She sighed as they glided down the ornately carved main staircase. Below, the voices of refined ladies and gentlemen reached her ears, their accents sounding much the same—upper class and elegant. The gentle swish of silk and satin accompanied those voices, and Elena’s heart lurched. “I wish we could stay above. I feel as if we’re approaching the lion’s den.”
“I can always tell his lordship you wish a tray to be sent up.”
Tempting, but she shook her head. “I cannot hide away in my room the entire time. Claudia wouldn’t be happy, and besides, I did promise Lord Dunning I’d help find him a bride.”
“Are you certain you wish to do this? You know, you are as much a lady as any of these skirts are. Don’t let them make you think otherwise.”
She glanced up at Conn, the note of seriousness in his deep voice unfamiliar. It simply wasn’t his way to be so serious. Usually he preferred teasing her. Still, she was touched by his words and gave his arm a squeeze. “Why, Conn, you almost sound serious.”
He grimaced. “Forget I said anything, then.”
“I thank you, but yes, I’m certain. His lordship called it separating the wheat from the chaff, whatever that means.”
They rounded the landing and continued to the first floor, where the house opened into a large court with elevated ceilings and massive amounts of large ferns in equally large urns. The marble floor held no warmth and the cold rose to permeate through the bottoms of her slippers and wind its way up her legs. Elena drew her velvet wrap tighter about her shoulders. English houses were so drafty, especially when they were as large as Dunning Court. No wonder Papi had insisted she take something as impractical as a velvet wrap. Impractical on St. Phillippe. Indispensable in England.
Conn grinned down at her. “It means to separate the good from the undesirable. And what, in his mind, makes a woman chaff?”
“She can neither love him nor want only his money.”
“The second one, I understand. But not the first one. What does the good earl have against love?”
“I’m surprised to hear you ask such a thing, Conn.”
“Why? I believe in love.” He winked at her. “In fact, I believe in it on an almost nightly basis.”
“Conn!” She clapped a hand to her forehead. “Please, don’t say such things when we’re around others. They’re already going to look at us like we are on exhibit. I would hate them to think us savages.”
“Of course they’ll think us savages. Noble savages, no doubt, due to our honorable Carib blood.” Conn’s grin faded, as did the puckish glint normally found in his eyes. “We are on display, Lena. And besides, I speak the truth. I love most of the women I dally with. It just tends to fade as the evening progresses and is usually gone come morning.”
“Conn, you’re impossible. Don’t you grow tired of being a cad?”
“I’m not a cad, sister dear. I prefer to be called a connoisseur of women. Has a much nicer ring to it, don’t you think?
She swallowed a sour reply and tightened her grip on his arm as they crossed the threshold into the dining room. There, at least a dozen people had already gathered, and his lordship stood at the head of the table, smiling at his guests.
“Captain Sebastiano, Miss Sebastiano, do come in.” He greeted them warmly, coming over to them. To the others, he said, “May I present my friends from the West Indies, Captain Sebastiano and his sister, Miss Sebastiano.”
Elena forced herself to smile as pairs of curious eyes, all in pale faces, alit on her. All the men were dressed like Conn, in stark black breeches and frock coats, blinding white shirtfronts, and cravats, hair carefully oiled and combed meticulously into place. Thankfully, no one wore wigs, as she hated the sight of them.
Some of her unease fled when she spied Claudia and Galen sitting beside one another at the middle of the table. A pang of jealousy pricked Elena’s insides at how her friend practically radiated every time she gazed upon her betrothed. Since they were children, Elena had always thought Claudia was the prettiest girl on St. Phillippe, with her fall of copper curls and the velvety blue eyes inherited from her English mother, but now, happy in the glow of her newfound love, she was more than pretty. She was beautiful.
Galen looked equally happy, if uncomfortable in his formal attire. His thick, coarse black hair refused to behave, no matter how much pomade he combed through it, and so for this evening, he’d tied it into a queue at the nape of his neck. His dark eyes—not quite as dark as Conn’s, but a close second—danced with a merriment she hadn’t seen in years, and he seemed to have trouble tearing them from his bride-to-be. The rest of the Santa Cruz family were not in residence this evening, having traveled to London for some last-minute items needed for the wedding, which was just as well. The head count at the table stopped at fourteen. The black walnut table was big enough to accommodate at least another five or six, but it would be a rather tight fit and chances were good Elena would elbow someone in the ribs at least once before the meal was over.
