by Claudia Dain
She had.
“I should like to meet Lord Iveston first, if that is quite agreeable to you, Lady Dalby,” she said firmly, her bosom held regally high and her chin quite firm and unyielding. “If the situation requires it, then I shall require an introduction to the Duke of Edenham. He is last on my list, after all, and I don’t see any need to rearrange the order now.”
The fact that Edenham was in all likelihood the most handsome man she had ever set eyes upon was not going to move him up the ladder. She knew what she wanted. She was as much a woman of the world as … well, not as much as Sophia, but enough. Enough of a woman to get what she wanted from a man.
She was going to get it before Penelope Prestwick, too.
“Would you be so kind as to lead the way, Lady Dalby?” Amelia said regally. “I would be so pleased to be formally reacquainted with Louisa’s husband’s brothers.”
“Ah, yes, family,” Sophia said with a very wicked smile. Amelia wasn’t entirely certain if Sophia knew how to do anything that wasn’t wicked. “You are related by marriage now, aren’t you? How very, very convenient. That will make as nice a start as any, though I do think you underestimate the comprehensiveness of London gossip, darling.”
Amelia was not going to think about that, not now, not ever, if given the choice. She was quite certain that, once married, this entire escapade would, if not disappear, become an entertaining and highly amusing story. One day. Eventually. Certainly her husband should be able to arrange it tidily.
“I do think now is the time, Lady Dalby,” Anne Warren said, redirecting the conversation slightly. “Are they not looking this way?”
They were, all four of them. They did not look pleasant at all. They looked, oddly enough, almost hostile.
How very typical.
“Don’t they look charming?” Sophia said, her dark eyes glittering. “They appear very eager to speak with us, which is quite a lovely compliment. Let’s allow them the pleasure, shall we? I do think that now is the time, Lady Amelia, for you to unleash all your considerable experience at sparkling conversation.”
Amelia was quite certain that she had no experience whatsoever at sparkling conversation. She was not going to let that small detail interfere with her sparkling all over Iveston. “I am quite prepared, Lady Dalby,” Amelia said. “If you will lead the way? ”
“Lead the way? Oh, darling girl, no, no. That is not at all how it’s done. They must come to us, you see. I thought that was perfectly obvious. We may beckon them. We may ignore them. We may charm them. But we must never approach them. Men do love to run after things, pursuit being their preferred leisure activity. No one of any intelligence understands why this is so, but the matter, understandable or not, is not up for debate. A man pursues. A woman eludes. It is the way of things.”
Amelia was very much afraid her mouth was hanging agape and presenting a most unattractive view of herself. She snapped her mouth shut.
“But Lady Dalby, by your very words I am becoming famous for interviewing the Duke of Calbourne! Is that not pursuit? Is that not precisely why I am here tonight and why I should speak to Lord Iveston?”
“Darling,” Sophia soothed, “you are confusing the issue completely, mixing together two separate acts that do not require mixing. You will have your interview, indeed, I should be much surprised if Iveston, and even Edenham did not insist upon it.”
“They will insist upon it?” Amelia said. She was developing a headache behind her right ear. It took all her composure not to rub the spot. “Whyever for?”
“Pursuit, darling Amelia,” Sophia said softly. “They must now pursue. They are men, poor dears, they are very nearly compelled to do so.”
“Lady Dalby—” Amelia said, very much afraid she was sputtering, which would have been entirely unattractive and, as fully one quarter of the room was now staring in her direction and at least ten people actively listening to their … well, what else to call it, their argument over how men behaved with women, which really was absurd as no one in the world understood how men behaved with women more than Sophia Dalby, which was the very reason Amelia had gone to her in the first place … Amelia’s head pounded, the spot behind her ear spreading upward in an arch of distraction.
“Lady Amelia,” Sophia interrupted, “you must know that men absolutely detest being left out of any competition. You have provided them with a very unusual competition. How can they resist? Surely you can see that.”
Sophia was looking at her as if she were the worst sort of fool, the sort of fool who did not understand men.
