A Lady's Virture

by A. S. Fenichel

  He bowed. “I’m glad to hear it. I would hate to think you had lost your confidence, Miss Dowder. I remember you and your sister to be young ladies full of life and quite funny at times. Yet I have seen none of that wicked sense of humor since my arrival at Everton House.”

  Missing the times that she and Serena would poke fun at customs and people would not change her situation. She found her humor was best kept anonymous in her new column. People of society rarely liked a girl with a quick wit. “My sense of humor is intact, my lord. This is a place of business, and jocularity is not always appropriate.”

  He stared at the chair she used as a wall between them. “The Sylvia Dowder I met at some ball years ago, or Wharton house party two years ago, would never have said such a ridiculous thing. In fact, she loved to poke fun at exactly those kinds of attitudes.”

  Pulling her shoulders back, she pushed down the hurt of the last six months. “Lives change and people grow up, my lord. You should know that. Look at you. Four years ago, at the Millar ball, you scoffed at our English titles and customs, and now you’ve gotten yourself a title, a country estate, a townhouse, and a plan to have your very own coming out of a sort. Have you not changed just as much, if not more?”

  Stepping back, he raked through that thick mane of hair again. He slumped into a chair and closed his eyes. “It is the last thing I wanted or expected.”

  She sat across from him and watched the worry return to his sharp features. His cheeks were high and his jaw strong and square. He was by far the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Hunter had been fine to look at, but Anthony was beautiful and exotic with his tiger eyes and olive skin.

  Opening his eyes, he said, “My cousin was a bit of a stuffed shirt, but I never wanted his title or responsibilities. I certainly did not wish for my aunt Daphne to suffer the loss of her son. But the title fell to me, and if I refused, my family would lose the title entirely.” He sighed long and low. “I had hoped to spend time in Italy. My momma’s family has a beautiful estate and vineyard there. I had other plans too.”

  He made Italy sound like a fairy tale place and made being a noble sound miserable. It was unfair to compare him to Hunter, but she couldn’t help it. Hunter had been so keen on having become a viscount, he’d barely spared a thought for the loss of his brother. “You could still go. Your title will not take that much of your time. I’m sure you already enjoy many of the benefits of being an earl.”

  His shrug was youthful like the Anthony she’d known before. “I suppose that’s true, but Momma and my aunt are determined I marry and produce an heir. I have no desire to marry a woman I barely know and have nothing in common with. For Momma’s sake I plan to stay here in England for a while. Perhaps by next winter, I can go to Italy. When you come to my house, I will give you a sample of my cousin’s wine. It’s really special.”

  “I would like that. I have never had Italian wine.” They spoke like old friends, yet she hardly knew him. A few balls and a house party were not the stuff of confidants. Yet, here they were chatting about their lives with the ease of school chums. She almost laughed at the notion she might have attended school with a man. Besides, Anthony hadn’t studied in England.

  “I shall make it a point then.” He smiled, and it made her breath catch.

  “Did you attend university, my lord?” Still in her fantasy of being his school mate, she longed to feed the image.

  His laugh was round, warm, and one might like to crawl inside the sound and stay a while. “I know you English think we Americans are all heathens, but I did attend the University of Pennsylvania. It’s not been around as long as Cambridge, but it is a fine institution of more than sixty years.”

  Covering her giggle with her hand, she struggled to keep the amusement at bay. His pride and indignation made him sound almost an English gentleman.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  Unable to stop it, she let the full chortle out. “I was musing about our easy conversation and how we sounded like old school chums, but you sounded like a gauntlet had been thrown down.”

  “There is the Sylvia I remember.” His smile lit his eyes, and the fire behind them burned through her.

  Swallowing, she sobered. “Of course, I would never be allowed to attend university, but the notion is intriguing.”

  He crossed his arms and studied her. “I understand Bradford Academy in Massachusetts admits women, and Washington College in Maryland too. I thought I read about a woman in Sweden earning a degree, though I can’t remember in what field.”

