Earl's Invention Read online

  “How lovely,” her ladyship cooed again. “And how delightful that Miss Carlisle so unexpectedly graced you with her company.”

  Was the breathless little voice embroidered with sarcasm, Bonnie wondered, or was she hearing echoes of her own overwrought imagination? Whatever the case, David offered no response to Lady Pamela’s final comments; and in the ensuing silence, the tuning of the orchestra grated most unpleasantly on Bonnie's ears. To her relief, the musicians soon seemed satisfied with their screechings and struck up a sprightly tune.

  “The ride-a-mile!” Lady Pamela clapped her hands with joy. “As you know, Lord Sedgewick, it is my favorite dance, and I shall be bitterly disappointed if you do not ask me to stand up.”

  “I should certainly do so were it not for Bonnie,” the earl said regretfully. His arm was still loosely draped around her shoulders, and he now pulled her closer and beamed fondly down at her. “However, since my niece is a stranger to London, I feel I should grant her my undivided attention—

  “Lord Sedgewick? Miss Carlisle!” Lady Lambeth sounded even more breathless than Lady Pamela, and she was fairly sprinting toward them, dragging an as yet unidentifiable figure in her wake. “Forgive me if I intrude,’’ she wheezed, screeching to a stop, “but I did promise to introduce Miss Carlisle to my son. And here he is, Miss Carlisle—my son Hugh, Viscount Lambeth.”

  The viscount did bear an unfortunate resemblance to his mother, Bonnie observed as Lady Lambeth prodded him forward for her inspection. But he reminded her of someone else as well, and after a moment of discreet study, she realized that his lank brown hair and small gray eyes were astonishingly like Mr. Crawford’s. It seemed enormously, if perversely, amusing that she should have at last gained entry to the ton only to be confronted by this ghost of her former parti; and she was hard put to stifle a rather hysterical giggle.

  “I am sure Lord Sedgewick will not object if you stand up with his niece, Hugh.”

  Lady Lambeth’s tone was one of such authority that Bonnie doubted God himself would dare to pose an objection, and with a stiff bow, David removed his arm from her shoulders. Lady Pamela promptly grasped said arm in one of her tiny hands and tugged the earl happily toward the floor, leaving Bonnie and Viscount Lambeth to follow well behind them.

  “Mama advises me that you are excessively fond of dogs,” the viscount said, awkwardly shuffling his feet as he strove to find the beat of the orchestra.

  In point of fact, Bonnie had never owned a dog, knew virtually nothing about them; and she was at a loss to conceive what she would say if he demanded she enumerate the many canine varieties which presumably inhabited her magnificent home in the Indies. In the event, however, she was not required to utter a single word, for Lord Lambeth immediately launched into a description of the imaginative breeding program he had applied to his own hunting dogs. His explanation of the details skirted the bounds of propriety more than once, but Bonnie was so grateful to be spared the necessity of

  conversation that she willed herself to appear fascinated rather than shocked.

  The end of the viscount’s discourse fortunately coincided with the end of the second set they danced—a waltz during the course of whirh Lord Lambeth revealed himself considerably less accomplished than Herr Mueller. Indeed, his numerous missteps had set Bonnie to limping again, but she was granted no respite because Sir James Clayton was waiting to stand up with her. (Or Claymore maybe; his flowery introduction was half-drowned by the inevitable retuning of the orchestra.) Whatever his surname. Sir James’s interest was in horses, and at the conclusion of his lecture, Bonnie was persuaded she could make her fortune in one short day at Newmarket if only she had a farthing to wager.

  Following their boulanger. Sir James presented Bonnie to one of his relatives, the Honorable Clement Aldrich. (She believed Mr. Aldrich was Sir James’s cousin, but, again, the cacophonous squealing of the orchestra rendered the exact connection uncertain.) At any rate, Mr. Aldrich was evidently a radical reformer of some sort, for he punctuated both their dances with pithy quotes from The Black Dwarf, The Republican, and several other revoluntionary journals.

