by Claudia Dain
“And what tale are you telling?” George asked.
Raithby sighed slightly and nodded, as if giving himself permission to speak. “I don’t know what, if anything, is afoot regarding Edenham and Miss Elliot.”
“Oh, there is something,” Penrith cut in.
“Be that as it may,” Raithby continued, “I happened to overhear a conversation between Lady Louisa, Lady Amelia, and Lady Iveston.” George groaned. Raithby did not allow it to deter him. “They also noticed a certain interest upon Edenham’s part and are even now discussing it with Miss Elliot.” And at this, the three men craned their necks this way and that, searching the room for the four women in question. They found them near the far doorway leading from the blue reception room to the stair hall, heads huddled together like cats over a squirming mouse.
“Given that they are all recently married, and that they all, according to Penrith, sought out aid in acquiring husbands from Sophia Dalby”—and here Penrith shrugged and nodded, not one whit apologetically—“I did think that it might be something of a service to Miss Elliot’s brothers to inform them of the situation.”
The three men stood silently, staring at each other at that. They then looked in unison at the women, still chew-ing on the proverbial mouse, then stared at each other again, then turned to look at the Elliot men, who stood talking pleasantly, if a bit reservedly, with Lord Cranleigh and Lord George, his younger brother.
“And what shall we tell them?” George Prestwick asked, not precisely eager to beard those two American lions in their den. He had met them over dinner and found them to be . . . guarded, would be the innocuous word for it. Penelope, not known for choosing innocuous words when plain ones would serve better, had pronounced them politely hostile, as if there could be such a thing. And yet, it was apt. “That the Duke of Edenham is talking to Lady Dalby?
To arms! To arms!” George said, only half in sarcasm.
“You know them,” Raithby said. “You are related by marriage now. I should think that, given what you said about sisters and the worry they cause a man, something should be said.”
“But what is there to say?” George said. Truly, what?
Miss Elliot was leaving on the earliest tide, and leaving on the arm of one of her brothers, as well. What harm could befall her in a day or two?
“The women seem to have more than enough to say,”
Penrith said. “That indicates something, doesn’t it?”
It did. And not a bit of it anything good.
“But of course I noticed him,” Jane said. “How could I not? He was staring at me without any subtlety whatsoever. It can’t have done me a bit of good, I assure you. My brothers still have their heels dug in about my staying on. Lady Dalby has done her part, and she will win out in the end, I am certain, but the duke did not help matters in the slightest.”
Penelope stood with her head cocked and was staring at Jane as if she were an oddity. Amelia had her mouth agape, her blue eyes wide in disbelief, before snapping her mouth shut with a sharp click. Louisa looked at her with one red eyebrow raised in near derision, or perhaps full derision, it was so difficult to tell with Louisa, and her arms crossed over her chest.
“But, you can’t tell me you don’t know what it means, Jane,” Penelope said. “The Duke of Edenham, the most handsome and enticing Duke of Edenham, has been captivated by you! Are you not intrigued?”
“No,” Jane said, crossing her own arms over her chest.
“Flattered?” Amelia asked.
“Hardly,” Jane answered.
“Bewildered?” Louisa asked with a tight smile.
Jane tilted her head at the implied insult and smiled sweetly at Louisa. “Not at all. This isn’t the first time I’ve endured this response in a man, though perhaps you cannot say the same, Louisa?”
Amelia chuckled and then, looking at Louisa innocently, pressed her lips together against a smile. “I do think you may be missing the point, Jane,” Amelia said.
“Have I? I thought the point was that I remain in London so that I may enjoy a proper adventure.”
“You could have a proper adventure, I’m sure,” Louisa said slowly, “or you could, if you dared, enjoy an adventure properly.”
“What a clever twisting of words,” Jane answered. “I do wonder if they mean anything.”
