by Claudia Dain
But, as the rooms looked quite well on Antoinette, Sophia supposed it wasn’t such a bad state of affairs.
“Lady Dalby,” Lady Lanreath said, greeting her, “it is a pleasure to see you again. Our paths seem never to cross with any regularity at all, which is most distressing.”
“Lady Lanreath,” Sophia said, her hand on George’s arm, “what an entirely cordial remark. It is so like you. I don’t believe you’ve met my nephew, Mr. George Grey.”
George, with a very wicked grin, dipped his head in a very appreciative manner. He did not bow, though he knew he should, which was very like him.
“Lady Lanreath,” he murmured.
Poor Antoinette looked very much like she was about to melt, which Sophia suspected she would enjoy fully. Her Lord Lanreath had been very old and Antoinette did not seek out her own amusements as often as she could have done. A very foolish choice for a woman with no husband, no children, and no debts to pay. Quite inexplicable, really.
“Lady Dalby. Mr. Grey,” Lady Paignton said in a throaty murmur, eyeing George with blatant appreciation. “I am delighted.”
“But of course,” Sophia said. When Bernadette’s gaze swung to hers, she added, “It is always good to see you Lady Paignton.”
The sisters, widows both, and the two eldest of the Earl of Helston’s four daughters, looked nothing alike, yet looked like sisters for all that. All four girls, by every rumor, as Sophia had not yet met the youngest girl, shared the same coloring and were quite stunning beauties because of it. They would have been beautiful women in any regard, but as each had dark hair and green eyes, they were truly remarkable. Antoinette was a refined beauty with features leaning toward the classical, while Bernadette, which surely suited her nature, was a lush siren of blatant and carnal beauty.
George, as well he should be, was clearly delighted.
“Lady Paignton,” George said, his dark eyes gleaming in that very specific way men had of gleaming at a woman. “A pleasure.” He clearly meant it.
“Mr. Grey,” Lady Paignton answered, “you are new to London and its various and myriad pleasures?”
“Not that new,” Sophia interjected. “Come, George. I simply must introduce you to …”
“To?” Bernadette prompted.
“Everyone,” Sophia said. “George does love to get out and about. He simply wants to meet everyone and know everything.”
“And experience everything?” Bernadette said, giving George the most obvious look.
George appeared to enjoy it immensely. He appeared to have completely forgotten the reason he was escorting Sophia this evening.
Things were helped considerably by the arrival of Lord Penrith. Penrith had such a habit of doing a good turn that he was becoming quite invaluable to her, darling man. The greetings were made, the bows and curtseys exchanged in a graceful display of breeding and etiquette, and then Lady Lanreath said, “I am so glad you have come, Lord Penrith. We were expecting you and did begin to wonder if you were detained somehow.”
As Bernadette, Lady Paignton, had just spent the Prestwick ball trying to seduce Penrith, who looked quite willing to be seduced, and since Antoinette had not been at the Prestwick ball, it was perfectly plain who had wanted Penrith to attend tonight.
They all, George included, gazed at Bernadette.
Bernadette smiled, not a bit repentant.
George smiled, as charmed by an unrepentant female as the next man.
Penrith smiled with just as much seductive force as Bernadette could manage, which was considerable, and said, “I did arrive later than planned, but then, I suspect I am not the only one?”
“As a matter of fact, you are not,” Antoinette said evenly.
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” Penrith said. He did have the most enticing voice. Bernadette licked her lips and blinked in languid invitation. “It’s the latest wager on White’s book. Everyone wants to get their name down before the evening’s events. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such interest in a wager before, not on such short notice. Of course, that may explain it. It came out of nowhere, and of course, those are the best wagers of all.”
“Does it concern you, Lord Penrith?” Bernadette asked in a sultry murmur. “Is a woman named?”
“I should say so,” he said. “But I am not involved, at least not directly, Lady Paignton.”
“Pity,” Bernadette responded.
“What is the wager, Lord Penrith?” Lady Lanreath asked, making every effort not to look over their shoulders at her next arrivals.
