by Cheryl Bolen
Her glance flicked to her amiable mother. Lady Sidworth had been a great beauty in her day. She was still attractive for a woman approaching fifty, though her waistline was as distant a memory as powdered wigs, and gray now threaded through hair that was once golden. She was possessed of an ever-increasing bosom, just like Virginia. A pity Daphne took after her father in that area, too. "Perhaps I will go see Mrs. Spence, but I'm far too busy just now."
"Why," asked Rosemary, "has no one ever heard of this Mr. Rich, if he's such a paragon?"
Uh oh. Rosemary, the youngest sister and--thankfully--the only one still in the school room, was the only sister who shared Daphne's pragmatism. "The explanation is perfectly simple," Daphne said, giving herself more time to make up something that would satisfy. "My dear Mr. Rich has spent the past several years in South Africa amassing his fortune." She refused to meet Rosemary's eye. The baby of the family was far too astute.
Daphne was spared from further inquiries when their butler announced that Mr. Rich himself was paying a call on Daphne. "Please do send him in," Lady Sidworth said, attempting to suppress a giggle.
Every female in the buttery yellow chamber, except Daphne, began to flutter in expectation of meeting the paragon. She wished to watch their reactions when he entered the room, but as he strolled into the chamber his presence was so commanding she completely forgot to watch her sisters. Every one of her senses awakened to his physical splendor. He dressed casually in shiny black Hessians, buff breeches, and a chocolate brown frock coat. The snow white of his cravat emphasized the whiteness of his even teeth and contrasted with his tanned skin. The man was truly sublime.
Though the room was filled with females, he looked only at her. "I've come to beg a ride in the park, my dear."
She stood and came to greet him, offering both her hands. "I should be delighted, but first I must introduce you to the rest of my family." She turned to her mother. "Mama, I should like to present Mr. Jack Rich to you." Turning to Jack, she said, "This is my mother, Lady Sidworth."
The countess held out her gloved hand for Jack to kiss. "Oh, my dear Mr. Rich," Lady Sidworth said, "I cannot tell you how delighted I am to make your acquaintance."
"And me, you, my lady." His dancing eyes never left the countess's. Daphne could tell that he'd instantly won over her mother. "I must commend you on your impressive daughter. Do you not agree that Lady Daphne is one in a million?"
Lady Sidworth's smiling eyes met his. "I do, indeed, Mr. Rich. You are a most perceptive man to have culled the diamond from the rough, so to speak."
So I'm 'rough'? Daphne did not know whether to be angry or pleased with her mother. No doubt, the dear woman meant well.
"I count myself most fortunate to have won her hand," he said.
That comment had the effect of making the countess look like a contented cat. She lacked only the purr. "Allow me to introduce you to my other daughters."
Daphne watched him with a critical eye as he was introduced to each sister, though there was nothing to fault in his behavior. He was all that was gallant, and he even remembered Annabelle, who was completely befuddled over his attentions.
Once the introductions were complete he turned down Lady Sidworth's offer of tea. "Another time, perhaps. I wish to show off my betrothed in the park before it gets dark."
It was all Daphne could do not to roll her eyes. Must he lay it on so thick? But a quick glance at her mother assured Daphne that he had made a conquest of Lady Sidworth.
"Where did you procure so fine an equipage?" Daphne asked him as they waited in the queue to enter Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. She was as impressed over his handling of the phaeton as she was over the beauty of the beast that pulled it.
"The regent saw to it that I'd have the funds to properly court an earl's daughter."
"You may never want to return to the Peninsula."
He gave her a stern look. "My duties will compel me to return to where I'm needed."
The man was far too noble. "You, Captain, must have been a most serious child. Tell me, did you rescue badgers in distress?"
His eyes narrowed. "Such levity's uncalled for."
No wonder he was still unmarried though he was almost thirty. His duties always came first.
That it was a very fine day--except for the chilling November winds--accounted for the crush at the gateway to Hyde Park. They waited some five minutes before they entered London's largest park and soon were driving along a lane crowded with open conveyances.
