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THREE WEEKS LATER
Surrey
“Brewing a scandal broth is vulgar, my girl,” Estella, Lady Irving, commented as her carriage turned onto the long, shaded drive to Clifton Hall. “I won’t have it said that I attended for that reason.”
Louisa Oliver suppressed a smile. “No one would dare say such a thing of you, Aunt. They would be far too frightened.”
Her aunt harrumphed. “It’s not as though this house party will match the scandals of past years. Xavier’s tidied up the guest list.”
“Much to your dismay?”
“To my delight, my girl.” She gave Louisa’s cheek a pinch. “If it promised to be any more scandalous, I couldn’t have brought you along. And if it promised to be any less scandalous, there wouldn’t have been any point in coming myself.”
The countess loved tittle-tattle with a passion that not even a recent family scandal had cooled. She had jumped at the chance to chaperone Louisa to Lord Xavier’s house party, certain that it would involve enough intrigue to curl her still-bright auburn hair without the use of tongs.
For the first time in years, Lady Irving traveled without the comfort of her French lady’s maid, who had recently married and been allowed a holiday. Thus far, Louisa had observed that this privation had decreased her aunt’s never plentiful patience.
The countess frowned at Louisa. “Not fretting about missing the family Christmas, are you?”
“I’ll answer that with the heartiest no you can possibly imagine,” Louisa said.
Her aunt shot her a sharp look. “Yes, I suppose you would.”
In recent months, “family” had meant Louisa’s stepsister, Julia, and brother-in-law James, at whose country house she’d been living. Kind and protective, they hadn’t wanted Louisa to accept the unexpected invitation to Lord Xavier’s house party. Though Xavier and James had been friends for years, Xavier had handed the shocking news of James’s and Julia’s first assignation to one of London’s tawdriest scandal rags. Terribly unkind of him, though Julia and James had soon married. They enjoyed life in the country and were now expecting their first child.
Whereas Louisa had spent the preceding months cataloguing their library. And as quiet weeks stacked up, she’d catalogued herself along with the books, and she wasn’t at all satisfied with the entry:
Oliver, the Honorable Louisa Catherine. Twenty-one years of age. Spinster. Tallish. Dark hair and eyes. Shy of strangers. Inclined to be sharp-tongued. Over-fond of books.
At least she was broad-minded. No one could deny that, considering her family’s scandal had involved the end of Louisa’s own engagement to James.
As it hadn’t been a love match, she hadn’t been deeply hurt when James turned instead to Julia. Still, there was no sense in ending the year as a hanger-on to their wedded bliss. At this house party, she hoped to add a few lines to her Louisa catalogue.
Got kissed.
Found some interesting new books.
Made peace between James and Xavier and convinced the polite world of my charm.
Got kissed some more.
That would be her Christmas gift to herself. With the holiday only four days away, and the New Year approaching, it was time for a change. Past time.
“You’re blushing, my girl,” Lady Irving said. “Not thinking of something you shouldn’t, are you?”
“I’m so pure minded that I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Louisa lied. “It’s warm in this carriage, that’s all.”
“Hmph.” Lady Irving darted a sidelong glance at Louisa as their carriage rolled to a halt. “Already thinking about the books, are you?”
“How well you know me, Aunt,” Louisa said, though the blush remained on her tattletale cheeks.
When Xavier had sent his invitation, he had offered her full access to his country house’s library. Clifton Hall was known to have a magnificent collection, from incunables to block-printed books, and Xavier had written that he would be honored if Louisa amused herself with it, since he had heard of her valuable work in James’s library. As though tugging James’s three thousand books into order had been of interest to anyone but Louisa.
Still, she accepted the polite fiction, for it gave her what she needed: an excuse to escape the worried eyes of her sister and brother-in-law. An excuse to leave them alone in their cozy nest for Christmas. An excuse to go somewhere new, if only to a new library.
But she was determined to see more than that.
She accepted a footman’s hand and hopped out of the carriage after her aunt. Her feet landed on bright white gravel, and the faint scent of hothouse orchids wafted from a series of pots lining the stately Tudor home’s facade. Clifton Hall was a patchwork of gray and brown trimmed stone, tall and wide and ostentatiously battlemented, with back-flung wings of half-timbering and red brick.
