Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
W aking at a late hour was not unusual for Edward—back in his most egregious roaming days, he would not wake before noon. Now, he still held late days, but not as much.
Turning over on his bed, he rubbed his eyes, trying—and failing to remove the eyes of Madam Mystique from last night.
Why was she bothering him so much? In his life, and most importantly, in his station, women came and went. Few of them stayed in his memory and even less haunted him at night. So why was this lady in the feathered mask resonating in his mind?
He’d met the most beautiful women, the most talented, in the bedchamber and out of it, and even they were footnotes in his memory. Scowling, he sat up and flung the sheets from his person.
The marble was cold under his feet, but that sensation paled in consideration to the upset under his breastbone.
Women did not make him wonder; women did not make him dabble in what-ifs—so why was he wondering what the masked lady’s lips would taste like?
“Probably like a sweet, tart, Pinot Gris,” he murmured while washing his face.
After summoning his valet to prepare his bath and appraising the kitchen staff to have a hot meal ready, he donned a silk robe and took a brief walk to his study to arrange the work he had to do before he headed off to White’s that evening.
At thirty years, he had no interest in finding a wife—indeed, he was staunchly against the idea of getting leg shackled. He treasured his independence and the notion of making sure he had to curfew his activities to tailor to a finicky lady made his skin itch.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” his butler, Charles Ramsay, bowed. “May I get anything for you? Coffee maybe?
The man was veritably young for a butler, barely brushing forty, but Charles had been the previous butler’s understudy and before that, a dedicated footman in the manor. Moreover, the man was a dead shot who did not miss and cooked a mean venison chop.
“Coffee in half an hour while I attend to these,” he yawned while arranging the folios and letters. He came across another letter from his property manager in Italy and held back an aggrieved groan.
What he would give to go back to the idyllic Tuscany countryside, the rolling hills of vineyards to the picturesque towns and villages, the seat of history, art, and such refined culture.
“Pardon me, Your Grace,” his valet, Peter Simpson, bowed. “The bathing chamber is ready for you.”
“Good,” Edward nodded, then tapped the letter. “I will be back soon, Ramsay.”
Precisely two hours and forty minutes later, clad in his shirtsleeves, Edward sorted through most of his week, delegating funds to a town ravaged by a storm, petitioned the Earl who governed the township adjacent to his to dually fund the creation of a bridge, and lastly, ordered some workers to fix the town’s orphanage, closed off from doing work.
Rubbing the strain in his neck away, he gazed at the half-finished cup of coffee—the last of five he’d drunk— and moved from the table. White's awaited, and he was more than ready for its distractions.
“Ramsay, has Benedict returned yet?” he asked when the butler came to collect his cup.
“His carriage pulled in the moment I took the stairs, Your Grace,” Ramsay nodded.
Before he went off, he decided to go see his brother, hoping dearly that the young man had listened to him.
How much of a debacle can he get into at a garden party? This is not the Pleasure Gardens of Vauxhall.
He found Benedict peeling off his jacket, a pleased smile on his face, one Edward assumed came from having a genuinely enjoyable time instead of the smug glee from making a conquest.
Leaning on the doorstep, he asked, “Had a good time, I see?”
While undoing his waistcoat, Benedict smiled over his shoulder, “It was a lovely time. I do wish you’d have attended, but then, you might have stolen the eyes of the lady I met.”
Pressing a hand to his heart, Edward feigned pain. “I would never do that, dear brother. You do know you are the one to continue the ducal line, yes?”
“I do,” Benedict struggled to undo his cravat, forcing Edward to step in.
After spending years traveling the continent with no valet or butler to serve him, Edward had learned to take care of himself—not a choice most gentlemen would have made. However, necessity was the mother of invention, so he had gotten quite inventive: he could tie his own cravat and dress himself, even in the dark.
Adeptly, he undid the waterfall knot and pulled the silk from his collar, “I would never hurt your chance for marriage. Now, tell me, who is this lady like?”
“She is not a lady in the sense we take it as,” Benedict replied. “But in my eyes, she has the comportment of one.”
“Oh,” he said thoughtfully. “That is not as concerning as you might think.”
Benedict’s brows lifted. “You wouldn’t come down on me for possibly marrying a woman from the Gentry?”
“Not as long as she or her family aren’t up to their eyebrows in debt,” Edward replied. “In that case, we might have a discussion.”
“I don’t think so, but the conversation did not stray to fiscal matters,” Benedict said.
Laughing, Edward added, “I would save that conversation for the second meeting.”
“Or the third,” Benedict joked as he donned a looser shirt. “I see you’re out for the Town?”
“I am,” Edward replied. “How are your lectures?”
