Only a Rogue Knows Page 5

  “Thank you so much,” he said. “Please enjoy the rest of the evening. I’m sure it won’t be nearly as captivating as Cordelia’s performance, but there will be a string quartet in the dining hall if anyone would care to dance.” This created a murmur of interest among the guests and Cordelia looked at him curiously. She hadn’t known he’d hired musicians.

  “A string quartet?” Her voice was soft so that no one else would hear it and Arthur shrugged, taking his hand off her waist.

  “I thought it would make it feel more like a party. I’ve heard they’re very good, and they came all the way over from Elston. Would you like to go over and listen to it? Perhaps dance with me?”

  “All right,” Cordelia said. She didn’t really feel much like dancing with him but she didn’t want to seem rude. For the hostess of the party to decline an invitation to dance by her own husband would be unthinkable, so she took his arm and followed him to the dining hall.

  The long dining table with its numerous chairs had been removed earlier that day – Cordelia wasn’t sure where to – and she did remember Arthur saying something about dancing but didn’t recall anything else. She supposed she had been so nervous about playing that everything else had been pushed out of her mind. When they got to the dining hall there was indeed a foursome sitting in the corner of the room, just putting their bows on their strings.

  “I thought I’d just make it a night of music,” Arthur said with a smile. “I hope you’re not upset about it.”

  “Not at all,” Cordelia said, as the musicians began their first song, a beautiful waltz. A number of people moved to the center of the floor to dance, some with their companions, others selecting partners from the other guests. “It’s wonderful.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” He held out a hand to his wife. “Would you dance with me, Lady Whittemore?”

  “Of course,” she said. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the area near the phonograph where people were starting to dance.

  Cordelia had always been an excellent dancer and at her wedding she had been pleased to find that Arthur knew his steps as well. There was nothing she disliked more at a party than to find that her dance partner didn’t know the steps or pushed her around uncomfortably. They moved around the makeshift dance floor gracefully, Cordelia’s royal blue dress breezing around her as Arthur spun her, and she found herself smiling almost as much as when she was playing piano.

  “You’re right, they are quite good. Are they scheduled to play the rest of the evening?”

  “Of course,” Arthur said. “We wouldn’t want our guests to lose interest and leave too quickly.” The song ended and the guests turned to the quartet and clapped. “I hope you’re having as good of a time as I am,” he said with a smile.

  “Pardon me,” a voice said behind them, and both Arthur and Cordelia looked to find Victor standing at her shoulder. “I hope I’m not intruding, Arthur, but would you mind if I had this dance with Lady Whittemore?”

  “No, not at all.” He released his wife’s hand and Victor took it, inclining his head slightly at Cordelia. “I’m going to speak to Lord Avery, my dear.”

  “Tell him I said I hope he enjoyed the music.” She watched him go, then turned to Victor, who put a hand on her hip in a way that was quite familiar but exceedingly pleasant. “And how about you, Mr. Pembroke? Did you enjoy the music?”

  “It was fantastic,” Victor said as the quartet began their next song. “I didn’t know that you’d attempt something as complicated as the second one so early in your career but I’m rather glad you did.”

  “My career?” Cordelia couldn’t help laughing. “You flatter me, sir. It’s merely a bit of fun for me in my spare time.”

  “Nonsense. You have the makings of a professional and I won’t hear another word against it.” Victor tightened his grip on her waist, then pulled her closer and stole her breath. “I’d love to hear you play again sometime soon. Perhaps a more private concert.” He smiled, his eyes once again locked onto hers. “Just the two of us.”

  “Mr. Pembroke,” Cordelia managed, “that’s rather inappropriate.”

  “I know,” he said, sending a blush into her cheeks that she felt all the way down her body. “That’s what makes it enjoyable, isn’t it?” Before she could even begin to think of a reply, he swept her sideways out of time of the music and spun her around. Cordelia’s eyes widened in surprise and she could feel the looks of everyone else in the room as her feet actually left the ground for a moment. He was strong, far stronger than Arthur, and when he set her back down she found herself at once wishing that he would do it again.

  “My goodness,” she said, wondering if she would ever stop blushing. “You should have warned me you were going to do that!”

  “What fun would that have been?” Victor leaned in a little closer and Cordelia resisted the urge to meet him halfway. What am I doing? I’m a married woman, I can’t be seen doing something like this. Still, she let him come closer, wanting to hear what he had to say. “You don’t seem to have much fun in your life.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I’m saying that I know a bit about your situation and I sympathize,” he said, suddenly much less flirtatious than he’d been before. Cordelia’s heart skipped a beat. Does he mean he knows about Arthur? She wanted to ask him what he meant but was afraid of what he might say.

  “How do you---“ The song ended just as she was about to speak and she fell silent, glad she hadn’t blurted anything out when the music had stopped. She was about to lower her voice and find out exactly how much he knew when Richard came over with his customary smile.

  “Cordelia,” he said, then winked. “See, there, I said it! I just wanted to say how wonderful this party is and ask if you’d be so kind as to favor an old man with a dance.” He turned his twinkling eyes to Victor. “You don’t mind, do you Mr. Pembroke?”

