Valentine (37 page)

“Not unless Rosie lets something slip,” Emily observed, bending to pick up the dropped wool.

Theo was on her feet, turned toward the door when Foster opened it and announced their guests.

“Mrs. Lacey, how good of you to call.” She crossed the room, her hand outstretched. “And Mr. Lacey. I’m so happy to see you. Such a silly mistake of mine at the Pantheon, but I trust we can turn it to good purpose and become friends.”

A strangled sound came from behind her, and Emily swiftly moved in front of the stricken Clarissa.

“Allow me to present my sisters,” Theo said with complete composure. “Lady Emily Belmont.”

Emily was as composed as her sister as she greeted the visitors, and by the time the courtesies had been exchanged, Clarissa was sufficiently mistress of herself to rise and be introduced.

Jonathan Lacey bowed over her hand. He
was
a very beautiful young man, Theo reflected, golden and willowy, but lacking steel. For her own tastes she preferred a man with steel to him—which was fortunate, since that was what the fates had given her.

But a Sylvester Gilbraith wouldn’t do for Clarissa. She was glowing at the young man, who in his turn was gazing at her as if he’d never seen a woman before.

“You’ll take tea, ma’am?” She pulled the bellrope and ushered her visitor to a seat on the sofa beside her. “Have you been in town long?”

The Honorable Mrs. Lacey launched into a long discourse on her recent widowhood, on the excellent Honorable John Lacey, a clergyman and the younger son of Lord Lacey, who’d wished most fervently that his only child would follow him to Balliol and into the ministry. But it seemed that Jonathan had other talents. Artistic talents. He was a very fine painter, and people had shown a great interest in his portraits.

“Indeed,” murmured Theo, pouring tea.

Emily took over the conversation with an aptitude for small talk that her sister lacked. “Herefordshire is a very pretty county, I’ve heard, Mrs. Lacey.”

The Honorable Mrs. Lacey began to expatiate on all the glories of the Herefordshire countryside, while lamenting the need to be in London, but it was necessary if dear Jonathan was to move in the circles where he might acquire commissions for his portraits.

Theo glanced across at Clarissa and Jonathan Lacey. They
were sitting decorously apart on the chaise longue, but talking earnestly.

Stoneridge should commission a portrait of Clarissa, Theo decided. And then realized that that would look most peculiar. He’d have to commission one of herself, and then Clarissa could keep her company during the sittings…. Sittings! The very word filled her with horror. Hours and hours of sitting still while Clarry and her knight courted. No, sisterly love could only go so far. There had to be another way.

The sound of running feet came from the corridor outside the drawing room, and the door burst open to admit a breathless Rosie. “Theo, there is a book on spiders I most particularly wish to purchase in Hatchard’s. But I have no pin money left, so could you lend me three shillings, please? Then Flossie and I can buy it immediately.”

“Why do you need to buy it immediately?”

“Because it’s the only copy, and someone else might snap it up.”

“A book on spiders? I hadn’t realized it was such a popular subject.”

“Oh, Theo, please!”

“Rosie, where are your manners?” Emily chided, beckoning the child. “These are Theo’s guests. Mrs. Lacey and Mr. Jonathan Lacey.”

“How do you do?” Rosie said, offering a creditable bow. And then she frowned, and her sisters saw enlightened memory flash across her face. “Oh, aren’t you—”

“Excuse me a minute, Mrs. Lacey.” Theo rose swiftly. “I must find Rosie her three shillings.” Before the child could say anything else, Theo had hustled her outside. “You mustn’t say anything about the Pantheon, Rosie. Do you understand?”

“I wasn’t going to. I was just going to ask if he was Clarry’s knight.”

“Well, he is, so you won’t need to ask again.”

“Why the whispered conference?” Sylvester appeared on the top stair from the hall.

“Oh, just family business,” Theo said. “Could you find Rosie three shillings for Hatchard’s, Sylvester? I have visitors.”

“I’ll pay you back, Stoneridge,” Rosie said. “As soon as I have next month’s pin money, only I find myself a little short this month.”

“Oh, I believe an IOU will be satisfactory,” Sylvester said solemnly. “What’s the book?”

The question elicited a minute description of the book in question, to which her brother-in-law listened with every appearance of interest. He produced the required sum from his pocket, and Rosie, calling vociferous thanks, hurtled down the stairs to the hall, where her maid was waiting for her.

