by Claudia Dain
Hawks, the fool, was hanging on to Sophia’s every word and looked as sophisticated as a four-week-old pup.
“True, true,” he said in an outrageous display of false humility.
“Perhaps, to save your reputation and not make you the subject of speculation,” Sophia said soothingly, “you would enjoy an invitation to Marshfield Park, the Dalby estate. My family is there now, doing all those things that men so love to do in the country. I’m certain they would welcome you into their midst with delight. Shall I make the arrangements?”
It was the most amazing thing, but Amelia could almost see Hawks imagining himself running amid the fields and streams of England in the midst of a pack of Indians, whooping like the worst savage. He was clearly enchanted by the vision. One only hoped he kept his shoes on. And his scalp.
“If it’s no imposition,” he said blandly, the worst bit of acting Amelia had seen in a year.
“Nothing of the sort,” Sophia said, casting an amused gaze at Amelia, who found herself smiling in return.
Sophia Dalby could manage a man better than anyone Amelia had ever seen. It was positively inspiring.
And so it was that, except for the boring though necessary details, Hawksworth was disposed of.
AS far as boring details went, Amelia did think that it wouldn’t be the worst idea she ever had to consult with Louisa about her decision to rely upon Sophia Dalby’s plan. Or that would be the reason she gave Louisa for dropping in unexpectedly, if Louisa even asked. It was so very convenient to her plans that Louisa now resided at Hyde House as Hyde House was the London residence of the Marquis of Iveston, as well as all the other sons of Hyde. So very, very convenient. Louisa couldn’t have married a better man for Amelia’s schemes if she’d planned to do so for a decade, which she had most definitely not.
Amelia was admitted to Hyde House, a truly imposing structure, and escorted into the music room. It was a sumptuous room, newly papered, and littered with the necessary musical instruments to support its name. Neither the Marquis of Iveston nor any of his unmarried younger brothers were in view. It was most unfortunate that Iveston or even Cranleigh, the next oldest brother and an earl, was not littered about the music room with the harp and the pianoforte. Nearly before disappointment could find its way into Amelia’s heart, Louisa entered with a saucy grin, her curling ginger hair looking slightly mussed. She wore a gown Amelia had seen her in often, a simple white muslin with clever pleating at the bodice and amber thread in a leaf design at the hem. Amelia was relieved that she did not look down-at-the-heel in her white muslin with the green-sprigged design. One did want to look one’s best when calling at Hyde House, while at the same time not looking as if one had tried too vigorously to look just the thing.
“Lost your comb, Louisa?” Amelia said with a grin that she was certain Louisa would find cheeky.
“I find that there is no real point in taking supreme care with my toilette, Amelia, as Blakes will make a mess of me within an hour,” Louisa said. “He is most inconsiderate that way. It is quite annoying.”
Naturally, Louisa did not look annoyed in the slightest. She looked completely delighted, which was perfectly understandable. Amelia could only hope that her future husband would delight her just as completely. In fact, she was determined that he do so.
“He sounds quite a handful,” Amelia said, to which Louisa laughed and then blushed. Oh, dear. That could have multiple meanings, couldn’t it? “You are most content, Louisa, are you not?
“I am. Truly,” Louisa answered, the blush still pink on her cheeks and throat.
She appeared most sincere, which did give Amelia even more assurance that her minor conspiracy with Sophia would bear the appropriate fruit.
“But what of you, Amelia? Would you not seek your own contentment? You want a duke, and there are only two available, yet wouldn’t either one of them do? Why, even Lord Iveston will be a duke one day. You might consider him.”
Amusing, as usual. Did Louisa actually think that she needed to remind Amelia as to the number of dukes on the market? And as to Iveston, could Louisa possibly believe that Amelia had overlooked him? Regarding Iveston even more specifically, now that Louisa was part of the family, it did open up all sorts of opportunities for Amelia to have reasonable access to Hyde House. Had Louisa not realized that? Amelia certainly had.
