by Claudia Dain
“Talking to whom?” Raithby asked.
“Lady Paignton,” Penrith answered.
“Ah,” George said on a sigh of relief. “Well then, that’s solved.”
Lady Paignton was a widow. But that was not the best or truest description of her. Bernadette, the dowager Countess Paignton, was the most ruthlessly seductive woman of her generation. She could, and did, snatch up and enjoy any man she wanted, drinking of him until sated and then dropping him as quickly as she had picked him up. Strange to say, but the men never complained of being dropped. The rumor was that she simply exhausted them, wrung them dry, as the saying went.
If Lady Paignton snatched up Edenham, what could poor, innocent Miss Elliot do about it?
Nothing, that’s what.
“Whatever Edenham had expected of Jane Elliot, with Sophia Dalby’s aid, is now dealt a mortal blow by Bernadette Paignton,” Raithby said. “A simple, effortless solution.”
“The best sort of solution to any dilemma,” George said.
Penrith looked at both of them as if they were raving, his cat-green eyes narrowed in disbelief. “I can see that neither one of you knows Sophia Dalby at all. I did not mean to imply that Lady Paignton has solved the issue, merely that she has complicated it. Do you know nothing of Bernadette’s involvement with Edenham’s sister? Or her dead husband, as to that.”
George, as was to be expected, felt a flush of shame for not knowing the gossip regarding Lady Paignton and Lady Richard, Edenham’s sister. One was expected, when one went out in Society, to know all the pertinent details. And they were all pertinent details. He really should not have spent so much time up at school; all that learning was doing nothing to help him now. Casting a glance at Raithby, he saw the same look of bafflement.
“You really should leave the paddock and come to Town more, Raithby,” Penrith said. Quite true, and took the searchlight most effectively off his own ignorance. “Bernadette tangled with Lord Richard, quite under Lady Richard’s nose, setting it quite completely out of joint, dropped him cold, and not a six month later the man was dead.”
“The connection being that she tangled with him and killed him, or that she dropped him and killed him?”
Raithby said with a wry smile, looking not one bit abashed.
“How do you know this, Penrith?” George asked on the heels of Raithby’s remark. “You weren’t in Town then, were you?” As Penrith was most assuredly younger than George, and as it could not have happened all that recently, he was most eager to find a reason for his ignorance. Call it an excuse, if necessary.
“Lady Penrith told me,” Penrith said simply.
“Your mother told you?” George asked.
“A most reliable source, you will admit,” Penrith said.
“Most assuredly,” George replied. And he meant it. It was a profound advantage to have a well-informed mother.
Damned inconvenient that his had died before she could be made proper use of. He was certain she hadn’t meant to die inconveniently, but that didn’t take the inconvenience out of it, did it?
“But why then should Lady Paignton so boldly approach Edenham? Surely she can’t expect . . . well, I don’t know what she expects,” Raithby said, staring across the room at her, and at Edenham, who was looking down at her with chilly civility.
“I do,” Penrith said, his eyes glittering.
“I thought you were involved with Lady Paignton,”
Raithby said. “Someone mentioned something of the sort.”
“Not involved, merely dallied with,” Penrith replied.
“And I’m more than convinced that Bernadette was dallying with me in one or two salons in Town to some purpose.”
“Of course to some purpose,” George said. “The purpose is obvious.”
“Please allow that I might have some experience and know of what I speak,” Penrith said somewhat sarcastically. “Lady Paignton is not above making good use of a man”—and here Raithby burst forth with an abrupt laugh—“to achieve her own ends”—which resulted in a chuckle from George. Penrith soldiered on. “I was dallied with, I tell you, and not in any way pleasurable to me. Oh, very well,” Penrith said with a crooked smile, “perhaps slightly pleasurable. But she had something else in mind entirely, I promise you.”
“What does it matter what’s in a woman’s mind as long as her body is well occupied?” Raithby asked, rhetorically, clearly.
“It depends very much upon the woman,” the Duke of Calbourne said, inserting himself into what was a private conversation without a hint of shame. Calbourne was not known for showing shame, or that was the rumor of him.
