Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance) (31 page)

Eugenia looked at him from under her lashes. “But Fenris is unharmed? You’re certain?”

He nodded. “He is keeping private for the moment.”

“Packing in the event a removal to the Continent seems wise?”

He laughed as if he found that amusing, the sort of thing one might say in jest rather than all earnestness. “Aye.” He plucked a leaf from over his head and leaned his shoulders against the tree, holding the leaf by the stem. “He said Lane insulted you in some way. Don’t worry. Fenris did not share the particulars with me.”

She said nothing.

He examined his leaf for a while, then looked at her sideways. A breeze stirred the leaves overhead. The shifting light glinted off Aigen’s hair and brought out bronze streaks in the darker brown. He shook his head to knock back the hair that fell over his forehead. “I know all about Lane and his behavior at Mrs. Wilson’s and elsewhere. I hope you know it’s like Fenris to step in and object to ill treatment of anyone.”

“Is it?”

“It is.” He watched her long enough that she felt her cheeks warm. “I consider him a good friend. Do you? Or has he sent me on a fool’s errand?”

She opened her mouth to reply, then didn’t.

“Go on,” he said. He tapped the top of her head with his leaf. “Say what’s whirling around there in your head.”

“He’s exasperating. Fenris is. Is he really uninjured?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “Have you a message for him? Not that he sent me here for that, you understand, but since he asked me to put your mind at ease, I thought you might have a word or two for him.”

She shook her head, but when Aigen shrugged and moved away from the tree trunk, she said, “Yes. I do.”

“I am at your service.”

“Tell him I said he’s a fool.”

Ten days later. No. 6 Spring Street.

“A
H,” SOMEONE SAID FROM THE DOORWAY TO THE
front parlor where Eugenia sat with Hester. This was their day to receive calls, and the parlor was crowded with visitors. Footmen worked their way through the room, silently picking up abandoned plates and cups, cleaning up spills, and bringing in refreshments as required.

She recognized the voice before she saw who it was. Lord Aigen’s brogue was familiar everywhere. “There she is,” the man said when he stepped into the room. Like the other gentlemen, he held his hat and riding whip under one arm. “And the other delightful young lady as well. Miss Rendell, good afternoon.”

Hester beamed at him. Eugenia counted herself lucky that she had convinced Hester she could not go to Bouverie until after they received calls. Lieutenant Fraser was here, and Eugenia was beginning to have high hopes for him and Hester.

“Lord Aigen.” Eugenia offered him her hand. “Good afternoon.” He bowed over her hand with more charm than
any man ought to have. There was a reason he was a favorite of the ladies.

He released her and turned to Hester, with, she rather thought, even more charm than he had shown her. “Miss Rendell.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “So very lovely. I hope I’ve found you in good health.”

Hester smiled, and Aigen’s eyes widened. “Yes, my lord, thank you. And you? Are you well today?”

“I am at this precise moment quite excellent. As what man would not be in the company of two such women as you and the charming Lady Eugenia?”

He glanced at the sofa across from her and Hester where Lieutenant Fraser sat. One look was all Aigen needed. The lieutenant jumped to his feet. With a bow, he nodded to Hester. “Miss Rendell, I hope I will see you again soon.”

Aigen took the man’s place while Hester extended a hand as if she were a queen. The two young women at the other end of the sofa where Aigen now sat whispered to each other. One of them turned bright red.

“Thank you, sir,” Hester said. Eugenia nudged her. “You’ll call again, I hope?”

He bowed. “I shall.”

She nudged Hester again. Hester cleared her throat. “That will be delightful.”

Lieutenant Fraser bowed. When he’d made his departure, Aigen whistled a brief tune and said, “How much longer is he in London? Sailors are so rarely home, you know. I’m surprised he’s not shipped off already.”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Eugenia said.

“I think…” Aigen rose. “Well, well, well. The devil.”

Eugenia followed his gaze and saw that none other than Dinwitty Lane had just come in. He’d come alone; not a single one of his toadying followers was with him. He stood straight, but she thought he looked pale and drawn. She put a hand on Aigen’s arm. “I invited him, my lord. To prove that enemies can be forgiven. I’m glad to see he’s healing well.”

