by Erica Ridley
She blinked.
He grinned, inordinately pleased with himself for having phrased come enjoy this evening with me in such a way that she could not possibly refuse. “I shall permit you to drag me all over Town in search of the perfect venue if you allow me the pleasure of escorting you about said venue, with a goal no more profound than to enjoy whatever pleasures the location has to offer.”
She pursed her rosy lips. “These are the terms of your acceptance?”
“Indeed.”
“Very well.” She sighed. “Shocking waste of time, but at least there are only two more left to visit.”
He smiled at the challenge in her eyes. Silly chit. He’d already won.
He could not attend to her during the days, of course—rules were rules, and his daytime hours were already spoken for. His evenings, however...The lady didn’t know it yet, but for the next fortnight, his evenings belonged to her. They would both part ways richer for the experience. He would enjoy an unbroken streak of Christmastide soirées, and she...
She would be introduced to pleasure.
Chapter 4
Amelia glanced at the clock on her mantel and frowned. Half past eight. She would have to leave in the next few moments if she were to make tonight’s meeting at the appointed hour. But Lord Sheffield had yet to arrive, and it was imperative that he accompany her. She’d been looking forward to another battle of wits.
Her mouth tightened. When he hadn’t responded to her detailed treatise on the Theatre Royal, she had been heartened, not dismayed. He was a man of action. If he meant to scotch her scheme, he would have done. Therefore, he meant to join her. Her missive had clearly stated her intent to set off for the next venue no later than—
“My lady?”
The butler! Her shoulders relaxed. “Yes?”
“Lord Sheffield has come to call. I’ve put him in the blue sitting room.”
“Splendid.” She pushed away her pen and standish. Tomorrow would be soon enough for addressing invitations. She scooped up her pelisse and swept downstairs to greet the viscount.
He started to see her dressed for the winter. “I thought you were not going!”
“However did you take such a notion? The missive I sent at breakfast indicated my departure for the next tour would be promptly at half eight. I should hope I haven’t done anything in our short acquaintance to give you any cause to doubt my word.”
“But I didn’t respond to your missive! The snow made traffic plod, and when I did not see your carriage out front awaiting your departure, I thought I had missed you altogether and wasted the trip. But when your butler said no, his lady was upstairs working, I could only assume—”
“Then you make quite ridiculous assumptions, indeed.”
“As do you, my lady. The Theatre Royal, while boasting all the fine qualities listed in your six-page document, is not an option. I am not so full of my own self-importance that I would callously cancel hundreds of families’ Christmastide plans, just for me to throw a party.”
“Then you will adore tonight’s venue. I chose it just for that reason.” She tilted her head toward the door. “Are we ready?”
He stared at her, incredulous. “Ready? I haven’t a clue where we’re going!”
“Haven’t you?” she teased. “But it’s Wednesday!”
“Almack’s?” His mouth opened and shut without making a sound. “But its rooms are only open during the Season, which hasn’t even begun yet—”
“—making it quite suitable for our ends. All we have to do is bend the patronesses to our point of view. Lady Jersey has agreed to hear our request.”
“Bend—Queen Sarah—” He burst into laughter and offered her his arm. “Come, my lady. I shall permit you to do all the talking.”
She slipped her gloved fingers into the crook of his elbow and allowed him to escort her to his waiting carriage. Despite the many times her societal roles had caused her to be on the arm of this duke or that earl, she had never before been struck by the sudden, foolish wish that her fingers were not so properly gloved, and his arm not so encased in winter layers, so that she might feel the warmth and strength of the muscle beneath.
Heat pricked the back of her neck. Her, blush? It simply would not do.
Oh, certainly, Lord Sheffield was a Tulip of Fashion and a delight for the eyes. Even were he to suddenly attire himself in waistcoats of tangerine and puce, his golden curls and sparkling hazel eyes would flutter the heart of any maiden—and did. Amelia was not so green as to be unaware of his rakish reputation. Being alone with him in a carriage might be considered fast, even if one was a spinster in her dotage.
