by Eloisa James
Once downstairs, it appeared at first that her pink shoes had been donned in vain. Uncle Thaddeus informed her that they would accept no callers because the excitement of the morning—the initial inability to find a pineapple followed by the footman’s successful acquisition of two—had sent Bess back to her bed with a sick headache.
After her uncle left for his club, Merry informed Jenkins that she was “at home” for Lord Cedric Allardyce.
Uncle Thaddeus would not approve of Merry’s entertaining her fiancé without a chaperone. But unlike Bertie, who would have toppled her onto a sofa in five minutes, Cedric would never take advantage of the opportunity. And it was essential that they talk.
She felt much better after playing with George in the back garden. Cedric might not think she was perfect, but George made it clear that he thought she was absolutely splendid.
When they returned to the drawing room, she sat down at the escritoire and George slumped onto his stomach, put his head on her shoes, and fell asleep.
For a while, Merry just stared through the window at Portman Square. Cedric would presumably pay her a call soon. If he didn’t, she’d have to summon him. Her throat felt as if it would close, thinking of the conversation that lay ahead of her.
She just kept telling herself that Cedric didn’t want her. It wouldn’t be like Bertie, whose eyes had filled with tears. Or Dermot, who had spat out his intent to sue her, and had done just that. Cedric would be happy to see the back of her.
Finally, she forced herself to take out the design for a new garden at her uncle’s summer house that she had put to the side with the excitement of coming to London. She wanted blossoms to cascade down the hill in front of the gazebo constructed the summer before.
That was one happy aspect of breaking her third betrothal: she could create the new garden. She could watch her apricot tree mature. Maybe she’d even acquire one of those pineapple stoves, whatever they were, and bring it back with her.
At precisely eleven o’clock, carriages began to roll up in front of the house. Grooms rushed from carriage after carriage, calling cards in hand; the front door opened and shut repeatedly as Jenkins politely turned them all away.
When Merry finally heard the noise of Jenkins actually ushering someone into the house, she sprang from her desk. She was shaking, but desperate to get it over with.
Her fingers curled around the back of a chair as she told herself that she could work on her uncle’s gardens for the rest of her life. She had no need of a husband. Her hand closed so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
She was almost certain that she would have no need to say a word. Cedric was surely devastated by her last, largest gaffe. As a gentleman, he could not call off the engagement, but they could dissolve the betrothal with only a few words.
As Cedric walked through the door, she swallowed hard. Should she open the subject? Would he say something?
No sooner had Jenkins tucked George under his arm and left, than Cedric stopped, flung out an arm, and demanded, “Am I a connoisseur of the best the civilized world has to offer, or am I not?”
Merry’s heart skipped. “I beg your pardon?”
He strode toward her, fell back a step, and swept her a magnificent bow. “‘Oh nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!’”
“What?” Merry cried.
He straightened and said with a shrug, “The analogy doesn’t quite work, but that’s no matter.”
“What is an ‘orison’?”
“An eye. No, no, what am I saying? A prayer.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes holding hers captive. “You have the power to forgive my sins.”
“I have what?”
“Merry, you are not simply in fashion,” Cedric cried. “At the moment you are the fashion!”
She felt as if the world was reeling around her. “Why? Surely not because I ate Mrs. Bennett’s pineapple?”
“Precisely!” His smile was toothy . . . triumphant. “I will not pretend that I haven’t had moments in which I doubted my judgment, fearful that you would not join me at the pinnacle of society. Moments when I wondered whether the role of Lady Cedric Allardyce might prove overtaxing for an American.”
Merry sank into the chair she’d been clinging to.
He took the chair next to hers, and angled it so that their knees brushed. “You have pointed up the empty pretentiousness of households such as Mrs. Bennett’s. I am shocked to think that I accepted her invitation.”
