When she remained silent, her mother laid her hand gently over Dru’s. “I was nineteen years old when I met your father. I liked him, but I thought no more of it until my mother informed me that I was to marry him. Then and there I promised myself I would not put my children through the same ordeal.”
Dru gaped. She had always thought her parents devoted to each other. They worked together and sought each other’s company. Could they have hidden a dislike all these years?
She gave her mother her full attention. “You did not like my father?”
“I didn’t say that. I did not know him. After my parents informed me of the betrothal, they allowed us to spend time together. Over the first two years of our marriage we came to know each other, and eventually we found love together. You will do the same. I am certain of it.”
Dru swallowed. She had not expected anything but a reprimand from her mother. But the words made her think. Was it such a bad thing to marry for practical reasons? Should she not at least consider it? Carefully, she laid down the hairbrush. “Mama, are you saying that you will arrange a marriage for me?”
“We consider it in your best interests. My dear, you do not want to become a spinster. You will have enough to ensure you never starve, but you will have no freedom. You could live independently, but that would mean a small house with a companion for propriety. Nobody will consider you of any importance. That is the way of the world, my dear.”
“You want me married?”
Her mother grimaced but didn’t answer her question. Instead, she said, “We have had some interesting enquiries recently, my dear.”
“Oh.” What was she supposed to think about that? As if she were a house for sale? For sale. Someone wanted her, but because of her influential family and her generous dowry. Not for herself. She was not special, didn’t have any particular talent, or none that society would value. She always thought of clever, witty remarks an hour after they would have been useful. She smiled pleasantly, danced adequately and conversed with a certain amount of intelligence but not brilliance. Unfortunately, her appearance could be described as pleasant, also. In fact, apart from being a Shaw, she didn’t stand out at all. “So who are they?” Perhaps someone had been holding a desperate, passionate desire for her.
She listened to the achingly short list. A widower with three children, all girls, no doubt looking for a mother for his children and an heir. Fifteen years older than she was, which would not matter if he were not a pompous fool. But an earl, and a suitable match. And a man two years older than she, a younger son, which she would not object to. Except that she and most of society happened to know that he was not interested in the fair sex. He would want a comfortable wife who would lend him respectability. Lastly, a rake, and gambler.
“Why him?” she asked.
“Because his parents have found a way to put most of his inheritance out of his hands.” Her mother’s eyes danced. “They would like a wife to steady him. She would control the finances through a trust. It would be a challenge. You cannot deny that.”
“It would,” she said doubtfully.
The man was handsome, personally charming, but she had avoided him for a very long time, and she would continue to do so. Interesting that his family considered her a steadying influence. Rather sad, too. While Dru had always been aware she was not one of the most prominent members of her flamboyant family, she had not considered herself an antidote before.
Her mother went on to list two more gentlemen Dru had barely noticed. An earl and a baron. One she suspected of having a tendre elsewhere to a woman society would never accept. That sounded like a complete disaster to her. The other was wealthy, but from trade. Not that it bothered her. Heavens, her own cousin had resorted to getting his hands dirty in order to restore his family’s fortunes. She only liked him the better for it. But she would prefer a husband who did not measure the same around his body as he did top to bottom, and his lordship was not particularly short. Heavens, had he really expressed a serious interest in her?
And that was that. “No more?” she asked, but not with any expectation.
“The season has only just begun.” Did her mother truly think anyone else would come forward?
“And you would allow me to make my choice?”
“Within reason.”
Of course. Reason had to prevail, even in matters of love. Except Dru wished it did not have to. A romance, something torrid and passionate, a man totally devoted to her—that was what her heart yearned for. All her family had found the people they loved, their other halves. But not her, and with a heavy heart she had to admit that she probably would not. The best candidate was the widower, the most challenging the rake, but she was attracted to neither. The others were hopeless.
Her mother got to her feet in a swirl of silken skirts. “I would have your answer by the end of the month. Mark me, child, if you turn down all of these suitors, I will choose one for you. Do not hold out for love. That is usually something that comes without effort.”
“But my brothers and sisters married for love.”
“It did not come immediately, nor did it come without effort.”
After kissing her daughter goodnight, Lady Strenshall left.
This was usually Dru’s favorite part of the day. When the candles glowed, the curtains were closed and silence closed in on her. Blessed and welcome. Except that in London, the night was never completely silent. Even at this hour, people moved around outside. Vague murmurs and the occasional shout reached her ears, as well as the sound of iron rims against cobbles as a carriage swept past. But it had a muffled air, as if the atmosphere itself conspired to move slower and transport sounds with a softer edge. The crisp, sharp morning sounds did not suit Dru half so well.
Tonight, she barely took notice of the night. Her mind was too disturbed to enjoy it.
Carefully folding back the long sleeves of her robe, Dru walked slowly to her little desk by the window and found the key that opened the drawer. She could spend an hour or two dreaming in her own world, visiting the people who were wholly hers. She picked up the spectacles that prevented her getting eyestrain from working too long, propped them on her nose, and took her seat. Then she reverently drew out the ever-thickening sheaf of paper. In the place of a journal, she preferred to make fantasy real and draw on the people she loved and the ones she disliked to create something totally impossible but as scurrilous and amusing as she could make it.
