“Miss Harlow,” he said, taking her in his arms, “may I say that you look stunning this evening?
I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that shade of blue before. What do you call it?”
“
I
call it blue,” she answered, as she began to feel the rhythm of the music. Although Carson was as graceful and skilled as the duke, dancing with him wasn’t quite as exhilarating. Still, a not-so-good waltz was always better than a very excellent minuet. “I do not know what others call it. Perhaps periwinkle or
sapphire or even ocean. The nuances of the particular shades escape me. As far as I am concerned there is only pretty blue and ugly blue.”
Carson laughed. “Very well said, ma’am. I often feel the same way. I cannot tell you what I admire about a lady, I only know that some are beautiful and other are merely pretty.”
“A very clever remark, sir,” said Emma, smiling with dimples.
“How so?”
he asked, feigning innocence.
“You seek to win favor with me by complimenting my sex to me. You have completely ignored the category of ugly, as if there are no unattractive women.”
He pulled back and looked her in the eyes. “Indeed there aren’t. All women are beautiful, only some are more beautiful than others. Like yourself, for instance.”
Emma returned his steady gaze. “You’re very charming,
Mr. Carson, but I suspect you are already aware of that.”
“It might have been remarked upon once or twice before, but I pay no attention to such inconsequential things. Charm is very superficial, and it’s depth of character that I hope to cultivate most.”
Emma knew very well that it was
she
that he hoped to cultivate most, and although she found him delightful and much enjoyed having a dancing
partner, she knew that nothing would develop in that quarter. Mr. Carson might have put her at ease for the moment, but with her initial discomfort in mind, she knew better than to trust him. Here was a true libertine, a genuine rake, the very sort she would never trust Lavinia’s heart to.
The duke had arrived at the ball in a black mood. The entire coach ride there had been given over to his
mother’s complaints and Philip’s enthusiasms. By the time the carriage had stopped in front of the Kenelm mansion, he was ready to go home.
He was not looking forward to this evening’s adventure. The Duke of Trent was an accomplished flirt indeed and could reasonably expect to charm any woman he wanted, but there was something too calculating about Emma’s plan. What if Lavinia did develop feelings
for him? He did not relish breaking a young lady’s heart.
Still, there was no use complaining about it, since he had only himself to blame for this mess. There had been several times during his conversation with Miss Harlow when he could have stood up and walked out. And he should have. If he had stood up and walked out like a sane man, then he wouldn’t have volunteered for this business or
learned what a passionate and tempting creature Miss Harlow was.
Trent saw Lavinia standing with Sarah and went over to greet the ladies. Philip followed closely on his heels and immediately began to monopolize Mrs. Harlow. He was eager to hear more of her trip to Yorkshire. That gave Trent ample opportunity to strike up a conversation with Emma’s sister, and he did so posthaste, after sweeping
the room thoroughly with his gaze. Where was the other Miss Harlow? Her note had said specifically that she would be there.
“Miss Harlow, tell me. How does my
Rhyncholaelia digbyana
do in your care?” he asked. Before she could answer, he added, “You’ll note, I’m sure, how I’m well aware this time which Miss Harlow I am speaking with. Once one knows there are two of you, it’s rather easy to
tell you apart.”
“You’re very astute, your grace, more so than others, I’m afraid,” she said. “There are people who’ve known us our whole lives who still cannot tell us apart.”
“Come, they can’t know you very well if that is true.”
“My own father, for one.”
“Of course,” said his grace with his most engaging smile, “I can’t think of any human beings who know us less well than our parents.”
Lavinia laughed. “Your orchid is doing very well in my care,” she said, belatedly answering his first question. “I was having some trouble with the moisture levels in my conservatory and the poor dear was wilting a little, but I’ve solved the problem and all is now well.”
“Indeed?” said the duke, who’d been bedeviled by a great many moisture-level problems of his own. “By what method did
you solve the problem? My own system has been giving me trouble.”
“It is my experience that when the moisture levels are wrong it is because of improper drainage. Thus, I installed an intricate network of pipes, a very rudimentary plumbing system that I devised myself. If you’d like, I’d be happy to show it to you. I’m quite willing to share my technique, since you were so generous as to share
your buds with me.”
The duke caught the faint irony in her words and laughed, delighted. “Yes, I am very generous when it comes to my flowers. I hand them out left and right. Tell me, how is the new plant coming along?”
“It’s doing very well, sir. Indeed, I have every expectation of winning the exhibition in a couple of years.”
“I’ll consider myself warned then,” said the duke, “and will
go straight home to start cultivating a new species of orchid myself, lest you unseat me with my own flower.”
Lavinia blushed. She rarely talked with such forthrightness with anyone, let alone a duke. And it
was
his flower. Surely it wasn’t right to brag about winning with a stolen orchid to the person from whom it was stolen. She began to stutter an apology.
The duke cut her off with a raised
hand. “It is not necessary. Just show me how to maintain proper moisture levels and we’ll call it even.”
“Very well,” she said, before inquiring about his other orchids. Lavinia found herself entirely at ease with the duke. There were few people among her acquaintance with whom she could talk about her passion—Sir Waldo certainly wasn’t interested—and it was a lovely surprise to find a fellow
enthusiast. She was so enjoying their conversation that she only reluctantly went off with Lord Dearling when he came to claim his dance.
But Lavinia needn’t have worried. As soon as she was done, the duke was at her side escorting her to the punch table and asking more questions about her plumbing system. He asked her to dance and even petitioned for her company during dinner.
Lavinia was
flattered by the attention, if not a little curious as to what sparked it. She had never been of interest to him before, and because she could find no good cause for it now, she was suspicious of him. What was he up to? If he sought to win Emma’s favor—which seemed like the more likely explanation to Lavinia—this was a very unusual way to go about it. Surely a flirt as accomplished as the Duke of
Trent realized that the best way to win a lady’s heart was to court the lady, not her sister.