Cedric didn’t seem to notice that Merry had been struck dumb. “Last night you conducted yourself as befits the wife of a duke’s son. Everyone is talking about it. Prinny himself—the Prince of Wales—congratulated me on finding a wife with such a clear sense of propriety, not to mention the ability to give a withering set-down that rivals Brummell’s. He particularly enjoyed your comment about a ‘pilfered pineapple.’”
“What? I said nothing of the sort!” Merry cried, finding her voice.
“Unimportant,” Cedric declared, waving his hand in the air. “Everyone is saying you did. The story of your victory is circulating all over town.”
“I thought you would be angry with me.”
“One mustn’t always rigidly adhere to rules,” Cedric announced. “We leave that to the lower classes.”
That was not what he, or anyone else, had intimated to Merry before today. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt ill.
“With one small gesture, asking for a slice of pineapple—the rented pineapple—you revealed the true colors of Mrs. Bennett’s shabby gentility.” Cedric sprang from the chair and crossed the room in order to straighten his neck cloth in the Venetian mirror. “The woman pushed her way into the highest circles by means of that hospital committee, but believe me, no one will fall for her pretenses again.”
“Is everyone speaking of Mrs. Bennett in such terms?” Merry’s stomach clenched.
Cedric turned back to her. “I shall be most interested to see her reception at the Vereker ball tonight. If she dares to attend. In the future, I intend to demand a slice of pineapple whenever I see the fruit on a dining table. Those airing an empty pretentiousness that merely gestures at our ranks must be put in their places.”
“Oh no,” Merry cried. “I would never want Mrs. Bennett’s reputation to suffer through my ignorance.”
“She brought it on herself.” Cedric paused. “The five pineapples delivered to her house this morning might have been a touch heavy-handed. One must avoid vulgar display even in service of a well-deserved snub.”
“My aunt didn’t mean it as a snub,” Merry gasped. “She sent the pineapples to Mrs. Bennett with her most sincere apologies, and there were only two.”
Cedric laughed. “Brilliant! From the mouths of babes, et cetera.” He waved his hand again. “On that same subject, I must say that I was pleasantly surprised when my brother actually behaved like a man of his rank and left Mrs. Bennett’s table after being roundly insulted by his hostess. I would have expected him to lounge at the bottom of the room and demand a mug of ale.”
Merry came to her feet. “I cannot allow Mrs. Bennett to suffer from my foolish error!”
“It was her foolish error. She placed a duke below the salt, and she boasted of pineapples that weren’t hers. Now she’s a pineapple pariah.” He laughed. “‘Pineapple pariah.’ I amuse myself.”
“But Cedric—”
“Admitting no callers this morning was also a brilliant stratagem. All of London will be desperately attempting to befriend you at the ball tonight.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You must utter another such riposte. Perhaps I shall steer Algernon Webbling in your direction. He has that hilarious stammer. Alas, I regret I must be off, but I am certain that some clever bon mot will come to you. You might plan it this afternoon.”
“No, don’t go,” Merry cried, catching his sleeve, though she dropped it instantly when Cedric glanced at her hand. “We must talk.”
“I am due at my tail
or’s thirty minutes hence,” he said. “I ordered a new coat for the ball.”
Merry couldn’t think straight. She had to figure out a way to make amends for her insult to Mrs. Bennett. And there was the matter of their betrothal to discuss. “Could you possibly delay the trip to your tailor?”
“Alas, no,” Cedric said firmly. “My coat was ready yesterday, but brass buttons have become entirely too common. As you might have noticed, even Kestril was wearing them last night, and he is no more than a country bumpkin. I told my tailor that he had to swap the buttons or I wouldn’t pay a ha’penny for the coat.”
“Buttons,” Merry repeated.
“Buttons should come as a surprise,” Cedric informed her. “The new ones are ebony with inlaid brass flowers. My tailor swore on his mother’s grave that they are the only such buttons to be found in all England.”
Likely her uncle had paid for those buttons—or, even more likely, the new coat was bought on credit and waiting for their marriage before the bill was settled.
