Thea's Marquis (13 page)

He was too late. Disconsolate, he went to fetch his own as Lord Hazlewood appeared at Thea’s elbow bearing two steaming cups.

“We have brushed through the worst,” he said in a low voice. “Lady Kilmore and Mrs. Trevelyan have my utmost respect.”

“Yes, they were splendid,” she said vaguely, still feeling stunned. “Sir, Lord Stewart is taking me for a drive in Hyde Park tomorrow.”

“Stewart!” He frowned.

“Is that not proper? Oh dear, when he asked me I was so surprised I forgot that he is married.”

“Widowed, so it will be perfectly proper,” he conceded with reluctance. “You have your mother’s consent?”

“I don’t believe she has met him, but I am sure neither you nor Lady Hazlewood would invite a gentleman of whom she might disapprove. Besides, I am by far too old to run to Mama for permission.”

“For permission, yes, but I hope in future you will consult her before you accept invitations.”

“I will, I promise. Only, Mama is not well acquainted with the ton. She would not know that Lord Stewart is a widower.”

“True. You had best ask me—or your brother. If Stewart had in fact still been a married man, you might have placed yourself in an awkward position.”

Thea’s growing confidence crumbled. She had begun to think that entering Society might not be so daunting after all, and now she realized there was many a pitfall awaiting her.

Her only consolation was that Lord Hazlewood had offered to advise her, which suggested he meant to be available to be asked.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“He wanted to leave me at home,” wept Penny, hunched on the edge of Thea’s bed, “and go back without me.”

“He was worried about your health,” Thea insisted. “You cannot suppose that he hoped to be able to speak privately with Mrs. Trevelyan, with her husband there, and everyone else. I cannot believe he is still interested in her, now that she is married.”

“Perhaps not, but did you notice how like Henrietta she is?”

“Like Henrietta? Heavens, no. She seemed to me to be quite like Meg, though I did not see enough of her to be certain to what extent their characters are similar.”

“Similar in character, perhaps, and she and Meg are both dark, whereas Henrietta is blond. Either is more fashionable than red hair!”

“Your hair is beautiful. Penny.”

“Most people think it freakish. No, I meant all three are small and delicate. Jason is attracted to small, delicate females and I am tall and...and
solid.”
She clasped her arms about her middle, which as yet showed no signs of thickening. “And I shall soon be solider than ever.”

Thea’s face grew hot as she pointed out, “You would not be pregnant if he were not attracted to you.”

“Doubtless he wants an heir,” Penny said bitterly. “If I do not provide one this time, he will return to my bed. In the meantime, he is never at home and he sleeps in his dressing-room. I cannot even tell whether he has spent the night at home. I am sure he has taken a mistress.”

“Oh Penny, no! How can you say such a thing?”

“Lots of married men do. I suppose every wife hopes her husband will be different.” Tears streaked down her cheeks. “I love him, Thea. I want him so. The only thing I can think of is to go on a reducing diet and hope that if I am thin enough he will come back to me.”

“Is that wise when you are increasing? You should be eating for two. You must ask Mama.”

“I cannot! She seems to think I should be glad that Jason does not ‘bother’ me.”

“I daresay that is because she was always happier when my father was away, which indeed was most of the time.”

“She does not understand. She will not understand why I want to lose weight. Promise you will not tell her,” Penny begged. “How can eating just a little less hurt the baby when it is still no bigger than the tip of my thumb?”

“I don’t know.” Thea wished she had taken more interest in medical matters.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” she said unwillingly, “but you must promise to eat more if you feel at all ill.”

Penny grimaced. “I feel ill enough every morning without making it worse on purpose. Perhaps I shall feel better. Oh, look, it is ten to three and we have not settled what you are to wear to drive out with your admirer. Quick, ring for Farden while I wash my face.”

She dashed to the washstand and splashed her eyes with a little cold water from the forget-me-not-painted ewer.

Tagging the bell-pull, Thea protested, “Lord Stewart is not an admirer. He is a widower with dozens of children.”

“Dozens?”

“Lots, anyway. I could not keep count. All he wants is a sympathetic ear to listen to his stories about them. As long as he expects nothing from me but murmurs of admiration, I shall be safe.” She returned to the subject of clothes as the abigail came in. “Shall I wear the periwinkle blue pelisse? I have no time now to change my dress and it will hide this one.”

