How to Beguile a Beauty

“Not necessarily. My cousin is in town, and—”

“The one you’re to be betrothed to at any moment, according to my wife, who may not go out in Society, but still manages to know every piece of gossip?”

Tanner once again took refuge in examining the fine Aubusson carpet. “Jasmine Harburton, my third cousin, yes. Her father seems to take the marriage as all but an accomplished fact, and he’s a man not known for his reticence. The rumor has come back to me a dozen times, and I’ve been told at least two adventurous souls have written down a wager on the thing in the betting book at White’s. Supposedly it was my father’s deathbed wish that I marry Jasmine, you see, bringing their small estate into our holdings. She’s an amenable enough young woman, but…”

“But, honorable man that you are, you’re finding yourself growing rather weary of dead people planning out your life for you?” Rafe suggested, and then quickly took a sip from his glass, keeping his expression blank.

“Thank you for saying that for me. When I say it, or even think it, I feel rather cold and callous. Especially where Fitz is concerned. But, God, Rafe, the man was dying. Clinging to my hand with his last strength as the battle still raged a few miles away from that pitiful ruined barn where I’d found him. I would have agreed to anything he’d asked at that moment, to make his passing easier.”

A flash of pain crossed Rafe’s features. Fitz had been his closest friend during six years of war on the Peninsula. If he hadn’t inherited the dukedom, hadn’t been handed the responsibility for his sisters and mother and all of the Ashurst estates, he would have gone to Brussels with his friend for that last confrontation with Bonaparte. Instead, he had stayed behind, to work inside the War Office. Tanner knew what the man thought: Rafe could never know if his presence on the battlefield might have made a difference, to Fitz’s future, to his own. “But now?”

Tanner saw Rafe’s expression and mentally kicked himself for a fool, bringing up old pain. Yet fool he was, as he debated as to whether or not he should keep his own counsel. But this was Rafe, his good friend. “And now I’m here because I want to be here. I think I’ve known that from the moment I first pulled Lydia into my arms as she flailed at me in her grief.”

Rafe shook his head ruefully as he slapped at his thigh. “Right again. Blast that Charlie, she’s always right. She was right about Lucas, and now she’s right about you. How do women do it?”

“I don’t know,” Tanner admitted, almost sighed…except that women sighed; men got themselves royally drunk. “Lydia no longer sees me as the enemy, her personal agent of death or whatever, but now I’m Fitz’s good friend, probably a constant reminder of him. Hell of a turn, isn’t it? He asks me to take care of her, watch over her…and I’m seeing myself as usurping his place in her life. I doubt that’s what he had in mind.”

“And now you’re feeling guilty, disloyal? Don’t do that. The past is the past, Tanner. It’s gone.”

“Is it? She loved him, Rafe. It’s too soon. I need to give her more time.”

“Don’t wait too long, my friend. If Fitz’s death taught us nothing else, it taught us that the luxury of time is just that. A luxury.”

Tanner got to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. “Now that she’s out from beneath Nicole’s…well, shining star, I suppose…let me take her into Society, Rafe. My cousin’s chaperone can easily handle them both. Lydia needs to understand that she is a beautiful young woman, inside and out. She always allowed Nicole to shine while she positioned herself in the background. If I’m to seriously pursue my suit, she needs to first find someone to compare me with other than Fitz.”

“You want her to be courted by other men? Is that what you’re saying?”

“God help me, yes, I suppose I am.”

“You don’t fear competition?”

“Not live competition, no, heartless as that sounds. A good man in life, in death I fear Fitz has been raised very nearly to sainthood by what was at the time a younger, very impressionable girl. She’s known only his companionship and now, to a very small extent, mine. I want to win her, I won’t lie about that, but not by default.”

“Charlie has mentioned to me, and not all that kindly, that men in love all seem to have maggots in their heads. Once again, Tanner, you’re proving the woman right. However, since you seem to be offering to take my place shepherding Lydia around Mayfair, who am I to argue, or to point out the obvious pitfalls? Although I will ask this, as I am Lydia’s brother and protector. You aren’t also using her to teach a lesson to Miss Harburton’s father about his presumptions?”

