Candice Hern (8 page)

Adam glared at him across the narrow table, darkened and scarred with a century of wear. "Your name came up."

His lordship's brows lifted in surprise. "Did it? Well, then, I have underestimated your Marianne. I trust you supported my candidacy?"

"Though I would have done no such thing, it was not necessary. She mentioned you only in jest."

"Ah, so I have become a joke among respectable ladies. How mortifying." His grin held not a hint of mortification, however. Adam sometimes believed Rochdale enjoyed his unsavory reputation. He certainly cultivated it.

"She only wanted to tease me," Adam said. "Though I cannot imagine you would have been interested. She is not your usual type."

"I would have made an exception in order to bed the lovely Marianne."

Adam leaned forward to insure his words would be heard clearly above the hubbub of a dozen lively conversations, the clatter of cups and dishes, and the constant rumble of carriages and carts passing outside. "Over. My. Dead. Body."

Rochdale narrowed his eyes and glared indignantly at Adam. "Cazenove, you are a fool. Just because you cannot have her, no other man is to be allowed that pleasure?"

"That's not it at all. She is too much an innocent for someone like you."

"And for someone like you?"

Adam shrugged. "And for me, too. Even were I free."

"Well, you’re not anymore, so why such a fuss over Marianne Nesbitt?" Rochdale leaned back and sipped his coffee. "The woman's been widowed more than two years. You've had ample opportunity to make a move if you were so inclined. And since you have never done so, one can only assume the inclination is not there."

He paused and lifted a quizzical brow, as though waiting for Adam to contradict him, but Adam only shook his head in response. Of course he had not made a move.

Rochdale shrugged. "So I can't see you have any cause to complain if she wants to seek out another man for her bed."

His friend was right. Adam had no right to interfere. It was just that he did not think any of the men they'd discussed would satisfy her. And he truly did believe she would have her heart broken in the end. She would discover he was right, that a sexual relationship would never be enough for her.

"Leave her to her own devices," Rochdale said. "What she does is none of your business."

"You're right, of course. But damn it all, I just can't seem to reconcile myself to the idea of her in another man's arms."

"Instead of
your
arms?"

"No! Nesbitt's."

"The man is dead, for God's sake."

"I know. But she will always be his woman to me."

"She'll be in some other man's arms soon enough. Which should be of no consequence to you, as your arms will be full of the beautiful Clarissa."

"Touché."

Adam emptied his own cup and looked about for Alfred, the head waiter. He found him serving a group of older men seated nearest the hearth. Wearing old-fashioned bob wigs and buckles on their shoes, the men looked like a scene out of his father's time. They passed around several long-handled clay pipes, and one of them toasted a muffin on a stick held over the fire. Adam would not have been surprised to learn these same old chaps had been holding down that spot in the Raven for forty years or more.

He caught Alfred's eye and nodded, then turned back to Rochdale, whose brows were lifted in amusement.

"I do wish you didn't find this business so damned entertaining," Adam said, but couldn't hold back a smile. "It was tough going, I tell you, dealing with that list."

"You're in love with the woman. Always have been."

Adam snorted. "What rot. She was my best friend's wife, for God's sake. I admire her more than any other woman I know, but I am not in love with her."

"You don't want any other man in her bed, then, because you admire her so much?"

"I worry that she'll be hurt, that's all."

"I think you want her for yourself, and now that you can't have her — because, I remind you again, you have the lovely and innocent Clarissa — then you don't want any other man to have her. Sounds suspiciously close to being in love with her, if you ask me."

"Well, I don't ask you, and I am not in love with her. I'm just watching out for her best interests, as Nesbitt asked me to do. I promised to look after her."

"I still say you should stay out of it. And certainly stop talking to her about it. Whoever heard of a woman having such a discussion with a man, anyway?"

"We've always been candid together. We're friends."

Rochdale snorted. "For now."

"What do you mean, 'for now'?"

"If you think Clarissa is going to allow you to continue in close friendship with a beautiful woman like Marianne, then you'd better think again. That tie is going to be cut, whether you like it or not."

