“I do not care.”
Isabel recognized that mutinous jut of Delia’s chin. “You will if no respectable hostess will receive you. Then there is Lord Botly. When he learns of our presence in town, he will not be pleased.”
“You might be wrong.”
“Perhaps.” Even so, Isabel was highly doubtful. “If you recall, after Father’s death, our mother journeyed to London to see the viscount. When she returned, she locked herself in her bedchamber for days.” No amount of pleading from her daughters had opened the door. It had been Mrs. Willow who had coaxed the fragile Sybil from her room. “You and I both know that her father has not forgiven her for marrying beneath her. We are nothing to Lord Botly and his family. It would be foolish to give him just cause to guarantee that everyone in London agrees with him.”
Delia’s hazel eyes filled with tears. “But I want it! The dress will be perfect for Lady Benyon’s ball this evening.”
Isabel turned away, her throat constricting with emotion. “No one gets everything that they want.” Especially not us Thorne women.
Mrs. Allen shuffled in with a tray laden with tea for both women and a plate of biscuits. “Goodness, you two have not been arguing again, have you?”
Isabel cleared her throat. “Mrs. Allen, I have another task for you,” she said briskly. “I need you to find me a responsible lad to carry out an errand for me.”
* * *
A few hours later, Vane’s sleep was interrupted for a second time when his butler carried a trunk into library. “Forgive the intrusion, milord. This arrived moments ago, and the young man delivering it insisted that I was to bring this to you immediately.”
Swinging his long legs off the sofa, he scrubbed his face wearily. “Place it on the desk, Jemison. Did the lad mention who sent it?”
The servant grunted as he relieved his arms of their burden. “No, milord. I was told, however, that his mistress included a note.”
“Mistress?” Vane’s forehead furrowed, wondering if Miss Corsar was returning miscellaneous articles of clothing that he might have abandoned at her residence. He would have never been so careless as to leave anything valuable behind, but considering their abrupt parting she might have decided to remove all traces of his presence in her life. “Open the trunk.”
Vane stretched his arms over his head before he sauntered over to the desk. He started swearing the second he saw the poppy evening dress. “Ungrateful chit. Does she have to get her way on everything?”
Jemison handed him the folded piece of paper.
Vane parted the edges of the paper and read.
Dear Lord Vanewright,
In polite circles, when a lady accepts intimate gifts from a stranger, she might be mistaken for the liberal sort who is willing to dally in the private room of a dressmaker’s shop with any gentleman. If my sister and I have given you such an erroneous impression about our character, then please accept our sincere apologies. I pray you will not take offense because I am returning your generous gift. Such a beautiful dress should be worn and appreciated. If you cannot return it to the shop, I have no doubt that London is filled with worldly ladies who will accept your gifts without hesitation.
Most Humbly,
Miss Thorne
“Humbly?” Vane sneered as he shook Isabel Thorne’s letter at the butler. “The woman is not even acquainted with the word. She is annoyingly stubborn and opinionated. Between her candor and her age, it is no surprise that she is unmarried!”
Yes, it was hypocritical of him to judge her when he was older and more experienced. She had also deduced that he had been the one in the private dressing room with Miss Corsar. If he had been a younger man, he might have blushed. Miss Thorne must have come to the conclusion that he was the vilest of scoundrels. His attempt to make amends and show his gratitude had only confirmed her suspicions.
“If you say so, milord,” Jemison said, closing the trunk and securing the straps. “Any further instructions?”
“Yes,” Vane said, coming to an impulsive decision. “Have my phaeton readied. I will be taking the trunk with me. I need to run an errand before I prepare for my evening.”
Chapter Nine
Isabel had never attended a town ball. She assumed there was little difference between Lady Benyon’s ball and the ones she had attended at Cotersage. The moment she had disembarked from the post chaise with her sister at her side, however, she realized that anything she’d experienced before this night paled in comparison. As they entered the glittering front hall, Isabel felt she had walked into a different world where extravagance was merely a tool of measurement in a world of the ton.
