Chapter Three

“Thea!” Jeremy let out a bark of laughter. “Come, Mother, you can’t be serious! I admit I’m fond of Mrs. Jameson, but we are merely friends.”

“Then more fool you,” Lady Stanton retorted. “She would be the perfect wife for you. Especially after your unfortunate experiences in the war.”

“Mother—”

“Yes, I know, you don’t wish me to speak of them. Do you think I don’t know why you cannot settle down?” Lady Stanton’s eyes were sympathetic. “Mrs. Jameson is good for you. She calms you.”

“She is sharp-tongued, managing, and independent. You said yourself you think it’s scandalous that she manages her own stables.”

“Nonsense! I quite admire her for it. You really should consider her, Jeremy.”

“Mother.” Jeremy tugged at his neckcloth. “I am going to marry Miss Powell. I hope you will help make her welcome.”

Lady Stanton gave in with bad grace. “Oh, very well, I’ll do what I must. But don’t expect me to get her vouchers for Almack’s, Jeremy, for I fear it can’t be done!”

“If anyone can do it, you can, Mother.” Jeremy bent and kissed her on the forehead. “I must go. The Powells will likely be expecting me to call and see how they are settling in. They gave you their direction?”

“Yes, they are in Curzon Street. Jeremy.” She caught at his hands and looked up at him, anxiously. “You know I only wish you to be happy?”

“Yes, Mother.” Jeremy gently freed his hands. “I do know that.” He smiled at her and turned to go. His mother meant well, but she was wrong. Thea, as his wife? Ridiculous.

A few minutes’ brisk walk brought him to Curzon Street. Surprised though he was by the Powells’ quick appearance in town, he approved their choice of houses. If they wished to make an assault on the ton, they had at least chosen a good location, and that he credited to his future father-in-law. Mrs. Powell might be connected with trade, but Mr. Powell’s family was old and their heritage long. It was not such a mismatch as his mother feared.

“My lord!” Agatha Powell bustled across to him as he was shown into the drawing room. “Why, we didn’t expect you today. As you can see, we’re at all sixes and sevens.”

Jeremy held out his hand, forcing a smile to his lips. Lord, it was hard to believe that this woman was Evadne’s mother. Where Evadne was angelically fair, Mrs. Powell’s hair was steel gray and her skin was coarse. Evadne was slender; her mother was, to put it kindly, plump, and her stays creaked when she walked. And Mrs. Powell’s voice was loud and penetrating. Thank God Evadne did not resemble her. “You’ve chosen a good location,” he commented, after returning her greeting, and sneezed. “Excuse me.”

“Well, I should hope so, it cost enough! But, there, you won’t want to hear about that, I’ll be bound. Evadne! Where are you, girl?”

“Here, Mama.” Evadne came forward, her head demurely lowered. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said, peeping up at him through her lashes. Jeremy smiled at her, suddenly realizing why his mother’s wide-eyed look had been so familiar. Evadne looked at him the same way, he thought with amusement.

Jeremy sneezed again. Something in this room was bothering him, unless he were coming down with a cold. Come to think of it, he had had a cold when he had been in Berkshire. Odd. He was never ill. “Good afternoon, Evadne. You are settling in, I hope?”

“Oh, yes.” Evadne’s voice was breathless. “It’s all so exciting. I’ve never been to London before.”

“I’ll show you around,” he promised rashly as they sat down, Evadne and her mother on a sofa, he in an uncomfortably spindly arm chair of gilt and blue velvet. The drawing room was entirely furnished with such chairs, but, as the house was leased, that was not the Powells’ fault. However, Evadne’s gown, trimmed with several rouleaux about the hem and too many ruffles, was. Her mother’s taste, he supposed. He would have to do something about her clothes once they were married.

Over tea, they talked easily about the Powells’ journey and their visit to his mother, and discussed activities for the weeks to come. Mrs. Powell dominated the conversation, talking about the cost of Evadne’s new clothes, the vails one was expected to give to footmen as a tip, and asking how much admission was to the theatre or the opera. Through it all Evadne sat quietly beside her mother, her hands folded in her lap. Only occasionally did she glance up at Jeremy, the brightness of her eyes belying her meekness. She seemed not the least embarrassed by her mother’s obsession with money, which Jeremy was beginning to find rather funny. Thea would be amused by it, also, he thought, and rose abruptly, though a moment before he hadn’t planned to.

