Oh, well. She could expound on that subject with Sir James, if she were lucky enough to engage him in private conversation. Meanwhile, she must steer her young charge toward men with sufficient title and fortune to satisfy her family and Lady Westcott. And with any luck, she would find one possessed also of decent character and a fine mind. With luck.
Lucy and Valerie spent the afternoon in Lady Westcott's company. Or more accurately, in her wake. They called at several fashionable addresses, architectural edifices that bespoke wealth and power and heritages traced back to the Conqueror himself. At most of them they simply left their calling cards. But at three they were greeted and offered refreshments. Their hostesses were all of Lady Westcott's vintage and clearly among her dearest acquaintances. The Viscountess Talbert was related to Lady Westcott by marriage. The Countess of Grayer, they were cautioned, was a famous arbiter of town society. The Dowager Duchess of Wickham was, simply put, the Dowager Duchess of Wickham.
Formidable women all, they were cut from the same cloth as Lady Westcott who was, of course, perfectly at ease in their company. But young Valerie was petrified of them.
As for Lucy, she was cognizant of the fact that these ladies could be a huge help to Valerie. But beyond that, her primary reaction to them was fascination. The world was dominated by men, and yet these women had each carved her own place of power within it. Powerful women and how they became that way—that was another topic she longed to discuss with Sir James.
Oh, but she could hardly wait until tomorrow.
Once they returned to Westcott House, Lucy broached the subject of the lectures. "Lady Westcott, do you recall that I wished Lady Valerie to attend several lectures with me?"
"Several? I do not recall anything about several."
Lucy forced herself not to argue. "Tomorrow afternoon the first of the subscription lectures at Fatuielle Hall will be held."
"We have the modiste to see for fittings."
"That is at eleven."
"We've been invited to tea at Lady Hinton's. I particularly wish to see the changes this latest of Robert's wives has made to his town house. Lady Talbert told me she has changed everything his third wife did to the place, and in the process has made it very like it was under his second wife. I am most interested in determining whether or not the new Lady Hinton did so deliberately or not. For if it was accidental, she will be the joke of the season." Her lined face creased in silent laughter.
Lucy pursed her lips and tried to hold back her words, but it was useless effort. "Will you inform her of her mistake—if indeed it was unconsciously done?"
Lady Westcott eyed Lucy shrewdly. "I haven't decided that yet. What do you suggest I do?"
Somehow Lucy knew her answer would determine whether or not she would be given permission to attend the lecture tomorrow. That meant she must be every bit as shrewd as the countess. What answer would the woman want to hear, this coldly calculating woman who'd made her only grandchild a pawn in her bid for power?
The answer was obvious.
"What you should tell her depends on her, I should think. If you believe she can be an ally in the future, and useful to you, then by all means tell her that her new decor mimics that of one of her predecessors. Then you can save her from humiliation by spreading the tale that she did the decor that way to please her husband, whom she adores."
Lady Westcott appeared receptive to Lucy's answer, right up to her last words. Then she frowned and pushed her teacup away. " 'Her husband whom she adores'? Bah, but you are as green a girl as Valerie if you believe a wife must adore her husband."
Lucy held her ground. "I did not say a wife must adore her husband. I merely said you and she could imply that she does."
Lady Westcott considered Lucy with frosty eyes. Then unexpectedly she laughed. Lucy heard Valerie's sigh of relief just beside her.
"You are right in the main, Miss Drysdale. I shall visit Lady Hinton and decide for myself whether she will make a useful friend or not. If I save her from a social faux pas, she will most certainly be in my debt."
"Does this mean Valerie and I may forego the visit and attend the lecture instead?"
The countess nodded slowly. Consideringly. "You are a bright young woman, Miss Drysdale. Exceedingly bright."
Lucy accepted the compliment with a smile. She had long ago acknowledged that her intellectual abilities were better than most, although she was not excessively smug about it. But she would have to be more than merely bright if she were to find the right young man for Valerie, one that would suit both the girl's needs and Lady Westcott's plans.
