by Claudia Dain
“It’s neither here nor there,” Hyde said. “The deed is done. Melverley must be told of events as they stand. There is only one solution to this situation, no matter how it was arrived at. The girl is ruined. They must marry.”
“There is another way,” Mr. Grey said from a shadowed corner of the room.
Everyone turned in blank surprise for, it must be admitted, they had completely forgotten that he was even there. What part, aside from being Sophia’s nephew, could he possibly have to play?
“You have something to say, sir?” Hyde asked, not unreasonably, which was more than a little insulting as it could not help but be noticed that Blakesley’s family was not at all excited by the prospect of his marriage to her.
Which was completely preposterous. She was a marquis’s daughter, wasn’t she? Even if that marquis happened to be Melverley, that was not her fault, was it?
“I do,” Grey answered softly, his dark form almost melting into the shadows, his twinkling black eyes the only part of him that moved at all. It was most disconcerting. “I want her. I have reason to think she wants me. I’ll take her. Happy to.”
And, naturally, everyone in the room turned to stare at her in terms varying from shock to grim satisfaction, grim satisfaction being obviously authored by Molly.
“What reason?” Blakesley snarled, looking at her and not at Grey. Well, really. It was turning into one of the most insulting evenings she’d ever endured.
“I’m a gentleman, too,” Grey merely said, his mouth not even breaking the smallest smile to show that he was jesting. The man was a savage, truly, to savage her reputation so and on no foundation whatsoever.
“Darling,” Sophia said to her in a voice just loud enough to be heard by all, even if she gave the appearance of whispering, “you certainly are a woman of rare qualities. I’m almost ashamed to admit that I had no idea of your . . . scope.”
If it wasn’t the final nail, it was a near thing.
“Have you kissed him, as well?” Sophia asked, smiling cheerfully, which clearly was the cruelest thing she could have done.
“Of course not!” Louisa said sharply, looking about the room for an ally.
She had none.
“Has she?” Molly asked Grey.
Mr. Grey merely smiled and kept his silence.
It was too, too much. Even Amelia and Aunt Mary were silent at this, for how could Amelia risk offending her possible future mother-in-law by aligning herself with Louisa? And how could Aunt Mary defend her charge when she was sleeping in a drunken sprawl on the corner of a smallish settee?
“If she’s been ruined before now, I don’t see why Blakes should have to shoulder it,” George Blakesley said, his almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed in arrogant suspicion at her. She’d always liked George Blakesley, from a careful distance. He was Hyde’s third son, blond like all of them, arrogant, as sons of dukes were wont to be, but pleasant enough.
He no longer seemed entirely pleasant.
“Well, there is that,” Sophia said in a musing tone, as if discussing the merits of a particular operatic soprano.
“Does she have to be here?” Louisa exploded, pointing at Sophia.
“I want her here,” Molly said. “I believe this . . . situation, will eventually require witnesses outside of the family.”
Which meant that she was considering possible legal consequences?
“I only have your best interests at heart, Lady Louisa,” Sophia said pleasantly. “Please trust in that, if not in me.”
Which made no sense whatsoever, but then, nothing had made sense since she’d knocked on Sophia’s door earlier in the day. What a horrible impulse that had been, born in a desperate attempt to get Dutton once and for all, a determination born so long ago now that she wondered how it had happened at all. Certainly Dutton’s behavior in this room had done nothing to endear him to her. That might have been impulse as well, her sudden and consuming passion for him born two years ago almost to the night. Of course, she had been following a blind impulse when she’d kissed Blakes just a few minutes ago and look where that had led.
Clearly, she was far too impulsive for her own good.
Although, just as clearly, she couldn’t think how changing now would help her.
“I want her,” Mr. Grey said again, entirely unnecessarily. He made her sound like a cut of beefsteak, and, from the looks she was getting from the entire Hyde family, the resemblance was entirely accurate. “I don’t see why she should have to marry Lord Henry because of a kiss.”
