by Claudia Dain
Blakesley knew exactly whom Iveston meant. He had come to the same conclusion, for there was only one person in London who was devious enough to outwit and outmaneuver Melverley.
Sophia Dalby.
SOPHIA Dalby watched the skies roll back in a bank of solid gray cloud. The rain came down gently, gusting softly against the windows. She sat by the fire in the white salon, sipping a cup of coffee, listening with increasing interest to the very unusual, but not at all unexpected events as they had transpired at Melverley House just an hour past.
It certainly was the perfect distraction for a rainy afternoon, and it was so reassuring that London, as ever, could be counted upon to produce one on dit after another. One truly could not ask more of a town than that.
“But I’m not at all certain I see the problem, Lord Henry,” she said, smiling pleasantly at them. “You have behaved honorably from the start. If Lord Melverley wishes to punish his daughter in this peculiar fashion, why, it can be no concern of yours. Your reputation will hardly be tarnished by his actions. In some circles, it might even be enhanced.”
Blakesley looked ready to kill. It was such a good look for him, for any man, really. Men did so enjoy running about and killing things. It was just good manners to give them the opportunity to do so.
“And what about Louisa?” Blakesley snapped.
“I think Melverley made the point very well, Lord Henry,” she said calmly. “Louisa Kirkland is none of your concern.”
“I made her my concern when I kissed her,” Blakesley said. “She will remain my concern until the day I die.”
“But only if you are married to her . . . and have written up your estate to see to her welfare after you are gone,” she said.
“Naturally,” he bit out. “The point in my coming here is to find a way to marry her.”
“To force Melverley to allow him to marry her,” Iveston said for clarification.
Such a lovely man, Iveston, so unlike Blakes on the surface; one so cool and quiet, one so cold and sharp. It was difficult not to give in to the speculation that they were rather more alike than they appeared on the surface. Siblings were so often that way. Why, just look at she and John. So different. So alike. In all the ways that mattered, that is.
“And you came to me,” she said sweetly. Men absolutely abhorred women who spoke sweetly when they were in a high state of agitation. Which is, of course, exactly why she did it. “I’m deeply flattered, but not a little confused. How, exactly was I supposed to help you? I have no connection to Melverley and I certainly cannot think of any cause which would allow me to intrude upon what are clearly family matters of the most intimate sort. Or did you have an idea?”
Of course he did not. If he had, if the two of them together had managed a single thought, they would be running about even now, attempting it.
“You must know Melverley,” Blakesley snapped, giving into his rather sharp temper by fast degrees. It suited him completely.
“Of course, I know Melverley, but we are hardly on intimate terms,” she said politely, and then added, “or did you mean to imply otherwise?”
“No, of course not,” Blakes said stiffly, running a hand through his hair in distraction. Really, she had never seen Blakesley look more delicious. Louisa was such a lucky girl, to have acquired a man as delightful as this.
“Try to relax, Lord Henry,” she said. “Surely, this problem you face has an obvious solution. One which I am surprised you did not stumble to on your own.”
“And that is?” he said, giving her his most cruel and dangerous look, she was quite certain. It was most charming on him. What a delightful time Louisa was going to have with this man and what interesting children they would produce.
“I see I am required to lay it out for you,” she said, considering them both over the rim of her cup. “For two men of the world such as yourselves, I’ll admit to some surprise that it didn’t occur to you earlier. But never fear, I shall not breathe a word.”
“What is it?” Blakesley snapped.
Sophia smiled, delighted at his anger and impatience, for how else did a man of Blakesley’s temperament express love? He was too guarded to fall to one knee and burst into tears, something which, delightfully, could not be said of the Prince of Wales. Prinny was so deliciously unguarded.
“Only that Lady Louisa has been ruined and once ruined, forever ruined. By you, as it so conveniently falls. You have ruined her, Lord Henry, and she, by all appearances, enjoyed it immensely. If Melverley refuses to allow her to wed, denying you the opportunity to make all right, then what is left but for you to continue on as you have done?”
