Valentine

Chapter Seventeen

"Launching three gals in one Season is quite an undertaking," Countess Lieven observed as the barouche drew up before a tall house on Brook Street.

"But only one of them requires a husband," Sally Jersey pointed out, gathering her parasol and reticule together.

"Well, it's to be hoped they're not farouche," the countess declared with a lift of her narrow nose as she stepped out onto the pavement. "Living in the country all these years."

"I can't imagine any daughter of Elinor's being in the least objectionable," Lady Jersey said with her usual good nature. "I'd be quite happy to supply vouchers for Almack's without meeting them."

"Yes, well you do have an unfortunate tendency to take things on trust," her companion said sharply. "We have standards to maintain, must I remind you?" She ascended the short flight of steps to the house behind her footman, who ran up from the barouche to knock on the door. "And what do we know about this young Fairfax?"

"Perfectly unexceptionable Dorsetshire family," Sally told her. "It's not a great match but an eminently respectable one… a love match, as I understand it."

"I don't know what gets into gals' heads these days," Countess Lieven sniffed. "Marrying for love, indeed. At least the younger one did the sensible thing, marrying Stoneridge."

The door opened, and Lady Belmont's butler bowed deeply at the august visitors. The footman returned to the barouche as the ladies were admitted.

Countess Lieven looked around the square hall with a critical eye before pronouncing, "Remarkably tasteful for a hired house."

She moved in stately fashion to the wide, shallow staircase, her companion bustling somewhat less elegantly on her heels. "Why do I have a feeling there was some scandal attached to Stoneridge?"

"Oh, it was nothing," Sally said. "Some military matter… no one gives such things a thought."

"I feel sure Lieven said something," the countess muttered.

"Yes, men are much more concerned with such matters," Sally declared. "Quite unnecessarily so, I would have said."

"I've never cared for Lavinia Gilbraith… an overbearing woman," the countess pronounced. Sally privately reflected that when it came to overbearing, her fellow patroness of Almack's had few rivals; however, she merely said pacifically, "I don't think that should affect our view of the Belmont girls."

"Yes, well, we shall see." The countess wafted through the double doors of an elegant salon as the butler threw them open, announcing the newcomers in discreet accents.

There were quite a few visitors in Lady Belmont's salon, a gratifying number, considering that London was still thin of company at the start of the Season. Elinor put such flattering attention down to the novelty of her daughters. It would certainly explain the cluster of admiring young men at her first "At Home." But it didn't fully explain the group of men of her own generation, gathered beside the fireplace. She was too levelheaded to consider her own charms might have something to do with the attention. If she remembered being one of society's beauties during her own debutante season, leaving many a languishing suitor when she'd married Kit Belmont, it was a fond and passing reflection, swiftly dismissed in favor of more pertinent matters.

Emily and Clarissa were sitting with their mother on a sofa, Edward perched in proprietary fashion on the arm next to his betrothed. Elinor rose and hurried forward to greet her visitors, followed by Emily and Clarissa, their eyes demurely downcast in anticipation of this vital introduction.

"Elinor, my dear, how wonderful it is to see you," Lady Jersey said with genuine warmth, embracing her old friend. "How could you have hidden yourself away all these years? You've been sadly missed, you know? Isn't that so, Countess?" She turned for corroboration to Countess Lieven, who bowed and gave her habitual frosty smile.

"Indeed," she said, extending her hand. "Sadly missed."

Elinor shook hands briskly, not in the least awed by the intimidating countess. "Allow me to present my daughters." She drew Emily and Clarissa forward and glanced surreptitiously at the clock, wondering where Theo was. She'd promised to be here to meet the patronesses, and she was not one to break promises, however little she might relish the occasion.

Even as she wondered, the door opened and Theo came into the room with her swift stride, bringing the freshness of the September afternoon in her wind-pinkened cheeks and bright eyes, wisps of raven hair escaping from her beribboned chip-straw hat and drifting over her forehead.

"Mama, forgive me for being late." She crossed the room, taking her mother's hands in both hers and kissing her. "We went to Richmond to ride this morning, and it seemed to take a very long time to get back."

"Allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Stoneridge," Elinor said. "Theo, dear, Countess Lieven and Lady Jersey."

"How do you do?" Theo said, extending her hand to each in turn, smiling with her usual frank and easy informality. "I do hope you're going to approve of me."

Lady Jersey smiled, but the countess looked distinctly put out. "Do come and have some tea," Elinor said hastily, moving her guests farther into the salon. "Theo, is Stoneridge not with you?"

