My Fair Princess (8 page)

“You mean teaching me not to swear, and how to curtsey without falling on my ear?” she asked in as innocent a voice as she could muster. Sadly, Gillian didn't do innocent very well.

“Those things are simply a means to an end, and you know it. Your family wishes you to find a suitable husband, and I'd like to know if you want that too.”

Confound it.
“What girl doesn't?”

He snorted. “You, I suspect.”

“And I suspect that you are quite wrong.” Dodgy, but at least it wasn't an outright lie.

He stopped her again. Reluctantly, she looked up to meet his searching gaze. “Miss Dryden, what is it that you fear? Do you think you will be laughed at, or somehow punished for trying to make a respectable marriage?”

She scoffed, giving that question the response it deserved. “Most already do laugh at me, and will continue to do so. I don't really care about that.”

“Everyone wishes to be accepted by his or her peers.”

“I don't.” It would never happen anyway, she knew.

“Well, your family wishes it. Since I'm a member of your family, I share that desire on your behalf. Besides, people won't laugh at you if you don't give them any fodder.”

She studied him. Again, he seemed perfectly sincere. “Why do you even care whether I succeed or fail?”

When he started to say something about family and responsibility, she cut him off with an irritable wave. “Please, that's ridiculous. You can lend my family support without playing governess to me. I want to know why you care about
me
, one way or the other.”

Gillian had learned long ago that most people had a motive for helping others. She'd only met a few who didn't. Her stepfather had been one.

Leverton shrugged. “For now, just accept that I do, and that I sincerely wish you to succeed.”

She had no choice but to accept. From everything she'd heard about the duke—and everything she'd observed—he was a man who kept his word. According to her grandmother, Leverton was as trustworthy as he was powerful.

There was just one problem: she wished him to fail. She wished the entire scheme to reform her to fail. Unfortunately, that put her in the position of using a man who was apparently willing to inconvenience himself to a considerable extent in order to help her. There was more than a degree of irony in the situation, since she was the one with the ulterior motive, not Leverton.

She toyed with the idea of telling him the truth. But as nice as the duke was, he'd made his position clear—the family desired her to remain in England, and he supported that. If she truly wished to return to Sicily, Gillian had to give the impression that she was trying to learn to be a proper lady. That meant accepting Leverton's help, at least for now. Once everyone saw how pointless the venture was, then perhaps they would begin to listen to her.

“All right, I'm willing to give your plan a go,” she said, forcing herself to ignore an inconvenient sense of guilt. “Shall we shake on it?”

He took her hand and shook it with appropriate gravity. With that business concluded, they resumed their walk and soon reached Brook Street.

Leverton was about to escort her up the steps of her grandmother's townhouse when Gillian stopped him. “I know I'm not very good at reading social signals, but it's obvious you weren't happy to see Mr. Stratton. As for Lady Letitia, however . . .” She shook her head. What was it about the woman, and Leverton's response to her, that she found so troublesome?

“Is there a question in there somewhere, Miss Dryden?”

She heard the warning note in his voice, but decided to ignore it. Curiosity was another of her besetting sins. “It was obvious even to me that Lady Letitia was . . . well, she called it teasing, but it seemed more like flirting to me. Why would she flirt with you, especially in front of her husband?”

The duke's scowl suggested he was about to haul thunderbolts down from the heights. “Miss Dryden, I am not a fan of gossip. You shouldn't be, either.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Everyone in London gossips. Besides, I'm simply trying to distinguish what sort of behavior is appropriate between men and women with a certain degree of, er, familiarity. And Lady Letitia does seem very familiar with you.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Am I wrong about that?”

He looked disgusted. “No.”

She waited for several long seconds for more detail. He remained tight-lipped.

“Well,” she prompted. “How familiar are you and Lady Letitia?”

When Leverton finally answered, he gave the impression that he had to pry his jaws apart. “She was almost my wife.”

