by Claudia Dain
That resolved, at least in his own mind, Cranleigh settled into a game of whist. He had hours yet before the ball was to begin. Hours in which he intended to enjoy himself before seeing to Lady Amelia Caversham.
“BUT of course Lady Amelia will find herself enjoyably wed,” Sophia said from the depths of the most comfortable chair in the white salon. “You can’t think I would do her a disservice of that sort. She is simply in the market for a husband, a very particular sort of husband, and you know there is nothing simple at all in acquiring the right sort of husband. Husbands, as a rule, are exceptionally easy to acquire, but she wants a duke, clever girl, and dukes are not at all that straightforward. I’m just trying to help, Zoe. Certainly you cannot think otherwise.”
“I can’t think what will happen if Aldreth hears of it, Sophia. I’ve done what I can to keep him occupied,” Zoe said.
“I’m certain you have. You look quite lovely as a result, darling. Keeping Aldreth occupied agrees with you completely.”
As Zoe had been Aldreth’s mistress for almost two decades, she was quite in the habit of looking lovely, and of being told so.
“Yes, but even I must tire, Sophia,” Zoe said, leaning forward, a single chestnut curl falling forward over her bosom. “I am not, I blush to confess, as rigorous as I once was.”
“Liar,” Sophia said, grinning.
“Flatterer,” Zoe rejoined, smiling.
As they had both been young courtesans making their way into the deepest pockets in London at approximately the same time, and as they were both deeply pragmatic and exquisitely beautiful women they had, naturally, formed an alliance that had quickly become a friendship. Sophia had married her earl and Zoe had made a life with her duke, and they were still friends. Which must be conceded was a very unusual thing to have happened between two women who had been in London for as long as they had.
“If we are to trade compliments,” Sophia said, “then I shall win all, darling, for you have kept Aldreth so fully entertained that while all of London is buzzing about his daughter’s interview of the Duke of Calbourne, Aldreth gives every appearance of being blissfully ignorant of the entire evening.”
“So far,” Zoe said. “Are you certain that this will end well for the girl, Sophia? I do like to think of her as being satisfied with her life, finding resounding joy with the man who is her heart’s desire.”
“Still so French, my darling Zoe,” Sophia said gently. “Amelia will find her man and then she will either find joy or not. As to her heart’s desire, some might argue that she is too inexperienced to know what, or who, that is.”
“Certainly she must want love!” Zoe said in a huff of outrage. After twenty years sharing Aldreth’s bed, she felt more than a little protective of Aldreth’s children by his wife. As they had no mother to look out for them, she had taken on the duty, albeit from an extreme distance.
“Certainly?” Sophia said softly. “Of course she wants love. But can she clasp love by the hand and tuck it beneath her bodice ties? That is not as certain.”
“How very tragic,” Zoe said, leaning back in her seat and taking a sip of chocolate. “How will you proceed?”
Sophia smiled, her dark eyes glittering, “I will simply make certain that love not only shakes her by the hand, but throws her over his shoulder and carries her off.”
“That sounds completely alarming,” Zoe said sternly. Then she smiled and said, “And perfectly romantic. Of course,” she added, once again serious, “none of this throwing can be done with Aldreth in Town. I shall insist he escort me to Paris. He will do as I ask and he will be completely captivated by me and shall give no thought to his children for at least two weeks. Can you manage it all in two weeks’ time?”
Sophia smiled and said calmly, “I can safely promise that Amelia Caversham will be carried away completely within two weeks. Have no doubts at all, darling. No doubts at all,” she repeated, her gaze quite contemplative.
Nine
OF course, while nearly everyone of any note had been invited to attend the Prestwick ball, very few persons of any note had any intention of attending. Until the interview.
The Earl of Dalby, the dowager countess Lady Dalby, her daughter and new son-in-law, Lord and Lady Ashdon, had been invited, as had Lady Dalby’s special friend, Mrs. Warren. As Lady Dalby was the only member of her family in Town and as she was known to have developed the habit years ago of making the acquaintance of everyone in Town who could possibly be thought interesting in any way imaginable, it was widely known that she would accept, Mrs. Warren tangling in her train.
