“You did what?” He leaned forward, glass of whisky in hand.
“I made a bet with her,” Justin said for the second time. “Nothing you haven’t done yourself, Sebastian. So you can damn well wipe that shocked expression from your face.”
Sebastian stiffened his features. Indeed, they were a little overly-expressive at times, an inherent trait from his mother, who in her heyday had arguably been the most beautiful woman in London.
“So, let me see if I’ve understood correctly. You made a bet with Lady Ballivar that your sister and I will argue at your engagement party this Saturday. Is that it?”
“Well, yes, but she believes the two of you will behave for propriety’s sake.”
“Propriety’s sake,” Sebastian echoed. “Honestly, Justin, your sister knows no propriety when in the same room with me.”
One of Justin’s dark brows shot up. “I could say the same for you.”
“She always starts it. Don’t look at me like that! It’s a fact, and you know it. She damn well hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Justin offered, though he didn’t sound very convincing. “She strongly dislikes you.”
Sebastian passed his friend a sardonic glare. “That’s hate if ever I did hear the word defined.” He took a generous swill of liquor, and set the empty glass on a side table. “So, you want me to get into a squabble with Anna. On purpose.”
Justin raked a hand through his dark, thick, quite ordinary hair, while Sebastian rolled his eyes, wishing he had been as blessed. Blond and aggravatingly curly, his was a combination women both loved and hated. For while it was striking to the eye, as golden as a guinea coin, it was the devil to maintain. His valet, who had been with him since Sebastian was a mere lad of five, threatened at least once a day to shave it off.
“Not exactly,” came Justin’s reply. “I do not wish to be unfair.”
“Then, why tell me?”
Justin’s head sank into his hands. “I have no idea.”
“Forgive me, but I find it oddly offensive that the two of you made a bet at my expense. Especially when said bet clearly perceives me to be an arse with an uncontrollable urge to chastise young ladies in public.”
“I was only trying to lighten the situation,” Justin said, and Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not as if Mother’s soiree is going to be easy. It’s awkward enough being betrothed to someone I don’t know without my mother’s insistence on announcing it to the free world.”
“Ah, but you do want to know her, don’t you?”
“Of course, Sebastian. The woman is to be my wife for pity’s sake.”
“Don’t pretend as if you don’t know what I meant by that observation. You’re attracted to her, and that’s something you didn’t expect, is it?”
Oh, he was digging deep now. He could tell by the look of pure agitation on Justin’s face he’d hit a nerve. Possibly two. He’d spent the past ten years learning what made this brusque friend of his tick, and with the right query, or merely an accurate remark, he could almost guarantee Justin’s confession of anything.
“Well?” he said when Justin didn’t answer.
“Yes, I’m attracted to her, but what sane man wouldn’t be?”
“I must admit,” Sebastian said, “she’s an extraordinary beauty. But why go to this kind of extreme? Surely you can’t be that desperate, resorting to childish antics for the sheer purpose of acquainting yourself with a lady.”
Justin eyed him carefully. “She’s not just any lady.”
“Better. She’s your betrothed. What could possibly be easier? I daresay Lady St. Clair’s affections were harder to obtain than those of an innocent Irish lass.”
“Milly pursued me,” Justin reminded him, and Sebastian nodded, remembering all too well how Lady St. Clair had spent nearly every ball and soiree chasing after Justin until he finally gave in. “Besides, Sara is entirely different. She’s inexperienced. I don’t think she’s ever been courted.”
“Lucky you.”
“And courting a woman isn’t exactly my forte.”
At this, Sebastian let out a guttural laugh. “The deuce! I can name at least ten--no, fifteen women who have spent an entire evening fanning themselves in a corner because you threw a glance in their direction. Trust me, you’re better with women than any man I know.” He paused. “Except for, of course, myself.”
The corner of Justin’s mouth lifted slightly. “And the only exception to that is Anna. You really must practice some self-control around her, Sebastian. While your innocent banter may be humorous to the rest of us, to her it’s interminable.”