Chapter Eight

“It wasn't necessary for you to come with me to pick them up,” Charles said to his sister as he handed her down from the town coach. “In fact, I think you'll be in the way.”

Lady Elizabeth Church, Countess of Filby and his younger sister by four years, poked him with her fan. “Charles, it is beyond me how people regard you as such a paragon of courtesy.”

“Anyone who knows
you
would almost certainly forgive my lapse in manners.”

She laughed. “Sadly true, I'm afraid. I am entirely nosy, and I wanted to meet Miss Dryden before the ball. You know Lady Barrington's affairs are always such a crush. I wouldn't have a hope of speaking to the girl with any degree of privacy.”

“Trust me, you'll wish you hadn't. Gillian's behavior would send the proverbial saint into a frenzy.” He led her up the steps of the Brook Street townhouse and gave the knocker a few good raps.

“Gillian, is it? I didn't realize you two were on such intimate terms.”

“Elizabeth, you are quite off the mark if you—” The door opened, choking off his reprimand.

She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze as the butler ushered them into the entrance hall. “I'm teasing, dear brother. I think it's splendid you're trying to help them.”

He cut her a rueful grin. “We'll see how splendid after tonight. Our odds of success are no better than fifty per cent.”

“You're to be commended for even trying,” she said stoutly. “Very few men would bother.”

His sister's praise warmed him, as always. Warmth had been sadly lacking in his family, mostly due to his father's discomfort with
odiously sentimental
displays of familial affection. Charles and his older sister, Eugenia, had been schooled to conduct themselves with dignity and restraint. Though their mother was not nearly as intimidating as their father, the duchess had expected her two eldest children to act with a decorum befitting the Penley name.

Elizabeth had always been different. She'd been a happy child, possessing an open and winning personality that had charmed even their father off his high horse. Then she'd become a beautiful girl who'd grown into a lovely woman. Elizabeth had always been the heart and soul of their family, building bridges and tearing down walls. It was exhausting work, given how pigheaded they all were, but she never seemed to begrudge the effort. Still, even she hadn't been able to throw a span over that last, fatal breach between Charles and his father.

“Will your husband be joining us at the ball?” Charles asked as they followed the butler up to the drawing room.

“You know how much he hates crowds. He's just as happy to stay home with the children.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “He prefers the company of toddlers to that of sensible adults. I simply don't know what to do with him.”

Charles wasn't fooled. Elizabeth adored her husband, a kind-hearted man who preferred a quiet life in the country to the whirlwind of the beau monde. But he loved his wife, so he dutifully brought her to town for the Season. In London, he focused on his duties in Parliament and left the socializing to his fashionable wife.

“I doubt there will be many sensible adults at Lady Barrington's ball,” Charles said. “The woman is a bird-wit if there ever was one, as are most of her guests. I expect to find little in the way of intelligent conversation.”

“Goodness, me. I'm not used to such plain speaking from Perfect Penley. Is this refreshing change in your personality due to the influence of Miss Dryden?”

“Elizabeth, don't be impertinent. It's not becoming.”

She let out a delighted chuckle. “That's the brother I know and love.”

He refused to take the bait—or acknowledge that she'd scored a hit. The truth was, Gillian was a trial. The girl was quick and whip smart, but she was also as stubborn as a donkey. Every lesson invariably dissolved into a disagreement or an interrogation into the whys and wherefores of social rules that had been taken for granted for decades, if not centuries.

Determined to be fair, he'd occasionally admitted to seeing her point. But she was the last person who should test the outer boundaries of social decorum. It had been a lesson he'd been trying to impress on her for ten days.

When the butler quietly announced them, Aunt Lucy, elegantly dressed in a dark green gown shot through with gold embroidery, rose to her feet with a welcoming smile. “Good evening, Charles. And this must be your sister, Lady Filby. What a perfectly lovely young woman. I am enchanted to meet you.”

