Читать книгу A Reckless Encounter - Rosemary Rogers, Rosemary Rogers - Страница 13

Celia eyed Sir John with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. He was handsome enough, she supposed, with fair hair and a rakish charm, but he reeked of cigar smoke and brandy. She had no intention of allowing herself to be even slightly involved with him despite his boyish appeal.

A gentle pressure of her fingers on Jacqueline’s arm was a broad hint that she wished to move on, and her cousin took the cue at once, ending the conversation.

“It is so very pleasant to see you again, sir. Do leave your calling card. As I wished to show my cousin London, we made an appointment at the dressmaker’s instead of having her to the house as usual. I insist upon being punctual.”

Harvey said hastily, “Yes, yes, of course, Lady Leverton, but I do wish to say again how fortuitous this meeting is for me. I am planning a soirée, you see, and need expert advice. Your affairs are legend for being the most popular, and if it is not too bold, I thought perhaps you would be so kind as to make suggestions.…”

He let his sentence trail hopefully, and Celia hid a smile. This Sir John was much too obvious. He’d not taken his gaze from her since hailing them, and now his hazel eyes were intent as he regarded her.

“How flattering, Sir John,” Jacqueline said. “Of course, I will be most pleased to lend my aid. When do you plan your affair?”

“When? Oh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Shall I come round tomorrow morning, perhaps, and we can discuss details? I am certain Miss St. Clair will have some superb suggestions as well.”

“You are a brash, forward young man, aren’t you?” Jacqueline’s voice held a hint of reproof that finally penetrated Harvey’s intensity, and he gave her a startled glance, then a disarming smile and impudent honesty.

“Not always. Only when I see a beautiful young woman I wish to know.”

“I see.” Jacqueline lifted a disapproving brow. “And you hope to make a good impression, I presume.”

“It had occurred to me.”

“Then you will be most dismayed to learn that you have not, sir. My petite cousine is not impressed with men who behave boorishly.”

Jacqueline took Celia’s arm and led her around him, turning back only when Harvey said lamely, “I would still like to leave my card tomorrow.”

“Only if your manners improve, sir.”

As they left him standing staring after them, Celia said faintly, “Oh my! That was rather ruthless of you.”

“Do you think so? But Harvey will not overstep his boundaries now, and word will be out that no liberties are to be taken with you. Believe me, it is a much better lesson than one could hope for, and to have Harvey at our beck and call could be beneficial. Too bad Northington did not join us.”

“Northington?” Celia’s hand shook slightly, and she curled her fingers more tightly around the strings of her small reticule. A chill wind smelled of the streets, rife with debris. She put a hand to her nose as if to ward off the stench while Jacqueline continued blithely.

“Yes, I saw him get into a hired hack, but he moved on. A pity. It would have been delightful to introduce you to him.”

A feeling of nausea swept over Celia, and her fingers were clumsy as she fumbled in her reticule for a linen scarf to press to her nose. Northington! He’d been that close and she hadn’t even known it.…

“Harvey is an intimate of Lord Northington, who is far too elusive, I fear,” Jacqueline was saying, oblivious to Celia’s reaction.

She cleared her throat. “Why is this Northington so elusive?”

“Probably because he’s weary of being pursued by so many marriageable women.” Jacqueline laughed softly. “His reputation leans toward rakish, but if a hostess manages to get him to attend an affair, success is assured. He is quite sought after—an unmarried viscount usually is these days. You’d be amazed at the lengths some hostesses go to in order to secure his presence at a ball or soirée. But a man who is heir to an earldom can take his time to wed, it seems.”

Celia sidestepped a clod of debris on the walkway, her tone calm. “So he will be an earl one day.”

“Yes, and perhaps sooner than one would think, as his father has been an invalid for several years now…a most unpleasant man—Do be careful ma petite, and beware of where you step. What was I saying? Oh, yes, Northington is very closely acquainted with Harvey. They seem to attend many of the same functions.”

“Is he?” She cleared her throat. “And you aspire to have Northington in attendance?”

“It would be a social coup. But never fear. I have already taken steps to ensure his attendance. Ah, here we are. Madame Dupre is most strict about punctuality. She’s much sought after as a seamstress and will be able to fashion you some flattering gowns. Oh, this is going to be so amusing, Celia! I’m so glad you’ve come to visit. I needed a new venture to occupy my time now that Carolyn’s future is assured.”

Celia smiled, and during the next two hours endured the prodding and poking of the seamstress as she measured her for new gowns, exclaiming over her unusual height and slender proportions.

“But you are so tall, mademoiselle! And such long legs. Rarely have I seen a woman with your proportions. It is a pleasure to fit you for gowns. So many of these English misses have figures like boards, so petite and with no female curves. Made like boys, they are, But you! Ah, you are magnificent!”

Feeling awkward, Celia managed an appropriate murmur in reply, and caught Jacqueline’s amused gaze on her.

“She is not accustomed to such praise, Madame Dupre,” Jacqueline said briskly. “But it is good for her to hear it. She must realize her worth.”

Celia’s chin came up. “I know my worth,” she said quietly.

Jacqueline laughed. “Yes, I believe you do. Very good! No unnecessary modesty, I’m pleased to see. But she is correct, you know, Celia. You are most unusual. I predict you will be a success.”

“Are you certain you wish to do this? I had not thought it important.” Celia frowned slightly. “It seems a great deal of trouble just to introduce me to your friends.”

