Chapter 5 #2
Avery could be very useful when called upon, and Fitz knew he would be particularly motivated in this case.
Being the gentleman’s gentleman to a wealthy, freewheeling bachelor suited Avery very well.
There was no guarantee that a new wife chosen by his master’s father, with all that entailed of a new household and new servants and new rules, would be as much to Avery’s taste.
He inclined his head in perfect obedience. “I am at your lordship’s service, as always.”
* * *
“I still don’t understand what we’re doing here,” Mama fretted as they made their way down the massive front staircase and attempted to locate the parlor where the party was gathering before supper.
“I thought you wanted me to give England a chance,” Caroline pointed out, in as guileless a manner as she could manage. “The countryside is a part of England as well, is it not? And my understanding is that the country house party forms an integral part of the social calendar of the aristocracy.”
“This place is a bit grander than most country houses.” Mama gave a dubious look at the massive chandelier dripping crystal teardrops from the domed ceiling of the entryway.
“And your grandmother seemed to think it a very good joke we’d been invited here, though she did not deign to explain.
I cannot help feeling there is something odd about it. How do you know the hostess again?”
“We struck up a correspondence last year,” Caroline replied vaguely. “Lady Rosalie wrote to me about that paper Papa published. Oh, I think I hear voices, shall we explore in this direction?”
“I hope our gowns are smart enough,” Mama fretted, smoothing discontentedly at the very pretty figured gauze that drifted over her coral crepe dress. A round toque of white net and paler pink satin sat atop her ash-blond hair.
Caroline, who had impatiently donned the cream sarsenet gown laid out for her by Grandmother’s maid and refused to bother with any hairstyle more elaborate than a bun coiled at her crown, felt suddenly that she wished she’d taken a bit more care with her appearance.
Not that it mattered what she looked like, Caroline reminded herself.
“You look delightful,” she assured her mother. “No one who sees you would ever picture you tramping through the Alps in a woolen cap and Father’s old greatcoat.”
As she’d intended, Helena laughed at the memory, her lovely face brightening with the blend of fondness and gentle nostalgia the passage of several years had lent to her grief at the loss of her husband.
She was still beaming softly when they stumbled upon the drawing room and an upright footman in gorgeous scarlet livery announced them to the assembled guests.
“Miss Quick,” cried a golden-haired woman with the bearing of an empress. Lady Rosalie, Caroline instantly deduced. Recalling the words Lord Fitzwilliam had written about their hostess in the note he’d sent to outline his plans to get them invited to this house, Caroline had to bite back a smile.
Lady Rosalie will be the one who looks as though she’d be very beautiful if only she hadn’t just sucked on a lemon.
Accurate.
Arm in arm with another, equally ravishing lady with mahogany curls and a wintry smile, Lady Rosalie glided forward to greet them with the limpest of handshakes. “And this lady must be your mother. Enchanting. How good of you both to travel down from the city, leaving all its delights behind.”
Her friend tittered, eyes gleaming with an edge Caroline did not like. “Delights! Rosie, you are too droll. Why, nothing at all of any significance happens in London before Easter at the very earliest. I would never dream of bothering with Town this early!”
Helena stiffened and Caroline felt a surge of protectiveness. “If you don’t ever go to Town this early, how can you possibly know there’s nothing going on?”
“Quite right,” came a welcome voice Caroline’s body recognized instantly, a beat before her conscious mind.
She shivered as Fitz sauntered up, with his father trailing behind him.
“I was just in Town myself, and there was plenty to see and do for anyone who cared to look. The Lamington rout was particularly charming.”
Lady Rosalie and Lady Lavinia giggled, clearly well acquainted with Mrs. Lamington’s verbal tick.
For her part, Caroline had to fight down a blush at the memory of what she and Fitz had gotten up to at that ball.
From the way Fitz stared down at her, his silvery eyes bright with amusement and something warmer, something that sparked along Caroline’s nerves—he was thinking of it too.
“Lord Fitzwilliam,” Caroline said, bobbing a curtsy. “And Lord Alfred. How nice to see you again.”
Lord Alfred rushed forward to bend over her mother’s hand first, then Caroline’s. “Dear ladies! I had begun to despair of you.”
“Oh! I had not realized you would be here.” Helena smiled but Caroline could see that it did not reach her eyes.
Caroline held in a sigh. They had their work cut out for them, it seemed.
She spent the ensuing round of introductions listening to the names with one tenth of her brain and using the rest to watch for an opportunity to get Fitz alone so they could strategize.
Just strategize. Nothing else. Truly!
Since she was watching Fitz, she couldn’t help but notice the reflexive way he flirted with all the women in the party, most of whom were married even if their spouses were nowhere in evidence.
Flirting appeared to come as naturally to Fitz as breathing.
Caroline began to get a headache from the constant furrow of her brow.
Stop staring at him, she ordered herself firmly. Concentrate on Mama.
So for the rest of the interminable evening, Caroline ignored Fitz and his wide smile and strong thighs in buckskin breeches and laughing remarks to Lady Kildare and Mrs. Baldwin. In lieu of noticing any of that, Caroline attempted to maneuver her mother into conversation with Lord Alfred.
Her task was made difficult by her mother’s resistance to any interaction with the marquess, who watched with mournful eyes as Lord Weatherby, a mutton-chopped gentleman in his mid-forties, begged to be presented to Lady Quick and then proceeded to monopolize her for half an hour.