"Yes, he's just coming. He took the curricle to the mews himself," Theo explained. A slight frown touched her eyes. In the week since they'd arrived in London, Sylvester had been remarkably reluctant to participate in the Season's social functions, although he'd insisted that Theo accompany her mother and sisters everywhere. She wasn't sure what he did while she was out and hadn't felt able to ask. Their conversations these days tended to be those of polite acquaintances, except when they were making love, and words played little part in those still glorious exchanges. Ironically, Theo found she missed the challenging edge to their relationship; it was as if a spring had been broken somewhere.

On the drive here from Curzon Street, Sylvester had been distracted, even irritable, and had set her down at her mother's door, saying curtly that he would take the curricle to the mews himself, though he had a perfectly competent tiger for such tasks.

Putting the puzzle from her mind, she went to greet Edward while Emily poured tea for Countess Lieven and Lady Jersey, and Clarissa hovered attentively.

"You're supposed to be doing the pretty with your sisters," Edward said in an undertone as Theo came up to him.

She grinned and murmured, "Emily and Clarry can do very well without me. I couldn't give a tinker's damn if the dragon ladies don't approve of me."

"You are wicked," he said, unable to restrain his answering grin. His eyes went with fond pride to his betrothed, who was looking particularly charming in pale sprigged muslin, her soft brown hair threaded with apple-green ribbon.

"You know something," Theo said thoughtfully. "I believe the Earl of Wetherby has a tendre for Mama. Have you noticed how he's always at her side?"

"He and Bellamy," Edward said, watching the gentlemen in question as they bent solicitously toward Lady Belmont.

"Yes… oh, here's Stoneridge." She turned to the door as her husband entered. He really was a very imposing figure, she thought, surprised by a flash of pride. His coat of dark-blue superfine and pale-blue pantaloons showed off the power of his shoulders and the muscular strength of his thighs; his cravat was simply but gracefully tied, and he wore only a single fob at his cream waistcoat. The restrained elegance of his appearance was in marked contrast to the younger men in the room, sporting wasp waists and impossibly high starched cravats. Even Edward had succumbed to the elaborate cravat, although he'd never be seen dead in a wasp waist or a violently striped waistcoat.

Sylvester stood for a moment on the threshold of the salon, steeling himself for whatever reception he was about to receive.

Despite his resolution to face up to his first social occasion, in the week since they'd arrived, he'd managed to avoid events like this. He'd escorted his wife to the theater, he'd ridden with her in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour, but he'd not visited any of his clubs, and he'd not accompanied Theo on any of the visits she'd made with her mother as Lady Belmont picked up the threads of her old life, or to the rout party they'd all attended at Carlton House. But he hadn't been able to avoid this afternoon's informal "At Home," designed to introduce the Belmont girls to the most important members of the ton, without offending his mother-in-law and puzzling his wife.

His eyes were hard, his mouth taut, as he looked around the salon, recognizing faces among the older contingent, although most of the young sprigs were unknown to him.

"Stoneridge." Elinor came to greet him, smiling warmly. "I'd almost given you up. You're acquainted with Countess Lieven and Lady Jersey, of course."

"Of course." He bowed to the ladies, receiving a frosty nod from the countess and a smile from Sally Jersey. The chill of the countess's reception didn't trouble him, since it was her customary greeting to all but her intimates.

"And I'm sure you know Lord Wetherby and Sir Robert Bellamy. And I expect Viscount Franklin is an old army colleague." Elinor smilingly indicated the group by the fire, her gesture encompassing the five men she hadn't mentioned by name.

There was a silence. An almost palpable touch of ice in the warm room. Theo stared at the men, who as one swept her husband with a disdainful stare as he bowed, his features carved in granite. He made no attempt to cross toward the group, and not a hand was extended in greeting.

Theo saw the telltale muscle jump in Sylvester's cheek; then he turned and strolled over to the window, where he stood alone, his arms folded, the gray eyes hard as iron, a peculiar twist to his mouth. In astonishment she glanced up at Edward. His expression was stricken. Lord Wetherby suddenly broke the silence, addressing a careless observation to the viscount. A teacup clattered in a saucer.

Without conscious decision Theo marched across the room to the window, the skirt of her cambric driving dress swishing around her ankles. "I don't believe I've made the acquaintance of Viscount Franklin, Stoneridge. Won't you introduce me?" She slipped her hand in his arm, smiling up at him, her eyes brilliant with fiery purpose. She almost pulled him around toward the fire, turning her blazing countenance on the men who'd insulted her husband.

