“If Lady Hester finds out we’ve had a cozy gatherin’ wi’out her, she’ll, well, she’ll no’ show it in front o’ us, but she’ll be upset and I canna bear it.”
“Jenny.”
Sibyl, Lady Lloyd, and Meg, Countess Etranger, cried out at Jenny More with such exasperation she cringed in her favorite amaranthus pink brocade chair.
Meg and Sibyl were sisters who had once lived at 7B Mayfair Square. The impoverished orphan daughters of the Reverend Smiles—late of Puckly Hinton in the Cotswolds—remained the unspoiled women their father brought them up to be, despite marrying well. Meg, chestnut-haired and with eyes her husband liked to tell her were the color of fine cognac, and blond, blue-eyed Sibyl, both mothers, continued to look for and often find the best in others. And they still laughed together as they had when they’d been girls in a country vicarage.
On this particularly cold morning, the sisters and Jenny sat close to a lively fire in Jenny’s sitting room at Number 8 Mayfair Square. The house belonged to Finch, Viscountess Kilrood—Latimer More’s sister—and her husband Ross, Viscount Kilrood. Latimer and Jenny were in permanent residence there. Ross and Finch moved in whenever they visited London from their Scottish estates and the two couples truly enjoyed sharing company.
Sibyl and Sir Hunter had arrived late on the day previous and had succumbed to Meg’s repeated pleas that they stay with her and Jean-Marc rather than return at once to Number 7. The sisters’ children were to spend time together like brother and sister.
“Lady Hester Bingham is a great lady,” Jenny said when she found her voice. “She’s also been a wonderful friend t’me, and she’s takin’ the best o’ care o’ my wee friend, Toby. She’s given him the first real home he’s ever known. She’s even arrangin’ for Princess Desirée’s companion t’tutor him wi’ Birdie and that little girl is her Ladyship’s own.”
“By adoption,” Meg and Sibyl said in unison and Sibyl continued, “Lady H. is a peach. Of course she’ll look after Toby. Mark my words, she’ll adopt him, too, and she’ll finally have both the daughter and the son she’s always wanted.”
Such an eventuality was Jenny’s dream, but she would not be diverted from her present concerns. “We could send for Lady Hester now.”
“No.” Once more the sisters spoke together.
Meg said, “If I had a say in what is to be discussed at this gathering, which I don’t, but if I did I would urge considerable caution in the pursuit of your goal.”
“Pish posh,” Sibyl said, wrinkling her fine little nose, “how very unlike you to shilly shally about, sister. We all want the same thing here.”
Jenny sat very straight and arranged the skirts of her new pistachio day dress made of terry velvet. Latimer had chosen the material because he said the light green intensified the deep green of her eyes.
“Have a care,” Meg said, “my husband is not a man who takes any disloyalty in his house lightly.”
“Oh, Meg,” Sibyl said, laughing, “Jean-Marc finds your spirit charming and you know it. Have some more chocolate and let’s get down to the business at hand.”
Jenny didn’t make a move to pour the chocolate, even though she was the hostess this morning. “Verra well,” she said sharply. “We’ll consider this a preliminary meeting, but I’ll no’ have Lady Hester left out again.”
“What if she doesn’t agree with our plan?” Sibyl said. “Tell her, Meg. Tell her that if Lady Hester decided to be a priss and tell Jean-Marc, everything would be ruined.”
“I shall tell Jenny nothing,” Meg announced. “How can I when I don’t know what the plans are. If Jean-Marc discovered I was going behind his back and attempting to defy his strategy to marry Desirée off to a wealthy, titled man who would form an advantageous alliance between two great families…Well, I don’t know a thing about anything like that.”
“Marryin’ for love is the only way a man and woman can be truly happy,” Jenny said. “And ye can fib a fib or fib straight out, m’Lady, but ye agree wi’ that. Ye dinna want the Princess given to a bad man—I mean to a man who fancies her face and her body, but only because she’s rich, and a man who doesna’ as much as want t’find out if she’s a mind.”