The dowager countess was allowing her to assert her own will only because she thought she was manipulating Lucy and making her an accomplice in her plan to pair Lord Ivan and Lady Valerie.
But when she found out the truth of Lucy's intentions ...
Lucy smiled blandly at the countess. She would deal with that particular problem when it presented itself. Meanwhile, tonight was the McClendons' ball, although Lady Westcott had termed it merely a dance, as she doubted there would be over two hundred persons in attendance. Still, whether two hundred or four hundred, Valerie was nonetheless terrified at the thought of so grand a gala.
How the girl handled herself this evening could very well influence her reception for the rest of the season. Lucy was determined to make her, if not the belle of the ball, then at least the center of her own court of acceptable beaus.
And Lucy would be right there to cull through them and steer Valerie toward the best of the lot.
* * *
Chapter Six
It was not yet midnight and already the McClendon ball was being termed the first true crush of the season. Lady McClendon was ecstatic; Lord McClendon was justifiably proud, if a trifle deep into his cups. Their two unmarried daughters, once relieved of their duties in the receiving line, had not paused a moment in their mad series of dances.
At first Valerie had clung to Lucy like a child, just staring about at the fabulous gowns, glittering jewels, and constantly shifting sea of humanity. However, as she'd been introduced around by Lady Westcott, and complimented and fussed over, she'd begun to warm to the hectic social scene.
Then Valerie had made two unfortunate blunders, calling the Duchess of Wickham my lady, and the Viscountess Talbert, your grace. It hadn't helped that Lady Westcott had rebuked the child with a sharp pinch. Once again the poor girl had become too frightened to say more than a word or two.
Fortunately that had not deterred any of her numerous admirers. She'd been introduced to so many eager young lords, honorables, and misters that even Lucy was having a hard time recalling who was who.
At the moment Valerie was dancing an invigorating galop with the Honorable Chester Davies. With a less intimidating partner than Ivan Thornton, the girl had no trouble mastering the steps. They made a rather fetching couple, Lucy decided from her vantage point among the other chaperones. But then, Valerie was so lovely that any fellow would be cast in a better light while in her company.
Lucy was humming along with the music when a murmur shimmied through the room, faint but unmistakable, like the current of a stream.
"You see? I told you he was coming," a voice to her left whispered.
"My lady gave me strict instructions: my girl may dance with him, but not with any others of his crowd."
"Not even the one they say is the king's bastard?"
Lucy didn't listen to the rest. She didn't need to. Only one man could remain unnamed and yet be recognizable to everyone, from doting mamas to dancing misses to disapproving chaperones. Ivan had arrived along with his friends from Hyde Park. The three R's.
Nervously she smoothed her neat chignon, then took a deliberate breath and instructed herself to calm down. With any luck Valerie's dance card was already filled. If not. . . If not, well, she would suffer no real harm for dancing with Ivan's friends. Her popularity had been fairly well established with the eligible young men of the ton. If a few of the more extreme sno
bs disapproved of some of her dance partners, she could easily weather the storm.
The galop progressed anon, with silks, sateens, and muslin skirts whirling and belling out before her. But Lucy no longer concentrated on the dancers. Instead she peered about, striving not to crane her neck too obviously. Where were they?
No, where was he?
Though she should not be interested in the whereabouts of the Earl of Westcott, except insofar as it affected her innocent young charge, the truth was, every part of her was vitally interested in Ivan Thornton's whereabouts. It was idiotic, of course, and if she could have convinced herself it was purely due to her interest in the minds and motivations of people in general, she would have given it her best effort.
But it was not because of that at all. It was because his thigh had warmed not just her thigh but her entire being. Because when he had whispered to her through the door to her bedchamber, she'd fancied his breath had touched her ear, and she'd trembled. Because he was smart and driven, and he held the ton in even more contempt than she did.
"This is how young women are ruined," she muttered. By inappropriate fascinations of just this sort.
"What is that you say?" the lace-capped chaperone to her left asked. "One of them's ruined a young lady?"
"No, no," Lucy hastily corrected her. "I said the ... the May Day celebrations were ruined. When it rained," she added when the woman cocked her head and stared at her, a skeptical expression on her face.
