The Wolfe Wager (11 page)

Hastily she set him from her thoughts. Right now, she must think only of convincing Sir Wilbur to bid her a good evening. “I assure you once more that neither my aunt nor I are incapable of taking care of ourselves.”

“No?”

Vanessa’s answer became a gasp when he gripped her arms and pulled her to him. The flaccid heat of his lips pressed on her mouth. She shoved against his full chest and heard him grunt as she escaped his harsh embrace. Horror filled her. First Lord Mendoff, now Sir Wilbur.… She did not want either of them to touch her ever again.

Victory filled his narrowed eyes in his porcine face. “As you can see, you need someone to protect you, my lady.”

“From you.” She locked her trembling hands together as she fought to keep her voice even. “I must ask you not to call again.”

“Not to call?” His florid face bleached to a sickly shade of gray. “My dear lady, I implore you—”

“I implore
you
to refrain from making a scene that we both shall rue.” She raised her hands as he stepped toward her again. Did the man have no sense of propriety? Or could he think only of his designs on her virtue?

“My lady, my heart is filled with warmth for you. I would not have been so presumptuous if I had not intended to ask you to be my wife.”

“I fear that is quite impossible. We are little more than strangers.” She turned away. “Good night and goodbye.”

He stepped in front of her. “My lady, I urge you to reconsider. Haven’t I proven my concern for you this evening? Let me prove that I am heart-smitten for you.”

She tried to push his chubby hands aside, but he grasped her arm and drew her closer. Suddenly his fingers fell away. She pressed her hands to her mouth as she saw a shadowed form take the baronet by the collar and waist. Quigley kicked aside the half-opened door and propelled the baronet out of the house. Sir Wilbur’s yelp rang across the Square as he fell onto the strawcovered cobbles.

Aunt Carolyn rushed into the house. “Vanessa, what is the meaning of this?”

“Quigley is helping me say good evening to the baronet in a manner
his
manners deemed appropriate. As they are better suited for a sty than a house, let him wallow in the straw.”

“Dear me!” Aunt Carolyn glanced toward the door Quigley was closing. “I suppose I should send someone to be sure he isn’t hurt.”

The butler shook his head. “Rest easily, my lady. I aimed him at a thick pile.” He peeked through the window by the door. “You will be glad to hear that Captain Hudson is assisting him. The baronet is picking straw out of his posterior now.”

Vanessa knew she was wrong to laugh, but she could not silence the sound. Guiltily she looked at Aunt Carolyn. Suddenly her aunt began to laugh, clutching her side. She wagged her finger at Vanessa, but only laughed.

When she had regained her breath, Aunt Carolyn said, “I guess you had no choice.”

“None.”

“Just make me one promise.”

“Of course, Aunt Carolyn.”

“Promise me that you shall not treat your next admirer this way, Vanessa.”

She linked arms with her aunt as they climbed the stairs. “I hope I shall not need to.” Only to herself did she add, “But I will if I must.”

Chapter Seven

Rumor had a way of spreading quickly through Town, rattling on the tongue of every gossipmonger. Among the
ton
, tales were repeated at every look-in. Truth or fallacy, each story was carried from house to house, from square to square. A proposal whispered in a moonlit garden was known throughout the Polite World before the end of the next afternoon. An
affaire d’amour
was kept secret only from the capricornified spouse, for the intimate particulars were exchanged over tea and in the clubs.

Although she had known how impossible it was to be close as wax among the
élite
, Vanessa clung to her hopes that Sir Wilbur would be too mortified to repeat the story of his dismissal from her aunt’s house. She hoped as well that Captain Hudson cared enough about Aunt Carolyn’s reputation as a hostess to restrain himself from telling the amusing anecdote of the finale to the card party. Nothing had been said last night about her call on Lord Mendoff, so she dared to have hope about this.

Vanessa noticed no curious glances as she was driven along Bond Street. Beside her, Leale was a trifle quieter than usual, but Vanessa knew her abigail’s reticence came from their disagreement before the party instead of Sir Wilbur’s unexpectedly forceful departure.

