A Woman Made for Pleasure

by Michele Sinclair

  Millie continued to bounce the babe, refusing to admit that a little bit of envy was at the root of her frustration. She was not accustomed to the sensation and did not like the feeling. She forced herself to shake it off and re-engage in the ongoing conversation.

  Melinda nodded enthusiastically. “That would be more than enough. The gowns in those styles had yards of extra material. The current Grecian look uses a fraction of the cloth, and I would be able to completely change the appearance of the original gown. Please give me a chance, and I will prove my value.”

  “No need. I trust you and look forward to your creations. You seem to be blessed with a most enviable artistic eye.” Jennelle smiled at the pleasant woman. “I will have my gowns delivered to you tomorrow. Design, change, renew as you will. I have complete faith in your abilities. It has been a real pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Brinson.”

  The four women exchanged a few more pleasantries and then left. Upon request, the driver had lowered the top of the landau for their return trip to Hembree Grove. Aimee leaned back against the plush burgundy cushions, enjoying the sensation of the light breeze, and said, “I cannot believe it.”

  Jennelle fell for her conversational hook. “Believe what?”

  “Millie’s maternal instincts. Yes, I believe out of the three of us, she is the most family oriented.”

  Millie glowered at her friend. She was still feeling restless not knowing the details of Charlie’s relationship with the beautiful seamstress. “Bite your tongue, Aimee. I am nothing of the kind.”

  “No, Millie. I think Aimee has assessed the situation correctly. I have never seen you with children until today. You are a natural,” Jennelle countered.

  “I never knew you had it in you, milady. But I expects Lady Aimee here has the right of it,” Elda Mae added in a singsong voice.

  “Just because I can be kind does not mean that I have an aptitude for such domestic activity. I was merely being polite,” Millie stated, clearly agitated.

  “I’ll drop the subject, then,” sighed Aimee as she leaned over to view the passing buildings absentmindedly.

  Millie nodded. “Excellent idea. So, when do you want to discuss how we intend to disrupt one very arrogant woman’s plans?”

  Jennelle sighed and smoothed out her skirts. “Let us do it after dinner. I’m exhausted. All of this primping and such wears on one,” she said, hoping for some time to read a book she had found about one of England’s most influential royals—Queen Emma, the fair Maid of Normandy.

  “I agree,” Aimee sighed. “What a day. If things continue to be this exciting, I just might like London.”

  Millie sat back watching the Bond Street beaus strut around doling out their rolls of flimsies as if money grew on trees. Aimee was correct. London was becoming more than what she bargained for. She had anticipated adventures, but never one that involved her heart.

  Chapter 4

  “I told you why, Charles,” Cecilia Wentworth stated resolutely.

  For the past three nights, Chase had been tormented with rousing dreams of Millie. Dreams in which Millie came to him dressed in a thin, clinging silver gown. She would stare at him with luminous violet eyes, smile, and then urge him to join her in some grand adventure. Her spirit, spontaneity, and passion would cause his body to come ablaze with a physical need for her that he could not explain or defend. And without going into these details, he was finding it difficult to convince his mother that Millie must leave.

  Chase realized it was customary for Millie and Jennelle to stay with his sister and mother in Dorset during the summer. As a young man, he considered it a nuisance, but now it was dangerous. Millie was not just causing arousing images in his dreams at night, but also when he encountered her during the day. He could no longer deny that he physically wanted her, but he was unwilling to accept that he also longed for her in other ways. She was little Mildred Aldon, for God’s sake. She was like a younger sister. But each time he had seen her this past week, either near or at a distance, she felt less and less as such. Either she or he needed to move out of Hembree Grove. Soon.

  Chase ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at his mother warily. “I think it best that Millie stay with her father while in Town.”

  Cecilia Wentworth looked briefly across the study at her son, then reached for her tea and continued reading a letter that had arrived earlier. “I know, dear. You have stated your feelings quite clearly already.”

  “To no avail, I might add.”

  “Hmm. This new tea blend that Millie coaxed from Sasha is truly delicious.”

  Chase clenched his jaw. “Mother, as the new lord . . .”

  Cecilia interrupted her son and gave him a pointed stare. “So, Lord Chaselton, before you issue an unwise command, will you explain why it is only Millie whom you have requested to leave?”

  Chase was momentarily stunned, realizing his blunder and the fact that his mother had caught it. “Of course I meant Jennelle as well.”

  “I see,” Cecilia replied and then slowly lowered her letter. “Yes, well, that would be somewhat difficult, if not impossible. Jennelle’s father went back to the country to study some odd piece of literature, and Lord Aldon is forever at Tattersalls, busily preparing for the upcoming Derby.” She took another sip of tea, snapped the pages of her letter, and began reading anew. Just before Chase could counter her argument, she casually added, “Lord Aldon has an excellent chance at winning the upcoming race. I saw his horse—a lovely little stepper—and he has procured quite the top sawyer for a jockey.”

  Chase recognized the not-so-casual change in the conversation’s direction, and his frustration mounted. He knew his mother had won, but he was still unwilling to admit defeat. “And, pray tell, how did you come to learn of all this?”

