Chapter Twelve
As the open barouche clattered along the King’s Road—now better known as Rotten Row—Lady Asquith smiled a smile of unrivaled, and, frankly, terrifying, good cheer. Every time she lifted her handkerchief, an equally formidable looking woman of a similar age would flutter her own in response.
The Patronesses of Almack’s may have turned against them, but Lady Asquith’s morning calls to a cultivated list of battle-ax grandmothers had born potent fruit.
One had even goaded Sarah Villiers—the younger Lady Jersey and an Almack’s Patroness—into reluctantly acknowledging Lady Asquith and her two eldest goddaughters.
Eliza was certain that Lady Jersey would have turned away as their carriage approached, but the dowager Lady Jersey—her mother-in-law, the infamous Frances Villiers—called out to Lady Asquith in a friendly manner.
Consequently, the younger Lady Jersey was obliged to nod—a stiff nod, but a nod all the same—as the older women exchanged greetings.
Godmama’s cabal of dowagers were a frightening force.
Eliza was starting to understand how Society worked.
Men moved through the world, picking fights, spoiling happiness, and generally making nuisances of themselves.
Yet young ladies and wives were expected to defer to men in matters of importance.
Some women—like the Patronesses—appeared to wield power, but truly, they only served as keepers of the rules made by men.
Still, women like Lady Asquith, women of experience and character, could assert themselves in defense of the fairer sex in subtle but impressive ways. Even Mrs. Dove-Lyon had carved out a place in the world that made her almost invulnerable to male whims.
Forming alliances and using them for good was a much better use of wit and resource than the tactics she’d chosen last night. When Redver had begged, she’d felt triumphant. This morning, however, she found her chosen form of vengeance had left her vacant.
She both wanted—and feared—seeing him again.
She adjusted the angle of her broad bonnet so that her face was shielded from scrutiny.
Lady Asquith had made progress, but Eliza felt the flutter of every whisper, the brush every stifled laugh as if she were pushing her way through a thorned forest. She’d no desire for an unguarded expression provide additional fodder for gossip’s already raging fire.
Before departing Asquith House, Lady Asquith had angled Eliza and Cassandra’s hats so that their eyes could not be seen and read. All they need do for the whole of the outing, their godmother explained, was simper politely, speaking only when spoken to.
Cassandra complied because she was genuinely demure.
Eliza went along because if she’d opened her mouth, she would have brought her godmother’s efforts on their behalf to a swift and perilous end.
But Eliza knew her combination of righteousness and rage had yet to resolve any conflict she’d faced in her favor.
A lull in the flow of traffic allowed Lady Asquith a moment of rest.
“Did you see that? Sarah Villiers would have cut me. Me! The humiliation!” She pressed her handkerchief to her lips for a fraught moment.
“I will not allow it to stand. No!” She smiled brightly and waved at and other acquaintance.
“By my word—my word—I will make sure each and every one of you girls are married and well.”
Cassandra raised her face. “Of course you will, Godmama.”
“Ohhh,” Lady Asquith continued with disgust. “If that Harbury had just controlled himself as a gentleman should! Imagine gawking over that Pennington—” She clamped her mouth shut.
Eliza’s hearing perked. That Pennington?
Godmama only used that as a pronoun when she was particularly incensed. That Harbury made perfect sense. But who was “that Pennington”? Eliza was almost certain she’d been about to utter a disparaging epithet.
She exchanged a glance with Cassandra. Her sister only shrugged as if to say how should I know what she’s talking about?
“One would think,” Lady Asquith continued, “he’d know better than to make a scene and revive gossip.
But everyone could see how he was driven to distraction.
Whispers, whispers all around. Unseemly display.
” She tutted disapprovingly. “Mark my words—courting you, Miss Cassandra, will do his reputation as much good as it will do you.”
“Godmama,” interrupted Cassandra. “Won’t a courtship increase gossip?”
“Not all gossip is bad. In this case, increasing gossip is the point, child.” Lady Asquith’s impressive brows knit. “Why do you think I’ve taken such pains to make sure all of my closest confidants are present?”
