The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (35 page)

Cecelia left the bustling kitchen with her mouth watering. Preparations for tonight’s supper were underway. Loaves of freshly baked bread had been set out to cool and a variety of sauces were bubbling on the stove. The smell was divine. She was determined that Fenton Abbey become known for serving the finest meals in the south of England and all was going well. Last night’s dinner had received high praise and other than the incident with Lady Sheraton, most of the guests had behaved themselves. Lady Throckmorton had pummeled a few toes with her cane and Lord Holloway had gotten foxed during a game of billiards, but neither was enough to draw serious remark.
    A damp curl brushed her forehead. She put a hand to her hair and frowned. The kitchen’s heat had loosened her coiffure and as the lady’s withdrawing room was closer than her chambers she decided to tidy up there. She pushed through the double doors that opened to the dressing area and found Andrea Banks standing in front of a full length mirror while a maid repaired a tear in the hem of her plum muslin gown. Lady Banks was a dark haired matron in her early thirties whom Cecelia had met during her come out. She was witty and unaffected and Cecelia liked her very much.
    She looked up and grinned at Cecelia. “I’ve managed to tromp on my own hem,” she said in explanation. “I wasn’t paying attention as I climbed the steps. Fortunately, only Lord Banks was with me so others weren’t witness to my clumsiness. But I’m so glad you stepped in because I hadn’t a chance earlier and I wanted to complement you on the jewels you wore last night. They’re quite extraordinary.”
    Cecelia smiled at her guest. “Thank you. They were a gift from my husband. He surprised me with them as I was dressing for dinner last night.”
    “You’re so fortunate Clarendon has such good taste.” Lady Banks sighed. “I’m afraid Lord Banks taste is abominable and it’s most difficult because I’ve run out excuses not to wear the jewels he’s given me. Though he’s such a dear man, I shouldn’t complain.”
    “Clarendon has always had good taste.” Cecelia flinched as Lady Sheraton’s sultry voice came from behind a painted silk privacy screen. “And he has always enjoyed dressing his women in the first style of fashion.” Her lavender taffeta skirts rustled as she came into view. “He’s particularly fond of giving jewelry. I’ve heard he leaves an expensive bauble beneath a lady’s pillow the first time he beds her. And more after that if she pleases him.”
    The tension in the air was palpable and for a moment nobody spoke.
    Lady Sheraton gazed at Cecelia and smiled coolly. “I beg your pardon. I should have used the past tense. I can’t quite get accustomed to the idea of his being married.”
    “That wasn’t well done of you, Evelyn,” Lady Banks said softly.
    “I suppose not.” She sighed. “But I can’t very well go back and change things, can I?” Her eyes glittered with challenge. A challenge Cecelia could not meet and still stay within the boundaries of social decorum.
    Stung and embarrassed, it took a moment to gather her wits. She lifted her chin and murmured, “Excuse me,” as she moved past Lady Sheraton to the mirror. Remarkably, her reflection was far more composed than she felt. She tucked in a few loose pins and adjusted the ribbons threaded through her hair. “Card tables are set up in the Red Salon if anyone would care to play.”
    Lady Sheraton continued to smile. “I believe I will. Good afternoon, ladies.” She inclined her head gracefully and left.
    Lady Banks shook her head and sighed. “She’s pea green with envy, you know. Evelyn’s never been a particularly pleasant person and when she’s jealous of someone, she’s insufferable.”
    Cecelia frowned with confusion. “Who is she jealous of?”
    Lady Banks looked surprised. “You, my dear. She’s so jealous of you she can’t see straight.”
    Her confusion grew. “Why would she be jealous of me?”
    “You have everything she wants. Look in the mirror. You’re young, beautiful and you’ve landed one of the most eligible bachelors in England.”
    “But she’s absolutely stunning,” Cecelia protested.
    “Her youth has passed her by and she can’t accept it. In addition, I believe she had set her sights on your dashing French guest and it appears he has eyes for only you.”
    Cecelia cheeks warmed. “Several others have mentioned it as well. I hadn’t realized it was so obvious. It’s become embarrassing. I can’t imagine what people think.”
    “They think you’re a lovely young lady with a not-so-secret admirer. A few eye brows might be raised but I shouldn’t worry about it. Something new will have attracted their attention by this time tomorrow.
    “Monsieur André will be leaving for London, soon. I do feel sorry for him. It must be dreadful not to know who you are.”
    “I can’t even imagine.” Lady Banks turned in front of the mirror to inspect her hem. “And as to Lady Sheraton. I’ve known Evelyn for years. Don’t let her rattle you. That’s exactly what she wants.”
