A Lady Compromised (The Ladies)

by Pennington, Ava

  “Yes?” Durham stood and shed his breeches. Gigi turned and pulled him, naked, onto the bed.

  “Have you ever been to France?”

  “Of course. What a nonsensical question, Gigi. ” Durham thought her question odd and continued with the innocuous, “I toured the Continent for the required two years after leaving school, as does everyone. I have since visited regularly, when politics and schedules permit. Why do you ask?” Gigi laid on the bed next him, her full breasts spilling out of the lacey bodice of her negligee.

  “Did you like it?” she asked, in her heaviest accent. “Is that why you like me?” The Marquess smiled at her but wondered at her aim. “Or,” she continued, “is it French brandy that really catches your attention?” she finished, swirling a glass that she then sat down on the bedside table.

  “France’s brandy is not nearly as intoxicating as its women, my dear,” Durham said, resolving to evaluate her questions at another time and hoping she would stop talking. When she opened her mouth to ask another question, he crushed her mouth with a kiss.

  Chapter 14

  The next day, as the Marquess sat in his library with his feet up, inattentively reading the Times, wondering at Gigi’s strange questions, and finally achieving some success at trying not to think of Lady Delia Ellsworth, Harriet tumbled in, a book in her hands. She tossed it into his lap and sighed.

  “What a lovely novel! Mason, will you take me to Bond Street to buy another book by this author? My maid is ill and I would so like to go out…and have an ice, too.” Harriet smiled up at him, batting her eyelashes. Her brother feigned a groan of misery and then stood up.

  “You are positively shameless, Harriet. And yes, I will accompany you. What book is this that you are so insistent to purchase?” He stood and called for the carriage, then escorted Harriet to the front door.

  “Oh it’s a tremendously good book—it’s called Annabelle’s Adventures—and it’s about a beautiful young lady whose evil brother-in-law tries to—“

  “Oh I see,” said Durham with mock disapproval. “One of your lurid romances, is it? I confess I am disappointed. I had rather hoped you desired another learned treatise on the Ostrogoth’s or Byzantines.” Lady Harriet laughed at him and lightly slapped his arm.

  “You know quite well, dear brother, that I am already accounted rather an expert on near-East history. Tell me: do you know the relevant dates as among the Visigoths and Ostrogoth’s? You probably don’t even know in what year Alaric sacked Rome! I can see from your face you haven’t the faintest idea. I thought not! I am perfectly entitled to less improving literature, given my accomplishments on occasion, am I not? And one of those occasions happens to be right now.”

  Durham indulged her chatter on the way to Bond Street and it occurred to him that what he thought was his baby sister was actually a very clever young woman who was threatening to become daily more and more of a challenge. Despite her superficial silliness, she was a rather fierce intellect. He wondered how he would deal with her when she finally came out.

  Upon their arrival at the bookstore, the Marquess helped Harriet down from the carriage only to look up directly into the feathered bonnet of a Lady Anne Burke and her daughter, Felicity. After Durham had handed Harriet down from the carriage, Lady Burke introduced Harriet to Felicity and the girls fell immediately into conversation, leaving he and Lady Burke with relative privacy.

  “My dear Durham,” said Lady Burke with a smile, “How lovely to see you. You are buying books today?”

  “Indeed, Lady Burke. Harriet will not rest until she has devoured every lurid romance the city has to offer—though she is quick to remind me that she is such a model pupil that she is permitted more lighthearted reading on occasion. Far better educated on tribes of the late Roman Empire than I am, I discovered today,” Durham said as he smiled with irrepressible pride at his sister.

  “Well I am so very pleased to hear it!” Lady Burke responded with alacrity. “However, my dear Durham,” she continued in a lowered voice, “I really must speak to you seriously for a moment.” Mason looked surprised and bent his dark head down closer to the lady’s fair one.

  “Is something the matter, Anne?” he asked solicitously but with utter sincerity, “Do you need anything?”

  “Oh, no indeed! Not for me at all. You see, it is this terrible gossip about the late Lady Ellsworth’s daughter, Delia, about which I am particularly concerned.” At once Durham’s head jerked back and his brows knit as he frowned down at her.

