Regency High Society Vol 2: Sparhawk's Lady / The Earl's Intended Wife / Lord Calthorpe's Promise / The Society Catch. Miranda JarrettЧитать онлайн книгу.
for courage, decided Dorinda, Dowager Countess of Byfield. But nothing more than that, not if she could help it, and certainly not another penny of her son’s fortune.
Dorinda let her stand, Frederick’s whore of a wife, the better to consider what her real place was, while Dorinda herself sat at the far end of the room in the gilded Venetian armchair with the ice blue damask cushions. If the creature was reminded of a throne, so much the better.
“I said come forward, girl, so that I might see you,” said Dorinda, her voice echoing in the gallery’s arched ceiling. One wall was windows, all now thrown open to catch the breezes from the bay, while the opposite wall was mirrored from the floor upward so no visitor need turn their back on the magnificent view. “If you’ve come this far from Blackstone, another few paces won’t hurt.”
At last the younger woman came toward her, her kid slippers making no sound on the polished marble parquet. Grudgingly Dorinda admitted to herself that Frederick had at least chosen a girl who looked like a countess, her silver-blond head held high and her walk a fashionable glide, her white Indian cotton dress drifting around her legs. Her face was lovely, fine boned but distinctive enough to be an original, with a inborn charm that no amount of paint or trickery could create.
No wonder Frederick had been so besotted, and no wonder, too, this wife of his had been so quick to replace him in her bed. His wife, considered Dorinda bitterly, and then let her thoughts travel to her grandson’s letter, hidden in the lacquer box on the mantel, and of the greedy man who’d brought it this same afternoon. Who would have guessed so much would fall into Dorinda’s favor when, months ago, she’d written the first letter to that idiot, George? If even a fraction of what they said of this Caroline was true, then at last Dorinda could avenge the wrong that had been done the Moncriefs.
And to her. Most especially to her.
“Come closer, girl, so I can see you properly,” she ordered, beckoning sharply with her gnarled forefinger, the large square-cut diamond on it glittering in the sunlight. “I’m not a young woman any longer.”
Not a young woman, thought Caro, but certainly still a vain one, with cheeks and lips painted bright rose and her deep-set eyes lined with black kohl. The dowager countess was a tiny woman, and though shrunk and bent with age, she was dressed in a costly variation of the latest Directoire fashion, her high-waisted satin gown cut low over her shriveled breasts and on her head an elaborate wig of black corkscrewed curls with a diamond-tipped arrow thrust through the crown. There were more diamonds swaying from her earlobes, around her throat, clasped to her wrists, far more than was considered stylish now but a king’s ransom nonetheless, and Caro remembered how many times Frederick had worried that his mother might be wanting and ordered Perkins to increase the dowager countess’ allowance.
Critically Dorinda’s gaze swept over Caro. “You’re not at all what I expected, girl.”
“Neither are you, your ladyship.” Caro smiled beatifically. She’d been warned by Frederick that his mother could be sharp-tongued, and she was determined not to let the older woman better her. Though they’d never met, in a way they’d already been warring for fifteen years, and though Dorinda might have the diamonds, Caro had Frederick. “And please, call me Caro.”
Pointedly Dorinda ignored the request. “Sit, girl.”
She motioned to the small taboret beside her own chair, and without protest Caro sat. Another chair would have been more comfortable and more appropriate than the backless stool, but Caro was willing to concede that much. Although there was nothing of Frederick in the old woman’s face, little mannerisms—the quirk of her brow, the way she arched her wrist—were disconcertingly his.
With a sweep that was still graceful, Dorinda opened her fan. “I did not expect you to come to me yourself.”
“And I wondered if you would receive me when I did,” answered Caro. “But when you wrote to me that you had proof that my husband still lives, how could I not come?”
“It is a great distance for a lady to travel.”
Attuned to such subtleties, Caro didn’t miss the scornful emphasis on that lady. “I would travel any distance for Frederick’s return.”
“But I trust you did not make the journey alone.” Dorinda’s fan paused as she baited her trap. “No doubt you had a companion to ease your trial.”
“I did, yes. An American gentleman who seeks word of other captives was so kind as to agree to accompany me.”
The fan remained still, poised. “An American gentleman accompanied you? I would have expected Mr. Perkins, or perhaps dear George.”
“They did not offer,” said Caro, her cheeks warming in spite of her resolution. It wasn’t exactly a lie. They hadn’t offered, true, but then she hadn’t told them of her plans. And oh, how different that long voyage would have been with either George or Mr. Perkins in place of Jeremiah! “Mr. Sparhawk graciously did, and I accepted.”
Dorinda paused, letting the chit consider her own words. According to George, this Sparhawk was no better than a common footpad; in Captain Bertle’s opinion, the man was some sort of seafaring adventurer, prone to intemperate violence and treasonous friendships with Frenchmen. Both, without question, believed him to be Caroline’s lover.
“This Mr. Sparhawk must be an old and trusted friend to undertake such a journey with you,” she said, watching with satisfaction as the little strumpet’s blush betrayed the truth. “Perhaps a friend of Frederick’s?”
Damn her cheeks for blushing so! Consciously Caro willed her hands to keep from twisting in her lap and wished she had the same control over the blood that rushed to her face.
“I have known Mr. Sparhawk only a brief time, but he has always acted with such honor and good grace that I felt my trust would not be misplaced,” she said carefully. “Although he is American, his sister is married to Admiral Lord John Herendon.”
“Ah, Britain’s own pretty Lord Jack,” purred Dorinda, remembering when Herendon, then a frigate captain, had been stationed with the other English ships in the bay. She had met him at the palace and found him much to her liking, tall and gold-haired like a Grecian god, and so much more like a hero than that poor bedraggled little Lord Nelson. Forty years ago, thought Dorinda nostalgically, no, even thirty, and she would have made a conquest of Lord Jack.
But for this man Sparhawk to be connected to the Herendons put a whole different coloring on Caroline’s infidelity. Jack Herendon would have married a beauty, and her brother would doubtless be comely, too, and young. Trust both George and Bertle not to tell her what would matter most to a woman!
“Are they of a piece then, this Mr. Sparhawk and Lord Jack?” she asked archly. “Certainly any lady would wish for a man of Lord Jack’s courage on a voyage in these uncertain times.”
“No, they are not very similar at all,” said Caro, imagining the two men side by side. “Jeremiah is taller than Jack, broader, with dark hair and green eyes. His life has not been easy, which sometimes makes him melancholy, but when he smiles, he makes one forget everything else, and he is very loyal, willing to fight to defend whatever he believes in.”
Jeremiah. The way the chit said the name alone was enough to condemn her. Worse, she was so smitten that she didn’t even realize her own error, babbling on happily about the man’s qualities. Tall, handsome, a touch of melancholia for romance, a man of action and heartbreaking smiles. Oh, yes, thought Dorinda cynically, he was everything a woman could want in a lover, and everything, too, that Frederick—quiet, awkward, gentlemanly Frederick—never would, or could, be. As a woman, Dorinda might envy the creature’s good fortune, but as a mother, she could only hate her more for scorning her son.
“Then it sounds as if you have chosen well, Caroline,” she said, her smile creasing her paint. “Mr. Sparhawk will need all his strength on the next part of the journey.”
“You have word of Frederick, then?” said Caro excitedly, forgetting all