Born to Be Wilde

by Eloisa James

  “Oh, she did, did she?” Lady Knowe said. “Well, let me ask you this, Diana. Did my nephew give you any opportunities to employ the knowledge your mother taught you?”

  Silence.

  Lavinia rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe North! He took advantage of the governess. It’s such a hackneyed story.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so,” Lady Knowe said, a huge smile spreading over her face. “A baby! Well, here’s a wonderful thing, and no mistaking it.”

  “I’m not carrying a child,” Diana said, sitting up, alarmed. “It’s impossible.”

  “Then it’s a virgin birth,” Lady Knowe crowed, clapping her hands. “I have always wanted to witness one of those! Such a confusing part of the Bible and leads to so many questions.”

  Lavinia laughed. “Much though I love you, Diana, I doubt you are a likely candidate for such an honor.”

  Diana humphed and pushed herself up against the bedboard. “I may not be a likely candidate, but I’ll have you know I went to church twice a week for my entire childhood. Lady Knowe, what on earth is there to question about the conception and birth of Jesus Christ?”

  “What about that angel?” Lady Knowe asked, eyebrows waggling. “Gabriel, wasn’t it? The one who announced Christ’s birth. If I had been Joseph, I would’ve had a question or two about a shining fellow who miraculously appeared in my lady’s boudoir, wings or no.”

  “You’re a heathen,” Diana said affectionately.

  “I agree, I agree,” Lady Knowe said, unrepentant. “Perhaps it’s because I would be quite happy to see such a being materialize in my boudoir. I can’t help having a skeptical mind. It’s been a curse, I assure you.”

  “I do agree that there are holes in the story,” Lavinia said, getting into the spirit of the conversation. “Can you imagine how difficult it was for Mary to tell her parents, let alone Joseph, about what was to come?”

  “I don’t imagine North will be quite as shocked as Joseph must have been,” Diana said slowly. “That is, if the doctor is correct. Which he’s not.”

  “Not a virgin birth, then,” Lady Knowe said, chuckling. “Just as well, my dear. You are notorious enough, what with appearing in all those prints depicting you as a poor downtrodden servant, seduced by a cruel lord.”

  “A child will affect your measurements,” Lavinia said, her mind racing. “As soon as we’ve chosen a modiste to design your wedding gown and trousseau, we’ll have a discreet word about the situation. And your corset! Oh, Diana, you should have told me!”

  “Told you what?” her cousin exclaimed. “That doctor was mad. Who does he think he is? How could he possibly know such a thing?” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Are we having dinner? I’m starving.”

  “You might be a trifle more generous in the front than you were last week,” Lady Knowe said, eyeing Diana’s chest.

  “More to the point, when’s the last time you had your courses?” Lavinia asked bluntly.

  Diana’s brows furrowed.

  “A baby!” Lady Knowe crowed. “Glory be, we’re having another little Wilde!”

  Chapter Ten

  The following day

  Lavinia, Diana, and Lady Knowe spent the next day visiting modistes, and thanks to a snarl of traffic around the Strand, they returned home with scarcely an hour remaining before Parth and the prince were due to escort them to Astley’s Amphitheatre.

  “It doesn’t matter what I look like,” Lady Knowe said as the carriage drew up. “I’ll throw something on, and go down to the drawing room to receive Parth and the Norwegian. I realized last night that I’ve met the fellow.”

  “What is he like?” Diana asked. She was a bit green and had pressed a hand to her middle every time the carriage rounded a corner.

  “Wealthy. Very wealthy.” Lady Knowe gave Lavinia a significant look. “The prince could take a string of emeralds and throw on a few diamonds without a second thought.”

  “Excellent,” Lavinia said.

  “Now, you must wear a gown that shows off your apple dumplings,” Lady Knowe ordered. “I know you don’t want to tell Parth about the stolen jewels, Lavinia, but I would guess that he’s caught wind of your lost dowry, probably because he knows everything about finances and fortunes in this country. He’s bringing Beck as a present to you, mark my words.”

  “It’s very gallant of him to bring you a present,” Diana said, grinning mischievously.

