Fair Fatality Page 9

  This, then, was life among the haut ton? Crowded rooms where one could neither find place to stand comfortably nor breathe, where one was pushed about and shoved and kept in hothouse temperatures? Even one’s marriage, it appeared, would be conducted similarly, amid a crowd of curious people, under eyes quick to note faux pas and gauchery. To Arthur it all sounded very grim. He was a shy young man, and currently, marriage was not a topic which sat well with him.

  Nor were Arthur’s spirits elevated by the other on-dits which he overheard. Beau Brummell, having been denounced in White’s as a swindler by one Mr. Meyler, had fled to Calais on the same day that notables had thronged into the Queen’s House; and all the town was abuzz over a novel called Glenavron, a libel published anonymously by Lady Caro Lamb against her family and friends. Though Arthur had no inkling of who these people were, of one thing he was certain: Such goings-on wouldn’t be tolerated for one moment in the country.

  The entertainment having ended, the guests thronged into an adjacent chamber where a long table heavily laden with choice refreshments had been set up. Behind the table uniformed maidservants presented each guest with his or her request. Arthur had no appetite. He fetched a plate for Lady Easterling, but confined himself to a noble concoction of steaming port and roasted lemon. Even the punch, despite its excellence, failed to soothe. Arthur was destined to be immolated on the altar of filial duty, and he did not relish the prospective sacrifice. In the gloomiest of manner, he regarded Jaisy, who wore an evening dress of rose-pink crepe vandyked around the petticoat. It occurred to Arthur that Lady Easterling would meet with the approval of his father, a bluff and outspoken country squire whose existence was devoted to country pursuits and heavy drinking. It occurred to Arthur also that his own untenable position might be blamed directly upon his father’s voracious appetite for life.

  All the same, Arthur could not resent his father, of whom he was fond, despite the squire’s myriad character flaws; and no matter how he tried he could not enter into his sire’s undoubted sentiments on the subject of Lady Easterling. Fortunate, the dowager duchess had called him. Fortunate! Never had any young man been so lamentably out of favor with Dame Fortune. If Arthur failed to do his duty, his whole family would be made to pay the price of his negligence. He must gird his loins and screw up his courage and do the duty required of him by Lady Blackwood. Resolutely, Arthur ground his teeth.

  Deplorably frivolous as she was, rag-mannered and of a common turn of speech, Lady Easterling was also kind. No sooner did she become aware that Arthur’s lugubrious aspect was casting a damper on her own enjoyment than she determined to smooth the wrinkles from his brow. Jaisy had nothing against Arthur; it was not his fault he lacked town-bronze; she supposed Georgiana threw them so often into each other’s company so that Jaisy might impart to Arthur some of her own polish. There was no accounting for Georgiana’s whims, decided Lady Easterling, and pinched her companion’s arm. The dowager duchess no sooner finished scolding Jaisy for contumacious behavior than she indicated that Jaisy should show Arthur how to go on. In this matter, at least, Jaisy deemed it prudent to oblige.

  “What’s put you in a tweak?” she inquired of Arthur brightly. “I know; this sort of thing ain’t to your taste. I’ll tell you a secret: nor is it to mine! But it don’t do to say so to Georgiana, lest she get upon her high ropes. I daresay you wouldn’t like to see her take a distempered freak.”

  Certainly Arthur would not enjoy such a spectacle, which was one cause of his current distress; Georgiana would doubtless do that very thing, did he fail to comply with her devilish stratagems. He wondered if he dared inform Lady Easterling that the dowager duchess was nourishing a very evil design toward her.

  “Come, come!” Jaisy chided, blissfully unaware of the tenor of her companion’s melancholy thoughts, and unaware also of the dowager’s stratagems, acquaintance with which had rendered Arthur more dead than alive. “You must not look so Friday-faced or people will think you do not wish to be here, and that will never do! Later, when you are better established, you may look as bored as you please; but for now it is disastrous to display so great a degree of ennui.” Having dispensed this good advice, Lady Easterling beamed. “I know! You shall tell me about cockfights, like you promised. Easterling would never let me attend one — no, nor a bull-baiting, either! — which I thought very shabby behavior in him.”

