In the Garden of Temptation Page 10

  “Not at all, my lord,” came the valet’s dignified response.

  Sims had only now begun to unbend where his master was concerned. Lord Ashworth had endured weeks of unremitting indignation traced directly to his decision to travel to Lord Bourgeault’s sans his phaeton, extra luggage and, most importantly, his valet. Adam had begun to wonder if the temporary freedom he had experienced was worth the subsequent misery of dealing with an outraged servant.

  The ensuing weeks had been difficult for Adam on another front. The trip back from Lord and Lady Bourgeault’s castle had been long and tedious and, as if to emphasize his melancholy attitude, the heavens had parted and presented him with a torrent of unexpected rain.

  He had returned home to life as usual, and yet nothing had been quite the same. He felt as though he had stepped into a beguiling dream and, once conscious, had been unable to dispel its effects. And when he did sleep she was there, more lovely than any flesh and blood woman could possibly be. The disappointment when he awoke was unbearable.

  He had gone back to Helen his mistress. No reason not to, he had reasoned. But his relationship with her had changed because he had changed, and he had come from her restless and dissatisfied.

  Adam knew he had hurt Helen. She was an intuitive woman and quick to understand. He had not been able to hide his lack of eagerness, and so rather than face her bruised feelings, like a coward he had stayed away.

  The earl sighed as he came to his feet and once again endeavored to wrap his neck in one of those blasted neckcloths. For reasons not completely understood, this time his effort was rewarded without a single misstep.

  “There!” he announced in satisfaction.

  “I knew you could do it, my lord,” said Sims, sharing in his master’s success.

  “Get me in my coat quickly before the cravat decides to slip from my throat, and I have to start all over again.”

  “I hardly think that possible,” the valet indicated in a dry voice.

  “Anything is possible, my good man.” Adam adjusted the cuffs on his evening jacket and stepped back from the mirror. “It’ll have to do.” He strode toward the door and threw it open. “Don’t wait up, Sims,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  “Mother, beautiful as always,” he greeted his parent moments later as he arrived in the drawing room. His legs took him immediately to the brandy decanter where he splashed himself a liberal measure in a crystal goblet.

  Lady Ashworth’s nostrils flared in disapproval. “Now, Adam, you’re not going to overindulge this evening, are you? There is nothing more discommodious than being squired about town by a tipsy gentleman.”

  “Mother, be fair. I need fortification for Lady Mortimer’s little gathering. I have to steady myself on the chance some fool requests a ballad from the esteemed Miss Huffington. I swear, when she hits that high note, my nerves literally vibrate.” The earl took a generous gulp, emphasizing his words.

  Lady Ashworth sighed and nodded her head. “That girl should never been told she has talent. Diana Huffington is trying to make an exceptional match for her daughter, and instead she has made the poor child an object of fun.

  “I see nothing fun about it, Mother,” Adam objected.

  “Exactly. Diana is a friend of mine, and I’ve tried to put a bug in her ear, but she will have none of it. Instead, she used the opportunity to test me on your availability.”

  Her son intercepted the dowager’s calculating glance. “Don’t start, Mother. I have no intention of rescuing Lady Huffington from her parental duties. It’s going to take a special gentleman to husband Edwina, and I can promise you I’m not the man to make the attempt.”

  “Your must make a decision before very long,” she stated. “Why do you insist on delaying?”

  “If I marry in ten or twenty years, as long as my wife is young and sturdy, we should be able to produce many offspring.”

  “Men are a conceited lot. They are all convinced their virility will go on forever.”

  “Mother!” Adam said, shocked by his parent’s plain speech.

  “Bah!” Lady Ashworth countered. “What if your wife has the misfortune of producing only daughters? What if she presents you with few children or they are sickly? You’ve reduced your fruitful years dramatically, and you may never have a worthy heir.”

  “Such are the vagaries of life, my dear,” the earl said in resignation. “Please, Mother, let’s not continue to haggle over this issue any longer, at least for this evening.”

