Born to Be Wilde

by Eloisa James

  “What does ‘caro’ mean?” Lavinia asked Elisa. “It is such a charming word.”

  “It means ‘dear’ in English,” Elisa said readily. “One uses it only with people one truly adores.”

  Lavinia’s lips curved up and she said, “What a lovely word.” Her twinkling, teasing glance that took in Elisa and Parth was perfect . . . for a betrothed couple.

  “Come along, my dear,” Aunt Knowe said to Lavinia. Her glance fell on Parth, and she—who was so rarely angry—narrowed her eyes at him.

  She disapproved. Perhaps of that kiss.

  “Parth, caro,” Elisa said, as Aunt Knowe and Lavinia strolled ahead of them, “not only are you stuck with me, but I wish you to keep courting me.”

  “What?”

  “It will make everything easier,” she said, hugging his arm close to her body. “You and dear Lavinia dislike each other so much. I will keep you close to me, and you will argue less with Lavinia. Diana’s wedding should be peace and light, no?”

  He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Now, we should join the others. Unless you wish to kiss me?”

  When he didn’t respond, she laughed so hard that she was shaking all over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lavinia had never known Parth Sterling; that was clear. The Parth she had believed she knew would never kiss first one woman and then another on the same evening. On the same path. Within half an hour of each other.

  Though—to be precise—the Parth she knew would never have kissed her. He had better things to do than splash around in shallow puddles.

  Lavinia hadn’t allowed herself to remember their first kiss, the one in the rain. It was obviously a mistake. But this one?

  This was wrong because he was more attached to Elisa than she had realized. It wasn’t just a matter of “caro” and umbrellas . . .

  It was kisses, in-public kisses.

  Lavinia had done a good job that evening trying to be herself in front of Parth. She hadn’t been flirtatious or insulting. She’d be damned before she let Parth know how it shook her to see that affectionate kiss.

  The kiss he’d given her, Lavinia, hadn’t been affectionate.

  It had been a kiss of an entirely different kind: deep and hard, with no fondness in it. No humor, or teasing, none of the sweetness that she saw in Elisa’s face when she called Parth “caro.”

  The truth made her heart ache. He desired her, but he didn’t respect her. If he respected her, he wouldn’t have kissed her in the dark, in private. And he wouldn’t have kissed another woman immediately afterwards, in public.

  She had to stay away from Parth; that went without saying. Something about the two of them spurred their worst instincts.

  “Caro, I would like to dance,” Elisa announced, once they were all seated back in their box, champagne in hand.

  Parth rose instantly and bowed at her side. “If you would do me the honor?”

  Lavinia watched as the two of them walked onto the wooden floor. The dance was the “Hole in the Wall,” and Elisa dropped into a curtsy facing Parth. Hands raised, touching, they circled each other. The smile on Elisa’s face was utterly charming.

  “Diana, North, and I were discussing whether it is time to return to Cheshire,” Lady Knowe said, interrupting Lavinia’s morose study of the dancers.

  “I didn’t want to say so in front of Elisa, but the smell of sulfur from the fireworks is making me miserably ill,” Diana said. “I want to return to Cheshire, but at the moment I just want to leave here.”

  “I didn’t even notice the fireworks,” Lavinia exclaimed, as another spray lit up the night sky.

  “Not only are they loud, but they smell,” Diana said fiercely. Then, when they all looked at her, she shrugged. “I can’t help it if your olfactory senses are dulled by the night air. I tell you that the odor is disgusting, and you’ll have to trust me.”

  “If you leave for Cheshire, you would return to London in a few weeks, wouldn’t you?” Lavinia asked. “For fittings of your wedding dress and all the other garments?”

  “Is there any way around that?” Diana asked. She rose, and North helped her into her pelisse.

  Lavinia gaped up at her. “Around fitting your wedding dress? Not that I can think of!”

  “I thought perhaps we could bring all the half-made gowns—mine and Ophelia’s as well—to Cheshire, along with an extra seamstress or two,” Lady Knowe suggested. “Berthe can finish my gowns, but we would need more help for the others, especially the wedding dress.”

