Cupid's Dart (12 page)

Peregrine took advantage of Andrew's silence to plagiarize the words of both Mr. Schiller and Pierre de Ronsard.
"'What is life without the radiance of love?/ Live now, believe me, wait not for tomorrow./ Gather the roses of life today.
'" Deuced if he didn't like Lieutenant Halliday's cane. The limp was a nice touch. Perhaps Peregrine might adopt a limp himself. He wondered if Halliday would mind answering some questions, about whether the leg hurt all the time, or more so when the weather was damp, and how he managed to get in and out of bed. Peregrine would have to create an interesting story as to how he had come by the limp, but that should be no problem for someone so imaginative as himself. If it wasn't for that damned Byron, he could carry a cane with a skull knob. Then he recalled with disappointment that Byron also walked with a limp, and a couple of ill-tempered dogs.

Miss Inchquist was regarding him expectantly.
"'Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows bent,'"
Peregrine murmured. Lieutenant Halliday looked skeptical, and he hastily added, "Shakespeare."

Andrew didn't think he should be listening to this poetical nonsense. Nor, for that matter, should Sarah-Louise. Surely someone so very tall and freckled shouldn't wear so many stripes? "A rent, then deemed considerable, was paid to the Lord of the Manor by the fishermen for the privilege to dry their nets, and in the winter to haul their boats upon what is now the Steine," Andrew remarked.

Sarah-Louise liked stripes. To wear them, when she knew they didn't flatter, was her small act of defiance against the world. To defy the world in the matter of stripes was one thing, however, and to run counter to her papa was another. A letter from that acerbic gentleman had come in today's post. Sarah-Louise's papa wished to know how the ladies went on. Sarah-Louise gazed on Peregrine. Truly, she didn't
mean
to be a serpent's tooth. But Mr. Teasdale had seen the beauty of her soul, and she wouldn't mind living in a garret if she could be his muse. Sarah-Louise was not entirely certain what a garret was, but she thought it would be very romantic to dwell in squalor with only a few servants, and perhaps a single coach.

Lieutenant Halliday had ceased to extol the wonders of Brighton. Sarah-Louise tore her gaze away from Peregrine to glance at him. He was very pale. His limp was more pronounced than usual, she thought, concerned. "Lieutenant Halliday, are you unwell?"

Andrew disliked the suggestion that he might be in delicate health, though the truth was that he had been racketing himself to pieces, and his bad dreams had returned. "Nothing of the sort! Fit as a fiddle!" he retorted. "In the great gale of 1705 all the houses on the flats below the cliffs were washed away."

At the suggestion that one of her callers might be ailing, Lady Denham looked up from her list. Heaven forbid that someone should disgorge his luncheon upon her expensive Aubusson carpet. Lieutenant Halliday did not look so ill as all that. "I do not think I have ever heard that young man speak of anything but Brighton. It is very odd."

Mr. Sutton had no interest in young Lieutenant Halliday, save perhaps for his sister's sake. Carlisle had reached his own conclusions regarding certain remarks recently overheard. He did not choose to acquaint his companion with those conclusions.

Amice was accustomed to having her own way. She had decided that Carlisle would do for his niece—heaven only knew why, the chit wouldn't last in India a fortnight—and it never occurred to her that the parties involved might have other ideas in mind.

Carlisle very definitely had other ideas in mind than the timorous Miss Inchquist, who plainly had a partiality elsewhere. Did not the girl blanch and tremble each time she was in his vicinity, Carlisle might warn her against wearing her heart upon her sleeve.

 "You are not attending me, Amice," he protested. "Do you recognize this female?"

Lady Denham glanced up from her list, which concerned arrangements for the grand event she planned in honor of her niece. A great many members of the fashionable world would be in attendance. Hopefully the girl could be dissuaded from wearing stripes.

She studied the miniature which Mr. Sutton extended to her. Guinea-gold hair, periwinkle eyes, an admirable
décolletage
—Lady Denham sniffed. "No, I don't know her, and you shouldn't, either. She doesn't look like she's the thing, Carlisle."

That depended on what one considered "the thing." Carlisle found the lady very much in his style. Not that she was a lady. And not that he had lessened in his determination to wring her neck. "What about this dog?" he said, and described Lump.