Lady Netherley’s good word had secured their invitations, but it was yet to be seen if she and Delia belonged. With a sliver of envy in her heart, Isabel observed the elegantly dressed ladies around them. The amount of jewels and gold adorning these ladies’ throats, arms, and ears clearly established their position in polite society. Her own bare limbs were a reminder that she did not truly belong in this world.
Isabel turned to reassure Delia and gasped. Her sister had already removed her black cloak and was handing the garment to a servant. Instead of the green evening dress Isabel expected to see, Delia was attired in the beautiful poppy-colored evening dress.
The one that had been returned to Lord Vanewright that very afternoon!
Isabel untied the ribbons at her throat, allowing a servant to remove the cloak from her shoulders. Murmuring her thanks, she took her sister by the arm and marched her away from the receiving line.
“What are you doing?”
“Where did that dress come from?”
“Oh, you know very well the answer. Otherwise you would not be on the verge of an apoplectic fit.”
“The trunk was returned to Lord Vanewright.”
“Fortunately, he thought it best that I keep it.”
“What?” Her high pitch caused several guests to stare at the two women. Isabel offered their spectators an apologetic smile. When they moved on, she glared at her sister. “When did you speak with Lord Vanewright?”
Delia appeared vaguely annoyed by the question. “I do not know. He appeared on the doorstep when you went upstairs to lie down. Mrs. Allen allowed him to stand in the front hall. She did not think you would approve of me inviting the earl into the parlor.”
“Why was I not told of this?”
“I told Mrs. Allen not to mention it. I knew it would only upset you. Besides, I wanted to surprise you. Did I not predict that the dress would be flattering?”
Isabel closed her eyes, trying to keep from yelling at her sister. Delia knew exactly how Isabel was going to react once she learned that Lord Vanewright had returned to the house with the dress. The clever girl had charmed Mrs. Allen to secrecy, and she had come downstairs already wearing her cloak. Her sister was counting on Isabel not to make a scene at Lady Benyon’s ball.
“Without a doubt, everyone will be envious of your dress this evening,” Isabel said, meaning every word. “What did Lord Vanewright say when he returned with the dress?”
Delia was already looking past her, openly admiring a group of gentlemen who had recently arrived. “The earl asked to see you, but Mrs. Allen told him that you were not receiving visitors. In truth, he seemed relieved by the news.”
“Oh … oh, really,” Isabel said, stung.
“Do not worry. Lord Vanewright did not stay long. He said that he was returning the dress to its owner.”
“Did he even bother reading my note?” she seethed aloud. “What else did he say?”
“Very little, actually. Lord Vanewright just told me to tell you that he had already found the lady who appreciated the dress. He was simply returning it to her. Naturally I thanked him. After all, the earl has been generous to both of us. Do you not agree?”
“Yes.”
“And do not fret. Lord Vanewright assured me that no one will learn who purchased the dress for me. So fear not, dear sister, my reputation is safe.�
��
Isabel finally noticed that one of the nearby gentlemen was leering at Delia. She stepped in front of her sister and glared at the man until he glanced away. They had just averted a disaster with Lord Vanewright only to face another one.
“Come along. We need to greet our hostess, and find Lady Netherley.”
In this crush of guests, Isabel was going to require assistance protecting Delia’s virtue.
* * *
“Vane, what an unexpected surprise,” said Sophia Housely, Countess of Rainecourt, as she greeted him. At her side stood her friends Lady Frances Lloyd and Juliana Braverton, Marchioness of Sinclair.
Vane bowed, acknowledging each lady according to her rank. “Good evening, ladies. How so?” he asked Sophia.
Wearing a blue dress that happened to be her husband’s favorite hue, the beautiful blonde was clutching her white walking stick with gold top. Partially blind since childhood, the countess depended on her friends and walking stick to navigate the crowded ballroom.
