Eloisa James - Desperate Duchesses - 6 (8 page)

"Your sister, young though she is, is much better at understanding men," her mother ruled. "You have never shown the faintest interest in attracting a man's attention, Eleanor; now you must accept advice from a younger sister."

"Voilà!"
Anne cried. "He's wearing his feather
à la conseilleur.
See how it tilts sideways?"

"Who could miss it?" Eleanor asked, leaning down to give Oyster a pat. He panted enthusiastically, looking up at her with adoring eyes. She was very fond of Oyster. But he was one of those odd dogs who just missed being attractive. His body was cream, and his nose and muzzle were black, and then he was pop-eyed. The feather didn't help.

"The point is," Anne told her, "Oyster gives you something to talk about."

Oyster's incontinent habits certainly did generate conversation. "I don't think he likes that feather, Anne." It curled over his back and brushed his tail. Not the brightest of dogs, Oyster was convinced a fly was trying to bite him and so he began twisting around to snap at his own tail.

Though he was far too fat to actually reach his tail.

"It's fashionable," Anne said stubbornly. "Mother, don't let her take the feather off. Oyster will get used to it, and the queen's dog wears one precisely the same. Though I seem to remember hers does wear a peacock feather."

A pug wearing a peacock feather. That would be a conversation piece, all right.

"When we arrive, you must go down for a nap immediately, Eleanor," the duchess stated. "I want you to look your best by the time Villiers appears.
Certainty
better than Lisette!"

"Mother," Eleanor said, "Lisette is a friend of mine. There's no reason to use that tone."

Her mother narrowed her eyes. "Eleanor, you are such a fool that it's a miracle they're calling Lisette cracked instead of yourself." Eleanor said nothing.

Her mother gave a faint shriek. "I'll be blessed if I haven't forgotten to take your grandmother's silver combs! I want to arrange them on your bedside table." She trotted from the room.

"Does she think that I'll invite the duke into my bedchamber to examine my combs?" Eleanor said.

Anne gave her hand a squeeze. "Mother is accustomed to overstating her opinions." "I know."

"She didn't mean to call you stupid."

But she did mean it. Eleanor had always been a puzzle to her mother, and not a pleasant one. Part of the problem was that the duchess had never known about Gideon, never known about the glorious year in which they grew closer and closer, fell in love, told each other everything, and finally, in that last delirious month before his birthday, made love.

Because her mother never knew that, she knew nothing about her.

The greater problem was that Eleanor simply didn't fit in. She said the wrong things. She was too sarcastic.

Eleanor had figured out long ago that her mother was oblivious to her feelings and didn't mean most of her insults. But the knowledge didn't help. Every time her mother called her stupid, she felt more bitter, like a knife sharpened in the cold.

Then she would say something sarcastic again, exasperating her mother with her stupidity.

"Mother and I saw Gideon at the Duchess of Beaumont's benefit ball," Eleanor said, needing to tell someone. "He was in the refreshment tent and he came up to speak to us." "Was he with Ada?" "She is ill again." Anne wrinkled her nose. "Don't! It's not her fault."

"I think she likes to lie about on a sofa and court attention," Anne said with the relentless lack of sympathy that only a young healthy person could feel.

"I was there once when she had a coughing attack," Eleanor said. "It sounded terribly painful. She couldn't straighten up."

"I don't like her."

"Don't, don't say that! It's not her fault."

"You're right about that. It's not her fault," Anne said.

Eleanor blinked.

"I don't mean her illness: I mean the rest of it. It's Gideon's fault, Eleanor, and now that you're finally considering another man, I'm going to say it. He shouldn't have left you like that. He should have broken that will. He never, ever should have behaved with such dishonor."

"Dishonor!" Eleanor cried. "Why, that's the opposite of what he did. He—"

"He dishonored you," Anne said, steadily, holding her eyes. "Didn't he, Eleanor?"

Eleanor had never been quite sure whether her sister knew the extent of that summer's folly. "It wasn't dishonor," she said haltingly. "We are—we were in love."

"If a man falls in love to that tune," Anne said, "then he incurs some responsibility in the matter.