Louisa joined her aunt among the swarm of people in front of the Hall. Faces, familiar and strange, eddied around her, and her legs wobbled as she recognized gentlemen of the haut ton who had been witness to her disastrous London season, her engagement-that-wasn’t.
There was Lord Lockwood, some sort of cousin of Xavier’s; a dark-haired man with a wolfish grin. Lord Kirkpatrick, a Byronic-looking baron who was inclined to toss himself into swooning but brief love affairs. Freddie Pellington, a cherub-faced wastrel whose good humor far outstripped his good sense. Lord Weatherwax, a gentleman in early middle age with hair like candy floss and the loud voice of the constantly inebriated.
A few less reputable sorts were roaming around, too. Louisa spotted Mrs. Lillian Protheroe, a toothy blond widow who wavered along the edge of propriety. Nearby was an olive-skinned woman whom Louisa recognized as a notable operatic star—and, if rumor was right, the mistress of one of the royal dukes. Though the singer’s fur-lined pelisse looked warm, she had unfastened the frogs to display a gown of rich claret-colored velvet, of which very little fabric had been allocated to cover her bosom.
Lady Irving gasped. “I confess I’m shocked,” she muttered. “Absolutely shocked.”
“I’m sure we needn’t consort with anyone improper,” Louisa said, though that was exactly what she’d been hoping to do.
Her aunt shot her a withering look. “Don’t worry your head about me, young miss. I’ll consort with whomever I like. But I’m shocked to see Sylvia Alleyneham here with only two of her daughters.” She tutted. “Sense of a sheep, has poor Sylvia. Why stop with two? She’s got five daughters to marry off, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Louisa said drily. She’d met Lady Alleyneham’s endless supply of offspring the previous year. They tended to be more concerned with fashion than friendliness, which hadn’t endeared Louisa to them or they to her.
Louisa and her aunt threaded between sculpted topiary across the close-clipped lawn in front of Clifton Hall. Graying grass, dried out and dormant for the winter, crunched underfoot.
Lady Irving waved at her acquaintances as she muttered instructions to Louisa. “Stand up straight. Bite your lips to make them pinker. Nod and smile at the other guests. We are to be spending a lot of time with them over the next two weeks, you know, whether they’re matchmakers or lightskirts. Smile, girl.”
But far from putting Louisa at ease, the familiar faces unsettled her. Surely anyone who’d met her would already have catalogued her, based on her awkward Season: Wallflower. Lacking in conversation. Paltry fortune. A triple failure for a marriageable young woman.
Of course, she wasn’t really in attendance as a marriageable young woman. She was here for a new start. She smiled at no one in particular.
“Good God, don’t smile like that,” hissed Lady Irving. “I can see every one of your teeth. You look like a madwoman.”
A laugh popped from Louisa’s mouth before she realized it. “Ah, that’s better,” said Lady Irving. “You’ve got a spark in you, for all you try to hide it. Now tug down the bodice of your dress and let’s go find our host. This is your chance to catch yourself an earl for Christmas.”
They spotted Xavier on the front steps of his home, surveying the chaos on his drive with an expression of bemused tolerance. If Louisa could have translated the expression into words, it would read something like, “Lord, what fools these mortals be.”
She trailed after Lady Irving, taking in every detail of her host. He played upon the darkness of his hair and skin, the lightness of his eyes, with crisp white linens, gray waistcoat, black coat. He stood nearly a head taller than Louisa, she knew, and his near-black hair was cropped short, accentuating the clean line of his jaw and the height of his strong cheekbones.
He looked as though he had calculated the effect of his appearance very carefully, and he expected everyone who crossed his path to agree with his conclusion. Good God, what a sinfully striking man. Let us bow before his majesty. Let us give him whatever he wants.
Louisa was seized with a sudden, sharp urge to be contrary.
But after her aunt greeted the earl, Louisa scraped a few manners together and offered him a proper curtsy. “I bring you the best wishes of my whole family, Lord Xavier.”
The earl’s cool eyes brightened at Louisa’s words. “Do you really? Are they all well?”
“They are,” she replied. “But my sister and brother-in-law are unable to travel at this time, as my sister is in a delicate condition.”
