by Jo Beverley
Lord Everdon cast Deirdre a tender look. How could he, the wretch? “But you will be depriving me of Deirdre’s presence, my lord, and depriving Deirdre of the rest of her Season. It looks to extend well into the summer this year, what with victory pageants and celebrations…”
Lord Harby gave a visible shudder. “London’s a hotbed of vice and disease,” he said, “and all these crowds make it worse. Best to be back in the pure country air, say I. Thing to do is for you to come along, Everdon! Fine chance for you and Deirdre to become better acquainted, and plan your future.”
Everdon slanted another look at Deirdre, one that made her shiver with its deceptive longing. “If you insist in taking Deirdre away, my lord, I must assuredly follow. First, however, I must escort my mother to Everdon Park.”
Deirdre spoke up then. “Would Lady Everdon care to visit Missinger, my lord? I would be delighted to have her come with us, especially as she is to be my mama.” Lucetta, she was thinking, would be a bulwark against this trickster.
“How charming,” fluttered Lady Harby with a sigh and a simper. “I, too, would be delighted of the opportunity to become better acquainted with your mother, Everdon.”
“I will ask her,” said Everdon. “I anticipate no difficulty.” He smiled at Deirdre as if she really were the love of his life. “She is already very fond of you, my dear.” He kissed Deirdre’s hand tenderly before taking his leave.
She didn’t know how a man could act a lie so shamelessly.
Deirdre wanted to return to her needlework but had to suffer her mother’s excited chatter. Lady Harby was in ecstasies about this unlooked-for success, and busily planning the wedding that would never be. Seeing that her mother was set for a long chat, Deirdre took up her work again and let the words wash over her.
“I knew you could do much better than that Howard Dunstable,” said Lady Harby. “How any daughter of mine could be such a wigeon, I’ll never know. A hundred a year and no prospects! He would never have made you a good husband, I know it.”
And Everdon would? thought Deirdre. How money and title could blind. Howard Dunstable had little money, but he was involved in meaningful, important work, not a search for new debauchery. And Howard needed her.
Deirdre knew Howard would be lonely just now with her here in London. He was probably not eating well, or remembering to change if he was caught in a shower. As a mathematician, he frequently lost track of reality among the numbers in his head.
When Lady Harby began to wind down, Deirdre looked up from her needlework and said, “You must know, Mama, that I do not want this marriage.”
Lady Harby was not at all disconcerted. “Yes, of course I know, dear. You still want that Dunstable. But you gave your word, and I’ll see you keep it. Trust me in this, Deirdre. Everdon will make you a far better husband than that other one. I’m not willing to let you make a tangle of your life through sheer stubbornness.”
“It is not stubbornness, Mama. I love Howard.”
Lady Harby snorted. “You don’t know what love is. I suppose he makes you feel needed. Men sometimes do that. There’s nothing wrong with being needed, dear, but there has to be more than that to make a good marriage. Respect, for one thing.”
“I do respect Howard!”
“Do you? For what?”
“He has a brilliant mind.”
“Very likely,” said Lady Harby, unimpressed.
Deirdre wished her mother were as foolish as she often appeared. Nothing escaped her at all. “Am I supposed to respect Everdon? He’s a worthless rake.”
“He is not worthless. He’s very rich.” Lady Harby overrode Deirdre’s scathing comment. “He’s also more than that, dear. He’s a man who runs his properties well, and speaks intelligently in Parliament from time to time. He’s not even a rake in the true sense of the word. Harby assures me he don’t gamble or drink to excess. He just likes women. If you do your part, he won’t stray much, and I’d judge that he’ll always be discreet.”
Now it was Deirdre’s turn to snort. “How can he be discreet when he’s labeled Don Juan? No one will ever believe he’s not going from bed to bed, no matter how he behaves!”
“We’ll see.” But this was a distinctly weak response.
Deirdre pounced on her mother’s point of vulnerability. “Mama, I don’t want to marry a man who’ll go from bed to bed. If he behaves badly before the wedding, will you let me break the engagement?”
