“Caxton.” She nodded her head regally.
Judith realized the woman must be Lady Kingsley, unless there were multiple duchesses in residence.
The duchess ran a calculating gaze up and down Peter’s figure. “I heard you’d left London. Abandoning your bride already?”
“The bridegroom is superfluous at this stage, your Grace. I doubt my intended has even noticed I’ve gone.”
Lady Kingsley let out a most un-regal snort. “Oh, she’s noticed. And quite furious she is with you, too. I shouldn’t be surprised if she cries off.”
“That would be a tragedy of immeasurable proportions.”
Lady Kingsley emitted a bark Judith could only suppose was a laugh. “Upstart,” she said, with a clear touch of amusement in her voice. She sat in a rather large armchair facing the window. “Pour me a sherry, and I won’t tell your father where you are.”
He bowed once again and handed her one of the glasses he’d already poured, then handed the other to Judith with a wink.
Judith’s cheeks warmed, and she turned away, only to find herself at the receiving end of a glare from her mother.
“What brings you to Kent, Lord Caxton?” Lady Grangemore asked between clenched teeth as she perched in the chair which was the mate to Judith’s. “I did not know you were acquainted with Lady Howley.”
Lady Howley interjected. “I’ve known this handsome lad since he was a boy. Far more trouble than he’s worth, then and now. I never imagined he’d accept my invitation once I heard he’d snagged himself a duke’s daughter.” She punched Caxton on the arm, causing him to spill the sherry he’d been about to hand to Lady Grangemore. A tall woman with a deep, raspy voice, Lady Howley was not known for her feminine poise and decorum. She was far more likely to be swilling brandy and smoking cigars with the men after dinner than sipping tea with the ladies. Judith rather liked her.
“As I told Lady Kingsley, my presence was not required in London, and it was high time I visited my godmother.” He kissed her on the cheek, and she laughed.
“I didn’t think you even remembered, godless creature that you are.”
Judith risked a glance at her mother. Judging from her fierce expression, she was not pleased to hear the man who’d been courting her daughter described in such a way.
“Now, now. I’m not godless, Aunt Gin. You’ll give the ladies quite the wrong idea. And how could I ever forget you were my godmother? It’s a never ending source of annoyance to my father.” Caxton winked, resulting in a booming guffaw from his godmother and another snort from the duchess.
Judith barely refrained from laughing and failed utterly when she noticed her mother turning slightly green. She hid a giggle behind her hand, and then feeling guilty, changed the subject.
“Lady Howley, your house is magnificent. How long has it been in the family?”
“Thank you, my dear,” Lady Howley said. “I would love to say it’s been in the family for centuries, but my late husband won it in a card game in ’98.” Another guffaw. “We’re very close to France here, you know, and the house’s residents have a long history related to smuggling. ’Twas built by a lady pirate, over a hundred years ago, but the tunnels underneath are even older.”
“A lady pirate, truly?” Judith asked, her interest piqued.
“Truly.” Lady Howley grinned. “Jocasta, she was called. There’s a portrait of her in the dining room you’ll see at dinner. Uncommonly beautiful, with lovers in ports from here to the Indies.” She paused, the better to hear the shocked gasps from Judith’s mother.
Lady Howley smiled mischievously and continued. “She retired here, possibly the wealthiest woman in the Kingdom, with one of her lovers. But one day she learned her man had been unfaithful. Discovering he planned to kill her and steal her money, she gathered all her riches and hid them in a chest, somewhere on the property.” She paused. “Then she threw herself off the cliffs into the stormy sea.”
“No!” Judith was fascinated. “What happened?”
“Her lover, Marcel, had planned to murder her that very night. He remained here after her death, slowly going mad hunting for the treasure. He wasted away and died in one of the tunnels. It was months before anyone found him, a miniature of Jocasta, torn in half, clutched in his skeletal hands.”
“Oh, surely you’re embellishing, Aunt Gin.” Peter laughed, his tone smacking of incredulity.
“I am not. It’s the God’s honest truth.” Lady Howley took a deep swallow of her sherry, and grinned.
