Knave's Wager

Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Davenant reappeared at the dressmaker’s. Instead of her niece, she brought a footman, who carried several large packages. Mrs. Davenant explained she’d lost some weight. Perhaps Madame would be so kind as to make a few alterations?

Madame contemplated the dismal colours, then her client, then shook her head sadly. “I never speak ill of a colleague,” she said, “but sometimes I do not understand what they’re thinking of.”

“These were made precisely as I ordered,” was the defensive answer.

“Yes, madam, and the question I ask is ‘Why?’ Meaning no offence, because I’d never question your taste. But this taupe...” She took up the offending garment and pursed her lips. “Enough fabric here for two gowns. Such a waste.” She shook her head again. “It wouldn’t trouble me if you had flaws to conceal, but with your figure... well, I can’t understand why the gown had to be made like an overcoat.”

So saying, and without appearing to hear any of her customer’s stammering negatives or observe the crimson repeatedly suffusing the lady’s face, Madame proceeded to measure and pin and snip and slash.

What she proposed might be an outrage to her client’s sensibilities, but the client was no match for the evangelical fervour that possessed Madame Germaine. It was in vain to protest that one felt half naked, when one’s dressmaker only cried, “Precisely!” and flourished her scissors like a sword.

Chapter Thirteen

Mrs. Davenant’s altered garments began making their appearance the following week.

Tonight, at Almack’s, she was dressed in the same taupe gown she’d worn to the Countess Lieven’s party. Well, not quite the same. At least a yard of fabric was gone from the skirt, causing it to hug her hips as it had never done before. Madame had insisted “only an inch” was taken from the bodice. This was the grossest of understatements.

Though such renovated costumes did not trigger quite the sensation the blue silk had, they continued to win admiring glances, and not a little flattery. Even Cecily’s beaux seemed less intimidated. Sir Matthew Melbrook had begged a dance of the heretofore terrifying dragon aunt, and Mr. Ventcoeur, Lilith was told, had startled his friends by boldly asserting that Mrs. Davenant had a sense of humour.

Lilith bit her lip. She’d heard that from Lord Brandon.

Determined, apparently, to be the gossiping sort of Mend, he’d begun sharing with her every on dit that came to his ears. What he didn’t hear, he invented, leaving her laughing helplessly at outrageous stories of Lady Shumway’s passionate affairs with a series of fictitious Cossacks, or the ancient Lord Hubbing’s adventures at Vauxhall, or any of a host of other imaginative atrocities.

Yet, ever since Lady Gaines’s ball, he’d become the confiding sort of friend as well, because he had a knack for getting past Lilith’s guard. Once launched upon the topic of Derbyshire, she was easily led to more personal subjects: her grandparents, her childhood, the young parents she scarcely remembered, her nurse, her governess, her studies. Somehow, too, she’d revealed something of her own girlish dreams and hopes, even as she thought she spoke of Cecily and Georgiana and the rest.

But a few weeks ago, uttering one sentence to him had been an effort, because his presence disturbed her so. Of late, the struggle was to keep from telling him every thought and feeling.

It was a struggle now to keep her eye on Cecily, dancing with Mr. Ventcoeur, rather than on the tall, dark form that moved so gracefully through Almack’s throng.

Lilith never knew when she’d find Brandon at her side. She knew only that he always came, and they would dance once and talk a great deal. Strangely enough, no one else seemed to regard this new camaraderie.

Perhaps the Great World was preoccupied, as Thomas was, with Louis XVIII’s arrival in France and its consequences. More likely, Society wasn’t remotely interested in so dull a matter as mere friendship between a man and a woman.

After all, Lord Brandon’s compliments were light and civil, no more. He scarcely flirted with her lately, though other gentlemen did.

This quieted Lilith’s conscience somewhat, but not altogether. She had no defence against his amiability, no excuse for shunning him, yet she wished she had.

She could no longer deny she’d been drawn to him from the start, attracted in spite of herself by his compelling physical beauty and charm. Now the pull was stronger. She’d discovered kindness, sense, compassion, intelligence—oh, and too many common interests.

Or so it seemed. She frowned.

“Your brows are knit,” came a low voice behind her. “Brummell will be cross with you for wrinkling the flawless surface of your complexion.’’ The marquess moved to her side, brushing her arm in the process.

