Revenge Wears Rubies (4 page)

Aunt Alice went on with another theatrical sigh. “Still, fortunate or not, I’d say a bonnet or two wouldn’t tip the scales, Haley! You must learn to spoil yourself.”

“Are you sure this is what chaperones often dictate? Cause more trouble and spoil yourself?” she teased gently.

“Absolutely! Chaperones with
you
for a charge, undoubtedly!” Aunt Alice laughed. “I can consult a few reference books, but I don’t think there’s a wise grand dame within thirty miles that would disagree with me.”

“Ah! There’s a conference I’d love to see!”

“Pish! We’d put ourselves to sleep now that I think on it, and what a mess of tea trolleys and cucumber sandwiches!” Aunt Alice made a playful gesture of dismissal. “You’ll just have to rely on my judgment and there’s an end to it.”

The lively exchange continued and made the ride seem to go very quickly despite the afternoon traffic. Arriving at the brownstone, Aunt Alice excused herself to rest before their evening outing, and Haley took a few moments to enjoy the quiet. She headed up to the first floor sitting room, eager to get back to the novel she’d left on the window cushions that morning.

Her steps slowed at the doorway when she realized her father was already occupying the window seat in question.

“Your mother used to read a great deal.” He held up the leather-bound novel she’d been seeking, his eyes watery despite his smile. “I was so jealous of those hours with her pretty nose pressed against those pages.”

Haley shook her head and walked forward to gently retrieve her book. “She pressed her pretty nose against your cheek often enough, if I remember rightly, Father.”

“She did, didn’t she?” He leaned back and Haley noted that his waistcoat buttons were mismatched, a clear sign that he had already had a bit too much to drink before lunch.

“Papa, let’s see to this.” Haley sat next to him and began to refasten the ivory buttons, patiently setting him to rights. “Martin would be horrified to think you’d left your rooms with your clothes askew.”

“Best valet in the known world, my dear.”

“Yes, and you should tell Martin so more often. Poor man!” She smiled, too charmed by her father to really fuss at him. “We’ll have you looking the dandy in no time.”

“Where are all your boxes, Haley? Didn’t you go out shopping this morning?” His focus on the present suddenly fell back into place, and Haley was grateful for the distraction of the buttons. She missed these fleeting moments when he truly looked at her and was once again the father she’d long adored.

“I did. And nothing suited.” She finished her task and shifted back onto the cushions, doing her best to look him directly in the eye. “Aunt Alice was more disappointed than I was, I think.”

“Alice wouldn’t hide it, if that is true. Which makes the lack of boxes even more remarkable, I’d say.” He put his hands over hers. “Empty the stores, dearest. Our troubles are behind us.”

She pulled her hands away and stood. “Almost behind us, Papa.”

“You’re too practical!” He pouted, standing unsteadily.

“If I were a son, you’d not say so.” She reached out to touch his arm to help him gain his balance. “Now, why don’t we ring for something to eat to fortify ourselves before tonight’s party?”

His gaze drifted past hers to the side table and the decanted wine in a cut crystal pitcher. “I’m not hungry. Go rest and change, Haley, and I’ll . . . see you off with Alice later.”

“Father, please come with us. Don’t you wish to—”

“I wish to be obeyed and left alone!” He retreated past her to the tray and poured himself a glass of the deep ruby, ending any debate.

Haley collected her novel and began to leave without another word. But her father spoke again and delayed her escape, his tone far more contrite and gentle. “I’m . . . feeling a bit under the weather. You’ll make my apologies, won’t you, then?”

She forced herself to smile. “Of course.”

“Wear the red, Haley. You look like your mother when you wear that dress.” His eyes became glasslike with unshed tears, and Haley averted her gaze.

“Yes, Father.” She hurried from the room without slowing her steps or looking back.
There are worse fates than a courteous husband. Would I be my mother and love so blindly that I leave devastation in my wake?
She shook her head as she climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Wishing for the moon doesn’t bring it any closer, but God help me, why do I keep looking at it?

Chapter
2

The overcrowded salon was exactly the setting Haley most dreaded, but she kept a light gloved hand on Mr. Trumble’s arm so that her nerves wouldn’t betray her. At their first party weeks ago, she’d forgotten herself and Herbert had complained that she’d pinched the blood from his fingers because she’d held on to his elbow so tightly. She’d hoped her social skills were improving, but each party felt like the worst sort of gauntlet where one was likely to be undone by mischance or the poor mood of some matron looking for the tiniest fault to criticize her “country manners.”

The long, narrow room was filled with guests, forming clusters of lively conversation that echoed off the painted vaulted ceilings. An old-fashioned musicians’ gallery ran high along one side of the room betraying the room’s original purpose for elegant dances. The balcony’s gilt arches pointed toward the lively but indifferent mythological figures cavorting above, and Haley wondered if these demigods trapped in time missed seeing a good quadrille. The house’s current owner, Mr. Bascombe, disliked dancing and made no secret of his preference for cards and conversation. Even so, Mr. Bascombe had apparently relented to add to his party’s atmosphere and a lone violinist could be heard from his exile on the verandah.

“I cannot stand it, Miss Moreland!” The shrill voice immediately achieved Haley’s attention along with that of several other guests, before Lady Pringley’s faint smile softened her complaint. “You must reveal your couturier, or I’ll be forced to admit to everyone how cruel and selfish you are to keep such secrets!”

Haley’s cheeks flooded with heat. The compliment to her gown was so barbed, she wasn’t sure how to reply and deflect the woman’s interest. “Your ladyship . . . is too kind. I was just envying
your
beautiful gown.”

“Indeed!” Lady Pringley shook her head. “
I
am no fashion plate.”

