Rupert’s lips twitched and a sensual tension rippled off of him. Clearly, he wanted to make the same sort of inappropriate comment to her that he’d been teasing her with for a week, but with Henrietta and a few of the other May Flowers standing right there—not to mention Lord O’Shea, Lord Herrington, and Lord Howsden catching up to Rupert and greeting the ladies as was more usual for a ball—he couldn’t. Cece grinned at his discomfort and counted it as a point in her favor.
“I imagine that the conversation on this side of the room is far more interesting than anything we could have on our own,” Lord O’Shea said, smiling at Henrietta.
“I suppose it’s all Irish Home Rule with you lot,” Rupert said teasingly.
“Actually, in this instance, you are wrong,” Cece said happily. She had only just joined the conversation herself, but she delighted in setting him straight. “We were discussing women’s suffrage.”
“A fine and noble topic,” Lord Howsden said.
“Do you really think so, my lord?” Lady Diana Pickwick, one of Henrietta’s companions, asked.
“The matter should at least be discussed,” Lord Howsden answered, careful not to state an actual opinion.
“The May Flowers are very much in favor of women’s suffrage, as you would imagine,” Cece said, glancing to Rupert and daring him to contradict her.
“I can imagine,” was all he said.
“Suffrage is one issue we can all agree on,” Henrietta said with a quick, sideways glance.
Cece followed her look to find Lady Claudia and her brother, Lord Denbigh, inching casually toward them as they chatted with various guests standing beside Cece’s group. She exchanged a knowing glance with Henrietta. The battle was coming to them. Lady Claudia hadn’t passed up a single chance to pick a fight in public since the chaotic May Flowers meeting several days before. But Cece welcomed her approach for an entirely different reason.
“Well then, Lord Stanhope,” she said in clipped tones. “It looks as though your special guest has arrived.”
Rupert twisted to look at the ballroom’s wide doorway. His brow furrowed in confusion. “There’s no one who—” He must have caught Cece’s meaning a second later when Lady Claudia laughed loudly at something Lord Waltham must have said in the group standing directly next to them. “Oh,” he said. “Her.”
Cece fought not to smile, which probably made her look as though she’d swallowed a fly. It appeared Rupert wasn’t up to continuing his silly efforts to make her jealous after all. She made a note not to be as weak, if the opportunity arose.
“Several women’s clubs throughout London and in major cities in the north have already been talking about forming women’s suffrage societies,” Henrietta went on, maintaining a calm demeanor, even as she saw what was about to happen. “I have no doubt that before the decade is out, there will be formal organizations to promote a woman’s right to vote.”
Sure enough, the storm broke exactly as predicted.
“A woman’s right to vote?” Lord Denbigh said with a derisive snort, wedging his and Lady Claudia’s way into the private conversation. “That makes about as much sense as allowing Irish dogs to rule themselves.”
The wave of tension that crashed over the small assembly made Cece want to both roll her eyes and ball her fists to fight back.
“Let’s keep the conversation civil, if you please,” Lord O’Shea said in a tight voice.
“Civil?” Lord Denbigh said, his face coloring. He opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of speaking. That may have had something to do with Lady Claudia tugging his arm and scowling at him. He cleared his throat and said, “Everyone knows that a woman’s place is in the domestic sphere,” instead of whatever he had been about to say.
“No one is saying a woman shouldn’t be in the home, Lord Denbigh,” Henrietta replied with a smile that was astoundingly pleasant for someone who was in the middle of being attacked. “But we are skilled in that we can handle both running a household and becoming involved in politics. Even voting.”
Lord Denbigh snorted a second time, sounding even more odious than before.
Cece couldn’t be silent. “After all,” she said, trying to be as smooth as Henrietta, “if a man can be employed outside the home and still find time for political involvement, so can a woman.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Denbigh scoffed. “Women are feeble. Their constitutions cannot handle the strain of conflict. It damages their reproductive capacity. Any fool knows that.”
