Talk of the Ton

by Eloisa James

  The members of the Free Fellows League and the wives of those who had already blissfully submitted to leg shackles delighted in detailing the stories of Lady India’s heroism and in seeing that those marvelously entertaining stories reached the proper ears.

  And their plan worked to perfection. Everyone wanted to get a look at the young Englishwoman who had refused to be conquered by the Ottoman Empire, and her wedding day proved the perfect opportunity.

  His Highness, the prince regent, attended the ceremony along with four hundred other members of the ton. And he accompanied the happy couple to the wedding breakfast, which was held at Carlton House, where she was formally presented into society as India, Countess of Barclay.

  The new countess spent her wedding night dancing with her husband in the moonlight at the Admiralty Ball. She was, of course, the most elegant dancer there. Everyone said so. And India had practiced for nearly a month to make certain of it.

  After the Admiralty Ball, India donned her Turkish trousers and spent her honeymoon enticing her husband into solving the riddle of the sapphire in her navel and of discovering dozens of new and exciting ways to make love.

  The sapphire, he discovered, was held into place by a thin gold wire that pierced her navel.

  And as she lay in Jonathan’s arms each night, India said a prayer for Miss Lockwood, thanking her for giving India the dreams that had all come true. Miss Lockwood wouldn’t be there to teach them, but India swore that her children would know Miss Lockwood’s teachings, and if she ever had a daughter, India intended to name her Dorinda.

  Dorinda Louisa Barclay.

  Miss Lockwood would like that.

  Miss Jenny Alt’s First Kiss

  JACQUELINE NAVIN

  Chapter One

  Genvieve Alt, or Jenny as she was more frequently called, watched her cousin pace before the fireplace on a chilly March afternoon in their London town house in Cavendish Square.

  “Why does he have to arrive now? This is going to positively ruin me,” the beautiful Cassandra Benedict said. “Mama, you cannot let this happen!”

  Her mother, Iris Benedict, who was Jenny’s aunt, wrung her hands. “Do not fuss so. He shall be here this very evening, and I’ll not have you insult him. He is an earl, after all, and a wealthy man for all his present troubles.”

  Cassandra flounced into a settee with a crisp rustle of silk and managed to look entrancing even while wearing a pout. Jenny took great pride in her cousin. At eighteen, Cassandra was confident and charismatic. She was the toast of the ton in this, her first London season.

  It was Jenny’s first season as well, although she was twenty-two years of age. She had not wanted one when she reached her majority. She’d felt shy and awkward, uncomfortable with the thought of being out there, on display, but she could no longer avoid it this year as she had to accompany Cassandra to all her social events. She had made significantly less of an impression on the beau monde.

  It wasn’t that she was so plain. Aunt Iris was kind, and told her that she could be pretty if she wanted. She supposed this was true. Her hair was a lovely shade of honey blond, but as she didn’t have a maid, she simply twisted it into a knot every day. And her spectacles were a hindrance, shielding eyes of pale blue rimmed with thick lashes that would have charmed if they weren’t hidden. She really only needed her eyeglasses for reading, but as she was always reading, it had become a habit to wear them all the time, one she did not alter for the sake of society.

  But most of all, she was often overlooked because she did not seek the limelight for herself, for it was Cassandra who should shine. Aunt Iris was very anxious to find her daughter a good match, and Jenny, who loved her aunt and cousin dearly, was equally determined that she would do nothing to detract from Cassandra making a stunning debut.

  The result of her cool reception to any man who exhibited an interest in her had been that she was regarded as something of an oddity. She realized this but was at a loss how to right the misunderstanding. Or perhaps she was odd. Certainly, her interests in reading and quiet evenings at home were not the typical ones among the circle in which her family traveled. In any event, she was never asked to dance, and no gentleman called upon her.

  She was contented, however, to sit with her friends at parties, to play cards and watch the others dance and flirt. Besides, it wasn’t as if there had ever been a man who had made her ever want to step out of the shadows and draw his interest.

