How to Romance a Rake

by Manda Collins

  Juliet watched in amazement as the older woman, who purported to have come to England from France during the terror, but who most people speculated had been born somewhere much closer to her new home—like Bermondsey—hurried to do the new Duchess of Winterson’s bidding. It was difficult still to see Cecily as anything other than the scholarly bluestocking she had been before her marriage to Winterson earlier in the year. And yet, it would seem that those who depended on the custom of one of the most highly placed ladies of the ton, like Madame Celeste, had no trouble at all remembering her cousin’s leap in status.

  “Thank you again, Cecily,” she said in a low voice as they waited for the modiste to fetch another bolt of fabric. “If you hadn’t insisted upon accompanying me here, I have little doubt that Mama would have brought Turlington along. It’s difficult enough to make decisions about what sort of gowns to purchase, but between Mama and her criticisms and Turlington’s oily compliments I feel sure I’d have succumbed to the headache before three minutes of our session had passed.”

  After her clandestine visit to Signor Boccardo’s with Deveril the day before, Juliet had returned home in a somber mood. She spent the evening ruminating over the day’s events, and pondering how what Signor Boccardo had told them affected her understanding of Anna’s situation. A good night’s sleep hadn’t given her any more insight into the problem.

  When she received a note from Cecily the next morning summoning her to the modiste’s, Juliet had thought about sending her regrets, but she knew that Cecily would have no compunction about hunting her down and dragging her to the dressmakers’. And she did need some new gowns if she were to escape Lord Turlington’s clutches. So when her cousins called shortly after breakfast to collect her, Juliet had done the sensible thing and gone with them.

  “We are going to Madame Celeste’s to buy you some shockingly expensive new gowns and there is nothing you can say that will change my mind,” her cousin had told her. And soon Juliet was doing the thing she loathed most in the world. Being fitted for new gowns. It had once been on Cecily’s most-hated list as well, but somewhere between meeting Winterson and becoming his duchess, her cousin had learned to enjoy shopping. Juliet blamed Winterson.

  “I still cannot believe that your father has allowed Aunt Rose to coerce you into an engagement with Turlington.” Cecily’s mouth pursed as if she tasted something sour. “Has she that little confidence in your ability to find a husband on your own?”

  “Well, I can hardly blame her on that account. I have been out for three years now with no offers.” Juliet sighed. “Not to mention the fact that I am one of the notorious Ugly Ducklings thanks to Amelia Snowe.”

  The duchess waved her hand. “Amelia Snowe is a spiteful cat, and well you know it. Indeed, I believe most of the ton knows it as well, though they are so frightened of becoming her next target for scorn that they allow her to continue on unfettered.”

  “Speaking of Amelia,” Madeline, who was seated on the other side of the settee from Juliet, interjected, “when do you plan on using the dance card, Juliet? You can no longer use your leg as an excuse. Especially since your successful lessons the other evening.”

  If only her cousins knew the truth about her leg injury, Juliet mused, perhaps then they would understand just how frightened she was to practice her newfound dance skills in public. Yet, she did know that if she were going to find a husband for herself—someone besides Lord Turlington or anyone else her mother might decide would suit—then she would need to make more of an effort to gain the ton’s notice. A flash to that moment earlier yesterday when Lord Deveril had lifted her into his curricle gave her pause, but she dismissed the memory. A man like Deveril would not need to settle for a limping pianist with a gorgon for a mother. If she wished to find a husband she would need to cast her net as wide as possible. Hence the trip to Madame Celeste’s establishment to choose a new wardrobe.

  Her mother might once have objected to such attempts at improving her appearance, but she had recently decided that Juliet owed it to Turlington to be at her very best, even if it meant drawing heretofore undesired attention to herself. And if Juliet could use her mother’s own machinations against her, so much the better.

  Before she could respond aloud to her cousins, the modiste returned with two assistants in tow, each holding one end of a large bolt of green silk.