  “Of course not,” Victor said, offering Cordelia’s hand to the general in spite of her great desire for him to keep holding it. “I’d like to have a look around this place while I’m here. I got a short tour while I was here the other day but I’m sure Lord Whittemore would be happy to show me about.” He nodded across the room where Arthur, to Cordelia’s dismay, was standing very close to a handsome young man. He was holding a glass of champagne and seemed far too interested in the young man, and Cordelia was glad to see Victor going over to him, if for no other reason than to protect her husband’s reputation. He didn’t seem willing to do it himself now that he’d had a bit to drink.

  This is all so draining, Cordelia thought as she smiled up at Richard and they began to dance to a much quicker song. I don’t know that I was meant to keep a secret like this in my head.

  Though the party was intended to end at ten, Cordelia found herself still escorting guests out at nearly midnight. She was every bit the courteous hostess and chatted pleasantly with them on their way out the door but whenever she waved farewell to someone she found herself doing a mental inventory of who was still in the mansion and the best way to make them move along. She hadn’t seen her husband in more than an hour and she was afraid to even think about what that meant. Instead, she found herself wondering when Victor had left.

  She was a little annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to say goodbye to her, and even more annoyed that she hadn’t had another chance to talk to him and find out what he knew about Arthur. It was true that her husband seemed to have been more indiscreet lately but for her sister to come to her with rumors and Victor to come right out and say something about it, it meant that other people were starting to take note of it.

  With a sigh, she turned and went back into the manor. The quartet had long since packed up and departed and Cordelia had thanked them profusely on their way out.

  As she went up the steps to the house, two men walked past her and raised their hands in greeting but didn’t stop. Grateful to them for this, Cordelia smiled politely and bade them goodnight as she made her w
ay toward the dining hall.

  There was no one left when she got there, but she was surprised to hear voices in the back hallway that led to the kitchens. Sighing at the thought of more people to chivvy out the front door and wondering what on earth people were doing all the way back there, Cordelia put on her best hostess smile and went into the hallway only to have her smile slide off her face when she saw who it was.

  Victor didn’t see her at first, though she hardly could have expected him to with his face pressed against the side of Patricia’s neck. Her blonde hair had come partially undone from its bun and curls of it were brushing against his cheek. He was saying something that Cordelia couldn’t hear, but Patricia was giggling, which probably had more to do with the fact that his hand was under her skirt, pushing it up far enough for Cordelia to see the tops of her socks.

  “Excuse me,” Cordelia said, snapping both of their faces in her direction. Patricia’s eyes widened and Victor pulled his hand away so her dress fell back down to cover her. “The party ended two hours ago. One of you needs to leave and the other has work to do.” She looked at Patricia icily. “Unless you would like to leave together. In which case I shall have to find a new maid.”

  “No ma’am, I’m so sorry,” Patricia said, her cheeks bright. “Excuse me.” She turned her eyes to the ground and hurried away in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Cordelia alone with Victor.

  “I trust you can see yourself out without accosting any more of my servants?” Her voice was frosty as she addressed him, then turned on her heel and started back down the hallway. She didn’t care what he might be up to, she was going to find Arthur and make him clear out the rest of the guests. As far as she was concerned, Cordelia was finished for the night.

  “Lady Whittemore,” Victor called after her as she stalked down the main hallway looking for her husband. “Please, wait a moment.”

  “I’ve nothing to say to you,” she said without looking at him.

  “At least allow me to finish what I was saying earlier,” he began just as Arthur came down the stairs, blessedly alone. Cordelia motioned to Victor, her eyes narrowed even as she put on a smile for her husband.

  “Arthur dear, it seems I’ve got a bit of a headache again. Could you see Mr. Pembroke out?”

  “Of course, my darling,” Arthur said. “I shall send Mrs. Richmond up after you with a cool cloth as well.” He patted her hand gently, then turned to Victor. “Did you bring your horse?” The two men walked away and Cordelia thought she saw Victor try to look back at her as she stormed up the stairs with her fists balled into her skirts. Leave it to a man to ruin a perfectly lovely evening.

  Seven

  After the party and a long weekend, Victor found himself at his office still thinking about what had happened the night before. He sighed as he pushed away the motion he was failing to make headway on and tossed his pen on top of it.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Pembroke?”

  “What?” Victor looked over at the door to his office, surprised to find his assistant Bradley looking in at him. He looked at the clock on the wall and was even more surprised to find that it was almost noon. “No, no, everything’s fine.”

  “You looked like something was on your mind,” the boy said, coming in to hand him a telegram. “Either that or you had indigestion.”

  “Probably too much coffee,” Victor said with a laugh. “Damn Harlow for getting me to drink the stuff in the first place.” He took the telegram from the boy’s hand and picked up a letter opener. “Thank you, Bradley, that will be all.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to bring you some coffee?”

  “Out!” Victor was barely able to hold back his laughter as Bradley hurried back into the hallway. “And pour out that damn coffee!” He couldn’t actually get mad at the boy, he was Judge Wellington’s son. Half the reason he’d agreed to take him on was so that the judge would overlook his former partner’s part in the disastrous will the late Lord Whittemore had filed.