“It was more than a single kiss,” Blakesley said, not helping matters at all, at least as far as her reputation was concerned.
“But if you didn’t—” Grey said.
“I did,” Blakes cut him off. “I did completely. It was mutual, take my word for it.”
“I guess I’ll have to,” Grey said with the oddest trace of humor to his voice. Really, these Americans were so odd and had such strange notions of propriety and the correct forms of conversation. It really did explain so much about Sophia to know that she sprang from American, that is to say, Indian, roots.
“We have rules here,” Blakesley said, “rules of deportment.
We’ve kissed. We must marry or her reputation will be ruined.”
“Seems like she can marry anyone now and save her reputation.
I’d be glad to get her,” Mr. Grey said. “And I wouldn’t need to be forced to take her,” he added, staring meaningfully at Blakes.
Beefsteak.
Blakesley looked ready to pounce upon Mr. Grey, which was most kind of him and most chivalrous. Really, Blakesley had always been more considerate of her than any man she had ever known.
Of course, that wasn’t saying much.
“Actually, Blakes,” Robert Blakesley said, “you should consider it. It’s a fair offer. More than fair.”
Robert Blakesley, Hyde’s second son and better known as Cranleigh, had always slightly alarmed Louisa. He was blond, but barely, and his eyes were a glacial shade of blue, which somehow conveyed the impression that he would as soon spit in the king’s eye as bow to him. He had the rather pugnacious look of his mother, a thoroughly American look, now that she thought about it, and one which did nothing at all to charm her. Though that may have been more because of her increased exposure to Molly than to anything to do with Cranleigh. She was, understandably, disinclined to ferret it out. It was enough that the whole of Blakesley’s brothers seemed more than willing to have done with her.
“No,” Blakes said, staring at Louisa as if she were the cause of the disturbance.
Which she was, but not in the drift of the current conversation.
“Really, this is so surprising,” Sophia said almost gaily, “and such a strange turn. But, of course, perhaps it should be considered. It is so terribly tiresome to find oneself trapped into marriage. In that, I couldn’t possibly agree with George more. He is absolutely right; a woman must choose. It is, however strange a notion here, completely ordinary in America and particularly among the Iroquois, which, of course, is all that George cares about at the moment. And who can blame him? Lady Louisa is quite a remarkable woman and any man of any sense would be delighted to . . . please excuse my phrasing . . . be delighted to have her. Isn’t that so, George?”
“Yes,” George said, without any trace of embarrassment at all. It was passing peculiar.
Yet, strangely appealing.
Perhaps there were some particulars of the American Indian culture that warranted closer inspection.
“But if we are to consider that, and as it was only a kiss or two, and as Lord Henry and Lady Louisa certainly had no marked regard for each other before tonight, perhaps it would be wise to contemplate other . . . options. That is to say, men,” Sophia said in the most reasonable manner imaginable. Of course, what she was positing was not reasonable in the least. Consider other men? Now? It was beyond propriety.
Then again, kissing Blakes in the yellow drawing room and being caught with
him in the dressing room had been beyond propriety as well.
Did it matter now if propriety’s walls were breached?
Louisa looked at Sophia more closely than she had yet done, her own manner more curious than annoyed. She was surprised to see that Sophia was returning her look with one that could only be described as encouraging.
Louisa, against all inclination and training, held her tongue.
“As I said,” Blakes snarled, “it was more than a kiss or two and I was hardly a disinterested party.”
“Yet not the instigator,” Sophia said sweetly. “Surely some leeway must be given you, Lord Henry. It was not your fault, was it? Should you be required to pay the fee? Hardly fair, in any culture.”
“Listen to her, Blakes,” Josiah Blakesley said, younger than Blakes by a year or two. “There’s something to be said for it. And, don’t forget that you’re half American. Could be a loophole for us, if managed well.”
“Josiah,” the Duke of Hyde said stiffly, “hold your tongue. That is hardly to the point.” But he did not, it should be noted, tell Sophia to keep her ideas to herself. Oh, no, on the contrary, Hyde sat himself down in the best chair in the room, crossed his well-clad legs, and said, “I’m sorry you were interrupted, Lady Dalby. You were saying?”
