How to Dance With a Duke (5 page)

Cecily stifled a laugh. She knew Violet was an optimist, but surely she did not believe any such nonsense was even possible. It was one thing to hope for Cecily to make a viable match. But within a two-week span was asking for a bit much, even for someone of Violet’s considerable matchmaking prowess.

“My gowns are serviceable. And I choose them for comfort, not for beauty,” she defended herself. “Though even I must admit to wishing for something a little more daring from time to time.”

“Well, I will send out for Madame d’Auberge at once. She will have an entire new wardrobe ready in the space of three days, I should imagine!”

Cecily shook her head at the notion. But if anyone could wheedle the modiste to do her bidding it was Violet. “I don’t suppose she’d be able to make something up for me to wear to the Duchess of Bewle’s ball tonight?”

Violet considered for a moment. “I suspect she will have something already made up that could be altered for you. Though you are rather tall, so she might need to add a flounce to the hem.”

She rose and tugged on the bellpull. “I don’t suppose you would consent to have Monsieur LeBlanc cut your hair?”

Pushing back the tickle of unease she felt in giving up control of her appearance, Cecily gave a brisk nod. “If it were done, then ’tis well it were done quickly,” she said, paraphrasing Macbeth. “I give myself into your hands, Lady Hurston.”

Violet clapped her hands like a giddy schoolgirl, and despite her earlier misgivings, Cecily was glad to have given her stepmother this means of taking her mind off her ailing husband.

Even if it was to help Cecily ensnare a member of the Egyptian Club in her matrimonial trap.

*   *   *

Determined to spend her evening scouring the ballroom for single members of the Egyptian Club, Cecily arrived at the Duchess of Bewle’s ball wearing the sort of gown she had been avoiding her entire adult life. Its puffed sleeves were the latest fashion, and the buttery color lent a warm creamy glow to her skin. And it drew attention to her bosom in a manner that made her feel as if she were standing in public in only her chemise. In fact, the whole ensemble drew the eye, which would in the past have been her chief complaint about it. But for her current purpose, it suited admirably. It would simply take a bit of time for her personality to catch up with her desire to find a husband.

That being said, her first stop after she and Violet made it through the receiving line was her usual position on the edge of the ballroom. “I love it,” Madeline cried, clapping her hands at the sight of Cecily’s transformation. “The color is perfect!”

“It’s wonderful,” Juliet agreed, stepping back to see the full effect.

Her own gown was a deep green silk that was elegant but modest. It was the sort of costume that would allow her to blend into her surroundings. Pretty, but not striking enough to call attention to her. Her ankle injury prevented her from dancing, and Juliet claimed to prefer watching society from the safety of the fringes. Though there were times when Cecily suspected she was not quite so sanguine about her position as she claimed.

“Never say you did that yourself?”Juliet said, reaching out to touch the pretty cerise ribbon threaded through her cousin’s dark brown curls.

Cecily held back an unladylike snort. “Hardly. Violet’s maid Meg is responsible for the hair. And Violet chose the gown. After a consultation with Madame d’Auberge, of course.”

Maddie nodded approvingly. Her own pale pink gown had come from Madame d’Auberge’s establishment. Of the three cousins, she was the one who most appreciated fashionable gowns. Cecily dressed because she had to. Juliet liked a pretty frock, but would on the whole much rather have the latest sheet music from the Continent. But Madeline had a true weakness for pretty clothes. She also harbored burning envy for Cecily’s height. Which was just as well, since Cecily envied her petite stature. As was the way with the rest of the world, they each wanted the opposite from what they had.

“It almost makes me want to ask Mama for assistance with my wardrobe,” Juliet said wistfully. Her mother, the middle Featherstone sister, Rose, Lady Shelby, was the vainest of the trio. Which made Juliet’s shyness all the more annoying to her. What good was it to have a daughter when she chose to dress modestly and preferred to watch society rather than participate in it? “Almost, but not quite. Though it might be worth it to see her astonishment.”

“Well, I’m sure Violet would be happy to help,” Cecily said, grateful that her father had married Violet Featherstone rather than Rose. At the thought of her father, she sobered, adding, “I don’t think I’ve seen her this pleased since Papa returned from Egypt.”

