Lovers and Ladies

by Jo Beverley

  “‘No pleasure endures unseasoned by variety,’” quoted Everdon. “Lady Deirdre, do you know Rowanford and Mr. Ashby?” He performed the introductions and discovered that the handsome girl was Clytemnestra Ashby, Chart’s sister. If he was any judge of such matters, and he was, an announcement concerning her and Rowanford would appear any day. Another promising bud snatched from his reaching fingers…

  But this was only a humorous thought. He knew he had settled on Deirdre Stowe.

  “Lady Deirdre is a dear friend of my mother’s,” he said. “They share an interest, nay, a passion, for the art of embroidery.”

  He saw Deirdre register the word “art” with pleasure, and the men take in his message that he wanted them to be kind to her. They both requested dances, and Lady Deirdre, flustered, accepted. After a few moments’ chat, the music started and he led her into the set.

  At the beginning she danced rather stiffly, but Everdon soon suspected that Lady Deirdre Stowe could be a beautiful dancer. He set himself to draw out her talent by distracting her from self-consciousness. Then, when they were together, he subtly urged her into more fluent movement. Slowly she was transformed. She surrendered to the music. She became light on her feet and moved the whole of her body in a supple way most pleasing to the eye. At the end of the dance he was rewarded by an unself-conscious, delighted smile, and noted that the healthy flush of exercise improved her looks considerably.

  “That was most enjoyable, Lord Everdon,” she said, “You are a skillful partner.”

  “You are a natural dancer, Lady Deirdre.”

  She demurred but did not make extreme denials. She was, he thought with approval, a young woman of admirable common sense.

  He noted that others had seen her performance, and that when Rowanford claimed the next set, it was with genuine enthusiasm.

  Everdon moved on, content with the first moves of the game. He was already thinking of Deirdre Stowe as his own, and planning her welfare and improvement. With a simpler, lighter gown and a more natural hairstyle, she would do quite well in any circle. He had no problem with her behavior at all except for a certain diffidence, which would surely fade when she found herself mistress of her own establishment, secure and valued.

  He didn’t want to mark Lady Deirdre out with his attentions, and so he had Sophie present him to two other young ladies. It soon became clear to him why they were languishing unwanted. One chattered nonsense in a way bound to drive a man to drink; the other had a hard, bony angularity of body that was most unappealing, especially as he suspected it came out of an anxious temperament that approached the insane. It was quite different from Lady Deirdre’s delicate thinness.

  His instinct to help twitched in both cases, but he suppressed it.

  When he finished the third set, he moved apart to observe the scene, while talking with Randal and Sophie. He smiled wryly when he saw Deirdre taken out for another set by a gentleman unprompted by him. It would be ironic if she found a rival suitor through his meddling. She did look rather more appealing than she had when sitting steeped in tedium.

  Success breeds success.

  “Pray, why are you staring at Lady Deirdre?” asked Sophie.

  Everdon turned to her. “My mother asked me to see if I could liven the last weeks of her Season.”

  “You’ve certainly enlivened this evening. If you weren’t a married man, I’d wonder about your intentions.”

  Everdon hoped he didn’t show how that had found a mark. “I suppose she would make a tolerable wife, if a man were looking for such.”

  Sophie wrinkled her brow. “Tolerable? How dull. But I’m afraid people like Lady Deirdre do not show well in London. She doubtless will do better at home now she’s spread her wings. Lady Harby, however, has a bee in her bonnet about good matches. She’s married the three older girls brilliantly and is determined to do the same for the last. Foolishness, of course.”

  Everdon glanced at her. “You don’t think Lady Deirdre can make a brilliant match?”

  Sophie was taken aback. “You’re pushing me into sounding mean-spirited, but no, I don’t. She simply has no remarkable feature and is rather plain.”

  “Oh, you are doubtless correct,” Everdon said amiably, and took his leave.

  2

  EVERDON CONSIDERED MATTERS CAREFULLY, and decided there was little point in delaying before making his offer. To woo Lady Deirdre might raise expectations beyond those he felt able to fulfill, and besides, he couldn’t woo her publicly without revealing his widowed status. He would much prefer to be spoken for when that news broke.