  “We’d need more than one seamstress,” Lavinia said slowly. It was a terrible idea—except that it would give her so much control over the finished product. She would know down to the last stitch that Diana’s wedding dress was perfect.

  “I’m happy to hire as many seamstresses as you wish,” North said. “Bribe them if need be. And now, please give our best to Parth and the contessa. I’m going to whisk away my fiancée. I’ll send the carriage back.”

  “I think it would be best for Diana to leave London,” Lady Knowe said, as North led Diana away. “She’ll likely be ill for another month, if not longer. And North means it about hiring seamstresses, if you could persuade some to travel to the country.”

  A chance to stay in a residence where the butler was kind and the servants didn’t work a hundred hours a week? Lavinia would have her pick of seamstresses, at least those without families.

  “I won’t have to bribe anyone,” she assured Lady Knowe. “It might work.”

  Truth be told, she loved the idea of overseeing the finishing of each garment herself. They would be perfect.

  “What are you talking about?” Elisa said, sitting down.

  Lady Knowe waved at Parth with her fan. “I should like to dance. Drag me about the floor if you please; Lavinia assures me that you’re an excellent dancer.”

  “He is indeed!” Elisa crowed, clapping her hands.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Parth said, coming around the table.

  Lavinia smiled mechanically, thinking as hard as she could about seamstresses. Could she manage with two, if she and Annie sewed as well?

  “Are Diana and North dancing?” Elisa asked, craning her neck to look at the dance floor.

  “No, Diana wasn’t feeling well, so he took her home,” Lavinia said.

  “I am happy to have this moment together,” Elisa said. “I enjoyed the time we spent together in Felton’s tremendously.”

  Lavinia summoned up a smile.

  “If you would ever like a companion at a milliner, for example, I’d be very happy to join you. I am so looking forward to seeing Diana’s trousseau; Lady Knowe was telling me about it earlier this evening. Thank goodness Parth is bringing me to the wedding, so I shall see her dress!”

  For a moment, Lavinia thought that Elisa knew about her absurd marriage proposal, that Parth had told her.

  He wouldn’t. And Elisa’s eyes were shining with unadulterated friendliness.

  “I would enjoy that,” Lavinia said, and then cleared her throat and tried for more enthusiasm. “It would be very helpful to have your advice.”

  Lavinia was bringing gowns to Lindow, and Parth was bringing a contessa. The idea of rounding corners in the castle and coming upon Elisa kissing Parth, or watching them dance together again . . . Everything in Lavinia protested.

  “Advice about what?” Lady Knowe said, dropping into a chair and fanning herself vigorously. “Thank you for that dance, Parth. I appreciate the music, but I must admit that I feel a good deal less nimble than I was in my younger years. Lavinia hasn’t danced.”

  He bowed before Lavinia.

  “Do you always do what you’re told?” she said, as they made their way toward the line of dancers waiting for the music to start.

  Parth cocked his head, apparently taking seriously the question that she had rattled out to cover her embarrassment at a man being compelled to dance with her.

  “When the order comes from a woman I love,” he
said.

  Lavinia liked that: He loved Lady Knowe and he wasn’t ashamed to say so. Without thinking, she gave him a wide smile, a real smile.

  And then froze. “You shouldn’t look at me like that!”

  “Like what?”

  No one was better at a placid glance than Parth. Placid Parth. Too bad she hadn’t come up with that one, back when she was devoted to baiting him.

  “As if you wanted to kiss me again,” Lavinia said bluntly. “You don’t wish to kiss me, Parth. You have Elisa. I know why you feel this way, though.”

  He looked startled. “You do?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been Willa’s best friend for most of her life. I exist on the edges of the Wilde family, the same as you. We’re like two puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit on the board.”

  They went through the movements of the dance in silence after that. When the dance was over, he paused. “I’m not at the edges of the Wilde family, Lavinia.”

  Oh, damn. There was that mortifying pity in his eyes again.

  He wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t.

