My Lady, My Lord (17 page)

“Thank you.” She looked over his shoulder into the ballroom, thick with swirling couples.

“Now, my lords,” Marquess Drake said gaily, “let us remove to more salubrious climes, shall we?”

“A capital idea.” Lord Grace bowed, smiling widely. Corinna felt their giddy delight too. But she didn’t want to share it with them at a club.

“Perhaps later,” she said, moving toward the ballroom, eyes seeking.

“Well, I daresay a fellow needs a moment to gather his thoughts after such a victory,” Marquess Drake said magnanimously behind him. “We will await you by the exit, Chance.”

Corinna plunged into the crowd. He couldn’t have gone, could he? He would not have deserted her before learning how the game had ended. Or perhaps he would. He did not wish them to be seen together, and they could just as easily communicate in writing, at least with greater circumspection.

She didn’t care about circumspection. She was bursting to tell him the news, her nerves springy with triumph. She pressed through the crush and into a corridor and came upon him abruptly.

He scanned her face. A smile slipped across his. “You did it.”

“I did!” Corinna clamped her lips shut. Noted Corinthians did not giggle with glee. But she felt as high as a kite. A bird. A cloud.
Heaven
. “I won,” she whispered. “Oh, Ian, I didn’t think I could. And it went on and on and still the points were tied, and then I pulled ahead and I won! Here is his vowel for Bucephalus.” She pressed the slip of paper into his hand.

“Congratulations.”

“It was thrilling and exciting and I
enjoyed
it,” she said breathlessly. “Did you watch?”

“The end. You did well.”

Corinna’s chest filled with warmth. But something in his voice seemed strained.

Her eyes flew open. “The interview with Pelley. I forgot entirely! Did he accept?”

Ian’s brow creased. “He was impressed. He said your choices were exceptional, precisely what he would have chosen.”

“But why—”

“He offered no justification for his refusal.” Hazel eyes shuttered.

“But you have guessed it,” she prodded.

He hesitated only a moment. “No, Corinna. He simply said no.”

Her heart thudded. “Well,” she said, swallowing back a wave of disappointment so heavy it clogged her throat. “We did our best. You did your best.” She straightened her shoulders. “That is all a person can do, and I appreciate that you made the effort on my behalf.” She tried for a smile, and it must have registered on her face because his features softened.

“Thank you for this.” He gestured with the vowel. The corner of his mouth crept up, a strange mingling of his smile and hers, and her stomach tingled.

“You know, Ian, I don’t think Mr. Sparks was surprised. For all his clever tricks, a cheat cannot beat a man with true integrity.”

He looked at her for a moment that seemed to last forever.

“Corinna Mowbray,” he finally said quietly, “it is an honor for me at this moment to be you.”

Corinna’s manly knees went liquid. “But I—”

“Don’t argue with me about this.”

“I didn’t intend to argue.”

“I doubt that.”

“I was going to say that we should go now. Right away.”

“To the museum?” He frowned. “Corinna—” He broke off, and his hand went to his head just as pain sliced between Corinna’s eyes. Her fingers gripped the bridge of her nose, her skull exploding in agony, sharp static zigzagging down her spine into her limbs. Dizziness seized her. She flailed her arm out and gripped a doorpost. Her vision swam. She gasped for air and clamped her eyes shut, willing away the vertigo.

“Ian?” she whispered and cracked her eyes open.

She must have swung around. She faced the ballroom now, the forms of dancers moving back and forth before her blurry vision, the figure of a man in the doorway. She blinked, brought him into focus, and looked up into the Earl of Chance’s clear blue eyes.

Her joints turned to water. He stood before her, an arm’s length away, whole, handsome, perfectly virile, and
him
.

Her dry throat caught.
“Ian?”

His mouth fell open. “Cor—”

“There you are, old fellow. We’ve been searching for you everywhere, in all the darkened chambers, below stairs, where e’er the pretty maids are.” The Marquess of Drake hummed and clapped him on the shoulder. Ian staggered slightly, but brought himself up, still staring at her. She shook her head, covering her gaping mouth with her hand—a woman’s hand,
her
hand. She was in her own body. She knew it by the expression on his face and the speed of her heartbeats in her own chest.

She wanted to fall to her knees in a heap and thank God, or perhaps the goddess. But Ian’s eyes looked so strange, and the marquess was turning to her as though just aware of her presence.

“Evening, Lady Corinna.” He bowed off-handedly. “Ready to go, old fellow?”

Ian nodded, mechanically it seemed. Lord Grace appeared beside Corinna, gave her a bow and a light grin, and moved to Ian.

