by Jaimey Grant
“Con, please tell me what is bothering you,” she implored. “You are scaring me with your long face. Verena and the children are all well?”
“Yes, I said already they are, Jenny,” he responded. He sat down in the chair opposite and leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees. “I wonder if you’d tell me how you feel about Darius Prestwich.”
Her blond brows shot up. “Darius Prestwich?” she repeated numbly. “I find him insufferable, if you must know.”
Her brother drew a deep breath. “You have no tender feelings for the man?” he insisted.
“None, Con. What is this about?” Her tone bordered on exasperation as she watched the consternation settle on Connor’s face.
“I was told you were partial to him, is all. Apparently, my source was wrong.”
“Who is this source, Con?” she asked with dangerous softness.
He looked at her shrewdly. “My own imagination, Jenny.” He rose to his feet, apparently ready to leave. “It appears my reason for coming was unnecessary. I wanted to ascertain your feelings for him because he apparently has feelings for you. But he shouldn’t bother you now.”
Jenny stared at him from her seat. “Now?”
“He promised to stay away from you. And I believe him. He did not seem too upset about it,” he murmured reflectively. “Relieved, in fact.”
With a brother’s usual carelessness, Connor managed to severely wound Jenny’s amour propre. “What do you mean, he seemed relieved?”
“Don’t take it to heart, Jen. Darius is not interested in you because he is not interested in marriage. A man of his stamp is only interested in one thing. And he can’t get that from a gently bred female.”
Jenny wasn’t naïve enough to misunderstand her brother’s explanation. But she was still upset that Darius seemed to have no interest in her at all. Even an improper one would be a salve to her vanity.
Connor took his leave and his sister bid him a rather absentminded goodbye, her thoughts elsewhere. The words of her brother were burned into her mind, making her angrier by the second. She’d show them, she thought with grim determination. She’d show them both.
Dare eyed his cousin’s wife with a certain amount of dislike. She certainly was an annoyingly persistent woman, he thought for the thousandth time. He didn’t know why she seemed to think he had to escort her. Miles was a perfectly capable escort and Dare had no stomach for the opera. The mere thought of sitting through hours of caterwauling made him shudder.
“I won’t go, Bri,” he told her firmly. “You have Miles. I am unnecessary.”
“You don’t understand,” she protested. “Connor’s sisters, the daughters of the Duke of Denbigh, asked for you and Miles personally. It is an honor that you cannot decline.”
“Let somebody else have the honor,” snapped Dare. He was through arguing about it.
“Dare,” Bri said then in a conciliating tone, “I would greatly appreciate it if you would come along. I love your brother, but even you have to admit, Miles is a bit of a dull old stick.”
Dare unwillingly released a bark of laughter. “I do agree. But I promised to stay away from Denbigh’s daughters, Bri. I mean to try to keep that promise.”
“Oh, that,” murmured Bri, remembering the conversation they’d had earlier that week. “This hardly counts,” she dismissed. “You are obviously being dragged to the opera. Anyone with eyes will be able to see that you would rather be anywhere else. Connor will not cause a scandal by calling you out over your attendance even if we do sit with his sisters.”
Dare crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her for a long moment. Then he gave a resigned sigh, saying, “Very well, Bri. You win. I’ll go. Just give me a moment to dress.”
Dare disappeared to his rooms and seriously considered dressing like a pirate, complete with black eyepatch. The Opera Committee was known for being nearly as strict as Almack’s and he knew if he dared show up in such scandalously casual garb, he’d be tossed out on his ear.
He threw on his clothes unmindful of the way they landed on himself, and tied his cravat in something that looked remarkably well considering he hated the things and avoided them whenever possible. He pushed his hand instead of a comb through his black curls, crammed a hat on his head, shrugged into his coat of black superfine, shoved his feet into shiny black shoes, and walked out the door.
Bri took one look at him and smiled warmly. “You look very handsome, Dare.”
