Talk of the Ton

by Eloisa James

  “You were very nice about it, I recall. You begged my father not to reprimand me. Do you remember? That made quite an impression on me. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I suppose it was remembering this that made me think of you when I had need of a London connection.”

  “But of course you should come to us,” Cassandra said, leaning toward him. “After all, we are family.”

  Jenny knew her cousin so well that at times she could read her thoughts. Cassandra’s eyes were dark with excitement. She smiled too much, too intently.

  Yes, she thought, kissing cousins, if you have your way.

  “The relation is a distant one,” he reminded her. “Several times removed and all of that.”

  “But it is a fond one,” Cassandra rushed to assure him. “You heard Mama say so.”

  Jenny thought she must do something. Cassandra was being much too obvious. “Do you have any idea how long you will be staying in London, my lord?” she asked.

  She hadn’t meant to sound ungracious, as if she were anxious for him to leave. She could have bitten her tongue.

  “I am here for the marriage mart, Miss . . . Alt? Yes, Miss Alt. The same as you.”

  There was no maliciousness in his words, but the implication sent her back poker iron straight. She resented his calling her a husband-hunter.

  “I seriously doubt our objects are the same,” she said archly.

  He reacted to that, sensing a challenge.

  “As to my expectations,” he continued, “I shall be in Town as long as it takes to find a wife, a vague deadline I find unsatisfactory in the extreme.” He narrowed his eyes. “But do not fret; I am certain I can conduct my business swiftly, and be back to my dull life in the country so that you ladies can resume your usual pleasures. I shall be in your way no longer than I have to.”

  His tone held an edge and his gaze was steady.

  Jenny flushed.

  “I will make certain you see the best young ladies, Miles,” Aunt Iris put in, “just as you require.”

  “But you must stay as long as you like,” Cassandra rushed to add.

  “I am in your debt.” He flickered a glance at Jenny to see how she reacted to the welcome he was having thrust upon him, as if he expected her to object. There was an undercurrent of amusement in all of his polite words. The thought that he was mocking her rankled.

  “Too bad the entire business is not conducted as it is at Tattersall’s,” she said before she could stop herself. “It would make it so much simpler. One could simply look them all over and strike the deal in one afternoon.”

  She cursed her temper as soon as she’d spoken. Aunt Iris would be in a faint in a moment.

  But he only laughed. “If only finding a wife were as simple as locating a fine piece of horseflesh. But there are similarities. I have heard tell that the offerings at Almack’s are displayed not unlike what you describe. Some differences are significant, however. For example, one must dress in evening clothes when making the inspection of the candidates, which is less comfortable.”

  Cassandra gasped, confused by the jest.

  “Not to mention the disadvantage of not one getting a clear view of the candidate’s teeth,” she replied, taking a delicate sip of her tea. She astonished herself, but his clever rejoinder lit a strange excitement inside her. It was by far the most interesting conversation she could remember, and she could not still her tongue.

  “Jenny! What a strange thing to say. Do not mind my cousin, my lord,” Cassandra said lightly. “She has a rather odd view of polite society. People remark on it all the time. Why, she only began attending functions this year when I was old enough. She only comes to keep her eye on me.”

  She looked at Jenny with the same warm regard one might give a beloved spaniel.

  “How fortunate you are, then, to have Miss Alt,” he said, and his voice and gaze were warm, as if he really thought so.

  Jenny felt a rush of embarrassment. Perhaps she had gone too far, made a fool of herself with her rush of temper. “I do not like balls, that is all. There is always such a crush. And I am a terrible dancer, and I . . .”

  “Ah,” he said, and she knew he was laughing at her again.

  The conversation turned to Aunt Iris’s plans. He listened intently to the ideas she spouted for his introduction into the London bon ton.

  Jenny had to admire her aunt. She knew her way in society. Her suggestion to begin subtly, having Hatherleigh accompany them on various outings, such as walks in the park, shopping, going to church this Sunday, was an excellent idea, and the earl was impressed.

