Knave's Wager

“You are very talkative this evening.”

“I do beg your pardon, madam.” The abigail promptly set down the orchids, took up the comb, and proceeded to plait her mistress’s hair. She pulled the strands so firmly that Lilith thought her eyes would pop out of her head.

“Not quite so tight, if you please,” she said, wincing. “My hair feels as though it is coming out by... the roots…” She trailed off, gazing into the mirror. After a slight pause, she added, “I feel a headache coming on, at any rate. Perhaps not... not so tight a coil. Perhaps—”

“You’re quite right, madam. I’ll pull it up behind instead, with a knot, and leave it softer at the top, shall I?”

Her employer nodded.

“Now you’ve mentioned it,” Mary went on, though Lilith had not opened her mouth, “She might do both. One or two small orchids and two rosebuds, twined in the knot, so. Practically hidden, your hair is so thick and full. Just peeping out a bit. This way, neither gentleman can complain—or think too much of himself, either,” she added with a small, self-satisfied smile.

More than a dozen bouquets had been placed upon Miss Cecily Glenwood’s altar by her admirers. Nonetheless, she had no difficulty in declining all these lesser sacrifices in favour of the greater one: a spray of pink roses delivered personally by her brother Rodger.

Overcome by some fit of fraternal obligation, he had for the night abandoned his horses and horsy friends to support poor Cecily in her hour of trial. This he did, when the ball commenced, by being rather a trial himself. He announced loudly and repeatedly that he didn’t know her without the odour of the stables about her. Then he proceeded to disconcert her eager beaux with malevolent stares when they dared venture near his little sister.

Luckily, Lord Robert soon took the younger man in hand, introduced him to several sporting acquaintances, and left the rustic fellow contentedly debating the merits of Tattersall’s versus Aldridge’s in the art of equine auctioneering.

“You are exceedingly considerate,” Cecily told Lord Robert when he returned to claim his dance. “I know Rodger only means to be protective, but he does choose awkward moments, doesn’t he? The way he glared when Lord Maddock asked me to dance—I’m sure his lordship was convinced he’d be murdered. But you weren’t a bit afraid of Rodger, were you? Not that I can wonder at that,” she said with an admiring look at his broad shoulders. “I imagine you could knock him down with one blow, if you had even half a mind to. Naturally, you must be confident when you’re so fit.”

“A great many of us appear fit—thanks to our tailors,” her partner answered modestly, though his chest expanded and his shoulders grew even broader and straighter. “We London fellows are an idle lot, I’m afraid.”

“All the same, your shoulders are not padded, nor your—” She quickly withdrew her glance from his muscular calves and went on smoothly, “At any rate, you sit your horse exceedingly well. One would think you’d been born in the saddle.”

That compliment I must return, Miss Glenwood. Though I must say—” It was his turn to change direction abruptly. “I should very much like to ride with you one day. Not at dawn,” he added hastily, “but in the morning.”

“I should like that, my lord.”

“Then I shall persuade your aunt to accompany us. Otherwise, I’m afraid, it wouldn’t be the thing, you know.”

Persuasion of the aunt, Lord Robert soon decided, could wait until the morrow. At the moment, Mrs. Davenant’s demeanour had all the welcoming attributes of an iceberg.

The widow was dancing with her fiancé, who gave the lie to Mary’s earlier mutterings by taking note of the flowers. He told Lilith they suited her new coiffure, the effect was altogether elegant, and she was undoubtedly the handsomest woman in the room, the guest of honour notwithstanding.

“I’m not a foreign power,” she answered. “There is no need to turn me up sweet, Thomas.”

“I never flatter you, my dear, because I know you don’t like it. But to say you are handsome is a simple statement of fact,” he said judiciously. “Nor can you convince me any other lady in this room can match your elegance of manner. I know I’m a lucky man. I never wanted Alvanley’s pointing it out, I promise you.”

She stiffened. “What had Alvanley to say to you? I am sure he scarcely speaks two words to me.”

“He is a lazy, ramshackle fellow. But he tells me to keep a sharp eye, for there are some gentlemen excessively envious of my good fortune. ‘While you are courting the goodwill of the Grand Duchess,’ he warned me, ‘others may be wooing your bride-to-be.’”

“What nonsense.”

“Not at all. I have seen Brandon cast more than one glance in your direction this evening, and now I dare not leave your side. They say he has a devilish way with the ladies, not to mention most of us would give a right arm to have one half his good looks.”

“Minus an arm, you should not have all your own, Thomas.”

He smiled. “Well, he might keep his handsome face, I suppose—so long as I keep my handsome lady.”