  He duly presented himself at the Harbys’ hired house the next day, and was soon closeted with the earl. Lord Harby didn’t hide his surprise and delight at the turn of events.

  “Wife dead, hey?” said Harby, a plain country man who would never leave his acres if he had the choice. “And six months ago, too. Well, if you’re for making a sensible match, you won’t do better than Deirdre. Very sound head on her shoulders, has Deirdre.”

  “So I think, my lord. You have no objection, then, to my pressing my suit?”

  “Objection?” said the earl, rubbing his hands. “Not at all. Delighted. That’ll be the last of ’em, and with any luck, I’ll never have to join this circus again. Worse than usual this year, with foreigners all over the place, and the ragtag of the world come to gawk. Fêtes in the park, indeed…But come now, let’s just get business out of the way.”

  Lord Harby had a sound head on his shoulders, too, and the experience of marrying off three daughters already. Settlements were soon outlined and agreed to that would ensure his youngest daughter’s security. Everdon agreed to everything without debate.

  “Excellent, excellent.” Lord Harby poured them both wine, and they toasted the coming union. Then he sent for his wife.

  Lady Harby came close to palpitations when she realized what was afoot. “Oh my, oh lud! Didn’t I tell you, my dear Harby, that someone suitable would see the worth of our lamb? I knew it must be so. Oh, I am so happy. Four daughters all well set in life!”

  Then, disconcertingly, the fluttery manner dropped away and she fixed Everdon with eyes that were no longer vague. “I must say something, however…”

  “Now, my dear…” Lord Harby interrupted uneasily.

  “No, Harby, I will have my say.” She remained a plump woman dressed in a very silly manner, but there was nothing silly in her expression. “Lord Everdon, I am a plain woman, and stand no nonsense where my chicks are concerned. You are known as Don Juan, and not without reason.”

  Everdon stiffened under this attack, for he had not expected it. “Indeed,” he said rather coolly. “Such a sobriquet is to be expected when I have a Spanish mother and foreign names.”

  Lady Harby sniffed. “That has nothing to do with it, as all the world knows. You name comes from that lewd Spanish poem, and is well deserved. Don’t seek to flummery me, young man, for I’ll not have it.”

  Everdon was strongly tempted to say that she could keep her damned daughter if that was her mood, but along with the outrage came some admiration. If daughters turned out like their mothers, he was pleased to find some backbone in the stable.

  “You refer to my many lovers,” he said frankly.

  Red flags appeared in Lady Harby’s cheeks, but frankness did not deter her. “I do. And I tell you straight, I won’t have my daughter made unhappy by scandalous gossip.”

  Everdon took a calculated pinch of snuff, then dusted his fingers. “As I wouldn’t want my wife to be made unhappy by scandalous gossip, Lady Harby, I think we are in complete agreement. May I see Deirdre now and put my case to her?”

  Lady Harby looked as if she would say more, but her husband stepped in quickly. “I’m sure Everdon will do all that is proper, my dear. Come along, my lord. Deirdre will be in her little room at her stitchery. One thing’s for sure, you’ll never lack for a good chairback or a neatly sewn pair of slippers…”

  It was not to be quite so easy. A his
sing conversation developed between the parents, of which Everdon pretended polite ignorance. He heard Lord Harby mutter, “She’ll look well enough, Lady Harby. Looks better before you get your hands on her, in my opinion!”

  Then Everdon was shepherded across the hall to a small but pleasant room with excellent light where Lady Deirdre Stowe sat working at an embroidery frame. He gained an immediate impression that Lord Harby was right—she looked better unfussed-over. Her plain white muslin, and her hair looped carelessly on her head with tendrils escaping, became her much better than elaborate styles. It still didn’t make her anything but a very plain young woman.

  She looked up, surprised. “Father? Mother? Why, Lord Everdon, how pleasant to see you.”

  His lips twitched. Despite her polite words, Lady Deirdre was clearly put out by the interruption.

