Porter opened the front doors to a weary-looking Celia. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and nurse her head. It was aching even worse than it had been this morning. She winced, putting a hand to her throbbing temple.
“Lord Pembrington is in the blue salon, miss. He insisted on waiting for your return.”
The butler’s usually noncommittal voice seemed to hold a faint tone of disapproval, Celia noted as she looked up at him in surprise. What was Lord Pembrington doing here?
“Good lord, what next?” Celia said half under her breath as she untied the ribbons to her bonnet.
“I beg your pardon, miss?” Porter said as they walked toward the blue salon.
“Nothing, Porter.” Celia sighed. “May I give you my bonnet?”
“Of course, miss,” he said, before opening the salon door for her. “May I bring you a cup of tea?”
She smiled wearily at the butler. “Thank you, Porter. A cup of tea would be lovely,” she said before stepping into the blue salon.
Celia found Lord Pembrington pacing the floor and speaking. Curiously, Celia looked around the room to see if Imogene was waiting, too. Seeing no one else, Celia cleared her throat.
“Good afternoon, Lord Pembrington. You wished to see me?”
Pembrington stopped pacing at the sound of her voice, and blushed to the roots of his red hair at having been caught muttering to himself.
“Miss Langston! How good of you to come. I mean, that is, I see you have returned.”
A short silence fell as Celia tried to determine whether Lord Pembrington was foxed. Stepping farther into the room, she said, “Yes, I have returned. Porter said you wished to speak to me?” she repeated.
Moving to stand before her, Lord Pembrington nodded his head vigorously. “Quite so. But you see, when you first came in, I was not really talking to myself. I mean, of course I was speaking You heard me … just practicing. But that is of no import. I came here to talk to you about something else.”
“I gathered that.” Celia was becoming convinced that he truly was in his cups. He had probably wandered into the wrong house and did not know how to extricate himself, she surmised.
“Yes, very important You see, Miss Langston, ever since you came to town, you’ve been all the kick. That is to say …” He began pacing again.
Celia was beginning to feel slightly alarmed.
“What I mean to say …” He tried again. “You are beautiful. Chandley says you are the incomparable of incomparables. Since he feels that way, I thought I should toddle over here first, just in case.”
Celia’s mouth was agape as Pembrington continued.
“And since one doesn’t need to have Severly’s permission … well, you take my meaning.” He stopped pacing the floor long enough to grin at her in a very self-satisfied way.
“I have no idea what you are prattling about, Lord Pembrington. And I am not sure I wish to know,” Celia took a few steps toward the door.
“I see that I have not made myself clear, Miss Langston. I feel … that is, I discussed it with my mother and she agrees that I should bestow … that is, ask for …” He quit speaking and suddenly lunged forward, grabbing her hands in his. “I want you for my wife, Miss Langston.”
Gasping with surprised indignation, Celia struggled to pull her hands free. If this was not the outside of enough! First the horrible scene with the duke this morning, then being forced to attend to Lady Kendall, and now this! She could hardly comprehend that Richard Pembrington was making a complete booby of himself in the middle of the duke’s salon! She gritted her teeth and tugged harder.
“Miss Langston, say you will let me honor you-that is, please honor me with your hand.”
“Let go!” Celia was quivering with anger now. Mustering all her strength, she gave one last pull before resorting to kicking his shins. Her hands were suddenly free, and Pembrington stumbled forward, landing flat on his face on the Oriental carpet. Celia could only stare down at his prone figure in stunned silence.
“ ’Pon rep, Pembrington, I had no notion you were so interested in my rugs.”
Whirling around on her heel, Celia saw Severly and the Earl of Chandley standing in the doorway.
Frozen wide-eyed with mortification, Celia could only guess their thoughts by the expressions on their faces. Chandley’s countenance was easily read, for he was staring down at Pembrington with angry disgust. The duke, leaning casually against the doorjamb, was not so easy to gauge. His expression, except for the slightest twist of a smile, was closed.
Of their own volition, Celia’s hands flew to her flushed cheeks. Her eyes went from Pembrington, who had not moved from his place on the floor, to the two gentlemen sauntering into the room.
What in the world were they doing here? she wondered desperately. And how was this odd scene to be explained?
