Rakehell's Widow (24 page)

Alabeth tugged on his sleeve. “Please, Charles, have done with this immediately.”

“Alabeth is right, Charles,” interrupted a new voice,
“for I think you’ve made your point now.” It was Piers, stepping firmly between Charles and the Count.

“Made it?” Charles cried. “I haven’t even begun.”

“You’ve said all you’re going to say,” Piers replied
softly, “for I am telling you that you have. Don’t be
foolish now, for it will do no good and may do a great deal
of harm to proceed.” His voice was reasonable, but his
eyes told Charles that he had no intention whatsoever of
letting him utter one more unwise word.

Charles hesitated, but then nodded. “Very well,” he
said, to the inexpressible relief of both Alabeth and Julian,
“I will say no more.”

The Count stepped angrily forward, and his voice fell on
a completely hushed gathering, for even the orchestra had
stopped playing now. “You
will
say more, sir, for you will
apologize for what you have said.”

Slowly, Piers turned to eye him. “And you, sir, will then
have to apologize to me for having been ill-bred enough to
continue making a scene when I have done my utmost to pour oil on these particular troubled waters.” He smiled
faintly.

For a moment it seemed that the Count might proceed in
spite of this, but then he thought better of it, turning
angrily on his heel and walking from the chamber. There
was a great deal of whispering as Jillian made as if she
would follow him, but then Piers restrained her by very firmly catching hold of her hand. “No, my lady, I think
you must remain here,” he said in a low voice, “for to
pursue him now would be to provoke even more comment
than you have already caused.”

Her cheeks flushed angrily. “You have no right—”

“I have every right, having taken it upon myself yet
again to see that there is more decorum and common sense
than shown hitherto. As for you, Charles, I begin to tire of
forever intervening to keep you from the point of an
opponent’s sword, and I trust that from now on you will act with more restraint. Now, then, you and Lady Jillian
here will toddle obediently onto the floor and dance a nice,
elegant minuet, you will observe every last detail of
etiquette, and you will allow the Countess’s masquerade to
proceed in a proper manner.”

Charles had the grace to look a little ashamed of
himself, but defiance flashed brightly in Jillian’s eyes.
Alabeth looked sternly at her. “Do as you are told,
Jillian.”

Reluctantly, Jillian took the hand Charles held out to
her, and a moment later they had joined the other couples on the floor as the first strains of a minuet began to play.

Piers turned to Alabeth, his gray eyes shrewd. “It is strange, is it not, how different people react in different
ways to the same emotion?”

“Emotion? I don’t understand.”

“Jealousy.” Smiling, he bowed and left her.

The following morning Alabeth took the first opportunity
of pointing out to Jillian that she had not conducted
herself all that gracefully at the masquerade. She worded
herself very carefully, not wishing to offend or run the risk
of a return to their former feuding, and Jillian agreed that perhaps she had been a little unwise. She apologized for having shown favor to the Count when she knew he had
behaved insultingly toward Alabeth, but she confessed that she had always found him to be the perfect gentleman and
was therefore adhering to the time-honored maxim: speak as you find. In all honesty Alabeth could not find this blameworthy, for although she herself knew the Count to be a toad of the first order, it was hardly to be expected
that Jillian would know the truth of that, especially if he
was putting himself out to be more than a little charming. They therefore agreed to disagree about the Count.

About Jillian’s conduct toward Charles Allister,
however, Alabeth could not find anything with which to really exonerate Jillian. If Charles was an unwanted and
unwelcome suitor, then she should have told him so a little
more discreetly and thus spared him the odiousness of the
previous evening, for it was Jillian’s behavior which had so
provoked him and caused the unpleasant scene with the Count. That did not, of course, excuse Charles, but it was
only right that Jillian should accept her share of the blame.
Jillian was not as amenable about this as she had been
about the Count, for she grumbled that Charles was dull and tiresome and that he thoroughly irritated her. How
ever, when Alabeth asked her to write a polite and ele
gantly phrased letter to him, informing him that she was
declining his suit, Jillian refused, saying that there was
surely no need at all to write such a letter. Alabeth
persisted for a while but then gave up, for it was hardly
possible to stand over Jillian watching each word being
written, and if Jillian was quite determined not to write,
then the whole exercise became pointless. They agreed to disagree about Charles too.

They parted a little later, Alabeth to call upon Aunt Sil
chester and Jillian to once again visit Miss Mariner.
Alabeth wondered what on earth two souls as diverse as
her sister and the rather prim, elderly spinster could find to
talk about on successive days, but Jillian merely said that they found each other’s company most congenial. Alabeth could not help thinking that if Jillian could complain that
Charles Allister was dull company, then Miss Mariner
must be driving her up the wall with boredom.

Alabeth walked to her appointment with Aunt Sil
chester. She viewed the prospect with even less enthusiasm
than before, for surely word would have reached the nosy
old biddy about what had happened at the masquerade,
and there would be a fine old wigging waiting in Baswick
Street for so lax and ineffectual a chaperone as Alabeth must appear to be. However, Dame Fortune was smiling
on her for once, for the story had by some miracle failed to
reach her aunt, and so the visit was passed in an almost agreeable way discussing the arrangements for Jillian’s
ball. Aunt Silchester was prepared to discuss this at length,
and this was solely because of Octavia’s involvement.
Being a Duchess, Octavia was deemed to be most suitable and quite worthy of favor from one who had married into the exalted Silchesters. Alabeth escaped back to Berkeley
Square at last, feeling that she had done her duty for the
time being and would not need to run the gauntlet of
Baswick Street again for a while.

