“Ah, there you are, Edwina.”
Lifting her hands from the stone balustrade overlooking the moonlit gardens, Edwina turned. “Ginny! So good to see you.” She couldn’t quite hide the relief from her voice.
Ginny’s arthritic hip must have been bothering her; she leaned heavily on a cane for support as she crossed the veranda, her peach-colored skirts swooshing with every step.
Janelle followed close behind, waving her lacy fan about like a weapon. “We’ve been looking for you in every blasted corner of that ballroom and yet you choose to hide out in the darkness?”
There was plenty of light shining through the French doors and open windows to illuminate the stone terrace, but Edwina didn’t say so. Ever since Prescott had made Edwina aware of Janelle’s vulnerabilities, it had been much easier to be forbearing. Probably because it came from her own wish to be so, and not simply to placate Ginny.
“I was hoping for a little quiet,” Edwina explained.
Janelle shoved her purple turban back on her head. “What? Sipping champagne, nibbling on lobster tails and accepting everyone’s congratulations is a bit too taxing for you?”
“Oh, ignore her.” Ginny waved a white-gloved hand. “She’s just upset; Baxter is here.”
“Oh.” Edwina winced. “And how is your son?”
Staring off in the garden, Janelle lifted her chin. “Fine, just…fine.”
With a sad look on her face, Ginny shook her head. “Do you want us to leave, Edwina? Give you some quiet?”
“No, of course not.” Edwina grasped her friend’s hand. “I’m so glad to see friendly faces.”
“I warned you,” Janelle chided. “No matter Mr. Devane’s good qualities, everyone will see it as a mésallìance, an unsuitable alliance. He’s an empty-pocketed commoner and you’re the daughter of an earl, for heaven’s sakes.”
“Oh, how you flatter me.”
At the sound of Prescott’s deep, rumbling voice, Edwina’s cheeks heated as did the rest of her skin.
With the heels of his black-buckled shoes clicking loudly on the stone veranda, Prescott approached, carrying two glasses of lemonade. Halting before them, he bowed, managing not to spill a drop, his manners as fine as any courtier’s. “Good evening, Lady Ensley. Lady Blankett. You’re both looking quite lovely.”
Janelle brandished her fan toward the ballroom, where the sounds of a cotillion played. “I was speaking of them. They don’t know any better.”
“And you do?” Edwina asked quietly, unable to help herself.
Exhaling noisily, Janelle shifted her shoulders. “I know it’s not real.”
“Shh!” Ginny chided, looking over at the door. “Someone might overhear.”
Edwina accepted the glass from Prescott and sipped the lukewarm liquid. It was a bit on the tart side.
“So it’s going well, I assume?” Ginny whispered.
“I’ve checked at least fifty pairs of shoes by now and haven’t yet seen our pair.” Edwina pursed her lips. “I have to think of something more creative to do or people might start believing that I’m becoming ham-fisted. I’ve dropped either my handkerchief or my fan at least thirty times thus far.”
Ginny raised a brow. “So your suitors are not hampering you?”
Edwina smiled. “My suitors are making themselves scarce. So in that regard, yes, the plan is working and we’ve established the fact that we’re engaged.”
“And how are you faring, Mr. Devane?” Janelle enquired. “Have you had your fill of abuse?”
“Oh, I think I’ve the stamina for a bit more.”
Leaning forward, Ginny blinked. “Abuse?”
His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “‘Legacy hunter’ and the like.”
Edwina winced. “I’m sorry.”
Prescott’s handsome face was relaxed, his smile amused. “Don’t be. I quite enjoy it, actually. My favorites are the people who don’t know what to make of me, so they simply nod and race off in the opposite direction.”
Pursing her lips, Edwina’s eyes narrowed. “I’d lay good money you were a prankster as a child.”
“And you’d win. I was a devil. And loved every minute of it.” His smile met hers and something warm floated between them. Still, it didn’t quite lessen the effect those flashing eyes stirred in her middle.