She swallowed hard. Fourteen people and only four of them were familiar to her. The rest, mostly women, were all strangers. However, they were a dazzling array of strangers, dressed in bright jewel-toned blues and greens, in their flowing and flouncing silk gowns. Pale shoulders contrasted against sapphire blue and peacock green, blending beautifully with pale white lace. Jewel-tipped hairpins sparkled beneath the flickering chandelier lights, and matching gemstones dangled from ears and around throats. They made Elena feel small and plain beside them, as she had brought a minimum of jewelry and wore only her favorite pale yellow diamond earbobs that her father had gifted her for her fifteenth year.
Conn bent slightly at the waist. “A pleasure to meet all of you.”
Elena didn’t miss the ripple of giggles fluttering through the women, no doubt enamored of the handsome noble savage before them. As for herself, she managed a smile. “Good evening.”
“Come, Captain Sebastiano, sit to my right. Miss Sebastiano, to my left,” Lord Dunning said, gesturing to each chair in turn. “Tonight is only a small gathering, so I thought this informal supper would be fine. Tomorrow, when everyone is here, we shall do things on a grander scale.”
Elena carefully lowered herself into her chair and smiled at the gentleman to her left. “How do you do?”
“I’m well, Miss… Sebastiano, was it?”
She nodded. “Elena Sebastiano.”
“What a lovely name.” White teeth flashed in a quick smile. “I’m Edward Barrington-Smythe, Marquess of Shelton.”
“Oh, that’s quite a mouthful.”
The words popped out on their own, and Elena couldn’t breathe as the marquess offered up a long look. The corners of his mouth twitched, and to her relief, he smiled. “I suppose it is, but then, I’m quite used to it.”
“Do I call you Lord Shelton? Or Marquess Shelton? Or do I simply wait until you look at me and then speak?”
Several of the ladies seated nearby gasped, and Claudia was quick to muffle her laugh behind her napkin as the marquess offered up another incredulous look. Then he made Elena jump by throwing back his head and letting loose a roar of laughter. One of the ladies at the far end of the massive black walnut table let out a small shriek as she knocked her fork to the floor.
“My dear girl,” he said as he controlled his laughter, “I do hope you’ll feel comfortable enough with me to simply call me Edward. I find all that stuffiness about Lord this or Marquess of that rather dull, I’m afraid. I quite like hearing my name, and I think I would like it even better hearing it in your voice.”
Beneath their dark gold brows, his bright green eyes held hers, and for a moment, Elena was mesmerized. Everything about the marquess seemed golden, from his thick wavy hair to the aura that seemed to envelop him. He was everything she’d imagined an Englishman wasn’t—broad and handsome, with a playfulness that seemed boyish, and yet…there was no mistaking he was all man.
A hot blush climbed into her cheeks and it was fortunate the wi
ne was being served. As soon as the footman stepped away from filling her glass, she brought it to her lips for a long sip.
“So, will you?”
She lowered her glass. “Will I what?”
The irises of his eyes seemed to darken. “Say my name.”
“Oh…” She hesitated and then added, “Edward.”
“Beautiful,” he replied, his gaze never wavering. “I hope to hear it many times from your lips, Miss Sebastiano, before this wedding comes to pass.”
She took another sip of the dry wine, but before she could reply, Edward turned to say something to the woman on his left and she found herself looking across the table at Bennett, who was watching her.
Perhaps it was only her imagination, but she thought a hint of a blush colored along his cheekbones. But then the woman beside him said something, and he turned toward her. From that angle, he was pale once more.
When they finished eating, the men excused themselves to go to the smoking room, while the ladies were herded into the drawing room. She had never been so thankful for Claudia’s company as she was at that moment. As she looked at the women milling about, she knew how a fox must feel when surrounded by hunting dogs.
