How to Ravish a Rake

by Vicky Dreiling

  The kitten squeaked at him. He rubbed her soft fur and thought it might make both of them feel a bit better.

  Chapter Three

  One week later

  Amy reluctantly handed Emma back into Julianne’s arms and took a seat. A crowd of matrons and their daughters were admiring her sketches in the Dowager Countess of Hawkfield’s drawing room.

  Last week, Madame DuPont had perused her sketches and declared them magnificent. The modiste had set her seamstresses to work creating gowns from two of Amy’s designs. They had finished in time for the viewing today. Amy had approved Madame DuPont’s fabric recommendations and made several suggestions as well. Excitement had bubbled up inside her, because the gowns turned out even better than she’d expected.

  After the maids collected the tea tray, the Dowager Countess of Hawkfield announced it was time to begin. Amy joined Madame DuPont at the round table. The modiste began to unwrap the first gown. Amy drew in a deep breath and faced the ladies. “Madame DuPont and her talented seamstresses made up two of the designs I sketched. You will note the rich color of the fabric—burgundy velvet trimmed at the neckline with frills…”

  Amy trailed off as the ladies gasped. A thrill went through her as she turned to find Madame displaying the gown with the help of her assistants. This was what she’d yearned for but had not quite allowed herself to hope for.

  “It is absolutely stunning,” the dowager countess said.

  “We paired it with a white cashmere shawl trimmed with burgundy fringe,” Amy said as one of the assistants draped it against the gown.

  “I wish to have something similar made up,” Georgette said. “I am uncertain about the dark color. Amy, what do you think?”

  “With your blond hair, I think coquelicot would work well. The poppy color is still rich, but will not overwhelm your complexion.”

  Amy turned her thoughts to the next gown as Madame’s assistants were already busy displaying it.

  The ladies’ eyes widened. Amy smiled because their reactions confirmed her private belief that her designs were unique. There was so much in her life that she had little power over, but knowing that others found her designs remarkable filled her with confidence she’d sorely lacked most of her life.

  She took a deep breath and began her description. “This gown is far more ornate than the previous one. The underskirt is an ivory silk, heavily embroidered with gold paillettes, cannetille, and gold lamé. The hem is trimmed in a gold fringe. The collar is an airy lace stitched along the neckline from the shoulders reaching all along the back.” The lace was doused with liberal amounts of starch to keep it upright.

  After everyone admired the gown, Georgette assisted Amy by passing around additional sketches. Several matrons summoned Madame DuPont, who discreetly handed out her cards.

  Twenty minutes later, Amy announced she had one other creation. She walked over to the sideboard and opened a small parcel. Then she presented a tiny muslin gown with embroidered roses to Julianne. “I thought Emma Rose should be dressed in the most stylish of infant apparel.”

  “I adore it, Amy.” Julianne’s blue eyes were shining. “Thank you.”

  Several ladies surrounded Amy and complimented her designs. For the first time, she found she enjoyed the attention. More important, she felt more assured of herself than ever before. As she spoke to the other ladies, she had no trouble formulating replies. Perhaps it was because the topic was one in which she had a great interest and knowledge. She knew it would not always be this easy, but today marked an important turn for her.

  Patience, Lady Montague, regarded Amy with wonder. “You are incredibly talented. I hope you will consent to design gowns for my sisters and me.” Patience looked over her shoulder. “There, you see Hope and Harmony are examining the ivory silk with the gold trim.”

  Two maids brought in the tea tray again, and the ladies returned to their chairs. Amy did likewise and blew out her breath, relieved that all had gone so well. After she accepted a cup of tea, Hester, Lady Rutledge, eased into the chair next to her. “Miss Hardwick, you acquitted yourself exceptionally well today.” Her lined eyes twinkled. “The gown for little Emma was a lovely gesture.”

  “Thank you. I enjoyed sharing my passion with others.”

  “I believe you are something of a late bloomer,” she said. “This will be your year. Mark my words.” Then she lifted her quizzing glass. “Oh, there is Mrs. Jenkins. Excuse me. I must have a word with her.”