“I see.” He appeared to be reasoning something out. “Naturally, I am delighted for them.”
“Xavier,” barked Lady Irving, removing the need for Louisa to think of something appropriate to say. “I do hope you’ll be behaving yourself.”
“No more than is strictly necessary.”
“Good man. That’s the perfect amount,” Lady Irving said. “I trust I can count on you to arrange an interesting card game tonight?”
“If by ‘interesting’ you mean ‘for stakes that are likely to horrify small children and puppies,’ then the answer is yes.”
The countess nodded her approval. “It wouldn’t be worthwhile if we weren’t horrifying someone.”
“Words to live by, my dear lady.” Xavier turned his attention to Louisa. “Do you play cards, Miss Oliver?”
“I do, though I’m hardly the player my aunt is.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Xavier said. “The world would be bankrupted if there were many such players as Lady Irving.”
The countess nodded her agreement. “Very true. That’s settled, then; we shall all skin each other tonight.”
A thump from the drive caught their notice; two footmen had lost their grip on a particularly large trunk. The great wooden affair had split along one corner, and servants swarmed over it like ants assessing damage to their hill.
Xavier turned away, toward the great doors of his home. “Organizing the beau monde is more difficult than herding cats, and as little amusing. Despite the tumult on the drive, a fair number of guests have already arrived, and they are taking refreshment in the east parlor. May I show you to it?”
“Please do,” said Lady Irving. “Can you manage something a bit stronger than tea, though?”
Their host grinned and extended an arm to each woman. “My lady, I believe I have a brandy exactly the shade of brewed tea. I’ll have my man root it out for you.”
He turned his head to Louisa. “And you, Miss Oliver?”
“No need for brandy, but after our carriage ride, I’d give my bonnet for a cup of tea.”
Xavier studied Louisa’s face with elaborate attention. “I’ve never been one for crimson, though it looks well on you. You’d best keep the bonnet, but I’m sure we can still find you some tea.”
Louisa’s mouth bent into a small smile, and she allowed her hand to slip into the crook of his arm.
Oh, it was solid. His coat was beautifully cut; even through her gloves, she could tell how fine the dark blue wool was. Beneath it, the form of the man was better still, all solid muscle and long, strong bone.
He flirted with you, Lady Irving mouthed broadly behind Xavier’s back. She looked pleased.
Louisa’s cheeks heated again as she walked next to him, her aunt now chattering about the Great Brandy Subterfuge she was planning. It was no surprise that Louisa should find Lord Xavier attractive. No one had ever denied his physical appeal. It was also no surprise that he should flirt a bit; in fact, it would be more notable did he not flirt with a young woman.
Let us bow before his majesty. Wasn’t that what she was expected to feel now?
Ha. Spending time with Lord Xavier was like juggling wax tapers: if one wasn’t very careful, one would get burned, or at the very least, wind up with dirtied hands.
Louisa was always very careful. Always had been.
So perhaps it was time she learned to juggle.
***
“WOULD YOU CARE FOR lemon in your tea? Or milk?” A young woman bent close to Louisa and added in a softer voice, “Or a splash of brandy, like your aunt?”
At Louisa’s side, Lady Irving sat bolt upright with a sniff.
Louisa offered the astute young woman a smile. She was slight, with light brown hair and impish hazel eyes. “Thank you, but I’ll leave my tea black. One of our party must remain sober.”
“There is such a thing as too sober, you know,” Lady Irving murmured into Louisa’s ear.
They were seated next to one another on a damask-covered rosewood settee of Grecian style. The elegant piece was well suited to the airy room in which a dozen and a half of London’s respectable and notorious were now fortifying themselves. The room was papered in the delicate green of a new leaf. Overhead hung a Wedgwood chandelier, its dishes and fonts of black basalt ornamented with graceful figures of the Muses. Evergreen was wound through its metalwork, suffusing the room with a faint, crisp scent.
This carefully tasteful room was, to say the least, not what Louisa had expected in the home of Lord Xavier. Nor was the young woman with the prim pink muslin gown and rebellious face, who had now turned her attention to Lady Irving. “Do you enjoy an afternoon brandy, then, my lady? I would be pleased to join you in a cupful. I am Miss Tindall. Jane.”
