Clarissa turned her attention to Edwin, who was frowning as he observed a mechanical spider in its advance forward. “You don’t look very pleased,” she said. “I’d think you’d be delirious at being able to attend a social occasion you can actually enjoy for once.”
“I would be happier if Meeks had added anything new since the last time I was here.”
“When was that?”
“Two months ago. I brought the lads.”
Ah yes, from Preston Charity School for Boys, which Edwin supported. Thanks to Yvette, Clarissa and her mother had given to the cause more than once themselves. “I’m sure they enjoyed it immensely.”
“They seemed to. They usually do.”
“Usually? How often do you come here, for pity’s sake?”
He shrugged. “A few times a year. More, if I hear that there’s something new. It provides an excellent counterpoint to the lads’ lessons in physics and mathematics.”
“And I suppose you also get ideas for your own creations,” she teased.
A faint smile crossed his lips. “That, too.”
“One day I hope to see these automatons of yours.”
“So you can mock my endeavors the way Yvette does? No, thank you.”
She patted his arm. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You’ve spent the past three days critiquing my manner of speech, my behavior toward ladies, and my opinions. I can hardly see why you would stop at mocking my favorite pastime.”
“If you would actually pay attention to my criticisms,” she said with a sniff, “I’d have no need to continue them.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I doubt that. I suspect that you enjoy giving directions.”
“Only when they’re heeded.”
“I heed them when I can. But I doubt I will ever succeed in making my manner of speech ‘amiable’ enough to satisfy your stringent requirements.” His voice hardened. “And I am not going to alter my opinions about life and the world simply to acquire a wife.”
“I don’t want you to alter them. Just don’t voice them to ladies.”
“So I can surprise my wife on our wedding night when she finds out what I really think? That hardly seems a good plan.”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “You’re the one who asked me to help you. I assumed that it meant you would accept my help.”
He cursed under his breath. “I’m trying.” With a glance about the room, he changed the subject. “At least there’s no sign of Durand. For a while there, he seemed to be at every event we attended.”
And Edwin had bared his teeth every time the man had ventured near her. Indeed, the earl’s fierce protectiveness toward her had come as a shock. He’d never before seemed to care so deeply about what happened to her.
“Perhaps your plan is working,” she said.
“Or he’s plotting a more indirect way to get to you.”
A shiver swept over her before she could suppress it. It infuriated her. She’d worked for years to put her fear behind her, to fight off the bad dreams and the nervousness. Now, that dratted Durand threatened to overset all her hard-won control.
She refused to let him. “Lord, I hope he’s abandoned his interest. If he hasn’t, it will send Mama into even more of a ‘spell’ than she’s in at present.”
Her mother had begged to be excused from this party because she was having one of her “spells.” Privately, Clarissa had suspected that Mama was simply trying to allow her and Edwin a chance to be alone, but Clarissa had said nothing to him about it and merely asked that they take his open phaeton for propriety’s sake.
Miss Trevor and Lady Maribella hurried up to them. “Have you seen the boy draughtsman who draws sketches, Lady Clarissa?” Miss Trevor asked. “You must come look at it! It’s in the next room.”
The women tried to pull Clarissa away from Edwin, but she grabbed his arm. “His lordship and I will both come. He’s very knowledgeable about automatons. Perhaps he can give us some idea of how they work.”
“That would be wonderful,” Miss Trevor said without enthusiasm as she led the way into the other room. Clearly, the woman knew his reputation for being blunt and reticent.
But Lady Maribella must not have, for she gushed, “There’s a writer and a piano player, too. All three are positively amazing!”
“As opposed to negatively amazing, I suppose,” Edwin muttered under his breath as they followed at a more leisurely pace.
“Hush,” Clarissa chided, though she stifled a laugh. “She’s young.”
“You’re young. But you still know how to use the English language.”
“Why, Lord Blakeborough,” Clarissa said sweetly, “I do believe you’re giving me a compliment. You see? It’s not that difficult.”
