Birds of a Feather

by Allison Lane

  Torn between her obvious lucidity and an ingrained belief that head injuries should be treated with the utmost caution, he hesitated. He had no authority over her, but Reggie would be furious if anything happened to her. Despite his distaste for the connection, he owed Reggie for dealing with Jenny.

  He was still debating when a voice erupted from the doorway.

  “Scandalous!”

  Dear Lord! It was Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, the most disapproving of the Almack’s patronesses. Lady Horseley and Princess Esterhazy crowded behind her. Each was appropriately robed as a Fury.

  Mortification burned his face. This was far worse than if Jenny had reached the ballroom.

  He was alone with a female, a situation he would never have allowed with anyone from his own class. Yet Miss Patterson was gentry. The facts of her breeding paraded relentlessly through his mind: Cousin to Lord Wicksfield, niece to a baronet, remoter connections to Sweetwater, the Earl of Mossbank, and Lord Wellspring. Not only was his presence in this room a personal insult, but she might lose her current and any future jobs.

  He glanced at her and cringed. His arm remained around her shoulders. Her domino gaped, exposing her gown’s bodice. Her hair tumbled wildly about her shoulders – his flush deepened as he recognized the allure of that curtain of hair. Even if he were not responsible for her dishevelment, the appearance of impropriety was enough to condemn her.

  But his guilt was clear. His hands had opened her clothing and unpinned her hair. His cap sat beside her spectacles on the table. His arm still absorbed her heat.

  There was but one redress. Rage dimmed his vision, but he set his face into a fatuous smile.

  “Hardly scandalous,” he drawled, “though I am as clumsy as the greenest cub this evening. I actually knocked Joanna into the wall as I spirited her from the ballroom. But you may wish us happy, for despite my stammers and blunders, she has done me the honor of accepting my hand.” He held their eyes lest Miss Patterson’s shock belie his statement. Her instinctive recoil had already bruised his side. But for the moment, he was too numb to think beyond salvaging their reputations.

  The Furies offered the expected congratulations – none sounding sincere. His head whirled and his stomach churned, adding to his discomfort. Somehow he found himself sheltering Miss Patterson from view as she twisted her hair into place. His sotto voce admonition to be quiet must have worked, for she uttered no word.

  But he could feel her growing fury as he escorted her back to the ballroom, followed by three of the most vicious gossips in London. And he could not blame her. He had just stolen her from the man she loved. At least her reaction mitigated one fear. If she were strictly a fortune hunter, she would have welcomed him. But his spirits sank even further with the admission, for this situation was far worse.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Joanna stumbled, only her grip on Lord Sedgewick’s arm keeping her upright. Her head spun dizzily.

  “Smile!” he growled as they approached the ballroom, three gushing ladies firmly in tow.

  She risked a quick glance at his face. Despite the upward tilt of his mouth, he was furious. His eyes had faded to icy gray, though the rakish tilt of his cap and the feather curled over his brow hid them from all but the closest scrutiny. Fine lines clustered at their corners, matching others near his nose and chin. His tone would have sent a dog scurrying for cover.

  The ladies swept past as he paused to survey the crowd. Gasps sped across the room. Eyes and quizzing glasses snapped to attention.

  She swayed, spots dimming her sight.

  “It’s too late to swoon,” he advised dryly, widening his smile even as his arm stiffened. He radiated tension in palpable waves.

  “This is absurd,” she hissed, finally able to force words from her mouth. “I cannot—”

  “Do you wish to be unemployed, my dear?”

  “But why—”

  “Enough. This is no time to debate. The least thought should reveal our position. If not, I will explain later. For now, you will express delight over our betrothal and refer any questions to me.”

  He was quivering with rage, so she abandoned her protests. They would straighten out this mess when they were under less scrutiny. In the meantime, she would play out the farce, if only to avoid embarrassing him yet again.

  Descending the stairs, they circled the ballroom, exchanging pleasantries and accepting congratulations. Her mouth stiffened from false smiles. Shock joined forces with the bump on her head, pounding pain into her temples until she wanted to scream.