“Only because Lady Alwin filled her head with lies.” He closed his eyes, the memory of the one woman he’d almost married entering his mind like an unwelcome houseguest.
As if the action could somehow squeeze her from his thoughts, he curled his hand into a fist, clenched hard. “God, she was poison. It was foolish of me, proposing to her when I already knew how many men had asked and been rejected. But she craved attention, that one, and far be it for me to have denied her what she wanted.”
“She was Anna’s friend,” Justin murmured. “You remember the night they met at Almack’s?”
Lord, did he? Sebastian had waited two hours for his turn to come up on Anna’s dance card--a waltz it would’ve been, damnit all to hell--and who should she meet somewhere in between? The devil’s incarnate, Lady Alwin. Needless to say, he’d been forced to forfeit their waltz and find someone else, someone far less agreeable.
The memory still burned.
“I believe they spent the entire evening chattering in a corner somewhere,” Justin went on. “Mother was furious. But…” He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “They were inseparable since then. Helene was Anna’s dearest companion.”
“Helene was no one’s companion,” Sebastian said darkly. “Anna only thought she had a close friend, when in fact Helene took every opportunity in coddling herself with tasteless gossip at Anna’s expense. I cannot account for the times I chided her over the jealousy she had for your sister. But in the end, would Anna listen to me?” He huffed an airless chuckle. “Not likely. She believed that mindless pantaloon-chaser over me.”
“She’ll get over it someday,” Justin offered in consolation, but Sebastian knew better.
To his mind, if Anna still believed he’d impregnated the chit, all to abandon her for his complete lack of decency, then she’d spend the rest of her days reminding him of just that. Of what a lowlife scoundrel he really was. In most instances, she’d be right.
But not this one.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t talk about that subject anymore. I’d rather discuss what you plan on doing if Anna and I wow the duchess’s guests by behaving ourselves this weekend.”
A humph whirred in Justin’s throat. “The odds are magnanimously against you. Anna’s been in rare form lately.”
“Anna’s always in rare form,” Sebastian said thoughtfully. “I’m beginning to think she seeks me out on purpose, looking to pick a fight over anything that tickles her fancy.”
“Perhaps it is the other way around,” Justin suggested, and Sebastian gave a snort of laughter.
“Not hardly.” He tapered his gaze. “No offense, but Anna’s not exactly my type.”
“Too feisty?”
“Too innocent.”
“Yes, well, for all that she is feisty and loud-spoken, she is indeed innocent.” Justin paused, staring unseeingly ahead as Sebastian wracked his brain, trying against all odds to read his thoughts. It was almost as if they weren’t talking about Lady Anna anymore.
But Justin’s focus restored too quickly. “I suppose I should return.” He stood, Sebastian standing with him. “Father’s desk is covered in paperwork. God only knows what will happen once …” He broke off, and Sebastian didn’t have to ask what he’d meant to say.
“How is he?”
The Duke of Tethersal had been like a second father to Sebasti
an, offering encouragement and advice when Sebastian’s own father had pronounced him worthless. To know the duke was sick, that he probably wouldn’t live to see another Christmas, pained Sebastian more than he chose to show.
“The same,” Justin replied.
“Tell him I asked about him?”
Justin laid a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Of course I will. But you must pay him a visit yourself sometime. He’s frail, yes, but his spirit remains, and I know he misses seeing you.”
Sebastian nodded. “Perhaps I shall arrive Friday evening. Stay the night, spend the day, attend the duchess’s party.” He smiled ruefully. “Pick a fight with Anna.”
A half-smile curved Justin’s wide-set mouth. “There’s always a fight to be picked with Anna.”
“Indubitably,” Sebastian agreed.
*** *** ***
“Oh my, but the green does look lovely, what do you think Tippy?”
Sara blinked at Anna’s maid, who, despite having both arms full of discarded dresses, scarves, and trimmings, managed to stop and give Sara a good once-over.
“Lovely,” she said, and stooped to pick up a bit of lace she’d missed.
Sara smiled.