"I must commend you," she said, "on the ease with which you won over an entire room of females." A common occurrence for him, to be sure.
"Thank you. Your mother's delightful, your sisters lovely."
She was inclined to agree with him completely. "Unfortunately, you'll have to face the lot of them again at dinner. And their husbands. I'm afraid their curiosity to meet the man who has so singularly honored me is rather like a child wishing to observe a freak of nature."
He chuckled. "So I'm a freak of nature?"
Any man attracted to her would be a freak of nature. Or so her family must think. "Of course not, Captain. You're all that's amiable, and of course you're exceedingly handsome." She knew such praise would still his tongue.
Once they entered the park, Daphne found herself perpetually nodding to curious acquaintances. She could not deny that she swelled with pride to be sitting alongside such a sublime specimen of masculinity. Never mind if the wind was exceedingly aggravating, she was having a devilishly good time.
"The reason for the drive," he said, "is that I wished to speak privately with you before our meeting tonight."
She looked up expectantly at him. "You've learned something?"
"Nothing really. I just wished to make sure you have no more surprises to hurl at me."
She could not understand why he acted so annoyed with her. Her ruse about his identity, she thought, was rather clever. Why could he not appreciate it? "I'm not planning any surprises, but I have every confidence that you can handle anything I throw at you. I was quite proud of you when you spoke Bantu to Papa."
"I did not speak Bantu to your father."
"Well, not actually Bantu- - -"
"It was Hottentot."
"Oh, then you did speak Hottentot to Papa- - -"
"I did not!"
"But you just said you did."
"I said Hottentot instead of Bantu. That's what your father requested I speak." His lips formed a grim line.
"Oh, I see. Well, whatever you spoke to Papa sounded Hottentot-ish. And you did not falter for a second. I can see why you're so successful a spy."
"I never said I was a successful spy."
"Of course you're a successful spy! I daresay you're the best. Or else Prinny wouldn't have you."
A twitch pinching one lean cheek, he said nothing but paid a great deal of attention to the flicking of his ribbons. "Why must you always speak in superlatives?" he finally asked. "I've got to be the best spy. The best at fencing. Can't I just be a normal person?"
She started to ask him if he'd ever peered into a looking glass. Instead she tried to look contrite. "I daresay it's all to show my parents that you're worthy of me. I'm afraid a second son who's a captain in the Dragoons would not be impressive enough."
"I beg that you don't imbue me with any more great powers."
She admired his humility, especially given that he was possessed of so many attributes, attributes besides his handsome person and spectacular body, a body she was all too well aware of right now for its nearness to her own. She felt like a goose staring into his handsome face, so her glance would flick to her lap, then it would--quite naturally--rove to his lap and his long, sinewy thighs, then she would whip her gaze back to his stunning face. Really, she did not know what had come over her since meeting Captain Sublime. Heretofore, appearances had held no interest for her, but now she was finding herself obsessing over his visual perfection.
"You said your sisters' husbands would be c
oming tonight?" he asked.
"Just the twins'. They're the only ones who are married."
"During my surveillance I was unable to determine that you had twin sisters."
The man was thorough. "Cornelia and Virginia--though they don't look at all alike, except that each of them has brown eyes while the rest of us have green."
He nodded with apprehension. "Cornelia's the short one, the one who's a duchess?"
"Yes. Her husband is some sort of cousin to the regent--on Lankersham's mother's side, I believe."
"And Virginia's married to Sir Ronald Johnson?"
"You're good."
"At least you didn't say I was the best," he mumbled.
"Even my youngest sister, who's still in the school room, will be permitted to dine with us tonight in order to gawk at you."
"I can hardly wait," he said with a complete lack of enthusiasm. "Anything planned for after dinner?"
"As a matter of fact, we are in luck, Captain. Lord and Lady Burnam are giving a ball tonight. Everyone will be there."
"That does sound promising."