“Chance,” he said in a quiet voice, “now might be a good moment to—”

“Chance!”

Lady Weston floated along the corridor toward them in a diaphanous gown of sky-blue silk, white cockatoo feathers dripping from her golden hair with charming abandon.

“Chance, I heard of your extraordinary victory,” she trilled, nudging Corinna aside and placing her palm directly on Ian’s chest, over his heart. “Simply thrilling, darling. Everyone is talking about it. However did you do it? How did you beat that monstrous cheat?”

The marquess cast Ian a laughing look. Lord Grace grinned. Ian looked down into the baroness’s stunning face and grasped her wrist.

Corinna pivoted around and walked away as fast as her shaking legs would carry her. She didn’t care where she went. She must escape.

She had possession of her body again—this time permanently, she must assume—garbed in raven black, sophisticated and severe. But part of it had not returned to her fully. She felt the lack like a vacuum and she feared that, contrary to all reason and nature, it remained in the corridor behind her, beneath Amabel Weston’s perfectly manicured hand.

“Y
OU DON’T SEEM YOURSELF LATELY, CORA
.”

Corinna lifted her head from her letter writing. Across the parlor her father reclined in a chair upholstered subtly, to suit both their tastes.

Over the top of the page of his journal, his brow was thoughtful. “I was surprised last night when you wished to leave the concert early. I thought you were especially fond of Beethoven.”

“Oh, I am, Papa.” Corinna was especially fond of a great number of things she hadn’t had the heart to enjoy during the past sennight. Her life, always full before with outings and projects, seemed strangely thin now. She could not be surprised at this. She had never experienced an adventure like the one she’d lived through the previous week.
No one
ever had. Except one man.

“I suppose I am a bit blue deviled,” she said honestly.

“I see,” her father replied. “Is there anything I can do for you, my dear?”

Corinna allowed herself a smile, a rarity lately. “Thank you, Papa. But I will pull out of this soon enough. Although this terrible megrim won’t seem to leave me be.” Not since the night of the Alverstons’ ball. It must have something to do with the strain of the game with Mr. Sparks followed by her sudden change.

“You must contact Dr. Brown if it continues too many more days.”

Corinna returned her attention to pen and paper. Her sister, Adela, confined in the countryside awaiting her third child, begged for all the London gossip. Corinna related the news, conversations she’d had lately, plans for her salon gathering the following week, tidbits of information learned from others. Nothing of any value. The only events in London that seemed to interest her occurred long after her bedtime, and naturally she knew nothing of those.

She stared through the window into the enclosed garden behind the house. A wren plucked at the ground beneath the bare pear tree, searching for seeds. The day without was fine, crisp and unusually clear, smelling of coal fire and fallen leaves, but Corinna had absolutely no desire to go into it. She hadn’t for days.

With decision, she stood. “Papa, I am going for a walk. Would you like to accompany me?”

“I will pass, my dear. I’ll be off to the club shortly.”

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“No. I expect to be out all evening. You?”

“A supper party. A large party, actually, at least a hundred guests. Mr. Fox ought to be there, perhaps a few others, and Lady Singleton. I intend to invite her to my salon next week. Lady Foster has had a bout of rheumatism and cannot attend, so I’m short one guest. Lady Singleton’s recent collection of poetry is intriguing. She calls her short poems scientific couplets.” Corinna forced a smile. A month ago scientific couplets would have had her thoroughly intrigued. Now, her interest felt unnatural. Forced.

Her father nodded. “Enjoy your evening, then.” He returned to the
Times
.

In the foyer Corinna tied her bonnet on with thick gray ribbons. She glanced in the hall mirror. From the pale oval of her face, greenish-brown eyes stared back at her, wide and dull. She closed her lids and imagined twinkling blue.

She scowled, tightened the ribbon until she nearly choked, took up a parasol, and departed without a footman or maid. She would only walk about the square and take some fresh air to revive her spirits. She was already an oddity to society, after all. But mostly, after living a gentleman’s liberated life for nearly a fortnight, she simply couldn’t bear the chaperone. It was, perhaps, the only thing she missed from that strange interval out of time that seemed almost like a dream now.

Perhaps.

She turned right, away from the house she had lived in for a brief time, her footsteps making light taps upon the pavement. She passed a pair of elderly neighbors strolling at snail’s pace and chatted with them for several minutes before continuing on. Traffic was always light on her street, but as she turned onto the square it increased. Carriages drove by and she studied the beasts that pulled them with new curiosity. Strangers passed, gentlemen tipping their hats and ladies nodding, an acquaintance from Lady March’s salon pausing to offer her a good day, then Corinna’s own expensive French
modiste,
attended by a maid and two footmen.