A great, damp, rude, and multicolored hound? The description sounded familiar. Lady Denham frowned. "I do believe I have seen such a creature. Where, I
cannot recall. Ah well, it will come back to me, I'm sure! Meantime—" She waved her list. "Dare I invite Brummell, do you think?"

Lady Denham sat as regally upon her Sphinx-arm chair as if it were the Peacock Throne, once property of the Emperor Shahjahan, a stunning construction of gold and jewels surmounted by a golden arch and topped by two gilded peacocks, birds of allegedly incorruptible flesh. How foolish these English were, with their conviction of superiority in all things, their sublime assurance that they knew best. True, Carlisle was English himself, but India had schooled Mr. Sutton in the arts of duplicity to the point where he could outwit the devil himself.

He smiled. "No party is complete without the celebrated Mr. Brummell. If you truly wish to guarantee his presence, you must invite Warwick as well."

Warwick? The name sounded vaguely familiar. Its origins, Lady Denham could not recall. Perhaps it need not be pointed out that Lady Denham had reached that certain age females must dread, when certain facilities begin to fade, and hair and teeth loosen from their moorings, and the wearing of corsets becomes a necessity instead of a fashionable conceit.

"Very well
,
" said she. "If this Warwick will insure me Brummell, I shall add him to the list."

Among the things Lady Denham had forgotten was that Mr. Sutton was of a sardonic temperament. "I promise you that Brummell wouldn't miss it. Nor would I," he said, and rose to take his leave.

Chapter Fifteen

The Marine Parade stretched to a considerable extent along the sea. The buildings there boasted large windows that disclosed wide views of the Channel, and were considered by some to be preferable to the structures on the Steine.

On a fine day, the Marine Parade was an ever-changing panorama. Military music played. Under the colonnades, visitors congregated to read newspapers and watch other members of the fashionable world pass by. If no more immediate entertainment beckoned, the gentlemen might raise their telescopes and inspect the seashore and the bathing machines. In theory, a person desirous of taking the waters could hire a machine, therein to privately disrobe and don the requisite flannel smock. The machine was then pulled into the water by a horse, and the bather descended under cover of seclusion. In reality, because the bathing machines lacked awnings, little escaped the severe inspection of the gentlemen's telescopes.

Among the gentlemen lounging in front of the library was Magnus Eliot. Mr. Eliot was not peering through a telescope—did Magnus wish to observe a female bathing, there were any number who would oblige him, and without the distraction of a flannel smock—but reading a newspaper article about the Turkish practice of shampooing, which consisted of being wrapped in a wet blanket and stewed alive by steam strained through odiferous herbs, and dabbed all the while with pads of flannel, until one was dissolved into a mass of gelatinous cartilage, all of which Mr. Eliot considered so much humbug. He was distracted from his newspaper by the arrival of a slender blond lady in company with a large and ugly dog. She sat down in a chair beside him. "Mr. Eliot?" she said.

The lady appeared ill at ease, as well she should. Magnus was a man of libertine propensities, a gambler and a wastrel, an impenitent and utterly charming rogue who lived on his wits, which were considerable. He was also handsome, in a very wicked way, with auburn hair and laughing green eyes, intriguingly dissipated features, and the physique of a sportsman. Additionally, he possessed a pair of most enchanting dimples that appeared when he smiled. Magnus smiled often, for he had a large sense of the absurd.

The ladies ran mad for him, of course; how could they resist? Magnus was very grateful for their appreciation and prided himself that he seldom left a lady dissatisfied.

He did not think, however, that this particular lady had
amour
on her mind, which was rather a pity, because she was very lovely, and not at all in his style. "In the flesh," he responded. "You seem perturbed. Perhaps you would like to compose yourself by gazing out to sea through my telescope. You may watch the fishing boats come and go."

Georgie doubted very much that Mr. Eliot was interested in fishing vessels. How this conversation had passed beyond her control in the space of a single sentence she did not know. Beneath Mr. Eliot's green gaze, she felt like the gawkiest schoolgirl.

But she was not a schoolgirl, and Mr. Eliot was no gentleman to watch her with such overt amusement. "Fishing vessels, indeed!" Georgie retorted, and wrapped Lump's leash securely around the arm of her chair. "Mr. Eliot, I must speak with you."