  If the behavior of any Easterling was shabby, thought Arthur, it was not that of Jaisy’s deceased spouse. Arthur pondered Lady Easterling’s probable reaction to his revelation of the dowager duchess’s grand plan, and at the same time studied Jaisy’s lovely, willful little face. She would not like it, he decided. Probably she would rip up at him, her partner in misfortune, and the bearer of bad news.

  There must be some other solution to his dilemma, decided Arthur, in a manner that he freely admitted smacked of cowardice. He would pretend to go along with Lady Blackwood’s schemes, would evidence every indication of compliance, and meantime pray devoutly for heavenly intervention, and rescue from a fate the mere contemplation of which made his flesh crawl on his bones.

  As he pondered his fate, from all current appearances destined to be grim, Arthur obliged his companion as requested with a description of a cockfight. Gory as this pastime was — and for the sake of the thin-skinned reader, there will be no description included herein of the gruesome havoc wrought on one bird by another with sharp spur and claw and beak — its precedents were long-established. Cockfighting had been practiced in England even before the Romans arrived.

  Because Lady Easterling appeared so very interested in the subject, Arthur went on to explain the care and feeding of the fighting birds, whose diet included wheat flour, eggs and butter worked into a stiff paste and baked, and hot wine. Daily massage was highly recommended, he concluded sagely, and a salve of fresh butter mixed with leaves of rue and hyssop and rosemary was thought to be most efficacious. “It is a pity this isn’t the last century!” he added, in response to Jaisy’s expressions of envy. “Because it was nothing for fine ladies to attend cockfights then.”

  “Oh, yes!” Lady Easterling turned upon her escort a glance of such marked approval as to place them both temporarily in the good graces of the sharp-sighted dowager duchess, who from a discreet distance kept close watch on their progress. “And I should also like to make the acquaintance of Gentleman Jackson, who has a boxing academy in Bond Street, because I am a great follower of the Fancy, and John Jackson is known as the emperor of pugilism, even though he has fought only three battles in his life!” Arthur made a strangled noise and she giggled. “Silly gudgeon! I did not say I would do it, merely that I wished to. But I hear music! The dancing has begun.”

  With no little relief did Arthur learn that Lady Easterling sought no closer knowledge of a sport that had almost as adverse an effect on its exponents as cockfighting had on birds. Tactfully, he refrained from informing Jaisy that he considered her sporting predilections not only most unsuitable for a female of her station in life, but also quite frankly absurd. Simply put, Lady Easterling was very much of an oddity.

  Unaware also of this opinion — which, anyway, would merely confirm Lord Easterling’s profession that his wife was not cast in any ordinary mold — Jaisy chattered gaily to her companion. The reasons for this conviviality were threefold: Jaisy was very much in charity with Arthur, due to his graphic description of the cockfight; she thought the sight of herself enjoying the company of another gentleman might strike jealousy in Carlin’s breast; she had indulged somewhat more than was prudent in the noble punch.

  This latter indulgence — another less-than-ladylike preference learned from her late spouse — had inspired in her an urge for confidence. Arthur had been so kind as to explain to her a cockfight. In turn, she would drop a hint or two about the ways of the world. What better person to explain the universe than the lady around whom it revolved?

  Jaisy did not think of the matter in those precise terms, though had the viewpoint
been presented to her, she would doubtless have agreed. “It only wants a bit of resolution,” she said sternly, “to take the field. Throw your heart over and your horse is bound to follow! Why, look at me!” Jaisy preened. “I told Georgiana — or maybe it was Sara! — that I would make an eligible match quick as winking! And so I shall, no matter what Georgiana says!”

  Here was a topic near Arthur’s own heart. “What does Lady Blackwood say?”

