Lady Fiasco, A Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt) (15 page)

“Nonsense. At the very least, you owe me the courtesy of a few words. I am your neighbor, a friend of your father’s, and, until I saw that ferocious look on your face, I thought you also counted me a friend.”

 “
Friend?
By what definition? I had not thought a friend would knock down one’s dancing partner. Indeed, you seem to do a great number of things I would not find listed under the desirable characteristics of a friend. How dare you lecture me on courtesy?” She pulled her arm out of his grasp.

He stiffened. “I don’t expect you to understand my reasoning.”

“Indeed. Because it is inscrutable.”

He gritted his teeth and went on. “I wouldn’t bother speaking to you now, if it weren’t for the fact that you are without sensible counsel. I am duty-bound to warn you about the company you are keeping.”

Fiona’s mouth opened involuntarily. She snapped it shut and shook her head. “This is outside of enough, Lord Wesmont. I told you before. You owe me nothing. You have no duty toward me whatsoever. You may refrain from bashing any more of my true friends to the floor.”

“I hardly think that blackguard Alameda should be counted among your friends.” He grimaced apologetically at Miss Haversburg. “This is exceedingly awkward, Fiona. It would be much better if I called on you tomorrow to discuss your situation privately.”

“That will not be necessary. I am quite satisfied with my situation. Now, if you will excuse me.”

She turned to leave, but Tyrell reached out and caught her bare shoulder. The sensation of his fingers touching her skin rushed through her like a blast of heat on a cold night. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. With great effort she forced herself to turn slowly back to face him. Clearly, she was not the only one startled by that moment of contact.

His hand slid awkwardly from her shoulder, his voice softened and held a bewildered quality. “I would appreciate the opportunity to explain. If you will permit me, I should like to call on you.”

She bit her lip for a split second, hopeful, loath to think she might never again enjoy that delicious warmth he seemed to possess. Then she remembered how painful it was to get too close to Lord Wesmont. An iron door slammed shut on her foolhardy emotions. She lifted her chin, defying him to hurt her ever again.

“You surprise me, Lord Wesmont,” she strained to sound contemptuous. “Do you truly require my permission to call? For I am convinced that you, my lord, are the sort of man who does precisely as he pleases.”

He straightened, visibly irritated, but the light of challenge flashed in his eyes. “Very well, then. It
pleases
me to call. Tomorrow at four o’clock for a drive in the Park.” He bowed curtly to both women and turned on his heel.

Fiona’s mouth fell open, astonished at his audacity. She breathed out an annoyed huff, stamped her foot on the marble floor, grabbed Miss Haversburg’s arm, and marched down the hall to find the ladies’ repairing room.

Maria blinked at her captor. “Miss Hawthorn, I must say, your conversation with Lord Wesmont leaves me baffled and more than a little astonished.”

Fiona muttered under her breath. “Then you are not alone.”

Chapter 14
A Scandal by any other Name 

T
he next morning Fiona sat with her aunt at the breakfast table. Of course it wasn’t really morning, the clock in the hallway chimed twelve times, marking the hour as noon. Nevertheless, they sat breakfasting together in companionable silence until the butler presented Honore with a silver salver stacked high with mail.

“Oh, bother, what a pile.” Honore didn’t actually seem annoyed as she eagerly slit open the first missive. She was used to hostesses vying for her company at their evenings “at home.” A rout was sure to be a crushing success if word got around that the notorious Lady Alameda might attend.

Honore pulled out the first invitation. Extending her arm, she held the card up, squinted, and adjusted the distance until she could read it clearly. Grunting, she flipped the petition onto the table, ripped open the next card, read it, and tossed it aside. Her brows pinched together and she frowned at Fiona.

“What is it, Aunt? Is something amiss?”

Honore’s forehead unpinched and her gaze floated up toward the ceiling. “Do you know, Fiona, I can see the ceiling with perfect clarity, but if I hold a letter closer than the end of my arm I can scarce make out the words.”

“How troubling that must be. Would you like me to read your morning correspondence to you?”

“Heavens no! I’m not as aged as that.”

“Of course not. I merely thought it might be more convenient—”

“Convenient? Convenient is being able to read the darned things m’self. It is
my
correspondence, after all.”

