Part 5 (1/2)

”Precisely. No doubt you will see him soon enough.”

”Yes. I am sure I will.” She was certain that Anthony was not asleep; she would slip down the hall to his room once the others were in bed.

”Here we are.” Purdle stopped before a double set of doors that stood open, leading into the blue drawing room, a large, formal room that was rarely used by her grandfather. Camilla was sure it was by Lady Elliot's command that it was being used now. Though Lydia was higher in rank, being the dowager Viscountess and the mother of the future Earl, Camilla had no doubt that she had let Aunt Beryl take the reins of the household. Lydia was intimidated by the older woman's poisonous tongue, and, moreover, she had little liking for running things, anyway. Aunt Beryl, on the other hand, lived to command.

Purdle stepped inside the room, addressing Aunt Lydia. ”My lady, Miss Camilla has arrived.”

He stepped aside for them the enter. Camilla drew a deep breath and looked up into Benedict's face. He smiled down at her, transforming the harsh lines of his face into handsomeness and startling her so that for an instant she could not move. Then she realized that he was a.s.suming a loverlike expression for their charade. She tried to adjust her face into the same sort of look as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

They stepped inside the room and stopped abruptly. It seemed as if the room were filled with people, and every eye was on them. For a moment the faces were an unrecognizable blur. Everyone in the room froze where they were, staring at Camilla and Benedict Then the mult.i.tude of faces resolved into several distinct people. The two young women were Aunt Beryl's daughters, Amanda and Kitty. They had fair, painfully curled blond hair and vague-colored eyes that seemed about to pop out of their heads. Kitty was plump, and Amanda was as thin as a stick, but both were incessant gossips and gigglers, and Camilla was usually bored to death by their company within five minutes. Aunt Beryl, with the same pop eyes and fair hair, though starting to go gray, as her daughters, was seated in one of the wing-back chairs near the fire, a shawl thrown around her shoulders to ward off the chill to which the low neckline of her evening dress exposed her.

The other older woman-though it took a second, longer look to realize that she did not belong to the same generation as Aunt Beryl's daughters-was Aunt Lydia. Lydia was possessed of a creamy complexion upon which much care and many unguents were lavished, and her figure was as slender as if she had never borne a child. With her t.i.tian red hair and vivid blue eyes, she was still one of the reigning beauties of London, and no one who did not know her would have guessed that she could have a son who was eighteen years old. She was staring at Camilla and Benedict as if she had never seen Camilla before.

These four women Camilla had expected to find at Chevington Park, though she had hoped that Aunt Beryl and her daughters would have gone on to bed by the time she arrived. What she had not expected to find here were the three men: her cousin Bertram, Aunt Beryl's oldest son and one of the leading dandies of London, as well as two young men whom she had never seen before in her life.

”Aunt Lydia,” Camilla said, smiling and starting toward her aunt with outstretched arms.

”Dear girl,” Lydia murmured, rising to her feet and reaching out to enfold her niece in a graceful hug, all the while staring at Benedict with a peculiar look on her face.

”Camilla.” Aunt Beryl rose ponderously, though she did not extend her arms for a similar hug.

Camilla curtsied to her politely, exchanging greetings with her aunt and cousins. Her gaze flickered curiously toward the two strangers, but she hurried on, eager now to get her lying over with. She turned toward Benedict, holding out her hand toward him. To her relief, he started toward her with alacrity. She realized with amazement that he looked every inch the gentleman...and quite handsome, too. Amanda and Kitty were gazing at him with their mouths open.

Camilla drew breath to introduce Benedict, but before she could speak, Aunt Lydia flashed one of her sparkling smiles at Benedict and walked past Camilla, saying brightly, ”No, you've no need to tell us, Camilla. We all know that this must be your husband.”

Her aunt's words were followed by a complete silence. Camilla gaped at Lydia. Aunt Beryl's shrewd eyes flickered from Camilla's stupefied face to Benedict's.

”How do you do, Mr. La.s.siter?” Lydia went on, as if she had said nothing out of the ordinary. ”I am Viscountess Marbridge. Camilla's aunt.”

Benedict recovered well, smiling at the Viscountess and giving her an excellent bow. ”How do you do, my lady? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He turned toward Camilla, and a look of pure fury flashed from his eyes. He was certain that she had played him for a fool, had for some strange reason maneuvered him into this situation.

Lydia, too, looked at Camilla. ”Oh, dear,” she said, pouting prettily. ”I hope I haven't completely spoiled your surprise.”

”Oh. No, of course not,” Camilla responded faintly.

Lydia started across the room toward them. Benedict, smiling warmly down at Camilla, curled his hand around Camilla's wrist and squeezed it in a most unloverlike grip. Bending close to her ear, he whispered, ”What the devil do you think you're doing? Whatever you hope to trap me into, I promise you, it won't work.”

Camilla could not control the irritation that flashed over her features. ”I have no idea what's going on,” she whispered back, baring her teem in what she hoped would pa.s.s for a smile. ”I know nothing about this.”

Benedict's eyes told her that he would like to pursue the point further, but by that time Aunt Lydia was upon them. She took Camilla's hands in hers, squeezing them significantly. ”I know you wanted me to keep the news a secret, but I was simply so elated when I received your letter that I could not resist telling everyone the news. Please say you will forgive me.

”Yes. Certainly.” Camilla had recovered her poise and her senses well enough to know that she had no choice but to play along with her aunt's outrageous statements.

”So unexpected,” Aunt Beryl put in, and Camilla could feel Aunt Beryl's eyes boring into her.