Cassandra involuntarily squeaked in distress. Beneath the rug placed across their knees, Eliza laid a comforting hand on Cassie’s knee.
“Just to be seen with him will be enough to restore your standing,” Lady Asquith continued. “Harbury hasn’t ever publicly courted a gentlewoman.”
Lady Asquith paused to wave at an acquaintance.
“He’s had the occasional flirt, of course,” she continued.
“But never anyone appropriate for his station.” She lifted a brow.
“In fact, he’s been so maddening to catch, he’s sent more than one matchmaking mama into flat despair.
” Now she leaned forward, a militant light in her eye.
“Cassandra, my dear, sweet Cassandra”—she patted Cassie’s knee—“he needs you. Play your cards well and you could end up not only with your vouchers to Almack’s restored but with the title of duchess, too! ”
Eliza side-eyed her sister with alarm. The quickest way into Cassie’s affection was for Cassie to decide she was needed.
Sure enough, Cassie bit her lip, as if considering. Then, to Eliza’s profound relief, she shook her head.
“I don’t think I’d make a very good duchess.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Asquith quipped. “You’re the granddaughter of an earl.”
Eliza cast her gaze outside the carriage, unable to support her godmother’s efforts. Just then, the skin on the back of Eliza’s neck crawled. She’d the urge to turn, as if a threat loomed just behind them. Slowly, she angled her head. First, she spied Harbury.
Not a threat, precisely. But the gentleman at his side? Redver, the marquess whose skill had haunted her dreams and whose humiliation she’d already come to regret.
Yes, he was a certainly a threat.
What was he doing here? She’d not expected to have to face him so soon. She hadn’t properly prepared. And why, in this awkward moment, did he look so fine?
Heavens.
She’d never seen anyone look so imposing. He sat atop a completely black stallion with a glossy mane and a stance as arrogant as his rider’s. Man and horse appeared as one being, almost like a satyr.
She bit back a snort.
Of course, Redver resembled a satyr. He certainly possessed every other quality attributed to the mythical beast, especially the excessive sensual appetite.
The tickle in Eliza’s neck spread to her extremities, until her blush heated every inch of skin—an apt punishment for last night’s hubris. How on earth was she supposed to pretend that she had never met the man?
She forced her gaze back to Harbury. He’s where she would focus her attention…and her ire. Redver, for better or worse, she’d already humbled.
Adjusting her posture to resemble her godmother’s at her haughtiest, she met the duke’s somewhat vacant gaze, and then, slowly and deliberately, she looked away. Having completed the subtle cut, she slipped her hand into Cassandra’s and squeezed.
Whatever they were about to face, they’d face together.
“There he is!” Lady Asquith exhaled on spotting Harbury. She’d a much clearer view of the pair from her place facing the rear of the barouche. “And he’s separating from that Redver—thank God.”
Thank God?
“The young dowager is a dear, but that one I cannot trust.”
Eliza waited for her godmother to elaborate, but instead, Lady Asquith sank back into the carriage’s cushions and waved her fan, waiting for Harbury to approach.
No verbal communication could have so quickly increased Eliza’s agitation.
In the dowager countess’s mind, everything rested on this “happenstance” meeting about to occur, and, clearly, she hadn’t been certain the duke would fulfill his promise and show up at the appointed time.
Again, Eliza turned.
This time, she smiled serenely and waved politely at a group of children gathered along the grassy walkway outside the fence, all while accomplishing her true aim—another brief glance at Harbury and Redver.
Harbury was approaching their coach alone, and Redver had fallen behind. She followed Redver’s gaze and fixed on one of the most beautiful women Eliza had ever seen. On the mount to the woman’s right rode an equally stunning young lady.
Redver’s expression relaxed. Then, he smiled. And Eliza’s heart thumped.
Dratted, stupid smile.
As Harbury increased his pace, Redver slowed to converse with the two ladies. Eliza should have been grateful she wouldn’t have to meet him while blushing dark as a roasted beet.
Instead, she was…jealous?
Oh, what the devil had her impulsive actions gotten her into?
And how was she to find a way out?