by Eloisa James
Jenny nodded, thinking this must please the earl. He was here for a purpose, after all—a chillingly focused and impersonal matter of marriage. A marriage he didn’t want. Jenny felt sorry for the woman who was bartered to this man. For all of his strange allure, he would be cold to a wife he never wanted.
Cassandra had taken the seat across from her mother and spread out so that Jenny had no choice but to sit next to Aunt Iris. However, when Miles entered the coach, Cassandra slid over and smiled invitingly.
He sat, easing back with a relieved sigh. Catching sight of the three pairs of expectant eyes, he jerked a corner of his mouth up. “It was better than I expected. I think it went rather well.”
Iris nearly bounced in her seat. “Oh, indeed, I said the exact same, Miles. Didn’t I say the same, children?”
“Oh, Mother, please hush!” Cassandra said waspishly, then freshened her smile before turning toward Miles. “What did you think of our reverend, my lord? Isn’t he enough to have a saint yawning himself silly?”
“Now, Cassandra,” Iris admonished, “as the reverend himself says, he is about the business of salvation, not diversion.”
“He only says that because he is a frightful bore, Mother! Besides, I was inquiring after what Miles thought.”
He answered, talking more to himself than Cassandra. “I was pleased by today’s events. I saw some excellent candidates, expensively dressed. Their carriages were fine, their servants wore expensive livery. Good indications of wealth, for you see, I am determined to have a rich wife to compensate me for this odious business of marriage.”
Jenny stared hard out of the window, patently ignoring the sickening pitch of her stomach.
Cassandra cleared her throat. “You should be able to find someone to your liking, someone to meet all of your requirements. There is much more to a wife than a dowry.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Jenny muttered in disgust.
Miles chuckled, seeming pleased as if it had been his intention all along to rile her.
Cassandra laughed, too, as if it were all just a joke, and began to malign with gossip many of the girls who had been present at services. For once, Jenny was glad for her cousin’s wagging tongue, for it saved her having to participate in the conversation.
They came to a halt in front of the Mayfair residence of Lord and Lady Pierpont. Miles kicked down the step and alighted, reaching up to hand down the ladies. Iris positioned herself at the door. Cassandra slid into the seat beside Jenny.
She pressed her face close, her eyes wide, her lips curled and trembling, and spoke in a harsh whisper. “You are only making a laughingstock of yourself throwing yourself at Miles like this.”
The vehemence of her words left Jenny breathless. Cassandra pulled herself upright, smoothed the lines of her dress and straightened her bonnet, then turned and reached out of the carriage to take Miles’s hand.
Jenny was shaken, feeling betrayed. She had done nothing but put her cousin’s happiness ahead of her own since she’d come to live with them. With the earl, she had not done a single thing to “throw” herself at Miles, quite the opposite. It was he who seemed determined to pursue her.
A part of her rejoiced, but she knew this was not wise. If Miles’s interest was real, she could not repay the kindness of her family by taking the man her cousin most wanted.
Once inside the Pierpont home, she separated herself from the rest after seeing that her best friend, Amy Collins, was also present. She flew to her side, glad to be away from the confusing maelstrom around Miles and Cassandra.
Amy was a pretty, petite redhead with expressive eyes and a wide, infectious smile. “I demand an explanation,” she cried, trying to pretend she was angry. “You arrive at church with a dashing man whose appearance sets the entire congregation buzzing so loudly I couldn’t hear the sermon—which is a blessing, it is true. Now, give over. Who is he?”
It was difficult to keep her tone cool as she explained about Miles. She didn’t tell Amy, however, about their meeting in the library, or the strange interlude in the carriage just that morning. It was difficult to know why she held that information back.
“He is the awful earl who commanded your family to take him in?”
“It was not exactly like that, Amy,” Jenny replied. “He is not the arrogant beast Cassandra made him out to be.”
“Indeed. I thought she hated him,” Amy said, pointing to the settee where the beauty sat next to Miles in a circle headed by Lady Pierpont. “She has certainly warmed to him, I can see. And who can blame her?”
They watched with amusement as their hostess poured out expertly as she conducted a subtle interrogation of the earl, all the while seeming to be making only polite conversation. The others hung on every word, while Miles answered in an offhand manner to indicate he didn’t have any objection to the examination.
She felt a pang of sympathy for him, and admiration. If he had no taste for the duty he was bound to perform, he did not show it.
“You always see the best in people, but your cousin can be quite determined.” Amy had the look of someone who would like to say more. Jenny was glad she didn’t. She would not tolerate hearing bad about her family. “She will snare him, make no mistake. Look at the way she is leaning forward. Her bosoms are going to fall into his lap!”
Jenny forced herself to laugh. “Her charms are difficult to ignore. She will marry, whether the earl or another, and then I will be . . .”
She stopped. She’d been about to say “free.”
“Then you will marry as well. I do not know why you think you will not.”
“Yes, I would like to. If I find the right gentleman.” Jenny sighed. “But I am already twenty-two, Amy. Not so young when it comes to making a match.”
“Oh, the devil you say! There are plenty of men who like you. Even my brother said his friends often ask about you.”
