Jason smiled, a wolfs smile. He shrugged. How to explain? An aura? Her carriage?
Carriage? Frederick considered, then waved the point aside. Ive heard my mother lecture msisters that carriage makes a lady. In my sisters cases, it definitely hasnt helped.
Jason gestured dismissively. Whatever. Miss Lester may dress as she pleases but she cannot deceive me.
His confidence set Frederick frowning. What about those spectacles?
Plain glass.
Frederick stared. Are you sure?
Perfectly. Jasons lips twisted wryly. Hence, dear Frederick, there is no viable conclusion other than that Lenore Lester is intent on pulling the wool over our collective eyes. If you can disregard the impression her appearance invokes, then you would see, as I didand doubtless Aunt Agatha before methat beneath the rags lies a jewel. Not a diamond of the first water, Ill grant you, but a jewel none the less. There is no reason Lenore Lester needs must wear her hair in a prim bun, nor, Ill lay any odds, does she need to wear heavy gowns and a pinafore. They are merely distractions.
Butwhy?
Precisely my question. Determination gleamed in His Grace of Eversleighs grey eyes. I greatly fear, Frederick, that you will indeed have to brave the trials and tribulations of a full week of Jack and Harrys entertainments. For we are certainly not leaving before I discover just what Lenore Lester is hiding. And why.
NINETY MINUTES later, the hum of drawing-room conversation filling his ears, Jason studied the gown his hostess had donned for the evening with a certain degree of respect. She had entered quietly and stood, calmly scanning the throng. He waited until she was about to plunge into the mêlée before strolling to her elbow.
Miss Lester.
Lenore froze, then, slowly, using the time to draw her defences about her, turned to face him. Her mask firmly in place, she held out her hand. Good evening, Your Grace. I trust you found your rooms adequate?
Perfectly, thank you. Straightening from his bow, Jason moved closer, trapping her peridot gaze in his.
The facile words of glib conversation which should have flowed easily from Lenores socially experienced tongue evaporated. Dimly, she wondered why Eversleighs silver gaze should have such a mind-numbing effect on her. Then his gaze shifted, swiftly skimming her shoulders before returning to her face. He smiled, slowly. Lenore felt a peculiar tingling warmth suffuse her.
Jason allowed one brow to rise. Permit me to compliment you on your gown, Miss Lester. I have not previously seen anything quite like it.
Oh? Alarm bells rang in Lenores brain. Impossible not to acknowledge that her novel creationa silk chemisette, buttoned high at the neck with long buttoned sleeves attached, worn beneath her version of a lustring sack, appropriately named as it fell in copious folds from a gathered yoke above her breasts to where the material was drawn in about her knees before flaring out to conceal her ankleswas in marked contrast to the filmy muslin or silk evening gowns of her contemporaries, cut revealingly low and gathered snugly beneath their breasts the better to display their figures. Indeed, her gown was expressly designed to serve a diametrically opposed purpose. Eversleighs allusion, thrown at her on the heels of his unnerving smile, confirmed her dread that, unlike the rest of the company, he had failed to fall victim to her particular snare. Disconcerted but determined not to show it, she tiled her chin, her eyes wide and innocent. Im afraid I have little time for London fripperies, Your Grace.
A glint of appreciative amusement gleamed in the grey eyes holding hers.
Strangely enough, it wasnt your lack of accoutrement that struck me. Smoothly, Jason drew her hand through his arm. If I was asked for my opinion, I would have to state that in your case, Miss Lester, my taste would run to less, rather than more.
His tone, his expression, the inflection in his deep voice, all combined to assure Lenore that her worst fears had materialised. What mischievous fate, she wondered distractedly, had decreed that Eversleigh, of all men, should be the one to see beyond her purposely drab façade?
Deciding that retreat was the only way forward, she dropped her gaze. I fear I must attend my father, Your Grace. If youll excuse me?
I have yet to pay my respects to your father, Miss Lester, and should like to do so. Ill take you to him, if youll permit it?
Lenore hesitated, fingers twisting the long chain about her neck from which depended a pair of redundant lorgnettes. There was no real reason to refuse Eversleighs escort and she was loath to cry coward so readily. After all, what could he do in the middle of the drawing-room? She looked up, into his eyes. I believe we will find my father by the fireplace, Your Grace.
