by Devon, Eva
“Thank you,” Penelope said, rather astonished that her chaperone had managed to see them, but probably she shouldn’t have been.
After all, she was a duchess, and such ilk did seem to have dominion over all beneath them. The only ones they did not have authority over, of course, were the royal family, and perhaps certain members of government.
“I think it best we start with a dinner party,” the dowager began, eating delicately. There wasn’t a single crumb from her toast! “With a few little opportunities for light dancing or cards afterwards, you will do well. Don’t you think that best?”
But it was clear that Penelope would only nod her head and agree. After all, she had no wisdom of such things herself, so to disagree would be most foolish on her part.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she agreed, happy for once, to follow. “I think that sounds quite lovely. Will your daughter be in attendance?”
“Oh, yes, I think so.” The dowager put her teacup down and folded her beautiful hands in her lap. “Though it is not her favorite thing to do. She would far rather stay at home and read her book, which I allow her to do some evenings. So some nights, it shall just be you and I. Lady Mary is no longer determined to find a husband as quickly as she can.”
There was an air of pause to her statement, as if it was no longer necessary for Lady Mary to find a husband immediately, and Penelope was glad.
A young lady, if at all possible, should be able to choose when to marry.
Penelope was glad, now, that she might be able to do so too, without worrying about being a financial burden upon anyone.
Just as she was contemplating a slice of cake, a young woman strode into the room.
No, not woman: lady. She was most certainly a lady with the most beautiful dark hair curled about her face and shoulders. A stunning band of ruby color was wrapped about her head, and she wore a gown of pink.
Not an insipid pink.
It was a lovely light color that skimmed her body in what might have been almost a scandalous way, given that her own skin matched the gown so perfectly.
Penelope eyed the young woman, astonished by her beauty.
It had to be Lady Mary.
Why the devil wasn’t she married yet?
Surely, a woman as beautiful as that should be married already, with a host of children about her?
Well, perhaps, much like herself, Lady Mary did not wish to wed the first man who came along, and liked her independence a bit.
After all, as much as Penelope adored her independence too, she could no longer avoid marriage. There was nothing for it, for she could not earn her own bread.
Lady Mary crossed the room with smooth strides. She bent low and kissed her mother lightly on the cheek, then sat down in the chair beside Penelope.
“How do you do?” Lady Mary said, her eyes alight with some unknown mischief.
“I do very well.” Penelope fought the urge to fidget under the other young lady’s perfect gaze. “Thank you.”
Lady Mary smiled a slow smile. “I’m glad to hear it. Have you tried the cake?”
“No. I—.”
“No, no,” Lady Mary cut in quickly. “You must have the cake. I certainly shall. Ours is simply delicious.”
“If you insist,” Penelope said, and happily took a slice of the plum cake from the dowager duchess.
Lady Mary took one up too. Much to Penelope’s shock, she positively devoured it.
“I haven’t eaten all morning,” Lady Mary confessed. “I’ve been out doing all sorts of marvelous things.”
“Have you, indeed?” the dowager duchess said indulgently. “Nothing too troublesome now.”
Lady Mary’s eyes rounded. “Why, mother, I would never.”
The dowager duchess tsked then teased, “Dear girl, I know that you are not as innocent as you seem.”
Penelope all but gaped as she glanced from mother to daughter. Whatever could the dowager duchess mean?
Penelope had convinced herself that they never broke any rules. Was she mistaken?
And as if she understood Penelope’s confusion, the dowager duchess quirked a smile. “Oh, there are rules, my dear. I can see you thinking about it. But the truth is, the rules that apply to a duchess, or to the daughter of a duchess, or the son of a duke, or a duke himself, are slightly different than the rules that apply to the rest of the world.”
The dowager shook her head regretfully. “There are the rules which apply to the middle class. They must be the best behaved of all of us, poor souls. There are the rules which apply to the aristocracy, and they must be only slightly well-behaved, and if there is anything bad about them, it must be kept a secret. Then there are the likes of us, who can do just about anything we please without getting into a scandal. Not a true scandal, unless, of course, someone becomes hurt or something truly awful happens.”
There was a long pause after that, as if a ghost had entered the room.
Lady Mary cleared her throat. “So you see, I’m allowed to do quite a few things as long as I have my footmen with me, and I do like to gad about London, don’t you know? My favorite area being Fleet Street.”
“Fleet Street?” Penelope asked. “Why ever Fleet Street?”
“I do love a good printing press,” said Lady Mary. “And I absolutely love the old of the city, don’t you?”
Penelope blinked. “I really wouldn’t know. I’ve never been.”
Lady Mary beamed. “Well, then, we must go together. There’s nothing like the hustle and bustle of the area of the city where men make all of the money.”
Money.
Penelope was astonished to hear Lady Mary mention such a thing.
“Now, just you remember, my dearest,” said the dowager. “She is not the daughter of a duke, and she does not have a large dowry. So Miss Finley, alas, must conform herself to rules far more than you.”
Penelope fought a sigh.