Amelia, knowing by now that nothing she said would reflect well on her, said nothing. Perhaps that was the best course when dealing with Sophia. Certainly speaking with her did no good at all.
“Of course,” she said, capitulating completely. Things were slightly, just slightly, out of her hands and out of her control. All she could do was hope that her husband would understand one day all she had endured to find him. “What should I do now?”
Sophia smiled at her encouragingly, which was obviously insulting. “Do? Why there is nothing to do. Iveston and his lovely brothers are on their way to you now. Did you expect otherwise? ”
There was only one answer to that.
“Of course not,” Amelia said.
Ten
THE Earl of Cranleigh, the Marquis of Iveston’s more direct and, some would attest, ruthless brother, watched Amelia Caversham in hushed council with Sophia Dalby, openly consorting with a woman of highly questionable reputation, though there really was no question about it at all, was there? Sophia Dalby was the worst sort of woman and Amelia had taken up with her, openly. Lady Amelia Caversham had made a bad secret of the fact that she was in hot pursuit of a duke for a husband. It was one thing for a woman to want to marry; that was a normal, if annoying pursuit, but to make a list and conduct interviews, that was quite beyond decent and clearly ruinous. How had such a sheltered girl wandered onto such dangerous ground?
Lady Dalby had led her there, naturally.
No matter. A woman, even such a well-bred and, admittedly, beautiful woman as Lady Amelia was not going to be permitted to run through the Prestwick ball and snatch Iveston up like a trinket at the fair. No.
Of course she was beautiful.
There was something about the planes of her face, some deeply etched tracery of feminine nobility, that was compelling in a way that mere prettiness was not. Her eyes were blue, her hair was blond, yet she was not pretty. She was beautiful.
Not that it mattered in the least. Pretty or beautiful, she was not going to trap Iveston into an unwanted alliance, no matter that Iveston himself suddenly seemed less than outraged by the prospect. Cranleigh laid that at Sophia’s doorstep as well. Iveston only recently had come under Sophia’s rather famous spell and, because Amelia was allied with Sophia, Iveston was prepared to make allowances. Cranleigh was not. More to the point, the very fact that Amelia Caversham had chosen to ally herself with the infamous Lady Dalby spoke volumes about her intentions and not a single one was flattering.
It spoke of desperation, surely, and a lack of discretion, even a certain coarseness that was flatly reprehensible. Surely Lady Amelia understood that, which brought the circle back round to desperation.
He was only thinking of Iveston, who, mesmerized by Sophia Dalby, could not readily fend for himself. He would take care of everything. Amelia Caversham, under the questionable tutelage of Sophia, would not find Iveston easy pickings.
The Viscount Prestwick had rented, for himself and his family, a house on Upper Brook Street, just down from Lady Dalby’s residence. It was a very nice address and the house was well appointed. As it was on the end of the street, it had the advantage of a small conservatory off the drawing room, the scent of green mixing pleasurably with the scent of beeswax candles. Quite a nice house. It was rumored that Prestwick could afford almost anything he wanted. What he wanted, presumably, was a husband for his daughter.
Another girl look
ing for a husband. This business with Amelia Caversham blatantly pursuing Iveston, Edenham, and perhaps even Calbourne had put a crease in Cranleigh’s firm plans to return to sea and he intended to be done with the entire mess by the end of this ball. Let Amelia, and even Miss Prestwick, if she was observant and had her wits about her, find that Iveston at least was not on the menu for hungry young ladies of a matrimonial bent.
“Lady Dalby, how delightful to see you again,” Iveston said with a curt and perfectly executed bow. Would that his manner was curt; Iveston, now that he had actually met her, seemed to genuinely like the woman. Blame Blakes for that. He had an unnatural fascination and respect for a woman who had made her way through London on her back. Her husband, the late earl, had likely died of exhaustion. “Lady Amelia, Mrs. Warren,” he said, bowing in turn.
“Lord Iveston,” Sophia said when she had risen from her curtsey, “how charming of you. Of course, we expected you, but to bring your delicious brothers with you, and all unmarried, that was generous. One might say to a fault?”