Lady Harby looked at Deirdre searchingly, but then she nodded. “Yes, I will, dear. If he’s rogue enough to behave badly before you’re even wed, I’ll admit you’re right about him. I’ll even let you marry your silly Howard.” She rose and smiled confidently. “But it won’t come to that, you’ll see, which is the only reason I make the promise. Everdon is far too much of a gentleman to embarrass you in that way, so playing silly games to turn him off won’t get you anywhere, young lady.”
Deirdre fought not to show her glee. “I wouldn’t know how to play silly games, Mama.”
“Every girl knows. They come into them like they come into talking and walking. Just remember, you’ll be under my eye, so no tricks. September,” she said with a brisk nod. “We’ll have the wedding in September.” With that, she bustled off.
As soon as her mother left, Deirdre let out a muted whoop of delight. It was all set! Lord Everdon was as eager to escape this engagement as she, and surely he knew just what to do to disgust her mother. She was even naughtily intrigued as to what the wretch would do. Deirdre giggled at the thought of him trying to seduce Agatha Tremsham, her dresser.
She supposed he’d find a willing dairymaid, or one of the country lasses, and be indiscreet about it.
Then the engagement would be over, and Deirdre would have her mother’s permission to marry Howard. She leapt up and did a little dance through the sunbeams. She couldn’t wait to tell Howard how perfectly it had all turned out.
Then she halted, thoughtful. Affairs were going to be a little awkward for the next few weeks. She and Everdon would be at Missinger playing the happy couple, while Howard was down in the village feeling neglected…
But, she told herself, they could regard it as merely a short trial before total happiness. Thank goodness Howard was not of a jealous nature. He would understand immediately that this was the only path to their wedded bliss, and by summer’s end they would be married.
Deirdre settled back to her needlework—a picture of fish underwater done on many layers of gauze. Everything, she thought, was turning out perfectly, and she counted off the blessings in her mind to prove it.
One, if they were to leave London soon, there would be no more excruciating balls and soirées to sit through.
Two, Lucetta would be coming with them, which would mean that Deirdre could continue the only true pleasure she had found in London—her friendship with Lady Everdon.
Three, Lady Harby would keep her word and allow Deirdre to break her engagement and marry Howard.
She nodded. There could even be a September wedding, but not the one her mother planned.
She would not, Deirdre decided with a grin, let Lord Everdon know what a good turn he had served her.
Over dinner and after, Deirdre had to endure yet more excited discussion of her future as Countess of Everdon, but at least she wasn’t dragged out to Almack’s. She smiled, and let her mother chatter.
When she went to bed, she took off the meaningless diamond ring and tucked it away in her jewel box. If the engagement was not to be announced, she could not be expected to wear it in public.
She climbed into bed, intending to enjoy the planning of her future with Howard. Instead, she found her mind determinedly fixed upon her unlikely betrothed.
Why would any woman want to marry a man with such a notorious reputation?
She supposed the fact that Everdon was an earl would count with some women, and his looks would carry weight with others. Even she had to confess that he had lovely hands. She toyed with the idea of stitching a p
icture of them—long-fingered, strong, deft…
Then she remembered them tight on her shoulders and forming purposeful fists, and shuddered. The man was clearly a bully.
She forced her mind to turn to Howard, who was also very handsome. Howard, however, was a gentle and pure-living man.
Everdon was the complete antithesis. Despite his outrage when she spoke of it, he made no secret of the fact that he went from bed to bed. Some of his lovers were known, some merely rumored. Some, she supposed, were kept discreetly private. She wondered waspishly if he truly was so irresistible when he never stayed with any woman long. Even his wife, it was said, had given up on him after a mere six months.
Perhaps that was it, she thought with a chuckle. He couldn’t keep a woman longer than a six-month and thus had to work on quantity. Deirdre covered her mouth. Oh, dear, what with her mother, her friend Anna, and Lucetta, she had developed a rather bold turn of mind. Now, see the consequences. When she’d lost her temper with Everdon, she had said the most outrageous things.
