“Appeal to my romantic nature.”
“Is it working?”
She struggled to hide a smile and failed. She drew in a deep breath. “Imagine this …” She lifted her hands in the air. “All of this is yours. A party is held in your honor. The only guests are unmarried ladies, ranging in age from sixteen to sixty.”
“Preposterous. A sixteen-year-old would be far too young for me.”
“Age doesn’t matter to a father when he can benefit from marrying his daughter off as a child bride.”
He hated that practice. “And sixty?”
“Much older men often take wives twenty or thirty years their junior. Now, back to my story. Every single one of these women knows that you are looking for a wife, and they are vying intently, by whatever means they can, to marry you. Not because they care for you or even like you.” She waved her hands in a graceful manner. “But for all this. You are just an unfortunate encumbrance to get what they want.”
Distasteful indeed. “I’m sure this party will be nothing like that.”
“I have been to many of these kinds of parties, and they are exactly like that.”
“But these men don’t know you’re desperate to marry—”
“Desperate?”
“I didn’t mean that. Let me rephrase.” He drew in a deep breath. “They don’t know your great-uncle is requiring you to marry. Is that better?”
“Not much.”
“The only people who know about the will’s stipulation are you, me, and my grandfather.”
“Do you think these men stupid? They will assume I have inherited it all. So the will changes nothing for them. Only for me.”
She had a point.
“The only thing this party will accomplish is to severely shorten the amount of mourning time they allow me. They will think it is all right to start calling on me and deluging me with invitations and making themselves nuisances.”
Again she was right.
“I see your point. This is not an ideal situation. But these are your uncle’s wishes, and the party is going to take place. And whether you attend or not, you will have gentlemen callers after that. Would it not look better for you to attend your own party than not?”
“First, this is not my party but my great-uncle’s. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll attend if …” She leaned forward. “If I get to invite an equal number of eligible ladies for you to entertain.”
“Me?” He would think she would want them to distract some of the men. “Why me?”
“So you can see what it’s like.”
“What would ever possess me to agree to such nonsense?”
“So you can give your grandfather, your boss, a good report. Which sounds better? The dinner party went off without a hitch, and Miss Dewitt seemed to enjoy herself? Or Miss Dewitt locked herself in her room the entire evening? I dare say your grandfather wouldn’t be pleased with the latter.” With a self-satisfied smile, she settled back in her chair.
Cunning little minx, to say the least.
Spirited indeed. Maybe she would prove a worthy opponent after all.
Chapter 3
Victoria lay on the fainting couch in the parlor, resting prior to the guests’ arrival. She needed to gather her wits before the evening’s mental games commenced. Her black silk gown with a beaded lace overlay had already begun to stifle her. Or did the suffocating feeling come from the anticipation of an unpleasant, annoying evening?
She had managed to whittle the list of gentlemen down by five, leaving fifteen. One engaged, one married, one deceased, and two out of the country. Her attempts to get three more struck from the list—because they were so impossibly obnoxious—had been nixed by Mr. Wellington. He would soon see what it was like for her. She’d handpicked the ladies for tonight’s party.
“Miss?” Foster’s voice hovered next to her.
Victoria opened her eyes.
“The first carriage is driving up the lane.”
Mr. Wellington stood from his chair. “Shouldn’t you go upstairs?”
Swinging her feet around to the floor, she sat up. The beads of her dress tinkled against one another. “Whatever for?”
He stepped to her and proffered his hand. “So you can make a grand entrance after everyone has arrived.”
How dramatic. She took his assistance and rose. “Some ladies might like all that attention on them at once. I prefer to welcome my guests as they enter, rather than rush around the room later to greet everyone in a hurry.” She tugged at the top edge of her black gloves that covered her arms within an inch of the small puffed shoulder caps.
“That is quite thoughtful of you.”
Did he truly think so? Or was he simply coddling her? She could tell he considered her a spoiled debutante with no feelings for others.