Lucy gave her a taut smile, then turned away and searched out Valerie's fair head. Across the crowded dance floor she spied Lady Westcott, flanked by her friends Laurence Caldridge, Lord Dunleith, and Viscountess Talbert. Lord Dunleith was whispering in Lady Westcott's. ear, while the elegant old woman stared at someone off to Lucy's right.
Ivan, of course. If she could have, Lucy would have shrunk back into the milling crowds to avoid him spotting her. But the music was ending and in a moment Mr. Davies would be returning Valerie to her side.
Ivan and his notorious friends spied Valerie first and followed her to where Lucy waited. He gave Lucy a quick appraising glance. But his first words were directed to Valerie, which was only proper.
"Good evening, cousin." He greeted her with a sweeping bow, kissing her hand and holding it longer than he rightly should.
Valerie pressed her lips together nervously. Lucy cleared her throat. Was this little display for his grandmother's benefit, or did he seek to rattle Valerie on purpose? For she was most assuredly rattled. The self-possession she'd earned basking in the glow of so much masculine admiration promptly disappeared under Ivan's disturbing attention.
The diamond stud glinting in his left earlobe didn't help either. Had ever a man surpassed him for sheer gall?
"Good evening, Lord Westcott," Lucy said when it appeared he would stare at Valerie until she dissolved into pudding on the floor. At once those vivid eyes turned on her.
"Good evening, Miss Drysdale. Tell me, is Lady Valerie living up to your expectations?"
Lucy frowned at the rudeness of such a remark made in the girl's presence. Then she spied the arrogant gleam in his eyes. He was baiting her. Again.
She smiled as serenely as she could, considering that her heart raced at a pace considerably beyond serene. "Lady Valerie far surpasses my expectations, not that I ever doubted she would."
"Did you mark down a dance for me?" Giles Dameron interrupted. He bowed his greeting to Valerie and to Lucy, then repeated his question.
Valerie, thankfully, regained some portion of her aplomb when the rustic Mr. Dameron addressed, her so directly. "Why, yes, Mr. Dameron, I did." She smiled up at him, then averted her eyes, opened her mother-of-pearl fan, and began modestly to flutter it.
They went off together: Mr. Dameron without even seeking the chaperone's approval; Valerie plainly anxious to escape the earl's overpowering presence.
"They make a handsome couple," Alexander Blackburn drawled. As before, he was dressed in the height of fashion and displayed a practiced ennui that would be the envy of any rake in society.
Elliot Pierce's boredom, however, was of a different nature entirely. "Have they opened the gaming tables yet? My apologies, Miss Drysdale, but aside from my duties to Lady Valerie, you will not see me often on the dance floor."
"That's quite all right," Lucy murmured.
"No it's not," Ivan countered. "I apologize for my friends' lack of manners, Miss Drysdale. Since they have not invited you to dance, then I will."
So saying, Ivan reached for her hand. But Lucy snatched it away, burying her fist in her skirts. She did not dare chance dancing with this man, not the way he affected her! "If you would think about it, Lord Westcott, your offer to dance with me out of duty is much more the insult than any your friends have given me. At least theirs was not deliberate," she added.
"Careful, Miss Drysdale, else you shall ruin my reputation as a gentleman," he whispered, bending too near to her.
Lucy could hear the laughter in his voice, but she also saw, to her chagrin, that they had become the focus of an inordinate amount of interest. Some discreet, some not, more than a dozen pairs of eyes watched their little foursome. And in the chaperone's area, no less!
But Lucy had never liked bowing to public pressure, whether that pressure was exerted by a crowd or by a single individual. Her chin went up a notch and she stared straight into Ivan Thornton's unnerving blue eyes. "Why do you hate your grandmother so?"
Mr. Blackburn coughed; Mr. Pierce laughed out loud. "I think we'll be going.now," he said, taking Mr. Blackburn by the arm. "Come, Alex, I want to have a smoke, not go up in smoke when this fire flares out of control."
