Mrs. Warren made some noise. It might have been a giggle.
Lady Amelia blushed. Again. It was singularly tiresome. Could the girl not speak? Not that she would have anything remarkable to say. He had, by the merest accident, been forced to engage her in conversation only last week at Hyde House. He had been neither entertained nor impressed. Mrs. Warren, on the other hand, had been something of a surprise. She was, aside from being beautiful with ginger hair and greenish eyes, quite clever and completely charming. Small wonder that the Marquis of Dutton was making a complete cake of himself over her.
Of course, Calbourne had not and never would make a cake of himself over any woman, ever. The idea was ridiculous. He really didn’t know what Dutton was thinking, to be such a complete and drooling pup over something as simple as a widow with red hair.
Lady Jordan, by way of response, merely grunted, her chin collapsing upon her chest. He had heard that, at some point in the far distant past, Lady Jordan had been quite a beauty. He could not see it.
“Should we not proceed, Lady Dalby?” Lady Amelia said.
It was the first word she had spoken and it did show the slightest bit of vigor on her part. Calbourne looked at Amelia Caversham a bit more closely. She was a good-looking girl, very fair, very blond, very fine boned. Her bosom was respectable, though not remarkable. She was the daughter of a duke, never a hindrance in arrangements of the marital sort, and she had, by every rumor, a hefty dowry.
All in all, she’d make someone a passable wife. But not him.
“Indeed we should,” Sophia said, arranging her skirts in a very pretty display, her ankles showing briefly and, he was quite certain, not accidentally. “The duke will grow quite bored if we do not proceed with directness and decision, will you not, your grace? Is that not a true statement of your preferences?”
“I appreciate decisiveness, as does the majority of the population, I should expect,” he said.
“Ah, we shall mark that down then,” Sophia said. “Anne, if you would make that the first notation?”
It was then that things went from odd to bizarre as Mrs. Warren rose to her feet and went to a small table in the nearest corner of the room, sat down, and, taking quill to paper, wrote something down.
They were compiling a list?
Good God.
“You are making a list?” he said, still unable to quite believe it. “Concerning me?”
“We are,” Sophia said. “Is it not completely flattering, your grace? I can assure you that not everyone in Town will receive such consideration. Lady Amelia is most particular, most exacting, as must be admitted are advantageous qualities to have in a wife. She will make some deserving man a truly spectacular wife. Of course,” Sophia said with a smile, “he must be found deserving first. Hence . . .” She waved her hand gracefully in the air, encompassing the room, the people in it, and the entire exercise.
Calbourne rose to his feet in a fury. He would have none of it. Not a single moment longer of it. It was preposterous. It was degrading and insulting and not the least bit amusing. He was not sure what he found more offensive: the fact that he was being subjected to a test of his worth by a room full of, it must be admitted, women of a less exalted rank than his own, or the fact that he suspected that any amusement in this room was at his express expense.
“Your grace,” Sophia said, not bothering to stand but considering him from a very relaxed posture on her very delicate chair, “you are not flattered? You should be.”
“Hardly.”
“How very strange,” she said, eyeing him coolly. “I suppose there is nothing for it. You must be marked down as a man of less than amiable tendencies. Such a pity. I had always considered you to be the most amusing man of my acquaintance, and so very, very amiable. And then, of course, there is the wager. You are defaulting? Anne, write that down. The Duke of Calbourne is not a man of honor as he does not honor a wager freely made.”
And, of course, there was nothing for it. He sat back down, his expression grim and his posture stiff. But he sat. If there was one thing he knew beyond any other and upon which every gossip in Town agreed, Sophia Dalby was a woman who did not threaten, she acted. What was more, she never forgot a broken vow or a slight and she always,
always
demanded and achieved restitution.
“Such an intelligent man,” Sophia said, staring at him with blatant amusement. “Mark that down, Anne. The Duke of Calbourne is pleasantly intelligent. Such an important attribute and quite, quite impossible to put a price upon. But, of course,” she said with a grin, “we shall.”
