by Claudia Dain
“I should think so,” Miss Prestwick replied sharply. “You know so very many men, don’t you?”
Cranleigh coughed behind his hand. It was very likely he was hiding a smile.
“Only the ones worth knowing,” Sophia answered calmly. “Why Edenham is the perfect example. We have known each other for years now. Quite a history we share, and such a cordial one, too.”
Edenham knew very well how that sounded, but what did it matter? He knew the truth and that was more than enough to satisfy him.
“Except for a few odd exceptions,” Edenham said, “I should think all your relationships are cordial ones.”
“With men, certainly,” Miss Prestwick said primly. Her brother moved his hand near her skirts; it was entirely possible that he pinched her. Miss Prestwick certainly gave every appearance of having been pinched.
“I, for one, find Lady Dalby completely cordial and most charming,” Lord Iveston said softly, staring at Sophia, “and I have just recently met her. Yet even in so recent a history, I am nothing but delighted.”
Miss Prestwick said nothing. Really, what was there for her to say at this point? She had made a muddle of it and now must be made to sit quietly until the conversation took a turn onto less fraught ground.
“It seems to me that a man who gets out as rarely as you do, Lord Iveston, might not be as discerning as others might be,” Miss Prestwick said. Miss Penelope Prestwick, somewhat shockingly, might be the sort of woman who could not be made to sit quietly.
“It does not take an exceedingly great amount of exposure to bad manners and an uncharitable spirit to recognize it upon sight,” Iveston responded a bit stiffly.
“Nor a great amount of exposure to recognize charity and generosity, either,” Sophia said, “which are not in great supply no matter what the politicians might wish us to believe. Therefore, Lord Cranleigh, I again must thank you for giving me this vase. Do you have a preference as to where I should display it?”
“It looks very well in this room, I should say,” Cranleigh said with a half smile. “Perhaps in place of the celadon?”
Sophia smiled and said, “And what would Lord Henry say to that slight? No, the celadon must stay. They look well together, do you not agree, Lord Iveston?”
Edenham admitted, if only to himself, to being slightly shocked. Henry Blakesley had given Sophia the celadon vase? For what? The only thing that he could think of was that Lord Henry was recently married. It could only be concluded that he credited Sophia for arranging for the wife he’d desired. And now Cranleigh, Henry’s brother, was also giving Sophia a piece of rare porcelain … also in thanks for his newly acquired wife?
The puzzle piece of Miss Prestwick suddenly fit into place. She wanted a husband and she had come to Sophia for aid in acquiring one. A difficult piece to prove, but then, most things of interest could not be proved, they could only be observed, dimly at that.
Edenham opened his eyes wide and determined to give it his best effort.
PENELOPE was giving it her very best effort, but the Duke of Edenham, who was even more handsome when observed in such an intimate setting, did not appear to find her captivating in the least. Of course, she was so annoyed at the Marquis of Iveston and the Earl of Cranleigh for intruding upon what she had hoped would be a small and cozy gathering of merely four persons, herself included, that she found it difficult to summon the will to be captivating.
She wasn’t sure who to blame more, Iveston or Cranleigh. Of course, Cranleigh had the gift, and therefore the best excuse for ruining her plans to beard Edenham in Sophia’s den, but Iveston seemed to take such joy in being loathsomely arrogant and dismissive that she was inclined to blame him entirely.
In fact, she would. He might not have known that she was coming to Dalby House to meet, in the most casual interpretation of that word, the Duke of Edenham, but he was certainly enjoying throwing his hammer into the works now. The look on his face declared all. She might have initially thought him mildly attractive in a very blond way, but as he now alternated between ignoring her completely and casting condescending glances her way, she thought him the most unattractive of men. It was going to be so difficult to make good use of him to make Edenham jealous, which had been Sophia’s plan all along, as was perfectly obvious to her. Though what had gone amiss with her negotiations with Sophia of just an hour or so ago was completely beyond her.