She was treated to a charming smile. With intimidating ease, Eversleigh steered her through the noisy crowd to where her father was seated in a Bath chair before the large hearth, one gouty foot propped on a stool before him.
Papa. Lenore bent to plant a dutiful kiss on her fathers lined cheek.
The Honourable Archibald Lester humphed. Bout time. Bit late tonight, arent you? What happened? One of those lightskirts try to tumble Smithers?
Inured to her fathers outrageous remarks, Lenore stooped to tuck in a stray end of the blanket draped over his knees. Of course not, Papa. I was merely delayed.
Jason had noted how Mr. Lesters restless gaze had fastened on his daughter the instant she had come into view. He watched as the old mans washed-out blue eyes scanned Lenores face before peering up at him aggressively from under shaggy white brows.
Before her father could bark out some less than gracious query, Lenore stepped in. Allow me to make known to you His Grace of Eversleigh, Papa.
Mr. Lesters steady gaze did not waver. If anything, it intensified. A sardonic gleam in his eye, Jason bowed gracefully, then accepted the hand the old man held out.
Havent seen you in some years, I think, Mr. Lester remarked. Knew your father wellyoure becoming more like him with the yearsin all respects, from everything I hear.
Standing beside her fathers chair, Lenore studiously kept her eyes blank.
Jason inclined his head. So I have been informed.
Mr. Lesters head sank. For a moment, he appeared lost in memories. Then he snorted. Lifting his head, he looked out across the crowded room. Remember being in Paris one year your father was there. Group of us, him included, spent quite a bit of time together. Had a rousing six monthsthe Parisian mesdamesnow there were women who knew how to heat a mans blood. With a contemptuous wave, he indicated the press of bodies before him. This lots got no idea. Youmboysdont know what youre missing.
Jasons smile grew harder to suppress. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lenore colour delicately. In his own best interests, he decided to forgo encouraging Mr. Lester to recount his memories in more detail. Unfortunately, I believe Napoleons comrades have altered things somewhat since you were last in France, sir.
Damned upstart! Mr. Lester ruminated on the emperors shortcomings for some seconds before observing, Stillthe wars over. Ever think of chancing the Channel to savour the delights of la bonne vie, heh?
At that, Jason smiled. My tastes, I fear, are distinctly English, sir. As if to include Lenore in their discussion, he allowed his gaze to rise, capturing her eyes with his before adding with calm deliberation, Besides, I have a particular project before me which bodes fair to absorbing my complete attention for the foreseeable future.
Despite the quake that inwardly shook her, Lenore kept her gaze steady and her expression serene. Favouring attack as the best form of defence, she countered, Indeed, Your Grace? And what project is that?
She had thought to rattle him; although his features remained serious, his expressive eyes warned her she had seriously underestimated him.
I find myself faced with a conundrum, Miss Lester. A conclusion which, while apparently consistent with the facts, I know to be false.
Mr. Lester snorted. Sounds just like the musty old theories you so delight in, mdear. You should give His Grace a hand.
Speechless, Lenore looked up, straight into Eversleighs gleaming grey eyes.
An excellent idea. Jason could not resist a small smile of triumph.
To Lenore, the gesture revealed far too many teeth. Eversleigh was dangerous. His reputation painted him in the most definite coloursthose of a highly successful rake. I really dont believe
Her careful retreat was cut off by Smithers, announcing in booming accents that dinner was served.
Lenore blinked, then saw a slow smile light Eversleighs fascinating features. He had scanned the crowd and now stood, watching her expectantly. Reality hit Lenore like a wave. Eversleigh was the senior peer present. As his hostess, it was incumbent upon her to lead the assembled company in to dinneron his arm. Aware that, at any moment, the restive crowd would work all this out for themselves and turn to see her, dithering, beside her fathers chair, Lenore resisted the temptation to close her eyes in frustration. Instead, her serene mask firmly in place, she walked into the wolfs lair. If you would be so kind as to lend me your arm, Your Grace?
She was hardly surprised when he promptly obliged. Harris, the footman, arrived to propel her fathers chair. Testily the old man waved them on. Lets get going! Im hungry.
Yielding to the slightest of pressures, Lenore allowed Eversleigh to lead her towards the door.
Appreciatively viewing the regal tilt of his hostess golden head as she glided beside him through the waiting throng, her small hand resting lightly on his sleeve, Jason waited until they had reached the relative quiet of the hall before murmuring, As I was saying, Miss Lester, I have become fascinated by an instance of what I believe might best be described as artful deceit.
