by Ava Stone
The duke removed his hand from his wife, stepped away, and winked at her. “Of course not, sweetheart.” Then he smiled at Cordie. “I’m only leaving her in your care. Don’t let any blackguards or scoundrels near her.”
Livvie giggled. “Go on with you. I only have a fondness for my scoundrel, as you well know.”
After Kelfield disappeared into the crowd, Livvie turned her attention back to Cordie, smiling. “I am so glad to see you. But won’t your mother be furious if she learns you’ve been associating with that scandalous duchess?”
“Of course she will,” Cordie answered honestly. “So we’d best make it worth our while.”
“Oh bother!” Livvie whispered with a frown. “Don’t look now, but Lord Brookfield is headed our way. His eyes are on you, as usual.”
Cordie groaned. Viscount Brookfield was a fortune hunter, nearly twice her age, and he smelled like the inside of her brothers’ house slippers. Unfortunately, he’d set his sights on Cordie at the end of last season, or rather on her increased dowry, since her mother was concerned she would never find a proper husband. Brookfield, however, did not qualify as proper husband material in either Lady Avery’s eyes or her own.
“My darling girls!” came Lady Staveley’s voice from behind them. “I am so happy you’re both here.”
Cordie adored Caroline, Viscountess Staveley, and had for years. She was everything Cordie aspired to be. Clever. Confident. Constant. And doggedly loyal.
“Caro,” Livvie whispered behind her fan, “you must get rid of Lord Brookfield. He’ll try to monopolize Cordelia.”
Lady Staveley frowned at the approaching viscount. “I don’t even recall inviting him. No matter, I’ll take care of it.”
As the man reached them, Lady Staveley smiled beatifically. “My darling Brookfield,” she gushed. “Lady Astwick, the dowager that is, was just asking me about you.”
“Indeed?” The viscount gulped.
Cordie almost felt sorry for him. Almost. No one ever wanted to deal with the dowager Lady Astwick. A more frightening dragon didn’t exist.
“Oh, yes!” Lady Staveley assured him. “In fact, my lord, I promised her ladyship that I would send you right over to her as soon as I saw you.”
“You did?” he squeaked.
“I did. She is there in the corner.” Lady Staveley gestured to the other side of the room where many widows lined the wall. “Do you see her?”
Brookfield’s face turned white. He’d most assuredly seen the widowed marchioness, and he nodded sullenly. “Indeed, I do.”
“Splendid.” Lady Staveley clapped her hands together. “Do go on, my lord. I would hate to keep her ladyship waiting.”
Brookfield spun on his heels and started across the room, his head hung low, like a man headed to the gallows.
Triumphantly, Lady Staveley turned back to Cordie and Livvie. “Well, that’s over. Now then—” she looked Cordie up and down— “no Brookfield for you, darling. I shall endeavor to find you a handsome gentleman by the end of the evening.”
Cordie found herself laughing. “Lady Staveley, that is not necessary in the—”
“Caroline.” A rich, baritone voice floated over Cordie’s shoulder.
She turned, instinctively, to see Lord Clayworth standing behind, and Cordie sucked in a surprised breath. The earl was exceedingly handsome with sandy blond hair lying perfectly in place and blue eyes so dark one could mistake them for a twilight sky. He had a perfect aristocratic nose and a strong chin.
Lord Adonis.
That’s how many women of the ton referred to Clayworth, generally followed by a sigh. But not Cordie. His beauty was only skin deep. She knew all about the gorgeous earl, and thought it a shame such a striking man should be as unfeeling as a granite statue. No one, however, seemed to know how miserably Clayworth had treated his late wife. They all thought he was a devoted husband, still mourning Marina long after her death, but Cordie knew better.
Cordie knew the truth.
She would be surprised if Clayworth ever thought about his wife or their daughter, both of whom died in childbirth, while the earl had been somewhere else.
Throughout her volatile marriage, Marina had often complained about the earl to Cordelia’s older sister Eleanor, and Cordie had often eavesdropped on the conversations. Though all of that was many years ago, when she was still in the schoolroom.
