Noble Intentions

CHAPTER SIX

“Honestly, Gilly, I thought Mama would never leave us!” Charlotte said, slumping back against a watered-silk rose settee and kicking off her slippers.

“I think she just wanted to gossip a little, Char,” Gillian said with a smile, watching as Nick sat on the floor, his knees to his chin as he contemplated Roget, Charlotte’s bad-tempered cat. “You forget that I am now a countess, and therefore someone worth gossiping with.”

Charlotte snorted and threw a fat pillow at her cousin. “Stop your gloating and tell me how you are.”

Gillian tossed the pillow in the air and caught it with a little laugh. “You heard me tell your mama I was fine. What is it you really want to know?”

“Perceptive as ever.” Charlotte giggled, then tipped her head meaningfully toward Nick.

“Nick darling, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and see if Mrs. Tennyson has any of her delicious fruit tarts left? I’m sure Cousin Charlotte would let you take that four-legged curmudgeon with you.”

Nick gave her a long glance that let her know he was aware he was being sent out of the way, but scooped up Roget and left without delay.

“There, I have sent my son away for you, now what did you want to discuss that we couldn’t in front of him?”

Charlotte leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “That.”

“That what?”

Charlotte prodded her with her foot. “You know. That.”

Gillian narrowed her eyes. “You don’t mean…that?”

“Yes, I do. That.”

“No, truly, that?”

“That!”

“Oh.” Gillian thought for a moment. “You know, it really is strange. I don’t feel changed, but now that I am married, things are different. For instance, it wouldn’t be at all proper for me to discuss that with you.”

“Fudge about what’s proper. Did you enjoy it? Was it as pleasurable as Penny says, or horrid like Mama told you?”

Gillian blushed. “Honestly, Charlotte, you shouldn’t believe everything your maid tells you. And I don’t believe I’m supposed to discuss that with you — I’m sure it’s breaking some sort of married women’s rule or possibly a law or some such thing.”

Charlotte scooted over to the edge of the love seat and took a firm grip on her cousin’s arm. “If you do not tell me about that, I shall tell Mama about the time I saw you kissing that scrumptious stableboy.”

Gillian raised her chin. “Do your worst, cousin. I am beyond your mama’s reprimands now.”

“But not your husband’s.”

Gillian blanched at the thought of that. “What in particular did you wish to know about that?”

Charlotte told her.

A half hour later Nick returned to the sitting room to find both Charlotte and Gillian doubled over in laughter.“…but it wasn’t really broken at all, I just thought it was! It worked quite well later — oh, hello, Nick. Did you have a nice time in the kitchen? Did Cook give you a tart?”

Nick nodded and looked shyly at Charlotte. Gillian held out her hand for him and, scooting over, pulled him onto the seat alongside her. “I was just telling my cousin about last night. Now you’re up to date, Charlotte.”

Charlotte appeared thoughtful and watched absently as Gillian ruffled her stepson’s hair and gave him a little hug. “Whose house was it that Lord Weston was found in?”

“His own! It is the house he keeps for his mis…uh…his lady friends.”

“Gillian! How can you be so blasé about that?”

“I’m not in the least. But you see, I happen to know that Noble has dispensed with his latest friend’s services.”

“Oh. Do you think she had something to do with his abduction?”

“I’m not sure,” Gillian said thoughtfully, her hand resting on Nick’s shoulder. “But I mean to find out. Which is where I need your help — to uncover this dastardly plot against Noble and bring the miscreants to justice. Then I will have his full attention and can begin to lay the ghost of his beloved Elizabeth to rest. Once I’ve done that…well, things will be better.”

Charlotte patted her free hand sympathetically. “I’m sure he loves you, Gilly; he wouldn’t have married you if he didn’t. And after such a short courtship — only a gentleman very much in love would marry someone after just a few meetings.”

Gillian smiled at her cousin and flicked the fat cushion back at her. “You need not look so cautious, Char. I promise I won’t fill your ear with lengthy does-he-love-me-doesn’t-he-love-me dialogues. Now, you have far more experience than I in this — how do you think I ought to begin the investigation?”

Charlotte toyed with the cushion’s gold tassels. “I have experience? What are you talking about?”

“The novels, cousin, the novels! You have read so many more than I have, and I know you pay closer attention to them than I do, for you are forever anticipating a crime, or you know who the villain is before I do. Thus you are better equipped to deal with this situation. As I see it, we have two mysteries to solve — first and foremost, who is behind the attack on my dear Noble, and second, who killed the late Lady Weston?”

Charlotte stopped spinning the cushion on her fingertip and stared at her cousin. “But I thought — surely I mentioned — didn’t Mama tell you — Gillian, don’t you remember that I told you Lord Weston was responsible for his wife’s demise?”

