Draven bowed, quite as if he had never shared a bread-and-cheese supper with them — and he had, time out of mind, because he was as horse-mad as her papa.
‘I have known the Essexes for some two years, mother,’ he said, but his eyes were holding Imogen’s. Her heart fluttered as if it were a bird caught in a cage.
‘What? Oh!’ Lady Clarice laughed. ‘You must have met each other when darling Draven hunts in Scotland, is that it?’ Something guarded entered her tone. Lady Clarice was no fool, and the Essex girls were astonishingly lovely.
Tess caught Lady Clarice’s inflection and felt a wave of panic. If Lady Clarice even caught wind of Imogen’s abject devotion to her son, she might refuse to chaperone them, and then what would they do?
‘I race in Scotland, not hunt,’ Draven told his mother. He was bowing over Imogen’s hand now, and Tess noticed with a sinking heart that he was looking at her sister with some semblance of the passion with which she looked at him.
‘I do believe that my son has a remarkable seat on a saddle,’ Lady Clarice said, not seeming to notice (to Tess’s relief) that Annabel had rudely wandered off without bothering to curtsy and was now standing far too close to the Earl of Mayne and giggling so hard that her curls bobbed around her shoulders like corks caught in a backwash. ‘Not that I can swear to this, because I abhor the out-of-doors.’ And, when Tess looked confused, ‘Fresh air, Miss Essex! It’s ruinous for the complexion to attend those races, I assure you. I only do so under the strongest duress. Of course, my son loves my company so much that it means the earth to him if I do watch one of his horses sail to victory. So I sacrifice … I sacrifice …’
My complexion is clearly ruined, Tess thought to herself. Their father had been dragging them to races since they were able to walk.
‘But I have ever encouraged dear Draven to follow his own delight in these matters,’ Lady Clarice was saying. ‘I do like a man to have an occupation. Far too many gentlemen of my acquaintance sit about all day and never rise from their chairs at the club. They end up with very ill manners, I assure you. And it causes’ — she lowered her voice ‘-a certain spreading in the derrière, if you follow me!’ She trilled with naughty laughter. ‘Although I shouldn’t say such a thing to you, an unmarried girl, for all you are a bit long in the tooth! But not to worry, dear, Holbrook will put you on the market the very first day that you’re out of blacks.’
‘Now, Duke,’ she said, turning from Tess without pausing for breath. ‘What are we to do? I mean, I am more than happy to chaperone your darling wards for a day or so, Holbrook, but London calls. My mantua-maker beckons. Allures me!’ she said with a giggle. ‘So I ask you, Your Grace, what are we to do?’
Their guardian didn’t even blink, so he must be used to Lady Clarice’s style of conversation. Not having had that pleasure herself, Tess could feel a headache coming on. She felt a light touch at her elbow.
‘Would you like to take a turn around the room, Miss Essex?’ The Earl of Mayne stood smiling at her.
‘I would,’ she said, ‘but-’ And she looked helplessly to where Imogen stood talking to Lord Maitland. Surely it wasn’t her imagination that there was something overfamiliar in the way that he smiled at Imogen, something complaisant in the way his fingers sat on her bare arm, just above her elbow.
The earl followed her glance. ‘Rafe,’ he said in a pleasant low tone that cut through the shrilling hum of Lady Clarice’s speech, ‘our guests are likely famished. Shall we adjourn to supper?’
Their guardian promptly towed Lady Clarice out of the room, her stream of gently vindictive conversation fading as they turned the corner into the dining room.
‘Imogen!’ Tess said, trying to sound commanding yet not motherly. Then she turned to the earl and put her hand on his arm.
He looked down at her for a moment, and Tess saw a smile lurking somewhere in his eyes. Then he took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘If you insist,’ he said softly.
Tess blinked. Could he be starting a flirtation with her?
But the next second Mayne was making smiling remarks about there being no need to attend to protocol amongst close friends and deftly bearing Imogen out of the room.
‘Miss Essex,’ Lord Maitland drawled, turning to her and putting her hand to his lips.
My goodness, Tess thought rather bewilderedly, this hand has been kissed more in the last hour than in my entire life.
‘Josie!’ she called, luring her little sister out from the piano, ‘you may retire to the schoolroom now.’
Maitland may have been wild, but he wasn’t rude. As Josie reluctantly approached, he bowed. ‘Miss Josephine, you look particularly exquisite this evening,’ he said.
‘Cut rope!’ Josie snapped at him.
‘Josie!’ Tess cried, aghast.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ Josie said. ‘It’s only Maitland.’ She rounded on him. ‘You can save your faradiddles for others. You should know that I’m not the person for that sort of foolish talk!’
Tess felt a reprimand coming to her lips, and then bit it back. Josie was obviously on the point of tears. She must have heard Lady Clarice’s comment about a cabbage diet, and Josie was extremely sensitive about her figure.
But before Tess could decide what to say, Maitland tucked Josie’s hand under his arm, and said, ‘Do you know, I’ve a question you may be able to answer. Perfection, my chestnut filly -’
‘I remember Perfection,’ Josie interrupted, a bit curtly. ‘She is a trifle long in the haunches.’
‘I don’t agree about her haunches,’ Maitland said with unimpaired good humour, beginning to walk Josie toward the door. ‘However, she seems to be suffering a bit of tenderness just behind the saddle.’
‘Have you tried Goulard’s lotion?’ Josie asked, her complete interest turning to Maitland. Their father had appointed Josie to make up ointments for the horses’ various ailments, and what had begun as an onerous task had become a true interest.
Tess had to admit that Maitland could be quite beguiling when he put his mind to it. Not that it was of the least consequence.
Still, there were moments in which she could see why Imogen loved him quite so passionately. He was pretty enough, with his cleft chin and rakish eyes. But he was not only horse-mad, he was gambling-mad. Everyone said that he couldn’t turn down a bet, not if it were for his last farthing. Maitland would eat in a ditch, were there the chance of a race afterward.
Just like Papa.
Supper
Tess found herself to the left of the duke, with Lady Clarice seated to his right. The long table glowed with dishes of a deep marroon, with gold bands around the edges. It was set with such an array of silverware that each plate looked as if it had a small shining fence laid on three sides. The