At last, Caroline was aided by their hostess, who gave a careless wave of her hand when the dinner gong rang and said, “Never mind those tiresome conventions, we need not stand upon ceremony here. Lord Weatherby, you will take Vinnie and me in. Everyone else, do as you like.”
The moment Lord Weatherby reluctantly acceded to Lady Rosalie’s command, Lord Alfred stepped forward to offer his arm to Caroline’s mother.
Unable to refuse, Helena allowed herself to be escorted in to dinner with her head held high and a tight grip on Caroline’s hand.
Refusing to look round to see whom Fitz might be escorting, Caroline followed her mother and the eager Marquess of Huntingdon into the dining room.
A minor seating scuffle relegated Caroline to the far end of the table with a willowy young woman who was introduced as somebody’s governess but looked fatally bored by the notion, and a young man everyone called the Honorable Tommy, who seemed absolutely certain he’d met the governess somewhere previously.
Caroline was reduced to anxiously watching her mother attempt to ignore Lord Alfred in favor of Lord Weatherby, who was certainly showing her marked attention.
And Caroline couldn’t do anything about it, because of some ridiculous social convention that stated she must only speak to the people on either side of her, not across the table and certainly not to anyone up near the head of the table where Fitz sprawled elegantly in his gilt-armed chair, telling some story that had everyone around him weeping into their serviettes with laughter.
Dinner dragged on, involving far more lavish dishes than Caroline cared for, along with what seemed buckets of wine. By the time the port and cigars came out, Caroline was beyond ready to leave the gentlemen to them so she could corner her mother and demand that Helena stop being so prickly.
But it was not to be. Lady Rosalie, apparently intent on flouting as many of the conventions Caroline had read about as she could, declared that the port and cigars would be served in the drawing room so that everyone could partake while playing a few rounds of cards.
Lady Rosalie clapped her hands and announced, “Gather round, my ducklings, I have a treat in store!”
The servants brought in a large table covered in green baize and a murmur of anticipation swept through the guests. Caroline cocked her head, wondering at the fuss.
She had played many a hand of three-card brag and loo with her parents in their tent, after a long day of walking, climbing, and drawing.
They had even gambled sometimes, to make it more interesting, playing for colored stones or pretty leaves.
But Caroline had never encountered anything like the high-stakes play outlined by Lady Rosalie.
“Open your purses,” she smiled slyly, her interestingly dark eyes glittering like obsidian. “Tonight, we play baccarat.”
Gasps of excitement from some, while Lord Alfred harrumphed and beetled his brows in disapproval. With a sinking sensation, Caroline saw that her mother instantly lifted her chin and attached herself to Lord Weatherby’s side, saying, “I have never played, but I should be most interested!”
“My lady,” Lord Alfred interjected with some urgency. “Baccarat is not at all a proper game. Even the damned French—”
“Oh, la,” trilled Lady Lavinia, with a coy glance at her friend, Lady Rosalie. “Of course it isn’t proper. That is precisely what makes baccarat so enjoyable!”
“Come, Father, do play,” Fitz tried, only for his father to round on him in fury.
“I don’t pretend to be surprised that you are in favor of this unsavory entertainment, boy, but I won’t hide my disappointment either.
Many a young gentleman has found himself in deep waters at the baccarat table,” Lord Alfred said severely.
“Why, only last month, the scion of the Bastable family gambled away his entire inheritance in a single evening!”
“How…exciting,” Caroline’s mother said, looking a bit ill.
“It is.” Lady Rosalie produced a small velvet drawstring bag, from which she drew a set of personalized ivory counters. “I shall be the bank. Who will deal? Fitz?”
“Certainly!” Fitz was no longer looking at his father, but Caroline perceived from the hardness of his jaw and the hectic flush along his handsome cheekbones, that he had been wounded by Lord Alfred’s comments.
“I will deal, of course, if you wish it, Lady Rosalie. Have no fear, friends, I’m certain that one round of baccarat won’t result in anyone’s utter ruin.
Even if my father finds it beneath his dignity. ”
Caroline swore she could hear the marquess’s teeth grinding.
“I won’t apologize for having achieved an age that renders me immune to schoolboy taunts about being a coward.
I am too old to be gulled into playing a game that is clearly only suitable for fools and liars.
Perhaps some of the younger guests may disagree… ”
Oh dear. Caroline saw her mother’s eyes flash the instant before Helena tossed her head and said, without ever once looking at the marquess, “Well! I may not be as young as some, but thankfully I have no grand, important stature to think of either. Lord Weatherby, what are the rules?”
Brick-red in the face, Lord Alfred bent a stiff bow to the company and stalked out of the drawing room.
Caroline watched him go, frustration burning at the backs of her eyes.
Blast Fitz, anyway! Was he trying to get their parents together, or separate them?
Yes, his father had been horrid to him, and in such a public setting, but would it have killed Fitz to suggest a game everyone could have enjoyed instead?
Caroline wanted to pull him aside and demand to know what he was playing at, right that moment—but she would have to content herself with writing a critique of his performance that evening in her head.
Narrowing her eyes at the blithe unconcern on his handsome face across the card table, Caroline resolved that one way or another, she would find a way to ruin his night as thoroughly as he’d ruined their matchmaking chances.
What a disaster of an evening.