They had made an agreement, a most cordial one, and now Sophia was treating her quite miserably. She had been forced by the most basic rules of survival and self-preservation to protect herself. And she had, though she did wonder, particularly after George had pinched her on the thigh, if protecting herself had been in quite good form.
She rather suspected not, which was decidedly unfair.
“Lady Dalby,” Iveston said softly in response to Sophia’s question—his voice seemed to have a particularly soft quality no matter what he said, which seemed perfectly ridiculous to her—“I think two such stellar examples of art must always look well together. Neither one eclipses the other.”
“How perfectly true, and quite diplomatic,” Sophia said with a nod.
Diplomatic? Weak at the knees, more likely. He looked the sort of man to blow over in a stiff wind, if he could be lured outdoors, that is.
It was going to be so difficult to pretend an interest in him. Would Edenham even believe it? How could a man who looked like Edenham, who behaved like Edenham, who had lived like Edenham ever believe that he was to run second in any race, particularly against a man like Iveston?
Oh, Iveston was not a bad-looking sort, not at all, if one liked the type.
At the moment, she could not think of anyone who could possibly like his type.
Iveston was so very blond, his eyes so brilliantly blue, his form so attenuated, his manner so chilly, and his clear determination to speak as little as possible … why, it put one in mind of a particularly odd boy who had somehow stumbled in upon the adults. Certainly Edenham put no one in mind of a boy, odd or not.
“It is quite lovely,” Penelope said. “I don’t pretend to know the reason for the gift, Lord Cranleigh, but you certainly have the knack for choosing beauty.”
Iveston’s gaze swung toward her briefly. She kept a pleasant look upon her face and ignored him.
“I must agree with you, Miss Prestwick,” Cranleigh said.
“Indeed, for who would argue that you have the most lovely of wives, Lord Cranleigh,” Sophia said. “I do wonder that you are not already on your wedding trip.”
“My wife is packing, Lady Dalby, or so she claims. I have never found it to take more than an hour to have packed all I shall need for a twelve month,” Cranleigh said with a brief smile. For all that he was a formidable man, quite unlike his tepid brother, he did appear quite taken with his wife. How admirable, though not entirely ordinary. She certainly didn’t expect any such thing.
“You shall soon learn differently, if you haven’t yet,” Edenham said. “A woman likes to squirrel away a myriad of things she can’t possibly need. It gives her an odd sort of pleasure. You are quite wise to indulge her.”
“Is it an indulgence to pack for a trip?” Sophia remarked languidly. “A most peculiar perspective. Of course, I do suppose she could buy whatever she needs when she arrives. Where are you bound, Lord Cranleigh?”
As annoyed as she was with Sophia at the moment, Penelope did find she agreed with her completely. Who ever heard of packing being an indulgence? Edenham, for all his glorious looks, might be a bit trying on occasion. She might well need to begin packing for their wedding trip now, to save him the annoyance of her doing it under his own roof. Yes, that seemed a stellar plan; she’d begin as soon as she returned home.
“I am not completely certain, Lady Dalby,” Cranleigh said, looking slightly less forbidding than usual. In fact, he looked very nearly embarrassed. “As you may or may not be aware, I have spent time abroad ship in the China Trade.”
“Lord Cranleigh, I am aware
of it,” Sophia answered. “Indeed, you have quite the look of a seaman about you, which is nearly fatally dashing, as I’m sure you must know.”
Cranleigh, remarkably, looked almost flushed. Why, was he blushing?
“Amelia has said something very much like,” Cranleigh said in a hoarse undertone.
“Have you met our uncle Timothy?” Iveston asked Sophia. “He runs his four ships out of New York. We see him rarely, for obvious reasons, first and foremost being that he is so often upon the sea.”
“How gracious you are, Lord Iveston, for surely you could have argued that the most obvious reason was that he was an American colonial in revolt against his king,” Sophia said pleasantly. “It is so refreshing to see the bonds of family hold, even against the backdrop of war. But, to answer your question, I met Mr. Timothy Elliot only once, in New York, as it happens, and his lovely wife, Sally, was kindness itself. Is she well, do you know? I imagine the duchess must miss her profoundly.”