He was annoyed and insulted and quite possibly more uncomfortable than he’d been in his entire life, but Calbourne, who did love a good jest above almost all else, found himself smiling with her. What did it matter? Let them make their little list. He was not going to marry, not Amelia, not anyone. What was perhaps of even more importance was that there was nothing Sophia could do to compel him to marry. Absolutely nothing.
At that thought, Calbourne leaned back in his chair, determined to relax and enjoy himself. Perhaps if he acquitted himself well, he might still find his way into Sophia’s bed.
“And as you are marking things down, Mrs. Warren,” he said, “please make sure my list includes that I am amiable in the extreme and I never default on a wager.”
“Yes, your grace,” Mrs. Warren said sweetly.
“So, my list includes amiability, intelligence, and a man of honor?” he asked.
“And decisive,” Sophia said, “which has surely been proved. Not only do you value it in others, you display it within yourself. I just knew you were a stellar example of the dukes of England, your grace. Quite stellar.”
“The dukes?” he said, leaning forward.
“But of course,” Sophia said, leaning forward as well. It looked slightly challenging. He was entirely certain it was intentional. “You were not aware? Lady Amelia has, and very intelligently, too, made up her mind that only a duke will do for her. Aren’t you so very pleased that you made the first qualification so easily? After all, all you had to do there was to be born of the right father, which, to be honest, is hardly to your credit, is it?”
And then she laughed, outright and with no restraint at all.
He decided then that he had no desire to find his way into Sophia’s bed. He was more than certain that if he did, it was doubtful he would ever find his way out again alive.
Seven
A
MELIA was completely aware that the Duke of Calbourne was being swept along by the force and allure of Sophia. That was to be expected. What she hadn’t expected was to be almost completely ignored by the man.
She was not at all pleased. Not at
all
.
Of course, it was true that Sophia had got Calbourne into the room and got him to stay, all very well and perfectly lovely, but now that he was staying it was time for him to pay attention to
her
. She was an attractive woman with good hair and teeth. She had a dowry. She had an engaging manner. Did none of these lovely things matter anymore?
But what was she to do? Allow Sophia to walk off with Calbourne thrown over her shoulder? Amelia
needed
him.
“I do think,” Amelia said, pleased that Calbourne was at least looking at her, “that . . . that it is quite fine to be the child of a duke. I know that I am very glad that I am a duke’s daughter, and I am not,” she said, wondering what to say now that she had Calbourne’s full attention, “I am not at all certain that I should not be commended for finding myself in that position. Certainly, as the child of a duke, I do think I should be commended at every opportunity.”
Calbourne looked at her in something approaching wonder, as if a dog had just burst forth with an opinion on estate law, which was the tiniest bit insulting, and then he looked at Sophia, his brows raised, and then he looked back at her. He was grinning. It was very difficult not to preen. She mastered the urge and sat with as much dignity and poise as a duke’s daughter ought to display, which was considerable.
“I could not possibly agree with you more, Lady Amelia,” Calbourne said. “I also believe that I am due commendation for nearly everything. I had no idea we had that trait in common. How very pleasant to find a kindred spirit in this room.”
“Should I add that to the list?” Mrs. Warren said, looking at Sophia over her shoulder, her mouth twitching against a grin.
It might be possible that, at some future date, Amelia could actually develop a cordial relationship with Anne Warren. Certainly she did not mind in the least that Lord Dutton seemed so enamored of her.
When Sophia had arranged for this interview with the Duke of Calbourne, she had insisted, in direct opposition to the entire exercise, that propriety be maintained. Therefore, at least one chaperone must be present, which for Amelia meant her Aunt Mary as Hawksworth had been disposed of in the most innocent manner imaginable. As to Mrs. Warren’s presence, Amelia had no explanation, but Sophia had insisted and that had been that. When one asked a favor from someone like Sophia, one did not look too closely into the horse’s mouth. Not unless one wanted a finger chomped off at the knuckle.
“Oh, most assuredly,” Sophia answered languidly. “Kindred spirits. Could anyone have anticipated it?”