  “Charles, dear, to be successful in London, one has to be kept informed of the latest on-dit. Do not think I attend teas and play cards for sheer entertainment. Believe me, I have other methods to alleviate my boredom. That is why I will stress again how important it is for the Three to remain together—here at Hembree Grove.”

  “Fine, then. Have them stay, but damn it all, it is most inconvenient.”

  Cecilia Wentworth put down her cup and looked directly at her son. “I do not care if you curse in my presence, son. I am not offended by such nonsense as one’s choice of words. However, it is important you escort them, and it is important the Three have each other this Season. As a member of the male side of our species, I would think it would be clear how much you may be needed to weed out any incompatible suitors.”

  Chase clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing. “Ha! They don’t plan on having any suitors at all! They fully intend to become spinsters.”

  Cecilia folded her letter and placed it back into its envelope. “So you have said before.”

  “And you do not seem to be concerned at all with their latest nonsensical plan.”

  Cecilia began humming, quite low and almost imperceptible. It was something she did when her late husband would arouse her ire and she wanted to do the same in return. “I’m not entirely sure I think it is nonsense.”

  He stopped and stared incredulously at the beautiful but definitely batty woman pretending to be his mother. “Surely you don’t want them to remain unwed!”

  Cecilia Wentworth carefully put down her cup and stood. Her stance was both regal and firm. “I hope they find someone who will understand and treasure them as they are. I hope they are fortunate enough to find a man who makes them as happy as your father made me.”

  Cecilia had accepted her son’s explanation for his unexpected arrival in Town, but both knew something besides escorting his sister and her friends for their first Season had prompted his early return. Charles’s visits had been scarce these past eight years. His involvement in the Peninsular War had forced his stays at home to be few and far between. But neither he nor his father would explain the necessity of his continued absence. Every time Charles had returned home, he and
his father would spend hours discussing and strategizing the war. They both denied it, but she knew them too well to be persuaded otherwise. She had worried, but she never interfered in their plans.

  Cecilia eyed her son thoughtfully. “Charles, what is troubling you?”

  Chase stiffened defensively. “Nothing. I just don’t want my sister to become a spinster.” Chase strode over to his desk and pretended to be interested in some papers. His demeanor was calm and composed. Many would have said he was relaxed or even bored. Only a few people who knew him very well could have sensed his tension, and his mother was one of them.

  “What nonsense. Have you taken a good look at the Three since you have returned? Not one of them has a chance of fulfilling that promise. Tonight you will understand exactly why it is they need each other, how important their pledge is, and the low probability of it lasting.” She walked over and laid a hand on her son’s rigid arm.

  “Charles, I know you are here for your own reasons, but please, look out for them. They need someone they can trust. Millie, especially. She loves adventure, but she needs a safe, strong port in the storm to which to return. Of the three, she seems to be the most restless these days. Millie appears strong, but believe me when I say that she is the most vulnerable.”

  Millie, vulnerable. The idea was both absurd and plausible at the same time. Unfortunately, the concept of being restless was also all too familiar.

  He looked up and saw his mother’s golden eyes beseeching him. “I promise,” he murmured.

  Lady Cecilia had been watching her son mentally work through whatever real issues he was having with Millie. Relief filled her when he promised to be the Three’s escort. “Thank you,” she said, giving his arm a last squeeze before letting go. “Now, I will go and see what is taking those girls so long. We need to leave for Lady Bassel’s within the half hour.”

  Tonight was going just as expected, Jennelle thought. Admirers flocked, and then they quickly scampered away. Just as Mother Wentworth predicted, gentlemen gathered by her side singing songs of loveliness and enchantment, but just as quickly, they disappeared. If she kept mute, the men adored her. However, when she tried to shift the conversation to anything meaningful or interesting, the empty-headed fops quickly vanished, whispering words that would infuriate most ladies.

  Jennelle was neither ashamed nor embarrassed at being called a bluestocking. In fact, she took pride in it. She wished more ladies were interested in books, learning, and scholarly pursuits. She often longed to have been born just a few decades earlier. Then she could have joined the real Blue Stockings Society and met with like-minded ladies who actually gathered to discuss literature and other matters, not sit about frivolously bandying shallow words.

  In the past few hours, Jennelle had made more mindless small talk, labeled more women as gabbers, blabbers, and bleaters, and choked back more insulting words than she had thought possible in a lifetime. After tonight, she would dread any and all Society events. Thank the Lord, she had to stay here and endure this torture for only six weeks.

  Tonight has been absolutely dreadful, thought Aimee. It was just as her friends thought it would be. Millie, you should have found a way to delay our Season for at least one more year, she mentally admonished her friend. Surrounded by vain men, dancing with wishful suitors, and making pointless conversation, Aimee wondered how any intelligent woman could find these events pleasurable.

  Aimee knew she appeared to be the model young lady—affable, sociable, intelligent, and beautiful. In reality, she wanted only Reece. Last Christmas, she finally got the man to admit that he had feelings for her. That was all she needed to keep her faith constant. Although he told her to find someone else, that he was not right for her, her heart had not wavered. For the next few weeks, Aimee would act as was expected of a young, titled, wealthy, unmarried lady coming out for her first Season. She would attend these social events, but only to please her mother.