  She was the one who didn’t belong, linked only by a family connection to Diana and friendship with Willa, who was no longer even in England. He’d been with them most of his life, and he was loved by everyone. He was at the heart of the family.

  “That was a foolish thing to say.”

  “It wasn’t foolish.” Parth paused, clearly searching for words. “I was lucky to have happened into the family after I was orphaned.”

  “You didn’t ‘happen’ into it,” Lavinia pointed out. “Your father chose that family for you when he sent you to England.”

  Only because she knew him so well—having surreptitiously studied his face any number of times—did she know that he was startled.

  “He was a good parent, taking care of you, no matter what happened to him.”

  She disliked the way her voice became a little wistful. Her father hadn’t been quite so thoughtful; he left his estate in the hands of her mother. But who could have predicted that those little drops would have such a dire effect?

  Parth looked as if he was considering saying something about Lady Gray’s lack of maternal qualities, but couldn’t quite find the right words.

  “Back to the table,” she said briskly, turning about in order to thread her way among the small tables to where Lady Knowe and Elisa sat, heads together, laughing.

  His hand caught her elbow. “Lavinia.”

  She looked up at him. “It’s not appropriate to address me by my given name.”

  “I don’t mind being Appalling Parth.”

  “I am ashamed that I teased you so,” she said quietly. “We must stop poking at each other. We aren’t schoolchildren, and you have Elisa. She fits with you,” Lavinia added, pretty sure her voice didn’t sound wistful. Or sad.

  “Like a puzzle piece?”

  “Exactly.” She shook her head. “Why are we discussing this? Excuse me.” She turned sideways to make her way between tables as her skirts were too wide to allow her to pass.

  “Miss Gray!”

  Lavinia jolted to a halt. “Good evening, Lady Blythe! How are you?”

  Lady Amaryllis Blythe was a friend of her mother’s. She was as thin as a fishing rod, and her tall wig could be a salmon, since it was powdered an unfortunate shade of pink.

  “I am marrying again,” the lady said, beaming. Her wig quivered in the air above her.

  Would that be the third or fourth husband? Lavinia managed a smile. “I offer my most sincere congratulations, and so will my mother.”

  “Poor dear Lady Gray.” Lady Blythe sighed. “If only she weren’t such an invalid. I know that she would love to be here, dancing the night away.”

  Lavinia was less certain about that; in her memory, her mother had always considered that dancing required too much exertion. But perhaps that had been the laudanum, and once she was well again, her mother would bounce around the dance floor.

  “Good evening, Mr. Sterling,” Lady Blythe said, looking past Lavinia. She kept speaking as Parth bowed and kissed her hand. “I have chosen Madame Cecile to make my gown, and she asked me if I knew you. Can you imagine? I have known you since you were a little girl, and so I told her.”

  Lavinia’s smile thinned.

  “May I beg your advice, my dear? I thought perhaps you and I could return to Madame Cecile together. She feels that my wedding gown should be almost puritanically high at the neck, not fashionable in the least. I read in Beatrix’s Babble about the way you are gathering Miss Belgrave’s trousseau.”

  “Yes, I am,” Lavinia confirmed.

  “There’s a print of Miss Belgrave’s wedding dress at one of the stationers in St. Paul’s churchyard,” the lady said. “Those feathers are divine!”

  Feathers? There were no feathers on Diana’s wedding gown. Moreover, no one outside the shop had seen the design for the gown. Any such print was a sham.

  “I told Madame Cecile that I want feathers, all up and down my bodice, exactly the same as the future duchess’s.” She simpered at Parth. “I’m sure you know, Mr. Sterling, about the betting book at White’s as regards Her Grace’s lace.”

  His brows drew together.

  “The future duchess,” she clarified. “Will the wedding gown feature your lace or Holland lace? Miss Gray surely knows.” She gave Lavinia another toothy smile.

  “I would be glad to help you with your wedding dress in any way that I am able,” Lavinia said. She knew exactly why Madame Cecile had urged Lady Blythe to ask for advice: The modiste didn’t want this atrocious feathered dress to appear in a print with her name attached.

