"The Duke has given me no reason for any expectations whatever," said Brie honestly, wondering why the very suggestion caused her heart to beat faster.
Her sister regarded her shrewdly for a moment. "No, I suppose that was a ridiculous notion. The Duke of Ravenham is far beyond your touch. But," she continued briskly, "Lord Timothy is the very next best thing, and far more than you had any right to dream of. What possible objection can you have to him?"
"I don't think I would like going through life as a goddess; Lord Timothy is no older than I am, practically a boy; and, of course, there is the minor fact that I don't love him."
"Love, pooh!" Lady Platt dismissed the poets' exalted emotion with a wave of her hand. "Very few people love each other before marriage, and precious few after, I am here to tell you. Though of course it can happen," she hastened to add, realising that she might be prejudicing her case. "And, of course, Lord Timothy already loves you to distraction, so you are halfway there already."
Brie saw that there would be no reasoning her sister out of her determination to see this match accomplished. From what she knew of Lord Timothy, she doubted that he would be any easier to convince. All she could think to do was to delay in hopes of... what? Who would come to rescue her? For some reason, her thoughts flew to the Duke. But would this offer not mean the end of his irksome wager? He might well welcome the idea! Even to oblige his grace, however, she had no wish to be placed on Lord Timothy's pedestal.
"Angela, I have the most frightful headache," she said suddenly. "Can we discuss this later?"
"I suppose so," said her sister reluctantly. "Try to be down soon, though, for Lord Timothy said he would call again this afternoon to speak with you."
Brie was quite certain that her headache would last till evening, but merely smiled and nodded as she left the room.
Thankfully, Sir Seymour was nowhere in sight and she managed to reach the haven of the Blue Room unmolested. There she threw off her pelisse and bonnet in exasperation and flung herself into a chair. What a muddle everything had become!
Velvet, the kitten, awoke at her tempestuous entrance and regarded her curiously from the bed with wide golden eyes.
"You don't really want to know, do you?" Brie asked the cat. In response, Velvet leaped from the bed to her lap and curled up there, purring and kneading her thighs with his tiny black paws.
"Very well, then, I'll tell you all about it." Brie proceeded to relate the ups and downs of the past few days' experiences to the one creature she could trust to listen without criticising either her behaviour or her motives. Knowing that Velvet was no gossip, she then went on to describe her conflicting feelings for the Duke of Ravenham.
By the end of this lengthy recital, Brie felt much better and the vague headache she had exaggerated to her sister was gone— not that she intended to admit that, of course. Her confidant, having done his job, was asleep (in fact, most of his listening had been done with closed eyes). Setting the kitten carefully aside to avoid disturbing his well-earned rest, Brie rose to look out the window, as she had perceived the sound of a vehicle stopping.
Lord Timothy was immediately recognisable from above by his short stature and glossy black curls, which he wore à la Grecque. Brie quickly pulled a dressing gown over her frock and jumped into bed against the possibility of Angela's attempting to force her downstairs.
This did not occur, however, Angela most likely feeling that she should make another attempt to reason with her sister before she could confront this inexplicably unwanted suitor. After perhaps twenty minutes, Lord Timothy took his leave, which Brie confirmed from her post behind the curtains.
Breathing more easily, she selected a book from the growing collection begun since her arrival in London. Thus far, all her acquisitions could be housed on a single shelf, but she felt that the quality of her "library" probably already surpassed that of Sir Seymour's downstairs. She had scarce had time to read a paragraph, however, when the sound of hooves stopping outside was repeated.
Going again to the window, Brie perceived Sir Frederick More descending from his horse. Curling her lip in distaste, she wondered what his business here might be; the usual flirtation with her sister, no doubt. Would he mention her behaviour toward him in the Park the other day? No doubt Angela would have something to say to her on that score!
As she stood by the window pondering such topics, she was surprised to hear the front door slam loudly, causing the entire house to reverberate with its force. Looking down, she saw Sir Frederick stride quickly to his horse, fling himself into the saddle and fairly gallop off down the street. He had stayed no more than three minutes.
