by Allison Lane
“Do you?” he drawled. “I cannot imagine why.”
“She is lovely.”
“And hasn’t two thoughts to rub together.”
“Then what about Miss Avery? She can conduct an intelligent conversation.”
“Perhaps I should consider her. She has sworn to die a spinster, but she might be willing to accept her own establishment and a sizable allowance if I vowed to leave her alone.”
“You jest.”
“Not at all. She has turned down two dozen offers already, including a duke and two earls. Her brother has given up on her. She must be all of four-and-twenty.”
“So was Elizabeth, but that did not prevent Symington from wedding her.”
“Leave it, Mother. I have no interest in Miss Avery or anyone else.”
“Only because you refuse to consider them. What objection could you have to Miss Heathmark?”
“I cannot distinguish her from my horse.”
Lady Glendale pinched her mouth into a disapproving line. “That was unkind, Sedgewick.”
“This entire subject is unkind. I will not wed until I find a lady I can live with in comfort. No amount of pressure will speed the process.”
“Nonsense. You are merely stubborn, having become so accustomed to opposing my wishes that you no longer look about you. But if you require beauty, then consider Miss Mason.”
“She giggles.”
“Miss Cunningham is more sober.”
“With eight older siblings who relegated her to silence, she never learned to converse.”
“Lady Edith Harwood?”
“Irrevocably selfish.”
“Lady Constance Bowlin?”
“Are you so desperate that you would accept someone smarter than you?” He snapped his mouth closed at her shudder, furious that irritation had loosened his tongue. She was determined to retain her power and position after her husband died – a looming event, for the man’s health was rapidly failing – which explained why she sponsored only the most conformable misses. But she believed her schemes remained secret.
“Miss Delaney?”
“When did you decide that Irish stock might suit? Perhaps I should consider her. I would derive great pleasure from watching you swallow your pride long enough to welcome her into the family.”
“You are correct. She would never do.”
“But not because she is Irish,” he said, raising his quizzing glass. “She will not do because she displays no sense and less style. Now enough of this. I will eventually wed, but in my own time and for my own pleasure.”
“Very well.” The agreement was meaningless, as they both knew. She would never abandon her campaign. “In the meantime, I am holding a dinner party next week and will expect you to attend.”
He caught a flash of cunning in her eye. So this was not the usual confrontation after all. Elizabeth had feared that she would take matters into her own hands. Was she actually willing to compromise him into marriage?
His temper shattered. “That will not be possible.” He headed for the door. “I have business at Meadowbanks that will keep me from town at least that long. Nor will I tolerate further meddling in my affairs. If you persist, I will spend the remainder of the Season in Paris.”
Without waiting for a reply, he left.
Cursing his mother and every other matchmaker in town, he threw himself into his carriage, grateful that the curtains would keep him out of the public eye. He could not hope to carry off his usual sangfroid in this mood.
He had claimed business in the heat of the moment, but leaving town was an excellent idea. By accompanying Randolph to Cumberland, he had missed his usual spring retreat. Housing Elizabeth at Glendale Close until the Season began had been expedient, but Randolph had begged him to stay with her lest Lady Glendale’s hauteur ruin Elizabeth’s sweet character.
So he had not visited Meadowbanks in six months. His steward was a capable man, of course, but he needed to check the books. And he needed to relax. Perhaps his hectic spring explained why this Season seemed sadly flat.
Rapping on the roof, he ordered his coachman to Piccadilly. There were stops he must make before he could leave town.
* * * *
Sedge was rounding a bookshelf in Hatchard’s when voices halted him.
“Papa will never give in,” whispered one. “He owes Brumford a fortune, but Brumford will cancel the debt in exchange for my hand.”
Miss Lutterworth, Sedge identified. He had suspected some such scheme, but confirmation raised enough fury to choke him. He despised fathers who sold their daughters – particularly to cruel men like Brumford. Preventing such unions had been a personal crusade for fifteen years, though he rarely worked in the open.
“Then we must elope,” replied Mr. Lastmark. “I know it is scandalous, but waiting until you are of age is hopeless. I haven’t the means to rescue your father myself.”
“I wouldn’t allow you to pay his debts,” she said seriously. “Most are gaming vowels. I’ve always suspected something odd behind them, for Brumford swore I would regret turning him down last year.”
Sedge left them to their planning. Kensington was headed in their direction, so he struck up a conversation to give the pair time to part. Only after Miss Lutterworth rejoined her maid, did he collect his own books and leave.
Half an hour later he was sauntering along Bond Street when a frowning woman erupted from a shop, oblivious to the crowds hurrying by. The resulting collision was inevitable. He caught the victim, preventing a second collision with a passing carriage. The moment she was firmly on her feet, he grabbed the cause of the accident.
“You again!” It was the same bird-witted companion who had cost him last night’s sleep. “Idiot!” He shook her. “If you wish to survive, pay attention to where you are going.” A surge of lust washed over him, increasing his fury. What could he possibly find enticing about this woman? Thank God he was leaving town. He needed time to regain his senses.
