by Claudia Dain
“Done again. I will back Dutton. The terms?”
“Not money,” Sophia said, rising to her feet, “for that would be too crass by any measure. Shall we say an intimate dinner at Calbourne House?”
“I would be delighted,” he said, bowing crisply. “If Lord Dutton attracts the lady’s interest in the next twenty-four hours, I shall host an intimate dinner at Calbourne House.” Where Sophia would be the only guest. A very tidy win, if Louisa behaved as she had reliably done for the past two years.
“And if she chooses elsewhere by tomorrow night, then I shall host an intimate dinner, you being the guest of honor. This gives every appearance of being a wager I cannot lose,” Sophia said, smiling up into his eyes. He returned her smile fully. There were many things said of Sophia Dalby, but the one on which all men agreed was that she was charming company.
“Nor can I, Lady Dalby. I shall see you at Hyde House tonight?”
“Your grace, you will most assuredly see me at Hyde House tonight. It promises to be a most entertaining evening, does it not?”
Again, Calbourne could not help but note that there was a slightly sinister, one might even say provocatively malevolent edge to Sophia’s question. Most odd.
Nine
LOUISA, looking as enticing as she possibly could in a gown of fine white muslin with a daringly low décolleté, because Lord Dutton required daring décolletés, entered Hyde House for the second time in a single week. It was something of a coup. While hundreds were invited to a Hyde House assemblie, only a few were ever invited to celebrate the Marquis of Iveston’s birth. This was her first time doing so. Amelia, dressed in ivory silk with a cunning design of indigo beading at the hem, was at her side, looking equally triumphant.
Tonight, they would achieve their purposes. Louisa would finally ensnare Lord Dutton, and Amelia would entice whatever eligible duke happened to be about.
It promised to be a spectacular evening.
“I suppose I shall have to comment on the wallpaper again,” Mary said, none too quietly.
Louisa turned to stare over Aunt Mary’s head and shared a subtle grimace with Amelia. Mary, Lady Jordan, was very short.
“You wouldn’t think a room needed to be redone every year,” Mary continued, fussing with her jade necklace, green being a color that did not suit her at all, “but when one has money, I suppose one must find ways to flaunt it.”
“I’m sure I shall,” Amelia said pleasantly, arranging her simple necklace of sapphires and diamonds, a combination that suited her to perfection. Naturally. One did not go about attracting the attention of a duke by wearing the wrong color.
“I’m sure I don’t know what money is for if not to enjoy spending it,” Louisa said. “I expect to have a spectacular time in spending Dutton’s money.”
“Darling,” Sophia Dalby said, entering their company and their conversation without a moment’s hesitation. Louisa had not even seen her coming. “While a woman must be aware of a man’s financial strength, she must always refrain from discussing such things in public. While a man likes to have a fat purse, he does not want his value to be based upon it.”
“I would never . . . I meant no such thing!” Louisa said in a hushed voice, looking behind her to see if Dutton or anyone who knew Dutton had heard her. Which was ridiculous, really, for who didn’t know Dutton?
“But, naturally, it must be considered,” Sophia said, continuing on as if Louisa had not spoken. “Isn’t that so, Lady Jordan?”
Aunt Mary, who had married for love and married badly, simply scowled at Lady Dalby in response.
Mary and Sophia, from what Louisa could gather, had entered London at almost the same instant. That Sophia had clearly worked things to her very prominent advantage was not something Mary enjoyed contemplating. It should not have been so. Logically, it should not have been so.
After two years in pursuing Lord Dutton, Louisa was increasingly aware that logic had very little to do with anything, particularly men and marriage.
“But, of course,” Sophia continued, moving their small group by slow degrees through the crowd at the door of the blue reception room, “it is quite clear to me that Lady Amelia understands this very well. How wise of you, darling, to have grasped the situation so fully while so young.”
Amelia smiled blandly in response and arranged her necklace more precisely than was necessary. To be hunting for a duke was one thing; to be known to be hunting for a duke was quite another thing altogether. It did not put a girl in the most advantageous light, even if it were a very practical goal. Most men did not require practicality in a wife when extravagant prettiness would suffice.