  If only she could escape. The usual cloud of perfumes gagged her. Tinted haze danced before her eyes, occasionally pierced by improbable figures. An armored knight. A turbaned prince. Madame Pompadour’s foot-high coiffure. Cleopatra. Only her mounting dizziness seemed real. Her increasing desire to be held was even more unreal. She clamped down on any sign of attraction, knowing it grew only from her spiraling weakness.

  When the music stopped, she dropped his arm, duty finally jolting her from her lethargy.

  “I must return to Harriet.”

  “Her mother can look after her. We must dance the next set.”

  She abandoned her frigid smile. “Chaperons don’t dance.”

  “Betrothed young ladies do.”

  “I am neither young nor a lady. Nor will I wed you.” Ignoring his frigid eyes, she doggedly continued. “Lady Wicksfield cannot look after Harriet. She is undoubtedly in the card room. Would you have me abandon my charge?”

  “Like it or not, we are betrothed, so your first duty is to me. I will not tolerate a scene. You will allow me to partner you in this waltz.”

  His rage was growing. But she could not give in, despite the increasing difficulty of stringing thoughts together. “Honor makes its own demands, sir – as you should know, since you are the first to criticize any lack of it. I vowed to chaperon Harriet. Would you see an innocent ruined because I left her to her own devices? Even this very proper ballroom can be unsafe.” She gestured. Appropriately robed as Beelzebub, Lord Darnley was heading toward the alcove where Wethersby had just returned Harriet.

  “Contrary wench, aren’t you!” he snapped. Taking a deep breath, he murmured a few words to Lord Hartford, then grabbed her hand. “Thomas will look after her. We need to talk. Since leaving would cause more speculation than is already in evidence, we will dance.”

  “Very well.”

  “Thank you.” His voice mocked her acquiescence. “Quit craning your neck. Thomas has already sent Darnley away. I expect her card is full in any case, so smile.”

  She glanced briefly into those furious eyes before dropping her gaze to his ruff. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “To you?” His scorn banished another wave of lethargy. “Do you understand nothing? We were discovered alone in a compromising position. Refusing to wed would tarnish my reputation and destroy yours.”

  “By all means, let us keep your exalted position intact,” she said, glaring. “Never mind that you might harm me in the process.” The words poured out, even as she tried to stop them. But though he stiffened, he maintained his smile.

  “Do you wish to be dismissed from your post without a reference?” he demanded. “I could survive walking away, but you would not.”

  She cringed, but he had a point. Who would hire a governess with a ruined reputation?

  “Smile,” he reminded her. “I will call on you tomorrow at eleven. We will wed immediately. This will be no more than a nine-day wonder if you can manage to appear pleased. I don’t know why that should be difficult. I am considered quite a catch.”

  “You odious, arrogant—”

  “Enough, Miss Patterson. You are not stupid –”

  “Which is why your conceit leaves me cold. I prefer my life the way it is, not that you care. All that matters is that you remain firmly ensconced on your pedestal.” She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

  “Smile!” he snapped. “Talking here is obviously pointless. I will
call on you at eleven.” He swung her into a complicated turn, his face twisted into false pleasure.

  His silence was a relief. Her pounding head deadened the music. His words seemed unreal. The evening was unreal. The very idea of marriage was unreal. Surely there was some way to escape. If only she could think.

  The swirl of the dance was creating a pretense of intimacy even more unreal than the rest. His broad shoulders promised strength. His hand burned into her back, contrasting with that icy stare. The constant turning increased her dizziness. If only she could rest against that hard chest and know his powerful arms would protect her. But she would find no succor there. However much he despised her, he would blindly follow the dictates of the shallow world in which he lived, ignoring the emptiness that would result. And how could she complain? The only support honor demanded was his name.

  A new wave of nausea engulfed her. Faces flashed past. Ghoulish faces. Shocked faces. Skeptical faces. Hostile faces. The music beat against her temples – on and on and on. Would this set never end?

