by Edith Layton
“Yes,” the contessa continued, meeting his gaze with equanimity, “so I believe, because it’s the lot as well as the duty of a chaperon to listen to what’s being said along the sidelines. Unfortunately,” she said, with something very like real unhappiness fleeting across her usually pleasant round face, “there was a great deal of talk about Miss Logan’s circumstances, actually about her family, you understand. That talk was couched in such derisive terms that it would’ve been a very brave gentleman who asked her to dance, for had he done so after having heard it, he would’ve felt he looked like a fortune hunter, or so I believe.”
“I see,” Warwick said thoughtfully, as Julian, leaning forward, asked quietly, if a bit bitterly, “And I suppose, having come in with her, and my financial state being well-known, I was looked upon as one of those fortune hunters?”
The contessa dropped her mild gaze to her plate again. “It was not Miss Logan whose name was linked with yours, my lord,” she replied with great care, avoiding a direct answer to his direct question.
“Oh well,” the viscount said with great false humor, shaking his golden head in rue, “then it’s only Lady Marianna’s fortune they think I’m after. I should be pleased—half a rogue is better than one, I suppose.”
“Interesting,” Warwick said, refusing to so much as smile at his friend’s pun. “And I?”
The contessa didn’t attempt to misunderstand him, since it seemed to the others that the lady found it easier to speak with him than to anyone else in the household. Although Julian always jested with her, it might have been the combination of his title and radiant good looks that accounted for her continued self-consciousness in his presence. Her formality with Susannah may have been caused by her outsize sense of duty, for she evidently took her responsibilities very seriously and so took great care with what she said to her charge, despite all of Susannah’s efforts to get her to be more natural with her. It might have been that Warwick had an undeniable way with people, as Julian claimed, but it was actually because he’d sought her out when she’d first come to his house and spoken with her at length then, to learn what he could of her and put her at her ease. Neither Julian nor Susannah knew this, but Julian at least, knowing his friend for so long, wouldn’t have been surprised to learn it. If he had, he’d have said it was precisely Warwick’s way, since Warwick always swore he found people even more fascinating than books, while he also always vowed there was little in life as interesting as books.
“You, Mr. Jones,” the contessa said, a rare real smile gathering on her lips as she spoke, “are acknowledged to be a mischievous gentleman. And so little that you do is held to be remarkable.”
“Wonderful,” Warwick said comfortably, contemplating a biscuit he was slathering with preserves. “Now I may go out and commit mass murder and not cause any chatter. But,” he added over all their laughter, as he noted the footman’s hand shaking more than his tightly compressed lips were while he poured a crooked stream of coffee into his cup, “I’d rather they didn’t say anything about any of you either. It’s interesting that I, who don’t give a damn—excuse me, Contessa (no, I won’t apologize to you, Susannah, you’ve given me leave to do wickedness),” he said blithely, before he went on, “I, who don’t care what they say of me, am free of censure, while Susannah, who’s blameless, and Julian, whose only sin is temporary insolvency, are so maligned. Interesting, interesting, but wrong. I think we ought to set about righting it, don’t you?”
The first thing to do, they decided, once the cups and plates were cleared from the table and they sat around it like generals plotting tactics against Napoleon, rather than three young persons and a chaperon plotting the overthrow of the social code, was to be sure they were most in sight. After all, as the contessa agreed, it is easier to gossip about persons one does not see than about persons one runs into all the time. Absence made tongues wag faster, she commented ruefully, causing the company to recall that having eloped with a foreigner, she had in her time been the object of a great deal more gossip than they could imagine, since it was easier to say dreadful things about persons one didn’t expect to have to face again the following day. Or, as Warwick put it succinctly, as Susannah giggled and Julian winced, “In society, obviously, familiarity breeds content.”
If they weren’t going to be invited to ton parties, Warwick decreed, they’d go to the theaters, the operas, the dog shows, or wherever else polite society went, in order to keep themselves clearly before the ton’s wide watchful eye. And, as Julian said with a grin, he and Warwick could certainly go to other sorts of entertainments in low society as well, where they might see the gentlemen of high society. When Susannah looked put out at that, and said pettishly that not only was that unfair, it was likely immoral, Warwick replied, “Boxing matches immoral?” in the loftiest tones, even as Julian looked insulted and said that cockfights might not be humane, but they were scarcely immoral. Then when Susannah flushed so rosily that she looked sunstruck, both gentlemen began laughing and Warwick said he thought it was very generous of them to sacrifice their fair bodies in her cause, and Julian added that it was positively brave as well, before the contessa shushed them, if not for the sake of propriety, for the sake of her charge’s complexion, which was growing more brightly red by the second.
“Eventually,” Warwick said, when order had been restored, “our very accessibility will do the trick, and if you are seen everywhere, doubtless you will be invited everywhere as well. I can’t promise you Almack’s, child,” he told Susannah gently, “because I don’t work miracles, only possibles, but it’s possible to be accepted into society even without admission to that august and overrated social club, as any number of good people can tell you. One of my friends who is no less than a duke, and pious to the point of boredom now that he’s married and given up his youthful indiscretions, is still not admitted there. Or so, at least, I think he isn’t, because being an intelligent fellow, the Duke of Torquay would, I think, rather have his foot surgically removed from his leg entirely than set it over their threshold even now.”
