The Courtesan's Secret (6 page)

Louisa blanched and then flushed. She could feel the ebb and flow of emotion all over her face and throat.

"Darling," Sophia said, leaning forward with all the grace of a swan and laying a white hand upon Louisa's arm, "all will be avenged. Trust me to see it done. You shall have your pearls and, upon my word, Dutton shall feel the sting of it."

"And my past behavior?" Louisa managed to ask. If her devotion to Dutton was obvious to Sophia, then she was of half a mind to speak openly of it. Pearls or not, she meant to have Dutton, and perhaps Sophia could help her more if she better knew her desires.

"Will remain in the past," Sophia said. " 'Tis a new day, darling, and we will accomplish
all
your desires. All," she finished with a knowing gleam.

Then again, it was entirely likely that one did not need to flagrantly discuss such things with a former courtesan. Louisa was more than certain that Sophia knew exactly what she was about.

Which was entirely the point.

WITH Hawksworth having fulfilled his purpose and been dispatched, Louisa walked in to her father's house with all the casual innocence of a woman who'd been out shopping and returned home more bored than when she left. It was a fine bit of acting. Not that anyone was around to notice.

According to Anderson, the butler, her aunt Mary, Lady Jordan was napping. Her father, the Marquis of Melverley, was out, likely at either White's or his current mistress's house on George Street. Of course, as the innocent and unmarried daughter of a marquis, she wasn't supposed to know about such things, but as her father made rather an open habit of having a mistress or two, she didn't suppose she could be blamed for knowing what was obvious to all.

The only person who was home was the same person who was always home, Louisa's younger sister, Eleanor. There was absolutely no point at all in acting a part with Eleanor as an audience. She was the most jaded cynic Louisa had ever met, and that included the cynical Henry Blakesley. Having Melverley for a father gave one rather a hand up on being cynical.

Eleanor was in the library, just to the left of the vestibule. It was a massive room, fully the largest in the house, and had the happy situation of being flooded with western light for the better part of the day. But it was not the light that drew Eleanor; it was the books. Row upon row of the most beautifully bound and inexpressibly boring books. Louisa didn't know how Eleanor stood it, being surrounded by so much reading material of the most tedious variety. Why, there was a whole shelf devoted to classical architecture. She knew for a fact that Melverley had bought the books by the crate and for the prettiness of their spines. He had as much care for classical architecture as she did, which was to say, none at all.

"How's Lord Dutton today?" Eleanor said from her slouch. She was buried in her usual spot, a pile of faded silk cushions cocooning her upon the sofa, a book in her lap.

"I haven't seen Lord Dutton," Louisa said, plopping down upon the opposite end of the sofa and reaching up to take off her hat.

"He wasn't in the park?"

"I would hardly know as
I
wasn't in the park."

"Nor on Bond Street?"

"I did not travel to Bond Street."

Eleanor put her book completely down and stared at her.

"What does Lord Henry Blakesley say to this? Isn't it his duty to track Lord Dutton down for you? You shall need to find a new hound, Louisa, if this is the best he can do."

"Don't be ridiculous, Eleanor," Louisa snapped. "Lord Henry is no such thing."

"Isn't he?"

"Naturally not."

"What
have
you been doing, Louisa?"

"I've been calling on...a friend."

"A... friend?" Eleanor said, tucking her feet up underneath her and dislodging one pale blue pillow from its nest. "Is this friend a man? Don't tell me you went
alone
. Where's Amelia?"

"Of course I did not go calling on a man," Louisa said sharply.

"With or without Amelia, I would never do such a scandalous thing."

"But you did go without Amelia."

"She was engaged."

Eleanor only raised a dark red eyebrow at that rather blatant evasion.

"You didn't go calling on Lord Dutton, did you?" Eleanor said.

"Of course not! And I've already told you," Louisa said, "I haven't seen Lord Dutton today."

"That doesn't mean you couldn't have called on him," Eleanor said matter-of-factly, dipping her head back into her book. "You could have called on him and found him not at home. You then, if you were very silly, might have walked past St. James Street in hopes of seeing him."

"I would do no such ill-bred thing!" Louisa said. "What nonsense are you reading that gives you such forward and ill-mannered ideas?"