“Oh
,
la,
Mademoiselle Corinne,” the Frenchwoman cooed, fluttering her lashes and sweeping Corinna’s appearance with a satisfied sigh. “You are,
toujours
—always—
la belle sophistiquée.
”

“Good afternoon, Madame Jacqueline. How do you do?”

“
Moi
, I always go well, dear child. Oh!” Painted fingertips leapt to her lips. “But you are pale! Too pale! Are you ill?”

Corinna chuckled, a relief to her tight midsection. “No, I am not ill. I am merely suffering from a megrim.”

“Ah, well that will make a lady especially pale, yes, even so
jolie
a lady as you,
belle
.” She stepped closer, sweeping a gold-embroidered shawl about her shoulders, and spoke more softly. “But when you are in such a state, you must wear that lovely gown of violet silk that I made for you,
n’est-ce pas
? It will brighten your cheeks. Then the handsome gentlemen will come to you as
les canards
to the water.”

“Canards?”
The image made Corinna laugh again. “Thank you, Madame. I will take that under advisement.”

“Oh
,
la,
but I adore the violet gown. You will wear it soon,
non
? Then come tell me of all the ducks that paddle about you.”

“Certainly.” Corinna had no interest in handsome gentlemen ducks. Only in... a stallion.

She battened down on her jittering nerves. She simply must
not
have such thoughts. They were unquestionably, thoroughly absurd for more reasons than she could count.

She bade Madame Jacqueline adieu and continued around the square. Returning home from the other side of the street, she would be required to pass Ian’s house. She hadn’t much enthusiasm for further exercise. Berating herself for cowardice, at the corner she turned to retrace her steps to the square, and then home, avoiding his house by going so far out of her way it was laughable. She ought to be ashamed, but her craven heart could not summon the feeling.

A door opened behind her. Steeling herself, she glanced back. A gentleman emerged from her former residence, tall, broad-shouldered. Fawn-colored hair peeked from beneath his hat.

Her pulse slowed as Gregory descended the steps. He saw her, his face brightened, and he started in her direction with a smile.

“Good afternoon, my lady. Out on an errand?”

“Hello, Mr. Chance. I’m merely taking the air. I have been cooped up too many hours today writing correspondence.”

“You’ve a lot of it, I suspect. Mind if I join your stroll?”

“Not at all. I’m happy for the company.”

“You know, I’d be glad if you called me Gregory as you did when we were young, and... well, when I’ve seen you at Ian’s house lately. If you don’t mind the familiarity?” His dark eyes sparkled with good humor.

She’d done so at Ian’s house? Of course she had. Ian wouldn’t have thought a thing of it. “It would not be strictly proper,” she said.

“Hang proper, if you’ll pardon me for saying it.” He chuckled. “You’ve always been like a sister to me. Anyway, you call my brother by his given name, so you may as well call me by mine.”

“I do not call him by his given name,” she countered. Unless Ian had accidentally done so last week. But that seemed unlikely, given the care he had taken with appearances around others—except at the Pattersons’ ball.

“Forgive me for contradicting you,” Gregory said, “but yes, you do. Always have. Not even
Chance
after the title came to him. Just
Ian,
same as ever.” He lifted a brow. “Don’t even notice it, do you?”

Corinna’s heart beat unaccountably swiftly. “No, I suppose I have never noted that. But I will certainly make a point of paying closer attention to my own breaches of propriety in the future.”

Gregory drew her hand through his arm. “Don’t,” he said pleasantly. “And if you won’t, I won’t, either.”

“Yes, Gregory, you may call me Corinna if you wish.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He flashed her a satisfied smile and Corinna saw his brother in him, that ineffable hint of mingled deviltry and sincerity that, beyond their dissimilar features, made them attractive men.

“You know, I’m glad I’ve come upon you, Cora. Meant to pay a call on you today, in fact, but I got caught up with Mother’s latest project and couldn’t get away until now.”

“Really? How nice of you.” Perhaps it would have relieved the tedium of her usual visitors—all intelligent, informed people, but this week difficult to attend to despite their interesting conversation. “What engages her attention now that her exhibition is a smashing success?” Her exhibition that had thrown Corinna’s life into tumult.

“Refurbishing my rooms, actually.” He offered a sheepish grin. “She came over to my flat the other day. Deuced embarrassing, I say, having one’s mother drop by like that. She didn’t like it, though, and she’s between
real
projects now, so she’s taking it in hand.”