  “Zis shade, I zink,” Madame hissed in her faux-French accent, “eet is zee perfect color for zee young lady’s eyes, yes?”

  Juliet removed her glove, so that she might feel the softness of the silk against her fingers. It was indeed a lovely color. And rather close to the color of her eyes.

  “Yes.” Cecily nodded. “It is perfect. And I also would like to see something in a deep rose hue.”

  “Are you sure it won’t clash with my hair?” Juliet asked. “Mama has always warned me against pinks.”

  “It must be the right sort of pink, darling,” her cousin soothed. “Trust me. I won’t send you out before the lions in anything that doesn’t suit you.”

  “Lions,” a male voice sounded from behind them. “I did tell you she’s grown bloodthirsty, didn’t I, Deveril?”

  The three cousins turned to see the Duke of Winterson, carelessly elegant in buff breeches and a blue coat of superfine, followed by Lord Deveril, enter the room. Juliet felt her cheeks heat, and dared not let herself catch Deveril’s eye. Her cousins knew, of course, about their errand yesterday, but she did not wish them to guess for a moment just how drawn she was to the man.

  “Dearest.” Cecily sounded cross. “I thought I told you that I would see you this evening.” Since discovering that she was expecting a happy event, the young duchess had found her spouse to be a trifle overbearing in his efforts to ensure her health and safety.

  “Sheathe your sword, my dear,” he said mildly, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I have come to collect you at your stepmama’s request. She says that your father needs your assistance with some sort of documents and refuses to be calmed until he sees you.” Turning to Juliet and Madeline, he bowed. “Ladies, a pleasure as always.”

  Since Cecily’s father had only recently begun to recover from a life-threatening apoplexy, he had to rely on her for assistance with his scholarly work. Juliet could see that Cecily was torn.

  Before her cousin could respond, Juliet squeezed Cecily’s hand.

  “Go,” she said, smiling. “Maddie and I will be fine here on our own. Madame Celeste will not steer me wrong lest she risk your wrath, as you well know. And you know as well as I do that your father would not have asked for you if he did not consider the matter to be urgent.”

  “Are you sure?” Cecily still looked torn, but it was clear to anyone who knew her as well as her cousins did that she felt compelled to go to her father..

  “Perhaps I might be of assistance?” Lord Deveril bowed to the three women. “I have often helped my sisters choose their gowns for the season,” he said. “And I am quite conversant with the fashions making the rounds just now.”

  Which, to Juliet’s mind, was akin to saying that Mr. Wordsworth knew a bit about poetry.

  “Oh, would you mind terribly?” Cecily asked, her gaze lighting on the man who had set the fashion among London gentlemen since he’d come up from Oxford. “Not to suggest that Juliet and Madeline don’t have exquisite taste, you understand.” Her quick glance her cousins’ way rather suggested the opposite. “But I would feel so much more comfortable knowing they had someone to act as a guide to them.”

  Juliet and Madeline exchanged a look, but forbore from pointing out that until recently their cousin had been just as clueless as they were about fashion. One didn’t wish to upset an enceinte lady after all.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Deveril said with a grin, suggesting that he knew just what the Duchess of Winterson’s cousins were thinking. “Never fear, Your Grace,” he assured her, “I will make quite sure that Miss Shelby does not choose anything that will endanger her reputation.”<
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  “Oh la.” Cecily laughed, rising from her seat and tucking her hand into the crook of Winterson’s arm. “I have no worries on that score. If it were up to Juliet she’d have Madame Celeste construct a cloak of invisibility that would shield her from all notice altogether. You must make sure that she chooses something that will make her stand out, Lord Deveril. Something that will show the ton just what an exquisitely beautiful lady she is.”

  * * *

  No pressure, Alec thought to himself, watching Winterson and his lady leave the shop. Turning, he saw both Miss Shelby and Lady Madeline watching him expectantly.

  When Winterson had mentioned he was on his way to Madame Celeste’s establishment, he’d agreed to go along to keep his friend company, though if he were completely honest, he had jumped at the chance to ensure Juliet was all right after their meeting with Signor Boccardo yesterday.