"Do you care for tea, Stoneridge?" Emily's clear tones rang across the room. "Unless you'd prefer claret. I know how you enjoy a glass at this time of day."

"I'll ring for Dennis," Elinor said calmly, reaching for the bell-pull. "Gentlemen, do you share my son-in-law's tastes? Or are you content with tea?" Her smile as she addressed them could have frozen hell's fires.

"Try one of these macaroons." Clarissa snatched up a plate from beneath the wandering hand of Countess Lieven and brought it over to her brother-in-law. "They're your favorites."

He was suddenly surrounded by Belmont women, the center of their attentions, ministering to his needs and his wishes as if he were the sun to their earth. It reminded him of a pride of lionesses protecting an injured cub. Mortification that they should witness his humiliation warred with gratitude. They didn't know what was behind the insulting reception he'd been given, but it seemed they didn't care.

"Viscount Franklin, were you also in the Peninsula?" Theo addressed the viscount, her arm securely linked in Sylvester's. The viscount, an upstanding gentleman of some thirty-eight summers, resplendent in his regimentals, quailed before the rage in the young countess's purple eyes. Her little white teeth flashed in her sun-dappled face, but it was the smile of a shark closing in on her prey.

Viscount Franklin had fought all his military battles in the political corridors of Horseguards and had never faced an enemy on a battlefield. He cleared his throat, and his booted feet shifted on the carpet. "As it happens, I haven't had the good fortune to serve overseas, countess."

"Oh, really." Theo raised an eyebrow. "Good fortune seems an odd choice of words, sir. I'm sure my husband and Lieutenant Fairfax would describe it differently." Her predator's smile swept the rest of the group. Edward, who'd moved from his perch to stand beside Stoneridge in his own gesture of solidarity, looked embarrassed and muttered something about the honor of his country.

Not a flicker crossed Stoneridge's impassive expression, but the irony of the situation struck him with full force. Theo had no idea what lay behind this ostracism, yet in her eagerness to defend him, she'd hit the target full square.

The viscount seemed at a loss as to how to respondto the countess's dripping sarcasm. His eyes drifted involuntarily to Edward's empty sleeve, the slashing scar across Lord Stoneridge's forehead.

Lord Wetherby broke the uncomfortable pause. "I understand you've acquired Melton's breakdowns, Stoneridge," he said stiffly.

Sylvester didn't bat an eyelid. "Yes, for a steal." He took a glass of claret from the tray that had miraculously appeared at his elbow. "But I'm also looking for a well-mannered pair for Lady Stoneridge to drive." He glanced down at Theo, who, having achieved what she'd set out to achieve, was looking pensive. Her hand was still firmly tucked into his arm, however, and he had the conviction she wasn't about to abandon him to the wolves again. Just in case he couldn't defend himself.

"Are you going to drive yourself about town, Theo?" Edward said, moving the conversation along general lines.

"Stoneridge has agreed to acquire a curricle for me," Theo responded. Her gaze swept the circle with a distinct challenge. "I trust that doesn't shock you, gentlemen?"

"You're to be commended for your skill, ma'am." Sir Robert bowed.

"Well, I trust I shan't overturn it," she returned, her smile now mischievous, bearing no relation to the fire and ice of a minute ago.

"If there was the slightest danger of that, my love, you wouldn't be driving it," Sylvester said blandly. "But I have complete faith in your ability… to do anything you set your mind to," he added, and a glint of humor touched his hard expression.

Before Theo could respond, a piercing voice behind them announced, "Stoneridge, there's something I most particularly wish to remind you about."

"Rosie, whatever are you doing here?" Startled, Theo turned to her little sister, who was regarding the earl intently from behind her glasses. A hair ribbon had come undone, her muslin dress had grass stains on it, and she was holding a jam jar, the palm of one hand carefully over the opening, presumably to prevent whatever it contained from escaping.

"I've just come back from the square garden with Flossie. We were gathering specimens, and Dennis told me you and Stoneridge were here," Rosie explained earnestly. "And I thought I'd take the opportunity to remind him that he'd promised to take me to Astley's at the earliest possible chance. I was wondering when that would be." Her round eyes remained fixed unwaveringly on her brother-in-law.

Sylvester laughed, and a ripple of amusement ran around the circle by the fire.

