The duke regarded the glowing end of his cigarillo. “You know, my friend, this may very well have been an act of providence. I can’t help but wonder if Julia is not the better choice of the two.”
“The Frant Dragon, better than the Incomparable?” exclaimed Edmund. He caught Lucien’s minatory glare and added quickly, “So, ah, Alec, what are your plans now?”
Alec set down his glass. “I have an appointment to see the solicitor. I was headed to Lucien’s this morning to ask what he thought I should tell the damned man. Pratt is a prosy old fool and I didn’t want to shock him with the details.”
Edmund grimaced. “He’s right, Luce. I went with Alec to that fellow’s office last month. Never saw a more Friday-faced individual in my life. When we returned, I was so blue deviled, I couldn’t even look at the yellow sauce my new chef had cooked for my eggs, and I am usually fond of sauces.”
“Alec, tell the man the truth,” Lucien said.
“Even about Therese?”
“Especially about Therese. Perhaps if you can show her true nature to the executors, they will acknowledge that she is not the wife for you. Then, even if they fail to recognize your marriage to Julia, they might be willing to strike Therese’s name from that damned will.”
Alec leaned his head against the back of his chair and regarded the ornate plaster ceiling. He would never know how his grandfather had located such a parsimonious collection of drudges to serve as executors. Twice he had met with them, and both times he had left feeling as if he had been on trial for high treason. He sighed. “We can only hope.”
Lucien raised his brows. “And if the will stands? What will you do then?”
“I will…” Alec trailed off, suddenly aware he hadn’t really thought what his life would be like once the marriage had taken place. What would he do?
It was, he decided sourly, the culmination of a horrendous nightmare. His inheritance had instantly changed him from a carefree pariah to the most sought-after bachelor in London. People clamored for his presence. Earls, dukes, ladies, and lords, now eagerly sought him out, as though they had not previously treated him with ill-concealed contempt, mocking his lowly Scottish title and sneering behind their fans. As the richest man in England, he was suddenly worthy of instant approbation.
In the months that followed this disquieting change, Alec had become even more outrageous: bringing a retinue of soiled doves to the theatre, arriving drunk at every event, and even inviting a common prizefighter to dinner at Carlton House. It should have been amusing, but strangely, Alec found it flat. With such a fortune at his disposal, he could do no wrong. If he desired, he could probably walk naked down Pall Mall and no one would offer a single comment.
But that was not the worst of his problems. Thanks to the codicil on Grandfather’s will, he was soon to join the ranks of perfumed pretenders he so despised, nodding and smiling with the best of them.
It was a lowering thought. He scowled into his glass. By God, he would not be the only one discomforted—for every pang and pain he suffered, so would Julia.
He raised his drink to the silent vow and caught Lucien’s curious gaze. Alec managed a grin. “There is nothing simpler. Julia and I will set up house and live a life of social boredom for one year, beginning from today.”
“But she’s the Frant Dra—” Edmund caught himself, a vivid red reaching to his sandy brows. “It won’t be easy.”
Alec shrugged. “Julia knows her way about. She was a chaperone.”
“No, Edmund is right,” Lucien said. “Julia knows how to keep amorous young men from pursuing her cousin. She knows nothing about comportment, conversation, and gentle etiquette. What was acceptable for a slightly eccentric chaperone will not do for the new Viscountess Hunterston.”
Edmund leaned an elbow on one knee and rested his round chin in his hand. “Isn’t she a reformer of some sort? Someone said something to me about that just last week.” He frowned. “Wish I could remember.”
“She works with the Society for Wayward Women,” said Alec shortly. The quicker it was out in the open, the better.
Edmund sat bolt upright and snapped his fingers. “I remember! Dunston’s sister, Lady Nottley, told it to me. Daresay you don’t know Lady Nottley, but she is a sharp-tongued harridan, twice your size, Lucien. Used to be married to old man Nottley before she drove him insane. Dunston runs every time he sees her coming. He says she’s got a deadly left hook, but I think he could take her on. He’s not really fat, just big boned and—”
“Is there a point to this?” asked Lucien acidly.
