The reluctant countess, p.4
The Reluctant Countess, page 4
“‘The American Duchess’,” her grandfather said with an air of disapproval.
She frowned at him.
“Although one must admit that Her Grace is an admirable mother who seems to have largely overcome her unfortunate ancestry,” he amended. “I would also note that she is an excellent influence on you, being older and mature.”
The last time Yasmin saw Merry, they had drunk a lot of brandy and reeled around the room practicing the Danse Écossoise, one of Yasmin’s favorite quadrilles, often danced in France, but not yet accepted in England.
If the august leaders of British society had seen Merry, Cleo, and Yasmin laughing and stumbling over each other, they might have retracted their conditional approval of the American Duchess. Merry’s claims to being “mature” were dubious; if Yasmin remembered correctly, Merry was still prancing around the room in fits of laughter after she and Cleo had collapsed under the influence of four glasses of brandy.
“My morning correspondence indicates that last night you waltzed with the Duke of Huntington, as well as the Earl of Lilford,” her grandfather said. “A duke and an earl. I must offer my congratulations. Lord Ferble described you as shining like a diamond of the first water.”
Yasmin sighed. Every morning, His Grace received a bevy of letters from his cronies, assessing her activities. During her first Season, his elderly friends had watched for signs of scandalous behavior—to no avail because she loved flirting but had no interest in further intimacies.
“What does that mean?” she inquired.
“Diamonds are judged by their brilliance, or ‘water,’” her grandfather replied. “Which reminds me that I must give you your grandmother’s diamonds. They were her personal possession and not entailed with the estate.” He turned to his butler, waiting by the sideboard. “Take the diamonds from the safe, Carson, and give them to Lady Yasmin’s maid.”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” Carson said, bowing.
“I have no need for diamonds!” Yasmin said, startled.
“I was waiting until you agreed to be presented to the Queen,” the duke said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Yasmin didn’t say anything. She had no intention of putting herself through such an uncomfortable experience. “I’ve had enough of royal courts, Grandfather.”
“Your grandmother would wish you to have her diamonds. There’s a necklace, earrings, bracelets, and an aigrette for your hair. It will encourage the fortune hunters, of course, but they already have you in their sights.” The late duchess had left her personal fortune to Yasmin, bypassing her scandalous daughter, Mabel. In retaliation for the insult, Mabel had bequeathed her daughter a generous dowry that originated in Napoleon’s coffers.
“Neither the Duke of Huntington nor the Earl of Lilford are in need of a fortune,” her grandfather said. “Their attentions can be assumed to be genuine.”
It was horridly unfortunate that Yasmin felt nothing other than friendship for Silvester, and even more unfortunate that she couldn’t get Giles’s muscular silhouette out of her mind. Of course, now that she was resolved to stop waltzing with him, she would quickly lose the absurd infatuation she had for the grumpy earl.
“I did indeed dance with both gentlemen.” Yasmin put a forkful of haddock into her mouth and forced herself to swallow.
Her grandfather raised his lorgnette and stared through it, his right eye hideously enlarged. “My good friend Mr. Happle seems to believe that you permitted the Earl of Lilford to escort you into the gardens. For an unremarkable perambulation, it need hardly be said.”
“That is also true.” Yasmin gave up on the fish and nodded to James, the footman assigned to stand behind her chair. He waited until the duke turned his attention to his breakfast, then whisked the plate away.
She smiled, and James winked at her.
“I found that surprising,” His Grace announced. “I myself have witnessed you and Lilford glowering at each other. In short, I thought you didn’t like the man.”
“I rashly informed him that his young sister, Lady Lydia, had left the ballroom in the company of Lord Pepper. He wasn’t pleased.”
Her grandfather’s eyes sharpened. “I agree with him. Not a good prospect, not good at all. I hear that Pepper is under the hatches, having wasted his money in rash bets.”
“The earl did not disapprove of Lord Pepper. He simply did not believe me. He was convinced that I would share untrue gossip about his sister, so he insisted that I accompany him into the gardens to prove that she had not done anything imprudent.”