  He had a pretty good idea now of why the old man had put it in his will that for his son to remain Lord Whittemore he would have to remain married long enough to produce an heir, though he had been hoping to confirm that Cordelia knew as well. She had spent the entire night dancing, though, and while he waited for her to take a breather he had started drinking. A bit too much, judging from Cordelia’s reaction. Victor wasn’t surprised. Drinking too much often got him in trouble.

  He had enjoyed dancing with Cordelia. She was an excellent dancer and from what he’d seen, her skill was wasted on her husband. If what he’d heard at the pub was true, there was quite a bit about her that was wasted on him. He’d fully intended to wait to talk to her, even if it meant he had to wait all night, but once he’d gotten a few good drinks in him courtesy of the current Lord Whittemore’s servants he’d found himself in a position he’d found pleasurable at the time but was now beginning to regret.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Pembroke?”

  “Bradley, I thought I told you to go pour out that coffee.” Victor leaned back in his chair and put a hand over his eyes.

  “A telegram just came for you.”

  “I know, Bradley, you’ve just handed it to me,” Victor sighed. He held up the still-unopened telegram and Bradley shook his head.

  “That’s the wrong telegram. It’s actually for Mr. Avery down the road. The delivery boy got the address wrong,” Bradley said, coming into the office to give Victor a second envelope. With a second, heavier sigh, Victor handed him the first envelope in return.

  “It’s Lord Avery, actually.”

  “Oh. Yes of course. Thank you, sir,” Bradley said, pointing at the door. “I’ll just go pour out the coffee now.”

  Once the boy was gone, Victor opened the telegram and scanned it to make sure it was actually for him, then frowned. He’d sent a letter to his friend in London a week ago and the man was just now getting back to him. Giving the motion up as a bad job for the time being, he stood up and put on his suit coat. It was times like these that he wished he had access to a telephone.

  Greenley could accurately be described as a small town if one wanted to be kind about it, but in Victor’s eyes it was little more than a wide place in the road. Being from London originally, he wasn’t used to having to go to the post office in order to send a telegram rather than making a phone call. His firm in London had a phone but before his rather unexpected death Andrew Wilshire had refused to allow him to put one in their office. Not even the doctor in town had one, which seemed like a terrible oversight to Victor. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure the town had the wiring necessary to have telephones.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Pembroke,” the postman said when he walked into the post office. “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

  “I need to send a telegram,” Victor said. “Unless you can magically make a telephone appear.”

  “No sir,” the postman said, shaking his head. “Most people in Greenley are lucky to have indoor lighting. To whom do you want to send a telegram?”

  “Judge Ronald Perkins, in London. Tell him it’s too complicated and would breach privilege to put in a telegram and that I’ll meet with him in London at the end of the week to discuss it further.” He took out his wallet and pushed a pound note across the counter. The postman’s eyes widened.

  “Good lord, sir, that’s far too much!”

  “Keep the rest of it for yourself and don’t tell anyone you sent that telegram, or about the contents of the previous telegram.” The last part was unnecessary. Judge Perkins had been concise and vague, as befitted a member of the court, but one could never be too careful when dealing with the law and nobility. Leaving the postman still groping for words, he turned and went back outside. Instead of going back to his office, he went to the stable to get his horse.

  Yet another inconvenience, he thought irritably. In London I don’t doubt that everyone’s driving around in automobiles by now.

  As he rode out to
the Whittemore estate he found himself thinking about Cordelia again. Both the estate and Arthur’s previous house were rather far from Greenley and he couldn’t recall ever seeing her in town. He wondered if she ever got out of the house or if she was stuck there all the time. It was unlikely that she’d ride into town like her husband but there was nothing saying she couldn’t come in the carriage.

  She didn’t seem like the type of woman who would enjoy country living, which led him to believe that she’d been married off to Arthur by her parents. The same fate had likely befallen her sister, though she seemed much happier with the General than Cordelia did with her husband. The Ellisons could scarcely keep their eyes off each other, even with the age difference, whereas he couldn’t recall seeing more than the barest hint of affection between Lord and Lady Whittemore.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pembroke,” the stablemaster said as he rode up to the estate. “It’s good to see you again. Is Lord Whittemore expecting you?”

  “He’s not,” Victor said, “but he’s going to want to speak to me. He just doesn’t know it yet.” He dismounted and patted his horse affectionately, then took his satchel from where he’d secured it to the saddle and handed the reins to the stablemaster. “Thank you.”

  “You just send someone out to let me know when you’re ready for him again, sir.”

  Victor walked the rest of the way up to the mansion, looking at the perfectly manicured garden along the way. It was a beautiful house with equally beautiful grounds, an elegant cage for a young bird whose feathers were too bright to keep hidden. The carved wooden door opened as he came up the stairs and the old, strict-looking woman he knew as Mrs. Richmond flicked her eyes over him and didn’t smile.

  “Good afternoon,” she said tightly. “I assume you’re here to see Lord Whittemore?”

  “I am,” Victor said, giving her one of his most winning smiles. “I’ve got some important business to discuss with him regarding his father’s estate.”