Edmund looked affronted. “Well, yes. Lady Nottley said Therese was complaining that the Frant Dra—” He swallowed and cast an apologetic glance at Alec. “I mean Lady Hunterston—disappears for hours on end. Said she comes home dirty, her gown all mucked up, looking like a scullery maid. Apparently she visits the slums and don’t come home ’til after dark. I don’t care what you say, Alec, people’re bound to talk if she keeps that up.”
Alec scowled. “Nonsense.”
“She’ll have to stop,” said Edmund, matter-of-factly. “You can’t have a scandal and you never know what will put people off.”
Alec set his glass on the table. “How could Julia cause a scandal sponsoring a charity? Many members of the ton have favorite charities. Lucien’s aunts have half a dozen between the lot of them.”
“Yes, but they give money,” Lucien said. “Much as I hate to say it, the stripling is right. Such odd behavior is bound to cause talk. Do you think you could speak with her? Perhaps warn her off about being so public with her ventures.”
“By Jove, that’s the very thing,” said Edmund, beaming. “No need to raise a dust; just tell her to be more discreet.”
From the little Alec knew of Julia Frant, he doubted she would take a hint any better than she took a direct command. He shifted in his chair. “She’s very dedicated.” Far more than he liked, now that he thought about it. Though he had been married to Julia less than twenty-four hours, he had already discovered she was a woman of incredible determination. From causes to kisses, she committed herself passionately or not at all.
Of all the things he knew about Julia, that scared him the most. For the first time, he wondered how much of his funds would be going to her charity. Far too much, he supposed, feeling glum. He wouldn’t be surprised to find that she meant to squander half her portion on such things.
“I don’t suppose she’d be willing to find another charity? One that meets in a better part of town?” Edmund saw the answer in Alec’s flat stare and sighed his sympathy. “I know how it is. Once a female gets a maggoty notion in her head, there’s no reasoning with her.”
“There is also the matter of Therese,” Lucien said. “She’s bound to cause trouble once she realizes what’s happened.”
A pucker appeared on Edmund’s smooth forehead. “You should have seen her last night, crowing like a rooster and looking so smug it was all I could do to speak with a civil tongue.”
“I’m not worried about Therese,” said Alec impatiently. “Nick is the one to watch. He will stop at nothing to win the fortune.”
Lucien blew a ring of smoke and watched it ascend to the ceiling in a lazy cloud. “What our Julia needs is a champion.”
“A champion?” echoed Edmund. “Like one of those knights who used to run amuck, riding white horses and challenging people to duels and God knows what else?”
A faint smile curved the duke’s mouth. “Nothing quite that drastic. Julia needs someone who has her interests at heart. Someone who will smooth the path for her entry into society.”
Alec scowled. “I can do that.”
The duke’s eyes glinted with amusement. “You, for all your good intentions, have scarcely set yourself up as a model of the ton.”
Alec swallowed his irritation. Lucien was right. He was not the one to offer Julia the advice she needed to navigate the perils of polite society. He had spent too many years avoiding that very path.
“Perhaps my mother could assist us,” Edmund suggested.
Lucien shook his head. “Nay, halfling. As much as I revere your esteemed mother, she’d be hard pressed not to blab the whole to her friends.”
“M’mother is a talker, all right. Often thought that’s what drove my father to the grave. In his prime, he was as hearty as a horse. Mother was determined to—”
Lucien interrupted. “What we need is someone who knows the importance of being discreet, someone who is already established. Someone who…” He trailed into silence, a frown carving deep lines beside his mouth.
Alec leaned forward. “You’ve thought of someone.”
The duke nodded slowly. “There is one person, though it will take much persuasion to win her to our cause.”
“Who?” asked Edmund eagerly.
“Lady Birlington.”
Alec frowned. “Mad Maddie?”
“What’s my great aunt have to do with this?” Edmund demanded.
“If Lady Birlington took Julia under her wing, Therese would never dare sneer at her.” Lucien lifted a brow. “No one would.”