Madeline squeezed Cecily’s hand in sympathy.

“How is…?” Juliet started to say, then broke off when Lady Hurston approached.

“Doesn’t she look marvelous, girls?” Lady Hurston asked, kissing the air over the cheeks of her nieces. “You really do look lovely, Cecily. I hope you will actually do some dancing tonight and forget about that silly talk of a curse.”

“I’m more worried about the talk of Papa being a murderer,” Cecily said once Violet had left them. “Though they dared not say it to our faces, I could tell that Lady Taunton and Mrs. Fowler-Monk were thinking of it. Their eyes positively glowed with spite.”

“You should definitely avoid Amelia Snowe, then,” Maddie said with a frown. “Before you arrived she and Felicia Downes were compiling a list of who was likely to be stricken down next. I am sorry to say that most of her little coterie of suitors joined in.”

“Wonderful,” Cecily said. “All I need to make my attempt to find a husband as painful as possible is the addition of Amelia Snowe adding to the curse rumors. Though I suppose I should be grateful she hasn’t got wind of Winterson’s grievances.”

Maddie shook her head in disgust. “Well, at least she’s qualified to talk about curses, since it seems as if she signed a pact with the devil to trick every gentleman in London into thinking she’s a sweet little thing.”

“The only pact Amelia Snowe has made is with herself,” Juliet said firmly. “She is the most conceited person I’ve ever met.”

“Matters of Amelia’s character aside,” Cecily said, lowering her voice so they wouldn’t be overheard and squaring her shoulders, “I need to entice a member of the Egyptian Club and I don’t intend to let her spoil my efforts. Not with rumors, not with curses. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I must away to the retiring room to check my hair.”

“Good luck!” Maddie called after her, trying to see over the heads of the dancers blocking her view.

“She’ll need it if she intends to compete with Amelia Snowe,” Juliet said. “Even Aunt Violet isn’t powerful enough to best Amelia alone.”

“No,” Maddie said. “But she has us. We might not be the most fashionable ladies in the Beau Monde, but we are certainly the most determined.”

*   *   *

“Are you sure this gown shows my figure to the best advantage?” Miss Amelia Snowe asked, turning this way and that before the pier glass set up in the Duchess of Bewle’s retiring room.

From her position on the other side of the chamber, where she was fluffing a curl that had fallen, Cecily knew the blond beauty was not asking for her opinion. Instead the question was addressed to Miss Felicia Downes, who was Amelia’s dearest friend.

Still, even Cecily had to admit that Amelia looked lovely in the ice-blue watered-silk confection she wore that evening, with its puffed sleeves and sweetheart neckline.

“I am quite sure my bosom would have looked better in the pink,” Amelia continued, not waiting for her friend to answer. Adjusting her ample cleavage so that more creamy skin peeked out from the expertly cut bodice, she frowned at her reflection.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Amelia,” Felicia said. “You are beautiful as always. I would not be at all surprised if you brought Winterson up to scratch this evening on the strength of your bust alone.”

At a raised brow from Amelia, the other girl winced. “You know what I mean.”

The mention of Winterson’s name startled Cecily, though why, she could not say. It was hardly remarkable that a man of his looks and title would search for a bride of equally stunning looks. And though he could not have been back in London for very long, she supposed he and Amelia might have met one another at some
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gathering from which she herself had been excluded. Besides, she needed to worry about catching the eye of Egyptian Club members tonight. Winterson was entirely beside the point.

“What are you staring at, Cecily Hurston?” Felicia sneered, interrupting the other girl’s reverie.

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Cecily did not bother to look her in the eye, but turned her own gaze back to the mirror, and made a show of straightening the ribbon laced through her hair. “Perhaps if you are concerned about being overheard you should conduct your conversation in a less public venue.”

Before Felicia could stalk to Cecily’s side—no doubt to pinch her ear as she had once done at a birthday party when they were still in the nursery—Amelia called her hound to heel.

“Felicia,” she said in the cool tone she adopted when displeased. “Do remember why we are here.”

Felicia scowled, but stayed where she was. “Of course, Amelia. I believe you were inquiring about the fit of your gown.”

Tucking a golden tress behind her delicately curved ear, Amelia smiled benignly. “Yes, of course.”