Pembrington slowly pushed himself up to his knees. He was scowling intensely, and Celia saw that his cheek was red from where his face had hit the floor.
“Zounds! Did you plant him a facer, Miss Langston?” asked Chandley with admiration, for he had also noted the red cheek.
Celia had the most overwhelming urge to laugh hysterically. She could only shake her head, her hands still on her cheeks.
By now, Pembrington was on his feet. Glowering at Chandley, he said, “No, she did not hit me. I merely slipped and fell.” He straightened his jacket and began brushing off his knees.
Celia could feel the duke’s eyes upon her. Desperately, she cast around for something to say, and could think of nothing. This ridiculous encounter had occurred so quickly, she wasn’t even sure what exactly had happened.
Severly’s languid gaze went to Pembrington. With a raised brow he waited for the young wastrel to give an account of himself.
Feeling like a butterfly pinned to a board, Pembrington cleared his throat several times before attempting to speak. “I was just asking … er … I wished to speak to Miss—”
At that moment, Porter entered the room carrying the tea service.
With relief flooding her heart, Celia finally found her voice. “Here is the tea! Porter, you may serve the gentlemen. I am sure they have much to say to each other, and as I am feeling rather fatigued I shall leave them in peace.”
Porter nodded his understanding to Miss Langston and wondered why she was saying all this to him.
With a shallow curtsy, Celia quickly left the room, not caring what any of them thought of her. She was halfway up the staircase when she heard Imogene call to her.
“Celia, what in the world is going on?” Imy called, walking up the stairs toward her friend.
“Oh, Imogene, I cannot begin to tell you how odious this day has been,” Celia began, as they continued to ascend the stairs.
Meanwhile, in the blue salon, Severly and Chandley were still eyeing Lord Pembrington. After throwing a harried glance to the butler, Pembrington gave up. With a churlish look to the other men he muttered, “I have nothing to say and will take my leave.”
Without another word he left Severly House before Porter could get the door.
“Well,” Chandley said, “that was devilish queer.”
“Indeed,” responded the duke coolly. “I wonder if the offense of being a ninny is enough cause to call him out.”
“In Pembrington’s case, it is more than enough,” Chandley responded. Porter offered the gentlemen tea.
“May I offer you something stronger than tea, Chandley?” The duke gestured to his liquor cabinet.
“Yes, I believe I am in need,” Chandley replied.
Porter instantly procured a bottle of whiskey. The two gentlemen raised their glasses in a silent toast.
Severly had to own that young Chandley had certainly gone up in his estimation this afternoon. Earlier, while the duke was taking Blackwind for a bruising run through Regent’s Park, he had scarcely noticed another rider bearing down upon him. It wasn’t until the other horse was abreast of his that the duke slowed to a trot. Severly had been in no mood to talk, but his innate good manners made him rein in his horse and greet the Earl of Chandley.
I say, Severely,” the younger man began a little breathlessly, “I hope I’m not overstepping, but I have need to speak to you.”
Severly had gritted his teeth in an effort to control his tongue. If this were another buck hinting at offering for Celia, he would be hard-put not to be rude.
After the duke nodded for the younger man to proceed, Chandley said, “Was just at my club and encountered Pembrington. Not to tell tales, but he was already a bit over the boughs.”
This statement had caught the duke’s attention.
”Well, he was prattling on about making Miss Langston an offer. Said you weren’t her guardian and he was going right over to Severly House. Heard him give his coachman your direction.” He paused a moment. “It would not at all be the thing for Miss Langston to be embarrassed. And with Pembrington being halfway foxed …” His voice trailed away.
I take your meaning,” the duke had said, swinging his mount around. “Would you care to accompany me, Chandley?” He made this offer out of sheer politeness.
“If you’ll permit, your grace,” the earl had replied.
The last thing Severly had contemplated happening, as he and Chandley rode posthaste back to Severly House, was to find Pembrington laid out on the rug, Severly recalled with a grim smile.
Now, standing in the middle of his salon having a drink with Chandley, the duke pondered the disturbing question of Miss Langston.
The assembly rooms at Almack’s were prodigiously warm. Celia fanned her flushed cheeks vigorously as she stood with Imogene and Major Rotham at the edge of the parquet floor.