“Oh, of course I’ve heard that bit of cruel hearsay,” Gillian responded, waving a hand airily. “But it’s all false. Completely false. Noble would never harm anyone.” She paused and remembered his actions that morning. “Well, no one of the female gender, that is. No, someone else is responsible for her death and is quite happy blaming Noble for it. I intend to get to the bottom of that, too. Perhaps then I can persuade Noble to give our marriage the same chance he gave his first.”

Charlotte frowned at the wistful note in her cousin’s voice, tossed the cushion to Nick, then turned her mind to the task at hand. “Well, it seems to me that if you wish to find out who abducted Lord Weston, you must first find out who his enemies are. Then you may question them and eliminate the ones who do not seem to be the type to kidnap him and shackle him to his ex-mistr…uh…friend’s bed.”

“I see your point,” Gillian said thoughtfully, eyeing Nick as he made the tassels dance a little tassel dance on his bony knees. “It is not an everyday sort of enemy who would do that; more a special enemy with a particular goal in mind?”

“Exactly. Someone who wanted to embarrass Lord Weston as well as endanger him.”

Gillian thought about that for a moment, watching Nick balance the cushion on his head. She said slowly, “Oddly enough, Char, I do not believe Noble was in any danger. He was confined, but there were no signs of occupation in the house, no signs that someone might have wished to harm him physically.

It seems to me that whoever did this wanted…well, just wanted him found shackled naked to that bed.”

“You mean it was a jest? Someone did that to him as a lark?”

“Nooo,” Gillian said, chewing on her lower lip, being careful to hold her head still since Nick had transferred the cushion to her fiery crown of braids. “No, I don’t believe it was a prank. I believe it was a warning of some sort.”

“How are we to find out what that warning was? And whom it was from?”

“We shall have to do as you say — find out who Noble’s enemies are and interview them.” The tassels bobbed rakishly over one eye as she nodded her head emphatically.

Charlotte looked doubtful. “How are you going to find his enemies?”

“Well…” Gillian balanced the cushion on the toes of one foot as she thought. A slow smile spread over her face as she kicked the cushion high in the air. Nick leaped up and caught it. “I shall ask the people who knew him best.”

She patted her cousin on the shoulder and stood. “Who knows a man better than anyone else, Char?”

“His friends? His family? His valet?”

Gillian shook her head at each. “Put the cushion back, Nick, and make your good-bye bow to your cousin. No, Charlotte, I want someone who will know all of the on-dits, someone who is familiar with all of the ton gossip, and who is willing to share it with me. I shall meet with”—she smiled a triumphant little smile—“his ladybugs.”

“Ladybugs?” Charlotte snorted and clutched the cushion to her chest as she fell over backward laughing. “Ladybugs? I think you mean ladybirds!”

“Oh.” Gillian made a face. “Whatever they’re called, I shall ask them. They will surely be able to tell me what I want to know.”

“Do you know, cousin,” Charlotte said, still laughing, “I believe that if anyone can do it, you can. No one else would have the gumption, let alone the desire, to interview her husband’s former mistresses. Leave it to you unschooled Colonials to simply ignore the precepts of good breeding and gentle manners when it suits you. Oh, I do wish I could be there when you question them. I would give an entire year’s pin money to see the looks on their faces when you ask them about Lord Weston.”

Gillian pushed her son gently toward the door. “Shall I see you tomorrow to help me plan my strategy?”

Charlotte nodded and twirled the cushion. Gillian bid her good-bye and started out the door.

“Oh, Char?” Her cousin looked up, a slight frown of puzzlement wrinkling her brow. Gillian smiled. “Don’t be spending any of your pin money. You will be helping me interview the ladybirds. I couldn’t possibly interview them myself, being as unschooled and ignorant of the precepts of good breeding as I am. I’m sure your gently bred, noble touch is just the one needed to get them to unbend and tell us everything we want to know.”

Gillian escaped out the door just a few seconds before the cushion hit it. She chuckled at the undignified and unladylike language coming from behind the door and hurried down the hall after her son.

“Crouch, I wish to go to Lord Carlisle’s house. Do you have the direction?”

“Ye be wantin’ to do what, m’lady?”

“I wish to go to Lord Carlisle’s house. Tomorrow.”

Crouch stared at Gillian as he handed her into the carriage. “Lord Carlisle, m’lady?”

“Yes, Lord Carlisle, Crouch. Is there a problem?”

Crouch’s eyes glazed over at the thought of all the problems his mistress’s unusual request would generate. The number alone staggered the mind. “Aye, m’lady, ye could be sayin’ there’s a problem. A right big problem it be, too.”

“You don’t know his direction?”

