Seduction Page 11

  She stepped toward the green chair and promptly tripped. She caught herself immediately and glanced down to see what it was that had caused her to lose her footing. Julian followed her gaze.

  “The ribbon of your slipper appears to have come untied,” he observed politely.

  Sophy flushed with embarrassment and sat down quickly. “So it has.” She bent over and hastily retied the offending slipper ribbon. When she straightened she found Julian had reseated himself and was studying her with an oddly resigned expression on his face. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  “No. Everything appears to be going along in a perfectly normal fashion. Now, then, about your wish to be allowed to stay here in London.”

  “Yes, my lord?” She waited in an agony of anticipation to see if she had been right about his fundamental sense of fair play.

  Julian hesitated, frowning thoughtfully as he leaned back in his chair to study her face. “I have decided to grant your request.”

  Elation bubbled up inside Sophy. She smiled very brilliantly, her relief and happiness in her eyes. “Oh, Julian, thank you. I promise you, you will not regret your decision. You are being very gracious about this and I probably do not deserve your generosity but I want to assure you I fully intend to live up to your expectations of a wife.”

  “That should prove interesting, if nothing else.”

  “Julian, please, I am very serious about this.”

  His rare smile flickered briefly. “I know. I can see your intentions in your eyes. And that, my dear, is why I am granting you a second chance. I’ve told you before, your eyes are very easy to read.”

  “I swear, Julian, I will become a paragon of wifehood. It is very good of you to overlook the, er, incident at Eslington Park.”

  “I suggest neither of us mention that debacle again.”

  “An excellent idea,” Sophy agreed enthusiastically.

  “Very well, that appears to settle the issue. We may as well start practicing this husband and wife business.”

  Sophy’s eyes widened in alarm and her palms grew suddenly damp. She had not expected him to turn to the intimate side of their marriage with such unseemly haste. It was, after all, only eleven o’clock in the morning. “Here, my lord?” she asked weakly, glancing around at the library furnishings. “Now?”

  “Most definitely here and now.” Julian did not appear to notice her startled expression. He was busy scrabbling about in one of the desk drawers. “Ah, here we go.” He withdrew a handful of small letters and cards and handed them to her.

  “What are these?”

  “Invitations. You know, receptions, parties, routs, balls. That sort of thing. They require some sort of response. I detest sorting through invitations and I have occupied my secretary with more important matters. Pick out a few events that appear interesting to you and send regrets to the others.”

  Sophy looked up from the sheaf of cards in her hand, feeling bewildered. “This is to be my first wifely duty, my lord?”

  “Correct.”

  She waited a moment, wondering if it was relief or disappointment she felt. It must have been relief. “I will be happy to take care of these, Julian, but you of all people should know I have very little experience with Society.”

  “That, Sophy, is one of your more redeeming qualities.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I was sure I must possess a few somewhere.”

  He gave her a suspicious look but forebore to comment on that remark. “As it happens, I have a solution to the dilemma your inexperience presents. I am going to provide you with a professional guide to see you through the wilderness of the social world here.”

  “A guide?”

  “My aunt, Lady Frances Sinclair. Feel free to call her Fanny. Everyone else does, including the Prince. I think you’ll find her interesting. Fancies herself something of a bluestocking, I believe. She and her companion are fond of conducting a small salon of intellectually minded ladies on Wednesday afternoons. She’ll probably invite you to join her little club.”

  Sophy heard the amused condescension in his voice and smiled serenely. “Is her little club anything like a gentlemen’s club in which one may drink and bet and entertain oneself until all hours?”

  Julian eyed her grimly. “Definitely not.”

  “How disappointing. But be that as it may, I am sure I shall like your aunt.”

  “You’ll have a chance to find out shortly.” Julian glanced at the library clock. “She should be here any minute.”

  Sophy was stunned. “She’s going to be calling this morning?”

  “I’m afraid so. She sent word around an hour ago that she was to be expected. She’ll undoubtedly be accompanied by her companion, Harriette Rattenbury. The two are inseparable.” Julian’s mouth crooked faintly. “My aunt is most anxious to meet you.”