“I … you … how did you—” Her face blushed crimson.
He gritted his teeth. “What is the point of wearing spectacles when you never look at anything?” he demanded as more heat pooled in his loins. He dropped his hands lest they do something stupid. Forcing a precarious control over his temper, he donned his most languid expression. “You must be newly arrived. Had you been here any time, you would already be planted in the churchyard.”
“Arrogant fool!” she hissed.
“I really must insist that you bring an escort next time you venture out. We cannot have you endangering your betters. In the meantime, I will escort you home.”
She recoiled. “You will not!”
Her obvious aversion brought his temper back to the boil. “Devil take it, woman. How dare you argue with me? I am only trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection. I am perfectly happy with my own. Now step aside.”
That look of haughty disapproval might have been intimidating if she’d had an ounce of intelligence to back it up – and if her cheeks weren’t blazing like beacons. But he saw little need to explain in words of one syllable that she had misinterpreted his intentions.
Not that you would mind, whispered a voice in his head.
He jumped. Where had that thought come from? Raising his glass, he quizzed her thoroughly, ignoring her sputtered protests. He could recall every curve of the delectable body tucked under that uninspired gown.
She slapped the glass out of his hand. “How dare you pass judgment on someone you don’t even know?”
“I have eyes,” he snapped.
“Eyes are useless without a brain to interpret what they see. Society must be worthless indeed to have elevated so condescending a toad to the pinnacle of power.”
He grabbed her shoulders through a haze of red mist. “How dare you insult your betters?” he demanded, shaking her again – and backing into the victim, who abandoned her grumbled complaints to shout obscenities at him. “Have you wit enough to
remember your own name?”
“I’ve more wit than you, thank God. Maybe you can afford to waste your life in pompous posturings and petty prattle, but I must make my own way in the world. Now unhand me before my reputation is sullied by contact with a fool.”
Burning heat climbed his face. What the devil was he doing? Fighting down his temper, he took stock of the situation. Mrs. Stanhope was cursing at the top of her lungs, drawing every eye on Bond Street. His public facade was long gone, and in his fury, he’d pulled the woman close enough that he appeared to be embracing her. Arguing with an imbecile over her mental capacity was ridiculous. Doing so in public was worse. Why had he allowed her ravings to destroy his control – all of his control, he admitted as another wave of lust engulfed him. Never in his life had he appeared so foolish. And it was all her fault.
Donning the tattered remnants of his composure, he dropped his hands. It was past time to leave town. This ridiculous attraction called his sanity into question and threatened his reputation with ruin.
“If you don’t wish to draw unfavorable notice, then pay attention to your surroundings,” he growled. “Next time I’ll deliver you to Bedlam, where you belong.” Giving her no chance to respond, he headed for his rooms.
Joanna castigated herself as Lord Sedgewick strode away. How had she tumbled into another bumblebroth? After yesterday, she had vowed to be more careful. Yet barely twenty-four hours later, she had fallen into a new abstraction that again had drawn his attention.
Why did it have to be him? She had run Harriet’s errands every day since arriving in town. Not once had she created a scandal, except when he was in the vicinity.
She had no excuse. Granted, she was plagued by problems, not least of which was Harriet’s penchant for ruining gloves and stockings. But pondering solutions should not have blinded her to her surroundings. Not until she’d crashed into that woman had she recalled where she was.
She was grateful that someone had prevented a worse disaster, but did it have to be Lord Sedgewick? His look of horror at recognizing her had left her incoherent, stammering and stuttering until even she was not sure what she had been trying to say. Her performance had flustered her so badly that she’d compounded the problem by blurting out mortifying insults. Why hadn’t the street opened up to swallow her?
The echo of her words raised new blushes. She could hardly blame him for losing his temper. How could she have been so stupid? And this was only the beginning. They were attending Almack’s tonight. If he recognized her, he would delight in exposing her foibles. What would Lady Wicksfield do if Joanna was ejected?
But even fear could not hold her attention for long. Her arms throbbed where he had grasped her, and not from pain. Up close, he left her breathless. Now she knew why he seemed so different from other gentlemen. His dandy airs covered a burning masculinity that few men possessed. It simmered just beneath the surface, flaring when he was angry into a force that could overpower anyone.
She shivered, appalled at her reaction. How could she respond to an arrogant lord of limited intelligence and less regard for her feelings? A lord who would grant precedence to pond scum over her. A lord who could destroy Harriet with a word, and might well do so to avenge his damaged dignity. He would not forgive this debacle any time soon.
Forgetting to apologize to the woman she had knocked down, who was still screeching complaints, she headed home.
All afternoon she debated whether to reveal her stupidity to Lady Wicksfield, though in the end, she remained silent. Nothing would prevent Lord Sedgewick from ruining her if he chose to do so, but there was a chance that he would not recognize her. While he had examined her more closely this time, he would hardly expect to find her at Almack’s, and she doubted whether he paid attention to minions even there. On the other hand, confessing her trouble might well cost her both this position and the governess post that awaited her, for Lady Wicksfield would immediately report it to the earl. Who would entrust their daughters to a woman whose head was in the clouds?
