by Jane Ashford
Cecelia became aware of the murmur of conversations around them. Guests had begun to move about, seek refreshments. They had become an island in a sea of empty chairs, subject to interested glances. She felt bared before them, perilously exposed. This was James. How often had she seen his selfishness, his disregard for others? Years of it. She could not take such a risk. She stood. “Uh, perhaps a glass of lemonade,” she managed.
He rose to stand beside her, so very handsome, so…riveting. “Oh, are you warm?” he said.
She was. And she knew that her cheeks had flushed bright red.
“You look…warm.”
His voice caressed. James, who could be so cold, had set her afire.
He leaned closer. “We must…”
“What did you think, Miss Vainsmede?” boomed a deep voice on her other side. Prince Karl came up to join them.
Cecelia was caught wondering what it was that she and James must do. What he thought it was. What she could dream it might be.
“I was most favorably impressed,” the prince continued. “I did not expect to hear Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique here among the English. And quite affectingly played. I have complimented Miss Yelverton.”
“Wouldn’t you rather talk to her?” James asked him.
“I have. I believe I just said so.”
“Surely you must have more to say. About the, er, pathetic sonata, was it?”
“You have very little knowledge of music, I see,” responded the prince.
“I prefer more…active pursuits.” James’s tone managed to imply that his interests were more manly.
“Beating other men with your fists?” Prince Karl’s voice suggested this was a barbarous practice.
“On occasion,” said James with a breath of threat.
The two tall, differently handsome men squared up in front of Cecelia, frowning, jaws clenched. James’s fists were clenched as well, as if he might actually hit something. Their rivalry was ridiculous, and…quite stimulating. She had to admit the latter, though it seemed a base impulse. But she couldn’t let them go on. “Lemonade,” said Cecelia. “I should like some lemonade.”
Prince Karl’s head swiveled in her direction. He came to attention, not quite clicking his heels, but seeming as if he had. “Of course. At once, Miss Vainsmede. Come with me.” He stuck out his arm.
James stepped forward to block him. “I was just about to escort Ce…Miss Vainsmede to the buffet.”
“Yet you did not,” replied the prince. “You allowed her to wait here, thirsty, while you postured and boasted.”
“Boasted!”
James lurched, bumping the prince’s shoulder in what could have seemed like an accident from a little distance. Prince Karl bared his teeth and jostled James in return. They actually strained against each other for a moment.
“Stop it,” said Cecelia. The snap in her voice seemed to recall them to some semblance of manners. “You are creating a spectacle!”
She walked away from their shocking—and, yes, all right, thrilling—display. As she moved toward her friends, she was conscious of whispers from the crowd and speculative glances. Cecelia had to admit that having two very attractive men vying for her attention was…interesting. She’d been a creditable success in society up to now, never lacking partners at a ball or moderate male approval. But she’d never inspired open contention like that. The tussle had been…outrageous, of course. Improper, offensive. Not to be repeated. Would they come after her? Did she want them to?
On the whole, no. Not just now. She wasn’t accustomed to mediating. There were women who kept strings of suitors vying with each other. She’d never been one of them.
She reached her friends and turned to glance back at the pugnacious gentlemen. Prince Karl had been snagged by their hostess. She obviously meant to make the most of her august guest. And James… Ha! He was about to be accosted by his grandmother, Lady Wilton. He wouldn’t like that.
“Tereford!”
James recognized the harsh voice before he turned. He tried not to grit his teeth as he faced the small, gnarled woman who’d spoken. “Grandmamma,” he replied. “I was just going—”
“You are going to talk to me.” Lady Wilton grasped his arm with surprising strength and practically hauled him to a sofa against the wall, small but quite irresistible. Her snow-white hair was adorned with feathers tonight, and she wore a rich gown of cerise silk. Her scowl was all too familiar. “You cannot ignore me here, as you have my several notes.”
“I have been much occupied.”
“No, that is just what you have not been! Nothing has been done at the town house, as far as I can learn, and you haven’t lifted a finger to find Ferrington.”
“Who?”
“The heir to the earldom. I wrote to you about it. And Miss Vainsmede must have given you my message.”
“I don’t believe she did.” James looked across the room. Cecelia had rejoined her four inconvenient friends, and they seemed to be having a lively conversation. Did he dare to hope that she was talking about him? Or would he rather she did not just now? She was even lovelier when animated. As for the fire he’d seen in her a few minutes ago—ravishing.
“More likely you forgot,” his grandmother accused.
“True.” It was more likely, though he didn’t think that Cecelia had mentioned anyone called Ferrington.
His grandmother literally growled at him. “You are worse than Percival.”
James began to be a little amused. “Really, Grandmamma! I am not so bad as that. My great-uncle was touched in his upper works, I think.”
“Do not employ your ridiculous slang with me.”
“I beg your pardon.” He tried a smile.