It was Juliana, Sin’s wife, who replied to his question. “Upon our arrival, Reign predicted we would see less of you this season than Frost—and you know how he detests these private balls.”
Frost detested private balls because they were often hosted by doting mothers who hoped to secure a titled husband for their young daughters by parading them up and down the ballroom like fine mares wearing golden bridles. While the earl had no intention of marrying one of these muslin-clad fillies, it amused him to arrive unannounced just to disconcert his hostess and the hovering mothers since his title and wealth opened all doors to him. No one dared to refuse him, even if he was the devil himself.
The ton’s hypocrisy never ceased to amaze Vane and his friends.
Vane gave Juliana and Sophia a knowing glance. “So your husbands have been gossiping about me, eh? And branding me as some kind of coward, too.”
“No one was accusing you of being a coward,” Lady Frances said hastily, her mahogany tresses adorned with tiny white flowers. “I believe the general consensus was that you were not tempting fate this season.”
“Diplomatic as always, Lady Frances,” Vane said with a slight smile on his lips. “If you are willing, I would be honored to dance with you later.”
Lady Frances inclined her head. “No, it is I who is honored, my lord. After all, any attention you bestow upon a lady this season will certainly stir speculation among the gossips.”
“It will, indeed,” Vane agreed, though he was not concerned that the young woman would misinterpret the polite gesture. It was common enough knowledge within their circle of friends that Lady Frances was pining for Mr. Derrick Griffin, though the gentleman seemed to view her as nothing more than a good friend. “I will consider it a favor. It will spare me hard looks from our hostess, and no one will be able to accuse me of shirking my duties in the ballroom.”
“Such flattery will go to Fanny’s head,” Sophia scolded lightly. “No wonder your mother is convinced you need her help in this endeavor.”
“Lord Vanewright does not mean to be rude,” Lady Frances said, coming to his defense. “He is simply being practical. Would you not agree, my lord?”
It was a pity that his heart only held admiration for the lady. Lady Frances was an extraordinary woman. From the corner of his eye, Vane noticed that Griffin was watching them. Ignoring the varying expressions of surprise on the three ladies’ faces, he gallantly took Lady Frances’s hand and kissed it. “Both of us may benefit from the flirtation. Do not glance in his direction, however; Griffin apparently has taken offense to my presence.”
Juliana had been acquainted with the Lords of Vice long enough to know that an unspoken provocation from any of the gentlemen could escalate into fisticuffs. “No fighting.”
“It never even occurred to me,” Vane lied. A riotous brawl always livened up a ball. He released Lady Frances’s hand. “Griffin seems content to leave you on the shelf. Perhaps he needs a reminder that you will not wait for him forever.”
Although she was slightly taken aback by his knowledge of her unspoken love for her childhood friend, she swiftly recovered. “I look forward to that dance, Lord Vanewright,” she said as she glanced coyly in Griffin’s direction.
Juliana slapped the collapsed blades of her fan on his wrist to gain his attention. “You have done enough mischief for one evening. You might want to seek out your disreputable friends in the card room before your mother decides to introduce you to that young lady in the poppy-colored evening dress.”
“What lady?” Vane turned his head, searching for the lady who had caught the marchioness’s eye.
“I do not know her,” Lady Frances murmured. “However, I covet her dress. A beautiful color.”
Sophia tilted her head, attempting to glimpse the lady her friends were discussing. “Perhaps Lady Benyon will provide an introduction for us.”
Isabel Thorne and her sister had been invited to Lady Benyon’s ball. Who had invited them? The old house the Thorne sisters were renting, with its worn furniture, suggested that the ladies were lacking funds and connections. Vane mentally chastised himself for not procuring the invitations himself. His family’s name could open many of polite society’s doors to the ladies.
Anticipation hummed in his blood as he caught sight of his mother and the lady wearing the poppy evening dress. As his gaze traveled from the skirt upward, Vane cursed under his breath. It was Delia, not Isabel, who was wearing the dress. Delia laughed at something his mother was saying, and he caught a brief glimpse of Isabel’s face. She did not look happy, which only seemed fair, considering his current mood.
