My Fair Princess

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Charles, there you are,” she said in a relieved voice. “I stepped away to the retiring room, and I came back to this. You must make Lord Andover go away before Gillian does something dreadful.”

  “I intend to,” he said in a grim voice. Unfortunately, he was still several feet away when he saw Gillian’s lips curve up in a smile that made it clear mayhem was about to occur.

  By the time he got clear of a gaggle of excited debutantes, Gillian was practically standing on Andover’s toes, saying something that Charles couldn’t hear over the din of the crowd. A moment later, she delivered an outstanding right hook that caught Andover under the chin.

  Since the earl was well-known at Gentleman Jackson’s for having a glass jaw, the effect was both predictable and profound. He toppled like a felled tree, straight into a cluster of bystanders, including a footman carrying a tray of champagne goblets. The poor footman tumbled into a middle-aged matron possessed of a well-padded figure, and both went crashing down to the floor, along with the champagne.

  “What a nice, flush hit,” Jack said in an admiring voice.

  “Do not tell her that,” Charles growled as he elbowed past a pair of girls who were shrieking and fanning themselves in a dramatic fashion.

  Jack shot a sly grin at Charles. “I don’t mean to interfere, old boy, but you might want to drop a word in Miss Dryden’s ear that boxing isn’t usually the done thing in the middle of a ballroom.”

  “Thank you for that extremely helpful bit of advice, you idiot,” Charles said in a blighting tone.

  Jack simply laughed.

  Charles stalked up to Gillian, who stood over Andover, flexing her hand. When she glanced up at him, she let out a sigh. At least he thought she sighed, since it was hard to hear anything in the growing pandemonium.

  Gillian clasped her hands at her waist and patiently waited, a picture of serene beauty in the midst of chaos.

  “Well, Miss Dryden,” Charles said, “now that you’ve provided the main entertainment for the evening, what have you planned for an encore?”

  She flicked a glance around the crowded ballroom that seethed with excitement and gossip. Then she looked back at him and shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, Your Grace. I am, however, entirely open to suggestion.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “You must stop hiding, Miss Dryden,” Leverton said as he handed her down the front steps of her grandmother’s townhouse. His handsome face was serious, but far kinder than she deserved after the debacle the other night at Lady Barrington’s ball.

  “I wish you’d stop being so bloody nice,” she said. “You’re making me feel worse.”

  His brows went up in a politely incredulous arch. Leverton’s eyebrows were always excellent indicators of his mood. Their lift could reduce an impertinent dandy to embarrassed silence or elicit a flustered apology from the most judgmental of society matrons. Gillian wished she could learn the trick. Then she might not have to go around punching people.

  “Language, Miss Dryden. Would you rather be locked in your room with only bread and water? I could speak to your grandmother, if you’d like.”

  She perked up. “I promise I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

  He took her arm and gently urged her forward. “Hiding will only make things worse.”

  “Not according to Mamma. She thinks it’s foolish to go traipsing about London as if nothing happened. It’ll only cause more talk.”

  The gossip had already spread like wildfire, and a few choice nicknames for Gillian were in circulation. She didn’t really care, but the cruel chatter and whisperings hurt her mother. That truly did make Gillian want to hide away in shame.

  Or better yet, return to Sicily, since it now might be the best way out of the mess. That hadn’t been her intent at the ball, but she could hardly have picked a better way to further her cause. Unfortunately, she’d left quite a bit of debris in her wake.

  “We cannot run away from London as if you were the only guilty party,” he said. “That would only encourage Andover and those of his ilk in more bad behavior.”

  “But my mother—”

  He silenced her by drawing her hand through his arm. Every time Leverton touched her, Gillian’s insides started to jump. It was a disconcerting reaction to say the least, yet also rather lovely.

  She had to clamp down on even the thought of tender feelings toward Leverton. It would only lead to the sort of heartache she’d sworn off years ago.

