The Bluestocking's Dilemma Page 14

  Chapter 16

  When informed of the marquess’s invitations, Lavinia was decidedly cool. Not only was she miffed that it had been extended to her in a most offhand manner—through her cousin, no less—but also that the marquess so obviously expected her to be free. In a more socially aware person, this would have been a calculated insult. Coming from Nicky, it was merely another indication that, though he might now be one of the leaders of fashion, he was not so far removed from the brash young officer who had not only expected her to marry a younger son, but a soldier at that. Really, he could be almost as obtuse as Tony at times.

  Therefore, the countess found herself in something of a quandary. She truly did welcome any opportunity to be with Nicky, for whatever his faults, he was devastatingly handsome, not to mention the most eligible bachelor the ton had to offer. On the other hand, it would do her case no good to be taken so much for granted that a belated invitation was as casually extended to her as if he were asking a sister. In Lavvy’s experience, gentlemen who treated one as a sister were unlikely to consider one in the light of a wife. Eyes narrowed for a moment, she plotted swiftly. “Aha! The perfect thing,” she exclaimed after a moment’s thought. “We should be happy to join the Daventrys in their box, but the honor of escorting us has been secured by Sir Evelyn Willoughby.”

  “But Lavvy, that is not true! He hasn’t invited us.” Caro was horrified.

  “Well, not in so many words,” her cousin conceded, “but he has most certainly begged us time out of mind to join him at the theater. And we have just accepted,” she concluded triumphantly. “I shall just pen him a short note.” And before Caro could respond, she had disappeared from the room in a swirl of lemon-colored muslin.

  Recovering from her surprise, Caro shrugged. She should have expected no less from Lavvy, she supposed, but really, these social machinations were so exhausting! How much easier it would all be were she simply to accept the marquess’s invitation, since that was the person whose company she appeared to be after, if the flirtatious behavior she always exhibited in his presence were any indication. Shaking her head, Caro went off in search of the soothing companionship of the Times and the progress of the seditious meetings bill.

  A note delivered some time later and addressed to Lavinia in the marquess’s careless scrawl went a little way to raising that gentleman in the lady’s affections. Some time later, in search of a better quill, she invaded the drawing room. “At least he had the decency to send ‘round an invitation, even if it is unconscionably late. Why he should think we are so readily available is more than I can say,” she remarked, sniffing audibly.

  Her head buried in the paper, Caro grinned. So that was what was behind her cousin’s annoyance. It would do Lavvy good to be taken for granted once in awhile instead of forever making men dance to her tune.

  Nor was the countess necessarily the center of attention once they reached the theater. Remembering Lady Caroline’s original and perspicacious remarks from their encounter at the opera. Sir Evelyn, having carefully seated the ladies and assured himself of their comfort, leaned over and addressed her. “Having enjoyed your comments on Figaro, I am most curious to hear what you hope from this play, Lady Caroline.”

  “I?” Caro was astonished. “You flatter me, sir. I have no expectations in particular. Ordinarily, I do not read a great deal of Scott, as I oftentimes find him too romantical to my taste. I am afraid that I prefer Miss Austen’s novels. For what they may lack in sentiment, they make up for in her ironic touch and skilled observation of the world. However, I would be the first to admit that they would not lend themselves to dramatic production as do Mr. Scott’s, which are full of incident and color.”

  “I am surprised at you, Lady Caroline. I should have thought that a young lady who preferred Don Giovanni to Mozart’s other operas would appreciate the same power to move in the sublime Mr. Scott.”

  Caro cocked her head, an intent look in her eyes as she considered for a moment. “Yes, I suppose that would make a deal more sense. But while I respond to the sublime in music, I find my taste in literature rather tends in other directions and I, for one, do not wish for the picturesque at the expense of character, though I expect that such a point of view is eccentric enough to the point of being heretical.”

  “I should think that the subject matter of Miss Austen’s novels more closely resembles your own cynical view of society. In some respects, reading her novels must be like sharing a conversation with a kindred spirit,” Nicholas broke in.