“That will do very well, with the bonnet trimmed with periwinkles, Farden,” Penny directed. “We must go tomorrow to order a riding habit for you, Thea. Chocolate brown, with apricot braiding, and a small, brown cork hat with just one apricot feather curling around it. You will look excessively dashing.”

“Dashing?” Thea laughed. “I shall give quite the wrong impression then, for no one could be less dashing. Besides, I doubt I shall need it. I have not been on a horse this age and I fear I should make a cake of myself before half the ton.”

Meg put her head around the door, then came in. “Are you ready to go down, Thea? After what Lord Hazlewood said, I am determined not to be one of those ladies who keeps gentlemen waiting.”

“How pretty you look, Meg. That shade of peach is perfect for you. I daresay you would be forgiven if you were late. Which of your beaux is driving you, did you say?”

“Sir Gideon, in his curricle, but Mr. DeVine and Mr. Pritchard mean to ride alongside,” said Meg blithely. “Did I tell you what they call each other? Giddy, of course, and Pretty, and the Divine Will! Is that not shocking?” She giggled. “Do come on, Thea.”

Penny followed them from Thea’s chamber and stood at the top of the stairs, watching forlornly as they started down.

“You will come down, will you not?” Thea asked her.

“Oh, you need me as chaperon, of course. I forgot your mama has gone to visit Lady Anne.”

“I am chaperon enough for Meg, but I should be glad of your support.” Suddenly she panicked. “What am I to say to him, Penny? Suppose he does not want to talk about his children?”

Taking her arm. Penny urged her down the stairs. “It is for the gentleman to find a subject that the lady is comfortable discussing,” she said. “If worst comes to worst, there is always the weather.”

Thea was not forced to fall back upon the weather, as Lord Stewart had an ample fund of anecdotes about his family. In Hyde Park, leaves gilded by the pale autumn sunshine drifted down from the stately elms to land in barouches, landaus, phaetons and curricles. The ton was taking advantage of the fine afternoon to see and be seen. To Thea, Rotten Row seemed crowded, with strollers and riders as well as vehicles. She could not imagine how it must be during the Season.

Lady Lewin bowed to her from an elegant green barouche, and Miss Lewin waved. An unknown gentleman seated opposite them turned his head and raised his hat politely. Several times Lord Stewart greeted acquaintances or halted the phaeton to exchange a few words with friends. Each time he introduced Thea, but they did not stay long enough to tax her conversational powers.

Now and then she caught sight of Meg, bowling along in Sir Gideon’s curricle with her mounted escort. They stopped to talk to a tall figure on a huge black horse. From a distance Thea recognized Lord Hazlewood.

At once Penny’s woes returned to the forefront of her mind. The marquis would know what to do, how to find out, without actually asking Jason, whether he was unfaithful to his wife.

As Lord Stewart’s phaeton approached the group, Lord Hazlewood bowed to Meg and rode on to meet it. Thea realized that in her escort’s presence she could hardly ask the marquis for a private meeting.

Ahead of him, coming their way, was a smart grey whiskey picked out in scarlet. The reins of the high-stepping grey gelding were in the hands of a lady a few years older than Thea. She was wearing a scarlet outfit that emphasized her curvaceous figure, and as she approached the phaeton, she raised her whip in greeting.

“Lord Stewart, well met.”

The carriages stopped side by side. The viscount introduced Thea to Mrs. Wilmington, who gave her a dismissive glance and turned the full force of sparkling blue eyes on Lord Stewart. Thea hardly noticed that she was cut out of their conversation, and she certainly did not care. Lord Hazlewood was riding up on her side of the phaeton.

Rod noted with some annoyance that Lord Stewart’s attention was absorbed by Alicia Wilmington. Not that he blamed the fellow—the dashing widow held him captive with every coquettish trick at her command. Nor did Miss Kilmore appear to mind, so he ignored them.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked her, smiling.

“Oh yes. The Park is very pleasant and I love the autumn colours of the trees. One thing our moors lack is tall trees, except in the most sheltered valleys.”

“You would like Hazlemere, my Buckinghamshire place. The beech woods are beautiful at any season.”