So this was the much-vaunted Almack’s, she thought as she gazed around the rather plain room. Granted, those assembled were the crème de la crème of the beau monde. Everywhere she looked she saw beautiful ladies with bare shoulders and gentlemen in black satin knee britches.
As they made their way around the room, Celia smiled at those who greeted her, unable to be heard well enough to converse through the waves of laughing chatter around her.
Almack’s was not at all what Celia had been anticipating.
“I do not believe that Miss Langston is properly awed by Almack’s,” Major Rotham said to Imy with a grin.
“No, indeed, David. Celia, don’t you think this is the most beautiful place in London?” she asked with a mischievous smile to her friend.
“I will admit that for a place I’ve heard described as the zenith of society and the seventh heaven, this is not what I expected,” Celia admitted with chagrin.
“If you are not impressed with the decor, you will be even less so with the refreshments,” Major Rotham said with a laugh.
Celia looked upon her friend’s smiling face and couldn’t help wondering when they would marry. It was obvious to her that Imy was in love with the major. And looking at the major’s handsome face smiling down at Imy, he had probably never been out of love with the beautiful duchess.
Knowing how much it meant to Imogene for Celia to have received her voucher made Celia determined to behave in a manner above reproach. During the coach ride over, Imogene had cautioned Celia about the patronesses who ruled Almack’s with iron fists.
No one, despite rank or wealth is permitted to enter Almack’s a minute after eleven o’clock,” Imy informed.
Even the Duke of Wellington was turned away when he begged entrance after eleven.”
Celia also knew that the patronesses could be terribly censorious. They were not beneath using their influence to blackball from the hallowed halls of the most exclusive club in London anyone who displeased them.
At that moment, Sir John Mayhew approached her and claimed his dance, expressing in his drawling tones that she had never been in better looks.
Smiling at the very slim gentleman, Celia beseeched, “Oh, Sir John, I find I am quite fatigued by the last reel. Would you mind attending me while I catch my breath?”
“At your service, Miss Langston. I would gladly bask in your stimulating presence, dancing or no,” he said with a flourishing bow.
Within moments, Celia saw the Earl of Chandley making his way through the crowd toward her. Trying to steel her emotions, Celia gave Imy a look of panic.
“Do not fret, Celia; just remember what I said yesterday,” Imy whispered her encouragement.
Yesterday. Celia would rather not be forced to think of that horrid day. After she had told Imy of the whole sorry incident with Lord Pembrington, Celia had asked in distress, “How can I ever face Chandley again? How am I to explain?”
When Imogene had finished laughing, she brushed a tear away and said, “There is no need to explain, Celly, dear. The earl shall never mention the incident; nor shall Drake. Needless to say, Lord Pembrington has no desire to bring it up. So in public, behave as if the whole silly thing never occurred,” she explained. “But in private I shall endeavor to mention your first proposal as often as possible,” she teased, setting off into gales of laughter all over again.
Continuing to keep the polite smile on her lips, Celia met the earl’s smiling blue eyes with some trepidation.
“Miss Langston, your servant.” He made an elegant leg before her. Celia instantly relaxed and greeted him as naturally as she could.
Celia stood trying to converse with the gentlemen as she allowed her eyes to scan the room for a certain dark head and broad shoulders. There was no sign of Severly.
The strain of trying to keep up this polite chatter so set her nerves on edge that Celia considered feigning illness. Just as quickly, she dismissed the notion, knowing Imy would insist on returning home with her. Celia could not bear to cut short the evening for her friend. Imy was so proud of her. She could hardly hide her triumph over Celly’s rapidly filling dance card.
But Celia could find no satisfaction in the number of her admirers this evening. The duke had made good on his promise to avoid her, for she had not encountered him since she had escaped the blue salon yesterday afternoon.
Of their own volition, her eyes again scanned the crowded room, and her gaze clashed with a pair of china-blue eyes. Lady Kendall, standing nearby, was staring at Celia with narrowed eyes and excited, flushed cheeks.
Celia immediately looked away. Celia had no desire to risk a repetition of the embarrassingly personal conversation they had had at Kensington Gardens. If she hadn’t been so distracted, Celia might have wondered over Lady Kendall’s curious behavior. But she was much too occupied with her own disturbing thoughts and trying to attend to the many attentive gentlemen hovering around to take real note of anyone else.
