A Lady's Virture

by A. S. Fenichel

  Between the second course and the fish, the footmen refilled the wineglasses. The Duchess of Middleton touched his arm. “I cannot tell if you are upset that your mother has made a friend, or if you want to kill poor Miles.”

  He appreciated her whisper was for his ears only. “Neither can I, Millie. It is not that I don’t want my mother to make friends, but it would be better if her friends were women.”

  Millie laughed. “She is a grown woman, Anthony. Try to remember that and tread carefully.”

  “I’m sure that is sound advice. Whether or not I can follow it is yet to be seen.”

  “And what of Miles?” She looked down the table to where Miles and Sylvia had their heads together in some deeply amusing conversation.

  “Miss Sylvia is not in my charge, only in my employ. I can’t dictate with whom she flirts.” Despite his sounding unconcerned, he was close to leaping across the table and beating Miles to a pulp.

  Millie looked down the table, her gaze intent on them. “He is clearly flirting, but it’s Miles’s nature to try to please everyone he meets. People like Miles because he says what they want to hear and means it. He is a lovely person, and Miss Sylvia could do far worse. However, if I may point out, Sylvia is not returning his flirtation. She is engaged in the conversation, to be sure, but there is no blushing or batting of eyelashes. She does not touch his sleeve or make long eye contact, nor shy away from eye contact. Her gaze is direct and unfazed, if you want my opinion.”

  Looking more closely, he couldn’t argue with Millie’s keen observations. Sylvia didn’t give any indication that she was interested in more than conversation with Miles. The band around his heart loosened. “I suppose you are right. You have a keen eye, Your Grace.”

  “Do not forget, I was an Everton lady. I am trained to know what people want and need. Miles’s sister was also an Everton lady. I imagine he and Sylvia have a lot to converse about. But, if they should become smitten, what harm is there in that? He is a gentleman and she the daughter of a gentleman.”

  The band gripped tighter again. “Indeed.”

  Her giggle turned his head. “You and your sister should really have learned to mask your emotions better after all these years in England. It is never good to let everyone know what you are thinking.”

  “Would that it was so easy, Millie. Perhaps then, I could play cards without being trounced. As it is, I keep my money off the gambling tables and my heart on my sleeve.” For the rest of dinner, he avoided looking toward Sylvia and focused on his own dinner partners. Instead of getting angry with Condon, he engaged him in a conversation about his farm in the north, and Momma lost interest in talk of crops. Still, Momma’s regard for Condon gnawed at him. He didn’t know this man or his character.

  Stansfield and Serena barely spoke to anyone else, and Mrs. Dowder watched them both keenly, while ignoring Sylvia entirely.

  It shouldn’t matter to him what happened within the Dowder family, but he disliked Felicia Dowder more and more as the night went on. Her disregard for the happiness of one twin daughter over the other was abysmal.

  Instead of the men retiring to smoke and drink, Anthony had decided they would all take their pudding in the parlor. He’d always hated the English tradition of men and women separating after the meal. Being American gave him some leave to do as he pleased, and Sylvia didn’t object.

  If she had objected, he might have changed his mind. That was more disturbing than he cared to admit.

  Felicia strode across the parlor, her expression sour. “My lord, Serena and I must take our leave. Thank you for a very nice evening. It was lovely. Shall I collect Sylvia as well, or will your sister act as her chaperon?”

  From her perch on the divan, Mother frowned and narrowed her eyes at Felicia.

  Sophia jumped up. “I will be happy to see that Miss Sylvia gets back to her home safely, madam. Do not trouble yourself.”

  “That is very kind of you, Your Grace,” Sylvia said around a deep frown that she forced away a moment later.

  “Very well. Come along, Serena.” Felicia curtsied and strode out of the parlor.

  With little choice, Serena curtsied. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, my lord. I hope we will all meet again very soon.” She glanced at Stansfield, who bowed and smiled.