“Cedric, we must talk,” Merry insisted.
But her fiancé just pushed open the door to the hallway, where Jenkins was waiting.
“I am very proud to be marrying a woman whom all of London admires,” Cedric said, bowing.
“I didn’t mean to ruin Mrs. Bennett’s reputation!”
“Style, not sincerity, is all that matters.” And with that he brushed a kiss on her cheek, not seeming to notice when Merry recoiled.
Jenkins helped Cedric shrug on his close-fitting overcoat. With a flourish and another bow, her fiancé clapped on his hat and left.
Over the course of the morning, so many cards had arrived that the silver tray in the entry overflowed with them. Merry slipped back into the drawing room just as the door knocker sounded again.
It was quite ironic that Cedric had finally looked at her with the admiration she had hoped for . . . but for all the wrong reasons. Now, too late, he was apparently hers, for better, for worse—at least until she managed to break it off in person, or send him a letter to that effect.
Merry shook her head. Jilting Cedric was not a problem; God knows, she had experience in that.
The real problem was Mrs. Bennett. Merry sank into a chair, feeling truly ill. The thoughtfulness that is never mentioned in books of etiquette seemed to be as rare in London as pineapples—but that didn’t mean that she should have lowered herself to be as spiteful as Lady Caroline.
What must poor Mrs. Bennett be thinking? A wave of nausea came over Merry and she fought back tears.
Her father would be ashamed of her for more than one reason. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t fix the situation.
She had to make amends to Mrs. Bennett. Casting off Cedric could wait, but atoning for her rudeness could not.
Just paying a visit to the lady would do nothing. She had to make a public announcement of some sort, tonight, at the Vereker ball.
After which she would break her third engagement.
Chapter Sixteen
Lady Vereker’s ball
Trent made up his mind to attend the Vereker ball for one reason, and one reason only: to find his own American to marry. His fascination with his brother’s fiancée was entirely inappropriate and must cease.
Naturally, the first person he saw upon his arrival was Cedric, holding court amid a cluster of gentlemen and ladies with sharp faces and predatory eyes, vultures who dressed impeccably and always seemed to be murmuring something at once clever and unpleasant.
In short, Cedric was in his element.
Trent headed in the opposite direction. It was slow going because ladies with eligible daughters in tow stopped him every few feet. Every one of those girls was dressed in white; they looked like a crowd of vestal virgins who’d left their lamps at home. Their bodies blurred together, making their heads stand out.
Miss Chasticle with the red hair—God, no. Miss Petunia with the squint—unlikely. Lady Sissy Royal, with the snub nose—not even if hell froze over.
It had just occurred to him that he hadn’t met a single woman who was worthy of serious consideration—where were the American ladies this evening?—when Lady Caroline emerged from the pack with all the demureness of a hungry jackal.
Perhaps that pinched aspect of her face had nothing to do with him, and she was simply hungry. Her white gown had a low neck, which had the unfortunate effect of giving her collarbones a marked similarity to the ridges on the backs of sea monsters depicted on medieval maps.
Here be dragons, he thought unenthusiastically.
“Duke!” Lady Caroline cried, with an archness that was acceptable, and a familiarity that was not. “It’s such a pleasure to see you a second night in a row. Dare we hope that you plan to assume your rightful place in society?”
Just in time, Trent bit back the God, no he was thinking. Rather than answer, he bowed and kissed the lady’s proffered hand, wondering what she would think if he told the truth: he’d come to the ball to find an American wife.
But even as he formulated the thought, he knew he was lying to himself.
He’d come to the ball to find one particular American, and no other woman of any nationality or attributes—no matter how pleasing—would do.
Hell and damnation.
Cedric already thought Trent had stolen the title that was rightfully his, and now he was going to steal his fiancée.
