Brenda Hiatt (6 page)

Harry appeared cheered by his remark, however. “Not if I can avoid it, old boy!” He drained the glass that had been recalled to his notice and signaled a passing waiter for another. “Oh, your quarry is in the dance at the moment, I believe.”

Jack experienced an inexplicable lightening of his mood. “Lady Haughton is finally here, then?”

“Oh, so you
were
here before? Wench is leading you a merry chase, is she? Quite an active social life for a widow just out of her weeds.”

Jack’s mood became just a shade less light.

Harry now turned to his companion. “You were right, by the bye, Pete. She
is
a taking little thing. Begin to understand Jack’s determination, though given her current course, I’m not sure he need go so far as parson’s mousetrap. Offer her a slip on the shoulder first, Jack,” he advised his friend kindly.

Though he glared at Harry, Jack couldn’t keep his lips from twitching slightly. “You forget the point, Harry. The idea is for Lady Haughton to repair
my
reputation, not for me to ruin hers.” He couldn’t deny, however, that the notion held more than a modicum of appeal.

“You’d best hurry, then.” Harry indicated the near lefthand side of the ballroom with a motion of his head.

Jack followed his glance and then stiffened, an odd mixture of vexation and elation welling up inside him. There stood the object of his quest, resplendent in deep rose silk. Flowers of the same shade adorned her chestnut curls, which she wore loose to her bare shoulders. Though her gown was cut no lower than most of the others there, its contrast to the high-necked black dress he’d last seen her wearing made it seem outrageously seductive.

Momentarily rendered speechless by the vision before him, Jack merely observed—only to realize abruptly that Lady Haughton was surrounded by no fewer than six gentlemen, with all of whom she seemed to be conducting a flirtation! Excusing himself from his companions, he strode toward her.

Nessa was certain she had never enjoyed an evening so much in her life. The Westercotts’ soiree on Saturday had been but a trial run. In fact, she had dared only two dances there, so severe was Prudence’s disapproval—and so rusty were her skills. Though her parents had permitted their daughters to learn all of the approved dances, they’d been afforded very few opportunities to practice in public—and after her marriage, Nessa had danced only once or twice, at small country gatherings.

Tonight, she had a mind to throw caution to the winds. Winning at whist while tentatively flirting with Mr. Galloway had been a highly entertaining novelty,
and now she had just concluded her third dance, with the promise of several more to come.

And such attentive young men! She turned a blind eye to Prudence’s reproachful looks from across the room, just as she had earlier turned a deaf ear to her sister’s strictures on which gentlemen were respectable enough to be worthy of her notice. Respectability was the very
last
thing she was seeking tonight!

“Why, what a charming thing to say, Sir Lawrence,” she responded to a particularly outrageous compliment, flitting her fan experimentally. The fan was something else she needed proper instruction on, she realized. Else she might send signals she did not intend. But so what if she did? she asked herself with sudden recklessness.

“No more than the truth, I assure you, Lady Haughton,” said her young cavalier. “You outshine every other woman present.”

“Indisputably,” agreed Mr. Pottinger, a handsome man of more mature years but with a decided lisp. “You have given new life to the Little Season, my lady.”

It was nice, Nessa reflected, to know that not everyone disapproved of her as Prudence did. Resolutely, she squelched the twinge of conscience that threatened to assail her.

“You are all very kind,” she assured the small cluster of gentlemen surrounding her. “As new to the social scene as I am, it is most pleasant to have made so many friends already.”

A clamor arose as they all attempted to convey how
very honored they were to be counted among her friends, and Nessa positively basked in the attention. Surely, enjoying such harmless flattery could not be so evil as she’d always been led to believe.

The orchestra struck up the opening strains of the next dance—a waltz. At least three of her gallants stepped forward to lead her out, but before she could formulate a suitable excuse, another voice spoke from behind her.

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but I believe the lady has promised this particular dance to me.”

Whirling, she found herself transfixed by the piercing blue eyes of Lord Foxhaven. Why her heart should leap so at his appearance she had no idea, unless it were sudden fear that now she was wearing colors, he might recognize her as the masked Monique. Bemused, she allowed him to take her hand in his. As he led her toward the assembling dancers, however, sanity abruptly returned.

“I…I fear I cannot oblige you, my lord,” she stammered.

He gazed down at her, his expression unreadable. “Engaged to someone else, are you?”

