As he approached, clearly intent on joining their party, Henrietta noticed the silver serpent that slithered along the body of the cane, its fanged head constituting the handle. It was an ebony cane, of course. Henrietta had no doubt that, as he drew closer, the silver squiggles on his waistcoat would also resolve themselves into the twining, writhing bodies of snakes.
Silver serpents, for goodness' sake! Henrietta bit her lip on an impertinent chuckle. That was taking trying to look wicked and mysterious just a little too far. The mysterious verged so easily onto the ridiculous.
She controlled the impulse to laugh just in time; Prospero had reached them, and stood smiling before the duchess, one leg slightly bent, like an actor about to declaim.
"Vaughn, you old rogue!" exclaimed the duchess. "Haven't seen you about this age. So you've decided to come back, have you?"
"How could I not, when such beauty awaited me at home? I see that during my long absence, the Three Graces have removed from Olympus to brighten the dreary ballrooms of London."
"And who am I, the Gorgon?" The dowager cocked her powdered head. "I always fancied turning men to stone. Such a useful talent for dull parties."
Lord Vaughn bent over her hand. "You, as always, your grace, are a Siren, born to fright men from their wits."
"As well delivered an insult as I've ever heard! And I've delivered quite a few in my day. You always were a smooth-talking rogue, Vaughn. But I'll present you to these young chits, anyway." The duchess waved her cane dismissively at Charlotte, "My granddaughter, Lady Charlotte Lansdowne."
Charlotte sank into a dutiful curtsy. Lord Vaughn's quizzing glass passed over Charlotte's bowed blond head without interest.
"Miss Penelope Deveraux." Pen sketched the merest gesture of a curtsy. The quizzing glass rested on Penelope's clean-boned face and flaming hair for a moment, then continued its inexorable sweep onward.
"And Lady Henrietta Selwick."
"Ah, the sister of our gallant adventurer." On Lord Vaughn's lips, the word "gallant" sounded more insult than praise. "His fame has reached even the more remote corners of the Continent."
"I imagine they don't have much else to talk about," Henrietta said tartly, coming up out of her curtsy. "Being quite so remote."
For the first time, Lord Vaughn looked her full in the face, a flicker of interest in his heavy-lidded eyes. He let the quizzing glass dangle and took a step closer.
"Would you teach them more interesting topics, Lady Henrietta?"
he asked silkily, in a tone meant to make a lady's heart beat faster and her cheeks flush.
Henrietta's pulse picked up — with annoyance. Having grown up with two rakes-in-residence, namely Richard and Miles, she didn't fluster easily.
"The study of ancient literature is always a worthy pursuit," she suggested demurely.
Vaughn's quizzing glass dipped in the direction of the neckline of Henrietta's gown. "I prefer natural philosophy myself."
"Yes, I can see that." Some internal imp prompted Henrietta to say, "I could tell just by looking at the adorable serpents on your waistcoat, my lord."
Lord Vaughn cocked an eyebrow. "Adorable?"
"Um… yes." Blast that internal imp. It always got her into trouble. Henrietta cast about for a suitable response. "They're so… slitheringly sinuous."
"Perhaps your taste in waistcoats runs more to flowers?" he suggested smoothly.
Henrietta shook her head. Since she had gotten herself into this ridiculous conversation, she decided she might as well go on with it. "No, they're too insipid. What a waistcoat needs is a nice mythical beast. I'm particularly partial to gryphons."
"How unusual." Lord Vaughn eyed her with a slightly bemused expression, as though trying to ascertain whether she was exceptionally clever or some sort of entertaining oddity like a parrot who could recite Donne. "What are your sentiments regarding dragons?"
Henrietta cast a pointed look in the direction of the Dowager Duchess of Dovedale. "I'm quite fond of some of them."
"If your fondness extends towards the Oriental varieties, I have a modest collection of Chinese dragons in my possession. They would be, I am sure, quite different from any you have seen."
"I will admit my experience with dragons has been limited, my lord," Henrietta hedged warily. Over Lord Vaughn's shoulder, she could see her mother bearing purposefully across the room, looking uncommonly irked. "One encounters so few. They are nearly as elusive as unicorns."
“Or the Pink Carnation?” suggested Lord Vaughn lightly. “I’m giving a masked ball at my home in two days time. If you would grace the event with your presence, I would be more than pleased to make you known to my dragons.”
“I hope they’re not in the habit of eating tender young maidens,” Henrietta quipped, hoping to direct the subject back to the general and inconsequential, and away from her putative attendance at Lord Vaughn’s masquerade. “I hear dragons have a tendency to do that.”
“My dear young lady” — Lord Vaughn’s long-fingered hand stroked the serpentine head of his cane — “I can give you my best assurance that — ”
“Hello!” Miles rudely burst in on the conversation. “Do hope I’m not interrupting. Hen, your lemonade.”
“Thank you.” Henrietta greeted Miles with some relief and peered dubiously into her cup, which contained about half an inch of yellow liquid. The rest, judging from the stickiness under Henrietta’s fingers, had evidently sloshed over the sides during Miles’s enthusiastic progress from the refreshment table. “Lord Vaughn, do you know Mr. Dorrington?”
“Vaughn, did you say?” Miles perked up inexplicably, then his face relaxed into a big grin. “Vaughn, old chap!” Miles pounded Lord Vaughn on the back. “Care for a hand of cards?”
Henrietta hadn’t known that Miles was acquainted with Lord Vaughn. Clearly, neither had Lord Vaughn, who was regarding Miles as though he were a strange stick insect who had crawled out of his ratafia.
“Cards,” he repeated delicately.
“Excellent!” enthused Miles. “Nothing like a good game of cards, eh, Vaughn? Why don’t you tell me about your travels on the Continent…” Taking the earl by the arm, he propelled him in the direction of the card room, passing Lady Uppington on the way.
“That was well done of Miles,” commented Lady Uppington with approval. “Your father would have done the same.”
“Well done?” repeated Henrietta incredulously. “He all but kidnapped the man.”
“He did just as he should. Lord Vaughn,” pronounced Lady Uppington, in her best “I-am-your-mama-and-therefore-know-everything” voice, “is a rake.”
“Isn’t Miles?” countered Henrietta, retnembering several tales she wasn’t supposed to have heard.
Lady Uppington smiled fondly at her daughter. “No, darling. Miles is a dear make-believe rake. Lord Vaughn,” she added disapprovingly, “is the real thing.”
“He is an earl,” teased Henrietta.
“Darling, if I ever turn into one of those sorts of mothers, you have my permission to elope with the first bounder who comes your way. Provided he’s a good-hearted sort of bounder,” Lady Uppington added as an afterthought. “Not that I wouldn’t mind your marrying an earl, but the most important thing is that you find — ”
“I know,” Henrietta broke in, in her best wearisome-youngest-child voice, “someone who loves me.”
“Whoever said anything about love?” countered Lady Uppington, herself the rare possessor of one of the ton’s few love matches, a marriage so sickeningly happy that it had led to decades of raised eyebrows and envious stares. “No, darling, what you want to look for is a good leg.”
“Mother!”
“So easy to shock,” murmured Lady Uppington, before saying seriously, “Be on your guard around Vaughn. There are stories…” Lady Uppington stared in the direction of the card room, a distinct furrow appearing between her elegantly arched brows.