“Leale, I shall not be long at Madame deBerg’s shop,” she said, wanting to patch the rent between them.

“After you cut your visit short yesterday, you owe
Madame
as much of your time as she requires.”

“Which will not be much. The dress is nearly done.” She smiled. “If you wish to visit the apothecary, you shall have time. Mr. MacGregor may have received a shipment of that liniment you prefer for your knees.”

“They have been creaking like two old frogs down in the Abbey pond, haven’t they?”

“I miss that music from the pond, but I would as lief you could move with more ease.”

“The dampness will pass.”

“When we return to Wolfe Abbey,” she said hastily. Leale’s dolorous words brought the dreary Sir Wilbur and his endless warnings about guarding his health to mind.

No note from the baronet had been waiting among the thank-you letters from their other guests. Vanessa had expected Sir Wilbur would again fail to obey the canons of propriety and fail to thank her aunt properly for the evening’s diversion, but she cared not a rush if he disappeared completely from her life.

Even Lord Brickendon, despite his sometimes quoz ways, had had a note delivered. A smile pulled at her lips as she recalled reading it at the table in the breakfast-parlor.

My dear Lady Vanessa
,

Your party of the evening past was most enjoyable. Please convey my thanks to Lady Mansfield for her generous welcome into your home. I trust, as I saw no announcement of your impending nuptials in this morning’s paper, that you succeeded in your strategy with Sir Wilbur Franklin. I look forward to speaking with you at Swinton’s fête tomorrow evening. Do not think me ill-mannered to mention this, for you should have received his invitation by this time
.

Vanessa had discovered the invitation, printed on light green vellum, in the pile of mail on the breakfast table. She and her aunt were cordially bid to attend a musicale at the home of Bruce Swinton, not many blocks from St. James. Putting aside the invitation, she had finished the note from Lord Brickendon.

Just remember that if you ever find yourself needing the services of a brave knight (or a knave who is a quarter flash and three-parts foolish), you need only call upon

Your humble servant
,

Lord Brickendon’s signature had been as bold as his flashing eyes, but she appreciated his humor even more in the clear light of the morning. She could imagine his volley of laughs if he chanced to learn of Sir Wilbur’s precipitous expulsion from the house. As she looked out at the shops on Bond Street, she wondered what lay behind that humor. Yesterday, she had learned there clearly was more to the viscount than his quips.

When the carriage stopped in front of the
couturière’s
shop, Vanessa waited for Leale to alight onto the walkway under the creaking sign with Madame deBerg’s name. Gently she asked, “Leale, why don’t you go to the apothecary now?”

“My lady, you should not be out by yourself. If your aunt heard of such a thing—”

“Eveline Clarke is here.” She pointed to a carriage waiting on the far side of the street. “She must have recovered from the sniffles that kept her home last night. You know she will not allow me to leave Madame deBerg’s without a full accounting of who attended the party and what was said. That will not be done quickly.”

Leale nodded reluctantly, but said, “You must not leave until I return for you.”

“I suspect you shall be waiting quite a while for
me
.”

“Do not leave!”

“I shall not.”

Vanessa was unsure if Leale would take her word, for the abigail looked back over her shoulder as she walked along the street. Leale’s sudden lack of trust would make it even more difficult to hide her determination to find Corey.

But she would.

How many times had Papa told them that they must depend on each other?
Even if no one else in the world will not stand with you, stand together
. His words in her memory were as clear as if he had just spoken them.

She and Corey had heeded his advice until the night before Corey left for the continent and the battle where he had disappeared. If she had listened to what Corey tried to tell her that night … if he had listened to her … It might have been easier now, for what had been said in anger would not be tormenting her as the words rang through her mind.

Corey, I never meant what I said. You know that, don’t you?
How she longed to speak those words to him, and she must, or she would never be able to free her heart from the weight of her guilt.

Vanessa opened the door of the small shop. The scent of roses rushed out at her. Madame deBerg kept her shop filled with as many bouquets as could be perched on the tables and sills. After the less pleasant scents of the streets, it was welcome, even though it was smothering. Bolts of material were stacked against a wall, and white silk trailed along the floor.