“But, Warwick,” Julian said slowly, “although I don’t doubt that eventually a viscount turned coachman might come to be considered amusing rather than scandalous, and a young woman of beauty and wealth might be admitted to their ranks because it seemed she’d already been, don’t forget that Lord Moredon’s a fixture in society and will be best pleased if we’re not. He’ll try to throw trouble in our path.”
“I understand Lord Moredon is about as popular now as a recurrence of the Black Death, wouldn’t you say, Contessa?” Warwick asked.
“No, actually, a little less so, sir,” the lady replied thoughtfully.
As Warwick grinned and rose, saying that they all should be in readiness to go to the theater that night, Susannah also stood, but she sprang from her chair and then spoke up abruptly. She’d kept to a brooding silence for a long time, or at least for longer than she usually did, and was obviously very grieved.
“No, I think I’d rather not,” she blurted, and when they all stopped to stare at her, she explained. “Everyone’s been wonderful to me. Everyone here, that is,” she said at once, “but although I know it’s meant as kindness, I see that this is coming to be foolishness itself. Oh, I’ll admit I once had certain dreams, but this is reality and I believe I’ve had enough of it. And if I have, why then, why should you all put yourselves out so much and open yourselves to insult, and all for the sake of thrusting someone into a society that doesn’t want her? Especially when she doesn’t want them, no, really, not anymore.”
Warwick began to reply, with great reasonableness, that it was because he had nothing better to do, when Julian stood and took both of Susannah’s hands in his.
“Believe me, I only wish I were that noble,” he said sincerely as he gazed down into her troubled eyes, “but it isn’t all for you, you know. I have very good reasons for wanting to be acceptable too, since the one I want so much is so much a part of that world that I could
n’t ask her to leave it even if I should ever succeed with my wildest dreams. My helping you will help me as well, and I thought that you wanted to help me too.”
Warwick found Susannah’s expression so painfully stripped of artifice that he had to look away, but Julian was pleased her face was so transparent a key to her emotions, thinking he’d convinced her and that all the pain and sorrow he saw were sympathy and concern for himself and his plight.
“Of course,” she said, glad to be the object of his searching gaze even if it seemed he never actually saw her, even though this rare moment of having his complete attention turned her hands to ice, then caused them to burn, and made her breath quicken. “Of course,” she said, “I’m not so selfish. I’d only forgotten,” and then, to his mildly astonished expression, she explained, “I was so wrapped up in myself, you see.”
They parted then, and while Susannah went to cool her cheeks and hide her confusion in a book, Julian went off whistling, pleased that he’d been the one to convince her to persevere for her own sake, as well as his. Then he set out to discover if there were a way he might compound his luck this day and lure his lady to the theater this night as well. And Warwick, although knowing that his box at Drury Lane was free for the night, still said he was going to see about tickets, for he needed to get clear of his house to clear his head. Because even though all his suggestions had been taken and all his plans adopted, he was strangely subdued.
His butler noted it, but handed his master his hat and helped him on with his greatcoat without a word of inquiry about it. Not only would the query have been presumptuous (for it was not his place to ask such, even after seven years of service with his master), but having known Mr. Jones ever since he’d set up his bachelor establishment, he reasoned that since his employer often wore a melancholic expression, it was often difficult to say if he were lost in thought or sincerely troubled.
He was more than troubled. He was remembering what he’d jested at the last, and thinking with a certain amount of sudden incredulous shock that he’d only stated a cold fact. For he’d realized with complete dismay that in truth, he had nothing better to do. Nothing at all.
As he strode down the streets, he discovered himself defensively documenting his usual pastimes, and becoming increasingly depressed as the exact meaning of the word “pastime” was borne in upon him. He had no steady occupation, even his many investments and business dealings seldom took up a great deal of his time. Being a city dweller, he left his estates to capable managers; although he went over accounts every few months and implemented changes, the handling of his properties could scarcely be considered even a preoccupation of his. Those endeavors were his political concerns. But for all his interest, he realized suddenly that his actual labor usually amounted to no more than supporting those with good ideas, and writing strong objections for various other politically active men to use against those he disagreed with. He’d done some diplomatic work for his country in the past when he’d been abroad, he did some planning and investigation on its behalf now, for though there now was peace, he wasn’t the only one who worried about its permanence. But even there, for all it was important, it seldom amounted to more than a few days and nights out of his busy life.
And it was busy, he argued with himself. He collected manuscripts, invested in art, supported charities, fenced and sparred, read voluminously, patronized the theater and a quantity of light females who otherwise, he finally thought, in a wry admission, might have to find employment standing up. But he’d been well pleased with his life before Julian and Susannah had descended upon him to change it altogether. Or at least, he’d never fretted if he hadn’t been.