  Lady Ashworth pursed her lips tightly together in her customary expression of displeasure but let the matter drop. This should in no way be construed as an admission of defeat, far from it. The countess would have her say, and no one knew that better than her son.

  They departed after that, although the carriage ride to Lady Mortimer’s musicale was completed in silence. Adam tried to lighten the mood by bantering with his stony parent, but he gave up when he realized she would not give over.

  She sat, back rigid, hands clasped firmly in her lap as she emitted an occasional heavy sigh plainly intended to emphasize the unhappiness she felt with her wayward child. However, she did not deign to enter in conversation. Adam may have ended the discussion, but he knew he would not be allowed to forget it had taken place.

  *****

  Catherine stepped over the threshold into Lady Mortimer’s brightly lit drawing room, and the gentle buzz of conversation came to an abrupt halt. During the preceding two weeks, this same tableau had been played out every time she made an appearance. By now she should be used to the attention, but as always she could not stop the sudden rush of embarrassment. She turned uncertain eyes to her companion.

  Charlotte Richards patted the arm of her new friend and murmured encouragingly, “The fervor will die down in a few minutes and you’ll be as anonymous as the rest of us.”

  Catherine frowned, puzzled. “I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. It makes me uncomfortable.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Do you realize there are women who would commit murder if they could turn heads the way you do?”

  “It’s because I’m newly on the town. No one much knows me yet. That’s bound to arouse the interest of the curious.”

  “All that beauty and modest, too,” Charlotte teased gently. “Dear me, we’re about to be inundated by swarms of male admirers. I think I’d best retreat.”

  “Don’t you dare desert me,” Catherine whispered.

  “All right, love,” Charlotte said. “Don’t panic. I won’t leave your side for a moment.”

  Catherine heaved a sigh of relief and smiled in gratitude. Charlotte Richards was a godsend. The lady had smoothed the way for Catherine’s introduction to society by sponsoring the baroness at all the prominent functions.

  Lady Richards was a young woman of twenty-eight and, though married to a mere ‘mister’—a second son—she was herself the daughter of a viscount and assured of an entree in all the finer homes. Though smallish and slightly plump with frizzy brown curls, she had a lovely face full of keen understanding, and the thoughtful matron had appealed to Catherine immediately.

  She knew Lady Richards liked her, also even though it was Edgar who had arranged the connection. Charlotte had confided to Catherine later that she had agreed to Edgar’s suggestion on the condition he remained firmly in the background. His wife would always be grateful he had struck that bargain, for the little lady and she were now fast friends. Happily, it seemed Charlotte had approved of her even more than she had disapproved of Edgar.

  “Explain to me, Charlotte, why all these men hang about,” Catherine said as the two women adroitly dodged several of those young men. “Aren’t the unattached ladies more interesting?”

  “You really are a babe in arms, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked. “Most of these gentlemen aren’t interested in an attachment—not a legitimate one at least.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, my dear, you are lovely and many of these men are
testing your moral fiber. They are vying among themselves to see which man is fortunate enough to get you in his bed.”

  “But I’m married!”

  “Well,” Charlotte licked her lips, “the baron is viewed as something of an albatross, and there are those who feel you might be ripe for an affair.”

  The baroness merely stared at her friend, aghast.

  “I hope I’ve not offended you, but I thought you might want to know.”

  “No, no, that’s quite all right.” Catherine swallowed. She hated to admit it but the gossip came uncomfortably near the truth. In fact, she believed her sterile marriage was the reason she had broken her wedding vows with Lord Ashworth.

  Still, Charlotte’s confession was enlightening. It explained the social maneuvering that confused her and put things into perspective. She was, after all, only as vulnerable as she allowed herself to be, and time would give her the finesse needed to control the advances of the more aggressive gentlemen.

  “We should take our seats. It would appear Edwina Huffington is to entertain us this evening,” Charlotte said. She guided the baroness to a chair near the front of the assemblage.

