Brenda Hiatt

by Scandalous Virtue

  What was the matter with him? Normally he’d be matching Harry glass for glass, not deploring his habits! Still, it was borne in upon him for the first time that Harry had begun to drift toward the outer fringes of Society over the past few months—and not unintentionally. He wasn’t likely to get the sort of news he’d hoped for here.

  At that moment, however, a better source manifested itself, in the form of Lord Peter. “Jack!” he called out as he strode toward them. “Fernworth said you were back in Town.”

  “Ferny? Don’t recall seeing him since arriving.”

  “Said he saw your coach at Foxhaven House,” explained Peter, taking a chair. “Wondered when your next…entertainment might be. I tried to put the damper on such expectations.” He regarded Jack questioningly, as did Harry.

  “I’m back in Town but two hours and already you’re playing the mother hen.” But Jack’s jibe lacked rancor. The truth was, he had no burning desire to return to the excessive lifestyle he’d enjoyed last month, even if he could have afforded it. An unsettling thought.

  Harry clearly did not share his change of heart. “Really, Pete, what a damned interfering nodcock you are. High time Jack threw another party, in my opinion. What say you, Jack?”

  Jack shook his head. “Much as it pains me to admit it, Peter is right. I’ve made great strides toward respectability in recent weeks, and would hate to see such heroic effort go for naught.”

  With a sound of disgust, Harry refilled his glass. “I’d hoped two weeks sequestered in the country would bring you to your senses. You’re on your way to becoming as dashedly dull as Pete here, I hope you realize.”

  “Why thank you, Harry!” Jack shared an amused glance with Peter. Harry merely snorted again and turned his attention to his wine. “So, Peter, what news? Has Society managed to carry on without me for a fortnight?”

  Some of the amusement left Peter’s face. “There is one tidbit you may find of interest, actually,” he said. “It concerns Lady Haughton, who, I believe, was your prime candidate when you left, was she not?”

  “What is it?” Jack asked, more sharply than he intended. “Has she left Town? Or—surely she hasn’t already accepted another offer?” He wasn’t sure why either of those possibilities should weigh him down so.

  “No, no, nothing so bad as that,” Peter assured him. “It’s just that I saw her Saturday night at Mrs. Westercott’s soiree. She’s well and truly reentered Society now, it appears.”

  Jack felt a surge of relief. “But that’s all to the good,” he exclaimed. “I’d been wondering whether I’d have to persuade her out of her weeds, even though her year is up. Feared it might be difficult.”

  “Not difficult at all, I’d say,” said Peter wryly, “considering that she was dancing at Mrs. Westercott’s—and wearing bright yellow.”

  Jack blinked. “Yellow? When only days ago she was in heavy blacks? Hmmm…” He lapsed into thought.

  “Yellow,” Peter repeated. “Not quite the thing, if you ask me, and certainly not what I’d have expected of Cherryhurst’s daughter and Haughton’s widow. Lady Creamcroft was with her, and looked more than a little embarrassed.”

  “So your supremely respectable widow has decided to cut a dash, has she?” Harry clearly found the situation highly entertaining. “Mayhap she’s a better match for you than we suspected, Jack!”

  Even Peter chuckled, though he still looked somewhat worried. “She may not be the best choice for your plan after all,” he suggested. “More than a few eyebrows were raised Saturday night. Perhaps you should give one of the debutantes another look.” His lips twitched slightly in response to Harry’s continued laughter.

  But Jack was not amused. Upon Havershaw’s promise that marriage would turn the trick, his intention to wed Lady Haughton had firmed to the point of resolve, though he had not fully realized it until now. He had no desire to look elsewhere.

  “I’ll simply have to move more quickly than I’d intended. Any idea, Peter, where she’s likely to be tonight? Anything of importance going on?”

  Lord Peter thought for a moment. “There’s the Plumfield ball, and Lady Trumball’s card party. Various smaller dos—supper parties and the like. Perhaps the theater. What have you invitations for? Or do you plan to use the same tactic as at the Mountheath do?”