“I never have trouble giving compliments to women I admire.”
Her pulse quickened. He admired her? Truly?
Miss Trevor had halted in front of them quickly enough to hear his last two words, which she pounced on. “What is it that you admire, Lord Blakeborough? Do tell.”
When Edwin frowned, Clarissa said hastily, “He was just saying how much he liked your gown, Miss Trevor. It’s a work of art.”
The young lady glanced to him as if for affirmation.
Edwin smiled blandly. “A work of art. Truly.”
“Why, thank you, my lord.” She cast him an assessing look, then hurried off to whisper in Lady Maribella’s ear.
“A work of the worst art I’ve ever seen,” Edwin muttered.
“Edwin!” Clarissa hissed.
“Don’t tell me you like that riot of stripes and plaids and atrocious ribbons.”
She paused, torn between confessing the truth and discouraging his bluntness. But she didn’t want him to think her utterly brainless. “I’ll admit that her gown is . . . rather unfortunate.”
“‘Rather unfortunate’ is kinder than it deserves.”
“True.” She nudged him. “And yet, the two ladies are now regarding you with more fondness, are they not?”
Indeed, Miss Trevor and Lady Maribella were having quite the whispered conversation across the room, punctuated by furtive looks of interest at Edwin.
He rolled his eyes. “That’s only because you lied to Miss Trevor, which I will never do.”
“You don’t have to. Just look for the good things in her, in all of them, and focus on those. Surely you can find one good thing to compliment in every woman you meet.”
“I doubt it.”
“Try.”
Lady Anne and Lady Jane were joining Miss Trevor and Lady Maribella now, and the four approached Clarissa and Edwin with coy smiles. “So, what do you think of the automatons, Lady Clarissa?” Lady Anne asked.
“I don’t know,” Clarissa said. “I must see them up close.”
She and Edwin approached the trio of mechanisms roped off from the room: a young lady who played what was actually an organ, judging from the bellows attached; a boy who drafted images; and another boy who wrote on real paper using real ink and quill. Each was only slightly smaller than a real child, and all were perfectly proportioned. The placard for them read, THE MUSICIAN, THE DRAUGHTSMAN, AND THE WRITER, BY MONSIEUR JAQUET-DROZ.
Edwin nodded to a fellow behind the velvet rope, and the man obligingly wound up the clockwork writer, who began to pen what appeared to be a letter.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Lady Maribella gushed as she followed the automaton’s quill with her gaze.
Edwin murmured in Clarissa’s ear, “It would be far more amazing if he wrote something worth reading.”
Clarissa whispered, “Say that again, only loud enough for them to hear.”
He frowned at her, but said in a voice that carried, “It would be far more impressive if he wrote a treatise on physics.”
The ladies tittered.
“Now you have their attention,” Clarissa said under her breath. When he arched an eyebrow, she raised her voice and asked, “What is your opinion of that figure?” She pointed to th
e draughtsman, who was drawing an intricate image.
“Have you noticed what he’s sketching?” Edwin asked.
That prompted the rest of them to go and watch until the automaton completed its work.
“It’s a carriage being driven by Cupid and pulled by a butterfly,” Edwin supplied as the ladies were still trying to make it out. “A nonsensical drawing, to be sure. Why would Cupid use a carriage instead of just flying off himself to do whatever he wishes?”
“Perhaps he’s tired,” Lady Maribella said.
“Or simply not very bright,” Edwin said.
Miss Trevor’s eyes gleamed. “Exactly, my lord. And how does one harness a butterfly, anyway? Only think how tiny and gossamer the reins would have to be.”
“And then they wouldn’t be strong enough to haul a carriage,” Edwin pointed out.
Lady Maribella tipped up her chin. “You two have no imagination. I think it’s a very pretty sketch.”
“As do I,” Clarissa said soothingly to the young woman. “Very whimsical.”
Edwin eyed her askance.