“Jane,” Penelope said, stepping forward, her dark eyes earnestly beseeching, “do ignore Louisa if you can. She simply hasn’t been herself since first Amelia and now I have married into the Blakesley family. She did think, I presume, to have complete freedom to dominate the men as the only young wife amongst them.”
“No, Penelope, I’m afraid that’s not quite it,” Amelia said, lifting a hand to check the condition of her blond hair.
It was perfection, as usual. “Louisa has always been this way, this is herself, you see. It is only that she hates to see a good man squandered, as do I. You could make good use of Edenham, Jane. He’s quite good friends with Sophia, he knows all about women—”
“After three wives, he should,” Louisa cut in.
“And,” Amelia said briskly, “he could, with very little effort, make your stay in Town deliciously memorable.”
“Deliciously?” Penelope asked. “But that’s what Sophia always says. I shouldn’t think that Jane would want anything delicious to occur with Edenham, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Amelia said, looking at Jane. “Do you?”
“What would be the point?” Jane said, not at all sure she understood the ramifications of the word delicious, but entirely suspicious since Sophia was somehow involved, and everyone on two continents, perhaps three if one included France, knew what that meant. “Sophia has already arranged with Jed and Joel for me to stay. Nearly.
What do I need with the Duke of Edenham?”
Penelope actually gasped at that and looked a bit flushed about the throat.
Well, but really, what did she want with an Englishman, and a duke at that? That made it all inexpressibly worse.
But they wouldn’t see it that way, not these English girls, and there was no point in trying to explain it to them as they wouldn’t understand it anyway. Particularly Louisa.
Jane was developing the firm impression that Louisa, if not actually stupid, was perilously close.
Louisa, proving Jane’s point neatly, said, “Jane, you are missing the point entirely. I’m beginning to think you are doing it to annoy us all. The point is that the Duke of Edenham is, for the moment”—which was said was such malicious pleasure that Jane squared her shoulders and faced Louisa with a degree of determination that was just shy of a dockyard brawl—“and surely it must pass, intrigued by you. A clever girl would make use of his temporary interest to her advantage. You want to stay in London. You want, you claim, to have an adventure of the sort you cannot have in New York. Who better to open every door for you than a duke? Molly will be so eager to aid this struggling infatuation of his that she will allow you nearly boundless freedom. Hyde will comply, as is his habit when dealing with his wife. Sophia, who is set to aid you and who is on warm terms with Edenham, will surely do all in her power to see that you get exactly what you want. How can your brothers stand against such an onslaught? Now, do you want your adventure or don’t you? If using Edenham and his fleeting curiosity about you, which likely springs from your . . .
interesting manner, which I am certain is quite ordinary in New York, but not at all the thing here, can gain you exactly what you say you want, why not use him? The man is a duke. He can withstand a bit of rough handling, though I can’t see it coming to that, can you? How do you manage men in New York, Jane? But perhaps you lack the experience to manage Edenham whilst you use him to good effect. Is that the source of your refusal? A simple case of . . . cowardice?”
Amelia gasped under her breath. Penelope simply stared in openmouthed shock at Louisa. Jane, however, did none of that. Jane smiled, a full, bright smile, and sai
d, “Afraid of an English duke? Louisa, you are a wit. I had no idea.
And here I thought you somewhat dull, but that is only when compared to the women of New York. How you fare here I have no idea. Differing standards and all that.”
And now Penelope turned to gape at Jane, her dark eyes going quite wide. Not quite what she had in mind for her wedding breakfast, Jane was quite certain.
“But of course I shall use the Duke of Edenham as best I may. He has delivered himself up to me so tidily, hasn’t he?” Jane continued. “I should have thought a duke, especially one with three previous wives to his credit, would have more subtlety, but then, I am discovering that what the British say about themselves and what is actually true can be violently different. Having never been out of England, I fully comprehend that you would not be able to see the distinction. You shall simply have to take my word for it, won’t you?”
Louisa smiled crookedly, one eyebrow cocked quite high upon her snowy complexion. “Indeed, I shall, Jane.