Sometimes Amelia wondered if Louisa were as intelligent as she ought to have been.
“Louisa, I have considered him. The problem is that he has not considered me. Nor have Edenham or Calbourne. You see Iveston often now, as indeed you must see the entire family regularly; does he appear at all interested in marrying?”
“But of course he doesn’t, Amelia. He’s an eligible man and they are the most unwilling sort of men, completely repulsed by women, by all appearances.”
“How typical. And how unfortunate,” Amelia said softly, casting her gaze to the design of the carpet beneath her feet. “It would be so much more convenient if he were at least mildly interested in me. You don’t suppose I could entice him, do you? He is very much reserved; it is quite his most well-reputed trait. Perhaps I might be able to lure Iveston into some sort of observable interest?”
“Observable? Why on earth need it be observable, Amelia?” Louisa asked.
Amelia smoothed her muslin skirts and lifted her gaze to her cousin. “For the most simple of reasons, Louisa. If it is not observable, how am I to know if I have gained his interest? I can hardly read his thoughts.”
“At certain times more than others it is quite possible to read a man’s thoughts,” Louisa said with another faint blush staining her throat.
Tea and cakes were brought in just then, which resulted in Louisa busying herself with serving and Amelia busying herself with smiling pleasantly as she accepted her cup and plate. Once the servants were out of the room, they resumed their conversation.
“Certainly there is more to it than that, Louisa. There must be. A man may think very much, yet do very little. Or may do the wrong thing altogether and then,” Amelia said, shrugging, “nothing.”
“Surely not nothing,” Louisa said, leaning forward, her tea and cake entirely forgotten.
“Very nearly nothing. I could even find myself ruined.”
“You don’t sound very nervous about it, I must say,” Louisa said.
“Don’t I? But of course I am. I thought that was perfectly obvious.”
“I still don’t see how you can find yourself ruined by a man who does nothing. Are we talking about a specific man? What have you been hiding from me, Amelia? I’ve never seen you with any man, doing nothing or not. Or is it that some man has done the wrong thing? Have I got it all turned round?”
“But of course not. There is no man. There is no nothing. I was only speculating on how difficult it is to find the right man who will do the right thing. Before Lord Henry Blakesley dragged you off into that closet, you were quite of the same mind. I remember that most clearly.”
Louisa eyed her curiously in response, to which Amelia smiled blandly and stirred her tea. It was quite a nuisance that Louisa had suddenly started to pay attention in a conversation that was not entirely about her. An air of innocence was what was required in circumstances such as these, and Amelia had quite a lot of practice at innocence. Or at least the appearance of it, which was more important than actually being innocent, wasn’t it?
THE Earl of Cranleigh came upon Lady Amelia Caversham in the foyer of Hyde House. She looked innocent, as was her habit. He knew she was not.
She looked fresh and flushed, bright and smooth, her hair glossy and shining with health and good soap, her cheeks soft as goose down. It was perfectly typical of her. She was wearing white with a green design and her eyes looked particularly blue at the moment.
He was not cheered to see her, which he hoped was obvious to her.
He was well aware that she was in Hyde House to see Iveston, the heir apparent and the unattainable prize of every woman of good family an
d good teeth for the past ten Seasons. Hard luck for Amelia that she had stumbled upon him instead of Iveston. He wasn’t an heir apparent, was he? She would have hardly any use for him at all.
“Lady Amelia,” he said, bowing to her.
“Lord Cranleigh,” she said, making a very pretty and entirely proper curtsey. She had acquired the habit somewhere, likely in the same field where she had acquired perpetual innocence, of looking nearly perfect at any given moment. Naturally, as the daughter of a duke, this was to be expected. The thing was, she did it better than anyone else. It was most annoying. Calculated perfection was a thing not to be desired. If he were on easy terms with her, he would tell her just that. But he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t. What he would do was keep her away from Iveston. Iveston she could not have, no matter how she had perfected perfection.
Hell and blast. That sounded idiotic, but he knew it made sense. Perfect sense.
