Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1)

by Annabelle Anders

  Back in the carriage, she mulled over the events of the past few days. So much had happened that she could hardly make sense of it all.

  She was taking matters into her own hands hoping to compel Flavion to divorce her.

  Someone was attempting to harm her, or possibly Flavion, or even Stephen, and that person had had access to the kitchens at Nottinghouse.

  Miss Cunnington was not only without scruples where married men were concerned, but she was also somewhat deranged.

  And…

  Most of all, she looked forward to seeing Stephen at dinner this evening with an alarming level of anticipation.

  Her anticipation was greater still, for the night that lay ahead.

  AFTER CLEANING HIMSELF up and then checking in on Flavion to see him fast asleep, Stephen returned to the study. Here, amongst the books, papers and old leather of his uncle’s office, matters made sense. One could tally columns of sums, or untangle a troublesome contract without any of the chaos that had peppered the unlikely few days he’d spent since arriving home. More calming than a snifter of brandy was the contentment Stephen found completing self-imposed tasks methodically and checking them off one at a time.

  He proceeded to ease himself thusly for the few hours that remained before dinner, and so was only partly annoyed when Mr. Sherman reminded him that the countess had invited guests for the meal. It would be necessary for him to dress formally.

  A mere quarter of an hour after the unwelcome news, the butler knocked again, opened the door, and informed him that he had a visitor. Just as Stephen was about to release a long string of expletives, he looked up to see the familiar and welcome face of Marcus Roberts. Marcus, who went by the courtesy title of the Earl of Blakely, was the heir to the Esteemed Duke of Waters. Something of a rebel, his old friend refused to live the life of the privileged. Since graduating from school, Stephen had chanced upon him occasionally while transacting business in India and China. Their friendship went all the way back to their boyhood days at Eton. Marcus was one of the few people who knew of Stephen’s history with Flavion.

  He’d often urged Stephen to stop pandering to Flave. Marcus had most likely seen the right of it.

  Today, he was a sight for sore eyes.

  Stephen rose enthusiastically before stepping forward and grasped his friend’s hand in a hearty greeting.

  “I heard you were back in England, and I’ve taken it upon myself to call upon you uninvited,” Marcus said sardonically, forgoing the normal exchange of polite inquiries. “Having heard you requested assistance in the way of Salaam, I presumed you might be in need additional support. If the rumors are true, Flave and his countess are brewing more scandal than the gossips can manage.”

  Stephen gestured for Marcus to have a seat before pouring some of Flavion’s best scotch into a couple of tumblers. He didn’t normally imbibe before evening but had been making quite a few allowances for himself lately.

  Not one to share his burdens, Stephen, nonetheless, reluctantly told Marcus of some of the events of the past few days.

  He did not discuss what had occurred between himself and Cecily.

  Marcus interrupted only a few times to have Stephen briefly clarify a few facts, but withheld his assessment until Stephen finished.

  His analysis aligned perfectly with Stephen’s: Flavion had made a hash of his life, his marriage and all of the responsibilities that came with inheriting an earldom. If the title was going to be preserved, Stephen must continue interfering.

  On that note, Stephen asked Marcus to stay for dinner, and even join them at the theatre that night. Marcus accepted outright. As Stephen poured out more scotch, he delved a bit into Marcus’ present circumstances.

  “Is your father’s house opened up to you for the Season then?” Stephen asked to assure himself that his friend was not in want of a place to stay. Last time they’d spoken, Marcus had told him he’d been cut off financially. Although Marcus was the heir, he and his father’s relationship had come to a stalemate over Marcus’ refusal to marry a bride of the duke’s choosing.

  When he’d first been informed of the betrothal, Marcus had been twenty-two and the girl all of sixteen. Stephen did not know for certain whether it was still in effect. Marcus was never keen to discuss it.

  His friend’s jaw clenched. Ah, so matters were still unsettled then. “I’ve taken lodgings at a house on Curzon Street. I will not apply to my father for anything.”

