How to Beguile a Beauty

Tanner looked at her curiously. “Really?”

“You’re surprised?”

“I suppose not. And we men probably spend nearly as much time in front of the mirror or with our tailors as do women. Thank you for that insight.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, her smile once again shy. But, then, he treasured all of Lydia’s smiles, which had been far too infrequent since he’d first met her. “Now tell me the rest. I’m sure there’s more to the story.”

“Oh, there most definitely is. Justin was bored with his beauty within a fortnight, as her conversations veered from demands that he compliment her every outfit to reciting endless minutiae about the outfits of other women of their acquaintance. He said—and I remember it well because he was so very serious at the time, if a bit in his cups—that she could probably recite the names of every fabric, gee-gaw and thingamabob known to man with much more ease than she could the alphabet.”

“Poor man. Poor wife.”

“She found solace,” Tanner said, deciding it was time he took advantage of a break in the endless train of vehicles, and turned his curricle toward a nearby exit to the street. Seeing Justin again had been a shock, albeit a good one. “From what I’ve heard, not from Justin, who would never have allowed such an indiscretion, she found a variety of ways to comfort herself. Gowns, jewels…a long line of other men more than willing to keep reassuring her she was beautiful.”

“Was beautiful? Does that mean—?”

“Yes, it does, but not soon enough to save Justin, I’m afraid, even though that sounds callous. A month before Danielle met an unfortunate end tripping down a length of marble stairs at Carlton House after catching a heel on the outrageously flounced hem of her gown—the Prince of Wales had to take to his bed for a week after the accident—one of her lovers made the mistake of bragging about his latest conquest. Justin felt bound to call the man out, defending the honor of his dishonorable wife.”

“He killed the man?”

“He hadn’t planned to, but yes. I served as one of Justin’s seconds, so I saw it all. His fool opponent turned to fire on the count of two. We called out to warn Justin. He turned at once, and fired in self-defense. But the man was still dead, and Justin had to flee the country. It’s only his valuable service to the Crown, I imagine, and the passing of years that has allowed him to return to England. I wonder how he’ll be received now, eight long years later. The man he killed was the second son of an earl, you understand. There’s always a new bit of gossip to keep the ton happy, but that old gossip couldn’t be so far beneath the surface of many memories. Not with Justin showing himself so boldly in the Park. It’s as if he’s encouraging everyone to talk about him.”

“But you’ll stand by him.”

Tanner looked at her. She hadn’t framed her words as a question. “Yes, I will. Even though—no, especially because the old hurts don’t seem so far beneath Justin’s own surface now that he’s returned to England. He may have been teasing with you, but the wounds of his failed marriage and the consequences seem to have served to jade his opinion toward women.”

“Or perhaps served to undermine his faith in his own judgment when it comes to women,” Lydia said, causing Tanner to look at her sharply.

“Justin Wilde? Unsure of himself? I wouldn’t think that possible.”

“‘Doubts are more cruel than the worst of truths,’”

Lydia said quietly. “After making what he has admitted to you was a terrible mistake on the part of his heart so many years ago, how can he now trust his own judgment?”

Tanner turned his pair of bays into Grosvenor Square, wishing he hadn’t chosen to desert the park so soon, for now he had no excuse to continue this unsettling conversation. “Molière again. And, again, from Le Misanthrope. He needs a friend, doesn’t he? For all his appearance of being so secure and confident.”

“He has a friend,” Lydia said, putting her gloved hand on Tanner’s arm. “And I know from personal experience that you make a very good friend.”

Tanner thanked her, feeling as if he’d just heard a death knell. Another quote, this one not from Molièire, slid into his head. Something about friendship being love without wings…

Chapter Three

Dearest Nicole,

You’ve been gone less than a day, and yet I find I have so many things I wish to tell you. At the moment, I should be dressing for Lady Chalfont’s ball, but you know I will put off that chore as long as possible in any event, as I find I loathe little in life, but balls definitely are near the top of that short list.

You’d be so proud of me. I had a tantrum today, nearly in the middle of Hyde Park during the Promenade (such a sad crush of mostly sad people). I believe I startled Tanner with my outburst, perhaps as much as I startled myself, but I will confess I get so weary of being coddled. Not that you have ever coddled me! I shall miss your forthrightness, so I have decided I must be forthright myself, for myself. After all, I am a Daughtry. Surely there must be fiery blood somewhere inside me? To that end, this afternoon I informed Tanner that I would rather he not feel obligated to me because of some promise to Captain Fitzgerald.

He seemed taken by surprise to think I should know that. I didn’t tell him about the captain’s last letter to me, the one Tanner himself unwittingly delivered that fateful day last spring. Perhaps one day I will. Suffice it for now that he knows I consider him a friend, and that I wish he would do me the same honor, rather than as the burden of a promise.

Oh, but there’s more! I met the most interesting man today, one Baron Justin Wilde. He has a Tragic Past, as you would certainly term it, and he seems to joke of it, even as his eyes clearly reveal his pain. Meeting him so soon after my tantrum, I fear I may have been more than a bit forward with the man, but he didn’t seem to be appalled by my amazingly blunt speech. Indeed, if you can imagine the thing, I made him smile. The Baron is a friend of Tanner’s, and we will see him again this evening at Lady Chalfont’s. It’s lovely to have something to look forward to besides sitting with my back against the wall, watching everyone else dance, offering up prayers no one will ask me to participate. You know something, Nicole? I just realized I perhaps do not fade into the wallpaper so much as I might intimidate the gentlemen who mistake my shyness and boredom for aloofness and haughty ways. My goodness, but that’s a thought to ponder!

