The Gamble (5 page)

The three of us watched in silence as he walked toward the door. His hair was as black as his evening coat, and as I observed his lithe dark figure, the image of a panther came irresistibly into my mind.

For the first time I fully understood Sir Charles’s comment that he would not want any daughter of his residing under Philip Mansfield’s roof.

After dinner was over, the three of us ladies retired to the green drawing room, which was one of the less formal drawing rooms on the second floor. It was lined with portraits of family and friends and the paneling on the wall was painted a pale green with white trim. There were half a dozen gilt armchairs with green-tapestry embroidery scattered around the room, a pianoforte in one corner, and a harp in the other. There was a rosewood writing desk between the tall, green-silk-hung windows and a rosewood sofa table in front of the green-silk sofa.

“Catherine will play the pianoforte for us,” her mother announced as she ensconced herself in one of the tapestry chairs. “She is very good on the pianoforte.”

I waited for Catherine to creep timidly toward the pianoforte, but she surprised me by approaching it with more authority than I had ever seen her display. She sat down on the bench, arranged her skirt, turned to me, and asked, “Is there anything in particular that you would like to hear, Georgie?”

“No,” I answered. “Play whatever you like, Catherine.”

She flexed her fingers, placed them on the keys, tilted her head for a moment as if she were listening to an unheard note, and began to play.

I sat as one transported. This was not the kind of playing every young miss learns in the schoolroom. Even I, who am not notably musical, could hear that this was the real thing.

“That was absolutely wonderful, Catherine,” I said when she had finished. “You didn’t tell me you were a musician.”

My words were simple, but Catherine flushed with pleasure. She said, “The pianoforte is not in perfect tune. I shall have to ask my cousin if I might have it seen to.”

Nothing could have made it clearer to me how important the pianoforte was to Catherine than her willingness to brave Lord Winterdale to ask for something.

“She would play the pianoforte all day long if I did not make her stop,” Lady Winterdale announced, partly with pride and partly with annoyance. “She has quite ruined her eyesight from peering at the notes.”

“I don’t peer at the notes, Mama,” Catherine said. “I have told you that many times.”

Lady Winterdale waved her hand, dismissing her daughter’s words as unreliable. “I have never approved of your spending five and six hours a day practicing, but it did keep you occupied while you were a girl. You are a young woman now, however, and there will be many other things to occupy you while you are making your come out into society.” Lady Winterdale gave her daughter a gimlet stare. “It is always desirable to make a good impression with an instrument, Catherine, but you must take care that people don’t think you
odd
.”

I stared at Lady Winterdale in astonishment. Couldn’t she see what a brilliant musician she had in her own daughter. Wasn’t she proud of Catherine?

Catherine’s eyes were downcast. She looked quite desperate. “No, Mama,” she said.

The tea tray came in and both Catherine and I sat and listened to Lady Winterdale discourse on the day she had planned for us tomorrow. We would go to the shops on Bond Street during the morning. “That is the time for ladies to shop,” Lady Winterdale informed us. “The shops belong to the gentlemen after two and it would not do for us to be seen on Bond Street then.”

This seemed odd to me. In a country village one could shop at any time one wished, but I wasn’t going to question Lady Winterdale’s superior knowledge.

“In the afternoon, we will write out the invitations to the ball,” Lady Winterdale said. “And I must begin to see about ordering the flowers and arranging for the food. We must serve only the best champagne. And I believe I shall have lobster patties for supper.”

I thought of all the money that the shopping expedition and the ball was going to cost Lord Winterdale and wondered again what he must hold against his aunt that causing her any kind of discomfort was worth it.

CHAPTER
five

W
E SPENT A WEEK SHOPPING UP AND DOWN BOND
Street. I had never in my life seen so many pretty clothes and I have to confess that I enjoyed myself hugely. We bought morning dresses to wear for when gentlemen called upon us at home in the morning and walking dresses and pelisses to wear if we should go on an expedition outdoors in the afternoon. We bought carriage dresses to wear should we go for a drive in Hyde Park and both Catherine and I got a new riding habit to wear should we prefer to ride. Needless to say, all of these garments required matching bonnets and boots, for which we visited a variety of Bond Street milliners and bootmakers. Then we shopped the Pantheon Bazaar for gloves and stockings.

