The Wedding Affair (27 page)

“Lady Reyne, I am sorry to be so disobliging,” the duchess said, “and I am quite in your debt for understanding my predicament.”

Penelope stood up. “An easy solution is available, Your Grace—one which would suit everyone.” She felt the gaze of every person in the room turn toward her. The enormity of what she was about to do made her light-headed, and she took an instant to get her balance before she moved slowly toward her husband.

“We—my husband and I—are perfectly content to share a room.” Her timing had been impeccable; before her words had a chance to register, she laid her hand on the earl’s arm and turned her face up to his with what she hoped looked like adulation. “I would be happy to have my things moved into your room, my dear, unless you would prefer to come to me instead and leave your bedroom free for Lady Reyne to use?”

The earl’s arm twitched under her hand. “What the devil are you thinking?” he said quietly.

Penelope didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Only that you are always so thoughtful of a lady in need. Surely you would not want to see Lady Reyne be required to undertake the journey back to the village late at night.”

The duke seemed to be trying not to laugh. “It’s very generous of you, Charles, even though I’m sure you’ll be… ah… suitably rewarded for your selflessness.”

Penelope noted the morose look on the earl’s face. Was he struggling to keep from pointing out that he was not the one who had made the offer, generous or otherwise?

Colonel Huffington nudged Lady Stone, who looked disgruntled. “That’s ten guineas you owe me, Lucinda. I told you the duke wouldn’t buck his mother.”

In the doorway, the butler cleared his throat and announced dinner. The ladies gathered up their possessions, and the gentlemen began to seek out their dinner partners.

The earl stood frozen. “We will discuss this later.”

Penelope’s knees were quivering, but she kept her voice level. “Yes.” She flipped her fan open and looked at him over the lace trim. “I just made certain of it.”

Twelve

Perhaps the duchess had tired of her experiment in seating her dinner guests purely at random, Kate thought. Or maybe the addition of a few more gentlemen had encouraged her to return to the usual pattern of arranging her table by rank.

Though Kate realized where that system would place her—toward the center of the table, well away from the titled guests who clustered around the duke at one end and the dowager at the other—she hadn’t given thought to the question of who her dinner companions might be. So she was startled when Andrew Carlisle bowed before her in the drawing room and offered his arm.

“You?” she said, before she could bite her tongue.

Andrew merely looked thoughtful. “Surely you’re not suggesting the duchess could have erred in her calculations of our respective ranks? Let’s see. The daughter of a vicar and the younger son of a baronet… Ponsonby, Chadwick, and Warren all outrank me, so…”

“I was not impugning Her Grace’s manners, merely regretting the way I snapped at you earlier, Mr. Carlisle. Under the circumstances, it cannot be comfortable to be dinner partners.”

“No, Kate. I am the one who must apologize for asking uncomfortable questions.”

The knot inside Kate’s stomach unclenched a little. He sounded sober, thoughtful, and considerate.

“As for going in to dinner together,” Andrew went on, “I think Her Grace is correct that we make a good match.”

She shot a wary look up at him. Surely he didn’t realize how suggestive he’d sounded. On the other hand, he had not missed the opportunity to flirt with Penny or to stare at Olivia, so he might see pretending to dangle after Kate as mere practice.

She tried once more to escape. “You’re certain no bridesmaid requires your escort?”

“None of them wants me any more.” Andrew sounded pitiful. “I was too successful at discouraging them before you came up with your plan for me to marry the richest one. Which of them would that be, by the way?”

“So you can set about ingratiating yourself with her? If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Andrew smiled. “I wonder why you have had such a change of heart. But I suppose I must not put you to the blush by asking why your scheme to marry me off to an heiress no longer appeals to you.”

Kate stared at him for a moment, speechless. How had he taken a firm refusal to participate in his game and turned it round to imply that she was flirting with him? “I should think not. Let us change the subject, Mr. Carlisle.”

“As you wish, my Kate. Perhaps later—in private—you will explain.” As they walked across the wide entrance hall, he nodded toward the head of the procession, already at the dining room doors. “Lady Stone looks quite put out. Do you suppose she is trying to renege on her wager?”

“I think she’ll pay the Colonel and then attempt to recoup her losses from Penny.”

“It does seem hard on Lady Stone. She had a sporting chance, I think, until Lady Townsend stepped in to prevent the question from playing out.”

“Yes,” Kate murmured. “Lucky girl.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Had she truly spoken the thought aloud? “Oh, I just meant this entire household has been scrambling to accommodate the number of husbands and wives who are required to attend Lady Daphne’s wedding together but who prefer not to share a roof.”

Andrew’s voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “Much less a bed. Yes, I see what you mean. How interesting that you, too, feel Lady Townsend is lucky in her match. As for the idea of a wife wanting—to put it in delicate terms—to share a room with her husband… Miss Blakely, have you any idea how exciting it is for me when I hear you speak of such things?”

Delicate?
He didn’t know the meaning of the word. “And have you any idea how improper you are to speak of it, Mr. Carlisle?”

But they had reached the dining room, and he showed her to a chair next to the vicar’s.

Just when I was thinking things couldn’t get worse
, Kate reflected. She noted the sparkle in Andrew’s eyes and braced herself.

The gentlemen sat down, and as the scrape of chairs faded, to be replaced by the soft clink of serving spoons against china, Andrew said, “Miss Blakely, I hope you were able to remove the moss left on your skirt by this afternoon’s adventure.”

The vicar’s ear perked up and he turned toward Kate, ignoring the young woman with whom he was supposed to be conversing over the soup. “Adventure? My dear Miss Blakely…”

Andrew leaned across her to confide, “I regret to say she appeared to have rolled in the stuff, Vicar.”

“Mr. Carlisle exaggerates. Miss Horatia is waiting to speak with you, Mr. Blakely.”

