Page 57 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

“It’s nothing,” she said, quickly realizing that she had misunderstood him, that he had been speaking of Geoffrey’s brutality to Susan.

Knowing no way in which she could tell him what had happened to her, she said hastily, “I-I do not like him, and I never believed Susan lied in that courtroom—or at least, not until she became so frightened that she was afraid to go on telling the truth about what Geoffrey had done to her.”

“And Lady Catherine is back in the picture again.”

“Yes,” Daintry said, relaxing since it appeared that he believed her explanation.

“I thought she had gone away because I did not see her when I called upon Susan and she was not at Almack’s, but of course, I realize now that she simply was not able to obtain a voucher.

They did not dine with us that night, which makes me think now that they must have stayed home to dine with her.

In any case, she is very much still in the picture. ”

“Your sister seems friendly toward her, however.”

Daintry sighed. “Susan says Catherine takes over all the details of running a large house in town, and even though Susan does not at all mind doing such things, she says Catherine is so kind and so insistent upon sparing her any exertion that she cannot bear to tell her she would as soon do the things herself, and now finds herself with almost nothing to do at all but amuse herself. Although how she can, when Geoffrey and Catherine go everywhere she goes, is beyond my understanding. But we have been standing here an age, sir. Had we better not fetch the punch for the others before they begin to wonder where we are?”

Gideon agreed, but she had given him cause to think.

He did not know yet exactly what to make of the Seacourt ménage, but he was becoming concerned about Penthorpe.

Though he had not been out and about much for a number of days, he had had visitors, and more than one had mentioned the viscount’s betrothal and his obvious affection for more members of the Tarrant family than just the one he was to marry.

Gideon had also spoken with Penthorpe himself, and while that young man still had given no indication that he was anything other than determined to proceed with his wedding, it was clear that he had managed to be a good deal in Lady Susan’s company and was developing rather more concern for her well-being than for that of his betrothed.

He left the assembly soon after restoring Daintry to her mother’s side, for although he would not have admitted it, his head was aching from the noise and bustle.

He despised weakness in himself but did not doubt that Dr. Kingston had been right in warning him either to heed the signals of his body or be willing to reap the consequences of ignoring them.

Much though he detested forced inactivity, he was sensible enough not to push himself too hard.

Returning to Jervaulx House, he went to the library in case his father should still be up.

Entering the room, he discovered the fire still crackling on the hearth, sending a golden glow through the room, and the lamp on the desk still lit.

Jervaulx dozed in a wing chair by the fire, a number of papers from his lap having slipped to the floor.

Gideon moved silently to pick up the papers and stack them on the desk.

Glancing at others scattered on the desk top, he saw that the marquess, as usual, had been attending to business pertaining to the estates in Gloucestershire and Cornwall, as well as to Parliamentary matters.

Shaking his head, and wishing, not for the first time, that Jervaulx would entrust some of these affairs to him, and that he could begin somehow to take Jack’s place in his father’s respect if not in his affection, he turned to ring for assistance to get Jervaulx to bed.

“What are you doing?”

He turned to find that the hard gray eyes were open, glinting at him with their familiar enigmatic look. “I was going to ring for someone to help you to bed, sir.”

“That is not necessary. There is still much to be done. A brief nap, to restore the faculties, was all that was required.”

“Father, really, you must—”

“You are in no case to be giving advice, Gideon,” the marquess said brusquely.

“You lack color, and the lines of pain in your face make it clear to the meanest intellect that you were ill-advised to venture out so soon after your injury. Go to bed, and take one of those powders Kingston left for you. According to that fellow Shalton, you have been neglecting to take them.”

“Really, sir,” Gideon said, torn between resentment and a strong desire to tear Shalton limb from limb, “I am no longer a child and can certainly decide for myself—”

“Your age appears to have had little effect on your powers of rational thought, dear boy, or you would recall that it is of little use to argue. You will do as you are bid.”

Gideon’s head was pounding, so he gave up, for Jervaulx was right about one thing.

