“I
don’t
know him.” Her glass half empty now, Cecily took a gulp.
“He certainly acted in a familiar manner.”
As if that was
her
fault. It was a pity most of her champagne had been splashed on her person, for Cecily could have used some sustenance at this moment.
“He’s from the colonies,” one of her friends said, as if that explained the man’s
outré
behavior. “Everyone is talking about it. He’s very . . . different.”
“So provincial,” another one murmured, languidly moving her fan, her eyes narrowed as she followed his progress through the throng, his height making him easily visible. “So unfashionably dark, as well. Is it true his mother was of mixed blood? I’m told she was half savage and half French. What a combination. Earl Savage is somewhat of a mongrel, is he not?”
If the young lady thought so, she still seemed to watch his tall form move through the crowd with feminine interest.
Cecily noticed she wasn’t the only one. All the females in the ballroom—at least every one she could see—seemed to find the earl quite interesting.
“It’s obvious he’s not English, one merely has to look at him. But for all that, he is intriguingly handsome,” Miss Felicia Hasseleman declared. “And by all accounts quite rich. His questionable heritage aside, he isn’t a bad prospect. But I hear he isn’t interested in marriage. Not a first for him either. I understand he has an illegitimate child and brought her with him from America. He openly acknowledges the little girl but refused to marry her mother.”
That
was
rather shocking.
“Even wealth and an earldom cannot make up for
that
,” Mary Foxmoor, whose father was a baronet and owned about half of Sussex, said with a sniff. “I would never consider a man who forced me to accept his byblow. It’s . . . distasteful. No, he is not a suitable prospect.”
Ah, that subject again. Cecily couldn’t help but experience a surge of annoyance that overshadowed her embarrassment over what had just happened. They all had a single purpose: to find a man with a title and a fortune. It might be a romantic and idealistic way to look at it, but Cecily wished to choose a husband for reasons other than his bloodlines and wealth.
And, though she would never say so out loud because it would be repeated everywhere, she did have some admiration for him since he didn’t disdain his own flesh and blood and pretend the little girl didn’t exist just because she wasn’t legitimate. Cecily had no idea what the circumstances were that prompted Lord Augustine to decline to play the gentleman and wed the mother of his child, but she knew that many so-called gentlemen sired children on their mistresses and tucked them away on distant estates or sometimes didn’t even take
that
much responsibility.
“What did he say to you?” Eleanor asked, her gaze openly curious.
There was no help for it. Another rush of warmth infused her cheeks as Cecily recalled his scandalous comment. Worse, a traitorous part of her wondered what it would be like to feel that finely modeled mouth graze her bare skin. . . .
She shook her head in brisk refusal.
“You aren’t going to tell us?” Felicity said indignantly.
“No.” Cecily did her best to look bland. “It was nothing.”
All of them exchanged glances. “You’re
sure
you don’t know Lord Augustine?” Miss Foxmoor asked with skepticism. “He actually whispered in your ear.”
“We’ve never even been introduced,” Cecily said shortly, not willing to admit how unsettled that brief encounter had left her.
“Well,” Eleanor said dryly, “I think you’ve met each other now.”
For a welcome change, Jonathan wasn’t bored. Who would have thought a spilled glass of champagne would so liven up the evening?
Well, not the beverage perhaps, but certainly the lovely bosom it had graced was the reason for his improved enjoyment of the party.
He’d acknowledge that perhaps he shouldn’t have been so bold—not in front of the judgmental beau monde, but in his defense, he had been on his best behavior ever since his ship had docked several months ago. The strictures of society had never mattered to him, but he was adjusting, though he found most of it frivolous and, in his eyes, unnecessary.
“Am I about to receive a lecture on propriety?” he asked over the rim of his cut-crystal glass, grateful to be out of the stuffy ballroom and on the terrace. The London sky always held a slight haze from chimney smoke, but at least this evening there were stars, due to a welcome breeze scented with the promise of rain.