“Amy, you are a dear, but need I remind you I am hardly in demand. Other than last month when Dr. Phillips came when I had a touch of the ague, I haven’t had a gentleman caller yet.” She had meant it to be a joke, but Amy refused to smile.
“There is Darlington . . .”
“Oh, please.”
“He likes you.”
“He is full of himself and has this romantic notion that he can save me from the terrible rumors circulating about me.”
“What nonsense. Oh, Jenny, I don’t understand it.” Amy stared wistfully into the distance. “There has to be someone for us. Someone who will like the way I smile, for instance, or notice that you have the most beautiful eyes. Someone wonderful for each of us—and smart and sweet and funny and who can make us laugh.”
Jenny averted her gaze. Miles had noticed her eyes. He’d said they were lovely.
She couldn’t have said why, but she didn’t tell Amy this either.
“Why do you look so funny?” Amy asked.
Jenny made an excuse and changed the subject, determined to enjoy her afternoon with her friend. But she was aware every moment of Hatherleigh’s presence behind her. She even fancied she felt his gaze, as if it were a physical touch tripping lightly along her spine. She scoffed off the notion, quite put out with herself for such flight of fancy. Really, she could usually be depended upon to be sensible and solid at all times.
But she wasn’t feeling herself at all of late.
Chapter Five
Miles tried for the fifth time to tie his cravat, still doing a bad job of it. He looked at his fob watch, checking his growing irritation.
He was to fetch the women in three-quarters of an hour to escort them to a ball. He had been pleased Iris had wan gled an invitation so quickly to a major event of the ton. It was an excellent opportunity to look over the young girls of marriageable age.
Rather like the horse auction at Tattersall’s, Jenny had said. An image of Jenny, her cheeks flushed, her eyes snapping, made him smile. The impertinent chit!
The exasperating woman deserved to be throttled. He might
have indulged the impulse, except he had an irritating suspicion that if he got her in his arms, it would be quite a different thing that would end up happening.
He wanted to kiss her. He almost had, and his imagination played the scene out in his mind, taunting him with irascible curiosity of what her mouth would feel like, how she would react.
It was a rather remarkable reaction to an insignificant ingenue without a ha’penny to her name. And a tart tongue to boot. He’d never been partial to snappish women, preferring the tractable, worldly types who knew just what he was about and accepted his terms. After his lustful folly with Marianne had brought about such dire consequences, he’d kept his liaisons simple and direct.
Miss Alt might amuse, but he would do best to keep far away from her tonight. He didn’t really trust himself, although he wasn’t sure why. The idea of a dalliance had, of course, occurred to him, but it was entirely out of the question. One simply couldn’t go about despoiling innocent creatures like Miss Alt and still be welcomed in the homes of decent folk.
An affair with a young lady of the ton would brand him a rogue and dash all hopes of fulfilling his destiny as Earl of Hatherleigh. That was that.
But, yes, he was tempted, never so much than when he saw her that evening, dressed in pale silk, her color high with excitement. She seemed to infuse the room, the carriage, with her presence, setting his teeth on edge. He didn’t know what it was about her that made his skin feel too tight for his body.
He focused his attentions on Cassandra. “You are breathtaking,” he said to her, taking her hand. “That shade of your gown is the perfect complement to your eyes.”
She beamed, exalted at the compliment. He liked that she was so responsive to his attention. What man would not be flattered? She was a beauty. He was toying with the idea of offering for her. He knew she wanted him to, and Cassandra was lively, very attractive, and brought up in a respectable home. But something kept him from returning her interest.
“Miles, aren’t you the cut,” Iris said. She was resplendent in purple, glittering jets dangling from her large bosom and sprayed across her skirts. Her hair sported a large peacock feather.
“How privileged I am to be escorting such attractive women,” he said. He turned to Jenny, standing with her hands folded. He did not take particular note of women’s fashions, but this dress was the epitome of Jenny. The color was soft, and the feminine touches were just right.
She still wore her spectacles, he saw. Like a barrier between her and the world. Until she took them off, he would know she wished to remain hiding.
So be it, he thought with irritation. “If you ladies are ready, we should be under way.”
It suited him to give Miss Alt little of his attention. He left her to the coachman and spoke only in the general conversation, never to her directly. It was better this way, he told himself.
He had business to attend to, so he could return home, wife in tow, and escape this brewing discontentment that plagued him since he had set foot in this damnable city.
When they arrived at the posh residence in Belgrave Square, they had to wait in the receiving line. Cassandra demanded all of his attention, pulling him along so as to introduce him to her friends, a tight knot of smug-looking youngsters who clamored together in an exclusionary circle and immediately fell to whispering among themselves.
He glanced back at Jenny and saw her stroll through the room, pausing to exchange pleasantries with those she knew. A few moments later, she left the ballroom.
Cassandra was giggling with her friends. Gentlemen approached, scribbled on her card and bowed, going away to await their turn.
“I best take my dance before you have none left,” he said, and he wrote his name on one of the few remaining spots. Handing it back to her, he said, “It seems you will have a busy evening.”