Gideon is a cad, Eleanor. A louse. I've thought so forever, but I couldn't say it because you made him into a saint, and yourself nothing more than a worshipper at his worthless shrine."

"Not a louse," Eleanor protested. "He's honorable, and good. But once he learned of that will, it all became so complicated—"

"He's a hoity-toity prig," Anne interrupted. "Do you think he would have broken that will if you hadn't—" She paused. "You might hate me for this, Eleanor, but I'm going to say it anyway. If you hadn't given your virginity to Gideon, don't you think he would have broken that will?"

"That's a wretched thing to say!" Eleanor snapped. "We were in
love!
You may not know what that is like, but—"

"I agree with our nanny," Anne said, overriding her. "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

"That's—you can't—" Eleanor felt rage rising in her chest and she tightened her grip on Oyster's leash so suddenly that he gave a sharp yelp. The thought that Anne might be right was heartbreaking, literally.

"All I'm saying is that if you want to marry Villiers. you shouldn't let him in your bedchamber to look at your combs—or anything else. That's all I'm saying."

"We were in
love,"
Eleanor repeated.

"He sneaked about, and did secret things with you," Anne retorted. "How would you feel about him if you heard that he had been tupping one of the second footman's daughters? You were a young girl, not old enough to know better."

"You just don't understand. We were both young. I was lucky to have loved like that for a time."

She said it stoutly, even though she didn't really believe it.

Anne snorted. "I hope I'm never so lucky."

Eleanor managed to summon up a crooked smile. "I won't invite anyone into my chamber to examine my silver combs, I promise you that." It was an easy enough promise to make.

She and Villiers had an utterly different sort of relationship in mind. If she and Gideon had married, they would have been like twigs caught in a forest fire. They had made love barely ten times, and she remembered every single time. Every single moment.

"Stop smiling like that," Anne commanded. "Gideon is married, remember? Think about Villiers."

"I was, actually," Eleanor said.

"No, you weren't," Anne said sourly. "I've been your sister for eighteen years. I know what that daffy look means, and it has got nothing to do with the Duke of Villiers."

"Do you really think that I've been worshipping at Gideon's shrine?" Eleanor wrinkled her nose. "How wet I sound."

"You were unlucky. He is a debaucher who took the first chance he could to leave you in the dust and marry the oh-so-pretty Ada."

Eleanor bit her lip.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Anne said hastily. "You're pretty too, Eleanor." "In my own way."

"It's just that Ada has that heart-shaped face and seems so fragile. She's like a fairy princess.

Irresistible, for a man who loves to think of himself as a knight in shining armor."

"She truly is fragile—and sweet," Eleanor said. "I'm not, and I can't pretend that I am."

"Of course you're not. And Gideon knows it now," Anne said with unmistakable satisfaction.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's tired of Ada and her fainting and coughing and carrying on. I saw it last time Mother took me there for tea and he stayed with us for barely a moment or two. I think he probably fell in love with the idea of saving her, poor fragile little darling that she was, but now he—"

"Don't go on," Eleanor said. "You're making everything in my life, everything I care for, seem shabby and nasty. I know you don't mean it, but I want you to stop now."

The door bounced open again. "Girls! Don't keep me waiting,
if
you please!" Their mother stood in the doorway, ringed by three maids. "Hobson, gather that lace shawl, if you please. Eleanor, hand the dog to Hobson; he can travel with the maids. Oyster may be a source for conversation, but I'd rather arrive without urine on my skirts."

"We'll be there in a moment, Mother," Eleanor said. Her mother swept back into the entryway, demanding her gloves.

"I'm sorry," she said to Anne. "I didn't mean to be unkind. It's—"

"No, you were right," her sister said, darting over to give her a hug. "That's the problem with me. I see everything in the darkest possible light."

"Don't you think I'd know it if Gideon had showed the slightest interest in me after marrying Ada?

He has rarely spoken to me since hearing his father's will read."

"But you would never consider adultery, would you?" Anne asked, sounding truly scandalized.

"Of course not! I would never do anything so depraved."

Anne kissed her. "I want you to be married, Eleanor. You'll be a wonderful mother." "I shall. That is, I already like Villiers, and that's all that's necessary for a sound marriage."

