How to Dazzle a Duke (2 page)

Which was precisely the situation she found herself in when

the Dalby House butler, with quite a bit of cheek, announced her

to Lady Dalby and she entered the famous white salon.

It was a beautiful room, famously done up in white damasks

and white velvets, pale blue braid here and there. An exquisite

and clearly priceless Chinese porcelain vase in celadon green

was the strongest spark of color in the pale room. Penelope, as

diligent as anyone in listening to pertinent gossip, and surely it

was
all
pertinent, had known of the famous porcelain in the fa

mous white salon, though she had supposed the porcelain to be

white, which only proved that gossip was not as reliable as it

ought to be. Still, it was Chinese porcelain and it clearly was the

centerpiece of the room, so she was not too disappointed in the

reliability of casual gossip. According to the most popular report,

the vase was a gift from Pitt the Younger for some aid she had

done him in the Commons two decades past, but another version

had it that it was a gift from the Prince of Wales for one night in

her bed.

Penelope did not have an opinion on the matter one way or

the other. Of course, there were many more speculations on the

6 CLAUDIA DAIN

origin of the vase, which in some reports was a bowl or even a

cup, but there was the porcelain and Sophia had done
something

to earn it, and that was quite enough information for Penelope.

She made her curtsey to Lady Dalby with the grace she had

been tutored to display, sat prettily on the edge of her white up

holstered seat, arranged her crimson shawl attractively over her

arms, and proceeded to the task at hand.

“Lady Dalby, thank you for receiving me,” she said, mentally

commanding herself to hold Sophia’s dark gaze. It was most pe

culiar, but she had the most uncomfortable sensation that Sophia

not only knew why she had come, but found it utterly amusing.

“How lovely of you to call, Miss Prestwick,” Sophia said. “You

are quite recovered from hosting your wonderful ball? Truly, it

may be remembered as the event of the Season.”

As the Duke of Aldreth’s daughter, the inconvenient Amelia,

had been nearly ruined at the Prestwick ball, Penelope should

not be a bit surprised. Of course, it would be remembered as the

most
disastrous
event of the Season, but Sophia was too experi

enced at conversation to make such a bald statement.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Penelope said absently.

There was simply no point in discussing the ball. It had not

yielded the desired fruit: no duke or heir apparent had consid

ered her as a prospective wife. She knew enough of men to know

that, at least. Men got a certain look when they were considering

a woman, for anything. No man had looked at her in any fashion

beyond the bare necessity of civil conversation. It was very nearly

insulting.

Oh, very well, it had been completely insulting, and she was

such a handsome-looking girl, too.

“And how are your marvelous roses doing?” Sophia asked.

“Not damaged in any way when poor Lady Amelia became en

tangled in them? Roses are fragile, are they not?”

Oh, bother; this is just the sort of nuisance that the roses were

How to Daz zle a Duke

7

clearly going to become in Society. Everyone now would expect

her to practically give horticultural lectures on the peculiarities

of roses. And what was she to say? That she was fairly certain

they required watering on some sort of regular basis? That she

thought the blooms quite pretty, when they could be bothered to

appear? All the roses were to have been was a point of interest

laid at her very petite feet; she was not supposed to be required

to actually discuss them upon command. This was all Lady Ame

lia’s doing, without question.

“Even with their thorns?” Lady Dalby continued, a certain

malicious light in her dark eyes. “Of course, the very reason roses

have thorns is because they are so fragile, or so I have surmised.

Would you agree?”

“I would, Lady Dalby,” Penelope answered. Anything to end

the flow of words, and pointed questions, about roses. She very

nearly regretted buying the stupid things in the fi rst place.

“Then your roses have quite recovered?” Sophia asked, dis

playing a rather bold streak of cruelty, as it was perfectly plain

that Penelope had no wish to speak of her annoying roses.

“They give every appearance of being so,” Penelope said

tartly, quite unable to stop herself and nearly unapologetic

about it.

Sophia gave her a considering look, her eyes twinkling, and

then asked, “How do you take your tea, Miss Prestwick?”

Bother. Now, if the pattern held, Sophia would engage her in

a perfectly pointless discussion about various teas for the next

quarter hour. The Duke of Edenham was due to arrive at Dalby

House in less than thirty minutes, but if Penelope did not have

Sophia firmly in her corner by then, Edenham would prove use

less. She knew that as well as she knew her own name. Unless

aided by Sophia, there was not a duke in Town who would fall

into her very deserving lap. They hadn’t yet done, had they?

Without the proper aid, they clearly never would. Sophia, as

8 CLAUDIA DAIN

annoying as she could clearly be, was the proper aid, indeed the

only
aid. That was more than clear.

“Lady Dalby,” Penelope said, ignoring the subject of tea entirely.

“I am quite aware, indeed, all of Society is quite aware, that you

have a particular talent, one could even say a passion, for matchmaking.” Penelope paused briefly to study the look on Sophia’s

face. She looked not one whit alarmed, or even surprised. She did

look entertained. Penelope was perfectly willing to be the source

of humor for Sophia, as long as she got her duke in the end. “You

have done so, quite obviously, with three women of gentle birth in

the past month, one of them your own daughter.”

“But of course with my own daughter, Miss Prestwick,” Sophia

interrupted, needlessly. “How else was she to marry without my

guidance and permission?”

Penelope shook her head in annoyance and continued.

“Clearly true, Lady Dalby, I was only recounting my observa

tions. If I may continue?” She was not asking permission, which

was perfectly obvious to both of them.

“Please do,” Sophia said with a smile, leaning back against

the cushions.

