by Claudia Dain
“Isn’t it?” Sophia agreed.
Calbourne studied the women arrayed before him. There were four, yet Sophia was the only one engaging him. What was the significance of that? He knew Sophia well enough to know that everything had significance, whether one saw it immediately or not.
“And in the spirit of that wisdom and indeed, Lady Amelia’s unusual and exemplary boldness in pursuing her goals, matrimony in this instance, I have agreed to aid her in acquiring the proper husband.”
A truly alarming statement in any situation. That Sophia Dalby had mouthed the words made it almost dangerous.
“The proper husband?” Calbourne repeated, for what could that phrase possibly mean? And how on earth did it apply to him?
“But of course, your grace,” Sophia answered calmly. Calmly? When he could feel a bead of sweat moistening his left temple? “Proper. A woman would be a fool indeed not to seek a proper husband. Lady Amelia, like any well-brought-up woman, has her list of requirements and you, your grace, I am most pleased to tell you, fit them almost exactly. At least, what we know of you.”
The single bead of sweat had turned into a cluster. He was not even remotely amused. Calbourne could not remember the last time he had not been amused. He was, he realized with a slight shock, in a distinctly uncomfortable situation.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Dalby,” he said in growing annoyance, “what you know of me? What precisely is that supposed to mean?” And as Sophia was opening her mouth to answer him, he added in true irritation, “And what do you mean, her list of requirements? A list of requirements? As they pertain to me?”
“Why, naturally, Calbourne,” Sophia said with a smile of pure malice. At least it looked like malice to him. In any other circumstance he might have thought her smile delightful and charming. But not now, and perhaps never again. “You must know that you are entirely eligible and that Lady Amelia, not to be distracted by a less than winning smile or a poorly cut coat as so many of today’s young women are, has marked you as prime husband material. Surely, you should be as flattered as she is to be commended.”
What the devil? Was his smile now being found fault with? He had a wonderful smile, truly one of his best features. His mother had remarked upon it often, or as often as she saw him. And there was nothing at all wrong with the cut of his coat. He engaged the finest tailor in Town. Still, he adjusted the sleeve with a rough tug. Perhaps the sleeve was a bit short. Damned tailor, was he turning him into a laughingstock? It was one thing to smile at other people’s foibles, that was truly amusing, but to be found laughable was not at all tolerable. He was a duke, after all. No one should find it necessary, or indeed wise, to laugh at a duke.
“Indeed,” he said stiffly, still fussing with his coat sleeve, “I am excessively flattered.” He looked at Lady Amelia, who, shockingly, was studying him rather more directly than was entirely proper of her. “I am, however, not in the market for a wife.”
“Are you not? Truly?” Sophia said, her smile almost seductive. “Of course, you do have your heir in the darling Alston, but there are other reasons to marry, delightful reasons, your grace. Would you deny yourself?”
“As to marriage, yes, I would deny myself. I find this … situation most awkward, Lady Dalby. Perhaps we may arrange for dinner another evening, when it is more convenient.”
“But this is entirely convenient, your grace, and there is the matter of the wager between us. This evening is the payment of that wager, as you must surely remember. I’m terribly afraid that there is no escape for you.”
The look in Sophia’s eyes was both amused and calculating. If he defaulted on their wager, she would make certain that everyone in Town knew of it before the week was out, as well as knowing all the particulars. That was not to be tolerated. The Duke of Calbourne was not going to be run out of a salon by four unmarried women. Calbourne took a deep breath, uncomfortably aware that his coat was tight across the chest. Blasted tailor.
“If there is no escape,” he said, forcing himself to relax against the stares of the four women before him, “then I shall just have to relax and enjoy myself, a condition I have ample experience with, Lady Dalby. Continue on, Sophia, I will not make a break for the door, nor will I fight against the restraint of feminine bonds of curiosity. What more would you know of me, Lady Amelia? How shall I satisfy you?”
Lady Amelia, as was entirely proper, blushed brilliant pink. Well deserved, too. Blasted women, making a mess of what should have been a lovely and uncomplicated evening of seduction and mutual satisfaction.