  Anthony was even more determined to help Serena and thwart Mrs. Dowder after her horrid behavior toward Sylvia. “I will see you at my ball and perhaps a nice house party away from the city for a few days.”

  Joy filled Serena’s familiar face. Yet as much as the twins looked alike, he couldn’t understand how he’d ever mistaken one for the other. Sylvia’s eyes held more expression and were a deeper shade of blue. Her lips were slightly fuller and her skin brighter. He must have been mad to ever mistake Serena for his Sylvie.

  “Thank you, my lord. I should be delighted by the invitation.” With another quick glance at Stansfield, she rushed after her mother.

  It wasn’t long before the rest of the party broke up. By midnight only his mother, sister and Sylvia remained. On the divan, Momma sat with Sylvia. “Is your mother always so short with regard to you, my dear?”

  Most English would have been offended, but Sylvia’s sad smile said she knew Angelica had been mortified for her. “It was not always so, Mrs. Braighton. Mother has much strain put on her by having two unmarried daughters approaching an unmarriageable age. I have done the unthinkable and lost my only prospective husband then taken myself off the marriage market. All she has is the hope of marrying Serena well and soon. Please don’t judge her too harshly.”

  In her very Italian way, Momma cupped the side of Sylvia’s cheek then kissed her other cheek. “You are too kind, and I like that about you very much. I am sometimes judged by my thick accent, and it makes me cross. You are judged by the actions of a scoundrel who broke his promise, yet you have no malice inside you.”

  “If you had seen me on the day March ended our engagement, you might have been less impressed. My malice could not be measured by any standard means. I could have beaten him with a stick.” The wicked smile he loved lit her up brighter than the remaining candles.

  Momma laughed, full and round. “I think he deserved no less. A shame you English do not follow those instincts. In Italy, my brothers would have made him pay for such a slight.”

  “Between the wine that your son has shared with me and your description, I should very much like to visit your country.”

  Another laugh from Momma. “You would love it but miss the niceties of England. This is home now. Though America was wild and exciting when my husband was alive. I think Anthony will take me to Italy soon for a visit. I miss my family and would like a long stay.”

  Noting the longing in Momma’s voice, he realized it had been over five years since his mother had been home. He could take her to Italy and check on his vineyard then break the news that he would not return to England. If that was what he truly wanted. “I’ll be happy to take you whenever you wish, Momma, and come and retrieve you when you’re ready to return.”

  She sighed. “I’m tired. We can talk about this another day. Miss Dowder, shall I carry you home in my carriage?”

  “Thank you, madam, but the Everton carriage is already outside waiting for me.”

  “Very well.” She kissed Sylvia again, stood up and kissed Sophia and Anthony. “You made a very fine party. With Miss Dowder’s help, you shall look like an earl yet.”

  “Thank you.” He escorted her out to her carriage and handed her up.

  “She is a very nice girl, Anthony. A shame she shall never marry. I hate to think of her alone as she grows older and with no children to comfort her. It is quite sad.” Angelica leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “Good night, Momma.” He closed the door and called up to her driver to take her home.

  The image his mother painted haunted Anthony as he returned t
o the parlor. Sylvia shouldn’t be alone. She was smart, beautiful, and had too much to offer a marriage to be left to a life of solitude. But the thought of someone marrying her didn’t give him more pleasant thoughts. Miles liked her, and he was keen to marry sooner rather than later. The idea was nauseating. She was everything he said he didn’t want, and yet he couldn’t resist her. It wouldn’t do.

  When Anthony returned, Sylvia and Sophia were laughing and talking about the evening.

  Getting up, Sylvia smiled at him. “It was a good night. I hope you were pleased. I must get home, Tony. I will talk to you in a few days.”

  “I have a complaint,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh?”

  “Did you intentionally have Stansfield bring his uncle to court my mother?”

  “That is a question, not a complaint.” She propped her fists on her hips.

  “The complaint will come depending on your response.”