“Eh…well, as to that, m’lady, as ye’ve asked me outright…”

“Excellent. Then I shall assume that you will be able to accompany Lady Charlotte and me tomorrow to pay a call upon Lord Carlisle.”

A stunned Crouch climbed onto the seat next to John Coachman. “I’m all-a-mort, Johnny. What do ye think of that, then?”

“She fair bewattles me.” John Coachman shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Crouch, having to tell his lordship that.”

Crouch, known to inspire terror in men with just one sneer of his scarred face, blanched with horror at the thought of what his employer would have to say.

“It’s not so much what ’e’ll say as what ’e’ll do,” he corrected himself.

“Aye, you’re right there. He’ll have your head if you let the mistress go calling on his hated enemy.”

Crouch cupped a protective hand around his most prized possessions and stared ahead through the leader’s ears. “I could live without me ’ead. It’s what else ’e might take off that turns me blood pale!”

At the very time Gillian was on her way home, explaining to her son that she and Noble were going to be out that evening, Noble stepped down from his friend Rosse’s carriage and glanced down Bond Street. Lord Rosse squinted against the afternoon sun and followed his friend’s gaze. “I see Poodle Byng is back in town, stouter than ever. Who’s that with him?”

“Sefton.”

“Oh, yes, should know that nose anywhere. Shall we stay a moment and greet them?” Rosse looked speculatively at his friend. “Or is there a need to?”

“My dear friend, you may pass your time as you like, but I intend on expelling a bit of energy on whoever might be willing to oblige me.” Weston started up the steps to Gentleman Jackson’s rooms.

“I gather this laissez-faire attitude means either, or both, men have given you the cut?”

“You may gather whatever you like, Harry. Remind me to mention a little problem I need your advice on once we’ve taken a bit of exercise.”

Rosse smiled and followed his friend up the stairs. “I don’t recall you having a need to expend energy at Gentleman Jackson’s before, Noble. I used to have to beg you to come with me, despite the fact that you’re a great hulking brute perfectly made for dashing a fellow’s brains about the ring.” He shook his head in mock concern. “How comes a newly wedded man to have so much excess energy? It can’t be good, my friend. I sadly fear you are not doing right by your new countess and will have to take the issue up with you when you are finished expending all this energy you seem to possess.”

The two gentlemen were greeted and conveyed to the dressing room. “If I were another man, Harry, I should take offense at your comments.”

Rosse, secure in the knowledge that he had been practicing faithfully at Jackson’s for the last two years while his friend rusticated in the country, grinned. “Is that a challenge?”

“If you like.”

“My dear sir, I accept your challenge of a round of fisticuffs. Shall we set a boon upon the winner?”

“An excellent idea,” Noble said as he slid his arms out of his waistcoat and allowed one of the attendants to remove his neck cloth.

“Have you something in particular in mind?”

“I do.”

“And it is…?”

“To be named at the winner’s discretion.”

Rosse grinned again, carefully removed his spectacles, and handed them over to the man waiting, then swung his arms back and forth to limber them up.

“I should warn you, Noble, I’ve had several lessons while you’ve cloistered yourself away on your estate. I’m counted as quite handy with my fives. Even Jackson himself says I show considerable promise.”

Noble allowed himself a smile. “I’ll try not to hurt you too badly, old friend.”

“I believe I’ll stick to pistols from now on,” Lord Rosse said meditatively an hour later, rubbing his swollen jaw and fingering his torn lip. “Less dangerous. I think you loosened a tooth.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Weston replied, wincing at the sunlight as they stepped from the building. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you too badly. However, I shall have a bit of explaining to do when Gillian sees my eye.”

Rosse smiled a lopsided smile. “That’s quite a mouse. As the satisfaction in landing a blow to you goes a long way in easing the sting of my defeat, I’ll ask you now what it is you want my help with.” He paused a moment to direct his driver. “St. James’s, John.” Then he turned toward his friend. “White’s or Boodle’s, Noble?”

“White’s, don’t you think?”

“White’s it is. Ah.” Lord Rosse sank back into the plushly upholstered seat and gingerly flexed his fingers. “Now tell me what sacrificing my good name and excellent reputation in favor of yours has cost me.”

Weston fingered the swollen tissue around his eye. A momentary distraction in the form of the sudden mental image of Gillian on the floor in his library, gown askew, hair tumbling down upon her golden shoulders and spilling onto those mouthwateringly lovely breasts had been all the opening Rosse had needed to land a powerful left.

“McGregor’s back in town.”

Rosse nodded. “I saw him a few days back at the theater. Didn’t acknowledge him, of course.”

“Of course. He paid me a visit.”

Rosse blinked behind his spectacles. “Why would he do that?”