And now she had the character of the villain. A totally selfish and ignorant man whose only interests were the ones he designated as his and who used and abused everyone around him. Dru recalled Mountsorrel’s slightly crooked nose and the way one brow lifted marginally higher than the other. She thought of the full lips, too soft for his face, and the thin white scar on his jaw, no doubt the remains of some long-ago minor accident. And his hands, so elegant, but with a strength that could overwhelm in an instant. She imagined them around her throat. They would go around easily. He might be able to encompass her neck with one hand. And he would press there, until the breath left her body. Of course nobody would be able to see his wickedness except for the heroine. He would be charming to most people, his first mode of attack when he wanted to achieve something particularly dastardly.
What would be the act that set him on his evil path?
Ah, yes, she had it. Why should he not kill his father and his brother? Nobody would stand in his way. Oh, she would make a memorable villain out of the Duke of Mountsorrel.
* * * *
A tap came on the door while Dru was dressing the next morning. “There’s a gentleman downstairs to see you, my lady. Your lady mother is sitting with him.”
Dru glanced at Forde, who was adding the final touches to her hair. “Just pin on the cap. It looks fine.” Annoyed, she pulled off her spectacles and shoved them down the front of her bodice, her habit when she wanted to locate the
m. Once she had done her duty she intended to lose herself in her story for a few hours. She had been looking forward to those hours. Now they were cut short by a gentleman caller.
Of course. Her mother would be starting her campaign. No doubt one of the men on the list was making his first approach.
Forde made a tutting sound under her breath, but did as she was asked, pinning the scrap of lace on top of the coil of shining, dark hair that she had just created. Lappets fell down but they did little other than add to Dru’s adornments.
She wore yellow today, with a string of pearls around her neck. As usual, she had declined hair powder, but that had not stopped Forde’s mouth tightening in unspoken disapproval. But the maid did have a gift for making Dru look her best.
Dru braced herself to greet whomever it was with her finest society manners and a smile. She still felt as if she were being interviewed for a position in someone else’s household as she went downstairs to the green drawing room. A footman opened the door for her. The Strenshalls didn’t always insist on a servant in full livery opening all the doors, but he would have snapped to attention for a visitor. She smiled at him, and he relaxed his expression enough to nearly smile back.
She halted abruptly. The man who rose to greet her was not anyone she had expected to see.
The Duke of Mountsorrel bowed.
Hastily recalling her manners, Dru dropped a slight curtsy. “Your grace,” she greeted him, not knowing what else to say.
“Lady Drusilla.”
As she swept around the sofa to greet her mother, Lady Strenshall gave her a meaningful glance, but Dru was not sure what to infer. If her mother was receiving his lordship, she should listen. Maybe it was that.
He didn’t give her a chance to sit but began speaking. “Lady Drusilla, I have an apology to make. Indeed, I am deeply sorry for my behavior last night. Nothing excuses that.”
Startled, she blinked up at him. “My lord, it is kind of you to call. I accept your apology.” His surprising apology. Perhaps Julius had spoken to him after all.
He nodded. “Thank you, although it is more than I deserve.” He grimaced. “However, my apology is not enough to stop tongues wagging.”
“I fear that is true,” her mother broke in. “I have heard several reports of discussions in drawing rooms.” She tapped a newssheet lying on the sofa by her side. “It has reached the papers. We can only mend what happened.”
“Mend?” Dru asked cautiously. “What are they saying?”
Lady Strenshall heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, they have chosen you to be the butt of their comments. Lord Mountsorrel is society’s darling at present.”
The marquess groaned. “Sadly, that is true. They have decided we quarreled on the dance floor and you passed a few unforgivable remarks. Fortunately, nobody overheard us, but that is not stopping the gossip.”
What could she have said? Dru still had no idea why he’d walked away. “I didn’t realize the story had spread so fast.” With an effort, she stifled a yawn. She had been up late last night.
“Then you should have,” her mother said sharply. “You have been on the town long enough to realize that. Have you any plans to counter the gossip?”
Dru hung her head. “No, Mama.”
“Then listen. Mountsorrel has proposed that he take you for a drive in the Park.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Lifting her head, she met the duke’s amused gaze. He’d seen her shock. She flicked at her skirt. “I cannot ride in this gown. It is too—”
“Nonsense!” her mother declared roundly. “The weather is fine, and you look charming. Moreover, you will draw the eye. Do you not agree, Mountsorrel?”
“I…ah…indeed, Lady Drusilla looks delightful,” the hapless duke replied. When Lady Strenshall was determined to achieve her objective, nothing stood in her way.
Knowing this, Dru accepted her fate. “If you will allow me a few moments to find my hat and gloves, I’ll be ready directly.” And change her satin slippers for something more practical, although she did not mention that part to her mother. When the marchioness graciously agreed to her request, Dru lifted her skirts and scampered upstairs.