  He accepted her invitation to stay for dinner, and as the women adjourned upstairs to change, Cassandra strolled beside Jenny, a dreamy look on her face. “He isn’t at all what I expected,” she said softly.

  This disturbed Jenny. As she slipped into a lavender silk gown, she argued with herself, reasoning that there was no cause for alarm. If Cassandra decided that the earl suited her, and the feeling was mutual, why should it distress her?

  He was fine catch. No doubt the moment the word was circulated that he was seeking a wife, all the ton would be curious. Despite his past, he only needed a chance to make a fine impression to rectify it.

  That he assuredly would do. He would show himself to be intelligent, amusing, proud, with enough arrogance to make him interesting. These would not be weighed with as much importance as his fortune—for parents assessing his worth—and his startling good looks to ignite the fantasies of the young women who would, no doubt, vie to catch his eye.

  If Cassandra should be the one to do it, Jenny should be pleased. It was what she wanted for her, after all: a good match, a happy one.

  When she was dressed, she inspected her reflection in the mirror. She looked so ordinary.

  She liked looking ordinary. She did.

  But tonight it dissatisfied her. On impulse, she removed her spectacles. Touching her hand to her hair, she wondered if she might do something more flattering. Because they had a guest for dinner, she told herself. It was not often Aunt Iris entertained.

  No. She could not lie to herself. She didn’t want to be invisible tonight.

  What was wrong with her? Why could she not be happy for her cousin, for the gleam of delight in her eye or her frequent laughter?

  She knew why. She was being selfish. Why had she decided all of a sudden—and at this most inopportune time—that she had some strange, disturbing desire for a man to notice her? She had never felt this way before.

  Looking again at her image, she felt a weak, sinking sensation in her chest. Selfish . . . and foolish. She replaced her spectacles. What a silly thing, to entertain the slightest idea of interest in a man like the earl. He would never look at a girl like her.

  Her feelings were confirmed at dinner. Cassandra was dazzling. She had dressed in a pale peach gown that that made her complexion glow. But perhaps it was the earl’s presence that did this. She chattered prettily, laughed, cast her eyes down in such a bemusing way, Jenny was certain no man could resist.

  She found his eyes resting on her several times during the course of the meal. His expression was inscrutable. She imagined there was reproach there. Surely, he disapproved of her.

  He asked once if she were well, since she was suddenly so quiet. She murmured an excuse and spooned butter-scotch pudding into her mouth. It was her favorite dessert, but it might have been gruel for all she tasted it tonight.

  As they at last rose to adjourn to the parlor, Cassandra stepped up to Hatherleigh and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. Jenny felt a stab of pain. It was what she’d feared. Her cousin was enamored of the earl.

  What a stupid girl she was to allow it to bother her like this.

  “You must excuse me,” she said. “I think I will retire. I find myself suddenly very fatigued.”

  She could only have imagined that the earl seemed disappointed. He bowed and murmured a farewell, adding, “I hope I shall see you on the morrow.”

&nb
sp; “Tomorrow?”

  Cassandra smiled. “The earl shall accompany us tomorrow shopping, Mama just said. Did you not hear her, silly? You will see him then, Jenny.”

  He was only being polite. He surely was anxious to see Cassandra, not her. “I have other plans,” Jenny said quickly.

  She could barely stand civilly as the earl studied her, then inclined his head. “I look forward to the next time, then. Good night.”

  “Good night, Jenny, dear,” Cassandra called back happily as they parted ways in the hallway. Cassandra cocked her head to the side so as to best angle a coquettish look up to the earl. “She is sneaking away to read, I’ll wager. Oh, well, it is best she runs along to her books. She is such a sweet little mouse, but odd. She prefers solitude to polite company. I will never understand it.”

  Her laughter tinkled prettily in the air.

  The comment left Jenny stinging. Would the earl think her socially backward and odd, as everyone else seemed to? She cringed, thinking he definitely would.