“I was so, so horrified at the affront you received last night,” Lady Caroline said, lowering her voice and drawing closer. Her hair brushed against his cheek, each strand rigidly set in place, as if her curls had been starched. “Although I have been friendly with Mrs. Bennett in the past, naturally I revised my feelings the moment I saw how you were treated.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Such an extraordinary insult, to seat a duke at the bottom of the table! Thank goodness, you did not tolerate her disrespect. I recounted the event to my father upon returning home, and he agreed that we members of the peerage must insist on the rights and privileges to which we are entitled. I assure you that I have heard nothing but the most supportive remarks from all quarters.”
“I left only because I spilled wine on my garments,” Trent stated.
Lady Caroline twinkled at him. “Of course, Your Grace. You are the soul of discretion. But a disregard for precedence was not the only blunder at last night’s dinner. I suppose you have heard about the pineapple incident?”
Trent glanced over her head at the room. Not that he was searching for Merry. Oh hell, he was searching for Merry.
“I have not,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Caroline—”
She put a hand on his sleeve and drew close to him again. Trent felt a prickling in his shoulders that suggested a sizable portion of the ballroom was watching them closely. Tonight White’s betting book would include wagers in favor of Lady Caroline’s chances of becoming a duchess.
“Your future sister-in-law created quite a bother last night,” the lady whispered.
Trent froze. “Miss Pelford?”
“I would not have believed her to possess such refinement, but that just goes to show that one cannot judge on appearances, as my sainted grandmother often reminded me before her death.”
Trent waited while Lady Caroline related some fool thing about a rented pineapple.
“Now everyone is gushing about Miss Pelford, repeating her clever remarks.” Her expression curdled a little. “For my part, I don’t think it appropriate for those of our station to makes jests about those who are lower in status.”
That didn’t sound like Merry.
“Miss Pelford apparently labeled Mrs. Bennett a ‘pineapple pariah.’ It is not precisely kind, you know, but there are those who seem to find the term amusing, and everyone is talking of it.” Lady Caroline hunched one thin shoulder with an expression of disdain.
“Have you seen Miss Pelford this evening?” he inquired. “I ought to greet her.”
“I l
ast saw her around the lemon grove at the end of the ballroom,” the lady said with a sniff. “I am aware of the mania for hothouse plants, but Lady Vereker erred by bringing so many trees into the room. The ballroom’s size is insufficient.”
To Trent’s relief, a gentleman appeared at her side and bowed. “Lady Caroline, I believe this dance is mine.”
Trent disengaged himself from the hand clutching his arm, but before he could make an escape, she leaned in again and murmured something about the supper dance. Then she gave her dance partner a condescending smile and left before Trent could answer.
The forest of plumes waving above ladies’ heads prevented Trent from seeing whether Merry was still somewhere near the “lemon grove.” Worse, a stout lady immediately slipped into the space left by Lady Caroline and thrust her daughter forward as if the girl were a posy of white carnations peddled outside a music hall.
Trent managed to bow, even in the cramped space. In the back of his mind, he was evaluating Lady Caroline’s story.
Unless he was sorely mistaken about her character, Merry had no hidden capacity for viciousness. Even had she lost her temper, he’d wager that she wouldn’t stoop to insulting people. She’d probably fish up a fact or six to demonstrate why she was right.
The thought brought a wry grin to his lips and too late, he realized that the young Miss Randall-Barclay, to whom he had just been introduced, had taken the smile as encouragement. She started flapping her lashes as if she’d been caught in a high wind.
“Forgive me,” he said, “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your remark.”
“I asked if you were enjoying the season?” she breathed. “It’s my first.”
It couldn’t be easy having your mother parade you in front of prospective husbands, and he liked the optimistic bravery in her smile.
“I haven’t any sisters,” he said, “but I understand that a lady’s first season is a taxing adventure.”
Her smile broadened. “I assure you that if you had been trapped in a schoolroom for fourteen years, you would have no complaints about going to balls, and eating ices.”