A Crime of Manners (10 page)

It was unfortunate that Matilda chose this particular moment to accost her son. He turned a scowling face to her.

“Goodness, what has you in a pucker?” she asked, wondering what on earth her son could find to converse with Clara Fuddlesby about. “No matter, I want you to say hello to the Mawblys.”

The duke bowed to Lady Fuddlesby and escorted his mother away, wishing a pox on all women.

Henrietta danced every dance, and during each of them found her gaze wandering to the duke. She wondered about his conversation with her aunt. She noticed him escorting an older woman and thought she could detect a family resemblance. His mother, she decided while trying to keep her toes from being trounced by a sweating, overweight baron.

She smiled with relief when Colonel Colchester solicited her hand. “I know I am an old man, Miss Lanford, but perhaps you will humor me. I would ask your lovely aunt to partner me, but I see I have left the matter too late,” he said, frowning as Lady Fuddlesby clung to the arm of a stooped, elderly man. It was difficult to tell who was supporting whom.

Henrietta chuckled. “Sir, I accept your kind offer although it is lowering to be second best! And one would hardly call you old.”

They moved out onto the floor, Colonel Colchester setting himself to please with humorous stories of his life, but both their minds were elsewhere.

Henrietta saw the duke dancing with Lady Clorinda. They seemed totally wrapped up in one

another. Henrietta’s gaze ran down the length of the duke, thinking him the most handsome man in the room in his claret evening coat and black breeches. She longed to be in his arms, swirling about the room to the strains of the music.

Colonel Colchester led her back to Lady Fuddlesby and claimed that lady’s hand for the next dance, a waltz.

Lord Baddick, true to his word, partnered Henrietta. As they walked out onto the floor, Henrietta’s eyes widened in dismay, and she had to prevent her mouth from falling open when she saw the duke preparing to dance with Clorinda again.

She was not the only one to notice this marked attention, and whispering reached a peak. Never had the wealthy, marriageable duke shown an interest in any miss on the lookout for a husband. Speculation regarding the relationship ran rampant. Two dandies immediately placed a bet on a betrothal announcement, rushing out the front door to record the wager in the betting book at White’s.

Clorinda relished the sensation she and the duke were causing. Surely the title of Beauty of the Season was clearly hers. And if matters went as she planned, so would the title “duchess” be hers.

The emerald lying between Clorinda’s breasts seemed to have hypnotized the duke. He was too mesmerized by the vision of her creamy mounds, practically popping out of their constraints right under his nose, to consider his behavior.

Another couple danced nearby. “Miss Lanford,” Lord Baddick said, “twice I have told you your eyes are more beguiling than the sapphires in your tiara.”

“You are funning, my lord,” Henrietta managed. She tried to pull herself up from the dregs of misery. Disappointed, she judged the special feelings she experienced when the duke held her during their waltz were not repeated while she was in Lord Baddick’s arms.

More important, it appeared Clorinda had won the duke. Or at least her charms had, Henrietta thought dejectedly.

Seeing Miss Lanford’s reaction to Winterton and Clorinda, Lord Baddick decided to press his advantage. “No, my love, I am not funning. You possess the most beautiful eyes I have ever beheld.” He was pleased to see he had her attention now.

“My lord, you must not address me so.”

“My apologies if I have offended you, fairest one.” His eyes burned with a zealous light. “You have me completely under your spell. I am yours to command.”

All this flattery acted as a balm to Henrietta’s bruised heart. She smiled at him weakly. “Then I command you to not hold me quite so closely, else we shall be disgraced.”

When the dance was over, Henrietta felt unutterably weary. Lord Baddick led her over to a small sofa and she sat down gratefully. The viscount took himself off to find a glass of lemonade for her.

Henrietta sat staring at her lap, telling herself her depressed feeling was due to exhaustion from dancing all evening, but knowing it to be a lie.

When a gentleman sat beside her, she raised her blue eyes, expecting to meet hazel ones. Instead, a cool gray gaze rested on her.

“I came to ask you to dance, Miss Lanford, but I can see the effort would be too much for you. I will content myself with sitting the next dance out.” The Duke of Winterton sat back, crossing his long legs.

Lord Baddick reappeared with Henrietta’s lemonade.