  “What is the relation exactly—some second cousin three times removed or some such nonsense?” Cassandra paced, her skirts swishing crisply with each step. “Oh, why is this happening to me? To have a man of his reputation sprung on us now when I am having so much fun!”

  Jenny sought to smooth the situation, a duty she regularly performed. “Perhaps if you told us a bit about him, it would ease Cassandra’s worry.” Jenny spoke gently to Iris. “You’ve spoken of the matter very little since yesterday, and then only to tell us of his arrival.”

  “Yes,” Cassandra chimed. “Who exactly is he? What does he want here?”

  The letter, which had arrived just a few days ago, announcing that the Earl of Hatherleigh was calling upon his distant relations for an extended visit, had sent her aunt to her bed with a migrim and Cassandra into an uproar. The date on the missive was just shy of a fortnight past, but it had been delayed in the post, giving the Benedict household only a day to prepare.

  Aunt Iris dabbed at her glistening forehead with a handkerchief. “Yes, yes, how thoughtless of me. I am just so overset. How will I ever manage . . . ? But it is not his fault. Miles . . . well, I suppose he is a good man. I do not know him much anymore. His father was my husband’s cousin.” She issued a resigned sigh. “When he was a boy my Roger and I saw much of him. He was a nice boy. I still think of him as Miles, but I suppose he shall prefer Hatherleigh now that he has inherited the title.”

  “Why then have I never met him?” Cassandra asked, sinking into a chair.

  “He was off at Oxford for many years, dear. And . . . well, he has not been family minded, I suppose.”

  “If you have not seen him in years, what has him interested in our family now?” Jenny inquired.

  Leaning forward, Iris said, “He is set on finding a wife, my dears.” She paused as if she had just imparted a dreadful secret. “You see, in his letter, he wrote of how he had vowed to his father just before the poor old earl died, to see his duty done before his twenty-fifth birthday. And that is only months away. Poor dear, I can’t imagine he’s fond of marriage after . . . Well, it’s best not to speak of the dead. Let us just say that his first wife was an unfortunate choice.”

  This upset Cassandra. “He does not have scandal attached to him, does he?”

  Iris made a face of disapproval. “He married young, and like so many young men, he married foolishly. She was of loose character and caused him great shame. This time, of course, the woman he marries must be of good family, a woman worthy to sire a future earl. A woman of society. This is why he is coming to London.”

  Jenny was confused. “He is an earl, and wealthy, you said. Surely the ton would welcome him.”

  “Oh, dear, he was shunned by the ton when he made such a disastrous marriage, and it made him bitter so that even after the wretched girl died, he continued to associate with the same awful people he became fond of when he was in exile—the demimonde!”

  Jenny’s eyes rounded. The demimonde was the underworld of polite society. They were disreputable and unconventional types—artists, actors, even sought-after Cyprians. They were considered notorious. Nobody of good society ever had anything to do with them—at least not openly.

  “He has not been considered good society since,” Aunt Iris went on. “He has asked me, as his only relative—and that a thin association, to be sure—to hostess for him and sponsor him to meet eligible women. He has no one else, you see.” She puffed up with pride and added, “It really is a compliment. I am rather well-connected.”

  �
�It is as I feared! All of my beaus will scatter like birds when they hear Hatherleigh is my cousin!” Cassandra cried.

  “I don’t see why,” Jenny said. It wasn’t quite a scold, but it was not gentle either.

  “Oh, Jenny, you wouldn’t understand,” Cassandra retorted. “It is not as if you have anything to lose.”

  Jenny looked away. She was perfectly capable of putting Cassandra in her place for this thoughtless remark. Her habit of not doing so was a conscious decision, not a condition of weakness.

  When she’d come to live with her aunt and cousin eight years ago after her parents’ death, she had been welcomed by her new family. She was very grateful to them for taking her in, and although Aunt Iris had never made her feel the poor relation, she had been acutely aware of her position as just that.