“I beg your pardon?” Iveston said, his fair cheeks flushed, his quite remarkable blue eyes burning.
“I have not been sufficiently clear,” she said smoothly, putting aside her cup. “I will amend. The girl is ruined. There is no future for her other than that of every ruined girl of every badly produced farce in Drury Lane. She is not to marry. Well then, she must find a protector. Why should it not be you, Lord Henry? You clearly have an affinity for each other, or am I mistaken? Was she merely a diversion for you?”
Blakesley looked at a loss for words. It did not last long.
“You would have me take her on? You would have her turn lightskirt? That is your solution?”
“Darling,” she said with a soft snarl of warning, “I am not the one who lifted her skirts. What she is, what she is faced with, is your doing, not mine.”
“I intended to marry her!” he barked, his face enraged.
“Yet made no provision for doing so,” she said coldly. “As a plan, it was dismally ill-considered. But,” she said, smiling again, “not unsalvageable.”
“This is not a plan,” Iveston said, “unless it be a plan for ruin.”
“Darling,” she said softly, looking at them both. Really, men were, by and large, such children when it came to love. They saw no nuance at all. It was charming, in a pathetic sort of way. “Louisa is ruined. There is no going back from that, is there? What we must consider is how to achieve what we all want from this particular point onward.”
“What plan is required for making her mine?” Blakesley said, staring at her with almost hatred. Of course, he would turn his feelings for himself outward, at her. What else was a man to do when he hated the very thought of what he had done? “She is mine already.”
“How very romantic you are, Lord Henry,” she said. “But, allow me to instruct you. She is not yours because you have kissed or,” she said, watching him closely, “put your hands where they had no right to be.” He looked up at her with a scowl of warning. Perfect. It was as she had suspected. There was only one way to achieve wrinkles on muslin of the precise pattern as Louisa had displayed after coming out of that dressing room for the second time. “A woman about to enter the world of the demimonde must, from the very start, have a sound financial agreement on paper before any other intimacies are allowed.”
“She is not—” Blakesley stormed, cutting her off. Really, he could get most aggressive on the topic of Louisa. How delicious.
“Allow me to continue,” she said, interrupting what was certain to be a very long and very heated torrent of completely powerless commands. “You want to marry Louisa, yes?”
At his nod, she said, “Melverley denies you, yes?”
This time he didn’t bother to nod, he kept his response to a scowl. Very predictable of him, but he was in a state of high agitation. He couldn’t be expected to be his normal, engaging self at such a crisis of the heart.
“You, clearly, must force Melverley’s hand, yes? How else to do so, darling Blakesley, but by following the only avenue he has left open to you both?”
A light of understanding slowly lit his eyes. Finally.
“Start the legal arrangements to pay for her, and make certain your clerk is not at all discreet. She will require a house, servants, an allowance, but I trust you know how to proceed on the particulars.” Blakesley nodded, look
ing askance at Iveston.
“I don’t know if she will agree to it,” Blakesley said.
“I think you underestimate her, Lord Henry,” she said, “but I will certainly speak to her, if you think it necessary.”
“I’m not at all certain she will want to speak to either of us,” Blakesley said.
To which, there was no response that could be made politely as it was almost ridiculously clear that Blakesley did not understand the situation as it stood between Louisa and Melverley at all.
MELVERLEY did not understand the depth of her rage at all, to think she would abide by his pronouncements regarding Blakesley and her marriage to him. Because Louisa was going to marry Blakes and her father was not going to stop her. He was acting out of pure spite, an emotion Louisa understood far too well. Yet, it must be admitted, it did give her an advantage for she was so very accustomed to thinking up ways to thwart Melverley’s cruelty and indifference, and so, Louisa was able to devise the perfect hammer with which to bludgeon Melverley with.
It was as she was devising a way to get past Anderson so that she could hie off to Dalby House, that Sophia was announced.