“To threaten me.”

“Threaten you with what? Oh. Gillian?”

“Exactly. He muttered some deranged comments about wanting to warn her, but I know the truth. He’s never forgiven me for marrying Elizabeth and will do his best to steal Gillian away as he did her.”

Rosse relaxed. “I don’t blame you for being angry that the bastard called on you, but I wouldn’t worry that he can melt the heart of your Amazon. She’s made of sterner stuff.”

“She’s a woman, and thus is capable of whatever deceit is necessary to achieve her goals.”

Rosse watched the pain flit over his friend’s face with a sorrow that had its origins deep in a night five years past. “Any other woman, perhaps. I don’t claim to know everything about the species, but I know this — you’ve captured the heart of your Amazon.”

Weston grinned suddenly, then grimaced against the pain the action caused his swollen eye. “So she has informed me.”

“There you go, then. Nothing to worry about.”

“There’s everything to worry about. Harry, someone has been out to cause me trouble ever since I returned to town.”

Weston told him about the plea for help from his former mistress that had sent him out to the house she was to be vacating and ended with a description of how Gillian and Nick rescued him.

“If you are quite finished,” Noble said some time later, watching his friend wipe his eyes. “I wasn’t aware that it was an episode that would bring so much amusement to you.”

“Ah, Noble, if only I could have been there. In a bedsheet, you say? Yes, well—” Rosse saw he had pushed his friend to the limit of his tolerance and turned his attention to the matter at hand. “Has all the hallmarks of a jest of a grand nature.”

“I considered it but disregarded it as an explanation. No one I know would dare commit such a jest upon me, and—” He looked out of the window as the carriage rolled up St. James’s Street. “I do not believe the perpetrator knew Gillian was in town and prepared to go to outlandish lengths to rescue me from what she perceived as life-threatening danger.”

“You don’t think your life was in any danger?”

Weston studied the silver head of his walking stick. “I’m not sure, but I doubt it. If whoever arranged for the scene had wished me harm, he had ample opportunity to do so after knocking me out.”

Rosse thought this over for a minute. “I believe you are correct, Noble. That being the case, what is it you want me to do?”

Noble smiled as the door to the carriage was opened and the steps lowered. “I want you to use those talents you showed an aptitude for during the war,” he said and nimbly leaping out of the carriage, turned back to face his friend. “I want you to become a spy again, Harry.”

“Lady Weston, how delightful it is to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Countess Lieven. Please excuse my hand. I was admiring the colored lamps you have concealed in the flowers, and I wasn’t aware the paint was still wet. Are you acquainted with my uncle, Lord Collins, and his wife, Lady Collins?”

Countess Lieven, a small, dark, vivacious woman with a gracious manner and a lively eye, looked with surprise at Gillian’s blue palms, noted the blue hand print on the left side of her gold gown, and gave a mental shudder. She would never, ever understand the English. She turned with a smile to greet her guests, then placed a hand on Gillian’s arm and guided her away from the receiving line. “My maid, Clothilde, will attend to your hands…and gown, my dear Lady Weston. But before she does, allow me to express my utmost sympathy for your unpleasant situation. My heart, it bleeds for you in your time of trouble.”

Gillian blinked and stared into the dancing black eyes before her. She very much doubted that Lady Lieven felt anything but a burning desire to gather and exchange gossip. “I appreciate your sympathy, Countess, but I am sure the paint will come off.”

The countess’s famed smile slipped a little as she glanced down quickly at Gillian’s hands. “No, my dear, it was not that unpleasant situation of which I speak. It is the other situation that rends my heart in two on your behalf.”

Gillian mentally reviewed her most recent unpleasant situations and flushed to the roots of her hair. “I beg your pardon, Countess. I will, of course, replace the trellis. I had no idea that the paint would be so very flammable, you see, but after I accidentally tipped the lamp over, it set a bit of the trellis on fire. Just a small bit, really, and I doubt if you can see it without being very close to it, which of course I was in order to put the fire out, and you can be sure I will replace those lovely rosebushes as well.”

The countess stared at her as if she had suddenly grown a third eye in the middle of her forehead; then with a little shake of her head, she made a gesture of dismissal. “It matters not, dear Lady Weston. What are a few roses and a bit of trellis between friends, eh?”

“That’s very generous of you, Countess.”

The countess seemed to be having trouble gathering her thoughts, but she gave Gillian a brilliant smile and spoke in a most conspiratorial tone of voice.

“It is not these trivial matters of which I speak, my dear. I speak of that which a little bird has told me, and I wish to reassure you that you may always consider me a friend should you need a sanctuary.”

