milly stripped off her gloves and broke off a piece. “Nor did he approve my friendship with you. Jessabelle told him about it, thought I cannot think how she found out unless Dolph told
her—
and I am very out of charity with them both! Anyway, Pennymount ripped up at me, and I took him to task like you said I should—” She frowned. “Come to think on it, this awkward business is partially
your
fault.”

Never had Capitaine Chançard seen so delightful a spectacle as Lady Camilla talking around a large mouthful of cheese, and it took some seconds before her words penetrated his consciousness. “My fault?” he echoed. “How is that,
chérie?”

“You told me old dogs did not easily learn new tricks,” responded Lady Camilla, breaking off another chunk of cheese. “Or so I
think
you did! But that doesn’t signify. Or it
wouldn’t
had I not broken off my betrothal publicly and made my papa mad as fire—although I do not know what else he expected me to do when Adolphus had just got through telling me that Pennymount is on the dangle for my fortune, and furthermore depraved!”

Though Capitaine Chançard had fallen victim to Cupid’s arrows, his mental faculties remained keen. Therefore he understood that it had not been Penny-mount to whom the Honorable Adolphus had so unflatteringly referred. Michon admitted he had been on the dangle for a fortune. He would not, however, own up to being depraved.

“You are very quiet, sir!” observed Lady Camilla, somewhat unfairly; her inroads on the Stilton cheese had not prevented her running on at sufficient length to prohibit anyone else’s attempts at speech. “I suppose you do not like me coming here, but I felt I had to warn you, because Papa was threatening to cut Dolph off without a farthing, and my brother is not
brave!
At this very moment he is probably telling Papa about our friendship—and if Pennymount did not like it you may be sure Papa will be mad as fire!” She paused but Michon remained silent. “Gracious! I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings!
I
don’t see anything wrong with running a gaming-hell!”

No wounded sensibilities had prompted Michon’s silence, but a keen awareness of the adorable manner in which his companion’s eyes crossed when she frowned. “Your papa does not know you have come here,
ma petite?”

“Papa? I should think not!” With a hollow little laugh, Lady Camilla disposed of the remainder of the cheese. “Which is not to say he may not guess when he discovers I am not in my room! You are mighty calm for a gentleman in your position. Why, I should not be surprised if Pennymount challenges you to a duel!”

She seemed, Michon thought fondly, delighted by the prospect. It was a pity she must be disillusioned.
“Voyons!
It is unlikely. Pennymount can afford no further scandal. You need not fear that one or the other of us will spill his blood on the field of honor,
chérie.”

Lady Camilla, who had imagined no such thing, was stricken with guilt. “Oh!” she cried, pressing her hands to her mouth. And then the inevitable occurred. A crumb of cheese caught in her throat, and she succumbed to a coughing fit. A man of action, Capitaine Chançard simultaneously bellowed for wine and whacked the victim on her back. Lady Camilla recovered her breath to discover the larder crammed with any number of solicitous individuals, from the haughty French chef who had been preparing a simple late supper of grilled bass, the flavor heightened by parsley butter and baked potatoes mashed up in butter and sour cream, to the smallest scullery maid. Only reluctantly, and after several stern glances from their employer, did those worthies depart.

“They must be very curious,” observed Lady Camilla wisely, “about what you are doing with me here! Perhaps you should tell them how it is with us. Because I quite understand that you do not admire me, although at first I thought you did, which cannot be blamed in me because everyone always
has!”
She looked contemplative. “Except Pennymount. What a vexatious gentleman he is! I suggested that as his bride gift to me he should make a handsome settlement on poor Jessabelle—I wanted to do something for her! Although considering how badly she has used me I am just as glad my efforts did not serve! And now I suppose all my bride gifts will have to be returned.”

Silence descended upon the larder while Milly reflected upon her bride gifts—favored among them the parcel-gilt sauce tureen with two realistically twined serpents for handles, the bowl raised up on four elephants; the egg boiler with green painting in the reserves, surmounted by a hen—and Michon pondered whether he had or had not been abandoned by Dame Fortune. There was only one way to find out. He must put his luck to the test. He laid gentle fingers on Lady Camilla’s face and turned up her chin.

“You do not have to be
kind!”
said that young lady, staring up at him with huge soulful eyes. “That I have behaved very badly, I know! Papa had every right to fly off the hooks—and I was right about scoldings, I do dislike them! Even though I was wrong about romantical high flights.”

Wrong, was she? With the hand that did not hold her gently captive, Michon groped for the wine glass.

Sadly Lady Camilla watched him drain it at a gulp. Doubtless he sought to fortify himself for the difficulties she had ensured he must face.
“You
would never make a lady play second fiddle, I’ll wager!” she sighed. “Or subject her to violence, or decide to marry her because she’s biddable!
Are
you married, Michon?”

Capitaine Chançard admitted he was not. This, for the sorely beset Lady Camilla, was the last straw. “Hang it!” she wailed.

That the young lady whose face he was currently outlining with his fingers should exhibit such strong emotion upon the intelligence he was a bachelor struck Capitaine Chançard as a very hopeful—or a very ominous—sigh. “I am an adventurer and a rogue,
chérie
. No young woman of good birth would wish to ally herself with me.”