In the Arms of a Marquess(59)

Tavy couldn’t throw stones. It had taken every ounce of skill at her toilette to make herself appear little better than sepulchral. Two hours of sleep and turbulent emotions haggarded a woman horridly.

“I have business to attend to as soon as I return to town, but I will call upon you after that.” Marcus took her arm as though he had the right to.

Tavy nearly snatched it away. But Ben stood nearby with the Gosworths and her family. She did not owe Ben her assistance, and she didn’t give a fig about Marcus’s troubles any longer. But his threat against her loved ones hung over her.

Tavy told herself this was the only reason she would play this farce. But she knew the truth. She could no more deny Ben than she could fly to the moon on a magic carpet. He had asked for her aid, and she would give it to him.

“This evening, then?” Marcus looked hopeful.

“Tomorrow.”

“I will take you driving.” He patted her arm.

Standing between Ben and St. John, Alethea beckoned to her with a glance. Tavy must say an appropriately grateful goodbye to their host, just as all the Marquess of Doreé’s other guests who had not spent the night making love to him.

Even as her throat went dry, hysteria wobbled in it. She went forward and made her curtsy.

“Thank you for your gracious welcome, my lord.” Every exhausted mote of her blood was alive to him.

He bowed. “The pleasure was all mine, ma’am.”

“You have a lovely home.” From Greek folly to billiards room to master bedchamber.

“I am glad you approve of it.”

“Octavia, you will ride with me.” Lady Fitzwarren bustled between them. “Doreé, you are your father’s son in the excellence of your hospitality. Your cook’s curried sole is one of the finest I have tasted.”

“I will convey to her your compliments, my lady.”

“Oh, wait.” Constance hurried over and grasped Tavy’s hands. “I will call upon you in town the moment I return. We will make a plan to go shopping, or perhaps to the museum.” Her grip was tight, her gaze peculiarly brittle.

“That would be lovely.” Tavy returned the pressure of her fingers. Perhaps Ben did not know this woman’s heart. Perhaps he was using Constance just as he was using her, with her full and enthusiastic consent.

“Come along, Octavia.” Lady Fitzwarren drew her away.

She climbed into the dowager’s carriage. Settling back upon the squabs, she lifted her fingers in parting to Alethea on the drive, and turned her gaze to the other window. The carriage pulled onto the straightaway flanked by masterful chestnuts, their fruit spilled upon the ground like loamy tears. She stared at the graceful slope of lawn toward the little Greek temple at the lake, trees nestled around its far flank. Everything sparkled after the night’s heavy rain, clean washed and fresh with fall’s golds, crimsons, and ochres on branches and carpeting the ground.

“That was a close run thing,” the dowager exclaimed upon a relieved whorl of breath. “Thank heavens.”

“Thank heavens?” Tavy’s body drooped with weariness and something more.

“Thank heavens the two of you did not fall into each other’s arms back there.”

Tavy shrugged. “Lady Constance and I have become comfortable friends very swiftly, it is true. But sometimes a friendship will begin in such a manner.”

“I was not speaking of Constance.”

The landscape dropped away toward the road and Fellsbourne disappeared beyond an autumn-dappled copse. Slowly Tavy turned from the view to the dowager.

“Are you still betrothed to Crispin, child?”

“Yes.” Marcus had showed no sign of accepting her refusal after all. And now she must renew her engagement in any case.

“I see.”

“Aunt Mellicent, I should like it if you would host a party in town. Not a particularly large gathering, but sizable enough so that everybody is not in everybody else’s pockets all evening long.”

The dowager folded her hands atop her elegantly bulging midriff. “Should you like that?”

“Yes, quite a lot. I adore parties. And I should like it to be very soon, certainly no more than a fortnight from now but preferably before that.”

“Is that so? And what else should you like, my dear?”

“For you to invite the Marquess of Doreé.”

The dowager’s lips pursed. “Anyone else?”

“No. Well, the usual sorts of people, that is. But no one else in particular.” She could not very well make a habit of visiting his house in town alone, but she must have opportunity to share with him the information she learned when she accepted Marcus. Ben would not call upon her, of course. This was not courtship.

She folded her cold hands together as the dowager’s gaze bore into her.

“Octavia Pierce,” she finally said, “I will not throw a party so that you can engage in a clandestine tryst. It goes against my better judgment if not my natural inclination.”

Tavy shook her head. “That is not my intention, Aunt Mellicent. I assure you.”

Lady Fitzwarren studied her. “No. I can see from your face it is not.” She smacked her hands upon her knees. “Well then, you shall have your party.”

“How can you see anything from my face?”