  It had been the fault of her pride, she supposed. She had never wished to be a burden, but rather a help to her aunt and a friend to Cassandra. She had taken the younger girl under her wing, perhaps spoiled her a little, which might account for the lovely girl’s tendency to be self-absorbed, at times cruel, but Jenny knew it was not from malice, just thoughtlessness.

  She made excuses for her. Cassandra was young, she was vivacious, full of life. It was not good, perhaps, but inevitable that she could be a bit high-strung at times.

  “This is terrible.” Cassandra wagged her finger at her mother. “His arrival at this time is most inconvenient, Mama—at best. A disaster at worst.”

  “Pardon me,” a deep masculine voice cut in. All heads snapped to the doorway which, Jenny was horrified to see, had been left open. On the threshold was a man, a very tall man. Beside him, Brent, their footman, stood rigidly, his eyes wide with horror.

  “Excuse me, madam. But the earl . . .” Brent trailed off, faltering under the tension. “The earl has arrived.”

  The room fell into thick silence.

  The earl stood perfectly still, a mild, lazy expression on his face. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and pleasant. “I fear I am intruding.”

  He swept the room with a razor-sharp glance. When it momentarily touched Jenny, she flinched.

  She could not tell if he were angry or insulted. He seemed calm, guarded. Perhaps even a bit amused. But he made her nervous nonetheless.

  “Oh, no! We didn’t hear you!” Aunt Iris was flustered, and Jenny vaguely registered the familiar urge to rush to her aid, but she was stricken motionless as well as mute.

  “Miles, forgive us. We were not speaking of you. How good it is to see you.” Iris rushed on, waving her hands as she smiled a desperate smile. “We have been awaiting you most anxiously. Come in, come in.”

  He hesitated only a moment, then complied, filling the room with his masculine presence.

  He was very broad in the shoulders, lean, well-proportioned. Everything from his shiny shoes and crisply pressed trousers to his black hair combed back off his face and tied into a short queue was perfection.

  He paused, focused now on Aunt Iris. He gave a courteous bow. “I am delighted to see you again, cousin,” he said with impeccable manners.

  “Miles, dear. Er . . . I mean Hatherleigh.”

  “Miles will do. I detest formalities. Hatherleigh is a place. I am a man.”

  From Cassandra’s direction came a soft, “Oh, my!”

  Jenny glanced at her to see that her brow had smoothed and there was a rapt look on her face as she stared. It seemed that Cassandra had ceased being displeased with the earl’s sudden appearance.

  It was obvious why. He was not only handsome but the epitome of the fashionable lord. His presence was felt as almost a physical thing, a prickling along the flesh.

  She should be relieved Cassandra’s hysterics were at an end, but she could not relax. There was still the pulsing tension, and her aunt was quite upset.

  Iris’s voice quavered. “I am afraid we were caught somewhat unawares, I admit. You see, your letter arrived late, and it was only yesterday I learned you were due.”

  “Then I am intruding,” he said, a bit startled. But Jenny marveled as how smoothly he accomplished this, polite but uncompromising at the same time. “I should go ahead to my apartments. I’ve let a suite in St. James. I shall call on you later.”

  Iris looked desperately at a loss. “Oh, please stay. I-I just rang for tea. Would you join us?”

  He thought about this for a moment. “As you will.” He clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Oh my, I’ve quite forgotten civility.” said Aunt Iris. “This is my daughter and your cousin, Cassandra Benedict.”

  Cassandra folded into a deep curtsy, turning up her head and offering the prettiest display of fluttered eyelashes Jenny had ever seen her perform. To Jenny’s irritation, she noted Cousin Miles was not completely immune. The energy around him seemed to intensify as he looked over the feminine offering before him.

  Cassandra’s beauty was at its best as she was now, with her huge dark eyes shining and a half-smile playing on her lips. Jenny knew she was taking in the stature of the man in front of her: his remarkable good looks, the title, the degree of relation far enough removed for there to be possibilities.