"Rosie!" Elinor had just noticed her youngest child's unconventional arrival and came hurrying across the room. "You're not supposed to be in the drawing room this afternoon. Look at you." She gestured in some chagrin to the child's appearance. "And whatever have you got in that jar?"

"Don't ask, ma'am," Sylvester said, still chuckling. "But I beg you to excuse her – she had a most urgent question for me."

"Oh, dear." Elinor sighed. "What was it?"

"About Astley's," Rosie told her, spreading her fingers slightly over the top of the jar and peering between them. "I hope it hasn't escaped. It's a stick insect, and it's very difficult to see if it's still there or not."

"Out, you horrible little girl!" Swallowing her grin, Theo swept Rosie toward the door, relieving her mother of further embarrassment.

"But when…"

"The day after tomorrow," Sylvester said to Rosie's anxious inquiry as she was borne inexorably from the room.

"We must be on time… I wouldn't want to miss the grand procession," Rosie declared as Theo thrust her into the corridor.

"We won't miss anything," Theo assured, and closed the door firmly.

Rosie's diversion had broken the intensity of the circle by the fire. Sylvester moved away to pay his respects to the patronesses, exchanging a few words with the young men hovering around Emily and Clarissa. His mortification burned deep, but he was bland and polite, doing what was required. He felt Theo's pensive eyes on his back and guessed at the swirling cauldron of questions she was just waiting to fire at him. Questions he couldn't bring himself to answer.

But in this respect he'd misjudged her. When they'd left Lady Belmont's salon and were once again in the relative privacy of his curricle, Theo made a few casual observations on the company and said not a word about what had happened. But her silence merely masked the rumbling turmoil of her thoughts.

Why had people reacted to Sylvester like that? What could he have done? It must be something that people considered shameful, but she couldn't force him to tell her if he chose not to. And he obviously chose not to. There was a chilly touch-me-not quality to his present silence, much stronger than the distance there'd been between them since they'd arrived in London.

She couldn't believe he'd done something dishonorable. Of course he'd tricked her into marrying him. But if she absolved her grandfather of dishonor in the business, then she had no choice but to absolve her husband. In one light they'd both sacrificed her for the estate, but in another light she could hardly be sacrificed for something she wanted more than anything herself.

No, the worst she knew of her husband was that he was arrogant and controlling and reserved to a fault. And those weren't good enough reasons for Society's ostracism.

The carriage turned onto Curzon Street, and Sylvester broke into her absorption, his voice politely neutral.

"You'll forgive me if I leave you to go in alone. I have some business to attend to with Hoare's bank." He drew rein outside the house.

"Of course," Theo said, springing down without waiting for his assistance. "I'll see you at dinner, I expect."

"Certainly. And we should discuss how we're to arrange this excursion to Astley's. Will Emily and Clarissa wish to accompany us?"

"Oh, yes, and Edward," Theo agreed. "It'll be a family party." She paused, her hand on the curricle door, her velvet eyes grave. "We tend to stick together."

He nodded. "So I gather." Raising a hand in farewell, he gave his horses the office to start.

Theo was in the drawing room, dressed for dinner, when Sylvester returned.

"I'm late, I'm sorry," he said as he came into the room. "I'll pour myself a sherry and then I'll go and change."

Theo was sitting on a chaise longue, her legs curled beneath her in a position that ignored the constraints of her delicate evening gown of pale-blue silk.

She put down her book and smiled at him. "Why bother to change? It's only us."

"I'd hate to show discourtesy to my wife," he said lightly, turning away to pick up the sherry decanter.

Theo could hear the strain beneath the light tone, she could see the tension in his broad back as he filled his glass. Slowly, she uncurled herself and stood up.

"I don't believe your wife would consider it such," she said, coming over to him. She slipped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades. "In fact, your wife doesn't give a damn what you wear when you're with her. The less the better, really."

Sylvester put down his glass and reached behind him with both arms to encircle her body as she leaned against his back. He could feel her intensity, the currents flowing from her spirit to his. She was trying to reassure him about a great deal more than his wardrobe.

Such fierce and unquestioning loyalty was as astonishing as it was moving. He drew her around in front of him, and she put her arms around his waist again, looking up at him with a little questioning smile that belied the gravity in her eyes.

Abruptly, hunger for the warmth and comfort she was offering swept through him. He crushed her against him, his mouth finding hers with rough need. She came up on her toes, pressing herself into his body, her lips parting beneath the onslaught of his kiss.

Foster opened the door in his customary discreet fashion to announce dinner and as discreetly closed it again.