Cobbs held up one finger. “Hefinished the first bottle completely before you arrived. He’s been heresince before tea.”
Nicholas stood and pulled at the cuffs ofhis jacket to straighten them over his wrists. The chaircreaked in relief as his form left it. Nicholas shot the offending pieceof furniture an exasperated look.
The drunken idiot grinned before Nicholassmiled and closed his eyes.
“Cam, you realize you are in lovewith her?”
A drunken snore answered Nicholas’squestion.
Nicholas waved an arm at the helpfulCobbs. “Help me get him to his carriage. I’ll see him home.
FIFTEEN
Jeanette Runyon Reynolds, the current,and forever Marchioness of Cambourne if she had her way, surveyed the ballroomof Gray Covington with a militant eye. She adored Gray Covington, theCambourne estate just outside London. The building and grounds bore avague resemblance to the gardens of Versailles, the grand palace built for theFrench kings. Jeanette thought herself a queen so there was no finersetting for her beauty.
Mentally she checked off the myriad ofdecorations ordered earlier, making sure all wasjust so. Thestaff of Gray Covington complained that what Lady Reynolds wished wasimpossible.They could not complete the Herculean tasks given them to hersatisfaction. Jeanette replied that it had better be done to her exactspecifications, or she would find a staff capable of handling herinstructions. Did they all wish to sleep on the streets of Londontonight? The entire staff ran around her skirts like rats after that,anxious to serve her. She shrugged her silk clad shoulders. Threatswere necessary when dealing with underlings.
Jeanette’s gaze lingered over the beautyof the ballroom. The walls and ceiling ofherballroom were hungwith yards upon yards of gleaming blue silk, dyed so dark it gave theappearance of a midnight sky. Brilliants sewn into the silk representedthe stars and the constellations. The designs took a staff of six seamstressesnearly two months to complete. Orion hung just above her head and, to herright, Andromeda. She didn’t remember the names of the rest. Shefound astronomy to be a dull subject that was best suited to unattractive, oldmen.
The candlelight flickering in thecrystal chandeliers shone against the brilliants, making them wink and sparkle.She adored brilliants. The dazzling stones set off her hair and complexionperfectly. Even a giant silver moon hung in the corner. She had been bornat midnight. She wished all of her guests to experience the magnificenceof the sky at the time of her birth.
She sniffed the air, enjoying the perfumeof her special roses. Moonlight Rose was a rare and difficult variety ofrose to cultivate. Her cousin Archie loved them as well. Thepale white flowers glowing against the dark wall hangings sat in large vases inevery corner of the room. The most exclusive florist in London had balkedat the large order, explaining to Jeanette that he could not possibly provideso many flowers. She offered him three times his normal fee to deliverthe flowers on time. The roses had arrived by the cart-load just thismorning. She smiled and allowed the delicate scent to invade her nostrilsagain. Her birthday ball and the house party following weretheevents of the Season. Thetonwould talk of nothing else formonths. Possibly, even years. The cost of her celebration wasstaggering. Jeanette didn’t care. Her dear stepson, Sutton, waspaying for it.
Just the thought of Sutton caused a surgeof hatred so clear and precise one could cut veal with it. But her facedid not betray her thoughts. Jeanette spent years perfecting a smooth,cultured look that never gave anything away. A frown or a wrinkled brownever crossed her countenance. The ivory porcelain of her skin remainedunmarred and smooth. Thoughts of thatbastard, thatusurperto the Cambourne title, could not be permitted to damage her looks. Thewomen of thetonroutinely commented on her youthful appearance, inspite of the fact she was mother to a son of Sutton’s age. Jeanettegritted her teeth.Stepson, she would remind the mindless twitswho said such things to her. How could anyone possibly assume shegave birth to him? The thought made her feel soiled.
She had been sohopefulhe woulddo the correct thing and die while he was traipsing around the Far East. Howthat man survived pirates, filthy disease, Chinese warlords, a slight opiumaddiction and the assassins Jeanette dispatched, was anyone’s guess.