  Lord Harby rubbed his hands nervously. “Good morning, Deirdre. Here’s Everdon come to see you.”

  She stood. “How kind. You have a message from your mother, my lord?”

  Everdon heard the door close behind the retreating parents, and saw her eyes widen. She was naturally pale, but he would swear she grew paler. Shock. Better get on with it.

  “Lady Deirdre, I think you have guessed my purpose. I wish to make you an offer of marriage. I have your parents’ blessing, but it is your consent that counts. You may think we do not know one another very well, but I have observed you, and I am sure you are everything I wish for in my life’s companion.”

  Her mouth worked, and then she said, “But you are already married!” It sounded strangely like a cry of relief.

  “My wife is dead. She died some time ago, though the news is recent.”

  Deirdre Stowe sat back upon her chair with a thump. How could this be happening when she’d thought everything safe? How could this stupid man be ruining her life like this? She wanted to rage at him, but sought some more subtle approach.

  “Even if your wife died some time ago, my lord, it would cause a deal of talk for you to marry again so soon after the news becomes known.”

  “Talk doesn’t bother me. If it bothers you, Lady Deirdre, the wedding can be delayed for some months.”

  The sense of imminent danger retreated, and Deirdre took a deep breath to steady her whirling head. There had to be a way out of this. She looked up at him, looked closely at him for the first time.

  She’d seen the Earl of Everdon occasionally during her visits to his mother, but not very often. As she had considered him of no consequence in her life, she had not studied him, though she had to admit that his reputation had always fascinated her.

  What made a man irresistible to women?

  He was, she supposed, very handsome. His parts were well formed and put together perfectly, but his claim to attractiveness must also come from less definable things, she thought—his ease in movement, and an expressiveness in his features. Even now she could detect the ghosts of humor, warmth, and something else remarkable that she could not pinpoint.

  Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.

  She raised her chin. “I cannot imagine how you can think you know me well enough to propose this step, my lord.”

  “You will allow me to know my own mind, Lady Deirdre. I know enough.”

  “How, pray?”

  His brow raised at this bluntness. “My mother speaks often of you.”

  “And that is a basis for marriage? I confess, my lord, I am shocked.”

  He came toward her, dark eyes far too knowing. “And not pleased, I think. Why?”

  His arrogance snapped her patience. “Why on earth should I be pleased?”

  “Lady Deirdre,” he said with an edge, “let us not fall to squabbling. If you do not want me, you have merely to say so.”

  “Oh, have I? And how do I explain that to my parents?”

  He sat in a nearby chair and crossed one elegant leg over the other. “You could practice by explaining it to me. I believe I have a right to that, at least.”

  He looked so completely at home that it offended Deirdre almost as much as his proposal. This was her private place, and he was invading it. “You have no right to anything,” she retorted, “but I will tell you, my lord. I am pledged to another.”

  “What?” His surprise rang sharp enough to be insulting, but he covered it by quickly adding, “But your parents…”

  “They do not approve.”

  He studied her for a long moment, and she knew he did not believe her. She wanted to poke him with a bodkin.

  “Then marry me,” he said lightly. “I won’t hold it against you.”

  The sound that escaped was close to a snarl. “I would hold it against you, you oaf. I want to marry Howard. I will be permitted to marry Howard, but only if no better offer comes along during this Season.” She glared at him. “I was so close!”

  Everdon stared at her. No woman had ever called him an oaf. How the devil had a perfectly simple plan gone so awry? He rose to his feet. “There is no need for this unseemly heat, Lady Deirdre,” he said icily. “I withdraw my offer. Marry your Howard with my blessing.”

  She, too, jumped to her feet. “If only I could! If you had had the courtesy to sound me out before speaking to my parents, we could have avoided this. But by my given word I am not allowed to refuse a suitable offer.” She paused and eyed him in a way that reminded him forcibly of her mother. “I could object to your loose reputation…”

  “Loose! Lady Deirdre, you go too far.”

  “Are you denying you’ve bedded more women than the Regent’s drunk bottles of claret?”