  “No, I didn’t, but it seems to me your mother can take care of herself. She is a beautiful, smart woman, and if she has made a friend her own age, you should be happy for her.”

  Sophia stood. “She’s quite right, Tony. Momma deserves to be happy. Papa has been gone a long time.”

  “Sophie, you and I can discuss this in private. This conversation is between me and my Everton lady.” He should have let it go. But the idea that she had tried to set up a courtship for his mother gnawed at him.

  “As I said, I didn’t arrange anything. Lord Stansfield asked if he might bring his uncle, who was visiting, and I could think of no reason to deny the request. Besides, it gave us an even number of guests, which is always a better table. However, if this is how you react when faced with something unexpected, perhaps it would be better if someone else took over this assignment.”

  His heart dropped. “You’re quitting me?”

  “I believe I am. I don’t care for your tone, and we both know it would be better if someone else took over. You and I have…difficulties working together.” She glanced at Sophia and let the sentence hang.

  He, too, was unwilling to divulge the kiss in his bedroom. Wanting her, wanting freedom, and hating himself for both, Anthony felt rage he’d rarely experienced well up inside him. “If that’s what you want, then inform Lady Jane I will need a new lady in the morning.”

  “Fine.” She stormed out.

  “Fine.”

  Once the door slammed, Sophia stood up and hugged him. “Oh, Tony, what have you done?”

  “I did what needed to be done. She should not be matchmaking Momma, and the situation was getting out of hand.” A veil of dread spread through him despite his claim to have done the right thing.

  Pulling out of his arms, she narrowed her gaze. “You picked that fight knowing she had not tried to make any sort of match. And what would be wrong with Momma marrying again? She has been alone long enough. Do you want her to grow bitter and lonely?”

  “She will never be lonely. She has us.” He strode to the long credenza against the wall and poured himself a brandy. Sophia didn’t care for brandy or wine, so he didn’t offer her any.

  Hands on her hips, she stared him down. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and get to the real problem. You have fallen in love with Sylvia Dowder and are too much of a coward to admit it. Thus, you have cut off your nose to spite your face. I hope you will be very happy, Tony, but I sincerely doubt it after seeing what a dunderhead you’ve become.”

  She was right about his making a mistake, but not the rest. Of course, he didn’t love Sylvia. He refused to love any woman. He already had enough responsibility and couldn’t take on any more, certainly not another person’s happiness. “You may call me as many names as you wish, Sophie. I have done the right thing, and another lady will make no difference in the outcome of the next few months.”

  “No, just the rest of your life.”

  “My point exactly.”

  She mumbled, “Dunderhead,” stormed out, and up the steps to her room.

  Anthony drained his snifter of brandy and put the glass down harder than he’d intended, snapping off the glass stem. “Damn.”

  He picked up the broken shards and put them in the glass.

  Wells came in an instant later. “I will clean that, my lord. Do not injure yourself.”

  “Thank you, Wells. I think I had better go to bed before I break anything else.”

  “Good night, my lord.” Wells set about cleaning up the broken glass.

  Anthony trudged up the steps. He should feel better, having removed his problem from his life, but Sophia’s words and the fierce look on Sylvia’s face as she told him another Everton lady would suit him better haunted him. She had been thinking about the kiss and the pink in her cheeks had given her away. He commanded himself not to dwell on the perfection of that moment when their lips met. It didn’t mean anything.

  Inside his bedroom, the memory was even more intense, and the new furnishings screamed Sylvia. He would never get to sleep. He sat by the empty fireplace and rubbed his eyes. The images remained just as clear.

  Chapter 7

  The arrival of the Weekly Whisper newspaper at Everton House just three days after Anthony’s dinner party made quite a stir among the ladies. At breakfast, Lady Jane read aloud the article on the treatment of widows by Mable Tattler.