“Ah, Baddick, thank you,” the duke said dismissively, accepting the glass and passing it to Henrietta.

Struck speechless when confronted by the man she had just decided was lost to her, Henrietta felt her feminine defenses switch her pain to anger. How could he let almost the entire evening go by without approaching her, dance with that blonde trollop twice, and then come and sit beside her in the most casual way?

Lord Baddick was not a flat. He saw the look of fury in Miss Lanford’s eyes. Thinking things could not be going better, he bowed and moved away to the side of the room to watch.

“Miss Lanford, I want you to think of me in the light of an older brother,” the duke began.

Henrietta thought, there was that hated phrase “brother”! She remembered he had used the term during their waltz at the Denbys’ while reading her a lecture on the conventions.

Winterton continued, “It is not to be expected that a young girl from the country would recognize when a gentleman’s intentions are not honorable. While I find it distasteful to bring the matter up once again, I feel it my duty to inform you my suspicions about Lord Baddick have proven correct. Do not encourage him.”

Henrietta’s eyes blazed and her fingers clutched the sticks of her fan. “You amaze me, your grace! Let me be sure I understand this. You would stand in the place of a brother to me. And as such, you do not wish me to continue enjoying the company of a handsome, kind gentleman? What right have you to meddle in my affairs?”

“He is not a ‘kind gentleman,’ “the duke said between his teeth, ignoring her question. “His intentions towards you are the very worst. Someone must protect the innocent from harm, and as Lady Fuddlesby does not appear up to the task—”

“Do not dare to insult my aunt!” Henrietta interrupted him, her fingers snapping the sticks of her fan. She felt her feelings at that moment could only be relieved by slapping his proud face. She controlled herself with an effort.

The duke felt like shaking her. “Miss Lanford, you are behaving like the veriest schoolgirl! You show a decided lack of judgment where Lord Baddick is concerned. I suggest you pattern yourself after one of the more pretty-behaved misses making their come-out, such as Lady Clorinda.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Henrietta replied obligingly. She stood up in front of him, grasped the bodice of her dress, and pulled it down as low as it would go without exposing her nipples. She thrust her bosom forward and gave him a court curtsy.

Her mocking expression met his astonished face before she turned and walked away from him, leaving the duke to rise to his feet in a mixture of shock, fury, and some other emotion he could not give name to.

“Minx!” the Duke of Winterton shouted after her in the suddenly quiet room.

Lord Baddick’s face broke out in a wolfish grin.

Colonel Colchester supported a swooning Lady Fuddlesby.

Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, the patroness of Almack’s Lady Fuddlesby most feared, issued an edict to withdraw Miss Lanford’s vouchers at once.

Chapter Six

Silence reigned in the carriage in which Lady Fuddlesby and Henrietta rode home from Almack’s. The older woman was in shock and held a vinaigrette under her nose to prevent herself from collapsing.

Henrietta’s anger had cooled, and she felt a heavy sense of remorse. The minute the footman helped her down from the carriage, she picked up her skirts and hurried inside the town house, rushing up the stairs to her bedchamber. She struggled to hold back tears.

A startled Knight, coming into the hallway from the kitchens, ran after her.

Henrietta reached the privacy of her room gratefully. A fire had been lit, casting the room in a soft glow of light, so she did not bother with a candle.

Determined not to hurl herself across the bed and burst into tears dramatically, and not wishing for Felice’s company, she busied herself with changing into her nightrail.

Laying the beautiful silver gown across the back of a chair, she bathed her face and arms in water left by a thoughtful housemaid. Keeping her mind firmly on the simple tasks, she unpinned her hair. After carefully laying the tiara aside, she climbed into bed.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she settled onto her side. Only then did the tears quietly begin to fall.

She did not see the moving hump under the bedclothes and so jumped slightly when a masked feline face suddenly appeared from under the sheets in front of her face.

“Knight!” she cried, reaching out to hug his head close. He bore this indignity stoically, seeming to know the girl was upset.

Henrietta spent several minutes crying and holding the cat to her. At last, with a slight hiccup, the tears ceased. She released Knight to reach over to a small nightstand for a handkerchief. After drying her eyes, she propped herself up with a pillow and addressed the cat.