Did the stubborn woman have to fight him on every trivial thing?
“What is it?” Sophia asked, the first to pick up on his annoyance. “Do you know the ladies?”
“No,” he said curtly. Though he was certain his mother was planning to remedy it. Fortunately, he was willing to accommodate her. “If you will excuse me, ladies.” He bowed and headed toward his mother with a dangerous gleam in his eyes that had people stepping out of his path.
“But the card room is in the opposite direction,” Juliana said to his back, sounding exasperated and a little annoyed.
Vane sympathized with the sentiment.
* * *
Isabel stood stiffly beside her sister while Lady Netherley and her daughter Lady Susan were debating which parks and gardens the Thorne sisters should visit.
“A carriage ride through Hyde Park should be done first,” Lady Susan recommended, and then added, “though superior equipage is as essential as your carriage dress. After all, the point of drive is to be seen by the ton.”
Isabel’s already flagging spirits plummeted. She and Delia were getting about town with the assistance of hackney coaches. She could not afford to add the purchase of an elegant carriage and horses to their growing bills.
Lady Netherley gave her a friendly pat on the arm. “Do not look so worried, my dear. You and Delia have us to watch over you.” She turned to her daughter. “We could all do with a nice drive through the park. Such outings are much more fun in large groups, do you not agree, Miss Thorne?”
“I-I suppose,” Isabel replied, her hesitancy earning her a sharp look from Delia, which she ignored. She was barely speaking to Delia because of her trickery with the evening dress.
The elderly marchioness considered the matter settled. “Oh, and you two must see the Chinese Pagoda at St. James Park. It was only last year that they installed gas lighting.”
“My sister and I are looking forward to seeing more of London,” Delia said with unfeigned enthusiasm. “It is a pity that our mother was unable to join us this trip.”
Isabel’s stomach fluttered at the mention of their mother. She wanted to pinch Delia for even mentioning it. Lady Netherley frowned at her sister.
Oblivious to the emotional undercurrents, Lady Susan asked, “Is your mother ill?”
In unison, the sister gave opposing responses.
Isa
bel tried to appear apologetic. “Forgive us.” She leaned closer and whispered. “My mother’s condition is something that is rarely discussed outside the family.”
Lady Susan’s mouth formed a soundless O. “I understand completely,” she said, leaving Isabel baffled since she had not really offered an explanation at all. “Then you have family in town?”
“Well, we have—ooph!” Delia stepped away and glared at Isabel.
“Forgive me, I did not intend to step on your toes. I hope I did not ruin anything,” she said, giving her sister a meaningful look.
“The evening is still young,” Delia replied with a light laugh.
Lady Netherley also laughed. “In a crowded ballroom, bruised toes are to be expected.”
Isabel could tell by Lady Susan’s expression that she was not satisfied with their answers, so she added, “Our father passed away, and we have little family left. Fortuitously, your mother has offered her friendship and her indispensable guidance during our stay in town.”
Lady Susan’s shrewd gaze switched from Isabel’s carefully blanked expression to her mother’s not-so-innocent one. “How old are you?”
“Susan, really,” an amused masculine voice drawled, startling Isabel. “And I’m usually considered the rude one in the family.”
Isabel spun around to see Lord Vanewright standing behind her.
Chapter Ten
Vane allowed his fingers to dance lightly over his heart as he acknowledged his mother with a bow. “Good evening, Mother. As usual, you look so lovely, our father should worry that someone will steal your heart.”
He did not bother asking if his father had joined her. After losing not one but two virile sons, the man had slowly distanced himself from his wife and remaining children.
He critically studied his sister. “You look well, Susan. Ellen tells me that you and the children are living under our father’s roof again. So tell me, what are your plans when you are not scaring young ladies or bashing your husband’s head in with a bed warmer?”
Sunrise with a Notorious Lord Page 6