“What a surprise to see you, Lord Cranleigh,” she said, her gaze raking him from his boots to his collar. If seeing him were a surprise, it did not look a pleasant one. Cranleigh slid his gaze to the butler and felt his pulse pound against his temples. “Are you all at home, then? Lord Iveston as well?” she asked sweetly, her blue eyes meeting his briefly.
“Lord Iveston is engaged at present, Lady Amelia. You shall be forced to make do with me, I’m afraid,” he said, taking a step toward her. She took a step away from him, toward the front door, an awkward little dance between them. The butler looked on, stone-faced.
“Forced, Lord Cranleigh? That does sound a bit like you, I’m afraid,” she said stiffly, straightening the seam on her left glove, avoiding his eyes. “You don’t expect Lord Iveston to be available, then?”
“Not in the next few minutes, no,” he gritted out between his teeth.
“How very disappointing,” she said, lifting her chin and staring him fully in the face for the first time. Most irregular behavior for her and wandering very nearly into being not entirely proper. How peculiar. He could not think what had changed in the past day or so to make her behave so boldly.
Ah, but how stupid. Of course. Her cousin had married his brother. How difficult would it be for her to marry Iveston now?
More difficult than she dared to imagine.
“I’m certain it must be,” he said coldly.
“Are you?” she said, her voice catching in her throat. She coughed lightly and said, “Excuse me, I was merely going to ask if the rumor of your returning to sea is true?”
“It is quite true.”
“How very intriguing,” she said, her gaze wandering from his to survey the room behind him. Likely planning how she’d change the wallpaper once she was Duchess of Hyde, blasted snip of a girl. “I had no idea you were so taken with life aboard ship, Lord Cranleigh. What is it that draws you?”
“The complete absence of women?” he asked crisply. When her gaze returned to his, her blue eyes sharp with rebuke, he added, “A poor jest. Your pardon.” Without waiting for her to grant him pardon or not, he continued. “Adventure awaits me there, Lady Amelia. I would grab hold of it. A man cannot drift upon the waves like so much flotsam, his plans shifting upon the tides.”
“I understand completely, Lord Cranleigh,” she said pleasantly, her eyes once again on his face, holding his gaze. His pulse hammered. He quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere, to the butler’s feet, in fact. “It is, I fear to inform you, much the same for a woman. Drifting is not a desirable choice. Anything is preferable, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would,” he said.
“We have an accord. How pleasant. Shall I risk it by stating that a woman must grab hold as well?”
“Grab hold of what, Lady Amelia?” he asked.
“What would you suppose, Lord Cranleigh?” She looked at the room around him, at the high plastered ceiling and the richly colored walls and the fine furnishings. She took her time about it, too, cataloguing the place that she clearly wanted for her own. And then she looked straight into his eyes, her crystalline gaze quite clear, and said, “Why, grab hold of a husband, Lord Cranleigh. What else is there for a woman to grab? In fact, I have an appointment with the Duke of Calbourne in a few hours and I must make haste. Good day.”
And with that she was out the door before he could think of a response, verbal or otherwise.
Six
THE Duke of Calbourne had lost a wager to Lady Dalby and because of that, he came very near to whistling whilst being dressed by his valet.
An intimate supper with Sophia Dalby had been the terms of the wager. Hardly a wager he was dejected about losing. He would dine, charm, and woo. He would, if things went well, find himself in her bed. Just one night, one tumble, was all he asked. That he had, at his advanced age of thirty, managed to miss seducing Sophia Dalby was not to be borne a moment longer. He was a duke. He did have his reputation to think of.
And because Calbourne, of all things, had a sense of humor, he laughed out loud at the direction of his thoughts. Life was very fine indeed if the seduction of the most beautiful and the most infamous of women counted as a task to be accomplished.
Calbourne arrived at Dalby House on time. A bit of reliable gossip was that Sophia did not hesitate to punish those who were not prompt. He was prompt. He was not going to start his seduction of her with a misstep of that paltry variety.