He obviously didn’t see her need to marry for love and probably thought any man would suffice. For his duty, that was true, because he would have completed his obligation. But she would have the rest of her life with the chosen man. For better or for worse. Better to live as a pauper alone than for worse.
She strolled through the parlor doorway. “You’ll join me in the foyer.”
“That’s not necessary. This is your party.”
“Mr. Wellington, have you forgotten that you have guests to greet as well?”
At a throaty sound, she glanced back at him. Had he growled? Oh, this evening could be fun after all. After turning around, she indicated the spot next to her.
Mr. Wellington cut a stately and handsome figure in his evening suit. He pushed his mouth into a halfhearted smile and joined her.
She held up her index finger. “Remember to greet your guests with an authentic smile. One mustn’t be rude.”
Definitely a growl.
As the first carriage rolled to a stop, Foster opened the front door. A shock of cool air swirled around Victoria, but she had been trained not to shiver.
Four footmen stood at the ready outside, and one opened the carriage door.
She was pleased to see that the first to arrive were her good friends Stanley Browning and Millicent Amundsen, brother and sister.
Stanley bowed over her hand. “It is so good to see you again. My sister could hardly wait for your party.”
Victoria gave Millicent a quick greeting hug, no more than a lean forward and back. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“I wouldn’t have dared missed this.”
“May I present Mr. Wellington, one of my uncle’s solicitors.” Victoria turned to him. “This is Stanley Browning and his sister Mrs. Amundsen, my dear friend. She is a year widowed and seeking a father for her two young sons.”
Mr. Wellington shot Victoria a glance before bowing over Mrs. Amundsen’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“As I am of you. Do you have any children? It can be so difficult to get children from two different marriages to get along. They become jealous of the new parent.”
Mr. Wellington hesitated far too long. No doubt trying to devise an alternate answer to the obvious. When he finally spoke, his words came out choked. “No children.”
“Very good. I look forward to speaking with you throughout the evening.”
Victoria struggled not to laugh.
Three automobiles drove up next. Lord Hugh Claremont, whose overtures she had turned down several times. Reginald Parker, who fancied Edith Nicholas. And Gordon Montgomery, who fancied all women and had no plans to limit himself to just one, married or not.
What a guest list her great-uncle had put together.
Three women descended from the next carriage. She greeted them. “May I present Mr. Wellington. This is Patricia and Monique Linden. Sisters.” She indicated the third lady. “This is their cousin Nancy Linden.” Nancy batted her eyelashes nonstop.
Monique pushed Patricia forward and held out her hand. “How do you do?”
Mr. Wellington bowed over each of the three ladies’ hands. “Very well.”
As t
he trio glided away, Monique spoke louder than need be. “He is handsome, Patricia. Don’t you think so?”
Patricia nodded.
Then came a wave of four more gentlemen, three in carriages and one in an automobile.
Rosemary Hudson arrived next, as tall as Mr. Wellington, graceful as a swan, and delightfully flirtatious.
She tapped his chest with her closed fan. “This could prove to be a delectable evening after all.”
Then brothers Jonathan and Ellis Warner. Each lingered over Victoria’s hand with a kiss.
Though she wanted to jerk her hand from their grasps, she refrained.
Eloise Madison scurried in, looking like little more than a child, as she didn’t stand over five feet tall. She tilted her head back to look at Mr. Wellington. “My, you’re a tall one.”
Flora Young at eighteen, the youngest Victoria had invited, giggled and hid behind her fan.
Mr. Wellington bowed over her hand.
She giggled more and fluttered her fan. “I think I might faint.”
Victoria straightened. “Mr. Wellington, please see Miss Young gets to a chair. I would hate for her to collapse.”
Mr. Wellington shot her a stern look and took the young lady’s arm. “Right this way, miss.”
Flora giggled more.
Victoria allowed herself a small laugh. Oh, this was fun, even if she had to endure the gentlemen.