* * * *
Oliver suppressed a sigh. How long did it take to find a pair of gloves and a hat?
As Lady Strenshall finished her second dish of tea, she broached the subject of Drusilla again. “We cannot put up with Drusilla becoming the center of attention. It would distress the poor girl, and she does not deserve it. If she said something particularly egregious, she must of course apologize, but she needs to look about her. Lord Strenshall has received several flattering offers for her hand recently, and we are seriously considering them. I’m sure I can trust you to keep my confidence.”
And if he did not, she would know who was to blame. “Naturally, Lady Strenshall. I am delighted to hear the news.” So they wouldn’t want any gossip where Lady Drusilla was concerned. He understood. “I had thought of letting it be known that I was taken suddenly ill. Lady Drusilla of course knew this and allowed me to leave her.”
Her ladyship nodded. “That will serve our purpose excellently. I’ll inform my daughter. And her cousin Lord Winterton.”
Oh, good lord, had he become involved? Of course he had. Clever, dangerous Winterton would not let a slight to his family stand. He was more formidable than his mother, and that was saying something.
“He took over the dance you abandoned,” her ladyship calmly informed him. “We will let him know.” She paused, and adjusted the sugar tongs once more. “If today’s excursion is a success. I cannot allow my daughter to become a laughing stock, especially at this important part of her life.”
Oliver felt two inches high under her mild comment. He would ensure that it was. If she said she hated the sun, he’d agree with her. If Lady Drusilla claimed she was dressed in purple instead of that charming primrose, he would smile mildly and tell her purple became her vastly.
He did not want gossip spreading any more than she did. He had a great deal at stake, if she only knew it. However, he would not let that small detail fall. He was an old hand at keeping secrets. He prided himself that he had never allowed an unconsidered word to drop from his lips. Even last night—but last night he had acted rashly, as his own mother was only too eager to remind him this morning.
Damn. If Lady Drusilla had seen the vicious gossip in the papers, she was bearing up well. Either that or she was used to it spreading its vile wings over her family. But not directed at her. She did not deserve it any more than she had merited his behavior at the ball. She had hit a sore spot, one she would never understand, but that was not her fault.
Lady Drusilla reappeared. Her hat, while plain, had a bunch of silk primroses pinned to one side and became her, giving her a flirtatious air she had not displayed before. Her smile charmed him, and she carried a frivolous parasol that was totally unnecessary, but he enjoyed the way she deployed it as they left the house.
Although the sun had made an appearance that morning, it seemed to have retired for the day, and a sheet of white clouds masked the sky.
“Oh dear,” she said, glancing up. “Do you think it will rain?”
“I doubt it,” he answered as he gallantly offered his arm. “The clouds are too high up for that. They will probably give their all to Yorkshire later on today.”
“My brother is in North Derbyshire,” she said absently, still staring up as if afraid to meet his gaze. “He will probably be glad of the benefit. Crops and such. He seems terribly rural these days.” She returned her attention to him, or more precisely, the shallow steps she needed to negotiate to leave the house. This being a fashionable part of London, they had a stretch of paving stones to cross before reaching the carriage. She took them carefully, as if afraid she would stumble.
He had not thought her particularly clumsy. H
ad she somehow hurt herself?
She flicked a glance up at him and smiled, the expression cautious. He stopped and turned to face her, alarming a pair of chairmen who had to swerve to carry their burden past them. Chairmen had a good command of the English language, particularly in evidence when they passed by.
Lady Drusilla suppressed a snort, and her eyes crinkled, as if she were about to smile. Strain marks appeared at the corners of her mouth. If he had not been so close, he would have missed the slight fleeting marks. He smiled in return. “Would you like me to pursue them and strike them down?”
“Not at all. They have a living to make. It cannot be easy, carrying that great sedan chair around all day.”
He glanced after the pair trotting along the street. The chair held a slender woman in full regalia, he’d noticed absently. They would have more taxing burdens that day. “You are quite right. We should all thank the heavens for the fact that we were not born chairmen.”
“Indeed.” Her voice held barely restrained mirth. “But I have learned several new words today. Their use is most inventive.”
He glanced back at her, not sure how to take that. Her reputation as a gently nurtured lady did not follow her. He would love to teach her some more words if they made her smile in such a winsome way.
No, he would be good. He would be as mild as a sleeping baby. Except he needed to keep his attention on his frisky horses. He probably should have sent his groom to tool them around the streets while he waited for her ladyship. They were snorting, and one stamped impatiently.
He was pleased to see that Lady Drusilla stepped firmly toward them, showing no trepidation. He had thought her a mild miss until she had startled him with her observations last night. She had never stood out in company. When he’d made discreet enquiries he’d received only moderate responses, and until this morning she had never featured in the more notorious gossip sheets. He feared her new appearance was entirely down to him. He had not needed his brother to point out that he had to make amends. In fact, Charles had not done so, although Oliver had expected him to.
Dauntless (The Shaws) Page 3