  An odd inflection in Lady Richard’s voice caused Catherine to look at her curiously. “Do they present the best performance first?” she asked.

  Her companion sighed. “I don’t wish to be cruel, but I’m afraid it is a case of getting the worst done at the outset—a bit like having one’s spinach before having dessert.”

  “I see.”

  Chairs shuffled and skirts rustled as the company became aware of the commencement of the performance. The air hung heavy with expectation—perhaps dread was a more apt description—as a tall, slim girl with thick brown hair stepped onto the dais. She was attractive in an ethereal way, and she smiled sweetly at the gathering as she waited to begin.

  Charlotte leaned over and whispered in Catherine’s ear. To those who had been “privileged” to hear Miss Huffington sing, she said, there was a general consensus that Edwina’s most prominent difficulty when in the throes of song was a tendency to veer off kilter at the most inopportune moment and discompose the listener. It happened most especially when she tried to hit a high note.

  “Unfortunately,” Charlotte continued, “tonight will probably be no different.”

  An older woman sitting at the pianoforte raised her hands in a dramatic flourish and set her fingers to the keys to begin the musical piece. From the moment Edwina warbled her first syllables, it became clear this would not be a virtuoso performance. Bringing her wrist to her forehead, she stood in a sylph-like pose and bleated out the lyrics to an unrecognizable ballad.

  Though obviously not a pleasant experience, the production did not reach intolerable proportions until Miss Huffington’s voice took a particularly vicious upswing and stunned her audience with one fatal, misbegotten note.

  Catherine’s eyelashes fluttered in reaction. “Oh, my!” she murmured in distress.

  “Exactly,” was Lady Richard’s only response.

  Gladly, most beginnings have an end. Although the wait seemed interminable, the young lady meandering through at least four shrill verses, she eventually saw fit to end the torture.

  The relief in the room was palpable. A round of polite applause followed as Edwina curtsied and exited the stage.

  “I daresay that was the most wretched performance it has ever been my misfortune to witness.”

  Catherine turned in the direction of the dissatisfaction, and her gaze lit on a diminutive dandy seated on her left, who was eying her with interest.

  “That is unkind, sir,” she rebuked gently.

  “Unkind or not, someone needs to muzzle that gel before she destroys the hearing of the ton single-handedly.” The little man looked as though he had been sucking lemons. “What a spectacle she has made of herself.”

  The baroness could hardly contain a smile as she studied the irate gentleman, for he was a spectacle in his own right. He was attired in a lavender waistcoat shot with gold thread, chartreuse satin breeches, and a forest green evening jacket. His legs were delicately crossed, and his bejeweled hands rested sedately in his lap.

  “You’re newly on the town, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You’ve caused quite a stir, you know.”

  She did smile then. “Perhaps, but I don’t like to be continually watched.”

  The dandy looked startled. “The whole point of going about is to see and be seen. Why would you not want to be noticed?”

  “I suppose I’m not used to town ways, but I’ll learn.”

  “How have you come to hide your charms under a country basket, anyway? Surely, you’ve wished to widen your experiences.”

  “My husband is not enamored of the city, and he is only now introducing me to society. Actually, Lady Richards has been kind enough to sponsor me.”

  Charlotte leaned forward in her chair at that point and looked at Catherine’s conversation partner.

  “Hello, Sidney,” she said.

  “Evening, Charlotte,” he acknowledged. His gaze shifted back to the baroness. “Who is your husband?”

  “You’ve probably not heard of him—Lord Bourgeault. I’m Lady Bourgeault. And you are…?”

  The dandy gaped at her. “Sir Sidney Alcott,” he said in strangled accents. He paused as he continued to stare at her, his features transfixed with horror. “You are the baron’s wife?”

  “Y-yes, I am,” Catherine stammered.

  “How awful for you!” He spoke so loudly, several people turned to look at them.

