by Maya Rodale
She wouldn’t mind another display of heroics.
Perhaps in a more secluded, private location.
With fewer interruptions this time.
Her desire for him was strong and stupid but there was no denying its existence.
“Kingston, you ought to say hello to Miss Van Allen,” Lord Hewitt said. “Don’t worry, I shall keep Mrs. Black company.”
“Actually, I—”
“We shall take a turn around the ballroom to give everyone a chance to view her magnificent dress. Isn’t it magnificent, Mrs. Mellon?”
Their hostess agreed.
“Thank you, if you’ll excuse—” Adeline tried to make her escape. Perhaps she might find a pack of ladies to safely escort her to the refuge of the ladies’ retiring room. Really, that was the ideal location for her purposes this evening: a captive space with prospective clients. But it was not to be. Mrs. Mellon was leading Kingston away to his likely bride and Adeline was alone with Lord Hewitt. And his hands.
Kingston hated to leave Adeline alone, but when duty called, a man of his position answered. Nevertheless, he watched from across the room and saw that Freddie was saying something and she was laughing, and he bit back a howl of anguish.
Never mind that. He had a duty. Honorable intentions. A noble purpose.
Her name was Miss Van Allen and she was lovely.
Truly.
She possessed all the most admirable qualities: she was amiable, kind, well-mannered. She had a passion for birds and birdwatching. She had been quite sporting about traipsing around the park in the rain with him and proved to be a veritable fount of information on the local flora, fauna, and birds.
Miss Van Allen had interests and as such, was rather interesting.
Any man would be happy to have her as a wife, and not just because of her enormous dowry. Her father had made a fortune investing in Manhattan real estate and made his only daughter his sole heiress, too. She was a catch.
Kingston smiled warmly at her. “Miss Van Allen, it is a pleasure to see you again. Especially in more favorable weather conditions.”
“Hello, Your Grace. How are you enjoying the ball this evening?”
“I am enjoying it now,” he replied smoothly. But this was a hideous lie. Freddie was promenading around the ballroom with Adeline on his arm, and so Kingston was in agony. He felt jealous. And helpless. Hardly feelings befitting a man of his position.
He wanted to storm across the room and dispatch his cousin and ask Adeline to dance. But gentlemen of his position did not cause such scenes. Neither did they neglect the female company in their immediate vicinity.
He focused again on Miss Van Allen. “And how are you enjoying this evening?”
“Our hostess has outdone herself,” she replied, which was a polite way of saying the party was everything a party should be and yet she was not enjoying herself at all, probably because of his caddish behavior.
He had arrived with another woman, to start.
And now his gaze kept straying toward her and his cousin. Miss Van Allen was a shrewd observer of behavior—the birdwatching, you see—and this did not escape her notice.
“You haven’t introduced me to your friend,” Miss Van Allen remarked, following his gaze. “I should like to ask who makes her dresses. They’re very . . . enchanting.”
That word. She had to use that word.
“They have pockets,” he said because it was all that came to mind as he tried to both maintain a conversation with Miss Van Allen and keep track of Adeline’s whereabouts in the ballroom. Freddie had always been a bit of a rogue and, in his book, a girl like Adeline would be fair play.
“Do they?” Her eyes lit up. “How novel.”
“How is your luncheon coming along?”
Miss Van Allen was organizing a charitable luncheon for the Audubon Society. They were on a crusade to save whole species of birds from being hunted to death for the purposes of millinery and other women’s fashions. She had told him all about it over tea after their birdwatching expedition.
As she gave him the latest update on the lineup of speakers and guests, he nodded at appropriate intervals and wondered what the devil was wrong with him. Here he was, in the midst of a courtship with this wonderful, charitable, thoughtful, beautiful woman and he couldn’t keep his attentions focused on her.
Not when Freddie was whispering to Adeline.
Not when Freddie escorted Adeline out of the ballroom.
Not when Freddie clearly had a death wish.
They seemed rather . . . friendly. Though he hated himself for even considering it, Kingston wondered if there was something more between them. A wealthy lover was a likely way for a woman to secure the necessary funds to launch her own shop, especially such a fine one in such a fine location. Freddie did have a weakness for women. And, thanks to his giggling dollar princess, plenty of money.
Was it possible?
Of course it was possible.
But it was Not. His. Concern.
If it were true, it was none of his business. Kingston knew that he had no claim on her heart, her body, her mind. He was not her husband, or her lover, he had made no declarations or promises of affection. There was no reason for him to feel wounded because Adeline took a turn about the ballroom and laughed at another man’s humor.
If it were true, he could not judge her for it. Not when he was currently trading in on his position, his charm, his title in order to seek the funds he required. Was his heiress hunt really any different?
If it were true, he still wondered, why Freddie? More to the point, why not him?
This question brought him to the crux of the matter: his feelings for her were beyond logic and reason and well into the realm of lust and possibly love. He was jealous because he wanted her. He was vexed because he was jealous and not even righteously so. He was all restrained fury because he wanted to storm across the ballroom and destroy his cousin and claim the girl, but a man of his position did not do such a thing.