“I hope you will excuse me, ma’am, Evadne,” he said, taking Mrs. Powell’s hand. “I fear I have another appointment. However, I shall be happy to escort you to the opera tomorrow evening, if you wish.”

“That’s very gracious of you, my lord,” Mrs. Powell said. “Do you not agree, Evadne?”

“Oh, yes,” Evadne said, smiling so brightly that he was touched. Life in the country must be vastly dull for her, he was thinking, when, to his surprise, she went down on one knee. “Fluffy!” she exclaimed. Jeremy turned, startled, to see a large, brindled cat stroll into the room. It was an ugly cat, looking, with its notched ears, as if it belonged out on the streets rather than in a Mayfair drawing room, and yet it paused and surveyed the room’s occupants quite as coolly as any dowager. In no way did it resemble the name by which Evadne had called it. Jeremy stepped back, dismayed. He could feel the beginnings of another sneeze.

“Fluffy,” Evadne called again, beckoning with her hand. “Come to Mommy, precious.” The cat looked at her again and then, with unerring instinct, headed for the one person in the room who detested cats: Jeremy. Launching himself with a powerful leap, he jumped into Jeremy’s arms. Jeremy sneezed so explosively that the cat, startled, jumped down again, his sharp claws snagging Jeremy’s fine buff pantaloons and his fur flying all over the coat of dark green superfine.

“Fluffy!” Evadne flew across the room to the cat, which was crouched near the door, unconcernedly grooming himself. “Oh, dear. Do you not like cats, Stanton?”

“They make me sneeze,” Jeremy said, brushing his sleeve and blinking, hard. “I must be on my way. I shall see you tomorrow evening, then?”

“Yes, of course, Stanton. We’re looking forward to it,” Agatha said. Both ladies rose, and as Jeremy left the room he took with him the picture of them standing, Mrs. Powell with her bosom jutting like the prow of a ship, and Evadne, with the cat struggling in her arms. He felt briefly as if he had just escaped from Bedlam.

Agatha remained standing for a few moments. “That coat cost a pretty penny, I’ll warrant,” she murmured. “And boxes at the opera do not come cheap. And you, girl!” She rounded on Evadne, who was kneeling on the floor, stroking the cat. “When that cat jumped on Stanton I was like to swoon with embarrassment!”

“Fluffy was just being friendly, Mama,” Evadne said, hugging the cat again.

“Friendly! We are lucky Stanton didn’t cry off right then. I don’t know why you need must drag that mangy thing to town with us.”

“He would have been lonely. Wouldn’t you, my pretty little kitty?” she crooned. “Mommy’s little love.”

“He should get used to it. You may be certain that Stanton will not let you keep him when you marry.”

Evadne raised stricken eyes, and her lips set in a stubborn pout. “I won’t give Fluffy up! I won’t!”

“You’ll have no choice. Put him down now, and come sit with me. Come.” She patted the sofa imperiously, and reluctantly, Evadne came to join her. “Now. We have much to discuss. You’ve done well, girl, attaching Stanton. But now that you are in London, you may be able to do better.”

“But, Mama! I want to marry Stanton.”

“Now, really, girl, you’re not in love with him, nor he with you. It’s his title that’s important.” And Evadne’s dowry. Mrs. Powell was nothing if not realistic. She knew that her background, connected as it was with trade, was a handicap in the ton. She also knew that there were other noblemen besides Stanton who were in dun territory. That, along with Evadne’s prettiness, should make a potent combination. “But you may be able to find someone higher.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Evadne’s eyes looked dreamy. “Just think, Mama. I shall have the highest rank in the neighborhood.”

Agatha looked aghast at that thought, which had not occurred to her. She must be careful that, rank or not, Evadne knew where the true power lay in the neighborhood. “Of course, you shall have your mama to guide you,” she said, and it was Evadne’s turn to look alarmed. “I think it would be remiss of me not to tell you that the ton is very different from us. They care a great deal about manners, so I expect you to behave, miss.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“You must also realize, though, that they may not behave well. Particularly the gentlemen.”