At seventy-one years old, the Duke of Portbellow was still a formidable man. His brows drew together over a hooked nose that Yasmin was grateful not to have inherited. “Did he indeed?” His voice dropped an octave. “He thought you would destroy his sister’s reputation? Why? For the pleasure of it? That would not be the action of a lady, and while you may dress with a certain joie de vivre, you are nothing if not ladylike.”
Yasmin found herself smiling. Her heart had felt tight and pinched on waking, and it helped that her grandfather looked as if he was about to throw away his cane and slap Giles on the face with a glove. “He doesn’t like me, Grandfather. That is acceptable.”
“No, it isn’t. You are my granddaughter, and as such—”
“As such, every eligible peer must like me? You know that’s not the case. The Earl of Lilford is a good man, if somewhat rigid. He doesn’t care for my gossiping, my scanty gowns, and my mother’s influence on my conduct.”
“Your mother has no influence,” His Grace thundered.
Yasmin nibbled on her toast, raising an eyebrow at her grandfather. A good part of their détente was based on a mutual understanding that they both loved her mother. Mabel was infuriating and distinctly immoral, by civilized standards.
But they both loved her.
Sure enough, the duke subsided. “A small influence,” he grumbled. “I count Mabel responsible for those Frenchified gowns you wear. More to the point, Lilford should not have been so impolite to you, and so I shall tell him. Tonight!”
“I thought you didn’t plan to attend the Trent ball,” Yasmin said. She didn’t spare any sympathy for Giles. He deserved the scolding coming his way. Given that she would never waltz with him again—which meant they would no longer converse—she might as well leave his life in a burst of glory.
So to speak.
“I have changed my mind.”
“You will have to wear pink, red, or purple. Merry told me that her butler is going to turn away those who do not comply.”
His Grace snorted again. “My wardrobe will suffice.” He glanced to the side. “Toast!”
The footman snatched up another piece of toast and began hastily buttering.
“Don’t terrorize poor Edward,” Yasmin said. “Save your vehemence for this evening.”
“Oh, I shall,” His Grace said, a ferocious smile curling his lips. “It’s a pity that the earl’s parents aren’t alive, because I would—Well, no. That would be useless.”
“What were they like?” Yasmin asked, contemplating the surfeit of eggs on her plate.
“The late Earl of Lilford was a rotter,” her grandfather said bluntly. “And a coward. Shot himself when everyone found out his true colors.”
Yasmin put down her fork. “Shot himself?”
“Ugly affair,” her grandfather said, nodding. “The countess was never seen in society again. When she came to the city, it was only to visit the Inns of Court.”
“To visit her solicitor? Whom did she sue?” Yasmin asked, picking up a piece of toast. She felt a reluctant pang of sympathy for Giles.
“She sued the makers of the gun that her husband used to kill himself. She lost, but it put wind in her sails, and after that, no one was safe. She sued anyone who gossiped about her husband. She became obsessed.”
Yasmin thought about the scowl on Giles’s face when he reprimanded her for mentioning Pepper’s reputation. His stance apparently had deep roots.
“She couldn’t deny her husband’s scandalous past—he was a thief, earl or no—but she vowed revenge on everyone who shared the story.” The duke cast down his half-eaten toast and barked, “Fresh tea.”
Noah, the footman charged with tending a small burner on the sideboard, carefully poured boiling water into a waiting teapot and placed it on the table, whisking away the lukewarm pot and both of their teacups.
“I used to feel pity for their son,” her grandfather said while they waited for the tea to steep. “The present earl, that is. You wouldn’t know it to look at him now, but he was a puny boy, with legs like sticks. He looked unhealthy.”
Yasmin definitely did not want to think about Giles being thin or unhappy.
“I have made up my mind to accept a marriage proposal,” she said, changing the subject. “It only remains to choose the groom, and though I am sad to disappoint you as regards my dance partners from last night, I actually believe I would like to marry an older man. One who is steady and unemotional.”