She forced herself to meet her other aunt's gaze, hoping that she looked adequately calm and in control. ”Yes, wasn't it?”

Lydia went on, ”I am sure you must be very tired after your journey.” Squinting at Camilla, she leaned closer to her and whispered, ”My dear, is that mud on your neck?”

Camilla put a hand to her neck. ”Yes, I am rather tired,” she agreed, seizing on the opportunity to get out of this room and be alone with her aunt. ”My- our coachman got lost.”

”How dreadful. You must go up to your room and rest.” Lydia took her arm, starting toward the door, but Aunt Beryl's voice stopped her.

”Now, now, Lydia,” Aunt Beryl said in a jovial tone. ”We won't allow you to steal Camilla away like that. Will we, girls? We are simply agog to hear all the details of the wedding. It isn't often that something so...unexpected happens. And you must meet Mr. Oglesby and Mr. Thorne.”

”What? Who?” Lydia asked vaguely, then turned toward the two young men whom Camilla did not recognize. ”Oh, yes, of course.” She led Camilla and Benedict toward the mantel, where Cousin Bertram and the two young men stood.

Camilla followed her reluctantly. She had no desire to have to make polite chitchat with strangers. All she wanted was to get her featherbrained aunt alone and find out why she had pushed this outrageous pretense on Camilla.

But Aunt Lydia was rus.h.i.+ng on, saying, ”Camilla, Mr. La.s.siter, this is Edmund Thorne, a, ah, friend of mine from London. He has been so kind as to visit us the past few weeks.”

Mr. Thorne was a stocky young man with a starched cravat so high that he looked as if it might choke him at any moment His brown hair was arranged in seemingly careless curls that Camilla suspected he had spent hours getting just so.

He bowed deeply over her hand, saying, ”Fair Diana-for Aphrodite, you see, can be no other than Her Ladys.h.i.+p.”

”I beg your pardon?”

”But no.” He put out a hand dramatically, as if to stop something. His other hand went to his brow. ”Ah, yes, I see it. But of course-the fair Persephone. I feel the muse upon me. Lady Marbridge is Demeter, so filled with joy at seeing her daughter again at last-though, of course, no one could believe that Her Ladys.h.i.+p is old enough to be your mother. More a sister.”

Beside her, Benedict made an odd strangling noise, which he turned into a cough. Cousin Bertram raised his quizzing gla.s.s and studied Mr. Thorne.

”Really, Mr. Thorne,” Bertram said dryly. ”They would hardly be Demeter and Persephone then, would they?”

”But such a nice thought, Mr. Thorne,” Lydia a.s.sured him kindly. Turning to Camilla and Benedict, she added, ”Mr. Thorne is a poet, you see.”

”Ah.” Benedict nodded. ”No doubt that explains it.”

”Allow me to introduce Mr. Terence Oglesby,” Cousin Bertram began, clearly dismissing the boring subject of Edmund Thorne.

Cousin Bertram was a dandy, and it showed. From the top of his hair, coiffed in a style known as Windswept, down to his ta.s.seled boots, rumored to be polished in a special blend of champagne and bootblack, he was the very picture of the man of high fas.h.i.+on. While he did not indulge in the most excessive of styles, such as enormous boutonnieres in his lapel or coats so padded at the shoulders and so nipped in at the waist that his silhouette resembled that of a wasp more than a man's, it was obvious that he considered his clothes as his art. It took him almost two hours in the morning to dress, for he often used as many as ten fresh cravats before he had one arranged to his liking, and the fit of his coats was so nice that it took his valet, as well as his butler, to ease him into it. Indeed, it was said about one of his coats that his valet had to slit it partway up the back to get him out and sew him back up in it when he put it on.

His companion was dressed in similar finery. However, Terence Oglesby obviously had no need of fine accoutrements in order to be noticed. He was, quite simply, the handsomest man that Camilla had ever seen. Everything about him was golden-his skin, his hair, even the pale sherry brown of his eyes-and his broad-shouldered, slim-hipped figure required no enhancement from his clothes. He smiled now at Camilla and bowed over her hand, and Camilla had little doubt that he had entree into many of the best houses of London.

”Have you been here long?” Camilla inquired politely.

Oglesby merely smiled and turned toward Cousin Bertram, who answered, ”Oh, a few weeks now. London's gotten dreadfully boring, full of hungry mamas pus.h.i.+ng their daughters on the Marriage Mart. So Terence and I decided to rusticate for a while.”

Knowing that Bertram lived to be seen, and thrived in the social scene of London, Camilla had grave doubts about the truthfulness of his explanation. The truth more probably was that his notoriously tightfisted father had cut off his allowance after he plunged too deep at cards or got himself far in debt to the moneylenders.

Accurately reading the speculation in Camilla's eyes, Cousin Bertram sent her a wink, as though to confirm her suspicions.

”Now, stop monopolizing your cousin, Bertie,” Aunt Beryl scolded playfully, her mouth stretching in the grimace that she employed as a smile. ”Come over here, Camilla. And bring Mr. La.s.siter. We want to hear all the details of the wedding. Don't we, girls?”

Camilla hesitated, her heart sinking. There was a glint in her aunt's eyes that told Camilla the woman did not believe that she was married. She could understand why. She knew that she must have looked as if she had been slapped in the face when Lydia called Benedict her husband. What had Lydia been thinking of? Now Aunt Beryl was going to quiz her for all the details of a wedding that she knew nothing about, and Camilla could not imagine how she was going to invent them without tripping herself up.