“If one includes Mrs. Warren, which I feel I must as she is a

close family friend, then the number jumps to four. Four women

within a month. Four women who have made stellar, if not to say

unexpected, matches with respectable and honorable men. Is

that an accurate recounting of events, Lady Dalby?”

There. She had got it all out without further interruption.

Penelope was aware that she was holding her breath, her spine

very straight as she held Sophia’s gaze. It was, surprisingly, not a

particularly awkward moment. Sophia made it so, of that she was

certain. No huffs of outrage or looks of offended dignity; no, she

was completely at ease, calm as a shallow pond. Strangely,

Penelope realized she had expected nothing less.

How to Daz zle a Duke

9

“I am completely charmed,” Sophia said softly, “that you’ve

taken such trouble, Miss Prestwick. I do think, however, that if

your accounting is to be precise, the true number is four women

in not quite three weeks. You seem to be a woman who values

precision.”

And indeed she was. How unusual and how pleasant for

someone to have noticed that about her. But then, she was under

the rather firm impression that Sophia noticed everything about

nearly everyone.

“I do, Lady Dalby,” Penelope said. “I also value results, which

I suspect you do as well.”

To which Sophia Dalby nodded and smiled in clear delight.

Perfect. Things were going so well and so very quickly, which is

just as things ought to go. Penelope plunged in to the full; what

ever hesitation, and indeed she had nearly none to start with, cast

away in the pure pleasure of such plain speaking.

“Then, Lady Dalby,” she continued, “I have come to ask if

you will help me as you’ve helped the others. Will you make it

five, Lady Dalby? I should like a husband. I have only one re

quirement, and having met that, he can be whomever you think

best.” A gamble, certainly, but the events of the past three weeks

had proven suffi ciently to Penelope that Sophia was a woman to

gamble upon. “I am quite convinced that you know what you’re

about. The women who have sought your aid seem to me to be

entirely delighted by, if not the chain of events, their conclusion.

Will you help me, Lady Dalby?”

There was no taking the words back now. No, nor the wish.

She wanted a duke. She didn’t see any reason at all why she

shouldn’t have one. Having come to Sophia for aid, it would have

been a ridiculous bit of foolishness to not be forthcoming about

what she wanted, wouldn’t it? Penelope had decided her course

and she would hold to it, with Sophia’s help or not. But she did

10 CLAUDIA DAIN

so want Sophia’s help as her own efforts had produced not a

solitary duke or heir apparent. Surely, she could do no worse

with Sophia on her side.

Sophia, far from looking shocked, such a relief, leaned for

ward and stared in some fascination at Penelope.

“And what is your one requirement, Miss Prestwick? I confess

to being curious.”

Penelope suspected rather strongly that there was no mystery

as to her one requirement, but she played along, not a bit put off

by plain speaking, as should be perfectly obvious to the most

obtuse of persons, which Sophia Dalby clearly was not.

Penelope leaned forward upon her seat, matching Sophia’s

pose nearly completely. “I want a duke, Lady Dalby,” she said

calmly and clearly.

Sophia did not so much as blink. “Many girls want dukes,

Miss Prestwick. Indeed, I should say all girls would like one.

Why should you get your duke?”

Penelope smiled and tilting her head playfully, said with the

utmost earnestness, “Because I can afford one, Lady Dalby.”

Sophia blinked. “Darling,” she said with a smile, “we are

going to get along famously.”

Oh, she did hope so. She did so very much want her duke, or

heir apparent; she was not unreasonable, after all.

Two

“AS you can afford a duke,” Sophia said, leaning back against the

milk blue damask sofa and studying the lovely young girl before

her, “you can almost certainly afford me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Prestwick said. She did not stam

mer, that could be said in her favor, but she did look more than

a bit surprised. Small wonder, really. These young things, they

did seem to think that life ever should fall their way with such

very little effort on their part. It was most unfortunate, to be sure,

that life was not nearly so accommodating. “Afford you, Lady

Dalby? I do not comprehend you.”

“Then allow me to clarify,” Sophia said. “I have, or have not,

aided the women you have observed; we shall not be so crass as

to name them, shall we? Their privacy is as important to them

as yours is to you. Being indiscreet is so rarely good form, though

sometimes . . . but never mind that now, Miss Prestwick. The

point must be that, while I did or did not aid certain women in

attaining the men they desired, or at least deserved, my interests

were also served. How am I to be served if I choose to aid you,

12 CLAUDIA DAIN

Miss Prestwick, that is the question. I do nothing for . . . nothing.

Or had you heard otherwise?”

Sophia knew very well that Miss Prestwick had not. Of all the

rumors that had ever been circulated about Sophia Dalby, being

free and easy with her favors was not one of them.

To her immense credit, Miss Prestwick recovered her compo

sure quickly. She blinked hard, stared directly into Sophia’s eyes,

and said, “What would you like, Lady Dalby?”

Sophia was more than a little impressed, which happened

so very rarely that she took a moment to savor the sensation.

What a truly remarkable girl. Miss Prestwick would do quite

nicely as a duchess.

“What is it in your power to offer, Miss Prestwick?” Sophia

responded.

Miss Prestwick blinked once more, took an audible breath,

and said, “I am afraid I can think of nothing, Lady Dalby.”

“You have reached your majority?”

“I have. I was twenty-one in February.”

“You will wish your father’s consent, however, will you not?”

“I would,” Miss Prestwick said softly. “I confess to have given

no thought to an elopement.”

“And I should not think it will come to that, so give no thought

to it now,” Sophia said. Truly a remarkable girl, quite the most

composed and straightforward girl of the Season. “Your father,

Viscount Prestwick, should be involved in this, do you not agree?

It is very much to be desired to have one’s parent fully engaged in