Seduction Wears Sapphires

by Renee Bernard

  Unlike their employer. Ashe held out his arm to escort her out and down to the carriage. After today, despite all his posturing, there would be no retreat. He had always been a man of his word, but he had never felt so tested. As impossible as the girl was, throwing her in the path of Lady Fitzgerald’s ire was stinging his conscience. He was submitting to his grandfather’s wishes, but he wasn’t showing any mercy to Miss Townsend in doing so.

  A true gentleman of impeccable behavior would find a way to keep his word and protect the lady. But I’m still too wicked a man not to wish her gone—and not one to waste an opportunity to let someone else take the blame for her departure.

  He hesitated at the open carriage door. “Lady Fitzgerald isn’t known for being kind, Miss Townsend. If you’d prefer, we can choose another venue for your debut.”

  She gave him a questioning look, then she lifted her chin defiantly. “I’d prefer that we weren’t late, Mr. Blackwell.”

  So much for a show of mercy.

  The party was an intimate affair, with about thirty guests. Lady Fitzgerald had touted the occasion as a chance to show off her newly acquired paintings, but Caroline could see little innovation in the simple landscapes and an oddly out-of-place drawing of a Grecian-style temple with a fountain at its center. She didn’t recognize the stone goddess having water perpetually dribbled on her marble head, but she imagined it was an ignoble fate to fall from Mount Olympus and end up as a damp perch for pigeons, immortalized on canvas.

  “Lady Fitzgerald.” Ashe drew Caroline forward toward a thin older woman swallowed up by the fashionable over-abundance of flounces and ribbons of her elegant dress. “May I present my ward, Miss Caroline Townsend of Boston? She’s just arrived in England and yours is the first introduction I had hoped to make for her since I knew you’d be the most gracious.”

  “What flattery!” Lady Fitzgerald said with a dismissive laugh, but her cheeks turned as pink as any schoolgirl’s. “Naturally, I’m”—her eyes lit onto Caroline and it was clear that some of the lady’s graciousness abandoned her—“delighted.”

  Caroline knew what a lamb felt like being weighed and measured before facing the butcher. “How could you be? I’m sure I’m nothing that could make such a great lady feel anything close to delight.”

  She heard a few shocked sniffs nearby at the comment, but Lady Fitzgerald’s expression merely changed to show intrigue. “It’s true I’m not as easily impressed and swayed as others. But your humility is very sweet.”

  “You’re too kind, your ladyship.”

  “Never! I’m far too proud of my reputation for being difficult to give it up at my age!” She turned back to Ashe. “Your ward, you say? Is this what brings you back into the light of day, dear boy? For if she’s the cause, I don’t care if she dresses like a turnip. Don’t think I won’t be boasting to every acquaintance I have that I am among the first to see your handsome face and figure out amidst the living!”

  “I’m no recluse, Lady Fitzgerald,” Ashe said, without a trace of humor.

  “No, of course you’re not—not any longer,” Lady Fitzgerald said, smiling again in Caroline’s direction. “And for that, the women of England are eternally in your debt.”

  Caroline struggled not to laugh as Blackwell inadvertently presented a pitiable and surly picture behind the dowager. “All the women of England? I had no idea that Mr. Blackwell was so popular!”

  Lady Fitzgerald laughed, a cascade of cackles that made several guests attempt to awkwardly join in. “I am charmed, Miss Townsend! I am completely charmed! Here, come take my arm and let’s enjoy a turn about my ridiculously expensive salon and learn more about Miss Townsend of Boston.”

  Caroline dutifully took the woman’s arm, gently holding the thin offering for fear of bruising the delicate lady. “I’m afraid you’ll find it a boring topic for conversation, your ladyship. Wouldn’t you rather tell me about yourself?”

  “Nonsense! I know everything there is to know about myself, while you, my dear, are a new puzzle. So”—she led Caroline away from the others—“are you a Quaker, Miss Townsend?”

  “Am I . . . pardon me?”

  “Forgive me, but your dress! My first impression was that you were in deepest mourning, but—then you wouldn’t be out in society, would you?” Lady Fitzgerald laughed again. “And even a woman grieving wouldn’t abandon all sense of fashion, so naturally, I have deduced that you are religious!”

