Desperate Duchesses (24 page)

“I feel that a gentleman should no longer pay for women’s company once he takes a wife,” she said. “I find the practice distasteful at the best of times, but dishonorable once vows are said.”

He swal owed his astonishment. “Rather old-fashioned of you, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Actual y, I think it is the future,” she said. “The Hel fire Club, with al their
fêtes
and nymphs…they’re dying, though they don’t see it yet. France was the same. The Queen herself, Marie Antoinette, is turning to settled domesticity, I promise you.”

“So your husband’s party wil bring with them sober behavior and settled mores? Wives who play at dairy maids rather than flamboyant courtesans?”

She laughed. “My husband and his set are as likely to have mistresses as men of other parties. They simply do not flaunt their affections, at least not as much as does Fox.”

“Fox’s Elizabeth is a remarkable creature.”

“I met her in Paris and was most impressed.”

“So I thought I would join the settled ones by marrying your ward,” he said, watching her through his eyelashes.

Her smile was disappointingly genuine. In fact, Vil iers was aware of an interior whisper suggesting that his revenge didn’t appear particularly effective. Jemma didn’t seem to give a damn whether he married or no.

“You could not make a better choice. Roberta is remarkably beautiful, as you know, but she is also intel igent and witty.

The only possible defect is that she doesn’t play chess.” Jemma made a funny face.

“Ah, but I have
you
for that,” he said, touching one of her delicate fingers. It had come to him in the middle of the night that what he real y wanted from this was not, in truth, the match itself. It was she. He wanted her, that deep intel igence, and the way she sparked into sudden laughter, the pure elegance of the way she moved and spoke.

Not to mention the fact that she was a bril iant chess player, a fact that fired him with a roaring lust, deep in his loins. In fact, the emotion was so ferocious that he didn’t dare look at it too closely.

“I’m enjoying this,” he remarked, watching as she shook down her ruffs. “Which is a terrifying thought.”

“Why? I always enjoy wel -played chess, even when I’m losing.”

“The chess, certainly. But also”—he leaned forward—“talking to you.”

Jemma hid a smile. Vil iers was most seductive when he was the most straightforward, if only he knew it. She felt unshaken by his practiced rail ery about her ruffs and her beauty: but when he grinned at her, and told her frankly about pensioning his mistress—then, she was in danger.

Yet she had no intention of succumbing to Vil iers’s wiles. Al the more so now that he was almost affianced to Roberta.

She met his eyes and saw disappointment flash.

“You unman me,” he said gravely.

“You think me capable of such disloyalty to a friend?”

“And you think me foolish if you wish me to believe that you have no interest in me due to my possible marriage to your ward.”

She didn’t answer that, and he felt a flash of anger at his own stupidity in declaring himself. Did he real y want to marry?

Of course, he would have no hesitation dropping the country miss as quickly as he picked her up.

Yet Roberta was exquisite. And capable of a witty rejoinder, which was rare. She was young, likely fertile, and al the rest of it. He needed an heir, for God’s sake. Plus, his mistress was gone now. He needed a bedpartner.

“So you won’t have me?”

Jemma smiled at him, and her beauty was almost like a blow in the face. “You’re getting married.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “The lady may not have me.” He knew that was a falsehood as wel as Jemma did.

It was damnably true that it is hard to desire a person who wants you. Roberta made no secret of her desire for him. Her eyes grew slightly dreamy at the very sight of him.

He preferred Jemma’s clear-eyed look.

It was also bitterly true that a person who doesn’t want you is twice as desirable.

T
he invitations were delivered by footmen.

“I simply can’t believe you’ve been invited!” May said with a little gasp, looking at the card her sister held. “Do you have some acquaintance with the duchess of which I knew nothing?”

Charlotte shook her head. “The duke asked me to dance at the bal , but I never spoke to Her Grace.”

“The duke?”
May’s round face look scandalized. “Why on earth would he invite you?” She peered at the card. “It al looks most respectable, doesn’t it? I would have expected her to announce a Feast of Venus, or some such thing.”

“I doubt they would invite me if they wished for nymphs,” Charlotte said dryly.