“Is he not as I described him to you, Lady Amelia?” Sophia asked, eyeing him with blatant amusement and, dare he admit it, appreciation. He found he could almost smile in return. “A remarkably pleasant and delightful man, the Duke of Calbourne, and if any man deserves the ideal wife, it is surely he.”
The ideal wife? An oxymoron of ridiculous proportions. Calbourne had been married, after all, and had the son to prove it. He also had the most unpleasant and disagreeable memories. It had not been a pleasant experience, being married. He had done it only to please his father, marrying the woman his father had deemed ideal for him. His father had been deeply mistaken. When his wife had died, he had, almost disgracefully, breathed a sigh of relief. When his father had died, that had ended all thoughts forevermore of marriage. He had his heir, the Calbourne line was secure, and his duty was done. Life, from thence forward, was to be enjoyed. And he did; he enjoyed it devotedly.
But he was going to find a better tailor the first thing tomorrow.
“You jest, surely,” Lady Jordan said.
Calbourne was more than a bit surprised. He had supposed that this was to be between he and Sophia, as it had been thus far; that Mary, Lady Jordan, had decided to speak was a bit of an unpleasant surprise.
“In what manner, Lady Jordan?” Sophia asked politely.
“In that a man, having found the ideal and, indeed, the proper wife, would hardly know it. Men,” Lady Jordan said in an unattractive and entirely uncalled-for display of pique, “never appreciate a woman properly.”
“Never?” Sophia said musingly, her dark gaze turning from Lady Jordan to Calbourne. “Surely that is not so. Certainly I have, upon more than one occasion, been very well appreciated.”
Mrs. Warren made some noise. It might have been a giggle.
Lady Amelia blushed. Again. It was singularly tiresome. Could the girl not speak? Not that she would have anything remarkable to say. He had, by the merest accident, been forced to engage her in conversation only last week at Hyde House. He had been neither entertained nor impressed. Mrs. Warren, on the other hand, had been something of a surprise. She was, aside from being beautiful with ginger hair and greenish eyes, quite clever and completely charming. Small wonder that the Marquis of Dutton was making a complete cake of himself over her.
Of course, Calbourne had not and never would make a cake of himself over any woman, ever. The idea was ridiculous. He really didn’t know what Dutton was thinking, to be such a complete and drooling pup over something as simple as a widow with red hair.
Lady Jordan, by way of response, merely grunted, her chin collapsing upon her chest. He had heard that, at some point in the far distant past, Lady Jordan had been quite a beauty. He could not see it.
“Should we not proceed, Lady Dalby?” Lady Amelia said.
It was the first word she had spoken and it did show the slightest bit of vigor on her part. Calbourne looked at Amelia Caversham a bit more closely. She was a good-looking girl, very fair, very blond, very fine boned. Her bosom was respectable, though not remarkable. She was the daughter of a duke, never a hindrance in arrangements of the marital sort, and she had, by every rumor, a hefty dowry.
All in all, she’d make someone a passable wife. But not him.
“Indeed we should,” Sophia said, arranging her skirts in a very pretty display, her ankles showing briefly and, he was quite certain, not accidentally. “The duke will grow quite bored if we do not pro
ceed with directness and decision, will you not, your grace? Is that not a true statement of your preferences?”
“I appreciate decisiveness, as does the majority of the population, I should expect,” he said.
“Ah, we shall mark that down then,” Sophia said. “Anne, if you would make that the first notation?”
It was then that things went from odd to bizarre as Mrs. Warren rose to her feet and went to a small table in the nearest corner of the room, sat down, and, taking quill to paper, wrote something down.
They were compiling a list?
Good God.
“You are making a list?” he said, still unable to quite believe it. “Concerning me?”
“We are,” Sophia said. “Is it not completely flattering, your grace? I can assure you that not everyone in Town will receive such consideration. Lady Amelia is most particular, most exacting, as must be admitted are advantageous qualities to have in a wife. She will make some deserving man a truly spectacular wife. Of course,” Sophia said with a smile, “he must be found deserving first. Hence …” She waved her hand gracefully in the air, encompassing the room, the people in it, and the entire exercise.