And yet...His behavior toward her had spoken very well of him from the very first. When he had enquired about her chaperonage, she had been the one to point out her age obviated the necessity. He had not only been perfectly willing to drive separately to their various assignations, he had accepted the assumption without question. It was she who had foregone her carriage in favor of accompanying the viscount.
Just what were her intentions toward the man? She bit her lip and forced herself to turn from his handsome mien and focus instead on the view out the carriage window.
His profile reflected back at her.
She closed her eyes. It wouldn’t do, she reminded herself. Besides the frivolous reasons that they could not suit—his estate being perfectly run, future children failing to be lords and ladies—his nightly carousing was legendary, and unlikely to alter for someone as negligible as a wife.
Unless the rumors were greatly exaggerated? She indulged herself in another long look at the golden-haired Corinthian seated across from her. He didn’t seem blue-deviled and bleary-eyed. But if that was because he’d spent the entirety of his daylight hours sleeping off a night of unrepentant bacchanalia, then she couldn’t even fathom a friendship forming between them.
No. She’d had it from no less than three sources: after she’d gone home from the theatre at two in the morning, he’d traipsed directly to the Daffy Club, where he’d caroused until dawn.
His eyes met hers and his brows lifted in question.
She gazed back blandly, thankful the shadowed interior would mask any flush to her cheeks.
“Guinea for your thoughts,” he said in his low, smooth voice.
“Prinny has caused that much inflation?”
The corners of his mouth quirked. “Most people’s ruminations aren’t worth a ha’ penny. Yours, I am persuaded, are worth considerably more.”
“You shan’t think so once I’ve made them known.” She flattened her lips into a straight line. “I was thinking about those who behave impractically. All of today’s scandal sheets were full of a certain Viscount S—’s adventures with Blue Ruin.” She arched a brow pointedly. “Late night, was it?”
“Mmm. And an early morning.” He stretched his long legs out before him. “As a lady of clocklike precision yourself, you may appreciate my schedule. I have kept strictly to it every day for the past decade. From eight in the morning to eight in the evening, I devote myself to my duties. Then from eight in the evening to eight in the morning, I...do...not.” He smiled, as if in remembrance of some unspeakable exploit.
Amelia was horrified. His devil-may-care response had been crafted in just such a way to provoke her displeasure, and so it had. But not, perchance, for the reasons he might expect.
As much as she tired of the house parties and winter retreats she was obliged to attend, or the two weeks in Bath every year with her cousins the Kingsleys, she could not deny the rejuvenating effect of several days in a row without a single responsibility or effort on her part. While she’d been picnicking at follies or riding in the parks, he hadn’t enjoyed a single ray of sunshine at all.
She bit her lip. His estate might run smoothly, but it was in shocking want of efficiency. What had he said about the Christmastide party? He hadn’t wanted her to do it?
“Requiring help does not indicate one is incapable of performing a task,�
� she said softly. “It simply means it is more expedient not to do so.”
The darkling look he glowered upon her could have melted iron.
They were both saved from what was likely to be a lively row by arriving on King Street. Lord Sheffield sprang from the carriage before the great wheels had completely settled, but reached up at once to hand her down.
She was appalled to shiver not at the blustery chill but at the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his arms. Many a sillier maiden had tumbled down just this path. She was made of sterner stuff. Much more sensible stuff. She and the viscount were involuntary coconspirators until the conclusion of his party, and not a whisper more.
Dipping their heads against the wind, they hurried to the entrance. Despite Almack’s having been closed for months, a footman stood at the ready to push open the door and collect their coats. There was no way to know whether he worked here year-round, or had been summoned specifically for their meeting. Perhaps he was one of Lady Jersey’s grooms. Amelia had recognized the crest upon the carriage in front of theirs.