“Healing?” Aigen shook his head in exaggerated puzzlement. “Don’t
know what you mean. As you can see, he is in peak form.”

That, Eugenia understood, was how these things were done. Neither Fenris nor Lane could admit they’d dueled or that the rumor was that Lane’s injury was such that Fenris had found it politic to be away from London for a time. Aigen wasn’t likely to say differently, nor anyone else with knowledge of the affair. “I see that now. The error was mine.”

“An easy mistake to make.” Aigen looked away from Lane. “You won’t be insulted, will you, Lady Eugenia, if I tell you Fenris is a bloody damn hero?”

She blinked at him. “A hero? What for?”

“For defending a woman’s honor, that’s why.”

Mr. Lane made his way to her and Hester. He bowed, slowly and with some stiffness, when he reached them. “Ma’am. Miss Rendell.”

Eugenia took his hand and pressed it. She
had
invited him. And she did mean to turn the other cheek if that meant an end to gossip about anything Lane might once have said. She would be forever grateful to him for not dying. “Mr. Lane. Thank you so much for your visit. Would you care to sit?”

He nodded, and she made room for him on the sofa. He sat carefully and without moving his left arm. “Hester, be so kind as to fetch Mr. Lane a bite of something, won’t you?”

A few moments later, Hester returned with a plate of cold meat and sugared biscuits. A footman behind her held a tray with a cup of tea, which, at Hester’s nod, he placed on the table beside Mr. Lane.

“Thank you, Miss Rendell.” With his right hand, he reached for the plate she’d brought him. “How kind of you.”

Hester brought a chair and sat on it. “A fine day, don’t you think, sir?”

“Yes, Miss Rendell. It is.” Lane swallowed a bite of ham.

Everyone ignored Aigen and his glower.

“May I say, Miss Rendell, that you look particularly well today?”

She beamed at him, and Lane blinked several times. “Thank you.”

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’ll play the pianoforte for us? I heard you at Lord Baring’s. Do you sing?”

“Not well.”

“I like to sing.”

Aigen snorted, but Hester’s attention remained focused on Lane. “Do you, Mr. Lane?”

Lane ate a biscuit. “I like songs about hunting.”

“I see. Yes, they have an appeal.”

“Military songs. Anything with brave men marching off to battle.”

Hester continued beaming at him. “What about songs with strong women? Do you like those?” He dusted off his hand and Hester passed him his tea. “Sugar or milk?”

“Plain is fine, Miss Rendell. Thank you. I like those songs, too, strong women, but not the ones where everyone dies.”

“Do you know, Mr. Lane, I quite agree.”

“What about you, Lady Eugenia?” Lane still held his tea. He looked unsettled. Not surprising with Lord Aigen glaring at him, but Eugenia had seen similar reactions from men as they realized just how badly they’d underestimated Hester. “Do you like the songs where the ladies die for love?” He flushed, and his embarrassment was nearly charming.

She sent a warning glance in Aigen’s direction and was rewarded with a wink and silence. She returned her attention to Lane. “Like you, I prefer songs in which people live happily ever after.”

Conversation rose and fell, and for some time afterward, people departed and arrived and new groups formed. Lane, with his injury, kept his place on the sofa. This, she thought, was what it was like to be a social success. An endless stream of callers, lovely, eligible men like Lord Aigen calling and paying compliments, gentlemen reciting poetry, and dozens of young ladies eager to be friends or already among Hester’s friends. Watching Hester charm Dinwitty Lane was something, too.

She fixed the moment in memory. She intended to describe the scene to Mrs. Rendell in some detail since it was her daughter who was at the center of it and managing London and the Ton with a cooler head than Eugenia had possessed at her age. She would not mention that Hester still spent more time with the plants at Bouverie than at parties.

