How to Beguile a Beauty (6 page)

“Did I have a choice? Answer me that, my friend.”

Tanner had been present to hear what Robert Farber had said about Justin's wife. About how she had the beauty of a Venus and the sexual prowess of a block of stone, about how he could have serviced himself with more satisfaction, and saved the effort of having to talk her into bed. Robbie Farber had been an idiot, and to make such a statement in Justin's presence could by some be considered suicide, and not murder.

“No, you had no choice. You had to defend Sheila's honor. But you do have a choice now.”

Justin raised one well-defined eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“I don't know what I mean. You've served notice that you're back, that's most definite. But will you continue to butt your head so forcibly up against the
ton,
or perhaps pull back for a space, let the
ton
become accustomed to seeing you in the park, on Bond Street, wherever. You seem to be trying to do it all in one go—rather pushing everyone's faces in the fact that the Crown has pardoned you.”

“You keep saying that. And I'm beginning to understand the merit in your words. Very well, one more dance with the fair Lady Lydia, and I will take my leave.”

“Justin?”

The baron smiled and shook his head. “You're right again. She should not be involved. Please extend my apologies to her, and excuse me as I tuck my tail between my legs and depart the scene of my latest crime.”

“Justin, for the love of God—”

“No, I'm being serious, Tanner. I should have gone directly to my estate in Hampshire, remained there as word slowly filtered back to London that I have returned, and only shown my face after a goodly amount of time had passed. Which is what I will do now.”

“You'll leave London? When? I'm sure Lydia would wish to say goodbye.”

“I won't be stealing out of town before dawn, Tanner. I'm sure we'll meet again before I continue my penance in the country.”

“While wearing a specially made hair shirt from
your favorite tailor, no doubt,” Tanner said, which put a smile on his friend's face.

“We'll meet again before I go. Oh, but before I forget. I feel the need to ask a most personal question. Are you experiencing some sort of financial pinch I might be able to help you with, my friend? And feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

Tanner looked at him curiously. “Why would you ask that? No, I'm more than well-to-go, thanks to my father's prudent stewardship. He wasn't much of a father, but he did hold every penny most dear.”

“Interesting,” Justin said, glancing toward the ballroom. “So the necklace gracing your cousin's beautiful neck is not then a part of the famous Malvern jewels?”

“The emeralds? No, they're part of the collection. It seemed sensible to provide Jasmine with the loan of a few minor pieces for the Season. Why?”

“Why? Because they're—no, I couldn't be sure without my glass. Does the jewelry reside with her, or with you?”

Once again, Tanner glanced toward the ballroom. “With me. Justin, are you saying—”

“The emeralds are paste, yes, that's what I'm saying, or trying very hard not to say. Very good paste, but paste just the same. Tomorrow at ten, Tanner? I don't believe I have any other engagements. Most especially after I desert the dear lady whose invitation eased my way in here tonight. Perhaps I'm not a nice man, after all. I'll bring my glass, just to be certain. But I doubt I am wrong.”

Tanner nodded mutely, and then watched as the baron made his way down the flagstone, only entering the ballroom at the end of the balcony, close to the stairs, to collect his hat and gloves and be on his way.

The duke remained where he was for several moments, mentally counting up the pieces of the Malvern jewelry he'd brought with him to town, and wondering if he should contact his solicitor for a more complete accounting of his funds.

Thomas Harburton had been keeping the journals at Malvern for nearly a decade, even while Tanner's father was alive. He'd know if the estate was solvent, wouldn't he? No, best not to ask him, not until he knew what questions to ask.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, the sound of violins intruding on his uncomfortable thoughts. Another set was forming, and Lydia was expecting Justin to come claim her.

He set off across the ballroom.

J
ASMINE
H
ARBURTON WAS
fanning herself so violently that the crimped ruffling around Lydia's neckline was actually moving in the resultant breeze.