Another four gentlemen arrived, greeted her, and entered the parlor.
Foster bowed. “Everyone has arrived, Miss Victoria.”
“Thank you.” Putting on her “authentic” smile, Victoria joined everyone in the parlor.
The ladies had Mr. Wellington surrounded near the chair where he had seated Flora. He looked like a cornered animal. They were playing their parts perfectly.
After surveying the room’s occupants, she headed around to the left to mingle among the guests.
She stopped at a cluster of men talking about baseball. She greeted them, exchanged pleasantries, and moved on.
Before she was even a quarter of the way around the room, Lord Claremont headed her off from the other direction. “I cannot tell you how pleased I was to receive your invitation.”
She bit back the retort that jumped into her mouth and found something less derogatory to say. “The invitation came from my uncle.”
“How can that be? He is gone.”
“Before he passed, he saw to all the arrangements for this little soirée in the wake of his death.”
“Wise of him.”
More like controlling.
“He did not wish for you to linger in mourning.”
“No chance of my doing that after this evening’s festivities.” At least she could wear black so gentlemen callers would be reminded of her recent loss. And she did so out of respect for her uncle.
He had seen to her every need. Even if he had no capacity to love, he hadn’t been outwardly cruel. Though eager to have her marry, he had never forced her, no matter how many gentlemen he introduced her to.
Until now.
Foster entered the room and rang a handbell. “Dinner is ready.”
Relief swept over Victoria. That took care of breaking away from Lord Claremont.
Without asking, he hooked her hand over his arm. “Shall we?”
Pulling free would be rude and, since it would be for only a moment, she allowed him to escort her into the dining room.
He pulled out her chair at the opposite end from where she and her uncle normally ate. Mr. Wellington would be at that end. She hadn’t the desire to sit in her uncle’s seat.
Lord Claremont glared at the place card to Victoria’s right, the seat for the most important male guest.
Stanley Browning pulled out that chair. “I believe this is my seat.”
Victoria knew it would be an affront to his lordship, but she had needed to make a point that he wasn’t the most important to her. As a concession, she had allowed him the seat to her left. Any farther from her would have been tantamount to a public slap in the face and scandalous.
Mr. Wellington entered with his female entourage. He glanced her way.
“Your seat is at the other end with the ladies seated close by.” Normally at such a dinner, the guests would be seated alternating between the ladies and gentlemen. But why bother? The men were here for her uncle’s money, and the ladies …? Well, because she had invited them to prove a point to Mr. Wellington. She knew how to survive a party such as this. But did he? He seemed to be handling himself so far. But the evening was far from over.
Graham sat at the far end of the table with the widow Millicent Amundsen and her search for a father for her sons on his right. Patricia Linden settled in the chair on his left with her sister Monique beside her, listing all her sister’s fine qualities.
“You see, I have a beau. But our parents won’t allow Martin and me to be engaged or marry until Patty is, so both she and I are quite eager for her to find a husband. She is not getting any younger.”
Patricia smiled sweetly. “I had a beau. We were very much in love, but he was thrown from his horse. Before he died, he told me he loved me and wanted me to be happy and find someone to love. I have no aspirations of finding love again, but I do hope I can.”
He didn’t need to know all that.
Widow Amundsen cleared her throat. “Love in marriage is overrated. If one has companionship, then the marriage is considered wildly successful. My two are good boys and young. They would think of anyone I marry as their father and not give you a moment of grief.”
Not only was Graham not ready to be a father, he had no desire to take on a wife yet. This evening couldn’t end soon enough.
Finally, Miss Dewitt signaled the meal had concluded by standing with the aid of the butler. “We’ll have tea and coffee in the parlor.” Everyone followed her like ducklings to the other room.
She floated to the red velvet sofa and sat. The men crowded around her, one situated on each side, some in the chairs adjacent to her, and the remainder standing around the sofa. She smiled at each one.
