Page 28 of Bad Luck Bride

Calderon glanced down the line, saw Kay, and raised an eyebrow. “I might say the same,” he murmured.

“If we’re to be married, darling,” Delia chided with another laugh, “we really must learn to communicate about these things in advance.”

“If it’s a problem,” Devlin said, “I can see the maître d’hôtel about finding my party a table in the restaurant.”

His offer was negated at once, and by the last person Kay would have expected. “No, no,” Lady Pamela said, “that won’t be necessary, surely?”

Everyone, including her own parents, looked at her in surprise. Except Magdelene, who put her face in her hands and groaned again, earning herself another gentle kick of Kay’s evening slipper.

“After all,” Pamela went on, seeming oblivious to the disconcerted reactions around her, “it’s a bit silly, isn’t it, all of us trying to avoid each other, and for no reason other than some silly gossip from years ago? Doesn’t it make far more sense for all of us to be friends? There’s a London season ahead, and since Devlin and Lord Calderon and Mr. Rycroft are all doing business together now—”

“What?” Kay gasped, cutting the girl off mid-sentence, shock momentarily overcoming good manners.

“Sorry, my dear,” Wilson interjected smoothly, turning to her with a laugh. “I haven’t yet had the chance to tell you. Mr. Sharpe and I are both investors in Lord Calderon’s new hotel venture, alongwith a bunch of bigwigs you probably already know, like the Duke of Westbourne. We held a meeting earlier today to discuss some of the details, approve a board of directors, that sort of thing.”

Westbourne, too? Kay opened her mouth, but for the life of her, she could think of nothing to say.

“You don’t mind, of course?” Wilson went on, his gray eyes fixed on her in one of those hard, pointed stares of his, and with an effort, Kay gathered her wits.

“Mind?” she echoed, feigning surprise at the very idea, feeling as if she was fooling no one. “Why on earth would I mind?”

Wilson gave a slow, approving nod, as if she’d passed some sort of test, while Pamela clapped her hands together like a delighted child.

“It’s all settled, then,” the girl declared. “We’ll all stay. That is,” she added, turning to Delia, “if our hosts don’t mind? If it’s a problem of place settings or something—”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Delia said with a wave of her hand. “This is the Savoy, after all. They can easily seat a few more. But I should hate for anyone to feel…” She paused again, looking at Kay. “Uncomfortable.”

Suddenly, it wasn’t only Delia looking at her, but everyone in the room, and Kay wanted to shout that feeling uncomfortable was an understatement. But, of course, she couldn’t do that. She had to play the game. It was the role she’d chosen in those first moments in the flower shop, one Wilson obviously wanted her to play now, one that would serve her best in the long run.

“I don’t see,” Kay said, meeting Delia’s inquiring gaze, “why anyone should feel uncomfortable. But if we are,” she added, forcing herself to make light of it all, “that means we’re all in desperate need of a drink.”

Thankfully, all the guests laughed at that, except her mother, of course. Despite Magdelene’s appalled expression, however, the tension seemed to break, and Delia signaled for a waiter to begin serving vermouth, sherry, and other aperitifs.

“That seemed to go all right,” Jo murmured as the others moved away. “Better, at least, than I thought it would. Ooh, sherry!” she added, plucking a glass of sherry off the nearby waiter’s tray.

“All right?” Magdelene echoed, too upset by what had just happened to check the girl.

Kay pulled the glass out of Jo’s hand. “No spirits,” she said over her sister’s indignant protest, handing her a glass of lemonade from the tray instead. “You’re not really out until your debutante ball in May.”

“I’m practically out now. I’m here tonight, aren’t I? Besides, I should have been out two years ago. And, anyway, it’s only sherry. I’m always allowed to have wine with dinner.”

“A few sips of wine with each course at dinner,” Kay corrected. “This is not dinner, and a full glass is not a few sips.”

“This is so silly,” Jo muttered, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a baby. I’m three months from being twenty.”

“How can you say this went all right, Josephine?” Magdelene wailed, reverting to the former topic. “This is a disaster. What are Wilson and Westbourne thinking, to be associating with That Horrible Man?”

“It’s business, Mama, and I am marrying a man of business,” Kay said, a stern reminder to herself as well as her mother. Taking a look around to be sure no one was watching her, Kay lifted the glass of sherry she’d taken from Jo to her lips and downed the entire contents in three gulps. God knows, she’d earned it.

“I don’t understand you, Kay. I really don’t. How can you stand to be in the same room with him after what he’s done? And how can you expect me to be civil after everything that’s happened—”

“Because nothing happened,” she cut in incisively, giving her parent a meaningful glance to remind her of the position they’d taken years ago. “Remember? Therefore, Devlin’s presence here has no effect on us,” she added as her mother tossed her head with a huff. “And it’s vital that we demonstrate the fact.”

“I suppose so, but oh, how I’d love to give That Horrible Man a piece of my mind.”

“I daresay you would, Mama.” She had no doubt Magdelene had spent years inventing and rehearsing the scene in which they met Devlin again, one in which she would heap withering scorn and contempt upon the blackguard who had started those vicious rumors about her daughter and ruined her chances, and she was clearly displeased at being deprived of the opportunity by the prying eyes all around them. But though Kay understood how tempting it was to dress Devlin down publicly, she knew it would never do.

“If you make a fuss, Mama, people will take it as proof that there’s something to that old business after all. And,” she went on as Magdelene tossed her head with a grudging snort, “Wilson wouldn’t like it if we made any sort of a fuss. There’s some sort of business deal involved here, and if we queer the pitch, he will be angry, and that is a complication to my life I can do without. So pipe down, Mama, and at least try to be civil. Now,” she added, glancing across the room, “there is one friend of ours I simply must talk to. If you will excuse me for a moment? And for heaven’s sake, don’t let Josephine have any wine until we sit down to supper. She’snot used to spirits, and her getting tipsy is the last thing we need. So, young lady,” she added, giving her sister a stern look, “no wine until we eat.”

---