Of course, Penelope was eating it all up with a spoon. Their Upper Brook Street house was on let from the Elliots, who had it from the Hydes, which was hardly a coincidence. If one were going to lease a house, certainly it was wise to do so with a house that belonged to a duke. Sally Elliot and Molly Hyde were sisters, that much she had just learned. She knew the families were somehow related, but until now, had not puzzled out how.
“If she does, she does not speak of it,” Cranleigh said. He did have the habit of speaking for Iveston, which was clearly something of a necessity. Iveston might be a bit slow in the head; it would certainly explain why he was so rarely out in Society and why he rarely spoke when he was. “There is an Elliot ship due any day now, and quite unexpectedly, Amelia has declared that she is for a sea voyage. I can but oblige her.”
Sophia smiled at Cranleigh in considerable warmth and said, “Unexpectedly? You are too modest, Lord Cranleigh. I do applaud you, however. Any man who obliges his wife only rises in my estimation.”
“I should think so,” Edenham said with a good-natured smirk. “What sort of woman would you be to not react so? But it is not always in a woman’s best interest to be obliged. I have been instructed that following such a course, over too long a stretch of ground, leads to coddling, which is never to be desired.”
Oh, Lord, but he was going to be a torment to her good nature.
Sophia laughed in Edenham’s face. Penelope was secretly and enormously delighted. Oh, to be married and widowed so that she could then do whatever she wanted!
“Instructed? By whom, I should like to know?” Sophia demanded.
“By my mother,” Edenham said solemnly, though his brown eyes were twinkling suspiciously.
“Oh, very well then. I’m certain your mother had her own good reasons for instructing her son so,” Sophia said brightly. “And has the Duchess of Hyde instructed her sons in like manner?” she asked Cranleigh and Iveston.
Penelope, as was perfectly logical, expected Cranleigh to answer. They had the same mother, and Iveston was the elder and the heir apparent, but Cranleigh was the bolder of the two. Quite obviously. She wasn’t supposed to know about such things, but it was nearly common knowledge that Cranleigh had breached decorum, and by that she meant Amelia, in the mews behind Aldreth House. They had been married the next day, but that didn’t take the taint off, did it?
To lose one’s virtue in a horse stall … that took the shine off what everyone was whispering was a love match.
Penelope indulged in some minor head shaking. This is what happened to girls who lost their heads, something she was entirely certain she was incapable of doing. It was why she was going to be a duchess. She was simply too clear about her goals and too logical to be sidestepped.
A horse stall, indeed. The smell alone would have stopped her from making such a foolish decision within the first minute.
“The duchess,” Iveston said firmly, which was shock enough, “has instructed her sons that it is a woman’s duty to oblige a man upon the hour, if he so desires it, and so she instructs the duke upon the half hour where and when his desire is to be fixed. The duke, obliging her in increments, which she may well endure, finds no fault with the arrangement.”
Well. How perfectly odious. The man gave every appearance of being barely able to speak and then when he let loose with a proper bit of conversation it proved to be highly improper.
She glanced in disapproval in his direction.
He glanced back in bald-faced delight.
She scowled.
He smirked.
Sighing, she turned her gaze to Sophia, who was smiling somewhat deviously at her. It did nothing to appease her, which of course it wasn’t meant to.
“But naturally,” Sophia said. “Who would? Now what of your father, Mr. Prestwick? Any pearls of wisdom dropped into your willing ear regarding the management of a woman? Should she be obliged? Or should she be boldly managed?”
“Lady Dalby, does any man possess a willing ear when listening to his father?” George said, which was rather clever of him. Penelope cast a casual glance to Edenham to see if he were offended. He didn’t look to be.
“Now Mr. Prestwick,” Sophia said, leaning forward and propping her chin up with her hand, “don’t try and tell me that when a man speaks of women, another man is not instantly intrigued, even if that man be his father. Certainly he must have told you something.”