  “Oh, dear.” Caro was distressed. “I had not meant to appear cynical in the least. Far from it. It is because I believe that society can improve that I am so critical of it.’’

  “Oh? And now do you propose to carry out this ambitious scheme? As a devotee of Mary Wollstonecraft, you no doubt have a plan.” There had been an earnestness in Caro’s tone that had caught Nicholas’s interest. It was so rare that anyone in the ton, and young ladies in particular, was passionate about anything, that he found her idealism both a refreshing change and extraordinarily appealing.

  It was not, however, appealing to some other unwilling members of the party. “Nicky, Caro, it is too bad of you. We are here to enjoy ourselves and you insist upon discussing the problems of the world. Surely they can wait another day to be solved.” Lavinia laid a hand on the marquess’s arm and smiled up at him.

  Unable to resist the entreaty in her eyes or her whispered, “Please, Nicky, it is so long since I have been able to enjoy myself”, he smiled back.

  “We shall consider ourselves properly rebuked, Lavvy, and promise to speak of nothing but the most amusing and trivial of topics for the rest of the evening. Now, what would you have us discourse upon?”

  “Don’t discourse upon anything.” The beauty pouted enchantingly, “After all, we are here to be entertained and . . . oh, do look at Lady Heatherington. What possesses a harridan like that to ape the manners and dress of a young lady in her first Season, I cannot say. But it begins. We must stop our idle chatter and see what Mr. Scott has to offer us. I adore his books, but it is so much nicer to have them presented to one instead of having to shut oneself up in one’s library and read. Do you not think so, Nicky?”

  “Idle chatter,” Caro, now thoroughly disgusted, muttered to herself. As if she weren’t the queen of “idle chatter”! Doing her best to shut out the affecting scene of Nicholas’s dark head bent towards Lavvy’s fair one, his blue eyes gazing appreciatively into her imploring ones, Caro rigidly concentrated her attention on the stage. But her mind was in a turmoil. Was it truly possible that he could continually fall for such transparent ploys and insipid conversation? Did intelligence, either the obvious abundance of his and the equally obvious lack of hers count for nothing? Apparently not. If so, how was it possible not to be cynical about life?

  Caro was so wrapped up in her own unpleasant reflections that she did not observe Nicholas’s gaze transfer itself to her the moment the play began. Using Lavinia’s own strategy to disengage himself from their tête-à-tête, he murmured, “There, the curtain is up.” And once he was sure that the countess’s attention, such as it was, was focused on the action below, he turned back towards Caro, hoping to catch her eye and signal his interest in continuing the discussion. But Caro was staring intently at the scene onstage and there was something about the stiffness of her posture that suggested her disapproval of the entire episode with Lavvy.

  Again the marquess felt a surge of annoyance that she should set herself up as some sort of judge of her cousin. After all, Lavvy was merely a product of her world, and a charming one at that. Just because Caro subscribed to impossibly high moral principles was no reason to condemn others out of hand.

  A tiny sigh caught the marquess’s attention and he glanced again in Caro’s direction, more observantly this time. Now it seemed to him that the shoulders that had been so straight a moment ago drooped. Her dark brows were drawn tighter together and her brow was wrinkled in unhappy puzzlement. From w
hat he could see, there was a hurt look in the gray eyes, which he could not quite fathom.

  Nicholas frowned, wondering at the change in her. Unlike other women in the ton, Caro was entirely transparent and one had the feeling, looking into her clear eyes, that one was peering directly into her soul—a condition that was both reassuring and disturbing. It was reassuring because one could always count on her to be honest, disturbing because she demanded the same sort of honesty in return and would not be fobbed off with easy answers or charming smiles. She was a funny little thing to be sure, prickly and proud, but in the main, somehow, he felt infinitely comfortable with her.

