Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance)

by Carolyn Jewel

  Her eyes widened, and she raised clasped hands beneath her chin, the very picture of amazed excitement. “Oh, do you mean that? I should like to see that. And meet your gardener. If he’s responsible for these lovely blooms. Is he?” She gave the duke a sideways look. “Is it you who cultivates these? In this color?”

  Fenris touched a hand to the small of Eugenia’s back. The contact sent a shiver through her. She could have moved away. She didn’t. No, instead she allowed him to guide her to a chair. He put his mouth by her ear and murmured in a voice of velvet and silk, “Do sit, Mrs. Bryant.”

  Meanwhile Camber gave Hester what could only be described as a sly smile. The effect on his appearance was remarkable. The duke’s smile utterly transformed him. “I might dabble.”

  “Dabble.” Hester touched one of the larger blooms and looked at Camber from under her lashes. “Unless I am greatly mistaken, this, sir, is Paeonia suffruticosa. Am I correct?”

  “You are.”

  “You could only have obtained this from Kew Gardens. I suppose you know Sir Joseph Banks.” She lifted a hand and stopped Camber’s reply. “Unless, of course, you sent your own men to China. Did you?”

  Any moment, Eugenia expected the duke to return to his terrifying oh-so-dignified manner, but it did not happen. Incredible as it seemed, Hester might have actually made a friend of the duke.

  “I might have done.” Camber strolled to the table and tapped the flower Hester had said was a ranunculus. “However, it is also true that Sir Joseph is an acquaintance of mine.”

  “Confess all, your grace. You’ve been experimenting with grafting, haven’t you?”

  “I have.” He touched another of the flowers. “By chance, is your father or brother a gardener?”

  “Not in the least, I fear. Have you had any success? I have a theory about grafting, you know. At home, I’ve produced a hybrid rose that gives a most spectacular blossom. It greatly resembles a peony. Alas, my rose lacks the intense scent of its Gallica ancestor.”

  “You garden, Miss Rendell?”

  “Good God,” Fenris murmured. “She’s ensorcelled him. We’re in for it now. We’ll have no conversation now except about plants.”

  “Botany is my passion, your grace.” Hester lifted her eyebrows, animated in a way Eugenia had never seen from her. “How do you feel about cross-pollination?”

  Camber regarded Hester with an assessing gaze. “A strange interest for a young lady.”

  “Ask anyone who knows me. I am peculiar. I freely confess it.” Hester pressed a hand over her bosom. “Now. Your opinions on cross-pollination, if you please. I won’t tell anyone. On my immortal soul, I shan’t.” She looked at Eugenia. “Neither will you, Lady Eugenia. Swear you’ll hold close any secret his grace might reveal to us tonight.”

  Bemused, Eugenia lifted a hand. “I do so swear.”

  “Lord Fenris?”

  “I am already sworn to the utmost secrecy, Miss Rendell.”

  “Well, your grace? You may speak freely.”

  Camber tapped a finger on the tabletop. “I am attempting to cross the herbaceous peony with my tree peony.”

  “Never say so.” Hester was so enthralled by the notion that her voice fell to a whisper. Eugenia had a strong suspicion that she had forgotten she and Fenris were here. “Have you had any success?”

  “A little.”

  Hester’s eyes went wide and her breath hitched. “Never say so. Is it true?”

  The duke held out his hand. “Come sit by the fire with me, Miss Rendell, and we’ll see what secrets I may tell you.”

  She followed him to the fireplace, talking the entire way. “What success have you had attempting that cross? Oh, and I should like to hear of your progress with your tree peony. It’s thrilling to know someone who has one. I wish I had. Have you seen the one at Kew? I saw an etching.” With an aplomb that was completely careless of Camber’s consequence, Hester sat on the sofa facing the fire, the duke beside her. “But first, will you tell me what you did to produce that color of pink?”

  Camber regarded Hester with a critical eye. “It is a closely held secret. I don’t tell just anyone who comes along.”

  Fenris put his mouth by Eugenia’s ear. “If you haven’t already guessed, my father is mad about flowers.”

