Sunrise with a Notorious Lord (7 page)

Everyone who entered Nox passed under a stained-glass rectangular panel with the words
Virtus Deseritur.
The Latin phrase translated into “virtue is forsaken,” and was a generous gift from one of the gentlemen’s former mistresses. Over time, it became the Lords of Vice’s apt motto.

Not that Vane intended to share Nox’s true origins with his younger sister. The rumors about the club and its wickedly depraved founders were often understated for polite society’s ears.

The delicate arch of Ellen’s left eyebrow lifted when Vane said nothing more about the club. “And what does Mama have to say about Nox?”

Vane slid his finger down the length of his sister’s nose. “Our mother has the good sense not to ask questions about matters that would only upset her. Perhaps you should do the same.”

Ellen wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Not much fun. Besides, if I behaved myself I would still be listening to Susan’s tirade. Can you believe that I caught one of our nephews imbibing the contents of my scent bottles?”

“Which one?” Vane asked, highly amused. At last count, their sister had five sons.

She rolled her eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Perhaps to Susan” was his dry reply. “While she may often rail at their sire, she is rather protective of her brood. I hope you alerted her so she could dose our nephew with an emetic.”

Ellen smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. “How do you think I made my escape? I slipped out while Susan was screaming for Mama.” She leaned forward and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “So may I reside with you this season? I am tidy and relatively quiet. You won’t even notice that I am here.”

“And if I refuse?”

She sighed and straightened. “Then I will dedicate myself to the task of helping Mama find you a suitable wife.”

Vane gave her a look of disbelief. “You devious little blackmailer. I am very disappointed in you.”

“A tragedy to be certain.” Ellen enraged him further by stifling a yawn. “Do we have a bargain? You offer me shelter and I will not meddle in your affairs.”

“Done,” he said curtly.

“Excellent!” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before rising. “If you do not mind, I will occupy the bedchamber that I used last time.”

“Ellen, when did you become such a brat?”

“And when did you become such a pouter,” she countered. “Trust me, dear brother, you could use an ally in our family. Once Susan calms down, I am certain she and Mama will scour the balls and routs in search of the perfect bride for you.”

Although it came as no surprise, Vane rubbed his brow and cursed.

“Exactly.” Ellen nodded, pleased that he understood his precarious situation. She casually crossed the room, pausing when she had reached the door. “Do not fret. I’ll keep an eye on Mama and Susan. It is the least I can do to repay your generosity.”

After his sister departed, Vane stared at the empty doorway wondering if Ellen was a willing pawn in his mother’s plans. He loved her dearly, but he could not afford to trust her.

*   *   *

“Where did you get that dress?”

Delia and Mrs. Allen glanced up as Isabel entered the small parlor. Her afternoon with Lady Netherley had gone better than she had expected, but she had left the marchioness’s town house feeling irritable and tired. Anticipating a quiet moment to herself, she was surprised to find her sister clutching the poppy evening dress they had both coveted in the dressmaker’s shop.

Holding the dress against her front, Delia gave her a sly grin. “Can you believe it is a gift?”

Isabel reached out and touched one of the sleeves. The dress they had admired had been unfinished. Someone had instructed the seamstress to complete it. “No,” she said flatly. “This is a mistake.”

Lady Netherley had offered to pay their expenses while she and Delia resided in London, but Isabel had refused out of pride. Accepting more of the marchioness’s charity would have eased their financial woes, yet doing so seemed dishonorable. She had told the older woman several times that she could only encourage her sister to receive Lord Vanewright favorably, but she could not promise that the couple would marry.

“Not at all.” Delia handed her a card. “A boy from the shop delivered the small trunk minutes before your arrival.”

This was one of Lord Vanewright’s calling cards. “The earl was here,” Isabel said, astounded by his mother’s intuition. She had predicted that they would see him again.

“The card was delivered with the trunk.” Delia preened for the housekeeper. “What say you, Mrs. Allen? Do you think I will be mistaken for a countess?”

Isabel managed to choke on her own spit at her sister’s casual query. She coughed into her hand, fighting to catch her breath and composure.