  Stephen nodded his head. “How long have you been back in London?” He wondered how long such a feud could continue. He now found himself wishing he’d reconciled with his uncle. It was too late for that now. As cliché as such a sentiment was, he felt it strongly, nonetheless.

  “Too long, my friend. Too long.”

  “Does your father still consider you… betrothed?” The girl must be about Cecily’s age now. But he knew Marcus Roberts. He was not a man who would be told how to live, and that included being told who to marry.

  “I refuse to abide by an agreement made while I was still in the nursery. My father’s marriage was an arranged match, and I spent much of my childhood trying to avoid their bloody silences.”

  Setting his half-empty glass down, Stephen sighed. “It behooves a man to remember marriage is forever. Flavion’s wife certainly regrets her decision to marry, and I can’t say that I blame her.”

  He wondered what Cecily had been like before all of this. Had she been as fearless and intense? It would have been lovely to have met her as a shy debutante. He would not have minded drawing her out for himself…

  And yet, she was lovely as she was. He knew he ought to see all that was wrong with her plan to ‘cuckold’ her husband. She would become an outcast from Society for the rest of her life. And yet, he could not help but admire her conviction. Her unflagging determination reminded him of himself when he’d first set out to make his fortune.

  “Till death and all that, forsaking all others…” Marcus said into the bottom of his glass. “If more fellows took their vows to heart, there would be considerably fewer dynastic marriages.” And then, as though a novel thought struck him, Marcus looked over at Stephen. “What of you, old man? Any females in your sights?”

  Stephen allowed a very sensual image to drift into his memory. “Not since Zelda,” he said wryly. Zelda had been his mistress for much of the time he’d been in India. Their on again, off again relationship had been passionate but lacking in any real affection. She’d been the widow of a wealthy embassy official and had chosen to remain in Mumbai after her husband’s death. Stephen had taken her with him for a very memorable holiday in Ceylon. It had been nearly a year since he’d wished her farewell.

  “Aside from the obvious, being her stunning beauty, I never took her to be your type,” Marcus said. “You have always been so… self-contained… and she, well, Zelda was something of a hell cat.”

  Stephen flashed Marcus a grin. “She was, wasn’t she?” Upon a few moments of reflection, he added, “I suppose when I met her I was looking for somebody… different.” At the time, he’d sworn off both marriage and all English women. She’d been the perfect cure.

  Before Marcus could comment on this, the dinner bell gonged. Stephen looked over at his friend. “The countess expects formal dress for dinner. Would you care to borrow something from my wardrobe?”

  Shaking his head, Marcus rose. Taking up the pen Stephen had been using earlier, he dipped it into the inkwell and leaned over the desk to write something. “No, my lodgings are not far. I can change and be back in no time.” Then, handing the scrap of parchment to Stephen, he added, “This is my direction if you find the countess isn’t amiable to upsetting her table. Otherwise, I shall return within the hour.”

  Stephen studied the address and then looked back up at his good friend.

  Marcus had circles beneath his eyes, and he appeared paler than usual. Stephen suspected the breach within his family was more trying than either would let on. “I’m quite sure the countess will
have no objections to another guest. I’m not even sure Flavion will be joining us. I suspect not, as he took a good dose of laudanum earlier.”

  And with that, Stephen walked his friend to the front door. He appreciated the normalcy that Marcus brought with him. God knew he wouldn’t get any of that from Flavion.

  And not from Cecily either. She created an entirely different upheaval to his equilibrium. His gut instinct told him she was innocent of any wrong doing, but she’d appeared unsettled when he’d mentioned Flave’s attack. She’d gone somewhat quiet, as though she did, in fact, know something. This bothered him. He’d been coming to esteem her somewhat and did not like to think she was playing him. No man enjoyed such a sensation.

  And then there were all of the other sensations she evoked within him. Remembering that she’d been covered from head to toe in mud earlier that morning, Stephen couldn’t help suppressing a grin.