  “Miss Gray will shortly be leaving for the Duke of Lindow’s country residence,” Parth said. “She has no time to help you at the moment, Lady Blythe.”

  “I heard that you were offered a title, Mr. Sterling,” she replied with a titter. “There are so few gentlemen who would ignore such an honor.”

  “I didn’t ignore it,” Parth said. “I refused it.”

  That was his irritated voice. Controlled, but irritated.

  “Forgive me, Lady Blythe,” Parth continued, “but I see that Lady Knowe is waiting for us.”

  “You needn’t have been so abrupt,” Lavinia whispered as they walked away.

  “Why not? Why would you possibly offer her advice about her dress?”

  She wasn’t ready to tell Parth about the commissions. She might never be ready. As far as she knew, the arrangement hadn’t been reported in the gossip columns, even though every modiste in London now readily offered her a ten percent commission if she would order their garments for the famous trousseau.

  “I can see that you are having a wonderful time helping Diana and Aunt Knowe,” Parth said. “Elisa is hoping for your advice. But why would you agree to spend time with that ghastly woman? She wants to make use of you.”

  “I enjoy thinking about fashion,” Lavinia said. “Clothing can flatter any figure. A challenge makes the design even more interesting. Do you feel Lady Blythe doesn’t deserve a beautiful gown?”

  “I don’t care what she wears. There was something about that woman’s tone . . . almost as if she presumed she could hire you to give her advice. If anything, I was restrained in my response.”

  Lavinia hadn’t noticed anything in Lady Blythe’s tone, perhaps because she didn’t really care what the woman thought.

  “Just because you have a brilliant eye for what flatters a woman does not mean that your skills are for sale.” His voice grated.

  “What if they were?” Lavinia asked.

  His eyebrows locked. “No one can buy your advice. You are not for sale.”

  Stupidly, the gravel in his voice made her pulse quicken. “No one has said I’m for sale,” she insisted.

  “She acted as if you are,” he said stubbornly. “The sooner we leave for Lindow, the better.”

  “What do you mean, we?” They were almost at the table.

  “I will escort you to Cheshire
with the gowns when they are ready to be fitted,” he said.

  “You certainly will not!”

  Parth stopped and glared down at her. “You believe that I would allow you to travel alone to Cheshire? North will escort Diana and my aunt, and I will escort you, whenever you are ready to bring the gowns to Lindow.”

  She cleared her throat. “May I remind you that I am not a member of your family?”

  His jaw tightened. “Don’t push me, Lavinia.”

  Elisa walked around the table and put a hand on Parth’s arm. Lavinia bit back the retort she was about to make.

  “I am sorry, caro,” Elisa said. “I can see that the two of you are happily squabbling with each other as a brother and sister might. But I do not feel well.”

  “What is the matter?”

  Parth looked as if he was about to shout for a doctor, but to Lavinia, the contessa looked perfectly well, with a healthy little flush in her cheeks.

  “No, no,” Elisa said hastily. “It is . . . it is a female complaint.”

  The concern dropped from Parth’s face.

  Lavinia was nothing but sympathetic. Someday she meant to devise a better way to handle one’s monthly. A napkin tied with ribbons had distinct drawbacks, one of which was that it was likely to shift during dancing.

  “Lady Knowe will escort me to the entrance and help me procure a hackney carriage,” Elisa announced. “Parth, you may remain here with Lavinia; Lady Knowe will return to chaperone.”

  Parth opened his mouth, but Lady Knowe was on her feet. “Not a word, Parth. A lady’s decision is not to be questioned. I shall return in half an hour at the most.”

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “We could all return home,” Lavinia suggested.

  Parth surprised himself by the speed with which he rejected this idea.

  “No.” Then he added, “It would be rude to leave before Jeremy arrives.”

  “And before the meal you ordered. I am quite hungry, so they must set a plate for me.” Aunt Knowe was putting on her pelisse with the help of a footman. “Lavinia, I saw you talking to Amaryllis Blythe. Did she ask you for advice about her wedding dress?”