She looked straight ahead and saw the Comtesse de Mornet, a beautiful French immigre who was the current mistress of the Duke of York. Though Daphne intended only to nod and continue on as the lady's barouche pulled alongside them, the comtesse had other ideas. Her sparkling blue eyes flitting from Daphne to Jack, she instructed her driver to stop. "How do you do today, Lady Daphne?" she asked.
Utterly transparent, the woman was dying to meet Jack. "We are excessively enjoying this afternoon, comtesse. Allow me to present to you my very dear friend Mr. Jack Rich." Daphne gathered her open pelisse together and lamented she had not worn her heavy wool cloak. The lower the sun sank, the cooler it became, though the comtesse--in her snug scarlet velvet--looked perfectly comfortable.
Watching Jack with appreciation, the comtesse said, "I hope you are coming to the Burnams' tonight, Monsieur Rich." Daphne wondered how the woman's pale blond hair managed not to blow into her face with today's brisk wind.
"I'm greatly looking forward to it," Jack said.
"I shall be terribly forward and beg that you ask me to stand up with you, then," the comtesse said.
Daphne started to tell her Mr. Rich was spoken for, then knew she would be undermining their work. Wasn't Jack supposed to infiltrate their social set?
"It will be my pleasure," Jack said.
"Until tonight then, Monsieur Rich, Lady Daphne," the comtesse said as she drove away.
A most annoying woman! "The Comtesse de Mornet is the Duke of York's current mistress," Daphne explained once the comtesse's carriage moved away.
"An immigre?"
"Yes."
"How long has she been lovers with the regent's brother?"
Daphne thought about it for a moment. "The first I knew of it was at the time the prince became regent--two years ago. I thought it very poor taste that the comtesse was at Carlton House--along with the Duchess of York--for the regent's first fete."
"Wife and mistress in the same room?"
"Yes, though from what I hear, the Duke and Duchess of York's marriage is not what you, Captain, would consider a good marriage."
"You mean they did not marry for love?"
"They did not marry for love."
"Tell me, my lady, when you marry, will you marry for love?"
She laughed out loud. "I, quite honestly, have never given the matter much thought, but I daresay I'd rather stay a spinster than marry where deep affection was lacking."
"Say it, Daphne," he said in a low, seductive voice, his black eyes holding hers. He slowed the horse, eyed her, and murmured, "Say love. Say you'd rather stay a spinster than marry where there was no love."
Oh, dear. He'd called her by her Christian name. No Lady in front of it. And his tone of voice! He could melt metal.
Her cheeks stung. Captain Dryden had a gift for embarrassing her. "Very well, Captain, were I to marry, I believe I'd like to marry for love."
Good lord, she was four and twenty years of age and had never before given voice to such thoughts. In fact, such thoughts had never presented themselves to her.
Until Captain Sublime.
Chapter 6
Dinner had gone very well, Jack reflected as he and Daphne pressed through the crowd to enter the Burnams’ high-ceilinged ballroom later that evening. Not once during dinner had he been asked to speak Bantu or Hottentot. No one at the dining table had posed questions he was unable to answer, and all the members of Lady Daphne's family had been friendly. Now he hoped he would be equally as successful at blending into tonight's gathering of London's elite.
Daphne's fingers pressed into his arm. "There's Lady Hertford." She inclined her head toward the center of the dance floor. "The woman in the silver gown." His gaze followed the direction of Daphne's nod, and he watched the elegant peeress who was considerably older than his faux fiancé--and, he would guess, somewhat older than the regent. Though she was petite, Lady Hertford was buxom with heavily rouged cheeks and artificially reddened lips.
Daphne clutched his arm again and leaned close in order to whisper. "Lady Carlton is seated next to Lady Bessborough, who's seated against the far wall next to her daughter, Lady Caro Lamb--the one who looks more like a girl than a married woman."
His brows lowered. "Lord Byron's Caroline Lamb?" The woman he presumed to be Caroline Lamb resembled a young boy whose voice was just about to change. His glance flicked from the child-woman to Lady Carlton, who wore a shimmering rose-colored gown.
"She's terribly in love with Byron," Daphne said. "I think to the distress of her poor husband and his mother, Lady Melbourne."