Lilith did not cast any glances of her own at the marquess. Numerous other ladies had undertaken that duty for her. Besides, she had no need to study him. She had seen enough when she’d greeted him earlier, in the reception line.

His midnight-blue coat and dove-grey inexpressibles, impeccably cut, seemed knit to his powerful, lean frame. Tonight, one diamond winked in his cravat and another on his right hand. As he’d bent over her hand, she’d breathed the scent of sandalwood, and could almost feel how crisp were the black curls that glistened in the candlelight. The serpentine green eyes he’d raised briefly to hers gleamed with humour. His low voice caressed her ears, and though he uttered the merest civilities, her heart had beat a devil’s tattoo in answer.

Contemptuous of superstition and magic, Lilith Davenant had never believed such a thing as fatal charm existed. Nevertheless, she could not deny the pull the marquess exerted upon her, which seemed to grow stronger each time she saw him.

With him, she was so tense she could scarcely think. Away from him, her mind churned with recollections of every word, every gesture, every expression and nuance of his too-handsome countenance. This was how thoroughly he had insinuated himself into her thoughts, after a mere handful of interactions in the three weeks since she’d found him half dead by the roadside.

Though Thomas made a creditable effort to keep by his lady, another siren call beckoned more irresistibly. In less than an hour, he was planted in a corner arguing with his Parliamentary colleagues.

Past experience told Lilith he would not be uprooted until supper, if then. Had one lady joined the group, she might have found an excuse to join as well, but few ladies would endure the somber debate above half a minute.

Cecily did not require her, being occupied with one partner after another. In the intervals between sets, the girl was speedily surrounded by young people—of both genders, Lilith was pleased to note. Her niece was lovely enough to inspire the most malicious sort of envy, yet her open, warm, unspoiled manner won feminine hearts instead of alienating them. There was no question of Cecily’s success—on every count.

Since she had no need to hover by her niece, Lilith walked with apparent ease among her many guests, chatting briefly before moving on. She found she needed to move on frequently. She would no sooner begin to relax with one cluster of guests than she would hear a familiar low-pitched voice somewhere in the vicinity. Lazy, insinuating, it would rise and fall amid the buzz and laughter of other voices. Though she moved from one group to the next, his voice seemed always nearby, until she began to feel—it was absurd, she knew—like a hunted creature, never allowed to rest.

She was trying to find a partner for Lady Shumway’s unfortunate granddaughter when Lilith saw Rachel try to draw Sir Thomas away from his discussion. Thomas only smiled absently and waved her away.

Lady Shumway’s charge was safely deposit

ed with a freckle-faced baronet in the nick of time, for in the next minute Rachel, all angry ruffles and ribbons, was charging at Lilith.

“It is no good telling Thomas,” Lady Enders said, vexed and red-faced. “Half the company speaks of nothing else, and no wonder. I have never seen anything so brazen as the way that wicked man looks at you. When Sally Jersey finally asked what made him stare so, he only laughed—I heard him myself—and claimed he was trying to devise a name for your new coiffure.”

It was only years of rigid discipline prevented Lilith from reaching up and ripping the orchids from her hair. Her grandmother’s lectures rang in her ears: “A lady never indulges in displays of emotion, regardless how great the provocation.”

She did not wring her hands, as Rachel was doing, or flush with embarrassment. “There are some persons,” Lilith answered coldly, “whose every word and action attracts notice. Lord Brandon is Society’s latest circus animal. When the novelty of his return wears off, everyone will leave off watching and commenting.”

This was uttered with such regal disdain that Rachel very nearly dropped a curtsy. “All the same, he ought have more consideration,” she said, hastily recovering. “He knows he’s the centre of attention, and therefore draws attention to you.”

“I have never heard it remarked Lord Brandon was a considerate man. Will you excuse me, please? I believe Cawble is having trouble with one of the footmen.”

Mrs. Davenanf s servants were far too greatly awed by their mistress to dare experience difficulties of any sort. She had simply told a falsehood in order to escape the company. She did not hurry from the ballroom, or along the hallway, yet she was short of breath when she reached the safety of the supper room.

Everything, of course, was as it should be. Cawble had made the punch himself from his own carefully guarded receipt, a copy of which any hostess in the ton would have given a vital organ to possess. There was an excellent nonalcoholic version and a sublime spirit-laden one. The cold dishes were artistically laid out. The warm ones would be served at the last possible moment. The china and plate, the table linens, the decorations—all was in perfect order, as Lilith ought to know, having reviewed the situation some fifty times already.