He could not even make some excuse of “concern for her well-being.” His cousin was a rogue, but not some vile seducer. She was a grown woman, free to make her own choices. Even if he found them personally enraging and downright devastating.
Because he wanted her. And could not—would not—act on his desires.
He had a duty. Honorable intentions. A noble purpose.
There was only one other question to consider: How could he expect Miss Van Allen to hold his attention for the rest of their lives when he couldn’t even focus on one conversation?
Adeline couldn’t help but wonder: how many turns about the ballroom must a girl take with Lord Hewitt to keep him happy but not cause rumors? One she could pretend to enjoy, but two was veering into troubling territory; three would be too many indeed.
Adeline dispatched him in search of a glass of champagne.
She sought refuge in a corner of the ballroom and savored a moment to take it all in. The unapologetic display of such massive wealth was breathtaking, mind-boggling, perhaps even infuriating. Massive chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings. Every inch of wall space was covered with enormous gold-framed paintings depicting wild country landscapes, and dignified portraits in the old style. The orchestra played soaring, elegant music. People danced, chatted, and laughed as if they hadn’t a care in the world. They probably didn’t.
She paid particular attention to the gowns and the way the women wore them, how they moved in them, how the light of a ballroom enhanced or diminished certain colors and fabrics. She would apply all the observations to her future designs and would create better, more flattering dresses as a result.
This evening would not have been in vain.
Adeline turned at the sound of her name.
“Miss Black!” It was Miss Burnett, her patron saint, her fairy godmother, her generous benefactor. Miss Lumley followed closely behind. Adeline was happy to see them both and greeted them with a genuine smile, not the polite ones she’d been forci
ng thus far this evening. Like the opera, this ball made her so very anxious.
“Hello, Miss Burnett! How wonderful to see a friendly face.”
“How remarkable to see you here, Miss Black! I heard you have been busy with the shop and I see you are wearing another one of your splendid creations.”
Wonderfully, Miss Burnett was wearing an Adeline original as well. That meant three of her gowns were out in the wilds of Fifth Avenue and Adeline had never known such a feeling of joy and satisfaction.
“It’s Mrs. Black actually. It so happens that I am now presenting myself as the widow of an old school friend of the duke.”
“Is that the story?” Miss Burnett and Miss Lumley shared A Look.
“It is the excuse that allows me to join him at events to display my dresses and catch the eye of potential customers. I have already dressed Lady Hewitt, thanks to my arrangement with the duke. I think of it as free advertising,” Adeline said proudly.
“Very clever,” Miss Burnett replied.
“But nothing is ever really free, is it?” Miss Lumley asked.
“I know. In return, I am to help him in his search for his future duchess.”
Miss Burnett’s eyes did not alight with the genius of this exchange. In fact, she gave a concerned glance to Miss Lumley. Adeline suddenly felt nervous and possibly even foolish. Had her desire for the duke led her to be duped by his proposed scheme? Was she making a terrible mistake?
“That is a very clever exchange”—Miss Burnett started.
“But one fraught with risks,” Miss Lumley finished.
“You know that I have always championed you, Adeline, and only wish you the best. So I must ask the question: are you certain that’s all it is?”
“Of course,” Adeline replied with a confidence that wasn’t entirely genuine. “What else would it be?”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Miss Burnett replied, breaking into a smile. “So many of my friends have been focused and ambitious—until they meet a man who sweeps them off their feet. Before you know it, they are distracted by wedding plans and babies and they have hardly any time for their old unmarried girl friends, to say nothing of the ambitious dreams they once harbored.”
Adeline nodded sagely. Men were a distraction. She knew that well.
“Miss Susie Howell, for example,” Miss Lumley said.
“Such a dreadful situation.”
“It breaks the heart.”
Adeline did not dare inquire.
“But it cannot always be the case that men ruin women’s prospects,” Miss Lumley added thoughtfully. “Look at Mrs. Clinton or Mrs. Lafayette, from the club. Or even the great Elizabeth Cady Stanton. They all have children and husbands and households, and it has hardly slowed their work.”
“It helps that they have husbands who are supportive of them, which not all husbands are.” Miss Burnett turned to Adeline. “I wonder if your duke is one of those men.”
“He’s not my duke,” Adeline corrected. He was supportive of her shop now, but would he be if she was his duchess? Given his determination to uphold tradition, she doubted it. Not once in his definition of an ideal duchess did he say dressmaker or even gainfully employed. “I daresay he would not encourage his duchess to work. But the point is moot, as he has his sights set on a woman of wealth and prestige. And I have no intention of marriage.”
“None?”
“None,” Adeline confirmed. “I have also seen it wreck too many women’s ambitions or break their spirits.”
“I don’t worry about you too much, Adeline,” Miss Burnett said affectionately. “You have a gift and talent, determination, and the support of all the Liberty Ladies. I know you won’t squander all that on a fling with some man, handsome as he may be.”