How terrible.
Just when she thought she had found a new friend to have adventures with.
But Lady Mary shook her head and winked. “Never you fear, Miss Finley. I’m sure we shall still find many wonderful things to do together.”
And with that, Penelope was quite surprised to find that she’d made a friend. She had thought that perhaps Lady Mary might not be kind to her, or that she would not be interested in having conversation with a country miss, but it seemed to be quite the contrary.
Lady Mary seemed eager to make friends.
“My dear, we shall be going out this evening,” the dowager informed as she poured out another cup of tea for herself and one for Lady Mary.
Lady Mary arched a brow as she took the teacup. “Indeed? Where?”
“To Lady Barstow’s dinner party.”
Lady Mary groaned. “Must we go?”
“Yes, we must.” The dowager sipped her tea. “Penelope must begin to practice.”
“Practice.” Lady Mary rolled her eyes. “I can only imagine having been allowed to avoid so many dinner parties your whole life. How absolutely smashing.”
“Do you think so?” Penelope said, “I rather enjoyed my childhood, I won’t argue. But I do like London, and I’m hoping society will be a great deal of fun.”
“A great deal of fun. It’s terribly boring, you know,” Lady Mary whispered dramatically. “Terribly, terribly boring. All the same people. All the same chat.”
“No, no,” the dowager duchess cut in. “Don’t put her off so quickly. Let her form her own opinion.”
“I suppose I should,” said Lady Mary. “I shall keep my opinions to myself. And then once you’ve had a bit of a go-around, you can let me know all the things you think of all the silly people around you. You’ll be the most clever person in the room most of the time, you know? I can tell that about you.”
Lady Mary nodded emphatically. “You’re terribly clever, terribly interesting, and you’re going to find them all—”
The dowager duchess cut in. “Lady Mary. Do not bother with
this line of conversation. You’re going to put Miss Finley off all of us.”
“I don’t want to put her off us,” said Lady Mary. “I just want her to know that most of the time, she’s going to be frightfully bored at dinner time, as they all talk about their hounds and their horses.”
“I do like horses,” Penelope said, all but laughing at Lady Mary’s carrying on.
Lady Mary laughed too. “Well good, then. At least, you’ll have something to talk about. I often find myself staring into air, humming little songs in my head.”
“Don’t you like horses?” Penelope inquired.
Lady Mary smiled. “Well, doesn’t all of the aristocracy like horses? I can certainly sit a horse, but it’s not my favorite thing in the whole world.”
“Printing presses are your favorite thing,” said Penelope.
“Why, yes.” Lady Mary gave a little bow of her head. “I’m glad you remembered.”
“I think anything you say would be difficult to forget,” Penelope said.
Lady Mary grinned, a cat-with-the-cream grin. “I most definitely think we’re going to be friends. Thank goodness, too. I should hate to have to go about with another young lady that I couldn’t stand.”
The dowager duchess let out a tortured sound. “Mary, you mustn’t say everything that comes into your head.”
Mary turned to her mother. “Oh, Mother, you know that I don’t.”
Her mother sighed. “No, you don’t. It’s true. But Miss Finley doesn’t know that.”
“Dearest Penelope,” Lady Mary said seriously. “You must not take everything I say to heart. But know this, I am not a flutter-budget. I promise that. I don’t just say silly things. I say quite serious ones as well. At the right times.”
Penelope was quite certain that Lady Mary was speaking the truth. In fact, she had a funny feeling that Lady Mary had seen far darker things than Penelope ever had, and there was a depth to her gaze that spoke of a world Penelope could not even fathom.
Chapter 4
Rafe was not generally given to dancing with virgins.
When at all possible, he limited his engagement with young ladies of the ton to family friends and large groups where the topics were mainly restrained to the size of the gathering, weather, or the races.
Dancing with them?
Well, it put their reputations largely at far too much risk. Affairs were his hallmark, and he was reticent to imperil a young lady’s chances on the mart.
There was an added bonus; he did not have to bother with silly young chits.
The poor dears had little to say, often because their marriage-minded Mamas thought that was what men preferred.
Truth be told, if forced to admit it, in his experience, most men did indeed wish silly wives or silly women, but not he.
No.
He and his friends approved of women with brains that were actually being made use of. It was a tragedy, the amount of uncultivated female intelligence.
His friends’ sisters and mothers had been given the opportunity to make better use of their capabilities. In his experience, all women had the potential for great intelligence and great conversation.
It was simply that they, for the most part, were not allowed nor trained to use their abilities.
For great conversation did not come without training on someone to sharpen their wits. And wits did indeed have to be sharpened.
This was just as true for men.
To keep his mind agile, Rafe had his friends, the dukes, and of course, he had to debate in Parliament and deal with the government, which was no great whetstone, but several of the people he associated with, including men like Heath, kept him on his toes.
He also approved of the philosophers of the time, inviting them to his townhouse to engage in debate over brandy and coffee.