Forcing her gaze to the earl’s face, Celia pushed thoughts of the duke from her mind for the tenth time of the evening.
At that moment, the noisy chatter in the assembly room reduced by half and all heads turned to the doors.
The Duke of Severly, with a grim expression on his face, made his entrance.
Celia’s heart leaped at the sight of him. Fanning herself vigorously, she came to a difficult decision: She was going to apologize to him as soon as he asked her to dance. After much reflection, she had come to realize that she had deeply insulted him with her accusations of his heartlessness toward her when she had been younger. Now, reflecting upon the past with the eyes of an adult, she could see that she had been mistaken about him. He had not intended for Imy to put her out, and she had been childish to harbor such grievances all these years.
She still refused to examine the kiss that had transpired between them at Chandley, but she was determined to do what she could to put their friendship back on the former easy footing they had established since coming to London. Celia watched him make his way through the crowded room.
He looked in her direction and she gave him a tentative smile. His gaze passed over her coldly. Celia barely suppressed a gasp. He had snubbed her. He must hate her for what she had said to him, she realized with a numbing pain in her heart. A welcome wave of shock rolled over the pain that gripped her chest. She blindly turned to Sir Belford as he claimed her hand for a country reel.
Lady Kendall had also noticed Drake’s arrival.
Handing her glass to a passing footman, she approached a small group of her intimates with an unflattering set to her jaw. Calling a gay greeting, she said, “Lady Baldridge! Lady Pembrington! I have the most shocking news. You must swear not to breathe a word.” The ladies immediately ceased their own conversations and gathered around the countess in excited anticipation.
“We have all been duped!” Letty made her eyes go very wide. “I have it on the most reliable authority that our delightful Miss Langston is not what she appears to be.”
“She’s not an heiress?” Lady Pembrington asked urgently, the green plumes in her turban dancing. She had not spoken with her son since he had informed her of his intention to ask Miss Langston for her hand. “It would be vey distressing if she were not an heiress.”
“No, she is an heiress.” Lady Kendall paused dramatically. “But before she received her inheritance, she was the Duchess of Harbrooke’s paid companion.“
After a moment of complete silence, the small group gasped and tittered at this most delicious gossip.
“No, you must be mistaken!”
“Are you very sure, Lady Kendall?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she said haughtily, “I have it firsthand. She has only recently come into her inheritance.” Lady Kendall was not quite as confident as she sounded. Her information regarding Miss Langston’s past was sketchy at best. When Sophie, her maid, had come home from Severly House with this tale, and the news that Miss Langston would be at Almack’s, Letty knew she could not possibly pass up such a perfect opportunity to expose the chit.
Letty felt incredible pleasure at the avid expressions surrounding her. She had been so pleased with her maid; she had even given the young woman a few of her old gowns. What a stroke of luck that Sophie’s cousin had become Miss Langston’s lady’s maid.
By the knowing looks her friends were exchanging, Letty was confident that the information would be heard by all the ton within half an hour. And soon, Miss Langston would be held in such contempt no one would deign to speak to her, Lady Kendall’s thoughts continued gleefully.
A short time later, as she stood conversing with Lady Jersey and Imogene, Celia suddenly noticed some odd looks cast her way. A few ladies even seemed to be whispering and giggling in her direction. The Countess of Milfordhaven approached them, apologizing profusely, but insisting she must speak with Lady Jersey. The two women went off with their heads close together.
Imogene turned questioning eyes to her friend, wondering if Celia had an idea as to why they suddenly seemed to be the object of speculation. Celia gave a helpless shrug to Imy’s unspoken question.
A moment later, they were set upon by Lady Cowper and a few of her acid-tongued cronies.
“La, the Duchess of Harbrooke and Miss Langston, what a delightful sight the two of you make. So companionable!” The ladies tripped off with gales of laughter. Celia and Imy looked after them in surprised confusion.
The orchestra opened a quadrille, and Celia unexpectedly found herself partnerless. She gazed around the assemblage trying to hide her growing confusion and embarrassment. She avoided the knowing looks as best she could. What could explain this odd turn of events? Could they be following the duke’s example? She knew he was a leader of Society—where he went others did also. It seemed the only explanation to this mystery.