  Part of her was amazed that he knew such things. She would be even more shocked if what he said was true. Men did not follow the accomplishments of women. And yet… “Are you serious? I was only joking. I have no intention of becoming even more conspicuous by trying to go to university.”

  He frowned. “I only meant that if you wanted to study, it is not impossible.”

  “You would not say that if your sister took a notion to thwart society and do something outrageous.” Her job was to be his Everton lady, not to spar with him at every opportunity. Yet, it was the most fun she’d had in years.

  “I beg your pardon. I would support Sophia in whatever venture she chose. I’ll admit that when I was younger, that might not have been the case, but I see no reason a woman can’t do or be whatever she chooses.”

  “As long as it’s someone’s wife or mother.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, my lord. I had no right to speak to you that way. If you wish to have me replaced as your Everton lady, I will tell Lady Jane immediately.”

  During the long silence that followed, he studied her, shook his head and frowned. “I can’t decide which sex you are harder on, Miss Dowder, mine or your own. Not all men are tyrants and not all women imbeciles waiting for a man to solve all their problems. You, of all people, should know that.”

  Her mouth was agape, and she had to force it closed as Lady Jane strode into the office with Mrs. Mary Horthorn in tow. “Lady Chervil apologizes but feels too exhausted for such a long and demanding assignment at this time. She’s been reveling in the country with Lord and Lady Devonrose for over a month. However, Mrs. Horthorn is thrilled to help. Mrs. Mary Horthorn, the Earl of Grafton, and of course you already know Miss Dowder.”

  Mrs. Horthorn was thin as a rail. A good wind could blow her over. She favored a white cap with lace hanging to her shoulders and her gray hair in ringlets around her forehead. Kind and goodhearted, she often brought stray cats and dogs into the house until she found them homes. It happened so often that a pen and dog house had been built near the greenhouse in the garden. A warm smile accompanied Mary’s mild expression. “I’m happy to be of service.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Horthorn. I’ll admit when Lady Jane said a dowager would be required, I took the term more literally.” Another man might have sounded haughty, but Anthony’s comment held only curiosity.

  Lady Jane said, “While some of our dowagers are literal titles, we use the term to describe a function. Mrs. Horthorn will act as chaperon and confidant to Miss Dowder. We do not send our ladies out with the possibility of ridicule. All social customs are expected to be adhered to.”

  There was that smile again. It was enough to drive a sensible girl into Bedlam. Ordering herself to keep her wicked mind at bay, she said, “I’m pleased to have you with me, Mrs. Horthorn. We shall have such fun decorating his lordship’s home before we must get to serious work of dinner parties and balls.”

  Mary grinned.

  Jane raised one eyebrow.

  Unfettered by an English upbringing, Anthony laughed out loud. “I’m glad you see this as something fun, Miss Dowder. For me, it would be torture.”

  “You will not get off that easily, my lord. I will need your input. I cannot just rush out and purchase this and that without knowing what you want i
n your home. You must be comfortable in it once complete.” Sylvia was pleased with how businesslike she sounded.

  “I hadn’t thought of that. I will have to live in the place after all the nonsense of parties is finished. Of course, I am at your disposal until the project is complete.”

  Jane went behind her desk. “I shall add both ladies to the contract, my lord, and they will begin tomorrow if that is satisfactory.”

  “Yes.”

  Sylvia asked, “Will you be available to give a tour of the house at eleven, my lord?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “So late. Can we make it at nine?”

  “That is not very fashionable for paying a call, my lord. As this is a business appointment, I shall be at your home at nine tomorrow morning.”

  “Until then.” He bowed, and the glint in his eyes sent that warning bell ringing in the pit of Sylvia’s stomach.