If Lady Dalby was present at the Prestwick ball, and there was not a wager on any book that she would not be present, then it was almost certain that the interviewing of dukes would continue. On that nearly everyone agreed. Sophia Dalby would not let a minor thing like the giving of a ball in someone else’s home stop her from doing whatever she wanted, particularly as Lady Dalby had made it perfectly plain to all of her afternoon callers that Lady Amelia Caversham would also be in attendance at the Prestwicks’.
That settled everything.
The Prestwick ball, for entirely unexpected reasons, was likely to become the event of the Season.
Miss Penelope Prestwick was not at all pleased.
Of course, as the only daughter of a viscount newly made, she had hoped to be the center of all speculation and observation during the course of the ball. Her father had spent quite a bit of money in putting on the ball, which had not been his idea at all but hers, for how else was she supposed to meet the very people she planned to spend the best days of her life with, and now that the money had been spent and her dress crafted and her brother, George, made to promise to behave as the son of a newly made viscount ought to behave, now, at the hour of her premiere upon Society, she was to be upstaged by a very disreputable countess and her strange manner with men, dukes, to be precise.
It was quite intolerable, but she would tolerate it because Penelope had no choice at all about the matter. She was more than a little aware of what she could and could not do. She could not make a fuss. She could only put as placid a face on it as possible, and much was possible as Penelope had early on learned to tolerate quite a lot, and appear unconcerned and only mildly interested in what was certain to be a lurid scene. Perhaps even a series of lurid scenes.
Of course, as was to be expected, she had heard of the scandalous events involving Lady Louisa Kirkland and Lord Henry Blakesley at Hyde House. Of course she had wondered along with the rest of Society why Lady Dalby clearly found it an irresistible impulse to aid in the ruination of any girl who circled too closely to her orbit, for while it was publicly announced that Lady Dalby had had not the slightest involvement in not one but two separate ruinations, one of them her own daughter, privately everyone knew she had done something to arrange each seduction down to the last undone button. No one knew how she had done it, or why, but she had.
Naturally, this had made inviting Lady Dalby to the Prestwick ball something of a necessity, for who would not want the most talked of woman of the Season, perhaps of the decade, at her ball? Penelope was quite well informed and much better educated than girls who had been born into the higher reaches of the ton, and therefore had nothing to prove and less to gain by appearing intelligent. But she was. Very.
“Have you decided how you’ll manage it?” George asked.
George, her older brother by two years, was as darkly handsome as she was darkly beautiful; as she was an intelligent and forthright girl, she did not see any point in denying the facts to herself. Modesty was perfectly well and good as an outward manifestation of good breeding, but one should be honest with oneself. And she was. Very.
“Of course,” she said, and then mentally winced. She had picked up the habit somewhere of saying of course rather more often than was attractive. She was determined to lose the habit as soon as possible. “I shall be demure and modest, displaying as often as possible complete ignorance as to any event that inv
olves Lady Dalby. I shall be deemed an idiot for being unaware of what everyone in Town knows, but I do think that men prefer idiocy in a wife. I have seen little to disprove the theory.”
“Idiots don’t have theories, Pen,” George said placidly. “You’re doomed. You’ll be forced to marry a man who does not require an idiot for a wife. I predict a long Season for you. You might want to learn to embroider.”
“I know how to embroider. It’s only that I hate to embroider. Silly thing. All girls are taught to embroider,” she said, checking her hair in the mirror of the second floor hall. It was quite a nice mirror and her hair looked perfect.
“Pity you couldn’t be taught how to like it.”
“George, you know perfectly well that liking anything isn’t the point of anyone’s education. It’s only that you must be proficient. A fondness for anything can be manufactured.”
“Or anyone,” he said, checking his own hair in the mirror, imitating her. She hit him on the shoulder.
