An hour before the promised ride, Celia was in her room agonizing over what to wear. Dora, Mrs. Chambers’s niece and Celia’s newly appointed lady’s maid, had been pulling out one ensemble after another for Celia’s approval. Celia was in the process of tossing yet another gown onto her already burdened bed when Imogene entered, looking fresh as spring in an apple-green dress with matching bonnet and parasol.
“Celly! You aren’t dressed? Drake will be here shortly and he hates to keep his cattle standing,” she admonished, staring at the pile of gowns on the bed.
“I know, I know! I can’t decide what to wear.” Celia felt panicked by her indecision. Never had she had to decide between even two gowns, nonetheless a dozen.
“You goose! Anything you own looks as if it just arrived from Paris. Here, this dark pink gown with the pretty bows on the pelisse is very smart. Dora, please locate the fawn-colored bonnet and gloves I remember arriving with this ensemble, and help Miss Langston dress. We mustn’t keep Drake waiting,” she said pointedly to Celia.
A little while later Celia calmly descended the stairs in the rose-colored gown and pelisse. As she pulled on the fawn kid gloves she wondered how she could have overlooked this lovely confection.
The duke was waiting for them in the circular drive, controlling a pair of jet-black high-steppers. He handed the reins to a groom and stepped agilely from the vehicle to help his sister alight, and then he turned to Celia.
He noted her hair, swept back into a chignon with tendrils framing her face beneath her smart new bonnet. She bore little resemblance to the badly dressed young woman he had encountered at Harbrooke Hall. She even carried herself differently. Edna Forbisher had been right: clothes did give a woman confidence. Celia appeared a beautiful, poised young lady. He felt an odd pang somewhere near his heart because he knew how deceiving appearances could be. Miss Langston was still the shy, green governess who had never been more than a few miles from sleepy little Harford until a few weeks ago.
Logically, Severly knew it would be ludicrous for her to go on as if nothing had happened to change her life. Few young, unmarried women found themselves the possessor of such fortunes. So there really was only one thing for her to do—enter Society and find a husband who could take proper care of her and keep her away from fortune hunters. This thought brought a cynical quirk to his well-shaped mouth.
He knew the ton well enough to know that the sudden appearance of an extremely wealthy and unknown woman would cause a stir. Everyone would be politely trying to find out everything about her. If she would meet personal questions with a lofty stare and a short response, she’d get by, he concluded. From personal experience, he knew that she should have no trouble with giving a short response.
A wave of shyness engulfed Celia as she stood before the duke’s direct and disturbing gaze. As he towered over her, she fussed with her reticule nervously.
“May I compliment you on your excellent taste, Miss Langston? I confess that I have been admiring each new ensemble more than the last,” he praised in his deep voice.
It was exactly what she needed to hear, and she smiled up at him, though still unable to meet his gaze.
“Thank you, your grace. I confess I’ve been enjoying the shops of London prodigiously,” she said demurely as he handed her into the phaeton.
The duke’s deep laughter set the horses to dancing.
As he tooled the phaeton through the streets of London, Severly contemplated his plan to launch Celia into Society. He had already decided to introduce her to a few of his particular friends. Rotham she already knew, and that would help. He had also decided to take one more friend into his confidence. The duke knew that if he and the Duke of Westlake paid Celia the mildest of attention she would soon be the biggest rage London had seen in years. Westlake, though a rake and deep gambler like Severly, could still be counted on to be a gentleman with a lady. They’d been close friends ever since school days, and Drake trusted him completely. In fact, he was the only person, other than Rotham, whom he trusted with the true circumstances of Celia’s situation.
Hyde Park was bright with spring flowers and crowded with everyone who was anyone in the beau monde.
From the moment they entered Rotten Row, Celia became fully aware of the esteem in which the Duke of Severly and the Duchess of Harbrooke were held. More than once, the duke had to use the excuse of his restless horses to move forward several yards, only to be hailed again by another acquaintance hoping for a few words.