“What a sad story!” Judith said. “Was the treasure ever found?”
“It remains hidden to this very day. Every square inch of this building has been searched since then. It’s said that Marcel appears on the cliffs on nights when the moon is full and the sea is stormy, cursing Jocasta for foiling his plans.”
A shiver marched up Judith’s spine. Her mother appeared to be no less affected, her mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Judith flicked her gaze to Peter, who seemed far more interested in watching her than listening to the story. He winked again, the horrid man.
“But here comes the rest of our party at last,” Lady Howley said. The room was invaded by seven more people, including Lord Kingsley. Although his mother would make an entertaining Dowager Duchess when he married, the duke himself was a nondescript sort of man, with wispy blond hair and an insipid expression. He seemed pleasant enough but Judith suspected his rank and money made him more attractive to women than his physical features.
Judith gave a polite curtsy to the remaining guests as they entered the room. Other than Peter, Lord Kingsley was the only eligible bachelor. The rest were debs like herself, and their mothers, all of whom fixed beady eyes on the gentlemen: Lady Ormonde and her daughter Rebecca, Lady St. George and her daughter Gwyneth, and Lady Wilcox trailed by her daughter Samantha. Judith was well acquainted with Gwyneth and quite happy to see her. She gave Gwyneth a quick embrace.
“Judith,” Gwyneth said, “I had no idea you’d be here. I’m so glad to see a friendly, intelligent face.” She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at the other two girls. Rebecca was a dear, but her sweet disposition and her papa’s fortune were her only assets. Samantha was so firmly under her manipulative mama’s thumb that if she had ever possessed a personality, it was now thoroughly quashed.
Judith thanked providence none of Lady Cassandra’s cronies were in attendance. They’d all be in London, preparing for…
Thoughts of the wedding pushed into her head, and she couldn’t help turning to Lord Caxton. Would he go through with it? Would he marry her? The way he fixated on her, an expression of longing on his face, made her think he would not, although how he could extricate himself from the engagement without social disgrace she had no notion. And even if he did, how could Judith marry him?
“Judith.” Her mother’s sharp bark intruded on her thoughts just as she began to wonder when she’d started thinking of marriage to Peter Tenwick as a foregone conclusion if he were free.
“I’m so sorry,” Judith said. “I was woolgathering.”
Lady Wilcox nodded her head, a smirk upon her pinched face. “Comes from too much reading, I’m sure. We never taught Samantha to read. Very bad for girls. Gives them ideas, these novels.”
Poor Samantha looked as if she’d like to melt into the floor. Judith couldn’t possibly let such a ridiculous notion stand unchallenged, but before she could open her mouth her own mother spoke. “With all due respect, Lady Wilcox, I couldn’t disagree more. Girls today are at a distinct disadvantage if they don’t learn to read. How can a woman run a household if she hasn’t a rudimentary knowledge of reading? Her servants would rob her blind, poor thing.”
Judith almost cheered, feeling a rush of affection for her mother. She had never been treated any differently from her brothers in terms of education, at least not until they’d gone off to Eton. They’d had all the same lessons until then, from a governess, a music master, and a Classics tutor, and Judith had continued her s
tudies alone after the boys had left. She spoke fluent French, passable Italian, and could read Latin and Greek. She devoured new novels as soon as she could acquire them.
She pitied Samantha. The written word had enriched her life immeasurably—she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to leave such treasures undiscovered. Samantha, with red cheeks and watery eyes, ducked her head and studied her lap. Judith vowed to seek her out and teach her to read, if she could. She caught Gwyneth’s eye and was sure her friend had the same idea.
Lady Howley broke the tension and changed the subject. “Come in, everyone, come in and sit down. Peter, dear, if you would be so kind as to pour the sherry? You’ve done so well at it.” She winked, and Lord Caxton obliged, handing out glasses to all the ladies.
“I’ll take a whisky, if you don’t mind, Caxton,” Lord Kingsley said, in a voice far deeper than his effeminate appearance would suggest. Judith couldn’t help but wonder if it, and the preference for whisky, was cultivated to be at odds with his appearance.