It did not work on Lady Wilton. “Peacocking about town,” the old lady muttered. “The handsomest man in the ton indeed. Pfft. A prancing coxcomb.”
“Never that!”
“It is your duty to find Ferrington, now that you are duke!”
James had never much cared for that word. His father had been fond of it, and applied it to all the most distasteful orders he gave. Now he resisted whenever he heard it. “Why? Who the dev… Who is this Ferrington fellow?”
His grandmother heaved a long-suffering sigh. “The new Earl of Ferrington is the son of my scapegrace grandson,” she said as if repeating a tale he should know. “We hauled him over here from America, and I assured him that I would train him up for his new position. Even though he was mannerless and ignorant. The next day, he’d disappeared.”
“Had he?” James thought he might like the fellow, even as he envied his ability to flee Lady Wilton. “Well, I’m sure he’ll return in his own time.”
“You must bring him back!”
“I don’t think I will do that, Grandmamma.”
She glared at him. “Our family is cursed with useless, selfish men,” she said.
But James was no longer listening. Prince Karl had escaped their hostess and joined the group around Cecelia. Once again, he was bending over her possessively. James ground his teeth.
“Prince Karl von Osterberg is making quite a splash in society,” said Lady Wilton.
James glanced at her. She’d followed the direction of his gaze.
“He seems to be very taken with Cecelia Vainsmede, does he not? Everyone is noticing.”
Damn them all, and the prince with them. James considered telling his grandmother that he had decided to marry Cecelia. Perhaps he could enlist her help? He tried to imagine what that might entail. So many people were afraid of Lady Wilton. What if she simply ordered Cecelia to marry him? The idea made him smile even as he recognized that Cecelia would not be commanded.
“Does that amuse you?” asked the object of his reflections.
He’d forgotten what she was talking about.
“Tereford?”
“Where?”
“What?”
“Where must you go?”
He wasn’t prepared to explain the necessity of squelching Prince Karl. But just then a flurry of movement indicated that Cecelia and her friends were preparing to depart. James decided to cut his losses. He had to find a better way to court Cecelia than these wretched evening parties. He needed to get her alone. He longed to get her alone and show her how very much she would enjoy being his duchess. “Home,” he said, rising to offer his grandmother a bow. “Good night, Grandmamma.” He walked off before she could try to stop him.
Six
But James found that he could scarcely get near Cecelia, and certainly not for any satisfying length of time. He was plagued by interruptions from a host of annoying other people. In past years, when it had been necessary to communicate about the trust, he’d often seen her in private. Too often, it had sometimes seemed, when they disagreed or her father was being particularly lethargic. After the trust was wound up, he’d thought he would be glad not to see her. And yet he’d always been drawn to conversing or dancing with her when they were at the same gathering, he realized now. She’d been a bright spot in otherwise tedious events, a constant in his life. Now suddenly she was too busy to see him, with her talkative new friends and the appearance of this thrice-damned prince. He began to miss her. He had not expected that.
It was the most frustrating situation imaginable. Prince Karl’s attentions had caused other members of the ton to take more notice of Cecelia. She’d never been unpopular. She’d had an established place in society. But now she was, seemingly, inundated with invitations and attentions. If James saw her at a ball, she was besieged by eager partners. He could scarcely snag one dance. He was very nearly jostled to the floor during a rush to secure her hand for a waltz. And he’d lost out in that contest. How he’d wanted to flatten the wretched fellow who carried her off to dance!
If he sought her at a rout party, she was surrounded by annoying chatterers. His newly elevated status made no difference. They did not yield to him. Some seemed to make a point of cutting him out, in fact.
In the park, when Cecelia walked or rode, saunterers continually paused to have a word. One couldn’t speak two sentences without interruption. James invited her for a drive, thinking to have her to himself in a phaeton at least, and was told she had not a minute to spare for the next week.
Maddeningly, everywhere he went to find her, there was the prince. Pushing himself forward, insinuating himself into conversations where he wasn’t wanted. Prince Karl seemed to have an uncanny instinct for buttonholing Cecelia. James began to wonder if the German had spies roaming society drawing rooms, gathering intelligence about her movements. He certainly reveled in circumventing James. He turned Cecelia aside, stepped between them, diverted her attention. James was heartily sick of the man’s gloating smile.
As he was disgusted with the host of young gentlemen intrigued by their rivalry. James had heard the idiots talking. What two great matrimonial prizes wanted must be worth winning—such a feather in one’s cap! Dolts!
And if it wasn’t the men, it was the women. They flocked to be seen with Cecelia and partake in the luster of her success. Along with her four new friends, who were always hanging about, she had acquired a constant entourage. The thought occurred to James that it was worthy of an actual princess. The idea was worrying.