“Lady Tayborne, I do not believe you have met my dear friend Miss Langston, visiting us from Harford,” called Imogene to a thin matron in brown.
“Sir Mayhew, have you met Miss Langston? She is my dearest friend visiting us from Harford.”
To Celia’s amused surprise she found herself the recipient of much avid curiosity. She had the odd feeling this was happening to someone else and she was just an observer, enjoying the novelty of all the attention. The word spread quickly that Severly was on the scene escorting his sister and a lovely, exquisitely dressed young lady whom no one seemed to be acquainted with. The crowd around the phaeton grew. Not a few hopeful mamas were brought to near panic at the thought of some unknown chit stealing the elusive duke before they could bring him to heel for their unmarried daughters.
“Who is she?” Everyone seemed to be asking this question.
Celia suppressed a startled laugh when a dandy in a bright green-and-pink-striped waistcoat pulled his conveyance alongside the duke’s. In a very deliberate manner, he raised a monocle to his eye, examined her for a moment, and pronounced in a drawling tone, “Charming.”
Another fop had shirt collars so high that Celia wondered how he could turn his head without poking his eye out. Glancing to the other side of the conveyance, Celia admired the way Severly’s gray-blue coat fit snugly to his shoulders. There was almost a military cut to his clothing, which showed his tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped frame to advantage. She could never imagine him sporting such silly and extreme fashions.
The carriage pulled forward, but once again they were hailed, and the duke reined in his horses.
“Oh, dear! Lady Pembrington is coming straight for us!” Imogene whispered quickly to Celia. “She is one of my mama-in-law’s cronies. We’ll just have to play it off, Celly. I have already written Alice explaining everything, so she’ll be up to scratch if questioned.”
Celia nodded her understanding quickly and tried to smile confidently as the carriage pulled up next to the duke’s.
“My dearest Duchess of Harbrooke! How vey delightful to see you!” Lady Pembrington, dressed in scads of orange satin, possessed a booming voice and an open curricle upholstered in deep red leather. Her gargantuan bright orange and beplumed bonnet proved quite the most absurd thing Celia had seen all day.
“I was just saying to dear Richard, my dear son,” she went on loudly, “how vey, vey delighted I was to see that the Duchess of Harbrooke shall be attending my little ball come Friday. So vey delighted.” She fairly shouted this last to a politely smiling Imogene before Celia could be presented.
“And here is your dear brother! How vey delightful! One never knows where he shall pop up. Maybe you, my dear Duchess, can prod him into making an appearance at my little ball. Not that he can be led, I’m sure, dear boy.” Her laugh was so loud that a number of fashionables turned to attend the situation.
“Knew he’d be a dasher from the start!” Lady Pembrington said, waving her parasol at the duke, who only gazed at the lady imperiously. She continued, “I wonder if your dearest mother-in-law shall attend? But la! Last I heard from Alice she was vey delighted with Brighton.”
Celia stared in fascination at Lady Pembrington, amazed that she could say so much without ever drawing a new breath.
Imogene finally wedged a word in and introduced Celia.
Lady Pembrington eyed Celia as if she had suddenly sprung whole from the seat cushions.
“How vey delightful! Miss Langston, you say? Langston, Langston …” She tapped the side of the curricle with her parasol. “I don’t believe I’m acquainted with your family,” she stated curiously, making note of the chit’s chic clothing and elegant posture.
“The baron, her uncle, is settled in Northumberland. Not fond of town life, you know. I’m sure my mother-in-law must have mentioned Miss Langston. After all, Celia has lived at Harbrooke Hall for the last ten years, since her parents passed away,” Imogene rattled on a little nervously, lest Lady Pembrington question her further. But the duke’s consequence was such that Lady Pembrington suddenly seemed to recall Miss Langston’s being mentioned.