Gillian covertly glanced around her. There was quite a crowd surrounding them, and despite the low drone of chatter, they all seemed to be quite interested in what the countess was saying to her. The countess evidently realized that as well, for although she leaned in closer to Gillian, she raised her voice. “I refer primarily, of course, to your husband’s unpleasant situation. You may be assured that whatever anyone else says about him, he will always be welcome at Ashburnham House.”

Several people sniffed, and one man gave a bark of harsh laughter. “Thank you,” Gillian said, confused by the innuendoes. Had she done something to make Noble an outcast? She snuck a glance down at her blue palms and was horrified to see a blue smear on the countess’s lovely pale apricot and gold gauze gown. She tried to edge backwards, but a cluster of people waiting to greet their hostess kept her captive.

“Your support will mean a great deal to Lord Weston, Countess. And to me, of course.”

“And with regards to that other unpleasant situation of which the little bird spoke”—the countess tipped her head to the side, her ostrich plume swaying gently in the breeze from the open windows—“you must always think of me should you need respite from your…troubles.”

Gillian smiled and tried to turn her face away from the sweep of the long ostrich feather. “That’s most generous of you. I shall remember your kindness always.”

The countess smiled again and, with one last pat to Gillian’s arm, she moved off to greet the new arrivals.

Gillian gave in to the eye-watering itch the feather had started and rubbed her nose quickly before turning around to face Charlotte.

“What the devil was all that about?” Gillian asked her cousin.

Charlotte took one look at her and rolled her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Gilly,” she said as she grabbed her cousin’s arm in a grip that never failed to command respect, pushing her to a small room at the back of the long hall. “You’ve got a blue nose! I’ve never seen anyone who has the propensity you have for getting into trouble at a ball. If you’d only kept your gloves on, none of this would have happened.”

“I don’t like wearing gloves,” Gillian complained; she tried to explain about her desire to see the colored lamps but was summarily hushed and turned over to the waiting, if less than enthusiastic, hands of the ladies’ maids.

Half an hour later she reappeared, minus a blue nose, but with a blue hand print on her left flank and wearing a pair of gloves that were too small for her. She picked nervously at them and peered around the ballroom, looking for a friendly face.

“Lady Weston, you look…ah…charming as ever.”

Gillian smiled at the man in front of her. “Thank you, Sir Hugh. That is quite gallant of you, considering I have a blue hand print on my gown and am wearing borrowed gloves.”

“My dear Lady Weston, no one will notice the slightest thing once they have beheld your radiant smile.”

Gillian laughed at the dandy. “ ’Tis the truth, Sir Hugh, you do raise my spirits so with your words. That’s a particularly lovely shade of plum, by the way. It sets off the royal blue very nicely.”

The baronet preened a bit as he smoothed out his waistcoat and checked quickly to make sure his watch fobs weren’t tangled in the ribbon to his quizzing glass.

“You always wear the loveliest colors,” she continued, hoping to return the kindness by paying a compliment to his vanity. “You quite remind me of a peacock with all the lovely shades of blues and greens and purp…why Sir Hugh, is something amiss?”

“A peacock?” he sputtered, his face flushed and perspiring.

Gillian was quite concerned that he might have an apoplectic fit on the spot. She hastened to soothe his ruffled feathers. “Why, yes, but I meant it in the nicest way, of course. I quite like peacocks, Sir Hugh. Oh, Sir Hugh, please do forgive me, I didn’t mean to…oh, blast.”

“It’s a waste of your time talking to the popinjays like that, gel.”

Gillian glanced over at the settee to see who was addressing her. An extremely elderly man was seated on the green cushions, so wizened and frail that he looked more like a shriveled-up child than a grown man.

“Well, I daresay I am more of a shriveled-up child than a grown man, now. I’ve seen a hundred-and-one summers, gel.”

Gillian blushed at her rudeness and sat down carefully next to the man. “I do apologize, sir. I meant you no disrespect. I have this Unfortunate Habit, you see, and sometimes I speak without knowing it. You most certainly do not look like a shriveled-up child. You just look…mature.”

The man wheezed a few times, worrying Gillian until she realized he was laughing. “ ’Tis of no worry, gel,” he cackled, and spent a few minutes catching his breath. “I’ve been called many a name in my day, and if shriveled and wizened is the worst, then I’ve naught to complain of.”

“You’re very sweet,” Gillian said with a gentle smile. “Who are you?”

“Palmerston’s the name.”

“Lord or Mister?”

“Just Palmerston’ll do. Faugh, did you ever see such a sight?” One of the old man’s gnarled hands rose, and a crooked finger stabbed into the air. “Gels in naught more than their chemises. In my day, a gel would have been whipped for appearing in nothing but their folderol!”