“Brendan!” Lady Staveley’s smile grew wide as her eyes fell on the earl. “Darling, I am so glad you found time to attend my little ball.”
Clayworth raised one golden brow mockingly. “You didn’t really give me much of a choice.”
Lady Staveley laughed and tucked her hand around Clayworth’s arm. “Darling, you know my cousin, the duchess, of course. But have you met Miss Cordelia Avery?”
More than once, Cordie thought miserably.
“No. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Clayworth drawled. Though his voice seemed less than pleased.
Cordie frowned. He didn’t recall her? Honestly, they’d been introduced many times over the years, her sister being his wife’s closest friend and all.
Lady Staveley positively glowed. “Then allow me the honors. Lord Clayworth, Miss Cordelia Avery of Nottinghamshire.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Avery.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied airily. There was no point in letting the man’s rudeness destroy her evening. Not when mother was playing Loo and she could spend time catching up with Livvie.
She started to reach for Livvie’s arm, when Lady Staveley tapped Clayworth’s chest with her fan. “Darling, you never dance. Might I persuade you to take to the floor this evening?”
The earl glared, momentarily, at Lady Staveley. Then the look of irritation vanished, as if it had never been there. “Yes, of course, Caroline.” His eyes swept across Livvie and then Cordie. “Miss Avery, may I see your dance card?”
Her dance card? Lord Adonis wanted to dance with her? All eyes were on Cordie, so she raised her wrist for the earl, where her dance card and small pencil dangled. Then he scribbled his name for the next song—which, unfortunately, happened to be a waltz.
***
Brendan only selected Miss Avery due to her proximity to Caroline, when she very politely demanded he dance, and the fact that the pretty, dark haired girl was not the Duchess of Kelfield. He’d seen the possessive look on the duke’s face just moments before, and he had no desire to deal with the girl’s depraved husband. That bit of melodrama he could avoid.
So by default, Miss Avery would have to do.
Brendan was surprised that, when the girl frowned at him, her pert little nose scrunched up as he scrawled his name on her card. He stared at her, trying to figure out why her pretty, green eyes darkened to the color of a forest at dusk as she looked at him.
Then the music began and he offered her his arm, which she took grudgingly. How odd. Most girls and their mothers generally tried to grab his attention, not that he ever wanted it, but he didn’t remember any young miss ever scowling at him before.
He noticed immediately Miss Avery fit nicely in his arms, which was a strange thought. Probably any woman would fit nicely in his arms. It had been so long since he’d danced with one, he just couldn’t remember.
“Why the quizzical look, Miss Avery?” he finally asked.
She tilted her head to one side and the golden flecks in her green eyes sparkled with an emotion Brendan didn’t understand. “You really don’t remember me?”
On his life, he’d never met the girl before. She was either daft or quite confused. “Should I?”
“My sister was Eleanor Avery, before she married,” she remarked with exasperation, as if that answered his question. It did not.
Brendan shook his head at the pretty girl. It was too bad that she was obviously deranged. “I see. And is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Miss Avery’s face turned a bit pink and she opened her mouth a few time
s, like a fish, as if she was going to say something but thought the better of it. Finally she shook her head. “I suppose not, my lord.”
Brendan raised his brow in question. There was something else she’d wanted to say, he was sure of it. As he led her in a turn, he studied her pretty face, certain he’d never laid eyes on the girl before in his life. She was very lovely. He would have remembered her. “You are close to the duchess?” he asked casually.
Green fire shot from her eyes. “She’s my dearest friend, and no one would ever have to force me to attend a ball in her honor, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Are you under the impression that I was forced?”
“You made the fact perfectly clear when you said Lady Staveley hadn’t given you a choice.”
She was intent on not liking him for some reason. Well, that was fine with Brendan. He hadn’t even wanted to dance with the chit, and wouldn’t have if Caroline hadn’t forced him into it. Both attending and dancing, that is. Brendan decided not to waste any more conversation on the surly Miss Avery, to wait out the rest of the dance in silence. Unfortunately, that left him staring at the girl. It was a shame she was so pretty. She’d probably fool some fellow, blinded by her beauty, into marrying her. The chap wouldn’t even realize such a harridan resided under her lovely skin until it was too late.
