by Darcy Burke
“And if one doesn’t?” Lavinia asked sweetly.
“One will. Things are in motion, my dear. You’re an earl’s daughter with a pleasing face and a dowry. All you needed was a bit of notoriety to bring you to the fore, and thanks to the Duke of Seduction, you have that now. You’ll be wed in short order.”
“Thanks to the Duke of Seduction.” She gritted her teeth in an effort to keep the sarcasm from her tone, but judging from her mother’s narrowed eyes, she was less than successful.
“You should learn to be grateful.”
“I’m quite grateful for many things—a home, a family”—even if they did drive her to frustration—“the ability to read and learn, and so much more. You must forgive me if I don’t feel the urgency to marry as you do. It will happen in its own time. You know that love is important to me.”
“Yes, we know that, but it’s been three years and there hasn’t been a hint of it. If you dawdle much longer, your chances will be gone. You don’t want to be alone, do you?”
Before she could answer, a gentleman approached. He was on the shorter side, with light blue eyes and a rather slight frame. Lavinia struggled to recall his name. She’d met so many new people in the last several days.
Her mother came to the rescue. “Lord Fielding, how do you do?”
“Very well, thank you.” He bowed to the countess and then to Lavinia. “Good afternoon, Lady Lavinia. I hoped we could take a turn.”
Lavinia cursed herself for spending too much time with her mother. Now she wouldn’t be able to speak with Sarah. At least not for maybe a quarter hour. “Certainly.” She forced a smile and took Lord Fielding’s proffered arm.
“It’s a lovely day,” he said. “I daresay spring is in the air.”
“It will likely be quite cold this evening, however.”
He nodded. “Perhaps. Tonight is Lady Abercrombie’s ball. Are you going?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“I am. You must save me a dance.”
She must? It wasn’t as if she could refuse. Unless… Would he believe she already had enough partners? Too bad she didn’t. She prompted herself to say, “I should be delighted.”
Irritation burned across her shoulders. She strained her eyes to see Fanny arrive and join Sarah, feeling a sharp pang of jealousy. They looked in her direction, and Sarah gave a small, obscure wave. Though Lavinia couldn’t discern their precise expressions, she imagined they were empathetic.
“Do you have a favorite dance?” Lord Fielding asked.
She barely had a chance to reply, “Not particularly,” before he began a lengthy comparison of country dances and which parts were better than others. By the time they turned to go back to her mother, Lavinia found she’d increased their pace in an effort to end the promenade as quickly as possible.
They passed another couple on the path, and Lavinia realized a moment too late that the young lady was Miss Lennox. Lavinia turned her head, slowing.
“Is something the matter?” Lord Fielding asked.
“No, I was just—”
He didn’t seem to hear anything beyond “no” and continued his monologue about dances, telling her that his favorite was the minuet. Blast, she’d really wanted to speak with Miss Lennox.
At last, Lord Fielding returned her to the countess, but Lavinia was to be disappointed again because she was instantly set upon by another gentleman for another promenade. She sent a longing stare toward her friends, then squinted hard enough to see they gazed at her with something akin to pity.
Inwardly groaning, Lavinia accepted Mr. Barkby’s arm, and they followed the same path she’d just taken with Fielding. “Did I see you at the Fortescues’ last night?” he asked.
“I was there, yes.” She hadn’t seen him, but she wouldn’t say so.
“I didn’t particularly enjoy it, did you?”
“I did, actually.”
“Indeed?” He sounded quite surprised. “What did you like about it?”
“They were all very accomplished. The guitarist displayed amazing skill.”
He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I didn’t care for it. But then I prefer listening to a soprano if I must attend a musical performance.”
She turned her head toward him. “Why attend last night’s, then?”
His gaze met hers without a touch of irony. “Because that’s what one does during the Season.”
Mr. Barkby spent the remainder of their promenade telling her about his favorite sopranos. By the time they returned to her mother, Lavinia felt like a wilting flower desperate for water and sunlight and considered weeping with frustration.
