Birds of a Feather Page 16

  “The poor thing,” said Mrs. Caristoke. “She might have drowned.”

  “I doubt it.” Joanna shrugged. “The water is very shallow at that point. But why was she driving horses at all, let alone a team she could not control?”

  “It is a family trait, though she is not as reckless as her brother,” said Lady Hartford, a flash of pain reminding her companions that Hartford’s brother had perished at that lad’s hands. “If that dog had not appeared, she would have managed quite nicely.”

  “But there are always dogs in the park,” pointed out Mrs. Caristoke.

  Joanna let them chatter. She had been surprised at Sedgewick’s reaction – though considering their own early encounters, she should not have been. They had arrived on the scene immediately after the Hartfords. Sedgewick had abandoned all trace of arrogance, helping the girl out of the lake and wrapping her in the rug he carried in his phaeton. His actions had salvaged whatever pride she had left. Not until Hartford had calmed her runaway team and found a gentleman to drive her home did Sedgewick return to their phaeton. He was a good man to have around in an emergency.

  The realization opened another crack in his facade. London’s premier dandy ignored both potential danger and his own clothing when a situation called for clear-headed action. It set him apart from the other dandies who had happened by. Most had remained at a fastidious distance, exchanging droll quips as they quizzed Miss Delaney’s dripping bosom.

  She continued to mull Sedgewick’s contradictory nature as she talked with other ladies. Why had an intelligent, capable, clear-headed man chosen to hide behind a façade of fatuous conceit? He had evaded the question when she had first posed it, but learning the answer was important if she hoped to understand him. What benefit did he derive from playing this role? It was clear that he greatly enjoyed his social position – which boded ill for the future. But she suspected that Society’s acclaim provided more than mere pleasure. If he needed it to feel worthwhile, what would he do to the person who destroyed it?

  “Why does Sedgewick pretend to be a care-for-naught yet rush to rescue anyone in trouble,” she asked Reggie when he led her out for a waltz an hour later.

  “I cannot say, though it may be his way of poking fun at Society’s more ridiculous notions.” He swung her into a complex series of turns. “You dance divinely. Not many ladies can manage that particular step.”

  She hadn’t known she could, either, never having tried it before, but he was an exceptional dancer. “Thank you, but don’t change the subject. What notions?”

  “Many members of Society are shallow creatures who truly care only for style and gossip. They assume that all dandies share their thinking. Sedge never cared what people thought of him until Brummell left. But after the other dandies turned to him for sartorial leadership, he changed, exaggerating the fatuous arrogance until he became almost a caricature. His real interests are known only to a few close friends.”

  “But why?”

  “I am not sure, though perhaps hiding his interests allows him to relax. He has been under pressure at home since an early age – we both were. Father expects perfection and absolute obedience to his will. He has belabored my responsibilities as heir since I was old enough to talk, and Sedge was expected to excel in other ways – firsts in all his studies, brilliant career in government or the military, strict adherence to Father’s standards of behavior. Sedge balked, especially after inheriting a fortune from our grandmother. But Father always punishes the slightest deviation from his wishes – especially the pranks Sedge used to indulge in. He nearly got sent to the Peninsula a few years ago, where he probably would have perished.”

  She gasped.

  “I agree. A definite waste. Mother is little better, so perhaps his facade maintains his privacy. I am not explaining it very well.”

  “Better than you think.”

  Lady Glendale had returned two days ago. Reggie’s revelations explained some of the undercurrents of that meeting. Lady Glendale’s welcome had been cold, though Joanna could hardly blame the woman for that. Not only had Sedgewick married beneath him, but he had not even waited until his parents could attend the wedding. Delaying two or three days would hardly have made a difference in the gossip.

  Now she realized that their nuptials must have widened a long-standing rift between Sedgewick and his parents. They would see this as yet another rebellion against their authority, far more serious than his pranks and wastrel pastimes.