Men were rather stupid.
Louisa and Amelia had both found it annoying on more than one occasion that men were so necessary to a girl’s future. That is, Louisa had found it annoying until she had set her eyes and, in rapid succession, her heart upon Lord Dutton. Even if she did think Dutton rather stupid for not falling to her charms after two years, she did not find him annoying. Dutton was too splendid to be annoying.
Sophia had gracefully led them to the Duke and Duchess of Hyde and their eldest son, Iveston, who stood near the far wall of the blue reception room to receive their guests. It really was a wonder how she had done it. The room, though as fully large as a duke’s London residence ought to have been, was still quite full of people in the finest of gowns and the whitest of linen cravats.
Sophia smiled and dipped her greeting to the duke and duchess, leaning forward to whisper something in the duchess’s ear. Molly, the duchess, turned a bright eye upon first Louisa and then Amelia. It was not friendly in the least. One might even have said her look was one of blatant suspicion and imminent dislike.
This is what came of trusting a courtesan.
Mary, Louisa, and Amelia made their dips in their turn, Amelia’s curtsey was especially pretty as she faced the Marquis. Iveston was truly a man to remark upon, even if he had not been in line for a dukedom. He was flagrantly tall and fashionably lean and quite blatantly blond. Not the blond of his younger brother, Lord Henry Blakesley, whose hair was more golden, more the shade of his mother’s, now that Louisa thought about it.
In fact, there was quite of bit of Henry in Molly’s cynical and rather too observant eyes. A point that was made even more forcefully as Henry appeared next to his brother Iveston and smiled at her in a manner that could only be described as sarcastic.
Smiling in sarcasm ought to have been impossible, yet Blakesley managed it quite handily.
He looked splendid in evening dress with his sardonic smile and his calculating gaze directed exclusively at her.
She liked that about Lord Henry Blakesley. She liked that when she was in his company, no matter the expression he wore upon his face, he gave her his full attention. He could wear whatever expression he liked, for she was quite certain she had seen them all: indifference, annoyance, impatience, amusement, boredom, pleasure, interest. Whatever his expression, whatever his mood, he always was fully attentive. It was so unlike Dutton, so completely the reverse of Dutton, that she had become increasingly aware and increasingly appreciative of the difference. It was, after all and for whatever reason, nice to be noticed.
“Lord Iveston, how remarkably splendid you look this evening,” Sophia said with a snap of her ivory fan. “In the flush of full manhood and health. How the ladies must swoon.”
She was flirting with him. But then, Sophia had the nasty habit of flirting with every man. Louisa had even observed her flirting with Dutton on more than one occasion, and, worse, Dutton had appeared to enjoy it very much.
“If they swoon, Lady Dalby,” Iveston answered softly, “I fear it is in response to my father’s title, not my flushed manhood.”
To which Sophia laughed in a manner not entirely modest and to which the Marquis of Iveston blushed. Louisa was entirely sympathetic. Obvious blushing was the curse of those with skin like snow and blushing was the curse of those who parleyed with Sophia Dalby.<
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“And modest besides,” Sophia said with a grin. “You will never convince me that ladies do not swoon when faced with your . . . flushed manhood? What a charming turn of phrase you possess, Lord Iveston. You remind me of your brother Lord Henry. He, too, has a way with words.”
“I did not intend that the way—” Iveston began in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t apologize, Iveston,” Henry Blakesley interrupted. “You’d have to know Lady Dalby better to know that you have charmed her completely. Is that not so, Lady Dalby?”
“Completely so, Lord Henry,” Sophia said, tilting her head charmingly. It was beyond irritating that every movement of Sophia Dalby’s was done charmingly. Louisa could only conclude that Sophia had spent hours and hours in front of a mirror, practicing charm.
That she had spent hours in front of her mirror practicing looks with Lord Dutton in mind, and with such scant results, made the whole thing intolerable.
“I do so enjoy Molly’s sons, each and every one,” Sophia said. “I trust that all the Blakesleys will be in attendance this evening?”