“Is there fault to be found in attending a ball, Lady Dalby?” Cranleigh said coldly before Iveston could answer her. “Or is there only fault in being unmarried?”
Sophia smiled at him and said, “But I am unmarried, Lord Cranleigh, thus I would never find being unmarried to be a fault. As you are unmarried as well, would you not agree?”
“I find myself being forced to agree with you, Lady Dalby,” Cranleigh said. “It is a firm expectation of yours, I suspect.”
It was hardly polite, but then neither was interviewing dukes for husbands. She had pushed beyond the boundaries, let her live with the broken fences in her wake.
“Suspect no longer, my lord,” Sophia said, not a hint of shame marking her elegant features. “I do love it when men agree with me, forced or not. In fact, sometimes force adds a certain extra pleasure to the experience. Will you agree with me again, my lord?”
“Don’t punish him, Lady Dalby,” Iveston said softly. “Cranleigh is not possessed of a soft and yielding temperament. He cannot bend against your jests but must stand and crack beneath them. As he is here for love of me, I must protect him, even from so delightful a woman as you.”
Cranleigh turned to stare at his older brother. Truly, he had rarely heard Iveston say so many words in one breath outside the family hearth. It was then, oddly and for the first time, that he wondered if Sophia Dalby might, in some strange way, be good for Iveston.
Most peculiar.
“Perhaps,” Lady Amelia said softly, “if Lord Cranleigh is punished, he might soften and learn the pleasure of yielding.” She was blushing by the end of it.
Well should she blush; it was a most indelicate comment. Cranleigh stared into her eyes. She stared back, her blush fading into white composure.
Sophia smiled. “He might at that. Do you think it possible, Lord Cranleigh?”
“There is no pleasure in yielding,” Cranleigh said, staring hard at Amelia. “A woman of virtue would know that, wouldn’t she?”
He did not name her, but he looked directly at Lady Amelia. His point was obvious.
She blushed again, vigorously. He was not a bit repentant. A girl, no matter who her father was, should not be so coarse in her language or her manner.
“A woman of virtue knows many things, Lord Cranleigh,” Mrs. Warren said, joining in the debate, her fair features showing no sign of a blush, “and the first of which is what pleasure is available to her and what pleasure denied. Certainly yielding to the wisdom and wit of an earl must rank as being pleasurable, or else how is a lady to survive in Society?”
Iveston laughed. The Earl of Cranleigh could not see what was so vastly amusing about being verbally bludgeoned by a trio of women.
“You’re overmatched, Cranleigh,” his brother George said, his gaze focused on Mrs. Warren. She was a pretty thing, all white skin and glowing hazel eyes, her ginger hair gleaming in the candlelight.
“Hardly,” Cranleigh said tightly.
“I must agree with Lord Cranleigh,” Sophia said. “It is not possible, at this early stage, for the earl to be in any danger at all from the three of us. Why, are we not mere women?”
Precisely.
“At this early stage?” Iveston said, dipping his head. “That sounds ominous, Lady Dalby. What do you intend?”
“Only what you yourself will agree to, Lord Iveston,” Sophia said. “Is that not why you are here tonight? Or had it been your intention to attend the Prestwick ball when the invitations were issued weeks ago?”
She was playing the pure coquette. Cranleigh was not amused by it. Glancing at Amelia Caversham, he was of the impression that she was equally unamused.
“I should think that over half of those in attendance tonight had declined,” George said, “until the details of your interview became widely known.”
And here all eyes turned to study Amelia, as was only to be expected. To his surprise, she did not blush and avert her gaze. Instead, she lifted her chin and her bust and stared thoughtfully at Iveston. As if she were considering him! As if she had the right to just snatch him up.
“Odd, isn’t it?” Sophia said, gazing at each of the brothers in turn, even though Josiah had yet to say a word. Smart lad.
“What’s odd?” Cranleigh said. “That a woman would debase herself and her family name by exhibiting such poor judgment?”