Now what was that all about? Brie wondered with interest. But, as there was no way to satisfy her curiosity without curing her headache, she decided she could wait until morning —or at least dinnertime —to find out. By then there should be little likelihood of Lord Timothy returning to press his suit, depending, of course, on what excuse Angela had made for her absence.
Accordingly, Brie descended to the dining room at seven, the usual dinner hour at the Platt residence, cautiously dressed in a stay-at-home calico lest it be necessary to resume her role as invalid. She had decided to use the argument that should she accept Lord Timothy while the false rumour of her fortune still circulated, the Platts might well share in her disgrace once the truth became known. She somehow thought Angela would do anything rather than suffer disgrace.
Angela, however, did not immediately reopen the topic of Lord Timothy's proposal. "Gabriella!" she exclaimed upon seeing her sister. "So glad to see you feeling better. The most appalling thing has happened, I must tell you!" Her eyes glittered with suppressed excitement and Brie was hard pressed to tell whether her sister was happy or vexed about whatever news she was bursting to relate.
She was obliged to wait to find out, however, for at that moment Sir Seymour's footsteps were heard in the corridor and Angela put her finger to her lips. "Not a word now— I'll tell you after dinner," she whispered quickly before turning to greet her husband.
There was an unusual firmness in Sir Seymour's step as he walked to his place at the head of the table, and Brie noticed that the line of his mouth was almost grim—or as close to it as possible on such a dissipated countenance. He said nothing, however, merely nodding to his wife and sister-in-law as he seated himself.
It was a quiet meal, lacking the usual exchange of gossip between Sir Seymour and his lady, and Brie would have found it almost boring but for the fascinating play of expressions across her host's face as the meal progressed. While he was obviously deep in thought, Sir Seymour's features variously displayed determination, anger, uncertainty and, she thought, fear.
Angela, meanwhile, ostensibly devoted her attention to her plate while casting frequent surreptitious glances at her husband. The tension in the room seemed to mount as the meal progressed.
When the last course was removed, Brie followed her sister out of the room with alacrity, anxious to hear what had occurred to so upset the routine of the household. Sir Seymour had not been sitting as long over his port lately as he had been used to, so she did not wish to waste any of the time that they might have alone.
"So stern he looks— who would have thought it?" Angela said as the door closed behind them. "I never knew he had such metal in his character! I vow I almost fear him in this mood!" Her eyes had lost none of their brightness.
"What has happened?" asked Brie, her curiosity rising even higher.
"Seymour ordered Sir Frederick from the house today! Can you imagine?" exclaimed Angela excitedly. "He was so forceful, Sir Frederick didn't dare refuse. I daresay he had never seen Seymour in such a mood, either."
"But why?" Brie felt strongly that Sir Frederick had no right to be welcomed under any roof in London, but she doubted that her reasons would be shared by her brother-in-law.
"Apparently Seymour heard some story linking Sir Frederick's name with mine and he went practically mad with jealousy," said her si
ster. "Isn't that the most romantic thing? You should have heard him! 'Get away from my wife!' he all but shouted."
Brie merely stared, hardly able to credit her ears, and trying to envisage Sir Seymour in a rage. Her imagination quite failed her.
"But now I fear he is going too far," Angela continued. "He ranted and raved for some time after Sir Frederick left, saying what a scoundrel he was to be pestering a married woman and giving rise to such gossip, and finished by saying that if he came near me again he would call Sir Frederick out! My Seymour!"
"Do you really think he would?" gasped Brie.
"I—I really don't know," replied her sister, more soberly. "In his present mood, I fear he just might. And Sir Frederick, I hear, is a crack shot, which Seymour certainly is not. What do you think we should do?"
"We?" asked Brie in surprise. "If you don't want Seymour shot, it seems obvious that you must avoid Sir Frederick's company. That should be simple enough, shouldn't it?"