Louisa crowded over on the settee to make room. Her aunt harrumphed, and Louisa covered a grin with her teacup, inhaling the bracing aroma. It was warm and fragrant, as if the leaves held the summer sun under which they’d been picked and dried. Surely not even brandy had so much power to soothe.
“Strong spirits are not suitable for unmarried ladies.” Lady Irving took a dainty sip.
“Drat,” Miss Tindall said. “I am constantly being told that the most entertaining experiences are unsuitable for unmarried ladies. My mother’s serving as hostess, you see.”
With a crook of her finger, she indicated a round, ruddy-faced woman in a stiff, glazed-cotton gown who sat across the room. As Louisa watched, Mrs. Tindall stuffed an entire ginger biscuit into her mouth and chewed with an expression of transported delight.
“That’s how I came to recognize you,” Miss Tindall explained. “You are the Countess of Irving and Miss Oliver, yes? I’ve been poring over Xavier’s guest list since he created it, hoping something truly dreadful will happen this year.”
She spoke the words with such relish that Louisa smiled. “I’ll hazard a guess, Miss Tindall, that you have a liking for Gothic novels.”
The young woman shrugged. “I have a liking for anything interesting. For the last three days, I’ve had the choice of only two activities: sewing or writing letters. Since I cannot embroider without stabbing myself with the needle, I have instead been forced to stab myself with a quill. Lord knows there’s been nothing worth writing about so far.”
Lady Irving clicked her tongue. “I’ll wager there will be plenty to fill your letters before the first week’s out.”
“Do you think so?” The slight young woman perked up visibly.
“I’ve been told there will be cards tonight,” Louisa offered.
“Oh.” Miss Tindall’s shoulders sank again. “I hate playing cards with Xavier. He is so repulsively competent.”
Before either Louisa or her aunt could respond to this puzzling statement, the man himself stood before them. “Jane, you rapscallion. I should have you locked in the dungeon.”
Louisa blinked, surprised, but the subject of his threat only raised a contemptuous eyebrow. “You don’t have a dungeon. Empty threats will avail you nothing, Xavier.”
He cocked his head at Louisa. “Miss Oliver. I’m glad you have met Miss Tindall. I’d like to ask you to serve as a steadying influence on my cousin, though that would be unfairly burdensome to one of my guests.”
“Second cousin once removed,” added Miss Tindall. “You shouldn’t assume I wish to own you as a closer relative. Especially not of my own generation, because you are much older than I.”
Xavier grimaced. “There is only eight years’ difference in our ages,” he explained. “However, it is enough that I did help teach Jane to walk. She was remarkably backward. I believe she was three years old before she could cross a room without falling down.”
“That’s a shameful lie,” Jane said calmly to Louisa. “He loves to tell people that I took forever to learn to walk. What he doesn’t tell them is that it was because he broke my leg.”
“Pure accident,” Xavier sallied, and Louisa had the feeling they had had this conversation many times before. “How was I to know you would try to follow me up the apple tree after you had been forbidden?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “It has been nearly two decades, yet the lies continue. He is my only cousin, which is why I tolerate this nonsense.” She flicked a hand airily. “I am a positive slave to my own better nature.”
Louisa grinned at her new acquaintance. “Don’t worry yourself, Miss Tindall. Ancient history matters little to the ton; it’s fresh blood they love.”
Miss Tindall smiled back. “How marvelous. You simply must call me Jane.”
Lady Irving smothered a hiccup. “And you must call me in time for dinner, Xavier. Very good tea, young fellow. But now I find myself in need of a rest.”
“Of course, my lady.” Xavier assisted the countess to her feet. “You’d best muster your strength so you can lose to me at cards tonight.”
“I never lose,” she sniffed.
“I’m not in the habit of it, either.” He turned to Louisa, his expression expectant. “And you, Miss Oliver? Do you require a rest before dinner, so that you can astound us all at the card table?”
She shook her head, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “I fear no amount of repose will affect my game, my lord. I’ve never had much luck with cards.”
“You never know.” His mouth curved, sudden and wicked as a saber cut. “Perhaps this is the day your luck will change.”
***