She tore open another invitation, read it, and flicked it aside. She grabbed a handful of letters from the silver tray, turned them over, and perused the seals until she found one that interested her. Running her finger over the large blue wax seal, she broke open the invitation, perused it, smiled sardonically, and let the card fall out of her hand.

“How perfectly extraordinary,” she said, contemplating Fiona with a frown.

Fiona stuck a forkful of kippers into her mouth. She wasn’t going to ask.

“It would seem, m’dear, you are no longer riding on my coattails.”

Fiona wondered what she had done now. Obviously, her aunt was upset with her. The fish in her mouth suddenly tasted crusty, dry, and difficult to swallow. When she was finally able to clear her throat, she ventured, “I don’t grasp your meaning?”

Honore pulled her breakfast plate back in place and primly lifted her fork. “No? You don’t understand?” She stabbed an orange and twirled it on the end of her fork. “Well then, let me explain. Society has crowned you her latest attraction. Judging from this stack of cards,” —with her left hand she flicked the envelopes sitting on the tray—“every hostess in town is hoping
you
will attend her next ball. Can you guess why, m’dear?”

Fiona shook her head and carefully set her fork on her plate, no longer hungry.

“I should think the answer is obvious. Come now, whatever other failings you might have, you’re not stupid. Can you not guess?”

Fiona took a deep breath. “I should think if I am invited anywhere it is simply because I am connected to you. I cannot possibly fathom any other reason.”

That answer seemed to mollify Honore slightly. Her tone became less sarcastic. “I thought the same thing until last night. Now, it seems you are the one in demand. Without a doubt, they are all hoping you will come and create one of your famous incidents at their party.”

“No. That can’t be.” Fiona’s eyes opened wide. “You must be mistaken, Aunt. No one could wish a disaster on their own friends and family.”

Honore snorted. “How little you know, my dear. Consider Lady Sefton’s ball last night, do you recall the most interesting thing that happened? You need not answer, because everybody knows it was when Marcus got himself thumped to the floor. It makes no difference that Wesmont did the thumping, Marcus was dancing with
you
. Coupled with the news of your mishap with Prinny, society appears to have concluded that you are the harbinger of interesting scenes.”

Fiona clasped her hands together in her lap and gritted her teeth. It was nonsense, just more of her aunt’s insanity. It must be.

Honore sliced open her orange. “Consider this, Fiona. If you go to Louise Haversburg’s rout and a catastrophe occurs, Louise can be confident that her gathering will be talked about for weeks.”

Fiona frowned at her aunt. “This is ridiculous. I cannot believe anyone would be so callous as to
want
something to go wrong. Aside from the distress to one of their guests, what if someone is harmed, or worse yet, killed?”

Honore sucked the orange slice on her fork. She licked the juice off her lips. “That doesn’t appear to have troubled anyone in the least. See here”—she gestured to the large invitation with the blue seal—“the Countess Lieven is most insistent that you appear at her ball. The deuced thing is more than a month away.” She lifted the gilt card and considered it for a moment. “Now that I think about it, Fiona dear, she must have written this card out the moment she returned home from Lady Sefton’s.”

Honore thumbed through the pile on the silver tray. “They all must have done so. How perfectly odd. Didn’t they think it could wait until morning?”

“They may as well have gone to bed and saved their ink and paper.” Fiona lifted her chin. “I shan’t go! I refuse to be fodder for society’s perverse amusement.”

“Stuff and nonsense. Why not?” Honore scoffed at her. “Miss Phoebe Ritwater is invited everywhere simply because she is beautiful, is she not? Yes. It’s certainly not for her conversation. The moment the chit opens her mouth she becomes a dead bore, a lisping dead bore at that. But she gets invited everywhere because she is a lovely ornament for guests to gawk at, not unlike a walking flower arrangement.”

Fiona shook her head at her aunt’s wild ramblings. “I thought it was because she was well connected.”

“Heavens no, child. Do you know how many well-connected gels sit home with less than a handful of invitations for the entire Season?”

Honore picked up a small brass bell and jangled it. Her butler appeared. “Send a footman to collect Monsieur Renellé. I want him here without delay. Tell him I am not pleased with the hair color he has inflicted upon me. I look older than the Queen Mother herself. Silver, indeed. Does he think I am blind? It’s gray. I want something youthful. Youthful, I tell you, more in keeping with my age.”