Already there was another gentleman waiting to walk with her. Lavinia wanted to scream, but just then, her gaze caught Lord Northam nearby. Near enough that she could see him without straining her eyesight overmuch. She sent him a pleading look—if there was ever a time to play the role of defender, it was right now.
He seemed to understand, because he strode toward her. She exhaled with relief as her mother drew her focus to the gentleman who was already there. “Lavinia, this is Lord Devaney. Lord Devaney, allow me to present my daughter Lady Lavinia.”
He bowed as she curtsied just as Northam arrived.
“Good afternoon,” Northam said with a smile.
Devaney was a few inches shorter than Northam, who had to be an inch or two over six feet, but was perhaps five years older. Devaney’s nose was a trifle long and his lips on the thin side. He turned and greeted the marquess. “Afternoon, Northam.”
Lord Northam hesitated, and Lavinia recognized his affliction, for it was the same one she’d suffered earlier—not recalling someone’s name. “Lord Devaney, are you enjoying the park today?” Lavinia said, not because she was trying to be polite, but because she wanted to say his name so the marquess would know it.
“Afternoon, Devaney,” Northam said. His left eye, which was closer to her, sent her a quick, grateful glance.
Devaney sniffed as he directed his attention to Lavinia. “The park is quite fine today, Lady Lavinia. It will be even finer if you walk with me.”
“Actually, she already planned to walk with me—we arranged it last night at the Fortescues’.” He offered a bland smile as he edged closer to Lavinia.
Oh dear, that was a fib her mother would certainly ask about. Lavinia could hear her now, “Why did you tell me you didn’t have plans to see the marquess today when clearly you did?” Hopefully, Lavinia could believably plead forgetfulness.
“Ah well, since I arrived here first, I suppose you’ll have to wait until we’re finished,” Devaney said. His tone was mostly pleasant but carried a bit of an edge. He glanced toward the horizon. “Although, if we take too long, you may not have enough light.” He speared Northam with a sharp, taunting look. “That would be a shame.”
“It would, and because of that and our prior arrangement, she should walk with me.” Northam smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He moved even closer to Lavinia.
Her mother lifted her hands, palms out toward them. “Now, gentlemen, you mustn’t quarrel over my daughter.” She laughed, and Lavinia could practically feel her glee.
“There’s no quarrel,” Devaney said, looking down his long nose—or trying to anyway—at Northam. “She’ll walk with me now, and if there’s time, Northam can take her for a quick spin.”
Lavinia couldn’t quite believe this was happening. It was, in a word, absurd. How she’d love to choke the Duke of Seduction.
“Faint.”
The slight whisper reached her, and she flicked a glance toward Northam, who barely inclined his head to indicate she should fall down. Was he mad?
No, he was trying to solve this dilemma. Or, she could just walk with Devaney.
In the end, it wasn’t a choice at all. She bent her knees, fluttered her eyelids, and dropped to the ground.
Only she didn’t reach the path, because the warm, strong arms of the Marquess of Northam, notorious rake, caught her first
.
* * *
Beck swept her into his arms. It was not an easy feat, for she was taller than the average miss. It was also not very well thought-out as far as a stratagem for helping her avoid attention. This escapade would likely ensure she would be the most talked-about female in London for the next few days at least.
It was too late to alter course, however, and so he looked to her mother. “Where is your vehicle?”
Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. “We didn’t take one.”
“I have my curricle.” He inclined his head toward Grosvenor Gate, where his vehicle sat with one of his grooms. He’d brought Philip with him to sit with the curricle. “I can see her home. What’s your address?”
“Twenty-five Park Street,” the countess replied, looking concerned. “I’ll meet you there.”
Beck gave her a nod before pivoting and carrying Lady Lavinia to his curricle. Everyone turned and stared as they passed. Her lids began to flutter.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he murmured.
