Unleashed Desires 0f A Noble Lady (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  * * *

  “My Lord, you must admit this meeting is a tad unconventional.” Mr. Granrenaud stood in front of Donald holding what must have been half-a-bolt of fabric in his arms.

  “Perhaps it is a little, but I have an important event coming up and I could think of no better tailor, Mr. Granrenaud.” Donald spoke truthfully.

  “Yes, My Lord, this is an accolade I hear often, though I never tire of it,” the older man admitted. Mr. Granrenaud had thin smoky-gray hair and eyes that seemed to always open a tad too wide. “That being the case, my skills are in incredible demand. Especially now, for one reason or another. You would have me make your clothes on such short notice?”

  “You were also one of my father’s favorite tailors to visit. Whenever he is in London he insists on coming to your shop,” Donald continued, forgiving himself a little flattery as long as it was truthful.

  “And His Grace’s presence is always a warm and welcome one, of course,” Mr. Granrenaud replied. The remarks placated him a little, but not say anything about the question Donald had ignored.

  “I could think of no one’s clothes I would rather wear to such an important event,” Donald added.

  “Is that so? And what grand event is this that the clothes I’ve designed will be on display?” the tailor asked curiously.

  “I am afraid that is an affair I have to keep most private, Mr. Granrenaud.”

  “Say no more, My Lord. I know that the ways of the ton are separate from my own, no matter how much weight they have on me day to day,” he said with a small chuckle. “Though I will say, for being as secretive as you all can be, it’s still easy for people like me to catch on to the comings and goings.”

  “It’s not about the effort, I don’t think,” Donald mused. “I think it’s about the gesture. Gossip is a valuable commodity among my people. If you can find a way to create a little, you are doing it right.”

  “Interesting observation, My Lord. Now let’s take a look at this assessment your valet made of your wardrobe,” Mr. Granrenaud said, while examining the piece of paper Donald had given him from Helt.

  Reading of his penchant for dark reds, Mr. Granrenaud was inclined to suggest something similar. “The reds do you justice, but this is springtime. A nice light, bright red will make you really match the flowers that will surely be decorating any event. Not to mention it will complement you just as much.”

  “Never let it be said that I have doubted your expertise before, but are you sure such clothes would look complementary on me?”

  “I can say with confidence that if you wear the clothes I make for you to the ball that you will never voice a question about my expertise again.”

  “Rest assured, no matter where you will be, if you are wearing my clothing then you will sure draw the eye of many a fair lady. I can make sure of that,” the older man said with a chuckle that Donald returned hesitantly.

  When he came into Mr. Granrenaud’s tailor shop, his mind had only been on business. He had meant what he said, Mr. Granrenaud was one of the best tailors in London and he would never pass on the opportunity to order from him.

  But, admittedly, the whole experience had been a bitter one. Mr. Granrenaud’s shop had been one of the many smaller shops that had switched over to Empire Furs. And no matter how much Baldwin or any of his other employees had bargained or negotiated, not a one of them would switch back to his furs.

  He wasn’t necessarily angry with Mr. Granrenaud, per se, one had to make the decisions they had to make in business. But Donald wasn’t thrilled with giving money to his rival whenever he wanted to visit his favorite tailor.

  But it was not the tailor’s choice in business partners that occupied his mind now, but rather his comment about attracting ladies that stuck in his mind as he climbed back into his carriage.

  He hadn’t done much courting in his life. There had, of course, been the occasional pleasant passing flirtation with this or that lady when he lived on his father’s estate, the draw of the son of a Duke alone would often be more than enough to garner attention. Let alone the fact that he was at least somewhat handsome, by his own humble admittance.

  But he had not the time to think about it since he and Matthew had started up the business. Even now he couldn’t bring himself to consider the idea of romance. Every time he did, or someone else brought it to the forefront of his mind, he felt oddly inappropriate. The idea of finding a lady appealing was, not wrong precisely, but just not something that did anything for him.

  No, that’s not true.

  As he let his thoughts drift while he stared out the carriage window he realized that there was a lady that would often hold his interest. Emma, perhaps her beauty simply paled all other women for him. Was he just suffering the misfortune of being best friends with one of the most beautiful ladies he had ever seen?

  Donald was frequently inclined to feeling guilty far more often than most other gentleman, but he was still willing to let himself indulge in thoughts about Emma; the gentle crest of her lips as she spoke, the sway of her hips whenever she walked. He found himself again and again having to correct his gaze before she would notice that he was admiring her in such a fashion.

  As the carriage bumped along toward the manor, he was glad he was alone. Even if his clothing would hide the physical effects that thinking about Emma had on him, he knew that his fit was frequently tailored too tightly and didn’t want to risk any untoward public displays.

