Julia Justiss - Regency Secrets - My Lady's Trust

By the time she finished her explanation, all other conversation had ceased and the attention of everyone present was riveted on Mrs. Martin. Finding herself suddenly the focus of every eye, the lady swiftly dropped her gaze to her lap, her cheeks pinking.

A gasp sounded in the silence, followed by a “By Jove!” The vicar, across the table from Mrs. Martin, sat with mouth agape, while the knight seated next to her exclaimed, “Mrs. Martin, what a capital rig. Capital!”

Lady Ardith stared at the widow with a look of shocked indignation, as if one of the stone spaniels that flanked Squire Everett’s drive had just turned and bitten her. Nonetheless, she was first of the ladies to recover.

“What an … interesting gown, Mrs. Martin. A hand-me-down from the family of a grateful patient, no doubt. When one is forced to earn one’s crust, I suppose one must accept all manner of payments.”

Ellie gasped, indignation flashing in her eyes, and though a matching anger flared in Beau, he reached out swiftly to put a warning hand on her elbow.

The high color in Mrs. Martin’s face paled. Before Beau could intervene, she raised her gaze to Lady Ardith. Her coolly amused gaze. “Indeed, my lady.”

Bravo, Beau thought.

“I hope,” Ardith continued, sublimely oblivious, “you’ve expressed your humble thanks to the squire and his lordship for permitting you to be included in this gathering. I daresay you’ve never dined in quite this sort of company before.”

Did he observe an instant’s quiver in her lip? Before he could decide, Mrs. Martin, her expression blandly meek, replied, “You’re quite right, my lady.” Her eyes dipped briefly to Lady Ardith’s jutting bosom before she continued, “I’ve never dined in such company before.”

Beau choked back a laugh, then shot a glance at Ellie. His sister gave him a tiny nod, her eyes full of mirth.

“I do thank his lordship, Squire Everett and Lady Winters for including me tonight,” Mrs. Martin concluded.

The vicar gave Lady Ardith a sharp look. “‘Tis not so unusual for us to dine with Mrs. Martin. We have on several occasions been blessed with her excellent company.”

“Country parties, of course,” Lady Ardith replied. “Given the unfortunate lack of numbers often obtaining in country society, ‘tis quite amazing the odd parties one is occasionally forced to make up.” Noting the vicar still frowning, Lady Ardith leaned toward him, gifting the reverend with a full view of her generous endowments. “Though you, of course, Mr. Blackthorne, would be welcome at any party. And how is your mama, the viscountess?”

Being human, the vicar did gaze for a moment at the display beneath his eyes, but to Beau’s grudgingly accorded credit, almost immediately raised his glance back to the lady’s face. His closed expression hinted he’d already assessed Lady Ardith’s character and found it, unlike her chest, to be somewhat lacking. “Quite well, Lady Ardith,” he said shortly, refraining from adding a comment that might prolong the conversation.

Lady Ardith eyed the vicar for a moment, then shrugged at the subtle rebuff. Apparently considering the man not worth the effort—or perhaps writing him off as unattachable—Lady Ardith turned once more to the squire, and conversation became general again.

Beau was too far away to be able to overhear Mrs. Martin’s comments to her dinner partners, but as she was seated on the opposite side of the table, at least he could turn occasionally and gaze at her. She sat quietly, speaking little, her head inclined in smiling deference.

Unlike Lady Ardith, who seemed unable to let her neighbors dine in peace. Scarcely had he taken a mouthful before, in a minor breach of etiquette, she waved across the table at him.

“Do you find the fish agreeable, Lord Beaulieu?” To reply, he was forced to dispense with the bite in one swallow. “Very.”

“Alphonse, our London chef, prepares a similar dish—much more elaborate, of course, as one would expect of a French artiste. You must stop by and try pot luck with us some evening when you are in town, mustn’t he, Asquith?”

Her husband, mouth full and focus fixed on the wine glass the footman was refilling, uttered a grunt that might be taken as assent. Scarcely waiting for her spouse’s reply, the lady turned to the squire with a flirtatious sweep of lashes. “How clever of you to procure so excellent a cook here in the country.” She leaned forward and stroked one finger slowly down his hand. “I so enjoy a clever gentleman.”

Having reduced the squire to goggling incoherence, Lady Ardith took another small bite and turned to Dr. MacDonovan. “Ah, delicious!” She slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her lips before saying in a husky voice, “Dr. MacDonovan, do they enjoy such delights in Edinburgh?”

After a sympathetic wink at Beau, Mac grinned at the lady. “To be sure, Lady Ardith. Such treats should be devoured wherever they are offered.”

She arched a brow at Mac and gave a soft, throaty laugh. “Naughty man! Though I believe you are correct, Doctor. Lady Elspeth, is he always such a rogue?”

“Always.”

“You must excuse me for neglecting you, Lady Elspeth,” Ardith continued. “I know the mama of so lovely and clever a daughter as Lady Catherine must want to be speaking of nothing but her offspring and alas, I fear I know little of children, his lordship and I not being so blessed. I try to console myself with the reflection that infants are quite ruinous to the figure. But then I am a silly, frivolous creature, as my lord is ever telling me. Ah, Lord Beaulieu, how do you like the shrimp velouté?”

And so, effectively shutting out the vacant Lady Winters, who seldom exerted herself to converse, and Elspeth, who was too polite to wrench the conversation back in her own direction, Lady Ardith continued to chatter through the meal, punctuating her running commentary with flirtatious glances and suggestive touches to the hands of the gentlemen closest to her, as if to keep them ever mindful of her physical allure.

Beau glanced from Lord Asquith, food-stained cravat askew, to where Lady Ardith was preening coquettishly before Mac, the knight Sir Ramsdale and his bedazzled son. He felt an unexpected flash of sympathy for the lady.

With her glittering blond beauty and siren’s body, she’d doubtless been the diamond of her come-out Season, accustomed to being the focus of masculine attention since the day she left the schoolroom. Shackled now to a prominent, wealthy peer who apparently no longer indulged appetites beyond the table, with no children to occupy her time, it was small wonder she felt compelled to practice her wiles on any reasonably attractive male within reach.

Especially since, he had to acknowledge, the majority of his sex would encourage her efforts. Given the lady’s alluring assets, few men would deny themselves the pleasure of seizing the several hours of harmless, mindless, full-body amusement her enticing glances promised. Brutal honesty compelled him to admit he might have been tempted to respond himself, had he not first encountered the more intelligent, complex and subtly attractive Mrs. Martin.

Certainly the gentlemen at table with Lady Ardith now were competing to claim that prize. Although her husband persisted in ignoring her, occupying himself solely with the replenishment and emptying of his plate and wineglass, the other men vied for Lady Ardith’s attention, responding eagerly to her suggestive banter. The knight’s adolescent son, to the neglect of his dinner partners, chewed his meal while staring at Lady Ardith in cow-eyed adoration.

In contrast, Mrs. Martin ate sparingly and spoke but little, though her soft-voiced replies to her neighbors’ statements seemed to foster a continuous and lively discussion at her end of the table. Not was she entirely lacking in admirers, Beau noted.