They met in the drawing room, a lovely room of pleasing proportions and good light done in shades of fawn and blue, over a pot of tea that grew rapidly cold. Neither woman was in the frame of mind to dawdle over refreshments of any sort, even on a day that had gone quite cool and rain-soaked.
“Shall we pretend and speak of polite things or shall we speak as women?” Sophia said, watching Louisa.
Louisa was wearing a lovely gown of a quite unusual shade of pale wheat with black embroidery dancing about the bodice. It was quite a bold pattern and it suited her completely, which she had known when she had it made, but which was confirmed in Sophia’s appreciative gaze.
“I’m going to marry Blakes,” Louisa said in answer.
“Do you know how you’re going to manage that?” Sophia said.
“I’m going to force Melverley to agree to it.”
“And how shall you force him?”
“I’m not completely certain of that,” Louisa said, hating to admit defeat on even the smallest point, but, truthfully, if she were going to outwit her father, she needed the help of the one woman in London who was known for her ability to not only seduce any man she wished to seduce, but to outwit any man who had the misfortune to cross wits with her. “I’m only certain that it can and must be done.”
“Of course it can be done, darling,” Sophia said with a smile, “and I know just how to do it. If you will follow my counsel on this, you shall have the joy of not only having Blakesley for your very own, but of thwarting Melverley in the bargain. Will you trust me? Will you do as I instruct?”
Familiar words, and she had no pearls and no Dutton to show for trusting Sophia and following her counsel. Why did that not seem to matter to her now? Now, it was all of Blakes and Melverley.
Now was all that mattered.
“I shall obey your every word, Lady Dalby,” Sophia said.
It was certainly ironic as she had never spoken any such sentiment to Melverley.
Twenty-two
MELVERLEY was in the habit of attending the Theatre Royal on most Thursdays during the Season. He did this not because he particularly enjoyed the theater, but because he did particularly enjoy letting Society see his latest toss. Emily Bates, sister to Sally Bates, who was rumored to be pregnant and shuffled off to a town outside of Newcastle until delivered of the child, rumored to be Melverley’s in fact, was his latest toss. She was a nice bit of baggage, pink-cheeked and dimpled, who giggled in bed.
Sophia knew this because she’d been told so by a man who’d been in bed with Emily and witnessed it for himself. Naturally, as she was as discreet as the next person, she was as happy to name the gentleman as, well, the next person.
“Richborough told me everything, naturally,” Sophia said. “He also told me that she giggled during his most ardent moments, which I am not at all certain speaks more to her or to him. Certainly, there are many things a man may do at that particular moment which would make any woman giggle. Particularly with Richborough.”
“You are not speaking from experience?” Anne Warren asked, looking at Sophia with some amusement.
“Don’t be coy with me, Anne. You know full well that not only is Richborough the most indiscreet gossip of any man in Town, but that I am, unfortunately, in a very good position to know what dear Emily was giggling about.”
“I believe I am supposed to be too innocent to discuss these matters with you, Sophia,” Anne said. “Or at least I can pretend to be.”
“And certainly you should pretend to be with Stavey, for he does love to protect you, but as women, we must be honest about these things. For our own protection, you understand.”
“From what are you protecting her?” Dutton asked, having come up behind them in their box.
“From whom, would be a better question and would be my answer,” Sophia said without pause. “From men such as yourself, Lord Dutton. You are remarkably quick to soil a woman’s good name.”
“But not a good woman’s name,” Dutton said. “A fine distinction.”
“Certainly, we cannot be speaking of Lady Louisa,” Anne said, taking up the argument briskly, “for she is as good as her name.”
“Until events at Hyde House ruined both her goodness and her good name,” Dutton said, staring hard at Anne. Anne was not moved. Sophia smiled and worked her fan, watching Anne manage Dutton. She did it very well for a girl not yet twenty-one. “Events which I had no part in. At least, not at first.”
