"Here are your winnings." Stephen handed her thirty pounds.
"Thirty pounds? I thought you wagered it all."
"I did. But the odds aren’t the best when betting on one of James’s horses."
Calliope pocketed the money with a small measure of triumph. She had begun with two pounds, her limit on the day’s gambling. As soon as she had doubled her money she had pocketed the original two pounds and gambled her winnings. It had been hard enough to wager the original two.
"I invited some of the others to dine."
"I hope you invited Roth. I don’t believe he brought anyone with him."
Stephen nodded. "Roth has been spending most of his time alone, which is unusual. The man used to be quite social."
Calliope took Stephen’s arm and they made their way out of the stands. "I also invited James and Stella. The Pettigrews were standing close, so I was forced to extend an invitation to them as well. They accepted."
The earl had established a marked interest in Esmerelda. She had learned the Pettigrews enjoyed varied entertainments, often with other couples. They were yet another sterling example of the ton, the moral center of all Christendom. Pettigrew frequently hinted for her to attend one of their parties. Someday, when she ran out of cartoon ideas, she would accept.
Stephen would probably have a conniption. He was becoming as protective as Robert. He only left her alone in the company of Roth and Angelford.
Stephen knew of her caricatures of Angelford. Yet, he seemed pleased when she and Angelford were together. When confronted, Stephen had merely grinned and said he liked to "watch the sparks fly." Stephen could be irritating sometimes. She could never rely on him not to leave her stranded with the beast.
Stephen stranded her at dinner.
They had been the last ones to enter the dining room and she had been forced to take the last available seat. The one opposite Angelford.
The mood at the rest of the table was light. Everyone had done well at the races. The Pettigrew threesome chattered. Roth appeared entertained by their conversation. Stella and Stephen were embroiled in a lively discussion.
Only she and the man across from her were silent. Angelford sipped his scotch and observed the rest of the table. And her.
He leaned back in his chair, and she felt his boot touch the top of her slipper. He had stretched his legs out, forcing hers to remain tucked under the chair. She leaned back and lashed out, kicking him in the shin. His eyes glittered.
Calliope widened her eyes and made a show of looking under the table. "Oh, how clumsy of me."
Stephen glanced at her. She smiled, and he resumed his conversation with Stella.
Her toes hurt.
"Tell me, Esmerelda, what do you do in your spare time? Do you have any hobbies?"
It was the first thing Angelford had said to her all day.
"I enjoy reading. "
She stabbed a piece of the tender beef on her plate and popped it in her mouth. Stephen had already finished his meal, but she had been pushing hers around her plate.
"What do you like to read?"
"Shakespeare."
"Macbeth?"
"Twelfth Night."
"Interesting."
She forced another piece of beef into her mouth, hoping he would stop talking. The juicy meat had lost its flavor and tasted like leather.
"And do you enjoy music?"
She chewed slowly and sipped her water. "Mozart. Rossini, Beethoven." She was being rude and didn’t care.
"James, I was telling Esmerelda the other day about Milan and La Scala. Do you remember that night?"
The mocking dropped from Angelford’s face and he smiled at Stephen, his eyes crinkling in the corners. A genuine smile from the Marquess of Angelford. Calliope was suddenly glad he had never loosed one on her.
"I do, but I’m surprised you remember." Angelford looked at Stella. "Stephen imbibed a bit too much wine. Thought a contessa was a tavern wench. Nearly got his ears boxed."
"She was a tavern wench."
"Aren’t we all?" Stella joined in the fun. Calliope didn’t want to like her, but it was hard not to. Under different circumstances they might have been friends.
"But she was a tavern wench, I tell you. Ask Roth, he was there."
"Ask me what?"
"About the tavern wench masquerading as a contessa," Angelford said.
"Nearly unmanned Stephen, if I recall."
Stephen looked affronted. "Am I the only one here who remembers the evening correctly? The contessa nearly unmanned James. The tavern wench liked me."
"Sorry, boyo. They were not two women, and you were the one on the ground, not me."
Roth nodded agreement.
Stephen glared at him. "Well, if I remember correctly, Roth ended up in-"
A piece of bread bounced off Stephen’s head. "I insist we cease now before the three of us damage what’s left of our reputations," Roth said.
Suddenly all three of them were smiling. Calliope remembered Madame Giselle’s comment about the trio.
The light-hearted bantering continued, and Calliope found herself swept into the fray.
Calliope strolled out of the Newmarket inn and into the cool night. Her back and right leg ached from the ramrod posture she had maintained throughout dinner. Why couldn’t Stephen have invited only Roth? And perhaps Stella sans Angelford?
Dinner had proven to be much more lively after the Milan memories, but it had been too late to help her aching back.
The cloudless day had spilled into the night. The stars shone brilliantly this far from the London haze.
How nice it was to spend time away from the bustle of town. Too bad they would be returning on the morrow.
She walked farther into the small garden outside the inn. One of the benches she had spied earlier would be perfect for stargazing and was close enough to the inn to keep her out of trouble if one of the drunks coming out of the taverns happened by. She skirted a few hedges and peered into the dark recess of the garden. Moving from memory, she neared one of the three benches facing the small fountain in the center. It was a modest garden, and quite perfect for uninterrupted gazing.
She was certain one of the benches was straight ahead, but her eyes hadn’t totally adjusted to the dark. She tentatively stuck out a foot and hit stone. Success.
She walked forward and hit an object with her right foot. She stumbled forward and her left foot tangled in the lowered hem of her dress. Damn roots. She hadn’t seen them this afternoon.
She was going down.
She threw her arms in front of her to break the fall, but something grabbed her across the chest. A warm arm. The action allowed her to regain her footing and stand upright. The arm released her slowly, sliding across her chest and leaving sharp tingles in its wake.
A long shadowy leg lifted, bent at the knee and rested on top of the bench. There was no other movement. The mysterious root had been a foot.
"I believe the other two benches are empty. "
It was Angelford, of course. No one else could possibly be a better witness to her embarrassment.
"What are you doing here?" The words were out before she thought better of speaking. She could picture his raised brow, but could barely discern his form stretched out on the stone.
"I will confess after you do."
"It is a good night for stargazing. What is your excuse?"
There was a marked hesitation. "That is mine as well."
She didn’t believe it for a second. Her eyes started to adjust. She located another bench and sat. "Marvellous. Which constellations have you spotted?"
"Ursa Major, Cassiopeia, Cancer, Leo…" He rattled off a dozen and she was glad the darkness hid her dropped jaw.
"I’m still trying to find Hydra. Can you help?" The voice dripped sarcasm.
"Very amusing."
Calliope gazed up into the night, and after a few minutes spotted the multi-headed serpent. "Well, Hercules, if you found Leo and Cancer, just look south. Perhaps you’d have more luck looking for Virgo. It’s in the same region." Give him something to think about.