Calbourne rose to his feet in a fury. He would have none of it. Not a single moment longer of it. It was preposterous. It was degrading and insulting and not the least bit amusing. He was not sure what he found more offensive: the fact that he was being subjected to a test of his worth by a room full of, it must be admitted, women of a less exalted rank than his own, or the fact that he suspected that any amusement in this room was at his express expense.
“Your grace,” Sophia said, not bothering to stand but considering him from a very relaxed posture on her very delicate chair, “you are not flattered? You should be.”
“Hardly.”
“How very strange,” she said, eyeing him coolly. “I suppose there is nothing for it. You must be marked down as a man of less than amiable tendencies. Such a pity. I had always considered you to be the most amusing man of my acquaintance, and so very, very amiable. And then, of course, there is the wager. You are defaulting? Anne, write that down. The Duke of Calbourne is not a man of honor as he does not honor a wager freely made.”
And, of course, there was nothing for it. He sat back down, his expression grim and his posture stiff. But he sat. If there was one thing he knew beyond any other and upon which every gossip in Town agreed, Sophia Dalby was a woman who did not threaten, she acted. What was more, she never forgot a broken vow or a slight and she always, always demanded and achieved restitution.
“Such an intelligent man,” Sophia said, staring at him with blatant amusement. “Mark that down, Anne. The Duke of Calbourne is pleasantly intelligent. Such an important attribute and quite, quite impossible to put a price upon. But, of course,” she said with a grin, “we shall.”
He was annoyed and insulted and quite possibly more uncomfortable than he’d been in his entire life, but Calbourne, who did love a good jest above almost all else, found himself smiling with her. What did it matter? Let them make their little list. He was not going to marry, not Amelia, not anyone. What was perhaps of even more importance was that there was nothing Sophia could do to compel him to marry. Absolutely nothing.
At that thought, Calbourne leaned back in his chair, determined to relax and enjoy himself. Perhaps if he acquitted himself well, he might still find his way into Sophia’s bed.
“And as you are marking things down, Mrs. Warren,” he said, “please make sure my list includes that I am amiable in the extreme and I never default on a wager.”
“Yes, your grace,” Mrs. Warren said sweetly.
“So, my list includes amiability, intelligence, and a man of honor?” he asked.
“And decisive,” Sophia said, “which has surely been proved. Not only do you value it in others, you display it within yourself. I just knew you were a stellar example of the dukes of England, your grace. Quite stellar.”
“The dukes?” he said, leaning forward.
“But of course,” Sophia said, leaning forward as well. It looked slightly challenging. He was entirely certain it was intentional. “You were not aware? Lady Amelia has, and very intelligently, too, made up her mind that only a duke will do for her. Aren’t you so very pleased that you made the first qualification so easily? After all, all you had to do there was to be born of the right father, which, to be honest, is hardly to your credit, is it?”
And then she laughed, outright and with no restraint at all.
He decided then that he had no desire to find his way into Sophia’s bed. He was more than certain that if he did, it was doubtful he would ever find his way out again alive.
Seven
AMELIA was completely aware that the Duke of Calbourne was being swept along by the force and allure of Sophia. That was to be expected. What she hadn’t expected was to be almost completely ignored by the man.
She was not at all pleased. Not at all.
Of course, it was true that Sophia had got Calbourne into the room and got him to stay, all very well and perfectly lovely, but now that he was staying it was time for him to pay attention to her. She was an attractive woman with good hair and teeth. She had a dowry. She had an engaging manner. Did none of these lovely things matter anymore?
But what was she to do? Allow Sophia to walk off with Calbourne thrown over her shoulder? Amelia needed him.
“I do think,” Amelia said, pleased that Calbourne was at least looking at her, “that … that it is quite fine to be the child of a duke. I know that I am very glad that I am a duke’s daughter, and I am not,” she said, wondering what to say now that she had Calbourne’s full attention, “I am not at all certain that I should not be commended for finding myself in that position. Certainly, as the child of a duke, I do think I should be commended at every opportunity.”