“Oh, Miss Delia … more like a grand duchess,” Mrs. Allen said, her worried gaze switching to Isabel. “A cup of tea with a spoonful of honey will soothe that irritated throat. Delia, you can show me the rest of it later.”

“Rest?” Isabel croaked after the housekeeper left the room.

Delia gestured to the trunk at her feet. “Lord Vanewright thought of everything. Dress, gloves, shoes … a matching reticule and fan. There is even a petticoat and—”

Isabel held up a hand. “Say no more,” she entreated, staring at the trunk with an expression of appalled astonishment. “We cannot accept these gifts from Lord Vanewright.”

Her sister protectively hugged the evening dress to her chest. “Why not? The earl clearly wanted me to have them.”

She glanced up at Delia at her claim. “Are you certain? The trunk was delivered to you by name?”

“Well, no,” her sister conceded. “Mrs. Allen thought the boy had made a mistake, too. Then the boy said the trunk was to be delivered to the Thorne residence. Nevertheless, Lord Vanewright knew I desired the dress. He overheard us arguing. I am certain of it.”

Whether he was aware of it or not, Lord Vanewright was playing right into his mother’s hands. “It was very kind of the earl. Even so, we cannot accept this trunk. We must return it immediately.”

“You cannot do that!” Delia protested. “Turn over his card and read his note. He would be insulted if we spurned his generosity.”

Scowling, Isabel turned the calling card over.

Lord Vanewright’s handwriting was as lavishly bold as the man himself.

It reminded me of you. With gratitude.

—V

“It takes true skill to be considerate and thoughtless with a single deed.” Isabel allowed her hand to drop to her side. The earl had sent the dress to Delia. As much as she coveted owning such elegance, no gentleman would have looked at the brilliant poppy color and thought of her.

Her knowing gaze rested on her sister’s face. “You do understand that we cannot keep the dress,” she said gently.

“Of course we can,” Delia argued, sounding devastated, while she crushed the upper portion of the bodice with her fingers.

“Delia,” Isabel said, striving for a reasonable tone. “We are strangers to town. One misspoken word of the origins of the dress and your reputation will be in tatters.”

“I do not care.”

Isabel recognized that mutinous jut of Delia’s chin. “You will if no respectable hostess will receive you. Then there is Lord Botly. When he learns of our presence in town, he will not be pleased.”

“You might be wrong.”

“Perhaps.” Even so, Isabel was highly doubtful. “If you recall, after Father’s death, our mother journeyed to London to see the viscount. When she returned, she locked herself in her bedchamber for days.” No amount of pleading from her daughters had opened the door. It had been Mrs. Willow who had coaxed the fragile Sybil from her room. “You and I both know that her father has not forgiven her for marrying beneath her. We are nothing to Lord Botly and his family. It would be foolish to give him just cause to guarantee that everyone in London agrees with him.”

Delia’s hazel eyes filled with tears. “But I want it! The dress will be perfect for Lady Benyon’s ball this evening.”

Isabel turned away, her throat constricting with emotion. “No one gets everything that they want.”
Especially not us Thorne women.

Mrs. Allen shuffled in with a tray laden with tea for both women and a plate of biscuits. “Goodness, you two have not been arguing again, have you?”

Isabel cleared her throat. “Mrs. Allen, I have another task for you,” she said briskly. “I need you to find me a responsible lad to carry out an errand for me.”

*   *   *

A few hours later, Vane’s sleep was interrupted for a second time when his butler carried a trunk into library. “Forgive the intrusion, milord. This arrived moments ago, and the young man delivering it insisted that I was to bring this to you immediately.”

Swinging his long legs off the sofa, he scrubbed his face wearily. “Place it on the desk, Jemison. Did the lad mention who sent it?”

The servant grunted as he relieved his arms of their burden. “No, milord. I was told, however, that his mistress included a note.”

“Mistress?” Vane’s forehead furrowed, wondering if Miss Corsar was returning miscellaneous articles of clothing that he might have abandoned at her residence. He would have never been so careless as to leave anything valuable behind, but considering their abrupt parting she might have decided to remove all traces of his presence in her life. “Open the trunk.”