  “The vulgar gossip of the Smythe-Dunstons is hardly consequential, Lady Burke. Certainly no one pays it any heed?” Lady Burke looked extremely displeased.

  “Then I take it you are entirely innocent in this affair? Do not give me that look, Durham, it is not as if you are possessed of a spotless reputation!” His friend Lady Burke teased, but she was not incorrect in her assessment of how the ton regarded the Marquess. “I am well aware of your exploit but I have always known them to be with mature and consenting widows and married ladies. Lady Sabrina Ellsworth’s daughter is a different matter altogether. I am certain she is entirely innocent in the affair. It is because you have said nothing that the gossip has spread like wildfire! A simple denial from you would have been significant in stemming the tide; Durham certainly you must realize what your silence has done?”

  The lady’s breathless exposition left Mason with a whirling head as he tried to comprehend what she had just said. Durham was keenly aware at that moment of what his failure to deny the accusations had done to Lady Delia’s reputation. When he had first been taken off guard by the swirling gossip, he had said nothing simply because the girl had run into his bedchamber. Only after the sordid details of Christopher Rosewood’s actions had become known did he begin to reevaluate his original supposition that she had been meeting an illicit lover.

  “Anne—I—“ Durham began, but Lady Burke cut him off.

  “If poor Lady Ellsworth, or even Lord Ellsworth, had been alive, none of this would have happened! They would have stopped the wretched gossip in its tracks. Sabrina was a dear friend of mine and I am absolutely shocked and sickened by this recent episode.” Lady Burke seemed on the verge of tears and the Marquess was disconcerted. He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, turning her away from the young ladies, lest they notice something was amiss.

  “My dear Lady Burke, you are acquainted with Lady Delia, then?” he asked, hoping for an intimate’s opinion of the girl.

  “But of course! I have known her since her birth. She is a sweet girl, rather intelligent and perhaps a bit of a bluestocking. But she is absolutely innocent. Certainly you deny the facts of the charge against her?” Lady Burke looked intently at him. “You are accounted quite the rake and Delia is rather extraordinarily beautiful but surely you have not taken to seducing innocent virgins?”

  “You are not mistaken,” he replied, his mind racing. Delia had behaved with complete propriety when he had seen her at dinner and behaved in precisely the way a maiden would upon finding a strange man in her bed…until he had kissed her. He had thought her such a harlot…could he have mistaken her lack of experience? She had responded so passionately to his kiss; her breasts had risen and swelled at his touch. He felt an alarming twinge and realized his breeches felt tight. He pushed all thought of that night from his mind.

  “I do not seduce virgins,” he stated clearly, “and while I find this entire conversation highly improper and shocking, I will also state firmly that I did not seduce Lady Delia at Washburn Court. I apologize for not having made myself clearer sooner. Have you seen or called on Lady Delia? Is she, I hope, unaware of the vicious gossip surrounding her?”

  “I have sent two letters to Washburn, both of which have gone unanswered! However, given that the origin of the tale against Delia is purportedly her guardian, I do not know what to think. It shocks me that he would speak against his own ward but I know nothing of the man. I was indeed rather surprised that I was not prevailed upon to
be her guardian, though dear Ellsworth was rather a shocking reactionary. It probably never occurred to him that a lady might serve as a proper guardian at all. He must be rolling over in his grave at this vicious gossip! To leave her in such hands, he must have been very ill indeed!”

  She looked so distressed that Durham feared the lady would burst into tears in the middle of Bond Street. Stroking her hand slightly, he attempted to comfort her.

  “What would you have me do, my dear Lady Burke? If I can put the rumor to rest by a simple denial, I certainly would. But I fear that would be inadequate.”

  “You must begin with that,” replied the lady, appearing to shake herself out of her spell of sad reflection. She straightened her spine and looked back up at him, her eyes clearing of the tears that had filled them. “Perhaps a visit to Washburn Court is in order for me. In the mean time, if you could, perhaps, drop a word here and there? Something about how the gossip about you and she was so ludicrous you did not even bother to respond. There is a small chance that enthusiasm for the affair will be dampened.”

