Between the Devil and Ian Eversea: Pennyroyal Green Series Page 4

  “Number three: I should like him to be handsome.”

  She said this somewhat tentatively. She glanced up. He was handsome. Even with the frost of gray at his temples. But perhaps he’d think looks were unimportant when moral fiber was critical.

  “Rest assured, I wouldn’t dream of binding you to a gargoyle, Miss Danforth.”

  Excellent! She smiled, relieved. “I wasn’t terribly worried, since all of the men I’ve seen so far in Sussex have been so . . .”

  Gorgeous, she’d nearly said, in her rush of enthusiasm. Thinking in particular of the balcony man.

  “. . . pleasant,” she completed, piously.

  He was silent a moment. She thought the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened. Was he combating a smile?

  “Many of them are,” he said somewhat cryptically. “The next item would be . . . ?”

  “Ah, yes.” She returned her eyes to her list. “Number four: Enjoys . . .”

  Damnation. This was another delicate one. She looked up at him again. The duke had fine lines around his eyes, which made her think that he might occasionally laugh. She’d seen no evidence of it yet. She wondered if he actually enjoyed it when he did, or if he felt it was a social requirement, like bowing and the like.

  “A good brandy? Brisk walks at the seaside? Embroidery?” he prompted. She could hear the barely contained patience. A speck, she thought. I am an irritant, a speck, and he is scarcely tolerating me.

  “. . . laughing.”

  She said it faintly. Almost apologetically.

  “Ah,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, I fear we may have a conflict between requirement number two and this particular requirement. I’m afraid I’m going to need to ask you to choose only one of them.”

  Her lungs seized so swiftly she nearly coughed.

  Bloody hell. Well, she had only herself to blame for this.

  A fraught silence ensued, her breathing suspended as she mulled the consequences in her mind.

  And then he brought his palm down with a smack on his desk so hard it made her jump and burst into laughter. He threw his head back and laughed with it.

  “Oh, Titania. You look so stricken! I am teasing. You see, I, too, occasionally enjoy ‘laughing.’ But I do believe I now know what you would choose if you had to.”

  His laugh was marvelous, so infectious that she rapidly recovered from being incensed and found herself laughing, too. Though she hadn’t quite forgiven him for shaving a year or two from her life with his little joke. She’d imagined her doom a little too vividly.

  “Your father was a good laugher,” he said when they were both quiet again.

  “The best.” She dug her fingernails into her palm when she thought tears might prick at the corners of her eyes. They came at the oddest times. Even on the heels of laughter.

  “He had a remarkably nimble mind, too. He could debate me into a corner on occasion. We enjoyed it, rather. And I’m very difficult to defeat, mind you.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she said sincerely. But she was half teasing, too.

  He smiled.

  The laughter seemed to have loosened him, and Tansy recognized something: he was simply a bit stiff, as uncertain of her as she was of him. And he’d experienced a loss, too, when her father died. Someone to whom he’d been close, and she doubted the duke had many bosom comrades. Knowing this aroused her sympathy. She suddenly felt—and this seemed ridiculous, and yet there it was—protective of him.

  “He called you ‘Titania’ in his letters to me.”

  “The name was his idea, and Mother never could refuse him anything. Then again, it was Mother who persuaded him to return to America. I always thought my name was a bit cumbersome. A bit much to live up to.”

  “I think you’ve quite grown into your name.”

  “Thank you. I think. It was Mother who called me Tansy. Father eventually capitulated.”

  He smiled again. And it looked so natural, she was relieved to believe he did it often, and not just because an occasional smile was expected of everyone. “But you certainly look like your mother.”

  “That’s what everyone says.”

  A silence, an easier, softer one, ensued.

  “I always hoped to see all of you again,” he said gently. As if he knew too much discussion all at once would be unwelcome.

  “I do remember you,” Tansy told him, a bit shyly. “Just a very little. You were married to someone else then. I remember thinking she was so very pretty, like someone from a fairy tale. And she had such a lovely voice.”