Frowning, Janelle stabbed her fan toward Edwina. “Although I know I shouldn’t be surprised, you seem to be getting the hang of this acting thing.”
Ginny pressed her hand to her forehead. “Am I going to have to stuff your mouth with linseed to keep you quiet?”
“What are you so upset about?” Janelle adjusted the melon-shaped sleeves of her gown. “No one can hear. And if they could, what of it? It’s all too preposterous to be believed.”
Ginny sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
Prescott leaned toward Janelle, his tone conspiring. “It’s quite fun, isn’t it? Being the only ones who know the truth.”
Janelle nodded. “It does give one a sense of superiority…”
“We wouldn’t want to spoil the fun then, would we?”
Tilting her head, Janelle acquiesced. “I suppose not.”
Then pray keep your mouth closed, Edwina thought, an improvement over the week before when she’d have shouted it to Janelle’s face.
“Devil take it, there you are!” a male voice called.
All four sets of eyes looked toward the French doors.
“Henry!” Edwina cried.
Her cousin stalked over to them, his black coat matched by the dark scowl on his face. “Tell me it’s not true! Tell me that you’re not throwing your life away with this grasping fortune hunter!”
“Ah, I think a visit to the retiring room is in order,” Ginny declared, grabbing Janelle’s arm. “Come along, dear.”
Janelle waved her fan dismissively. “You go on ahead. I’ll wait for you right here.”
“But I need your help.” Leaning on her cane, Ginny tugged Janelle’s arm. “I have difficulty maneuvering though the crowd with my leg being what it is.”
Making a noise of disgust, Janelle allowed herself to be pulled away. “Just when it was getting interesting…”
Squaring her shoulders, Edwina tried to ignore the nervous quiver in her middle. It was one thing to lie to acquaintances, quite another to lie to her cousin Henry. But she dare not tell Henry the truth or even hint of it. Although she loved him dearly, he was hotheaded and, frankly, rather judgmental. Moreover, he tended to be a bit obtuse when it came to matters that required a modicum of diplomacy. Which was why Edwina was particularly worried about her Cambridge project. The man of affairs they’d typically used for their acquisitions had taken seriously ill and Henry had gone in his stead. But first things first.
Swallowing, Edwina motioned to Prescott. “Mr. Devane, may I present my cousin, Mr. Blanchard. Henry, this is Mr. Prescott Devane, my…fiancé.”
Henry’s face paled, then infused with color. “He’s a bloody lothario, Edwina!”
Edwina gritted her teeth. “I know you’re only speaking out of concern for my welfare, Henry, but pray do not insult my betrothed.”
The man shook his head. “If only you’d taken my advice and accepted the marriage to Viscount Bellwood, you wouldn’t be in this wretched mess!”
Edwina’s eyes narrowed and that decidedly stubborn gleam that Prescott was beginning to favor entered her gaze. “As I told you a thousand times before, Henry, I have no wish to marry Viscount Bellwood, any more than I—”
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!” Shaking his head, her cousin spat, “It’s your inexperience with men of his sort that’s left you defenseless to his manipulations, Edwina.”
“Henry.” Edwina’s tone was firm as she laid a white-gloved hand on the man’s arm. “I’m no green chit fresh out of the schoolroom. You, of all people, should recognize that I am smart enough to make my own decisions.”
“But—”
“Enough, Henry.” Her tone brooked no opposition. “If I’ve chosen Mr. Devane it’s because I have assessed the match and determined it to be in my best interests. It also means that I’ve taken Mr. Devane’s measure and not found him wanting. I appreciate your concern, but please give me a little more credit than you are.”
Prescott was impressed; she’d said the one thing that made it clear that any insult to him was an affront to her sound judgment.
Henry’s pallid cheeks tinged with color as his gloved hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. If it weren’t for his strong English accent, one might have mistaken him for Germanic, with his cool blue eyes, white pale complexion and blond hair cut short in the Greek style. He had that Germanic formality to him as well. Not the tedious pomposity that most English gentlemen assumed.
After a moment, Henry tilted his head stiffly and nodded in assent. “As you wish.”