“I shall tell you since there will be no keeping it from you, or indeed, from anyone. It shall be all over Town by tomorrow noon, I should think.”
“Does it involve a marriage or an affair?” Bernadette asked. “Wagers about affairs are so much more exciting, don’t you think?”
“I suppose that must depend upon the participants,” Sophia said. “Yes, I’m quite certain it does. But do go on, Penrith. We simply must know.”
George, to his immense credit, showed a fortitude of silence that was quite unlike him and said nothing. He even kept his face shorn of all emotion.
“It involves me,” Penelope Prestwick said, having come up behind them with her brother at her side. “The wager is that I shall marry the Duke of Edenham by the end of the Season. My brother George made the wager, which was quite lovely of him as it does indicate such confidence in me, and Lord Penrith took it up, which I can’t think what it says of him. Or of me. What do you say, Lord Penrith? Is it true you don’t think I can induce the Duke of Edenham to offer for me?”
Sophia sighed and smiled in pure pleasure. Lovely, darling Miss Prestwick. She did like to play her own game. It was quite enchanting of her.
She looked wonderful, which was so clever of her. Penelope was draped in white silk, her bodice cut tastefully low and the train a graceful sweep at her feet. The gown was elegance at its most pure; there was no ornamentation beyond that offered by the sheen of the silk, but at Penelope’s throat and ears were diamonds. She was glittering in diamonds set beautifully in the most modern of settings. She looked like a Greek goddess, her black hair pulled up and away from her face into a thick pile, her black eyes glittering much like her diamonds.
This was a woman who deserved a duke. And that could not be said of every woman, surely.
“Miss Prestwick,” Penrith answered, looking quite as beguiling as he was in the habit of appearing, “nothing so bold as that. It is not that I don’t think the Duke of Edenham should be entranced by you, or indeed, that he is not already entranced, but that as the Season is half over, that he may not offer for you, the details agreed upon, the license signed, the deed done, by the end of the current Season. You will notice that I make no wagers on what may occur between you and Edenham next Season.”
Penrith was such a playful man. It was such an unusual trait in a man that it was worth valuing as the rare commodity it was.
“Then it is not the fact of my allure that is in dispute, but the power of it?” Penelope said, staring boldly into Penrith’s cat green eyes. Not many women were so confident, or was it foolhardy, as to be so bold as to engage in any sort of verbal discourse with Penrith. The seductive power of his velvety voice was becoming legendary. “Is that the basis of your wager, George?” she asked her brother, turning her gaze away from Penrith’s. Proving, if proof were needed, that she was not a stupid girl at all. Many a young thing had come close to ruination by staring too long into Penrith’s eyes, spellbound by his voice.
His mother, traveling in Italy with Penrith’s sister, certainly had a beguiling son. And knew it, too. It might have been the reason she traveled without him.
“Pen, it isn’t at all the thing for a woman to inquire as to what appears on White’s book,” George Prestwick said, staring in a somewhat accusatory fashion at Penrith, who had the dash not to look at all abashed.
“Even if the wager is about her?” George Grey asked.
“Most especially then,�
� Lord Iveston said, having come up behind Penelope. He towered over her. He so tall and fair, she so small and dark. Quite a stunningly unique couple, if one cared to make such judgments. Which Sophia most certainly did.
“Good evening, Lord Iveston,” Lady Lanreath said with a smile of welcome.
Lady Paignton merely curtseyed her greeting; her gaze was still all for George Grey. As previously her attention had been completely consumed by Penrith, and as Penrith was now being devotedly ignored, it did bespeak some rather pointed effort to annoy Penrith. Penrith, younger and less experienced than Bernadette, did look somewhat put out.
Ah, youth.
Though, Sophia was quite certain she had never been quite that young, and certainly not in that precise way.
