Rakehell's Widow (17 page)

Charles Allister looked so upset for her that Alabeth
feared he was about to make the whole matter worse by
rushing up to Jillian and taking her in his arms.

At last Alabeth found her wits, stepping forward to curtsy low before the Prince. “Your Royal Highness, I
must beg you to forgive my sister, for I fear she has been
quite carried away, first by the magnificence of the evening
and now by the excellence of the music.”

Her words reminded him of how ecstatic had been
Jillian’s admiration for Carlton House, and he was a little
mollified. “Perhaps her enthusiasm is understandable,”
he murmured.

Alabeth threw a meaningful glance at her sister, and
Jillian belatedly observed the rules, sinking into a quite
beautiful curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Royal Highness, for I
am guilty of the most awful sin.”

He smiled at that. “Awful sin? My sweet Lady Jillian, how could such an angel as you have ever sinned?” He glanced around, smiling still and thus signifying his forgiveness. To Alabeth’s intense relief, the dreadful silence was at an end and everyone began to murmur again.

After a few words with the Count, the Prince and his guests adjourned to their sofas again, the Prince asking a
footman to bring him some maraschino, and at last
Alabeth could turn to the Count herself. “Please accept
my apologies, sir.”

“There is no need for you to apologize, Lady Alabeth,” he replied, bowing very gallantly.

Jillian spoke up swiftly. “Maybe not, sir, but there is
every need for me to do so. My conduct was dreadful and I
do not deserve the kindness of either His Royal Highness or yourself. I am very ashamed of myself and can offer
only the excuse that I was totally enthralled by your
music.”

He smiled. “Ah, Lady Jillian, how very flattering you
are.”

“I do not flatter you, sir, for that would imply that I
give more praise than your genius deserves. I have never
before heard such music, it was as if a whole orchestra were playing.”

He nodded, looking at her with some interest. “It
pleases me immensely that you should describe it so, for it
is my belief that the pianoforte is the only complete in
strument—through its notes the whole range of expression
is possible.”

“Oh, yes, yes!” she agreed. “I have always felt that that
is so, but I have never been able to produce music of such
quality as I have heard tonight.”

“You are, I see, a serious musician, Lady Jillian.”

“I like to think that I am, sir.”

“Then I would indeed be delighted to give you the
tuition you requested.”

She could hardly believe her ears. “You would?”

“But of course.”

“I do not know how to thank you.”

“You may thank me by proving to be a pupil who pays
attention at all times and who, above all else, learns greatly
from what I have to say.”

“I will, I promise that I will.”

“I will call upon you—” He broke off, for at that
moment Charles Allister appeared at Julian’s elbow, deliberately drawing her hand through his arm and beginning to remove her from the Count’s presence, murmuring some
thing about having someone he very much wished to intro
duce her to. As he walked away, he cast back a look of
pure loathing at the Count, and received by way of reply a glance of immeasurable chill from the Pole’s blue eyes.

Alone with the Count, Alabeth felt quite shocked by the silent exchange between the two men. She cleared her throat a little uncomfortably. “I, er, see that you and Sir
Charles are acquainted, sir.”

“We are, but he has insulted me, and that I do not for
give,” he replied softly and in a way which made her shiver
a little. He seemed to recover a little from his anger then, for he smiled at her. “Forgive me, Lady Alabeth, for that
was churlish of me. May I make amends by asking you to
dance again?”

“It would be in order, sir, but I fear that I have danced
enough tonight.”

“Then walk awhile with me in the gardens.”

“Oh, I don’t know—”

“Please…or are you afraid of me, perhaps?”

“Afraid? No.”

“Then walk with me,” he said softly, offering her his
arm.

The gardens were bathed in moonlight and the trees and
walks twinkled with little lanterns. Covered walks had been constructed for the evening, decorated with flowers
and mirrors and intersected by other walks where a
number of guests strolled, but the Count preferred the
open lawn. Her train dragged across the cool grass where
peacocks strutted and where not a single daisy dared to
show its pale face amid the flawless green. The silent statues watched and the sounds of the city all around were distant, as were the faint strains of a minuet from the ballroom.

The air was sweet with the perfume of flowering shrubs and herbs, from the orange blossom and roses to the freshness of lavender and rosemary. The Count led her toward a little summer house entwined with honeysuckle, and she sat down inside, gazing over the expanse of the beautiful
gardens before her.

He touched the apricot colored honeysuckle with a
fingertip. “There was such a plant as this on my estate near
Warsaw.”

“You must miss your country very much.”

“I do, but one day I will return.”

“Do you have family there still?”

“My family was all killed, Lady Alabeth, they were among ten thousand slain by the Russians at Praga, War
saw.”

She stared at him in horror. “Oh, how dreadful—”

“My estate and my family, all taken by the enemies of my country.” There was little of the civilized Frenchman about him now; he was a Polish patriot, filled with all the
emotion of his people.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Bonaparte and the French will free my country again,
Lady Alabeth, of that I am certain.”

“Is that why you went to Paris?”

“Yes. Did you know that there is a prophecy in Poland which says that when all things are falling apart and wickedness is rife in the world, then a second Prankish Charles will rise as Emperor to purge and heal and bring
back peace to the world?”

“And you believe the First Consul to be this Charlemagne?” she asked, remembering her father’s words at
Charterleigh.

“Yes, I do.”

“But would it be right for one man to have such
power?”

He smiled. “Oh, how very English you sound, my lady.”

“Forgive me.”

“I would forgive you anything,” he said softly, “any
thing at all.”

The atmosphere changed subtly and she rose slowly to
her feet. “Perhaps we should go inside again.”

“Why?”

“Because we have been here some time.”

