“Not to worry. Mrs Holt, the haberdasher, makes the finest hats in all London – I am confident she will have something that will go charmingly. However, I was saying that you might wear your new gown to Lady Bassincourt’s garden party this Thursday. With that pretty blue pelisse. I understand it is to be very much an event to be seen at, and quite a novel way to start off the Season. Her own daughter, Lady Julia Kinsey, is to make her debut this year, and Lady Bassincourt means to establish Julia as soon as possible, sparing no expense. Not to worry, my dear. Julia is certainly a very pretty girl, but she is also very shy, and her own brown locks won’t draw any eyes from your golden curls.”
Lorelei laughed at that and reminded her hostess that, her unusual hair aside, she was unlikely to be considered any more a beauty than Lady Julia. Her own eyes were an unremarkable green and her features not at all of the kind to strike a gentleman dumb across a crowded room.
“Besides which, you are being very kind, Lady Hurst, but there is no denying that blonde hair is quite out of fashion.” Lorelei had often wished for striking ebony curls, when inspecting her own hair in her cheval glass.
Lady Hurst, who was a determined matchmaker, laughed at that. “Nonsense, child! What good is a gentleman struck dumb? He won’t be very likely to make an offer if he cannot speak for the sight of your beauty. Now, don’t you worry about such silly fancies as that. Look, here comes Miss Hughes with a marvellous violet crepe. It will do very nicely for driving about the park.”
*
Had Lorelei seen the Earl of Winbourne after all, she would have been hard pressed to recognise him. He was seated by the fire in the library of his townhouse on Brook Street, long legs comfortably stretched out before him as he lounged in his favourite armchair. His dark eyes were glacial. His mouth was set in mocking amusement as he twirled the moonstone pendant on its fine sliver chain, held stretched taught across his long, elegant fingers. Winbourne was not a classically handsome man, but there was something striking in his piercing gaze and the elegant features of his face, so that ladies never seemed to notice his lack of traditional male beauty. He gave the impression of vitality, wickedness and barely-restrained virility that never failed to catch the attention of a score of women wherever they happened to glimpse him. Furthermore, he enjoyed all the advantages of being in possession of a very large fortune and no less than three excellently-maintained country estates.
Gone was the amusement of that strange night on the road, which he had almost chalked down as an anomaly. He was far too disillusioned with women and their fickle affections to want anything more from them than instant gratification of his own desires. That strange siren in her dark dress had been an exception precisely because he had not known her. She had wanted nothing from him, had not even known his name. There had been no games and no expectations, and she had truly vanished with the morning – just as she had professed. Since returning to London, he had not seen the likeness of the beautiful golden curls he had glimpsed under her veil and hat, nor heard her laugh, which he was somehow unable to forget though he had tried his utmost to do so. The pendant was his only proof that he had not imagined the encounter. He knew that the real woman, whoever she might be, would inevitably disappoint the ideal – no doubt she would have numerous irritating habits, chatter constantly and spend his entire fortune on hats. No. To see her again would surely ruin the memory, so perfectly preserved in mystery. And yet she lingered in his mind’s eye, taunting, as he recalled her slender waist and her amusing conversation. He knew he would have to start seeking a wife soon, but he would not be searching for his lady ghost to fill that role.
A knock on the door interrupted his introspection, and he fixed an indolent look upon his butler, who stood impassively in the doorway.
“Yes, Watts? What is it this time?” Winbourne sighed, closing his fist around the delicate pendant, as though some part of him did not wish anyone else to glimpse this symbol of his private vulnerability.
“It is your sister, my lord. Lady Bassincourt. She is waiting in the parlour.” Watts made no acknowledgement of his lord’s visible lack of interest.
Winbourne did not particularly wish to see his elder sister, who took too much of a motherly interest in his personal life and especially his lack of an heir, but he knew better than to try and fob her off. With a sigh, he rose from his chair, pocketed the pendant and motioned his butler in the general direction of the study.