Andrew settled back into his chair and waited while the footman served their first course. “I don’t think the vicar will thank you for reminding him of his manners,” he said softly. “Did you see the way his jaw went white? Did you get rid of the moss, by the way?”

Over the venison, the vicar questioned Kate about moss stains and the accident in the abbey until she was ready to scream. But eventually, he seemed to accept that she had comported herself like a lady and not a trollop, and he ended by congratulating her for her Christian sacrifice of a riding habit.

“I notice,” Andrew pointed out when she turned back to him with the start of the next course, “
he
didn’t offer to loan you money to replace it. Tell me, Kate—now that you know the vicar better, do you think he’s truly a man of God? Or does he simply think he
is
God?”

Kate’s head was starting to pound.

After dinner, as the ladies returned to the drawing room, she had the first opportunity of the evening for a word with Olivia or Penny, who had been seated at the far ends of the table.

As Kate came up behind them, however, the duchess intercepted her. “Miss Blakely, I need you to run an errand for me.”

Kate forced a smile. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Please look in on Miss Emily to see that she’s comfortable. Do you know if the dressmakers have set up their tables as I instructed?”

“I believe so, Your Grace. I suggested they take over the east wing hall, which is the only place with adequate space to work and the necessary privacy for fittings. With only ladies passing through that corridor…”

“You must tell Mrs. Greeley to issue instructions for the footmen to announce themselves before they walk through the hall, so any lady caught in a state of dishabille can safely remove to her room.” The duchess took the arm of one of the bridesmaids’ mothers and strolled off toward the drawing room, talking about gardens.

Kate delivered the order to the housekeeper and went up to the east wing to check on Emily’s bruises. The hall had been transformed, with a row of tables down the center and a bevy of dressmakers wielding scissors. Kate looked at the array of fabrics in surprise. The range of colors made a rainbow look dim.

This
was the sort of thing that had been stashed in Halstead’s cupboards?

Nearby, the modiste looked up from where she was fitting the bodice of a silvery-gray dress on a young woman who stood patiently, arms out, while the modiste pinned. “Miss Blakely, you’re in good time. Sally, take that dress off instantly so I can check the fitting on Miss Blakely.”

By the time Kate returned to the drawing room, the ladies were comfortably disposed. She waited patiently for the duchess to finish a comment about the upcoming ball and said, “Miss Emily is asleep, ma’am, with her maid watching in case she calls for anything, and the dressmakers are proceeding well. I wish to thank you for the gowns you’ve planned for me.”

The duchess’s eyes gleamed. “I hope you’re not offended by my choice of colors? Black was in short supply, I’m afraid, but since it has been three months since your father’s death, surely navy and gray and lavender are reasonable alternatives.”

“Yes, ma’am. The modiste said all the dresses would be ready for fitting by morning.”

“Very well, then. Make certain every lady is entertained, if you please.”

Kate worked her way around the room, starting a conversation here and asking a question there. Finally, feeling free to follow her own interests for a moment, she sought out Olivia and Penny. They had taken a sofa in a secluded corner, and as Kate approached, she heard Penny say earnestly, “What I’d really like, my lady, is your advice on…” Her voice dropped. “Seduction.”

Olivia’s face turned the color of Halstead’s red brick walls. “What in the world do you mean?”

“Well… you were married, and you have a child. So I thought perhaps…” Now Penny was turning red too. She took a deep breath. “I thought perhaps you could give me some advice about how to… get my husband to…”

Kate felt her eyes widen. Perhaps Penny wasn’t so lucky in her marriage after all.

“I can’t say I ever tried to seduce Lord Reyne,” Olivia said dryly. “But in general, I suppose…”

Much as Kate would have liked to listen to rest of the conversation, she was drawn away by a pair of bridesmaids with a complaint about the fire smoking in their bedroom. While she listened to the litany, she noticed that Olivia and Penny had moved closer together and seemed so absorbed in their discussion that they were oblivious to everything going on around them.

Kate suspected Penny might have been a good deal wiser to have asked someone besides Olivia for advice. Andrew Carlisle came to mind; he could probably teach a brick wall how to be seductive…

Penny seemed on the brink of tears, and Olivia reached into her reticule to offer a dainty handkerchief. Penny started to blot delicately around her eyes, but then she gave a little gasp of pain and pulled the linen away. Kate saw a tiny cut oozing blood on Penny’s cheekbone.

Something glinted in the folds of the handkerchief—something gold-colored, with a flash of blue. As Penny unfolded the fabric, a piece of metal fell into her lap, gleaming for an instant against the shimmery yellow silk of her skirt before it slid off and bounced on the carpet.

Olivia’s face went pale. Quickly she bent to snatch up the bauble from the floor, and an instant later it had once again disappeared into her reticule. “Just wire from a… from a comb I broke a few days ago. I am sorry you are injured, my dear.”

The tiny crack in her voice would not have been obvious to others, but Kate would have spotted the falsehood even if she hadn’t known Olivia had no gold combs to break.

That bit of metal hadn’t looked anything like a piece of a comb, anyway. It had resembled a gentleman’s stickpin—one Kate had seen before, though she could not remember where. But how had Olivia come into possession of such a thing?

Kate’s headache came back with a vengeance.

***

Simon was not aware of feeling impatient for the evening to end, but as the port made its way around the dining table for the third time, Andrew said, “You’re damned poor company tonight, Your Grace—and you keep looking at the clock as if you think the hands aren’t moving at all.”

“You’re imagining things, Andrew, but if you’re in a hurry to get back to the bridesmaids, don’t let the rest of us keep you.”

“A most charming group of young women,” the vicar said. “Lady Daphne is to be congratulated on the beauty and elegant manners of her friends.”