“We have yet to find the excuse that our Mother will accept,” Lord Henry Blakesley said. “And we have tried.”
“I can’t think why you should want to avoid a dinner given in your brother’s honor,” Louisa said. “At worst, it seems quite unfamilial.”
“And at best?” Blakesley said, giving her that hard look that was so common to him and which she found not at all intimidating.
“At best, it seems quite wise,” Sophia answered in her place.
Louisa did not appreciate it in the least. She could converse quite well with Blakesley, no matter how surly he became, and she did not appreciate any doubts that she could. Of all men, she could at least claim to manage Lord Henry Blakesley.
“Wise?” Amelia said, angling her body so that her bosom was shown to her best advantage. Iveston was not looking at Amelia’s bosom, at least not obviously so. Pity. “I cannot think why it should be thought wise.”
“Can you not?” Sophia said, looking at Amelia and her well-displayed bosom, her dark eyes twinkling. “Five sons in the house and not a one of them married. They must long to run like rabbits through the tall grass and there is so little cover to be had over a dining table.”
“There are always the candlesticks,” Lord Henry said, smiling crookedly, one side of his mouth lifting almost reluctantly.
He liked sparring with Sophia Dalby, that much was patently obvious. Just let him try and deny it. When she next got him alone, she would give him the opportunity to do just that.
“Are we to pretend that men do not enjoy being wanted?” Aunt Mary said, her words not slurring in the least and her manner most abrupt. Louisa and Amelia exchanged a look over her head again. Mary was a much more pleasant chaperone, that is to say, much more manageable, when she was in her cups.
“Let us not pretend anything,” Sophia said, “for, at best, it is a waste of time.”
“And at worst?” Blakesley said.
“A waste of opportunity,” Sophia promptly rejoined, smiling seductively at him.
It was too much. Louisa was not about to stand about all evening and watch Sophia Dalby seduce every man who spoke to her.
“Then men do enjoy being wanted?” Louisa said, forcing Blakesley’s attention back to her. He swung his gaze far too casually to her, letting it linger for far too long on Sophia Dalby. A full two seconds at the very least.
“Wanted, yes, naturally,” Sophia said, “but not . . .” She let her voice trail off softly and looked expectantly at Lord Iveston, blatantly attempting to draw him out. Louisa let her gaze slide to Amelia. Amelia did not look at all pleased.
“Pursued,” Iveston said in a soft undertone, smiling at Sophia, his rather cunningly shaped blond head dipped in her direction.
It was appalling and revolting and beyond tolerating. Sophia clearly did not know how to talk to a man without attempting to seduce him. Worse yet, she apparently always succeeded.
Louisa would have given her right eye, or a pearl necklace, to be able to accomplish half as much in twice the amount of time.
“Ridiculous,” Aunt Mary said. “Men love pursuit above all else.”
“As the hunter, not the hunted,” Louisa said. “Is that the truth of it, Lord Henry?”
“I would have no way of knowing, Lady Louisa,” he said on a soft snarl of sarcasm.
He was angry about something, though she could not imagine what it could possibly be. She was the one who had the right to be annoyed. And she was. Very annoyed. The whole world seemed, in that instant, to be arrayed against her happiness. Actually, the whole world had seemed arrayed against her happiness from the moment she left the nursery, but she was not going to whine about it. She had more fortitude than that.
“Now that’s ridiculous,” Sophia said, looking with open amusement at Blakesley. In point of fact, Sophia was looking him up and down like some carnal treat she couldn’t wait to pounce upon. Disgraceful, decadent woman. Louisa resisted the impulse to shake her head in disapproval. “You cannot claim that women don’t find you irresistible.”
“I am not entirely certain that this conversation is in good taste,” Iveston said, glancing at Amelia. Amelia’s throat turned a delicate shade of pink, which served to highlight her exceptionally creamy bosom.
“Have we offended you, my lord?” Sophia said.
“In point of fact, I cannot remember ever having been so entertained at my own party,” he said. “Lady Dalby, you are splendid. I must seek out your company more often than I have done in the past. I can see why Blakes finds you so fascinating.”