Lovely. It was so nice to be wanted.
“Of course, no one in this room would dream of maligning your virility, Lord Henry,” Sophia said.
Louisa thought she might have seen Lord Dutton twitch slightly, some strange motion having to do with his mouth perhaps, but she wasn’t certain and she didn’t care to be certain. For the first time in two years, Louisa was not particularly concerned with what Lord Dutton was or was not doing. It was, to be blunt, something of a relief.
“In the interest of fair play, I merely,” Sophia said, “thought it prudent to point out that I’m almost certain that there are options, that is to say, men, who have not yet been considered.”
Louisa looked over at Amelia, who was sitting stock-still on the other end of the same smallish settee that held the snoring Aunt Mary. Amelia was sitting bolt upright and almost quivering with suppressed animation. Louisa knew the feeling well. They exchanged a look of shocked anticipation and, like wise women who saw clearly which hand held the winning cards, kept still. Sophia Dalby was many things, but not a one of them was stupid.
“This is absurd,” Blakesley said, starting to prowl the room like a tiger on a frayed leash. “I’m going to marry her. She’s ruined and I’m responsible.”
“How gallant of you,” Sophia drawled, “and how beautifully typical of you, Lord Henry. I have never known you to behave otherwise. But, shall we not consider Lady Louisa?”
“That’s what I’m doing!” Blakesley barked.
“What I mean is,” Sophia said in soothing tones, smiling calmly at Blakesley, “shall we not consider what would best serve Lady Louisa? By which I mean that she marry a man who truly wants her and who has expressed, before this unfortunate event, an interest in marrying her?”
“Who would that be?” Lord Dutton said, inserting himself into a debate in which he had not the smallest part.
It was also a question rife with insult and Louisa, for perhaps the first time, understood it as such. Lord Dutton, it appeared, could be rather insultingly rude. How unbecoming in a man who was so spectacularly beguiling in all other ways.
“Besides me, you mean?” Mr. Grey said dangerously, which had quite an odd effect on Lord Dutton. It was something to see, certainly, and she could admit that she’d never thought it possible, but Lord Dutton looked almost . . . nervous. It was certainly true that he couldn’t quite seem to face Mr. Grey directly.
Well, she did not suppose Dutton should be faulted for that. Mr. Grey, even dressed in fine English wool, looked completely savage and entirely unpredictable.
“Of course, besides you, darling,” Sophia answered for him, which was required as it was not entirely certain whether Dutton would have been able to answer for himself. “We are all aware of your feelings and, indeed, your intentions regarding the lovely Lady Louisa, and certainly you are to be credited with having flawless taste.”
And here Sophia smiled indulgently and somewhat proudly at her nephew. As far as being received into a family, it was a far sight better than what the Blakesleys of Hyde House had proffered. Louisa, quite aware she was doing so, made a note of it.
There might be worse things than being married to an Indian; he was related to an earl of the realm, after all. A girl could do worse.
Why her gaze shifted to Dutton, she had no idea, but shift it did.
“Go on,” Molly said. “You think there are others who might offer for her? Saving her from public ruin?”
“Well, I do think that cat is out of the bag,” Sophia said with a shrug, “but, in the right circumstances, a woman’s name being on everyone’s lips is to her credit. I think this case will prove it to be so, especially as the lady has multiple offers. You are still in, Lord Henry?”
“Of course,” he snapped, “and it’s not going to be a public auction, Lady Dalby. I’m the one who ruined her. I’m the one who shall marry her.”
“I do believe that is for Louisa to decide,” Sophia said, “ruined or not. Is that not so, Lady Louisa?”
It was difficult to read the look that Sophia gave her in that moment of shattered protocol, but Louisa was aware of one thing and that one thing proved the only point of interest to her. She was being given power. She had never, not even in the smallest detail, had any power at all over her life. Certainly she had been powerless in snagging Dutton for two long years and, in just that instant, it seemed she’d had quite enough of that. They were ready to deliver her, practically bound and gagged, into Blakesley’s not quite willing enough hands.