Calbourne, always the tallest man in any crowd, was extremely jovial and widowed. The rumor was that he was jovial because he was widowed. His marriage had not been a love match, but then no one had expected it to be. His wife had produced an heir and then died after a respectable period, certainly nothing like Edenham’s three wives, who had died abruptly upon giving birth. No, Calbourne’s wife had died in a quite ordinary way and no one had thought a thing about it, again, nothing remotely like Edenham.
It was one of the reasons that George felt a faint twinge of guilt about Miss Elliot possibly getting involved, even slightly, with the Duke of Edenham. He did have the most lurid reputation where women were concerned. Miss Elliot was now family and George truly did feel she ought to be protected somehow. Though he supposed her brothers could do that better than he could, and would likely enjoy it more, but, being American, they might not fully understand how a duke must be treated. In all, it was not impossible that they might do more harm than good.
This protecting women business was deucedly complicated.
“Calbourne,” Penrith said, clearly not a bit disturbed that their privacy had been breached. Again, dukes did expect, and get, special consideration.
Poor Miss Elliot.
“Penrith,” Calbourne said with a slightly mocking smile.
“You heard,” Penrith said.
“And saw,” Calbourne answered.
“You are acquainted with Lady Paignton?” Penrith asked, his green eyes sharp. Penrith clearly had some plan and was not above involving the Duke of Calbourne in it.
Calbourne smiled, without a trace of mockery this time.
“Not as well as I’d like.”
“Tonight might be the ideal opportunity for you,”
Penrith said, smiling in return.
“And immediately might be even more ideal?” Calbourne asked.
“Isn’t immediately always to be preferred when deepening a friendship with a beautiful, available woman?”
Penrith countered.
“I am to snatch up Lady Paignton, in a manner of speaking, so that Edenham may, without distraction, indulge in his fascination for Miss Elliot?”
“Well put,” Raithby said.
“Yet not entirely accurate,” George said. He had never before spoken more than a greeting to Calbourne; this conversation was probably not the best way to strengthen their acquaintance. Ah, well, perhaps Miss Elliot was worth the effort. “We are endeavoring to save Miss Elliot from Edenham.”
“Save Miss Elliot from Edenham doing what?” Calbourne asked.
“We aren’t entirely certain,” George said.
“It’s only that she appears in need of saving. Somehow,”
Raithby said, mumbling the last bit and staring at the floor beneath his feet, looking utterly befuddled.
A woman could do that to a man, and usually did. They seemed to enjoy it, too.
“Women specialize in that look. It’s seldom true,” Calbourne said.
He was likely correct. As Calbourne was approximately ten years older than they, he did have experience on his side.
“Then do it for Edenham,” Penrith said. “He can’t want Bernadette at his elbow, ever, but most especially when he’s all eyes for Miss Elliot.”
Calbourne looked across the room, quit
e easily done as he was so very tall, and studied Lady Paignton. Or at least George presumed he was studying Lady Paignton. Why study anyone else?
“And what would I get out of it?” Calbourne asked softly.
“Lady Paignton?” Penrith answered.
Calbourne smirked and, with a nod, walked across the room. The crowd parted for him.
Dukes.
Dukes.
Jane had all she could do to keep from shaking her head and clucking her tongue. She had found Edenham easily enough. Edenham had been standing alone against the center window of the blue reception room, Sophia Dalby smiling brightly at her as they passed each other in the crowd. It was very difficult not to form the conclusion that Sophia was encouraging her to simply approach Edenham and do whatever she wanted with him. What, she couldn’t imagine.
That was the problem. She truly couldn’t imagine what it would take to convince Louisa that she had Edenham in the palm of her hand. She really should have got that all straightened out before charging over here. This was no way to conduct a challenge of the power of her allure.
And then, which was most annoying, before she could reach Edenham, another woman had very nearly snuggled up next to him. She was a most beautiful woman in a completely rampantly sexual way.
