A Reputation for Notoriety. Diane Gaston
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Adele said. ‘Do not trouble Celia.’
Before either lady could protest, Adele disappeared through the crowd.
Lady Gale pursed her lips at Celia, but something quickly caught her eye. ‘Look. There is our cousin Luther.’
Luther was second cousin to Celia’s husband. And he was the new Baron Gale.
Needless to say, Luther was none too pleased at the state of his inheritance, mortgaged to the hilt, all reserves depleted. He had not the least inclination to offer any financial assistance to the former baron’s mother, daughter or wife, as a result.
‘Yoo-hoo! Luther!’ Lady Gale waved.
The man tried to ignore her but, with a resigned look upon his face, walked over to where they stood. ‘Good evening, ladies.’ He bowed. ‘I trust you are well.’
‘We are exceeding well,’ Lady Gale chirped, suddenly as bright and cheerful as she’d previously been sullen. ‘And you, sir?’
‘Tolerable,’ he muttered, his eyes straying to elsewhere in the room.
‘My granddaughter is here, Luther, dear,’ she went on. ‘You will want to greet her, I am sure.’
Luther looked as if he’d desire anything but.
‘It is her Season, do you recall?’ Lady Gale fluttered her lashes as if she were the girl having her Season. ‘We expect many suitors.’
‘Do you?’ Luther appeared to search for a means of escape.
‘Her dowry is respectable, you know.’ That was because her father, Celia’s husband, had been unable to get his hands on it.
Luther’s brows rose in interest. ‘Is that so?’
Celia felt a sudden dread. Surely Lady Gale would not try to make a match between Adele and Luther? Luther had already proved to be excessively unkind. After all, he’d taken over Gale House as soon as Celia’s year of mourning was completed, removing Celia, Adele and Lady Gale without an offer of another residence. Even now he was rattling around in the London town house by himself when he could very easily have hosted the three women for the Season. That simple act would have saved Celia plenty of money and would have given Adele more prestige.
‘Gale!’ some gentleman called. ‘Are you coming?’
Luther did not hesitate. ‘If you will pardon me.’ He bowed again.
‘But,’ Lady Gale spoke to his retreating back, ‘you have not yet greeted Adele!’
‘He can see Adele another time,’ Celia assured her. ‘In fact, he could call upon us, which would be the civil thing for him to do.’
Lady Gale flicked her away as if she were an annoying fly. ‘He is much too busy. He is a peer now, you know.’
A peer who cared nothing for his relations.
Adele returned, carrying two glasses of wine. ‘I brought one for you, too, Celia.’ She handed a glass to her grandmother and one to Celia.
Adele was always so considerate. Sometimes Celia wondered how the girl could share the same blood as her father and grandmother.
Lady Gale snapped, ‘Adele, you missed our cousin, Luther. He was here but a moment ago.’ She made it sound as if Adele should have known to come back earlier.
‘Oh?’ Adele responded brightly. Did Adele simply ignore her grandmother’s chiding or did she not hear it? ‘I have wanted to meet him and ask how all the people are at Gale House. I do miss them!’
One of Lady Gale’s friends found her and the two women were quickly engaged in a lively conversation.
Adele leaned close to Celia. ‘The kindest gentleman assisted me. I—I do not know if I properly thanked him. I must do so if I see him again.’
Celia smiled at her. ‘You will be meeting many gentlemen this Season.’ She so wanted Adele to pick a steady, responsible, generous man.
Luther was certainly not generous.
‘You grandmother will wish to select your suitors, you know,’ Celia added.
Adele frowned. ‘I do want her to be pleased with me.’
Celia sipped her wine. ‘You must please yourself first of all.’
Adele would not be pushed into a marriage she did not want and should not have to endure—as Celia had been. Celia would make certain of it.
The start of the programme was announced and Lady Gale gestured impatiently for Celia and Adele to follow her while she continued in deep conversation with her friend. They took their chairs and soon the music began.
Lady Devine had hired musicians and singers to perform the one-act French opera, Le Calife de Bagdad by Boieldieu. The comic opera was ideal for an audience who were intent on marriage matches. In the opera, the mother of the ingenue Zétulbé, refuses to allow the girl to marry the Caliph of Baghdad, who meets her disguised as an ordinary man. When he tries to impress the family with extravagant gifts, the mother merely thinks he is a brigand.
It should be every family’s fear—that the man marrying their daughter is not what he seems. It certainly was Celia’s fear for Adele. If only Celia’s experience had been more like Zétulbé’s, discovering the generous and loving prince disguised as something less. Celia’s husband had been the opposite. Presented by her guardians as a fine, upstanding man, but truly a cruel and thoughtless one in disguise.
As the music enveloped Celia she wondered if all men hid their true colours.
Of course, she disguised herself, too. She pretended to be a respectable lady, but she visited a gaming hell at night. Once there, she disguised herself again by wearing a mask and pretending to be a gambler, when gambling and gamblers were what she detested most in the world.
The tenor playing the Caliph’s part stepped forwards to sing of his love for Zétulbé. Celia closed her eyes and tried to merely enjoy the music. An image of Rhysdale flashed through her mind. Like the tenor’s, Rhysdale’s voice had teemed with seduction.
Rhys watched the door from the moment he opened the gambling house. He watched for her—the woman in the black-and-gold mask.
‘Who are you expecting?’ Xavier asked him. ‘Someone to make our fortunes or to take it all away?’
He shrugged. ‘The woman I told you about last night.’
Xavier’s brow furrowed. ‘This is not the time for a conquest, Rhys. Your future depends upon making this place a success.’
Xavier was not saying anything Rhys had not said multiple times to himself. Still, he flushed with anger. ‘I will not neglect my responsibilities.’
Xavier did not back down. ‘Women are trouble.’
Rhys laughed. ‘That is the pot calling the kettle black, is it not? You are rarely without a female on your arm.’
‘Women attach themselves to me, that is true.’ Xavier’s blue eyes and poetic good looks drew women like magnets. ‘But I’ve yet to meet one who could distract me from what I’ve set myself to do.’
‘I did not say she was a distraction. Or a conquest.’ Rhys tried to convince himself as well as his friend. ‘I am curious about her. She is a gamester like me and that is what intrigues me.’
Xavier scoffed. ‘Is that why you warned me away last night?’
Rhys frowned. ‘That prohibition still stands. I do not wish to have you distract her.’ He paused, knowing he was not being entirely truthful. ‘I want to see what transpires with this woman gamester.’
Xavier gave him a sceptical look.
Truth was, Rhys did not know what to make of his attraction to the masked lady gamester. Xavier was correct. The woman