  Chapter 7

  The Earl of Westfolk was forced to prepare two carriages for the Duke of Castron’s ball. The carriages carried them slowly through the city, with many of the upper echelons of the London elite crowding the streets with their own carriages. Any secrecy that was surrounding the evening was soon for naught, as any onlooker could put together that something was happening.

  The Earl and Countess rode in the carriage in front of them. Lady Emma, Lady Henrietta, and The Dowager Countess rode in the second carriage.

  Emma had been surprised that her grandmother accompanied them. Even on the more important occasions, she had been known to skirt social graces and simply not attend. Emma was always somewhat impressed by her grandmother’s boldness, but was also smart enough to know that age came with its own sort of status and privilege. It wasn’t boldness alone that gave weight to her grandmother’s actions.

  Still, Emma was curious about why her grandmother had chosen to attend the Duke’s ball.

  “Lady Westfolk, I must admit I am surprised that you have chosen to accompany us tonight,” Henrietta remarked. She always had a penchant for saying what Emma would only be brave enough to wonder.

  “Are you actually curious, Lady Henrietta, or are you simply trying to fill the relatively pleasant silence of this carriage ride?” the Dowager asked.

  “Genuinely curious, as always, My Lady,” Henrietta pressed, and Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat. While individually she enjoyed Henrietta and her grandmother’s personal forms of abrasiveness, when they got together there would often be sparks that made Emma almost uncomfortable.

  “I am being strongly encouraged to attend under the direction of the Earl,” the Dowager explained curtly. This confused Emma all the more and she remained silent to prompt her grandmother to elaborate. The Dowager cleared her throat and continued, “Apparently there are many opportunities for capital gain for the discerning gentleman. And not having one’s mother in attendance to prestigious events can reflect badly.” The older woman nodded understandingly. “While I care little of the impression others have of my social status, I do not wish it to hinder my son. So here I am.”

  “Do gentlemen often do business at balls? I thought it was to be more a sort of celebration,” Emma remarked.

  “You jest, Emma,” Henrietta laughed through her nose.

  “I do not!” Emma insisted.

  “All gentlemen do at these things is business. It is truly amazing any dancing gets done at all.” Henrietta’s laughter rang through the carriage, c
ausing the Dowager to look even more put off than normal.

  The Dowager commented at Emma’s flushed cheeks. “Do not feel foolish for not realizing. Gentlemen have gotten so adept at doing their business in public, they talk of it subtly everywhere. At balls. In the club. I am personally inclined to believe the only place they do not do business is at their place of business.” Now it was Emma’s grandmother’s turn to laugh lightly to herself, a rare sight indeed.

  Emma nodded and wondered if that was why Donald would want to come. When she realized he might come, she had been excited. The idea of spending such a fantastic evening with her dear friend had delighted her to no end.

  Does he know I’m coming? Will he be excited to see me?

  But what if he was coming to do business instead? Her friends were important gentlemen of business now, no longer the carefree school boys she had grown close to.

  She imagined herself seeing him there, moving hastily across the ballroom to greet him, and having him give her a small wave and returning to his far more important conversation. She clasped her hands tightly as she broke her own heart.

  Will he really do that to me?

  Did he simply entertain their friendship with their weekly meetings out of pity? Or was it worse than that? Was he friends with her in order to eventually enter into business with her father?

  What had moments ago been an exciting carriage ride to a grand ball became one filled with dread. How had thoughts of Donald done this to her?

  The Dowager Countess cleared her throat. “Emma dear? We have arrived.”

  Emma blinked and let one of the Duke’s footmen help her step out of the carriage, her dread was swept away in an instant at the entrance to the Duke of Castron’s grand estate.

  The Duke was known for making peculiar choices for hosting events and this springtime ball was no different. The very entrance was masked by thick hedges that allowed nothing to be seen through them. Past them, the walkway was lined on both sides with seven pairs of maypoles. They lead up to the doorway and each set was decorated from base to top in a different color of flowers and ribbons. Emma and Henrietta gasped in delight as the servants lit lanterns in the twilight to cast their beautiful glow upon the maypoles.

  Emma proceeded down the walkway following her parents and grandmother, far more aware of herself now that she was in public. She stood in a small cluster with her party as they waited to be formally announced, each step and glance revealing exciting and elaborate festive decorations.

  * * *

  Donald stood politely with the other guests, enjoying the beautiful spring-themed decorations in the ballroom and the pleasant scent of the flowers. The entire public manor was bedecked with every sort of flower imaginable from all over Europe and some, apparently, all the way from America.

  He was unsure what club the Duke of Castron was affiliated with, but if he was looking then Donald would have to recommend The Blossom Court to him. The Blossom Court was the club that both he and Matthew were members of, and it had a particular affinity for sumptuous plants and flowers, having been founded by florists. If the Duke was a big lover of flowers as his ballroom would indicate, he might enjoy having lunch there a time or two.

