He was considering his reply when a voice reached them from the other side of the curtain that divided their box from the corridor.
“Did you see her nose?” a woman’s voice boomed.
“I know!” came another woman’s voice. “It was almost more fascinating than the play. A wonder she manages to drink out of a glass with that thing on her face.”
Beside him, Jack heard Miss Porter draw in a quick breath. The gossips could be talking of someone besides Miss Porter, but their next words made that unlikely.
“Maybe she’s one of Fiona’s charity cases. She always did have a soft heart for the odd ones.”
As the fading sound of snickering indicated that the two speakers were moving down the corridor, Jack glanced at Miss Porter. She was staring ahead, her back as straight as a wall. Behind him, the silence of the others indicated they’d heard as well.
Miss Porter turned, a grim smile on her face. “Well, no prizes for guessing who they were talking about. I’m sorry to have brought such attention to you all.”
“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Fiona said fiercely. “Those women are mean, and they’re idiots too.”
Jack had never loved his mother more. “If they were men,” he said, “I’d call them out. Wasn’t that Martha Cockburn and Charlotte Filmore?”
Rosamund nodded. “They’re friends of my aunt Melinda,” she said grimly, “which is never an indication of good character.”
“I’ve never particularly liked those two,” Fiona said, “but now that they’ve shown their true colors, they’ll never be invited to another Hallaway event.”
“I think we ought to start a rumor about them,” Alice said. “Something disgusting.”
“I’m thinking they both have digestive problems that cause repulsive consequences,” Kate proposed.
“Oh, please, no,” Miss Porter said, two spots of color appearing on her cheeks. “You’re all being very kind, but it’s nothing. I’m used to it.”
Jack muttered a curse. “No one should be used to such treatment.”
She smiled. He knew it must be a forced smile, but it looked genuine, and the stiff posture of her shoulders softened as well, as though she was exerting a conscious effort to appear unaffected. It struck him that she had perhaps had quite a bit of experience in doing so, and the knowledge did not leave him unmoved.
“Truly,” she said, “I have long been convinced that allowing my happiness to rest on the opinions of others is a recipe for disappointment.”
“Well said, Miss Porter,” Marcus said in that quiet voice he used when he was particularly serious.
Jack offered her his arm. “Shall we go, then?”
She hesitated a moment, but then she put her hand on his arm, and he guided her into the corridor. The others followed, Alice and Miss Smith lagging at the back of the group.
“As I was about to say in regard to the play being interesting,” Jack said, “I felt that the heroine had a rare amount of gumption.”
She glanced at him, as though weighing whether there was some hidden meaning in his words, and he winked at her.
She chuckled. “If she’d had a little more gumption, she wouldn’t have been tempted by him at all.”
“Well, he completely won over all the other characters,” Jack pointed out. “They found him very charming.”
“People would be better served if they didn’t fall for charm so much.”
“That is surely true,” he allowed. “Although a little charm can make life much nicer.”
“You would think so.”
He laughed. “You like to have the last word, don’t you, Miss Porter? But then, you like to be in charge.”
“What makes you say that?”
“This from the woman who warned me away from Miss Smith. It’s clear you are quite comfortable giving advice, which in your case surely tends toward steering.”
“In my case?” Her eyes flashed in the candlelight of the corridor sconces, though her expression remained smirking. “I am her elder cousin, so naturally I’m going to guide her. You just don’t like that I’m guiding her away from you.”
He lowered his voice, leaning closer as they started down the stairs. “I don’t actually have any designs on Miss Smith. She is certainly lovely, and the ton has begun to take note that she’s one of the better-dowered young ladies of the Season, but perhaps it will have occurred to you that I don’t need to be particularly concerned with dowries. And more important, I don’t think Miss Smith and I would suit.”
Miss Porter bristled. “She’s the best young woman I know.”
“A minute ago, you were warning me off her, and now you sound disappointed that I don’t think we would suit. Do you even know what you want for your cousin?”
“Yes. I want her to find a husband who is worthy of her.”
“Which excludes me, as we’ve established,” he said, nodding peaceably. “So aren’t you glad I don’t think we’d suit? Come, admit she’s much too sweet for such a horrible man as I. Why, I’d suit you better than your cousin.”
She snorted. “If gentlemen would only give quieter ladies a chance, they would find themselves quite surprised.”
“I happen to agree with you. I was not speaking against Miss Smith. Perhaps what I was doing was complimenting you.”
She paused for a moment on the stairs, as though startled by his words, but more people were coming behind them, and she had to move on. “I can only think you have an ulterior motive, since all I’ve done is insult you, starting with when I encountered you at a ball in your family’s home.”
“You have. I suppose I find the experience novel.”
She rolled her eyes. “As if I wished to be anyone’s novelty. There, arrogant and a rake. Who could trust a word you say?”
“I don’t think it follows that being arrogant and a rake—your words—means a man is not to be trusted.”
“Certainly it does. How else does a rake get all those ladies to admire him, if not by making each one of them feel she is the only special woman in his life through prevarications and exaggerations, never mind outright lying?”
