Hell of a Lady

by Anders, Annabelle

  Emily examined her closely. “You do appear somewhat green.”

  “I’m not!” Rhoda wasn’t really ill and so, of course, her complexion would not be green. “Really, Emily, sometimes you know exactly the wrong thing to say to a person!”

  “I’m only trying to help. If I tell your mother you look green, then perhaps she’ll believe this cock and bull tale you’re spouting about being ill.” Emily could be far too astute for Rhoda’s comfort.

  But not astute enough.

  Rhoda sighed. “I wish Sophia were here. And Cecily.” Rhoda dropped onto one of the plush sofas that lined the presently empty ballroom. The guests wouldn’t return from supper for a while. “It isn’t the same without them.”

  Emily joined her, striking a similarly dejected pose. “Mother says this is to be my last Season. If I don’t land a husband, she’ll send me back to Aunt Gertrude in Wales. I can’t do it, Rho. She’s a horror!” Both girls sat silently mulling over their less than optimistic situations.

  For the past two years, landing a husband had been the four girls’ main concern. With two of them married off, Emily and Rhoda ought to have felt somewhat hopeful.

  “What has gotten into all of them tonight, anyhow?” Rhoda asked the question that had plagued her as soon as the gents began lining up to partner them. “I don’t think all four of us put together have ever received so many offers.”

  Emily shook her head. “I’ve been wondering the same all evening. You don’t suppose it’s some sort of joke, do you?” Rhoda had to ponder this, for it very well could be! “Perhaps it has something to do with St. John setting his sights upon you last year, before, you know, the accident. Perhaps they believe that if a duke’s heir saw something fetching about you, there might be something about you that they’ve been missing.”

  “Perhaps,” Rhoda agreed softly. As always, the mention of St. John twisted her emotions.

  Perhaps Emily had the right of it.

  Her dear friend clasped her hand. “The reason doesn’t matter. The night is just beginning, and you have throngs of gentlemen vying to dance with you. I even have a few names upon my own dance card. It is up to us to make the most of it.”

  Rhoda couldn’t disappoint Emily. Dear Emily, whose worst fault was her honesty.

  Surely, Rhoda could find it within herself to put on a good show for the rest of the evening. She’d better prepare herself. The entirety of the Season awaited them.

  “Very well.” She followed Emily toward the large dining hall.

  “Did Flavion say anything about Cecily when you danced with him? I wondered if he might be remorseful after all he put her through.”

  Rhoda choked on a disbelieving laugh. Lord Kensington likely never felt an iota of remorse his entire life. He’d been a liar and a cheat when he’d married Cecily. Had he since become something even worse? “He didn’t say anything I found interesting.”

  Justin rubbed his chin in an abstract manner as he watched the so-called gentlemen boasting and drinking heartily across the room. They clustered around the betting book, notes exchanging hands, jovially slapping one another’s backs.

  “It is bewildering to me that White’s, England’s most exclusive gentlemen’s club, has renewed Kensington’s membership.” His cousin, Devlin, now the Duke of Prescott, dropped into the empty seat beside him. Leaning forward, Devlin poured them each a splash of scotch. “If my duchess hears of his return to Town, she’ll go into conniptions.”

  “It isn’t an exaggeration, then?”

  Dev shook his head, requiring no clarification as to what Justin asked. Any time a man took such a gruesome injury on the field of honor, his story would become legendary for certain.

  Justin had heard the rumors. He doubted many members of the ton had not. Flavion Nottingham, the Earl of Kensington, it was said, had been rendered a eunuch in a duel last year.

  With the image of the man groping Miss Mossant the night before, Justin could not help questioning the validity of the story. Kensington’s intentions with the young woman had not been consistent with that of a gentleman lacking sexual urges.

  Disgust unfurled in his gut. The earl had been a scoundrel before and now, having returned to Town, seemed even more so.

  And yet, society persisted in embracing him.

  Rather unfair that Miss Mossant couldn’t be given a second chance as well. His cousin, St. John, had done her no favors before dying. Even less so by boasting of his conquests before doing so.