“Five minutes?” His glance was teasing. “Hardly a long
time.”

“It is not gentlemanly to put obstacles before a lady,
sir.”

“I do not wish to be a gentleman, Lady Alabeth, I wish
to be your lover.”

Her breath caught at such directness. “You should not say such a thing—”

“Would you prefer me to be dishonest?”

“I would prefer you to be less forward.”

“I do not pretend to know the intricacies of your
English ways, but I do know that I find you the most
beautiful and desirable of women and that I am deter
mined to conquer you.”

“I will not be
conquered
by anyone, sir,” she replied,
but her heart began to pound as he touched her cheek with
the finger which a moment before had caressed the
honeysuckle.

“My first name is Adam,” he said softly. “There should be no formality between us.”

“You go too fast! By far too fast!”

“No, I think not. Your heart is the prize,” he mur
mured, “and whether I lay siege to it or take it by storm, in the end it will be mine.”

She knew that he was going to kiss her and she did not
know whether she wished it or not. She was trapped by a
web of memories, memories which even now made her think fleetingly of Robert, who had had the same golden
hair and the same warm blue eyes— But then Piers’
scornful voice was echoing in her head. “It was very much
a flesh-and-blood Polish aristocrat with your seduction on
his mind…. Be under no illusion about Zaleski, for it
could be your undoing…. You are at risk, Alabeth,
because you have made yourself vulnerable to Robert’s
memory….”

She drew back sharply. “I wish to return to the house
now.”

He saw that he would progress no further for the time being, and he smiled charmingly. “Very well.”

To her relief, he offered her his arm and they walked
back across the lawns toward the nearest of the covered walks, but as they entered, they both halted, for they distinctly heard the sound of a woman weeping. Then, in one of the mirrors, Alabeth saw the reflection of Adelina
Carver, crying as if her heart were breaking as she clung to Piers. He held her close, his fingers coiling lovingly in her
hair.

Alabeth hurried on, the Count hesitating only a moment
before following her. Once back in the ballroom, he was
spirited away from her immediately by numerous
admirers, and she made her way back to Octavia’s sofa, hoping that she looked a good deal more composed than she felt.

Octavia’s fan wafted slowly to and fro. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Don’t be infuriating, you know perfectly well what.
You’ve made
the
conquest, we’re all furiously jealous, and
all you can say is ‘Well, what?’ I trust he made very
improper suggestions to you in the gardens.”

“You are incapable of reforming, aren’t you?”

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“My dear, he’s delectable, good enough to eat, and he’s offering himself on a silver plate. Don’t tell me you aren’t
even going to nibble.”

“You would, I suppose.”

“Naturally. Since I did my duty and provided Seaham with two sons, I’ve been nibbling away here and there to my heart’s content. You should be doing the same, for it
would do you good.”

“You may be right.”

“I
am
right. Take him for your lover, Alabeth Manvers,
and don’t be slow about it, for there are a hundred others waiting eagerly to step into your shoes.”

Alabeth said nothing.

“By the way, your Aunt Silchester has sent a message
through one of her tabby friends.”

“Oh.”

“Well you might ‘oh,’ for she is not pleased with you.”

“What have I done?”

“It’s what you haven’t done that’s more to the point.
You haven’t called upon her, and as she considers herself
to be the matriarch of the family, she ain’t too delighted.”

“I suppose I should have called before now,” admitted Alabeth.

“You should, indeed, especially as her scouts inform her
of all the other calls you
have
managed to make. It was
most foolishly remiss of you, for now you’ve given the old
biddy something to really gripe about.”

Alabeth sighed.

Octavia smiled. “Still, an hour or so with your Aunt
Silchester can be endured, especially as there’s Ascot week
to look forward to, to say nothing of my boating party.
Cheer up, Alabeth, just think of languishing in the Count’s
arms and you’ll come through anything.”

Alabeth laughed then. “Oh, Octavia!”

Jillian looked very pretty indeed as she set out to dine at
Lady Dexter’s, and Alabeth could have sworn that she was
pleased at the notion of being seated next to Charles
Allister again. It hardly seemed possible that such a change
could have come about, but it had, and Alabeth even
began to hope that her father’s dearest wish was coming true and that there would indeed be a match between his
younger daughter and the son of his greatest friend. The
Jillian who had greeted Alabeth that first awful evening
had not reappeared at all, and it certainly seemed that for
some reason the fact that Alabeth had confronted Piers
Castleton had brought about a complete transformation.
Alabeth still knew a few twinges of guilt for having blurted
out about the letters to Piers, but she knew that it could
not be undone now and, besides, it really did not matter
anymore, for Piers obviously hardly crossed Jillian’s mind
now.

The Wallborough landau bore Jillian away from the
house and Alabeth prepared to call upon Aunt Silchester, a
duty which she viewed with extreme dislike, for she and her
aunt had never got on, even before the elopement with Robert, and since then relations had been very strained
indeed, the old lady never missing an opportunity to
upbraid her scandalous niece.

Lady Silchester resided in Baswick Street, which was but
a short distance from Berkeley Square, and as the early
evening was clear and fine, Alabeth decided to walk,
accompanied by a footman for protection, as it would be
dusk on her return. She wore a cherry velvet spencer over a
pale-pink muslin gown, and on her head a straw bonnet
with a posy of flowers pinned to the underbrim. A long ringlet tumbled down over her shoulder and her fringed
parasol threw a cool shadow over her as she walked along
the pavement toward Gunter’s, where a small collection of
elegant carriages had already gathered. There was light-
hearted laughter and the murmur of idle conversation as
the excellent ices and other confections were sampled, and
Alabeth exchanged greetings with several people before
continuing on her way.