Apparently, Henry had a healthy dose of respect for Edwina. Prescott had to give him credit for his good sense.
After sending Henry an appreciative glance that would warm any man’s heart, Edwina turned. “Now, once more. Mr. Devane, may I present my cousin, Mr. Blanchard. Henry, this is Mr. Devane, my fiancé.”
Prescott nodded curtly to Blanchard, preferring not to shake hands. The man was likely one to try to exhibit his superiority by squeezing as hard as he could, something that, at the moment, Prescott preferred not to endure. And since Edwina seemed fond of this cousin, Prescott would attempt to treat the man with consideration. Unless the man’s actions warranted otherwise.
“How was Cambridge, Henry?” Edwina enquired, obviously attempting to change the topic. “Everything go as planned?”
“You’re comfortable discussing this now?” Blanchard asked, prickly about it.
“I am not ashamed of our business ventures. Are you?”
The man stiffened even further, if possible. “Of course not.”
“Well?” she asked, with obvious eagerness. “Did the deal close? Do we get the property?”
We. So Edwina and her cousin were in the land business together. Cousins, partners…did Blanchard hope for more? Not if he was recommending that she marry Bellwood, a tack that indicated he might respect Edwina but didn’t understand her.
Henry’s chest puffed out and then suddenly deflated, like one of those flying balloons collapsing. “It all fell through to rot. Simply to rot.”
“Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment, but Prescott could see that she’d been hoping for another answer. “What happened?”
Crossing his arms, Blanchard lifted a shoulder. “While I was speaking the King’s English, they seemed to be speaking another blasted language entirely. I couldn’t seem to say one thing right. They were against me from the start.”
Disappointment shimmered in her luminous dark eyes. “How can that be, after all of our correspondence? Matters seemed so close to conclusion.”
Blanchard shook his head, seemingly disgusted. “That one fellow, Linear, had it in for me, I’m sure. When I first arrived, he asked me to join them at a tavern for a drink, and I know it was simply to get my nose out of joint.”
“Oh, dear Lord, Henry.” Edwina’s tone was aggravated. “Please tell me you said ‘yes’ and joined them.”
Blanchard stiffened and lifted his chin a notch. “Of course not. I was there to conduct business, not make merry with the lower classes.” He shot Prescott a sullen glare. “At least I have some semblance of propriety.”
“Watch yourself, Henry,” Edwina warned.
“Well, I wasn’t about to drink with them, and after that, well, things didn’t go well.” At the disappointed look on Edwina’s face, her cousin exclaimed, “Now don’t try to tell me that these men wouldn’t come to terms with me because I wouldn’t imbibe with them! That’s bloody nonsense.”
Edwina sent Prescott a helpless glance.
Looking out at the moonlit garden, Prescott remarked, “I know many men who wouldn’t sell you a barren, diseased, three-legged cow unless you were willing to share a drink with them.” He looked up. “It’s seen as a way of showing respect between the parties.”
“Respect?” Blanchard snorted. “What does that have to do with a business deal?” He shook his finger in the air. “Either it’s favorable for them financially or unfavorable for them and they move forward if it’s favorable and don’t if it’s not. Respect has nothing to do with it.”
“To some men, it can only be favorable if there is a sense of mutual regard between the parties.”
Blanchard crossed his arms and looked away. “I’ve never heard such rubbish in all my life.”
Blanchard was bright enough to understand the problem, but simply couldn’t get past his pomposity to act differently. Why would Edwina trust such a man with a business a transaction that obviously meant a lot to her?
Edwina stepped forward. “Did you happen to find out if there were any other buyers, Henry?”
“Not a one. Which is what makes their actions all the more idiotic. The fools, they’ll be sitting on that property for the next twenty years and not have another buyer with a better price than ours.”
“Then perhaps all is not lost.” Edwina bit her lip and Prescott could almost see the wheels turning in her clever brain.