But perhaps I am overthinking the situation,
she thought.
It’s entirely possible that he just wants someone with whom to talk about plumbing.
However, when the orchestra struck up a waltz, her suspicions were confirmed immediately. The duke could not tear his eyes away from the spectacle of Emma in
the arms of another man.
“I don’t believe I know the gentleman my sister is dancing with, your grace,” she said, hoping to discover just what was going on. “Do you perchance know him?”
“Yes, I do know him,” he answered, his gaze unwavering as he took in Emma’s smiles. How dare she flirt with that scoundrel when he had warned her off him not ten hours ago! Did she have no sense of self-preservation?
If Carson had his way there would be nothing left of the Harlow Hoyden’s reputation at all. “He’s not the sort of man your sister should be dancing with. You should warn her off him before there’s trouble.”
Lavinia digested this tidbit, wondering what portion was sparked by genuine concern and what was sparked by jealousy. “I suspect you exaggerate. There’s no trouble that can be caused by one
dance.”
He turned then and looked at her. “Miss Harlow, you’re an innocent. Men like Carson are at their most charming when they have a woman in their arms. I assure you, there is nothing more troublesome than a charming man bent on mischief.”
“Society might have dismissed my sister as flighty and heedless, but you’d be wise to withhold judgment, your grace,” Lavinia advised. “She’s capricious,
certainly, but she’s also intelligent and loyal and she always knows her own mind. Her head will not be turned by a few pretty words dropped from a skillful tongue. One cannot have a reputation like the Harlow Hoyden’s and avoid scoundrels, but Emma does an excellent job of putting them down. I believe one gentleman still walks with a limp.”
Trent took little comfort in this. It was all very
well and good for Emma to be able to defend herself, but why in heaven’s name did she get herself into situations where such abilities were needed? The best way to not be taken advantage of by a man alone was not to meet with men alone. He’d tried to tell her that this morning and look where that led—to a searing kiss that haunted him even now. “I’m not making an assessment of Miss Harlow when I
tell you to warn her off Carson. I would do the same for any lady’s sister.”
Lavinia smiled, not sure that she believed him. “In that case, I will pass along your words tonight when I speak with her alone. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your concern.”
The duke had little doubt that Emma would appreciate his interference, but he would not stand idly by while a knave like Carson compromised her.
She deserved better than a shabby marriage of convenience or total ruin. “Very good. Now shall we return to Sarah’s side? Thanks to my cousin Philip’s efforts, she might be the first person in the nineteenth century to actually die of boredom.”
Lavinia was not the only one who noticed the duke’s interest in Emma. Although ostensibly entranced by Philip’s telling of a prank that involved one clueless
vicar and one very large bullfrog, Sarah was in actuality reflecting on the duke’s strange behavior. First to be so attentive to dear Lavinia, then to stare daggers at Emma as she danced with Carson. She had never known him to show interest in one green girl, let alone two.
Sarah was not an intimate of the duke’s, but she did know him fairly well, thanks to the holidays he had spent at her family’s
manor in Derbyshire. Andrew and he had not ever encouraged her company, but when she’d come running after them in the meadow looking for a distraction, they never sent her away either. Still, many years had passed since then, and she did not feel comfortable asking him point blank what his game was. She would have to content herself with observing for a little while longer. Either that or
get the truth out of Emma, who was clearly up to something. But getting the truth out of Emma was often an exhausting and unsatisfying endeavor. Patience and observation were the best methods at the moment.
The duke and Lavinia returned to her side just as the waltz was ending. Emma soon joined them, along with her dance partner, who was introduced to the merry crowd. He stayed for a few minutes,
lavishing Sarah and Lavinia with such extravagant compliments that Trent’s lip curled in disgust before taking his leave. Good riddance, thought the duke, as he glared at the departing figure.
Fearful that Carson would be back when it was time to go down to dinner, Trent excused himself and went in search of Pearson. It’d been several days since he had last seen him, but he felt certain his
friend would be there. Pearson was in the petticoat line and would never pass up an opportunity to flirt with the ladies. Predictably, he found him in the middle of a coterie of pretty girls. They were all laughing at something he had said. Now, here was a libertine more suited for Miss Harlow’s purposes, he thought, examining his friend’s classic features and well-cut jacket. Pearson did nothing
but toy with the affections of innocents, thoroughly enjoying the attention. He could probably win Lavinia over with one smile, as he did all the misses.
But then, to be fair, the duke thought, this evening wasn’t going as dismally as he expected. The truth was that he liked talking to Lavinia. And if she could really solve his drainage problem, well, then, she was a rather valuable friend
to have.
To Pearson’s disappointment, Trent extricated him from his admirers and asked him to escort Miss Emma Harlow to dinner—as a favor, of course.
“The Harlow Hoyden?” he asked, surprised.
Trent stiffened. He didn’t like hearing her described as such. “Miss Emma Harlow,” he repeated, hoping he was making himself clear.
Pearson gave him a quizzical look. “Yes, of course. Miss Emma Harlow.”
He thought about the request. “I’m not committed to a dinner partner yet, but it will look odd. We’ve never met.”
“No matter, I can arrange an introduction.”
“Yes, but do I want to be seen eating with the Harlow”—seeing the expression on his friend’s face, he reconsidered his choice of words—“er, with Miss Harlow?”
“She is very beautiful,” the duke remarked, thinking that was all that mattered
to Pearson.
“But she’s not quite the thing.”
More offended on Emma’s behalf than he’d thought possible, the duke said, “I see. I didn’t realize you were so easily swayed by fashion. Clearly, I have made a mistake. Excuse me.” He turned and walked away.