“Stop teasing me. This is the most important night of my life to date and I won’t tolerate being distracted. You will behave, won’t you?” Before he had a chance to answer, because she did assume he would agree with her and therefore obey, she said, “And watch Father, won’t you? You must make certain he does not talk business. And keeps his voice lowered. And doesn’t pull at his waistcoat.”
“Perhaps we should put him on a lead?” George said. “He found his way into a viscountcy but shan’t survive one evening as a host?”
Penelope, who loved a jest and a laugh as well as anyone, but not on the most important night of her life, gifted George with a cold look. “You know perfectly well I’m right. How will I ever become a duchess with a father who shouts his opinions?”
Because of course, that was the entire crux of this evening’s problem. Penelope had decided to marry a duke. Lady Amelia Caversham had made the same decision. The trouble was that Amelia had help in the form of Sophia Dalby and they would likely proceed with their pursuit tonight at her ball. And where did that leave her?
Without a duke, of course.
Penelope winced. Breaking habits was easier said than done. Marrying a duke would likely prove the same.
THE Prestwick town house, which everyone knew they were leasing as it had been in the Hyde family for a full twenty years, looked quite as respectable as it had when the Elliots were in residence. This spoke well of the Prestwicks, as everyone, at least those who had chosen to attend the Prestwick ball and so could discreetly observe the condition of the plasterwork and the skirting boards, had wondered how a viscount who had more money than pedigree would do in a first-rate house in Town. Viscount Prestwick appeared to be doing very well.
It was a bit of a denouement and the ball had not even properly begun.
It was in situations such as these that the ton of London looked to its reliable notables for entertainment. They were not to be disappointed.
Amelia had never felt so on display in her life. After two years of being virtually ignored during the Season, a situation she had loathed, she found she did not at all prefer being the center of attention. She was being stared at. She was being whispered about. She was being speculated upon.
She knew this as firmly as she knew her own name. She had done it herself, to others, and it had been wildly entertaining. It was no longer entertaining.
“Why, there is the Duke of Calbourne,” Sophia whispered from behind her fan. “It does show such fortitude that he should come, does it not, Lady Amelia?”
Amelia was jerked out of her contemplation instantly and, without intending to do so, found her gaze going to the Duke of Calbourne. He was, as always, difficult to miss as he was and ever would be the tallest man in any gathering. He did, however, look quite handsome in an excessively tall sort of fashion. He did not look pleased to be at the Prestwick ball, but that could have been because everyone was staring at him.
And then, as she was coming to expect, they stared at her.
It was most uncomfortable.
“I assume he was invited,” Amelia said to Sophia, a bit curtly. She wanted to turn her back on Calbourne, but it was possible he might see it as a slight. Of course, since she had done far worse than slight him at Dalby House, she didn’t suppose that anything else she did would matter now.
“But of course he was invited,” Sophia said. “I should be very surprised if everyone in Town was not invited here tonight. The Prestwicks do have so much to prove, do they not?”
Of course they did, but it was so common to remark upon it. Perhaps she should not have allied herself with a woman who had been a common courtesan. Then again, things could hardly have reached a worse state. If this interviewing of dukes did not turn the tide, she did not know what would.
“But now that it is known that you rejected him,” Sophia continued, waving her fan gently, the wispy curls at her temples lifting in concert with the motion, “I should think that everyone in Town, who would not have crossed the Prestwick threshold last week, will push through the door to see whom you will discard next. Pity that you found Calbourne not to your liking. I’ve always seen certain advantages to large men. Perhaps, once you are married and more experienced, you will come to agree with me.”
If that wasn’t the most … the most lurid and vile comment to make to a virginal and innocent lady, then Amelia … then Amelia … Yes, well, having interviewed a duke for the position of husband might have severely damaged her reputation as an innocent, though being a known innocent had hardly helped her, had it?
“I don’t think that is likely, Lady Dalby,” Amelia answered with cool civility.