  The marquess was not the only person focusing more attention on Lady Caroline Waverly than on the stage. Sir Evelyn had been an interested observer of the entire scene, had read the annoyance in Lavinia’s eyes when Nicholas’s interest had strayed from her, and had remarked on the determined set of her head as she coquettishly reclaimed it. He had also remarked on Caro’s determined effort to ignore her cousin’s machinations and had sensed something of the conflict within her. For all her obvious intelligence, Lady Caroline had much to learn about the world and herself. Sir Evelyn had correctly interpreted Caro’s disappointment in the marquess’s immediate capitulation to her cousin’s charms. But unlike that young lady, he, with his vaster experience of the world in general and the ton in particular, recognized Nicholas’s response for what it was—the purely reflexive action of a gentleman whose attention is required by a lady. He had noticed the marquess’s reluctance to interrupt his conversation with Caro and he had also seen how quickly his interest returned to her once politeness to Lavinia had been satisfied.

  Inveterate and enthusiastic social observer that he was, Sir Evelyn smiled to himself. This situation would bear some watching and, with a little outside help, might possibly develop into something quite entertaining, to say the least. He suspected that Lady Caroline Waverly and the Marquess of Everleigh had more in common than they might have imagined. Endowed with abundant and active intellects, they were obviously concerned with the improvement of their society, and both were equally untroubled that such interests were considered to be most dreadfully unfashionable.

  The middle-aged exquisite had known Nicholas Daventry ever since the gallant young officer had appeared briefly one Season before departing for a brilliant career on the Peninsula, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him. Sir Evelyn knew well his taste for adventure and his thirst for glory. If he was not much mistaken—and Sir Evelyn rarely was about such things, for he collected people the way his cronies collected snuffboxes and walking sticks—Lady Caroline was possessed of an equally ardent spirit. There was something about the flash in her eyes and the vibrant tone in her voice when she spoke of things she held dear that hinted at a passionate nature. And he. Sir Evelyn, was going to help her uncover these depths to the delight of some and the chagrin of others. He much suspected that, given the proper encouragement, she would blossom into a truly captivating woman, possessing the warmth and intelligence that her cousin lacked, and would give the Countess of Welham a run for her money. Not that Lavinia wasn’t all that was enchanting. Personally, he infinitely preferred a woman of her highly cultivated and delicate sensibilities. They were much more predictable and passion—though irresistible and involving—could be so thoroughly fatiguing.

  Meanwhile, the entire episode had not gone unnoticed by other occupants of the box. Though perhaps less astute than Sir Evelyn, Lady Clarissa Daventry, always highly perceptive wherever her brother’s happiness was involved, had also noticed the eagerness in Nicky’s eyes when they rested on her friend. And when she too had realized that he was merely being polite to Lavinia, she had been greatly relieved. Catching his glance straying back to Caro at the first possible moment. Clary was highly gratified that the very real attractions of Caro’s mind and person outweighed the more obvious and superficial ones of the Countess of Welham.

  A germ of an idea began to form itself in her mind. Accustomed to seeing women fling themselves at her brother’s head, and concerned lest someone unworthy of him should somehow manage to ensnare him, she had never given the least thought to the type of person she would choose for her adored Nicky. Now, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Lady Caroline was just such a one as she would choose. Equally as energetic as Nicholas, she also applied her mind to as wide a variety of interests as he did and she exhibited the same unobtrusive kindness and concern for others that set her brother apart from the rest of society and made him so beloved by his household.

  It was Caro’s inquiring mind and refusal to accept things as they were that had been responsible for one of the most exciting changes in Clary’s circumscribed existence. All because Caro had paid attention to her and extended her ready sympathy, Lady Clarissa was growing stronger and more self-confident with her daily rides in the park. Caro had been able to see beyond the frail invalid and had somehow appreciated the spirit that lay beneath. Like Nicholas, who threw himself into a problem the minute he perceived it, Caro, in her own quiet way, had set about encouraging and freeing that spirit until Clarissa felt quite like a new person.

  Clary’s observant gaze had also taken in another fascinating aspect of the scene: that Lady Caroline had seemed to become more animated whenever she was conversing with her brother. Even if the discussion was confined to the most general of topics, she appeared to look to Nicholas for stimulation of her own thoughts on a given subject. It was his comments that spurred her to further reflection and response, and it was clear to anyone who cared to pay attention that Caro relished the challenge of debating with him.