  Yet its end proved worse. He led her to her alcove, bowed over her hand, then departed. She wanted to flee, to lie down, to go back to the moment when she had left the ballroom to meet Reggie. But she could not move.

  People deluged her. Some offered congratulations. Others slyly demanded to know how she had brought one of Society’s most elusive bachelors up to scratch. Everyone made it clear that she was too far beneath his touch to attract genuine interest.

  Cursing him for abandoning her to a task he knew she could never handle, she tried to turn the topic – without success. Hiding the truth tied her tongue in knots until she could barely utter a word. Her smile cracked more than once. When Reggie appeared to lead her into the next waltz, she nearly fainted from relief.

  “I cannot think of a better wife for Sedge,” he said once the music started.

  “Please,” she begged. “No more platitudes. I will shatter if I must keep up this pretense another minute.”

  “I understand. But that was not politeness, Joanna. I have long wracked my brains for a way to bring you together. Deep inside where it counts, you are exactly alike.”

  “Is that why you’ve spoken of him so often?”

  “Of course.” He met her eye. “Surely you saw through such a weak strategy.”

  “I thought you were trying to match him with Harriet. They are both somewhat lack-witted.”

  “Never. Sedge may play that role in public, but he is extremely intelligent, taking firsts in all his courses at Oxford. And you are just as smart. I welcome you as a sister.” His eyes were clear, revealing his earnestness.

  “I cannot think of a better brother,” she admitted. “But I was not referring to learning. I suspect he reads widely. Yet he demonstrates little common sense. Why would he accept a lifetime of misery when explaining the circumstances could have avoided it? His credit is such that everyone would listen, but he made no attempt to explain, for he is too selfish to consider anything but his own precious reputation. God forbid that anyone should entertain suspicions of him.”

  “Relax, Joanna. You are in shock, and who can blame you? Your head must be devilish sore. But please set aside your fears. In time, you will admit that fate has been kind.”

  “You are placing a comfortable face on an impossible situation, Reggie. You must know that he hates me.”

  “He is in shock, and at least as furious as you. But do not misinterpret that as hatred. He does not know you.”

  “Stop making excuses. He has disliked me since our first meeting. Tonight’s fiasco merely makes it worse.” Her voice broke.

  “Joanna—” He stopped whatever he had started to say and tried again. “Do you hate him?”

  She sighed but managed to keep that hideous smile in place. “No, though I can find little in him to like. He is arrogant, quick to judge, too willing to criticize others, and he makes no attempt to consider the consequences of his actions. There must be some way to escape this trap. Marriage can only bring disaster.”

  “What happened? I escorted Miss LaRue away and questioned her – she was tricked into coming here this evening.” He scowled. “But that is another story. What prompted his offer?”

  “Hardly an offer. He announced a betrothal without even warning me. High-handed fool!”

  “Relax, Joanna. What happened?”

  She unclenched her jaw. “I regained my senses in an antechamber. Since there was no real damage, I tried to send him away. But he was still arguing the need when Mrs. Drummond-Burrell appeared, accompanied by Lady Horseley and Princess Esterhazy.”

  “Good God! Those are the most judgmental harridans in town.”

  “Exactly. But not unreasonable. They would have gladly looked after me if only he had explained. But he didn’t even try! He made some inane comment about knocking me into a wall, then announced that I had accepted him. I thought gentlemen despised lying. Surely the ultimate arbiter of manners and fashion should not be doing so.”

  “He would never willingly lie, so there must be more to the tale. How long were you unconscious?”

  “Only a few minutes.”

  “Had he checked your injuries?”

  “Of course. He is not incompetent.”

  His smile widened. “So he must have disturbed your hair. And he probably removed your spectacles. Anything else?”

  “He loosened my domino and helped me sit up.” She dropped her eyes but could feel a blush staining her cheeks.

  “Forget your own knowledge for the moment. What did the ladies see when they arrived?”

