The Willful Widow (10 page)
Closely observing Diana's expression, it was Justin's turn to be amused. So she suspected him of deviousness, did she?
Good! It was time that he did something to unsettle the lady for a change. Responding to the challenge in her eyes, he strode over smiling broadly. "Lady Walden, Lady Diana, you have no idea the pleasure it gives me to know that my nephew is making certain you partake of all the musical delights that London has to offer."
"Sir, I had not thought to see you here." The patent surprise in Reginald's voice gave his uncle the distinct impression that he gained very little pleasure from encountering his relative at that particular moment.
"Why not, lad? If you recall, the last time I came across your little coterie, it was at the opera. You are not the only one in the family who is not a barbarian you know." Reginald flushed and was silent.
"And, pray tell, how did you find
La Clemenza di Tito?"
Diana inquired, refusing to allow the arrogant interloper to dominate the scene.
"Oh, it was tolerable, most tolerable, though I believe the character given to Titus was all wrong.
'Qvdbus rebus sicut in
posterum securitati satis cavil, ita ad prasens plurimum con-
traxit invidiae, ut non temere quis tarn adverse rumore ma-
gisque invitis omnibus transient ad principatwn.'"
"'Although by such conduct he provided for his safety in the future, he incurred such odium at the time that hardly anyone ever came to the throne with so evil a reputation or so much against the desires of all.' Suetonius. However 'At
illi
ea fama pro bono cessit conversaque est in maximas laudes
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neque vitio ullo reperto et contra virtutibus swmnis.
But this reputation turned out to his advantage and gave place to the highest praise, when no fault was discovered in him, but on the contrary the highest virtues.' If you were hoping to try whether or not Reginald's claims as to my education were true, you chose badly, for naturally I would expect you to choose that text as a test for me," Diana responded in a rather pitying tone.
Justin's eyes gleamed. "I see I have underestimated you, Lady Diana, you are a truly worthy opponent. Perhaps you would defend the liberties Metestasio's libretto takes with history thus:
'Picloribus clique poetis. Quidlibel audendi
semper fuit aequa poteslas. Scimus, et hanc veniam
pelimusque damusque vicissim.'
" The light of battle in her eyes, Diana retorted, "'Painters and poets alike have always had license to dare anything. We know that, and we both claim and allow to others in their turn this indulgence.' But Horace also maintained:
'Mediocribus
esse poetis non homines, non di, non concessere colwMiae.'
"
"Touché, my lady." Justin was impressed in spite of himself. "You are correct. 'Not gods, nor men, nor even booksellers have put up with poets' being second-rate.' And in the case of this particular opera, the work is decidedly inferior to the other creations of both the librettist and the composer."
"How very odd, then, that you should waste your time on it. There must be some other reason to explain your presence." The deceptive mildness in Diana's tone was belied by the dangerous glint in her eyes.
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"Oh, there was." An answering gleam lit up the gray eyes that held her gaze. "It was Mademoiselle de Charenton."
"Mademoiselle de Charenton?" For a minute Lady Diana was totally bewildered. Then enlightenment dawned. "The beautiful dancer! Yes, I can quite see where
you
would see the attraction." The slight stress she laid on her words hinted that she was under no illusions as to the nature of his interest in the star of the corps de ballet.
"Uncle Justin!" Reginald was shocked. "You should not speak of such things to a gently bred lady." His uncle was amused. "Why, what things, lad? I was merely admiring the artistry to be seen onstage, and I am sure Lady Diana will agree with me." He directed a quizzing glance in her direction.
"Indubitably. She is a brilliant dancer. I am so glad that others recognize her talent." Diana smiled sweetly at him.
"But you alluded to ... you ... oh, very well." Recognizing that his attempts to ameliorate the situation had only made it worse, Reginald subsided into an awkward silence.