She amused him, this so-serious lady. Magnus set his newspaper aside. "You may do with me as you wish, my pet." She flushed, and he smiled at her. "Intriguing as the notion is, I do not think you have come here to get up a flirtation—although should you wish to do so, you may come to me any time. How may I be of assistance to you, Miss Halliday?"

Magnus Eliot made a person wonder what it would be like to enjoy unrepentant wickedness so much. "You know my name," Georgie said.

Mr. Eliot quirked a brow. "I know many things, Lady Georgiana. For instance, I know that your brother is named Andrew. And that this beast—" His gaze fell on the dog, which was stretched out at his mistress's feet, smack in the path of passersby. "—is known as Lump. You look startled, my sweet. To a man in my position, knowledge is wealth."

Georgie imagined Mr. Eliot knew all manner of interesting things. He was probably almost as good at kissing as Garth. Perhaps even better. She scolded herself for her improper thoughts. Her companion looked ironic. Surely he could not know what she was thinking. 'Truly, Mr. Eliot, I do not wish to be one of your flirts."

Of course she did not wish to become one of his flirts. Magnus wondered if he might make her change her mind. "I do not have flirts, my poppet. I have
petites-amies."

The man refused to be serious. Georgie frowned at him. "Plural, of course," she commented.

There was more to this so-proper lady than had first appeared. Magnus threw back his head and laughed.
"Touché!
Pleasant as this is, you should not be talking with me, Miss Halliday."

Now a rakehell told her what she should and shouldn't do. "I don't think that even you
will make an attack on my virtue in broad daylight!" Georgie snapped, then flushed. "Oh, dear. I ought not have said that."

Magnus was deriving considerable amusement from inspiring Lady Georgiana to say things that she shouldn't. "You underestimate me," he protested. "Not that I would attack you, my poppet. I might persuade
you, perhaps. And I promise you that, if I did so, you would like it very well."

Georgie didn't doubt that for a moment. Mr. Eliot had a most unsettling effect. Somehow she must steer this conversation into safer waters. "Mr. Eliot, I am not afraid of you," she said, feeling as though she were the captain of a vessel headed toward shipwreck.

Of course she was afraid of him, a little bit. Which was not only enchanting in her, but showed a great good sense. "You should be
afraid of me, Miss Halliday," murmured Magnus. "You should be very afraid, indeed."

His green eyes rested on her. Georgie was surprised by their warmth. A person might almost drown in those deep green depths. Georgie understood how many a lady before her had tumbled violently into love with this practiced rogue. Georgie, however, unlike those other ladies, would be enticed into no improper tryst.

Not that this tryst was entirely proper. Georgie was not alone, precisely, but she had slipped away from Andrew and Agatha while they were engaged in a discussion of the relative merits of haddock and carp. Hopefully, she would rejoin them before they even noticed that she was gone—providing that the wicked Mr. Eliot did not lure her astray
.
The very absurdity of the notion that a libertine like Mr. Eliot should regard an ape leader like herself with amorous inclination set her strangely at her ease.

"Palaverer!" said Georgie. "You are coming it rather too strong. I am hardly the sort of female you might fancy, Mr. Eliot, and I know it as well as you. As you have said, that is not why I am here."

Magnus didn't think that there was a particular sort of female that he fancied above another. Lady Georgiana was, in his not-inconsiderable experience, unusual. Magnus appreciated unusual females. In point of fact, Magnus appreciated all sorts of females, from the grandest duchess to old Phoebe Hessell, who sold bull's-eyes and pincushions and other articles from a basket on the corner of Marine Parade and the Steine, and who when young had disguised herself as a boy and served in the army for several years without being discovered, even getting wounded in the arm at the battle of Fontenoy.

It was rather refreshing to meet a member of the gentle sex who didn't hold him in fascination. Not that Magnus hoped to encounter many such discerning lovelies. "Alas, you spurn me," he mourned. "I think my heart must be broke. Yes, it is ungentlemanly of me to tease you, but I could not resist. Now you see that I am serious. Pray do continue,
chérie.
"

Nor was it gentlemanly for Mr. Eliot to address Georgie in such terms. However, if Georgie became embroiled with Mr. Eliot in a conversation about what was and wasn't proper, they would be here all day. He was correct in saying that it was shocking for Georgie to be talking with him at all.