Improper Ladies

by Amanda McCabe

  Something else she could hate him for. Because he knew, deep down, that she would surely blame him for whatever trouble young Lucas had wreaked tonight.

  He swept a quick glance over the ballroom, and did not see Mrs. Chase, Mr. Lucas, or the Duchess of Wayland anywhere. Lady Emily, though, stood not very far away, watching their little group with far too much shrewdness for such a young miss. Michael gave her a rakish grin, hoping she would blush and turn away. She just laughed, but she did leave, crossing the room to her brother’s side. The duke was talking with a very buxom lady in bright purple satin, whom Michael recognized as Lady Anderson, mother of the prettiest debutante this Season.

  Michael turned back to Gilmore and Carteret. “Now tell me exactly why you three came here in costume.”

  Carteret gave him a resentful scowl. “You are not our father, Morley, to be taking us to task.”

  “Carteret ...” Gilmore said nervously.

  “But,” Carteret continued, “since you are our friend, we will tell you. We were at a masquerade at Vauxhall, with the loveliest little bits o’muslin you ever saw. There was a bit too much wine and brandy, too, and so we conceived the idea of coming here.”

  Michael stared at them through narrowed eyes. “That cannot be the entire story.”

  “It is almost the entire story!” Gilmore said. “Except that Carteret dared Lucas to steal a kiss from Miss Anderson, then dash away before he was caught. Miss Anderson is the Diamond of the Season, y’know.”

  “It would have worked, too, if the chit hadn’t sent up such a fuss,” said Carteret. “Then Lord St. Regis and Miss Anderson’s mama laid Lucas low.”

  Miss Anderson “sending up a fuss” was surely exactly what Carteret had been hoping for, Michael thought. Public humiliation was probably the only way Lucas was going to be persuaded he must follow the rules, and thus allow Carteret to win the silly wager. “Where is Lucas now?”

  “His dragon sister and the Duchess of Wayland marched him out of here, quite smartishly,” said Gilmore. “And the duke calmed everyone down in here. Even Lady Anderson.”

  “So you see?” Carteret said languidly. “There was no harm done.”

  No harm done? Could these—these loobies truly be so very ignorant? Their prank had very nearly humiliated a young man and ruined his sister’s business. Michael knew very well how unforgiving people in Society could be if they felt they had been embarrassed, and these boys’ escapade had involved the loveliest debutante in London and her snobbish parents. Only the intervention of people as influential as the Waylands had saved the entire ridiculous situation. And now this smirking bacon-brain was prating about no harm done.

  Michael could not stop himself from reaching out to grab Carteret by the lace of his cascading jabot—his anger blinded him, burned white-hot behind his eyes. Carteret’s eyes widened in shock, and he made ineffectual little jabs with his beringed hands as Gilmore, looking on, gave an incoherent cry.

  “Don’t you realize what could have happened here tonight? Lucas’s sister was here. Her reputation was at risk as well as his, if your ‘harmless’ prank had not ended where it did. The Waylands saved all of your hides this time, but next time you will not be so fortunate, you brainless pups.”

  Carteret’s face was turning red beneath his layer of rice powder, and his hands clawed ever more insistently at Michael’s arm. Michael loosened his grip, but still held onto the lace.

  “You were the one who claimed we could break all the rules and still be accepted,” Carteret gasped. “Are you so quick to change your mind, just because Lucas got taken to task?”

  Michael had never meant his words like this. Yes, following all of A Lady’s Rules was absurd, was soul-killing. But their behavior this evening, that of all three of them, had been beyond the pale. Michael himself would never do anything so rash, so ill thought out. He would never actually damage anyone.

  Would he? Certain youthful indiscretions flashed through his mind, pranks every bit as ridiculous as the one this trio had tried tonight. Yet that had been long ago; he had learned from those mistakes, as one day these boys would have to learn from theirs. That sort of wild, pointless rule-breaking was far behind Michael.

  Then another vision flowed through his mind—himself, pulling Lady Clarke close to him and putting his arm about her waist. All in this very ballroom, not three hours ago—and under the gaze of Mrs. Chase.