I must confess that I took to shopping like a duck to water. While it would have been much nicer if I had not been forced to bear the company of Lady Winterdale, whose personality definitely did not improve upon further acquaintance, and whose taste I had constantly to overule, as it was execrable, I had been poor all my life and nothing could destroy my pleasure in the lovely and elegant garments that began to fill the great mahogany wardrobe in my dressing room.

Unfortunately Catherine did not share my pleasure. Nothing could have been clearer to me as we bustled from shop to shop, that she would much have preferred to be at home playing the piano. She did play the pianoforte for us after dinner, but her mother always made her stop after an hour, and it was so apparent that an hour was not enough for her that my heart ached for her pain and frustration.

It was becoming more and more obvious to me that Catherine needed to marry a man who loved music, who would be proud of her talent and who would let her practice for as long as she chose.

There had to be such a man somewhere in this vast city, I thought. We would just have to find him.

I saw little of Lord Winterdale during the two weeks before the ball, except for an occasional glimpse as he went into the library or left the house completely. He dined at his club most nights, leaving his three female guests to their own company. I thought this was excessively rude of him, but then I had come to expect rudeness from Lord Winterdale and I tried not to let it irritate me. After all, I told myself firmly, if it was not for him I would not be making my come out at all.

I also reminded myself that he did get someone in to tune the pianoforte for Catherine, which led me to hope that perhaps he was not as utterly insensitive as he appeared.

I had been thinking and worrying about the story he had concocted about my being named his ward, and on the day before the ball I managed to catch him in the library before he disappeared for the day so that I could discuss my concern with him.

I opened the door to find him sitting at his desk, going through an extensive pile of what looked like bills. I felt the faintest twinge of guilt as I thought that they were probably the bills for our many shopping expeditions.

“Yes, Miss Newbury?” he asked, looking up as I said his name.

“Might I speak to you for a moment, my lord?” I asked politely.

“Come in,” he said, folding his hands on top of the pile of papers and preparing to bestow upon me the honor of his attention.

The Mansfield House library was not as grand as the rooms in the rest of the house. The bookshelves that lined the room were made of chestnut wood and the walls above them were painted a dark gold. The ceiling and the moldings were painted white and the Turkish rug on the floor was green and gold and red. The fireplace was the most impressive thing about the room. It was dark green marble and above it hung a picture of a thoroughbred on Newmarket Heath that looked as if it had been painted by Stubbs.

I advanced now into the room and this time I did not wait to be invited to sit before I took the green-velvet-covered armchair that was placed on the far side of Lord Winterdale’s desk.

He looked at me, his thin, hard face expressionless, his startling blue eyes steady. “What do you wish to see me about, Miss Newbury?” he asked.

“I don’t think this story you have concocted about my father naming you as my guardian is going to fly, my lord,” I said bluntly. “Lady Winterdale has mentioned her skepticism to me several times, and I have a suspicion that I am going to hear similar comments all Season long. I fear that it might very well affect my chances of catching a husband.”

“I see,” he said. His hands moved slightly, drawing my attention to the thin-boned, strong, ringless fingers resting on the huge pile of bills. He asked courteously, “And do you have any other suggestions as to how we might account for the fact that I requested my aunt to bring you out?”

As a matter of fact, I did have another suggestion. “I thought that perhaps we might say that my father had named your
uncle
to be my guardian, my lord,” I said. “Your uncle appears to have been a perfectly respectable man, and my being named his ward would cause no great surprise. Then, we could say that after your uncle died you felt it incumbent upon yourself to take over your uncle’s responsibility to me.” I looked at him, proud of my invention. “How do you think that sounds?”

A flash of amusement showed in his eyes. “Damned peculiar,” he said immediately.