Her grandfather’s eyebrows flew up. “Indeed? In truth, I’d like to see you happily married before I shake off this mortal coil, and my nephew inherits the title. An older man, eh? How many proposals have I rejected so far? A couple of them were in their forties.”
“I haven’t yet met the man whom I can imagine marrying,” Yasmin said. It wasn’t entirely true, but some secrets are so humiliating that they had to be kept to oneself.
“Marriage is not about desire,” the duke said flatly. “Marriage is a matter of compatibility and prudence. Wanting to marry someone leads to disasters like that which has overtaken your mother. Having indulged herself in matters of the heart by eloping with a Frenchman, Mabel could not restrain herself when Le Chapeau knocked on her door.”
“Actually, Napoleon offered her an emerald in full sight of Joséphine and her ladies,” Yasmin said, fiddling with her fork. “I was thirteen and not yet introduced to the court, but the household talked of nothing else.”
Her grandfather shuddered. “Do not repeat that detail to anyone, child. Ever.”
“Mother is still in love with the emperor,” Yasmin said. “Her latest letter informed me that she is making a tapestry to celebrate his triumphs as Emperor of France. She plans to send it to Saint Helena to cheer his exile.”
“An unsavory subject,” the duke said.
Noah stepped forward to pour fresh cups of steaming hot tea.
Yasmin cleared her throat. “More to the point, Grandfather, I have a disgrace in my past as well.”
He smiled faintly. “Child, don’t you think I know?”
“You do?”
“Within a week or two, I received detailed letters recounting the scandal. Two years later, I learned you had returned to the court. I rejoiced at a detailed description of your exquisite snub of Hippolyte Charles. I have never been prouder of any family member.” Apparently considering the subject closed, he picked up his teacup.
Yasmin had to fight not to cry. Her parents had never expressed anything other than disgust for her stupidity.
The duke put his cup down before taking a sip. “Let me assure you that if that blackguard Charles ever broaches these shores, I’ll have a sword in his gut before he walks more than a step or two.” He leaned in. “I may be old, but I will avenge you, my dear, if I have the chance.”
She managed a wobbly smile. “He would never fight a duel over me.”
“Luckily, poverty is a revenge in itself,” the duke said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I made sure of that.”
“You didn’t—”
“Oh, but I did. I have many connections in France, even given all the unpleasantness, and it wasn’t hard to shear that particular ram. These days, with Joséphine gone and Napoleon in exile, the man can scarcely afford the pomade for those overgrowths he terms mustaches.”
Yasmin shook her head. “You are wicked, Your Grace.”
Her grandfather smirked and raised a finger. “Carson, where is that beer?”
The butler bowed so deeply they heard his stays creaking. “I shall visit the buttery myself, Your Grace.”
The duke turned back to Yasmin. “The lesson to be learned from dubious Frenchmen such as Napoleon and Hippolyte Charles is clear: one must never indulge one’s baser instincts.”
Or, to put it another way, no more waltzing with Giles Renwick, Earl of Lilford.
And definitely, without question, no more kissing him.
Chapter Five
Later that evening
En route to the Duke of Trent’s ball
Giles and his sister, Lydia, rarely talked about things of consequence. Their sibling bond had been forged in an unhappy childhood that they never discussed. Being so much younger, there was a great deal Lydia didn’t know about their parents, and Giles had no intention of revealing any of it.
From the minute she was born, he’d devoted himself to protecting her from the secrets that poisoned their household. But he couldn’t keep everything from her. When she was seven years old, she’d asked how their father died, and Giles told her the truth: he took his own life.
“Why?” she had asked.
He had given her the truest and yet most evasive answer: “He was unhappy because people said cruel things behind his back.”
They never discussed it again. When their mother expired due to an apoplectic fit after a judge had the temerity to rule against one of her lawsuits, they never discussed that, either.
During Lydia’s disastrous first Season, she gained a reputation for clumsiness before the dreadful mistake of fizzling, as Lady Yasmin had termed it, in the presence of the queen. She didn’t receive a single proposal and had cried all the way home to their country estate.