Aunt Mary snorted and took a sip from her cup. She was drinking Madeira and she was drinking it very contentedly. Aldreth seldom supplied Madeira, likely because he knew it was one of Aunt Mary’s favorite drinks. Of course, Aunt Mary had many favorite drinks; indeed, it was very difficult to think of a drink which she could not be tempted to enjoy.
“Do not pretend to modesty, Lady Dalby, for no one here shall believe it,” Calbourne said.
“Very well,” Sophia said, “
I
anticipated it. I should be very much surprised if you and Lady Amelia did not find yourselves to have much in common, your grace. She is, as you will discover, a remarkably pleasing sort of girl. As you are a man who likes to be pleased . . . though, actually,” Sophia mused, “I cannot think of a single man who does not enjoy being pleased. Can you, your grace?”
“Not a one,” he answered briskly.
Once more, Sophia had stolen the duke’s attention from her. She refused to tolerate it, that was all. Simply refused.
“Actually,” Amelia said firmly, leaning forward slightly, “I do not believe Aldreth to be the sort of man who enjoys being pleased.”
“Is that possible?” Sophia said.
“It must be,” Amelia answered stoutly, “for I have never seen him pleased. By anything. And I know him well enough, you must agree.”
“Oh, yes, I must agree,” Sophia said. It sounded suspiciously sarcastic, which was intolerable. Amelia did know Aldreth better than anyone in
this
room, certainly. He was her father, after all.
“It’s quite true,” Aunt Mary said, looking at Sophia. “Aldreth is . . . difficult.”
“Perhaps all dukes are difficult,” Sophia said, looking at Calbourne. “Perhaps they enjoy being difficult. Is that the source of your endless pleasure, your grace?”
“Ridiculous,” Calbourne said. “It is a truer conclusion to state that all dukes enjoy making things difficult for others.”
“Hardly complimentary,” Mary said.
Oh, dear, Mary was always saying precisely the wrong thing to the exact wrong person.
“I think Aldreth is unique,” Amelia said, “just as I believe the Duke of Calbourne is unique. Perhaps it is in being unique that the dukes of the realm make their mark upon the world.”
It was a fine bit of calculated misdirection. She was quite proud of herself. She did, after all, have to manage both Sophia and Mary, who, she was certain, found their own perverse pleasure in being difficult. How else to explain their behavior? How to charm Calbourne with these mild insults flying about the room? No matter what anyone said about dukes, one thing was beyond dispute: they did not enjoy being insulted. In fact, they had no toleration for it at all.
“He is certainly unique in his height,” Sophia said blandly. Calbourne came as close to preening as a man could while seated. “You did remark upon that, did you not, Lady Amelia? Having met the man, can you now overlook what you had deemed a hindrance?”
If there were any possible way to slap Sophia and get away with it, that is to say, continue to put forth the carefully constructed aura of demure reticence and breeding that Amelia had spent a lifetime perfecting, she would have done so in that instant. Calbourne, as to be expected, looked completely annoyed and he was staring right at her with an affronted and, strangely enough, disbelieving look. Did he not know that he was excessively tall? Did he not once think that a woman, a carefully reared woman, might find his size not a little off-putting?
Oh, bother men and their vanity. It was such a cumbersome business to have to pet them at all times and about every single thing.
“The duke is a most . . . that is, he gives every appearance,” Amelia stammered, “of being quite vigorous. Quite robust.”
It wasn’t entirely a compliment, but it could hardly be deemed an insult either. Amelia sat very still and waited for the duke’s response.
“You have a gift for understatement, Lady Amelia,” Sophia said before Calbourne could say anything at all. “The duke is quite vigorous and extremely robust. I have it on good authority.”
Whereupon Calbourne looked quite close to blushing.
“But he is also, and this must not be overlooked, extremely tall and not at all slight of frame. Was not your pronouncement that he was
excessively
tall?” Sophia said with a smile.
“I am positive I did not say
that
,” Amelia said briskly. “I am quite, quite positive that it is impossible to be excessively tall.”
“Oh, come,” Sophia said on a trill of laughter, “what of Lady Beauchamp’s daughter? She is by every report extremely and most excessively tall.”