“We have become part and parcel to a scandal, Lady Lydia,” the girl said, her eyes wide with what could be horror, or delight. It was difficult to know with Jasmine. “I understand Tanner's feelings of obligation—Lord knows nobody should know that more than I—but how outrageous of him to
foist
the baron on us both, causing the pair of us to become the center of so much attention.”

Then she turned to Lydia and smiled, and it became clear that delight had won out over horror. “Not only is my dance card full, but I've had to turn away two applicants. One of them a viscount, the other an earl. I'd say that Papa will be furious when I tell him, but then he may just as easily decide that there is nothing more apt to bring a man up to snuff than to believe he may be replaced. Oh, dear, I'm prattling again. I do that whenever I'm nervous. Oh, I already told you that, didn't I? I'm so sorry. It takes just the
thought
of marrying Tanner to set my tongue on wheels.”

The subject of Tanner, and this assumed betrothal, had been touched on earlier, before the baron's arrival, before both Lydia and Jasmine had taken to the dance floor with him, before they both had seemed to become objects of considerable attention.

Lydia hadn't wished to appear eager to enter into any such conversation then, and she was even more loath to do so now.

She was, however, curious. Much more curious than she ought to be, she was certain. So where else to begin, but with the obvious?

“Tanner's father has been dead these two years and more, I think. Is that correct?”

Jasmine nodded furiously. “And Tanner has been back from the war for one of them, yes. Well, he was back for a minute, but then someone let Boney off his leash, as Papa says it, and he was gone again. In any event, his mourning period is most decidedly over. Papa said that's why he didn't ask for my hand that first year, which is understandable, what with his father only barely tucked into the mausoleum. And then Bonaparte did his flit and had to be dealt with—oh, I keep saying that, don't I! I'm so sorry,” she said, snapping her fan shut and putting her hand on Lydia's arm. “Tanner told me about your fiancé perishing at Quatre Bras. A Captain Swain Fitzgerald, I believe he said. Such a lovely Irish name. How terrible it all must have been for you.”

Lydia didn't bother correcting the young woman. After all, in her mind, the captain had been her betrothed. “Thank you.”

“Oh, Lady Lydia, you're so gracious. And I'm such a muddlehead.”

“Lydia, please, Jasmine. We needn't be quite so formal.”

Jasmine clapped her hands to her bosom. “We're crying friends? Oh, how wonderful. I have so few friends here in town that I must declare I've been woefully lonely. Thank you, thank you.”

Really, the girl was sweet, and faintly silly, and perhaps even tiring. But Lydia believed her heart was pure. Besides, she had to admit to herself at least, the subject of Tanner and his dragging feet when it came to the matter of a proposal to his third cousin interested her. Quite a bit.

“You're welcome. And, now that we're getting to know each other better, perhaps you'll explain why you've taken your cousin in such dislike.”

“Dislike? Oh, no, no. Tanner is the best of good fellows, really he is. I should be very honored, flattered—all of that—if he was to ask for my hand, make me his duchess.”

“Oh,” Lydia said softly.

“If I wanted to be his duchess, that is. But I don't.” Jasmine looked out over the ballroom and then leaned close to whisper in Lydia's ear. “My heart lies elsewhere.”

Lydia's own heart performed another of those disconcerting small flips in her chest. “It does?”

Jasmine nodded furiously, her dark curls bouncing. “Papa doesn't know, and he'd be furious if he did. And Tanner is so honorable, and, Papa says, duty bound to honor his father's last wish.”

“Yes,” Lydia said, sighing. “Duty bound. Tanner takes such promises quite seriously.”

“But that's just it, Lady—I mean, Lydia. Tanner promised his father nothing. It was Papa who promised to tell Tanner of the promise. Oh, it's all too complicated. All I know is that sooner or later Tanner will bow to the inevitable, as will I. He fights it, I fight it, but we are doomed to marriage. I'm already wearing his emeralds, which, Papa says, is as good as a declaration.”