  A heat that felt uncomfortably more like regret than his previous anger flowed through his veins. He released Carteret, who fell back a step and reached up to rub at his throat.

  “You are far more dangerous than we are, Morley,” Carteret said weakly. “People pay far more attention to your infractions than they ever would to ours. And I think the ladies over there would agree with me.”

  Michael, still trembling with the force of his anger and uncertainty, glanced back over his shoulder.

  Mrs. Chase and the Duchess of Wayland stood in the doorway of the ballroom, with Allen Lucas nowhere in evidence. The duchess paid them no attention ; her gaze was scanning over the crowd, no doubt looking for her husband.

  But Mrs. Chase was staring right at them—at him. Her posture was perfectly straight, her expression completely composed. Her eyes, though, burned with a freezing, pale blue light, even more vivid than the duchess’s sapphires. She watched him, unblinking, for a long, still moment, the force of her disdain clear. She then slowly turned her back to him and moved away into the sea of people.

  It was as if their moment in the corridor had never happened at all. As if he had never glimpsed the heat that lay beneath her serene, proper exterior.

  He felt as if he had just lost something precious, something he had not even realized he could desire so much until this very moment—something as beautiful as Mrs. Chase’s smile.

  He had the strongest urge to rush after her, to apologize, to beg for her understanding. He could not, though. It would do no good, not when her eyes were as cold as they were right now. She had drawn back into herself, after shyly peering forth when they were alone. She was again the self-contained Mrs. Chase. And how could he ask her to understand something he could not yet understand himself?

  He should talk to her, and he would. But not here. Not now, with all these people about. He strode away from Gilmore and Carteret, down the staircase toward the Portman’s front door. He reached inside his coat and touched the satin and lace fan—Mrs. Chase’s fan. Tomorrow, he would take it to her, would talk to her. Surely by then he would know what to say. Words were his profession, after all—he ought to be able to find the right ones.

  He was not sure why he felt he had to speak to her so urgently. She was a woman who stood for everything he so disliked, had so strained against all his life. He only knew he did have to talk to her, to see her again. He had to find the woman he had met in the corridor.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Be very careful whom you choose to confide in—be certain they are true friends.”

  -A Lady’s Rules for Proper Behavior, Chapter Ten

  “Good heavens, what an evening!” Georgina collapsed onto a settee in her own sitting room, and kicked off her satin slippers before propping her feet on a low footstool. “I cannot recall a more diverting soiree, can you, Emily?”

  “Not at all,” Emily replied, settling herself in an armchair. “There was that jug-bitten young man who tried to slide down the banister at the Eversleys’ ball last Season, but I would say . . .” She broke off, and cast a guilty smile in Rosalind’s direction. “Not that I enjoyed seeing your brother get into trouble, Mrs. Chase.”

  Rosalind gave her a small smile in return. A small one was all she could manage, she was so very tired. She wished she could kick off her shoes like Georgina, but it did not seem proper. Not in front of people. “It is quite all right, Lady Emily. Allen did look ridiculous there, and it was entirely his own fault.” His—and Lord Morley’s, for encouraging such silliness among impressionable young men. “I wonder if I should go u
p and see how he fares?”

  “Oh, no, Rosie,” Georgina said, scratching the ears of her spoiled white terrier Lady Kate. “Alex will have him tucked away in a trice. He knows exactly how to deal with drunk young men, after all his years in the army.”

  “It was very kind of you to give him a chamber for the night,” said Rosalind. “When you invited me to stay with you, you could hardly have expected to put up my entire family.”

  “Oh, pooh!” Georgina answered, with a careless wave of her hand. Her ruby betrothal ring flashed in the firelight. “We must have a hundred guest chambers in this place, and no one to fill them. Mr. Lucas is welcome to stay as long as he likes.”

  Rosalind’s lips tightened. “He will not stay long. Tomorrow, he will be going back to Cambridge, where he belongs.”

  Georgina laughed. “Rosie dear, I fear he will not be in any shape to travel tomorrow!”