Evadne looked up at that, and the dreamy look left her eyes. “I expect you mean that Stanton has a mistress.”

“I expect he does.” Agatha sat back, relieved. She had not raised her daughter to be ignorant of the facts of life, and she had no desire to send her unprepared into the world, advantageous marriage or not.

“I wonder what she is like.”

“That is neither here nor there,” Agatha said, sharply. “It is just something you will have to accustom yourself to.”

“Yes, Mama.” Evadne looked down at her clasped hands. Mama was wrong. It mattered very much what Stanton’s mistress was like. She would have to do something about it.

 

Jeremy brushed again at the sleeve of his coat as he walked along, frowning slightly. His visit to his intended had not gone quite as anticipated. Oh, she was as sweet as ever, but he had to admit that his mother had a point. Mrs. Powell was something of a dragon. Thank God his principal estate was in Kent, far from his future mother-in-law’s influence.

He had been walking without really noticing where he was going, but, looking up, he realized that he was near Thea’s house. Instantly his jangled nerves were soothed, and he took a deep breath. He could talk to Thea. She would understand, and sympathize. He also wanted to tell her that the Powells were in town before she heard it elsewhere, though why that was so important to him, he wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t until he had been led upstairs by Thea’s butler and heard voices coming from the drawing room that he realized he’d made a mistake. Devil take it, he’d forgotten this was Thea’s at-home day, and that she’d have guests. Now he wouldn’t be able to sit and talk with her as he had planned, to tell her about Evadne and to laugh with her. He was annoyed out of all reason at the thought.

His name was announced, and he strolled in, aware of people staring at him but not caring. There was Lord Jerrold, a dandy who lived for gossip; several matrons, watching avidly; and, to his immense surprise, his sister Margaret. He was used to being the subject of gossip; it was something he’d accustomed himself to in the past months of admittedly wild living. Let people talk. What he didn’t like was the way all eyes seemed to follow him as he crossed the room to where Thea sat, behind the tea tray, and took the hand she offered him. He and Thea were friends, nothing more. Why should there be this avid interest in their meeting?

“Stanton,” Thea said, smiling, though, he noticed, her eyes were just a little wary. That surprised him, too. “This is a pleasant surprise. Would you care for a dish of tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” He bent over her slender hand. She looked quite well today. She was wearing green, a color that complimented her delicate complexion and brought out the copper highlights of her hair. The high neck of the chemisette of white muslin filling in the low neckline emphasized the graceful curve of her throat. In contrast with Evadne’s fussy gown Thea’s was simplicity indeed, far more pleasing to the eye. A pity Thea couldn’t advise Evadne on fashion, but then, one didn’t ask one’s flirt to give advice to one’s fiancée. Was Thea his flirt?

“Jeremy!” A small, slender figure hurtled itself at him before he could contemplate that question, and he found himself hugging his sister. “Oh, ‘tis so good to have you back!”

“Meggie.” He hugged her briefly, before releasing her. “Quite improper behavior in you, you know.”

Meg tossed her curls, looking almost pretty. “As if you care what people say! You’re acquainted with Lord Danbury, are you not?”

“Of course.” Jeremy held out his hand to the very young, very callow man who hovered behind his sister. Viscount Danbury wasn’t known for his sense, but he was a far more suitable companion for Meg than Denby ever would have been. Thank God he’d scotched that match. No matter what his own circumstances would be, Meg was worth it. “I am surprised to see you here.”

Meg’s eyes danced with something that looked suspiciously like mischief. “I like Mrs. Jameson. One forgets that she is older.” She went quickly on before her brother could remonstrate with her. “What is that on your coat, Jeremy?”

Jeremy made a face and brushed at his sleeve again. He had no doubt whom to blame for the awkward position he was in. His mother, evidently, had been talking. “Cat hair.”

“What? But cats make you sneeze. How on earth—”

“Never mind,” he said, hastily, not wishing to mention Evadne in this group.