Vane stretched his arms over his head before he sauntered over to the desk. He started swearing the second he saw the poppy evening dress. “Ungrateful chit. Does she have to get her way on everything?”

Jemison handed him the folded piece of paper.

Vane parted the edges of the paper and read.

Dear Lord Vanewright,

In polite circles, when a lady accepts intimate gifts from a stranger, she might be mistaken for the liberal sort who is willing to dally in the private room of a dressmaker’s shop with any gentleman. If my sister and I have given you such an erroneous impression about our character, then please accept our sincere apologies. I pray you will not take offense because I am returning your generous gift. Such a beautiful dress should be worn and appreciated. If you cannot return it to the shop, I have no doubt that London is filled with worldly ladies who will accept your gifts without hesitation.

Most Humbly,

Miss Thorne

“Humbly?” Vane sneered as he shook Isabel Thorne’s letter at the butler. “The woman is not even acquainted with the word. She is annoyingly stubborn and opinionated. Between her candor and her age, it is no surprise that she is unmarried!”

Yes, it was hypocritical of him to judge her when he was older and more experienced. She had also deduced that he had been the one in the private dressing room with Miss Corsar. If he had been a younger man, he might have blushed. Miss Thorne must have come to the conclusion that he was the vilest of scoundrels. His attempt to make amends and show his gratitude had only confirmed her suspicions.

“If you say so, milord,” Jemison said, closing the trunk and securing the straps. “Any further instructions?”

“Yes,” Vane said, coming to an impulsive decision. “Have my phaeton readied. I will be taking the trunk with me. I need to run an errand before I prepare for my evening.”

Chapter Nine

Isabel had never attended a town ball. She assumed there was little difference between Lady Benyon’s ball and the ones she had attended at Cotersage. The moment she had disembarked from the post chaise with her sister at her side, however, she realized that anything she’d experienced before this night paled in comparison. As they entered the glittering front hall, Isabel felt she had walked into a different world where extravagance was merely a tool of measurement in a world of the
ton
.

Lady Netherley’s good word had secured their invitations, but it was yet to be seen if she and Delia belonged. With a sliver of envy in her heart, Isabel observed the elegantly dressed ladies around them. The amount of jewels and gold adorning these ladies’ throats, arms, and ears clearly established their position in polite society. Her own bare limbs were a reminder that she did not truly belong in this world.

Isabel turned to reassure Delia and gasped. Her sister had already removed her black cloak and was handing the garment to a servant. Instead of the green evening dress Isabel expected to see, Delia was attired in the beautiful poppy-colored evening dress.

The one that had been returned to Lord Vanewright that very afternoon!

Isabel untied the ribbons at her throat, allowing a servant to remove the cloak from her shoulders. Murmuring her thanks, she took her sister by the arm and marched her away from the receiving line.

“What are you doing?”

“Where did that dress come from?”

“Oh, you know very well the answer. Otherwise you would not be on the verge of an apoplectic fit.”

“The trunk was returned to Lord Vanewright.”

“Fortunately, he thought it best that I keep it.”

“What?” Her high pitch caused several guests to stare at the two women. Isabel offered their spectators an apologetic smile. When they moved on, she glared at her sister. “When did you speak with Lord Vanewright?”

Delia appeared vaguely annoyed by the question. “I do not know. He appeared on the doorstep when you went upstairs to lie down. Mrs. Allen allowed him to stand in the front hall. She did not think you would approve of me inviting the earl into the parlor.”

“Why was I not told of this?”

“I told Mrs. Allen not to mention it. I knew it would only upset you. Besides, I wanted to surprise you. Did I not predict that the dress would be flattering?”

Isabel closed her eyes, trying to keep from yelling at her sister. Delia knew exactly how Isabel was going to react once she learned that Lord Vanewright had returned to the house with the dress. The clever girl had charmed Mrs. Allen to secrecy, and she had come downstairs already wearing her cloak. Her sister was counting on Isabel not to make a scene at Lady Benyon’s ball.