All the women smiled curiously at her, and she felt obliged to return their smiles, but given how they stared, she wanted to ask them just what they had expected her to look like. But she didn’t wish to be rude. “Quite a lovely room, isn’t it?”
“Lovely” didn’t even come close to describing the beautiful room, with its arched ceilings and gold fixtures. The furnishings looked to be from several different eras, although she couldn’t be certain of that. The one piece she did recognize was an Elizabethan settee, and that only because there was one similar in the Santa Cruz villa, standing out from everything else due to its immense scalloped backrest. Everything whispered of age and elegance, and she felt as out of place there as she did in the dining room.
Claudia sat straight as one of the footmen poured an amber liquid into the small crystal cup before her. “I wonder how many people get lost in the halls of Dunning Court? I have enough trouble finding the main rooms.”
“Oh, you will become accustomed to it quickly enough.” The small blond woman beside her touched Elena’s arm. “Tell me, where do you both come from in the West Indies?”
Elena glanced at Claudia, who grimaced after taking a sip of the amber liquid before looking at the blonde. “We’re from St. Phillippe. One of the smaller islands.”
“How exotic!” an older woman chimed in. Elena couldn’t remember her name—Lady River-something—but she looked enough like the small blonde that she assumed they were mother and daughter. “How does it compare to Berkshire?”
“It’s…different,” Elena said. She didn’t know this woman, but judging by her regal countenance she had to be someone important, and the last thing Elena wished to do was embarrass Claudia, who knew a bit more about English society than she did, thanks to her mother.
“I’ll imagine it is.” The older woman laughed and curled her fingers about the stem of her cordial glass. “Don’t you like port, Miss Sebastiano?”
Elena eyed the glass before her. She didn’t know if she liked port, as she’d never tried it. But whether she liked it or not, it might ease her discomfort. She took a small swallow. Raisins. Not so bad. She took another swallow, this one larger.
A mistake. The port hit her belly and immediately a billowing cloud of heat unfurled to fill her. Sweat beaded her upper lip so she surreptitiously blew upward to try to cool it. “I’m sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name.”
“No need to apologize. I’m Lady Riversedge and this is my daughter, Lady Rosamund Brookstone. This is Lady Oakhurst and her daughter, Miss Eleanor Fielding. And over there are Lady Montrose and her daughters, the Misses Cordelia and Christina Chandler.”
So many different names in one family. She’d never remember all of them. And why were the mothers’ names different from the daughters? Elena took another sip of port as she made a note to ask his lordship when she had the chance. Hopefully he wouldn’t think her a complete idiot.
“So tell me,” Lady Rosamund said to Claudia. Her blue eyes widened and a hint of color rose in her cheeks. “How are you acquainted with Lord Dunning?”
“He and my mother are cousins. Distantly, I think,” Claudia replied. She seemed perfectly at ease, but Elena knew her friend well enough to see that her back was a bit too straight and her smile a bit too wide. She wasn’t any more comfortable than Elena was, which made Elena feel a little less out of place. Misery did indeed prefer company.
“And who is your mother?”
“Gabriella Santa Cruz. She and my father are in London until sometime tomorrow.”
Miss Fielding, as pale as Lady Rosamund, only taller and thinner, tapped her on the hand. “You know, Ros. The one who married the pirate all those years ago. He showed up in Lindrington with that other pirate. They were all almost hanged. That was before the fourth earl got himself killed at sea.”
Elena stared at them. They spoke of Gabby and Diego and her father as if those events had happened only months ago and not nearly thirty years earlier. “How could you know all of this? You aren’t possibly old enough. This happened even before Claudia and I were born.”
“True, but I certainly am old enough. It wasn’t often we saw pirates.” Lady Oakhurst chuckled, tapping her finger against her empty cordial glass. “And even rarer still that they came so close to being hanged.”
“I would love to see a real pirate.” This came from Christina Chandler, who had moved into the seat next to Claudia. Unlike the other two younger women, she was short and heavyset, with dark hair and bright blue eyes.