"Shakespeare," Eleanor said lightly, "but that is not where I get my ideas. You could then have wandered along the edge of Hyde Park, hoping to see Lord Dutton riding by, and having failed at even that, you might then have walked across Park Lane onto Upper Brook Street and knocked upon the door of Dalby House."

Louisa was standing by this time, her hands clenched into white knots of fury and mortification. Eleanor did not seem at all intimidated, which was precisely what was wrong with Eleanor; she could not be intimidated. A most irregular and even more irritating trait for a younger sister to possess. From what Louisa could gather, younger sisters were supposed to live in absolute terror of their older siblings. Not so Eleanor. It was most, most inconvenient.

"You followed us," Louisa whispered hoarsely, stating the obvious.

"And a merry chase it was," Eleanor answered brightly.

"Alone?" If Eleanor had wandered London without an escort at the tender age of sixteen, her aunt Mary would never forgive her. What her father thought she could hardly have cared less.

Though she didn't suppose he had to know about it, did he? Let him worry about his mistress. His daughters would, could, and did take care of themselves.

"Of course not," Eleanor said. "I'm not so foolish as all that. I went with Amelia and two footmen. She didn't want to accompany me, of course, but as I told her rather directly that I would proceed with or without her, I suppose she felt compelled to attend me."

"I suppose she did," Louisa said crisply, sitting back down on the sofa next to Eleanor. It might have been better said that she
col
lapsed
upon the sofa, not that it mattered. It was patently obvious that she could keep no secret from Eleanor. "I don't know where you get these schemes, Eleanor, to go running about London, spying on your only sister."

"That bit I suppose I do borrow from Shakespeare," Eleanor said. "So much running about in his comedies. It did sound like fun."

"I trust you found it wasn't."

"Not really, no," Eleanor said with a grin. "Following you about was very entertaining, not that Amelia shares my opinion. She was shocked beyond words when you walked past St. James Street. According to her, there is no more efficient way to ruin a woman's reputation. Of course, that was before you went to visit Lady Dalby. What
did
you do there, Louisa? Is your reputation ruined now?"

"Hardly," Louisa said, tucking a foot underneath her and sprawling against the arm of the sofa. "In fact, if all goes as it should, it might be the making of me."

"Really?"
Eleanor said, leaning forward and putting her book down once again. "What happened? Was Lord Dutton there?"

"No, he was not. You do know, Eleanor, that not everything revolves around Lord Dutton."

To which Eleanor, the imp, only laughed.

Yes, well, perhaps that was the only response possible to what could only have been termed wishful thinking.

"What are we laughing about?" Amelia said, entering the library.

Lady Amelia Caversham, only daughter of the Duke of Aldreth and only sister to the Marquis of Hawksworth, was cousin to Louisa and Eleanor through their Aunt Mary. Mary had been the oldest of a trio of girls who had, according to gossip, taken London by storm twenty-five years previous.

Martha, Amelia's mother, had acquired herself a duke in the form of Amelia's father. Margaret had done just slightly worse in acquiring for herself the Marquis of Melverley. But of course, that was the tale as the public told it. Louisa knew without a doubt that her mother had done very much worse in finding herself saddled with Melverley.

Both Margaret and Martha were dead now, leaving their children in the care of less than diligent fathers and leaving Mary, their sister, the field. Mary, to hear her tell it, had married for love. Mary had married badly, a mere baron who had died ten years ago leaving his wife without children and without funds. Marrying for love had not been the wisest course for Aunt Mary. Louisa was going to do much better at it when she married Lord Dutton. Marrying for love was not a bad idea if one married the right sort of man. Lord Dutton was precisely the right sort of man. To start, he was a marquis, a very much better sort of man than a mere baron.

Eleanor did not agree with such sound and logical reasoning, however. She loved to read Shakespeare, and who knew where he had gotten his rather odd ideas about love and marriage. Amelia, on the other hand, agreed with her completely. Amelia was possessed of an entirely practical frame of mind about things romantic. Louisa rather liked that about her.

She also rather liked the fact that Amelia cared absolutely nothing for Lord Dutton. For that reason alone, Amelia could not possibly have been a more delightful companion.