  “Oh, she was. She was pretty. She passed away some years ago.”

  “I know. I am so sorry.”

  He nodded shortly.

  There had been a baby, too, she recalled, and now she was sorry she’d mentioned it. She remembered her father receiving the letter from the duke. He’d told her mother about it in a few short, devastating sentences, and then repaired to his study, closing the door. As if by being alone he could share his friend’s grief.

  “But you should know, Titania, that I cannot recall ever being happier than I am now.”

  She knew it was true. There was really no mistaking it. She would never be able to describe happiness in words, she thought. It was something one witnessed.

  And he’d said it because he wanted her to know she could be happy, too.

  “I’m glad,” she said softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

  He cleared his throat. “Do you have any more requirements on your list?”

  She did.

  “Number five: I should like him to be kind.”

  She looked up, a little worried about that one, too, but less worried than she had been when he first entered his office. She knew now, no matter what was said about him, that the duke was kind. Impatient, perhaps, more than a bit arrogant, perhaps, but one rather expected that of a duke. She felt he was fundamentally kind.

  “And that’s all I have for now.”

  He smiled faintly. “Is the list a work in progress?”

  “I haven’t yet decided.”

  “Do keep me apprised of critical changes in its content,” he said somberly.

  She suspected he was teasing her again.

  “I shall.” She smiled.

  “I think we have an excellent chance of finding a match meeting your requirements. Your father was one of the most sensible people I’ve ever known, and he trusted my judgment. I imagine you’ll be spoiled for choice. But I will know which young men are worthy of you, Titania . . . and which ones most definitely are not. But if you have any questions, you may feel free to confide in me.”

  “Thank you,” she said, while thinking, Good try. He might be kind, but she also suspected he knew how to curtail fun, and she wasn’t that naive.

  “I’d like to chat a bit again, if you’re amenable to it,” he added, as he stood, signaling for her to stand, too.

  “I would like that.”

  This, she found to her surprise, was true.

  THE INTRODUCTION OF Miss Titania Danforth into Sussex society was to begin with a dinner, a little aperitif of a party before the ball—a modest ball, is how the duchess described it—to follow that evening. The most amusing people in Sussex had been invited, Genevieve had assured her, and a portion of London, too, and then she’d recited a list of titles both major and minor, both married and unmarried. When Tansy pictured them, they were all attractive. Funny the sort of magic the word “lord” could confer upon a person when it preceded a name. Privately she was now convinced the only way her own name would ever sound anything other than cumbersome would be if the word “duchess” came before it. Duchess Titania. Countess Titania? Lady Titania?

  It was only a matter of time, she told herself stoutly.

  The modest ball would be followed in a month or so by what Tansy was tempted to ca
ll an immodest ball, but which Genevieve referred to as a Grand Ball.

  Tansy had been told she needn’t do a thing but emerge from her chambers looking beautiful, “which you could accomplish wearing only sackcloth, if you preferred,” Genevieve said with her usual generosity and graciousness. “Not that wearing sackcloth is a custom in Sussex.”

  “Ha ha!” Tansy laughed.

  She’d decided to take looking beautiful tonight with the seriousness of blood sport.

  And because her own American maid had been terrified at the very idea of making the crossing into a new country with her, Genevieve graciously sent over her own, a girl named Annie who was quiet, competent, and eager to please.

  But Tansy was not in a mood to be pleased.

  “Not the green. The blue.”

  The abigail pulled the blue from the closet.

  “Not that blue. The other blue.” The girl pulled it into her arms and turned around halfway when Tansy said, “No, perhaps the pale green silk?”

  “I think you’ll look beautiful in any of them, miss,” the poor abigail said desperately.

  Tansy nearly stamped her foot.

  “Tell me, Annie,” she demanded. “Have you a beau?”

  Annie blushed. “Aye, miss. He works in the stables.”