“Ah, but it is not just to introduce you to my friends, my dear. We intend to snare you a wealthy husband, just as my own Caro has done. Of course, her marriage was arranged years ago, but before she settles into married life, I wish her to enjoy herself. But you—you have so much promise! Already there is interest. You saw your effect on Sir John, did you not? He was absolutely tripping over his own feet to talk to you. And as I said, he has extensive connections of the right sort. In London, it is imperative to be well connected.” She paused, glanced at Madame Dupre and said a bit wistfully, “In France, it was much the same. But we did not worry about appearances so much as they do here, for we were all secure in our proper places. And, of course, we all knew we were lovely and well dressed!”

Madame Dupre joined her in soft laughter, and Celia let her mind wander. If Sir John was close companions with Lord Northington, she fully intended to expand upon their brief acquaintance. Through Harvey, she could learn much about her quarry. And quarry he was, though Northington may not know it. Would he remember her? Would he even recognize the woman in the girl he had once known? Did he ever think about Léonie Sinclair, or had she been only one more woman he’d used and cast aside as unimportant.

Anger burned deeply, a low, smoldering blaze that never eased, never altered, and she thought of how delicious it would be to ruin Northington. He would pay, in whatever way she could manage, for Old Peter’s death as well as her mother’s. Everyone in London would know what he had done. If she could, she would see him hanged for murder. But that was unlikely. Vengeance would have to be tempered with practicality.

“Child,” Madame Dupre said with a puzzled look on her face, “you are so stiff, like a board! Please, you must not worry that I will stick you with a pin. I’ve not wounded many of my clients.”

Celia managed a laugh. “Forgive me, madame. I was thinking of something else. A sudden memory.”

“It must be something dreadful, to make you so stiff.”

“Yes. It was.”

“Poor child,” Jacqueline said. “You have suffered so much sorrow.”

“Not so very much,” Celia said. “Not as much as many others have suffered.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Jacqueline lapsed into a sorrowful silence that was shared by Madame Dupre, another French emigré who had fled Paris during the terrible revolution.

So many, Celia had learned during her short time here, had survived horrors. It was no wonder her mother had shied away from discussing those dark days, but spoke instead of the happier times—her love for her husband and their meeting in London.

“But come,” Madame Dupre said briskly after a moment, “we must not dwell on those things. They are past now, and we must think only of the coming Season. It will be most exciting this year, I believe, as the Prince of Wales has already begun making preparations for a grand fête.…”

As the two women chattered in French about the coming galas, Celia lifted her arms obediently as she was measured and turned this way and that, while the talk turned to silk versus satin for evening, and of course, how low should the décolletage be this year without inviting scandal.

“But I think, with her height, that she should wear the newest fashion,” Madame Dupre announced. “Waists are dropping, but necklines are still low enough to tempt the eye without being too risqué. A pointed bodice perhaps. Off the shoulders, of course, with long gloves to the elbow. No oversleeves are necessary, for she has such lovely slender arms. For this ball, tulle over white satin, do you not think? Four rouleaux?”

“No,” Jacqueline said thoughtfully. “I think perhaps flounces edged with a rollio, and the underskirt with a rouleau…definitely white for her first ball, though not that glaring white against her pale skin. And a sash of celestial blue would be so lovely…a complement to Caro’s gown as well. What a striking pair they will be!”

Jacqueline’s daughter had already been fitted for her gowns, and she had declined to accompany them for Celia’s fittings. Though not antagonistic, Carolyn was very reserved in her welcome, and there had been a certain restraint between them at first.

It had been Carolyn who dictated the rudiments of proper address, the tangle of titles so confusing that Celia made her laugh with her errors.

“No, no,” Caro had said when she mistakenly referred to a duke as Sir Charles. “Dukes are always your grace, or the duke of Marlborough, never Sir. His son would be called my lord, as would a viscount, marquess or earl. And never call anyone Lord John unless he is a younger son of a duke or marquess. It’s simple, really, if you can remember that the only nobles are princes and dukes. Everyone else, even earls, are commoners. All male peers except dukes are called Lord whatever their title name is, do you see?”

“No,” Celia said frankly, and Carolyn had laughed, easing some of the first tension between them.

“We shall continue our lessons until you know it all very well,” Caro had assured her, and the past week had been devoted to lessons in protocol as well as titles.

Oh, it was all so much to learn, and nothing could have properly prepared her for the vast differences. Soon it would all be put to the test.

After her first resistance, Celia was now glad she had yielded to the inevitable. It would give her access to Northington.

“And it is, after all, only the small Season, so you need not feel overwhelmed,” Jacqueline had said gaily. “It is quite entertaining with everyone arriving back in London after the summer heat.”

So it would be endured to achieve her goal. After that, obscurity, no doubt, and a return to America where her services would always be in demand as a French tutor. As long as she allowed no scandal to follow her…

The fickle vagaries of human nature allowed a man like Northington to ignore murder yet condemned a woman who was innocent of all crime. The memory of Maman’s shame would haunt Celia for the rest of her life.

A pregnant widow of two years was not allowed in decent homes, regardless of the circumstances. At times Celia thought bitterly that what had really killed Maman was the humiliation she had suffered.

It was true Celia was only a child then, but she’d been old enough to recognize her mother’s torment, and old enough to vow vengeance on the man responsible.…

Now, at last, she was old enough to carry out that vengeance.…