“True. But how queer it is to invite you and not me. Don’t you think that’s queer? You don’t think that he’s thinking of setting you up as—as an
intimate
!” Her voice was horrified.

Charlotte al owed herself just one longing thought about the duke’s lovely, tired eyes before she said, “Don’t be a goose, May. Do I look like the sort of woman whom the duke would set up as his courtesan?”

“I should hope not.”

“At least my life would be more interesting than it is now,” Charlotte said, just to provoke her.

But May was not a bad sort, and having got over her first surprise at the invitation, was beginning to count its blessings.

“You must have a new gown,” she said firmly. “We’l send a message to Madame Hayes and tel her that we need that gown you ordered last month by Thursday.”

“She won’t do it.”

“Yes, she wil . She wil once she hears that you are invited to this particular party,” May cried. She was getting giddy with it now and waved the invitation over her head like a flag. “Perhaps
Town and Country
wil produce sketches of every person invited; they might wel . How exciting it al is!”

And Charlotte had to admit that it was exciting.

She kept her own preparations for the event secret from her sister; she sent a footman out to buy every political newspaper and commentary he could find.

The Duchess of Berrow’s response to the invitation was rather less celebratory. With a sigh she changed her gown, had horses put to the carriage and set out for town. A mere hour or two later the butler ushered Jemma into the drawing room where Harriet waited for her.

“Darling,” Jemma said, “you’re just in time. I’ve decided to catalog al the paintings of Judith and Holofernes in the house and I would adore some help.”

Harriet rose to her feet. As always, the force of Jemma’s personality made her feel like a faded cutout, a cartoon from the il ustrated papers. “I came to ask about this,” she said, taking out her invitation.

Jemma grinned at her, leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Our plans are in ful force!”

“The chess game? Are you winning?” Harriet asked hopeful y.

“I have every expectation,” Jemma said. “In fact, though it’s vain of me to say so, I would bet on myself. Despair is circling Vil iers on al sides. He’s going to ask for Lady Roberta’s hand in marriage at this very dinner party.”

Harriet’s mouth fel open. “Vil iers? Getting
married
?”

“I can’t think of a better revenge, can you?”

“But—But—are you saying that you don’t like your ward?” Harriet asked, bewildered. “I thought she was a lovely person, whom—”

“Oh, she is,” Jemma interrupted. “In fact, Vil iers is extremely lucky to have her. No, it’s marriage itself that is a punishment. He has no understanding of the state, you know. He thinks his life wil hardly change: I can see that in his eyes. He’s a babe in the woods.”

“Not everyone’s marriage is unpleasant,” Harriet ventured.

“You think that I should not extend the example of my marriage to al such unions?”

“Precisely.”

“Wel , look at your marriage,” Jemma suggested. “It was the best of matches; you both had great love for each other.”

She stopped.

“And?” Harriet asked dangerously. It was one thing if she bemoaned the rift between herself and Benjamin, but—

“Were there not great moments of humiliation?” Jemma asked.

Humiliating moments raced through Harriet’s mind in an exhausting stream. “Yes,” she said faintly.

“It’s part of marriage. Inherent to the state of matrimony.”

“So Vil iers wil be at this dinner party,” Harriet said. “And I—I am to be there too? I can’t.”

“You must,” Jemma said, taking her arm and walking into the entryway. “Now we are going to walk through this entire house and spy out al the paintings of Judith. Fowle, wil you fol ow us and note down the pieces?”

Harriet tried to swal ow her frustration. “Jemma,” she hissed, “must your butler fol ow us? I just told you that I am not going to attend your dinner party.”

“Yes, you are,” Jemma said, smiling down at her. “I need you. And I need Fowle to make an inventory of these paintings.”

“Why must I attend the dinner?”

“Because my brother is near to making a fool of himself. Oh look, there’s a painting of Judith in the corridor. I hadn’t even seen it before. Fowle, did you mark this one down?”

Harriet glanced back and saw the butler making a notation on a piece of foolscap.

“What is your brother doing?” she whispered.

“Making an ass of himself, as I said,” Jemma replied, in a perfectly normal tone of voice. “Mooning over Roberta, if the truth be known. In fact, from the look in his eyes, he’s halfway to thinking he’s passionately in love. And I can’t have that.”