However, her smile was friendly, so Elena felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders as she looked from one new face to the other. “It’s lovely to meet you all.”
“Not nearly as lovely as it is to meet you, Miss Sebastiano. Do you know you are famous among our set?” Lady Rosamund slipped her arm through Elena’s. “Everyone has been so anxious to meet you. Well”—she glanced at Claudia—“both of you, of course. We’re all looking so forward to your wedding, Miss Santa Cruz. It’s been ages since a party was last hosted here.”
“I hear it’s to be a grand affair,” Lady Riversedge chimed in, smiling warmly at Claudia. “And I do so love weddings. I only wish I was planning one for my daughter.”
Lady Rosamund rolled her eyes. “When a suitable man asks for my hand, Mother, you will be the first to know.”
“Don’t start, you two,” Lady Montrose scolded halfheartedly. To Elena, she said, “I’ve told them both there are sure to be plenty of eligible young men in attendance. Won’t there?”
Claudia shook her head. “I’m not sure. Lord Dunning has little family, and I know almost no one here, so I can’t say who is or isn’t eligible.”
Christina sniffed. “It seems most of the eligible men are all still firmly lashed to their mother’s aprons. They don’t want a wife, but they wish to marry their mothers instead.”
“Oh, don’t be catty, Christina,” Lady Rosamund said, reaching across Elena and tapping Christina lightly on the wrist. “You’re only miffed because that handsome devil wouldn’t give you the time of day, according to Miss Whittleby.”
Lady Riversedge got to her feet with a bit of huffing and puffing. “I think I’ll let you girls gossip. I’m about done in.”
The other older women murmured in agreement, and one by one, they filed out of the drawing room, leaving the younger generation to their own devices.
Elena glanced at Lady Rosamund. “I’m afraid I don’t know who Miss Whittleby is.”
“A dreary gossip who writes a biting column on the comings and goings of our lot. If she is here for the wedding, take care to watch what you do or say around her, lest you wish to read about yourself later,” Eleanor said. Then she peered over at the woman at the foot of the table. “Oh, don’t be shy, Cordelia. Do jump in at any time.�
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Cordelia was petite, only an inch or two above five feet, with delicate features and masses of black hair piled in an elaborate coiffure at least six inches atop her head. She didn’t move until Lady Rosamund held out one hand to catch hers. “Come and chat with Miss Sebastiano and Miss Santa Cruz, Cordelia. She won’t bite.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Elena said, smiling at her.
Cordelia nodded. “A p-p-pleasure to m-m-meet y-y-”
“She’s happy to meet you, too,” Christina finished, shooting Cordelia a dark look. “It just takes her a while to get the words out. She begs your pardon, of course.”
Elena felt for the younger woman as Cordelia’s pale cheeks quickly mottled in a rosy hue. “There’s no need to apologize. It was fine.”
“Get used to it,” Eleanor added with a hint of disdain, “as it takes her at least five minutes each morning to bid you good day.”
“I c-c-can’t help it, I’m a-a-f-f-raid.” Cordelia’s cheeks were nearly purple now and Elena could see her sadness.
“Now, let’s be quiet and let Miss Sebastiano tell us about herself,” Lady Rosamund said, smiling warmly at Elena. “How long will you and your other brother—I assume he is your brother; you look so alike—be at Dunning Court?”
“Yes, he is my brother, and I don’t know how long, but likely after Claudia and Galen’s wedding is over. I suppose we’ll have to see.”
“Your brother is quite the rake, isn’t he?” Eleanor asked, covering her mouth with one hand as if she’d said something particularly scandalous. “Is he married?”
“Conn?” It was difficult to keep from laughing or scoffing at the very notion. “Hardly. I don’t think Conn will ever marry. He is content to be seen as a rake,” Elena said, managing to keep a straight face.
Claudia chuckled as she waved off the footman who tried to refill her glass. “I can’t imagine Conn falling hard enough to want to marry. Although I have to admit I would love to see it.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” Elena smiled at her friend. “I’d savor every minute of watching him squirm. It would be delicious.”
The Earl's Perfect Match (Sebastiano series) Page 3