“Who are the visitors?” Sylvester turned back to Theo.

“Ah,” she said, with a smug smile. “My friends from the Pantheon. It’s a most lucky coincidence that Clarissa and Emily happen to be here too this afternoon. I think you should meet the Honorable Mrs. Lacey and cast a kind eye upon Mr. Jonathan. Maybe you could put him up for your clubs … or advise him on his coats. You know, the sort of things that men do for each other.”

Even as she said it, she realized her mistake. If Sylvester was not accepted in those circles himself, he could hardly help Jonathan. “Well, maybe that would be a dreadful nuisance,” she said hastily. “But at least come and meet them so it looks as if you approve of their being here.”

Sylvester had read her mind as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud. He didn’t know whether her swift retraction was harder to bear than the reason behind it.

Theo’s eyes were on him, and he knew the grimness of his thoughts was in his face. He struggled with himself for a minute, then said with an assumption of lightheadedness, “You are a matchmaking hussy.”

Relief flickered across her countenance, and she said in
mock protest, “But it’s for Clarry. It’s family. Don’t Gilbraiths ever put themselves out for family?”

Not often, Sylvester was obliged to admit. The Belmont clan, however, shared a unique closeness.

“Be a Belmont for once,” Theo urged. “Clarry’s knight is a portrait painter, and he’s going to need introductions if he’s to get commissions. We could take him up.”

“Dear God!” Sylvester’s eyebrows disappeared into his scalp at the ramifications of this, and some of the strain left his eyes. “You want me to be a patron of the arts?”

“Well, only of one little art,” she said, slipping her arm into his. “Do come, please.”

“Oh, very well.”

He followed her into the drawing room, where he listened patiently to the chatter of the Honorable Mrs. Lacey. Jonathan Lacey, he discovered, had not the slightest interest in Corinthian pursuits. He did enjoy riding but considered hunting a savage sport. He had no opinion on the various merits of Stultz versus Weston and considered the clubs of St. James’s to be quite above his touch.

Certainly, young Mr. Lacey was no coxcomb, Sylvester thought. But he did seem somewhat distanced from reality.

Clarissa smiled and nodded, hanging on to Mr. Lacey’s every soft word, and Sylvester caught himself wondering what it must feel like to have a woman so uncritically admiring of one. He glanced across the room at Theo. He could see the effort it was costing her to conceal her boredom. She winked at him, and he decided he’d rather have a good fight than adoration any day.

But he didn’t want her pity either. Pity or contempt, which would be worse? At the moment he seemed to have the former, and it made him want to scream. Never once, since that ghastly “At Home,” had she suggested he accompany her to any social function, and she tiptoed around discussions of such events as if she were walking on eggshells. He knew he couldn’t tolerate it much longer. But if he was on the right
track, then this evening he was going to begin his attempt to unravel the knot.

Neil Gerard had returned to Half Moon Street. Whether he still chose to lurk in the slums of dockland on occasion remained to be seen. But he was back in the London inhabited by the ton. Sylvester had seen him that morning from a distance, sauntering down Piccadilly on his way to St. James’s. At some point this evening he was bound to go to one of his clubs. Sylvester would spend his own evening visiting White’s, Watier’s, and Brooks’s until Neil made an appearance. After his experience at Lady Belmont’s, he could guess how he would be received by the members of his clubs, but he hadn’t been blackballed or forced to resign, so he had every right to be there, and he would simply endure the embarrassment. If Neil cut him again, then he would leave, wait for him outside, and force a meeting.

He became aware of Theo’s eyes on him and realized his distraction must have become obvious. He turned to Jonathan Lacey with a polite inquiry as to the kind of backgrounds he preferred for his portraits.

“You must call upon us, Mrs. Lacey,” Emily was saying. “I know my mother would be delighted to receive you.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, Lady Emily. I don’t go about much these days but should be most honored to meet Lady Belmont.” She smiled fondly at Jonathan and rose to her feet. “We really must be going, Lady Stoneridge.”

“Emily, I thought you and Clarissa promised Mama you would be home by four o’clock,” Theo improvised. “Perhaps Mr. Lacey could escort you, since you’re leaving together.”