“Because Roberta must marry Vil iers.”

“Precisely.”

“Wel , if she’s marrying Vil iers—”

“No one in their right mind would marry Vil iers if Damon entered the lists,” Jemma said impatiently.

“You
are
his sister,” Harriet pointed out, feeling a bit like laughing for the first time al day. “Don’t you think you might overestimate Damon’s good parts just slightly?”

“Not at al . It’s an impartial judgment. Roberta doesn’t play chess, so Vil iers’s talent is of no attraction. In fact, I’m not quite sure what she does find so attractive in him. But I also know that Damon is kissing her in the odd moment here or there, and I certainly don’t want him to muddle Vil iers’s proposal, or Roberta’s thinking about it. So you must dance attendance on him, Harriet. I am counting on you.”

“I don’t wish to be in the same room with Vil iers.”

“I’l put you at opposite ends of the table,” Jemma said. “Ah, here’s another. Particularly bloodthirsty, isn’t it? And she put it in the morning room, in the place of honor.”

They both gazed for a moment at the triumphant Judith, holding up a head. The artist appeared to have given special attention to the neck of poor Holofernes. Jemma shuddered a little. “I shal never understand the dowager duchess: never.”

“When did Beaumont’s father die?” Harriet asked.

“I believe he was ten years old. Perhaps nine.”

“So he essential y grew up with his mother.”

“That fact would go far to making me feel sorry for him,” Jemma said. “But of course there’s no such emotion between man and wife.”

She turned away. “There’s another one in the ladies’ retiring room. It gave poor Lady Fibble quite a shock during our bal , or so she told me. Apparently she thought that it resembled Beaumont. I devoutly hope that is not the case. Or if it is, I assume that the portrait is of the late duke.”

It was Harriet’s turn to shudder.

Day six of the Villiers/Beaumont chess matches

C
harlotte could tel before she put her slipper from the carriage that Beaumont House was surrounded by throngs of people waiting to see who would enter. She took a deep breath. She was not used to traveling among the very highest circles of the
ton
. She and May were girls grown long in the tooth, hanging on the fringes with their inadequate dowries and lack of powerful friends. They were wel bred, so were invited everywhere. But they didn’t stand out. They never
took
.

Except, Charlotte reminded herself again, that May had now been taken by Mr. Muddle, and next year Charlotte would be doing the season on her own. It was al so dismaying that one couldn’t think about it too clearly. It was like thinking about turned seams and orphaned children.

She gave herself a little shake. She looked her very best. Charlotte knew exactly what that meant: not like a ravishing goddess, but like the profile on a Roman coin. May always said her nose was refined. It was a nice shape, but far too long. “It makes you look intel igent,” Mama had said. “No man wants an insipid miss for a wife.”

It seemed they didn’t want a Roman coin either.

The crowd around the carriage pushed and juggled as she stepped from the carriage. Most of them were trying to figure out who she was.

“That ain’t Lady Sarah,” she heard someone say. “Lady Sarah doesn’t have—”

Charlotte was sure that Lady Sarah didn’t have a Roman nose. She pul ed herself tal er. Her gown was of pale pink crêpe and showed off her skin and her dark blue eyes. Her hair was perfectly groomed, and as high as fashion demanded. She was the very best she could be, and that had to be enough.

“I got it—Tatlock,” she heard someone say loudly, just as she began to climb the stairs to the front door. The butler bowed so low that she almost expected him to topple over.

“Miss Charlotte Tatlock,” he said, backing away. The house was surprisingly quiet. “If you please,” the butler said, after her wrap had been removed, “would you prefer to visit a retiring room, or would you like to join the other guests in the drawing room?”

Charlotte was, frankly, too frightened to gaze at herself again. It was best to get it over with. Surely the dinner would be large, and there would be people she knew. She could find a comforting matron and stay in her shadow.

But it was not a large party, and there was no comforting matron to be seen. Instead there was just a smal cluster of people standing about holding glasses.

Charlotte almost ran, but the Duke of Beaumont turned, and smiled.

She walked forward.