Tanner didn’t understand for a moment, and then smiled. “Well, now, Rafe, do you see that? I’m not as unselfish as you might think, am I. Even if I didn’t realize it until you pointed it out to me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I suppose. Ah, what tangled webs we weave, and all that rot.”

“I’m not weaving a web. I’m being quite serious. I didn’t even consider using Lydia to throw hints to Thomas Harburton and his assumption that I will wed his—” Tanner cut off his protest as he turned toward the foyer, to see Lydia walking toward the doorway to the drawing room.

Nicole, bless her energetic self, seemed to explode into a room, bringing her wide smile and dancing eyes with her, as if every moment was a party, an adventure. Lydia walked with such grace, almost floated, her posture the dream of any boarding school mistress, her movements never exaggerated as if trying to draw attention to herself. Both twins were magnificent, but when they were together, it was only natural for the eye to travel first to Nicole.

Men were so easily dazzled by the obvious, making straight for the glittering diamond, overlooking the perfect pearl.

What would the gentlemen of the ton see now, when Lydia made her appearances in the Park, in the ballrooms all across Mayfair? Would they see what he had seen from the very start?

Was he out of his mind, as Rafe fairly well suggested, to allow any other man within twenty feet of her when he already knew he wanted her for himself?

Probably.

“Lydia,” Tanner said, bowing in her direction. “I thought some fresh air might be welcome after the past few days of rain. We should be just in time for the Promenade.”

She gifted him with a small, elegant curtsy. “Good afternoon, Tanner. How nice of you to think of me. Hyde Park? I’ve only been there in the mornings, to take the air. I heard it is a sad crush at five in the afternoon. Are you sure you wish to dare it?”

“Oh, he’ddare anything. Wouldn’t you, Tanner? He’s a very daring man,” Rafe said, kissing his sister on the cheek. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have to go grovel at my brilliant wife’s dainty feet—the ones she increasingly insists I tell her still exist. Tanner, were you planning to attend Lady Chalfont’s ball this evening?”

Tanner looked at him, grateful for Rafe leading him so easily into the moment. “The invitation is among those stacked on my mantelpiece, yes. And I hear it may prove to be an entertaining evening.”

“Wonderful. Lydia, do you hear that? You now have an escort, unless you wish my company instead. I really do need to work on my speech for Parliament, the one that will most probably earn me a few whistles and catcalls when I again mention that it’s time we began taking care of our poor soldiers.”

Lydia looked from Rafe to Tanner, confusion clear in her eyes. “I shouldn’t wish to take you away from such an important speech, just to squire me. But, Tanner, there is no reason for you to sacrifice yourself in the role of chaperone, either. I have no crushing desire to attend the ball in any case.”

Tanner offered her his arm and walked her toward the foyer, throwing a silent thank you back over his shoulder at Rafe. “What? And miss out on those wonderful Gunther Ices I hear are to be served in the supper room? I’ve been looking forward to them all day, now that I think of it. And I also heard that her ladyship has commissioned an ice sculpture in the form of a pair of extremely long-necked swans. Ten feet high, I’m told. In this heat? We really should want to be there for the moment those long, delicate necks melt and the whole thing comes crashing down. Hugh Elliot has promised me he’ll be there, watching, just so that he can shout off with their heads at just the correct moment.”

Lydia looked up at him and smiled with those marvelous blue eyes of hers, clearly unaware that he immediately felt a figurative kick to his stomach. “You’re making that up as you go along, aren’t you, just so that I’ll agree to the evening?”

They walked outside, to his waiting curricle. “Ah, and that you won’t know unless you allow me to escort you to the ball, will you?”

“True. All right then, I accept your kind offer, sir. But there had better be swans.”

“I admit I can’t guarantee that, but at least I’m sure of the Gunther Ices. Lady Chalfont always has Gunther Ices, as they’re her husband’s favorite. Right after brandy, cigars, Faro banks and, rumor has it, a fiery redheaded opera dancer in Covent Garden. And here we are—up you go.”