“Oh, Meg agrees,” Sibyl said, all innocence. “Don’t you, Meg? After all, you married for love. It just happened that your beloved was a very wealthy man. I also married for love.”
“Indeed,” Meg agreed, “and Sir Hunter is hardly a barrister of little repute.”
“Let’s no’ argue,” Jenny said crossly. “Before we know it, the Princess will be here and we’ve still t’make a single decision.”
“Decision Number One,” Sibyl said. “Desirée shall not marry a man to make a good family alliance, or a man who has a goodly portion but wants hers also and…well…sees her as a pretty enough bedfellow.”
Jenny gasped, she couldn’t help it. The three of them had once been part of a most entertaining club that explored the mysteries of the male in detail, but she continued to find it difficult to discuss such matters openly.
There was actually a blush on Sibyl’s neck, but Meg smiled with what Jenny could only think was glee.
Sibyl cleared her throat. “I shall take it we’re agreed on Decision Number One.”
“Decision Number Two,” Jenny said in a rush, anxious to finish their preparation. “Desirée shall marry—”
“Adam Chillworth,” Meg declared and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Of course, I only anticipated what you were about to say, Jenny. I don’t think for myself in these things.”
“You do, too,” Sibyl said. She got up from her chair and went to stand behind her sister’s. “Adam was your friend when he was almost too shy to speak to the rest of us.”
“He was your friend, too,” Meg said. “And if I could say it, which I can’t, I should mention what an upstanding man he was and is. The staunchest of friends, the kindest of acquaintances, an animal lover, absolutely sweet with children. In short, one would understand exactly why that minx of a sister-in-law of mine has mooned after him since she wasn’t quite seventeen. One would understand if one could, but one obviously cannot.”
The expression on Sibyl’s ethereal face made Jenny want to giggle. In azure gros de naples, her fairness seemed almost translucent. At the moment she glared down at Meg and tapped her repeatedly on the shoulder. “Don’t persist with that nonsense. Not one of us wishes to bring Jean-Marc’s fury on our heads.”
Meg shrugged. “I’m sure you don’t, and I shall not reveal your meddlings. After all, as long as I am not a part—”
“Bah,” Sibyl said, bending close to Meg’s ear and speaking loudly enough to make that lady jump.
“Listen,” Jenny said. “I’m sure ye’re tired still from your journey, Sibyl. Let’s make a pact to do whatever must be done to bring about the only possible match for Desirée and Adam. Anythin’, is what we’ll do. And please remember that the great, glowering tower o’ a man Adam is will fight us all the way because he thinks he ought to. Wee—I mean, great fool. Are we agreed?”
“Yes,” the chorus said.
“I would agree,” Meg amended hastily, “if I could, which I can’t.”
“Ignore her,” Sibyl told Jenny. She went to stand with her back to the fire and massaged her waist. “I agree, of course. I wish I were as sure of how to give Desirée a little push without going too far.”
“It’s Adam—” Meg stopped.
“Who needs the big push,” Jenny finished for her, but looked at Sibyl. Rather than show off her waist more or less at its real level as was the fashion, Sibyl’s gown was quite high-waisted and Jenny was almost certain her svelte friend was increasing for the second time. Jenny settled a hand on her own stomach and felt a rush of happiness. Soon she would tell Latimer they were to have their first child.
Jenny glanced up to find both of her friends watching her curiously. “I think we know what we have to do,” she said serenely. No one should know about the baby until she’d shared her joy with Latimer. “The challenge will be to make a good job of it. Hush, I hear footsteps in the foyer.” They had sworn not to risk getting caught peeking from the windows, but the timing was right for Desirée to arrive.
Sibyl crossed her arms tightly and puffed out a breath. Her smile was completely artificial.