“Miss Langston! Of course! How vey delightful to finally make your acquaintance! If I had but known that you would be visiting I would have sent along an invitation to my little ball. How remiss of Alice not to mention it. Any friend of the dear duchess must, of course, be happily welcomed by me! I would be vey delighted if you would join us at my little ball on Friday.” She took Celia’s acceptance as a matter of course and waved her good-byes as she spied another person she wished to speak to and drove away. Celia’s and Imogene’s eyes met in silent laughter and relief. Celia could not recall ever having so much fun.
After making a little progress, Severly again stopped the carriage. He caught Celia’s attention and introduced an elegantly attired gentleman astride a black horse.
“You remember the Duke of Westlake, Miss Langston?” Severly asked with a significant look and a raised brow. “I believe you met some years ago.”
Celia was nonplussed at this unexpected address and for a moment couldn’t think of a thing to say. Evidently the Duke of Westlake had no such lapse. Even though seated on a horse, he still managed a courtly bow. He was an exceedingly handsome man with very dark hair and green-gray eyes, and Celia thought him almost as dashing as Severly.
“Your servant, Miss Langston. How very pleased I am to meet you again. It has been two, maybe three years since we last met?” He spoke easily and sincerely, and the little crowd that had gravitated around the duke’s carriage gaped and murmured. First Severly and now Westlake! The two most sought-after men in London both claimed an acquaintance with the mysterious beauty. Neither of the men was noted for dealing with any female who wasn’t married, a widow, or an opera dancer. So the mood of curiosity among the onlookers grew to an almost frenzied pitch. Imogene gave Celia a discreet nudge.
“Er … three, I believe, your grace. How lovely to see you again. And may I ask after your family?” Celia said in a rush, throwing the last bit in for good measure.
He grinned wickedly. “Mama is fit as a fiddle, and my sister has just recently been delivered of another baby girl.”
“Goodness! And how many does that make now?” she asked, following his lead, smiling into his lazy eyes.
“Three, to Charlie’s despair. He’s already looking about for husbands for them. How are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Langston?” he asked in a most engaging manner, his eyes sliding to his old friend, who was gazing at Miss Langston with a mixture of pride and concern.
Earlier in the day, Westlake had encountered his old friend at Waiter’s, their club. While they were seated comfortably in deep armchairs, sipping brandy, Severly asked him in confidence to acknowledge a friend of his sister’s.
“Just a quirk of your brow should be enough to set her up for the season, Drake. Why do you need my nod also?” Westlake asked curiously. He had never known his friend to show partial attention to any female, even his mistresses. Drake then explained the highly unusual circumstances in which Miss Langston found herself. There was no need for Drake to request Westlake’s silence on the matter.
“She’s my sister’s closest confidante and a bit lacking in town polish. Imogene insists that I help, and there really is nothing else for it; you know how sisters are. I thought the more arsenal backing her, the better,” he drawled, taking another sip of his drink. Of course Westlake had agreed; the whole thing rather amused him. Besides, a gentleman never let down a friend.
Now, looking at the lovely face and figure of Miss Langston, Westlake found himself wondering if it was only at his sister’s urging that Drake had roused himself to lend the girl an air of consequence. After exchanging a few more pleasantries with the two ladies, Westlake took himself off, but not before cutting a knowing grin to Severly.
The duke continued to tool the phaeton along Rotten Row, stopping the carriage for a few more notables, before deciding to return to Severly House. Celia was extremely relieved that this first trial was over. She hoped she would remember the names of all the people she had met, in case she should meet them again.
“What a charming man the Duke of Westlake is,” Celia said to Imogene as they left the park. The duke snorted derisively.
“Yes, he is. But Drake, I thought that no one was to know of Celly’s situation,” Imy questioned her frowning brother.
“Besides Rotham, Alex is the only person I would trust with this. I think with this strategy Miss Langston will find her entry into Society an easier path,” he stated firmly.
Celia looked at his carved profile as he expertly guided the horses around a corner. It really was too kind of him and Imy to go to so much bother for her. Her heart swelled with gratitude. She vowed to do nothing that could cause them any embarrassment.