“Someone you don’t wish us to know about? Honestly, Jeremy!” Margaret’s eyes sparkled. “Don’t tell me you’ve found someone else, with Miss Powell in town?”

“How the deuce do you know that?” he exclaimed, glancing quickly over at Thea. She was staring at them, a cup held halfway to her lips and an arrested expression in her eyes. Lord, he was in for it now.

“I had it from our mother.” Margaret leaned forward. “I am so looking forward to seeing her, Jeremy, ‘tis been so long since we’ve met. Has she changed?”

“Yes, just have you have, Meggie.” He smiled at her. “That’s a pretty gown you’re wearing.”

“I collect you are trying to change the subject. Well, it won’t fadge. Come, Jeremy, I am dying of curiosity.”

“There’s not much to tell, Meg. Not here,” he added under his breath. Margaret stared at him for a moment, and then looked past him to Thea. Jeremy groaned, inwardly. His sister would never learn discretion.

Thea looked at Jeremy’s averted head and set down her cup. “I must admit to being curious, too, Jeremy,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “There’s no help for it, you know.”

Jeremy smiled at her, grateful to her for rescuing him from an uncomfortable situation. She deserved better than this. He’d hurt her. He could see it in her eyes, making him curse himself for a clumsy fool. For all Thea’s serenity, there was sometimes a vulnerability to her that made him want to protect her. With a jolt, he realized that his friendship with her might very well be in danger, all because of his sister’s indiscretion and his own tardiness in speaking with her. That hurt more than he would have thought.

“They are in Curzon Street,” he said, turning to his sister. “Likely they’ll have a ball, once Evadne has been presented, and Mama will try to get vouchers for Almack’s for her.”

“That’s not what she said,” Margaret murmured, just loudly enough for him to hear. He had to resist the impulse to strangle her. What was the matter with the females of his family? “She told me she was feeling fatigued.”

“I see,” Jeremy said, his eyes meeting hers briefly. Both knew well that Lady Stanton pleaded fatigue only when there was something didn’t wish to do.

“Nothing serious, I hope, Stanton?” Thea said, and Jeremy looked at her. She was smiling, with just a hint of concern in her eyes, and for some reason he felt chagrined. Did she not feel the slightest bit jealous at hearing about his fiancée? Did she not care that he was marrying another? And here he’d been so concerned about her feelings.

“No, nothing. I expect she’ll recover in time for the wedding,” he said abruptly, and rose. “I must leave. I’ve an appointment with my man of business.”

“Of course.” Thea smiled so warmly that he felt annoyed all over again. Barely returning the smile, he bowed over her hand, and then, with a nod to the others, strode out.

Thea watched him go, her brow smooth in spite of her inner turmoil. Well! This would make another tit-bit for the gossips to discuss, the way Jeremy had come to her and told her about his fiancée. Men! she fumed silently, as she poured another cup of tea for a guest. They had no idea of how difficult they could make life, with their careless disregard for others’ feelings. He had come in, made his startling announcement, and then left, leaving her to bear the brunt of everyone’s sly glances and excited chatter. She and Jeremy were friends, merely. She knew that, and so did the rest of the fashionable world. That didn’t mean, however, that their friendship was immune from gossip. As she sat politely listening to Lord Jerrold, seated beside her and speculating about Miss Powell, Thea smiled, hiding her anger, and another feeling. Jeremy was marrying another. She had never felt quite so lonely in her life.

 

Hanson came into the breakfast room the next morning as Thea was finishing her chocolate. “Excuse me, ma’am. Mr. Thorne is here.”

Thea looked up, the circles under her eyes testimony to the hours she had lain awake the night before. “My brother?” She set down her coffee cup. “Did he say what he wants?”

“No, ma’am. I’ve put him in the morning room.” He hesitated. “I have the impression that it is a delicate matter.”

Thea’s lips tucked back with annoyance. Of course it was a delicate matter. With Francis it usually was. “Very well, Hanson. I’ll see him.” Rising, she tossed her napkin onto the table, next to her plate, still half-full. A moment later she walked into the morning room.

