"I understand your confusion," Imogen Maitland said. "It is unusual. Given that Rafe never troubles himself about anything."
"How can you say that?" the duke asked her, with a distinct snap in his voice. "When there are four rocking horses upstairs at this very moment to disprove you?"
An odd comment, to Gillian's mind.
"Miss Pythian-Adams likely knows that you've never shown the slightest interest in amateur theatricals," Lady Maitland said to him.
"I've developed just such an interest," he said stubbornly.
"If you'll forgive me my skepticism, Your Grace, there's more to this than your sudden enthusiasm. Where is this professional actress coming from? Who is she?" Gillian looked directly at Mr. Spenser. It was he who was pulling the strings of this particular puppet show, or she'd miss her guess.
"Her name is Miss Loretta Hawes."
"And where did Miss Hawes come from?"
"Mr. Spenser accidentally hit her with his carriage," Imogen Maitland explained. "Due to her injury, she lost her place at the Covent Garden, so he promised her a lead role here. Thus Rafe's unwonted theatrical enthusiasm."
"As some sort of compensation?" Gillian said, her eyes searching Mr. Spenser's face.
"Precisely."
"So we have a professional actress in the main role," the duke said wearily. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?" He stood up, swaying slightly.
"He should be lying down," Lady Griselda said flatly, once the duke had left the room. "I have an idea for the performance."
"What do you suggest, Lady Griselda?" Mr. Spenser asked.
"What about a Christmas pantomime? Everyone loves a pantomime, and if the caliber of our acting isn't all that it could be, it certainly won't be noticed in a pantomime."
"You mean a proper pantomime, with a farce and—"
"Precisely! It suits us perfectly. All the parts are generally taken by men, but we can give one female role to this young person from London. She can play a princess or something. I'm sure she'll be happy if we find an ostentatious costume."
There was something fishy about the story of the actress knocked down by the carriage. Gillian was under the impression that Mr. Spenser had only just made himself known to his half brother. He looked like a man who would be much more comfortable tucked away in a dusty library in Cambridge. There was something faintly desperate in his eyes when he mentioned Miss Hawes that made her suspicious.
Lady Maitland came forward and put her hand on Mr. Spenser's arm. "I think it's a lovely thing you're doing for this young woman," she said, looking up at him.
Last time Gillian had seen Imogen look at a man with that intense interest, her name had been Imogen Essex, and her gaze had been directed at Gillian's own fiance, Draven Maitland. Gillian had welcomed it with joy, as it signaled a possible release from her engagement. This time, her name was Imogen Maitland, and her gaze was directed at the duke's brother.
Gillian didn't like it this time.
Not at all.
Chapter 13
A Council of War Involves a Division of Battlegrounds Amongst Generals
I'm not afraid of a widow's cap, Imogen said to herself. She was dressing for dinner. When the season arrives, I'll travel to London and decide if I wish to remarry, and that will be that.
But the season doesn't start for months. Six months. And I…
Want something for myself. Her grief was gone, but there was a sort of emptiness in its place. Last spring, she'd thought to have an affair out of rage, humiliation, and guilt. Now she felt as if the last year had happened to someone else. Surely it was another woman who had turned on her dearest sister Tess like a viper and blamed her for Draven's death. And why?
Imogen's hands stilled. Because she and Tess had been arguing at the moment when Draven's horse flashed by the stand? She had apologized to Tess, of course. But she ought to apologize again. Surely she had been mad, maddened by grief.
She needed to scatter her apologies everywhere. She had to apologize to Miss Pythian-Adams as well. She put the thought away.
Mr. Spenser was delicious. She shivered even thinking of him.
Surely it wouldn't be too hard to seduce him. Imogen took a deep breath. She'd do it this very night. Tonight.
"Daisy," she said, turning about.
Imogen's maid looked up from straightening her cupboard. "Yes, my lady?"
"I'll wear the velvet evening gown that Madame Careme made for me."
"Of course, my lady," Daisy said, pulling forth a swath of glorious deep crimson, with a dipping neckline and small velvet sleeves that clung. It was trimmed in seed pearls and subtly shaped to follow Imogen's curves. "Would you like a ribbon in your hair?"
"No," Imogen said, "I'll wear the rubies." They would give her confidence.
I can seduce Mr. Spenser as easily as I fell from that apple tree at Draven's feet, Imogen told herself twenty minutes later, looking in the mirror.
There was a sound at the door. Daisy opened it and said: "Miss Pythian-Adams wonders if you might receive her."
"Do ask her to come in," Imogen said. "And Daisy, I shail finish dressing myself. Thank you."
The maid curtsied and shut the door behind her.
Gillian Pythian-Adams was dressed in a subdued striped silk, fashionable, certainly, but eminently suitable for a quiet dinner in the country. Her eyes widened when she saw Imogen.
"You look exquisite, Lady Maitland," she said. "I am put to shame."
"Thank you," Imogen said, leading her to a chair, "but the idea of shame is ridiculous. I remember despairing the moment I saw you for the first time, last year. I had been so hopeful that you would be a dreary bluestocking." She hesitated and then took the plunge. "I have wanted to apologize, Miss Pythian-Adams. I behaved in a truly despicable fashion when I ran away with your fiance."
"The fact that you loved him is a mitigating influence," Miss Pythian-Adams said, dropping into a chair.
Imogen didn't sit down. "I have given a great deal of thought to my behavior over this past year, and I have no excuse for it. I was utterly single-minded about your— your former fiance, Draven Maitland. I'd been in love with him for some years, and although that cannot excuse my behavior, it might explain it."
"Please sit down," Miss Pythian-Adams said, "please. And you must call me Gillian. As for explaining your behavior, I felt only admiration, I promise you. You felt so strongly for poor Draven."
"Yes, I did," Imogen said, sitting down.
"If you will forgive my plain speaking," Gillian said, leaning forward to touch Imogen's knee, "I was amazed. You see, I was engaged to Draven myself, and yet you managed to see such a better side to him than I had glimpsed."
"He was difficult," Imogen said. "But he was also— magnificent."
"I was fond of him," Gillian said. "And yet I was so glad when the two of you eloped. If poor Draven had to live such a short time, I am grateful that he didn't spend his days with such a sharp-tongued termagant as I am. I was terribly unpleasant to him, you know."
"I'm sure you weren't."