  Even though his mind should be on matters of business, Donald couldn’t help but wait anxiously for the arrival of the Westfolk party. The chance to see Emma was always one he reveled in, and the opportunity for them to enjoy a ball with one another was one they rarely had.

  I wouldn’t mind seeing how well her new ball gown shows off her figure, either.

  The only thing that would make the evening different from the old height of their friendship was the lack of Matthew. But Donald’s thoughts of their absent friend were cut short when he heard the announcement of the Earl of Westfolk. He absolutely knew he had to be there to greet them.

  Donald was prepared to cross the ballroom when he caught sight of Emma. The dress she wore, fashionable, yes, also hugged her form in a way that stopped him in his tracks. The contrast of her dark hair to the light color of her dress only enhanced her beauty as she made her way into the ballroom.

  Emma’s face went from being filled with wonder to being delighted when she spotted Donald. Even when she was trying to preserve her composure he could see that twinkle in her eye that he had come to treasure. Considering how excited she seemed to see him, Donald was a little surprised at how shy the wave she gave him was.

  He finished crossing the grand room rather hastily, telling himself he was simply eager to join some friendly faces. Though there were few places Donald didn’t get to quickly, being so tall he had a surprisingly long stride.

  The Earl of Westfolk turned and almost looked surprised to see the much taller Marquess of Stapleton standing behind him. Donald greeted everyone with a short bow in turn. “Lord Westfolk, Lady Westfolk, Lady Westfolk, Lady Henrietta,” he turned to Emma last and bowed especially deeply, “Lady Emma.” He knew the Lord and ladies wouldn’t take offense, this had been a long standing tradition for when Donald would run into them altogether.

  “Donald, my boy, I should have known I’d see you here,” Lord Westfolk said, dispensing with the formalities. Donald would be hard pressed to do that in public. But he took no offense to the Earl’s casual speech, even if he technically outranked him. He had known him since he could sit on his lap, they were practically family in every way but blood and law.

  “The only thing stopping this from becoming a true old-fashioned affair is Matthew’s good humor.” The Earl continued, “Shame he couldn’t be here this evening. Emma mentioned that he had to travel to America? I think it a great crime to break up friends as thick as the three of you. Must have been some awfully important business to keep him away.”

  “He does hate to miss all the parties, I’m sure. But he travels with good intent. Our company is growing rapidly, and he was the only one who we could send to make new arrangements. Neither of us are inclined to trust the hands of the company to anyone else.” Donald confessed, letting his enthusiasm for running the fur company pour out.

  Donald noticed Emma frowning and felt bad for bringing up the absence of Matthew, surely he had put a damper on the evening by reminding her of their missing friend.

  Before they could continue the conversation the lady of the house, The Duchess of Castron, stepped in front of an assembling group of musicians. She was soon joined by her husband, the Duke. “Good evening, all of you,” the Duchess began, “We are all delighted to have you here on this lovely spring night.”

  The Duchess was a large lady, round in figure with an extremely cheery personality. Her presence in the center of the room seemed to welcome spring itself in her vibrant grass-green dress. The Duke of Castron wore surprisingly restrained all-black attire with accents to match his lady’s dress. Donald would have thought he looked terribly out of character for someone who organized a secret ball if not for the absolutely vibrant twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

  “Now that all the guests have arrived,” the Duchess continued, “We commence with tonight’s festivities, beginning with The Duke and I sharing a dance.” On cue, the musicians started up with a jaunty springtime tune and the couple began the night.

  Donald turned to Emma, still in awe of her beauty. “Lady Emma. Truly, I am not inclined to disagree with your father, but personally I always thought you were what gave a party its life.

  “Lord Stapleton, you must speak in jest. It’s rude to tease a lady,” Emma giggled.

  “I don’t tease. You always knew how to draw people in so simply and gently, I always found the skill more impressive than Matthew’s social ability, in its own way,” Donald confessed.

  Emma was going to reply before she was interrupted.

  “Lord Stapleton, did you, perchance, notice the arrival of a Viscount of Gallanville?”

  Lord Westfolk’s interruption caught Donald by surprise. What did Emma’s father know about Lord Gallanville?

  “I believe I caught something about that,” Do
nald commented as he turned away from Emma. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “A business associate would be a more appropriate label. I noticed that he had the most garish pattern of handkerchief...where did he...ah there he is!” Lord Westfolk said while gesturing as discreetly as he could, not wanting to appear rude.

  Donald eyed him across the ballroom. The Viscount was likely in his thirties and flocked by a surprising amount of other socialites. “He seems popular for one of his status,” Donald said, trying to mask the judgment in his voice with feigned curiosity.

  “He is quite accomplished in many fields of business and exceedingly rich,” Lord Westfolk remarked.

  “He operates Empire Furs,” Donald nodded knowingly.

  “As well as owning large portions of railroad, mining operations, and wool production.” Lord Westfolk arched an eyebrow at Donald’s surprised face. “Like I said, quite accomplished.”