  “I will do my utmost,” he responded with conviction, then turned to Harriet, who was tugging on his arm.

  “There aren’t any more, Mason!” Harriet complained with only mock petulance. “It seems that this is the only novel by D.E. Mannering in existence! I do hope he publishes another book quickly. How disappointing! Now I shall need two ices from Gunther’s, instead of just one.” She smiled up at him.

  “But are you sure that you need nothing else while we are here?” Durham asked. “Advanced Latin Grammar, perhaps?”

  “I already own it, dear brother, and have mastered it. And the Greek, quite completely. However, should you wish some aid in your more simple translations—given that you are unable to understand the Poetics in their natural state—I shall certainly purchase you something more suited to your level of scholarship.” With a saucy smile, Harriet handed Durham the small package she had nonetheless carried out of the bookstore.

  “I see your sister has far outstripped her brother in classical scholarship,” said Lady Burke with a smile at both Harriet and the Marquess.

  “You are an outrageously demanding brat, Harriet,” Durham said as he handed her back into the carriage. “Lady Burke, Felicity, your servant.”

  “Mason,” Harriet began, “I heard some of your conversation with Lady Burke, about Delia Ellsworth. Do you know, precisely, what it is that they are saying about you and she? I mean, I did hear something about a bedchamber—“ Durham looked at her, horrified.

  “Harriet, you heard no such thing! You shouldn’t even know about such things. You may disabuse yourself of any notion of your responsible elder brother recounting false, vulgar gossip, simply to assuage the curiosity of a precocious and impertinent sixteen year old young lady.”

  Harriet dismissed this speech with a shrug of her shoulders. “Mason, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not a child! I heard that she ran into your bedchamber, locked the door, jumped into your bed, and pulled the covers to her chin. She did not know you were there until you surprised her and she screamed but you covered her mouth. Then you realized you loved each other and you, very properly, proposed. Why did you not tell me? Why have I not met her? I only ask because D.E. Mannering must have heard the gossip, too. It’s the exact same story in Annabelle’s Adventures.”

  His blood ran cold at her painstakingly accurate—to a point—recitation of the facts. “Harriet, tell me at once where you heard that story.” He looked so forbidding that Harriet became quite serious.

  “Well, like I just said, I think that the author of Annabelle’s Adventures must have heard the story about you and Lady Delia and then written about it, because what I just told you is exactly what happens in the book. The stories are so similar, I assumed that the book was based on you and Lady Delia when Felicity Burke told me the story about you and she today.” Mason mentally cursed Felicity Burke and motioned his sister to continue. “I just wondered why you weren’t telling me about your engagement and why the ton seems to think she’s ruined because you hadn’t made your engagement public. It’s really not very nice of you. But I thought maybe you wanted me to meet her first—and that you didn’t want me to know about the slightly scandalous nature of your proposal.”

  Durham was literally struck speechless. His tongue eventually unglued itself from the top of his mouth. “Harriet, I am not engaged to Lady Delia Ellsworth, nor am I likely to countenance such a ridiculous and shocking story. Secondly, the story about she and I, and I am by no means condoning your knowing about it, is entirely a fabrication by a devious and scheming socially ambitious woman whom I pray you never meet. I am shocked and appalled that you could think me capable of such behavior and worry that you believe it to be acceptable. Furthermore—“

  “Mason! Stop it,” Harriet pleaded. “You are lecturing me and being absurd! I think you are the most wonderful older brother and I think the proposal story in Annabelle’s Adventures is fabulously romantic! Don’t go on speaking to me as if I was a child.” Harriet looked confused. “And really, Mason, why would this nasty woman make up such a story if it weren’t true? And how could D.E. Mannering know about it? I don’t understand.”

  Durham looked at her as the carriage stopped at the Durham townhouse. “That,” he said, “is precisely what I intend to discover. Incidentally, Harriet, would you mind loaning me your copy of Annabelle’s Adventures for the afternoon? I am interested in seeing precisely how far the similarities between the book and the ton’s gossip go.”