  “I know your mother finds the situation very distressing,” he said. “But she has a rather fragile spirit. You do not. You are a brave young woman, more than able to stand up to some gossiping old tabbies and Andover’s idiotic friends.”

  His praise soothed her ruffled pride. “Do you really think I’m brave?” No one had called her that since her stepfather died. Foolish, strongheaded, impetuous, yes—but not brave.

  “You took on Sicilian bandits, did you not? Although one might deem that foolish as well as brave.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Now you’ve ruined it.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Dryden. I’m not quite sure of the etiquette involved in hunting vicious brigands.”

  “One generally just points and shoots.”

  “Thank you,” he said sarcastically. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  She couldn’t help grinning at him. “You’re really quite a nice man, despite your Perfect Penley manner.”

  When he stiffened, she cursed her thoughtlessness. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. That was poorly done of me. If there is anyone who deserves my consideration, it is you.”

  He looked about to respond to her apology when a curricle swung around the corner from Park Street, forcing them to step back from the curb. They waited for the vehicle to pass, and then continued on their way to Hyde Park.

  “No thanks are necessary. I am happy to assist in any little way I can,” he said.

  That was balderdash. Leverton had been incredibly helpful, especially in dealing with all the commotion at Lady Barrington’s ball. He’d brought the situation quickly under control after Honoria and Sarah had explained how Andover had insulted them all in the grossest manner. The duke had glared down at the still unconscious earl before plucking a goblet of champagne from the tray of one of the footmen. Much to the delight of the crowd, Leverton had poured the cold beverage onto the earl’s face.

  After Andover came spluttering to life, Lord Lendale and Mr. Stratton had hauled the earl to his feet and carted him off. Leverton, meanwhile, had herded Gillian and her friends back to their respective grandmothers as if nothing untoward had occurred.

  But the damage from Gillian’s knockout had been done. Clearly, a young lady was simply expected to stand meekly by while a man insulted her. Well, people who subscribed to that philosophy would continue to be sadly disappointed if they thought she would ever put up with that sort of behavior. That didn’t mean, however, that she wasn’t embarrassed, mostly for her grandmother’s sake. Poor Grandmamma had been mortified, and furious with Gillian for drawing even more attention to the Marbury family with her impulsive behavior. According to her grandmother, Gillian and the girls should have simply excused themselves and walked away from the caddish earl.

  Gillian had never been very good at walking away.

  “I’ve not yet properly thanked you for taking my side of things,” she said. “I think Grandmamma would have murdered me if you hadn’t come to my defense. According to her, no man of sense will ever wish to marry me.” In fact, her grandmother had told Gillian that her actions had now made her toxic. And while something like that had been a key component of her plans, it still hurt to be described in those terms.

  “The situation is far from hopeless,” Leverton said. “But I should have done a better job of looking out for you.”

  “You didn’t exactly drop me in the Mongolian Desert to fend for myself. Lord Lendale didn’t leave for long, and Grandmamma was lurking about somewhere.”

  He looked disgus
ted with himself. “I didn’t expect Lendale to leave you alone at all. I should be apologizing to you for failing to protect you from a cad like Andover.”

  “Well, you did seem fairly distracted at the time.”

  He shot her a sharp glance, but didn’t answer as he steered her around a group of nursemaids and their charges on their way home from the park.

  “It’s easy to get distracted at large gatherings,” he finally said in a cool voice.

  “Ah, I see. You’re trying to warn me off this particular topic of conversation.”

  He gave her a reluctant smile. “Is it working?”

  “No,” she said. “You already know I have deplorable manners.”

  “That is rather an understatement.”

  “Think of it as yet another opportunity for a lesson in my social schooling. You’d given me the impression the other day that you didn’t particularly like Lady Letitia.”

  Gillian knew she was being shockingly nosy, but she had to ask. She’d been thinking about the intimate scene between Leverton and Lady Letitia ever since the ball—when she wasn’t stewing over her own idiotic behavior, that is.