  Sally, Catherine, and Julianne stepped forward. “We could not even get close to you for all the other ladies who wanted your attention,” Sally said.

  “You have surprised everyone, Amy,” Catherine said. “Your singular accomplishment puts all other feminine ones to shame.”

  “I don’t think so,” Amy said. “At any rate, I think it’s the enjoyment of whatever you choose that counts the most.”

  Julianne took Amy’s arm. “Would you mind meeting my husband’s grandmamma?”

  “I would enjoy it,” Amy said.

  As they walked along, Julianne looked at her. “Grandmamma’s hearing is poor, but she wishes to compliment you.”

  “I’m honored,” Amy said. “My grandparents died long ago. I think it is important to spend as much time as possible with the elderly.”

  Julianne smiled as they approached the elderly lady. Her hair was completely white and her skin a little marred by age spots. But Amy could envision her as a beautiful young belle. Amy curtsied and looked directly at the lady. “I am honored to meet you.”

  She had a beautiful smile. Then she pointed at the gown that Madame DuPont was wrapping for transport. “Pretty,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  She touched her own hair and then pointed at Amy. “Are you Scottish, dear?”

  “No, I am not.”

  Patience hurried over to them with Emma on her shoulder. “Oh, dear. Grandmamma believes anyone with red hair is Scottish. We’ve no idea where she got that notion. Aunt Hester implies she knows, but refuses to tell us. I don’t even want to think what it might be if Hester won’t talk about it.”

  Amy and Julianne laughed. Then Amy noticed Madame DuPont regarding her. “Please excuse me.”

  Amy joined Madame DuPont. “Thank you for having the gowns made up on such short notice. I’m gratified that our combined efforts received such acclamation.”

  Madame inclined her head. “So am I. It was time well spent for me. Several of the ladies took my card and promised to visit my shop.” She gave Amy an assessing look. “Your designs are original. I have more than a few competitors in this business. I wish to make you a proposition.”

  Amy regarded her with a wary expression.

  “I will pay you handsomely for the exclusive use of your designs,” Madame said. “I believe we both would benefit from the association—if you are amenable, that is.”

  Amy caught her breath. She’d never dreamed anyone would offer compensation for her designs.

  “I would, of course, keep the financial aspect of our arrangement confidential,” Madame added.

  Amy hesitated. Her grandfather had been a shopkeeper, and she had no prejudice against those who earned an honest living. However, her parents had kept the origins of her mother’s great fortune a secret, because they knew the beau monde discriminated against those who engaged in trade. At the same time, she was torn. Her parents approved of her sketches and were proud of her accomplishment. Amy couldn’t wait to write to them about today’s success. But she had no need of money and did not believe it worth taking the risk.

  There was more than just pretty gowns at stake. Ladies were judged so harshly on their appearance—at least in comparison to men. Amy understood that others were drawn to beauty, but it was not as important as one’s character. Yet, she knew firsthand how much one’s appearance could affect one’s life.

  If she were to accept Madame’s proposition and word somehow leaked, it might hurt her parents—and her chances of making a good marriage
. As Amy’s thoughts raced, she glanced at the ladies milling about and caught Lady Boswood watching her through narrowed eyes.

  She quickly looked away. Georgette’s mother was a high stickler for the proprieties. She would rake Amy over the coals if she ever discovered she was engaged in trade.

  “I will pay you five shillings per sketch,” Madame Dupont said.

  Amy caught her breath, for it was a great deal of money. Madame had promised to keep the matter private, and they would both benefit. But the risk of discovery was too high. “Madame DuPont, I appreciate your offer, but I am more than willing to offer my sketches without compensation. I do not need the money, and I’m sure you would not object to my refusal. I assure you my pleasure in knowing that others wish to wear my designs is enough for me.”