Dare’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Did I forget my breeches? Is my hat backwards? Shoes on the wrong feet? What is it?” His eyes crinkled with unholy amusement. “Perhaps I should fetch my eyepatch?”
“No, you wretched man, no. We will depart now. Miles, come along,” ordered Bri firmly. Then, with a gentleman on each arm, she left.
Jenny waited impatiently for Bri’s party to arrive. She sat in the back of their box at the opera and scanned the crowded house in case they had decided to sit somewhere else. She was anxious to put her plan into action and she didn’t mean to lose a single opportunity.
Her sister sat beside her, watching her with concern. “Jenny, you look flushed. Are you feeling quite the thing? Perhaps we should go.”
Jenny gave her an impatient glance. “I am feeling fine. And you know how Mama loves the opera, Gwen. We couldn’t leave now if Napoleon escaped again and threatened to murder anyone who refused to leave.”
“Oh, don’t say such things, Jenny! That man was horrible. And isn’t he dead anyway?”
“I don’t know, Gwen,” she snapped. “Now, do be quiet. I’m looking for someone.”
Gwen’s eyes widened making them appear bluer and more vibrant than usual. “You are? Who on earth—”
They arrived at that moment, cutting off Gwen’s question. Jenny blushed hotly as she turned and her eyes collided with those of Darius Prestwich. His held amusement and a determination that Jenny did not understand.
He approached her after greeting her mother and father, the Duke and Duchess of Denbigh. She saw her father give him an intent look and prayed he’d not say anything embarrassing. Her mother was everything that was gracious and kind. Bri and Lady Greville were soon sitting next to the ducal pair, chatting happily until the start of the opera.
Dare and Miles moved to pay their respects to the twins. Their dark heads bent over the hands of the Denbigh twins made a stunning contrast that was not lost upon several audience members. Whispers started in one corner and soon spread throughout the building.
After seating themselves, each beside the lady of his choice, Dare turned to Jenny and said, “May I say how lovely you are this evening?”
“Certainly,” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. “I do so love compliments.”
Dare smiled slightly. “Indeed? You seem to have forgotten to whom you speak.”
“Why do you say that, sir?”
“It’s me, Jenny. Dare. You do not have to play the empty-headed twit with me.”
Her expression became something ludicrous in its dismay. “Oh, dear. And I seem to recall you telling me you like stupid women.”
His eyes glinted mischievously. “Are you trying to attract my attention, Jenny-love?”
She gave him an arch look, her insides quivering at the unexpected endearment. “How do I answer that, Mr. Prestwich? If I say yes, I must be fast. And if I say no, I am just rude.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Miles queried suspiciously.
Jenny gave him her brightest smile. “Just trifling things, I assure you, Miles. Your brother has been delighting me with his wit.”
“Indeed?” Miles murmured, giving his twin a searching glance.
Dare grinned. “Yes, Miles, my wit. I have been known to have one or two upon occasion.”
Jenny stifled a giggle behind her fan. Her mother turned an admonitory glare on her, as the music was about to start. Placing an expression of utmost innocence on her pretty face, Jenny stared at the stage. Her lips q
uirked when she felt Dare’s dark blue eyes on her.
She rapped him across the knuckles with her fan. “Stop staring, sir, it’s rude.”
“Rude?” he whispered. “In what way? I am merely enjoying the view.”
“Watch the stage, Darius Prestwich,” she ordered, blushing in spite of her determination to remain impassive and in control.
“I’d much rather watch you,” he murmured, daringly taking her hand.
“I do believe you are flirting with me,” she told him with a tiny smile tipping the corners of her mouth.
“And if I am?” he challenged, stroking his thumb over her palm.
Mesmerized by the patterns he was creating in her palm, Jenny had to still the sudden beating of her heart and the shiver of excitement that skittered along her spine. Visions of his hand doing more than caressing her gloved fingers stopped her lungs from drawing air.
She stuttered a bit before she could discernibly reply. Then, “I would not stop you,” she said boldly.