“Francis?” she said, and the young man who was standing by a window turned and smiled. He looked much more like their father than she did; he had the same lean, rangy height, the same fine, fair hair, the same patrician, chiseled profile. And, Thea noted with dismay, the same air of seedy dissipation, the circles under his eyes and the barely-discernible softening of his jaw, though he was only three and twenty. “What do you here, this morning?”

“Hullo, Thea.” He crossed the room to kiss her cheek. “Can’t a man visit his sister without facing an inquisition?”

“You usually don’t,” she pointed out as she sat down. “Are you in another scrape?”

“Do I have to be in a scrape to visit you?” he said, hotly, and Thea’s eyebrows rose.

“Usually. Out with it, Francis.”

“Oh, the devil—you’re right, Thea. I’m in trouble this time. I’ve lost money gambling.”

Thea’s face grew stony. “How much?”

“I didn’t mean to, you know.” Francis’s voice was coaxing. “Luck was running with me and I thought I’d make a recover—”

“Stop trying to cut a wheedle! How much?”

“Dash it, but you’re dashed unsympathetic, Thea! You might understand that sometimes a man can’t help these things.”

Thea leaned her head back, closing her eyes tiredly. “You sound so like our father.”

“Thea!”

“Well, you do.” She gazed at him steadily. “Well?”

“Oh, the devil,” he muttered. “A thousand pounds.”

Thea drew in her breath. “What! Whatever were you thinking of, Francis?”

“I told you. I kept thinking I’d make a recover.”

“And if you didn’t, you’d come to me.” She stared at him and he, sprawled in an armchair, could not meet her eyes. “I’m tempted, Francis, not to pay this time.”

“You can’t do that!” he said, alarmed. “It must be paid.”

“You should have thought of that before you started playing so deep. Where was it, at White’s?” Francis muttered something in reply. “Excuse me?”

“I said it was at a gaming hell, Thea,” he said defiantly, staring straight back at her.

Thea gripped the arms of her chair. “I suppose you were with those rackety friends of yours?” Her voice was dangerously soft. “Pelham and Monkford and—who else?”

“It doesn’t signify,” he muttered. “Thea, please. This is a debt of honor.”

“Oh, yes. Men and their precious honor,” she said, bitterly. “It needs must be satisfied, no matter the price.”

“All right then, dash it, I’ll go to a moneylender—”

“You most certainly will not! Though I should let you. Maybe it would teach you a lesson.” She sighed. “I am getting very tired of towing you out of the river Tick, Francis. I haven’t worked as hard as I have to support your gambling.”

“I know, Thea. I wouldn’t ask if there were anyone else.” He smiled again, and dispassionately she noticed how charming a smile it was. As their father’s had been, and look how he had ended up, in debt till the day he died. “Please?”

Thea let out her breath. “Oh, very well. But this is absolutely the last time, Francis.”

He beamed at her. “It will be, oh best of sisters. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Thea looked at him for a moment and then nodded decisively. “That I can guarantee.” She crossed to her desk and quickly scratched a few words on a piece of paper. “Take this to my man of affairs. He’ll give you a checque. But.” She pulled the note back as he reached for it. “You’ll have to earn this.”

“Yes, Thea, I’ll do anything. Maybe I could work it off at that farm of yours.”

Thea’s eyebrows rose. “You’d want to?”

“Well, no,” he said, frankly. “But it would be something to do.”

He sounded so world-weary that Thea’s brow furrowed as she handed him the note. “Are you bored, Fran? Tired of all the drinking and gambling you’ve done since leaving Oxford?”

“Everyone does it. Even your friend Stanton.”

“My friend Stanton, as you put it, can afford it.” Now that he has a wealthy fiancée. “There must be something you want to do with your life.”

“What?” Francis rose, pacing restlessly back and forth. “Father left me without an estate, which is probably just as well, considering the shape he left it in. The war’s over, so the army’s no good. And I can’t go into trade.”

“Why not?” Thea asked, and Francis stared at her. “There are some perfectly decent people in trade.”

“Bad ton, Thea,” he said, shocked. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing.”

“Is it so terrible to think of working for a living? I’d be willing to stake you to something, if it were what you wished to do.” Her lips curved. “I’d suggest a gaming hell of your own, but you seem to be particularly inept at that.”