  “Good God, not one man present that day will ever forget it,” Dev commented. And then, catching sight of someone behind Justin, he gestured with his drink. “Blakely, here, was present as well. Good to see you, old man. Join us if you’ve nowhere else to be.”

  Justin had known Lord Blakely since Eton. Considerable time had passed since he’d last seen him and they’d gone their separate ways; Blakely into industry and Justin, the church.

  “Prescott, White.” Marcus Roberts, the Earl of Blakely, claimed the seat on the other side of Justin. “The duel? I presume that is to what you are referring? Oh, yes. I was present that day. What in the hell is he doing in Town again?”

  “Stirring up trouble, from the sounds of it. And now this disgusting wager.”

  Justin had wondered what all the activity at the betting book was about. “A gentleman’s favorite entertainment,” he commented non-committally. Justin had done some gambling before entering the church but seen enough damage since to keep his distance.

  Families ruined. Estates fallen into disrepair. Ladies left to live in squalor.

  In general, he didn’t approve.

  Dev swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “The damned thing puts me in something of a quandary.” Justin waited for Dev to continue speaking. A duke now, his cousin must feel greater responsibility than ever before. Devlin’s title was new to him. He’d been fourth in line to inherit and nobody, least of all the man himself, had ever considered inheriting a likely possibility.

  “What sort of quandary, Prescott?” Blakely leaned forward.

  Dev set his jaw. “Before his untimely death last year, our cousin did irreparable damage to an innocent young woman’s reputation. St. John couldn’t keep his mouth closed regarding his conquests and has besmirched this particular young lady’s, ah, virtue. And now,” Dev lifted his glass to indicate the activity around the betting book, “Kensington and other so-called gentlemen have initiated a wager on who might next impose upon her favors.”

  Justin did not need to inquire as to the identity of the young lady.

  No wonder Kensington had been so confident, so bold last night with Miss Mossant. Dash it all, once these louts got a hold of such information, whether there was any truth to it or not, they weren’t likely to leave it be.

  And once everyone else got a hold of it… Miss Mossant’s entire family could be ruined.

  Blakely broke the silence that had ensued upon Dev’s statement. “But why is this your problem?”

  But Justin understood.

  Sophia was Dev’s wife, his duchess, and she was one of Miss Mossant’s closest friends.

  “The young woman is very dear to my duchess. Her friends are everything to her. If she learns of this, she’ll be deeply distressed, and anything that distresses my wife, distresses me.” And then he added, “Deeply.”

  “Ah.” Blakely raised his brows but nodded. “Is she in Town with you, then?”

  “At Prescott House.” The ducal townhouse was one of the grandest estates in all of Mayfair. “Along with our one-month-old daughter and a few other relatives. What with the speed this sort of nonsense travels, it’s only a matter of time before she gets wind of it.” Prescott gestured with his drink toward the betting book.

  The duke and duchess were a thought-provoking couple. Devlin, former military, had always been considered something of a rogue. He was tall, with black hair and eyes—brawny enough to make most think twice before giving him cause for displeasure. The duchess, petite and blonde, wa
s quite the opposite—in nature as well as looks. Justin remembered hearing something about difficulties throughout her confinement.

  “What can we do to assist you?” Justin asked. The lady in question was obviously Miss Rhododendron Mossant. The thought of her disquieted him. She appealed to him much the same as she did most other men, he supposed, but mystery lurked in the depths of her dark gaze. Was that mystery nothing more than sorrow over St. John’s death?

  Justin chastised himself for feeling jealous of a dead man. And him a vicar.

  Such a shame, really. She’d deserved better. She still did.

  From his own discussions with St. John, shortly before the man’s death, he’d understood his cousin had had no intention of offering for the girl. In fact, he’d told Justin he had no imminent plans to marry. He’d enjoyed sowing his oats.

  “Anything to stifle the gossip,” Devlin suggested, but they all knew just as well how futile that would be.