Edmund rubbed his ear. “Hate to say it, but it’s true. I never could understand it. The old lady’s rude to everyone and half a slipper shy of a pair, if you ask me. Just last week she called the Duke of York a simpleton. Right to his face, too. And when he attempted to remonstrate, she stared down that beak of a nose of hers until he turned purple and started apologizing as if he’d been the one who had—”
“Lucien, I think you may have something.” Alec rose to take a few quick paces about the room. Lady Birlington was something in Julia’s style. If anyone would know how to teach Julia to get along, it would be she. Alec felt a stirring of hope. “It just might serve. I’ll take Julia to call on Lady Birlington first thing tomorrow.”
Lucien rolled his cigarillo between his fingertips. “There’s one thing you must do first.”
“What’s that?” asked Alec, suspicious of the humor that curved the duke’s mouth.
“Buy the chit some clothes. The last time I saw the Frant Dragon, she was wearing a dress made of sackcloth.”
“Surely Lady Birlington can—”
“Lady Birlington won’t sponsor her if she thinks Julia can’t carry herself off. The old crow delights in being eccentric, but only so far as it makes her a presence among the ton.”
“And while you’re at it, you really should secure a proper carriage,” added Edmund. “That decrepit box you’ve got will never do if you’re to make a splash.”
“A splash? Who said anything about making a splash?” protested Alec. He had the feeling his life was beginning to careen wildly out of control. “I just want to get through this next year as quickly as possible and get on with my life.”
Lucien frowned. “You have to do this thing right, Alec, or you will be playing right into Nick’s hands.”
Edmund nodded. “You need entry to Almack’s, a presentation at Court, and better lodgings.” He cast a critical gaze around the room. “This is fine for bachelor quarters, but it won’t do for a dinner party. Shouldn’t think you could get more than four, five couples in here at most. And the downstairs is much too small.”
Alec’s exasperation rose. “Too small for what?”
“The new servants.”
It was suddenly difficult for him to swallow. “Why would I want more servants?”
The duke’s mouth twitched. “Though I know this will pain you, Edmund has a point. My aunt has no less than three personal servants just to keep her clothing in order and dress her hair. Your wife will need as many.”
Alec groaned.
“Perhaps you would have been better off with the lovely Therese,” Lucien said, a distinct challenge in his voice.
“Perhaps you would be better off in your own lodgings,” Alec retorted.
Lucien grinned. “This marriage will either make you or break you, my friend. Care to wager which it will be?”
Alec didn’t answer. With as much dignity as he could muster, he stood and crossed to the door, closing it behind him with a bang.
Lucien regarded the door thoughtfully. Alec was the one person he counted as friend. Life had dealt them both unfair hands, yet neither one had bowed. He only wished there was some way he could prevent Alec from making the same mistakes he had made—mistakes that had ruined more lives than his own. Lucien sighed and shook his head. While he knew the old duke’s determination to bring Alec to heel sprang from sincere concern, he had to deplore such heavy-handed methods.
“It’ll never work,” said Edmund into the silence. “If he doesn’t come out strong and do the thing right, he’ll be in the suds in no time.”
Lucien pulled his attention to the younger man. “Tell me, halfling, have you ever spoken with the Frant Dragon?”
“No. Have you?”
“Once. She was seated beside me at the Melroses’ dinner party last month. I spent three hours with her, and frankly, I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a conversation more. If she has a failing, it is that she is honest to a fault.”
Edmund brightened. “Perhaps it won’t be so hard for Alec, after all. I mean, if she’s as charming as that—”
“Oh, I think he’ll have his hands full. Julia Frant is a woman of great fortitude.”
Edmund grimaced. “No wonder Alec looked so ill at ease.”
“He is in for a perilous journey. He may have married by the deadline, but he still has a long year ahead.”
“He will need our assistance. God knows he’s helped me out of more scrapes than I can count.” Edmund leaned forward eagerly. “What can we do?”