  Lady Fitzgerald clapped her hands together, as if applauding her own brilliance at deduction.

  Caroline looked at her for an instant and then realized that the woman’s pleasure was genuine and there wasn’t a hint of malice in her game. Oh, my! I truly look like a Quaker?

  Caroline shook her head. “Your logic is faultless, for I too have noted that any extreme religious fervor seems to accompany odd costumes—and I, sadly, have inadvertently imitated just such a thing.” She smiled to make sure the lady was aware of her jest. “I have no eye for fashion, it seems. I fear my personal tastes are too plain even for the Quakers, Lady Fitzgerald.”

  The lady shook her head. “I have never known them to shun someone for a lack of satin, but what an odd little coup if you’d managed it!”

  Caroline replied, making sure her own voice held no hint of disapproval as she tried to lightheartedly brazen her way out of it, “The shopkeeper near Boston assured me that subdued modesty was always in fashion, but now I think I must have misunderstood him.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But perhaps it’s for the best! English women are so elegant, I cannot think to compete with them.”

  “What a wretched compliment! But you must compete and you can,” she announced with confidence, “for they won’t hesitate to ruthlessly compete with you.”

  “I don’t see how a girl easily mistaken for a Quaker is going to ruffle that many feathers, your ladyship.”

  “Ah! And that is where wisdom edges out over youth, Miss Townsend! You’ll ruffle feathers because of that delectable man glaring at us over your shoulder. They’d claw past any woman, from age sixteen to sixty, to stand a bit closer to him.”

  Caroline sighed and shook her head. “A poor prize for a scratched face!”

  “You’re not going to fight to fend them off?” she asked.

  “I’m sure it’s not my place to do so, Lady Fitzgerald. But I’ll not sacrifice my dignity for any man—particularly that one.” Caroline risked a glance back toward an arboretum where Ashe was pretending to admire a rose bush.

  “Tell me your interests, Miss Townsend,” Lady Fitzgerald commanded.

  “I am interested in education, that is, the idea of public education and universities for women.” Caroline smiled brightly.

  “Public education?” the older woman echoed in surprise.

  “It is the foundation of any strong democracy, is it not? A populace that is literate and empowered to understand its own governance?”

  “I was expecting you to express something of an interest in botany or the arts—but what a shocking revelation to think I have a reformer in my house!” Lady Fitzgerald’s look was pure bemusement. “My late husband would have been enraged.”

  “I’m so sorry if—”

  “Oh, no apologies! Anything that upset George was always welcome. But I had no idea American girls were so delightfully headstrong!” Lady Fitzgerald marveled. “Well, you must see yourself as a representative of your country! You have too much pluck, Miss Townsend, to play the dobbin.”

  “Thank you, Lady Fitzgerald. Pluck is always a dubious blessing, for I swear I am more often chided for my terrible manners than praised. But I am determined to prove myself worthy without losing my sense of spirit.”

  “Brava, Miss Townsend! You must not!”

  “Then with your blessing, I shall stay as I am, and hope that if nothing else, I make a memorable impression on my new friends.” By then, the women had completed the circuit of the room and returned to the arched entrance and her waiting guardian. Caroline’s gaze found
Ashe’s as if to challenge him. The man is looking absolutely resplendent over there, pretending not to care, but he meant to feed me to the intimidating Lady Fitzgerald alive and kicking, I have no doubt!

  “Let no one say a thing against my delightful discovery, my very own American!” Lady Fitzgerald announced to everyone nearby as she leaned forward and patted Caroline’s hand as if she were now a pet. And then it was Ashe who received her infamous look full of admonishment. “She is your ward, Mr. Blackwell! It is certainly your responsibility, sir, to see to your charge’s care and comforts! Can you not outfit the sweet thing?”

  A muscle in Ashe’s cheek ticked and betrayed his frustration, but he managed a polite enough reply. “Miss Townsend is quite unique, as you say, but also quite stubborn, Lady Fitzgerald. I wouldn’t presume to tell a woman of such intractable habits how to dress—after all, what do I know of petticoats and other unmentionables?”