  “Actually, I’ve no idea what invitations I might have. I left the house before checking my letters. I’ll go do that now. Care to join me, gentlemen?”

  Peter tossed off the remainder of his glass and stood. “Wouldn’t miss it, I assure you. Harry?”

  “I’ll be along in a bit,” he replied, refilling his glass from the now nearly empty bottle. “Sounds like we might have an amusing evening ahead.”

  “A productive one, as well,” Jack promised them both. “Mark my words, I’ll have Lady Haughton betrothed to me before the month is out.”

  Lord Peter regarded him with surprise, but Harry grimaced. “Hope for your sake you’re wrong, Jack.”

  Leaving with Peter, Jack wondered whether he didn’t hope the same thing—and if not, why not.

  “Nessa, we simply must go!” Prudence insisted in a whisper, fluttering anxiously at her sister’s elbow. “Lord Plumfield is a good friend of Lord Creamcroft’s, and I have more than a passing acquaintance with Lady Plumfield. It simply won’t do for us to be any later to their ball.”

  Nessa looked up from the cards in her hand. “But I’m having a marvelous run of luck, Prudence,” she whispered back. “Why don’t you and Lord Creamcroft go on and I’ll join you there later?”

  Prudence fanned herself vigorously. “Leave you here alone?” Her hiss nearly became a squeak. She glanced apprehensively around the table lest the others were attending to their words, but the two gentlemen and other lady appeared intent on their own cards. “You know we cannot do that.”

  Instead of responding, Nessa played her next card. She’d had only a very few chances to play whist since learning, as Lord Haughton had disapproved of cards except with the vicar and his wife. She was pleased to discover she had a flair for the game.

  “I’m not a schoolgirl, you know.” She continued the whispered conversation, “At four-and-twenty, I scarcely need a chaperone.”

  Prudence’s fan waved more frantically. “Nessa, you know as well as I what would be said, were you to stay here without us. Do you wish to be thought fast?”

  Secretly Nessa confessed that she did, but realized that it was unfair to distress her sister so, after all of her kindness. “Very well. Let me finish this hand, and then we will go.”

  For a moment, she thought Prudence might faint from relief. “Thank you, Nessa. I’ll go inform Lord Creamcroft.”

  Nessa knew she should feel guilty, but decided to defer that until later. Just now, she preferred to savor the brief remainder of her game.

  “That gives us the rubber, Mr. Galloway,” she said five minutes later, laying down her last card. “I have enjoyed this immensely. Thank you all for allowing me to make your foursome.”

  Miss Cheevers smiled a bit sourly, either at having lost or because Nessa had claimed more attention than herself from the two gentlemen present. “We must do this again sometime, Lady Haughton.”

  The gentlemen echoed the sentiment with more sincerity, and Nessa favored them all with a bright smile, just as Prudence returned to her elbow, Lord Creamcroft in tow. Saying her farewells, she accompanied them to the door.

  “I’m glad to see you making friends, sister,” commented Lord Creamcroft amiably as they waited for their carriage.

  “I thank you and Prudence for the opportunity, Philip,” she replied, conscious of her sister’s faint gasp. Prudence had only once or twice used her husband’s Christian name in Nessa’s hearing. Nessa rather hoped, by example, to change that.

  Her brother-in-law did not appear scandalized in the least. In fact, Nessa caught a twinkle in his eyes that indicated he suspected what she was about—and approved. More and more, Nessa was certain that Phil
ip would prefer a much less formal relationship with his wife. If only Prudence could be persuaded to unbend a little…

  “I pray you two will not allow concern for me to interfere with your own enjoyments,” Nessa continued, with a meaning glance at her sister. “I find myself quite able to take care of myself. In fact, I hope that I’ll not have to impose upon your hospitality for much longer. I believe it is high time I set up my own Town establishment.”

  Prudence’s strangled protest was cut short by the arrival of the carriage. Once they were all ensconced inside, however, she turned horrified eyes upon her sister.

  “You cannot be serious about living alone in Town, can you, Nessa? Only think of the talk that would ensue. Propriety demands—”

  “Oh, you needn’t worry, Prudence. I will engage a suitable companion when the time comes. And it is not as though I intend to move out in the morning!”