"Not really," said Angela, "for we see him everywhere. Besides, he has been a very good friend, though I know you don't care for him. What I'd like to do is to convince Seymour that the gossips were completely mistaken— which, of course, they were," she added quickly. "Will you help me?"
"I? How?" Brie was frowning, having no desire to be drawn into the matter. Even the Duke of Ravenham had heard that particular gossip, she recalled. She only wondered that it had not come to Sir Seymour's attention sooner. Or perhaps he had finally worked up the courage to do something about it, now that he was drinking less.
"Speak to Seymour," said Angela eagerly. "Convince him that it is you that Sir Frederick has been coming to see and not I. After all, he did take you riding once, and even offered to mount you." She wisely refrained from mentioning the disastrous walk they had taken after that.
"Do you think I want my name linked with his?" Brie was outraged. "I'm sorry, Angela, but you'll have to think of something else."
"I had hoped it would not be necessary to remind you of all that I have done for you, Gabriella," said Angela with the air of a martyr. "I brought you to London, housed you, clothed you and introduced you to Society. Things have gone very well for you, you must admit. And all I ask in return is that you do this one small favour for me. It is not as though you actually have to associate with the man, you know. Just convince Seymour so he will not call Sir Frederick out and be killed." Angela actually managed to produce a small tear at the corner of one eye.
Brie was undone. She was well aware that her sister's persecuted pose was assumed, but there was much truth in what she said in spite of that. Angela had been the one to bring her here and had made her debut in Society possible, even if the Duke of Ravenham had been the one to bring her into fashion. If not for Angela, she never would have seen the sights or the bookstores, nor would she have met Elizabeth... or her brother. Since coming to London, she had begun to truly live, for better or worse.
"All right, Angela, I'll do it," she said quietly.
* * *
CHAPTER 13
Sir Frederick More left the Platt town house in no very amiable state of mind. Sir Seymour was not the first jealous husband to order him away from his lady, but he was one of the unlikeliest. Who would have thought that fop could have it in him? He would have to tread warily there for a week or two, or possibly move on to new game, as the beauteous Lady Platt had proved more reluctant than anticipated.
He had come there in part with the intention of informing Lady Platt of Miss Gordon's unladylike behaviour in the Park two days since; having noticed that there was little love lost between the sisters, he thought he could trust her to give the little upstart the tongue-lashing she deserved. He had also hoped to receive some of Angela's customary flattery to soothe his bruised self-regard, as the two days he had spent drinking and wenching had not helped in the least.
Twice now, Miss Gordon had flouted him: first in that ridiculous matter of the cat, and then again in the Park. She must not go unpunished, must not be allowed to make the brilliant match she was obviously angling for with Ravenham while she ruined his own prospects.
A nasty smile twisted Sir Frederick's handsome features. Yes, he thought he could pay her back in kind for the insults she had handed him, since he was to get no help from Lady Platt. He turned his horse's head towards White's and moved off at a brisk trot.
* * *
Brie stood irresolute outside Sir Seymour's library, chewing on her thumbnail. She wished with all her heart she had been able to think of some other, less distasteful, way to help her sister, but she had not and now she had to make good her word. Squaring her shoulders, she tapped lightly on the door.
Entering at Sir Seymour's command, Brie looked about her and her sense of the ridiculous reasserted itself, making her feel more at ease. The Platt library was for show, not for use, and was more liberally provided with statuary (both in quantity and quality) than with books. The volume her brother-in-law had open upon his lap had obviously come from a circulating library.
"Pardon me for disturbing you, Sir Seymour," began Brie, some of her nervousness returning, "but I must speak with you."
It suddenly struck her that she was in the absurd position of defending, for the second time in a week, the honour of a man she neither liked nor respected— detested, in fact! Perhaps it was some sort of penance. Sir Seymour was looking at her expectantly, however, so she forced herself to continue.
"Angela tells me that you have become very angry about Sir Frederick More's frequent visits to this house, and that you hold her somewhat responsible for them," she said tentatively.