  Before he could say anything, however, Madame Celeste caught sight of him and hurried over.

  “My lord,” she gushed. “How wonderful eet is to see you. How can I be of service?”

  “My thanks, madame,” he told the modiste. “I am here to assist Miss Shelby. I understand you have been helping her with color choices?”

  “Ah yes, my lord,” she said. “But we need to take measurements and to choose patterns.”

  “Excellent,” he said with a smile. “Please bring the ladies some tea, and the pattern books. Lady Madeline and I will go over the patterns while you take Miss Shelby’s measurements.”

  Though Juliet frowned, she didn’t object as she was led into the back where Deveril knew she would be poked and prodded to within an inch of her life. It was the way of fitting rooms the world over. Or so he surmised, never having been the world over.

  When she was gone, he found himself startled to realize that he was alone with Lady Madeline. She was a nice enough girl, he supposed, but he had never really had occasion to speak with her much before.

  “You are growing fond of her,” Lady Madeline said once Juliet had left the room. It was a statement, not a question.

  What the devil was it with the women in this family? Deveril wondered. Only yesterday he’d been accused of basically the same thing by Juliet’s mother. Unlike Lady Shelby, however, he sensed that Lady Madeline’s interest was out of concern for Juliet.

  Alec turned to look at her. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said. He liked Juliet, Miss Shelby, a great deal. But that was a far cry from fondness. They were friends, that was all.

  “I’ve seen you watch her,” she said, taking a sip of the tea one of the seamstresses had brought them. “Have no fear. Your secret is safe with me.”

  He made a noncommittal noise. It could hardly be called a secret given the number of people who had informed him of the so-called fact in the past few days. And, he reminded himself, his connection to Juliet was strictly one of obligation. Obligation and friendship. He had agreed to help her find her missing friend, and until they learned something definitive about Mrs. Turner’s whereabouts that was how their connection would remain. Though he was horrified at the notion of Juliet being married off to a snake like Turlington, there was little he could do to stop such a thing from happening. Especially given his own family history.

  “She dislikes him,” Madeline continued conversationally, “Turlington, that is. If you are worried at all about his having a prior claim or some nonsense like that.”

  “Are you always this forthright, my lady?” he asked, torn between shock at the blonde’s frankness and admiration for her boldness. “I admit that I doubted there could be another young lady as demanding as your cousin, the Duchess of Winterson, but I find I was mistaken.”

  She smiled, the expression transforming her from merely pretty to lovely. “Cecily possesses enough brass for the three of us,” she said, grinning. “But yes, I do find that more often than not a bit of plain speaking saves misunderstandings. Don’t you?”

  While he agreed to the concept, he couldn’t help but imagine how different the world might be if everyone were given to that kind of plain speaking. The mind boggled.

  “At times,” he said cautiously, wondering whether agreeing with the chit would lead her into more dangerous waters. “However, I do wonder if your cousin, Juliet I mean, would like knowing you were speaking about such a private matter while she isn’t here.”

  “Well, you can hardly expect me to ask you if you’re in love with her while she’s sitting here with us. For one thing, it would cause her to inflict some sort of bodily harm upon my person. And I’m not at all fond of such things. For another, I can hardly expect you to give me a truthful answer when the object of my question is in the room. Common decency would dictate that you keep from saying anything that would wound her feelings. So I thought I’d ask you while she was being measured so that I could know which way the wind blows and plan accordingly.”

  He stared. “Plan? Accordingly?” Did Wellington know about this girl, he wondered, and if so had she sat in on the strategy sessions for Waterloo? If she hadn’t been still in the schoolroom at the time, he would have little difficulty believing it were true.

  “Yes,” she explained patiently, as if she were talking to a child. “If you do have some sort of finer feelings for my cousin, then it would behoove you to act on them sooner rather than later. Her mother is trying to marry her off to Lord Turlington, of all people—do you know him? A more cloying fop I’ve never met! The mere idea of him makes my toes twitch. At any rate, with her mama scheming with Turlington, and Lord Shelby away on diplomatic business, it is up to Cecily and me to make sure that Juliet is saved from her mama’s nefarious plot.”