A girl in a simple gown of muslin ushered Vanessa into the back where Madame deBerg had her finest books of fashion plates. Vanessa paused by a curtained door and ignored the girl who was urging her to go into the next room.

“Is Miss Clarke in here?” Vanessa asked.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Do check with her and with Madame. I would like to join them.”

The girl’s blue eyes filled with bafflement at the change in the usual routine, but she slipped through the curtains. Vanessa heard her chirping voice. Gazing along the hall, she saw a bundle of material set in a shadowed corner. No one asked how Madame deBerg obtained the lovely fabrics that were woven on the opposite side of the Channel. The war had not lessened the yearning of Society to dress
à la française
or halted the owls from bringing cloth from France.

Interlopers! Vanessa asked herself why she had not considered them before. She wondered if it was possible to have a letter smuggled into France, mayhap even to the highest reaches of that government. Perhaps one of Boney’s ministers might be willing to assist her … for a price. She sighed. Such a bribe—assuming she could get it to the right person—would beggar even her father’s estate.

She was given no more time to ponder how she might accomplish the impossible when the girl returned to announce Vanessa was welcome to go into the fitting room. The lass stepped aside, holding the curtain out of the way.

“Vanessa, just the one I wanted to see!” Eveline Clarke’s enthusiastic welcome matched her brilliant smile and the rich wealth of her auburn hair.

Eveline was an incredible beauty with a figure that frequently propelled Madame deBerg into her native language to find words to praise it. Eveline would have been wed long before except for the unfortunate shadow cast over all the Clarkes because her mother had had the audacity to try to divorce her father. Mrs. Clarke had died in the arms of her lover, leaving a pall to haunt the rest of the family. None of that mattered to Vanessa, who had known Eveline since childhood, for their fathers had been schoolmates in their own youths.

Vanessa untied the checkered ribbons of her high-brimmed hat and set it on the table. Sitting next to the table, so she had a good view of Eveline, who was perched on a small platform, and the
modiste
, Vanessa said, “You look as if you are feeling quite well.”

“I am fine.” Eveline raised her hands with exasperation, then lowered them quickly on Madame deBerg’s order. “If Papa hadn’t been so afraid a mere cough might be deadly, I would have attended your
soirée
last night. I was able to convince him to let me come out this morning, but only because he insists we return to Berkshire before the week is over. Can you believe that?” She gestured her irritation, but stood still again when the
couturière
mumbled.

“The Season has only a handful of weeks to go. Why would he want you to leave now?”

Eveline’s pretty smile grew dim with sadness. “He feels that if you are unable to find a match, I have little hope. Town fills him with
ennui
, so he is using any excuse to return to the country.” She raised her hand to wipe a single tear from her cheek.

Madame deBerg glanced at Vanessa, clearly upset that one of her patrons was weeping. Vanessa hurried to ask, “Do you think your father would allow
you
to remain in Town? Aunt Carolyn and I would be thrilled to have you stay with us.”

“Would you?” She clapped her hands, laughing as Madame deBerg shook her head in resignation. “I do so want to stay. I have met the most charming man. Edward Grey.”

“Lord Greybrooke?”

“One and the same.” She smiled. “The earl is so sweet. I have seen him several times in the Park, and he never fails to take a moment to speak with me.”

Vanessa hid her own smile. She found the earl as boring as Eveline’s father found the whirl of the Season—as she found the whirl of the Season—but Eveline’s heart clearly had discerned something Vanessa had failed to see. She would hear every facet of the meetings in the Park because Eveline held onto a secret no longer than a gambler kept a losing hand.

“We shall plan on having you be our guest for the rest of the Season,” Vanessa said. “All you need to do is send word of when you will join us.”

Bouncing from the dais, Eveline flung her arms around Vanessa. “Oh, thank you. I did not know what I would do when Papa insisted we leave.”

“You needed only to call. You know our house is always open to you.”

“I had thought to give you a look-in this afternoon.” She stepped back up on the low platform and offered the
modiste
an apologetic grin. “I was anxious to talk to you about many things, but I feared your aunt might be at home.”