“I believe that discussing Lady Louisa is hardly discreet or in her best interests,” Anne said.
“And why should you care about her best interests, Mrs. Warren? I was not aware that you were on good terms with Lady Louisa,” Dutton said.
“I am on good terms with any woman who must defend her good name, Lord Dutton, from gentlemen who find vast amusement in ruining the same. I have been about in the world, Lord Dutton, a fact which I think amuses you, but which has given me a taste for that which I do not and never will want,” Anne said.
Sophia was truly impressed. This was a fine display of moral superiority and nothing would annoy Dutton more. It was an excellent piece of work for Anne and she was managing it brilliantly.
“And that is?” Dutton said, his blue eyes cold with anger.
“Oh, don’t press her, Lord Dutton,” Sophia said. “You are certainly no fool and therefore know very well what Mrs. Warren does want and that is Lord Staverton, and he wants her, darling man, and they will marry next month and be very content and positively boring in their respectability, which must predict that you and I will have very little cause to visit them. But speaking of visits, how did your dawn visit with Lord Henry go? I have heard so little of it, yet it promised to be so vastly entertaining.”
“We had good exercise, Lady Dalby,” he said, shifting his gaze away from Anne with such cool disdain that it could only be taken as a compliment of the highest degree. “What’s more, we came to an end of our disagreement.”
“And was there not a wager between you?” Sophia asked.
“There was,” Dutton answered, “and he won it, I’m sorry to report.”
“How very sad for you,” she said. “Perhaps you will have more luck in your next venture.”
Whereupon Dutton’s gaze drifted back to Anne’s with almost magnetic precision. How completely delicious.
“Perhaps I shall,” Dutton said.
“Oh, hello, Markham,” Sophia said, turning in her chair to offer her son her hand. Markham, the Earl of Dalby, kissed it lightly and then greeted Mrs. Warren with the same courtesy. Markham greeted Dutton with a nod and a half bow, which Dutton returned, his gaze most determinedly not on Anne. It was completely charming. “Are you sitting with us this evening or have you made other arrangements?”
“I thought I’d stay for the first act,” Markham said, “if there’s room
.”
“I was just on my way out, Lord Dalby,” Dutton said, bowing to the women. Anne all but ignored him. Sophia smiled prettily and watched him go. Markham followed him out and said something in a subdued voice before returning to them.
“What did you say to him?” Sophia asked as Markham sat down and crossed his legs.
“I simply reminded him that Mrs. Warren was very dear to you, and therefore to all the Trevelyans, and as he had made something of a name for himself with Lady Louisa Kirkland, he should avoid doing anything similar with Mrs. Warren,” he said. “I hope I have not embarrassed you, Mrs. Warren, but I do see it as my duty to protect you from rakes of that particular variety.”
“And how many varieties of rake are there, Markham?” Sophia asked. “And what sort of rake are you?”
Markham smiled at Sophia and said, “Mother, there are certain things, indeed, many things, which a man does not discuss with the ladies of his family.”
“All the truly interesting things, no doubt,” Sophia said. “Never mind. I shall find out all by myself. Now, where are you off to after the first act?”
“Uncle John has something planned for us, I am not at all sure what.”
“For all you boys?” Sophia said.
“Yes, we boys,” he said wryly.
“Now, darling, I am quite aware that you are a man and that it is of the utmost importance for a man to think of himself as a man,” Sophia said. “It is only for what cause he thinks of himself as a man that interests me. Now, certainly it must be admitted that Lord Henry Blakesley is most assuredly a man. His very acts prove it to be so.”
“Because he ruined a woman?” Markham asked.
“Don’t be absurd, darling,” Sophia said. “It takes no ability at all to ruin a woman. It is what he does after that which proves or disproves his manhood. And I am not speaking of this morning’s duel.”
Which had been exactly what he had been on the point of saying.
“What then?” Markham asked, his sable brows quirked quizzically.