Gillian looked at the parade of fashionables as they strolled past her. “I’m sure it must look that way to you, but I can assure you that fashion has at last taken a step forward. My mother used to complain something terrible about all her corsets and panniers and hoops and such. Don’t you think these gowns are much simpler and more elegant?”

“Damn sight more pleasing to the eye, but I’ll not be admitting that to a chit like you. You’re Weston’s bride, ain’t you?”

“Yes, I am. My name is Gillian.”

Two sapphire blue eyes, still brilliant in color despite the age of their owner, turned their gaze on her and considered her from beneath two mammoth bushy white eyebrows. The shaking, gnarled hand made another appearance and poked at her arm. “You’ve taken up quite a challenge, gel. Are you up to it?”

Gillian stared back into the old man’s eyes. “I believe so.”

“It won’t be easy; he’s a long road to travel. There’s bound to be highwaymen about, trying to drive you from your path.”

Gillian found herself drawn into the deep, deep blue of his eyes. They were so clear, so pure, it was like looking into the eyes of a child. What was his connection to Noble? How did he know that Noble had a long journey ahead of him? “I know there will be; we’ve already met with one. I hope, however, that we will make the journey together.”

The old man nodded, and gave her arm another poke.

“Tell me, sir, if you would — you must be acquainted with Noble if you know of his troubles.”

“Aye, that I do.”

“Then perhaps you would tell me — do you think I will be successful in my quest?”

The sapphire eyes slowly turned away from her and gazed out into the crush of people meandering by. “You’ll need to uncover secrets, gel.”

“Secrets?”

“Aye, secrets and lies, each begetting the other, one ending where the other begins. If you can figure out that puzzle, you will be successful.”

She pondered his answer for a moment, decided it was, on the whole, optimistic, and smiled and gave his hand a little squeeze. She was about to ask him how he knew Noble when Charlotte found her.

“Dearest cousin, you’ll never guess what Mama…for heaven’s sake, Gilly, can’t you keep those gloves on for five minutes? Oh, never mind them, come with me. I have the most shocking news to tell you!”

Gillian was appalled by her cousin’s rudeness to the old man, but before she could protest, Charlotte dragged her off to a relatively quiet corner near an alcove containing a bust of Paris.

“What is it, Char? I was having a fascinating conversation…”

Charlotte’s face screwed up suddenly as she whipped around to face the wall while she bit back the beginning of tears. Gillian put her arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring little squeeze. “Oh, blast, I’m sorry, Char, it’s so warm in here, my hands must be perspiring…I’m sure that will come out.”

Charlotte stared as her cousin tried to wipe the blue fingerprints off the silver tulle on her shoulder. “Gilly! This goes beyond your normal ineptitude and lack of social graces! What are we going to do? Papa just told Mama not to have you present me to anyone. Gillian—”

Charlotte turned and started to take her cousin’s hands in hers, then remembered the paint. She made a quick check of Gillian’s arms, then clutched her by the elbows instead. “Gillian, you don’t seem to recognize how serious things are for Weston. He’s been cut by just about everyone, Papa says, and soon won’t be recognized by anyone nice.”

“Countess Lieven said he’d always be welcome.”

“Countess Lieven says one thing one day and another the next. Gillian, you don’t seem to understand the gravity of this situation — if Lord Weston continues to be persona non grata, I won’t be able to be seen with you.”

Gillian blinked at her. “You what?”

“I’m sorry, Gilly, truly I am, but Mama says we won’t be able to recognize you if things do not begin to improve for Lord Weston.”

“I see,” Gillian said coldly, and shook off her cousin’s hands. “Thank you for alerting me to the situation, Charlotte. I wouldn’t wish to blight your chances with either my or Noble’s unwelcome presence.”

“Oh, Gilly, I just knew you were going to go all haughty on me and take it like that. Gilly — Gilly! Let me explain—”

Gillian suffered her cousin to pull her back to the alcove. She pretended to examine the bust, tracing a finger around a marble ear, not wishing to admit she was wounded to the bone by her cousin’s words.

“I promise, cousin, no matter what the ton says about your husband, I’ll always stand by you.”

Gillian gave her cousin a grateful smile and a quick hands-free embrace. “Thank you, Char. I didn’t think for a moment you’d abandon us.”

“Well, it won’t be easy, but we’ll worry about that when it happens. Dear heavens, look what you’ve done to the countess’s bust! Come, let us go over there where you can do no harm.”

Gillian followed her cousin meekly, scanning the room for signs of a familiar form.

“Will you stop peering around like a long-necked giraffe and tell me what it is you’re looking for?”

“Noble, although why I should want to see him after the atrocious way he treated me, I couldn’t say.”