  “Of course you may borrow it,” said Harriet slowly, as she stepped down from the carriage, obviously deep in thought. “I’ll bring it to you in your library.” With that, she entered the house and proceeded upstairs to find the book. When she brought it to him, the Marquess accepted the book gingerly, as if it might be contaminated. Annabelle’s Adventures by D.E. Mannering said the title page. Who the devil was D.E. Mannering and how did he know about Lady Delia diving into his bed and pulling the covers to her chin?

  Chapter 15

  Lady Delia sat at her small, functional writing desk with a pen in her hand and her chin on her small fist. She thought about how her next novel ought to contain a touch fewer duels and a bit more in the way of love scenes than had Annabelle’s Adventures. She sighed as she continued to write. Her publisher had informed her that she had six more weeks in which to finish the novel or she would risk her readers forgetting about her by the time the book was printed and finally in shops. However, the publisher had assured her that Annabelle’s Adventures was selling quite well, and was enormously popular with the ton, presumably as encouragement to finish her next novel expeditiously. Nonetheless, Delia wanted to be sure that her second book was at least as good as her first.

  “Amelia,” she said as she rose and walked upstairs, “Do let’s go for a walk. I must have some air and no one is likely to be about at this hour.” Delia had no wish to encounter any person who might recognize her and so was careful to walk about when it was least likely that any members of the fashionable world would be taking their daily constitutional.

  “Of course, my lady. I’ll get your pelisse.” Amelia bundled off to gather the requisite clothes and accessories for a walk and Delia wished for what seemed like the thousandth time that she could turn back the clock to before her beloved father had passed away and before the machinations of Christopher Rosewood had forced her from her home.

  Delia had been walking only a few minutes when a young man appeared in the street. As he approached, Delia stuck slightly closer to Amelia and politely bowed her head slightly to him as he passed. He touched his hat as he passed them by and then turned around. He was very young and very handsome, with artfully disheveled brown curls and a dimple in his chin. His fashionable dress proclaimed him a gentlemen and Delia permitted herself a wistful sigh at the thought that she would someday get the chance to be courted by someone young and handsome—unless she was forced to spend the rest of her life hiding from
Christopher Rosewood.

  “Excuse me, miss!” a voice called, and Delia turned around to see the young man had turned around and was now walking toward them. “Excuse me, but I’m so sorry to bother you. I am simply at my wits’ end. Do you perhaps know the direction of a Mrs. Belinda Thistleton? She is my aunt and resides in this street, but only recently. I have never visited her here before and was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop, though I have misremembered the address. I do apologize for troubling you, Miss—?”

  His pretty speech and sympathetic story increased Delia’s opinion of the handsome young man and she said, “—er, Mrs.,” she said, holding out her lavender-gloved hand and shooting Amelia a look, “Mrs. Delia Mannering.” The young man could not hide the look of disappointment that crossed his handsome features as he very properly bent over her hand, coming no closer than he ought to on a public street with a woman he had only just met.

  “Freddy Whitmore,” he said, gazing into her eyes with undisguised admiration, “a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I am afraid,” said Delia as she took back her hand, “that I am too only recently arrived in this street to give directions. I haven’t any knowledge of a Mrs. Thistleton. I’m terribly sorry to be of no help.” Delia looked again at Mr. Whitmore, wondering when she would next have occasion to converse with an eligible young man. Unbidden, the image of the Marquess came into her mind and she forced it away.

  Freddy Whitmore was thinking that he knew precisely where his aunt Thistleton lived but could certainly visit her another day or at a later hour and racked his brain. “I am so sorry to have bothered you. I suppose I must walk home and look up the address,” he said as he made to do just that. He guessed correctly what would happen next.

  “Oh, dear, Mr. Whitmore, that is so inconvenient for you! Do let me inquire at my house of my staff to see if anyone knows your aunt’s direction? It would be such a waste for you to have come all this way—at least I assume you have come all this way,” she said with a blush, as fashionably dressed men such as himself rarely were seen in Charles Street.