“Funny,” Rupert began in a grinding voice. “I wasn’t aware that you knew the first thing about a woman’s reproductive capacity.”
Lord Denbigh glared at him. Cece had the feeling they would all be caught in the middle of the sort of male debate that was as pointless as it was embarrassing. Why men couldn’t simply stick to the issues at hand instead of lowering themselves to personal insults of a delicate nature was beyond her. She glanced subtly around, looking for a way out.
“I’m surprised that you would believe that,” Henrietta went on, blinking at Lord Denbigh. “Your own sister is a member of a political organization, is she not?” She nodded to the white rose pinned to Lady Claudia’s conservative bodice.
Cece unexpectedly caught Lord Howsden’s eye just as Lord Denbigh sputtered, “If she does so it is only with my permission. Your little tea club is nothing and has no importance in the grander scheme of things. If it did, I would never allow Claudia to participate.”
Lady Claudia’s mouth dropped open and she stared up at her brother. She snapped her mouth closed without saying anything, though.
“Men like you, men who stifle the women in their lives, may just become a thing of the past,” Rupert insisted. He sent a sideways glance to Cece, as though he’d said the words only as a way of scoring points with her.
Cece was almost beyond noticing, though. Lord Howsden must have seen the desperation in her eyes. “It sounds as though the orchestra is ready,” he said, stepping around Rupert to face Cece. “Lady Cecelia, would you care to dance?”
“Of course she wouldn’t,” Rupert spoke for her.
Cece ignored him, sliding her hand into Lord Howsden’s offered one. “Thank you, Lord Howsden, I would love to.”
She grinned like a cat with a canary and held her chin up as Lord Howsden escorted her away from the bubble of tension that had surrounded their group and out to the relatively fresh air of the dance floor.
“You looked as though you needed an escape,” Lord Howsden said as he took her into his arms for a waltz.
“You are an astute observer of the human condition, Lord Howsden,” she said, relaxing in his arms as they began the first steps. “It’s not as though I do not enjoy a good debate now and then, but one must choose one’s sparring partners wisely.”
“Oh?” Lord Howsden asked. “Do tell.”
Cece glanced back to the group as they turned in the dance. Henrietta and the other ladies had found dance partners as well, leaving Rupert, Lord O’Shea, and Lord Denbigh looking as though they might tear each other’s throats out.
Cece sighed as she returned her attentions to Lord Howsden. “Debate is one thing, but if two people with no intention of changing their minds whatsoever lock horns, it is no longer a debate, it is war. And I have no wish whatsoever to go to war.”
“Neither do I,” Lord Howsden chuckled. “And you’re right. Denbigh only uses words as cudgels to beat those he feels superior to.”
Cece hummed. “I’m beginning to see that his sister is the same way.”
Lord Howsden made a sound of agreement. They twirled from one end of the dance floor to the other in silence before he said, “I do not like conflict. If there were a way to send everyone to their corners to cool off for a while, a way to ease tensions for just a short period, I would jump on it.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Cece said. “But there’s nothing like the heat of a London summer to keep tempers high.”
“I have half a mind to retreat to A
lbany Court and to leave it all behind, if not for certain draws in the city.” He glanced back to Rupert and the others, although Cece had the distinct impression that the object of his observation was Lord Herrington above the others.
She put the ensuing questions his look of longing raised in her instantly out of her mind and instead said, “Why not retreat to Albany Court? It’s only a short train ride to the north, if I remember correctly.”
“It is and you do,” he said.
“Then why not invite us all for a bit of rest and relaxation?” As soon as the idea parted her lips, Cece was excited by it. “A house party would be just the thing right now.”
Lord Howsden’s face lit up as well. “Do you know, that would be perfect.” His smile widened. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Lady Cecelia.”
“Please, call me Cece,” she said, returning his smile. “Even though it is wildly inappropriate.”
