Pleasure For Pleasure (5 page)

“Bedrock's surname is Darlington?” Sylvie said. “A charming name for such a one as this.”

“I've seen him,” Josie said. “He's very good-looking, all yellow curls and blue eyes.”

“I suppose we could have someone seduce him,” Sylvie said thoughtfully. “Men are so amenable in the first days of love. I have noted it innumerable times.”

“It's a shame that Annabel is married; she would take to the task immediately,” Josie said.

“Another sister?” Sylvie asked. “Do you realize the legendary reputation the four of you have gained amongst the
ton
? I heard about you the very moment I arrived for the season. Four exquisite Scotswomen who took London by storm and scooped up all the available bachelors.”

“I'm afraid that our happiness in marriage may in itself have led to Josie's uncomfortable experience,” Tess pointed out.

“The contrast is just too great,” Josie said, striving for a careless tone. “Between myself and my sisters, I mean.”

“You are just as beautiful,” Sylvie said. “It is simply your misfortune to follow such remarkable successes. You must expect a certain grumpiness amongst those Englishmen who were not chosen by your sisters.”

The door opened and Josie's chaperone, Lady Griselda, poked her head in. “Oh darling,” she said, “there you are! Timothy Arbuthnot has been looking for you with a veritably desperate air.”

“I like it better here,” Josie said. In truth, it was the first time all day that she had felt happy.

Griselda raised a delicate eyebrow. “In that case, I shall join you, if I may.” She smiled at Sylvie. Obviously, Josie thought rather grumpily, Mayne's choice of wife pleased everyone.

Well, who could not like Sylvie?

She was laughing with Griselda now. Griselda had apparently encountered Lady Margaret Cavendish, whose hair—according to Griselda—had changed color. “She's yellow as a marigold,” Griselda was saying. “Actually the color of burnt marmalade, if you know what I mean.”

“And what hair had she last week?” Sylvie wanted to know.

“Brown,” Griselda said decisively. “I can't imagine how she did it.”

“They have all sorts of potions that will dye one's hair,” Josie said. “Don't you remember how Papa used to encounter dyed horses at shows occasionally, Tess?” She didn't add that their own father was quite adept at dyeing a horse black, in order to make him a more attractive candidate for sale.

“We are discussing who should seduce this objectionable person,” Sylvie said, “this Darlington, and now of course I know precisely who should do it.”

“Do what?” Griselda said.

“Make Darlington fall in love,” Sylvie said. “You,
chérie
. You are the one.”

“What?”
Griselda blinked at her future sister-in-law.

Josie almost giggled. Apparently Sylvie was not a good judge of character. Griselda was certainly beautiful enough to seduce Darlington or anyone else, given her pale blond curls and lush figure. But after being widowed some ten or eleven years previous, Griselda had not indulged in even the slightest indiscretion. Her reputation was, in her brother Mayne's rather acid summary, a thing of snowy wonder that made her a terrible foil to his exploits.

“You must seduce this Darlington,” Sylvie said patiently. “We need the man silenced, and I'm sure it won't be difficult for you. Why, Josie reports that he is good-looking. And yellow-haired. The two of you will be exquisite together.”

“I don't wish to have anything to do with that poisonous
viper,” Griselda said. “And I know precisely what he thinks of me. He told Mrs. Graham that I was unattractively chaste.”

“Then he meant precisely the opposite,” Sylvie said. “If you were not quite so chaste, you would be enormously attractive. And Griselda, surely you do not need us to create some compliments for you?” She waved at the glass, and all four women instinctively looked at Griselda's reflection.
“Guardez!”

Josie had to smile. Griselda had reached the age of thirty-two without a single wrinkle, nor any sign that she was much over Sylvie's age. Her hair fell in perfect ringlets, and her figure was wound in something soft and silk and utterly entrancing. In short, she looked like a china shepherdess, only not nearly as hard nor as cold.

Tess leaned forward. “Though it is vastly improper of me to say it, Griselda, I think that Sylvie has a wonderful idea. All you would have to do is make him fall in love with you. He's not a complete devil. You might find him amusing. Felton says that Darlington graduated with a First, which is remarkable for a gentleman. Likely, he's bored.”