But Anna was frowning. “Lovely as in, it will do, or lovely as in, we should try another style? Another color, perhaps? Tippy, you know I require more detail!”
The maid sighed, face red and sweating. She plopped the mass of material on Anna’s four-poster bed. “Lovely as in, this is the twelfth dress Lady Ballivar has tried on, and I think we’d do better to just choose one and be happy with it.” She paused and offered a deliberately short curtsy. “My lady.”
Lana smothered a giggle, and Sara, flattered as she was to be playing dress up with a lady whose wardrobe likely rivaled that of King George himself, couldn’t have agreed more. Her skin stung from being pricked with straight pins, her feet ached, and her ribs felt close to cracking against the new style of corset Anna had insisted she try.
Whale bone was not meant for this sort of restraint, Sara decided, though a plumper or taller woman might’ve strongly disagreed. Seeing as she was neither, the corset would have to go.
“I do think this one is my favorite,” Sara said, and Anna eyed her carefully. “Really!” She looked down at herself, smoothed her hands over the layers of sheer muslin. “It’s lovely.”
“Perhaps a bit more lace at the neckline,” Anna said, and Lana, pin cushion in hand, took that as her cue to step forward.
“No!”
Lana came to a halt, along with Tippy, who had a handful of white lace ready to be tucked and pinned into the bodice of the mint green gown.
Anna’s eyes rounded.
“That is ...” Sara held a hand to her chest. No more pins were going there. “I believe the dress is perfect as it is. Less is more, is it not?”
A slow grin grew upon Anna’s dollish face. “I think we are going to become great friends, Lady Ballivar.”
Sara felt her limbs relax, and she had to smother the sigh of relief lingering in her throat. Her ribcage could thank her later.
“Fashion is most enjoyable when one has a companion with whom one can share it.”
Sara, vowing to give her feet a good soaking before bed, stepped down from the little stool she’d been perched upon for the past two hours and allowed Lana to begin unbuttoning her dress. “The corset too,” she whispered, and Lana nodded her understanding. Her hands worked quickly to unlace the dreadful thing, and Sara, feeling her lungs contract, let out a slow, reprieving exhale.
“Thank you, Lana,” she murmured. “You were saying, Lady Anna? About having a companion with whom to share fashion? Surely you have a great many ladies eager to assist you in that arena.”
“I did, once. But that was over a year ago, and she’s moved to France, or so I’ve heard.” Anna frowned, as if a sudden, dreadful memory had come to mind. “She hasn’t even written me. Not one letter, and I was her best friend.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all Sara could think to say. “Had you known each other terribly long?”
“A year, perhaps,” said Anna, “but we were close, she and I. Ah, but she was a slave to fashion, Lady Alwin. The most exquisitely dressed lady you can imagine.”
“What happened to her?”
“Lord Beaufort.” A muscle ticked in Anna’s jaw. “Insipid scandal follows him wherever he goes. They were engaged, you see, he and Lady Alwin. But she became ... Well. In the end, he cast her out with no more remorse than he would the silk cravat tied ‘round his neck.”
“Lady Alwin was ...” Sara paused, choosing her words carefully. She knew this story, or at least Justin’s version of it, though she was certain Anna’s would prove to be very different. “With child?” she finished, and Anna gave a short nod.
Lana helped Sara step in to a muslin day gown the color of damask rose, and quietly expressed her disagreement when Sara refused another corset.
“It is not proper in this country, my lady,” Lana whispered, making quick work of buttoning Sara’s dress. “If Lord Carrington should want to see you this afternoon …”
“Lord Carrington is visiting Lord Beaufort,” Sara said tentatively. “Do not be such a prig, Lana, honestly. My breasts cannot possibly take any more incessant pushing today.”
“Prudence, my lady,” said Lana, far under her breath as possible.
“Perhaps it was not his child at all,” Sara offered.
My goodness, had she just championed Lord Beaufort? Never mind the look of irreparable shock on Anna’s face, nor the second gasp she’d managed to pull from Lana, but had she actually just admitted her disbelief in Anna’s side of this--what was it she had called it? Insipid scandal?