The duchess turned and shushed them, causing the duke to turn as well and give Dare a long look. Dare unobtrusively released his companion’s hand and smiled at her father. The duke did not return the look. He just swiveled back to face the stage.
Dare leaned toward his fair companion, saying in a reverent voice, “I do believe your parents actually listen to the music.” His expression was suitably horrified.
“They are quite unfashionable that way,” she murmured back, tossing a careless smile at Miles, who was trying to hear what they were saying. “I should think your dear brother would be better off listening to the music as well.”
“I shall call the blackguard out, I promise you, if he persists in starring at us. Does he give us the evil eye, do you think?”
Jenny giggled, only to cut it short when her father again turned with a stern expression on his face. She sent him an innocent grin and shushed Dare for good measure.
Dare and Jenny said nothing more for the rest of the performance. Neither was inclined to draw any more attention.
Chapter Six
Dare made sure to see much of Jenny over the coming days. She seemed as determined to see him. They managed to avoid Lord Connor’s discerning eye since he was preoccupied with his own family. They would have been surprised to note that the duke was ever watchful, and usually with more insight into the situation than one would have ever thought.
Bri was a willing accomplice in many of Dare’s encounters with the lovely Lady Genevieve. She often invited the delightful twin ladies to tea, gossiping and sharing fashion secrets.
Dare knew Bri didn’t really like talking about fashion and had an almost violent dislike for gossip. He was secretly amused she was so transparently trying to bring him together with Jenny.
On the other hand, he wondered just what she was hoping to accomplish. While he was at it, he had to wonder just what he hoped to accomplish.
It was madness. And yet…
And yet, he knew he couldn’t stop seeing her. Something in her called out to him, something unnamed, something…special.
“I have no honor,” he muttered half to himself one day.
Jenny, having heard him, started. “Whatever do you mean?”
He favored her with a searching look. “I gave my word of honor that I would not see you.”
Jenny just stared at him, her fingers gone suddenly numb around her delicate teacup. Moving with precision, she set the cup aside, careful not to jar it against the saucer or tabletop.
“Indeed? And to whom did you say such a thing?”
Her companion looked away, his gaze sweeping Bri’s drawing room, seeing nothing and everything. Miles spoke quietly with Gwen and Bri, giving them a moment of privacy. The first footman stood in one corner, anticipating the needs of Bri’s guests.
When his probing gaze again met hers, he had carefully masked his feelings. “Your brother, of course.”
Jenny inwardly seethed. “Con interferes too much in my choice of companions, I think.”
A smile of male satisfaction twisted his lips. “You care, Jenny-love?”
She released a breath of air that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “You could only be so fortunate.”
A moment of shared amusement passed. Then Jenny asked, hesitantly, not looking up from her tightly clasped hands, “Why do you continue to see me, sir? Does your honor mean nothing to you?”
Her eyes rose slowly, meeting his with an earnest desire for the truth and damn him, he wanted to tell her the truth.
He settled for a half-truth. “I find that your company means more to me than my honor,” he told her simply, sincerely. He was a little unnerved that it was true.
Jenny’s mind wandered as her maid dragged a brush through her golden locks. She should not read more into the statement than was warranted, she told herself sternly. It would only lead to heartache when he decided to entertain himself with more… worldly…company.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
Jenny met Alice’s concerned gaze in the mirror. Brow furrowed, she asked why.
The maid looked confused herself. “You sighed as if you’d lost your dearest companion.”
Jenny forced a smile to her stiff lips. “Did I? I was just missing Denbigh, Alice. No need to fret.”
The maid appeared relieved it was something as simple as common homesickness that ailed her lady. Jenny wished bitterly that that was all it was.
The door to her chamber was pushed wide to admit Gwen, the Duchess of Denbigh following close behind.
Jenny rose to her feet, dismissing Alice with a nod of her head. She offered a sincerely pleased smile to her female family members.