James, his first cousin, son of his father’s younger brother, just smiled with cynical resignation, propping one arm against the balustrade. “Is it worth it to point out you shouldn’t have done it?”
From the shocked expression on the young lady’s face, that was true. So Jonathan equivocated. “She’s very beautiful.”
James blew out a short breath. “So are many other ladies who already eye you with both curiosity and willingness. Different sorts of ladies than the innocent daughter of the Duke of Eddington.”
He’d didn’t have to be told she was innocent. It had been there in the slight—and very arousing—swift intake of her breath as he leaned close and whispered in her ear.
It wasn’t a guess that no man had ever done that before. He’d shocked her, but then again, she hadn’t reacted like an outraged innocent either.
How intriguing.
She wore a floral perfume, the provocative scent drifting from her smooth pale skin. And her eyes were an unusual clear topaz color. He’d expected blue from her golden blond hair and ivory complexion. The delicacy of her bone structure and the way her slenderness emphasized her feminine curves had struck him with a surprising impact.
Usually he didn’t favor pale blondes, but the duke’s daughter was lovely indeed. “What’s her name?”
“Cast your interest elsewhere, Jon.”
They knew each other well, courtesy of James’s service in the Royal Navy, which had sent him to America, where by virtue of family connection their paths had crossed. Considering the tension between their countries—only recently resolved—their communication had been both friendly and constant despite the conflict. Jonathan liked James and would have considered him a friend, their close family tie aside. They even looked a little alike, they’d both been told, though their coloring was very different.
Jonathan arched a brow in amusement. “Are you my keeper now?”
“Thankfully, no.” James’s grin was rueful. “I doubt anyone could manage that task. But if you’d like some advice, keep in mind this is not the wilderness. The rules of decorum chafe, I agree, but they do exist. I know you dislike autocratic sanctions.”
“Boston is hardly a wilderness.”
“And how much time do you actually spend in Boston?” James sipped his whiskey and looked bland.
Too much
, Jonathan wanted to answer. He disliked cities. Still, he did business in Boston often because he was a partner in a venture that owned several banks there. James was correct in that whenever he could, he resided at his country house. Long rides, early swims in the lake, the sun coming up over the trees . . .
He missed it fiercely already, and he knew his time here had barely begun.
“Tell me about her.”
“Shall I begin with how she comes with a price you have expressed no interest in paying? If you wish to stand in a cathedral in front of witnesses and pledge your name and protection for her place in your bed, then go ahead and pursue her. Otherwise, I advise you to look for amusement along other avenues. Her father is a very powerful man. The Duke of Eddington is one of the richest men in Britain.”
A night bird sang somewhere, the call unfamiliar. Three weeks in England now. Jonathan felt like such a stranger. Back home he could have identified the bird with unerring accuracy. “I hardly said I wished to dally with her. I’m just curious.”
His cousin gave him a long, considering look that was a mixture of amusement and skepticism, and then shrugged. “She made her debut this spring and her older sister is also considered eligible, though not as popular due to her reputation as a bluestocking of the first order. The combination of beauty and dowry has had a predictable impact on society. Lady Cecily is expected to make a very superior match.”
Jonathan doubted with cynical practicality that he fell into that
superior
category. For all his fortune and the title he’d never wanted, he did have his mixed blood, and while he might be a novelty to certain English ladies, he was different in a society that celebrated conformity.
Cecily. He thought it suited her. Very English, very delicate, very much reminiscent of rose blossoms in a verdant garden. Yet the very word
match
brought forth a heartfelt grimace. James was right. He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked. Even if her highbrow family approved of him—and he was skeptical that they would—he wasn’t in the market for a wife.
Time to change the subject away from the duke’s delectable but untouchable daughter. He said coolly, “Tell me what you found out today about the mining interests.”