  He wanted to lay violent hands on her. Another first. “How would I know?” he snapped. “I don’t count my women any more than Prinny counts his bottles.”

  “Both probably mean as much to the user.”

  He grabbed her bony shoulders. “Shut up.”

  Deirdre shut up.

  Such anger and peril emanated from him that she couldn’t have spoken to save her life. His lips were tight and a muscle twitched from the tension in his jaw. His hands were hot on her shoulders, their power just short of pain. She saw him swallow before he spoke.

  “Lady Deirdre, I no longer have the slightest desire to take you to wife. I have, however, made my offer to your parents and agreed to the marriage settlements. The only way out is for you to refuse.”

  “I can’t,” she squeaked, then swallowed in order to do better. “I gave my word.”

  He suddenly let her go. Her shoulders felt bruised and her nerves were quivering. She collapsed back into her chair.

  He paced for a moment, then spun to face her. “As you said, you could point out my intolerable reputation.”

  “If my parents were going to balk at that, you wouldn’t have come this far, would you? Father will accept almost any offer that gets me off his hands, and Mother is rather a cynic about men.” Deirdre summoned a sneer. “She has been known to say, my lord, that the advantage of a rake is that a woman knows the truth, whereas other men merely conceal their behavior.”

  His lips curled, too. “A charming philosophy.”

  “Are you saying it’s untrue? Among the haut ton, at least?”

  “I refuse to discuss such a matter. You mind is soiled enough as it is. I repeat, Lady Deirdre, how do we escape this entanglement?”

  This was growing worse by the moment, and Deirdre felt perilously close to tears. “I don’t know.” She heard a betraying waver in her voice.

  He stalked over to the empty fireplace, and one hand formed a very daunting fist. Deirdre watched that fist nervously. She had little experience of men other than Howard and her brothers, and none of them had ever been violent around her.

  Then the anger seemed to fall away, and the fist became a hand again, looking more fit for gentleness than violence.

  He turned to her. “Then the only thing is to go through with it.” He laughed dryly. “Oh, don’t look so despairing, Lady Deirdre. I mean go through with the betrothal, not the marriage. We will become enga
ged to marry, but in view of my peculiar situation, no announcement will be made just yet.”

  “But, my lord, how will we escape marriage? We cannot put it off indefinitely, and I, for one, do not wish to. I had hoped to marry Howard this autumn.”

  He brushed aside her fears. “I’m sure I can soon manage to behave in such a way that even your tolerant parents will be happy to allow you to terminate the arrangement.”

  Deirdre’s mind skittered around outrageous possibilities. “What on earth will you do?”

  He raised a brow. “Is your mother truly so hard to shock? I will leave it, then, to the inspiration of the moment.” A devilish look entered his eyes. “Do you have a pretty maid, Lady Deirdre?”

  “No,” snapped Deirdre, deeply shocked. “She’s forty, and rather sullen.”

  “Pity, I’ll—”

  A knock at the door interrupted them. His wicked air dropped from him and he came swiftly over to her side. He pulled a ring out of his pocket, and by the time her parents peeped coyly into the room, he was slipping it onto her finger.

  Deirdre was numb with surprise, as much at the chameleon change in him as at his action. Her astonishment was complete when he smiled tenderly and tilted her chin for a kiss.

  Deirdre stared into his deep brown eyes, wondering what was the true face of the Earl of Everdon, and aware that she was responding to the meaningless touch of his lips against hers. She immediately armed herself against such a response. She must remember that a Don Juan would be bound to have a powerful attractive force. It meant nothing.

  He let her go. She looked down at the diamond on her finger, knowing she had red blotches in her cheeks. She didn’t blush prettily as some women did, but just developed two farcical red stains on her pale skin.

  Deirdre was not in the habit of repining over her looks, but at this moment she wished quite desperately that she were pretty. Perhaps then she would know how to handle this muddle with more grace.

  Then she realized plans were being made. She put aside her useless musings and paid attention.

  “No need to hang around here anymore,” said her father with patent relief. “We can get back to Missinger.”