  “But how did she know I was in town?”

  “That’s one of the things you must learn about Society, Sophy. Gossip travels on the air itself here in the city. You will do well to keep that in mind because the last thing I want to hear is gossip about my wife. Is that very clear?”

  “Yes, Julian.”

  SIX

  “I do apologize for being late but I know you will all forgive me when I tell you I have got the second installment. Here it is, fresh from the presses. I assure you I had to risk life and limb to obtain it. I haven’t seen that sort of mob in the streets since the riot after the last fireworks display at Covent Garden.”

  Sophy and the other ten guests seated in the gold-and-white Egyptian-style drawing room turned to gaze at the young, red-haired woman who had just burst through the door. She was clutching a slender, unbound volume in her hands and her eyes were alight with excitement.

  “Pray, seat yourself, Anne. You must know we are all about to expire with curiosity.” Lady Frances Sinclair, perched gracefully on a gold-and-white striped settee that was adorned with small, carved sphinxes, waved her late guest to a nearby chair. “But first allow me to present my nephew’s wife, Lady Ravenwood. She arrived in town a week ago and has expressed an interest in joining our little Wednesday afternoon salon. Sophy, this is Miss Anne Silverthorne. You two will undoubtedly run into each other again this evening at the Yelverton Ball.”

  Sophy smiled warmly as the introductions were completed. She was thoroughly enjoying herself and had been since Fanny Sinclair and her friend Harriette Rattenbury had swept into her life the previous week.

  Julian had been right about his aunt and her companion. They were obviously the greatest of friends, although to look at them, one was struck first by the differences, rather than the similarities between the two women.

  Fanny Sinclair was tall, patrician featured, and had been endowed with the black hair and brilliant emerald eyes that appeared to be a trademark of the Sinclair clan. She was in her early fifties, a vivacious, charming creature who was clearly at ease amid the wealth and trappings of the ton.

  She was also delightfully optimistic, keenly interested in everything that went on around her and remarkably free thinking. Full of witty schemes and plans, she fairly bubbled with enthusiasm for any new idea that crossed her path. The exotic Egyptian style of her townhouse suited her well. Even the odd wallpaper, which had a border of tiny mummies and sphinxes, looked appropriate as a backdrop for Lady Fanny.

  As much as Sophy enjoyed the bizarre Egyptian motifs in Lady Fanny’s home, she was somewhat relieved to discover that when it came to clothing fashions, Julian’s aunt had an instinctive and unfailing sense of style. She had employed it often on Sophy’s behalf during the past week. Sophy’s wardrobe was now crammed with the latest and most flattering designs and more gowns were on order. When Sophy had been so bold as to question the excessive expenditures, Fanny had laughed gaily and waved the entire issue aside.

  “Julian can afford to keep his wife in style and he shall do so if I have anything to say about it. Do not worry about the bills, my dear. Just pay them out of your allowance and request more m
oney from Julian when you need it.”

  Sophy had been horrified. “I could not possibly ask him to increase my allowance. He is already being extremely generous with me.”

  “Nonsense. I will tell you a secret about my nephew. He is not by nature closefisted or stingy but unfortunately he has little interest in spending money on anything except land improvement, sheep, and horses. You will have to remind him from time to time that there are certain necessities a woman needs.”

  Just as she would have to remind him occasionally that he had a wife, Sophy had told herself. She had not seen a great deal of her husband lately.

  Harry, as Fanny’s companion was called, was quite opposite in looks and manners, although she appeared to be about the same age. She was short, round, and possessed of an unflappable calm that nothing seemed to shake. Her serenity was the perfect foil for Fanny’s enthusiasms. She favored imposing turbans, a monocle on a black ribbon, and the color purple, which she felt complimented her eyes. Thus far Sophy had never seen Harriette Rattenbury dressed in any other shade. The eccentricity suited her in some indefinable fashion.