She wanted to leave. Being stared at and whispered about was unnerving in the extreme.
She turned to Imy, ready to express her desire, when Lady Kendall approached. By now, a large number of people were paying close attention to Miss Langston.
Watching her mischief at work, Letty had grown triumphant in the last half hour. She was delighted that Severly had not gone near Miss Langston since his arrival. Half of those assembled seemed to be watching in curious anticipation as Lady Kendall greeted the duchess and Miss Langston. After a few stilted pleasantries, Letty turned sweet eyes to the duchess.
“I’ve been hoping to ask your advice, ma’am.”
“Certainly,” Imy said graciously, trying to hide her suspicion.
“You seem to have such luck in finding good help.” She looked pointedly to Celia. “How would you advise I go about finding a good lady’s companion?” Those nearest them gasped and goggled. Letty was a bold one indeed.
The murmuring grew.
Westlake, who was standing near enough to hear this exchange, turned away angrily to seek out Severly.
He found him playing cards in an antechamber. After catching Severly’s eye, Westlake gave him a significant look and tilted his head toward the door. Momentarily, Severly excused himself from the game.
“Severly,” Westlake began as soon as they were private, “I’ve grown to admire your Miss Langston. Her poise is to be commended.”
“She is not my Miss Langston,” Drake responded in a tight voice, wondering what his friend was about.
“Be that as it may, she is a guest in your home. You have not danced with your guest this evening, and that curious fact has added credence to the rumor that is now circulating the assembly rooms.”
“What are you speaking of?” the duke said irritably, running impatient fingers through his thick hair. He wondered why he had stirred himself to attend this evening. He had always found Almack’s a dead bore.
“Miss Langston is now the object of vicious gossip. It is rumored that she has been trying to pass herself off as a lady. Everyone is giving her the cut direct and whispering. Lady Kendall had just asked your sister her advice on finding a good lady’s companion. Your sudden inattention toward Miss Langston seems to confirm these rumors.” Westlake spoke casually, as if he were discussing the latest play.
Severly stared at his friend in growing comprehension. “Devil take it,” he said in a growl, striding out of the room. Once he reached the ballroom it took only a moment to take in the situation. There was an odd hush over the guests, and his sister’s face was frozen in a polite, dignified mask. Letty’s chin was thrust up in a haughty tilt, and even at this distance he could see the gleam of malicious triumph in her blue eyes.
Celia was speaking to the young Earl of Chandley. Severly was grimly pleased to see she had not been completely abandoned.
The duke watched as Chandley led Celia out to the opening strains of a reel. Severly moved to his sister’s side, trying to force the scowl from his face.
“Severly!” Letty twittered when she saw him. “Shame on you! There are not enough gentlemen who dance well, and you go off to play cards. Why, poor Miss Langston has only had one dance in the last five.” Her laugh was delighted.
At that moment Severly could not comprehend why he’d ever found Leticia Kendall attractive. He liked gold-brown hair not blond. He wanted to look into brownish green eyes that tilted up, not childishly wide blue ones.
“There must indeed be a shortage of gentlemen, for I would dance with Miss Langston every dance if she would consent.” He turned to his sister and offered his arm, ignoring the shocked gasps of those near enough to have heard his comment.
Leading his sister to a pair of empty chairs, Severly quietly asked, “How bad is it?”
Imogene sighed dejectedly. “Rather bad. None of the patronesses has actually snubbed her yet, but everyone is talking and staring. Drake, this is awful. Celia shall be so hurt if all the friends she had begun to make now turn,” she whispered, hoping she did not look as upset as she felt.
“Don’t worry, Imy. The situation can be salvaged.”
“How?” she asked doubtfully.
“Leave it to me and keep your chin up. And do not leave for at least an hour,” he ordered.
The beau monde was treated to an evening of many surprises. Speculation grew to enormous proportions at the sight of the elusive Duke of Severly watching Miss Langston with a frankly admiring gaze. He could barely pull his eyes from her when someone spoke to him.
The room was abuzz when the very fickle Duke of Westlake danced with her twice and seemed to hang on her every word. It could barely be believed when Westlake asked her for an unprecedented third dance, which Miss Langston demurely declined.
The Earl of Chandley also asked Celia for a second dance, and still, Severly stayed on the side, casually leaning against a wall, with his eyes never leaving Miss Langston’s graceful form.