Charlotte looked over the crowd with her cousin, then motioned toward the door leading to the veranda. “Why are you so angry with your husband? What atrocious thing has he done?”

Gillian explained about the cold way Noble had mentioned he would escort her home if she desired.

“This is my first ball as his wife, Charlotte. You can imagine what people must be saying about us when he can’t be bothered to attend with me!”

“Well, about that.” Charlotte paused for a moment, wondering how to break the news to her cousin. She opted for the easy way. “Look, there’s Aunt Fielding. Do let us go and greet her. She always has the latest gossip.”

Gillian agreed reluctantly. “Just for a moment, though. I want to look for Noble.”

Charlotte tsked at her and herded her outside onto the veranda to where her aunt sat surrounded by a group of chattering women. Upon seeing Gillian, the women exchanged raised eyebrows and knowing nods and moved off.

“What was that about?” Gillian hissed to her cousin.

“Nothing. Behave yourself. Good evening, Aunt.”

Gillian exchanged pleasantries with her cousin’s aunt, a woman of indeterminate age and French background, and sat in a small chair when so ordered. “I wish to speak with you, Gillian. I know that our relationship is not one of blood, but I think of you as I would my own flesh-and-blood niece, and hope I’ve treated you with as much care and attention as I have dear little Charlotte.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Gillian said, watching the people parade past on the veranda, enjoying the lovely evening.

“You have become very dear to me, which is why I will say to you that I could not help but notice that Lord Weston is not with you this evening. I do hope there are no difficulties?”

“Difficulties?”

“Difficulties — a little contretemps between you and the earl, perhaps? It is not uncommon, I believe, for a bride and groom to have little disagreements and unpleasantnesses as they settled in.”

“I thank you for your concern, Lady Fielding, but I can assure you—”

“My dear Gillian—” The older woman interrupted her and leaned toward her. “My dear, allow me, one who is older and wiser, to counsel you in this matter. It is said that you and the earl have had a rather heated disagreement. You must not allow such differences to drive you apart. These things will pass, and if you treat them as they should be treated — that is to say, ignored — then your life will be a most happy one.”

Gillian stared at the baroness. “Someone is spreading rumors that Noble and I have had an argument?”

The feathers in the baroness’s elaborately arranged hair bobbed as she nodded. “It is quite the talk, although I beg you to pay no notice to it. It is quite evidently false, as your appearance here tonight has proven.”

Gillian’s hands tightened into fists. How dare anyone spread more rumors about poor Noble! Wasn’t it enough he had to contend with the false ones about his late wife? How on earth could someone know that they’d had an argument that day, and who was spreading the news? “Who is telling you these things, Lady Fielding?”

“Oh, I’ve heard it from here and there. Talk of the Black Earl and his treatment of you is all anyone speaks of now. No one truly expected that he would manage to marry and keep his wife, no matter how”—she eyed Gillian’s bare arms, blue hands, and palm-printed gown—“unorthodox that wife might be.”

“Well, this really takes the cake,” Gillian fumed a few minutes later, when she and Charlotte had escaped Lady Fielding’s presence. “Someone is spreading the most appalling rumors about Noble, trying to create trouble for him, and it’s working! Everyone is blaming Noble for a little argument we had.”

“What was it about?” Charlotte asked following her to the veranda railing.

“That’s the problem, I don’t know!” Gillian slapped her hand down on the stone railing. “One moment he was all warm and loving, and the next moment he was as cold as marble. And now this! Noble leaves me to attend our first ball on my own!”

“You’ve been in England long enough to know how these fashionable marriages work. Your husband goes his way and you are free to go yours. As long as you’re discreet, of course.”

“I’m always discreet,” Gillian muttered, turning around and peering through the crowd, then back across the lawn. “Noble hates crowds; perhaps he’s gone to see the garden. Blast the man, he said he’d be here tonight. Where is he?”

“Don’t be in such a dither, Gilly.” Charlotte took a deep breath, looked toward the doors to the ballroom and, with a muttered prayer that her mother wouldn’t discover her antics, followed her cousin out into the garden. “Oh, look at the lovely cascade! Did you ever see such a sight?”

“Never,” Gillian muttered, giving short shrift to the countess’s fantastic display of colored lights set up to illuminated the water flowing along the mossy paths. She craned her head to catch sight of any tall, handsome earls who might be hiding out in the scented shrubs, trying to avoid their wives’ eyes.

“Look, a waterfall! Isn’t that lovely?”

“Lovely. Oh, blast! He doesn’t seem to be out here.”

“You know how men are — they have so many other important things to do. They visit their friends at their clubs, or they gamble, or they visit their mis—”

Gillian turned to face her cousin. “Visit their what?”