“Very well then,” he sighed, “best to get it over with quickly. I shall see Honoria in the parlour. You had best send for some cake and tea, while you’re at it, Watts. She’ll be wanting refreshment after the trouble she took in driving all the way over here.” The irony was implicit in the sardonic smile that curled the corners of his mouth, but he set off to face his fate with as much good grace as he could manage.
The door to the family parlour was ajar.
“Honoria,” he greeted, entering the room. The woman wore a lavender gown created by the finest modiste in Paris. It put one in mind of confectionery. She rose unceremoniously and kissed her brother on the cheek – a gesture of excessive sensibility which he would only ever bear in private. Then she stepped back and sorrowfully took in his lack of a coat – she had always disapproved of the fact that her brother made not the least effort for her visits.
“Alastair! I am most excessively glad to see that you are well. Given the infrequency of your letters, one is never quite sure.” The chastisement in her blue eyes when she met his gaze squarely was hard to ignore, but he did so regardless. They took their seats, she on a pretty sofa that had been picked out by their mother years ago, and he in a comfortable wingback.
“I have an aversion to such absurdities as writing my sister every detail of my day, Honoria. And how is Bassincourt?”
“As well as can be. He is dreading the garden party, of course, but there is no way around it. It is to introduce Julia into Society and, as her father, he must be present. As must her uncle Winbourne.” Another meaning glance was directed at him with those words.
“Ah. Now we get to the heart of the matter. You wish me to add consequence to your party, no doubt?” “I wish you to be polite and to dance. There will be many lovely young ladies present, you know. It is an important moment for Julia and she would have you there. Why, Eloise is coming from the country.”
Eloise, his younger sister, had been married the previous year and had only just returned from the Continent with her husband, Geoffrey, the Earl of Gilmont. Gilmont was a far more pleasant brother-in-law than Bassincourt, who was widely considered one of the dullest bores on the ton.
Winbourne enjoyed the company of Eloise and Geoffrey enough that he thought he might just about bear Honoria’s party. Besides, he supposed his sister’s garden party was as good a place as any other to begin his half-hearted search for a suitably biddable woman to be his countess. He was getting rather tired of Honoria’s badgering on the subject.
“I have ordered Cook to make your favourite vanilla mille-feulles.”
“Oh, very well, then. You have convinced me, sister.” He made sure to sound appropriately bored.
At that moment, Watts appeared, with a footman in tow, to provide Honoria with tea and fancies.
“Ah, good!” she exclaimed. “I am quite famished. You always do know exactly when to send for tea, brother.”
When they were quite alone and Honoria was happily partaking of the cherry cake, she ventured to broach her favourite subject.
“You know, I have invited Miss Dunn. And Lady Eleanor Smythe. They are both expected to do famously in the Season.”
“I expect that is your way of telling me that they are great beauties worthy of a coronet. But I know that when she laughs, Miss Dunn develops a slight squint and Lady Eleanor Smythe has little interest in anything beyond her spaniels.” He said the last partly to annoy Honoria. He had no intention of telling her that he meant to pick any suitably meek creature who did not irritate him overmuch and whose appearance was p
assably tolerable.
“Nonsense! Miss Hartley does not have a squint! And Lady Eleanor is a very sporting young lady to enjoy the hunt as she does. You’re being beastly again, Alastair.”
“Am I? I am certain I was only making an observation, Honoria. More cake?”
*
Constance had been quite upset to be obliged to remain at home, and Lorelei, despite her admonitions to herself that it was just a garden party, was rather excited to attend. She did her best to hide her enthusiasm out of consideration for her sister’s feelings. Con felt that she would never be deemed old enough to attend such soirées, though she was every bit as capable of conducting herself as her sister.
Despite her best efforts, Lorelei could not stop her eyes from sparkling with enthusiasm. It was so much better than wasting away at Ledley, in the fog and rain, with nothing but country squires’ wives for company. It was her first party of the Season and her excitement was almost enough to drive the thought of her mystery earl out of her mind. Almost, but not quite. She wondered if he would be there, certain that her heart would know the earl the instant her eyes fell on him. She considered what she would do if she were to see him there. He would not know her and she knew she could not be so bold as to approach the earl and speak to him! And whatever in the world would she say?