  Sophy had liked both women on sight and it was a fortunate circumstance because Julian had more or less abandoned her to their company. Sophy had seen very little of her husband for the past week and nothing at all of him in her bedchamber. She was not quite certain what to make of that situation but she had been too busy, thanks to Fanny and Harry, to brood over the matter.

  “Now then,” Fanny said as Anne began to cut open the pages of the small book, “you must not keep us in suspense any longer than is absolutely necessary, Anne. Start reading at once.”

  Sophy looked at her hostesses. “Are these Memoirs actually written by a woman of the deminonde?”

  “Not just any woman of that world but the woman of that world,” Fanny assured her with satisfaction. “It is no secret that Charlotte Featherstone has been the queen of London’s courtesans for the past ten years. Men of the highest rank have fought duels for the honor of being her protector. She is retiring at the peak of her career and has decided to set Society on its ear with her Memoirs.”

  “The first installment came out a week ago and we have all been eagerly awaiting the second,” one of the other ladies announced gleefully. “Anne was dispatched to fetch it for us.”

  “Makes an interesting change from the sort of thing we usually study and discuss on Wednesday afternoons, doesn’t it?” Harriette observed blandly. “One can get a little tired of trying to muddle through those rather strange poems of Blake’s and I must say there are times when it is difficult to tell the difference between Coleridge’s literary visions and his opium visions.”

  “Let us get to the heart of the matter,” Fanny declared. “Who does the Grand Featherstone name this time?”

  Anne was already scanning the pages she had opened. “I see Lords Morgan and Crandon named and, oh, good heavens, there’s a royal Duke here, too.”

  “A royal Duke? This Miss Featherstone appears to have fancy tastes,” Sophy observed, intrigued.

  “That she does,” Jane Morland, the dark-haired, serious-eyed young woman who was sitting next to Sophy, remarked. “Just imagine, as one of the Fashionable Impures, she’s met people I could never even aspire to meet. She’s mingled with men from the highest levels of Society.”

  “She’s done a fair bit more than just mingle with them, if you ask me,” Harriette murmured, adjusting her monocle.

  “But where did she come from? Who is she?” Sophy demanded.

  “I’ve heard she was nothing more than the illegitimate daughter of a common streetwalker,” one of the older women observed with an air of amused disgust.

  “No common streetwalker could have caught the attention of all of London the way Featherstone has,” Jane announced firmly. “Her admirers have included a good portion of the peers of the realm. She is obviously a cut above the ordinary.”

  Sophy nodded slowly. “Just think of all she must have been obliged to overcome in her life in order to have obtained her present position.”

  “I would imagine her present position is flat on her back,” Fanny said.

  “But she must have cultivated a great deal of wit and style to attract so many influential lovers,” Sophy pointed out.

  “I’m sure she has,” Jane Morland agreed. “It is quite interesting to note how certain people possessed only of flair and intelligence seem to be able to convince others of their social superiority. Take Brummell or Byron’s friend, Scrope Davies, for example.”

  “I would imagine Miss Featherstone must be very beautiful to have become so successful in her, uh, chosen profession,” Anne said thoughtfully.

  “She’s not actually a great beauty,” Fanny announced.

  The other women all glanced at her in surprise.

  Fanny smiled. “It’s true. I’ve seen her more than once, you know. From a distance, of course. Harry and I noticed her just the other day, in fact, shopping in Bond Street, didn’t we, Harry?”

  “Dear me, yes. Quite a sight.”

  “She was seated in the most incredible yellow curricle,” Fanny explained to her attentive audience. “She was wearing a deep blue gown and every finger was ablaze with diamonds. Quite a stunning picture. She’s fair and she’s possessed of passable looks and she certainly knows how to make the most of them, but I assure you there are many women of the ton who are more beautiful.”

  “Then why are the gentlemen of the ton so taken with her?” Sophy asked.