  Despite, or perhaps because of, Mr. Aldrich’s unorthodox political views, he was the last partner Bonnie entirely remembered; the young men who subsequently escorted her to the floor seemed to run more or less together. She could not recollect whether Lord Ravenshaw or Sir Lionel Varden expressed a particular affinity for the opera, and though she thought it was Captain Darnell who had recently served in India, she was compelled to own that it might be Major Niven. Eventually she insisted she could dance no more— which was far from being a lie inasmuch as her feet were throbbing and her ankles visibly swollen—and hobbled to a chair in the remotest comer of the room. Perhaps, if she sat very quietly, she would merge into the wallpaper, no one would notice her, and she would not have to move till the earl was ready to leave . . .

  As it happened, Bonnie was not required to move, but neither did she go unnoticed. To the contrary, a gaggle of admirers soon clustered round her chair and began to vie for the privilege of satisfying Miss Carlisle’s every whim. Lord Lambeth was the first to act, but even as he raced toward the refreshment parlor to obtain a plate of oysters, Sir James sniffed his opinion that oysters were out of season.

  “Not much out of season," he conceded with another sniff, “but questionable nonetheless. I consequently eschew oysters at this time of year and eat cheese instead. Permit me to fetch you some cheese, Miss Carlisle.”

  Sir James galloped off in Viscount Lambeth’s wake, and before he had disappeared. Captain Darnell volunteered to search for a glass of champagne. His tone suggested that this project was a perilous military mission, and he executed it accordingly: threading his way across the dance floor as though it were strewn with unexploded shells and the dancers were enemy troops. However, his noble effort ultimately proved gratuitous, for while he was gone, one of the many circulating footmen passed by a few feet away; and Sir Lionel bounded forward, plucked a glass from his tray, and triumphantly presented it to Bonnie.

  Thus it was that Bonnie shortly found herself with a plate of oysters, a plate of cheese, and two glasses of wine; and as she attempted to juggle this bounty without spilling anything, her companions embarked upon a lively verbal sparring match. Their debate, if spirited, was polite enough until Mr. Aldrich pronounced his opinion that the money squandered on horses used for sport was a typical example of the decadent excesses of the unjust society in which they lived. Sir James retorted that Clement always had been a “muttonheaded sapskull," and Bonnie believed they might well have come to cuffs had Lord Ravenshaw not stepped hastily between them.

  Unfortunately, his lordship’s intervention served to remind Mr. Aldrich of another decadent excess, and he sternly advised Lord Ravenshaw that after the reformers had accomplished their objectives, opera would no longer be reserved for the “privileged few.” Indeed, Mr. Aldrich added darkly, it was entirely possible that Lord Ravenshaw would be unable to procure a seat at the King’s Theatre. It soon appeared they might come to blows, and Bonnie cast desperately about for some harmless topic toward which to redirect to the conversation. “I trust you will pardon my intrusion?”

  Bonnie started, and the multitudinous plates and glasses skittered alarmingly across her knees. Her imagination had definitely outstripped her senses now, she decided, for she would have sworn before any magistrate in the land that David’s polite words were once more tinged with sharpness. Which was absurd, of course, because he had absolutely no reason to be vexed.

  She glanced cautiously up, but he was standing with his back to the nearest chandelier, and the shadows reduced his eyes to dark, unreadable pools in his face. In fact, she could not even clearly see his face, and she chose to believe she was also imagining his grim, unsmiling countenance.

  “D . . . Uncle David!” she said brightly. “Permit me to present my ... my friends—”

  “I am well acquainted with your friends,” the earl interpose
d. “Good evening, Ravenshaw. Clayton. Varden . . ." He continued to recite their names—sounding much as Teddy Powell had when Bonnie instructed him to identify the Tudor monarchs—until he had addressed the full circle. “Now, if I may repeat myself, I trust you will pardon my intrusion. It is long after midnight, and I should like to take Bonnie home.” Bonnie’s newfound friends greeted this announcement with suitable gallantry. Was it really so late? How swiftly time fled in the immeasurably enjoyable company of one so charming as Miss Carlisle. Perhaps they would see her at Almack s tomorrow evening or, barring that, at General Whitfield's ball on Friday. And there was a whole host of assemblies next week . . .