Servants brought out cups of coffee and tea.
Graham watched Miss Dewitt surrounded by admirers. How could such a beautiful creature be so frustrating? Even in mourning clothes of black, she exuded the epitome of elegance and grace. Only he, alone of the gentlemen callers, knew she cared for none of them.
After a bit, with a delicate twist of her alabaster wrist, Victoria flicked open her fan and fluttered it about, coyly glancing over it. Her eyes seemed pinched, with the creases at the corners more pronounced. Had she had enough for one evening? Should he call this party to an end? He was certainly ready for it to be over.
The way the men hovered around her, they reminded him of vultures. Opportunists, every one of them.
She lifted her hand a few inches to get the maid’s attention. She had stationed the servant to remain within sight. Evidently just for this purpose.
The maid crossed silently and curtsied.
Miss Dewitt spoke, but he couldn’t hear what she said. Probably some pretense to call her from the room. Permanently.
Should he stop it or allow her to cut the evening short?
The maid opened the french doors to the garden, exited the room, and returned in a trice with a delicate china teacup she handed her mistress.
A cool, fall breeze freshened the stagnant air. He hadn’t realized how stuffy the room had become.
After Stanley Browning and Millicent Amundsen played several duets on the grand piano, the guests departed.
All but one.
Lord Hugh Claremont.
The vulture imprisoned her hand in both of his, delaying his departure.
She stood at arm’s length, smiling courteously. “I must bid you good night, Lord Claremont. I truly am spent. It was good of you to come and to honor my uncle’s request. Good evening.”
Mr. Wellington smiled. Smart minx. She’d just made sure Lord Claremont knew she was not the one who
had invited him.
But the man didn’t release her.
Graham stepped toward them, took Miss Dewitt’s hand from Lord Claremont’s, and tucked it around his elbow. “Mr. Dent, will you see that his lordship gets to his automobile.”
“I will see you again soon, Miss Victoria.” Claremont’s eyes narrowed, but he made no more foofaraw and left.
Graham didn’t like his lordship being so familiar with Miss Dewitt by using her first name. Pushing the man from his mind, he turned to her. “Tonight wasn’t so bad after all, was it?”
Her ever-present smile vanished.
He realized he still held her arm. “Admit it, you enjoyed yourself.”
She heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m just glad it’s over.” The tension around her eyes faded.
“You can’t fool me. I saw you smiling.”
“What you saw was years of practice. Good night.” She floated up the stairs. At the midpoint, she spoke but didn’t turn around. “Don’t bother coming before noon. I won’t be up, and you’ll be wasting your time.”
Unexpected disappointment pricked. He wouldn’t see her first thing? In that case, he would spend the morning at the office, report to his grandfather, and come here at noon. That would work out quite well for everyone.
Chapter 4
At noon the next day, Graham rode up to the Helmsworthy mansion on horseback. His report to his grandfather had been well received, and he had been able to accomplish a great deal of work while at the office.
He pictured the contents of his satchel. Besides the paperwork for his caseload, he was armed with lists and arguments to refute any excuse Miss Dewitt threw at him to worm her way out of the next stage of the requirements. Why did this feel as though he was heading to court?
The front door opened as he swung off his horse. Mr. Dent greeted him and motioned to the stable boy, who took charge of Graham’s mount. The butler showed him inside, took his coat and hat, and stepped to the closed library doors. In only a week, Graham had fallen into a routine of working in the library until Miss Dewitt graced him with her presence. He was prepared for her.
The butler slid open the doors.
What he hadn’t prepared himself for was a put-together beauty seated behind the library desk in a black velvet and lace gown with long sleeves and a high collar. Her hair perfectly coiffed and a healthy glow to her cheeks. Her appearance stole the breath from his lungs. He stood there mute, like an errant schoolboy brought before the headmaster.
The American Heiress Brides Collection Page 9