“Of course,” Lord Caxton said, the rich timbre of his voice perfectly suited to his own rugged and wholly masculine demeanor. Feeling unexpectedly warm, Judith took a swallow of her drink.
Her guests thus fortified, Lady Howley turned the talk to the weather and the latest fashions until they were called to dinner.
Chapter 9
Going into dinner was not the staged affair it usually was at a party like this, as there were only two gentlemen present. Peter partnered Lady Kingsley, while the duke led Lady Howley. If Her Grace was insulted to be escorted by a mere viscount she certainly didn’t show it, and when Peter switched the place cards to seat himself next to Judith, Lady Kingsley smirked in his direction.
He and Lord Kingsley pushed in the chairs of the ladies before taking their own seats around the long table. Set with elegantly simple white bone china and fine silver, delicate centerpieces of local wildflowers and driftwood had been placed at regular intervals along its length. Aunt Gin raised an eyebrow when Peter sat between Judith and Lady Gwyneth but said nothing. It was worth any censure to avoid sitting next to the odious Lady Wilcox, which is where he was supposed to be. Poor Kingsley’s shoulders slumped when that woman, a predatory gleam in her eye, leaned in to engage him in conversation.
“Good evening, Miss Leslie,” Peter said as the conversation began to hum around them.
“Lord Caxton.”
“Your mother seems to want to rip my heart out with a fish fork.”
Judith glanced at her mother on the other end of the table, where she was fingering her fork, a malicious expression on her face. She turned back to him. “So she does. Should I allow her, do you think?”
“Could you stop her?”
Judith shrugged and dug into her first course, a cold soup. “I doubt it. She’s not easily swayed once she’s set her mind to something.”
Peter frowned. “I am sorry to hear that. Do you share that trait?”
“No. I believe in giving people a chance to change my mind. It makes things more interesting, don’t you agree?”
Relief flooded his chest. “I do! Oh, yes, I do. Wholeheartedly.”
She stopped her spoon halfway to her mouth, her lips turned up at the corners. Oh, she was a sly one. Perhaps there was a way to convince her he was worth a second chance. Although if he didn’t get out of this engagement, he might not be able to use it.
“Did you enjoy the pirate story Lady Howley related, Lord Caxton?” Judith had returned her spoon to her bowl and now glanced at the painting above the mantel, drawing Peter’s eye. It was the painting their hostess had mentioned, of a stunning dark-haired woman in eighteenth century dress, a fortune in gold and jewels shining on her ears, fingers, and generous bosom. She had been beautiful, it was true, but she could not hold a candle to Judith.
“Peter,” he said, returning his attention to the living. “You must call me Peter.”
Judith frowned. “I think it’s inappropriate to resume such familiarity, don’t you?”
“We are friends, are we not?”
“That remains to be seen,” she said with a sniff. “For now, you are Lord Caxton, and I haven’t forgiven you.”
Peter rubbed at the spot where, deep down, his heart ached at her statement. He let out a slow breath, but the pressure did not ease. He would change her mind; he had to.
He swallowed, adopted a light tone. “Very well. As to the pirate story, I’ve heard it many times. It is quite Aunt Gin’s favorite. I think it’s entirely rubbish, though. Surely there were no lady pirates.”
“What? Oh, no. That’s where you’re wrong, my lord,” she said, waving her spoon with such enthusiasm she spattered soup on his waistcoat. “Sorry.” She put her spoon down and clasped her serviette, moving it toward him as if she were planning to wipe it herself. She stopped before she touched him and pulled her hand back. “Sorry,” she repeated, and handed him the napkin.
Peter blotted the spot, and a footman appeared magically at his side. He took the soiled napkin and handed a fresh one to Judith.
“You were saying?” Peter asked.
“I was saying that of course there are female pirates. Have you never heard of Anne Bonny, or Mary Read?”
“Pray, enlighten me.”
“There is a book in the library; I noticed it this morning. I’ve already read it, as we have it at home. You should read it—perhaps you’ll learn something.”