Upon which Amelia’s throat, breast, and cheek turned chalky white and Louisa’s breath caught in her throat. This was not at all what she had hoped to achieve by seeking out Sophia Dalby.
“Blakes?” Sophia said with a charming lilt.
“A family name,” Blakesley gritted out, “and not one that should have left the family.”
“It’s charming beyond description,” Sophia said. “I’m surprised not to have heard it mentioned before now. Certainly, Lady Louisa has kept your secret, Lord Henry, for as close as you are, she has not breathed a word of it.”
Blakesley looked at her with the most odd expression. She didn’t like it in the least.
“I’m as surprised as you are, Lady Dalby,” Louisa said. “I am certainly not privy to the intimacies of Hyde House.”
The look in Blakesley’s normally cynical blue eyes was chilling and, uncomfortably, far from cynical. Why, he looked almost wounded.
“How very odd,” Sophia said, watching Blakesley. “I had gathered that you two were rather more intimate than that. Oh, well,” she said, shrugging, “I was clearly mistaken. I hope you will not be offended if I call you Blakes on occasion, Lord Henry.”
“As long as the occasion is intimate, Lady Dalby, then I shall not mind in the least.”
“I see we are of a mind, Lord Henry. How enjoyable,” Sophia said, looking at Blakesley from beneath her dark lashes. As Louisa’s lashes were golden red, she could not duplicate the affect. Not that she wanted to, not with Blakes.
She most certainly did not.
“While it may be common for you to speak of intimacy with a gentleman,” Mary said stiffly, “it is not common for the ladies in my charge. I must ask you to excuse us.”
Mary was entirely too sober to be made proper use of. The situation must be rectified before the first course or this dinner would be a useless exercise. That was made perfectly clear in the next instant, when Mary was trying to herd Amelia and Louisa away from the heir apparent to the Duke of Hyde, of all the idiocy, and upon the imminent arrival of the Duke of Calbourne to their small gathering.
Amelia looked ready to faint from delight. Louisa would have looked equally overcome if only Dutton could be found in the ever-growing crowd in the blue reception room of Hyde House. She could not find him. If he were present, he was not making any atte
mpt to join their party.
Dutton truly did, most regularly, behave in the most annoying fashion.
The Duke of Calbourne made his bow and joined their small and entirely too intimate party. Amelia was not to be moved from that moment onward. Here was a duke who was in the full force of his title; albeit that he already had an heir, which meant that any children of Amelia’s would not have that distinction; still, as matters went, it was a small one. Amelia had been very clear on one point since the approximate age of four and that point was that she was going to be a duchess.
Louisa had no doubt about it whatsoever. Amelia was just the sort of woman who should become a duchess; she would appreciate it so very much and, consequently, would appreciate the man who had made it possible. A happier marriage could not be conceived. Or so Amelia had maintained since the approximate age of six.
Amelia was a very forward-thinking girl. Louisa had always admired that about her. Truly, they each had such good plans in place for their individual futures, it was an amazing bit of rotten luck that they both still found themselves unmarried. Unthinkable, really, when they had come out two years previous. Things had not gone at all to plan from that day to this.
Of course, things had not started out at all as they should have done, before Aunt Mary had been, with only the barest nudge, encouraged into becoming a two-bottle-a-day drinker. Things had gotten immeasurably more convenient since then.
One simply could not manage a man at all with a sober and vigilant chaperone at one’s side. It was difficult enough when the chaperone was deeply in her cups. Of course, dukes being what they were and Dutton being what he was, this whole marriage business had become more complicated than either one of them had imagined at the start. Even a drunken chaperone hadn’t helped much.
Oh, very well. Hadn’t helped a bit.
Neither she nor Amelia were any closer to their marriage goals than they had been, which explained her rather desperate bid for help from Sophia Dalby. Not that it was doing her any good whatsoever and may, in fact, have been the worst step she could have taken, which was exactly what Amelia had been telling her all afternoon. Eleanor had simply laughed and kept laughing, barely bothering to hide her face in a book.