Her two friends, Miss Colton and Miss Snowden, approached him. Their faces were also creased with concern, perhaps even more than the countess’s had been.
“What happened?” Miss Colton asked.
“I’m fine,” Lady Lavinia said quietly but with considerable force, keeping her eyes shut. “Lord Northam is rescuing me from an untenable situation. I’ll tell you about it later at the ball.”
The two young women visibly relaxed, and Beck continued on to his curricle. He set her inside, propping her against the cushion. “Keep your eyes closed until we’re moving.” He turned to his groom. “Philip, I need to drive Lady Lavinia to her house. Please meet me at home.”
“Yes, my lord.” He waited to leave until Beck had climbed inside and started the vehicle on the path.
“Can I open my eyes now?” she asked.
“Yes.” He glanced over at her as she blinked her eyes open and peered out the side of the vehicle.
“Well, that was one way to extricate me from that situation, I suppose.” She sat up in the seat as they left the park. “I want to choke that bloody Duke of Seduction more than ever.”
He winced and darted a look toward her to see if she’d noticed. She didn’t seem to—she was adjusting her hat, which he’d knocked askew as he’d carried her to the curricle. “I did try to help,” he said.
“Which I appreciate. It’s not your fault Lord Devaney was behaving like a pompous jackanapes. Nor is it your fault the Duke of Seduction has caused this mess.”
But it was, of course. “I wonder if he doesn’t realize you don’t care for his assistance.”
“I suppose that’s possible. Perhaps I should write a letter to him and have it published in the Morning Chronicle.” She tipped her head to the side, her eyes narrowing, but she wasn’t squinting. She was thinking. “Yes, that’s a splendid idea.”
Rather than focus on his regret or discomfort, he tried for some humor to lighten her mood. “Do you plan to employ poetry?”
“Goodness, no. That’s a rather unique skill, I think. At least to be good at it—and the duke most certainly is. For all his faults—and I’m prepared to say he must have many—he knows how to wield a quill.”
That gave Beck an absurd measure of delight. He shoved it aside. “I apologize for resorting to a drastic measure. I couldn’t think of another way to avoid you having to promenade with Devaney or, and this may have been more likely, fisticuffs.”
She turned her body toward him. “Do you think he would have hit you?”
Beck shrugged. “I might have hit him.” He slid her a glance and saw that her eyes widened briefly.
“Have you fought before?”
“At Oxford. Felix—that is, the Earl of Ware—and I got into plenty of trouble. Ware used to arrange amateur boxing matches. They typically devolved into a drunken brawl with less and less fighting and more drinking as the evening wore on.” He winced again, and this time, he knew she saw. “My apologies. This isn’t a terribly appropriate topic of conversation for a young lady.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s far more interesting than Lord Fielding’s favorite dances or Mr. Barkby’s penchant for sopranos.”
“What’s that?”
She waved her hand. “Nothing. Just the topics I was forced to listen to in the park. I’m certain you saved me from abject boredom with Lord Devaney. I feel confident he would have found a line of conversation that entertained only him and would be oblivious to my indifference. Why couldn’t Sir Martin have been here today? At least he has the potential to be engaging.”
“Why is that?”
“He’s interested in science, astronomy in particular.”
“And of course that would be far more appealing to you.” For some odd reason, he was glad Sir Martin hadn’t been there.
“Far more.” She gestured to the right side of the street as they approached the intersection with Mount Street. “My house is just there.”
He located the number twenty-five. “While we have another moment alone, let me apologize again for what happened in the park.”
“I don’t blame you at all.”
“You might when this only serves to make you more popular.”
“Blast, you may be right. No, you are right.” She tipped her head back and blew out a frustrated breath.
He drew the curricle to a halt and stepped down. After walking around the back of the vehicle, he helped her to the street. “I regret the annoyance this will cause you.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s entirely due to the meddlesome Duke of Seduction. If not for him, your interference wouldn’t even have been necessary. If not for him, I would have enjoyed a pleasant walk in the park with my friends.”