"That blackguard! That scoundrel! That...I apologise, Gabriella, but what that knave deserves to be called, I must not say in a young lady's presence. But if you could hear what the gossips are saying about my Angela because of him! And yes, I fear she may have— innocently, of course!— encouraged him somewhat."
Brie recalled the flagrant way her sister customarily flirted with Sir Frederick, even in her husband's presence, and wondered again how Sir Seymour could have been so wilfully blind for so long. But that was not her business here, she told herself.
"Sir, I—I feel I must tell you that Sir Frederick may not have come here wholly in pursuit of my sister." That much might even be true, she consoled herself. She would try to prevaricate as little as possible.
"What are you saying?" Sir Seymour's head came up hopefully.
"Only that he has shown some small interest in myself, sir, and that I and not my sister might be the lure that draws him here so frequently." She hoped that Sir Seymour was not aware that she always managed to be otherwise engaged when Sir Frederick came to call, allowing him ample time alone with Angela.
"You, Gabriella?" he exclaimed eagerly. "Of course! I should have guessed it! And what more natural than that Angela should always be by to play propriety?" Brie quickly coughed into her hand. "No wonder Angela became such friends with him. She was undoubtedly thinking of you all the time, such is her generous nature, and wished to cultivate him before ever you came to London."
Brie thankfully saw that no further convincing would be required of her; Sir Seymour had obviously taken on that task himself. He chattered on for a few minutes in twofold relief at his wife's virtue and his own escape from the need to defend it.
"Still, I'm not certain you should encourage the fellow, Gabriella," he concluded. "He is nowhere near the catch Lord Timothy is, you know. There are even rumours that Sir Frederick's gambling debts are piling up, though you would never suspect it to look at him. Take my advice, sister, and accept young Gardiner."
"Thank you for the advice, Sir Seymour," she said with commendable gravity. "I will consider it. I just wanted you to know how things stood before you, ah, made any other plans."
"It took courage to tell me, Gabriella,
and I thank you," answered her brother-in-law. "You are a good sister to Angela, whatever she may say at times."
On this less-than-diplomatic speech, Brie left the room, glad to have the ordeal so easily over. She went in search of her sister to report that her plan had been successful. "But, as Sir Seymour advised me not to encourage him unduly, it would probably be a good idea if he avoided the house for a while," she finished, and Angela reluctantly agreed. Hopefully a very long while, thought Brie privately.
* * *
As he had hoped, Sir Frederick found Lord Garvey preparing to eat an early dinner at White's, as was his custom when he had not been invited elsewhere. Even more fortunate for his purposes, Garvey was alone; the confidences he intended could hardly be shared in front of a crowd.
"Well met, Garvey," he greeted the younger man as he approached his table. "Would you mind if I joined you? I also find myself without companionship this evening."
Garvey looked up in surprise. He did not know Sir Frederick well but had always felt a vague dislike for the fellow, possibly because he knew that Ravenham, whose opinion he respected, did not care for him. But, as he himself knew nothing specific to More's discredit, he amiably waved him to a seat. Certainly, the man's conversation must be preferable to silence or his own thoughts, which wavered between gloomy and hopeful respecting the Lady Elizabeth.
"By all means, Sir Frederick," he therefore answered cheerfully enough. "I have only just ordered my meal. There's old Gibson— let us wave him down that he might bring our dinners together." They accordingly did so and ordered, besides, a bottle of White's excellent claret.
"What do you here alone, my friend?" asked Sir Frederick, once the wine had been poured.
"No dinner invitation tonight, though I go to a card party at Siskell's later on. And the cook here, I must admit, is better than the one I employ at my lodgings— though that poor fellow may well simply be rusty from lack of use, as I dine so seldom at home. Here, there is at least a chance of conversation, as your presence demonstrates."
"True enough," agreed Sir Frederick with a laugh, "and my reasons are basically the same as your own. I had no desire to be alone with my thoughts tonight."