Then, perhaps because she wished to prove to Cecily that she did not care what she thought of her, she smiled with just a hint of triumph. “You know, just between ourselves, Felicia, I think Winterson will propose any day now.” Cecily had no doubt that Amelia meant for her to hear every word. “Just last evening he had this look about him that seemed to indicate he was thinking deeply about our future together.”

Cecily stifled a snort. She doubted the man she’d encountered that morning thought any such thing.

Unfortunately, she had not stifled herself enough. Amelia turned from her self-admiration and cast a disapproving eye on Cecily. “Oh, Cecily. I’d forgotten you were there.”

And after that blatant lie, Miss Snowe surveyed Cecily from head to toe.

“Really, my dear, one would imagine that your stepmama would be able to dress you better than that. I don’t believe I’ve seen that style gown since the summer my sister Veronica debuted. And that was nearly five years ago. Though I suppose with all that bother about your father her attentions were needed elsewhere.” The beauty’s clear blue eyes held no particular ill will. She would have needed to care to feel animosity. And sadly, Amelia had not the least bit of fellow-feeling.

Cecily stiffened at the mention of her father. But she refused to let Amelia know that her barb had found its mark. Instead she stood tall, daring the blond beauty to say something else. For one brief moment she imagined what it would be like to have the freedom to shun truly unpleasant people like these two.

What a delightful existence that would be.

“It must be very trying to find clothing suitable for one of your Amazonian proportions. I daresay the cost for extra fabric is nearly prohibitive. Still, it is good to see you have at least made an effort this evening. Even Amazons must wash the dirt of the jungle from themselves and venture out every now and again.”

“Better an Amazon than an elf,” Cecily said, unable to stop herself.

“Oh, you mustn’t let your jealousy turn your temper waspish,” Miss Snowe said kindly, though her smile did not reach her eyes. “Waspishness is simply reviled in a spinster.”

“Amelia,” Cecily said, her gaze cold. She was pleased to see a flicker of something—fear?—behind them. “Why don’t you go back out into the ballroom and ply your … ahem … wiles on the Duke of Winterson? I feel sure if he is as enamored as you say he is, the man must simply be aching to catch a glimpse of you.”

Amelia stood her ground for a few seconds more, then with a little shrug she stepped away from the pier glass and headed for the door.

“Come, Felicia,” she snapped, beckoning her companion to follow her from the room. Suddenly restless, when they were well and truly gone, Cecily rose and began to pace.

Encounters with people like Amelia made her want to run until her body was aching from exhaustion. Of course, ladies didn’t run, Cecily thought grimly, but I wonder if Amazons do? She flounced into the chair Amelia had just abandoned … and promptly hopped up again when she felt something sharp in the seat.

Rubbing her smarting backside, she looked down at the damask cushion and saw a smallish gold object twinkling in the candlelight. Plucking it up, she turned it over in her hand, and realized she’d found someone’s dance card.

No doubt it was Amelia’s.

Cunningly fashioned in the shape of a fan, either end was made of gilt-edged ivory with a tiny pencil attached with a string to the bottom. Each fan petal, made of ivory, offered a place for a gentleman to write his name.

Cecily unfurled the little fan and was unsurprised to see the hastily scrawled names of one
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eligible after another lined up on the ivory petals.

What must it be like, she wondered with a sigh, to be the lady who never sat out a set? Before tonight it hadn’t bothered her so much. She had her translation work to keep her occupied, after all. But being here tonight in a new dress, a new hairstyle, for the first time in her life she felt as sure of the fit of her gown as she did about her ability to conjugate irregular Latin verbs. It had never really occurred to her that there was another position for her to play in polite society than Lord Hurston’s odd, bluestocking daughter.

If only Madame d’Auberge sold dance cards like Amelia’s, where all the hard work of finding partners to dance with was already done.

She couldn’t buy a prefilled dance card from Madame d’Auberge, but she did have Amelia’s card. Which was already filled out. And …

She stopped. Then broke out in a broad grin as she looked more closely at the names. All but two were members of the Egyptian Club.

Tucking the dance card into the reticule hanging from her wrist, she hurried back out to the ballroom to find her cousins.