  “Nothing civil, that’s for certain!” Enchantingly, Lady Easterling pouted. “Kind words from Georgiana are scarce as hen’s teeth. She’s forever boring on about my conduct, and threatening to send me back to the country — and so she would, I’ll warrant, did she but think I’d go! But she fears I wouldn’t, and would instead set up housekeeping on my own, which would be very awkward for her, and which is why she don’t wash her hands of me! Take a lesson from my book, Arthur, if you don’t want Georgiana to make a cat’s-paw of you! How pulled-about you look! I did not mean to put you on the fidgets! I daresay Georgiana only wants to see you comfortably bestowed!”

  The dowager’s notion of comfort, alas, did not accord with Arthur’s own; and Lady Easterling’s attempts to lighten his spirits had only deepened his gloom. In addition to her other numerous failings, Jaisy was also horridly headstrong, he realized. Wondering if increased acquaintance with the lady would reveal further defects of character, and fearing very greatly that it would, he regarded her.

  Lady Easterling did not note her companion’s drear expression; she was craning her lovely neck to see into a room that had been set up for dancing. “Arthur!” She pinched his arm. “Look, there is Carlin! Walk with me a way, so that he may see us, and invite me to stand up with him.”

  Relieved that he would not be immediately called upon to perform this duty, for he disliked to dance, Arthur gave Lady Easterling his arm. “Who is Carlin?” he inquired.

  “Do you not seen him? Over there, the superior-looking gentleman with brown eyes and hair. Oh, you mean who is he! Carlin is London’s most eligible bachelor, and rich as Croesus to boot — not that I care for that because my own pockets are very plump!”

  Lady Easterling was épris in that direction? Arthur, among whose plentiful siblings were several younger sisters, recognized the signs. Immediately his heavy spirits soared. He would strive his utmost to lend assistance to romance, a decision that would have greatly startled his own sisters, who had tried on several occasions to persuade Arthur to emulate Cupid, but in vain.

  “At home to a peg, is he not?” sighed Jaisy, as their steps brought them closer to the viscount. “Prime and bang up to the mark! A regular Trojan! You must promise not to mention Carlin to Georgiana, Arthur; she’s taken it into her head that my bold manners have given him a disgust, and doesn’t believe he can be brought to pop the question. Which is all a great piece of poppycock!”

  Was it? Once more Arthur’s spirits plummeted. “As close as oysters!” He promised, all the same.

  “Oh, look!” In a positively disgraceful manner, Jaisy clutched at his arm. “Carlin must not have seen us; he is taking his leave. I must speak with him, Arthur! Can we not walk a little more quickly?”

  But Carlin had seen them; Arthur had observed his start of recognition, and the abrupt beeline he had made in another direction. Clearly, the gentleman did not wish to encounter Lady Easterling. It would appear that, as regarded Carlin, the dowager duchess’s conclusions had been correct.

  “Flimflam!” retorted Lady Easterling, with a flashing eye, when thus informed. “Of all the unjust things to say! I’ll warrant you are merely jealous because I do not fancy you! Well, I do not meant to stand here and argue while Carlin gets away.”

  “Hang it!” uttered Arthur, and then abruptly closed his mouth. Well did he know the aspect of a young lady on the verge of a temper tantrum, and Lady Easterling had very much that look. Too, presentation to Lady Easterling of his frank assessment of her character, person and habits of speech would not advance fulfillment of the mandate laid upon him by the dowager duchess.

  Furthermore, while he sought to control his temper, Lady Easterling had abandoned him to make her way through the crowd. She was headed straight for the doorway where Carlin stood in conversation with his host. Silently cursing all strong-minded females, Arthur followed.

  He caught up with her soon enough; Jaisy had stopped dead in her tracks, on her beautiful features a look of stunned disbelief. That expression struck Arthur as very queer. Then he, too, came within earshot of the two gentlemen in the doorway, and Lady Easterling’s shock was easily explained.

  “I would not say so to anyone but you,” murmured Carlin, whose back was to them, “but the chit is a young woman of very singular character, capricious and eccentric, eternally exhibiting the most boundless effrontery!” His companion made an unintelligible comment. “You may be amused by her vulgarity and pretentious airs,” retorted Carlin, “but you aren’t in imminent danger of finding yourself leg-shackled to the chit. I would not put it past her to carry me off by force! Did I not name her well? Fair Fatality! Because I vow she will either drive me to take my life or her own!”