“And you may call me Reese, as all my friends do.” He then added mischievously, “Tongues will wag when people see how close we have become.”
“Let them wag,” Cece laughed, his comment making her aware that a large number of people were already watching them. “Certain people could do with a bit of gossip to keep them on the straight and narrow.”
She sent a glance off to Rupert, who was watching them as intently as his friends were arguing with Denbigh. And as shameless as it made her, she liked it.
“Only an ignorant Irishman would support a cause as ridiculous as woman’s suffrage,” Denbigh bellowed, his face red, beads of sweat forming around his brow.
“And only a dolt would think that women are incapable when they’ve raised every one of us,” Fergus argued in return, just as worked up.
Rupert barely heard either of them, although a huge part of him knew he needed to be involved in the argument. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from Cece and Reese, though. They were getting along. A little too well. He’d said something to make her laugh, and she was being far too charming in return. He hadn’t seen Reese smile like that since their days in university. Maybe the queer bastard did have his sights set on Cece as the next Marchioness of Albany.
“I refuse to be insulted by an Irishman,” Denbigh growled, swaying intimidatingly closer to Fergus.
The man was so bullying and vile that it forced Rupert to remind himself that Reese was actually his friend and that there were bigger things to be concerned about than fabricated jealousies.
“Denbigh, I respectfully request that you keep your voice down and your anger in check. This is my mother’s ball and her husband’s house. Show some respect,” he said.
Denbigh turned his anger on Rupert. “Anyone who fancies themselves as a friend of the Irish isn’t worthy of my respect.”
“Would you like to say that again?” Freddy asked, looking surprisingly fierce as he too faced Denbigh down.
“I’ll say it as many times as I like because it’s true,” Denbigh said, looking as though he was willing to take on all of them.
“All the same,” Rupert said, holding up his hands, “this is not the time or the place. If you want to resort to brawling in the street to make yourself feel big, kindly do it in the actual street.”
Denbigh looked thoroughly disgusted for a half second before an eerie light of inspiration shone in his eyes. He stood straighter. “You want to solve this like men?” he asked.
“I hardly think resorting to fisticuffs is solving anything like men,” Freddy said.
“Who said anything about fisticuffs?” Denbigh asked, jerking back with mock offense. “I am suggesting we resolve this like gentlemen.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at Fergus. “At least, those of us who are capable of being gentlemen.”
“I’ll rise to any challenge you set me,” Fergus said, which was the best possible response at a time when Rupert himself would have eviscerated the man with insults.
Denbigh continued to look down his nose at Fergus. “Fine. I challenge you to a cricket match.”
Rupert blinked. “A cricket match?” It seemed like such a benign way to settle a vicious debate that he instantly distrusted it.
“You form your team and I’ll form mine,” Denbigh said, shifting his focus to Rupert as though declaring him captain of the opposition. “We’ll play in three weeks’ time. At Lord’s Cricket Grounds. I have connections there.” He grinned gloatingly.
“As do I,” Rupert said, standing just as tall and staring Denbigh straight in the eyes. “You’re on.”
Denbigh laughed, the sound both scoffing and proud. “I’d like to see that red-headed dog figure out which end of a cricket bat is up.”
“I hate to inform you, sir,” Fergus growled, “but I was an opening batsman and all-arounder on our university team. Our undefeated university team.”
Denbigh looked taken aback for a moment before recovering himself. “We shall see,” he said, then promptly walked off.
It was as though he took a cloud of bad air with him. Once Denbigh was gone, Rupert finally breathed easy, letting his back and neck unclench.
“Cricket,” Freddy said with an uncertain shrug. “We’re good at that.”
“Which means there has to be more to the challenge than that,” Rupert voiced his concern aloud.
“Does there?” Fergus asked. “An idjit like that might just be daft enough to think I really can’t play and that losing on the cricket pitch is the darkest blight against a man’s honor that there is.”
Rupert rubbed his neck uneasily. “He might just be that dumb.”