  Chapter 2

  Anthony had never liked waiting, but why he should be so anxious about Sylvia Dowder’s arrival was a mystery. He had always thought she and her twin sister were spirited young ladies. It had been a shock to learn she’d been thrown over by Lord March. After seeing Sylvia at Everton House, Anthony wanted to give the newly raised viscount a sound thrashing. Being given a title is no reason to behave like an ass. March had broken a promise and it was unforgivable.

  Pacing the foyer, he contemplated the black and white marble floor. The great clock struck nine, and just as the last chime sounded, the door knocker struck.

  Anthony didn’t wait for the butler to make his way from the servants’ level. Rushing to the door, he pulled it open. “Miss Dowder, Mrs. Horthorn, welcome to Collington House.”

  Half a smile lifted Sylvia’s full lips. “I realize you are American, my lord, but even you must realize it is uncommon for an earl to open his own door.”

  Wells, the butler, tugging on his waistcoat, rushed toward them. His stoic tone faltered for the first time. “My lord, a hundred apologies for being tardy. It is early for callers.”

  “It is my error, Wells. I invited the ladies from the Everton Domestic Society for a business meeting this morning and neglected to mention it.”

  In his normal monotone, Wells said, “Ladies, may I take your outerwear?”

  Removing her peach pelisse, she revealed a pretty lavender day dress. She was like something out of a fairy tale, but with a wicked smile filled with mischief.

  She thanked Wells, as did Mrs. Horthorn, and then they stared at Anthony.

  Their expectant looks brought him out of his daydream. “Pardon me. Shall we tour the house, or do you require refreshment?”

  Smiling as if amused by some joke only she heard, she said, “It was a short ride over from Everton House. At this hour there are few carriages on the road. If you please, we would like to get right to business.”

  “Of course.” He longed to know what she was thinking behind that smile and still admired her directness.

  Sylvia stared up at the thirty-foot ceiling in the foyer capped by a crystal chandelier that caught the morning light. Polished to a high shine, the wooden railing of the curved staircase enrobed the space. Her gaze swept down to the white marble with gray veins, then along the black accent tiles that formed geometric shapes in the floor and walls of the entry. “It’s quite grand. This was Lady Collington’s home?”

  A pang of guilt tugged at his chest. “Yes. My great-aunt. I tried to get her to remain here, but she wouldn’t hear of it. To be honest, I’ve never really understood the way people are thrust out of their homes due to entailments.”

  “It is the way of things,” she said. “Women rarely inherit, and sometimes a cousin becomes the lord of the manor, thrusting a widow and daughters into the cold.”

  “I have not thrust anyone into the cold.” His neck heated that she might think him so cruel. “My cousin’s widow and daughter are comfortably living in the townhouse he purchased when his father died. I have arranged for them to have funds for the rest of their lives. I am not one of your thoughtless peers.”

  Wide-eyed, she gaped at him. “I did not mean to imply that you were. I only stated the fact that many families are displaced by entailment laws. It is very nice of you to take care of your cousins and aunt. Are you certain you can afford such an ongoing cost?”

  “Am I to understand that it is rude for me to inquire about your status with your family and within the Everton Domestic Society, but you may inquire as to my finances?” He liked the way she colored the most delightful peach and it traveled down her chest, where it disappeared into the lace around her collar. Shaking himself, he brought his gaze back up to those warm blue eyes.

  She checked with Mrs. Horthorn, who only shrugged. “I apologize. You’re right, of course. The question was impertinent. It was only out of concern that your generous nature might leave you in the poorhouse.”

  Slightly off balance, charm beamed from Sylvia, and Anthony longed to see if her skin was a warm as it appeared. He shook off the notion. She was here to prove to his mother that he didn’t need a wife. Getting doe-eyed over a slip of a girl was not in the plan. “My cousin invested wisely, and he left enough to care for his family. I am quite solvent in my own right, Miss Dowder. Your salary is secure.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she said, “You’re teasing me.”

  He bowed. “Indeed.”