Just as Amelia was shaking out her skirts, Lady Jersey strode up to greet them, flanked by a passel of maids and footmen.
After paying their respects, the countess turned her sharp brown eyes to Lord Sheffield. “I’m given to understand the Christmas Eve ball has not been canceled after all?”
He lifted a hand in Amelia’s direction. “It seems everything Lady Amelia sets her mind to, happens.”
The countess gave Amelia a nod of approval. “Ladies do know best about such things. I would not offer the services of Almack’s to just anyone—and I’ve yet to mention the scheme to my fellow patronesses whose unreserved approval is, of course, necessary—but as we are not yet in Season, and the annual Sheffield ball is the largest and most prestigious of all the winter galas, you may be assured it is no surprise whatever that after lightning destroyed your ballroom, the first and only alternate location that sprang to mind was Almack’s.”
Lord Sheffield slanted Amelia a wry look. She blinked back at him innocently.
“You both have held vouchers for your entire adult lives, so I need not point out the splendor of the ballroom or the convenience of our supper rooms. You are well acquainted with what makes Almack’s the best and most exclusive venue in the city. Follow now, however, and allow me to enumerate the full list of rules and conditions. Non-compliance with any one of these edicts does, of course, preclude us from even considering your petition.” She turned toward the card rooms. All of her maids and footmen fell in behind her, as if following their general into war. “This way, if you please.”
“The first and only location that sprang to mind?” Lord Sheffield murmured in Amelia’s ear.
She stared back at him with wide eyes. “Was it not? You know how dreadful I am with recalling details.”
He placed her fingers firmly upon his arm. “The only dreadful thing is the bald-faced lies spilling from that woman’s mouth. She cannot possibly believe the venue is what brings hopefuls begging for vouchers. I have never once seen anything remotely edible pass through those supper rooms, and the ballroom! The floor has been ruined for years, and the curtains have got so thin as to be transparent.”
“Minor concessions,” she whispered back. “You were the one who wanted space to promenade, and a venue not already promised.”
“I hadn’t even told you that yet!”
She waved a hand to hush him.
“All entry shall be denied,” Lady Jersey was saying now, “beginning promptly at eleven. That hour is good enough for the high Season, and it is good enough for your party.”
Lord Sheffield stepped forward, his eyes fierce. Amelia checked his progress by not releasing his arm. They were lucky so many servants stood between them and Lady Jersey, or she might have taken umbrage at his obvious disagreement.
“Listen in silence,” Amelia admonished him softly. “As you may recall, this is a fact-finding tour and nothing more. I will present my full report by dawn, and your word on the subject will be final.”
His expression was skeptical, but he made no move to interrupt the countess.
“Furthermore,” Lady Jersey continued, the back of her head barely visible beyond the cloud of servants surrounding her. “Proper dress must be worn if a guest is to be granted admission. I am sure your guests will be capable of comporting themselves in line with both propriety and fashion.”
She strode round the corner. Her maids and footmen scrambled to keep pace.
“I don’t care about fashion,” Lord Sheffield murmured into Amelia’s ear, “but I’m sorely disappointed whenever a lady I escort decides to comport herself with propriety.”
Smiling despite herself, she cuffed him on the shoulder. “Pay attention. If Lady Jersey believes you’re not taking her rules seriously, she’ll do worse than deny us the ballroom for your party.”
“And what? Revoke my voucher?” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “There are a thousand more stimulating pursuits in this city, if one has the slightest imagination. I hardly cower before a gaggle of ladies who seek to dictate the style of my breeches.”
“You might not notice if your membership was revoked,” she answered tartly. “That is because you are already scandalous. Whether I agree with them or not, I have never once run afoul of the patronesses’ fine regard.”
“Good God.” He leered at her suggestively. “I’m quite overcome with the desire to taint you with impropriety.”