  “Oh, dear me. Do you know my husband?”

  “Only by reputation—”

  “Sidney,” Charlotte admonished from the sidelines. “Do watch your manners.”

  “Pardon, Lady Bourgeault, I…well, I just had no idea you were married to that man.”

  Catherine, having regained her composure, reassured Sir Sidney. “Quite all right. Edgar has that effect on people.”

  “Understatement that,” he muttered.

  “Sidney…” Lady Richards warned again.

  “It is generally well known that I am the baron’s wife,” Catherine chided him, amused. “It seemed when you spoke to me, you knew my identity.”

  Sidney had the grace to look embarrassed. “Not everyone knows who you are. I’ve had a time of it trying to discover something about you. I decided the only way to obtain the information was to approach the source.”

  Catherine clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh at such plain speech. “There isn’t that much to know.”

  “I hope I haven’t offended you, my lady,” he said in abashed tones.

  “Of course, not. In fact, I hope we can be friends, but on one condition.”

  “What might that be?”

  “Don’t speak unkindly of Miss Huffington. I think she could use a friend as well. It’s difficult to be an object of ridicule.”

  He gave her such a strange look, she decided she had hit him directly on a raw nerve.

  “That seems fair,” Sidney managed at last.

  Catherine glanced at Lady Richards, and her friend winked at her in approval.

  “It appears the next artist is ready to begin,” Charlotte said.

  They settled back for another extraordinary performance.

  *****

  They were late which suited Adam. Edwina Huffington had left the stage, and nearly all the chairs were occupied, so he was forced to spend an agreeable hour in the card room with all the other fugitives from the entertainment. He found his parent a lone seat and made a hasty retreat before some misguided soul offered him a place to sit down.

  The earl was hailed from the far corner of the card room as soon as he entered. “Adam, come, we need a fourth.”

  “Daniel, old boy, how are you this rare evening?” Adam sat to the table and nodded at the viscount’s companions.

  “Seems I’m doing as you are doing—hiding from Lady Mortimer’s little pr
esentation. I think the card room should be on the top floor, though, because Miss Huffington could be heard far beyond the confines of the parlor.”

  Adam nodded knowingly.

  “I fully expected to see the door fly open and the imprisoned horde come stampeding into the night.” Daniel shuddered. “Edwina completely eclipsed any effort she has made heretofore.”

  The earl chuckled as he picked up the hand of cards dealt him. “My mother is of the opinion Miss Huffington would make a worthy bride.”

  The stunned silence that followed this pronouncement was deafening. All three gentlemen at the table stared at Adam, clearly shocked.

  “Just so,” concurred Lord Ashworth.

  The ensuing sixty minutes were pleasurable as the players traded coins and conversation. With regret the party broke as the performances finally came to an end.

  “I suppose we’ll have to be good soldiers and mingle with the masses,” Adam said. “The ladies do not like it when we are having too fine a time.

  Everyone agreed this was so.

  “Right then, men, let us gird our loins and join the fray.” The viscount stood from the table and headed for the door with his unwilling companions bringing up the rear.

  “What brought you here this night, Daniel?” the earl inquired of his friend. Musicales are not your usual style.”

  “Hoping to see you,” Daniel replied. “You’ve been hard to corner of late, and this is definitely in Lady Ashworth’s style.”

  “You know me too well. I did promise to escort her, but she had to convince me that it’s what I really wanted to do.”

  “Of course.” Daniel grinned.

  They entered the parlor, and Adam and Daniel cast their respective gazes over the gathering in a casual inspection of those in attendance.

  “My God! Where did that vision come from?” the viscount gasped.

  Across the room a strikingly beautiful blonde woman held court, surrounded by several young—and not so young—men. She glanced around as though looking for someone then brought her uncertain gaze back to one particularly insistent gentleman, giving him a wan smile.

  “This turns the evening around,” Daniel said, “but we’ll never get close to her with all those fellows in the way. What do you think? Adam…?”