  They were still chattering in this vein when David stepped forward, snatched the plates and glasses from Bonnie’s lap. and belatedly looked about for a place to put them. There was no such place, of course; Bonnie had long since ascertained that the nearest table was many yards distant. But the earl—evidently undeterred by the possibility of breakage— crashed the crystal pieces on the floor, yanked Bonnie up from her chair, and began to propel her out of the ballroom.

  He was vexed, Bonnie admitted at last, and her feet started to throb again as she strove to match his long strides. Though she would not have believed it possible, he quickened his pace when they reached the stairs, and she tripped twice as they hurtled downward. Indeed, she fancied she would have fallen had his lean fingers not been snaked around her elbow; as it was, he jerked her upright and dragged her relentlessly ahead. He released her only when they were on the footpath, fairly flinging her arm away as he curtly desired one of Lady Lambeth’s servants to summon his carriage.

  “It ... it was a lovely ball, was it not?” she ventured, discreetly massaging her elbow.

  “Umm,” he growled.

  Bonnie interpreted this to mean that he had not thought it a lovely ball, but since another half-dozen of her ladyship’s servants hovered just behind them, she elected not to pursue the subject. Instead they stood in silence until—at endless length, it seemed—the barouche rolled to a stop in the street. David stalked forward and climbed into the carriage, leaving Bonnie to the mercy of the footmen; and when she was safely seated, the barouche clattered to a start. They trotted round Berkeley Square, and as they turned into Davies Street, Bonnie could bear the silence no longer.

  “Why are you in such a flame?” she demanded. The earl said nothing. “Don’t deny you’re vexed with me; it’s prodigious clear you are.” He did not deny it; he said nothing. “I can only collect I said something wrong, and you’d do well to tell me what it was lest I repeat the mistake in future.”

  “I have no conceivable means of knowing whether you said something wrong or not,” he snapped. “Surely you recall that I was not privy to your numerous conversations. I fervently pray you did not commit any fatal verbal error, for if you did, it will be heard in every comer of London by dawn. Inasmuch as you stood up with every eligible buck in the city tonight. That was, of course, before you retired from the floor and began to conduct your own private assembly.”

  “I was very far from wanting to conduct a private assembly,” Bonnie protested. “In fact, I sat down to rest—”

  “Ah. yes, forgive me,” David inteijected, his voice now dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, now you mention it, I do recall that you were frantically attempting to drive your suitors off when I arrived on the scene.”

  “What is your point?” Bonnie was growing excessively vexed herself. “Did your niece disgrace you by attracting undue attention?” The earl gazed stonily out of the carriage. “If so, I should like to remind you that you drew attention to me in the first place.”

  “I?” He spun his head back toward her.

  “Yes, it was you who told Lady Lambeth my father possessed a vast fortune.”

  “I did not do so to draw attention to you,” David said coolly. “To the contrary, I felt such a fabrication necessary to dispel unfavorable attention. To moderate the inevitable prejudice against Cornelia’s daughter. You must understand that her marriage was the greatest scandal of its time, and those of Lady Lambeth’s generation have not forgotten it."

  “I do understand,” Bonnie said. She did not wish—had never wished—to quarrel with him, and she tendered a conciliatory smile. “What you must understand is that your ploy succeeded all too well. Lady Lambeth obviously spread the news of my wealth, and I daresay most young men would rather court a rich girl than a poor one.”

  “Well, there is to be no more courting,” he hissed. "Permit me to refresh your memory as to the nature of our project. When I engaged you to portray my niece, my objective was to frighten Judith and Robert into some semblance of responsible behavior. I did not undertake to give you a come-out.”

  Bonnie clutched her hands with fury, quite abandoning any notion of a truce. “No, you did not,” she agreed frostily. “But perhaps—like you yourself, milord—I saw no harm in killing two birds with a single stone.”