Once they left for Almack’s, she had no time to brood. Containing Harriet’s excitement required all her attention.
“I can’t believe we are nearly there!” the girl gasped, spotting the entrance as they joined the line of carriages inching along King Street. “I can hardly wait to behold its magnificence. How much grander will it be than Lady Ormsport’s ballroom?”
“Calm yourself, Harriet,” Joanna reminded her. “Remember Society’s watchwords – elegance and ennui. You must keep your face and voice under control. Lady Hartford claims that Almack’s is neat but unembellished and that the refreshments are quite frugal. We have discussed this before.”
“Of course.” Harriet clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “But it seems strange.”
“Not at all. This is not a private ball. We must pay admission. The cachet of Almack’s is the exclusive company, for even money and position will not guarantee receiving the voucher that allows one to purchase a subscription. The patronesses require exceptional conduct and a spotless reputation. You can lose that voucher if your behavior displeases them, so mind your manners. Do not complain about anything, and never compare this to other gatherings. Do you understand why?”
She nodded. “If they do not like me, I will not be allowed to return.”
“Exactly.” At least one lesson had taken root. “Straighten your gloves and get ready,” she added as the carriage stopped at the door.
The street was jammed, but she hardly saw the other vehicles. This was the moment of truth, the moment when she learned whether her latest lapse would condemn her. If she were refused admittance, Lady Wicksfield would have to send her back to the vicarage.
But her fears proved groundless – so far. And the ballroom was more sumptuous than she had expected. Great columns marched down the long walls. Five large windows overlooked King Street, each framed by rich draperies. The musicians sat on a Juliet balcony supported by yet more columns. Londoners might think it plain, but to eyes accustomed to a village vicarage, it was magnificent.
Harriet was soon surrounded by her court. Her dance card rapidly filled. Lady Wicksfield abandoned them to gossip with her friends.
But Joanna’s mind kept wandering. Her eyes snapped toward the doorway whenever a gentleman appeared, irritating her, though she could not seem to stop.
Concentrate on business, she admonished herself when she realized she was again staring at the entrance. She would fall into some new debacle at this rate. Already she had nearly allowed Harriet to chatter unchecked. But despite her best intentions, she did not relax until the patronesses barred the doors at eleven. Not even Lord Sedgewick could gain admittance now.
His absence was noted.
“He hasn’t missed a subscription ball in years,” said Lady Debenham. “Has he fallen ill?” She sounded thoroughly out of sorts at having to ask.
“I heard he received an unexpected visitor,” swore Lady Horseley.
Lady Beatrice shook her head. “So gullible. You should know better than to believe rumors.”
Joanna nearly burst into laughter at London’s premier gossip warning someone against rumors.
“I suppose you know differently?”
“Of course. He left for his estate at two o’clock this afternoon. He said he had business, but the real reason was an argument with his mother. She is increasing her pressure.”
Her listeners broke into confused murmurs of shock, condemnation, and support. Joanna sidled away, fearful that someone might notice her relief. He was gone. By the time he returned, he would have forgotten their encounters.
The current set finished. Almont escorted Harriet back to her side, then moved off to find his next partner.
“Lady Harriet,” said Lord Ellisham, appearing seemingly from nowhere. “That gown makes your eyes even bluer.”
Harriet smiled. “How nice of you to notice.”
“Have you any country dances free?”
Her face fell. “Not a one,
my lord.”
“Perhaps another day.” He waited until Mr. Craven distracted her attention before smiling at Joanna. “I thought that might be the case.”
“You are a complete hand, my lord.” Then she blushed at being so forward. “Forgive me, I cannot seem to do anything lately that is not either gauche or mortifying – usually both.”
“That particular lapse was hardly deserving of notice.”
“The others were not. I am amazed I was allowed in here tonight.”
“Oh?”
His eyes conveyed curiosity and sympathy. Before she could stop, she blurted out the very facts she had sought to hide. “I have drawn unfavorable attention from the most arrogant gentleman in town. If he were here, I would doubtless be out in the street by now.”
“For what crime, if I might be so bold?”
“It was quite inadvertent – though he read me such a scold that I am still quaking. He believes me a candidate for Bedlam and ordered me not to leave the house again without a keeper.”
“Heavens!”
“Exactly. I had just purchased some gloves for Harriet – she ruined three pair in a single week – and was pondering how to prevent further carelessness, when I bumped into the most vulgar matron, if her language is any judge. But I must believe that she exaggerated her grievance, for this gentleman prevented her from falling into the street or sustaining the slightest injury. And she shared at least half the blame. She was striding along Bond Street at so great a rate that she outpaced Lord Osbourne’s new curricle, and you must know how he drives.”
“Quite.” His lips twitched. “Springs his horses without offering up so much as a prayer for those in his path.”
“Exactly. You would have thought she was fleeing a mob, so why that odious man blamed me, I cannot say. He shook me until my teeth rattled, then castigated me for any number of crimes without allowing me a single word in my own defense.”