“Yes. That is, no. That is…” Nessa gave it up, realizing that glib excuses would not work on this man—not that she was precisely managing glibness. “I’m afraid I do not waltz, my lord,” she finally said in a small voice.

To her surprise, Lord Foxhaven broke into a wide smile. “Do you not indeed? Then, my lady, it is high time you began.” Ignoring her inarticulate protests, he
whirled her out onto the floor, then placed one hand lightly on her waist.

Nessa quickly moved from under his hand. “My lord, you do not understand,” she whispered frantically. “I do not know
how
to waltz! I never learned.”

For the barest moment the marquis looked surprised, but then he gave her a reassuring smile. “’Tis really a very simple dance: three steps repeated, in time to the music. Just follow my lead. I promise not to attempt any of the fancier movements—not until you’ve learned the basics.”

A half-wink gave his words a deeper meaning, and Nessa felt herself flushing. The sensation was not unpleasant, however. “Very well, my lord. I shall hold you to your word.” She let added meaning color her own words as well, and saw his eyes light in response.

He again placed his hand at her waist, its warmth seeming to spread in all directions. Though the dance was not quite so easy as he had implied, Nessa found that with some concentration she was able to overcome the distracting effect of his touch enough to follow his steps. Occasional, surreptitious glances at the other dancers assisted her as well.

Still, she could not deny that this particular dance was a disturbingly intimate experience. No wonder her father had so strongly disapproved of the waltz! Though Lord Foxhaven took no liberties, she was acutely aware of the placement of each long finger against her body, pressing and releasing as they moved to the music. By the time the music ended, she believed she could cau
tiously claim to be able to waltz—a gratifying accomplishment—but she would never look upon the dance in the same way again.

“I thank you for the lesson, Lord Foxhaven,” she said breathlessly as they twirled to a stop.

He shook his head. “The lady does not thank the gentleman for the dance, Lady Haughton. I see you are more unschooled in the ways of polite Society than you pretend. The honor, by the dictates of custom, must be mine.”

Placing her hand on his arm to accompany him from the floor, she regarded him uncertainly. “By the dictates of custom?” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.

But then his eyes smiled into hers, warming her again. “Not only by custom,” he said, his voice silken. “I quite enjoyed the experience of instructing you. It is an experience I look forward to repeating, perhaps in other areas.”

Nessa’s face flamed as she read a meaning into his words that was doubtless far more lascivious than he had intended. Why did her mind always seem to run along such paths when she was near this man?

“Thank you, my lord,” she managed to murmur as they reached the crowd surrounding the dance floor. Prudence was waiting for her, looking thoroughly shocked.

“Lady Creamcroft.” Lord Foxhaven executed a respectful bow. “Might I procure refreshment for you both? Ratafia, perhaps?”

“Thank you, no, my lord,” replied Prudence stiffly. Nessa stopped herself on the verge of requesting a lemonade, and instead shook her head, but accompanied her refusal with a smile.

Lord Foxhaven bowed again and left them.

“Nessa, what can you have been thinking?” Prudence demanded the moment he was out of earshot. “And where on earth did you learn to waltz? Not in Lord Haughton’s household, I’ll take my oath.”

Nessa suddenly found her sister’s overbearing propriety almost amusing, where a month ago she’d considered it the norm. “Actually, Prudence, you just witnessed my first lesson. Was it not kind of Lord Foxhaven to offer to instruct me?”

“Kind?” Prudence was obliged to fan herself vigorously before she could continue. “I’ll have you know that I myself have
never
waltzed—not even with my husband! You know what Father always—”

“Father said a great many things,” interrupted Nessa. “But we are adults now, Prudence, and must make our own decisions. Truly, you should try the waltz. It is really quite easy. I’m sure Philip would be more than happy to teach you.”

For a moment Prudence appeared to waver, but then she frowned. “I should never be able to bring myself to ask such a thing of Phil—that is, Lord Creamcroft. What might he think of me?”

“He might think his wife was becoming a living, breathing woman, instead of the stone statue her father raised,” Nessa suggested.

“Nessa, really!” Prudence’s eyes reproached her. “I begin to think you must always have harbored these…irregular propensities. Did Lord Haughton never suspect?”

Nessa shook her head. “If I
have
always harbored them—and I don’t believe they’re in the least irregular or unnatural—then I managed to hide them almost as well from myself as from the rest of the world. I begin to see that it was the strictures laid upon us by our father—and upon me by Lord Haughton—that were unnatural. I wish that you could see it too, Prudence.”