Sylvie was waving a fan gently before her face and nothing could be seen but her mischievous eyes. “I think that I have seen the gentleman in question, dear Griselda.”

“Hmmm,” Griselda said.

“You must have noticed his shoulders.”

“As Tess mentioned, this is a remarkably improper conversation,” Griselda said, obviously remembering her role as chaperone.

“I am quite used to impropriety,” Josie said. “Not a one of my sisters found her husband without a scandal.”

“I certainly don't want a husband!” Griselda said.

“Of course you do,” Sylvie stated. “Every woman wants a husband; they are so necessary to one's comfort, like a flannel night rail in the winter. Necessary, but tedious to acquire.”

“And you did tell Imogen that you were considering marriage,” Josie added.

“Well, I certainly wouldn't marry a man like Darlington.”

Sylvie's eyes rounded into a shocked expression. “We never suggested such a thing! Never! Of course, you will want to marry a man with a sweet and modest disposition. Otherwise not even an optimist could see you sharing breakfast with him after a year or so.”

“My own Willoughby was remarkably modest,” Griselda remarked. “But my ability to watch him eat calves' head pie for breakfast lasted precisely one day, as I recall.”

“I expect I would have been just the same,” Sylvie said with a little shudder. “But I mean to begin as I shall go on, and therefore I shall inform Mayne that we shall never breakfast together. That way he will not be disappointed by my absence.”

Josie thought that was a bit mean, but after a moment she realized that Mayne probably didn't care about breakfasting. She wasn't stupid, nor naive. What Mayne wanted was to sleep in the same room with Sylvie, not eat there.

“I suppose I could contemplate a flirtation with Darlington,” Griselda said.

“Just long enough to reduce him to a state of slavering adoration,” Sylvie said reassuringly. “Then you can shake him from your skirts like so much dust.”

Josie liked the sound of that.

“This is not the sort of solution that had occurred to me,” Griselda said, looking thoughtful.

“Indeed,” Tess said with a gurgle of laughter. “Griselda and I and Josie's other sisters have been pursuing irreproachably correct ways of ameliorating the situation. Really, Josie, you do have a number of admirers now.”

“Old men,” Josie said impatiently.

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. “Dearest, young men are invariably tedious. I think you don't realize what a sacrifice
Griselda makes by even contemplating a brief flirtation with a man not yet thirty. Without experience, they have nothing to say.”

“Darlington always has something to say; that's his stock in trade,” Tess observed.

“But he is unlikely to have made many mistakes, and mistakes are what make a man truly interesting.”

“Has Mayne made mistakes?” Josie asked with some curiosity.

Griselda laughed, but Sylvie said, “Without question. He has the look of a man who has mistakenly found himself in far too many beds, for one thing. He has clearly put too much value on variety. I shall insist that as my husband, he show far more prudence.”

“But do you mean that he will…he will continue to—” Josie stopped. There were limits to what a young unmarried woman was supposed to voice, after all.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Sylvie said, fanning herself. “Although he is currently playing the role of a sentimentalist, and doing it with a great deal of relish, I must say.”

“He told me last night that he was ravished with love for you,” Griselda said.

“Charming,” Sylvie said, with a markedly unsentimental cheerfulness. “As I said, a temporary wash of sentimentalism. Which will lapse with time, as it always does. And since he is half French, I expect it will transform itself nicely into cynicism. I think cynical men are so interesting, don't you?”

“
You
should be starting a flirtation with Darlington,” Griselda pointed out. And then added hastily, “If you weren't affianced to my brother, of course.”

“Alas, I cannot come to Josephine's rescue for that very reason. How long do you think it will take you, dearest Griselda? I shouldn't think more than a week or so, do you?”

Griselda had a light in her eye that suggested just a hint of rivalry with her beautiful sister-in-law, or so Josie thought.

“I expect I can make significant inroads on his affections this very night,” she said. Then she stood up and surveyed her gown in the mirror. It had a classical drape, winding around her breasts and making the most of her curves. With a few deft pulls and twitches, suddenly a great deal more bosom was showing.