  His last words were delivered with more of a playful air, and the women around the patio all giggled and colored in a theatrical show of shock. All the women except Caroline, who wasn’t as happy imagining how much of an expert the handsome Ashe Blackwell was when it came to the innermost layers of a lady’s wardrobe.

  “What, indeed?” Lady Fitzgerald finally summoned a reply. “But I’m sure a man of your resources can rely on the expertise of a good couturier when it comes to the more delicate questions of a woman’s underpinnings.”

  “Your ladyship!” Another woman stepped forward, her mouth pinched into a disapproving thin line. “I’m sure another topic of conversation would prove better suited for—”

  “Don’t be a ninny, Eustace!” Lady Fitzgerald curtly cut her off. “We’re talking about acquiring a decent wardrobe for my friend, not debating what color her bloomers and stockings should be.”

  Eustace looked suitably chastised, and Caroline tried to give her a look of sympathy. A servant brought a tray of drinks out for the guests, and the lively conversation continued, although the elusive and ever naughty Mr. Blackwell was strangely muted.

  “My American friend will win over London wearing cabbages, if she must!” Lady Fitzgerald asserted.

  “I would rather not wear produce, your ladyship, but thank you for your confidence.” Caroline took a sip of her punch, tasting the unmistakable bite of strong spirits in the mixture. Her nervousness faded from a strangling agony to a twinge of enjoyment—if only to see Ashe’s disappointment in her small success at not being thrown out or burned in effigy as a mud-dwelling Colonial.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur for her as she made new acquaintances with the blessing of her new patroness and managed to elicit only a few more shocked gasps from the elderly Miss Eustace Woodberry before the party’s conclusion. Ashe was her shadow, saying as little as possible as she navigated the myriad conversations and did her best to remember everyone’s names—if not their ranks and relations. It was a labyrinth of social traps that Caroline was sure she was muddling beyond repair, but with Lady Fitzgerald at her elbow, all was forgiven and each misstep touted as Colonial charm.

  Finally, he stepped forward to take her elbow. “I’m afraid we must be going, Lady Fitzgerald. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Your ward is a treasure, Mr. Blackwell. You’ll have her matched before Christmas, I warrant,” Lady Fitzgerald said.

  “Oh, I’m not—” Caroline started to protest, but Ashe cut her off.

  “It is my grandfather’s fondest wish, your ladyship. Thank you, and good afternoon.” He bowed at the waist, forcing Caroline to attempt a rusty curtsy at his side.

  “Yes, thank you again, Lady Fitzgerald,” Caroline added. “I do hope to see you again.”

  Lady Fitzgerald waved a farewell. “I’ll have an eye on you, my dear, and I’m sure we’ll see each other before long. Take care.”

  Ashe led her away, and Caroline swallowed a sigh of contentment. “What a lovely party!”

  He nodded. “Riveting!” he said sarcastically. “Lord Breecher’s intestinal issues were far more interesting than I’d have ever imagined. I don’t think the man redirected the conversation away from his bowels for more than a minute the entire time.”

  “You couldn’t have politely shifted away to talk to anyone else if it was so tedious?”

  “And joined Mr. and Mrs. Claridge’s forum on hygiene? Or the endless speculation about whether or not there will be another war affecting the price of their precious textiles?”

  Their carriage was brought around, and Caroline took the hand he offered to help her into its interior. Once he was settled as well, she finally responded to his complaint. “Mr. Blackwell, it has always been my understanding that if you don’t like the flavor of the conversation, you have the power to contribute your own antidotes and improve things considerably.”

  The look he gave her was less than appreciative. “The wisdom of youth and inexperience! I’ll consider your advice the next time I’m out in society and at a loss for words.”

  Caroline bit the inside of her lip. “I’m sorry. That was impertinent of me.”

  His sulk barely lifted as he turned his gaze toward the window and did his best to dismiss her. The carriage ride back to his home was even quieter than their departure, but Caroline finally decided to try once more to break the silence. “It seems that Lady Fitzgerald admires my pluck, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “Pluck?” Ashe shook his head. “You’re damned lucky that Lady Fitzgerald shares my grandfather’s odd sense of humor.”

  “And misfortunate that you do not,” she said, defiance making her brave.

