Indiscreet. Candace Camp
and chattering like a magpie. Of course, he reminded himself, he might have known that nothing and no one connected with this girl would be normal.
“It looks as though everyone else is still up,” Camilla said, a little questioningly, as Purdle swept them through the wide front hall.
“Oh, yes, the whole family,” he agreed, not noticing the way Camilla’s face fell. “Well, except the young master, of course.”
“Anthony?” Camilla named her cousin, who at eighteen, was the old Earl’s heir and the closest to her of anyone in her family. When her parents died, his mother, Lydia, had raised Camilla, and the two of them had grown up like brother and sister.
“Yes. He retired early this evening.”
“Anthony?” Camilla repeated in disbelief. Her cousin was the liveliest of souls, always getting into some mischief or the other. He would be the last person she could imagine going to bed before everyone else, especially when she was expected tonight. “Is he sick?”
“Oh, no, miss. He’s, well, he’s been retiring earlier the past few months. Since, um, Mrs. Elliot came to visit.”
“Ah.” It was clear to her now. Anthony abhorred Aunt Beryl, perhaps even more than Camilla did. She always seized every opportunity to lecture him about his duties as the future Earl and to opine about the fact that her own husband had been the second son and therefore Anthony would inherit instead of her own sons, who were, by implication, much more worthy of the honor and position than Anthony.
“Precisely. No doubt you will see him soon enough.”
“Yes. I am sure I will.” She was certain that Anthony was not asleep; she would slip down the hall to his room once the others were in bed.
“Here we are.” Purdle stopped before a double set of doors that stood open, leading into the blue drawing room, a large, formal room that was rarely used by her grandfather. Camilla was sure it was by Lady Elliot’s command that it was being used now. Though Lydia was higher in rank, being the dowager Viscountess and the mother of the future Earl, Camilla had no doubt that she had let Aunt Beryl take the reins of the household. Lydia was intimidated by the older woman’s poisonous tongue, and, moreover, she had little liking for running things, anyway. Aunt Beryl, on the other hand, lived to command.
Purdle stepped inside the room, addressing Aunt Lydia. “My lady, Miss Camilla has arrived.”
He stepped aside for them the enter. Camilla drew a deep breath and looked up into Benedict’s face. He smiled down at her, transforming the harsh lines of his face into handsomeness and startling her so that for an instant she could not move. Then she realized that he was assuming a loverlike expression for their charade. She tried to adjust her face into the same sort of look as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
They stepped inside the room and stopped abruptly. It seemed as if the room were filled with people, and every eye was on them. For a moment the faces were an unrecognizable blur. Everyone in the room froze where they were, staring at Camilla and Benedict.
Then the multitude of faces resolved into several distinct people. The two young women were Aunt Beryl’s daughters, Amanda and Kitty. They had fair, painfully curled blond hair and vague-colored eyes that seemed about to pop out of their heads. Kitty was plump, and Amanda was as thin as a stick, but both were incessant gossips and gigglers, and Camilla was usually bored to death by their company within five minutes. Aunt Beryl, with the same pop eyes and fair hair, though starting to go gray, as her daughters, was seated in one of the wingback chairs near the fire, a shawl thrown around her shoulders to ward off the chill to which the low neckline of her evening dress exposed her.
The other older woman—though it took a second, longer look to realize that she did not belong to the same generation as Aunt Beryl’s daughters—was Aunt Lydia. Lydia was possessed of a creamy complexion upon which much care and many unguents were lavished, and her figure was as slender as if she had never borne a child. With her Titian red hair and vivid blue eyes, she was still one of the reigning beauties of London, and no one who did not know her would have guessed that she could have a son who was eighteen years old. She was staring at Camilla and Benedict as if she had never seen Camilla before.
These four women Camilla had expected to find at Chevington Park, though she had hoped that Aunt Beryl and her daughters would have gone on to bed by the time she arrived. What she had not expected to find here were the three men: her cousin Bertram, Aunt Beryl’s oldest son and one of the leading dandies of London, as well as two young men whom she had never seen before in her life.
“Aunt Lydia,” Camilla said, smiling and starting toward her aunt with outstretched arms.
“Dear girl,” Lydia murmured, rising to her feet and reaching out to enfold her niece in a graceful hug, all the while staring at Benedict with a peculiar look on her face.
“Camilla.” Aunt Beryl rose ponderously, though she did not extend her arms for a similar hug.
Camilla curtsied to her politely, exchanging greetings with her aunt and cousins. Her gaze flickered curiously toward the two strangers, but she hurried on, eager now to get her lying over with. She turned toward Benedict, holding out her hand toward him. To her relief, he started toward her with alacrity. She realized with amazement that he looked every inch the gentleman…and quite handsome, too. Amanda and Kitty were gazing at him with their mouths open.
Camilla drew breath to introduce Benedict, but before she could speak, Aunt Lydia flashed one of her sparkling smiles at Benedict and walked past Camilla, saying brightly, “No, you’ve no need to tell us, Camilla. We all know that this must be your husband.”
Her aunt’s words were followed by a complete silence. Camilla gaped at Lydia. Aunt Beryl’s shrewd eyes flickered from Camilla’s stupefied face to Benedict’s.
“How do you do, Mr. Lassiter?” Lydia went on, as if she had said nothing out of the ordinary. “I am Viscountess Marbridge. Camilla’s aunt.”
Benedict recovered well, smiling at the Viscountess and giving her an excellent bow. “How do you do, my lady? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He turned toward Camilla, and a look of pure fury flashed from his eyes. He was certain that she had played him for a fool, had for some strange reason maneuvered him into this situation.
Lydia, too, looked at Camilla. “Oh, dear,” she said, pouting prettily. “I hope I haven’t completely spoiled your surprise.”
“Oh. No, of course not,” Camilla responded faintly.
Lydia started across the room away from them. Benedict, smiling warmly down at Camilla, curled his hand around Camilla’s wrist and squeezed it in a most unloverlike grip. Bending close to her ear, he whispered, “What the devil do you think you’re doing? Whatever you hope to trap me into, I promise you, it won’t work.”
Camilla could not control the irritation that flashed over her features. “I have no idea what’s going on,” she whispered back, baring her teeth in what she hoped would pass for a smile. “I know nothing about this.”
Benedict’s eyes told her that he would like to pursue the point further, but by that time Aunt Lydia was upon them. She took Camilla’s hands in hers, squeezing them significantly. “I know you wanted me to keep the news a secret, but I was simply so elated when I received your letter that I could not resist telling everyone the news. Please say you will forgive me.”
“Yes. Certainly.” Camilla had recovered her poise and her senses well enough to know that she had no choice but to play along with her aunt’s outrageous statements.
“So unexpected,” Aunt Beryl put in, and Camilla could feel Aunt Beryl’s eyes boring into her.
She forced herself to meet her other aunt’s gaze, hoping that she looked adequately calm and in control. “Yes, wasn’t it?”
Lydia went on, “I am sure you must be very tired after your journey.” Squinting at Camilla, she leaned closer to her and