Affair of Pretense

Eighteen

Hugo had been right to suppose that the Marquis had indeed dressed himself with meticulous care. For a critical eye, there was scarcely anything to find fault in the way his black evening coat fitted his shoulders, for it was made solely to compliment his lordship's trim figure. Nor was there anything to be said about the intricate folds of his snowy white cravat, embellished with a ruby pin, the high points of his collar, or the ivory waistcoat embroidered with shimmering threads of silver and gold. His lordship opted for white satin breeches as befitted the occasion, ironed to perfection so as not to allow any single crease in sight; his hair pomaded and arranged in the style a la Brutus. Accessories such as fob watch, gloves and quizzing glass smartly carried upon his person completed his raiment.

There was a hard glint on his hazel eyes as they swept through the murmuring crowd; in his lips hovered an arrogant smile. Hugo, less impressed by his cousin's flamboyance than the rest of the crowd, observed with some annoyance how the Marquis was drawing attention.

Major John Gilbridge, standing beside the Marquis and himself looking resplendent in his regimental uniform, made a grunting sound. "This is dashed too awkward," he complained as they advanced into the room. "It beats me why they have to gape as though we're some damned pariahs."

Denver gave a light chuckle. "You may lay the blame on my door, John. Three years ago—or was it four already?—Yes, well, I was told in this very room to never set foot here again and I'm certain half of the guests tonight had witnessed that happy occasion."

"If ever I knew such a ramshackle fellow! You never lost an opportunity to be objectionable to your grandfather, didn't you?"

"My dear John, pray do not judge me too severely!" besought Denver. "I would not go as far as to say I have reformed my ways but we have, quite amicably, buried the hatchet!" Raising his quizzing glass to an unknown gentleman who was rudely staring at him, he remarked, with a twist of a smile, "Do you know, John, it is my belief that half of the guests tonight are my grandfather's acquaintances. Shall I try to raise their hackles tonight?"

John laughed. "Oh, the devil! Do as you please! But I am not here to bear witness of your devilry, so I tell you! Meeting this mysterious cousin of yours is what I am more keen about!"

"Come, isn't this a rather diverting reception? I could almost hear their adulations about me," pronounced the Marquis in a deceptively sweet voice.

Amidst the murmurs, however, Denver could hear somebody's quick steps echoing through the room and a childish voice that shouted, "Cousin Denver!" Startled, he looked to its direction. A moment later, jostling through the crowd was Georgie, her face etched with a relieved smile, her cheeks flushed as she ran to them.

The Marquis heard a sharp intake of breath; whether it was his own or John's he could not be sure, but the uncompromising eyes had found favour in that green ball gown she was wearing. That, and the set of jewellery he sent her today had completed the ensemble almost to perfection. "Well, John, it seems that you need not wait long," Denver said, his eyes still fixed on her. "This is my cousin, Mademoiselle Devilliers. Cousin, this is Major John Gilbridge, my friend and, may I add, one of Wellington's best men!"

The Major bowed over her hand and smiled. "Fustian! I am but a common soldier, ma'am. At the outset I was in disbelief when Denver told me everything. I thought it was all a dam— deuced hum!" he corrected, minding his language. "Permit me to say that you are quite a vision tonight and it's a pleasure indeed to make your lovely acquaintance!"

Georgie smiled up at him. "Thank you! Have you recently returned?"

"I've but arrived only a few weeks ago, ma'am, in the wake of our victory over Bonaparte. Fortunately, I was allowed to go home instead of having been obliged to stay in the Army of Occupation in Northern France. Don't like it above half there!"