    “I wondered why she’s been so hateful to me,” Cecelia said. “Though, I still can’t quite understand her thinking.” Her brow wrinkled. “I suppose I can bear with her for a short while.”
    “You dealt with it beautifully. I’m not certain I would have done as well.” Andrea Banks smiled warmly. “Would you like to come to tea, one day? Our home is an hour’s drive but there aren’t many women in the country and I would dearly love your company. And I must show you some of the horrid bits of jewelry I have accumulated during my marriage. Maybe you can help me make up new excuses for not wearing them in public.”
    Cecelia realized how dreadfully she had missed having female friends close by. “I should like that very much.”
    “Good. I’ll send an invitation as soon as I’m able. Lord Banks wants to spend a few weeks in Bath before we return home but I miss our children terribly and I’m anxious to get back to them. I must warn you. Our home is a bit unconventional. We’ve five children and when we’re in the country we tend to grant them more freedom than some think appropriate.”
    Cecelia thought of Rosie and David and laughed. “I have no difficulty with that at all.”

Rand filtered out the conversation around him as he and his companions left the house. He hadn’t thought about the night he’d killed Marguerite for several years. It was a night he preferred not to dwell on, but since Williams had brought up the subject the evening before, the scene played out repeatedly his head. Something about it was nagging at him, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was.
    Michael Hampton’s words broke through his thoughts. “My dear Lady Clarendon, you are a vision this afternoon.”
    Rand looked up in time to see his wife blush prettily at the blond, blue-eyed young man who was presenting her with a graceful bow. He hadn’t been exaggerating. Her green eyes were shining and sunlight gilded the coppery curls that escaped the rim of her bonnet. A slight breeze rustled the sprigged green muslin gown she wore about her legs accenting the long slim lines of her figure.
    She dipped a curtsey. “Thank you, sir. Good afternoon, gentlemen. I trust you’re enjoying yourselves?”
    Williams took her hand and bowed over it. “How could we not, in your charming company, my lady?” It seemed even the gruff military man was not immune to his wife’s charm.
    “Where are you gentlemen off to?”
    “To show off our archery skills, my lady,” Hampton answered. “Would you care observe as I put these men to shame?”
    “Any other time, I would like nothing better, but at the moment I was hoping to borrow my husband for a few minutes. I promise not to keep him too long.”
    The marquis held back a frown. Though she presented a pretty picture, there was an edge of tension in her voice. She was very adept at hiding her feelings when in public and it was unlikely the others would notice, but he could tell that something was wrong. He placed his hand at the small of her back. “If you will excuse me, gentleman, I’ll meet you on the field as soon as I’m able.”
    He propelled her forward until they were well away from the others. “What’s this about?”
    She tilted her head up. She was no longer smiling. “Did you used to leave jewelry beneath your lover’s pillow?”
    He narrowed his eyes. His reply was curt. “You pulled me away to ask me that? This isn’t the time or place.”
    “It is when it’s thrown in my face by one of our guests.” Her arms were crossed and her jaw was set. “There’s a great deal I don’t know about you. There’s a great deal I don’t care to know about you, but someone has decided otherwise.”
    “Allow me to guess. Lady Sheraton?”
    She relayed the incident to him and he uttered a couple of choice oaths beneath his breath. “What colossal nerve that woman has. I’m no longer doing the pretty with this whole situation, Cecelia. I won’t have it. I’m putting a stop to it.”
    She chewed nervously on her lip. “Please, don’t make a scene, Rand. It would be humiliating for me.”
    “I won’t grab her by the hair and toss her out on the road, though it would give me much pleasure to do so.” He smiled grimly. “I would enjoy throttling her, even more, but I promise discretion. I won’t embarrass you. She’s done enough of that as it is.”
    She nodded slightly. “I suppose it’s true then?”
    For a moment he was puzzled. “What?”
    “You left your lovers gifts under their pillows.”
    “It’s of no consequence, now,” he said sharply. Instantly remorseful for his tone he added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you. I would hope we could leave these things in the past. It has nothing to do with the present.” He paused. “You’ve done a lovely job with the party. I’m very proud of you.”
    She avoided his gaze. “Thank you. You should join the others. They’ll be waiting and I’ve things to do.”
    As he watched her return to the house he tamped down his anger. Once more, his wife had been hurt and he’d be damned if he let it happen again.

Cecelia noted that Rand had been watching André off and on throughout dinner. She too, found the French man’s behavior puzzling. After disappearing for most of the day, he had appeared at supper in a most jovial manner. His normal reserve was gone and he went out of his way to charm everyone around him. Everyone, she noted with satisfaction, with the exception of Lady Sheraton who had shot more than one black look in his direction.