  “Perhaps you should commence the tour, my lord.” She hid a smile behind her gloved hand.

  “As you wish.” He took her through all the downstairs rooms, including the ballroom, two parlors, dining room, breakfast room and study, before they trudged upstairs and saw the lady’s parlor, several bedrooms and the master chamber.

  Mrs. Horthorn cleared her throat. “It is unseemly for us to be in here.”

  The dark wood and dark fabrics that adorned Anthony’s bedroom was a theme throughout the dour home. “I don’t see how Miss Dowder can fix it, if she hasn’t seen it.”

  Blushing but serious, Sylvia shrugged. “You are here and there’s nothing sordid about our being in this room, Mrs. Horthorn. You realize, my lord, there is nothing wrong with this house as it is. It has been well kept and the furnishings are quite exquisite.”

  “It depresses me. I visited here several times when my aunt lived here, and the only room that is tolerable is the one Aunt Daphne updated for my sister, Sophia, when she came to live here.”

  Nodding, Sylvia sighed. “You mean the room with the lovely rose and cream colors.”

  “The rest of the house is a bore.” He sat on the edge of his maroon-draped, four-post bed, and the air went out of him. If this was what an earl had to live with, he might have to let the crown take back his title.

  Sitting in one of two brown overstuffed chairs near the hearth, she put her hands in her lap. “You are the one who has to live here. If you don’t like the decor, we shall change it. However, I want to point out that the bedroom your sister lived in is not that much different from this one. Really it is only that the colors are lighter.”

  He sat up straight. “I don’t want my house to be covered in rose damask, Miss Dowder.”

  Hiding her giggle, she looked more like the girl he’d known before that idiot March betrayed her. The sweet lightness was fleeting, and her expression turned serious. “No. But perhaps it is only a matter of heavy drapes and dark colors. If we had those bed curtains removed and changed the window drapes to a light gray, replaced the rug for something lighter and maybe these chairs, you might like this room more.”

  Hope blossomed inside him. “You think I’m mad not to like it as is, don’t you?”

  Ignoring the slight nod from Mrs. Horthorn, he focused on Sylvia as she ran her finger down her jaw to her pert chin.

  “I think you must like the place where you live. This house is magnificent, but it is on the formal side. I think, with a few small changes you could be happy here.�
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  Goodness, he liked her more than was comfortable. “Are you always so positive?”

  Cocking her head, she gazed toward the window. “Not always, but this is a small problem. It is fixable. There are other things in life that are not so easily corrected as a rug or wall covering.”

  No matter how much he wanted to know what she’d meant, it would be rude to ask her to elaborate. He held his tongue. “If you would start with this room and my study, I would be eternally grateful.”

  “I will take care of it. May I enlist your staff for some of the work?” She stood and smoothed her skirt. The gesture was feminine and graceful.

  Anthony was going to have to get this obsession with Sylvia under control. He couldn’t understand what it was about her that intrigued him. She was pretty. Her brown hair caught the light, revealing gold flecks, but there were many pretty brunettes in London. She hadn’t even shown much of that wicked sense of humor he’d liked so much when they’d met before, yet he knew it was in there clamoring to come out. Just an idle curiosity about a lady of breeding taking a position at the Society. Once he knew more about her, his interest would fade in short order. “The staff is at your disposal. I will inform Wells to help you in any way.”

  With a nod, she and Mrs. Horthorn preceded him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Stopping at the front door, she accepted her pelisse from Wells. “Do you want to wait until the renovations are complete before going forward with the dinner party, my lord?”

  He didn’t like his new title but hated it more when she called him my lord. Perhaps he could get her to stop. Not yet, but soon. “I don’t see that the two rooms we are beginning with must be used during a dinner party. If you feel something can be done with the parlor and the dining room, then perhaps a short delay.”

  “I can order fabrics for new curtains and we shall pull the old ones down at least. The rugs will take longer as we must import them.” She tapped her chin again.