  Tansy softened, genuinely curious. “How lovely! Is he handsome, your beau?”

  “Aye, if I do say so myself. His name is James. We’re to be married, but—”

  “Oh, are you to be married? How lovely!” She beamed.

  Annie glowed. “Oh, it is, it is. And yet we must wait, for we haven’t enough money to set up housekeeping, you see. James would like to build a little house for us to live in, so we needn’t always live-in, and . . . surely I shouldn’t bore you with this, Miss Danforth,” she said desperately.

  “I’m not bored at all. It’s terribly important to have a home of your own. I should like one, too, you see. For I haven’t one anymore. Or a family, you see.”

  And in that moment the hopes and concerns of womanhood transcended their societal roles and bound them fast in a subtle accord.

  “You’ve a home here and we’ll look after you,” Annie said firmly. “If ever you need anything, Miss Danforth.”

  “Thank you,” she said, quite touched.

  There was an awkward, warm little silence, and Tansy turned away again, toward the wardrobe.

  She’d never worried so much about a ball gown. Along with every young woman in New York society, she had taken her ability to captivate utterly for granted, regardless of what she wore. This was why the sympathy calls had been shot through with a subtle, yet unmistakably morbid glee. The queen had at last been nudged from her throne. It had taken disaster to do it, but still.

  The balls had gone on without her while she dealt with solicitors and the like. And only a very few of those young women ever called on her again.

  Tansy hated to admit it, but her confidence was not as ironclad as it once was. Though perhaps all it needed was a little exercise in the proper context. Such as a ballroom full of men.

  “Now . . . think about it this way,” she said. “If you were me, and you wanted your beau to look at you and forget that anyone else in the world existed, which dress would you wear?”

  Annie looked captivated by this notion, then turned and perused the dresses hanging there. “The white with silver ribbon,” she said decisively.

  Now they were making progress.

  “Why?” Tansy pressed.

  “Because you’ll look like an—”

  “Please don’t say angel!”

  Annie smiled. “A pearl what stepped from an oyster. A mermaid. A nymph.”

  A pearl! A nymph! A mermaid! Tansy liked all of those. She held the dress beneath her chin and studied herself in the mirror. With her hair down about her shoulders, she supposed she did look a bit like a mythical creature. The silver ribbon reflected the silver blue of her eyes, the white made her skin glow nearly golden, and her lips were blush, the color of the inside of a shell.

  It would do. She exhaled.

  “You see, Annie, it’s just that I’ve only the one chance to make a first impression. And it’s been so very long since I’ve been to a party like this.”

  “I will make certain you’ll be unforgettable, miss.”

  Tansy gave a short nod. “Thank you.”

  The white dress it was. She slid it over her head like a gambler choosing the card that would decide the game.

  AT DINNER SHE was introduced to myriad Everseas.

  Her first impression was of a forest of tall, darkly appealing men, all white smiles, magnificent cheekbones, and exquisite manners, with manly, very English names: Colin, Marcus, Charles. They were so clearly of a piece, variations on a theme begun by their parents, who were two very handsome people. All of the boys were taller, just a little, than their merry-eyed father. The mother had the same heart-shaped face as Genevieve.

  If they’d been bonbons in a box, she thought she might have first selected the one called Colin, the tallest of them, the only one whose eyes, she could have sworn, were more green than they were blue. And they sparkled.

  She smiled at him.

  He smiled back, and almost, not quite, winked.

  And then his body convulsed swiftly as if someone had stabbed him with a fork.

  He frowned, and the frown wavered and became a smile aimed at the woman across from him.

  Her coloring was striking, her hair black, her skin fair, her dark eyes enigmatic. She had the air of permanent confidence of one who knows she is loved, and she was wearing a little private smile for her husband.

  His wife. Madeleine. The other wives were named Louisa and Rosalind.

  For alas, every last one of the Everseas was married.