  “As is Hester, it seems.”

  Camber and Hester were now deep in a conversation featuring such words and phrases as soil content,propagation, and breeding true.

  “Did you know about his interest in the subject?” Fenris asked.

  “No. Nor hers, either. Her mother or father ought to have warned me, don’t you think? ‘Do not allow her to discuss plants.’ That might have been something to think of telling me.” So immersed were Camber and Hester in their discussion that Eugenia didn’t worry at all about being overheard. “All they said was she doesn’t like cooked carrots. I grant you that’s odd, carrots are a perfectly wonderful vegetable, but a dislike of them is nothing insurmountable. But this?”

  “Are there plants you’d like to have in London?” Camber was asking.

  “Some orchids Papa obtained for me. He spoils me terribly, I admit it. Cattleya primarily. A phalaenopsis as well. They were very dear, I promise you.” She leaned into the duke, hands on her lap. “I very nearly refused to come to London for fear they’d not get the proper care. I write to Papa every day and ask him if they’re still in good health.”

  “And?”

  “And.” She sighed. “Papa is not the best correspondent. They were alive a week ago. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to have them sent here? I could find you space in a corner of the conservatory. I’ve had good luck with my phalaenopsis.”

  “Would you?” She put a hand on his arm. Eugenia was quite sure Hester had completely forgotten that the man beside her was a duke.

  Camber seemed to have forgotten that, too. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Oh.” She gazed at him with shining eyes, and that smile was nothing short of enchanting. Hester was at her best when she was intellectually engaged. “You are magnificent.”

  Fenris choked back a laugh, and Eugenia glared at him. “Come now, Ginny. Admit you were thinking exactly what I was.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I hope you’ll say that to me one day. With just such an expression on your face.” He lifted his voice an octave and pretended he was overcome with emotion. Sexual emotion. “Oh, Fox. You are magnificent.”

  She hit his upper arm with the back of her hand.

  “I assure you I am.”

  “Stop.”

  “I’ll send my gardener with your letter,” Camber said. “He’ll see that your orchids and another specimen or two make it safely to London.”

  Hester had yet to look away from the duke. “Thank you, your grace.”

  “Write to your brother as well, Miss Rendell. I’ll frank the postage.”

  Fenris bent over her, his breath warm against her cheek. Eugenia froze. He lowered his voice another notch. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”

  She twisted to look at him. “Have you gone mad?”

  “Breathtaking.” His eyes, those beautiful, chestnut brown eyes, sparkled. “Dare I say, magnificent, even.”

  Eugenia stared straight ahead. He was doing this on purpose, trying to disconcert her.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Camber, on his way back from fetching a portable secretary, sent a hard stare in his son’s direction. He placed the box on a nearby table and opened it. He gestured in Hester’s direction. “Come, Miss Rendell. Write your letters and you’ll have your plants with you before you know it.”

  Fenris composed himself. “Nothing that would interest you, sir.”

  While his father set up the writing surface and brought out paper for Hester, Fenris put his hand in the middle of the back stretcher of Eugenia’s chair. His knuckles brushed her shawl just enough that she felt the fabric move against her ski
n.

  Camber helped Hester to a seat at the table then reached over to select a pen for her. “Tell me what you said to the boy, Lady Eugenia.”

  Lord, but that voice wasn’t anything but sharp as steel. He had the coldest eyes she’d seen from anyone but Fenris. “I told him I don’t know a daisy from a violet.”

  The duke gave Fenris a sharp look. “Is that what she said?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s true, your grace.” Hester put an elbow on the table and looked at the duke. “Whenever I talk about horticulture, which isn’t often, given the result, her eyes glaze over.” Camber handed her the pen. “Thank you.” Hester began writing. “Two cattleya and a phalaenopsis, is that agreeable? You’re sure you’ve room?”

  “Anything you wish to have with you in London.”

  “I’ve a special mix I use for my soil. I’ll ask for some of that to be sent on. We can compare composition.” She bent over the page. “Perhaps we might experiment. Your soil preparation versus mine.”