They quit the ballroom together, drawing stares as they went. Lucy watched them go, feeling somewhat disconcerted by their absence. No, not by their absence, but by Ivan's solitary presence. Though surrounded by dancers and music and a hundred other guests, she was nonetheless completely alone with Lord Westcott. Would no one come to her aid?
Apparently not. Again her chin went up and again she went on the offensive. "Why do you hate your grandmother?"
His face had gone rigid and the emotion that burned in that disturbing stare looked more like fury than the teasing light from before. "That is none of your business, Miss Drysdale. Come, dance with me." Without warning he took her hand and led—no, pulled—her toward the area marked out for dancing.
"I don't want to dance," she hissed, but quietly, for she did not wish to draw undue attention to herself. Not that he hadn't already done that.
"I do," he replied. Then suddenly she was-in his arms and it was her dark skirts belling out as he spun her around and into the stream of dancers.
Why must it be another galop? Lucy fretted as she reluctantly placed her left hand on his arm. With his right hand at the small of her back, he seemed to be pressing her nearer with each half-revolution.
"Not so close," she muttered. Deliberately she trod on his foot.
"Step on my foot again and I will pull you flat up against me," he warned. Then he grinned down at her. " 'Flat' is probably not the correct word, is it?" he asked, letting his gaze drop to her bosom.
Though she was far more decorously dressed than most of the women in attendance, embarrassing color rushed into her cheeks. "You are too rude to believe!"
"That's because I wasn't brought up any better."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" He was no longer smiling. For a full circuit of the capacious ballroom neither of them spoke—at least not with words. What his strong, masculine body was saying to her, however, she was certain she did not want to hear. Valerie danced by on Mr. Dameron's arm. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow, albeit a little thin on the social graces. Not at all like Ivan, who knew precisely how to behave. If he behaved badly, it was most definitely by design. She decided to goad him as he'd previously goaded her.
"Since you refuse to answer my question, I will have to rely on what I have heard of you, as well as on my own impress
ions, and then draw my own conclusions regarding the ill will between you and Lady Westcott."
"This should be entertaining."
His handsome features had settled into the patient expression of a wise elder resigned to tolerate a foolish young woman. Lucy vowed to wipe that half-smirk from his face.
"I gather we are of a similar age—"
"You are that old? I had no idea."
"—but that we had a very different upbringing," she continued unperturbed. "I grew up in the bosom of my family, loved and cosseted. Well, perhaps not precisely cosseted, especially in recent years. Meanwhile, you grew up in a Gypsy tribe without benefit of a father."
"I had a father there."
Lucy gnawed her inner lip. That was something Lady Westcott had not revealed. "I see. You had a father there. That means that when Lady Westcott brought you to Westcott House—"
"She never brought me to Westcott House." His grasp on her waist had turned to iron but his step never faltered. Lucy had the distinct impression that were she to lift both her feet up, he would continue the dance without misstep, whirling her in his unyielding grip.
"You went straight from your mother's arms to Burford Hall?"
"I spent several hellish days confined to an upper room at the family estate in Dorset. Then I was sent to Bastard Hall—excuse me if its truer name offends you. I remained there ten years without a break. Without a visit from my sire," he added in a voice devoid of inflection.
Any lingering trace of malice she might have felt toward him dissipated in the face of that answer. He must have felt the softening in her stance, for he bent nearer and whispered in her ear. "That is your cue to clasp me to your breast and offer me whatever comfort you possibly can." Lucy jerked back as if string. He'd seduced her with his sad tale, and she, who prided herself on her understanding of human nature, had gone along more than willingly. Her eyes narrowed. "How disappointing to find that you are, after all, of a common type. You know the sort. They believe their upbringing grants them the right to behave in any manner they wish. It is most especially typical of eldest sons. My nephew Stanley is the same," she continued in an offhand manner that she knew would irritate him. "He knows he will inherit everything—title, property, and all the rest—and he behaves accordingly. No one punishes him too severely, not his parents, his tutor, or any of the senior servants. After all, in the near future he will be the one wielding power over them."
Dangerous to Love Page 9