Jillian returned rather late from calling on Miss
Mariner, causing luncheon to be delayed somewhat and
then making Alabeth a little anxious by announcing that
she really didn’t feel very hungry. Alabeth found Jillian’s mood of bubbling excitement a little disturbing, for once
again she was exuding that air which one always associates with the first dizzy flush of a new love. Tentative questions
however, drew only a blank. Jillian picked at her salad and then fled up to the music room to practice once again at the
pianoforte. She played the same Polish love song over and
over again until Alabeth felt like screaming if it did not
stop.

Lord Gainsford’s unexpected arrival at the house later in
the afternoon was greeted by Alabeth with undisguised relief, and she agreed with great delight to drive out with him in his new curricle. An hour in the fresh air of Hyde
Park made her feel a great deal better, especially when that
hour was spent in the company of such a fine old gentleman, and she returned to the house having managed to set
aside all thought of the perplexing problems which seemed
to be besetting her own private life and which continually surrounded anything to do with her sister.

They had not retired to bed until four in the morning after the masquerade, and Alabeth was determined that
they should both go to bed early that night, especially as
the next day was the day of the grand regatta and the fire
works display, which would not even commence until well
after midnight. They spent a quiet evening together,
although Jillian was in a restless mood, and they went up
to their respective rooms at half-past ten. Alabeth seemed
to have hardly laid her head on the pillow before she was
fast asleep.

The bedroom was filled with moonlight as the clock on
the mantelpiece chimed two. Alabeth had requested her maid to leave the window open as the room had been a
little close and stuffy, but now a fresh breeze had sprung
up from nowhere, billowing the heavy lace curtains and
knocking a tortoiseshell comb from the dressing table to
the highly polished floor below. It fell with a clatter and
Alabeth sat up with a start, pushing her hair back from her
face and looking around to see what had happened. The
breeze was cool as it touched her warm skin and she
shivered a little, slipping from the bed to close the window,
but what she saw in the garden below made her halt in
astonishment—and then dismay.

Jillian was walking toward the house from the direction
of the mews lane. She was dressed in a mauve silk chemise
gown, her hair was intricately looped with strings of
pearls, and her expensive cashmere shawl dragged on the path behind her. She walked slowly, pausing now and then to raise her hem a little and practice some dance steps, for
all the world as if she had but a moment before been taught
them. Which, from her appearance, she probably had!

Alabeth felt the stirrings of anger as she watched, for
Jillian had quite obviously been out somewhere—but
where? And who with? There had not been any invitations
for tonight and Jillian had certainly not mentioned any
unexpected appointment; indeed, when she had gone to her room earlier, she had most definitely given the im
pression that she too was intending to go straight to bed.
And yet here she was, dressed up to the nines and returning
from some unknown engagement—and without even a maid as chaperone. Picking up her own shawl, Alabeth
hurried from the room, determined to confront her sister immediately and trusting that some sort of satisfactory
explanation would be forthcoming for this flagrant breach of the rules.

She waited on the staircase, listening as Jillian’s light
steps approached from the rear of the house. Jillian was
humming and was quite obviously in excellent spirits. She
reached the cool green vestibule and then paused again, lifting her hem to practice the dance steps.

“And where, pray, you have been?” inquired Alabeth
coldly.

With a gasp, Jillian whirled about. “Alabeth! You
startled me!”

“As you startled me a moment ago when I looked from my window and saw you.”

Jillian’s eyes were wary. “Saw me? Doing what?”

“Walking back from the mews lane after attending some
engagement I know nothing of.”

The blue eyes cleared. “Oh, Alabeth, you don’t really
believe I would do that, do you?”

“What else am I to believe when I see you dressed like
that?”

“I
was
in the garden, I do not deny that, but I was only
walking in the cool air. I had another of my headaches—”

“And you paused to don evening togs before slipping
out?”

“No. Oh, it sounds so silly—”

“Allow me to be the judge of that.”

“Well, I couldn’t sleep and so I decided to try on various
gowns and see which one I would wear for the regatta. By
the time I had tried this one on and my maid had finished
looping the pearls through my hair, I felt quite hot and
bothered, and so I simply decided to stroll for a while in
the moonlight.”

She smiled, her eyes very wide and
innocent, and Alabeth did not quite know what to say. It was an explanation, such an unexpectedly ordinary one that it had the trappings of truth about it, and yet Jillian
simply had not looked as if she had been taking an
idle stroll, she had looked as if she had been returning
to the house after alighting from a carriage in the mews
lane.

Jillian came reproachfully to the foot of the staircase.
“Alabeth, you don’t really think I’d go out like that without telling you, do you?”

“You are quite capable of doing so,” Alabeth reminded her.

“That was then; I couldn’t possibly do it now. Please, Alabeth, you must believe me.”

“You
are
being honest with me, aren’t you? I mean,
you’ve been in such a strange mood just recently—” There
seemed no point in beating about the bush. “Jillian, have you been seeing someone? A
beau?”

“A
beau?”
Jillian giggled a little. “Of course I haven’t!
You’d know about it, wouldn’t you? There isn’t anyone,
truly there isn’t. I’m just like I am because I’m enjoying
myself so much—it really is quite marvelous to be courted
by so many handsome young lords and to know that any
one of them might soon be my husband.”