A peel of laughter nearby snagged his attention. Cece and Reese twirled past them, enjoying their waltz a little too much. Rupert clenched his jaw. Wasn’t it bloody well time for the song to be over?
He caught sight of several sets of matronly, matchmaking women watching his Cece and Reese. They all seemed to think a coup was taking place. Rupert turned his attention to Cece once more. She certainly was enjoying herself. And on paper, Reese was a good match for her. Lord Malcolm was a Marquess himself, after all. It could be argued that marrying him would be a step down for Cece. She’d never been interested in rank, but she’d never been interested in a lot of things up until now.
There was only one thing Rupert could do to stop the disaster that had the potential to take place right under his nose. He would have to step up his efforts and win Cece in a way that even she couldn’t refute.
Chapter 10
Rupert had to wait until the wee hours of the morning, when the last of the ball guests were saying their goodbyes to his mother and Lord Malcolm, for a moment alone with Cece.
“I don’t know why people stay so long at balls,” he said, striding up to Cece’s side as she helped direct the servants to clear up the last of the punch glasses and serviettes that had been left in various corners of the ballroom.
Cece stifled a yawn and turned to him. She smiled, appearing too tired to put on haughty airs or tease him. It was a good sign, as far as Rupert was concerned.
“People stay late at balls because they enjoy the company and the diversion,” she said, handing a glass off to a maid, then stepping over to Rupert’s side. “Or because they don’t want to go home.”
“I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to go home,” he said with a seriousness he hadn’t displayed for days. “When I was in the Transvaal, all I could think about was going home.”
Cece blinked in surprise, her expression lightening. “Truly?”
Rupert looked surprised in turn. “Yes, of course. Why would you think otherwise?”
She shrugged as they made their way slowly across the ballroom toward the hall. “Your letters were always filled with stories of fun and excitement. And you’ve barely been able to talk about anything else since you returned home.” She sent him a look that was surprisingly withering for three in the morning. “I thought you loved being in the army.”
“I did, I did,” Rupert rushed to say, although his true thoughts on the matter were far more complica
ted.
Their conversation paused as they reached the hall and Natalia burst out of the parlor across the way.
“Have you seen Bianca?” she asked, her eyes glassy with exhaustion, even as she wrung her hands with anxious excitement.
A knot formed in Rupert’s stomach. “No,” he said. If Jack Craig had importuned his sister, he would wring the man’s neck, Scotland Yard inspector or not.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Cece asked as they continued down the hall together.
“I don’t know,” Natalia fretted. “I can’t remember. I danced with so many amiable young men this evening, and I’m afraid I lost track of her sometime after midnight.” She gasped and grasped Cece’s arm. “What if she’s done something foolish with Mr. Craig?”
“I’m sure Bianca has more sense than that,” Cece reassured her.
Rupert has no such certainty. His sister was headed for a heap of trouble, and they all knew it.
“I just wish I knew where she was, even if the answer is scandalous,” Natalia continued to fret as they reached the front hall, where their mama and Lord Malcolm were just shooing the last of their guests.
Their mother must have heard Natalia’s comments. She turned to them, pursed her lips for a moment, then said, “Bianca has gone to bed. I sent her there over an hour ago.”
“Right about the time I suggested Jack Craig might want to go home for the night,” Lord Malcolm added in a menacing grumble.
Rupert let out a breath of relief, but it felt as though they’d only had a reprieve from disaster instead of avoiding it entirely.
“You should be in bed as well, young lady,” their mother said.
Natalia huffed. “Really, Mama. I’m twenty years old now. I’m not a child.”
“Then stop behaving like one,” their mother said, pointing toward the stairs.
Natalia looked as though she would argue, but in the end, she let out an exhausted sigh and headed up the stairs. Their mother followed behind as though she would make certain Natalia made it to her room, and Lord Malcolm followed her as though he had the same intention but entirely different designs.
A Lady’s First Scandal Page 10