But, how do you plan to use Edenham to your advantage?
Perhaps we could help you with that.”
“I don’t need help when dealing with a man, Louisa. I know precisely what I’m doing,” Jane said, lifting her chin and looking at each of her cousins’ wives in turn, beginning and ending with Louisa. It seemed appropriate, and necessary. “I shall make good use of Edenham. Watch and see.”
“Oh, I shall, Jane,” Louisa said. “I can’t wait. When do you plan to begin it?”
“Now ought to do nicely,” Jane said, and without another word she strode through the crowd and away from them.
The three women remained silent for a few moments, staring after Jane.
“She’s going to find herself married to him, if she’s not careful,” Penelope said, shaking her dark head ruefully.
“Of course she is,” Amelia said, looking at Louisa with a very saucy expression. “I don’t think being careful is going to make one bit of difference.”
“Of course it shan’t,” Louisa said, smiling brightly. “I wonder how long it will take her to realize that?”
“But,” Penelope said, moving so that she faced Louisa fully, “you mean to say that you want Jane to marry Edenham? Why? And why did you provoke her so? You insulted her at every turn, Louisa.”
“But of course I did,” Louisa answered. “How else was I to get her moving in the right direction?”
“Edenham’s direction,” Penelope clarified.
“Naturally,” Louisa said. “Do you think it wise to waste a perfectly lovely duke?”
“Of course not!” Penelope said.
“Here he was, practically begging to be snatched up by Jane and what was she going to do? Just leave him there, that’s what,” Louisa said. “Horrible misuse of a duke. I can’t imagine what Jane was thinking, to disregard him so.”
“Perhaps she was thinking that she didn’t want to marry a duke?” Amelia said, starting to laugh.
Penelope pondered that for a moment and then said solemnly, “No, that can’t be it. That’s not possible, is it? I shouldn’t think so.”
“Even if she was thinking that,” Louisa said, sharing a look with Amelia, “Edenham will convince her otherwise very shortly, I am fully convinced. Poor Jane really does not know a thing about Englishmen, does she?” And here Louisa began to laugh along with Amelia. Penelope did not laugh.
“But why, Louisa? Why should you want to see Jane married to Edenham?” Penelope asked.
“Let that charming girl leave England? I should say not,” Louisa answered. “I simply adore her. She’s the first woman I’ve yet to meet who can give as good as she gets.
Do you know how rare that is? Why, besides Eleanor, I can’t think of a one. No, let Edenham do all the work of convincing her. We shall have the pleasure of her company for years and years.”
“Molly would certainly love that,” Amelia said.
“She certainly will,” Louisa said. “And I shall be the one credited for arranging it. Don’t think I haven’t thought of that.”
And this time, even Penelope laughed.
Six
But of course, Jane had no idea what she was going to do with the Duke of Edenham. Whatever did one do with a duke? And it wasn’t as if she were all that experienced at managing men. She had enjoyed some minor victories in New York, the sort of victories her brothers would never hear of, which would be very minor indeed.
Still, there had been Reliance Jones, a most handsome blue-eyed man of nineteen to her sixteen. He had walked with her along Wall Street twice, once at sunset, which did nearly shout romance, didn’t it? He’d climbed abroad a sloop bound for Madras and she’d not seen him since. But he had taken her hand in his as he said good-bye.
So, one touch of the hand.
Then there had been Nathaniel Talbott, sawyer’s appren-tice. He’d been twenty-two and possessed of dimples. She’d been seventeen and possessed of curiosity. Nathaniel had kissed her, once and most chastely, near a pile of wood shavings. She still thought of him every time she saw kindling. Or at least more often than not.
One kiss to her credit.
And she’d never forget Ezekiel Biddle. He’d kindly volunteered to help with the haying on their Harlem Lane farm and, being a kindly, eager man, had also volunteered, without being asked, to spend the next two days following her around the farm and sitting at their table, eating cake. It was on dusk of the second day that he put his arm around her shoulder, letting his hand slip to the top swell of her left breast. She’d let it linger there for a full three seconds before doing the right thing, namely, removing his hand and telling him that he should not expect any more cake.