  Everyone, apart, that was, from Olivia.

  And at the first sight of Olivia Eversea, Tansy’s confidence wavered just a bit.

  It was easy to see why she’d inspired the men of greater Sussex and beyond to turn the house into a thicket of flowers. Where Genevieve’s beauty was warm and calm, Olivia glittered, like a diamond or a shard. Her eyes were fiercely bright and she was thin, perhaps a bit too thin, but it suited her; there was no angle from which Olivia Eversea’s face wasn’t somehow fascinating. Tansy found herself admiring the way she held her shoulders, and how graceful her slim arms were when she reached for the salt cellar.

  “How very interesting to have an American in our midst, Miss Danforth,” she said. “You hail from New York?”

  “I do. I was born here, and I remember it fondly. But I love New York.” A wave of longing for her previous life crashed over her so suddenly that her hand stilled on her fork. She’d once sat around a dinner table with her own family, laughing and bickering, and had once taken it for granted.

  She reapplied herself to her peas. She needed stamina for the evening ahead. She hoisted the fork up again.

  “Now, the south of your country in particular is populated by slave owners, is it not, Miss Danforth?”

  Tansy’s fork froze on its way to her mouth.

  Oh, Hell’s teeth. It sounded like a trap.

  And she strongly suspected Olivia Eversea was a reader of the sort that she and the duke were not.

  “I suppose some might say that,” she said very, very cautiously.

  “Do you know anyone who—”

  Olivia suddenly hopped a few inches out of her chair and squeaked.

  “Mind the stockings,” she muttered darkly.

  Or at least that’s what Tansy thought she’d said. Tansy frowned a little.

  “Olivia works so hard for excellent causes.” This came from the matriarch, Mrs. Eversea, and she managed to make it sound both like pride and a warning.

  Ah, that was likely why Olivia hadn’t yet married. Tansy couldn’t imagi
ne a man in the world who would tolerate that nonsense for long. Suddenly she was far more certain she’d be able to usurp Olivia’s flower throne.

  She smiled at Olivia, as a way of apologizing for that unworthy thought.

  Olivia smiled back at her, as if she’d heard every word of that thought and wasn’t the least bit worried about her supremacy.

  “Where is your brother?” the matriarch, Mrs. Eversea, asked the handsome Eversea next to her. Marcus?

  Brother? She looked up the table at all those handsome faces. There were more of them?

  Which one of these men was the balcony pagan? she wondered.

  A surge of optimism swept through her. Perhaps men like the Everseas were commonplace here in England. Perhaps finding a beautiful titled husband would be as simple as shaking an apple from a tree.

  “Last I saw of him he was out with Adam repairing a paddock fence or a roof or something somewhere,” the one called Chase said. “And they’ll be at the vicarage repairs for days.”

  The duke looked up and said dryly, “As a form of penance for his usual—”

  His face contorted in a wince. She knew a ferocious twinge of pity. Possibly when one got to his age, which was forty at least, many things made you wince. Gout, heart flutters, capricious digestion.

  “Our cousin Mr. Adam Sylvaine is the vicar here in Pennyroyal Green,” Genevieve said to Tansy. “He’s always helping the Sussex poor. We’re so very proud of him.”

  “How lovely to have a vicar as part of the family. Have you another brother?”

  “Aren’t we fortunate to have such wonderful weather at this time of year?” This came from the duke, a question posed to the table at large, as if he hadn’t heard her question at all. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps she’d underestimated his age and he was beginning to need an ear trumpet to hear voices over a distance of several feet.

  “IT’S LOVELY. DO YOU NORMALLY HAVE INCLEMENT SPRINGS?”

  She had a sudden impression of the whites of eyes as they all widened.

  “Our springs are so beautiful, Miss Danforth. You’ll love them,” Olivia volunteered, softly, carefully, as if demonstrating the proper indoor tone.

  “Have you another brother?” she tried, more softly, a bit suspicious now.