“Be calm,” Meg told her. “You have your decisions ready. Just remember not to blurt them out. Subtlety is the thing. Try to buck Desirée up. Let her know—very carefully—that you support her. Better be roundabout in this instance. Don’t actually mention the man’s name—oblique, that’s the thing.”
“For someone who couldn’t possibly say anything about all this, you have a great deal to say,” Sibyl told her, bobbing on her toes as if her heels refused to remain on the carpet.
The door flew open and Lady Hester Bingham bustled in—with Desirée close behind.
“You must be so vexed with me, gels,” Lady Hester said. Her lavender velvet carriage dress was trimmed with mounds of swansdown as was her bonnet, and she carried a muff, also swansdown, of huge proportions. “Oh, I must say I’m relieved to be out of the snow. But I plead ignorance as my defence for not being at home to receive your invitation. I had to go out—on a delicate mission.” She tapped the side of her nose. “Can’t share it with you yet, but the time may well come. Anyway, the dear Princess was on her way here when my carriage drew up at Number 7, so when she told me she was to meet with all of you I guessed what had happened and came at once. Isn’t that grand?” She clapped her hands.
Jenny looked from Meg to Sibyl, and on to Desirée. The first two appeared embarrassed and apprehensive. Desirée seemed confused.
“It is grand,” Sibyl said. “Come along and sit down. Be comfortable. We’re having chocolate. Will you join us?”
“No time for that,” Lady Hester said, taking Princess Desirée’s elbow and guiding her to a seat on the sofa. “So, what did you decide before we arrived?”
Jenny felt like a statue made of ice. She couldn’t utter a word.
“You are mysterious,” Desirée said and chuckled.
Lady Hester wagged a finger at her. “This is not a matter for levity. The time has come to take matters into our own hands, as is usually the case when dealing with a male of the species, especially a particularly hard-headed specimen. I am not wrong, am I, Sibyl, Jenny, Meg? You have been thinking of a problem looming in the lives of two of our favorite people and have decided we must take drastic steps.”
“So much for the subtle approach,” Sibyl murmured.
Jenny widened her eyes at Sibyl and Meg. “You know the best way to deal with these matters. I leave it all to you.”
“Oh, no,” Sibyl said. “Not so fast, young Jenny. We’re in this together.”
Lady Hester made an exasperated noise. “Save your chatter for later. Now, we will not mince words. I have spoken to Hunter who is in agreement. He says he and Latimer have already spoken. What conclusions have you come to?”
If only the Polite World would be more direct, Jenny thought. Lady Hester might be talking about almost anything, even if it did seem likely that Desirée and Adam were the focus of her attention. One thing was for certain, Latimer should suffer for having little chats with Hunter behind her back. If Latimer was concerned about a possible liaison between Desirée and Adam, he hadn’t discussed it with her—or not in definite terms, anyway.
“Speak up,” Lady Hester demanded.
Desirée squirmed. “Your invitation came rather suddenly,” she said to Jenny. “Usually I should be delighted—and I am now, of course—but I’m in a bit of a rush. Anne is waiting for me.”
“Why?” Lady Hester said, finally selecting a straight-back chair without arms that allowed her to sit and show off her beautiful skirts and the swansdown at their hems. “Desirée, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about the recent change in your wardrobe. Not, of course, that you don’t look quite charming. But, really, sweetness, you are too subdued. That maroon is striking, but too old for you. And so plain, even if the fabric is good. I suppose we should be grateful you continue to make the best of that ridiculously small waist of yours. Good idea, of course, when you’re somewhat lacking in…higher parts. Makes the best of the little things.”
“Lady Hester,” Sibyl said in horrified tones.
“Ye’ve a lovely figure,” Jenny said, feeling quite cross with Lady Hester. “My Latimer always says it’s the quality of the material that counts, not the quantity.” She blushed furiously.
“Does he now,” Meg said, smiling with mischief, “but then, he can afford to make such announcements when his wife has both quality and quantity.”