"Don't be silly, Reginald," Diana began tartly, "one cannot live in society without being aware of such things." Then, realizing that she sounded a trifle severe, she leaned forward smiling. "I am sure you would rather have me be somewhat worldly than stupid."
Reginald was mollified more by the enchantment of his beloved's smile than by her words. "Never could you be accused of such a thing. Lady Diana." Then, completely disregarding Justin's presence, he edged closer. "But you asked me who is to be playing at the concert. Both the Mr. 90
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Knyvetts are to appear. In general, they are more noted for their glee singing, but as Mr. Attwood is to conduct, there is certain to be Mozart in the musical offerings." Ordinarily the viscount, raised to be a most dutiful son and highly respectful to his elders, would never have ignored his uncle so pointedly, but he had not quite liked the way Justin seemed to take over the scene when Lady Diana was around, nor did he care for the way they sparred together—each one so intent on besting the other that neither one seemed to be the least bit aware of anyone else's presence. This attitude was not lost on Reginald's uncle, who, rather than being offended by it, was highly diverted. Smothering a smile, he turned to Great-Aunt Seraphina to find himself being regarded speculatively by that lady's piercing dark eyes.
"You shouldn't provoke her, you know," she observed composedly. "Unless you're very clever indeed, you are likely to come off the worst in the encounter. While most girls were playing with dolls, she was left with nothing to do but listen to the endless debates between her father and her tutor, or match wits with them herself. Though you seem to suspect otherwise, she does have one of the most well-informed minds it has ever been my pleasure to come across. Thomas, my late husband, always made certain we were constantly surrounded by the best the realm had to offer, so I know whereof I speak. But enough of this. Are you related to Theobald St. Clair?"
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Momentarily thrown off balance by the abrupt change in topic, Justin recovered quickly. "He was my great-uncle, ma'am."
She nodded sagely. "A very clever man himself, though I daresay his family doesn't think so,
ruining
himself in trade the way he did."
"No they did not." Justin smiled grimly, remembering the raised eyebrows every time Great-Uncle Theobald's name had come up. "But he held a comparable opinion of your husband."
Seraphina smiled fondly. "Yes, Thomas was quite something out of the ordinary way. He was my closest friend and certainly the most stimulating companion I ever had. We were indeed fortunate to find each other, and I do miss him. I only wish Diana had been able to find someone to offer her something similar. Ferdie was a most amiable boy, but hardly her peer. However, it is difficult for her to find those among the
ton,
her interests being far beyond their petty concerns. We are both of us extremely grateful to Reginald for seeing that we are kept entertained."
Following the direction of the older woman's gaze, Justin caught the tail end of a most vigorous discussion between her niece and his nephew. In truth, nothing could have been less flirtatious than Diana's heated rejoinder, "No, Reginald, I cannot agree with you. I think the Royal Philharmonic is quite right in avoiding programs that feature soloists. So many other musical offerings focus on the artist rather than on the music, and that is because that sort of extravaganza is what most of the members of the
ton
wish for, if they bother to 92
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listen at all—which I strongly suspect they do not. I commend Mr. Attwood and the other founders of the Royal Philharmonic Society for recognizing that there are some people with discriminating tastes who appreciate the opportunity to hear fine music skillfully and beautifully executed." And there was nothing remotely lover-like in his nephew's ponderous reply. "You do have a point, but I cannot think that a few judiciously selected solo pieces performed by the most renowned artists, Clementi, Catalani, or Neate, for example, would be at all amiss."
In truth, the two of them seemed more drawn together by common interests than by any mutual attraction, Justin realized. It was the oddest thing, but somehow he envied his nephew for having discovered someone who could share such things with him—ill-suited as the pair might be in every other respect. Justin returned his attention to Lady Walden to find her regarding him with a wealth of comprehension in those eyes that seemed to miss nothing. "Just so." She nodded meaningfully.