Her friends giggled and nudged her with their elbows. One of them said, “She always has a full dance card.”
“I am not surprised,” he replied.
Cassandra preened.
“Tell me, Miss Benedict, does Miss Alt enjoy dancing?” he inquired. “I saw her leave the ballroom a moment ago.”
Cassandra’s smile froze in place. Her friends looked scandalized.
“Oh, Jenny hates these affairs. She does not dance.”
The giggles started again, as if this was a spectacular joke.
“I do not understand,” he said.
“Miss Alt does not like things normal girls do,” one of the friends said. The other hissed, “Hush!”
“What Elizabeth means,” Cassandra supplied, “is that Jenny does not care to dance.”
“She is a bluestocking!” the forward girl said, and this time was jostled quite sharply by her companion. “She doesn’t like men.”
“Elizabeth,” Cassandra purred patiently, as if she was scolding her, but Miles could see she was amused, even pleased, “you mustn’t repeat those dreadful rumors about Jenny.”
“Well, she is. She never likes any man who shows an interest in her. If one tries to speak to her, he gets the most severe cut. Cassandra, everyone knows it. The only reason anyone is kind to her is because she is your cousin.”
Cassandra seemed to grow cross, but there was no true threat to her scowl. “Just because she . . . well, she is just different, that is all. That is no reason to gossip.” Turning to Miles, she explained, “Jenny is just not interested in finding a husband, you see. I already mentioned that she has other interests. She likes staying to herself. She is sweet, though, and I love her just the way she is.”
Elizabeth murmured an apology, but she did not appear sorry at all. It was all a great game to these types.
Miles wondered why he felt as if he’d just witnessed a clever play. “Enjoy your evening. I will see you at the quadrille, Miss Benedict.”
Moving away, he could not stop thinking about what he had heard. How was it that such talk got started?
Jenny was retiring to a fault, but every instinct in him told him that behind her facade was a warm-blooded, fascinating woman filled with love and affection. Could no other man see what was so obvious to him?
Spying Jenny just then, he watched her as she sat with a friend, oblivious to him. She was relaxed, laughing freely and talking rapidly.
He smiled, watching her. There was something inside him that reacted to the sight of her. It was strong, compelling.
He should find Iris, for it was she who would arrange the introductions he sought. It was, after all, the principal reason why he was here. Or it had been when he’d started this whole affair.
When he began to move, however, it was not to seek out his cousin.
Jenny was seated with Amy, sipping punch, when she saw Miles approaching.
“Oh, my . . .” Amy said in a low voice, raising her cup to her lips to hide her smile.
Miles executed a crisp bow. “Miss Alt, are you having a fine time?”
“Indeed, Lord Hatherleigh, I am passing the evening most pleasurably with my friend.”
Miles greeted Amy, who appeared as if she were about to swoon.
Turning back to Jenny, he said. “I would like to request the honor of a dance. Might I write my name upon your card?”
She smiled. “But, my lord, I do not have a card. I—”
He produced a blank dance card and held it up for her to see. “How lucky, then, that I have one here.” He flipped it over and examined it. “You appear to be available. Would you care to dance now? They are just starting up a promenade I know particularly well.”
Her protest was cut off by Amy’s exclamation. “Oh, Jenny, do!”
People were watching, making it impossible to refuse without seeming gauche. Jenny knew when she’d been beaten. Rising, she replied, “I would enjoy a promenade, my lord.”
He smiled, barely suppressing a look of triumph, and crooked an arm. “Strange. I was told you did not enjoy dancing. Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“
I am constrained by my honor from repeating them. But I am anxious to prove all the naysayers wrong.”
They took their position. “Should you not be spending your time looking over the young ladies?” she asked him. “You are in Town on a matter of marriage.”
“Yes, but as you know, it is not a task that holds much enjoyment for me, so I thought that I would have a little fun before the work of the evening began.”
“Fun?” She was surprised.
“With you, Miss Alt. Dancing with you is the most diverting way I can think of to pass the time.”
She fell silent, thinking about this. Did he truly like her company so much?
The dance began, and she moved her feet while her mind wrestled with this incredible fact. He did seem to always be seeking her out, and as he was neither a fool nor a cad, she could only consider that he was telling the truth.
“You dance quite well,” he commented, coming to take her hand. They proceeded down the floor with the other couples. “By the fact that you do not care for the activity, I thought you would be plodding about.”
“Really!” she admonished, unable to keep herself from a chuckle. “Do you think me clumsy, then? I do not know why you would entertain such a thought.”
“Neither would I. I have yet to find an area where you do not distinguish yourself, Miss Alt.”
She blushed. His compliment seemed sincere.
Why was he not with Cassandra? She had imagined he would be dancing in attendance to her all night, ensuring that no other man would take the advantage with her affections.
But he didn’t seem at all mindful of her cousin, and she so liked dancing with him. People were staring, both at the novelty of the new face, for it was the earl’s first appearance at a major assembly, and they might also be shocked to see her on the dance floor. She liked them noticing her. Perhaps even envying her. Instead of the pitying looks she was used to seeing, she saw interest, and smiles that were sly and encouraging.