“It was,” Anna stated firmly. “Wanton woman she was, for I daresay any woman finds grave difficulty in resisting the charms of a man like Sebastian, a liar she was not.”
“Forgive me,” Sara found herself saying, although she wasn’t sure why. There was never any proof in scandals such as this.
But no good could possibly come out of arguing with the sister of her betrothed, so in an attempt to change the subject: “Speaking of being intended, have you a gentleman of your own?”
This elicited a burst of bubbly laughter, followed by a, “Heavens no! I mean, of course I have had quite a few offers--some memorable, some not--but no gentleman has come even close to meeting my standards.”
“Standards? What sorts of standards? Ah, you mean he must be handsome.”
“Naturally,” Anna said. “Although, I think I could settle for a man with only a moderate amount of handsomeness if he were intelligent and witty, kind without any of those quirky habits that kind men possess. And let’s see ... oh yes! He must, without a doubt, have an exquisite learnedness in poetry.”
She fluttered her slender fingers in the air. “And none of that boring old prose every gentleman recites to a lady these days. Oh no, I want original material. The kind that makes me--”she pressed the back of her hand to her brow “--weak in the knees.”
Sara giggled, and Anna joined in, wrinkling her nose as she seemed to do when something had amused her to laughter. “Seems as if you seek the perfect man, which I am afraid does not exist. At least, not in my experience.”
Anna responded with a shrug. “As well he may not, but I shall not lose hope all the same.” She cast a curious glance at Sara from under her lashes. “In your experience, you say? As in, you’ve been proposed to before?”
Sara hesitated. “I … no, I ...” Palms suddenly sweaty, she smoothed her hands over her gown and looked to Lana, who had stopped in aiding Anna’s maid with the discarded dresses and was now staring at Sara, wide-eyed and visibly nervous.
Slowly, surreptitiously, Lana shook her head.
But Anna was quicker. “Come now, Lady Ballivar--may I call you Sara? Splendid. There must have been at least one gentleman, one man who tickled your fancy. Surely you haven’t spent the hours pining for my brother. I admit he is quite a catch, bu
t to spend one’s life yearning for him?”
“A catch, am I?” Justin’s deep baritone breeched through their conversation. One of his large hands came to his chest. “Why Anna, I never knew you thought so highly of me.”
Anna’s eyes narrowed to her doorway. “Don’t you knock?”
“The door was half-open.” He strode inside, his gaze falling on Sara. The room shrunk around him, he was so tall.
Sara licked her lips. Blushed.
He swept a bow. “Lady Ballivar.”
Sara managed a curtsy. How much had he heard? Did he suspect her? Did it even matter now? They were to be married, after all. Past suitors or none.
Still, if he had overheard Anna’s inclination that a man had once--oh, but the word was ridiculously improper--tickled her fancy, he might be drawing the wrong conclusion.
Amazing, it was, and a bit disconcerting, that she didn’t want him to draw the wrong conclusion. Why should she care?
His eyes slid in humble regard to Lana and Tippy, who, upon recovering from the initial shock of his presence, had continued in the task of hanging Anna’s dresses. “I see the two of you have been playing dress-up this afternoon. All in anticipation of the party, I gather?”
“Yes, obviously, Justin,” Anna said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “And in future, if my door is half-open as you say it was, I insist you knock anyway. Brother or no, it is unacceptable for you to show any less respect to me as a lady.”
He bowed again. “Forgive me, dear sister, for intruding upon your privacy. But I only came to see if Lady Ballivar could spare a few moments of her time.”
Anna raised her chin indignantly. “Actually we were in the middle of--”
“--finishing,” Sara quickly put in.
Anna shot her a look of surprise.
*** *** ***
Sara caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Justin smiled, fascinated. No one ever put his sister on hold. In fact, most women would have given their right hand to spend time with Anna like this, gleaning in her sense of style. But not his betrothed. Nay, his duchess-to-be.
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