Adeline glanced at him now, as he was wending his way toward her through the crowd. His gaze was fixed upon her with such focus and determination that she wondered if he even saw anything else besides her.
“I promise,” Adeline said solemnly. So solemnly she thought of white dresses and forever. But she knew what Harriet and Madame Chalfont said was true: men were a distraction, a danger, and they could wreck a girl’s reputation. Thus far, their arrangement had served her well—the gossip wasn’t unfavorable and she hadn’t fallen in love with him. But every encounter with him increased the risk that she’d lose everything—her heart, her shop. Adeline knew she couldn’t compromise her life’s ambition for a man who wouldn’t—couldn’t—provide her with the life she longed to live.
Tonight would have to be goodbye.
Chapter Sixteen
Overheard in the Fifth Avenue Hotel Lobby: one is occasionally reminded why young ladies ought to have chaperones.
—The New York World
Later that evening, Adeline was ensconced in the carriage with her silk and satin, her ruffles and embroidered trains, and the duke. Kingston sat opposite her in this small, enclosed, intimate space. Light from the street lamps shone into the carriage illuminating just enough to reveal the slant of his cheekbones, his sensuous mouth, his evening clothes covering his firm chest and strong arms.
It was enough to tempt her.
Even in spite of the warnings from women she respected, Miss Burnett and Madame Chalfont. Even in spite of her determination not to let a man distract her from her dreams. She would NOT be the silly female who threw everything away for a handsome man who would never do right by her. To his credit, the duke never tried to mislead her about what he would offer her.
Any flights of fancy were of her own creation.
It was one thing to risk going to a ball with him for business reasons. It was quite another to be alone in the carriage with him. Here, in the dark and unmarked carriage, no one could see them. While the privacy offered a measure of security for her reputation, it still felt dangerous because of that palpable desire between them.
“The evening has gone well,” she said. Because conversation meant not kissing and being alone in a dimly lit carriage certainly suggested kissing. That something between them definitely suggested kissing.
“Yes,” he agreed. “You seemed to enjoy yourself. With Lord Hewitt, particularly.”
Adeline hesitated. She wanted to say something about how the man plagued her, but a hint of venom in his tone that she hadn’t heard before made her reconsider. “I daresay he has taken a liking to me,” she said with a shrug, as if it were nothing of any consequence at all. “I received many compliments on my dress,” she said, changing the subject.
His lips turned up into a wry smile.
“Including one from Miss Van Allen. She called it enchanting.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“I thought so as well.”
Their eyes met and their gazes held and they were both thinking it: she was his enchanting girl. It was his word for her.
“I hope you feigned ignorance about my dressmaking.”
“Of course. There is no good reason that a man of my position would know anything about women’s dresses.” He paused. “Except for how to remove them.”
She laughed softly, nervously.
“I couldn’t very well speak to that with my likely future duchess.”
His likely future duchess.
That sounded so much fancier than enchanting elevator girl.
“Besides,” he continued, “for me to say anything remotely knowledgeable on the subject would cast you in an improper light, which would hardly serve our purposes. We’ll leak the name of your shop to the newspapers. I’m sure they’ll all be clamoring to identify the Mystery Woman who was spotted with me multiple times now—and what, or who, she was wearing.”
Her lips curved into a smile in spite of her tumultuous feelings.
“That is brilliant. You are brilliant. We should send word to Jennie Jones of The New York World.”
“Consider it done.”
Once their names were linked in the newspaper, her shop wouldn’t want for customers. It would still be up t
o her to impress them and keep them as clients, so if she succeeded it wouldn’t be entirely attributable to him. But she wouldn’t have been able to do it so quickly without him.
Consider it done.
She could consider this something between them done, too. After tonight, they could have no further business with each other. He had found his heiress and she had achieved just enough attention from their liaison without irrevocably endangering her reputation.
She ought to savor these last few moments with him.
“You never did tell me how you managed to build your own establishment,” he remarked. “One day you are penniless on the streets and the next you are mistress of your own very fine shop. It is a marvel. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“I confess that I am curious how you did it.”
There it was again: that subtle something sharp in his tone that she didn’t care for.
“I’m afraid I can’t say.” Adeline didn’t think twice about refusing him an answer, for she had made a solemn promise to the Ladies of Liberty and she certainly wasn’t going to break it for a man, even if she liked him and trusted him, as she did with the duke.
His eyes narrowed and she was taken aback by it. Inquiring dukes wanted to know: “Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
She met his gaze from across the carriage, but he looked away, out the window, at the sights of Broadway as the carriage rolled past on its way downtown.
“Did Lord Hewitt have anything to do with it? I only ask because I saw you with him tonight and, as you said, he seems to have taken a liking to you.”
Adeline stilled. How dare he ask her that. How dare he do so without looking her in the eye, as if he knew what an indecent question he had posed to her.
Only then did it strike her just what the Ladies of Liberty club had inadvertently asked of her: allow the world to wonder what she did to suddenly earn a significant sum of money.