Mrs. Warren chuckled. Mrs. Warren was something of a permanent fixture when dealing with Sophia. Amelia, while she had not actively disliked Anne Warren before, liked her less the more time she spent with her, likely because she was suspicious that Mrs. Warren was laughing at her.
“You are amused, Mrs. Warren?” Amelia said with noticeably less civility.
“Lady Amelia, I am often amused by the things Lady Dalby chooses to say. She has a distinct ability to make truth sound scandalous.”
But perhaps only when the truth was scandalous. Naturally, Amelia kept that thought to herself.
“Oh, look who has come to entertain us,” Sophia said, changing the direction of the conversation. One hoped. “It is Lord Iveston and his brothers, minus the lovely Lord Henry, of course. Did he and your cousin not leave Town?”
“Yes, I believe so,” Amelia said absently, her thoughts momentarily overtaken by the arrival of the four unmarried Blakesleys, who were, taken as a whole, unfortunately spectacular.
All blond. That was the first firm impression. The eye was positively arrested by the sight of all those gleaming gold heads.
Then tall, so very pleasingly tall. Not at all like the nearly gigantic proportions of Calbourne, but merely so very nicely tall.
And handsome. So startlingly handsome, though not mirror images of each other, they all had blond hair and blue eyes and remarkably fit physiques. Of course, she had met each of them at one time or another, but she’d never actually seen them clustered together in a knot of such raw masculinity before now.
“What a close family they appear to be, to come as a throng to the Prestwick ball,” she said. Cranleigh stood shoulder to shoulder with Iveston, which was not unexpected given what she knew of Cranleigh.
Sophia eyed her with an amused smile before turning her gaze back to the sons of the Duke of Hyde. “They are a very close family, yes, I do believe so, but as to why they are in attendance at the Prestwick ball, surely you know the reason for that.”
“Do I?” Amelia countered.
“They are here, darling Amelia,” Sophia said, closing her fan, “for you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Amelia asked, snapping her own fan closed. She was not entirely certain, but she did think that Anne Warren was smiling in sympathy at her.
“They are here,” Sophia said softly, “to protect
their darling Iveston from a woman such as you, Lady Amelia. Was ever a woman more complimented than that? Three men to defend against a single, fragile woman. It’s perfectly delicious. You are to be congratulated.”
“Lady Dalby,” Amelia said firmly, “I hardly think, that is to say, I am sure you must be mistaken. I have done nothing to Lord Iveston and wouldn’t think of—”
“Think of, Lady Amelia?” Sophia interrupted. “But how absurd. You must do all; indeed, hold nothing back. Lord Iveston must be snared, at least as far as an initial estimation of his compatibility with you. Would you marry him without even a conversation to mark the moment? No, no, I know you are eager, but I must insist that you at least talk to the man you intend to marry.”
“That is not at all what I meant, Lady Dalby!” Amelia’s voice, raised to an unusual level, caused more than one person to turn and stare at her.
“But then what did you mean, darling?” Sophia said politely. “Certainly you have not marked Lord Iveston off your list? We have just got rid of the delightfully entertaining Calbourne. I do think we should proceed to Lord Iveston, don’t you? Or would you prefer to meet with the Duke of Edenham first? Oh, and there he is! This is turning into a quite grand affair. The Prestwicks shall be so pleased. Miss Prestwick must also be in the market for a husband, don’t you agree? Are you two not of the same approximate age? And still unmarried? Well, some girls do like to take their time about such things. I, however, knew what I wanted and proceeded to acquire it. I should say the same is true of Anne. Mrs. Warren, how old were you when you married your lovely first husband?”
“Eighteen, just,” Mrs. Warren said.
As if what Anne Warren did at eighteen was of any interest to her. Yet, the point had been made, as if she needed it to be underlined. She knew why she was here and she knew what she wanted. Why else go to Sophia in the first place? But she had made her point, should anyone look into it. Had she not appeared most uncomfortable and very nearly reluctant to talk to Iveston and his many brothers?