  “Do not look so grave, Joanna,” begged Reggie, swinging her into another complicated turn. “This is Almack’s, seat of frivolous pleasure. The patronesses would be appalled to espy a serious thought on the premises.”

  She laughed. “How right you are, my friend. So tell me what you think of Miss Washburn’s new gown. Sedgewick was admiring it earlier.”

  “Who am I to contradict the God of Fashion?” He grinned. “And anything would be an improvement on last night’s creation. She looked like some odd sea creature, bristling with lace and green ribbons. The color turned her face so sallow that she seemed downright sickly.”

  They continued in this fashion for the remainder of the set, allowing her to relax.

  Sedgewick led her out two sets later. He seemed calmer this evening.

  “Are you enjoying your triumph?” he asked after a lengthy silence.

  “This has been more pleasant than I had expected, but I’d hardly call it a triumph.”

  “More than you might realize.” His hand tightened, drawing her a full inch closer than decorum allowed – another way to demonstrate his supposed infatuation. “Every patroness has complimented your charming manners, and while Lady Wicksfield refuses to remain on the same side of the room as you, Lady Thurston actually defended you to Lady Horseley.”

  She pushed awareness of his masculinity aside, determined to remain light. “That only means that Reggie was lurking nearby. She must recover his good graces if she hopes to snare him for her daughter.”

  “Yes, he did mention that he’d cut the woman.”

  “Greed inspires odd alliances. Lady Wicksfield cannot be pleased that her bosom bow is pursuing an impossible goal instead of supporting her efforts to discredit me.”

  “Quite.” He sidestepped one of the clumsier sprigs. “You seem more relaxed this evening.”

  “As do you,” she said carefully. His intensity was down. Was his anger finally mitigating? His hand suddenly burned into her waist.

  “Gossip is focusing on Miss Delaney. We have become old news, my dear.”

  “Just as you predicted.” His eyes flared blue, then reverted to gray. Unsure what that meant, she fell silent. Passing so much time in his company actually made it harder to interpret his mood because she caught too many tiny changes.

  She watched his eyes for the remainder of the set. They dimmed and brightened several times, though she detected no more blue. Was that an improvement? Or was he trying to decide how badly she was hurting his reputation? Wedding her had probably been similar to his rescues – a brief moment during which his code of honor superseded his fribble’s role. But once the crisis passed, he usually resumed his normal activities. This time, consequences had intruded.

  Harriet accosted her the moment Sedgewick moved off. “We must talk.”

  “Of course.” She raised her brows. Harriet looked haggard tonight, with circles under her eyes and a furrow across her brow. “What is wrong?”

  “Not here.” Harriet’s glance flicked toward Lady Wicksfield. “The retiring room. I will join you in a moment.”

  The retiring room was crowded, so she waited until Harriet appeared, then stepped into an antechamber.

  Harriet followed. “You must help me,” she begged, shutting the door.

  “How?” If Lady Wicksfield had convinced Harriet to compromise Reggie, it would be just like the girl to expect cooperation.

  “Mama is impossible.” Harriet swallowed, fighting down tears. “She is demanding that I attach Lord Almont, but I c
annot like the man, Joanna. He says all that is proper, but his mind is clearly elsewhere.”

  On his illicit family. But at least Lady Wicksfield had given up on Reggie. Cutting Lady Thurston and avoiding Lady Wicksfield had finally penetrated even her willful stupidity. “You would not be happy with Almont,” she agreed. “Have you considered appealing to your father?”

  She shuddered. “I cannot. I love Jonathan, but Father will never approve.”

  “Mr. Wethersby?” So her impressions had been right. And the girl’s feelings must run deep if she was willing to defy her mother.

  “Yes.” She inhaled before continuing. “I know you do not care for him, but he is the most wonderful man. And he can support me in comfort. I have no wish to spend every Season in town. But Mama was appalled when I mentioned him as a suitor. She forbade him the house and refuses to let us dance.”