Women, on the other hand, were largely forced to keep to small groups with only women of their own similar backgrounds to sharpen their minds, and often, their families encouraged them to not sharpen them at all.
After all, the primary purpose of most young women was breeding, which brought him back to the fact that, in general, he did not dance with virgins.
No, he preferred to spend his time with rather beautiful, rather bored wives.
It was the great fact of society that women had to marry men they didn’t particularly care for, to ensure their stature and their financial safety.
Miss Finley, damnation, had been quite correct about that.
Usually, after having delivered an heir and spare, said ladies found themselves bored out of their heads and rather disappointed with the physical prowess of their husbands.
That was when Rafe found it was the perfect time for him to step in.
And step in, he did.
The affairs were never serious.
He would not go the way of Caroline Lamb and Lord Byron.
He didn’t want to have to send some poor man’s wife off to Ireland to recuperate from the great drama of their affair, nor did he wish to have something like Emma Hamilton or Lord Nelson in his life.
Really, he had no time for such things.
A pleasant affair where he and a lady enjoyed each other’s company, enjoyed each other’s conversation, and were able to be complete and utter adults about everything was what he most desired. But as he found himself at Lady Barstow’s party, he was inexplicably being drawn across the floor to a young woman he did not even like at all.
He frowned into his wine glass.
That wasn’t entirely true.
He admired her.
But there was a difference between liking and admiration, certainly.
Miss Finley was full of adventurous spirit.
And so, almost without a will of his own, he placed his glass down on a passing silver tray before his booted feet were leading him across the floor.
Rafe barely had time to be shocked by his own strange behavior. Certainly not before he found himself suddenly in the company of Miss Finley.
The dinner party was not meant to have dancing.
But as so often occurred at such events, the young people had taken matters into their own hands, rolled back the carpet in the great room, and had decided it would be an excellent idea to dance. Since one of the ladies adored playing the piano, it was an easy thing to have a few dances before it was time to sit down and have their repast.
After all, dancing was so much easier than trying to create sparkling conversation when limited to that dreadful trifecta, horses, dogs, and the weather.
Rafe couldn’t agree more that it was better to engage with a lady over a sprightly beat or sweep about the room rather than be forced to come up with interesting things to say about ribbons or race day.
Miss Finley took one look at him, raking him up and down with her beautiful gaze. It was a fairly masculine gesture.
Her lips pursed for a moment in assessment, and she stated, “You are here, are you?”
And by God, there was really only one thing to say to her curt greeting. “Devil take it,” he said. “I am.”
Miss Finley gave a small nod, which caused her thick, shining, russet curls to caress her exquisite neck. As if that was quite enough interaction with him, she turned to face the dancers.
Six or seven couples were gracing the room. Lady Mary, the Duke of Blackstone’s sister, was one of them.
Lady Mary danced gracefully in her beautiful sea-green gown, happily tracing back and forth with her partner, who looked as if he was simply just delighted to touch her hand.
Rafe had known Mary most of his life, and really, he thought her a very interesting creature, but he had no interest in dancing with her. He might, though. . . If he was going to do what he thought he was. . . Namely, ask Miss Finley to dance.
Astonishing, he knew, but if he did dance with Miss Finley, he’d have to make sure that he asked several other young women to dance, too, lest he drew attention to her.
He cleared his throat.
She continued
to give him little heed.
It was most odd.
Bloody hell, he was a duke.
He was used to being looked upon with great interest, and yet she did not.
He cleared his throat again.
“Your Grace,” she drawled, gazing up at him from the corner of her eyes. “How terrible for you. Have you contracted a summer cold? You must take better care of your health.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do I look like the sort of fellow who gets summer colds?”
“I don’t know,” she said easily as she bounced ever so slightly to the music, which caused the folds of her silk skirts to caress her admirable legs. “I’m not really aware of your constitution and how formidable it might be. You have good stamina?”
His lips twitched. Clearly, she did not know the dangerous line her comment could take. “My stamina is excellent,” he replied, his voice rich with mirth. “I would suggest it’s one of the best staminas in the country, if you must know.”
“Now, now,” she said, pursing her lips before she tsked. “If one must boast about their stamina, it really can’t be all that good. The best form of asserting that one is excellent at something is to keep silent about it.”
“You truly believe so sternly in modesty?” he queried, stunned to find how much she intrigued him.
“Well, isn’t that what we were supposed to do?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I’m not really concerned with supposed to,” he returned honestly, his gaze studying her anew.
There was something utterly delightful about her russet coils and her pert nose. Her eyes flashed with intelligence, and her lips. . . Her lips looked capable of a good deal of mischief.
“That’s not true, Your Grace,” she said as she turned to face him.
He blinked at her, amazed that she would contradict him. Young ladies didn’t. “What ever do you mean?”
“You are absolutely concerned with what we are supposed to do.” She arched a perfectly shaped brow. “It is why you are so wary of my friend Lady Persephone, and also, from what I can tell, why you don’t dance with any of the young ladies in the room. You don’t wish to draw attention to yourself with them.”