Their mother's voice shrieked from the entry. "Oyster has peed on the marble again, Eleanor!" There was a smacking noise and a yelp. "You bad dog! Hobson, make him sit down."

"I have to rescue poor Oyster," Eleanor said, hastily straightening her bonnet and snatching up her gloves. "Poor thing. I'm afraid that when Mother is excited it all gets worse, and smacking does
not
help."

"We have to make sure he doesn't get nervous on Lisette's carpet. Or on Villiers's boots. It might be enough to ruin your chances of being a duchess. Men are absurdly attached to the shine on their boots."

"You think you know everything about men, don't you, little sister?"

"I consider myself a naturalist of the male species," Anne said loftily. "I have made a study of their habits."

"I shall wear your clothing," Eleanor said. "Because the truth is that I don't want to appear like a frump, and I didn't really understand that I was. But I can tell you this: a new gown won't make Villiers burst into my bedroom and assess my silver accoutrements. We plan to have a quite different kind of relationship."

"After I transform you, you can choose whatever sort of relationship you wish—but Villiers won't have the same freedom of mind. I'll guarantee you that."

"You're no naturalist," Eleanor said.

"Then what am I?"

"A hunter. Poor Villiers."

Their mother appeared. "Eleanor, I'll thank you to use what intelligence you have and follow me to the carriage. At this rate, Villiers will appear before you, and Lisette will snap him up without a moment's remorse."

Anne leaned over and ripped the lace fichu straight out of Eleanor's bodice.

"What on earth are you doing!" Eleanor looked down. Without its lace kerchief, her neckline was shockingly low.

"Preparing you for the trip," Anne said, standing back and nodding with satisfaction."! must say, it doesn't seem fair to me that you inherited those eyes and that bosom."

"I don't see why I must display every inch of my inheritance," Eleanor retorted.

"Because you wish to present a delicious contrast to Lisette," her sister said. "Unless Lisette's shape has changed a great deal, she is less fortunate than you are. Think of it as a generous toss of corn."

"What?"

"The corn will draw the pheasants," Anne said with a wicked grin. "And then the hunters can take them down."

London residence of the Duke of Villiers

15 Piccadilly

June 17. 1784

Tobias had made up his mind to go to Kent with Villiers by hook or by crook. In the beginning, he had been happy simply to eat whatever he wished. But that paled quickly, and now he was bored.

The other children were babies. Colin was obsessed with learning how to read, and Violet had found an old doll that she talked to all the time.

The only dilemma was how to stow away on Villiers's coach without being caught. If he could just sneak inside, one of the seat cushions concealed a large box meant for storing blankets. He knew because he'd been cold on the way from Wapping, and the duke had thrown one at him.

But he would have to time his escape perfectly, before the duke's four grooms emerged from the stables.

After breakfast he strolled casually out the door. Likely, Ashmole would have seen through him, but he had taken care of that by asking Violet to create a diversion. The fire she had started on the nursery floor ought to keep Ashmole busy. She needn't have thrown Colin's book onto the blaze, however. He could still hear Colin's howls from the front doorstep.

None of the footmen knew how to treat him—as a child of the house, or as a by-blow? Their dilemma just made Tobias grin: he didn't give a rat's ass how they treated him, as long as they danced to his tune. A solitary groom standing at the horses' heads gave him a bored glance but said nothing until Tobias pulled open the door to the carriage.

"Here, you!" the man bellowed. Tobias stuck his head back out of the carriage and gave him a cheerful smile. "Just doing an errand for Mr. Ashmole," he said. "Getting a blanket he asked for."

"An errand for Mr. Ashmole?" He could see the concept slowly trickling into the groom's mind. An errand put Tobias into the category of servant. And that meant he could kick Tobias into shape if he wanted to. It was obviously a comforting thought.

"I like to help Mr. Ashmole whenever I can," Tobias said, ladling it on. "Perhaps someday I can be a butler just like him." He tried for a soulful look, which probably made him look like a sick calf.

The groom thought this over. Tobias could almost see him relaxing: if Tobias wanted to be a butler, well then he wasn't getting above his place in life. Much.