Jack felt confident that he’d not been guilty of prevaricating with any woman for romantic purposes. As all his mistresses had been well paid and had never complained of any mistreatment—rather, the contrary—he didn’t think any of them would accuse him of beguiling them with some hidden motive.
“If you like, perhaps I could provide a list of references.”
As his words sank in, she actually blushed, which he counted a victory.
“Funny,” she said. “Perhaps you’re just trying to throw me off the scent, when you’re actually planning a nefarious campaign to seduce Miss Smith.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “It’s clear you don’t trust me an inch. But tell me, Miss Porter, do you trust anyone?”
The play had left Sarah feeling off-balance, never mind the incident with the gossips commenting on her nose, which had been mortifying, though life had certainly prepared her for such occurrences. Lady Fiona Boxhaven’s show of support had meant a great deal, but Lord Jack’s had made something flutter in her that she didn’t want to think about.
“I trust Annabelle,” she said and remembered that one of the reasons they’d accepted the invitation tonight had been to provide Annabelle with some exposure to gentlemen. But to accomplish anything in that regard that evening, apparently Sarah would need to take action, because she suspected that Annabelle would otherwise take the easy path and continue talking with Lady Alice until they parted.
Lady Alice and Annabelle had almost reached the bottom of the stairs, where Sarah and Lord Jack were waiting for the others before exiting the theater.
“Lady Alice,” Sarah said, stepping next to her as she reached the first floor, effectively leaving Annabelle and Lord Jack to walk together, “you seem the very person to tell me: What is the best place in London to buy a new hat?”
Lady Alice, delighted to be consulted,
launched into a listing of the advantages and disadvantages of every shop on Bond Street, while Sarah kept an ear cocked to the couple walking behind them.
She heard Lord Jack ask Annabelle how she liked the play. There was no audible response.
Sarah forced herself not to turn around, though she could almost feel Annabelle’s eyes boring into her back, imploring her to save her from having to speak to Lord Jack. But the last thing Annabelle needed was to be saved from the very thing she needed to do.
Speak, speak, speak, Sarah silently chanted as Lady Alice extolled the virtues of a particular milliner’s shop.
“I thought the scenery was inventive,” she heard Lord Jack say, politely carrying the conversation since Annabelle had said nothing. Sarah hoped Annabelle wasn’t blinking furiously; she looked rather batty when she did that. Though just staring when addressed and making no reply was only marginally less batty.
As the party moved through the doorway to the street, Lord Jack remarked to the still-silent Annabelle, “And I was partial to the villain.”
This, Sarah could not let stand, and she turned around as they gained the moderately fresher air of Drury Lane.
“What kind of person is partial to a villain?” she demanded.
Lord Jack grinned. “A person who believes in redemption.”
“Hmph,” Sarah said. “This particular villain deserves to suffer a great deal before he’ll have earned any redemption. He’s got a wife, and he’s trying to wed another one.” She glanced at Annabelle, whose eyes were as big as those of a startled doe.
“What do you think, Annabelle?” she prompted.
Annabelle turned her eyes to Sarah. “I... thought the heroine was wonderful. I wanted to jump up in my chair and cheer when she gave the villain the cut direct.”
“That would have been something to see,” Lord Jack said, and Annabelle blushed furiously in response.
“I would certainly have joined you if you had jumped up and cheered,” Lady Alice said. “That play made me feel things, which so many plays do not. I wish I could meet Mr. Smith-Jones. No one appears to know him, which makes him seem mysterious.”
“Well,” Sarah said, “he may prefer to remain mysterious. Not everyone will like the play, and there was a dismissive review in the newspaper.”
“Ample reason to write behind a veil of mystery, I should think,” Lord Jack said.
Chapter 6
Mrs. Carter: Let me tell you about men, my dear.
She Knew She Was Right, Act 3, Scene 4
Annabelle sank back against the squabs of Aunt Louise’s coach and moaned. “The play was wonderful, but Lord Jack must think I’m completely witless. He asked me how I liked the play, and I forced myself to open my mouth, and nothing came out. I must have looked like a fish.”
“Well, at least you opened your mouth,” Sarah said. “That was an improvement.”
“How can you say that? He must think I’m ridiculous.”
Sarah felt a shiver of anxiety. “Do you particularly want him to think you’re not ridiculous?”
Annabelle gave her a quizzical look. “Well, of course. Why would I want anyone to think I’m ridiculous?”
“But what do you think of Lord Jack? Do you find him exciting?”
“Well,” Annabelle cocked her head, “I don’t want to marry him.”
Sarah, who hadn’t realized she was holding her breath, exhaled discreetly.
“But he’s very handsome,” Annabelle said. “And he’s charming.”
“Exactly!” Sarah said. “He’s charming.”
Annabelle looked truly puzzled. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Well, it can be. A woman really needs to be on the alert around charming men. You saw what happened to Jane in the play. She almost married a charming bigamist.”
“But that was just a play.”
“The play was a little overly dramatic, true. But still, there were some things in it that—well, trust me, you need to have some familiarity with the way gentlemen can be charming, lest you fall prey to a—”
“Practiced seducer,” Annabelle finished.