  In fact, the idea of setting up her own household in London had only just occurred to her—but it suddenly seemed an excellent one.

  “Move out!” Prudence was plying her fan again, leaning weakly back against the squabs. “But you have nowhere to go! Promise me you will not even think of such a thing, Nessa.”

  “I can scarcely impose upon your hospitality for the rest of my life, Prudence. Surely you must see that.”

  But Prudence shook her head. “I see no such thing. You may stay with us until you decide to return to the dower house at Haughton—or remarry. There will no doubt be several eligible and respectable gentlemen at the Plumfields’—far more respectable than that card-player, Mr. Galloway. I will endeavor to introduce you.”

  Nessa smiled at her sister, but said firmly, “I have no plans to return to the country in the near future. That dower house is positively grim, I assure you. And I do not intend to remarry, in even the distant future. I simply wish to settle in Town for the present.” And live on my own terms, she added silently.

  “While I understand your feelings, sister, remember that your cousin would have to authorize the release of your funds for such a move,” Lord Creamcroft reminded her. “In any event, I hope you will let no thought of inconveniencing us cause you to hasten such a decision. We are more than happy to have you with us for as long as you will stay.”

  Thank you, Philip,” Nessa replied warmly, though she cringed at the thought of what Cousin Filmore’s response to such a request would likely be. She’d quite forgotten that her small fortune was under his control, as he’d been generous with her allowance. “I’m sure I can convince my cousin—” She broke off, noticing that her sister appeared to be on the verge of a faint. “I, er, believe Prudence requires your attention.”

  Turning, Lord Creamcroft perceived his wife’s distress and took both her hands most tenderly in his own. “There, there, my dear. It’ll all work out for the best, you’ll see.” As she was unresisting, he dared a quick kiss on her cheek.

  That brought Prudence to her senses immediately. “Philip! I mean, my lord! I mean—”

  Nessa began to chuckle, earning a reproachful glance from her sister. “Oh, never mind me. I’ll just watch Mayfair go by.” She directed her gaze resolutely to the carriage window and was gratified to hear her sister’s indignant exclamation suddenly muffled by what could only be a kiss. Yes, there was hope for true happiness there yet!

  But what of her own?

  “Where to next, Jack?”

  Lord Peter still sounded remarkably chipper, but Jack favored him with a sour look. They’d gone first to the Plumfield ball, but the Creamcroft party had not arrived, though they were generally expected—a fact that took some forty-five minutes to ascertain. Then they’d gone to the Trumball card party, only to discover that Lady Haughton, her sister, and brother-in-law had left twenty minutes earlier.

  Next they’d stopped in at a ridotto at the Peckerings, which Peter had suddenly recalled, but with no luck. The Creamcrofts had neither been nor were they particularly expected, though they had been invited.

  Miranda Dempsey, the vivacious, redheaded widow with whom Jack had dallied in Paris, had been there, however. She was clearly more than eager to rekindle their brief, torrid romance, and he had only extricated himself with some difficulty.

  “Let’s go back to Plumfields’,” suggested Jack, once he and Peter had made their escape. At the moment, he was far more inclined to head back to the club, or even home, but it was not in him to give up—not yet.

  “Just what I was going to suggest myself,” agreed Peter cheerily. “Off we go, then!”

  Jack settled back into the carriage for the fourth time that evening, reflecting, as they clattered along the streets of Mayfair, that his friend was enjoying this mad search far too much. Blast it, did Peter want him leg-shackled for life? His own enthusiasm for the plan was waning rapidly.

  Lord and Lady Plumfield had abandoned their posts at the head of the stairs by the time Jack and Peter returned, so at least they were spared immediate comment upon their odd schedule for the evening. Harry, however, had arrived in their absence, and spotted them at once.

  He accosted them reproachfully when they were but a few steps inside the ballroom. “Devil take it, Jack, I thought you meant to come here first. I’ve been cooling my heels here for half an hour, at least.”