  Madame DuPont regarded her with a shrewd expression. “I view this from a business perspective,” she said. “The compensation is my assurance that you will provide the designs on a timely and regular basis. Without it, you will not feel as obligated. The social whirl will take up much of your time, and if pressed, you may well put other things ahead of providing the designs. Frankly, I also believe that an agreement between us will ensure that I have exclusive rights to your designs. My business is very competitive, and if one of the designs is copied elsewhere, it could adversely affect my business.”

  Amy frowned. “Are you saying you will not feature my designs unless I take compensation?”

  “I believe it is my best interest, as I have described to you.”

  She understood the modiste’s concerns, but she found it difficult to make a decision, because she worried about discovery. Yet she wanted her designs featured in the shop. She wanted others to wear her creations. She wanted to design gowns for ladies with imperfect figures—gowns that would transform those who did not fit the image of the perfect English rose.

  There was another matter, one she didn’t like to contemplate, but she must think of her future. If something happened to her father and mother, Amy knew that her father would have arranged ample funds for her support, for he was a wealthy man. Although Amy knew little of legal matters, she imagined solicitors would be involved, and they might well have a say in her expenditures. The idea rankled, but if she had her own secret funds, she would have some control of her purchases.

  She took a deep breath, knowing she was taking a risk, but it was some reassurance as well. “Madame, your silence on this matter is imperative,” Amy murmured.

  “You have my word.” Madame regarded her with a slight smile. “When may I expect more designs?”

  “A fortnight,” Amy said, “if that is acceptable.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Miss Hardwick. I believe our association will prove fruitful for both of us.”

  Amy nodded. The nervousness ebbed away, and she found comfort in knowing that she would have some control over her future. She need not marry a man she knew was all wrong for her. Best of all, she would be renowned for the gowns she designed and respected for her talent.

  Lady Boswood and Georgette were approaching. Georgette’s closed expression spoke volumes. Ever since Amy had taken up residence with her friend, she’d noted that Georgette’s manner grew stiff whenever her mother was in high dudgeon about something. Amy often felt nervous around Lady Boswood. She often felt as if the woman were examining all of her flaws and comparing her unfavorably to her daughter. Georgette was aware of her mother’s competitive nature and abhorred it. Other times, like now, Georgette’s naturally vivacious manner disappeared, and she would listen only to her mother. Amy supposed it was her friend’s only defense against a mother who insisted upon controlling her daughter.

  Lady Boswood’s smile was tight when she reached Amy. “Well, have you basked enough in your praise this day? Or should we give you a few more moments?”

  Evidently, Georgette’s mother resented her for garnering attention. Amy recollected Julianne telling her to have a care round Lady Boswood. An uneasy feeling took hold of Amy. She resolved to be as inconspicuous as possible in that lady’s presence. Amy did not doubt her ability to fade into the background. After all, she’d had many years of practice. “I am ready to depart whenever it is convenient for you,” she said in a neutral tone.

  “Miss Hardwick, we meet again.”

  She gritted her teeth, having recognized the devil’s distinctive voice: velvety deep with a hint of wicked laughter. Slowly, she turned round to find him standing with a gray kitten in his arms. She barely had time to register the kitten’s white paws when feminine cries interrupted them. Before she could say a word, all the other young ladies rushed toward him. Amy stepped away as they surrounded him and cooed over his kitten. One would think none of them had ever seen a cat before. Of course, the kitten wasn’t the real attraction.

  How foolish. They knew his rakehell reputation, and it drew them like moths to a flame. It was the mystique of a bad boy. Well, he was no boy. He was a grown man and had no scruples.

  “What a sweet kitty,” Sally cried.

  Catherine looked at him through her lashes, an affectation Amy despised.

  “What is his name?” Catherine asked.

  “Poppet is a little lady,” he said, petting the kitten.

  Catherine and Sally both looked as if they might melt into puddles on the floor.

  Amy silently scoffed. Little lady, indeed. The man was a consummate flirt, if ever one existed. She turned to Georgette, certain her friend was similarly disgusted, but Georgette swept past her and pressed through the crowd of ladies. “May I hold her?”