But Prudence merely clicked her tongue and hurried away to her husband’s side, to put an end to what was clearly becoming a most disturbing conversation.

Nessa watched her sister’s retreat with mingled pity and amusement. So much happiness awaited poor Prudence, if she would only reach out her hand to grasp it! If she herself were married to a man of her own generation, one who actually loved her…

No. Marriage was a trap, a cage. Five years’ experience had made that abundantly clear. Her own happiness must lie along a different path from her sister’s. But when she saw it offered, she was determined that
she
would not hesitate to seize it!

Nessa came downstairs rather later than usual the next day, to find her sister awaiting her in the drawing room.

“So there you are, Nessa! I’d begun to fear you meant to sleep the day away,” Prudence greeted her. “I wished to have a word with you before your first caller arrives.”

Nessa’s heart sank at the prospect of another lecture. But—“My first caller? Am I expecting callers?”

“After your tremendous success last night, I would be most surprised if you did not have several. Three bouquets of flowers have already arrived, as you can see.”

Nessa regarded the elaborate arrangements her sister indicated with wide eyes.

Prudence continued. “You are still very innocent of the ways of Society, I see. Therefore, I wished to, ah, advise you with respect to some of the gentlemen you met last night, and who might possibly come to call.”

“Advise me?” Nessa asked suspiciously. “Why did you not do so during the drive home?”

“With Lord Creamcroft in the carriage?” Prudence was aghast. “’Twould have been most unseemly. However, now that we have a moment alone, I consider it my duty, as your sister and as one more acquainted with those who make up London Society, to put you on your guard. It is quite possible that some of the gentlemen with whom you danced last night do not intend marriage.”

Despite her sister’s serious expression, Nessa laughed. “Marriage? Prudence, did I not tell you last night that I have no desire to marry again? Perhaps you can warn me about the ones who
do
intend marriage, so that I can avoid them in the future.”

“But…but, surely you weren’t serious? You’ve made it amply clear”—she indicated the cerulean-blue round dress Nessa wore—“that you are not pining for Lord Haughton’s memory. A widow as young as yourself…what respectable alternative is there?”

Nessa hesitated a moment before speaking. “I wish to explore my options, Prudence,” she finally said in as reasonable a tone as she could manage, “and not be rushed into anything I could regret for the rest of my life. I had no choice in the matter of my marriage to Lord Haughton, but now I have. If I choose not to marry, that is my concern.”

Prudence tried once more. “Please, Nessa, listen to me. There are some gentlemen you simply must not encourage—most particularly if you do not intend to marry right away. Some are mere fortune hunters, but a few of them would be only too eager to ruin you. That
Mr. Galloway, with whom you played whist, may be one. But by far the most dangerous must be—”

The butler entered just then, as though to complete Prudence’s sentence by announcing the very name she’d been about to utter. “Lord Foxhaven,” he intoned.

Jack was in exceptionally fine spirits today. Though Lady Creamcroft had rebuffed him at every turn last night, her sister had not. In fact, she had rather obviously enjoyed his attentiveness, granting him one more dance (though not a waltz) near the end of the evening. He felt certain that he would have her securely betrothed to him well within the month he had set as his goal. Perhaps even within the week.

In this optimistic frame of mind, he presented himself at the Creamcroft Townhouse promptly at eleven o’clock, the earliest acceptable hour for callers. After Lady Haughton’s success last night, he did not deceive himself into believing he would be her only suitor, but he intended to be the first.

“I bid you good day, ladies,” he said jovially as soon as he was announced. Advancing into Lady Creamcroft’s pristine drawing room, he bowed first over his hostess’ hand, ignoring her chilly response, and then over Lady Haughton’s.

Deliberately, he brushed one gloved finger across her wrist, where it lay bare between glove and sleeve, as he lifted her hand to his lips. While he did not—quite—kiss her hand, he brought it a full inch closer to his lips than the prescribed custom. A slight widening
of her eyes showed him that she noticed—and did not necessarily disapprove.

Lady Creamcroft’s throat-clearing indicated that she also had noticed, and quite definitely disapproved. “How nice to see you again so soon, my lord,” she said, her tone conveying exactly the opposite.

“I could not bear to stay away.” Some devil of mischief prompted Jack to accompany his broad smile with a wink. He was rewarded by seeing Lady Creamcroft stiffen until he could almost see her quills. He wouldn’t have believed such a young, pretty thing could be so starched up.