  Abruptly Hatherleigh looked up, and his eyes rested on Jenny for the second time. She felt her skin prickle as reaction rolled through her. They were extraordinary eyes, very pale green, like jade. She forced herself not to fidget as he swept a bold, assessing glance from her inexpert coif down to her scuffed but very comfortable shoes. She pushed her glasses into place with nervous fingers.

  “And who is this?”

  She rose and met his eye, dipping into a brief curtsy. “Genvieve Alt, my lord.”

  It was difficult to breathe, as if the air had suddenly lost its ability to nourish her. Her heart was pumping swiftly, but she pretended nothing was amiss as she offered a small, courteous nod she hoped appeared cool and unaffected.

  “This is my niece, dear Jenny,” Aunt Iris murmured. “My sister’s child. She lives with us since the passing of her parents.”

  “Your servant,” he said, and bowed slightly. Then he glanced away, dismissing her.

  The stirring of her emotions remained. Jenny was glad when he turned away and sat in the chair Iris offered him, yet at the same time she was annoyed with him for taking such little note of her.

  “Where is Judith with the tea?” Aunt Iris said. “I could use a cup myself, and Miles, you must be in need of refreshment after your journey.” She picked up the bell and instead of tinkling it gently, clanged it hard enough to raise the hairs on the back of Jenny’s neck. Jenny reached out and stilled her aunt’s hand. Iris looked at her gratefully and made a visible effort to collect herself.

  The earl was thoughtful. “I do hope the delay in the letter does not pose any problems in getting my plans under way. I wish to begin attending events as soon as possible.” His jaw set slightly, betraying a tension he did not try to hide. “I want to get this over with.”

  The maid wheeled in the cart. Jenny saw how Aunt Iris’s hand shook as she poured out, and the stunned paralysis that had overtaken her at the earl’s arrival released her in that moment.

  She went to her aunt’s side and gently took the teapot, pouring each cup and passing it as she took over the task of making conversation. She began by inquiring as to the earl’s journey.

  The earl observed her with alert eyes. “It was uneventful, which is what one wishes for in travel.”

  He seemed then to notice the tension, Iris’s stiff smile, Cassandra’s expression of awe, and perhaps a touch of the disapproval Jenny was trying very hard not to show.

  The corner of his mouth curled slightly. “You are kind to receive me, especially when the circumstances are so strange, Cousin.” His smile deepened, and it was kind, not mocking at all. “I trust you were not dismayed to receive a letter from me after all these years.”

  “It was something of a surprise. A pleasant one, I assure you.”

  His gaze swept the three of them again. “Somehow I doubt th
at.”

  “What Aunt Iris means to say,” Jenny interjected, feeling she had to defend her aunt, “is that the delay in the post was the fault of no one. What is important is that you are here, and I know Aunt Iris is very pleased to have it so. And all’s well that ends well, correct? Why, she was just telling us how fond she and her husband were of you when you were a boy.”

  He blinked, and she had the impression he was bringing her into sharper focus. Her heart kicked harder against her ribs. When he glanced back at Iris, Jenny felt released.

  “How kind of you. But I am not certain it is deserved. As I recall, I was not very agreeable when you visited.”

  Aunt Iris erupted with laughter. “Oh, you were naughty, yes, you were. But boys are so. It is what makes them delightful.”

  “Then you forgive me?” he asked. Jenny saw how his eyes danced. What was this? she wondered as she took a sip of her tea. He’d seemed so severe before, but it appeared he had some mischief in him.

  “A prank,” he explained, turning to the younger women, reading their questioning gazes. “I placed a few frogs in their room when they came to visit.”

  They laughed together. “What made you do such a thing?” Jenny asked.

  He raised his eyebrows and made a gesture that could have meant anything. “I was put out since I had to take my dinner in the nursery because the adults were having formal dining. It was that way when we had guests, and I grew rather lonely. So . . . I did my best to discourage them from staying too long.”

  “It gave me a start, but no real harm was done,” Iris said, chuckling. “And you were quite sorry afterward.”

  His bringing up the incident had helped ease the mood, and Iris was beginning to relax. Jenny wondered if he were skilled at charming people or if he’d gotten it right by chance.