“Long and tedious enough to make me want to slam my head against my desk,” Benedict muttered. “But I had a paper to write, so I shall be drinking oceans of coffee and burning the midnight oil.”
Lips tilting to the side, Edward replied, “I do not miss those days, let me tell you.”
“Any tips on economics?” Benedict asked dryly.
“Be able to explain the law of supply and demand backward,” Edward responded as he headed out the door. “Is Professor Yates still rambling in hall four?”
“He is.”
“Then you will need it,” Edward laughed his way to the carriage.
“Do you have a minute, Alice dear?”
Seated at her writing desk in the drawing room, Alice glanced up from her book. Her aunt, clad in her thick brocade robe, her hair up in a nightcap, stood at the doorway, a cup of tea in hand.
She didn’t really—she had to find Rutledge again—but she knew she could not deny her aunt, even if it was the tiniest thing; making sure Eliza got a five-minute egg instead of a seven-minute one. She would always say, I’ll have it done, Aunt .
“Yes, aunt,” she said, putting the book down. “How may I help you?”
“It is in regards to Marquess Brampton,” her aunt said, her face bright with expectation and pride. “I was so honored when he chose to stay with you all day and even have you as his partner at dinner. My word, Alice. You have turned the ton on its head.”
No, not yet I haven’t. Not unless he asks me to marry him. Only then will I have turned the ton on its head.
She ducked her head, “Such high praises, Aunt.”
“I mean them dear,” her aunt sounded almost giddy. “A Marquess! In my wildest dreams I would not have imagined you’d gain the eye of such a prestigious lord. You could be the catalyst to push our family as we have so long hoped.”
“His lordship is indeed a very polite man with a lovely sense of humor.”
What she did not say was; he did seem intrigued, but I hope his interest is not passing.
“He stopped you after dinner,” her aunt added. “What did he say?”
“He said he’d had a lovely time and was glad he’d met me,” Alice recalled from thought. “He also said that he had not met a lady like me before and was delighted to know that there were pleasant ladies outside of the Upper Ten.”
Her aunt pressed her hand to her heart. “Such words please my heart.”
Alice tempered her own delight knowing her aunt had to have something more coming.
“I am happy for you dear, I know if your dear mama was alive, she would be overjoyed to know this,” Agatha said. “But my sweet Eliza is despondent. Do you think, if you meet the lord again, that you could direct one of his friends her way? She would love to meet someone as dashing as your friend.”
Of course , Eliza was upset. Why had Alice expected anything else? The girl was inconsolable whenever anyone got something she’d determined was hers. Still, Alice did not dare utter her criticism—and she had many—of her spoiled cousin.
“I hope I will get the chance to,” she said in a half promise.
“Please,” her aunt replied.
“I promise.” Looking pointedly at the bed, Alice turned back to her aunt, “I’ll be retiring now.”
“Oh,” Agatha blinked, once, twice and a third. “Oh, yes, yes. Good night, dear.”
Closing the door after her aunt, she waited until her aunt had left the passageway, then quietly slipped off to Penelope’s room. She found her sister sitting up in bed, her back against a mountain of pillows, nursing a cup of weak tea.
“I hoped you would come to see me,” Penelope whispered. “Today was wonderful. I know you hadn’t gotten to see some of your old friends, but I think the alternative was better.”
Perched on the edge of the bed, Alice smiled. “I had little friends. Those ladies would rather see me on the back of a wagon selling apples and oranges instead of parading down a garden with a wealthy Marquess on my arm.”
Tucking an errant curl back under her silk nightcap, Penelope continued, “He seemed to really like you.”
“He did,” Alice agreed. “I found his company enjoyable too.”
“Eliza was scowling every time you turned your back,” Penelope smiled gently. “Methinks the lady is jealous.”
“I am not surprised,” Alice smiled in return. “But that is not what I came here to talk of. I want you to understand that I have not given up and I will not ever sideline my task of getting Rutledge to do the right thing by you.”
Reaching out, Penelope rested her palm over Alice’s hand, her expression warm and thankful. “I know you will, Alice, and I thank you for it, even though I hate that I had to put you in this position.”
“Nonsense,” Alice shook her head. “I am happy to do so. I do want you to be happy, Elly, that is my sole mission in life. Mother would have wanted it so.”
Wilting back into the pillows, Penelope’s face fell as she twisted the sheets on her lap. “I wish I hadn’t been so foolish and na?ve for that man.”
Though her sister's eyes soon shimmered with tears, not a single drop fell, and Alice knew the pain ran deep. She wished she could truly understand, but having never fallen in love—or even surrendered to the folly of a fleeting infatuation—she could only imagine the depth of betrayal her sister must feel.
It had to hurt to be swooned, used, and discarded like litter. Deep down, Alice knew her sister still felt some feelings toward that roguish man. She prayed she would never feel that way.