“We are most flattered, are we not, Prudence?” responded Lady Haughton, as her sister was clearly incapable of speech at the moment. Lady Creamcroft gave a single, frigid nod.

“Pray do not reduce to flattery words that are the simple truth, my lady.” Seating himself near his object, Jack turned the full force of his charm—which numerous ladies had led him to believe was considerable—upon her. “Lovely as you were last night, I find you even more so in the light of day, and free of distracting adornments.”

“My adornments were excessive, then, my lord?” she asked with a smile. Yes, she was definitely learning to flirt.

“I said no such thing, of course. Did I not already pay tribute to the effect you achieved? Such loveliness as yours, however, shines the brighter with less to conceal it.”

She pinkened slightly, clearly taking his meaning. “I…I see, my lord.” Her confusion told him that while she might enjoy pretending to sophistication, she had not yet achieved it—which was all to the good.

Lady Creamcroft now found her tongue again, just as her sister appeared to have momentarily lost hers. “Lord Foxhaven,” she said severely, “I must ask you not to trifle with my sister. She is unused to the ways of Society—particularly the more…unrestrained ones.”

“Trifle?” Jack placed one hand melodramatically upon his chest. “You wound me, madam! I would not dream of trifling with Lady Haughton, I assure you. I give you my word that my intentions toward your sister are entirely honorable.”

“Oh.” Lady Creamcroft blinked, clearly surprised, but only slightly mollified. “I…I am very glad to hear that, of course, my lord.”

He inclined his head in a half-bow he hoped did not betray any mockery. After all, he could not claim that Lady Creamcroft’s suspicions were unjustified, given what his life had been up to this point.

Turning back to Lady Haughton, he found her watching him with an expression he could not decipher. A trace of alarm, certainly, but also something else—disappointment? But no, that made no sense.

“I trust the thought of me as a serious suitor is not distasteful, my lady?”

Her small smile did seem somewhat forced. “I am honored, of course, my lord, if a bit surprised. I had not thought you the serious sort, I must confess.”

Yes, his campaign was progressing nicely, no doubt about it. “Then I must endeavor to alter your perception of me.”

Nessa, however, did not wish her perception altered.
Honorable intentions?
Lord Foxhaven had honorable intentions toward her? That could only mean he intended to make her an offer of marriage—not at all what she wanted from him! She had hoped he might help her to enjoy her new freedom, but now it appeared he wished to curtail it instead, just as Prudence did.

The butler reentered the drawing room just then, to announce the arrival of Sir Hadley Leverton and his sister.

Lord Foxhaven rose. “Before I take my leave, might I persuade you to come driving with me in the Park this afternoon, Lady Haughton?”

Perhaps, Nessa thought hopefully, he had only said that “honorable” bit to appease Prudence. Her spirits recovering, she nodded. “Why, thank you, my lord. I should enjoy that.”

Bowing first to her, then to the clearly suspicious Prudence, he took his leave, greeting the newcomers on his way out.

Though she smiled and said all that was proper, Nessa scarcely attended to Sir Hadley’s greeting, or to the introduction of his sister, Miss Amanda Leverton. She had danced twice with Sir Hadley last night, after Prudence had arranged an introduction. Nessa found him handsome enough, and he was not so many years
older than herself, but his conversation was decidedly dull.

“How very kind of you, Sir Hadley, to acquaint your sister with mine. She has so few friends in London, as yet, that every suitable acquaintance must be welcome.” Prudence gave Nessa a meaningful glance as she spoke, to reinforce that Sir Hadley and his sister met her exacting standards for approval.

Sir Hadley bowed formally. “I assure you, Lady Creamcroft, that Amanda was most eager to make Lady Haughton’s acquaintance after hearing all that I said in her praise. I myself come prepared again to admire, and to make myself agreeable.”

Prudence smiled benignly.

Nessa, however, felt as if she were being driven toward the altar like a hapless beast to the slaughter. But she would not go tamely. Not this time!

“Sir Hadley tells me you are but recently come to Town, Lady Haughton.” Miss Leverton, an angular young woman with an unfortunately long nose, seated herself on Nessa’s left. Her brother took the spot so recently vacated by Lord Foxhaven, on her other side. “I know how overwhelming it must be to one who has spent so little time in Society. I should like to offer my assistance in helping you to fit in. I’m really quite good at that, am I not, Sir Hadley?”