  A secret smile crept over Clary’s face as she too resolved to bring these two together. Not only would it give happiness to Caro and Nicky; it would also save Nicky from the clutches of Lavinia and that alone would be worth the effort.

  Clary had never had any particular love for Lavvy, who only paid attention to her when she wished to advance her cause with Nicky. Nor did Clary relish the way Lavvy had always looked upon Nicky as though he were some possession, carefully selected to enhance her reputation—whether it was as the wounded hero from the Peninsula or the Marquess of Everleigh. Clary loved her brother dearly and she was not about to have him become a mere accessory to a lady of fashion. Besides, with Lavinia, he would be bored within a fortnight. Beautiful though she was, the Countess of Welham was not precisely stimulating company. Though Nicky might have been forced to abandon existence as the dashing Captain Daventry, he was not about to take his place tamely in the ton, at least not the way Lavinia would expect him to.

  It was obvious from the half-wary, half-interested way that Nicky and Caro dealt with one another and from the concerted effort that Lavinia was mounting to capture the marquess that Nicky, usually more than able to fend for himself, was in need of assistance from an outside source. But how was Clary to begin? To one who had lived most of her life apart from that sea of gossip and intrigue that was the ton, the plotting and contrivance required by the situation was entirely foreign to her. For the first time in her existence, Clary began to wish she had acquired the skills of a normal young lady of rank to whom such machinations were part of daily life.

  Fortunately for all and sundry, fate, in the form of two of Almack’s most illustrious patronesses, was about to take a hand. The curtain had hardly fallen on the first act when the door to the box opened to admit Princess Esterhazy and Lady Jersey.

  “Caro, my dear, how charming to encounter you in London. I had quite despaired of seeing you here after you resisted all my efforts to entice you. But then, you always were the most willful child and the very image of your handsome papa. We miss him dreadfully still. But tell me how you go on.’’ Barely pausing to acknowledge the other occupants of the box, the princess, her face alight with welcome, sat down next to Caro and immediately engaged her in lively reminiscences of foreign courts and past political intrigues.

  Lady Jersey, who had come more to see the new
Marquess of Everleigh than to accompany her friend, advanced on that gentleman with a flirtatious glint in her eye. “So, Nicholas, you are forced to give up your madcap ways and join the rest of us dull respectables. How very fortunate, to be sure. We shall do our utmost to see that you remain amused.” She smiled wickedly at him while noting gleefully the countess’s rigid posture and frozen smile.

  Though loquacious to a fault, Sally Jersey was no fool and her bright chatter hid a keenly observant mind. She had noted the look of annoyance, quickly concealed, that had crossed Lavinia’s face at the princess’s obvious preference for her cousin. This ill humor had not been improved by the princess’s cool acknowledgement of the Countess of Welham nor by Nicholas’s pleasure in seeing Sally. The Countess of Welham was accustomed to being the center of attention and did not take gracefully to a subsidiary role. Well, it would do her good. It was time someone took Lavinia down a peg or two and Sally Jersey was precisely the one to do it.

  Smiling sweetly, she turned to Lavvy. “How charming to have your cousin for a companion this Season. She appears quite enchanting, and with her fortune should do exceedingly well. She is a taking thing, and if she is anything like her dear papa, she will soon have the ton flocking around her.” There, that should do it! Having lighted the spark, Sally sat back to see if it would catch.

  A frown, quickly banished, crossed Lavvy’s face. Her lips tightened and her blue eyes were icy. Then, taking a breath, she forced her lips into the semblance of a smile. “Yes, of course.” She leaned forward confidingly, though keeping her tone of voice loud enough to be overheard. “But she is shockingly blue, you know. At times I quite despair. She will spend so much time with her books and her journals that, as you can see, she hardly has a moment to spare for her toilette. Of course, I try to help, but she seems determined to become an antidote. If I drop so much as the slightest hint that she is on the path to becoming an ape-leader, she merely smiles and says that it is very well with her. You, aware as you are of the ways of the world, can sympathize with me I am sure.” Lavvy shrugged prettily, adopting a look of patient resignation.