Lenore was having none of it. Artful deceit, Your Grace? To what purpose, pray?
As to purpose, I am not at all sure, but I intend to find out, Miss Lester.
Lenore risked an upward glance, insensibly annoyed at the feeling of smallness that engulfed her. She was used to dealing with gentlemen eye to eye; Eversleighs height gave him an unfair advantage. But she was determined to end his little game. Elevating her chin, she adopted her most superior tone. Indeed, Your Grace? And just how do you propose to unravel this conundrum of yours, laying all bare?
Even as the words left her tongue, Lenore closed her eyes, stifling a groan. Where had her wits gone begging? Then her eyes flew open, her gaze flying, in considerable trepidation, to Eversleighs hard countenance. Any hope that he would not take advantage was wiped from her mind the instant her eyes met his. Silver gleamed in the grey, white fire under water.
My dear Miss Lester. The tenor of his voice, velvety deep and heavy with meaning, was a warning in itself. Would it surprise you to learn that I consider myself peculiarly well-qualified to tackle this particular conundrum? As if my prior existence were nothing more than preparation for this challenge?
The dining-room loomed ahead, a sanctuary filled with polished oak and silver, crystal goblets winking in the light from the chandelier. The sight gave Lenore strength. I find that extremely difficult to believe, Your Grace. You must be sure to tell me when you have solved your puzzle.
The smile she received in reply made her giddy.
Believe me, my dear Miss Lester, youll be the very first to know when I lay my conundrum bare.
By rights, Lenore thought, she should at least be allowed a gasp. Only her determination not to dissolve into a witless heap under Eversleighs attack allowed her to keep her head high and her composure intact. Indeed? she replied, her voice not as strong as she would have liked. As she assumed her chair at the end of the long table, she tried for dismissive boredom. You intrigue me, Your Grace.
No, Miss Lester. Jason stood beside her, one long-fingered hand resting lightly on the back of her chair, his eyes effortlessly holding hers. You intrigue me.
Others milled about, taking their places along the polished boards. Noise and chatter engulfed the company. Yet Lenore heard all through a distancing mist, conscious only of the intent in the grey eyes holding hers. Then, slowly, Eversleigh inclined his head and released her, taking his seat beside her.
Shaken, Lenore hauled in a quivering breath. Eversleigh was in pride of place on her right; she had purposely installed young Lord Farningham, an eminently safe young gentleman, on her left.
Watching as the company settled and the first course was brought forth, Lenore felt her nerves flicker restlessly. It was Eversleigh and his disturbing propensity to reach through her defences that was the cause of her disquiet. Quite what it was he did to her normally reliable senses she did not know, but clearly she would have to cope with the problem for the next few hours.
To her relief, Mrs. Whitticombe, seated beyond Lord Farningham, monopolised all attention with an anecdote on turtle soup as served by a certain Mr. Weekes.
Taking the opportunity to scan the table, Lenore noted her aunt seated a little way away with Gerald beside her to help. In the middle of the table, Jack and Harry, one one either side, kept the conversation flowing. A good deal of laughter and general hilarity was already in evidence as her brothers and their guests settled in. At the distant head of the table, her father and his old crony, Mr. Pritchard, were deep in discussion. Horses or reminiscences of a more ribald sort, Lenore sagely surmised, her eyes on the two grey heads.
I have heard, Eversleigh, that theres plenty of grouse down your way this year?
Lord Farninghams question, uttered in the tones of one well aware of the hazards of approaching one of the lions of the ton, jerked Lenore to attentiveness.
But Eversleighs reply, a mild, Yes, itll be a good season, so my gamekeeper assures me. Youre in Kent, are you not? relieved her of anxiety. With every appearance of interest, she listened as Eversleigh discussed game and the keeping of coverts with Lord Farningham.
When the subject ran dry, halfway through the first course as the soup was replaced by turbot in cream sauce with side dishes of mushroom florettes and tongue in port wine, Lenore was ready with a blithe, Tell me of Eversleigh Abbey, Your Grace. I have heard it is even bigger than the Hall.
The look Eversleigh directed at her was unfathomable but he replied readily enough.
It is rather large. The original abbey dates to just after the Conquest but my family has made numerous additions over the years. What remains might best be described as a semi-Gothic pile, complete with ruined cloisters.