He listened as his cousin explained that the records were sketchy and the estate manager had yet again hedged over the ineptitude in the bookkeeping. “Terminate Browne’s employment,” Jonathan instructed in concise decision. “It’s clear he’s worth nothing. We’ll start looking for a new man tomorrow. I’ll hire someone I trust and we can start with a fresh eye to what might have happened.”
“I agree. I tried to tell your father a long time ago to reassign management of all of the properties, including the mines.”
“And it took me nearly a year to come to England.” Jonathan acknowledged that by the time the news of his father’s death reached him and he had settled his business obligations in America enough to be able to sail for England, not to mention the length of the voyage, he hadn’t arrived to take charge of his inheritance in a timely fashion.
Not to mention that there had been some legalities to handle, such as proving his parentage. To his extreme irritation, there was dissension over his right to inherit, but his father had anticipated the trouble and wisely made sure the right documents were all in place with his solicitor.
Prejudice against half-breed offspring transcended wars and oceans apparently. There were times when he feared for his daughter’s future, for she had obstacles to surmount. At least he had legitimacy in his favor.
Adela was the joy of his life.
“But you came,” James said with equanimity. “And I, for one, am glad you are here. I wasn’t making much progress.”
As next in line for the title, his cousin had not only handled affairs until Jonathan’s arrival, but he had done so knowing that someone else would inherit. It was a generous gesture, and Jonathan had persuaded him to continue to manage several of his various holdings. “I appreciate all your efforts.” Jonathan had to add, “I understand that my half sisters can be a challenge.”
“You will find no argument here. Luckily for me,” James muttered, lifting his glass to his mouth, “they are
your
problem now.”
Chapter 2
B
y mere coincidence and through no fault of her own, she had set London on its ear.
No, Cecily corrected silently, looking at the blocks of sunlight on the rich rug of her grandmother’s formal sitting room. Lord Augustine had caused this furor.
She sat perched on the edge of her embroidered Louis Quatorze chair and said as politely as possible, “Cannot we change the subject?”
Her grandmother, her spine as rigid as a spike, said in a chilly voice, “Did you know they are currently taking wagers in the gentlemen’s clubs over what it was he might have said to you?”
The answer to her question was yes, she’d heard—of course, since Eleanor had warned her in a very concise way—but it was clear her grandmother was scandalized at the idea of one of her family being the subject of tawdry betting between young men with too much money and not enough entertainment.
Never mind that Cecily hadn’t asked for the dubious honor. Grandmama could be horrified all she wanted, but truly, Cecily knew she’d done nothing wrong.
Other than to refuse to fuel the rumors by repeating what he’d said. Even she wasn’t sure why she was being so reticent, except that she’d been more than a little struck by his dark beauty and he truly hadn’t been rude in any way. Quite the contrary. A little scandalous . . . yes, that was undisputed, but frankly, Lord Augustine had piqued her interest.
None of the polite, fawning suitors of the season so far had done the same.
“What happened is certainly not worthy of all this attention,” she protested. “Some clumsy gentleman bumped me and I spilled a bit of champagne. Lord Augustine came to my aid. That is
all
that happened.”
“He touched your . . . your
person
, and with outrageous informality whispered something to you in a way that even a husband would not do with his wife in such a public venue.”
Perhaps because most aristocratic husbands and wives can barely stand each other
. She almost said it out loud, but refrained. Another lecture on the benefits of dynastic alliances and her duty as the daughter of a duke was the last conversation she wanted.
Well, maybe not the last, because the current one wasn’t all that enjoyable either. If she could, she’d eschew reprimanding lectures for the rest of her life.
“I am not responsible for his lordship’s behavior,” Cecily said with as much calm as possible, seeing with relief the arrival of a maid with the tea trolley. “And really, all he did was come to my aid.”
“Not quite the story recounted to me.”
Later, she would strangle Eleanor for pleading a headache and avoiding tea with the Dowager Duchess of Eddington, leaving Cecily to face the old dragon alone. She loved her grandmother, but there was no doubt she was a formidable personage in many ways.