  “Get the chit out of Town,” Justin offered. “Perhaps your wife could plan a house party down at Priory Point.”

  “Not Priory Point,” Dev said. But he seemed inclined to like the idea. “At Eden’s Court, perhaps.”

  Last night’s ball at the Crabtrees’ had been the first of the Season. “Will the ladies be amenable to leaving so soon? The festivities here in Town have just begun.”

  Examining the contents of his glass in the light, Devlin contemplated Justin’s question. “I will speak with Sophia. She will want whatever is best for her friend, and her friends will wish to accommodate Sophia as a new mother.”

  Recalling the voracity with which Kensington had pursued Miss Mossant, Justin could not help but believe it would be best for her to get out of Town. There might yet be hope for her reputation as long as the wager never played out.

  And if she ceased inviting trouble for herself.

  If the more genteel members of society got wind of the story, her situation would be beyond repair. The elderly biddies were worst of all.

  “Congratulations are in order, as I’m to understand.” Dev turned to Justin, changing the topic of conversation. “Or condolences… I’m never sure which is most appropriate.”

  He’d rather not be reminded.

  “I’ll accept the latter, for now anyhow.” Three days earlier, he had discovered he’d inherited a distant uncle’s title and estate. Dev, as the Duke of Prescott, would, of course, be privy to such information. Upon reading the official documents delivered to the vicarage, Justin had made arrangements with his curate and left immediately for London. He hoped the reports hadn’t caught up with him already. He was in no hurry to make any announcements.

  As it was, the task of meeting with his uncle’s grieving sisters and examining the estate books loomed akin to contracting the plague. It would change everything. He’d be expected to resign from his current position.

  The reading of the will had occurred without him, but as the new Earl of Carlisle, the family would expect him soon. He’d thought to consult with Prescott before opening that Pandora’s Box. In due time, he’d arrive at his new estate, Carlisle House.

  “Ah, so you had hoped to remain a member of the clergy indefinitely then?”

  Justin dispensed the contents of his own drink in one swallow. Dev leaned forward and refilled the glass. Not until Justin downed the second pour did he answer, “I had.”

  Justin initially had wanted to join the effort against Old Boney. He’d been barely seventeen at the time, however, and his mother had persuaded him to go into service for the church instead. Justin was all that she had, and her wishes had weighed heavily on him.

  Since then, he had become content at the vicarage while his mother traveled extensively. Presently, she had set up residence in Paris.

  He enjoyed writing sermons, visiting parishioners, and assisting those in need.

  But all that was to change, it seemed. No public announcements had been made yet, but it was just a matter of time. He preferred his altered status go unnoticed. Perhaps a sojourn to the country would benefit him as well.

  “Percival Howard,” he said into his glass. “He wasn’t much older than me. Never married.”

  “What’s the title?” Blakely asked. Justin had no concerns that Marcus would spread his news. He’d always been something of a tightlipped chap.

  “Carlisle. The deceased was my father’s cousin. I only met him once, and I’ve never visited the estate. Apparently, Percy had an abundance of unmarried sisters but no brothers, and no sons… obviously.”

  “Have you been in contact with the sisters yet?” Dev crossed one leg over the other.

  “I sent a letter with my condolences this morning. I cannot imagine them anxious for my arrival.” He’d always heard Percival was something of a spendthrift. And a gambler. From what his mother had told him, the lust for gambling had run in the family.

  Justin was none too eager to dig into the details of his new financial circumstances.

  Dev watched him with narrowed eyes. He, of all people, would understand the extent such an event might turn a man’s life upside down. “The announcement will likely appear in the Gazette tomorrow, if it isn’t there today.”

  This was not what Justin wanted to hear.

  But Blakely apparently found humor in Justin’s plight. “The ladies will be after you soon enough, White. Doesn’t matter if the estate is broke. You’re a titled gentleman now. And to a chit and her mother looking to rise in society, you might as well be fresh meat.”

  “Still on the run yourself?” Justin deflected. Marcus Roberts, the heir to a dukedom, was as confirmed a bachelor as could be. It was common knowledge that his father had drawn up a betrothal for him years ago, but it was equally well known that Marcus would never honor it.