“She is indeed,” agreed her brother. “I daresay Amanda was almost singlehandedly responsible for Miss Henderson’s rise to popularity, and subsequent betrothal to Lord Durkle.”

Miss Leverton nodded. “Mrs. Henderson was ever so grateful to me, for it was a far better match than she had expected for her daughter. Not that Miss Henderson is so very plain, you understand. She simply needed polish.”

So
this
was why Prudence was encouraging this acquaintance! She must be hoping that the talented Miss Leverton might smooth away Nessa’s own rough edges.

“And you were able to provide that polish, I presume.” Nessa shot an accusatory glare at Prudence, who had the grace to look vaguely embarrassed.

“She was indeed.” Sir Hadley was quick to praise his sister’s accomplishment. “Nor is Miss Henderson—soon to be Lady Durkle—the only young lady Amanda has so benefited.”

A shame the young lady could not similarly benefit herself, thought Nessa sourly. “Quite the philanthropist, I perceive.” She did not take great pains to disguise the sarcasm in her voice, but the Levertons appeared not to notice. That Prudence did was evidenced by a quick, cautionary shake of her head.

Luckily for them all, other callers were announced at that juncture, allowing for a natural turn in the conversation.

Jack returned to Foxhaven House well satisfied with the progress of his campaign to acquire Lady Haughton for the benefit of his reputation. She was by no means immune to his charm, of that he was certain. Perhaps a
leisurely courtship would be possible after all. If a stick-in-the-mud like Sir Hadley Leverton was willing to introduce his sister to Lady Haughton, her respectability must still be intact, colorful wardrobe or no.

“A gentleman awaits you in the library,” his butler informed him as Jack cheerfully divested himself of hat and cloak.

“Lord Peter Northrup?” He’d heard some new
on dit
, no doubt, that he felt Jack should know about.

“No, milord, a Mr. Woolsey. He arrived a quarter of an hour ago and insisted on staying. He says his business is urgent.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The name tickled at his memory, but he could not place it. “Thank you, Crump, er, Culp.”

When he entered the library, a tall, thin man rose to greet him. Jack thought he looked vaguely familiar, but did not fully recognize him until he spoke.

“I give you good day, Lord Foxhaven,” he said, bowing. “I have been sent with a message from the War Office.”

“Good to see you again, Woolsey,” Jack greeted the senior clerk, one known for his self-importance. “How goes the peace process?”

Mr. Woolsey produced a grimace that might possibly have been a smile, along with a sealed letter. “It progresses on various fronts. This message will no doubt tell you whatever it is you have need to know.”

Jack glanced at the envelope and his eyebrows rose at the sight of the Duke of Wellington’s seal. “No doubt
it will. I presume I may send any response to Whitehall?”

Mr. Woolsey sniffed. “You’ll not wish to keep His Grace waiting. I am willing to remain while you compose it, my lord.”

“This instant?” Jack was incredulous. “Surely it can’t be as urgent as all that, now we’re at peace. I’m a busy man now, you know, with estates to consider.” He no longer had to jump at Wellington’s command—or anyone else’s. The knowledge gave him a perverse delight.

Unwilling respect colored Mr. Woolsey’s response, pleasing him further. “Of…of course, my lord. You may send your response to Whitehall.”

“Thank you, Mr. Woolsey. I’ll be in touch.”

Jack waited until the man was gone to break the seal on the duke’s letter. Its contents were brief and to the point.

Recently appointed to the post of ambassador to Louis XVIII’s court, Wellington had reason to believe certain factions intended his removal, not only from Paris but from life. Given that climate, he wished to surround himself with a few people he could trust. In particular, he felt that Major Ashecroft’s experience as an unorthodox but clever strategist, combined with his other distinctive abilities, would be of great benefit in exposing any plots before they came to fruition. He was therefore “invited” to join his former commander at the royal court in Paris.

Jack perused the letter again, thoughtfully. He had no doubt that there were many in France who would
count it quite a coup to dispose of the great Duke of Wellington who had so embarrassed Napoleon’s forces. He was surely in far greater danger than he implied in writing, for Wellington was no coward.

Jack had made quite a name for himself over the course of his military career, he knew, for his ability to extract information, supplies, and other, more personal favors, from sources of all ranks and nationalities. Wellington plainly thought those particular abilities could be put to good use in Paris just now. Just as plainly, the Iron Duke had not yet heard of Jack’s succession to his title.