Arriving at the elegantly appointed Bassincourt townhouse on Upper Brook Street in Lady Hurst’s barouche, Lorelei once more quickly scanned the faces of the other guests, but seeing no one who at all resembled her mysterious earl, she proceeded to be introduced to the hostess, Lady Julia and some guests of consequence. Lorelei was deeply impressed at the quality of Lady Hurst’s acquaintance when she was introduced to Lady Castlereagh. Lorelei did her best not to look in awe of the influential woman. Lady Castlereagh was one of the honoured patronesses of Almack’s, who could either make or break a young lady’s future by withholding one of the sought-after vouchers to the hallowed establishment. In Lorelei’s opinion, Lady Castlereagh was also the most interesting of the patronesses: she was a friend of Lord Ledley’s and a renowned traveller. Lorelei remembered her father saying that the lady’s country home contained a real tiger of the most vicious temperament!
Excusing herself to procure some refreshments, Lorelei took a moment to look about the bustling room. It was so good to be surrounded by people again, after the repressive solitude of the country. Despite her earlier impatience to begin the Season, Lorelei found herself feeling rather overwhelmed by the whole affair. She acquired some ratafia and stood a moment, watching the other guests. She was gratified to discover another soul who looked every bit as dazed. Lady Julia Kinsey, the celebrated daughter of Lady Bassincourt, had quietly come in and navigated along the far reaches of the room, before coming to a halt at the very back, clutching her own glass of ratafia, which she made no move to drink.
Lorelei observed Lady Julia. Her dress was a beautiful creation of cream muslin and pearls and her silky dark curls only served to frame the paleness of her face and the bright pink flush of her cheeks. Lorelei was surprised that the young woman appeared so very discomfited at her own party. Sensing a kindred spirit, Lorelei went to join the other girl at the back of the room.
“Lady Julia? Are you quite well?” she asked with a friendly smile, keeping her voice decorously quiet so that no one else should overhear.
Lady Julia looked startled and her face coloured in a dark flush. “Oh! Yes, perfectly well, thank you. Only, one does find so many important people all at once to be… But, you know, I was always at school or in the country and almost never in London...” She trailed off, as if aware she had said something quite shocking.
Lorelei only smiled warmly. “I quite agree. It is so difficult to get one’s head around all the names and faces!” Her eyes danced with enchanting mischief. It made Julia instantly warm to her.
Lady Julia’s answering smile lit up her features and it was easy to see why she was expected to take so well once she had been launched into Society.
“I should not say so, of course,” Julia continued. “Mama has worked very hard to organise this party, and I expect I shall soon grow accustomed to fashionable hours. I’d be mortified if the guests thought me a vulgar mushroom.”
“It is the finest garden party I have ever attended,” Lorelei kindly assured her new friend, feeling it better not to mention that she could count the garden parties she had attended on the fingers of one hand. The general did not think much of garden parties.
“You are too kind,” Julia said shyly.
“Oh, not at all.”
“Only, you know, it will be such a mortification if I do not take,” Julia confided.
“I see no reason why you would not! And this is only your first party, after all. I think you are doing exceedingly well. You have very pretty manners! I am certain you will conduct yourself beautifully on the ton and make a hit! I myself have too much archness to take very well, I am told. Why, just this morning I had an interview with the Patronesses. Lady Hurst says it’s imperative that I should be launched at Almack’s and I don’t think I had ever been so nervous in all my life!”
Mrs Drummond-Burrell had made Lorelei anxious without having so much as spoken a single word. She had merely watched every move Lorelei had made: Lorelei had felt as though the woman was waiting for her to commit some shocking faux pas. Worse yet, the lady had been wearing a truly intimidating turban, in a recent Russian fashion, tastefully arranged atop her head. It spoke of refinement and authority. The artist who had arranged her headdress had obviously been one of great merit.