  “What makes you think I’ve a special soil?”

  Hester picked up a sheet of blotting paper and laid it over her letter. “You dabble, your grace. Of course you have a formulation for soil. If you don’t I should be very disappointed in you.”

  “I might have,” Camber said. “Will you write your brother, Miss Rendell?”

  The back of Fenris’s hand brushed Eugenia’s shoulder. When she looked, his face was all innocence.

  “Thank you, I shall. That’s very kind of you.” Hester took out a clean sheet of paper. “Charles will be so annoyed when I tell him I’ve dined at Bouverie. All these years he’s been boasting that he’s dined with a duke.” After a bit, Hester looked up from her letter. “There now. I think he’ll be properly jealous of my adventures. Lord Fenris, Charles is a friend; will you add a line or two?”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Rendell.” He sat in the chair Hester vacated for him and jotted down several lines. When he was done, he turned on the chair, pen in hand. “Mrs. Bryant? A word for Charles?”

  Eugenia left her chair and took her place at the table to write a line or two to Hester’s brother. She did not know him, but he had known Robert, and Robert had spoken fondly of all the Rendells. Fenris stood behind her as he had before, a hand on the back of the chair. She wished he wouldn’t. He distracted her.

  Hester headed to the table where Eugenia, having finished her note, had just put down her pen. “Charles will be so pleased when our letter arrives.” Rather than retaking the chair, she turned to the duke. “What about you, your grace? Is it wrong of me not to ask if you’d like to tell Charles hullo? Or is it an awful presumption to ask if you will?”

  There was a moment of silence in which Hester gazed at Camber with a guileless smile. Eugenia held her breath, and she rather had the thought that so did Fenris. Camber said nothing. Hester sat and prepared to direct the letter. “I always wonder such things.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I had rather have you angry with me than feeling left out and that’s a fact. If you had rather not, I shan’t be hurt.”

  Camber bowed stiffly, but to Eugenia’s astonishment, he walked forward and held out his hand for the pen. Hester gave him the chair. The letter was directed and needed only the franking when the butler announced that dinner was served.

  They dined in a room that was every bit as overawing as the saloon. Squares of carved oak covered the walls and ceiling, and the chimney glass over the fireplaces at either end of the room reflected light throughout the room. There were discreet entrances and exits for the servants such that they seemed to appear and disappear by magic. The food arrived quickly and hot. The first course was a rather indifferent fish soup, the second a tolerably good ox tongue.

  Fenris picked up the glass of wine one of the liveried footmen had just poured for him. There were six of them serving dinner, and as near as she could tell they were each of them precisely the same height and coloring. “This is the Regina dining room, so called because Queen Elizabeth herself dined in this very room with one of my father’s predecessors. We’ve a state dining room, suitable for a hundred and fifty guests.” He leaned back to allow a footman to place a plate of venison before him. “I thought this smaller dining room was a better choice for us tonight. I don’t know about Camber.” He glanced at his father. “When I am at Bouverie, I much prefer dining in here.”

  “Thank goodness.” Hester glanced around the room with its gilt-framed mirrors, tall chimney glasses, and branches of candles. “I don’t know that I’d survive a formal affair. A hundred and fifty, you say?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe I know even ten people I’d invite to dine. Just as well, I suppose, for sixteen is the most Mama has ever had to dine with us and I hardly know how she managed that.”

  Camber patted her hand. “There, there. I warrant you’ll do fine when one day you preside at just such a table as this.”

  Eugenia looked up in time to see Fenris lift his napkin to his mouth. He had been watching her, though; that was plain enough. As the meal was served, Hester did a splendid job of diverting the duke. She possessed an innate art for gazing at the man with her eyes open wide, so innocent and with such fascination for any subject that even Camber sometimes forgot to be unpleasant. More often than not, however, he and Hester were engaged in yet another discussion of plant arcana. His temper had mellowed considerably.

  A wonderful braised chicken came next, though Fenris barely touched his. A footman deftly removed her plate while his veritable twin swooped in to deliver the next.