  “Ah, but I am well practiced in this area. You, my dear Mr. White, despite your good looks and noble blood, haven’t learned the tricks required to keep yourself free of the parson’s noose. Beware of the traps, my friend. Beware of the traps.”

  Dash it all. Marriage was the last thing on Justin’s mind. “Let me know if your duchess is amenable to the country, Dev. I’ll happily join you.” He’d delay the inevitable for a few more weeks by such an opportunity and assuage some of his guilt over doing so at the same time.

  “Ahem.” None other than the esteemed manager of the exclusive club had approached quietly. “My dear Lord Blakely? Might I have a word?”

  Justin chuckled as Marcus rose from his seat. “Forget to pay your dues, old man?” Neither the manager nor Marcus laughed. Justin met Dev’s eyes and both men raised their brows.

  “Might have something to do with his father. They’re still on the outs with one another,” Dev suggested. “Dicey situation for the clubs… what with father and son both members.”

  “Perhaps not much longer,” Justin observed. Marcus looked none too happy as the manager escorted him toward the front entrance. “Perhaps Lord Blakely will be interested in the duchess’ house party as well.”

  And then a cheer arose from the collection of men at the betting book and some sympathy stirred in him for the mysterious beauty. Perhaps her friends would be of assistance in guiding her to change her wayward behavior. He imagined remaining chaste might be more difficult for a girl with her sort of looks.

  Hell and damnation, God knew he lusted after her for himself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A Country House Party

  Rhoda left her maid on the park bench with the two other lady companions who’d followed Sophia and Emily to the park. As usual. Sophia, Emily, and Rhoda met weekly at the shores of the Serpentine to feed the ducks whenever they were in Town. Every Wednesday, in fact. Today was to be the first time Sophia had joined them in several months, having given birth to a beautiful daughter recently. Lady Harriette Brookes was barely one month old. Tiny and fair skinned, the infant surprised everyone when she peered out from her blankets with eyes as black as the night.

  “You didn’t bring the baby?” Rhod
a greeted with a grin. Sophia had brought her little dog, Peaches, however, and so Rhoda bent down to pet the squat-but-long, red-haired pup she’d not seen all winter.

  Sophia grinned. “Dev insisted I spend too much time indoors. He’s so good with her. When I left, she was sleeping peacefully upon his chest.” Love shined from her friend’s eyes.

  Rhoda was terribly happy for Sophia, and yet a part of her wished things could have stayed the same, wished all four of them were still wallflowers, making jokes about the absurdities of the ton.

  Foolishness!

  With a sigh, she rose and hugged Sophia tightly. “I’ve missed you so.” An overwhelming urge to cry struck her. Stepping back, she realized Emily was watching her curiously from behind her spectacles.

  “Such an interesting evening, last night, wasn’t it?” Rhoda lifted the corners of her mouth. “Did you tell Sophia that you danced all of four sets?”

  Emily’s gaze widened and then she laughed half-heartedly. “What of you, Rhoda? Dancing with nearly every bachelor in attendance?”

  Astonishment persisted at the notion that her dance card had filled so quickly. That it had filled at all! She was doing her best to squash the memory of the unfortunate event in the garden. Shame swept through her at the mere thought of it. She shouldn’t have gone outside with him. It had been unwise of her. She knew better.

  But her dance card, ah, yes. Some gentleman or another had claimed every last dance. Should she tell them about the eight elaborate bouquets delivered this morning?

  “So I heard,” Sophia mumbled, somewhat surprisingly. “I’ve decided to host a house party,” she declared, ever so casually as she handed Rhoda a slice of bread.

  Rhoda took the bread but ignored the increasingly impatient ducks upon hearing Sophia’s announcement. “Surely, not right away? The Season’s just begun.”

  Her two dearest friends shared a conspiratorial glance before Emily asserted heartily, “I, for one, am happy to get away. I’m already bored with the usual inane conversation.”