  Boring, boring, boring. Millie spoke the mantra to herself repeatedly. Tonight was incredibly monotonous, tedious, and worst of all—dull. Every conversation centered around one of two topics: upcoming social events or the current crush and its participants. Each time a gentleman asked her what she thought of someone else’s gown, she had to fight the urge to break out into fits of laughter. Where was the quick wit of London’s dandies that she had heard so much about?

  Tonight is unquestionably successful, thought Lady Chaselton. Her daughters were the epitome of beauty, grace, and poise. They were surrounded by admirers from the moment of their arrival and had handled them expertly. Despite the farce of charm they displayed, Cecilia knew they were suffering and miserable.

  It did not matter. Later in life they would understand, just as she had discovered, that true adventure lay ahead of them if they could find the right man to share it with. Most likely, those men were here. It did not matter that the majority of gentlemen who attended these events were vain coxcombs, foolish dandies, or elaborate popinjays. She had known only a few nonesuches, like her late Charles, who were unequalled titled peers. The Three’s fierce devotion to one another would enable them to quickly weed out those without promise and force them into accepting the ones who did.

  Tonight could not have gone any better, thought Chase as he stood by an alcove, watching the crowd. He had been successful in spreading his message. Soon he would meet with Eischel and relay his unexpected discovery. Until then, he could concentrate on his familial duties. As it was, he knew his mother was going to give him an earful for ignoring his chaperoning responsibilities so quickly.

  As soon as they arrived, he had spotted his first opportunity to begin finding the man who had murdered his father. Unfortunately, that meant abandoning his mother, his sister, and her friends before they even had a chance to remove their cloaks. He knew his behavior was odd and uncharacteristically rude, but it could not have been helped. Time was of the essence. Now that his message had been delivered, he could make up for his earlier neglect.

  Chase hid his surprise as he watched Sir Edward begin a seemingly aimless stroll toward him. Having been a student of Sir Edward’s, Chase knew he never did anything without purpose. It was clear the man wanted to speak with him, but it was also obvious that Sir Edward didn’t want anyone else to realize his intentions.

  Edward was an average man in both size and girth, with only one noteworthy feature—that he looked much younger than he was. Born to a somewhat successful merchant, Edward Lutton joined England’s war department at an early age. His pleasant but forgettable looks, as well as his ability to pick up languages, quickly enabled him to become the perfect spy.

  After years of working in the field for his country, Edward was knighted and took on the position of training others to follow in his footsteps. Two of his finest products were Reece Hamilton and Charles Wentworth. At first, Edward was reluctant to train a nobleman born to such a prominent title. But Lord Chaselton convinced him to meet his son and his friend and to tutor them personally. Edward eventually agreed. Their collaboration during the war had saved countless lives.

  Edward paused next to Chase as if he had just recognized him. “Lord Chaselton?”

  Chase inwardly smiled, but no emotion registered on his face. “Sir Edward.”

  “So that is you. It has been some time. Didn’t know you were back in London.”

  “Just recently.”

  Edward licked his lips and nodded. “Sorry to learn of your father. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Heard they call you Chase now.” Edward smiled. “Beats Erndale,” he added, referring to the title Chase used before his father had passed.

  “It does seem easier to remember,” Chase said as he downed the last of his ratafia. He took fortification where he could find it. Unfortunately, that meant enduring Lady Bassel’s favorite potent red wine.

  “Aye, that it does. So what brings you into Town? Haven’t seen you in some time.”

  So this is the reaso
n for the visit, Chase concluded. Edward is curious as to whether I am here for war or familial business.

  Chase lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “I’ve come to escort my sister during her first Season.”

  “Escort, eh?” his tutor said in disbelief. Edward glanced around the crowd, feigning a search for Aimee. “Ah, there she is. Your sister is quite the looker. Takes after your mother, I see. I do not envy you this Season. No doubt you will be quite busy shooing away the unworthy suitors.”

  “I expect so. She seems to have already spoken to several gentlemen.”

  “Has she? Do you think she will get a response?”

  Chase raised a single eyebrow at his old mentor. Edward had effortlessly launched into double talk, referring to Aimee instead of asking outright about Chase’s earlier activities. Chase decided to play along, curious as to Edward’s intentions.

  “She seems to believe so. The men she spoke with appeared to be interested in what she had to say,” Chase answered, referring to his own discussions.

  Edward coughed and bobbed his head. “Well, good for her. But tell her not to be too eager. Nothing good comes of it. If she is, in truth, here for her family, that’s fine. But otherwise, she’s waited a long time to come to Town. You might want to warn her that others might find her first actions odd. One does not rush into London and meet privately with so many men so quickly without a purpose.”

  Chase heard the warning. His old friend, though retired for several years, had obviously not given up his long-perfected habit of being aware of all that was around him. “I will be sure to tell her,” Chase replied without emotion.

  “Good. Now I have to find the dark-haired beauty who struck my fancy earlier this evening.”

  Chase’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really, Edward. Which widow are you chasing after, this year?”