“An excellent thought,” Sylvie said.

“I can manage this endeavor without instruction,” Griselda said, with the faintest edge in her voice.

Sylvie instantly looked utterly cast down. “I didn't mean in the faintest, smallest way to imply that you were anything other than utterly
ravissante
!” she cried, her accent suddenly far more French. “Don't be angry with me, dearest Griselda. I'm so happy to be your sister that I rushed in where I should not have walked!”

Griselda smiled at that and turned around to give her a kiss. “You are your own fascinating self,” she said. “And besides, I do need advice. How shall I make an approach to him? Under the circumstances, he is unlikely to draw near me.”

Tess's eyes lit up. “My husband can introduce you!”

“Too obvious,” Griselda objected.

“I have read a number of novels in which young women drop various items of clothing, thereby attracting attention of a nearby gentleman,” Josie said. “A fan would be easiest.”

“I don't want to drop my fan,” Griselda said, looking alarmed. “This is my favorite and I should hate to have the sticks bent or broken.”

“Sacrifices must be made,” Sylvie observed. “In a good cause.”

“In that case,” Griselda retorted, “I'll drop
your
fan. You can give me mine back at the end of the evening.”

Sylvie showed no sign of offering up her fan. It was the same delicate pink as her costume, and sewn over with matching seed pearls. “Are you certain that you wouldn't wish to
drop a shoe?” she inquired. “You are wearing ravishing slippers, if you don't mind my saying so, Griselda. And you could perhaps manage to show some ankle at the same time. Men are so foolish when it comes to ankles.”

“Why is that?” Josie asked. Sylvie seemed to be the sort of person who actually answered questions, and since her ankles were one of Josie's best features, she had often wondered whether she should accidentally expose them more often.

“A woman's ankle, slender and perfectly turned, is a thing of beauty,” Sylvie said. “I myself wear all my skirts a trifle short, as should you, Josie darling.”

“I need the longer skirts to balance my hips,” Josie said.

Tess groaned. “Madame Badeau told you that, didn't she?”

“She is correct,” Josie stated.

“Madame Badeau makes excellent designs,” Sylvie said peaceably. “I myself have a ravishing pelisse that she made for me. But I am not certain that I entirely agree with her tactics as regards your costumes, Josie.”

“As I have repeatedly said myself,” Griselda put in.

Josie groaned inwardly. They appeared to be about to reenact a battle that had replayed itself since she first visited Imogen's
modiste,
Madame Badeau. “It is
my
figure,” she pointed out, “and my costumes in question. Without Madame Badeau's corsets, I would swell in all directions.”

Even now Josie could feel the reassuring pressure of whalebones around her body, holding all her extra flesh in place. True, it was uncomfortable, and it made her feel rather like a wooden puppet at times, especially while dancing.

“I do not agree,” Griselda said. She appealed directly to Sylvie. “Josie is convinced that she must wear this horrendous contraption that Madame Badeau espoused. As you can see, she barely sits with ease.”

But to Josie's relief, Sylvie didn't jump to Griselda's
support. “I expect that Josie finds the garment rather comforting.”

“I do,” Josie said with emphasis. “I shall wear it whenever I am seen in public. Can you imagine if I took it off? They would stop calling me a Scottish sausage and say that I had swelled into—into a sausage patty!”

“They will lose interest,” Sylvie said. “Particularly after Griselda diverts Darlington's attention to herself.”

“I do believe that I shall drop my shoe,” Griselda said. “A fan is too obvious, almost pedestrian. And these are
very
nice slippers. I'd forgotten how much I like them.”

They all looked to the ground. Griselda's slippers were cream silk embroidered with pale blue, very small fleur-delis. Her stockings were the same color, with pale blue clocks.

“I am so happy to be entering your family,” Sylvie said. “I could not bear to be sister to a woman who did not understand the importance of shoes.”

Griselda smiled at her and dropped her skirts. Her eyes were more excited than Josie had seen them in ages, and she had a little smile hovering on her mouth. She took a miniature pot of color from her reticule, rubbed it on her lips, and then made a playful pout before the mirror. “I feel quite different. Rather wicked, I suppose.”