One brief caress of the breast.
Not a bad list for a girl of good family, was it? She had nothing of which to be ashamed, certainly not a lack of experience. She knew what men and women did together, and she knew what they did not do, until they were properly married, that is. She would certainly be able to hold her own with Edenham. He was a duke, widowed, with children. And he was old. He probably wasn’t even interested in the coils of the flesh any longer.
However, he had looked at her long and hard, and most inappropriately. That should be enough of a start to get what she wanted of him. Though what she wanted was still a bit of a mystery to her. She was certain of only one thing: proving to Louisa that she was just as proficient at men as any British girl. She anticipated no difficulty at all, even if she was unclear about how one went about proving that to a woman who had been ruined.
Oh, no, she had not forgotten that bit about Louisa’s history. Not very honorable of her, was it? But then Louisa did not strike Jane as being much concerned with what was honorable. Still, it seemed entirely logical to her, given her initial meeting with Edenham, that he would do what he seemed unable to stop doing, namely, staring at her as if she were the moon and he were a wolf, and that just a bit more of that would convince Louisa of whatever it was that Louisa wanted convincing of.
Simple.
As to the wolf and the moon metaphor, Jane found it entirely comforting. While normally thinking of a man as a wolf was not at all comforting, being the moon was highly so. The wolf could never reach the moon, could he?
And so it would be between Jane and Edenham. She had not a moment’s doubt of it. All she had to do now was find him and allow him the opportunity to proceed. Oh, and it would help if Jed and Joel weren’t around to muddy things up. Nothing new there. Still, it was a large gathering and they likely wouldn’t see a thing.
All she had to do was find Edenham.
“All we have to do is find Edenham,” Penrith said to Raithby and George Prestwick. “If you’re uncertain of your welcome with the Elliots, what more is needed than to warn Edenham of the plot?”
“Warn him of the plot?” George said. “He’s the author of the plot. You’re the one who pointed out that he was talking to Sophia Dalby. You’re the one who foretold disaster
as the result of that.”
“It depends upon how one defines disaster, I should think,” Raithby said.
“I should say marriage would sum it up nicely,” Penrith said, nodding like a sage.
“And I’m not afraid of the Elliots,” George continued, ignoring their asides. “It is only that I do not know them well and also that I am still unconvinced that anything dire is afoot. People are talking to each other. What is that?
People are always talking to each other.”
“Your perspective has changed, hasn’t it?” Raithby said.
“It’s not your sister on the block now, is it? I thought you had more chivalry in you, Prestwick, I truly did.”
George stared hard at Raithby, who merely stared back at him. He then stared at Penrith, who was not looking at him at all, but gazing about the room.
“Bad news,” Penrith said softly, looking across the blue-walled room. “Miss Elliot has left the Blakesley wives and is going it alone. She appears to be looking for someone.
You don’t suppose it might be . . . no, things can’t be gal-loping along at that alarming rate, can they?”
“Of course they can,” George said, and a bit morosely, too.
Penelope had found herself betrothed to Iveston hardly more than twenty-four hours after meeting the man. Or that’s what they both swore to. There were some who argued that they must have been meeting quietly for weeks before that, but George knew that wasn’t true. Practically. One did want to believe one’s sister, after all. Which did force his thoughts upon the Elliots with depressing precision. Which did, sad to say, nearly compel him to do what service he could for Jedidiah and Joel Elliot, the same service he wished someone had done for him.
“I think she’s found him,” Penrith said. “I can’t see Sophia, but Edenham is just to the left of the secretaire, talking to . . . talking to . . .” Penrith lifted his chin and angled his shoulders against the crowd, bumping just slightly into the Duke of Calbourne. Penrith grew still and then turned to face them.