  Her blush deepened.

  “That bad? I notice that the angle of Sedge’s hat has changed and his hair is a mess. He only disturbs it when he is upset, though few people are aware of it.”

  “I admit the scene may have appeared suggestive, but surely they would have understood if he had explained. An accident that left me unconscious required at least a cursory examination. And he only had his arm around me because I nearly swooned when I sat up.”

  He laughed. “That might have worked with Lady Sefton or some of the others. But Lady Horseley believes the worst of everyone, and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell is one of Mother’s closest friends. Knowing how badly Mother wants Sedge to wed, she would never have allowed such an opportunity to pass.”

  “So he must wed someone far beneath his touch, whom he dislikes, solely because your mother wishes to set up a nursery?”

  “Please do not judge so harshly. And consider your own situation, Joanna. You will be ruined unless you marry him.”

  She would be ruined anyway. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. He was right. Not even a merchant would hire a ruined spinster to teach his daughters. “Poor Papa,” she murmured. “He will never understand. I don’t know how I can face him.”

  “He knows Society’s rules as well as I do. And he will see the benefits. After all, Sedge is considered the biggest catch on the Marriage Mart.”

  “So he informed me.” Her icy tones brought a flush to Reggie’s cheeks. “Papa has no aspirations to Society. He has long condemned marriages of convenience, so I know exactly how he will feel about this one. And what about your parents? No matter how badly they wish to see him wed, they will hardly welcome me. I am amazed that your mother has not already swooped out to halt this farce. She was appalled enough when she realized that we were friends.”

  “She isn’t here.” The music swirled to a close. “We will talk later,” he said, leading her back to her alcove. “Try to accept the inevitable, Joanna. I truly believe that this will be a good match. And you have one firm supporter. I welcome you into the family with all my heart.”

  “Thank you, Reggie. Perhaps that will be enough.” The words were merely formality, for she knew it would not be.

  “You have remained on view long enough,” he continued as another wave of people converged on her corner. “I will escort you home.”

  He was as good as his word, easily persuading Lady Wicks
field to leave. He bantered lightheartedly with Harriet for the entire journey, deflecting all questions.

  But Joanna knew that he had merely postponed the inevitable. Lady Wicksfield was angrier than ever before. Only her hope of snaring Reggie was restraining her temper.

  * * * *

  Even as he fended off a barrage of impertinent questions, Sedge kept one eye on Reggie’s waltz with Miss Patterson. The future appeared worse than ever.

  She was more relaxed than he had seen her all evening, sharing genuine smiles and warm glances with his brother.

  The knot in his stomach tightened when Reggie burst into laughter. Every smile hammered the truth into his head. She had been on her way to meet Reggie. They shared a rapport enjoyed by few married couples. The sparks flashing between them were unmistakable.

  Fate had certainly landed him a facer this time. How could he wed a woman who was in love with his brother? He tried to imagine undressing her, touching her, leading her to bed…

  He couldn’t do it. Despite that enticing body – which continued to raise his interest, he admitted grimly, grateful that Elizabethan trunk-hose hid the evidence – bedding her seemed incestuous. Why hadn’t he let Reggie tend her injury?

  The answer was obvious, of course. He had ordered Reggie away because he’d recognized his brother’s attraction and wanted to prevent it from growing. Reggie had accepted because he’d realized that Sedge was too angry to remove Jenny without creating a scandalous scene.

  He suppressed a new grimace. He had never believed Jenny could be so stupid. Another wave of fury swept over him, making it difficult to accept Lady Marchgate’s felicitations.

  He ejected Jenny from his mind. She would receive her congé from his secretary in the morning. He would have dismissed her anyway after tonight’s fiasco, but now he had no choice. He believed in marital fidelity – even under these circumstances.

  Somehow, he must overcome his distaste. Neither of them could counter fate. His own reputation would recover if he refused, but he could not ruin hers. If he failed to take her to wife, she would wind up as a courtesan. No other job would be open.