Francis returned her rueful smile. “Damn, I’m sorry, Thea. I’ve put us both in the devil of a coil.”

“No, it’s not that. I worry about you, Francis. If you keep on this way you’ll end up worse than Father.”

Francis shuddered. “God knows I don’t want that. But is there anything wrong with a fellow enjoying himself?”

Thea bit back a smile at the plaintive note in his voice. Sometimes he seemed so young. “No, Francis. Just don’t carry it to such extremes.” She rose, tucking her arm through his as they walked toward the door. “I won’t be going down to Linwood just yet, so you have a reprieve. In the meantime, will you promise to escort me when I need you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then please be here at nine tonight to escort me to Almack’s.”

“Almack’s!” Francis looked horrified. “That dull place? I’m sorry, Thea, I’ve plans for tonight.”

“Have you?” Thea said, her voice deceptively pleasant, and Francis cast her a look.

“Oh, the devil. I know better than to argue with you when you’ve that look in your eyes. Very well, oh best of sisters.” He bent to kiss her. “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” Thea said again, and smiled as he left.

The smile faded, though, as she turned back into the room. Truth to tell, she wasn’t looking forward to the evening any more than Francis was. For Jeremy was certain to be there, with his fiancée. And what she would do when she saw them together, God only knew.

 

It was nearly time to leave, and still Thea hadn’t decided which gown to wear. Ordinarily her choice of frock mattered little, since she wasn’t on the catch for a husband, and she cared not what the gossips said about her. Tonight, though, was different. Tonight Jeremy and his fiancée would be present. She could still remember the way he had looked when he had said Miss Powell was beautiful. He’d never looked at her like that. Not that she wanted him to, of course, they were merely friends, but still, it was quite annoying.

And so, tonight it mattered how she dressed. Certainly she had enough from which to choose. Since putting off her blacks Thea had indulged herself, buying gowns with the new, longer skirts in the bright, vibrant colors she loved. There were gowns of gold tissue and emerald silk, crimson gauze and azure muslin, all beautiful, all appealing. The only problem was, she had yet to find the courage to wear any of them. As a young girl she had longed for more flamboyant styles, but the years of her marriage had changed her. She knew she was not beautiful; Hugh had taught her that. Much as she loved her new gowns, she knew deep inside that she would never wear any of them. They required a woman sure of her attractiveness.

On impulse she pulled out a gown of sapphire blue satin and stared at it, shaking her head. What in the world had possessed her to buy it? Besides being such a bright color, its cut was positively indecent, so low at the neck that it bared her shoulders, cut in such a way that it draped over her curves, leaving little to the imagination. She would only make herself a figure of fun, an old woman trying to look young. The burgundy silk was a much better choice. Much safer.

Thea felt much more confident as she entered Almack’s that evening. As usual the fashionable assembly rooms were crowded; looking around, she concluded that many who mattered in the ton were in attendance, along with young ladies still hopeful of catching a husband. She smiled at the patronesses, who returned the greeting with great condescension, and greeted acquaintances. Her eyes went around the room, and settled unerringly on Jeremy, standing with a group of people.

Her breath caught. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he was so handsome, but it did, every time. He was, again, in faultless black and white, the sapphire stickpin thrust into the folds of his neckcloth shining almost as brilliantly as his eyes. He was so alive, so vital, that he made every man in the room pale in comparison. And he wasn’t alone. Hanging on his arm was a vision in pink and gold, garbed in a frilly white muslin gown and dimpling up at a dazed-looking Lord Ware. Jeremy’s fiancée. It had to be, she thought, and felt the world crumble beneath her feet. Never before had she felt so lost, or so alone.

The girl took Jeremy’s arm, looking up at him with the same sweet smile with which she had favored Lord Ware, and Jeremy smiled back. It broke Thea out of her trance. Anger, more familiar and so much safer than the unfamiliar sensations she’d had a moment before, began to fill her. Miss Evadne Powell, if such she was, was a fool. Imagine flirting with another man, any other man, with Jeremy standing next to her! Jeremy deserved better. Jeremy, she thought with a little shock that went all the way to her toes, deserved her.