Lucien flipped his cheroot into the fireplace. “We have to help the lovely Julia become society’s most dashing matron. It’s the only way to counteract whatever evil Therese and Nick cook up.”
A doubtful expression crossed the chubby face. “What do we know about married women?”
The duke lifted a brow. “Pray tell, did you not just leave the warm bed of the buxom Lady Chowerton?”
A dull red flush burned its way across Edmund’s cheeks. “Yes, but—”
“And isn’t there a Lord Chowerton lurking somewhere in the distance?”
“Tare and hounds, Luce!” Edmund exclaimed in a strangled tone. “Fanny is another matter altogether. Chowerton is twice her age and more. Besides, I shouldn’t think Alec would want us to teach Julia about…well, I mean, dash it, we couldn’t teach her how to—”
“Don’t be a gudgeon, Edmund. Of course we couldn’t. Now listen to me, stripling, for I will say this but once: we know the dressing, eating, and personal habits of at least half of the married women in the ton. All we need to do is teach those habits to Alec’s young wife. That, along with Lady Birlington’s sponsorship, will get our Julia in the door.”
Edmund bit his lip. “If Maddie’ll do it. I ain’t saying she won’t, mind you, for you never know what sort of an idea she might take to.” He shook his head. “I still can’t help but wonder if the women we know are the types Alec’d want his wife to emulate.”
Lucien rubbed his temple and wondered why he had adopted this young cub. Actually, it was more the other way around. One never invited Edmund; he just appeared. Impervious to snubs, the lad wormed his way into their company so often, Lucien had actually missed the silly youth when Edmund had escorted his long-suffering mother to the country.
Sighing, Lucien said patiently, “Edmund, where is Lady Chowerton this morning?”
Edmund’s brow furrowed in thought. “Visiting Lady Cowper. Then, she’s off to the Winnifreds’ tea.”
“Where will she be tomorrow?”
“The theatre. Said I might see her there. She’s wearing an atrocious gown the exact pattern of my mother’s window shades, gold with green stripes. I told her not to wear it, but—”
“Of course she will be at the theatre,” Lucien interrupted. “The whole world attends the new play. And then, on Thursday night, you can be assured the lovely
Fanny will attend the Seftons’ rout. She is accepted everywhere. No breath of scandal has ever touched her name.” He shrugged. “So long as one is discreet, one may do as one pleases.”
Edmund bounded from his chair. “By Jove, you are right, Luce! I hadn’t thought of it like that. All Alec has to do is show Julia how to get on and teach her to be discreet. You and I can see to it that he does the thing in style.” He stood, wide-eyed and annoyingly eager. “Where shall we begin? Tattersall’s, to look for a carriage? Or should we attempt to soften Lady Birlington?”
“First, you and I have an errand of a more delicate kind.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“We are about to start a rumor of our own.”
Chapter 5
The solicitor examined the marriage license, his long nose flaring ever so slightly. Julia stared, fascinated, wondering if the little man could smell the ink.
Alec shifted impatiently in the hard chair. “When can you transfer the funds?”
Julia suppressed a sigh. Alec had been in a foul mood since this morning, no doubt regretting their hasty marriage. It was a great pity he felt that way, because once she had been revived by a hot bath and a swallow of rum, she’d felt only dreamlike wonder at her changed circumstances. Dreamlike wonder, and the tiniest bit of excitement.
Mr. Pratt’s gaze lifted over the rim of his glasses as he placed the marriage license back on the desk. “It appears the document is legal.”
“Of course it’s legal,” Alec growled. The chair creaked as he leaned forward. “The will does not specify which late Earl of Covington, so the conditions have been met. I expect the funds to be placed in my account by this afternoon.”
The first thing she needed to do, Julia decided, was work on improving Alec’s uncertain temper. She glanced at her impatient husband, then wished she hadn’t. He looked wildly handsome, a scowl darkening his brow, his eyes snapping a frosty silver. Her heart quickened and a hot prickle traveled slowly up her arms and came to rest on the nape of her neck. She had to fight the urge to shiver.