His cat had apparently sharpened her claws. “How intriguing. Surely it is a fictional account.”
“It is not. It’s a history of pirates. Women pirates.” She knit her brows together, clearly exasperated. “You men are all the same, aren’t you? Entirely too convinced of your own superiority to believe a woman could do the same things a man can do.”
“Do you see, Lady Grangemore? This is what becomes of teaching a girl to read.” Lady Wilcox’s strident tones intruded on Judith’s defense of women. The woman had trained her beady eyes on Lady Grangemore but was pointing at Judith. “Discussing piracy at the dinner table, and asserting that women are equal to men?” She shook her head in disgust. Judith’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and her mother sprang to her defense once again.
“I have never taught my daughter she is inferior to men, nor does our family treat her as such. You may find it important to teach your daughter she is unworthy, but I never will.”
Peter was tempted to applaud, and by the twitching of Judith’s hands, he suspected she was feeling the same way. Lady Wilcox, however was not. She sputtered and glared at the assembled company, then pushed her chair away from the table.
“I am sorry, Lady Howley, but suddenly I find myself quite unwell. I believe I shall retire. Come, Samantha.”
“But, I’m…” Samantha attempted to protest, but a glare from her mother quelled any thought of rebellion. She set down her spoon and sighed audibly. “Yes, Mother.” She had a tiny voice, as if there wasn’t enough life inside her to make more sound. But as she followed her mother out of the room, she turned and flashed a brilliant smile at Judith.
“Poor Samantha,” Lady Gwyneth whispered in his left ear. “I do hope she is freed one day and marries a man who will let her speak her mind.”
Peter turned to face her. “Do you think she will?”
“Judith and I shall help her, assuming Lady Wilcox lets her out of her sight. Won’t we, Judith?”
He turned back to Judith, who was blotting her lips with her napkin.
“Yes, we will,” she said. Further conversation was stalled as the footmen brought in the fish course, and Peter was left contemplating this woman who became more fascinating every time she opened her mouth.
****
Judith fully expected a lecture from her mother after the incident with Lady Wilcox, but it never came. Her mother squeezed her arm as they left the dining room. The two gentlemen decided not to partake of brandy and cigars and instead followed the ladies into the drawing room directly after dinner. Realizing she was safe f
rom reprimand, at least for that, she relaxed into her chair.
Until Lord Caxton sat beside her. When he gazed at her, it was as if the air left the room, and every muscle in her body tensed. She pasted a smile on her face.
“You look bilious, Miss Leslie.”
The breath whooshed from her lungs in a half snort, half laugh that earned her a glare from her mother.
So much for the reprieve.
“You are the soul of charm, Lord Caxton,” Judith said.
“I am simply honest. You did look a bit bilious, but now when you smile, you are stunning.”
She laughed again, this time without the snort. “Charming indeed. You could quite turn a girl’s head.”
“Have I?” His eyes twinkled, the corners of his lips turned up.
He was smiling at her again, and her brain went fuzzy. “I’m sorry. Have you what?”
“Turned your head.”
She was silent for a moment. Had he? Certainly, before he’d gotten engaged to another woman. Now she couldn’t afford to let him get close again. It would not end well.
“No.” She rose and walked to the other side of the room, where Gwyneth was deliberately not engaged in conversation with Rebecca. If anyone looked bilious, it was Rebecca.
“Care for a turn about the room, Gwyneth?”
Gwyneth peeked over Judith’s shoulder, presumably at Lord Caxton. Judith did not turn around; she had no wish to see what he was doing. “Certainly.” She rose and looped her arm around Judith’s.
“What is going on between you and the handsome Lord Caxton?” Gwyneth asked as they made their first circuit around the room.
“Nothing at all, of course. He’s engaged to another.”
“So I hear. Why is he here, then, and not in London?”
“He claims he’s here to visit his godmother.”
“Hmm,” Gwyneth said. “That must be why he chose to sit next to you on the opposite side of the room, and why his eyes are tracking your every movement.”
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