This Season seemed to be going better than her first, from what he could tell. But Giles couldn’t stop wondering why Lydia had left the ballroom in the middle of a waltz. When his sister had told him that she didn’t want a chaperone, he hadn’t hesitated to agree. But now he was prickling with misgivings. He felt another stab of annoyance. Yasmin had gossiped to him about his sister. She had listened to unkind chatter, and what’s more, she had believed it.
This evening, he would not ask Yasmin for a waltz. Nor on any future occasion.
It was one thing to indulge his fascination with an occasional dance. But given his certain knowledge that she had listened to blather about his family, if not shared it herself?
He and Lady Yasmin weren’t exactly friends. But he would have thought—
Anyway, he didn’t believe that Lydia would walk into the garden with a gentleman. Rumormongers always believed the worst. They jumped on the ugliest interpretation of an innocent action.
He cleared his throat. “Are you looking forward to this evening, Lydia?”
“Of course I am! The duchess has such novel ideas.” She removed the reticule tied to her wrist, pulled off her gloves, took out a talcum bottle, and began to powder her nose.
“Ought you to be wearing face powder?” Giles asked. Now that he looked closely at his sister’s face, he realized she was wearing lip color too. “Have you blackened your eyelashes?” They fringed her eyes in a startlingly sooty fashion.
Lydia flicked her brush in the air and then hooked it back on the talcum bottle and stowed it away in her reticule. “Of course.”
“Is that . . . Do debutantes paint their faces, then?”
Lydia cast him a pitying look. “I am not a debutante, Giles. I am in my second Season.” She pulled out a tiny pot and dipped her finger into the geranium-pink paint, rubbing it across her bottom lip.
Giles came to the blinding conclusion that he’d made a huge mistake. How could he have considered himself able to guide a young lady into society, sister or no? “Where did you buy those cosmetics?”
“They are sold everywhere.” She pulled her gloves back on, shaking her head at him. “I suppose you think that women such as Lady Yasmin don’t paint their faces?”
Giles studied Yasmin’s face every time they danced. Her skin was creamy and translucent, and her cheeks turned pink when she was embarrassed. Sometimes, if she was making a particularly dramatic point, she would close her eyes in exasperation. Her lashes were thick and dark brown, with golden tips. Not pitch-black, the way Lydia’s were.
“I don’t think she wears cosmetics other than on her lips.”
Lydia snorted. “Not that I’d ever want to model myself on Lady Yasmin, but of course she paints, not to mention wearing that scarlet lip color which, by the way, is a huge mistake. Given how puffy her lips are, it makes her look debauched.”
The disdain in Lydia’s voice made Giles’s jaw tighten. He may have private misgivings about Yasmin but— “Why do you speak so disparagingly of the lady?”
“I don’t say anything that isn’t repeated everywhere,” Lydia told him, wrinkling her nose. “She wouldn’t be welcome in society, except that her grandfather is foisting her on to us. I’ve heard any number of people say the same. Plus, she’s old.”
Giles caught back a snarl.
“Will you please tie my reticule back on my wrist?”
As he bent forward to comply, she said, “On that subject, I’ve been meaning to mention to you, Giles, that you shouldn’t dance with that woman anymore. I assure everyone that you dance with Lady Yasmin out of respect for her grandfather, the Duke of Portbellow. However, it would be more prudent to ignore her altogether, the way most people do.”
Most people? Every night, he had to fight his way through a thicket of suitors to reach Yasmin’s side. She was best of friends with their hostess this evening, the Duchess of Trent, not to mention Mrs. Addison, her friend Cleo. Mr. and Mrs. Addison had become remarkably influential in society in just over a year, perhaps because they made it so abundantly clear that they didn’t give a fig what anyone thought of them.
Giles straightened and moved back in his seat. He could feel anger stirring inside him at Lydia’s unfair statement.
“Don’t waltz with Lady Yasmin tonight, if you please,” Lydia ordered.