"
We
are laughing because Louisa just announced that not
every
thing
revolves around Lord Dutton," Eleanor said with a chuckle.

"After the day you've had?" Amelia said, sitting down on a well-padded chair and stretching out her legs. "That takes cheek, Louisa. Now, tell me everything. What did you discuss with Lady Dalby? Was Lord Dutton there?"

"No, he was
not
there, nor did I expect him to be," Louisa said, coloring it just slightly. It would not have been at all amiss if he
had
been there, though since she had not expected him to be there she did not think it at all amusing that everyone assumed she'd gone to Dalby House looking for him. It was a fine point, but in a courtship such as the one she was almost having with Lord Dutton, fine points became excruciatingly important.

"I must say, I think it's for the best that he wasn't there," Amelia said, brushing a hand over the back of her golden hair. "It's scandalous enough that you paid a call upon Lady Dalby without an escort. It would be altogether worse if you'd been closeted within with Lord Dutton."

"It was hardly scandalous," Louisa said. "After all, I've paid more than one visit to Lady Dalby in the past."

"Yes, but always with a chaperone or escort and always when she was hosting a party. To plop yourself upon her doorstep in the middle of the afternoon... well, I must tell you that I tried to stop you, or to at least accompany you, but Eleanor prevented me."

Louisa raised her ginger brows and looked at her sister in surprised curiosity.

"I thought you should have a go at her," Eleanor said, shrugging. "At Lady Dalby, I mean. They say she's very clever about things, and very wicked as well. But then, I don't suppose it is very unusual to be both clever and wicked. Based upon my reading, I should say it was rather unlikely to be one and not the other."

"Don't be absurd, Eleanor," Louisa snapped. "Of course a person may be both clever and good."

"Name three," Eleanor countered with a straight face. "And don't bother naming Lord Dutton as I am completely certain he is as wicked as the worst rake in Town should be, though I'm not at all certain he is clever in the least."

Into a silence that stretched rather uncomfortably as they each tried to think of someone, anyone, who was both clever and good, Amelia said, "One thing can be said for Dutton; he is remarkably clever at avoiding—"

"Louisa?" Eleanor chirped.

"Marriage," Amelia said instead, her blue eyes betraying not even a hint of amusement, which was another reason why Louisa so appreciated Amelia. She was incapable of malice, which, as everyone knew, was nearly impossible for the daughter of a duke. "Now, what happened at Lady Dalby's? Did she receive you?"

"Of course," Louisa said, although, truth be told, she had experienced a flutter of nerves the second before she knocked at the door. One never knew how Sophia would respond, most especially since Sophia Dalby was entirely capable of malice. "We had a lovely conversation which was cut just a bit short by the arrival of the male members of her family and the Lords Penrith and Ruan."

Upon which, Eleanor dropped her book; it landed awkwardly on her foot and flopped onto the floor. Amelia's mouth was just slightly agape and her eyes unblinking. All in all, it was a rather satisfactory response.

"Lord Penrith?" Amelia finally sputtered.

"What do you mean
male members of her family
?" Eleanor said as Amelia spoke. "Is there more than the Earl of Dalby?"

"Much more," Louisa said smugly to her sister.

"Are Lord Penrith's eyes truly green? Did he speak? Is his voice all that they say?" Amelia asked.

"Why should you care, Amelia? He isn't in line for a dukedom," Eleanor said. "I want to hear about Sophia's family."

"His eyes are very green," Louisa said to Amelia, "and his voice is very... very..."

"Very what?" Amelia breathed.

"Very,"
Louisa said on a sigh of breath.

"Oh, my," Amelia said, standing up to walk behind her chair. She looked a bit flushed. Lord Penrith was entirely worthy of a healthy flush. It was just possible that Louisa herself had flushed upon seeing him for the first time; she was quite certain that she would not flush upon meeting him again. Quite certain.

"Did you blush like that when you met him?" Eleanor asked, her elegant brows raised quizzically.

"I'm not blushing," Louisa said, banishing all memory of Pen-rith's rather startling green eyes and languid voice to their proper place in her thoughts, namely, the thinnest sphere of consciousness. Only Dutton deserved a maidenly blush from her. How Penrith had got hold of one was beyond speculation. "Do you want to hear about Sophia's family or not?"