  Lavinia was failing miserably to stop feeling humiliated about the fact that Parth—the man she’d asked to marry her—was throwing her a consolation prize, but she put on a huge smile. “Perhaps I will wear a dress from Paris that my mother decreed to be too immodest to be worn in London.”

  “Perfect!” Lady Knowe cried. “Prince Oskar Beck will be on his knees by the end of the evening, if not the end of the first hour!”

  Lavinia would be damned if Parth would witness a friend of his reject her the way he—

  Well.

  Consequently, when Diana knocked on Lavinia’s door an hour or so later, her cousin fell back, eyes wide. “You are ravishing!”

  Lavinia smiled and turned in a circle. “The Princess of Guéméné ordered a gown identical to this one for the opening of her salon.”

  “After she saw you wearing it, obviously,” Diana breathed.

  “The style has not yet crossed the Channel.” The gown was soft slate-blue silk, wrapped closely around her. Swaths of creamy lace were interwoven in front, barely covering her chest; a keen observer could peek at the curve of her breasts. Lavinia’s favorite effect was the lace around her neck, which stiffened into an upright collar.

  That style had made Queen Elizabeth look majestic, but on Lavinia it functioned like a signpost, drawing all eyes straight down to her breasts. Subtlety had not been the designer’s aim.

  “Do you see all the false pearls I’m wearing?” she asked, an ironic note in her voice. She had ropes of them around her neck and woven through her hair. “My mother likely sold the real ones years ago.”

  “Irrelevant,” Diana breathed, shaking her head. “Prince Oskar won’t be able to look away from your dumplings.”

  “Apple dumplings,” Lavinia said, smiling.

  “Even mentioning food makes me feel ill,” Diana confessed. “Will you forgive me, Lavinia, if I don’t accompany you tonight? As much as I’d like to meet the prince, I am longing to go to bed.”

  “Of course,” Lavinia cried, giving her a swift hug.

  She made her way downstairs, and entered the drawing room feeling as if she were wearing a particularly splendid suit of armor. Not that she wanted to attract Parth’s attention, but . . . she did.

  She told herself that she meant to lure the prince, but inside, she knew the truth. More than anything, she wanted to make Parth feel desire for her, along with regret that he had refused her hand in marriage. And she wanted him to take back his remark that she was “wasting away.”

  She didn’t merely walk into the drawing room. She sauntered, steady on her high-heeled slippers, the roll of her hips telling any red-blooded man in the vicinity that a woman was coming.

  Not a lady: a woman.

  Parth was standing beside Lady Knowe, and on the other side of him was a tall fellow in a cream silk suit with pale blue trim and a blue cape attached to one shoulder.

  The prince turned as she entered, causing the cape to swirl around his legs. His eyes lit up with gratifying swiftness.

  Excellent.

  As Lady Knowe introduced her, His Highness bent himself in half in a deep bow. “Miss Gray, this is indeed a pleasure.” The prince’s voice was deep and smooth as a Norwegian fjord.

  What’s more, the man was truly striking, with piercing eyes the color of dawn. Parth had found her a legitimate candidate for marriage. It was absurd to feel a trickle of resentment.

  “There ought to be a law against women as beautiful as yourself,” he said, almost under his breath, as Lavinia held out her hand to be kissed.

&n
bsp; “I believe,” Lady Knowe said with a naughty laugh, “there may be one outlawing Lavinia’s gown.”

  Naturally, this quip drew all eyes to her gown—or rather, her breasts. No, “all eyes” wasn’t quite true. Parth’s stayed on her face.

  “You know how it is,” Lavinia said lightly. “Laws of that sort are merely suggestions, meant to be ignored.”

  “The law would be in place to protect gentlemen from making fools of themselves,” Prince Oskar said. His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes in a charming manner.

  “Since the law doesn’t exist, you can make a fool of yourself at will,” Parth said.

  Lady Knowe elbowed him. “Don’t be a grumpy fellow, Parth.” She turned to Prince Oskar. “If we happen to come across a puddle tonight, you will have to sweep off your cloak and throw it on the ground, because Parth will allow our toes to get wet.”

  “I don’t know how you imagine I could toss down a cloak I don’t own,” Parth said. And will never own hung, unspoken, in the air.

