Page 4 of The Duke of Seduction
Sarah looked at her intently. “And what is that?”
“To fall in love like my sister. To find a man who will look at me the way West—His Grace—looks at her.” There was a wistful quality to her voice that Lavinia recognized.
“I think we all want that,” Lavinia said with a half smile. For some inexplicable reason, she thought of Lord Northam. He was such a terrible rake. Did he want that? Or was he content to carry on temporary love affairs that likely had nothing to do with falling in love?
Sarah pivoted toward Fanny. “If you’re hoping to fall in love, you may need to choose different friends. We aren’t often asked to dance or promenade. As, Lavinia said, we’re wallflowers.”
“Well, I shall say just two things on that subject,” Fanny said authoritatively. “One, I said I didn’t want different friends, and I meant it. If you turn me away, it will be very cruel of you.” She flashed a smile to show that she didn’t think they would actually do that, and of course, they wouldn’t ever. “Second, as I am ahorrendousdancer, it’s perhaps best that I align myself with people who don’t dance.”
This sent them all into a burst of laughter until Lavinia’s eye caught a swirl of dark pink skirt nearby. She lifted her gaze and squinted at Lady Fairwell strolling past with another woman, their heads bent together in conversation.
As Lavinia watched them, she realized she hadn’t told Sarah—and now Fanny—about her encounter with Northam. They’d simply been talking about other things, she told herself. She could mention it now.
His words came back to her as well as her response that she didn’t like gossip. She’d never considered sharing information with her confidantes to be gossip, but Northam had expressed his desire that she not say anything. And she was a woman of honor. Or at least she tried to be.
Besides, there really wasn’t anything to tell. She’d watched him extricate himself from Lady Fairwell’s embrace. Then Lavinia had traded barbs with him. More accurately, she’d tossed barbs and he’d flirted. And he’d caught her in his arms. He’d also kissed her neck. A flush crept over her skin as she recalled the touch of his lips upon her flesh. She’d been kissed by the alluring Marquess of Northam. And she wasn’t going to tell a soul.
“What sort of man would write poems about young women?” Sarah was asking as Lavinia sought to reenter the conversation after falling down a rabbit hole in her mind. It was, unfortunately, a rather common hazard, and one she’d become good at compensating for.
“It should have been a scandal,” Lavinia said, as if she hadn’t just gathered enough wool to outfit an entire regiment.
Sarah nodded in agreement, a dark curl brushing her temple. “And yet it wasn’t.”
“I daresay because his words were so lovely.”
“And while they are clearly specific to his subject, he doesn’t seem to be an intimate,” Sarah said. “All the women he’s written of have indicated they don’t know who he is either. And clearly, he didn’t want them for himself; otherwise, he would have made himself known.”
He appeared to want to cast a glow on those who’d been relegated to the shelf, or almost anyway. Lavinia had met Miss Berwick, his first subject. And while they weren’t close friends, Lavinia knew she was twenty-six years old and that her parents had decided not to press her on the Marriage Mart this Season. Miss Berwick was not a great beauty, and she was bookish and quiet. She seemed destined to be a governess. Until the Duke of Seduction had made her the most popular woman in London last fall. While Lavinia and Sarah had been at a house party, Miss Berwick had vaulted into the realm of the Untouchables. In January, she’d wed a widowed earl and become an instant mother to his two small children. She was, as evidenced by the thank-you letter she’d addressed to the Duke of Seduction and had published in theMorning Chronicle, ecstatically happy.
And now Lavinia had gathered enough wool to clothe a second regiment. She forced herself back to the conversation.
“Well, he must be a kind-hearted soul, if nothing else,” Fanny said. “What do you think he is, Lavinia?”
“Do you mean who?”
Sarah let out a short laugh. “I’m afraid she drifted off, Fanny. She does that sometimes.” She turned to Lavinia. “We were pondering what sort of man he must be. Is he married? We decided that was doubtful, and yet he seems to have experienced love. We suspect a widower. And perhaps older. I would guess forty at least. He seems to have a wisdom younger bucks don’t.”
“Your deduction is sound,” Lavinia said. “If he’s a widower who’s loved before, one might think he’d try to find love again. Why not court one of these young women he’s singled out?”
Fanny tapped her finger against her chin. “An excellent question. Perhaps he doesn’t think he can find love a second time.”
“Or perhaps he’s still so in love with his deceased wife that he simply can’t love another.” Sarah looked between them with a glazed expression.
“The excessively romantic tone of his poems certainly supports that,” Lavinia said.
Fanny’s lips tipped into a smile. “Perhaps he’ll write a poem about one of you.”
Sarah laughed, but Lavinia cringed inwardly. “I think that level of scrutiny might be rather unsettling.” If she were to garner the focus of Society, she’d rather it be about something worthwhile, such as a geologic discovery, rather than whom she might or might not marry. “It’s not going to happen, in any case. No, I think we’re on our own, Sarah.”
“Probably,” she agreed with a sigh. “By Season’s end, we’ll be wed—or on our way to the altar—or we’ll officially be spinsters.”
Right now, Lavinia wasn’t sure which she preferred.
* * *
William Beckett, Marquess of Northam, stared at the closed door for a moment before turning to survey the library in the hope that Lord Evenrude kept a bottle of whisky. Seeing none, Beck’s gaze fell on the book the mystery woman had discarded on the settee.
Circling around the piece of furniture, he plucked it up and read the spine.The Geologic History of Cornwall. What sort of young woman read such a thing?