  “It appears you’ve been well rewarded for your time.” Jack nodded toward the glass of fine champagne in Harry’s hand. “Do you never purchase your own spirits?” The cut was beneath him, he knew, but the evening’s fruitless hunt had set his temper on edge.

  Harry appeared cheered by his remark, however. “Not if I can avoid it, old boy!” He drained the glass that had been recalled to his notice and signaled a passing waiter for another. “Oh, your quarry is in the dance at the moment, I believe.”

  Jack experienced an inexplicable lightening of his mood. “Lady Haughton is finally here, then?”

  “Oh, so you were here before? Wench is leading you a merry chase, is she? Quite an active social life for a widow just out of her weeds.”

  Jack’s mood became just a shade less light.

  Harry now turned to his companion. “You were right, by the bye, Pete. She is a taking little thing. Begin to understand Jack’s determination, though given her current course, I’m not sure he need go so far as parson’s mousetrap. Offer her a slip on the shoulder first, Jack,” he advised his friend kindly.

  Though he glared at Harry, Jack couldn’t keep his lips from twitching slightly. “You forget the point, Harry. The idea is for Lady Haughton to repair my reputation, not for me to ruin hers.” He couldn’t deny, however, that the notion held more than a modicum of appeal.

  “You’d best hurry, then.” Harry indicated the near lefthand side of the ballroom with a motion of his head.

  Jack followed his glance and then stiffened, an odd mixture of vexation and elation welling up inside him. There stood the object of his quest, resplendent in deep rose silk. Flowers of the same shade adorned her chestnut curls, which she wore loose to her bare shoulders. Though her gown was cut no lower than most of the others there, its contrast to the high-necked black dress he’d last seen her wearing made it seem outrageously seductive.

  Momentarily rendered speechless by the vision before him, Jack merely observed—only to realize abruptly that Lady Haughton was surrounded by no fewer than six gentlemen, with all of whom she seemed to be conducting a flirtation! Excusing himself from his companions, he strode toward her.

  Nessa was certain she had never enjoyed an evening so much in her life. The Westercotts’ soiree on Saturday had been but a trial run. In fact, she had dared only two dances there, so severe was Prudence’s disapproval—and so rusty were her skills. Though her parents had permitted their daughters to learn all of the approved dances, they’d been afforded very few opportunities to practice in public—and after her marriage, Nessa had danced only once or twice, at small country gatherings.

  Tonight, she had a mind to throw caution to the winds. Winning at whist while tentativ
ely flirting with Mr. Galloway had been a highly entertaining novelty, and now she had just concluded her third dance, with the promise of several more to come.

  And such attentive young men! She turned a blind eye to Prudence’s reproachful looks from across the room, just as she had earlier turned a deaf ear to her sister’s strictures on which gentlemen were respectable enough to be worthy of her notice. Respectability was the very last thing she was seeking tonight!

  “Why, what a charming thing to say, Sir Lawrence,” she responded to a particularly outrageous compliment, flitting her fan experimentally. The fan was something else she needed proper instruction on, she realized. Else she might send signals she did not intend. But so what if she did? she asked herself with sudden recklessness.

  “No more than the truth, I assure you, Lady Haughton,” said her young cavalier. “You outshine every other woman present.”

  “Indisputably,” agreed Mr. Pottinger, a handsome man of more mature years but with a decided lisp. “You have given new life to the Little Season, my lady.”

  It was nice, Nessa reflected, to know that not everyone disapproved of her as Prudence did. Resolutely, she squelched the twinge of conscience that threatened to assail her.

  “You are all very kind,” she assured the small cluster of gentlemen surrounding her. “As new to the social scene as I am, it is most pleasant to have made so many friends already.”

  A clamor arose as they all attempted to convey how very honored they were to be counted among her friends, and Nessa positively basked in the attention. Surely, enjoying such harmless flattery could not be so evil as she’d always been led to believe.

  The orchestra struck up the opening strains of the next dance—a waltz. At least three of her gallants stepped forward to lead her out, but before she could formulate a suitable excuse, another voice spoke from behind her.