Odd, he brooded, as he walked faster, as though to escape the unpleasantness of the thought, how paltry, petty, and unworthy a man’s diversions seemed if he had to document them, hang them out singly in all their naked inconsequence, and defend them, if only to himself. Could a man who conventionally wed, bred, and raised the requisite family claim he did more, he wondered, or was it only that he never felt he had to claim anything? But then, he remembered, with a cynical grin, that he was never a conventional man, so for all his astuteness it would remain an unanswerable question for him, since it had never arisen, and likely never would.
Mr. Jones held the lease on a box full of seats that jutted out high over the orchestra, and though it was located to the right side of the theater, and had the best sight lines for both seeing and being seen, and was usually occupied when there was a good program being performed, it was seldom stared at for any length of time by other members of the audience. Warwick Jones was a peculiar fellow, everyone knew that: rich as Croesus, secretive as a clam, and though oddly attractive to many in the ton, oddly inaccessible to them as well. Of course, he was obviously seldom inaccessible to the parade of lovely ladybirds that could generally be seen clinging to his arm or sitting by his side in that box when he decided to grace it, but though invariably polite, and incredibly charming when he put his mind to it, socially correct persons generally received only the most correct of acknowledgments of their existence from him. But tonight he bowed and waved and saluted the more social of his fellow theatergoers as if he found their presence more gratifying than Kean’s own. That wasn’t the only reason his box was ogled so much this night.
For “that smashing yaller-haired chit” was there again, as Lord Greyville burbled to his cronies, and “that simply exquisite Viscount Hazelton” was there as well, as the Honorable Miss Lancaster simpered to her frowning mama, while Lord Bigelow had to suffer hearing his adored Miss Turnbell tittering about the fellow’s resemblance to a Greek statue. And when he replied spitefully that Hazelton had about as much in his pockets as one of those stone boys did too, she replied that Adonis did very well without pockets, and turned her back on him and kept her eyes on the box for the rest of the night too, to prove it.
But then, people in society seldom went to the theater to see the performances, except for those of Kean and Mrs. Siddons, and even there they went only to say they’d been, Warwick explained when Susannah whispered a complaint at how she could hardly hear the singer’s performance. As Warwick began to tell her how lucky she was, for actually he could hear it very well, Julian leaned close and explained further about the way the ton went out of an evening and found more entertainment in keeping tabs on each other than in what was happening onstage. But when Julian leaned so close, she became very still and then realized she was no better than anyone else in the audience, for not only did she not hear anything happening onstage then, she scarcely heard what he was saying, since she found herself listening only to the soft cadence of his voice and never to his words at all. Thus she never asked him about all the gentlemen she’d noticed who could scarcely take their eyes from the stage when the ballet began. And so she spared her escorts the pleasure of informing her that such behavior had to do with other sorts of hungers than that for culture. For those enraptured gentlemen knew no more about ballet than the fact that a great many shapely legs were needful to create it. Their attention was focused on the dancers, not the dance, as they busily selected their evening’s future treats from that lively menu, since most were hopeful of hiring on those same young females after the performance for other sorts of performances of a more private nature.
This sort of information would have amused and titillated her, but when Julian sat so close and spoke so softly into her ear, she had no desire to know more, although she was glad of the dimness when she discovered a great desire to do more than listen to him. She was so staggered by the sudden notion that came to her that it was as well that Julian thought she was embarrassed at the way the dowager in an adjacent box was staring at them, and continued to try to divert her with lively gossip. Because all this while, as he’d been recuperating, she’d sat by his bed and been content to chatter with him, and when he’d gotten more mobile, she had been pleased to become his confidante, even if the plans he made for his future with another female had caused her some
pain. But even that had been a pleasurable pain, since he was her first and only experience with infatuation and she’d never felt such a way about a male before, and until circumstances changed she’d expected and hoped for nothing more than the sweet bitterness of the excitement and pleasure in his company.
But suddenly now, tonight, she sat by him, so close she could scent the bay rum upon his newly shaved cheek and feel the warmth emanating from his vibrant body beside her through the thin material of her gown. He was so near that she could sometimes feel the whisper of a strand of his golden hair brushing against her cheek when he bent to whisper to her, and though they didn’t touch, she was acutely aware of his hard thigh close by her own body. This alone made her giddy. But then, as he smiled at something to do with some lady he was talking about, she found herself staring at his perfectly chiseled lips and suddenly wishing to have more than words from them. For the first time she realized he was not just some picture-book hero, but a breathing male, and that she wanted his lips as close to her own as his friend Warwick’s had been last night, and then closer still.
She was one-and-twenty and she’d been kissed before. But only that, and never for very long, and never very excitingly. Young men her brother had introduced had courted her and she’d been curious about what a man’s lips might do, for she’d read a great many novels that had passed among the other girls, under her covers at night at school. After a few of those hasty embraces she’d decided that physical pleasure was not for her, and in all, she’d been relieved. Because in the past there had been certain longings, certain thrilling sensations in unmentionable parts of her body when certain subjects were discussed or forbidden illustrations pertaining to them were seen, and she’d feared that was only more proof of her common background and nature, only more reason that she wasn’t a true lady, aside from the accident of her birth.