Beck’s brain was working hard to come up with a way to make things right for her. If he could. He certainly didn’t want to make matters worse, as he’d probably done today. He offered her his arm and led her to the door.
The butler opened the door as they reached the top of the front steps. She let go of his arm and turned to him. “Thank you for seeing me home. Don’t be concerned about me or my dilemma. I believe I’ve come up with a solution.”
“The letter to the Chronicle?” At her nod, he made an offer that was perhaps ill-advised, but he did so anyway. “I’d be happy to deliver it for you.” That way, he could ensure the editor would print it—Beck’s solicitor would hand-deliver it and obtain the man’s assurance.
Her gaze flickered with surprise. “That’s rather helpful, thank you, but I don’t know that it’s necessary.”
They were out of time for further discussion. Unless he accompanied her inside, and he hadn’t been invited. Not that he wanted to be. Good Lord, he was treading far too close to a line he had no interest in crossing. Hell, he’d been so caught up in thinking of her situation, he’d failed to consider his own. People would think he was courting her. Or wanted to. Or was at least interested in her. She was unmarried, and he was a rake. An Untouchable rake, if one listened to Society’s labels.
He scoffed inwardly. He didn’t give a fig if they decided he planned to marry. He knew he didn’t, and that was none of their concern. He bowed to Lady Lavinia and returned to his curricle, eager to be on his way before her mother showed up.
It was one thing for Society at large to think he wished to wed, and another entirely for the Countess of Balcombe to believe he wanted to marry her daughter. He ought to keep his distance, which wouldn’t allow him to protect Lady Lavinia from unwanted suitors. Nevertheless, it would be necessary.
Something else was necessary: it was time for the Duke of Seduction to disappear.
Chapter 5
Descend you angels! Bring your light.
Give silence, meaning, patience, sight.
Grant leave for her splendor and grace,
Souls charmed by the song of her face.
* * *
-From Further Thoughts on Miss Rose Stewart
by The Duke of Seductio
n
* * *
After being forced to stay home the evening after her “fainting” incident at the park, Lavinia was eager to visit Sarah. Both she and Fanny had sent short notes to Lavinia that morning asking what had happened. They’d sounded quite concerned. She’d sent notes back asking Fanny to join them at Sarah’s house that afternoon.
The Coltons’ butler showed Lavinia to the sitting room where she and Sarah always met. Sarah jumped up from the settee and rushed to greet her as the butler departed. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I was so concerned after what happened in the park yesterday.”
Lavinia took a chair angled near the settee and pulled her bonnet off. “I told you I was fine.”
“Yes, but when you didn’t come to the ball, and neither did your mother, Fanny and I were worried that you weren’t. Fine, that is.”
“It was all an act.” Lavinia tugged her gloves from her hands and set them on the arm of the chair. “Lord Northam was saving me from yet another promenade with a boring suitor.”
Fanny arrived and joined them, removing her gloves. “I’m so pleased to see you’re all right, Lavinia.” A pin fell from her coppery hair as she took her bonnet from her head. “Bother,” she muttered, bending to pick up the pin. A curl slipped free and fell against her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear with a soft grunt.
Things like this happened to Fanny with regularity—earrings fell out of her ears, stitching came loose on her gown, ratafia dribbled onto her lap. She’d said she was clumsy, but it wasn’t always something she did. Rather, clumsy things just seemed to happen in her orbit.
“Is Northam a suitor, then?” Fanny asked.
“Goodness, no. Northam is a rake,” Lavinia said.
“Rakes can be suitors, I think.” Fanny looked at Sarah. “Can’t they?”
“I suppose, though it’s not typical. My mother says they have to settle down sooner or later.”
Lavinia nodded. “My mother says the same thing. She has it in her mind that Northam is a suitor—he and Devaney did almost come to blows over who would promenade with me next.”