“You there!” Jeanette’s scaldingvoiced touched on a manservant carrying a tray of wine filled goblets.
The manservant quivered like a frightenedrabbit startled by a hunter. His gaze met Jeanette’s.
Jeanette crooked a finger. “Bringthe tray.”
The manservant lowered his eyes andcarefully approached.
Jeanette surveyed the frightened manbefore her. He displayed the appropriate amount of servitude. Shewaved him away without taking any wine. She could not afford for her witsto be dulled this evening.
The return of Sutton. She blamed Archie. If onlyher cousin hadn’t been so greedy. The business with Elizabeth had causedJeanette to lash out at her cousin in anger. Oh, not for Elizabeth’ssake, another dull daughter when what Jeanette needed was a son. No, her angerat Archie was for his sheerstupidityin putting her in a most delicateposition. Robert, her deceased husband disliked her, but after the“incident,” he actively despised and distrusted her. Robert had beatenher beloved Archie so severely, Jeanette had to spirit Archie away to theContinent. Archie’s father soon learned of his son’s behavior, courtesyof Robert, and disowned him. Jeanette cajoled Archie’s father, as sweetlyas she could, but the pair remained estranged. But she had herrevenge. Robert had collapsed in a fit of apoplexy.
Her daughters whined endlessly for theirfather and prayed daily for his recovery. Jeanette sat dutifully by hisbedside, hoping each time he wheezed it would be his last. He clutchedthat ridiculous miniature of Madeline in his hand, speaking to the dead womanas if it was she who sat next to him. No matter. Jeanette planned tomarry Robert’s cousin as soon as Robert died. Herbert and Sutton remainedthe only heirs to Cambourne. Then Donata, that meddling battle-ax, intervened.
“Lady Reynolds, felicitations on yourbirthday.” Lady Thomlinson, her round face wearing a beggar’s smile,curtsied low to Jeanette.
Lady Thomlinson’s voice forced Jeanetteback into the present, away from Robert’s sickroom and the mother-in-law shedetested. She focused on how much her dear, unlamented, husband woulddetest the fortune spent on her birthday. Jeanette looked down her noseat Lady Thomlinson and nodded, accepting the woman’s fealty.
A couple stood to Jeanette’s left,politely awaiting notice.
Jeanette turned, flashing a regal smileto hide her dislike. Lord Witherstone and his featherbrained wife. Jeanettefound Lady Witherstone particularly tiresome. The woman bore a strikingresemblance to a horse. And her voice! High-pitched with a slight lisp, like achild, Lady Witherstone’s speaking annoyed everyone within hearing.Jeanette wondered how Lord Witherstone stood to listen to his wife.Perhaps he was deaf?
“How lovely, my lady. I don’t believe Ihave witnessed such a glorious display!” Lady Witherstone lisped.“Your taste rivals Lady Halston’s!” Lady Witherstone tried desperately to curryJeanette’s favor. She needed the patronage of the Marchioness of Cambourne.Something about war orphans, Jeanette thought.As if I care.Children are tedious, especially orphans.
“The roses are simplydivine!”Lady Witherstone fawned.
Lord Witherstone bowed deeply. Hispolite gaze rested a bit longer than necessary on the swell of Jeanette’sbosom.
Jeanette sent them both an icygrin. She noted with distaste that she could see down Lady Witherstone’sbodice. Lady Witherstone, it appeared, padded herself quite aptly. Nowonder Lord Witherstone searched out greener pastures.
As Lady Witherstone raised her head fromher mewling curtsy, her nostrils flared like the startled mare sheresembled. Her eyes bulged. Lady Witherstone’s features held a hint ofattraction mixed with fear. The way patrons at the zoo looked at tigers.Lady Witherstone’s gaze seemed fixed on something just beyond Jeanette’sshoulder.