I hope that by the time this letter reaches you, you are happily settled at Basingstoke, and am confident you have already charmed everyone there. I will save this letter until tomorrow, at which time I will report to you the happenings of this evening, as I know you will worry otherwise, and I promise I shall do my best to enjoy myself.

LYDIA READ WHAT she had written, frowned over the last line, and then crossed it out. Taking up her pen once more, she wrote:

And I know I will enjoy myself, most especially if there are swans.

Yes, that was better. If her evening was at all remarkable her letter would run to at least two sheets. But her brother was a duke, and he would frank her for the postage. How delightful! She had always been careful to keep her letters short, or to cross her lines in an attempt at economy, even if that made her letters difficult for the recipient to read. Well, that was just another silly, sensible habit she would dispense with as of today. This rather momentous day.

She slipped the page into the drawer of her dressing table before examining her reflection in the mirror. She liked what Sarah had done to her hair, sweeping it all severely back from her forehead and then massing long curls behind her left ear. When she moved, the shining blond curls tickled at her shoulder, making her feel very…female.

She looked most closely at her eyes, wondering if others could see sadness in them, as she had done when she’d looked into Baron Wilde’s eyes. Nicole would say they’d both been disappointed in love, although for quite different reasons.

“But at least you were not betrayed by love,” she told her reflection. “You have happy memories no one can take from you. You were not exiled from your own country for eight terrible years, so that you have become jaded or distrusting.”

She propped her elbow on the dressing table and rested her chin on her palm, continuing to examine her reflection until she’d come to a decision. “And you are going to stop feeling sorry for yourself right now. There are many worse things in life than having been loved, than having family and friends who care for you and wish you to be happy.”

“My lady? Were you wanting something? I’ve finished pressing off your gown.”

Lydia turned away from the mirror. “Oh, no, Sarah, I didn’t want anything. I’m afraid you caught me out scolding myself.” She got to her feet, smoothing down her silken undergarments. “And doesn’t that gown look nice. You’ve done a wonderful job with the crimping iron.”

Sarah curtsied. “Thank you, my lady, I do try. Only burned myself the once this time. Her Grace said to tell you that His Grace the Duke of Malvern is waiting on you downstairs in the drawing room. Such a well set up gentleman, my lady. I’ve always favored the blond ones. What a pair the two of you make, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Lydia became at once uneasy. Had she somehow betrayed her feelings to her maid? And if she had, who else knew? She really had to be more careful. After all, the man was going to marry his cousin. “The duke is my friend, Sarah.”

“Yes, miss, he certainly is. But mayhap he wants to be more than a friend? Not that it’s my place to say so, but Maisie and I just happened to be looking out the front window from the attics as you went off with His Grace this afternoon, and he had quite the spring in his step, Maisie said, if you take m’meaning. Now if you’ll just duck yourself down and lift up your arms, my lady, we’ll have this gown on you without so much as mussing a hair on your head. Ah, that’s the trick. And are you sure you wouldn’t be wanting just a quick whisper of a touch from the rouge pot?”

Lydia emerged from the yards of palest blue watered silk, about to tell the maid that she would rather not color her cheeks. She would have liked to ask what Maisie had meant by Tanner having a spring in his step, but she was certain that wasn’t a proper question.

“Ah, never mind, my lady,” the maid said, motioning for Lydia to turn around so that she could do up the covered buttons. “You’ve got lovely color now, all on your own. And why would that be, I wonder? There you are, all done. Now I’ll just fetch your wrap whilst you tug on these gloves, and you’ll be all nice and tight.”

Lydia smiled weakly as Sarah skipped off to the dressing room, and then quickly returned to the dressing table, bending forward to check her reflection one more time. Goodness. Her cheeks were rather flushed, weren’t they? And were her eyes brighter? All because Tanner supposedly had a spring in his step?

She leaned in closer, and suddenly realized that the neckline of her gown—lovely with its fluted and crimped flounce that ran completely around the neckline and the off-the-shoulder design—was rather lower than she’d remembered it the day of her final fitting in Bond Street. A good two inches lower, in fact.

How could the seamstress have made such a—but wait! Hadn’t Nicole taken the woman to one side for a private chat that day? And then winked at her twin and told her that she was sure the watered silk would be quite the stunner?

“If I lean forward too far, it most certainly will be,” Lydia said, holding her hand to her neckline as she leaned forward, stood back, leaned forward once more, this time without pressing a hand to her bodice. Her eyes went as wide as saucers. “Oh, dear Lord, I—Sarah? Sarah!”

The maid reappeared with a fringed ivory cashmere shawl threaded through with silver draped over her arm. “My lady?”

“Sarah, I need to change my gown. The bodice is all wrong. It doesn’t fit.”

Sarah tipped her head to one side, running her gaze up and down Lydia’s length. “It doesn’t? I’d say it fits you a treat, my lady. Besides, Lady Nicole made sure that all of your party gowns were—well, she’s a good sister to you, my lady, and that’s a fact.”

The door to the hallway opened and Charlotte entered, carrying a dark blue velvet case. “Tanner’s waiting, Lydia, but I just remembered that Nicole had asked me to be certain to please lend you my sapphires if you were to wear the—oh, my.”

Sarah curtsied, beaming. “Yes, Your Grace. Just as I was telling her. Fits her a treat, don’t it?”