  “It could easily have gone the other way, Miss Townsend. You may want to keep in mind that as generous as Lady Fitzgerald may seem, that attention can be equally vicious if and when she tires of your pluck.”

  She lowered her eyes to her hands but caught herself quickly in this hint of submission. Instead, she sighed and looked at him directly with her best devil-may-care grin. “You are simply out of sorts because I wasn’t the dismal failure you were secretly hoping I’d be.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “You look like a pouting child from this vantage point, Mr. Blackwell. Perhaps your grandfather should have hired a nanny instead of a chaperone.” It was a terrible goad, but Caroline couldn’t take the words back—though she regretted them instantly.

  Ashe’s blue eyes changed to the hue of a winter sky and he stretched out his long legs to put his feet rudely up onto the seat next to her. “Your suggestion that I am jealous of the novelty of what can only be likened to a hairless cat at a dog show is interesting, Miss Townsend.”

  Her fingers clenched in her lap, her temper rising. “Is it?”

  “Oh, yes. But let’s make one thing clear, since our relationship as watcher and charge is relatively new.” His look sent a chill down her spine, and Caroline’s anger bled away in a wash of cold dread. “I am many things, Miss Townsend, first impressions and ridiculous arrangements aside, but I am not a child. Do not think to press me in that way.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have. . . . No one would ever mistake you for a child, Mr. Blackwell.” She took a slow deep breath. “But neither am I a hairless cat!”

  The ice in his eyes gave way to a strange heat that made the carriage suddenly airless and far too small. Caroline felt as if she were perched on the seat wearing nothing but her small clothes, the way he now drank her in—a knowing, openly admiring look on his face.

  “No, Miss Townsend. You are”—he hesitated, and Caroline was drawn in against her will, wishing he would say something kind and dreading it at the same time—“unpredictable and intriguing.”

  “Oh!” For once her wit abandoned her as the unexpected compliment left her feeling foolish for arguing with the man. “Well . . . I’d hate to add a lack of character to my list of faults, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “You’re in no danger there. In fact, I’m sure Aunt Emilia would be appropriately shocked at all the delightful flash and pluck you’ve demonstrate
d.”

  “Aunt Emilia?” Caroline felt a new sense of confusion. “I don’t recall mentioning my aunt to you.”

  He shifted back in his seat with a careless shrug, his gaze drifting back toward the carriage window. “My grandfather said something of her, I believe. She sounded like a formidable woman.”

  It seemed a feasible accounting for his comment, but there’d been something in the familiarity of his tone that made her feel as if he’d hinted at some confidence she’d shared. The topic of her aunt was not one she’d ever bandied about with strangers, far too fearful of repercussions and the petty vengeance that would have followed. Aunt Emilia was not a forgiving soul.

  “Yes,” she agreed reluctantly. “Formidable.”

  “Family is often a mixed blessing,” he said as he turned back to her, once again the friendly warmth in his gaze as unsettling as the cold, causing a strange flutter to come to life inside of her. “But they’re a strength not to be squandered.”

  Caroline had no desire to discuss her family, finding the subject too complex and painful to bear up to scrutiny. “Mr. Blackwell, do you mind if I ask why you allowed Lady Fitzgerald to think I was husband hunting? Is it really necessary to deceive her in that way?”

  “Absolutely,” he answered without hesitation. “Every woman under the age of one hundred is assumed to be in the pursuit of a husband, and no offense, but you are enough of a conversation piece without adding the unexplainable wrinkle of not seeking one.”

  “It’s not unexplainable, Mr. Blackwell.”

  He smiled. “Trust me. There is not a dowager or a drudge within a thousand leagues who is going to accept any explanation you care to make, and proclaiming your desire to remain a spinster is only going to fuel the chase.”

  “I don’t . . .” She wasn’t sure what to say. Penniless teachers weren’t permitted to dream of marriage, but Caroline wasn’t going to confess anything to Ashe. It was clear he mistakenly believed as his grandfather did that she naturally possessed part of her family’s vast fortune. I don’t desire to remain a spinster! And come to think of it, I don’t think of myself as a spinster, Rogue! But the harder I protest the worse it sounds, so I think I’ll rely on Sun Tzu again and choose this moment to retreat. “Very well, I’ll trust your judgment.”