  That made her unaccountably sad, a strange reaction, since she was getting what she always wanted: to fade into the background. Yet . . .

  Just this once, she would have liked to shine.

  Chapter Two

  The following day, while Cassandra and Iris were strolling the fashionable shops of London with the handsome Earl of Hatherleigh, Jenny sat by a low fire in the small library, reading. It was her favorite spot, and her favorite pastime. With the curtains drawn against the gloom and the soft spatter of a downpour that had begun a few moments ago, it was cozy. She should have been contented in the quiet house.

  She had been completely absorbed by Miss Jane Austin’s Northanger Abbey since she’d brought it home a few days ago, rushing through the pages to find out what happened next before she caught herself and forced a slower pace so that she could savor every luscious word. Yet today, her mind wandered, and she could not concentrate on the story.

  She was doing her best not to think about Cassandra’s giddiness before the earl arrived, about how lovely she looked in her blue dress with her hair caught in a shining cascade of ringlets, or how enchanted the earl must have been when he saw her. Would it dawn on him that he had to look no further than this daughter of a distant cousin if he wished to marry a fine lady of breeding?

  Cassandra would charm him, and Jenny told herself vehemently that she hoped she was successful. Was she not always dedicated to Cassandra getting what she wanted?

  She sighed, putting her mind to her book again to escape the wayward direction of her thoughts. Cassandra’s parting words of last night came back to her.

  A mouse, she’d called her. Jenny cringed. It was true that she often preferred her books to the company of others, something her relatives never understood. It was because she always felt she had to play a role with Aunt Iris; the helper, the dutiful ward, always pleasant and aware of her gratitude for a home. But in books, she was free to dream of other lives, other adventures. And romance was so pure, so obviously right (even if the heroine did not know it at first, the reader certainly did).

  Jenny would have never admitted it to anyone, but regardless of the liabilities of her age and the unflattering comparison to the beauty of her cousin—which she had encouraged, so she was partly to blame!—she hoped to eventually have a suitor or two. She desired marriage, after all. A life of her own, no longer the poor relation—and children. She very much wanted children.

  When she picked up the book again, her mind supplied an image of the kind, patient Henry. It was the earl’s face, his smile, and Susan, poor timid creature, took on the aspect of a girl with honey hair and spectacles to hide behind.

  She slammed the book shut. This was no good.

  “In here, my lord,” said Brent, opening the door.

  Jenny started. Lord Hatherleigh was entering the room. And he was as surprised to see her as she was him.

  “Miss Alt,” he said, smiling as if he were pleased to see her.

  Her heart fluttered at that smile. She saw that he appeared wet from the rain.

  “I was told there was a nice warm fire in here,” he said.

  “Oh,” she uttered, rising to her feet. “Come and sit. I’ll have another log put on.”

  “I can do it.” He walked to the fireplace and took a split log out of the pewter pail, placing it on the blaze and stoking it to life. He stayed there, hunched, staring into the fire for a moment.

  “Do you have a chill? Would you like a blanket?”

  “No. I will be fine.” He rose and went to an armchair. “The ladies are changing. You were wise not to go with us. The skies opened up and sent us fleeing home. Here we are, drenched and miserable, and there you are, tidy and peaceful in your chair by the fire.”

  He leaned forward and peeked at her book. “Miss Austen?”

  She covered the book. Some people disapproved of novels, especially ones written by women. She was sure he would make fun of her.

  Noticing the gesture, he leaned back and regarded her gravely. “Is it true you prefer the company of books to people?”

  “No!” she said, surprised at her own vehemence.

  “But I seem to have put you out again. No doubt you were enjoying your solitude. I seem to be intruding upon you all the time, Miss Alt.”

  He was flustering her. “Not at all. I was just leaving anyway.”

  She made to rise, but he held out a hand. It was not delicate, but it was slender, with long, tapered fingers. She did not know why the sight of that hand so near, almost touching her, twisted a faintly pleasant feeling in her stomach.