Elizabeth sank into a formal curtsey. “It's an honor to meet you, my lady.”

The older woman took her hand. “No need to stand on ceremony, dear child. You are family, and you have graciously stepped forward to help in our time of need. I cannot thank you enough.”

“No thanks are necessary, ma'am. My brother has told me all about your granddaughter. I must confess that I'm dying to meet her. She sounds utterly charming.”

“That's one way of looking at it,” Charles said in a dry voice.

Elizabeth shook her head. “Really, Charles, what is Lady Marbury to make of such jests?”

“That I agree with him. That is why I'm pleased I can speak with you before Gillian comes down.” Lady Marbury took her seat and waved them to the sofa opposite. “And please do call me Aunt Lucy, as your brother does.”

Elizabeth darted a glance his way, clearly startled. Charles shrugged.

“Very well. But you must call me Elizabeth,” his sister replied after a moment's hesitation.

“I shall be delighted,” Aunt Lucy said.

Charles had discovered that the Countess of Marbury was a fine tactician. The more allies she brought to her side, the easier would be the path for Gillian. It was, he thought, one of the reasons his aunt was so determined to stress their family bonds. Elizabeth would be another feather in the older woman's bonnet. His sister was a popular and well-regarded young matron in the
ton
. To have the support of both the Duke of Leverton and the Countess of Filby would be a coup for the Marburys in general and for Gillian in particular.

“Shall we wait for the Contessa di Paterini to join us before we begin to plot Gillian's conquest of the
ton
?” Charles asked.

Aunt Lucy let out a barely audible sigh. “My daughter is feeling a bit poorly tonight. I'm afraid the crush at Lady Barrington's might be too much for her.”

More likely she didn't feel up to dealing with either the gossip or her daughter's behavior. Gillian's mamma tended to wilt under stress. Charles couldn't blame her, though he'd hoped she would find it in herself to support her daughter's first major foray into society.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Elizabeth said. “I was looking forward to meeting her.”

“Yes, it's unfortunate that she won't be with us to support Gillian at her first ball,” Aunt Lucy said. “It's quite a shame that Griffin and Justine cannot join us, either. Griffin's presence always gives Gillian a boost. He's very protective of her.”

Charles mentally grimaced. It irritated him that Gillian was so comfortable with her half brother. As far as Charles was concerned, Steele brought out the worst in the girl. Steele had even more contempt for polite society than Gillian, which was truly saying something.

“The spectacle of the Duke of Cumberland's by-blows at the same ball would generate precisely the sort of gossip we wish to avoid,” he said. “Besides, Steele's idea of protection generally runs to beating a man senseless or even slipping a knife between his ribs.”

“Justine said the same thing,” Aunt Lucy said.

“Mrs. Steele is a very sensible woman,” Charles replied. How the man had managed to find himself such a paragon of a wife was something Charles couldn't fathom. Justine Steele was intelligent, beautiful, and exceedingly kind. She also clearly adored her husband, which was another mystery.

“Griffin Steele sounds very exciting,” Elizabeth said. “I'd love to meet him.”

“No, you wouldn't,” Charles said.

“Spoilsport,” his sister murmured.

He ignored her. “Aunt Lucy, do you have a specific concern about tonight?”

“I'm worried that we may be rushing things,” she said. “Don't you think an event this large is too much for Gillian's first outing? I'd thought we'd go more slowly, with a few dinner parties and perhaps a musicale.”

“In theory, I don't disagree, but in practice it's not only necessary but imperative.”

His sister tilted a curious eyebrow. “Why?”

He hesitated.

Elizabeth smiled. “I'm a married woman with children, Charles. You will neither offend nor shock me.”

“Very well. Gillian has already been the subject of a considerable amount of gossip, though most of it has been fairly harmless. Recently, though, there have been some rather crude jests about her and a few unfortunate bets.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What sort of bets?”

Charles glanced at Gillian's grandmother, reluctant to put the gossip into words. Just thinking about it made his anger flare like a torch.