  Emily, who had been staring thoughtfully out of one of the windows, turned serious eyes to them. Rosalind wondered what she was thinking of; usually, Rosalind was adept at reading young ladies, but she found Lady Emily to be a mystery. Emily, in her third Season, was older than most of the misses on the Marriage Mart, and had seen far more of life than they had. She might look like a china shepherdess, with her golden curls and china blue eyes, but she was shrewd and did not miss much around her.

  Her words showed that. “I am of the mind that Mr. Lucas could never have conceived of such a prank alone. He is too good-hearted, and was far too foxed.”

  “Do you suppose it was that silly Mr. Gilmore?” Georgina asked. “Or perhaps Lord Carteret. I saw them both there, in their costumes. They must have had a part in it.”

  Rosalind sat up with interest. She remembered Allen saying the original gaming debt had been owed to someone named Carteret at his club. “I fear I know little of Allen’s friends in Town. He does not care to confide in his sister about them. What are these young men like?”

  “Oh, they fancy themselves quite the rogues,” Georgina said. “But really they are just mutton-heads, causing nuisances. They are often racketing about Town in the phaetons their fathers bought them, racing and throwing things.”

  “They belong to the same club as Mr. Lucas,” Emily said. “The Thoth Club.”

  Oh, yes. Rosalind had heard of that club. The blasted club where Allen went to run up debts he could ill afford. “Is it a popular club?”

  “Quite,” Georgina said. “And now becoming harder to gain a membership, since so many have joined. Some would say your brother is very fortunate to be a member.”

  Rosalind gave an inelegant snort.

  Georgina and Emily laughed and Lady Kate barked. “I quite agree,” said Georgina. “Men and their clubs! I have sometimes thought of starting one myself, a sensible one for women only.”

  “Or one for artists?” Emily suggested. “But I do believe they have artists in the Thoth Club.”

  “Allen is not an artist,” commented Rosalind. She would be glad if he did show an interest in art, or in anything besides carelessness.

  “One can be of any sort of artistic bent at the Thoth Club—painting, music, literature, or even just possess an appreciation of such things,” Emily said. “It was begun by Viscount Morley and Sir William Beene, another Society poet.”

  Of course. Rosalind remembered the particulars about that club now. She also remembered, with a hot flash of shame, how close she had been to Lord Morley in that dark corridor. If he had made another movement toward her, if Georgina had not appeared when she had . . .

  Rosalind shivered to think what might have happened. Why, she might even have let the rogue kiss her!

  She closed her eyes tightly to try to block out the memories, the images. When she opened them, she found Georgina watching her speculatively.

  “Morley is quite handsome,” Georgina commented. “Quite popular with the ladies.”

  “Oh, yes!” said Emily. “Did you see the way Lady Clarke was throwing herself at him tonight? Very scandalous. And that sort of thing happens everywhere he goes.”

  “I did not notice,” Rosalind said, trying to sound careless and bored. To feel careless and bored. She certainly did not want to beg Emily to tell her more.

  “How could you not notice, Rosie?” asked Georgina. “He certainly seemed to notice you.”

  Emily stared at Rosalind with avid wonder. “Did he, Mrs. Chase? What did he say to you? What did he do?”

  “He did nothing, Lady Emily,” Rosalind said tightly. “Your sister-in-law exaggerates. But it does not matter, for I fail to see Lord Morley’s fabled charms.” Liar! her mind screamed at her. “He may be handsome, but he has no manners. No man can be truly attractive without those.”

  Emily laughed. “Who cares about manners when a gentleman has such a handsome . . .”

  “Emily!” Georgina cried, laughing. “You are meant to be an innocent young miss. Such a scandal you are.”

  Emily just shrugged. “I may be young, but I am not blind.”

  Even Rosalind had to laugh. “Right you are, Lady Emily. And such a handsome, mannerless man could have no interest in a woman such as me.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Rosie,” Georgina argued. “You always did, even when we were in school.”

  “Indeed you do, Mrs. Chase,” agreed Emily. “You had so many admirers tonight. I can’t count the number of people who asked me about you.”

  “Only because they were trying to ingratiate themselves with you, Lady Emily,” Rosalind said.