  And he had kissed her in public! Had he done this merely to create some gossip amongst the beau monde? Or had he been giving in to another desire completely? Was it merely his protective instincts that had caused him to lift her into his arms and carry her bodily to the carriage?

  This would make perfect sense because Cecily not only needed protection from outside forces, but she also needed protection from herself! She was an interesting combination of naïveté and cynicism. On one hand, she brought stray dogs home, but on the other, she read treatises on how to get away with murder.

  Exactly how far was she willing to go to be free of Flave? Did she have a backup plan in case cuckolding her husband was not effective? What was she hiding? Shaking off these worries, Stephen turned his attention to the evening ahead. The answers to his musings could not reveal themselves soon enough.

  On that thought, he went in search of his valet.

  It was probably a good thing Marcus had refused his offer for eveningwear. Stephen wasn’t sure Hamilton would have appreciated the last-minute request. He could be somewhat picky about those sorts of things. It was as though the clothing belonged to the valet rather than Stephen. With a grim chuckle, Stephen mounted the stairs two at a time. Hopefully this evening would be as uneventful as the last two hours had been.

  Hopefully, but somehow he doubted it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CECILY EXPECTED THIS evening’s dinner courses would be considerably more appetizing than the previous night’s had been. She had consulted with cook earlier that morning regarding the menu, and they decided on all of six courses, which included fish, game, poultry, and beef. The table was set with elaborate fresh flower arrangements, and the very best silver. When Stephen informed her of the invitation he’d extended to the Earl of Blakely, there hadn’t been any problem in adding one more setting. The party was to be a small one, after all. Most likely, the Kensington Countess’ dinner parties of the past had consisted of upwards of twenty guests. Cecily would not dwell upon this fact.

  Surprising them all, Flavion roused himself and dressed for dinner. His valet had done wonders by carefully disguising most of Flavion’s cuts and bruises, and he nearly looked as breathtakingly handsome as usual when he took his seat at the head of the table.

  With equally spaced dinner settings, Cecily sat Lord Blakely to Flavion’s right and Rhoda to his left. She’d then placed Emily on Lord Blakely’s other side and Stephen beside Rhoda. Cecily was able to watch everyone from her position at the foot of the table. She only wished the damn thing weren’t so incredibly long.

  If she were planning to remain married, she would have had the table removed and replaced with something a bit cozier.

  But she was not going to remain married, so this was not her problem.

  Except for tonight. Guests would need to speak loudly. About five feet separated each of them.

  As the first course was served, Cecily attempted to initiate appropriate supper conversation by commenting on the weather, but Emily, dear, sweet, alarmingly honest Emily responded as though they were not in mixed company. “Good thing for you it has been so warm, Cecily. Otherwise, it is likely that both you and Miss Cunnington would be nursing a chill this evening.” And then, seemingly oblivious to the faux pas she had made, she dipped her spoon into the turtle soup and sipped at it prettily.

  At the sound of Miss Cunnington’s name, Flave lifted his head from his soup and stared down the table at Cecily. “Why is that? When did you see Daphne?”

  Biting her lip, Cecily glanced along the table toward Stephen. “Well…”

  “Miss Cunnington and Lady Kensington had an unfortunate accident this morning, and both of them ended up taking a swim in the Serpentine,” Stephen finished for her.

  Lord Blakely was to be of no assistance either. “That is not the story I heard,” he said, expressionless, although there appeared to be a glimmer of something mischievous in his eyes.

  Both Stephen and Rhoda flashed him a frown.

  “And what, may I ask,” Flavion said indolently, “is the story that you heard, Marcus?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Rhoda said, setting her spoon down and glaring at Lord Blakely. “Miss Cunnington fell into the river. When Cecily attempted to assist her out of the water, that woman pulled Cecily into the water as well… not very sporting of her, might I add.” And then she picked her spoon up and went back to concentrating on the contents of her soup.

  Oh, dear! Cecily had so hoped to have a normal dinner party! This was not a very auspicious beginning.