“Yes, I suppose they might be considered as such,” Lydia said, looking at the beautiful, glittering stones that so flattered Jasmine's green eyes. “But if your heart is not engaged…”

“Then you understand. Oh,” Jasmine sighed almost theatrically. “It is
so
good to finally be able to speak freely to someone. I could never say such things to Papa, or Tanner, or to any man. Only another woman would understand that love is so much more important than honor.”

“And you truly feel you cannot broach the subject with your father?”

Jasmine shook her head furiously. “Papa has most clearly and emphatically explained my duty to me, and I certainly can't refuse Tanner's suit once he screws himself up to the sticking point, as Papa calls it. It's the land, you know. It hadn't been part of the entail, which is how Papa's ancestors ended up with it, and the late duke and his father, even his father's father, had wanted it back for ever so long. Pride, you understand. And some lovely waterways that seem to mean so much to
everyone. In truth, the land isn't much at all. Most of it is very soggy, in fact. It's the water. There was once an argument, many decades ago, and my ancestor cut off the water flowing from a spring on our property, which dried up a stream that ran through the pastures on Tanner's ancestor's property and—well, the history hasn't always been pretty, I suppose you'd say.”

“Couldn't Tanner simply purchase the land from your father?” Did that sound selfish on Lydia's part? And did it matter? Was the girl even listening to her?

“And wouldn't that be so simple? But, just between the two of us, I will tell you that Papa's soggy estate is
massively
encumbered. My marriage to Tanner is Papa's sure and only way out from beneath a
crushing
mound of debt, not that Tanner can ever,
ever
know about that until the marriage is a fact, oh no, definitely. Even then, how would he trust Papa to continue as his estate manager once he knew about the gambling? Without the marriage, without a lovely pension for Papa once Tanner turns him off, it would be the ruination of everything, and Papa has assured me I would not enjoy sleeping beneath a hedgerow, and the man I love is…well, he cannot marry at the moment, although he has vowed to find a way. But I don't think he will find that way in time to save me.”

Curiosity turned to concern. “This man, Jasmine. Are you trying to tell me he's already married?”

The girl sighed again, this time definitely theatrically. “No. He is just poor, at least for now, although he has promised me this will soon change. But will his
circumstances change in time? I think Papa is right, that I would not enjoy sleeping beneath a hedgerow, not even for love. So unless something wonderful happens, it must be marriage between Tanner and myself, before Papa's gambling ways have been discovered and he is turned off without a recommendation. You see? No marriage means no employment, no fine pension, and a really rather worthless estate gone for debt. So you must understand my dilemma. No matter my feelings, I cannot disappoint Papa.”

Lydia knew she should be warning this sweet but silly girl that she should not be saying such things to what was, at heart, a brand new acquaintance. But it was all so interesting, if terribly convoluted. Certainly there must exist another way to work things out without sacrificing two people to a marriage neither of them seemed in any rush to make a fact.

Except that Tanner was an honorable man. How Jasmine's father must be counting on that fact.

Jasmine's words were tolling a death knell to any of Lydia's barely admitted dreams of a time when she and Tanner might put the past behind them and look toward a future as more than good friends.

Indeed, even Baron Justin Wilde had spent the entirety of his second dance with her extolling Tanner's virtues, telling her how humbled and honored he was to have such a friend in his time of need. She had agreed with him without offering further explanation.

Ever since that dance, while she was being partnered by a seemingly endless succession of gentlemen
who had seemed able to have managed to avoid noticing her during previous social events and balls, Lydia had been convincing herself that Sarah and Maisie had been wrong, that she herself had been wrong, wishing for something that wasn't there.

Tanner was a good friend, and nothing more; he had other obligations. Honorable, loyal. Rather like a good hunting hound, Nicole would probably have said in some disgust.

But she, Lydia, had been seeing more. Not at first, no, but ever since her return to London she had been looking at the Duke of Malvern in a new light. One in which he was not obscured by the ghost of Captain Swain Fitzgerald standing between them.