Miss Trevor caught that and grinned. “What do you think of the musician, my lord?”
“The clockwork is ingenious. I believe that Jaquet-Droz used a series of cams with . . .” When Clarissa frowned at him, Edwin released an exasperated breath, then finished sulkily, “It’s very intricate.”
“Look there!” Lady Anne said, pointing at the rise and fall of the mechanism’s chest. “She even breathes, as if she’s alive.”
“Lots of things breathe,” Edwin snapped. “An altar may breathe ‘ambrosial odors,’ but that doesn’t mean it will walk out of the temple.”
The ladies started, then giggled.
“Why, Lord Blakeborough,” Miss Trevor said, taking his other arm with a melting smile, “you are surprisingly droll.”
Edwin appeared nonplussed. Clarissa was certain no one had ever called him droll, and his comical expression made her bite back a smile.
“Tell me, sir,” Clarissa said, “isn’t that line about the ‘ambrosial odors’ from Paradise Lost?”
His gaze swung back to her. “I thought you only read gothic novels.”
“I do.” She slid him a teasing look. “Fortunately, Milton’s poem was quoted in one.”
“That’s cheating. It’s like using a tune from an opera for a nursery rhyme.”
The ladies laughed outright, and he actually smiled. Perhaps that was the key—to draw his fire so he might sharpen his wit on her. “And what, pray tell, is your problem with gothic novels, anyway?”
“That they exist,” he said bluntly.
Miss Trevor went into gales of laughter. Clarissa didn’t find it so amusing, especially since the other women undoubtedly read them, too. “That is not an answer.”
“You expect a serious answer to a frivolous question?” he said.
“Why is it any more frivolous to enjoy a good tale of adventure in a book than to watch a similar tale on the stage?” Clarissa asked.
“The last time I checked, there were no governesses wandering around castles in plays.”
“No, but there are ghosts in Macbeth. And Hamlet.”
“She’s got you there, Lord Blakeborough,” Miss Trevor put in.
He ignored her. “It’s Shakespeare,” he told Clarissa. “Surely you aren’t going to compare the likes of The Monk to Shakespeare.”
Since she hated The Monk, that wasn’t possible. Feeling cornered, she crossed her arms over her chest. “When was the last time you even went to a play?” Take that, Mr. Oh-So-Sure-of-Your-Opinions.
“I go occasionally,” he said, a tad defensively.
“I go regularly, so I should hope that my opinion on the subject has more weight.”
“It certainly has more weight with you,” he said. “Though I’m not sure how much weight it has with anyone else.”
The ladies tittered again and formed themselves into a group about him, as if to protect him from her. The irony of it didn’t escape her. Good Lord, she’d created a monster.
She was about to give him quite the set-down when Lady Maribella’s mother stepped into the room to announce that tea and cakes were being served in the garden.
At once the ladies headed that way, but when Miss Trevor tried to tug Edwin with her, he murmured some excuse and hung back to accompany Clarissa. With a glare, she hurried past him.
That didn’t work. Curse his long strides. He kept pace with her easily. “I swear I have no idea what just happened,” he murmured.
“I do,” she said crossly. “You gathered a group of sycophants to applaud your every word.”
“I was only doing what you advised.”
A pox on him. “I know.”
“But I didn’t expect it to actually work.”
She sighed. “People enjoy criticism of anything or anyone but themselves. As long as you aim your barbs away from your subject, you’ll impress the ladies.”
“But not you.”
“You aimed your barbs at me, so, no. But it doesn’t matter. You’re not trying to impress me.”
They were the last to leave the building, so he stopped her before she could go out into the garden. “And if I were? What must a man do to impress you?”
The direct question made her suspicious. It wasn’t like him to speak of her as if she might be a woman who interested him romantically. “Rather like you and your automatons, I’m not about to tell you and risk your mockery.”
A sudden remorse flickered in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have mocked your reading tastes in front of the other women.”