"Damnation. I hope you’re wrong. That would be ..."
Impossible to imagine
.

"You know, old chap, it might be the best thing of all if Marianne became linked with another man. It might stave off any bridal jealousies."

"Perhaps. Marianne is bound and determined on this course in any case."

Alfred approached with a steaming pot of coffee and refilled their cups. In an Oxbridge voice, he asked if they wished for anything more to eat. Rochdale declined and sent him away. Adam watched the tall, straight-backed figure as he retreated, and marveled that he managed to keep such a pristine appearance in a bustling coffeehouse. The man was always well dressed in a smart black coat, knee breeches, black silk hose, and a spotless white cravat.

"What do you suppose is his story?" Adam asked.

"Rumor is that he was once a gentleman, but lost his fortune on the Exchange."

"Really? Poor old sod. Well, I suppose it is better here than debtors' prison."

"Indeed." He shot Adam a speaking glance. "We must all make hard choices from time to time."

Adam looked at his friend and nodded. "Yes, we do. And yes, I have made mine."

Rochdale raised his cup in salute. "Good man." After taking a drink of the hot brew, he said, "What do you think set Marianne off? Why this sudden resolution to find a lover? Why now?"

"I don't know, but I have a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with the other women in the Benevolent Widows Fund. She told me once how they all decided to remain widows rather than seek remarriage. I'm wondering if they have perhaps all decided to seek lovers instead."

"Egad, you don't suppose the rest of them are on the hunt as well, do you?"

"It's quite possible. I can’t help but believe Marianne did not come up with this idea on her own. I would not be surprised to learn that it was a group decision of some kind, and Marianne got swept up in it."

"Good Lord. All those Benevolent Widows on the loose." Rochdale rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Spare me."

Adam grinned. "Willing young widows looking for pleasure? How could you resist such temptation?"

"With the greatest ease, I assure you. Ladies given to good works make me nervous." He shuddered visibly. "They never really want a quick shag, you know. They always want more."

"Perhaps not, if all the preaching about independence I've heard from Marianne is any indication." Though Adam sincerely hoped it would not be so crass in her case. She deserved more than "a quick shag."

"Trust me, Cazenove. None of those women are the type given to an uncomplicated tussle between the sheets. They will wheedle and cajole until they have turned a simple affair into something more serious."

"That is precisely what I tried to tell Marianne. She is not the sort for a casual affair. She will want more than that."

"As will all those Benevolent Widows. It's in their blood. I wouldn't go near any one of them."

Adam smiled. "Come on, old boy. Attractive women out for a bit of pleasure — what could be easier game?"

"Sorry." Rochdale shook his head. "Not interested."

"Not at all?" Adam did not believe his lordship for a single moment and flashed a grin that told him so. "The lovely Countess Somerfield?"

"Very attractive, but not my type. A bit on the cool side."

"Lady Gosforth?"

Rochdale shrugged. "I might consider it, in a pinch. I have to admit, she does have a perfectly luscious bosom. Though I cannot say I admire those cropped curls of hers. I prefer a long, thick mass of hair that I can get my hands in."

"Then Mrs. Marlowe should do quite nicely," Adam said, his grin widening. "All that golden hair. I'd be willing to bet it falls to her waist."

"I'd be willing to bet she never allows it to do so. Too prim and proper, that one. A bishop's widow, for God's sake. Old Marlowe's ghost would probably be watching."

Adam let out a bark of laughter, and several patrons turned their heads. He lowered his voice. "Well, then, there's always the duchess."

Rochdale smiled. "Willie's a dear creature, and a bit of a frolic with her would always be welcome, but I doubt she'd be interested. She generally does not look backward once she has moved on. No, I will keep my distance from the Benevolent Widows, if you don't mind."

Adam did not mind at all. In fact, the farther away Rochdale kept from Marianne, the better. At least for his own peace of mind. The fellow was a good friend, but Adam did not trust him where women were concerned.

But there were still all those other gentlemen on that blasted list. What was he to do about them?

* * *

"Ladies, please!" Grace Marlowe wrung her hands in frustration, clearly annoyed that she had lost control of the meeting. Again. "We have work to do."