“Well, yes, exactly,” Sarah said, a little surprised that Annabelle had intuited what she was about to say. But then, they did spend a great deal of time in each other’s company, and Sarah was glad they were close enough to know each other so well.
“You have a fixation on that phrase,” Annabelle said.
“What phrase?”
“Practiced seducer. You say it all the time.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” Sarah said.
“You do,” Annabelle insisted. “You used it when you were listing off who to avoid at the Boxhaven ball, and you said it this morning at breakfast when you were reading to me about one of the gentlemen mentioned in the newspaper.”
Sarah was not entirely sure how she felt about Annabelle’s observations, but now that the topic had been broached, she thought that the moment was right to have a frank conversation about this important topic. Annabelle’s mother had died when Annabelle was young, and thus there were many conversations that Mrs. Smith would have never had with her daughter.
“If I have tried to alert you to the ways in which some gentlemen can be dastardly,” Sarah said, “that’s because, while there are surely some nice fellows among the ton, the sad truth is that not every gentleman has a sterling character. And since you’re on the hunt for a husband, and you’re fortunately not among those whose slim means require them to marry just anyone, you have a choice. And I mean for you to make the best possible choice for your happiness.”
Annabelle frowned slightly. “I’m not a fool, Sarah. I know all that.”
“No one would ever think you a fool,” Sarah said gently. “You are far better at French than I am, and I don’t know any other young lady who has studied Latin as you have, never mind that you are quite good at doing sums in your head. But bookish intelligence won’t give you much of an advantage when choosing a husband. Trust me, as your older cousin, when I tell you that there’s some mysterious force that causes otherwise intelligent women to be dazzled by the most disastrous of men.”
Annabelle gave her a dry look. “I think that mysterious force is commonly known as ‘feelings.’”
“Exactly, and you don’t want to be at the mercy of feelings. You don’t want to be blinded by emotion and not see the true character of a man.”
“Well, that’s true. But—”
“And having been as sheltered from the company of gentlemen as you have been,” Sarah said as delicately as she could, “I’m afraid you could be easy prey for a—”
“Practiced seducer,” Annabelle finished and turned to look out the coach window at the dark streets of London. The hour was late, and most people were likely abed, but here and there a glimmer of light shone from a few town houses. Annabelle yawned and turned back to Sarah, and Sarah was struck anew at how lovely she was. Lovely and sheltered and innocent and well dowered, as ripe for the picking as any fragile bloom could be.
“At the very least, you ought to find another phrase besides ‘practiced seducer,’” Annabelle said.
Sarah sniffed. “I might have been planning to say ‘scoundrel,’ for all you know.”
“Anyway,” Annabelle said, “since you will be there to guide me, how would I stumble so far astray as to choose badly?”
“Because a cleverly beguiling scoundrel will have captured your attention and made you feel like the most desired woman in the world,” Sarah said with feeling. “You might fall under his spell in a matter of a few conversations at balls or lectures. Once that happens, any naysaying from me would only be likely to encourage a dramatic gesture on your part, like running off to marry at Gretna Green.”
Annabelle had the impudence to roll her eyes. If only she could be as confident with gentlemen as she was with Sarah, Sarah would have felt so much better about her chances of finding a good match. “You make it sound as though I’m lucky I haven’t already been spirited away fo
r a secret wedding.”
“Exactly,” Sarah said. “I’m glad you understand the gravity of the situation.”
“But is it really grave?” Annabelle asked. “You’re always telling me I need to experience life. You’re the one who convinced Papa that I really needed to come to London to find a husband. You’re the one who insisted we go to the theater tonight. But now you sound as suspicious of the world as my father has always been.”
Sarah frowned. There was something in what Annabelle said, but Sarah and Mr. Smith could not have had more different perspectives. “I just want you to avoid the pitfalls of the Marriage Mart.” She debated for a moment, then decided that Annabelle needed to understand that the kinds of perils the play had addressed were not imaginary.
“Annabelle, you know that your father offered me a place in your home several months ago when I didn’t wish to leave England with my mother and her new husband,”
“Yes, and I’m so glad you did come and stay with us.” Annabelle’s eyes shone with warmth. “Though we barely knew each other when we were younger, now I feel like I have a sister.”
Sarah reached for Annabelle’s hand and squeezed it gently. “As do I, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the home your father has offered me. But you don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t?”
Sarah shook her head. “You know that my father died seven years ago, and that six months ago my mother married a wealthy gentleman with a handsome estate in Ireland. What you don’t know is how eager she was to remarry, and how, in her eagerness, she almost married a man who was already married.”
Annabelle gasped and was speechless for several moments. “I had no idea.”
Sarah sighed. “My mother’s weakness is charming men. After years of living with my father, who was more interested in books, really, than anything, she wanted a man to pay attention to her. But she was completely helpless before a handsome, charming man.”
“I... oh dear,” Annabelle said. “But there’s no reason to think I would be like your mother, Sarah.”
A Rogue Walks into a Ball Page 5