Well. Perhaps not.
Certainly, given her present state of ruination, there was very little that could hurt her more.
“Of course,” she said, echoing Blakes. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t explore my options. Whom did you have in mind, Lady Dalby?” she asked politely.
“Blast it all, Louisa!” Blakes yelled.
The commotion outside the music room door dulled as the throng hushed itself to listen. Oh, well. She was already ruined. How much worse could it get?
“Blakes! Kindly remember yourself!” Molly said in clipped tones.
“Of course, we could discuss this privately, but I do think, in the spirit of fairness, that the gentlemen in the room who have expressed an interest in matrimony should like to be aware of their potential competition for your hand,” Sophia said calmly, and one could plainly see, in that moment, how she had so successfully negotiated countless arrangements for herself with various protectors. The woman was coolheaded, straightforward, and unsentimental. Louisa was frankly delighted.
“Appreciate it,” Mr. Grey said solemnly.
Blakes grunted some sort of rude remark under his breath and stalked to her side of the room to stand directly behind her chair. It was obviously meant to be intimidating. If Louisa felt any slight inclination to be intimidated, which she might have done, not that she was called upon to admit it, Sophia Dalby was clearly unimpressed. That gave Louisa courage. She stiffened her spine, secretly wondering if that would give Blakes a lovely view into the shadowy line of her cleavage, and waited. She was rewarded by hearing Blakes take a thin breath and move slightly back.
Louisa tried not to grin. She was not altogether successful.
“There is the Marquis of Penrith, obviously,” Sophia said, adjusting an earring.
“Obviously?” Blakes snapped out. “She just met him!”
“Yes,” Sophia agreed charmingly. “Isn’t it lovely when a man knows exactly what he wants and acts with such firmness of purpose? Lord Penrith met Lady Louisa by merest chance today and already he has declared himself quite completely taken with her. I do think that he would have hoped for a longer period of acquaintance, but as he is a man fully in his majority, I don’
t think that this little hiccup will dissuade him from seeking her hand.”
“And he confessed all this to you? Today?” Blakes insisted, clearly not believing that any man could find her so instantly and completely compelling, the sod.
“I was so bold as to ask him,” Sophia admitted, “but, yes. He confessed it all most readily. One might even say happily. That surprises you, Lord Henry? How very . . . peculiar.”
“Damned peculiar,” Dutton muttered and slumped down in his chair. As it was a very delicate chair of feminine proportions, he didn’t look at all comfortable. Louisa was flatly delighted.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Sophia said.
“Nothing,” Dutton said in the merest undertone.
“You did something,” Blakes said, staring hard at Sophia. Sophia didn’t look alarmed in the least. “You arranged something with Penrith.”
“I?” Sophia asked innocently, her sable brows raised in query. There was no hope for it; Sophia Dalby was capable of many things, but looking innocent was not one of them. “What an odd remark, Lord Henry. If you are looking for the cause of his interest, she sits right in front of you. Don’t tell me that you’ve never noticed how lovely and how original Lady Louisa is. Penrith certainly had no trouble recognizing her particular charms.”
Louisa felt herself flush with pleasure. She wasn’t inclined to believe a word of it, but they were such very nice words. Being occasionally drowned in flattery just had to be beneficial. She felt better than she had in years.
“What exactly did you say to Penrith?” Blakesley said, leaving Louisa so that he could stand in front of Sophia, who was standing not too terribly far from Dutton.
“Such suspicions, Lord Henry,” Sophia drawled, smirking at him almost flirtatiously. “One would think you’d had experience in conspiracies of all sorts, but that couldn’t possibly be true, could it?”
Upon which, Blakes scowled politely at Sophia and cocked his head in a gesture of impatience. Louisa had seen that particular look on his face before. It was only slightly alarming, which meant that Sophia would likely find it amusing.