She dragged him forward without responding. She couldn’t reply. Her mind flowed with wicked images of what he might do if it weren’t for propriety. From the racing of her heart and her complete lack of breath, she needed to limit the time spent alone with him, or risk falling under his spell.
Having finished her speech on the card rooms and what uses they could and could not be put to, Lady Jersey stood at the entranceway to the grand ballroom. She arched a brow.
“I trust you have not done anything so presumptuous as imagine a guest list without first consulting the names written in our book?”
“Oh no, my lady,” Amelia replied quickly. “A Pembroke is never presumptuous.”
The countess gave a sharp nod. She and her retinue disappeared into the ballroom, but Lord Sheffield was too convulsed with laughter to chase after Lady Jersey again.
“A Pembroke is never—” He snorted and shook his head. “I don’t know who is the more presumptuous, you or the patronesses!”
Amelia gazed at him calmly. “I’m sure I cannot imagine to what you refer.”
“You already have a guest list, don’t you?” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “You hadn’t even consulted me yet, but I’d wager a monkey you’ve had a list of names since before you even knocked on my door.”
“With five volumes of notes and an annotated index, I should hope myself capable of compiling an exemplary guest list.” She blinked angelically. “You, of course, shall have the final say.”
“I shall not. Didn’t you hear that woman? If the Prince Regent’s name were absent from her precious book, he would be denied at the door!” Lord Sheffield’s voice turned serious. “Have you truly already compiled a guest list? No, don’t answer that. I know you have! I don’t doubt you’ve got the patronesses’ list memorized as well.” His eyes narrowed. “How many people on mine are not on hers?”
“Forty-seven.”
He stared at her, aghast. “How is that possible? Who?”
She shot a quick glance at the empty corridor. They ought to catch up with Lady Jersey before she noted their absence. But it was better to have this conversation without the countess in earshot. Amelia laid her hand on his arm. “Virtually all of your cousins failed to make the cut. Rarely does anyone from the countryside succeed in procuring a voucher. As for your town acquaintances, a few that held vouchers in the past have had them revoked.”
His gaze darkened. “For example?”
“Captain Grey comes to mind. As does his friend, Major Blac
kpool.”
Lord Sheffield jerked back in shock. “But they are war heroes! What can those dragons possibly have against Captain Grey?”
She touched her fingers to his arm. “If it makes you feel better, my intelligence is that he hasn’t spoken a word since returning from Belgium, so I doubt he would accept an invitation regardless.”
“It does not make me feel better.” His muscles were rigid beneath her palm. “What about Major Blackpool? When I saw him last month, he was as clever and witty as ever.”
She bit her lip. “His membership was canceled due to his refusal to comply with the dress code. Something about silk stockings being incompatible with his prosthesis.”
“The man lost his leg in battle!”
“Which means he shan’t wear appropriate stockings, shall he?” She gestured at the shabby opulence around them. “Rules are rules, my lord.”
“Lady Jersey can take her rules and—”
The countess swept back into the room. Her pursed lips indicated she was vexed by not having been granted their undivided attention.
“Discourse,” she said sharply. “Those of your guests who are not dancing—and even those who are—must comply with strict adherence to the mandates governing appropriate topics of conversation. No politics. No salacious gossip. No Corn Law riots. And absolutely no talk of war.” She fixed Lord Sheffield with a speaking gaze.
He swung his eyes back to Amelia and spoke without bothering to dissimulate. “I not only cannot invite family members and military heroes who are not on the patronesses’ exalted list, I’m not even permitted to verbally acknowledge the realities of war at my own party?”
“’Tisn’t just your party,” the countess shot back. “It is also an Almack’s affair.”
“It is obviously not going to be that,” he replied flatly.
Lady Jersey lifted her chin. “Are you trying to provoke my displeasure, Lord Sheffield?”
“With mere words? If I wished to ensure your displeasure, I should do something like this.” He swung Amelia round and towed her toward the exit without so much as a backward glance. “Come along, darling. I believe this tour is over.”