  So much for his brief vision of reprieve, thought Arthur, then winced as Jaisy’s fingernails dug into his wrist. It was not so very loud, the noise he made, but it was sufficient to make the gentlemen aware that their private conversation had drawn an audience.

  First to espy and recognize the white-faced Lady Easterling was their host. Upon receipt of that murmured explanation, Lord Carlin swung around. He looked no less furious than did Jaisy herself, thought Arthur, and wondered if he were about to find himself in the middle of a truly appalling scene.

  He did not; Lord Carlin was too much the perfect gentleman to grasp Lady Easterling by her lovely shoulders and shake her till her perfect teeth rattled in her head, as was his inclination at that moment. Instead, without a single word, he quit the scene.

  Eleven

  * * *

  Because there was only one reasonable means by which to relieve his exacerbated sensibilities, the next day found Lord Carlin in Jevon Rutherford’s lodgings, delivering himself of a veritable diatribe. This was couched in the least offensive terms due to Carlin’s gentlemanly habit; and consequently went rather wide of its target.

  Jevon supposed, had he asked, he might discover what the viscount was prosing on about; but Jevon had more serious matters to contemplate. Beyond noting that his friend seemed a trifle restive, Jevon paid him little heed. Mr. Rutherford had promised himself a visit to Blackwood House that afternoon, and therefore was very much occupied with thoughts of strategy. How would he approach his precious Sara, and how would she respond? An age had passed since their last meeting! Dared he hope she had begun to realize in the interim that the regard in which he held her was rather more than friendship? That only the most harrowing degree of self-control enabled him to suppress the impulse to sweep her off her feet and into his arms? Upon due reflection, Jevon ruefully decided that only a ninnyhammer could nurture such unfounded hopes. His Sara would be thinking no such thing, would be wholly occupied with his harum-scarum hoyden of a sister.

  Thought of Lady Easterling and Sara Valentine in, as it were, one breath, recalled to Jevon his pact. He had promised to intervene in the matter of Lord Carlin. Well, and had he not offered very good advice?

  That very advice Lord Carlin was discussing, and in tones that were far from appreciative. Just what maggot had the viscount taken into his head? Jevon frowned and put down the silver-backed brush with which he had been toying, and set himself to find out. But enlightenment was not so easily achieved. In one breath Kit denounced Lady Easterling — as bold and brass-faced a baggage as his lordship had ever seen — and in the next lamented that he must marry a chit for whom he didn’t care three straws.

  “The devil!” interjected Jevon, so startled that he knocked the silver-backed brush off the table where he had set it. “Who said anything about marriage?”

  “My father!” L
ord Carlin picked up the brush. “It is not a subject which I am eager to discuss! I hope I know my duty, and there’s an end to it! No Carlin has ever been less than honorable. I had hoped you might offer some advice along those lines, but I perfectly understand why you might be a trifle out of patience!”

  “You do?” Mr. Rutherford was not similarly blessed. “I beg you, explain!”

  Lord Carlin cast his friend a withering look, and made a very pungent reference to rubbing salt in open wounds, then added: “That accursed nickname!”

  “Ah!” Jevon was pleased to achieve even so small a degree of progress. “Fair Fatality! I don’t mind, why should I? In point of fact, I doubt that Jaisy herself took exception to it.”

  “Oh, no!” Lord Carlin replied bitterly. “I can tell you on the best authority that she did not! If she were not your sister, Jevon — but that’s neither her nor there. I wish you would tell me how the blazes one goes about developing a preference!”

  Upon receipt of this bizarre conception of romance — Lord Carlin appeared to think of Cupid as a habit to be cultivated — Mr. Rutherford quirked a golden brow. He was always ready to oblige a friend, however, particularly in those cases where to do so brought no perspiration to his own handsome brow. Jevon was a kindly soul, and genial, for all his innate laziness; and there was no gentleman alive better qualified to expound upon romance.