It was never of the least use to argue with him once he had given an order.

He considered telling Shalton and Kibworth to go to the devil when he discovered them both waiting for him, jealously vying with each other to see him safely into bed, but in the end he even accepted the glass in which Shalton had stirred a packet of Kingston’s powders, knowing it was far easier to drink it than to face his father’s chilly reproofs when his servants had reported his recalcitrance.

“Which I’d do in a pig’s whisper,” Shalton informed him, “for it’s put to bed with a shovel you’ll be if you don’t look after yourself. That lump on your brainbox weren’t nothing to snap your fingers at, if I might take the liberty to say so.”

“Watch yourself, Shalton,” Gideon said, feeling the effects of the powders already, “you’re beginning to talk like Kibworth.”

He fell asleep on his henchman’s indignant retort, and woke feeling much refreshed the following morning. He did not get up at once, for it was clear from the lateness of the hour that he would be left alone until he rang, and he wanted to think.

He found himself wishing, yet again, that life might simply sort itself out to fit the pattern one most desired.

But even if that were possible, how, he wondered, did one go about sorting things so that everyone had what he wanted most?

For himself he would provide a lady with dusky tresses, rosy cheeks, and an irrepressible mind of her own, who would give as good as she got, and he would also arrange a position in life for himself that suited him and felt comfortable.

Though he had regretted leaving the army, he did so no longer, for although it had certainly suited him in wartime, he thought the peacetime army might well prove to be a dead bore.

He would be far wiser to learn the duties that would one day be his, but that, too, was boring when it was merely a matter of attending to Barton’s instruction.

He wanted to do things, to have the power to make decisions based upon what he learned.

But it was useless to let his mind dwell on that, for he could imagine no way in which Jervaulx would allow him to insinuate himself into what the marquess regarded as his private affairs.

The fact of the matter was that his wishes did not fit the patterns laid out for anyone else.

If he were to follow his instincts and pursue the lovely Daintry, kissing his hand to the feud, to the tattle-mongers, and to Penthorpe, he would be making more trouble for her than she would likely forgive.

He thought she cared for him; he knew he cared for her and that he could stir those smoldering passions of hers; but whether she would welcome any attempt to rearrange her life was another matter altogether.

Moreover, it was utterly wrong to interfere, just as it would have been wrong to interfere between Seacourt and Susan.

No matter how he looked at it, it all came down to that.

He had no business to make Daintry’s life more difficult than it was.

In fact, if he really wanted to do her a service, he would keep Penthorpe on the straight and narrow, and prevent him from making a cake of himself over Lady Susan at least until they were all safely out of London.

If there was anything to be done to sort things out, it certainly couldn’t be accomplished under the eagle eye of that city’s busy prattleboxes.

With these good intentions in mind, he spent the next week doing his best to watch over Penthorpe and to avoid seeming to single out Daintry for his own attentions.

His first task was not difficult, for it was plain that Penthorpe, too, had heard the muttering and was doing his best to curtail it.

He was seen everywhere with his betrothed, attentively waiting upon her and seeing to her comfort.

If Susan was often in the vicinity, it could scarcely be thought remarkable in view of her relationship to Daintry, and if Penthorpe danced with Susan, or walked in Hyde Park with her for a time during the social hour, it was always in company and always in full view of the lady’s watchful husband.

Indeed, there seemed to be nothing in Penthorpe’s behavior to cause comment; nevertheless, Gideon soon observed that Seacourt had begun to view the viscount with disfavor.

Daintry seemed heedless of her betrothed’s interest in her sister, but Seacourt was not, and on the twenty-sixth, as Gideon dressed for the St. Merryn ball he felt a tingling of anticipation such as he had not felt since last preparing to go into battle.

As Kibworth shrugged him into his tight blue coat, and Shalton tucked his watch and fob into the respective pockets of his waistcoat, he wondered suddenly if he was really concerned about Penthorpe or only about what his own reception at St. Merryn House would be.