  Which was—

  Lobster.

  She stared at the tail on her plate for a moment before she raised her eyes to Fenris. He was in the act of lifting a forkful of lobster to his mouth. “What a pity,” she said.

  He cocked his head. He didn’t smile. Not even a hint of a smile. He might as well be as innocent as the dawn. “A pity, Mrs. Bryant?”

  “That you survived the attack.”

  Chapter Five

  Two weeks later. The Conservatory at Bouverie.

  “MY GOD, FENRIS, LISTEN TO THEM. THEY’RE TALKING about dirt.” Eugenia stood with Fenris at the conservatory window that overlooked the rear garden at Bouverie. The garden area wasn’t large; this was Mayfair, after all. Outside there was a coating of frost on the grass and along the top of the walls. A groundsman carrying a burlap sack walked the perimeter because, so Fenris had told her, people had the unfortunate habit of throwing trash over the walls.

  Behind them, Hester and Camber were deep in a discussion of the plants that had been brought from Exeter. She had, for a while, stayed beside Hester, pretending she wasn’t bored out of her skull with all the talk of plant phyla and genera. She was actually grateful when Fenris took her aside.

  Fenris glanced over his shoulder then back out the window. “They seem quite happy with the subject.”

  She groaned. “Imagine the letter I’ll get when she writes to her parents and tells them she spent an entire afternoon with the Duke of Camber. Discussing the proper proportions of composted manure to soil. I shall be disgraced. Her mother will post to London to rescue her from me. There will be unhappy letters to Mountjoy, and he will give them to Lily, and I’ll never hear the end of it. And rightly so. I’ve failed her.”

  “You haven’t. Any young lady who captures Camber’s interest is sure to be a social success if only for her connection to him.”

  “How galling.” She stared out the window because otherwise she would have stared at Fenris and there was nothing right about that.

  “What?”

  “That I pray you’re correct.” She bent her head.

  “Poor Mrs. Bryant. A bitter pill indeed.”

  “How much longer do you think they’ll be at it? If I hear another Latin name for a plant, I’ll go mad.” Like Fenris had, she looked over her shoulder at Camber and Hester, and then out the window again. She lowered her voice. “It’s as if they mean to see how long they can go without speaking English.”


  Fenris laughed. “I propose we leave them to it. I doubt they’ll even notice we’ve gone.”

  “Gone where?” She grabbed his arm, and never mind it was an overly familiar gesture. “I don’t care. If you’ve a collection of pencil shavings, I should love to see it.”

  “As a matter of fact…”

  She tightened her grip on his arm. “I have spent the last twenty minutes listening to a conversation about dirt. I was seriously contemplating asking if I might assist the groundsman with the trash removal.”

  “Alas, I only just disposed of my pencil shavings.” He touched a hand to his heart and looked heavenward. “To think I had the finest such collection in London.” He shook his head sadly, attention on her. “There is a secret staircase in the library. It’s a poor substitute for pencil shavings, but might you care to see that instead?”

  “You know I would.”

  “I know no such thing.”

  “Don’t leave me here another moment, you beast.”

  “I am yours to command.”

  A shiver went down her spine at those words, even though she knew he’d spoken them in innocent jest. “To the library, then.”

  They left Camber and Hester in a spirited discussion about the design of an experiment to determine whose soil composition was best. Hester waved at them as they left. Camber didn’t even look.

  She and Fenris walked arm in arm to the library, which she knew was famous both for its beauty and the number of titles it held, reputed to be in excess of twenty thousand volumes.

  “Oh,” she said when Fenris led her inside. The interior was two stories high with nearly every wall lined with shelves and shelves of books. The upper floor had a railed walkway all the way around, with three separate staircases leading to the second level. At each landing, top and bottom, was a chair or sofa as well as a table for reading. There was a grand fireplace with a marble mantel and floor-to-ceiling columns on either side. “This is lovely.” She faced him, and felt another chunk of her resentment of him fall away. “Thank you for bringing me here.”