The unexpected apology did something funny to her insides. “Why not?” she said, hating the hint of breathlessness in her voice. “You mock my reading tastes all the time.”
“As you do mine. But when it’s done before an audience, it takes on a different tone. It’s less like a ‘merry war,’ to use Shakespeare’s term, than a personal attack. While it may have entertained them, it’s something a boorish clod would do—and I’m trying to learn not to behave like one.”
That showed more insight into personal relations than Clarissa expected. “You’re being too hard on yourself.” When his gaze warmed, she felt a strange panic. Edwin was proving far more appealing than she’d realized. Hastily, she added, “Besides, I’m used to your boorish ways.”
“Ah.” But he smiled. He wasn’t taken in. “Used to them or not, you know I must learn to alter them for the nonce. So let me make sure I understand the strategy: I can say cutting things as long as they’re directed at other than the ladies I wish to impress.”
“Exactly.”
“I shall never understand women.” Though they could see everyone milling about the garden, eating and drinking a few yards from them, inside the museum it was deserted. Somehow being on this side of the threshold gave the illusion that they were private, although all it would take was for someone to veer close to the doorway to hear them.
As if he realized that, he lowered his voice. “At least I don’t have to blather a lot of ridiculous compliments.”
“Of course you do. You need both—wit to demonstrate your intelligence, and compliments to demonstrate your amiability.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, that makes no sense.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I have no interest in courting those silly chits. Well, perhaps Miss Trevor would suit, if she didn’t have such poor taste in clothes. But as for the rest, I’d rather die a bachelor than marry one of them. So why bother complimenting them?”
“It’s precisely because you have no interest in them that they’re perfect for you to practice upon. You have nothing to lose.”
“And nothing to gain, either.”
“I tell you what. If you can offer one genuine compliment to each of our four companions before we leave, I shall give you a reward.”
Interest sparked in his eyes. “What sort of reward? And please tell me it won’t be a dance.”
She laughed. �
��I shall let you choose. Whatever you wish.”
“All right.” Did she imagine it or had his breath suddenly quickened? He jerked his gaze from her. “So, a reward.” He imbued the last word with such meaning that it sent a quiver of anticipation through her.
Good Lord. Perhaps she shouldn’t have given him carte blanche so recklessly.
No, Edwin would never abuse the privilege by asking for something . . . rakish. He wouldn’t.
But you wish he would.
Her cheeks heated. Certainly not. That was ridiculous.
“You’re blushing, minx,” he said under his breath.
Now it wasn’t just her cheeks heating but other parts of her. It had been years since that happened. Yet in the past four days, she’d felt that cursed melting warmth in her belly more and more frequently. If the man weren’t so infuriating, she might actually think she was coming to like him.
It simply wouldn’t do. “You’re stalling. You still have to give four compliments, you know. Or lose your reward.”
He eyed her steadily. “Very well. Let’s get this over with.”
Before she could protest that he was missing the point, he stalked out into the garden and up to Lady Anne. “That is the most interesting hat I have ever seen,” he said bluntly.
Clarissa choked back a frustrated laugh. Edwin could be so direct.
Fortunately, Lady Anne took “interesting” as a compliment. “Do you think so? It’s my favorite.” Beaming at him, the young lady affectionately patted the bonnet that resembled a platter of moldy fruit and began to wax eloquent about hats.
He endured her soliloquy for several moments before saying, “Excuse me, I forgot I needed to speak to Lady Maribella about a matter of some importance.” After bowing to Lady Anne, he shot Clarissa a cheeky grin as he strolled over to Lady Maribella and Lady Jane, who stood next to the refreshments table.
Clarissa glared at him, which didn’t seem to faze him one bit. Determined to hear what he said, she sidled over to pick up a glass of negus, as if that had been her sole purpose in approaching the table. Did Edwin really mean to fire his compliments at his targets in rapid succession just to obtain a reward?
The Study of Seduction: Sinful Suitors 2 Page 6