  The comment was near to an insult, but Prince Oskar just grinned at him. He had nice white teeth, Lavinia registered.

  “Believe me, Lady Knowe, Parth is an old friend, and my memories of him from school concur with your assumption.” He glanced sideways at Lavinia, an engaging twinkle in his eye. “All puddles are mine, Miss Gray. Although I may choose to carry you across rather than sacrifice my cloak.”

  She had to smile at that.

  “We must leave or we’ll miss the entertainment,” Parth said sharply.

  Lady Knowe took his elbow and escorted him toward the door, saying something sotto voce that Lavinia guessed was a reminder that the prince was his guest.

  “I’ve never seen an equestrian act before; have you?” she asked Prince Oskar.

  “We are mad for horses in Norway,” he said, smiling down at her and holding out his arm. “As a young boy, I waited excitedly for my older brothers and cousins to compete against each other, even if informally.”

  “Did you also compete when you came of age?”

  He nodded. “Norwegian children are put on horseback as youngsters. I participated in my first event at eight years old.”

  “Was it a race?” Lavinia asked, fascinated to imagine this large man as a boy, galloping around a ring.

  “No, it involved taking my pony over a series of obstacles,” he said. “I was most proud of the final moment, in which I circled the ring standing on my pony’s back. My mother was furious.”

  “I can imagine she was! It sounds terribly dangerous.”

  “The exercise was part of the training of candidates for knighthood—devised back when knights really did whip off their cloaks to protect a lady’s slippers.”

  “Naturally,” Lavinia said, grinning. “A knight in full armor must be able to clamber up on his saddle and go round a ring.”

  He laughed, a sound as pleasant as his voice. “As a rule, Miss Gray, men are inclined toward showing off before ladies, whether in armor or mere cloaks.”

  Astley’s Amphitheatre was a large, graceful building fashioned with rows of seats enclosing an arena. On arrival they were escorted directly to a box draped in blue velvet, next to the ring.

  “The royal box!” Lady Knowe exclaimed. “May I take it this is your doing, Your Highness, or has my darling Parth leapt into the nobility while I turned my attention?”

  “I happen to know that your darling Parth refused a title a month or so ago,” Prince Oskar said, smirking at Parth’s irritated look. “The Prince of Wales told me himself. The king is apparently still disgruntled.”

  Lady Knowe swatted Parth with her fan. “Naughty boy! I suppose you didn’t think twice.”

  “No,” Parth stated.

  “Despite His Majesty’s vexation, he very kindly invited us to use his box,” Prince Oskar said, leading Lavinia to the front.

  She seated herself beside Prince Oskar, with Parth on the far side of Lady Knowe. She certainly didn’t want him to watch as she wooed Prince Oskar.

  Wooed?

  Beguiled?

  Whatever she was doing, it proved effective. Between thrilling acts of equestrian daring, acrobatic feats, and even a dog who braved a flaming hoop, Lavinia learned a great deal about Norse mythology.

  It was genuinely interesting and she enjoyed herself enormously, other than the moment when she happened to glance to the side, only to catch Parth staring at her.

  He had no right to look so sardonic. She turned back to the prince and treated him to her best laugh, the low and throaty one that made men melt into a puddle.

  She could feel Parth’s disdain, even with her back turned, but the look in Prince Oskar’s eyes was wholly admiring. “Do you by any chance speak French?” he asked. He not only respected her; he thought she was intelligent.

  “Yes, I speak French fluently,” she replied. The prince was thrilled to hear it. French, it seemed, was the second language in the courts occupied by his family: Norway, Sweden, Denmark . . .

  By evening’s end, Lavinia had Prince Oskar right where she wanted him—if she wanted him. And she did, more or less.

  As a prince, he could definitely sweep her mother’s crimes under the rug. He was friends with the king of England, for goodness’ sake! No mother-in-law of his would ever be sent to prison.

  Unfortunately, he was returning to Norway the following day. But she had the feeling that his insistence that he planned to travel back to England without delay was sincere.