“He did, Lady Dalby,” George said, smiling, his dark eyes shining in mirth. George was often mirthful. It was usually quite nice, but sometimes could be a bit tedious. Penelope was dreadfully afraid that now was going to be one of the tedious times. “Just before I left for school, he called me into his study and told me that, no matter what occurred, no matter the inconvenience to me or the relative amiability of the party or even the inevitable costs, I must be an obliging fellow. And so I was then. And so I am to this day. As I trust is plainly evident.”
“But, Mr. Prestwick,” Sophia said, very nearly laughing out loud, which only encouraged George, and he really should not be encouraged in such things, “you mention nothing of women.”
“And neither, Lady Dalby,” George replied with great cheek, “did my father. It was a full year before I realized that, but once I did, being a student of great diligence, I endeavored to make my own study of the matter. Being amiable, I am not in the habit of boasting; however, I am nearly forced to confess that my knowledge of women is as dismally inadequate now as it was then. I fear I am in want of tutoring. Are you taking applications?”
To which Sophia laughed outright, and right merrily, too. It was hardly to the point, the point being to get Edenham to fall in love with her, but it was also in horrid taste. Perfectly obviously so.
“Mr. Prestwick,” Sophia said, still grinning, “I can teach you nothing. But your father has done marvelously well by you. You are, indeed, entirely obliging. I am certain some woman some day will cherish you for it.”
“As it is not to be today, I find I have little interest,” George said, “and indeed, no impatience.”
“An entire year, Mr. Prestwick?” Edenham said. “At what age were you sent down to school?”
“I was a mere boy of thirteen years, your grace,” George said, “and from what I can remember, barely able to manage spoon to mouth.”
“You must forgive my brother, your grace,” Penelope said. “I fear he makes himself sound quite backward, but he, spoon or otherwise, has always been amiable. Perhaps to a fault.”
The lighthearted quality, indeed the smirks enjoyed by all present, excluding her, died upon the utterance of her words. Unfortunately, this sort of thing happened to her quite often. She could not think why. She was only trying to be precise and logical. Of course, it was this trait of hers that had sent the Duke of Calbourne nearly running from her, which was why he was not remotely a possible candidate, not that Sophia had to be informed of the peculiar details.
She had reviewed their single encounter and it had been peculiar, though she could thi
nk of no way to either unmake his initial bad impression of her or understand why she had made a bad impression. Calbourne clearly disliked logical, educated females, and had said so to her face, at her own ball. If he were not a duke, his behavior would have been nearly inexcusable. As he was a duke, his behavior became a trifle eccentric, but nothing more.
Being a duchess was going to be such a nice change. She could say whatever she wanted and no one would be able to find fault with it. At least not to her face, and that was all that mattered in any regard.
“If we are to list our faults, certainly amiability is the one to possess,” Sophia said.
“If we are to list our faults,” Iveston said, “perhaps we should list the faults we see in others.”
He’d said that to her, she could just feel it.
“If we are to list our faults,” Edenham said, “then I am certain to think of a pressing appointment for which I am a quarter hour late already.”
Penelope looked at Edenham and felt her heart sink. She hadn’t made the slightest impression upon him yet! He couldn’t leave.
“If we are to list our faults,” George said, “then I think they should be listed alphabetically, which would put my fault of amiability at the top of the list, and hence out of play. I shall watch, amiably, free of all anxiety.”
“If we are to list our faults,” Sophia said with a smile, “then mine is surely in being accommodating, which puts me quite at the top of the list, Mr. Prestwick. Being amiable, you would not, I am convinced, seek to supplant me.”
George bowed his head at Sophia and smiled in acquiescence.
Acquiescence … was there not some way she could turn acquiescence into a fault and enter this odd game near the top? She was abysmal at games and hated these turn of phrase ones. Oh! Abysmal. Perhaps she could claim that as her fault.
“Your turn, Cranleigh,” Iveston said softly. It was obvious that Lord Cranleigh hated games of this sort as well, which was simply lovely of him.
“If we are to list our faults,” Cranleigh said, looking askance at his brother, “then mine must be an aversion to being instructed when to speak and what to do.”