  “Are you running away again?”

  “Running away?” She choked on the words. They were far too accurate. “What an extraordinary thing to say. Of course I was not running away.” She cautioned herself to stop her heated denials; they sounded as thin as they were. “I was simply going to leave you to relax, here by the fire, to dry off. I am certain you do not wish to be disturbed. Then again, my aunt and Cassandra will be returning soon.”

  He rose and doffed his coat, spreading it out so that the heat from the fire would dry it. “But I do not wish to be left alone, to the fire, as you say. And your presence does not disturb me in the least.”

  Having no other choice, Jenny settled back in her chair, putting the book on the table beside her and adjusting her spectacles. “Very well. Well, then.” There was an awkward silence. “Did you have a pleasant day on the Town?”

  “Quite. We strolled Bond Street, took a turn in the park. I felt rather like a spectacle, I confess. Everyone was very curious. Your aunt had us parading around without the slightest notice of the attention she was garnering, or at least pretending not to. She did an excellent job of it, I must say.” He chuckled. “I do believe she came to enjoy herself after a while.”

  Jenny imagined her aunt had warmed to her task if she had felt the curiosity pointed at them was more envious than gossip-minded. That was a good indication.

  “Too bad the rain put you out,” she observed.

  “Ah, but this is England, and we are used to it, are we not?”

  “Yes. The weather is unpredictable.” She wanted to groan at such an inane comment. The weather! Her hands were restless. She grasped them together to keep them still.

  He had the most intent way of looking at her, as if he were trying to see what lay below the surface. Jenny told herself that this was just her fancy. What could he find to fascinate him about her ordinary appearance? Still, the sensation persisted.

  “In the country, it comes swiftly when I am out on the moors or deep in the woods, waylaying me in mud and soggy clothing.” He spread his hands out. “So this is nothing new.”

  “You are very fond of your country home,” she observed.

  “It is the life for me. It is a much slower pace, with a good deal of solitude and neighbors far enough away to make the occasional get-together an event to anticipate, but not a nuisance with too much frequency. No one to judge you, you see. The
re is a greater degree of freedom.”

  “Ah,” she observed, “you are a solitary person.”

  He paused, his eyes glowing that strange shade of green. “At times. I do have friends, however, and I enjoy them very much.”

  “The demimonde,” Jenny said, then regretted her indiscretion.

  He only smiled wryly. “Are you a snob, Miss Alt?”

  “No, of course not, I simply meant that . . .” Oh dear.

  “I admit I have enjoyed the company of some who might be considered . . . unconventional. But they are very diverting. Interesting, even fascinating.”

  Jenny realized this was probably true. One of the chief reasons she was considered such an outsider to the most elite circles was because she found them boring.

  “But no one fit to marry,” he clarified.

  “That is why you are here, after all. To bring a companion home.”

  “A companion?” His face darkened, the lightness in his eyes extinguished in a blink. “I am here to find a wife. Appalling, isn’t it, what a man is reduced to?” His face turned a bit sour, and he lapsed into silence, his fingers going to a small rip in the leather arm of his chair. “You hit the mark, Miss Alt, comparing my present duty to purchasing a horse at Tattersall’s.”

  Once before, he had offered a glimpse of his reticence. She longed to ask him about it but did not dare.

  She remembered what Aunt Iris had said about his wife. A disastrous marriage. What had made it so? Did he love her very much? Is that why this was so difficult, because he missed her?

  The thought tugged at her sympathy. “You do not have to be humiliated,” she rushed. “I mean, men of your class of course seek to make a marriage in the ton.”

  He gave her a strange look. “Yes. There is a reason for that. A woman of the right breeding knows more what to expect. I am hoping it is safer.” He sighed. “Such morose conversation. I am to blame. Or perhaps it is the weather. It has gotten the worst of me, perhaps. Rain in the country is refreshing. One knows the fields and gardens are being nourished. Here it only makes for muddy streets and slick cobbles and puddles to soak one’s shoes.”