He was shown into the yellow salon, a large and beautifully proportioned room done up entirely in sunny yellow silk damask with costly deep blue porcelains of French origin dotted about, and made to wait. He had expected nothing less.
Calbourne was pretending to study one of the Sevres porcelains, a bit of truly remarkable artistry, but hardly something to hold his attention for more than a few seconds, when he heard Sophia enter the room. He did not turn immediately as he suspected she would expect that. He was a duke, after all, and some small measure of superiority and benign arrogance was due him.
When he did turn to face her, he turned slowly and with all the formidable grace his impressive size would allow. He was, rather famously, he thought, the tallest and, he was not too modest to admit, the most fit man in any gathering. He used his size to intimidate and to impress whenever possible. It was nearly always possible. He found that particular vanity about himself fully as amusing as almost everything else. Calbourne, blessed with everything the world could bestow, found life almost uniformly amusing and pleasant. Why should he not?
Sophia had indeed entered the room. She looked, as always, seductive and nearly attainable. He had given it quite a bit of thought and he had concluded that one of the reasons for Sophia’s fame was her precise degree of attainability. She maintained a certain degree of elusiveness that men, at least defined by him, found mesmerizing. He strongly suspected she found that amusing. He was not at all inclined to fault her. Did he not walk through life finding it more amusing than not?
At Sophia’s side was Lady Jordan, related through marriage to both the Marquis of Melverley and the Duke of Aldreth. Lady Jordan, as was perfectly usual, looked slightly foxed.
Here was an odd bit of business.
On the heels of Lady Jordan followed Lady Amelia Caversham, Aldreth’s daughter and rather too obviously in the market for a husband. She looked completely lovely, as was her habit.
Odd again. He could find no explanation for this parade of women into what was supposed to have been an intimate dinner between sophisticated and healthy adults.
And the parade was still not at an end, for nearly on the skirts of Lady Amelia came Mrs. Anne Warren, a particular favorite of Sophia’s and almost something of a project with her. Mrs. Warren, a woman of no particular credentials beyond her obvious beauty, was on the cusp of being married to Lord Staverton.
The women curtseyed. He bowed. They sat, clustered onto one side of the room, the candlelight playing delicately on their faces and across their coiffed hair, looking at him expectantly. Calbourne sat, slowly and without his usual grace.
Most odd.
; “You look slightly bemused, your grace,” Sophia said, “which is completely understandable. If I may explain?”
“Bemused?” he asked with a half smile. “To find myself in the cheerful company of four lovely women when only one was expected? I should not be much of a man to admit to being bemused. Say instead, Lady Dalby, that I am delighted. Explanations can proceed or not, at your discretion.”
Sophia smiled and nodded her head once in acquiescence, or was it to hide a chuckle? One could never be completely certain of anything with Sophia Dalby.
“How very wise you are, your grace, to count on my discretion. I am, in all things, most discreet,” Sophia said. Which truly was rare humor as Sophia was discreet in nothing, particularly where men were concerned. Unfortunately, he was a man. “We had an arrangement for dinner, which will be met, but before we go in I thought that, in the way of pleasant conversation, one which I hope will build the appetite, you could answer a few questions.”
“Questions? Regarding what?”
“Why, regarding yourself,” Sophia said pleasantly, but there was something twinkling in the depths of her dark eyes that was not at all pleasant. Calbourne crossed his legs and lowered his chin, a pose that had sent more than one person skittering from the room. In this instance, no one skittered. Most inconvenient. “As you may be aware,” Sophia continued, “Lady Amelia Caversham is in the market for a husband.” At this statement of fact, Lady Amelia blushed and blinked rapidly. It was not at all becoming on her.
“Is she? How very wise of her,” Calbourne said, which was a most polite thing to say, after all. Far worse could have been said, but he was not in the habit of taunting young women, though he supposed he could develop the habit if it were necessary. Looking again at Amelia, blushing and blinking, he did not think he needed to develop the habit. At least, not at present.