The closer Jack's contact with the so-called cream of society, the more he found to dislike. "I'm seeing parallels with present-day Londoners and Nero's Romans."
"Whether you approve of our decadence or not," said Daphne, her eyes narrowing, "you'll have to dance with Lady Carlton and Lady Hertford."
"What about St. Ryse?"
"You cannot dance with him!"
Jack gave her an exasperated sigh. "That's not what I meant. Is St. Ryse here?"
Daphne scanned the dance floor, then her gaze skipped along the chairs lining the walls. She shook her head. "No, he's not."
"Perhaps he's in the card room."
"After you dance with the ladies, you'll have to present yourself there."
"I can hardly walk up and say, 'I'm Mr. Rich and I beg to play with you.'"
"I shall ask Papa to take you to the card room and make the necessary introductions."
His glance flicked over Daphne. Her rust-colored dress, like the other ladies' dresses, scooped low at the neckline, but unlike most of the other ladies, Daphne's breasts were only slightly larger than a young boy's. Perhaps if she weren't so tall, he thought, she wouldn't look so damned thin. His gaze rose to her face, which was perfectly acceptable--except for the spectacles--but her hair was not at all the thing. She'd obviously not had it dressed but had merely swiped a brush through it before stepping out for the evening. The contrast between her and her sisters was really quite baffling. They all took pains in their agreeable appearances. Why hadn't she? "I pray your father doesn't mention Africa tonight," Jack mumbled.
She shrugged. "Yes, I agree, but I can hardly tell Papa what to say."
Jack felt a hand tap at his shoulder, and he turned around to face the Comtesse de Mornet. Still wearing scarlet--this time an off-the-shoulder gown that showed to advantage her plump breasts--the comtesse was even more beautiful beneath candlelight than she'd been that afternoon in the park.
"I warned you I would be begging a dance, Monsieur Rich," she said, her voice heavy with a French accent.
He glanced around to see if her protector was nearby, not that he knew what the hell the Duke of York looked like, but he was confident Daphne would find a way to impart such knowledge to him – if the entire room did not impart the information by their reverence toward a Royal Highness. In any case, the co
mtesse was quite alone. Perhaps the duke was in the card room. Jack whisked a seductive gaze over her and took her hand. "I am honored."
As they reached the dance floor and he took her into his arms, he gave a silent prayer of thanks to his mother, who had insisted all her boys--who were most resistant to the notion-- learn how to dance.
"Why is it, Monsieur Rich, I have not seen you before?" the comtesse asked.
"Because I've been abroad."
"I thought so! You are much too tan to have been in dreary England. Tell me, which sunny climate have you been in?"
"Most recently I've come from Africa." He did not wish to bring up South Africa unless it was absolutely necessary. Even though he had brushed up on facts pertaining to that country, he would rather not be confronted by someone who had actually been there.
"And what were you doing in Africa, Monsieur Rich?" she asked. A heavy floral scent clung to her.
"Making my fortune." Hopefully, he would not have to venture into a discussion of diamonds, a subject that was still quite alien to him.
"So that explains how you have been accepted into the Sidworth fold."
"You mean because my origins are far from aristocratic?"
She patted his back. "I know nothing of your origins, but I do know this: you will do quite well. You speak like a gentleman, you obviously box and fence--or else you would not look so exquisitely fit--and you are rich."
He had the damnedest time trying not to peer at the huge ruby pendant that settled between her lush breasts. "You're much too kind, comtesse."
"Is it true that you are pledged to Lady Daphne?"
"Not officially, but that is my aim."
"Then I take it pedigree is more important to you than beauty."
Unaccountably, her comments angered him. "Lady Daphne may not be a diamond of the first water, but I assure you I'm very satisfied with her looks. Her skin is fine, her eyes are really quite lovely, and though her hair may not be in the current fashion, it's . . . " How did one describe a mane of hair that resembled an unbagged heap of freshly shorn wool? "It's most lustrous. And if I'm fortunate enough to spend the rest of my life with her, I shall not have to worry about my wife turning to fat!"