She chuckled again at the memory of his shock and anger. Served the conceited wretch right.
Deirdre rolled over and snuggled down in bed.
Everything was finally going to be perfect.
Everdon decided not to enlighten his mother immediately as to the true state of affairs. She clearly favored a match with Lady Deirdre, and if he told her it was all a sham, soon to be ended, she might try to hold them to it. However, when he broke the news that he was engaged to marry Lady Deirdre, he was surprised by her lack of delight.
“I thought you’d be ecstatic,” he said.
“I will be pleased if you deal well together, dear.”
“I suppose we will.” At her silence, he became impatient. “You suggested her, remember? You can hardly expect me to be in quivers of delight. I scarcely know the girl.”
“Quite so.”
He swore, but under his breath. “I told you, Mama. It’s a lottery. Time will show whether I win or lose. By the way, no announcement will be made as yet. It would be a little crass to announce my widowing and my engagement in the same news sheet, and I must post down to tell Genie’s family before making her death public.”
At that, Lucetta looked up with concern. “Must you tell them in person, dearest? It will not be a pleasant mission. They have always held you to blame, unfair though that is.”
“It is something to be done in person, Mama. I doubt they’ll shoot me. After that, I am invited to visit Missinger and continue my wooing of Lady Deirdre. She asked that you come, too, if you feel up to it.”
The dowager’s eyes glinted with interest. “Clever girl. I would be delighted.”
He looked at her warily. “Why clever?”
The dowager merely smiled with all the enigmatic quality of the Sphinx. “You will see.”
Everdon sincerely hoped not, and took himself off to his club. He was distinctly uneasy.
He would have been hard put to say what he thought of his strange betrothal. It would delay his plans for his real marriage, which was unfortunate, but on the other hand, it could be amusing to spar with Lady Deirdre for a month or so.
Surprising what she concealed beneath that dull surface. She was something of a termagant when roused. He supposed he should have realized his mother would not have grown so close to a tepid miss, no matter how strong her interest in needlework. He’d rather like to be a fly on the wall at one of their stitchery sessions, especially if they came around to discussing him.
The thought of Deirdre and his mother conspiring together in the intimacy of a country house did give him pause, however. Perhaps he would be wiser to alert the dowager to the true state of affairs. Otherwise, she might exert herself in his and Deirdre’s interest to such good effect that they found themselves shackled for life.
He chuckled at the thought. He would be as content to marry Lady Deirdre now as he had been yesterday, for her lively reaction to his offer had increased rather than diminished her appeal, but he had no intention of taking a reluctant bride. Let her go to her Howard.
Simply to torment her, however, he sent around a note inviting her to drive with him the next afternoon.
Deirdre received the invitation in the spirit in which it had been sent, and planned the outing much like a general approaching an enemy force.
Lady Harby had deplorable taste. In every other respect, Deirdre admired her mother, but it was a simple fact that the lady had no sense of color or design, particularly when it came to clothing. Even in the schoolroom, the Stowe girls had subtly conspired to deflect their mother from the worst choices. When it came to their come-outs, they had been more forceful, despite their mother’s complaints that they all liked to dress so dull. Only Deirdre, with her plan in mind, had allowed Lady Harby free rein.
She had been fairly certain that she could survive a London Season unbetrothed, for she harbored no illusion as to her physical charms, and was intent on behaving as dully as possible. She had made certain of her unpopularity, however, by allowing her mother to choose all her outfits. She now possessed the most ghastly wardrobe in London, probably in all England.
For her drive, Deirdre surveyed her weapons. The green, she thought gleefully. It had to be the green.
She had never actually brought herself to wear this outfit, but clearly remembered the modiste’s rather strangled expression when it was ordered. Madame d’Esterville had not been about to object to any part of such a lavish order, but she clearly hoped no one would ever know whence it came.