  Parth and Prince Oskar escorted Lavinia and Lady Knowe into the townhouse, and the prince lingered, displaying an altogether flattering reluctance to leave. It should have been a triumphant moment when he bent over her hand to bid her good night, the slightly dazed look in his eyes confirming her opinion. Prince Oskar had just met the woman he’d been waiting for.

  She summoned just the right smile in response: friendly, charming, modest, engaging, seductive . . . all of it at once. She was everything he wanted, in one pretty, French-speaking package.

  The door had no sooner closed behind Prince Oskar than Lady Knowe thumped Parth on the back and trumpeted, “This is exactly why I tell everyone who will listen that my darling Parth can solve any problem!”

  He scowled at her. “If you are suggesting that Lavinia should marry Beck, I disagree. He’s grown into a conceited ass.”

  “So now I’m ‘Lavinia’? Surely you mean ‘Miss Gray’?” Lavinia asked.

  “Conceited?” Lady Knowe snorted at the same moment. “What man isn’t conceited? Did you imagine that he would ask Lavinia for her opinions?”

  “He babbled about inconsequential nonsense,” Parth said. “Thor and Freya—and a cart drawn by goats? Lavinia isn’t interested in foolish stories from Norse mythology.”

  “True, it’s my friend Willa who is interested in ancient manuscripts,” Lavinia said. “All the same, I found the stories about gods and goddesses very entertaining.”

  Her voice must have been a bit more revealing than was prudent, because Lady Knowe announced that it was time to retire to bed. “We have finally chosen a modiste, Madame Prague,” she told Parth. “Tomorrow we are returning to her atelier to choose a design for the wedding gown.”

  “Shall we make an arrangement to visit Vauxhall?” Parth asked. “I thought I might invite Lord Jeremy Roden to accompany us.”

  Lady Knowe raised an eyebrow. “Lavinia, my dear, have you met Lord Jeremy?”

  She shook her head.

  “He’s an old friend of the family. The boys have always been close, and he went to war with North. A good man, one of the best.”

  “Rich as Croesus,” Parth added. His voice was absolutely flat.

  Lavinia winced. He was the one who’d offered to introduce her to gentlemen, who promised to help her marry. And now Parth was acting as if the whole endeavor were beneath his contempt.

  As if she were beneath his contempt.

  Words hovered on the tip of her tongue: Had she any other choice? Could she begin a bank,
or voyage to China and bring back tea, or do any of the other things his sex allowed him to do?

  Would she be a better woman if she wasn’t so interested in corsets?

  Lady Knowe’s arm tightened on hers, and she steered her from the room before Lavinia could open her mouth. Lady Knowe called over her shoulder as they went. “Vauxhall, yes; Jeremy, yes; and don’t forget, you must bring along the contessa.”

  She propelled the two of them directly up the stairs, chattering so incessantly that Lavinia couldn’t hear herself think. Not until she was alone in her bedchamber did she realize that Lady Knowe had gleaned her secret, the way she felt about Parth.

  The lady hadn’t allowed Lavinia to embarrass herself.

  This time, at least.

  Chapter Eleven

  July 13, 1780

  Since the doctor’s visit, Lady Knowe had spent a good deal of her free time considering possible names for the baby.

  “Amos. Amos Wilde,” she said at breakfast, carefully tapping her soft-boiled egg so that the shell cracked in a perfect circle. “No, he sounds like a farmer. Athenio, Atreus, Atticus, Attila—”

  “Wasn’t Attila a warrior of some sort?” Lavinia asked, seating herself.

  “Asmoroth,” Lady Knowe said. “Asmody, Askew, Arthiopa.”

  “Where are you getting these bizarre names?” Diana asked. “And why do they all begin with A?”

  “You told us you want many babies,” Lady Knowe reminded her.

  “Not twenty-six, and certainly not burdened with such outlandish names! Do you know what happened to me at dawn?”

  “No,” Lavinia answered. “Dare I ask?”

  “I threw up,” Diana said. She put down her spoon. “I am too queasy to eat this egg. I’m going back to bed, Lavinia. I’m sorry. Perhaps I can try again later.”

  “All right,” Lavinia said. “I planned to visit a tailor in an hour or two and choose patterns for riding habits for you and the duchess. Do you think you will be able to join me?”