  “Is there a question in there, Miss Dryden?”

  “Now you’re being deliberately dense. Of course there is.”

  “Then I suggest you cease beating about the bush and just ask it.”

  “Very well. Not to be too blunt—”

  “Which I feel very sure you will be,” he interjected.

  “As I was saying,” she said firmly, “it seemed to me that you and Lady Letitia were, hmm, exceedingly friendly with each other at the ball. Now, I understand that married ladies, married gentlemen, and unmarried gentlemen all engage in affairs with one another quite regularly. It seems rather taken for granted in the ton.” She frowned. “Now that I think about it, the only people who don’t engage in such affairs are unmarried ladies. I understand why, of course. But it doesn’t seem all that fair, does it?”

  When he didn’t answer, she glanced up at him. His expression suggested she’d just started flapping her arms and crowing like a rooster.

  “Miss Dryden, are you by any chance a devotee of Mary Wollstonecraft? Because that would be most unfortunate, I assure you. As is the tone of this disturbing conversation.”

  Gillian waved a hand, banging her reticule into her elbow. “Yes, I know I’m not supposed to talk about things like this, but I have to ask someone if I’m to learn how to get along with all the silly people you’re forcing me to meet. Grandmamma certainly won’t discuss anything with me.”

  “Nor will I, except to say that there are many, many people in society who do not engage in illicit behavior.”

  She eyed him dubiously, but he clearly wasn’t going to budge. “All right. But I would still like to know about you and Lady Letitia.”

  “There is nothing to know about me and Lady Letitia,” he said in an austere voice. His face was like a mask.

  “You’re very good at that,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Hiding your feelings.”

  “The only feeling I hold toward this particular topic is irritation.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “You don’t like to even talk about scandals, do you?”

  “No.” He lifted an imperious eyebrow. “Do you?”

  She shrugged. “I’m rather agnostic on the subject. By definition, I’m a walking scandal, so I’ve had to get used to it.”

  “Miss Dryden, you are not a walking scandal. You are a young lady with a happy future ahead of you. In order to achieve that future, you simply need to listen to your elders and obey them. That includes me.”

  “That’s no fun,” she said.

  “Young ladies are not supposed to have fun.”

  Gillian stopped, forcing him to stop too. “And that attitude is exactly why young ladies get into trouble, sir. You treat us like hothouse flowers and refuse to explain things to us. I assure you, ignorance is not bliss. It would be much better to treat us like sensible human beings with the capacity to understand what is in our best interest.”

  They stood in the middle of the pavement, staring at each other as people passed around them. When an errand boy rushed past, bumping into Gillian, Leverton scowled. “Watch yourself, lad,” the duke called after him.

  “I don’t think he heard you,” Gillian said.

  Leverton took her arm and set them to walking briskly in the direction of the Stanhope Gate.

  “Are you really going to ignore what I said about treating me like a sensible human being?” she asked after a lengthy silence.

  He threw her a wry glance. “All right, I capitulate to your logic, and I am prepared to answer a few questions. Within reason.”

  “You must admit that my logic is sound.”

  “Don’t push your luck, Miss Dryden.”

  She had to repress a smile. “Very well. First, I’d like to know why Lady Letitia broke your engagement. I thought that sort of thing was severely frowned on.”

  He shrugged. “She preferred someone else.”

  “Mr. Gerald Stratton.”

  A terse nod was Gillian’s only answer. Clearly, he’d been hurt, and quite badly, she suspected. She got a funny pang in her heart at the thought that he might still be in love with the woman who’d spurned him.

  “Then she was a fool,” she said.

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but most consider him a bang-up fellow with a friendly, approachable manner.”

  “He’s a fake,” she said. “I’ve seen the type before.”

  “I imagine you have,” he said in a thoughtful tone.

  “Besides, people respect you. And listen to you. That’s much better than being thought of as a bang-up fellow, if you ask me.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you wish to be liked, Miss Dryden?”