Oh, yes. Jane understood rampant sexuality when she saw it. New York was quite a busy port city, after all.
Undeterred, Jane did not even slow her steps. She was going to continue to weave her spell all over Edenham, somehow, and Louisa was going to see it, and then she was going to go about her business. How long could it take? Ten minutes? Hardly more. She wasn’t going to allow another woman being present to interfere with her objective.
Edenham, fulfilling every expectation of him, lit up like a bonfire upon seeing her. Jane did everything in her power not to smirk. He made the introductions. Lady Rampant’s name was actually Lady Paignton.
She was beautiful. Dark-haired and green-eyed, lushly formed, her features exotically arranged, Bernadette, Lady Paignton, was the sort of woman men simply fawned over.
Yet, the Duke of Edenham was not fawning. It was mildly gratifying. Actually, it was very gratifying. Perhaps that would be enough to satisfy Louisa?
Jane risked a glance to where she had left Louisa, Amelia, and Penelope.
Louisa was not there. Neither was Penelope. Amelia was, but she was not alone. No, Amelia was with Cranleigh, Lord Ruan, Jed, and Joel.
Of course. It just couldn’t be simple, could it?
Amelia caught her eye and cast a look at her of equal parts helplessness and frustration. Jane was equally frustrated, but helpless? Not even slightly. Jed and Joel gave every appearance of being completely engaged by something Lord Ruan was saying. Jane made her move in that sliver of unpredictable opportunity.
“And is your husband here with you, Lady Paignton?”
Jane asked just as Lady Rampant leaned close enough to Edenham to brush her ample breast against his sleeve. A woman that generously proportioned ought to wear a more closely fitted bodice. One would think her modiste would have more skill.
“My husband isn’t anywhere, Miss Elliot,” Lady Paignton answered. “Unless being in the graveyard is somewhere.”
Ah, a widow. That explained the loose bodice. Whatever did her husband die of? Excess?
“My condolences, Lady Paignton,” Jane replied. “But of course your husband is most definitely somewhere. In heaven, I should think. Wouldn’t you?”
Lady Paignton smiled at Jane in a completely unfriendly manner and said, “I should be very much surprised, Miss Elliot, and he, I am quite certain, would be more surprised still.”
Edenham, staring at her as was his most peculiar habit, said softly, “Lord Paignton was a man given to excess, Miss Elliot.”
Excess? Jane believed it readily.
“I was not aware that the Lord God was intimidated by a little excess,” Jane said. “If that is so, what hope for we New Yorkers?”
“Can there be such a thing as a little excess?” Lady Paignton asked, one sable eyebrow raised provocatively.
“It depends upon where you live,” Jane briskly replied.
“Anyone living above Canal Street is quite adept at measured excess. Anyone living below Canal Street is flagrantly excessive nearly as a birthright.”
Edenham chuckled, his brown eyes shining. He was charmed by her; she could read it clearly in him. Could Louisa? Where was Louisa? Smiling, Edenham asked,
“But of course, now it must be revealed, Miss Elliot. Do you live above or below Canal Street?”
“It is as clear as the full moon,” Lady Paignton cut in, moving her breasts about once again. It was most crass of her, not that she seemed to care about being crass, not with that bodice. “Miss Elliot most assuredly lives above the line. There is nothing remotely flagrant about her.”
Jane chuckled, eyeing Edenham appreciatively, sharing the joke with him alone, and said, “Then London standards are clearly less particular than New York’s, Lady Paignton, for I most assuredly live below Canal Street. Indeed, far below. I am most reliably excessive, which I am certain the duke must remember.”
“In what way?” Lady Paignton asked, her tone a bit more contained this time. She would not want to appear strident in front of a duke, would she? Of course not.
“In being,” Edenham answered, still smiling, “excessively plain, Lady Paignton. Or so Miss Elliot reports. For myself, I cannot see it. Not at all.”
Edenham’s gaze grew so focused and so solemn that Jane wanted to squirm. She did not squirm, but that was only because she was certain Lady Paignton would notice.