I gave him an affronted stare. I had, of course, heard the word
damn
many times, but it was not very nice of him to say it to me. Nor did I like his disparagement of my idea.

He continued as if he had not seen my outraged look at all, “To put it bluntly, Miss Newbury, outside the gambling tables, your father and my uncle did not move in the same social circles. I cannot imagine any circumstances under which my uncle would agree to take on the indigent daughters of a notorious gambler as his wards.”

I felt myself flush. “Your uncle was scarcely a paragon, Lord Winterdale. He was a card cheat, after all.”

“Ah, but the
ton
does not know that, do they?” he returned blandly. “Nor do they know that he was being blackmailed by your father. All they know was that he was, as you say, an extremely respectable man—which, regrettably, your father was not.”

His words made me angry, but reluctantly I had to admit that they also made sense. “But it sounds so suspect that Papa would have left Anna and me the wards of a twenty-six-year-old man, who, from what I understand, has an extremely disreputable reputation!”

Those reckless eyebrows lifted, and I said with dignity, “I am sorry, my lord, but that is what I have heard from everyone I have talked to. It just looks . . . suspect.”

He shrugged, a supple, elegant gesture. “I am afraid there is nothing we can do about it, Miss Newbury. We must just rely on my Aunt Agatha’s undoubted respectability to counteract my own regrettably disreputable reputation. And I can assure you that while Aunt Agatha may be a dragon, her consequence in good society is enormous. She is a personal friend of several of the patronesses of Almack’s, and this ball she is throwing will be attended by all of the most important people in London.”

I bit my lip. “I don’t like her,” I said. “Haven’t you noticed how horrid she is to Catherine?”

“No one is forcing you to go through with this come out if you don’t choose to, Miss Newbury,” he said. His eyes drifted pointedly to the pile of bills under his hands. “If I remember correctly, it was you who blackmailed me, not the other way around.”

“You don’t have to keep reminding me of that,” I said irritably. “I can only assure you that I did what I did out of necessity, not desire.”

He gave me a cool, ironic look that only increased my ire. The fact that he was in the right and I was in the wrong was utterly infuriating.

Then he said unexpectedly, “Do you ride?”

I could feel my whole face light up. I had had to leave my beloved mare Corina down at Weldon Hall, and I missed her more than I could say. “Yes,” I said, “I do.”

“Would you like to come for a ride in the park with me this afternoon? It is a fine day, and I have a nice sensible gelding in the stable whom you could ride.”

Nice and sensible also sounded boring, but I was so happy at the thought of being in the saddle again that I didn’t object. “A ride sounds wonderful,” I said sincerely.

“Very well. I will tell Fiske to have the horses ready for us this afternoon. Be in the stable yard a little after four.”

For the very first time since we had met, I gave him a real smile. “Thank you, my lord,” I said. “That will be absolutely lovely.”

He looked back at me, his face inscrutable, and did not reply.

* * *

As in many of the homes in Grosvenor Square, the stables were immediately behind the house, separated from the terrace by a small garden. I arrived in the stable yard at exactly four o’clock and stood looking around with curiosity.

The stable building and the carriage house took up most of the available space and were built of the same brown brick as was the house. I thought with pity of the poor horses confined within the stable with no place to be turned out for exercise or fresh air. It must be hard to be a horse in London.

As I was standing there, two men leading saddled horses came from within the stable building into the yard. To my surprise, I saw that one of the men was Lord Winterdale. He was smiling, and for the first time since I had met him his unguarded face looked as young as I knew he was.

The man who was holding the other horse, obviously the Head Groom, saw me and said something to Lord Winterdale. The smile disappeared from his lordship’s face, he nodded, and the groom began to lead a very solid-looking bay gelding in my direction.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he said. “I’m Fiske, his lordship’s Head Groom, and this is Cato. He’s a real gentleman, Miss, and wise to London traffic. You won’t have to worry about a thing. He’ll take care of you just fine.”