Calbourne looked at her in something approaching wonder, as if a dog had just burst forth with an opinion on estate law, which was the tiniest bit insulting, and then he looked at Sophia, his brows raised, and then he looked back at her. He was grinning. It was very difficult not to preen. She mastered the urge and sat with as much dignity and poise as a duke’s daughter ought to display, which was considerable.
“I could not possibly agree with you more, Lady Amelia,” Calbourne said. “I also believe that I am due commendation for nearly everything. I had no idea we had that trait in common. How very pleasant to find a kindred spirit in this room.”
“Should I add that to the list?” Mrs. Warren said, looking at Sophia over her shoulder, her mouth twitching against a grin.
It might be possible that, at some future date, Amelia could actually develop a cordial relationship with Anne Warren. Certainly she did not mind in the least that Lord Dutton seemed so enamored of her.
When Sophia had arranged for this interview with the Duke of Calbourne, she had insisted, in direct opposition to the entire exercise, that propriety be maintained. Therefore, at least one chaperone must be present, which for Amelia meant her Aunt Mary as Hawksworth had been disposed of in the most innocent manner imaginable. As to Mrs. Warren’s presence, Amelia had no explanation, but Sophia had insisted and that had been that. When one asked a favor from someone like Sophia, one did not look too closely into the horse’s mouth. Not unless one wanted a finger chomped off at the knuckle.
“Oh, most assuredly,” Sophia answered languidly. “Kindred spirits. Could anyone have anticipated it?”
Aunt Mary snorted and took a sip from her cup. She was drinking Madeira and she was drinking it very contentedly. Aldreth seldom supplied Madeira, likely because he knew it was one of Aunt Mary’s favorite drinks. Of course, Aunt Mary had many favorite drinks; indeed, it was very difficult to think of a drink which she could not be tempted to enjoy.
“Do not pretend to modesty, Lady Dalby, for no one here shall believe it,” Calbourne said.
“Very well,” Sophia said, “I anticipated it. I should be very much surprised if you and Lady Amelia did n
ot find yourselves to have much in common, your grace. She is, as you will discover, a remarkably pleasing sort of girl. As you are a man who likes to be pleased … though, actually,” Sophia mused, “I cannot think of a single man who does not enjoy being pleased. Can you, your grace?”
“Not a one,” he answered briskly.
Once more, Sophia had stolen the duke’s attention from her. She refused to tolerate it, that was all. Simply refused.
“Actually,” Amelia said firmly, leaning forward slightly, “I do not believe Aldreth to be the sort of man who enjoys being pleased.”
“Is that possible?” Sophia said.
“It must be,” Amelia answered stoutly, “for I have never seen him pleased. By anything. And I know him well enough, you must agree.”
“Oh, yes, I must agree,” Sophia said. It sounded suspiciously sarcastic, which was intolerable. Amelia did know Aldreth better than anyone in this room, certainly. He was her father, after all.
“It’s quite true,” Aunt Mary said, looking at Sophia. “Aldreth is … difficult.”
“Perhaps all dukes are difficult,” Sophia said, looking at Calbourne. “Perhaps they enjoy being difficult. Is that the source of your endless pleasure, your grace?”
“Ridiculous,” Calbourne said. “It is a truer conclusion to state that all dukes enjoy making things difficult for others.”
“Hardly complimentary,” Mary said.
Oh, dear, Mary was always saying precisely the wrong thing to the exact wrong person.
“I think Aldreth is unique,” Amelia said, “just as I believe the Duke of Calbourne is unique. Perhaps it is in being unique that the dukes of the realm make their mark upon the world.”
It was a fine bit of calculated misdirection. She was quite proud of herself. She did, after all, have to manage both Sophia and Mary, who, she was certain, found their own perverse pleasure in being difficult. How else to explain their behavior? How to charm Calbourne with these mild insults flying about the room? No matter what anyone said about dukes, one thing was beyond dispute: they did not enjoy being insulted. In fact, they had no toleration for it at all.