And she'd begun weaving fanciful dreams. She'd deliberately refused to think about Jasmine Harburton, especially when Nicole had pointed out that a man about to be betrothed did not spend so much time squiring another young woman about London, poking into museums, dancing with her at balls.

Now she understood Tanner's dilemma. His reluctant feet were being slowly bound up by his damnable sense of honor. It was a marvel the man could even take two steps without falling down.

“Oh, look, the musicians have returned,” Jasmine said, pointing toward the small stage with her fan. “I am promised to a Mister Rupert Carstairs for this next set, whoever he is. I think he's fairly ugly, but I was so amazed to have so many asking to partner me that I could hardly refuse him, could I? Who has written on your card?”

Lydia snapped herself back to attention and opened her dance card.
Wildest.
“The Baron. Oh, dear, and I think it's going to be a Scottish reel. I loathe the Scottish reel, but only because I seem to constantly forget the steps.”

Jasmine looked out over the floor as couples began assembling for the dance. “I don't see the baron, do you? Oh, here comes Mr. Carstairs. Such a pity he has no chin, don't you think? Shame on me. Nobody dances with me save Tanner, since everyone seems to think I'm out of the marriage mart. Without a title or a huge dowry, I'm good only for filling one of these chairs. And there's Tanner. But the baron isn't with him.”

Lydia looked up and saw the duke at once. He was alone, and looking quite serious. And, ah, so very handsome. She'd have to stop thinking of him as handsome.

“Ladies,” he said, bowing to them both, his gaze seeming to linger on Jasmine in a…well, in an
appraising
sort of way. “Lady Lydia, I'm here to tender the baron's deepest apologies, as he's found it necessary to leave without honoring your dance, and to offer myself in his place. Jasmine, where's Mrs. Shandy? We can't leave you here alone.”

“Oh,” Jasmine said, looking to her left as if only now noticing that her chaperone had gone missing. “She said something about seeing if there were any Gunther Ices still in the supper room downstairs. But no matter, Tanner. My partner is standing just behind you.” She leaned to her right and waggled her fingers at the tall, rather thin and, yes, chinless gentleman. “Hullo again, Mr. Carstairs.”

“She's such a child,” Tanner said as he held out his hand to Lydia, drawing her to her feet. “How are you two getting along? She hasn't yet talked off your ear?”

“She's delightful company, Tanner. I don't think I've had time to miss Nicole at all tonight, although I would give much to hear my sister's opinion of your cousin. And we've both danced every dance.”

“Would you then care to take the air on the balcony, rather than face the floor again? As I recall, you don't much favor the Scottish reel.”

He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Yet I don't recall ever mentioning that I don't care for the Scottish reel.”

“You never have,” he told her as he steered them along the edge of the dance floor. She already believed she could feel a pleasant drop in the temperature as they neared the opened French doors.

“But you noticed.” Lydia realized that, only a few hours ago, she might have attempted to see more in his notice than was actually there. “Did the baron take ill?”

Tanner stepped over the low threshold that led onto the balcony, and then assisted her so that she wouldn't stumble. “In some ways, yes, I suppose he did. An unexpected bout of conscience I believe. The evening hasn't been what he expected, although I can't say I know what he did expect.”

“He has very sad eyes,” Lydia said as they turned to walk down the length of the balcony. It was a beautiful night, filled with stars. There were so few nights like
this in London. Having Tanner beside her made this one even more special.

“I should tell him you said so. They'd go well with his funereal black clothes and planned scowl.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Tanner said, stopping as they neared a shallow set of stone steps leading down into the darkened gardens. “Shall we?”

There were other couples strolling the balcony, and a few had ventured down into the gardens. But as Tanner turned them to the right, along a side path lined with high hedges, they could have suddenly been alone in the center of the huge metropolis.

It was, she realized, the first time they'd ever been alone. Really alone.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she willed it to slow its furious beat.