Guiltily aware that she must be privy to his suspicions regarding her niece's relationship with the viscount and his strictures concerning it, he realized that she was, in her own diplomatic way, pointing out to him the erroneous nature of the conclusions he had so hurriedly jumped to. It was a rare thing for Lord Justin St. Clair to find himself at a loss for words, but such was most definitely the case, and he was made decidedly uncomfortable by it. Only the appearance of the musicians and the audience's applause saved him from the embarrassment of having to reply.
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This awkward sense of discomfort remained with Justin throughout the performance so that he barely listened to the Boccherini quintet or the wind serenade being offered for the first time to London audiences. In fact, he was still mulling the entire scene over in his mind as he hurried from the theater to Suzette's charming house in Kensington. Far too experienced a woman of the world to complain at her lover's delay, the dancer welcomed him with as much evidence of delight as if she had not received his note earlier that day warning her of his change in plans.
"I do apologize, sweetheart, but Reginald is making such a cake of himself that he must be watched. How any relative of
mine
could be so wet behind the ears, I cannot fathom, but then, he
is
Alfred's son." It was a relief to relax in Suzette's delightful sitting room before the fire while she took his coat and handed him a glass of port, smiling sympathetically at him.
Taking her cue from Justin's abstracted air, she sat quietly and patiently while he turned over in his mind the variety of thoughts and impressions of the evening. It was not Reginald's situation that was bothering her visitor, Suzette thought to herself. St. Clair was far too different from the rest of his family and far too bored by them to become truly embroiled in their concerns, no matter how much they might try to thrust them upon him.
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It was the woman Suzette had seen at the theater, who had such a patent distaste for Reginald's uncle, who was behind this preoccupation, Suzette was sure of it. But Justin's face held a slightly different expression now. Before, when he had alluded to his nephew's situation, there had been annoyance and disgust. Now there was another look in his eyes, one which the dancer could not quite place. Was it uncertainty or confusion? Suzette could not imagine the selfconfident Justin thrown by anyone or anything, but he apparently was now.
Justin swirled the port in the glass, sipping it slowly as he stared into the fire. Then, suddenly remembering where he was, he shook his head smiling apologetically at his hostess.
"I beg your pardon, I am not being very good company am I?"
Suzette smiled in return. It was impossible to be annoyed with someone who was as aware of his companions as Justin was. In all her experience of men, she had never encountered a one who had given the least thought to her feelings. "You are obviously concerned by the circumstances, and I am a most willing listener should you care to discuss what is troubling you."
He leaned forward to plant a lingering kiss on the inviting mouth. "And why should I waste my breath talking when there are so many things I wish to do with my lips besides make words," he murmured planting a trail of kisses down her neck to her shoulder and following the décolletage of her gown. She shivered with anticipation and gave herself up to the increasing insistence of his caresses as he slid the sleeve 96
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off her shoulder and ran his hand gently over the smooth white skin underneath.
"Aaah," she sighed, arching herself toward him and forgetting entirely that she had again failed to get him to confide in her.
Justin too forgot about the entire scene at the concert as he gave himself up to the passion of the moment, immersing himself in the wealth of sensations that swept over them both as he gathered her in his arms and carried her toward the bedroom.
Later, much later as he rode home in the early morning, his thoughts again returned to Lady Diana and the picture of her that Lady Walden had painted.
Perhaps he was mistaken, and friendship was all that she wanted from Reginald. Surely not. Who could possibly refrain from yawning with boredom after more than a few minutes with his prolix nephew? No, that was unfair. Reginald was not the cleverest of men, but he did concern himself with more serious things than most of the people Diana was likely to encounter. Certainly he was a more stimulating escort than Ferdie and his cronies.
And, if the snatches of her conversation that he had overheard were any indication of the tenor of the lady's mind, then surely she would find the idle gossip, which formed the chief source of entertainment in the fashionable drawing rooms of the ladies of the highest
ton,
tedious in the extreme. She must have been desperate for someone who could share in her interests. No one knew better than Justin how difficult it was to find such people. If that were the case, then he had 97