Sylvester pursed his lips in a soundless whistle at this Machiavellian maneuver. Emily and Clarissa moved smoothly into action, picking up their sister’s cue without a false step. In five minutes Mr. Lacey, with a Belmont sister on each arm, was walking to Brook Street, and his mama was driving home in her landaulet.

“That was very satisfactory,” Theo said when the front
door closed on their visitors. “He seems to be every bit as smitten with Clarry as she is with him. How very extraordinary it is. They seem to be made for each other.”

“Romantic twaddle,” Sylvester said, taking snuff. “And I have never witnessed such barefaced scheming, gypsy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Nonsense,” she responded. “I shall do everything I can to promote the match if it will make Clarry happy. The most important thing will be to get Jonathan some commissions. I don’t think he has a private fortune, and Clarry’s dowry won’t be enough for them both to live on, will it?”

Would a fourth of the Belmont estate have been better provision? Not in the hands of Jonathan Lacey, Sylvester decided, squashing a twinge of conscience. He looked sharply at Theo, but there was no challenge in her eyes.

“The capital will yield a decent income,” he said. “Not riches, but not starvation in a garret either. It’s invested in the Funds at the moment, and if it’s treated wisely could grow quite satisfactorily.”

“Well, we can always help them, if necessary,” Theo said matter-of-factly.

Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you rather rushing things?”

Theo shook her head. “Clarry’s fallen in love with him.”

“Girls of her age fall in love all the time.”

“But Clarry’s always known that she’d recognize the right man when she met him,” Theo said. “Just as she’s always known she’d never settle for second best. She was perfectly prepared to die an old maid if her knight didn’t appear.”

Sylvester shook his head but said only, “Well, I’m sure you know your sister best.” He stroked his chin for a second, then said with an air of resolution, “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” Theo went very still, her blood seeming to slow in her veins. Was he finally going to take her into his confidence?

Sylvester drew a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and tapped it against his palm. “This has just arrived … it’s … it’s a letter from my mother.”

“Oh,” Theo said blankly.

“She and my sister are coming to town for a few days. My mother wishes to consult her physician on Harley Street.”

“Oh,” Theo said again. “Where are they stay—oh, no,” she said in dawning horror. “No, Sylvester, not here.”

“My dear, I cannot deny my mother and sister the shelter of my own roof,” he said.

“Oh, they’ll be much more comfortable at Grillon’s,” Theo protested eagerly, clasping her hands in an attitude of prayer, her eyes wide with entreaty. “Just think, they can moan and complain about everything to their hearts’ content, and no one will be offended—”

“No, Theo.” He was half laughing at this assumption of prayerful supplication. “You know they have to come here.”

“Oh, no … no … no … no … no!” Theo leaped onto the sofa and began an agitated dance of despairing protest. “Your sister will complain of the draughts and the maids, and your mother will pinch at me all the time…. Oh,
please
Sylvester, tell them they can’t come.” A high jump set the sofa springs complaining.

“Ridiculous creature, you’re breaking the furniture. Get off!” Laughing now, knowing her display to be at least half-playful, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her into the air, holding her off the ground for a minute while she kicked in futile protest. “You may give Mary as many set-downs as you please, but you will be civil to my mother.”

“But she won’t be civil to me!” Theo wailed.

“That will be my affair.” He smiled up at her disgruntled expression as he still held her above him, then set her on her feet again.

Theo sighed. “When are they coming?”

“She doesn’t say.”

“Hell and the devil! She’ll arrive unexpectedly and nothing will be ready for her and—”

“Don’t make unnecessary difficulties. Everything can be made ready in expectation, can’t it?”

“I suppose so,” she conceded, wrinkling her nóse in disgust. “That’s all I needed to improve the shining hour.”

“It’ll only be for a few days,” he said, going to the door. “She hates London.”

“That’s some comfort, I suppose.”

Sylvester laughed at her disconsolate expression. “I’ll be late home tonight, but then so will you, if you’re going to Almack’s.”

“I’ll wait up for you,” Theo said.

“And vice versa,” he responded with a smile.

Theo stared in frowning silence as the door closed behind him. Then, with sudden determination, she ran up to her room for her pelisse, hat, and gloves. Five minutes later she was walking briskly to Albemarle Street, an attendant footman plodding stolidly in her wake.