She did have the most remarkable eyes. Each golden fleck was mesmerizing in its own way, even as she looked annoyed with him. They didn’t speak, just glided across the floor, perfectly in sync with each other. Finally the song ended, and Brendan wasn’t sure if he was elated or saddened by the fact. If nothing else, Miss Avery was intriguing.
He offered her his arm and then escorted her back to Caroline’s side. He bowed stiffly and briefly met her eyes. “It was indeed an honor, Miss Avery.”
“Thank you, sir,” she responded just as stiffly.
Wanting to avoid Caroline and any other dance partners she thought to thrust in his direction, Brendan quickly made his way to the corner of the room where Robert was talking with their mutual friend. Chester Peyton, the Marquess of Astwick, a large, gregarious fellow was always too loud. When Astwick spied him, his grin grew to the size of his face. “Well, look, Rob, it’s ol’ Romeo in the flesh,” his voice boomed.
Brendan glowered at the marquess.
Robert simply shook his head. “You’ve always been too irritatingly cheerful, Chet.”
Astwick brushed off the rebuke. “I just don’t know the last time I saw you dance, Bren. Miss Avery will be the talk of the Town tomorrow, successfully getting Lord Adonis to waltz with her. Every other girl and her mother will want to know her secret.”
“It’s obvious,” Robert began, “that my sister forced it on him.”
Brendan glanced at Masten. Though his words were true, it was a bit annoying he was so easily read. He certainly didn’t want them figuring anything else out. He tilted his head to one side. “On the contrary, I found the girl quite delightful,” he replied, hoping it made him appear a bit more enigmatic.
“Bloody hell,” Robert grumbled. “Now she’s beckoning me.”
As Robert started off towards Caroline, Brendan turned his attention back to the peculiar Miss Avery. Lord Brookfield, a fellow more than twice the girl’s age, took Miss Avery’s hand in his and led her back to the dance floor. Brendan shook his head. Even she didn’t deserve Brookfield’s attention. She must have a sizable dowry.
“Oh, Brendan!” gushed Astwick’s Scottish bride, Hannah, coming up behind them. “I dinna realize ye were in Town.”
“Just arrived this afternoon.”
“Well, it’s so nice to see ye. How is Rosamund?”
Troubled. Angry. Hard to reach. “Fine, thank you.”
Miss Avery caught his eye, across the room. She was miserable, with Brookfield leering down at her. Though why he should concern himself with the annoying chit, he had no idea. “Chet,” he began, his eyes still on Miss Avery, “does the name Eleanor Avery mean anything to you?”
“Hmm.” Astwick rubbed his chin. “Not really.”
“Eleanor Avery?” Hannah asked, with an edge to her voice. “She came out the season I was in London. Doona ye remember, darling?”
That would have been fourteen years ago. Astwick furrowed his brow, and then shook his head. “I seem only to remember you from that year, my love.”
To the casual observer, one might think the marquess was simply flattering his wife, but Brendan knew better than most that the words were sincere. The two had been reunited the previous summer, after spending more than a dozen years apart. In all that time, Astwick had never stopped loving Hannah.
Since Hannah knew Eleanor Avery, Brendan turned his attention to her. “What do you remember about her?”
The marchioness’ blue eyes darkened and she bit her lower lip. “There was nothing particularly special about her. Though she was a bit full of herself. At least she and Marina Winston made sure I knew they were better than me—a silly Scottish lass who dinna know anyone.”
Brendan didn’t hear much else after Marina’s name was mentioned, and his mouth went dry. His eyes flew back to where Miss Avery was still dancing a minuet with the ancient Brookfield. “Marina?” He softly echoed his late wife’s name.
Then Astwick’s ham hock of a hand slapped his back. “I do remember now. A rather typical brunette. She and Marina were the best of friends. I think she married some sort of diplomat and lives abroad.”