Jenny found her handkerchief and dabbed at her brow.
“You have a marvelous figure,” Meg said to Desirée, “but I must agree with Lady Hester’s assessment of your clothing. I don’t even know where it can have come from. And darling, not so much as an earbob or one of your beautiful necklaces? Oh, do promise me you’ll allow me to pick a few things out for you—just now and again.”
Mutiny narrowed Desirée’s startling gray eyes, but she took a deep, calming breath. “Of course, Meg. Thank you very much. I shall appreciate your guidance.”
Lady Hester gave a huge and very loud sigh. “Are you going to tell me why you have to dash away when we’re having a perfectly lovely time.”
Jenny leaned to pour more chocolate and glanced up at Desirée who, far from looking as if she was having a lovely time, appeared miserable.
“I am invited to lunch at the Clarendon Hotel in Albermarle Street. Naturally Anne will accompany me.”
Meg frowned. “I wasn’t aware of this.”
“I asked Jean-Marc and he was pleased for me to go.”
Meg subsided but her brows remained raised.
“With whom are you having lunch?” Lady Hester asked.
“Adam and his brother, Lucas,” Desirée mumbled.
Lady Hester clapped her hands. “Capital! May I speak for all of us? Dispense with any foolish and false delicacy?” She directed the question to Jenny, Meg and Sibyl and immediately forged ahead without waiting for any response. “Desirée, are you in love with Adam Chillworth?”
Desirée turned pale and sputtered.
“Of course you are. I was merely trying to observe the niceties by asking you. You are in love with Adam and he’s in love with you although I have never seen a man fight his natural feelings with such knuckleheaded determination. Hah, he has not reckoned with us.”
“But—”
Lady Hester waved Desirée to silence. “These are the things you must do. Starting today. At the hotel, find an excuse to take Adam aside. Swoon. Trick him into kissing you, then tell him, ‘Oh Adam, being with you makes me the most happy woman in the world.”’
Silence descended, heavy silence before Jenny asked meekly, “Ye dinna think that’s a trifle hasty?”
“Not a bit of it. Fear not, Desirée, my little love, Lady Hester will guide you every step of the way—we all will.”
Meg shook out her skirts. “Very admirable sentiments, I’m sure. If I were part of all this, which I’m not of course, I should consider the cause a noble one.”
Lady Hester stared at Meg, found a lorgnette and took a closer look. “Hmph,” she said. “Whatever you say, turncoat.”
Meg opened and closed her mouth, but Lady Hester’s attention had already left her.
“The only thing to fear, Desirée, is the wedding night. Bit of a shock, that. Terrible affair, in fact. But we’ll teach you how to get through the ordeal and arrive at absolute bliss.”
“Lady Hester,” Sibyl said weakly, “don’t you think this is unsuitable, especially given that we have other problems to surmount first?”
“Not at all. How will Adam’s resistance hold up against our combined strength? Tell me that. He’s as good as married already.”
“Well,” Meg said. “I don’t think—”
“I do,” Lady Hester broke in. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m senior here.
“I always think it’s best to be the one to make an excuse to retire—at the wedding celebration, that is. Heats up a groom every time—not that I think this groom will need encouragement on that score. From what I’ve heard, he’s more than ready for anything that arises.”
The loud groan that met her announcement didn’t deter Lady H.
“Yes, the bride should excuse herself and say she wants to go to bed. Makes the groom feel desired. Of course, that can turn him into a bit of an animal, but if he’s ready to go, so to speak, it’ll get the thing done quickly.
“By the way—never mind all that rubbish about keeping your body covered at all times. Flickering candles on flushed ivory skin—pert breasts formerly untouched by human hands, a waist waiting to be spanned—total submission. Hah, as long as the man thinks it, that’s all that matters. Give in and enjoy yourself. Anyway, submit and voila`, heaven will soon be in your grasp…so to speak.”