The butler’s mouth quivered almost imperceptibly, but his voice remained steady. “Very good, my lady.”

Honore brushed the rest of her post out of the way with a disgusted snort, and spread open the newspaper. Fiona ate the remainder of her breakfast in silence.

That afternoon, Maria Haversburg came to call and sat fidgeting on Lady Alameda’s sofa. Her mama rapped her smartly on the leg. “Sit still,” she said under her breath. Lady Haversburg looked anxiously at the mantel clock. “Lady Alameda must be unavoidably detained. Perhaps, we ought to take our leave.”

Fiona earnestly shook her head. “Oh no, I’m certain my aunt will appear at any moment. You know how unhappy she’ll be if she misses your visit.” She extended a plate of Mattie’s shortbread. “More biscuits, Lady Haversburg?”

“Well, just one more. They
are
tasty. I often remark, Honore is most fortunate in her Scottish cook.”

Lady Haversburg plucked a large biscuit from the plate. Maria looked hopefully at the plate, but her mother pushed it away from her daughter, shaking her finger from side to side. She sputtered crumbs, as she said, “Maria has had quite enough, thank you.”

Fiona smiled sympathetically at her friend and looked up at the clock as it pinged four times for the hour.

“Miss Hawthorn, were you not engaged to go driving with Lord Wesmont this afternoon?” Maria said, and the odor of musk and fetid teeth wafted toward Fiona.

“I’m not certain.” She smiled and shrugged as if it were of little or no consequence.

“But I distinctly heard him say he would call for you at four o’clock.”

“Did he? Lord Wesmont jests so often, one never knows if he is sincere or simply bamming.” Fiona bit the corner of her lip, hoping her lie was not evident.

“Odd,” said Maria. “Lord Wesmont seemed such a serious gentleman. I wouldn’t have thought he was jesting.”

“I daresay, Maria is right.” Her mama fanned at the air to dispel her daughter’s dental aroma. “Did you see the beastly scowl he wore all night? Enough to give anyone the impression he is naught but an ill-tempered grudgen.”

The butler stood in the open doorway and cleared his throat. “Lord Wesmont.” The butler bowed, presenting the guest in the doorway.

Maria gasped. The ill-tempered grudgen stood before them, dressed in a perfect-fitting blue cutaway and buff form-fitting unmentionables.

“Although, one could do worse,” muttered Lady Haversburg, nudging her daughter up, completely unabashed about the disparaging comment she had just made.

Lord Wesmont’s thick eyebrows were not set in his famous furrowed scowl. His eyes were shuttered halfway in an unreadable expression. Although, Fiona wondered if the corners of his mouth weren’t twitching ever so slightly.

She rose, struggling to control her breath and pulse. “Lord Wesmont, such a surprise.”

He took her hand and spoke softly enough that only she could hear. “So you thought I was merely jesting?”

She ignored his dig and introduced him to Lady Haversburg and her daughter. He bowed politely over each lady’s hand. When he bowed over Maria’s hand, he did not recoil from the blast of fetid air that surely must have assaulted him when the girl smiled. It pleased Fiona that he took pains to be kind. He remained composed and gracious even when Maria spoke to him and revealed more of her unfortunate teeth.

Honore burst into the room startling everyone.

Fiona’s mouth dropped open. Her aunt’s hair was yellow, not ordinary blonde, but the color of a great yellow cheese, almost orange. Shocking, as that was, her vivid new coiffure was eclipsed by her scandalous gown. Although artfully designed, the neckline exposed far more than it concealed. The only thing covering Honore’s bosom was a diaphanous layer of mint green muslin leaves emerging from a line of dark green silk which extended from floor to midriff, curving around the sides of each breast and up over her shoulders. The muslin bodice was cut in the shape of leaves waving and fluttered like wispy feathers over Honore’s nakedness.

Lady Haversburg stood to greet her hostess. Maria dropped back down onto the sofa, too astonished by Honore’s apparel to stand until her Lady Haversburg’s foot connected with her daughter’s ankle, and the poor girl sprang to her feet. 

Honore bustled forward, clasped Lady Haversburg’s shoulders, kissed her cheeks, and lisped as if she were an infant. “Louise, what a delightful surprise. I had no notion you were waiting for me.” She turned on her niece. “For shame, Fiona, you should have informed me that I had guests.”