  “Miss Tattler finishes by saying: ‘This reporter is appalled by how a woman, who has run her own home, raised children, and cared for an ailing husband, can be treated like a child with no say in her future. The men of England should be ashamed of themselves. These widowed ladies have every right to make their own decisions and pick their own friends. No one thinks a man suddenly an imbecile just because his wife has died. Perhaps England needs to rethink their treatment of widows and women in general.’”

  “Good lord,” Lord Rupert said from the head of the long table. “Mable Tattler speaks very boldly. The Whisper should be careful lest they find themselves put out of business.”

  Jane folded the paper and placed her palm on it. The morning sun peeked through the sheer curtains, since the heavy blue drapes had been pulled back. “Are you saying you disagree with what she wrote?”

  “Of course not. Women are just as, if not more capable than men. We have proved that a hundred times here at the Everton Domestic Society. My point is that a very strong voice for the stupidity of society might be silenced if they do not temper her somewhat.”

  Sylvia knew he was right, but she refused to be sorry for what she’d written. Anthony had infuriated her, and as soon as she returned to her room, she’d written the article then sent it off to Mr. Cole before she lost her nerve. Hearing her words read back and seeing the nods of approval from the other ladies, she had done the right thing.

  With a shrug, Lady Jane picked up her fork and tapped it on the white china. “I suppose you have a point, Rupert, but someone must say that which is truth, or we will continue to make the same stupid blunders indefinitely.”

  Rupert glanced at Sylvia.

  Her heart stopped. Could he know she was Mable Tattler? It was possible, but no one had ever mentioned her posts to that part of town. She had only told Anthony and one other person, and she was sure neither would have divulged her secret.

  “Then we shall have to hope the Whisper and Miss Tattler survive her latest bashing of the English way of life.” Rupert folded his napkin, stood, and bowed before leaving the breakfast room.

  His deep voice sounded in the foyer. “Lord Grafton, we were not expecting anyone to call so early.”

  “I apologize for the early hour, Lord Rupert. I have an urgent matter to discuss with Miss Dowder.” Anthony’s voice rang with an intensity that only an American could conjure.

  Sylvia’s heart pounded, and she couldn’t decide if it was excitement over seeing Anthony or because he was probably angry with her. Not that
he had any right to be upset. She gave Lady Jane a nod and went to the foyer.

  Lord Rupert said, “Oh, I was under the impression you would not be needing Miss Dowder any longer. We have made arrangements for Miss Ann Wittman to replace Miss Dowder.”

  Anthony’s hair was standing up on end. Clearly, he had been running his fingers through the thick dark locks. “Yes, well, I still need to speak to Miss Dowder.”

  “I am here, my lord. What is it you need?” She tried to sound disinterested, but she’d missed his warm voice and unusual eyes these last three days.

  His anger shone in his taut lips and narrowed gaze. He could hide none of his emotions, not even the quick jolt of joy that fled his eyes a moment after he’d initially spotted her. “I need a word with you, Miss Dowder.”

  It would be better if she hadn’t noticed the moment he’d been happy to see her. Her own joy she could hide from onlookers, but if she noticed his expression, Lord Rupert might have as well. “Join me in the small parlor, my lord. No one is using that room at this hour.”

  They excused themselves from Lord Rupert and walked down the hall to the room at the back of the house where private meetings were often held. Sylvia left the door open as they were unchaperoned, though she doubted anyone would disturb them. “It is not usual to call this early, my lord. You must know the house is either asleep or breaking their fast.”

  “I also know you are an early riser, Sylvie. Do not call me by my title. It only serves to fuel my anger.” He rested his hand on the window casing and leaned into the glass. His jacket stretched across his broad back, straining at the seams and lifting to reveal his very fine legs.

  Sylvia had to draw several breaths and look away. The burgundy-and-rose rug was a good distraction with its intricate swirls. She followed one along the edge to regain her composure. “I thought you had made it quite clear that our friendship was void after the dinner party. As we are no longer friends, I see no point in the familiar address.”

  “I was angry, and I may have gone too far. However, your article this morning was badly done.” He approached until he hovered over her.