At Iveston’s side was his brother, George Blakesley. Three Georges. Well, that was what happened when the King of England was a George. As to that, her own Dalby had wanted to name their son George. She had convinced him, slowly and quite pleasurably, that John was a far better choice. After her brother, naturally, whom she hadn’t seen in years by then and, truthfully, could easily have been dead. How could she have known, separated as they were by a very large ocean? Of course, then John had found her and everything became then as it still was now. She lived in England as a countess and he lived … as he pleased.
Sophia smiled. It was precisely the way to live, wasn’t it?
“Good evening, Lord George,” Lady Lanreath said. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”
Always?
Was something afoot between George Blakesley and Antoinette? It would show such good judgment on Antoinette’s part if there were. George was quite a remarkable-looking man, and from such a lovely family, too.
The gentlemen bowed, the ladies discreetly looked them over, and then all eyes turned toward Miss Prestwick, which did not appear to alarm her in the least. Such a clever, resourceful girl. Now, if she would only say the right thing to get things moving along in the proper direction. If any young woman was up to the challenge, it was certainly Penelope Prestwick.
“Lord Iveston,” Penelope said, gazing at him with her composure intact, “we were just discussing, improperly or not, the wager that has appeared on White’s book. I presume you know of it?”
“Is it an improper sort of wager?” Iveston asked mildly, looking down at her with a definite twinkle in his eyes.
“I’m quite certain it must be, as all wagers involving a man and a woman must be improper somehow,” she answered.
Lord George Blakesley lowered his gaze and appeared to be chewing his lower lip, likely against a laugh. It was indeed a most noble effort on his part not to call attention to this highly unusual conversation. Of course, it would be all over the room in a quarter hour, but the effort, the nicety of it, was a thing worth noting.
“That sounds a most logical conclusion, Miss Prestwick,” Iveston said, “but I do wonder if you have the required experience to make it.”
“Required experience? What can that mean, Lord Iveston?” she said, moving her truly lovely ivory-bladed fan a bit more briskly. “What sort of experience could possibly be required of a properly reared, unmarried woman?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Lady Lanreath said, taking her sister, Lady Paignton, who did look quite ready to respond to Miss Prestwick’s question with what was certain to have been a most entertaining reply, by the arm, quite firmly, too. “I must introduce Bernadette to an old acquaintance of mine.”
Bernadette did not look at all eager to leave either George Grey or Lord Penrith, but off she went, with a sultry look for both of them, or it might have been all of them as George Blakesley did not appear to be completely immune to sultry looks that happened upon him. Sophia watched for Antoinette’s response to George Blakeley’s response, and could not see any response at all. Which did not mean everything, but surely must mean something.
“As you are clearly a properly reared, unmarried woman,” Sophia said, “it is quite impossible to explain it more fully, Miss Prestwick. You simply, and most appealingly, lack the requisite experience.”
Penelope did not look at all pleased at Sophia’s insertion into the conversation. And who could blame the girl? She, like any reasonable woman, wanted to keep all male attention firmly on herself and was clearly prepared to do or say anything, or nearly anything, to make that happen.
Eyeing Penelope more closely, and truly studying the gleam in her dark eyes, Sophia amended her position. Penelope Prestwick looked prepared to do anything at all to attain her goal, which was quite clever of her, wasn’t it?
“Yet as you have asked about the wagers,” Penrith continued, looking askance at Sophia in what was to be assumed was a conspiratorial effort, “I must tell you, Miss Prestwick, that not only is there a wager that you will marry the Duke of Edenham, but also one that you shall soon marry the Marquis of Iveston. I presume you know of it, Lord Iveston?”
Iveston, to his immense credit, did not so much as blink. “As I am the author of the wager, I most definitely know of it,” he said calmly. “I had, however, not anticipated making my suit to Miss Prestwick here, now, and under such unusual conditions. I will, however, not allow unusual conditions to hinder me. Miss Prestwick,” he said, looking down at her from his very attractive height, “shall we take a turn about the room?”
Penelope looked at Iveston quite brightly; indeed, her cheeks looked nearly flushed. “To what purpose, Lord Iveston?”
“To win my wager, Miss Prestwick, what else?”
What else? Why to seduce her, if he had any skill at all. Sophia smiled just thinking of it.