  When he handed the kitten over to Georgette, she nuzzled it. “Sir, I believe she has picked up the scent of your cologne.”

  “Ah, that would explain why she’s been bathing herself,” the devil said. “Should I give her a proper bath?”

  When the other ladies giggled, Amy rolled her eyes. He probably had some specially made potion designed to turn a woman’s brains to mush. No, he needn’t even try to impress. He was the sort of rake who relied upon his considerable good looks to get exactly what he wanted. Although it pained her to admit it, even she wasn’t entirely unaffected by his handsome face and athletic build. But his looks did not make up for his lack of character.

  He was a pleasure seeker who, from all accounts, spent his time wenching and drinking. Amy could not fathom why ladies thought these bad qualities made him alluring. They seemed to like him better because he was a rake. All he had to do was mesmerize the females with his twinkling dark eyes and boyish grin. Why, he probably came here with his cat for the sole purpose of winning the admiration of the ladies.

  “Georgette, dearest,” Lady Boswood called out in a sweet tone that sounded practiced. “We must leave now.”

  Thank goodness. Amy could not bear another moment of watching all the ladies flirt with him. No doubt his head would swell to monstrous proportions from all the attention. Of course, she wasn’t jealous. She didn’t like him—not even a little.

  Lady Boswood took her daughter by the arm and marched off, leaving Amy to trail behind. As Amy passed Mr. Darcett, he grinned at her. She gave him a freezing look. The spark in his eyes let her know she’d made a tactical error. Clearly, he saw her disapproval as some sort of challenge.

  She would ignore him. The worst punishment she could deal him was to look through him as if he didn’t exist. There would be no fun in it for him if she didn’t provide him with the miffed reaction he expected.

  The next evening

  “Everyone is admiring your gown,” Georgette murmured as they walked through Lord and Lady Broughton’s ballroom. “You’re becoming quite famous for your fashions.”

  Amy smiled. She felt elegant tonight in sheer lavender fabric over a satin slip. The sleeves, neckline, and hem were trimmed in blond lace. She especially liked the pretty lavender satin bows ornamenting the bottom of the skirt.

  The dancing had yet to start. Amy was determined not to shrink back if any gentlemen approached. If no one requested her hand
, she would hold her head high and converse with others. Because of her tendency to grow anxious in crowds, she had thought of several questions to ask others in the event she grew nervous. Doing so would give her a measure of courage. She most certainly would not run off to hide this night, the way she’d done at the Beresfords’ ball.

  They had not gotten far when Sally hailed them. “I’m glad to find you in this crush. Oh, my stars, Amy. Your gown is stunning once again. I insist you design one for me, although I cannot possibly carry off your elegance because I do not have your height.”

  “Thank you, Sally, but your gown is very pretty. I love the lace on the flounces.”

  “Do you really? I wasn’t certain about it, but now I feel reassured, since you approve.”

  Amy applied her fan. “It is warm in here. Let us get a cup of punch.”

  As they started off for the refreshment table, Amy looked at Sally. “Have you seen Julianne this evening?”

  Sally shook her head. “I asked the Dowager Countess of Hawkfield about her, but she said that Julianne did not wish to attend without her husband. He apparently had to make a journey.”

  “Ah, there they are,” a familiar masculine voice called out.

  Amy turned to see Lord Beaufort hailing them. Moments later, he and his friends Charles Osgood and Lord Caruthers joined them. Old habits nearly overwhelmed Amy, but she forced herself to meet the eyes of the gentlemen and smile.

  Beaufort took Georgette’s gloved hand and bowed over it. As he gazed at Georgette, his blue eyes filled with tenderness, and in that moment, Amy sensed he was madly in love with Georgette.

  “Miss Hardwick, you are the very person I have been seeking,” Mr. Osgood said.

  Amy smiled at him. He had grown a great deal taller since last year. His face had filled out, and he was no longer a lanky boy. “You are looking quite dashing this evening, Mr. Osgood.”

  “I fear I’m overdue in making my apology,” he said.

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”