I patted Cato’s thick glossy neck. He was in excellent condition, but he was clearly no longer young. “Hello there, fellow,” I said.

Fiske led Cato to the mounting block and I mounted into the sidesaddle, hooking my knee around the horn and arranging my skirts. I was wearing my old habit, as the new one Lady Winterdale had ordered for me was not yet ready.

Lord Winterdale walked his horse over to me, and I stared with reverence at the beautiful black thoroughbred mare he was riding. She had a perfect white streak down the middle of her face, but the rest of her was like black silk. Her neck was long and arched, her shoulder ideally sloped, her legs perfectly clean, her hindquarters well muscled. This was a horse who was not only well looked after, she was also obviously well ridden.

“What a beauty!” I said sincerely.

“This is Isabelle,” he replied with the friendliest look I had yet gotten from him. “She has already been out this morning, so she should be perfectly content to walk and trot.”

“I can assure you, my lord, that I am perfectly capable of riding to more than a walk and a trot,” I said testily. “In fact, at home I have even been known to gallop over fences.”

“Have you indeed?” he murmured, as if he didn’t believe me.

I ground my teeth and held my tongue.

He looked at me more closely. “Good God, didn’t Aunt Agatha buy you a riding habit? I’m sure there was a bill for a riding habit in that enormous pile on my desk this morning.”

I said very calmly, “Lady Winterdale did indeed purchase a new riding habit for me, my lord. It is not yet ready, however.”

He was looking at the habit I was wearing as if it was a rag.

“There is nothing wrong with this habit,” I said indignantly. “It is excessively comfortable, I’ll have you know. The new one Lady Winterdale ordered for me will not be half as pleasant to ride in.”

A flash of genuine humor lit Lord Winterdale’s thin, dark face. “Haven’t you learned yet, Miss Newbury, that the more comfortable a garment is, the more unfashionable it is likely to be?”

It was astonishing how intensely attractive his face became when that cold ironic look was replaced by warmth. The change was brief, however, and as we turned to leave the stable yard I was once more confronted by his chill, hard profile.

It was a short walk from Grosvenor Square to the Oxford Street entrance to Hyde Park and as we entered in under the trees I smiled with delight. The busy streets of London were exciting, certainly, but there was no doubt that I had missed the green beauty of the country.

“The usual promenade of the
ton
does not begin until about five,” Lord Winterdale informed me, “so we have a brief respite before the paths become too clogged with traffic to do anything but stop and socialize with the people who are here only to be seen.”

“Can we go for a canter?” I asked eagerly.

He gave me a speculative look. Then, “Why not?” he said. “I think you can trust Cato.”

His disparaging remarks on my horsemanship annoyed me no end, and I didn’t wait for him to say anything more before I asked the bay gelding for a canter. He moved off smoothly and after a minute Lord Winterdale appeared at my side on Isabelle. The two horses cantered along side by side under the greening oak trees, and I rode easily in a forward seat the way I did at home when I rode cross-country with Corina.

The path along the Hyde Park lake called the Serpentine was fairly empty at this hour, and we were able to increase our speed. Cato surprised me with his enthusiasm, and our horses stretched out side by side in a nice long gallop. When finally we pulled up I laughed and patted Cato’s warm neck and Lord Winterdale looked at me with surprise and approval.

“You do ride well,” he said.

It was absurd how delighted I was by his compliment. “Thank you, my lord,” I said. “I would ask you to send for my own mare, but she is used to being outdoors all day long, and I’m afraid the confinement of a London stable would be detrimental to her health.”

As we rode back the way we had come I found that the park was beginning to grow crowded with fashionable carriages and well-turned-out men and women on horseback. All of the horseflesh was sleek and shiny and all of the carriages sparkled with cleanliness. The men and women were dressed in the height of elegance. The men wore immaculate buff breeches and polished riding boots with black or brown riding coats; the women’s outfits were more varied: from curricle dresses and pelisses, to the kind of full-skirted riding habit that Lady Winterdale had ordered for me.