“I can live with his disapproval,” Lilith answered coolly enough. “Until a week ago, the only notice I got was a singularly pained expression whenever he happened to glance my way.”

“Which only shows he’s not so discerning as he appears. Why do you linger in this dismal corner? Are you hiding from your beaux? Or waiting for one? If so, he’s unforgivably dilatory. I’d better take his place and teach him a lesson.”

Lilith caught the edge of impatience in his voice. Wondering at it, she threw him a puzzled glance. He stood with his usual careless grace, but the tension in that stance was not usual. He seemed... angry?

“What is it?” he asked. “Have you discovered a crease in my lapel?”

“If I had, I should never dare tell you, for fear your valet would be found murdered in the morning. You seem a trifle out of sorts this evening, my lord,” she said frankly.

Surprise flickered in his green eyes, only to be hooded in the next instant. “Hardly. I’ve been dead bored, as usual— until now, of course.”

“You were with Thomas. If he bores you so much, I wonder you bother to speak with him at all.”

“I’m obliged to appear as friendly with the gentleman as I am with his fiancée. If I’m not, my motives become suspect, and the fiancée suffers for it. Society punishes the victim, while the alleged criminal goes scot-free. A curious kind of justice, is it not?”

“Society is hardly a court of law,” she answered uneasily. “One might well be blamed for not avoiding dangerous company.”

“You think so? Why shouldn’t my alleged victim decide for herself whether I’m a menace? You believe we must none of us think for ourselves, but always adhere to the general opinion?”

More disquieted still, she glanced away. “I used to wonder how Eve could have been so foolish as to listen to the serpent. But whenever you and I debate morality, I can only conclude he must have had your gift for turning right and wrong inside out, plain black and white to shades of grey.”

“It isn’t morality we discuss, but the appearance of it. My wish to enjoy your company is a crime for which you’ll be punished, unless I dress it up as a general wish to enjoy every damn fool’s company as well.”

“Sir Thomas is not a fool,” Lilith reproved, as she must. “Because he isn’t as witty and entertaining as you, you find him boring. All the same, he doesn’t want intelligence.”

“He wants something in his upper story—or in his heart—to neglect you so shamefully. If you were my affianced bride, I’d exploit the privilege. I’d talk with you the whole day and dance with you all the night.”

She made herself smile and pretend he’d spoken lightly, though the intensity burning in his eyes told her otherwise. “That is mere theory. When you get a fiancée, we shall discover whether or not you live in her pocket.”

“I don’t speak of imaginary females. It’s your company I want, your voice I want to hear,” he said, his tones dropping lower. “It infuriates me—he can have all I want so easily, incurring no one’s displeasure, and he doesn’t care. I meanwhile must make do with five minutes snatched here, ten stolen there. I must amiably accept every interruption, all the while anxious lest your reputation be sullied by my contaminating presence. God knows,” he went on with suppressed fury,

“I don’t dare touch you.”

Thus he shattered all the fragile tranquility she’d achieved in the last few days.

She’d wanted his company too. She’d needed to look at him, hear his voice, find him near. No wonder her conscience would not be quieted. Under the veneer of friendship, her shameful longing had only grown. Why else should he make her heart ache when he spoke so?

“You will not disparage Sir Thomas to me,” Lilith made herself say. “Our relationship is our own affair.”

“What of ours, Lilith?” he demanded. “Is this all there is for us? Are we to share nothing but what can be found in a few minutes, with all the world watching and listening?”

She remembered where she was then, and made herself glance easily about her. Lady Jersey was smiling at her. Lilith smiled back, before turning again to the marquess.

“Perhaps,” she said, “we’d better not share even that.” And with the same civil smile pinned to her face, she walked away.

“How kind of you to take so much trouble for me,” Miss Glenwood told Lord Robert as he swept her into the waltz. “I was sure it would be months before the patronesses let me waltz.”

“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” he said. “Why shouldn’t they let you? They’ve all had plenty of time to approve your behaviour, the tiresome prudes.”

“Still, I was much amazed when the Countess Lieven presented you.”

“Because she’s so haughty? Or did you think I wasn’t a respectable enough partner?”