A rather typical brunette. That was fairly nondescript. Brendan closed his eyes and tried hard to remember the girl. He’d blocked out so much of the first few years of his marriage, and apparently Eleanor Avery as well. She and Marina were the best of friends. Perhaps this Eleanor, wherever she was, might have an idea of what Marina had done with those damned letters, or what the devil she meant by the lion holds your secrets.
Across the room, Miss Avery looked quite bored with Lord Brookfield’s attention. Brendan smiled at the girl. She had just given him the best lead he’d had in years. He just had to figure out what to do with it.
~ 3 ~
Where was Livvie? Cordie had to suffer through an awful minuet with Brookfield, and then she couldn’t spot her friend or Kelfield anywhere. So she strolled the perimeter, past couples dancing, matrons gossiping, and friends clustered together laughing and talking with each other. At one point she caught Clayworth watching her, though why he was doing so she couldn’t imagine. Though she tipped her nose further in the air, his eyes never left her. Infuriating man!
“Cordelia Avery!” came a familiar voice behind her.
Cordie turned and was instantly embraced by an old friend. Henrietta Scutchings, a fair haired young matron, smiled sweetly.
“Hen, I didn’t know you were in Town.”
Henrietta quickly linked her arm with Cordie’s and led her towards group of women. “I insisted that Edward return me to London when I heard Lady Staveley was hosting this ball.”
She was quickly surrounded by a number of other young matrons, all discussing the unseasonably warm summer. Cordie realized as she looked around her that each of the women present had all come out the same year she and Olivia had. She was the only one left unmarried. Why had that not bothered her before now? Heavens, what if her mother was right? Cordie pushed that thought away almost as quickly as it entered her mind. She refused to believe her mother was right about anything.
“You were at the Prestwick house party, weren’t you?” May Lismore asked.
The house party where Livvie met Kelfield. The reason for their rather quick marriage. The crowd around them quieted when Cordie nodded.
Henrietta nearly squealed with delight. “Oh, Cordelia, do tell. What precisely happened with Olivia and the duke? I’m dying to know.”
Cordie frowned. They didn’t honestly think she’d talk behind her dearest friend’s back, did they? In the first place, she would never do such a thing. Besides, Livvie was going through a hard enough time as it was. She would ne
ver add to it. “They fell in love. Isn’t it obvious?”
May pursed her lips, obviously annoyed with the answer. “I heard they fell into something, but I don’t know that I’d call it love,” she replied cattily.
Cordie’s back stiffened and she leveled the matron with her iciest stare. “Well, as I was there, and you were not, I suppose you’ll have to take my word for it. They fell quickly in love and Kelfield, who is quite an impatient man by the way, did not want to wait for the banns. And when one is as powerful as His Grace, one doesn’t have to. I think it’s wildly romantic.”
“I suppose she must have forgotten she still had a fiancé,” Henrietta whispered loud enough for the entire group to hear.
Well there was that. But Livvie hadn’t gone out of her way to fall in love with the duke. It had just happened. “I’m certain Major Moore would want her to be happy.”
The women all tittered behind their fans at her and Cordie thrust out her chin defiantly. At one time she and Livvie would have considered each of these women to be friends. How wrong they’d been. Without another word, she spun on her heels and walked back through the crowd.
Then she spotted Livvie, in the main entry way, standing with her husband. She caught her friend’s eye and in no time, the duchess waded through the crowd until they were finally together again. “Was that Henrietta?”
Cordie nodded. “She’s positively vicious tonight. I’d forgotten that about her.”
“They were talking about me, weren’t they?”
Cordie hated to see the hurt in Livvie’s eyes, so she shook her head. Her friend had already been through so much, and there was no point in adding to it. “Of course not,” she lied. “They ripped my dress apart. It’s terribly plain, as I well know. But I can’t get away with wearing bold dresses like you married women do. I think I shall have to get married, just to be fashionable.”
Livvie hugged her. “You don’t have to protect me, Cordie. I can well imagine what they think of me.”
They did know each other better than anyone else. Cordie hugged her back fiercely. “They’re harpies. Pay them no attention. I don’t intend to.”