Lady Jersey, one of the most redoubtable patronesses of Almack’s, had been watching this scandal brewing and could not stand another moment of ignorance. Having been on good terms with Severly for years, she took matters into her own hands.
Marching across the assembly room, with most of the eyes of the ton upon her, Lady Jersey called a greeting to the duke.
After dispensing with the necessary social patter as quickly as possible, Lady Jersey got to the point. “Now, Severly, there seems to be something havey-cavey afoot. Why have we not seen Miss Langston in town before?”
Severly pulled his eyes from Miss Langston to give Lady Jersey a very out-of-character sheepish look.
“Naturally, I’ve been protective of Miss Langston. Having watched her grow from a sweet girl to a beautiful young woman, I was not eager to see her pursued by every buck in town, so I have always discouraged the idea of a London Season.”
Turning his eyes back to Celia, the duke continued with this unprecedented speech. “But Celia … er … Miss Langston, like most young ladies, would not hear of settling down until she had her trip to London. I am sure you understand this desire,” he finished, giving Lady Jersey one of his rare and charming smiles.
Nonplussed at these unexpected revelations, Lady Jersey, for once, was speechless. The high and mighty Duke of Severly had practically declared his intentions toward the mysterious Miss Langston, and it appeared, at least according to the duke, that Miss Langston was not in any hurry to bring him to scratch.
Before the avidly curious Lady Jersey could ask another question, Severly begged her pardon, gave the lady a courtly bow, and sauntered across the hall to gain a closer vantage point of Miss Langston.
Within half an hour, Severly felt the tide turning. Many of the people who had been watching Celia began to turn speculative eyes toward Lady Kendall.
Everyone knew the countess and Severly had been having an affair. Could Letty, in a jealous fit, have started the rumors to discredit Miss Langston? A new speculation grew.
During the orchestra’s intermission, Severly approached Celia, who was standing near the refreshments table with Imy. It did not matter if she accepted or declined his request for a dance; either way, it fit into his plan to discredit the rumor circulating the room. Celia’s guarded eyes met his in a question.
“May I have the honor of the next waltz, Miss Langston?” His tone was deeply gentle.
For an instant, Celia found herself about to say yes. “I’m sorry, your grace, I am quite fatigued,” Celia said with dignity, moving to his sister’s side.
It spread like wildfire through the assemblage that Miss Langston had actually declined to dance with the Duke of Severly.
No one could recall that ever happening.
“A mere lady’s companion could not be so confident,” opined Lady Jersey to Princess Esterhazy, after recounting her conversation with the duke. “Lady Kendall must know that she is losing her thrall over the duke.”
Lady Cowper nodded her agreement. “Out of jealousy she obviously spread this vicious gossip. Why, Westlake has known Miss Langston for years. He would not dance attendance on a mere servant.”
Desperately wondering how her plan had gone wrong, Letty cast about for a way to save her dignity. Placing herself in the duke’s path proved futile. He never asked her to dance. Soon, she became so discomfited with the attention she was receiving, she angrily called for her carriage.
In her distress, Celia was unaware of the changes in the demeanor of the other guests. She had no idea how she was going to get through the remainder of the evening. To her mortification, she had somehow been found out, and she just wanted to leave. The minutes creaked along with agonizing slowness. With each passing moment her distress grew.
Even people Celia had never met were approaching, just to give her the cut direct.
Unbeknownst to her, Celia’s inner anxiety showed outwardly as icy calm, impressing a number of the ton, even as they savored the delicious gossip.
When Chandley returned her to Imogene after dancing a minuet, Celia turned to her friend and said in a tightly controlled voice, “If it’s convenient, Imy, I would like to leave.”
“Of course, we may go now.” Imy frowned in concern over Celia’s pale face.
The ride home was silent, for Imogene truly did not know what to say to her friend.
Upon arriving at Severly House, Celia quickly ascended the staircase and gained her room. Dismissing Dora as soon as she helped her disrobe, Celia sat at her dressing table, feeling strangely emotionless. The tears that had been threatening to fall for the last two hours had somehow dried up, and she was left with the crystal-clear knowledge that she was in love with the duke.
She also knew that she could not stand another day in London.