“It is good of you to allow it.”

“Allow it? Can’t stop the old girl.” His grin widened. “And I suppose I’m grateful. It was a shabby place.”

“Then I am happy for you.”

“Thank you.” His fingers curled around her hand upon his arm. “She came up to chat with me about Ian, actually.”

About
Ian?

“Oh?”

“Yes. Mother says she’s got something she must discuss with us, but that he isn’t himself lately and she doesn’t want to bother him with it. She asked me if I knew why he’s in such an odd humor.”

Perhaps because the woman living in his body had not done a particularly good job of mimicking his behavior, speech, and attitudes? Was Ian currently living down the mistakes she’d made while being him? She had certainly received at least half a dozen odd comments from her own friends that he’d spoken to the previous week.

Gregory looked hopeful. “You’ve spent time with him lately, what with that library project. I don’t suppose you...?” He shook his head. “No, don’t listen to me. I must be more exhausted than I’d thought, to imagine you would— Well, I know the two of you don’t get along.” He barked a laugh. “Everyone in town knows that.”

Corinna’s chest actually hurt with a physical ache. It was extraordinary. She wondered if scientists had devised an explanation for this sort of physiological reaction to mere words.

“Yes, I suppose that must be true,” she replied.

“In fact, that’s what I wanted to speak to you about,” Gregory said. “I know you must have had something to do with Ian encouraging me to apply to Sir Robert Peel’s office. I’ve just finished my first sennight with him, and I wanted to offer you my gratitude for the bug you put in Ian’s ear. Did you browbeat him into it?”

“As though I could? Gregory, really.”

“Egads, that wasn’t well said of me! A thousand pardons.” He squeezed her hand. “But thank you, Corinna. Whatever you said to my brother had excellent effect.”

Here was something to feel satisfaction over, at least. Their peculiar misadventure had one positive result. She smiled. “Did your first days at the Home Office go well?”

“Splendidly. It’s just the place for me, I think. The gaols project is far more interesting than I’d thought it would be, and Sir Robert’s thrown me right into the thick of it.”

“Your mother is no doubt proud of that.” She schooled her voice to evenness. “Have you mentioned it to your brother yet? I’m sure he would be very glad to hear of your satisfaction.”

“Not yet. Ian’s off at Dashbourne. Been gone for nearly a sennight.”

“Oh?”

“Left early the morning after his game with Sparks. Do you know about that?”

“The game? Yes.”

“When I got to his house just before dawn the next day he was already up and ready to go. Told him I was astounded. He’s usually coming home with the lamp snuffers, not leaving home before the streetlights are all doused. But he said he had business to take care of at the stable, making sure he got his horse back safely and what not.” He sobered. “Excellent of him to undo what I’d done poorly.”

“You did it to help a friend, Gregory. You cannot be faulted for that.”

His gaze shot to her. “Ian told you?”

Drat
. “Well, I—”

Gregory’s hand tightened on hers again. “I don’t mind it, if that’s what you think. I made a foolish mistake and won’t do it again. I’m only surprised Ian mentioned it. He’s usually a closemouthed fellow when it comes to other men’s business.”

“Is he?”

“Silent as a church mouse. Won’t dissemble to save his life, either. Just keeps mum if he can’t say what he wishes to say.”

Gregory’s face shone with pride and not a little hero worship. After the old earl died when Gregory was fifteen, as head of the family Ian had taken over his brother’s governance. Corinna always used to think he did it shabbily, dragging Gregory into his vices. But Gregory had grown into a decent man under Ian’s tutelage, and twice his father in character.

“My brother is the best man I know,” he added sincerely. He grinned. “It’s a shame the two of you are like cats and dogs. I daresay if you could bear each other’s company for more than two minutes at a time, you’d get along famously.”

~o0o~

Several hours later Corinna dressed and departed for the supper party. Dozens of the most influential members of the
ton
mingled throughout the drawing room and parlor before and after a dinner prepared exquisitely by a chef just arrived across the Channel. Corinna drank champagne and conversed on topics of politics, art, and science. Lord Fitzhugh and several other gentlemen engaged her in a discussion regarding the potential redrawing of magistracy boundaries in the Cotswolds, after which the viscount complimented her upon her complexion and invited her for a drive in the park the following day. She spoke about poetry with Lady Singleton, and a great many other interesting topics with likewise interesting people. She debated and spent the evening as she often did. But as the night dragged on nothing stirred her.