    “I’ve heard there’s to be dancing this evening.”
    She turned to Sir Williams who was seated beside her and smiled. “Yes. We’ve brought in several musicians from Bath. They come highly recommended.” She picked up her wine glass. “Do you enjoy dancing, Sir Williams?”
    He chuckled. “I enjoy dancing, but I’m afraid my partners rarely enjoy dancing with me. But if you will allow me to partner you I will try my best not to tread on your slippers.”
    She grinned. “I shall look forward to it.”
    Seated on her other side, Michael Hampton competed for her attention. “Lady Clarendon, I heard a marvelous rumor about Fenton Abbey.”
    She turned to him. “And what would that be, sir?”
    “I heard there has been a curse on the Marquises of Clarendon ever since the sixth marquis tried to sell off the stone in the old Abbey." He grinned. "Anyone with a brain in their head knows you don’t demolish a church building. It brings bad luck.”
    “There’s nothing unusual about it. It was done repeatedly during the reign of Henry the Eighth and later during Cromwell’s time,” Hammond pointed out.
    “And where are they now?” Hampton asked.
    “They’re dead.”
    The young man beamed. “My point exactly.”
    Hammond rolled his eyes skyward. “Of course they’re dead. Several hundred years have passed. And the sixth Marquis of Clarendon was likely only finishing what they had started.”
    “But none lived to a ripe old age, including the sixth Marquis.” Hampton drawled. “The Marquises of Clarendon never do.”
    “Utter foolishness,” Williams snorted.
    “I don’t know,” Hammond said thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, I’ve never known our present Clarendon to be knocked over by a horse before. Yet it happened just the other day. This could very well be the beginning of the end of Clarendon.” He dropped his voice to an exaggerated whisper and leaned toward Cecelia. “Tell me, my lady. Could you find happiness with a mere viscount? I’ve been told I have a pleasant face and a charming sense of humor.”
    Cecelia felt the blood drain from her face. Given the attempt on her husband’s life, his comment was not a welcome reminder.
    “See what you’ve done,” Williams said in disgust. “You’ve upset Lady Clarendon. In my day this fodder was not tolerated at the table in mixed company. You young men don’t know the meaning of the word genteel.”
    Hammond appeared duly mortified. “I apologize if I’ve offended you. I thought to have a bit of fun. I didn’t think,” he finished lamely.
    She forced a bright smile. “It’s perfectly alright.” She dipped her spoon into a shallow dish of crab bisque. “Tell me what you think of the bisque. It’s a little different than most. I had to bribe a kitchen maid to observe the cook and find out what the secret is. We should have a contest to see if anyone can guess it correctly.”
    “Mutton,” someone volunteered. This was met with groans.
    The guessing continued with the answers growing more and more ridiculous but when it came André’s turn, he guessed correctly. “Fennel with a squeeze of lemon added at the last minute.”
    Amidst good natured jesting and protests that he should have bowed out because of prior knowledge, he looked to Cecelia in appeal. “I am innocent of these charges. Have you divulged the ingredients to me, my lady?”
    For a moment, she was too stunned to speak. His tone was casual but his eyes were dark and smoldering. It was the look of a lover. She quickly glanced away desperately hoping no one had noticed. Especially, her husband. “No monsieur, I haven’t.”
    After supper, the ladies retired to the drawing room and it wasn’t long before the gentlemen left their brandy and cigars to join them. Cecelia slipped out to see to the arrangements for the evening’s entertainment. Rand caught up to her before she was halfway down the corridor.
    “Everything’s been taken care of,” he said as he came up behind her. “All the lanterns in the garden are lit. The musicians have set up. The carpets have been rolled up and the connecting door between the salons opened so there’s plenty of room.” He paused. “I thought you might want to go upstairs and rest for a while.”
    She came to a stop and frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”
    He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I don’t want you to get overtired.”
    “I’m not tired,” she protested.
    He was quiet a moment. “Maybe you shouldn’t dance this evening. Or at least keep it to a minimum.”
    She was stunned. She hadn’t danced since her wedding. The music had yet to begin and her toes were tapping in anticipation. “Why on earth would you say that?”
    “You fainted, yesterday,” he reminded her. “You mustn’t take unnecessary risks.”
    She responded with an inelegant snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m pregnant, not ill. I won’t be able to dance at all in a few months and I intend to take advantage of the opportunity while I can.”
    He gazed at her calmly. “Just promise you won’t overdo. There are two of you to consider now.”
    Irritated by the fact that this was a perfectly reasonable request, she nodded grudgingly. “Very well.”