“But, your grace,” Jane said, “have you not considered that I may be an excessive liar? Perhaps I do not live below Canal Street. How would you ever know?”
“A liar? I won’t believe it,” Edenham answered.
“Men never want to believe a woman is a liar,” Lady Paignton said. “It is so civilized of them, and so convenient.”
Jane felt a flush of camaraderie with Lady Paignton, which she quickly suppressed. She was not in this part of the room to impress Lady Paignton. As to that, there was little point in impressing Edenham if Louisa were not available to witness it.
Little point? What absurdity. There was no point. She certainly did not care if she impressed Edenham or not.
He was rather simple to impress though, wasn’t he? Why, Reliance Jones had required more effort. She had expected, if she had thought to expect anything, which she most definitely had not, something different of a duke. What, she couldn’t have said, but something, certainly. What was a duke, after all? A man of excessive privilege and unnatural arrogance and an absurd degree of power.
And in Edenham’s case, a duke also happened to be excessively, unnaturally, and absurdly handsome.
He was remarkably attractive; she was honest enough to admit that much. He was tall, lean, broad across the shoulders, and quite, quite fit looking in general. Didn’t dukes sit upon their large, pampered arses all day barking orders at their lessers? And didn’t they consider everyone to be lesser?
Of course they did, but perhaps more so when they grew older, growing into it, as it were.
Edenham was not young, but neither was he old. At least not horribly old. But it was likely to occur at any moment, his tumble into decrepitude. Though, looking at him again, struck unwillingly by the look of stark appreciation in his eyes, perhaps not at any moment. Not in the next day or two, which was all that could possibly matter to her.
Day or two? What was she thinking? The next hour or two would be much more than sufficient to prove whatever it was she had to prove to Louisa, and Jane was only allowing for that much time because Louisa was so strangely absent. It was not unlikely that she had made herself scarce on purpose, just to hamper Jane’s efforts with Edenham.
That seemed entirely like her.
As to that, as Louisa was not in the room to witness Edenham’s
fall into . . . whatever he was supposed to fall into, and as Jane was not at all certain what he had to do to prove to Louisa that Jane was fully as capable as any English girl at . . . doing whatever it was that English girls did to Englishmen . . .
Jane snorted under her breath in derision. At herself.
She’d been neatly tricked into making a fool of herself to satisfy some base urge in Louisa. And to answer to her own pride as an American. As a proud American, she did not need to answer to anyone, and she had nothing to prove, and certainly not to Louisa, whom she did not even like, even though she barely knew her. Some people were very simple to evaluate and Louisa was one of them.
“I think you have misjudged me, Lady Paignton,”
Edenham said, breaking into Jane’s thoughts. “I am well disposed to believe that some women would lie, about anything and for the most base of purposes. It is only that I do not believe Miss Elliot capable of that. You, however, are clearly capable of anything.”
Jane very nearly gasped. How inexpressibly rude! How completely ducal of him!
Lady Paignton looked properly stricken, which was precisely how he had intended her to feel. Yes, she was a questionable woman with questionable taste in fashion, but no one deserved such a setdown, particularly in public.
“And you, sir,” Jane said stiffly, eyeing Edenham like the rabid wolf he clearly was, “have proven equally so. You have fulfilled every expectation I had regarding a duke of England, which is surely no compliment to you. Lady Paignton, I should very much like to introduce you to my brothers. May I?” And before Lady Paignton could say a word, for indeed she looked quite without words, Jane linked her arm in hers and pulled her across the room to where she had last seen Jed and Joel. Louisa and her pointless challenges be damned.
Seven
“I’ll be damned,” Calbourne said softly.
Edenham turned slightly to look at Calbourne over his shoulder. Calbourne was taller, but not by much. Calbourne was younger, but not by much. Calbourne was a duke without a wife, but with an heir. In that, they were much alike.
“I’m in no position to argue it,” Edenham replied, turning his gaze back to Miss Elliot, who was now lost in the crowd of Hyde House. With a sigh, he turned to face Calbourne.