“Knight, this evening I behaved just like the schoolgirl Winterton accused me of being. I embarrassed myself and Lady Fuddlesby. Why must my foolish emotions take control whenever I see the duke?”

Knight listened sympathetically, unable to provide an answer to the question.

“That is what all this daydreaming has gotten me. I keep imagining the duke holding me in affection, when nothing could be further from the truth. But no more!” she resolved. “My days of spending time in dreams are over. After all, dreams are for children. The reality is I must work hard to enjoy this Season my parents are giving me, and find a husband they will be glad to call son.”

Her fingers folded and refolded a bit of pale blue coverlet while she continued. “The duke is drawn to Lady Clorinda. She is more beautiful than I and has more... assets,” she concluded, thinking of her own petite figure. “I wish her the joy of him!” she declared, her chin coming up.

Knight raised a paw to the girl’s face in support.

Henrietta scratched the cat’s head before sinking down under the covers. “Lord Baddick thinks me well enough,” she said, and yawned. “From now on, I shall ignore the stuffy duke and bestow all my attentions on Lord Baddick.”

Henrietta had made this decision before, but felt determined this time. She remembered the duke’s warning about Lord Baddick only hazily before she drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Knight sensed the need for his presence was over and silently left the room. His mistress would also require his assistance.

Downstairs, Lady Fuddlesby had gone into the drawing room, an anxious Chuffley hovering behind her. “Shall I have tea served, my lady?”

“Yes, please, Chuffley,” Lady Fuddlesby sniffled.

Chuffley hurried down to the hall and gave the order to a footman, then scurried to the door as the knocker sounded. Who in the world could be calling at this hour? He wondered.

Colonel Colchester thrust his hat and stick at the surprised butler and demanded, “Where is her ladyship?”

“I will ascertain if she is at home,” Chuffley replied, awkwardly clutching the items in one hand and holding out a silver salver for the colonel’s card.

“Blast it, man,” the colonel snapped, pushing his way past the butler. He took the steps with a sprightliness uncommon for a man of his years, rightly assuming Lady Fuddlesby to be in the drawing room.

He came upon her quietly weeping. Crossing the room, he sat beside her on the brocade sofa. He took one of her gloved hands in his, and patted it reassuringly.

“Oh, dear sir!” Lady Fuddlesby cried, astonished at his arrival. She used the remains of a shredded lace handkerchief to dry her eyes.

“Now, now, my lady, you must calm yourself. I will not have you so distraught,” the colonel said bracingly.

Chuffley entered with the tea tray, eyed the situation, and decided his mistress was safe. He retired, properly leaving the door open.

Colonel Colchester hesitated as he prepared to take over the pouring out of tea. “Would something stronger help?”

“No, thank you,” Lady Fuddlesby replied, and attempted a weak smile. “I cannot say what might help matters after the doings of this night! But I should not burden you....”

“Nonsense!” the colonel said roundly, passing her a filled cup. “Only consider. Miss Lanford and my godson’s actions speak of passion between the two. Perhaps they do not realize it yet, but there can be no doubt a strong feeling exists between them.”

“Yes, a strong feeling of dislike!” Lady Fuddlesby retorted miserably. She took a sip of tea and then set the cup down on the table. “And I did so have

hopes ...” She broke off, a tinge of pink coming into her cheeks.

The colonel squeezed her hand. “Wonderful!”

“But the difference in their stations ... It would be flying too high for Henrietta,” Lady Fuddlesby bemoaned.

“Stuff! Am I to believe you feel your niece, my godson, or anyone for that matter, should place such things above love?”

“They may not be in love.”

“Yet. But I think there is every reason to believe that given a chance, they will find themselves well suited,” Colonel Colchester said slowly.

“Whatever could they have fallen to brangling over?” Lady Fuddlesby wondered aloud. “Oh, but the scandal of their behavior!” Tears threatened again.

“’Twill only be a nine days’ wonder, my lady. You know it to be true!” he stated at her doubtful expression. “The worst that will happen is Miss Lanford’s vouchers will be withdrawn, and she and the duke will be the subject of curious tittle-tattle. Then Society will find something else that will set their tongues wagging.”