  “Control yourself, Harriet.” The girl’s voice had risen alarmingly. “Take a deep breath before you continue.”

  She complied. “Mama is determined. She is planning an outing to Richmond next week and expects to wring a proposal from Almont before it ends. I fear she might do something outrageous.”

  “She might, though Almont would willingly make an offer on his own. He does not care whom he weds. I deflected him for several days before my marriage.”

  “Why did you—”

  “Not now,” begged Joanna, interrupting her. “I must think. Does Mr. Wethersby wish to offer?”

  “Yes. We have discussed it, but he knows Mama will never agree. She was awful to him yesterday. I could not believe the names she called him. She must have questioned my maid, for no one else knew my feelings.”

  “Stop this, Harriet. If you start crying, everyone will know that something is amiss.” Half of Society must have spotted her tendre, for she wore her heart on her sleeve. Now that Lady Wicksfield was staying at Harriet’s side, she was bound to notice.

  “Jonathan wants to call on Papa,” said Harriet, sniffing into a handkerchief. “But you know what he’ll say. I asked Jonathan to speak with you before doing anything else. You are so smart, you are bound to think of a way.”

  “Your faith is misplaced. Your mother despises me, and your father must believe I betrayed him.” She hadn’t even managed to avoid her own unwanted marriage. How was she to help Harriet?

  “Then we must elope,” cried the girl. “I cannot live with Almont! I will die without Jonathan!”

  “Absolutely not. Eloping would ruin you and harm your children.”

  Harriet stilled.

  “Never forget that rash action can hurt both Jonathan and any children you produce,” she repeated, pressing her advantage. “You must be very careful.”

  “As long as I can marry Jonathan.”

  “You must return to the ballroom. I will consider possible solutions, then speak with you tomorrow. When is this outing to Richmond?”

  “Tuesday, unless it is raining.”

  “That gives us nearly a week. Avoid Almont in the meantime.”

  Harriet nodded and left.

  Joanna stayed in the anteroom, pondering the situation. Despite Lady Wicksfield’s antagonism, she still felt responsible for Harriet. Her own marriage did not negate her vow to see the girl settled.

  But Lady Wicksfield would not accept Wethersby. He lacked the fortune she wanted. She paced the room, fruitlessly searching for a way out of the dilemma.

  Excessive pride was the stumbling block. Wicksfield could recover without help. A loan would speed the process and salvage his pride, but he had other options. Could Sedgewick force Lady Wicksfield to accept Wethersby? A threat to make her a laughingstock might bring her round. If his wife proposed accepting Wethersby, Wicksfield might agree. It seemed improbable, but it was the best approach she could devise. Now all she had to do was convince Sedgewick to act.

  She smiled. Four days ago, she would never have considered asking his help. But since their marriage, she had seen too many signs that he cared for others. Would a man who helped young people put their best foot forward do nothing while an innocent was forced into an intolerable marriage?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sedge shut himself in the library. Reggie had headed for his mistress’s shortly after dancing with Joanna. His mother had retired early, claiming a headache, which was just as well. He could not tolerate another of her tirades. But he hated the solitude of the night.

  Sleeping was impossible. It would take hours before exhaustion overcame his mental turmoil. Fatigue tugged at his heels, but its only effect was to dull his thinking.

  If only he could go to White’s. Cards and conversation would distract him, but retreating to such a male bastion would expose his claims as the lies they were. No happily married man would leave his wife’s bed only three days after the wedding. Exposing the truth would diminish his status even further.

  He had been right about the cubs. Three of them had already defected, loath to hang on the tails of a married man – at least he hoped it was his married state that had driven them off. More vexing were the speculative glances from people whose usual demeanor ranged from respect to awe. So far the rumors had turned no one against him, but their very existence tarnished his reputation. Society had long embraced the adage where there is smoke, there must be fire. He had recited it often enough himself that he could hardly complain now that it was being used against him.