“I know, Elly,” she replied, holding back a sigh. “I will fix it, I will think of something. Just wait a while.”
The cloying smell of cheroot smoke forced Edward to find a quiet corner of the billiards room, and while he’d sipped wine, he found his mind straying—for the hundredth time—to the lady in the white mask.
What the devil is it about her?
His fingers itched to find a pencil and start to sketch the lines of her face. Not many knew he had a gift for drawing, and frankly, it was not as usable as business acumen or the skill of negotiation, but now, he had no other way of getting her face out of his mind.
“I knew the ghoul skulking in the dark corner looked familiar,” Felton Harcourt, Viscount of Arlington, drew out a chair, forcing Edward to pull away from his thoughts.
“Well, if it is not the Pink of London,” Edward drawled, reaching for his drink. “How is it that you have not surpassed Brummel by now?”
“I have,” Felton grinned while buffing his nails on his brocade jacket. “Haven’t you read the papers lately?”
“Sadly not,” Edward replied dryly. “I am not interested in politically nuanced drivel, nor eager to read about the newest social scandal.”
“What a shame,” Felton shrugged. “Do I ask why you’re not paying attention? Could it be that the eternal bachelor is now on the marriage mart?”
Snorting derisively, Edward corrected him, “You should know me better than that.”
“So, no wife in the future?” Felton asked, his head cocked to the left. “Paramour? Plaything?”
Brow cocked, Edward said, “Neither. Do you have recommendations?”
“Now, you should know me better than that,” Felton laughed, then gestured for a passing footman to bring him a cup of brandy. “So, have you been around lately? The Season is becoming a hot one.”
“No desire to even try,” he exhaled. “The Season is a farce and I refuse to be a puppet. Meet a lady, take her on chaperoned strolls in the park at the Fashionable Hour so you can feed gossips and cynics.
At balls you must dance no more than twice, or your intention is already made. Suffer through polite conversation with her family over afternoon tea, forcing down tiny triangle sandwiches dryer than sand. All this to marry a woman and have scheduled intimacy on Wednesday nights at nine o’clock, on the hour, so she can bear you heirs.”
Accepting the glass brought to him, Felton added, “You didn’t get to the riveting part, making small talk over coddled eggs and lukewarm tea.”
“Perish the thought,” Edward scoffed. “It is why I prefer my women carnal, experienced, and well-paid.”
Swirling his drink, Felton crossed a leg. “There are whispers, you know. Whispers about your predilection .”
“I like control,” Edward shrugged, while his mind strayed to the lady in the silk mask; and a fantasy played in his head. He could imagine the thick rope crisscrossing Madame Mysterious’ creamy skin.
The positions he could restrain her in keeping her open and wanting… but a part of him knew he would have to fight to get her there—she was a stubborn one, that was evident—and damn if his length didn’t thicken and press on his buff trousers.
If he should cross paths with the lady in the lace mask again, he knew he would have his work cut out for him. Regretfully, he knew he should focus on the task at hand and replace the fantasy of her with the reality of a willing woman.
A hand waving with a glass of brandy drew Edward's attention from his misguided dreams and woe-begotten fantasy.
“Ah, there you are,” Felton’s grin was crooked. “Are you sure that is all you are after?”
“I’ve already made sure my brother is prepared to carry on the bloodline while I try to squeeze every drop of pleasure I can from this dull existence,” Edward finished his drink and set the glass to the side.
“For argument's sake, if you were to marry—”
“I will not.”
“—what would your wife be like?” Felton asked. “What temperament would you prefer? Do you prefer blondes to brunettes? I hear the ones with manes of fire have a temper just like their hair.”
“Stop fishing,” Edward replied.
Felton let out a breath. “I suppose the rumors of you being the Sphinx reincarnated are true. You do not let anyone in, do you?”
“Me?” Edward pressed a hand to his heart, his tone hyperbolic. “ Me ? I am an open book, every passage readable, and very plain in my policies. I am only here to manage the Dukedom until my brother can take over and I will be back to traveling the mainland. There are some parts of Spain I have not touched yet.”
“The country of the women?” Felton grinned.
“There is no separation,” Edward replied, feeling the urge to return home and find that pencil and paper digging into his skin. “Now, if you will excuse me, I think it is time I take my leave.”
Lifting his glass in a mock salute, Felton nodded, “Before I forget, there is a hunting party at Baron Newcastle’s home. You know how it is with him and his scathing satirical take on the Ton’s season and making fun of the men who have chosen to get leg shackled.”
Tucking a finger into the knot of his cravat, Edward nodded, “I’ve been to a few of those, and it slipped my mind this month.”
“So you will be there.”
“I’ll be there.”