Julia shot Lorelei a nervous look. She could see that being launched into Society didn’t seem to bother Lorelei in the least. Her own interview had certainly been excessively gruelling and Julia doubted if she would ever be able to laugh about it. Luckily, she was spared from having to think of a reply.
“There you are, my dear! I have been looking for you all over the room, and I certainly did not expect to find you hiding at the back!” A cheerful voice intruded, and Lorelei turned to see a handsome young woman with lively eyes, who bore a close resemblance to Lady Julia.
"Eloise! How glad I am that you are here!” There was obvious delight in Lady Julia’s tone. “I was worried you’d find the roads impassable because of all the rain we’ve had.”
“Well, and how do you like that? Take care, my dear, or you shall offend your guests and your mama besides. And I would certainly not have missed your first party because of so silly a thing as roads.”
Julia quickly looked around, visibly relaxing upon finding that no one was paying them any heed. “Oh, no! It is only that I have not seen you in so very long. But you must allow me to introduce Miss Lorelei Lindon – it is to be her first Season also. Miss Lindon, my Aunt Gilmont, though I am obliged to call her ‘Eloise’.”
The lady in question shook Lorelei’s hand, laughing merrily. “I am sure it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lindon,” she said with mock gravity. “Before you are well and truly scandalised, however, allow me to explain that it is because I am only four years Julia’s senior, and I find it would be an absurdity for her to call me ‘aunt’!”
Lorelei found that she liked Lady Gilmont because of her easy and unassuming manners and the warmth of character that was evident in her every word. At Julia’s request, Lady Gilmont told them of her bride-tour of Italy. Her way of speaking was engaging enough that even the mostly uneventful experiences were suddenly found to be very droll.
“It is strange, I own, to return to London a married lady and a matron!”
“Then I had better gift you with a suitable cap, my dear, because certainly the feathers on yours cannot be at all appropriate! You husband must be burning with shame,” a masculine voice spoke from behind Lorelei. It was cultured and dry, and something about it made her dread turning around. She stood, frozen in place, while the speaker joined their circle, and she could ignore him no more.
Her eyes flew to his face, scanning hi
s features for any sign that would tell her, without the shadow of a doubt, whether her earl stood before her. He was tall enough, and his figure couldn’t be finer. His dark brown coat was cut to the nines and his shoulders were broad and strong, as though he should have not the least trouble sweeping a damsel off her feet and carrying her out of danger, or catching her in a swoon. His mouth, very pleasing to look at, was curled into a rather sardonic smile and she wondered whether those same lips had dared steal a kiss from her on a moonlit night not so long ago.
He had dark eyes, and they were amused as he looked at Lady Gilmont.
“I own it is a relief that you are here, Eloise, else Honoria would certainly get my back up soliciting me to stand up with some young lady or other when the dancing begins.”
“What a deplorable lack of manners you show, brother! You are quite late, you know, and you have yet to greet your niece, much less acknowledge Miss Lindon. Honoria should have taken a leaf out of Lady Castlereagh’s book and locked the doors on you!”
“Ah, I am most profoundly sorry to have offended your sensibilities, sister.” Only his eyes acknowledged Eloise’s teasing as he turned gravely to Julia. “And how do you do, my girl? I trust you are wringing every last drop of enjoyment out of your first party?”
Julia flushed again, her nerves too tightly wound to be able to appreciate any teasing. “Oh, yes, very much!” she exclaimed.
“Now that you have unsettled Julia, brother, perhaps you will be introduced to Miss Lindon?” said Eloise archly. “I believe in absence of my sister and with Julia present, I may just be permitted to conduct a formal introduction.”
“By all means,” his voice dropped into a drawl, and his eyes visibly cooled, Lorelei noticed with a shiver. It was as though he had taken a step into himself, to be replaced by a stranger. Why she should have had such a thought, she did not understand, because he was a stranger – but she had somehow begun to think of him as her earl.
The Scoundrel's Secret Siren Page 3