Worst of all, Cecelia seemed to be enjoying her new status. He hadn’t thought it of her. She flirted. She laughed. She glittered. She was newly entrancing. In a flash of time, she’d gone from being a fixture in his life, a steady, available presence to be counted upon, to a dazzling star in society’s firmament. How unfair that this should happen just when he’d decided to marry her. And how unsettling to admit that the more others chased her, the more fiercely he wanted her.
James racked his brain for an occasion that would throw them together, allow them to be alone. He wanted to arrange a special outing, something she would particularly like. He ought to know what that would be. She must have mentioned things over the years. But he pondered alternatives without success. Surely she had expressed preferences. She must have. Had he somehow failed to notice? He had an uneasy feeling that this was not a good omen.
But he pushed this worry aside. He was engaged in an all-out battle. Look at the words people used about courtship. One laid siege to a celebrated beauty. One fended off rivals, cutting them out by whatever means necessary. Actual duels were even fought—or had been in less civilized times. He dismissed an attractive, fleeting vision of shooting Prince Karl. Out of the question, obviously.
One persisted in a romantic campaign until victory was declared by the announcement of an engagement. And he would prevail! He was accustomed to winning. He would get what he wanted.
He needed tactics, strategy. He couldn’t remember the difference between these two things, but thought he probably required them both. In whatever order was appropriate.
James returned to the idea of allies. Wellington had assembled allies to defeat Napoleon. He still thought that the four young ladies who trailed everywhere after Cecelia would be useful recruits to his cause. The question was: how to enlist them? They hadn’t shown any signs of taking his side so far. On the contrary, Miss Deeping and Miss Finch seemed inclined to mild mockery.
Remembering a quote he’d heard attributed to Wellington, “Time spent on reconnaissance is seldom wasted,” James invited Henry Deeping to dinner at their club.
“I have decided to marry Cecelia Vainsmede,” he said when they were settled with their meal.
“She has accepted you? Congratulations, James.” Henry raised his glass for a toast. “I wish you very happy.”
Leaving his glass where it stood, James said, “She hasn’t yet.” He surveyed his friend’s expression. “You don’t seem surprised by my news.”
“Well, it’s been rather obvious you were after her.”
“It has?”
Henry raised his dark eyebrows. “After the way you and Prince Karl square up like gamecocks in front of her? Yes, James, it has.”
“That fellow has shown up at just the wrong moment.”
“To reach for what you thought was your own?” asked Henry.
“What?”
His old friend surveyed him with a wry smile. “You’ve been closely acquainted with Miss Vainsmede for years and never mentioned marriage. Not to me, at any rate. But now there’s a rival on the scene. Suddenly you want her.”
This was unfair. “I had decided to offer for Cec…Miss Vainsmede before this blasted prince arrived.” James almost told Henry that he had proposed. But then he would have to admit he’d been refused. He decided to keep this defeat to himself.
“Indeed?” Henry sipped his wine. “I would have thought… You know how ferociously you respond to competition.”
“Why do people say such things about me?” asked James, remembering Cecelia’s similar remark.
“Because they’re true?”
“Nonsense! I’m no more competitive than the next man.”
“That would be the fellow you leave lying prostrate at your feet in the boxing ring?” suggested Henry.
“Will you stop joking?”
Henry held up his hands, signifying surrender.
James accepted it with a nod. “I have been developing my strategy. That is the overall plan of a campaign, you know. Tactics are the means used to carry it out.” He’d looked this up and was rather pleased with his new knowledge.
“Campaign?”
“To win Miss Vainsmede.”
“Ah.” Henry’s tone was still dry.
James ignored it. “I have concluded I need allies,” he said. “Y
our support I take for granted, of course.”
“Of course you do,” replied Henry.
“Why do you use that phrase so slyly? Cec…Miss Vainsmede does the same.”
“As if it was a truth universally acknowledged?” Henry’s dark eyes laughed at him.
James began to feel insulted. If they meant to imply that he was some silly, transparent creature, they were wrong.
“I beg your pardon,” said Henry. “Pay no attention. You were speaking of allies.”
“I was.” He was half-minded to drop the subject. But it was important to his cause. “I wish to enlist your sister and her friends on my side. By subtle means.”
Henry burst out laughing. “You are never subtle, James.”
“I am perfectly capable of—”
“Beating a point into submission,” interrupted Henry through his laughter. “Flattening with a sneer.”
“Happy to be such a source of such amusement,” said James, feeling wounded by Henry’s mockery. “I had thought you might wish to help me, as a friend.”
“Are you asking me for advice?”
“I…suppose I am.”
“You’ve never done that before. Not in seventeen years.”
“Of course I have.” James tried to think of an example.
“No, James, you haven’t.”
He actually couldn’t remember having done so. Which seemed a bit odd. He’d given advice often enough.
“I suppose the first thing would be to make friends with Charlotte and her cohort.” Henry smiled wryly. “My sister will be rather a challenge.”
“I have no friends who are young ladies,” James replied. Except Cecelia, who was both more and less than that. “Can one really be friends with them?”