Gwen grinned back but there was a stiff quality to it that made Jenny uneasy.
The duchess closed the door carefully behind her. She stood for a moment, facing the wooden barrier. Jenny felt a stirring of unease deep in her stomach.
Lady Denbigh turned. Her timelessly beautiful face was determinedly blank, not a whit of her inner feelings coming to the fore. She moved with infinite grace to her daughter’s side, her hands clasped before her.
Jenny wished she possessed a tiny bit of her mother’s poise. She had always loved her mother and wanted to be her when she grew up. Now, seeing the disappointment slowly unfurl in her parent’s beautiful blue eyes, she wished she were anywhere but there.
She cast her eyes to her twin, questioning her. Gwen’s smile was strained and after a moment, faded completely.
“We are concerned for you, my love,” the duchess said softly. She took her daughter’s hands in a comforting clasp, squeezing gently. “You have been spending much time at the Prestwich’s residence.”
“Gwen has visited too,” Jenny offered, confused.
Her grace nodded. “Yes, dear, I know. What concerns me is your association with Mr. Darius Prestwich.”
Jenny didn’t say a word. She just looked at her mother, waiting.
Lady Denbigh sighed. With a little tug, she pulled her child over to the bed and sat down. Gwen joined them.
“If I ask you about your feelings for Mr. Prestwich, will you be honest, I wonder?”
Since it appeared to be a rhetorical question, Jenny said nothing.
“I am your mother, Genevieve, and I love you. I know you have very strong feelings for this young man and I’m not sure you understand exactly what it is about him that worries your brother.”
“Con spends too much time with his nose in other people’s affairs,” Jenny retorted bitterly.
“Perhaps,” her mother allowed magnanimously. “But I think he has reason to be concerned, Jenny.”
Jenny realized her mother would not leave it be until she’d revealed the cause of all the worry. So, with a heartfelt, bone-weary sigh, she invited, “Tell me what he’s done, Mama.”
Denbigh caught up with Dare one day on his way to Brooks’s. The duke was driving his own team when he came upon the young man walking sedately.
“I say, P
restwich!” he called.
Dare turned a look of surprise on Jenny’s father. “Your grace, how do?” he asked politely.
“Tolerably, tolerably,” he replied, smiling. “Can I take you up, young sir?”
“That depends, in part, on where you are bound, Lord Denbigh.”
“Anywhere you need to go.”
Dare laughed. “Very well, then, sir. I am bound for my club,” he said as he nimbly climbed up next to the older man.
Denbigh set the team in motion and silence reined for a few minutes as he maneuvered the vehicle through some heavily trafficked areas. Shortly before they arrived at Dare’s desired destination, Denbigh spoke.
“I understand you’ve been seeing much of my daughter, Mr. Prestwich.”
Dare stiffened. “Yes, sir, I have.”
“I also understand that her brother warned you to stay away from her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why, may I ask, do you disregard his warning?”
Dare gave his companion a rather pointed look. “If you believe there is any reason to warn me off, as I am sure you do, then you know me well enough to determine the answer to that question yourself.”
A smile twisted the duke’s lips briefly. “Indeed, I do, lad, indeed I do. I was just curious to hear what you would tell me.”
“Now you have, your grace. And let me assure you that I am delighted to have been able to afford you some pleasure this day. You may let me down anywhere along here.”
“Don’t go puckering up, lad,” admonished Denbigh. “I am not amused, actually, or pleased. I would like to reiterate Connor’s warning to you. My daughter is a lady, sir, and I will not have her trifled with. If you do not press toward marriage, I will ask that you desist pestering her.”
“I sincerely mean your daughter no harm, Lord Denbigh,” replied Dare wearily. “We are friends, nothing more. It seems I am the only man in Society with whom she can be herself. I am pleased to be able to give her that reassurance. I apologize for causing you or your family any unnecessary worry.” He frowned. “I am not so simple that I do not realize she can do much better than me for a husband.”