  Flavion would not allow the subject to rest. After glancing around the table at all the other guests, all very intent upon the bowls in front of them, he eventually pinned his stare on Cecily.

  “What of Daphne?” he asked abruptly. “Please assure me that she has not come to any harm?”

  The room fell uncomfortably quiet. Cecily bristled in that Flavion was discussing his mistress with his wife at his wife’s dinner table. Of course, Flavion would not be bothered by the impropriety of his behavior.

  Cecily was not going to let it bother her tonight, though. She sent a dazzling smile toward Flavion before answering. “Miss Cunnington can only be thankful your cousin came along.” After taking a leisurely spoonful of soup, she finished her statement by adding, “Or I quite likely might have drowned her.”

  Another very uncomfortable silence.

  Emily, most likely in an effort to bring the conversation round to a more civilized topic, interrupted the silence. “I’ve been looking forward to this evening all week. Hamlet is my favorite of all of Shakespeare’s plays.” She turned toward Stephen and asked, “Were you able to attend the theatre while abroad, Mr. Nottingham?”

  Glancing at Marcus before answering, Stephen shook his head. “I’m afraid I did not, Miss Goodnight. But between both Eton and Oxford, I’ve somehow managed to read almost all of the old Bard’s plays, and I must agree with you about Hamlet. It’s one of my favorites as well.”

  “There is something absolutely delicious about the treachery portrayed amongst familial relations,” Rhoda added nonchalantly, but with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Everybody mistrusting each other, husband and wife, father and son, cousins and lovers… Shakespeare managed to weave a little bit of everything into that story.”

  Allowing a footman to remove the bowl in front of him, Marcus commented as well. “Art mimicking life?” He looked at Rhoda with more interest than he’d shown toward either of Cecily’s friends as of yet. “But in life, do we prefer to embrace it as a tragedy or a farce?” he asked philosophically.

  “Farce,” Cecily answered.

  “Tragedy,” Stephen said at the same time. And then he caught her eye and smiled sheepishly.

  Cecily hoped she wasn’t blushing. How was it that a mere smile from him caused her to feel so flushed?

  “I believe it is a farce when it befalls another human being, but a tragedy when it befalls oneself,” Emily offered. “Take Lord Kensington’s present physical appearance. If I were to have suffered such an attack as he most obviously has, I would c
onsider it a definitive tragedy, but for it to have been exercised upon a man of whose fine appearance is tantamount to his existence, I cannot help but find it somewhat farcical.”

  At that, Cecily was glad they were between courses, otherwise she most certainly would have choked. This was why Emily had become something of a wallflower. She completely lacked any ability to recognize which conversation was and was not acceptable in polite Society. It was part of what made her so lovable amongst her friends.

  The next course was then paraded into the dining room and served up ceremoniously by all of six uniformed servants. Her guests apparently welcomed the distraction as plates of steaming salmon served with capers and a creamy sauce managed to distract Flavion from the comment Emily had made.

  Cecily wondered if he knew he’d been insulted at his own table. He seemed not to; rather, instead he groused at being unable to use his injured hand. He ordered the footman over to cut his fish into bite-sized pieces.

  Looking down at her own plate, Cecily pressed the edge of her fork into the tender fish, and it separated easily. So far, Cook had done very well. Cecily guessed that the prideful woman had been mortified yesterday and was doing her best to make up for it.

  Taking a small bite, she felt Stephen’s eyes upon her. Amusement flared in his gaze that contradicted his otherwise solemn demeanor. But she knew.

  He was laughing at Emily’s comment.

  “How are you feeling tonight?” Marcus turned toward Flavion. “You seem to be recovering quickly enough from your harrowing experience. Do you think you’ll be up to attending the theatre?”

  Flavion scooped one of his carefully sliced pieces of fish onto a spoon. “I’m right enough… I’m not going to be frightened away from living my life, Marcus, but that’s probably something you wouldn’t understand. Oh, yes, both you and Stephen left London for a rather long period of time. Explain to me the difference between hiding at home and running away to live in another country.”