Charlotte peered around her in the softly lit darkness. There was a group of people at the foot of the stairs, near the waterfall, but no one close by. “Mistresses. Gillian, it’s time you face facts. I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you are, dear cousin, but you really must face the truth. Men like Weston simply are not the type to give up their freedom just because they are married. I know you believe Weston no longer has a mistress, but you are not being terribly realistic.”

“I agree,” Gillian said pleasantly after a moment’s thought, and started to move toward the stairs. Perhaps he had gone into the cardroom.

“You do? You agree? Just like that? No argument?”

“No argument.”

“But Gilly — wait, Gilly.” Charlotte hurried to catch up to her cousin’s long stride. “Did you not say you were certain Weston had disported of his mistress’s services?”

“Dispensed, and yes, I did, but I was wrong. He does have one.”

“Oh, Gilly, I am sorry. I had hoped for your sake that Weston was different—”

“I am his mistress.”

Charlotte stopped dead. “You? You think you’re his mistress?”

Gillian stopped and looked back at her. “I know I am.”

“You can’t be his mistress!”

“Whyever can’t I?”

Charlotte waved her hand around. “Because…because you’re his wife.”

“So?”

“You can’t be both.”

“Why not?”

“Well…just because! Wives and mistresses — Gillian, they’re just two separate people. Wives are…wives, and mistresses — well, you know what they are.”

Gillian tipped her head to one side. “Perhaps I don’t, Charlotte. What exactly is the difference between a wife and a mistress? Oh, don’t stare at me like I’m an idiot. Other than the obvious, what is the difference?”

Charlotte looked around helplessly, hoping for inspiration. “Well, for one thing, mistresses show affection in public. Did you hear about La Bella Dona and the Duke of Ainstey two nights past?”

Gillian shook her head.

“They were in the King’s Theater, you know, and it’s said that she sat right on his lap. In front of everyone. And kissed him!”

“That certainly is in poor taste, but hardly—”

“While the duchess was in her box directly across from La Bella Dona’s!”

“Oh. Well, yes, then I will agree that your example certainly does show a shocking lack of manners, but that hardly has anything to do with my situation.”

“Yes, it does. The point is that you can hardly behave in such a manner, even with your own husband.”

Gillian thought back to the morning’s activities in the library. “I’m not so sure of that—”

“Oh, look!” Charlotte squealed, and grabbed her cousin’s arm. “There he is.”

“Noble? Where?”

“No, not Weston. His friend. The handsome one. By the shrubs to your left.”

“Lord Rosse? I don’t see him either. All I see is that little man Sir Hugh—”

“Gillian! How can you be so cruel just because the gentleman isn’t a giant like you.”

Gillian stared at her cousin with a slight smile playing around her lips. “My apologies, Char. I had no idea you had a tendresse for him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I have nothing of the sort. Papa would never countenance a marriage between a poor baronet and me. I merely pointed out one of your husband’s friends.”

“Mmm, yes, thank you.” Gillian made a mental note to ask Noble about his friend, and continued to scan the crowd.

“There’s Weston.”

“Where?” Gillian spun around.

“Over there, just at the foot of the stairs. He’s being given the cut by Lord Monteith. Oh, my, Gillian, that isn’t good. I believe Lord Worcester just cut him as well. What are you going to do?”

Gillian looked across the mossy paths, meandering streams of water, manicured lawn, and Arcadian groups of shrubs lit from within by colored lamps to where a group of people had collected to watch her husband be ignored by the crème of the ton. Dressed entirely in black, with a brilliant snowy white shirtfront and cravat, Noble’s austere beauty took Gillian’s breath away. Instantly her anger refocused itself onto a new, and much more deserving, target.

“I’ll show you what I’m going to do,” she said grimly, her hands fisted as she walked quickly toward the group of people.

A hush settled over them as they watched her approach. Noble, standing alongside Lord Rosse, raised one glossy black brow as she walked swiftly toward him. Gillian suddenly hoisted up a handful of her gown, speeded up her approach, and launched herself into her husband’s arms, pressing her eager lips against his.

She kissed him with all the fire and passion that had been smoldering in her ever since she had first seen him. She kissed him with every last ounce of love and devotion she possessed. She kissed him with an intensity that was readily apparent to those who stood by in astounded silence, watching them. She kissed him with abandon and joy and the warmth that only Noble could generate in her. It wasn’t technically a perfect kiss as far as kisses went, but it was a monumental one in the eyes of the ton. It was a kiss that turned the tide of public opinion about the Black Earl.

And then she fell into the waterfall.

Two gentlemen strolled by as Noble tried to help her wring the worst of the water out of her gown. They both paused for a moment, watching the scene while drawing on their cigars, then proceeded on their promenade.

“Silly chits and their dampened muslins.”