“I confess, you all look well enough to me,” Mr. Trumble said. “I can’t see any difference in one dress or another, but what a lot of fuss and bother my three younger sisters can make over a ribbon! A female mystery, eh?”

Lady Pringley’s look of astonishment at the unwelcome opinion of a man she hadn’t yet addressed directly was almost comical. Haley did her best to intervene before any more damage was done. “Lady Pringley, you remember my fiancé, Mr. Herbert Trumble? My father had the pleasure of making the introduction at your garden party and—”

“Yes, of course!” Lady Pringley recovered her composure only to pick an even harder topic for Haley. “Is your father here then?”

“No, your ladyship.” Haley took a small pause, trying to decide what excuse would end an inquiry, but Lady Pringley was too quick for her.

“Miss Moreland, is your father not feeling well that he would miss a lovely party such as this?” Lady Pringley asked, her expression mock disbelief. “Again unwell?”

“He was very displeased to stay behind, but the London air just doesn’t agree with him, I’m afraid.” Haley smiled as if she felt nothing but supreme gratitude for Lady Pringley’s concern, and not a twinge of icy fury at the old bat trying to pry out a bit of gossip about her father’s frequent absences. It was no small thing to keep her father’s drinking from his peers’ attentions.

“The man is going to miss seeing you grace my ball later in the Season at this pace. You must let me send my physician to attend him! Dr. Rowan West is so gifted, he can put him to rights in a single sitting.” Lady Pringley held up a hand as if to wave away any protests. “I’ll see to everything!”

“You’re too kind, your ladyship,” Mr. Trumble bleated, unaware of the intrusion. “Isn’t she kind, Miss Moreland?”

“Far too kind.” Haley squared her shoulders. “My father has a physician already, Lady Pringley. A day or two of rest, and I’ll be sure to let him know that you made such a special point to inquire and remind him about your lovely party. It will be the height of the social season, and we wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Lady Pringley’s eyes narrowed, but the compliments did their work and her face settled back into a satisfied smile. “Everyone will be there. Well, everyone who is anyone of consequence . . .” She gave Mr. Trumble a patronizing look as if to underscore his amazing good fortune as a man of trade at achieving an invitation. “Or who wishes to improve their circumstances.”

Mr. Trumble beamed. “A man can always improve himself!” “Indeed.” Lady Pringley retreated with a prim nod, dismissing the conversation before moving toward another hapless group of guests.

“Did you see that, Miss Moreland?” Herbert asked. “Lady Pringley has taken a special interest. And my father once said that a man born a step below could never do more than strain his neck looking up. But here I am! Not a door closed to me, and—oh, is that our host, Mr. Bascombe?”

Haley followed his gaze and tried to spot the gentleman in question. “I’m not sure I see—”

“Yes! He’s there with that Mr. Melrose. I’m going to reintroduce myself. If he’s to be in the House of Commons, then I want to give him my compliments. Besides, I heard he has a Pekinese!” He left her to seize his chance to corner Mr. Melrose about the proper Pekinese, and Haley did her best not to bite her lip in disappointment. She had asked him in the carriage not to leave her unattended, but once again, he’d demonstrated that he had difficulty keeping his promises in his head when it came to the faintest mention of either one of his burning interests.

It was awkward to step back without bumping into anyone, and a familiar anxiety began to pour through her as the closeness of the room set in, the noise of conversation swelling with her fears. Nonsensical thoughts about the amount of air left and how tight her corset was fluttered through her in a panicked chase. She looked for the telltale yellow feathers in Aunt Alice’s hairpiece, but gave up when the view of a sea of feathered hairpieces only fueled her discomfort.

She tried to maintain an expression of serene detachment, as her gaze swept over the room plotting potential escape routes or seeking a friendly familiar face. Aunt Alice was nowhere to be seen, and had probably assumed that she was in Mr. Trumble’s good company.

The rise and fall of feminine chatter and male laughter did nothing to soothe her nerves but began to sound unnaturally jarring and strange, and Haley’s grip on her folded fan increased until her fingers were numb.

The sight of Lady Pringley and her companions glancing over at her with smug assessment catapulted her into action. Haley was in no mood to stand still for Lady Pringley’s mental catalogue and critique of every stitch and strand of her person. One subtle look at the balconies above cemented her strategy. She shifted without looking back in the direction of Pringley and her cronies and made her way as calmly and carefully as she could from the salon back into the hall until she found the servant’s door to the small staircase that led to the deserted gallery above.

She knew her privacy was assured, and the lure of the simple luxury of elbow room was too much to resist. It was an unconventional thing to hide at a party, but Haley was sure that if she kept her eye on the gathering below, she could rejoin Mr. Trumble or Aunt Alice before she was missed and avoid any raised eyebrows.

The narrow gallery was unlit, except for the reflection from the room below, and Haley smiled at the simple elegance of becoming invisible in plain sight.
Well, perhaps not plain sight, for if anyone cared to crane their necks, I’m sure they could spot me easily enough.

She moved with the unconscious ease of a person completely relieved at her solitude and free of the burden of watchful eyes. Nothing about London’s society bid her to risk lowering her guard or allowed the luxury of an impulsive word or action, and Haley was beginning to count the days until it was all over. She’d never thought that the confines of her impending marriage would begin to seem like a slice of freedom compared to this taste of “Town.” She shook her head at the absurd idea and headed for one of the deserted chairs along the wall to catch her breath.
Perhaps it’s all for the best, accepting Herbert’s invitation and suffering a Season, if only so I can look forward to disappearing into obscurity and—

Haley froze as she realized that she was not entirely alone. At the far end of the gallery, what she’d mistaken for a shadow against the wall was in fact a man. He had his back to her and was apparently enjoying a view of the party below.