  “Of course, but to be respected is better. And feared is best of all.”

  That won her a genuine laugh. “You are the strangest girl.”

  “So I’m told on a regular basis,” she said cheerfully.

  He huffed out another laugh and then led her through a gate into Hyde Park. Though it was still a bit early, there were several young ladies of fashion on the stroll and the occasional carriage bowling along.

  “Are you and Lady Letitia not even friends?” she asked, wanting to get clear on that important point.

  “Definitely not,” he said firmly.

  “I’m so very glad,” Gillian said. Then she practically swallowed her tongue at the dreadful slip.

  Leverton’s head jerked down, and he peered at her with a frown that looked more perplexed than annoyed. “Miss Dryden, I—”

  “Look,” she exclaimed. “There are my brother and Justine.” Thank God. She vigorously waved to catch their attention.

  “Cease wind-milling your arms, please,” the duke said. “They clearly see us. And how did that confounded brother of yours know we were going to be walking in the park?”

  “He sent a note around this morning saying he needed to speak with me, so I suggested we meet here. Since we’ve had very little decent weather, I thought we should take advantage of it.” She took in Leverton’s irate expression. “You’re the one who suggested a walk, after all.”

  “Not with your brother.”

  She pulled her hand from his arm and came to a halt. “Your Grace, might I enquire as to why you dislike my poor brother so much?”

  “Referring to Steele as poor is ridiculous on a number of counts. And he is only your half brother.”

  “I prefer not to dwell on that minor distinction. Would you please answer my question?”

  He eyed her as if she were a squib about to explode. “Climb off your high horse, Miss Dryden. I like your brother well enough, and Mrs. Steele is a very charming woman.”

  Taking her elbow, Leverton nudged her forward, unleashing a smile at the two young ladies who’d slowed their steps to a crawl and were watching them. “Keep walking, Miss Dryden,” he murmured. �
�You don’t want to draw attention to yourself.”

  “I thought that’s exactly what I was supposed to do. Why else would we go on this bloody, er, silly outing?”

  “We wish to attract the right kind of attention. Standing about arguing like fishwives will garner us exactly the opposite.”

  “You started it by insulting my brother.”

  “I did no such—never mind,” he said in an exasperated tone as Griffin and Justine approached.

  “Ah, my dear sister and her faithful English mastiff,” Griffin said. “Looking like he wants to bite my head off, as usual.”

  Gillian sighed. “You’re just as bad as he is. I wish the two of you would at least try to get along.”

  Her brother pressed a dramatic hand to his heart. “I am the most amiable man in London. A veritable fount of charity and goodwill.”

  “You’re nothing of the sort, Griffin Steele,” Justine said.

  Griffin let out a heavy sigh. “What’s the world coming to when a man can’t even depend on his wife for support?”

  “Please ignore him, Your Grace,” Justine said in a good-humored voice as she dipped into a quick curtsey.

  “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Steele,” Leverton replied.

  “Men are such a trial,” Justine said, before pressing a quick kiss on Gillian’s cheek. “How are you, dear girl? You’re looking exceptionally pretty today.”

  Gillian smiled as she gave her sister-in-law a quick hug. Justine was a calm, lovely woman who seemed capable of bringing order to even the most chaotic or upsetting situations. She’d cared for Gillian after she’d been shot, nursing her with a quiet efficiency that had soothed everyone’s nerves.

  Justine also had a knack for managing her mercurial husband. Of course, it certainly helped that Griffin was madly in love with his wife, and she with him. Gillian could only hope that she would someday find that sort of happiness.

  “Leverton, stop scowling at me like I’m a demon from the pits of hell,” Griffin said. “I thought we’d reached the point where we could spend at least ten minutes together without coming to blows.”

  “Normally, I would be delirious with joy to partake of your company,” the duke replied. “But today is not the day for Gillian to be seen with a reformed reprobate and former crime lord.”