Amelia swallowed heavily, but she did not lower her gaze. He was reluctantly impressed. He pushed all thoughts of admiration from him instantly. Nearly instantly.
“Lord Cranleigh,” Sophia scolded with a seductive lifting of her sable brows, “you surprise me. I had it from the duchess that you were widely traveled. Do you mean to say that you learned nothing of the various cultures of the world in all those miles put beneath your feet? Certainly a woman should always be commended for doing her utmost to make a good marriage. Do you not agree?”
“Of course I agree,” he said. “But this is hardly—”
“Hardly ordinary,” Sophia interrupted. “I so agree with you. But then, Amelia Caversham is hardly ordinary, which I think must be obvious, especially to you.”
His gaze went to Lady Amelia. He had neither the time nor the inclination for these feminine games of man-baiting.
“Especially to the Duke of Calbourne, I should think,” Iveston said, surprising him again. When had Iveston become so talkative, and with a woman, too? “You caught him wrong-footed, it’s being said. ’Tis quite a rare thing, that.”
“Darling Lord Iveston,” Sophia said, “if it’s being said, it’s being said by the duke himself. Certainly he was as charming and as entertaining as he ever is and certainly Lady Amelia found him quite—”
“The word was tall, Lady Dalby,” Amelia said with some force. “The Duke of Calbourne is quite, quite tall. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Iveston?”
Amelia Caversham turned her striking blue eyes upon Iveston and very nearly tried to burn him with an intense gaze ripe with meaning and invitation. Even Cranleigh could feel it. By George’s slight cough, George felt it, too. Josiah remained silent, which was something of a miracle.
IT was a miracle of sorts. Amelia had spoken, interrupting Sophia and her unfailing ability to make herself the center of male attention, and by speaking, she had garnered attention unto herself. The very avid attention of each Blakesley male. It was quite lovely.
Of course, it had required her to be very rude and very obvious, and yet she had their full attention, which certainly must be all that should matter. All she cared about for the present was that Lord Iveston, who truly was a quite respectable-looking man, was staring deeply into her eyes.
His brother, the irritable Lord Cranleigh, who spoke far too much and not at all pleasantly, was staring at her bosom. She could feel it, and she thought it perfectly dreadful of him. Of course, her bosom was perfectly lovely, but did he have to make such a point of it? He clearly, if she had to judge only by this most recent conversation, had no restraint and
very nearly no civility at all. She forced her gaze back from Cranleigh to Iveston.
Lord Iveston, who would one day be the Duke of Hyde, was tall and of a somewhat narrow frame, an altogether elegant-looking man with light blond hair and vivid blue eyes. Iveston’s brother Cranleigh, not nearly as blond and with eyes the color of an arctic wolf, looked very much like a common sailor. He was wearing a well-tailored suit, but that did not disguise the fact that he was powerfully built and rather thick about the neck. Common. He clearly took after his mother, the American-born Molly, not that she would ever allow such a thought to even enter her head once Molly was her children’s grandmother.
Now that she had seen Iveston with his brothers, and now that she had spent an hour with Calbourne, she was more certain than ever that she wanted Iveston. Edenham, with his trail of broken wives and nursery full of children, was off the list. Well, not completely off, but barely on. She was not so foolish as to mark off Edenham before Iveston had been fully secured.
He was very nearly secured now. He was staring at her, after all, and he did not look too displeased, and she was a more than merely attractive girl, and her father was a duke.
That should settle things nicely, shouldn’t it? Sophia was completely unnecessary from this point on. Now that Iveston had noticed her and actually approached her, she could manage on her own.
The first order of business, besides inducing Iveston to beg for her hand in marriage, was to make it clear to Cranleigh that he was unwelcome. The other two could stay or go, she did not much care which. But Cranleigh, the sailor, had to go. He was rude and arrogant and he was not at all shy about giving every appearance of entertaining an actual dislike of her. Certainly, if he found reason, however paltry, for disliking her, he should keep it to himself. Besides, there was no reason at all for anyone to dislike her, especially a man who looked like a sailor.