  “Gentlemen are very simple-minded creatures,” Harriette explained serenely as she lifted a teacup to her lips. “Easily dazzled by novelty and the expectation of romantic adventure. I imagine the Grand Featherstone has a way of leading men to expect both from her.”

  “It would be interesting to know her secret methods for bringing men to their knees,” a middle-aged matron in dove gray silk said with a sigh.

  Fanny shook her head. “Never forget that for all her flash and glitter, she is as chained in her world as we are in ours. She may be a prize for the men of the ton but she cannot hold their attention forever and she must know it. Furthermore, she cannot hope to marry any of her high-ranking admirers and thus move into a more secure world.”

  “True enough,” Harriette agreed, pursing her lips. “No matter how infatuated with her he might be, no matter how many expensive necklaces he might bestow upon her, no nobleman in his right mind is going to propose marriage to a woman of the demimonde. Even if he forgot himself so far as to do so, his family would quickly quash the notion.”

  “You are right, Fanny,” Sophy said thoughtfully. “Miss Featherstone is trapped in her world. And we are tied to ours. Still, if she managed the trick of raising herself from the gutter to the level where she apparently is today, she must be a very astute female. I believe she would make a very interesting contribution to these afternoon salons of yours, Fanny.”

  A ripple of shock went through the small group. But Fanny chuckled. “Very interesting, no doubt.”

  “Do you know something?” Sophy continued impulsively, “I believe I should like to meet her.”

  Every other pair of eyes in the room swung toward her in startled disbelief.

  “Meet her?” Jane exclaimed, looking both scandalized and fascinated. “You would like an introduction to a woman of that sort?”

  Anne Silverthorne smiled reluctantly. “It would be rather amusing, wouldn’t it?”

  “Hush, all three of you,” one of the older woman snapped. “Introduce yourselves to a professional courtesan? Have you lost all sense of propriety? Of all the ridiculous notions.”

  Fanny gave Sophy an amused glance. “If Julian even suspected you of harboring such a goal, he would have you back in the country within twenty-four hours.”

  “Do you think Julian has ever met her?” Sophy asked.

  Fanny choked on her tea and quickly set down the cup and saucer. “Excuse me,” she gasped as Harriette slapped her familiarly between the shoulder
blades. “I do beg your pardon.”

  “Are you all right, dear?” Harriette asked with mild concern as Fanny recovered.

  “Yes, yes, fine, thank you, Harry.” Fanny’s vivacious smile swept the circle of anxious faces. “I am perfectly all right now. I do beg everyone’s pardon. Now then, where were we? Oh, yes, you were about to start reading to us, Anne. Do begin.”

  Anne plunged eagerly into the surprisingly lively prose and every woman in the room listened with rapt attention. Charlotte Featherstone’s Memoirs were well written, entertaining, and deliciously scandalizing.

  “Lord Ashford gave Featherstone a necklace worth five thousand pounds?” a horrified member of the group exclaimed at one point. “Just wait until his wife hears about that. I know for a fact that Lady Ashford has been forced to practice the most stringent economy for years. Ashford is forever telling her he cannot afford new gowns and jewels.”

  “He’s telling her the truth. He probably cannot afford them for his wife as long as he is buying them for Charlotte Featherstone,” Fanny observed.

  “There’s more about Ashford,” Anne said with a decidedly wicked laugh. “Listen to this:”

  After Lord Ashford left that evening I told my maid that Lady Ashford should consider herself very much in my debt. After all, if it were not for me, Ashford would undoubtedly spend a great many more evenings at home boring his poor wife with his lamentably unimaginative lovemaking. Only consider the great burden of which I have relieved the lady.

  “I would say she was well paid for her pains,” Harriette declared, pouring tea from the Georgian silver pot.

  “Lady Ashford is going to be furious when she hears about this,” someone else remarked.

  “And so she should be,” Sophy said fiercely. “Her lord has conducted himself most dishonorably. We may find it amusing but when you stop to think about it, you must realize he has publicly humiliated his wife. Think how he would react if the situation were reversed and it was Lady Ashford who had caused this sort of talk.”