  “Emily is quite the belle of the Season,” Georgina said. “And she was last Season, and the Season before that, as well!”

  Emily laughed, and pushed herself up out of her chair. “That is now my cue to retire, before Georgie starts hinting that it is about time I accepted one of my suitors.”

  “I did not do any such thing!” Georgina protested.

  “Oh, of course not. Not you, never,” answered Emily, still laughing. “Good night, Georgie. Good night, Mrs. Chase. Be careful, or she will start match-making for you, too.”

  “Good night, Lady Emily,” said Rosalind. “Don’t worry—I would never let her.”

  When the door had closed behind Emily, Georgina fell back onto her settee with a sigh, Lady Kate clambering up onto her lap. “I do sometimes worry about her, Rosie.”

  “Worry? About Lady Emily? She seems quite well to me.”

  “Oh, yes, she is. But this is her third Season. She has turned down at least two dozen offers.” Georgina sighed. “I fear she will never find a man to love as I love my Alex. As you loved your Charles.”

  Charles. Yes, once Rosalind had thought she loved him. Not in the same way Georgina loved her duke, but with a quiet affection. He had been so well-mannered, so thoughtful. Now, sometimes, she had a difficult time recalling his face. Or the sound of his voice.

  She shook her head sadly. This was no time to be maudlin! She was just tired—tired, and worried.

  “Oh, Georgie,” she said, with a weak little chuckle. “I would much rather worry about marrying off a duke’s beautiful sister than try to convince my cabbage-head of a brother to behave sensibly.”

  Georgina leaned forward to squeeze Rosalind’s hand reassuringly. “It is true that Mr. Lucas behaved badly tonight. But he is young! We were all young and foolish at one time. After a day or two, no one will speak of this incident at all. Something new and more scandalous will take its place.”

  “Yes, I know. But then he will do something else, and then something else, and then . . .” And then—they would be ruined. No one would trust their daughters to her care; her publisher would not buy any more books.

  It was all suddenly too much. Too much to bear alone. Her exhaustion, her strange, unruly feelings for Lord Morley, her brother’s bad behavior—it was overwhelming. She covered her face with her hands, and choked back a sob. But it would not be choked back; it broke free, followed by another and another.

  “Rosie!” Georgina cried. She put aside Lady K
ate and knelt down beside Rosalind in a rustle of silk. “Oh, my dear, what is it? It must be more than what happened tonight. I have never seen you so set-to. Tell me what is wrong, please. Let me help you, if I can.”

  Her friend’s kindness was simply too much for Rosalind. Everything poured out of her—the book, the school, the loans and debts Allen had accrued. Everything—everything, that is, except for Lord Morley. She could not bring herself to tell even Georgina about that. Whatever it was.

  When it had all drained from her in a torrent of tears and incoherent words, Rosalind fell back, depleted, into her chair. She slumped down, forgetting even the rules of proper posture.

  Georgina stared up at her with wide, shocked green eyes. Rosalind thought vaguely that this must be a moment to remember. She had never seen Georgina shocked before.

  “You wrote A Lady’s Rules?” Georgina whispered. “You, Rosie? And you never told me?”

  “I have told no one,” Rosalind answered. “I must be discreet, for the sake of my school, and I feared that even something so harmless as an etiquette book could bring unwanted attention.”

  “But you are famous!” cried Georgina. “Or at least A Lady is. Everyone adores your book.”

  “Or they did—until recently. My publisher says that sales are falling, and they do not want to publish a planned second edition.”

  Georgina sat back on her heels. “So that is why you came to London. To investigate.”

  “I did hope perhaps I could discover something that might be of use,” Rosalind admitted.

  “And you found it is Lord Morley who is breaking your rules!” Georgina’s eyes sparkled, and her lips curved in a grin. “And that is why you were with him in the corridor. To make him confess.”

  Rosalind could see she just had to nip this in the bud. Georgina was much too fond of intrigues, schemes, and romances. She read too many horrid novels. She was quite capable of making all of this into some grand drama. “Now, Georgina, listen . . .” she began.