  Most of the tales originated with Lady Wicksfield, who swore that Joanna had deliberately trapped him and had callously abandoned Lady Harriet after destroying the girl’s chance to make a respectable match. The charges were so ludicrous that people merely laughed, but since they depicted him as inept, helpless, and stupid, he found them difficult to ignore.

  He needed to devise a better defense…

  But even his deteriorating reputation could not hold his thoughts tonight. They kept returning to the searing image of Reggie waltzing with Joanna. Faces alight. Intimate laughter.

  The memory taunted him. She had been happy for that half hour. So different from her demeanor during their own set. Her eyes had probed behind his face, searching for something she could like.

  She had never seen him as others did. Her voice echoed, reminding him that she no longer stammered with him because his opinion did not matter. The words had exposed his most secret fears, recalling all the other voices that had ridiculed him over the years: You are merely a younger son… In the unlikely event I need your help, I will ask for it… Worthless… Failure… Incompetent… Fool…

  He could have tolerated indifference, but she had seen beneath his carefree shell to the emptiness within. His one achievement in thirty-one years was a precarious social position that would likely crash around his feet before much longer. Reggie was his only real family. His parents disdained everything about him, making no effort to understand him, for he was merely a necessary spare in case Reggie failed them. His estate ran as well in his absence as when he was there. His life was built on fantasy – as Joanna had seen. Tonight she had again probed his core. And again found nothing of value.

  The shock of their sudden marriage had worn off, leaving him blue-deviled but unable to envision any improvement. Lust was consuming him, yet every time she danced with Reggie, he could see sparks flash between them, hardening his aversion to touching her. He wanted her to look at him like that – carefree, happy, her warmth igniting passion in both of their hearts.

  He savagely shoved the thought aside. Better to wish for the moon. But turning back was impossible, and continuing as they were was too bleak to contemplate. Somehow they must both set regret aside and address the future. Soon. Waltzing with her had made him frustratingly aware of her charms. The touch of her hand, the brush of her thigh…

  He was rapidly losing his mind.

  The first step was to talk. Time might mitigate her love for Reggie, but unless she hid her feelings in the meantime, gossip would claim a worse scandal. It didn’t matter that Reggie would never cuckold any
man, let alone his brother. Rumors would arise that would make the current ones look benign, pounding the final nail in the coffin containing both their reputations.

  You are such a fool, hissed the voice, raising new shudders. Why did you marry her, knowing how she felt?

  He frowned. Had there been another solution? But he could think of nothing acceptable. Claiming that she was betrothed to Reggie would have been cowardly, especially since Reggie had already denied any interest in her. And Mrs. Drummond-Burrell would never have believed the truth.

  If only he had allowed Reggie to care for Joanna that night! Everyone would be happier – except his mother. He sighed. She had been appalled enough as it was.

  “How could you allow that hussy to manipulate you into marriage?” she had demanded. At least Joanna had been changing for dinner when Lady Glendale stormed into the house.

  “You mistake the matter, madam,” he’d replied coldly, dragging her into the drawing room so she didn’t treat the staff to a scene. “As I informed you in my letter, the fault was entirely my own. After injuring her – quite by accident – I partially disrobed her in checking the extent of the damage. The appearance of impropriety was too stark to ignore. But Society believes this is a love match. I will not tolerate anyone claiming otherwise.”

  “No one can possibly believe such fustian – especially given your unconscionable haste.”

  He gritted his teeth, trying to forget her subsequent attack on Joanna’s character, her breeding, and his own intelligence. She refused to accept that an immediate wedding had dissipated the scandal even faster than he’d expected. If he had delayed, Lady Wicksfield’s tales would have fallen on fertile ground, allowing Society to build the story into the on-dit of the Season. The resulting suspicions would have followed them for years.

  Of course, one reason behind his haste had been to keep his mother away from the ceremony. Without saying a word, she could freeze a room faster than anyone he knew, and invariably did so when her orders were ignored.