Another lull in the conversation lasted long enough that Eugenia turned around to find the cause. Lord Fenris stood in the doorway with his father. As was the fiction required of these visits, which was that they were to be so short that gentlemen callers need not bother to hand over hats or riding whips, Fenris and Camber held both items in hand. In addition, though, Camber held a small bouquet of tiny purple flowers.

The two men started across the room. Even as she recognized the importance of Camber being here, Eugenia’s heart thumped against her ribs for private reasons. The least of them was wondering what would happen when Fenris and Lane were face-to-face. She and Fenris had not seen each other since the night before the duel, and his familiar cold and condescending expression tied her into knots.

How could he be so cool when she could think only of whispers shared in the dark and her desperate desire for him? He was well. He was unhurt, and in seeing him she realized she’d not entirely believed he’d not been injured.

And then, there they were. Camber and Fenris, standing before her and Hester with Dinwitty Lane now white as chalk and dead silent. Eugenia was very much aware that all eyes were on them. The Duke of Camber did not often make morning calls. Add in a looming confrontation between Fenris and Lane and no wonder the room had gone silent. Camber greeted her and then Hester, and she was grateful indeed for the attention the duke lavished on Hester as she craned her neck to see the flowers Camber held.

“Mrs. Bryant…” Fenris held her gaze, paying no attention, for now, to Mr. Lane.

“My lord?” They were interrupted before either of them could say more.

A man whose name she did not immediately recall put an overly hearty hand on Fenris’s shoulder. “A word,” he said, attempting to lead Fenris away from Mr. Lane. “If I might, about your recent speech in the Commons?”

Fenris slid away from him and bowed. “May I find you later? Or call on me at Westminster tomorrow at eleven. Tell my secretary you’ve an appointment with me.” His lips curved. “I assure you, it will be kept.”

The man bowed and, with an anxious look at Mr. Lane, retreated.

Fenris bowed. “Mr. Lane.”

Everyone in the room held their breaths.

Lane nodded. “My lord.”

“I hope you’re well today.”

“Fit as a fiddle.” He pointed to his now empty plate. “Ought to have one of those sugar biscuits, Fox. They’re excellent.”

“Thank you for the recommendation.”

Fenris looked at Eugenia again, and she wished more intensely than ever in her life that she possessed the power to read minds. “Mrs. Bryant, I—”

“Surprised to see you here, Fox.” Lord Aigen clapped him on the back. “Stopping by for the famous hospitality, no doubt.” He bowed to the duke. “Your grace. Have you a favorite in the Garrie race tomorrow?”

Lane snorted. “Portland’s gelding will win the day.”

“Aye, I agree with you, Lane.” Aigen kept his grin. “I’m sorry we can’t wager on it, for I’d like to take some coin from you.”

Camber’s eyes sparked. “Win by a length.”

“That much?” Lane brushed the tip of a thumb over his lower lip. “No. Can’t happen. Not with Viceroy in the field.”

“Care to wager on it?” The duke locked his hands behind his back.

“Indeed, your grace, I do.”

Fenris returned his attention to Eugenia, and as the discussion of racing continued, he wrapped his fingers around the underside of her forearm and brought her to her feet.

“What’s this?” Lane said. “Are you taking her away?”

“Only for a moment.” She could not look away from Fenris. Nor, it seemed, could he look away from her. “I’d like some of those biscuits Mr. Lane so enjoyed.”

Camber gave his son a sharp look. He still held the flowers in one hand. “I was about to ask Mrs. Bryant and Miss Rendell if they’d walk out with me later this afternoon or the next. I thought they might like to visit Ackermann’s.”

Eugenia curtseyed. “That sounds lovely, your grace. You’re kind to think of us.”

“Not at all.”

Hester plucked at the duke’s sleeve. “Camber.” She went on tiptoe to look at the flowers he held. “Are those
your
violets?”

“Indeed, they are, Miss Rendell.” Camber held out the flowers and, with a bow worthy of a courtier, presented them to her.

She took them and examined them with a gimlet eye. “Excellent scent. Good color. Large blossoms perfectly formed.” She lifted her head. “Precisely as your sketches and paintings depicted them. Ought you to have cut them?”