The walking dress was a striking lime green, bold but unexceptionable in itself, though far too strong a color for Deirdre. Lady Harby had considered it plain, however, and ordered it trimmed with green and white satin puffs, most particularly over the bust to conceal Deirdre’s lack of endowments. The striped puffs drew the eye most forcibly to that part of her anatomy, and gave her the appearance of one of those exotic birds that inflated its chest in the search for a mate.
Still unhappy, Lady Harby had then commanded the addition of canary yellow mull muslin flounces and collar, and purchased accessories to match.
Agatha Tremsham helped Deirdre into the outfit but said faintly, “Are you sure, milady?”
“Oh yes,” said Deirdre. “I must look my best for Lord Everdon, mustn’t I?”
Agatha said nothing. She had been hired at the beginning of the Season, and clearly was resigned to the fact that Deirdre had inherited her mother’s taste in clothes.
Deirdre surveyed the complete effect in the mirror. The straw bonnet lined with green and white stripes served admirably to turn her pallor to a sickly green. A green and white striped parasol lined with yellow augmented the effect.
She put on the yellow slippers and mittens, and nodded. “Perfect,” she said.
Agatha staggered off, muttering.
When Deirdre walked into the reception room to join Lord Everdon, she enjoyed the glazed look that came over his face, but a second later she saw him recognize exactly what she was about.
Humor glinted in his eyes as he kissed her hand. “My dear Lady Deirdre, I am speechless. I fear I do not do you justice, though. In future, I must try to match you in sartorial brilliance.”
She threw him a startled look. Surely he wouldn’t really start going abroad in lurid colors?
As he led her to his carriage, he mused, “I’m sure my cousin Kevin has something suitable. Do you know Kevin Renfrew? He has recently acquired the sobriquet of the Daffodil Dandy. It suits him admirably in view of his habit of always dressing in yellow. What a pair you two would make…”
Deirdre allowed him to settle her in his phaeton—a very handsome equipage but not, she noted gratefully, excessively high. “Always in yellow?” she queried. “How dull. I prefer to use the full range of the palette. Next time we go on an outing, I must wear my pink and purple for you, my lord.”
He settled into his seat, nodded to his groom, and gave the horses the office to go. “I see I shall have to exert
myself, Lady Deirdre. Perhaps I should aim for the name the Rainbow Dandy.”
Deirdre found herself unwillingly amused and let a smile escape. Now they were alone, she said, “Pray, don’t be foolish, my lord. I wore this outfit to punish you a little, as you well know. You have no cause to punish me.”
“Have I not?” he responded. “But if you had not been so cleverly outwitting your mama, I would never have taken the fateful step of offering you my name. I could happily have been planning my life with Maud Tiverton.”
“Maud…!” Her eyes met his teasing ones and she laughed. “You truly are a rascal, my lord.”
His eyes reflected her amusement. “And you are a minx. Tell me about your Howard.”
He turned the team of matched chestnuts smoothly into the park, but took one of the less-traveled roads. Deirdre felt a frisson of alarm at finding herself alone in the power of Don Juan, but her common sense soon returned. She was the last woman in the world he would try to seduce.
She did not, however, intend to discuss personal matters with him. She looked around instead. “How sad it is to see the state of the park this summer. One would think a herd of cattle had stampeded through it again and again.”
“So it has, after a fashion, but a herd of people, not cattle. There were estimated to be a hundred and fifty thousand people here on one day in May to watch the tsar and the king of Prussia ride by. Were you not one of them?”
“No. I can see no appeal in standing in the sun to watch men ride by.”
“How dauntingly unromantic you are, to be sure.”
Deirdre met his gaze. “Quite.” But the effect of those beautiful eyes twinkling with humor almost made a liar of her.
She turned away to frown at the battered remnants of grass and shrubs. “I think it a shame to permit this kind of destruction in any cause.”
“Even in celebration of peace?” he asked. “I have no doubt battlefields fare worse. And how can it be stopped? Anyway, I fear that peace—welcome as it is—will mean hard times for the poor, so let them have their moment.” He guided the phaeton down toward the deer pound, where the evidence of mass invasion was less obvious. “Now,” he repeated, “tell me all about your Howard.”