“I’m coming to the conclusion that we’re better off without the property,” Blanchard declared. “I know you worked very hard on the plans, Edwina, but it was a mighty investment—”
“With amazing returns, Henry,” Edwina interjected, her tone resolute. “And it’s good for the community as well. Cambridge is exploding and the need for housing is great. It’s advantageous for all involved. Especially us.” She turned away, obviously trying to keep her frustration in check. “Why don’t we finish this conversation tomorrow? When we’ve both had time to think it over and assess our next steps.”
She faced Blanchard again, a tight smile on her lips. “I’m sure when we put our heads together we can think of something to do to bring them back to the table.”
Blanchard’s pale cheeks reddened and he pointed a finger at Prescott. “I’d rather talk about how you came to be…” He couldn’t seem to get the word out. “…with…him.”
“Henry…” she warned.
Blanchard crossed his arms once more, obviously the man’s favorite pose. “Well, he’s certainly not one of your set. It’s a reasonable question.”
“I sought out Mr. Devane,” Edwina explained with a hard tone that any remotely observant man would know to heed. “I decided that it was time to remarry. He is a good man, of fine character—”
“You prefer him to me?” Blanchard’s tone was shocked. “If you wanted to marry that badly, I would have taken you.”
Edwina’s smile was colder than a snake’s bottom. “How condescending of you, Henry.”
“That didn’t quite sound…” her cousin blustered, so mortified, Prescott actually felt sorry for the bugger. But not much.
“Be that as it may, I have chosen to be with Mr. Devane. There’s more to him than fancy clothes and gilded charm. He’s trustworthy and wields good judgment.”
Prescott liked how she was defending him to her cousin. She wasn’t talking about his charm or his graceful dancing, but about his character. For once it was nice to be described in such noble terms, even if it was a ruse.
“Moreover,” Edwina continued, “Mr. Devane treats me well and I appreciate his consideration. He’s a good sort. Which you will soon discover once you get to know him.”
“Get to know him?” Blanchard looked like he was going to have an apoplectic fit.
“You and I well know the damage that vicious tongues can inflict. I pray you don’t judge Mr. Devane by reputation alone, but give him the chance to show you what kind of man he truly is.”
Damn, if Edwina didn’t manage to sound sincere. A small part of him was actually beginning to believe she regarded him so kindly. It was a bit boggling, but gave him a warm feeling in his chest just the same.
“And what of your father?” Blanchard asked, crustily. “He’s likely to burst a blood vessel when he hears about this. As it is, he’s already up in arms about you and your society of bluestocking, fix-the-world females.” Pressing his gloved hand to his head as if pained, Blanchard declared, “Not that he’ll hear it from me—he’d likely shoot the messenger.”
“I can handle my father.”
“Have a care, Edwina.” Blanchard wagged a finger. “It’s easy enough to defy him when he’s not around, but when the Earl of Wootton-Barrett wants to impose his will, you know how futile it is to resist.”
“Thank you for your concern, cousin. But I don’t believe that I have much to worry over.” Yet the lady’s anxious mien belied her words. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pinched, and an apprehensive gleam clouded her luminous gaze. The impression wasn’t helped by the fact that she was clutching her fan so tightly her hand quivered.
“I will call upon you on the morrow, cousin,” Blanchard declared. “We can discuss things further then.” He glared at Prescott meaningfully.
After the sounds of Henry’s heels clicking on the stone veranda could be heard no more, Edwina turned to Prescott. “I apologize for my cousin’s behavior.”
“Oh, no apology’s necessary.” He held out his arm and looked toward the French doors. “Suddenly I’m finding that I’ve had my fill of hearty congratulations.”
“I see your mask is in place once more.”
He blinked, surprised she’d noticed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
She sighed. “I can hardly blame you. On the one hand, I’m a little envious that you can veil your feelings so quickly. Yet it must be taxing, and more than a little lonely sometimes.”
“One gets used to it,” he lied.
“I don’t know that I could be so forbearing.”
He tilted his head. “It’s not forbearance, but selfishness. I won’t let just any person see the real me.” For if they did, they might just forsake him, an event to which he could never quite grow accustomed.