  She turned away and sightlessly watched the passing houses as she awaited his response. But the only further sounds were those of the carriage and the horses and Kimball's tuneless whistle floating down from the box above them.

  5

  “Miss Bonnie?” A hand gently shook her shoulder. “Come now; you really must get up.”

  It couldn't possibly be time to get up. Bonnie thought groggily as the shaking grew stronger. But the hand, like an annoying insect, would not leave her shoulder, and she raised her own hand and attempted to bat it away.

  “Miss Bonnie!” The shaking became so very vigorous that she fancied she could hear the rattle of her teeth. “It is already noon, and you can’t lie abed all day.”

  Noon? Bonnie’s eyes flew open, and Nell released her shoulder and peered sternly down at her.

  “Noon?” Bonnie croaked aloud, struggling upright in the bed.

  She could not remember the last time she had slept so late. Indeed, upon reflection, she did not believe she had ever before slept till midday. Papa—reminding his wife and daughter that sloth was one of the seven deadly sins—had always insisted that breakfast be served at seven o'clock precisely, and Mama had continued this tradition in the years following his death. Nor had Bonnie been permitted any “sloth” in the Powell household, where her duties had compelled her to rise at half past six. Except on Sundays, when she could loll in bed till half past seven before dressing for her mandatory

  appearance at St. George’s, Hanover Square. (Mrs. Powell was persuaded—mistakenly, it proved—that she might attract the favorable attention of the ton if she, her family, and the senior members of her staff faithfully attended services at the premier church in London.)

  “Yes, noon,” Nell said, her black eyes softening. “And I well understand you may still be tired. I expect it was very late when you and Mr. David returned from the assembly.”

  It had been very late, Bonnie now recalled; the long-case clock in the vestibule had been striking half past two as she and the earl entered the house. As she entered the house, she amended; his lordship had stormed through the door well ahead of her and was already out of sight when she limped into the entry hall. But late as it was, tired as she was, she had been unable to fall immediately to sleep. She had, instead, crawled beneath the bedclothes and lain awake an hour or more, reviewing her and David’s quarrel.

  “Very late indeed. I’d guess,” Nell added, “because I’m told you were the hit of the ball.”

  “David told you that?"

  Then he was no longer vexed, Bonnie reasoned, heaving a tremulous sigh of relief. Not if he was boasting to the servants of her social triumph—

  “Oh, no, Mr. David didn’t say a word about the assembly. Didn’t say a word about much of anything, in fact. He seemed quite sunk in the mopes this morning, which isn’t like him at all. Ate hardly a bite of his breakfast and then went tearing off to visit his tailor.”

  “I ... I see.” Bonnie’s relief evaporated.

  “No,” Nell went on, “I heard about the
ball from Lady Roebuck’s housekeeper, who got it from General Whitfield’s valet. Or maybe . . .” She frowned. “Maybe Lady Roebuck’s housekeeper got it from Lord Blanchard’s coachman, and he got it from General Whitfield’s valet. At any rate, one of them—Lord Blanchard’s coachman or General Whitfield’s valet— spoke directly to Lady Lambeth’s butler, and he said Miss Carlisle was undoubtedly the belle of the assembly.”

  “I see,” Bonnie muttered again. She did not suppose the earl would be the least bit proud to learn that she had been unofficially declared “the belle of the assembly.”

  “Which is why I came to wake you,” Nell concluded. “I fancy some of your partis will be calling this afternoon, and you must be ready when they arrive. I brought your breakfast”— she nodded toward the dressing table—“and while you’re eating, I’ll lay out your clothes.”

  Callers. Good God. Bonnie could scarcely bear to contemplate David’s reaction if he returned from his tailor and found his saloon overflowing with her alleged suitors. However, she had long since recognized the futility of arguing with Nell, and she counted it best to eat and dress in accordance with the abigail’s instructions. If any callers did appear, Kimball would be the one to present their cards, and Bonnie could simply decline to receive them.