Thirteen
PENELOPE barely kept her grin in check. George, her George, looked quite prepared to make a fuss of some sort, as if being a bit daring were not required to snare her duke for life, and by her duke, she obviously was thinking of Edenham. Iveston might be looking down at her quite jovially and she might be smiling up at him quite demurely, but it was all for Edenham. Who had not yet arrived. Still, he couldn’t fail to hear about the wagers and Iveston’s clear fascination with her.
How remarkably duplicitous he was; she wouldn’t have thought Iveston had it in him. He certainly gave every appearance of being nearly captivated by her, which was perfection itself, if only Edenham were here to witness it. The question now remaining was whether Iveston could keep his performance in top form for the rest of the evening. As to that, the question was also whether she could keep herself looking at Iveston in anything approaching fascination.
Although, strangely, she wasn’t finding it as difficult as she had anticipated.
He was not an unattractive man, not physically. He was quite well put together, actually, and his eyes were truly an intriguing shade of blue. Even his manner was becoming less irksome the more time she spent in his company. Wouldn’t Edenham be pleased that she had a friend in the future Duke of Hyde? Alliances of that sort, the most innocent and socially appropriate sort, were always to be desired, were they not? Wasn’t it very clever of her to have knitted the Hyde dukedom and the Edenham dukedom into a pleasant bond of even the most casual sort?
Of course, having it on White’s book for all posterity that she had been wagered to marry one or the other of them wasn’t precisely a casual sort of bond. And, by the look glimmering beneath Iveston’s placid demeanor, he was thinking something along those very same lines.
He had to be told the reason for the Edenham wager, and she was the only one to do it. It would not be a pleasant duty, but as Iveston was a relatively pleasant, if odd, man, she was fully prepared to face him. In fact, the sooner he understood everything, the better.
It was for that reason alone that she said, “Why, Lord Iveston, in the spirit of fair play, I do think you and I may walk about the room. I would hate to deprive you of the opportunity to win your wager.”
Iveston’s blond eyebrows raised quizzically. George, her George, sighed heavily, which sounded nearly like a moan. George, Sophia’s George, grinned, whic
h did nothing for her composure. George, Iveston’s George, pressed his lips together and studied her with rather more attention than was warranted. It wasn’t warranted, was it?
What had she said? That she was trying to help Iveston win his wager, that’s all. What was wrong with that? It was a very reasonable, very fair-minded position, wasn’t it? Of course, she was going to marry Edenham, but shouldn’t she at least give the appearance of being open to being wooed? How else to get Edenham into the halter? As to that, what other men had Iveston arranged for her? She needed at least three to give a good clustering effect, though five would be ideal. Anything more than five and she knew she couldn’t manage it. Six or more men at once were quite beyond her abilities, and she was practical enough to admit it. She needed to make that clear to Lord Iveston as well. Really, she had so much to discuss with him. They needed to make a circuit of the room immediately.
“In the spirit of winning, I shall agree with you, Miss Prestwick. You are most gracious,” Iveston said, with a casually delivered bow.
Avoiding looking into Sophia’s clearly amused gaze, Penelope smiled with as much innocence as she could manage and began her circuit of the room, Lord Iveston at her side.
They were watched, obviously. But, in the spirit of London Society and the ton’s intense curiosity over anything even remotely scandalous, they were not approached. Who wanted to stop the drama? Not a one of them.
Penelope understood them completely. She was one of them, after all, and as attuned to a good scandal as the next person. Perhaps more. She was very observant, after all.
“Imagine my surprise, Miss Prestwick,” Iveston said just as she was opening her mouth to tell him all she expected of him in the next few days, “to discover a wager on the book that you would marry Edenham this Season. I thought it was your express wish to not taunt the duke in that precise way, given that it could reflect so poorly on you.”
“Poorly on me? That is not at all what I said, Lord Iveston,” she said, lifting her chin and smiling distractedly at Lady Paignton, who was watching them most avidly. Such a disagreeable woman. Why, she was nearly falling out of her dress.