“Bets on who will be Gillian's first protector and when that will occur,” Aunt Lucy said in a cool voice. When Charles raised his eyebrows, she shook her head with disgust. “Yes, I've heard the rumors. A few of my old friends have made a point of telling me.”

“That's horrible,” Elizabeth exclaimed.

Charles agreed. “I think it's time for you to find some new friends, Aunt Lucy.”

“Indeed. Those who dared to raise the issue were shown my front door in no uncertain order.”

“Is that the real reason the contessa will not be going to the ball tonight?” he asked.

Aunt Lucy grimaced. “Yes. I wish she could be stronger for Gillian's sake, but I cannot say that I blame her. And perhaps it's for the best. If anyone dared to insult my daughter—especially in front of
her
daughter—the outcome would not be a pretty one.”

“Especially if there were a heavy object within reach,” Charles said.

The two women gaped at him, then Aunt Lucy let out a reluctant laugh. “Wretch. You said that to pull me out of my foolish gloom, didn't you?”

“Gloom is rather a waste of time, don't you think?” he said. “Instead, we will hit back with a display of force. Show the
ton
that Miss Dryden has not only the support of her grandmother, but of the Duke of Leverton, as well.”

“And Lady Filby,” his sister piped up. “Now I'm doubly glad I'm going, Charles. Thank you for asking me.”

“It is I who owe you thanks. Both of you,” Aunt Lucy said, looking rather misty. “And I'm sure Gillian will be appropriately grateful as well.”

Charles rather doubted it, but he held his peace.

His aunt glanced at the handsome French ormolu clock on the mantel. “Gillian will be down in a few minutes. I don't want to discuss the more scurrilous rumors in front of her. It's quite upsetting enough as it is.”

Charles wouldn't be surprised if Gillian already had a good inkling. He'd learned that she was exceedingly good at ferreting out information, especially from the staff. He had little doubt that she had every servant in Aunt Lucy's employ wrapped around her finger, and that meant she had a direct channel to the best gossip. Too many aristocrats didn't have the brains to keep their mouths shut in front of their household staff, and servants in one household frequently spoke to servants in another.

“I suspect she already knows some of it,” he said. “I tried to broach the issue with her in a general way, and she waved me off. Said she didn't give a hang about nonsense bandied about by gossiping fools.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “How wretched that a young woman should even have to worry about something like that.”

“It's unpleasant, to say the least,” he said. “We must make it quite clear that she is under our joint protection. That is what tonight is about.”

His sister nodded. “That makes perfect sense, and it should keep the worst of the wolves away from her door.”

“Very well,” Aunt Lucy said. “But I am still a tad anxious about introducing Gillian at one of the biggest crushes of the Season.”

“I understand, but she is making progress. With a bit of luck, I think we will manage the evening without any disasters.”

Aunt Lucy began to fidget with her fan.

“Is there something else?” he gently prompted. “Besides your granddaughter's propensity toward near-fatal honesty?”

“That's the problem. She's not being honest in this case.”

“I don't follow.”

“Charles, I doubt she has any intention of trying to find a husband,” Aunt Lucy said. “In fact, she asked me when we would be returning to Sicily.”

That gave him an oddly unpleasant jolt. “I understood you would not be doing so.”

“Certainly not in the short term. It would be much too dangerous for Gillian.”

“When did she ask you?”

“Shortly after that gruesome incident with the French dancing master.”

Charles winced at the memory. He'd employed the most expensive dancing master in London, confident that the man could teach Gillian, a naturally graceful girl, in record time. Unfortunately, teacher and pupil had clashed at first sight. One thing had led to another, ending with some rather rude insults on Monsieur Pepin's part. Gillian had then threatened to run him through with a blade. Charles had quickly relieved Monsieur of his duties, paying him for a full month's work and sending him on his way with a stern admonition not to spread a word of gossip about Gillian.