She gestured toward the sheets of paper, checklists, ledgers, and account books on the small French writing desk in front of her. The other ladies were arranged in chairs and a settee in the cheerful morning room. Sun streamed in the large windows overlooking Portland Place, giving a gleaming brightness to the white moldings and plasterwork ceiling, and picking out glints of gold on picture frames, porcelain figures, and a fine garniture on the mantel. A fire burned low in the grate, though it was not needed, and the soft aroma of early roses filled the air.

The duchess smiled and said, "My dear Grace, I believe you must allow us a moment to be merry before we become benevolent. The work will get done."

"Of course it will," Marianne added. "But we did agree, after all, to allow discussion of these matters among ourselves." She was very anxious to hear if anyone was making progress in the quest for a lover. Despite Adam's advice, she still felt awkward about the whole business and would welcome any details the others had to offer.

Grace gave an unladylike snort and crossed her arms over her chest. "Ten minutes," she said. "No more. Then we really must review the final details for the ball at Yarmouth House, and then get busy planning the next one. Ten minutes."

The duchess, ensconced in a gilded armchair with her skirts arranged about her in studied negligence, nodded in agreement and turned her attention to Penelope. "And so, it is to be Mr. Tolliver?"

Penelope positively beamed and wriggled her shoulders with excitement. "Yes! Is that not delicious? He is
so
handsome. Such shoulders!"

"This all happened rather fast," Marianne said. "What did you do, exactly?" She flushed slightly, embarrassed to be asking such a question, so blatantly demonstrating her ignorance. But if she was going to do this, she needed a few helpful hints.

"He has been rather attentive for years," Penelope said. "When I saw him at a card party last week, I made sure he knew I welcomed his interest. We haven't actually done the deed yet, but he is sure to be at our ball, and I'm hoping that will be the night." She bounced on her chair with girlish glee. "I can hardly wait!"

Marianne frowned. She had hoped for more details of precisely
how
Penelope signaled her interest. Everyone seemed to think it came naturally, and maybe that was true and she was being overly anxious. Still, she would have welcomed a few pointers.

"What's troubling you, Marianne?" Beatrice, sitting beside her on a settee, touched her arm gently. "You look so glum. Had you perhaps thought of Mr. Tolliver for yourself?"

"Oh!" Marianne lifted a hand to her breast, mortified that she might be seen as jealous, which was ridiculous. The man had not even been on her original list. "No, no, I assure you, I had not set my sights on Mr. Tolliver. I hardly know him."

"I think," the duchess said, "that Marianne was hoping you would be a bit more forthcoming, Penelope, regarding the tactics you employed to let Mr. Tolliver know of your interest." She looked at Marianne with very indulgent and very kind eyes. "Am I right?"

Marianne nodded sheepishly. Bless Wilhelmina for being so perceptive.

"We did promise details," the duchess said.

"And you can be sure that when I have any interesting details," Penelope said, "I will report them. The actual flirtation is not important."

"But not everyone has experience with flirtation." Wilhelmina turned to Marianne. "Your marriage was arranged, was it not?"

"Yes, when I was still a girl. I never had the need to flirt. I always had David." She looked down at the hands in her lap. "I am so afraid of making a cake of myself."

"Don't think of it as flirting," Beatrice said. "Just think of it as conversation. Ask a gentleman about himself, show an interest in his interests, and that's all there is to it."

"Precisely," Wilhelmina said with a nod of acknowledgment to Beatrice. "Excellent advice. If you think too much about it, you will become unnerved. Just act naturally. Be yourself. You are a charming and beautiful woman. You need only smile, look him straight in the eye, and let the gentleman do the talking. He'll be entranced."

"You make it sound so easy," Marianne said.

"It is easy," Penelope said. "It is just talking, as Beatrice said. It is not a prescribed set of tricks and charades. Whatever you do, do not flutter your eyelashes or sigh wistfully or giggle. Leave that to the ingenues. As older, experienced women, we do not need to resort to such tactics." She leaned forward and smiled. "Do you have someone in mind, Marianne?"