  “And how might you plan to prevent this, Lady Madeline?”

  Really, she was quite fascinating. Utterly mad, of course, but still interesting.

  “Well, you’ll have to compromise her, of course.”

  It was a good thing, Alec reflected, that he had chosen not to take tea, for as his luck was currently running, he would assuredly have been taking a drink when Lady Madeline announced the first portion of her plan, which would have caused him to send a shower of tea out over his breeches.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but I thought you just said that I should compromise your cousin.”

  “It’s the only way,” she said calmly, taking her own tea without danger of stray showers. “Aunt Rose is a hard woman, my lord. She is as ruthless as the meanest lord of the underworld when it comes to her own wishes. And she wishes for Juliet to marry Lord Turlington. Lord knows why, of course. One never knows with Aunt Rose. She undoubtedly owes him a gambling debt or some other such nonsense. It doesn’t matter, really, since whatever the reason for her debt to him, she will sacrifice Juliet to pay it.”

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “Oh, dear.” Lady Madeline frowned. “I had hoped that you were one of the gentlemen who understood that ladies aren’t always as silly as they seem. Pray, do not disabuse me of the notion, for if you are it will quite upset me.”

  He started to respond, but she cut him off.

  “As I was saying,” she continued, “you need to compromise Juliet. And the sooner, the better. It’s quite easy to get into her bedchamber from the trellis at the back of her father’s town house. We’ve gotten in and out of there half a dozen times in the past few years.”

  “Wait!” Alec held up a staying hand. “Lady Madeline, I know you mean well, but really, I cannot simply go about compromising young ladies just because it has been asked of me.”

  “No one has made mention of young ladies, my lord,” she snapped. “Only one young lady needs compromising, and I must assure you that it will be the easiest thing in the world…”

  Alec felt his eyes goggle.

  “Oh, don’t be a goose,” Madeline chided. “Of course I don’t mean that Juliet is of easy virtue. Goodness, you men can be so old-womanish at times. I simply mean that getting into her bedchamber will be quite easy. And once you are found out—and re
ally, all you’ll need to do is ring for a servant and the word will spread like wildfire—then Lord and Lady Shelby will be at great pains to cover the whole thing up. Which they will do, by marrying Juliet off to you posthaste.”

  She smiled at him and took another sip of tea, as if she had just told him about a new scheme to provide food to the starving. He was starving, but it was for a large glass of brandy to soothe his nerves.

  “Lady Madeline,” he began, only to be interrupted by the arrival of Madame Celeste with an armful of fashion plates. “Ah, yes, excellent. Madame Celeste.”

  As if she’d not just encouraged him to creep into her cousin’s bedchamber and ruin her, Lady Madeline brightened at Madame Celeste and began to thumb through the sketches.

  “Oh, this is lovely,” she said, pointing to a simply styled morning gown. “I believe this would suit Juliet admirably.”

  Still slightly stunned, Alec nodded, and turned his attention to the fashion plates. But all he could think of was Miss Shelby, flushed with sleep, and laid out on her bed as if she were his for the taking. Which was utterly ridiculous, he firmly told himself. He had no such designs on Miss Shelby and the sooner he realized it, the better.

  Even so, it was going to be a long, long afternoon.

  Six

  In the back of Madame Celeste’s establishment, Juliet was trying her best to keep from disrobing in front of the seamstresses.

  “Can you not simply take my measurements while I remain clothed?” she asked the modiste, whom the frustrated first assistant had summoned. “I am not comfortable with removing my garments for an audience.”

  Juliet knew it was odd of her to be so adamant, but she knew how gossip was spread, and if anyone at Madame Celeste’s guessed her secret all her years of maintaining the fiction that her accident had merely left her with a mangled foot would have been in vain.