From the corner of his eye, he noted Mrs. Wilmington’s quandary. He was a marquis, and even richer than Stewart, but he had skillfully avoided parson’s mousetrap for many a year, whereas the viscount might well be in the market for a new wife.

She was unable to resist the challenge. “Good day, Lord Hazlewood,” she broke in, flirting at him with long eyelashes.

Startled, Lord Stewart swung round. He had the grace to look abashed at the realization that he had been neglecting Miss Kilmore. Rod wished them both good-day and turned back to Thea, but the widow was not finished yet.

“I shall never forget those house parties at Hazlemere,” she said with a languishing air.

“I am sorry that my presence has awakened sad memories of your late husband. We had best avoid each other in future, ma’am.” Her pout almost made him grin. “Incidentally, Miss Kilmore, I received word this morning of your young protégée at Hazlemere.”

“Rosie? How is she?” Thea asked eagerly.

“Flourishing, and learning her letters. Her brother is becoming an excellent tiger, as you will see if you will entrust yourself to my driving tomorrow—no, wait, I must be in the House—the day after. We might go to admire the trees in St. James’s Park. There are very fine avenues in The Mall and Birdcage Walk.”

“I should like it of all things,” she assured him, more relieved than delighted, he noted.

Which of her dratted relatives needed his assistance now? he wondered resignedly.

Mrs. Wilmington had failed to recapture Stewart’s entire attention. He made polite noises about not keeping her horse standing in the cold, although the sun was amazingly warm for late October.

“So thoughtful,” she murmured, directing at him a dazzling smile that carefully excluded Rod and Thea. “Happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Kilmore.” She drove on.

“I shall see you on Saturday, Miss Kilmore,” Rod said as Stewart picked up his reins and the phaeton started off in the opposite direction.

Rather than appear to follow Mrs. Wilmington, Rod stopped to talk to Lady Fetherstonehaugh, though normally he would have passed his mother’s crony with no more than a polite bow.

That reminded him of the marchioness’s perfidy. Riding on towards Arlington Street, he decided it must be young Lady Kilmore for whom Thea wished to solicit his help. Meg was rapidly finding her own feet in Society; the vague, shy dowager had struck up an unlikely friendship with Aunt Anne; Kilmore could surely take care of himself.

Damn the man for his rakish past! Nonetheless, Rod felt himself responsible for the unfortunate meeting between Lady Kilmore and the Trevelyans. Although all had gone better than he had dared hope, Thea probably wanted his advice as to her sister-in-law’s best course of action. Her faith in him was flattering, but he wished just once she would see him as something other than a white knight.

He sighed. Will would say it was his own fault, and the devil of it was, Will was quite likely right.

Dismounting in the stables, he handed Achilles’ reins to his new tiger. The boy was too young and unsure of himself to be sent so far as Hampstead, he decided, but Billy was looking on jealously. Though the lad had chosen to pursue the career of footman, he was often to be found hanging around the stables.

“I just come down to order her la’ship’s carridge, m’lord,” he now said defensively, feeling his master’s eyes upon him.

“You can take a message to Hampstead for me.”

He brightened.
“Yes,
m’lord. To Mrs. Bradshaw?”

“Tell Mrs. Bradshaw I shall do myself the honour of dining with her this evening.”

Sue’s soothing presence was what he needed. He usually spent three or four nights a week in Hampstead, but somehow, since his return from Yorkshire, he had seen her only twice. He felt a twinge of guilt. He always let her know in advance if he intended to join her for dinner or if he was going to arrive after eleven o’clock; otherwise, when he was in Town, he expected her to be waiting for him. How many lonely evenings she had spent waiting in vain!

Later, on his way, he stopped at a jeweller’s in Piccadilly and bought her a necklace of gold filigree set with pearls. She never asked him for precious gifts, as he knew other men’s mistresses did. In fact, she rarely wore those he gave her, but she would have a nest egg to fall back on when their association ended.

His start of surprise made Achilles toss his head in confusion.
When their association ended?
Rod had never before envisaged an end to the comfortable relationship. Now what the devil had put that notion into his head?

He lost his train of thought as a barking dog dashed into the road and nipped at Achilles’ heels. Already disconcerted, the gelding reared. Keeping his seat with difficulty. Rod calmed his mount, but the animal continued skittish all the way to Hampstead.