Tanner vaulted around the rear of the curricle once Lydia was seated, and climbed up, taking the reins from the groom.

“Rafe informed me that your chaperone is suffering from the gout,” he said as they left Grosvenor Square for the short ride to Hyde Park. “And, as Nicole has left the city, I was thinking just now that you might miss her company at the ball.”

“I miss her company at all times,” Lydia corrected quietly. “But you’re correct.”

Tanner nodded, again, just as if he’d only this moment realized the problem, and the solution. “In that case, since my cousin is in town, and her chaperone is not suffering with the gout, what do you say I ask Jasmine if she wants to accompany us this evening, to bear you company now that Nicole is not here? I would not wish to have you feel alone in the ballroom.”

Lydia turned her head to look toward a knot of ladies just then crossing the street, heading for the entrance to the park. Was she intrigued by them, or just avoiding his gaze? “I’ve never met your cousin. But, yes, that would be very nice, I’m sure.”

If Lady Chalfont’s swans could be kept in close proximity to Lydia this evening, there would be no danger of their necks melting through. The sudden unexpected chill in Lydia’s voice was that evident, and strangely out of character. Lydia was never cross.

“Now I’ve upset you in some way,” Tanner said as he deftly eased his curricle into the line of coaches, phaetons and other showy equipages all jockeying for position on the broad sandy track that wound through the park.

She shifted on the plank seat, to face him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Tanner. I’m—well, let me just say that it has been a rather strange day. It’s not that I mean to be ungrateful. But it’s also so…well, so obvious. You’re being kind. Am I such a pitiful wreck, that people feel this need to be kind to me?”

“I wasn’t being—”

“Oh, but you were, and I really should thank you, even while in my heart I know I should not have to apologize for voicing my feelings in the matter,” Lydia interrupted, her smooth pale cheeks taking on a hint of color, of fire. “So, please, allow me to say what I feel. Everyone is so kind to me. Be careful around Lydia, they must tell each other, tiptoe if at all possible. Poor Lydia, now that Nicole has gone away. Poor Lydia, the bluestocking, the dull one, who only dances when Nicole’s card is already filled and the gentlemen hope to impress her by squiring her insipid, forgettable sister. Poor sad Lydia, still mourning her lost—”

She clamped her gloved hands to her mouth, her eyes now wide as saucers.

Tanner didn’t know if he should apologize, or cheer. “Lydia? Are you all right?”

She slowly lowered her hands, to reveal a small but growing smile. “My goodness. I think I’ve just had a tantrum.”

“Are you sure?” Tanner would have thought a tantrum involved a good deal more anger, some shouting, and possibly some general tossing and smashing of fragile china. But for a first effort, if that’s what it had been, she had done rather well. She certainly had his attention.

“I am, yes. And Nicole’s right. I do feel better. Tanner, since you say you are my friend, you will oblige me now by no longer treating me as if I should be packed up in cotton wool. Is that agreed? Wait, before you speak—and in turn, I will oblige you by not being such a…such a…well, whatever it is I was being that has had you all behaving as if I’m some delicate ice swan’s neck apt to melt and topple at any moment.”

Tanner felt a nearly overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms. But he was also aware that the opposite of coddling her in cotton wool was not an invitation for an all-out frontal assault and baring of his emotions.

“I’m sorry, Lydia, if we’ve all been tiptoeing around you. And, to prove it, I’ll ask you this time, and not tell you or attempt to cajole you—would you care to accompany my cousin and myself to Lady Chalfont’s ball this evening? Or would you much rather tell me to go find a pump and soak my head?”

“I would never say anything like that! At least I don’t think I would.” She then nodded her head twice, rather decisively. “Yes, thank you, I believe I should like very much attending the ball with you and Miss Harburton. And I’m certain I will enjoy meeting your cousin.” Then she gave him another smile, and another figurative kick to the gut. “But you think it was a good tantrum?”

“Tolerable, yes. You might need a little more practice before you’ve perfected it, but it was a good beginning.”

“I’m usually considered to be a good student. I’ll apply myself. Oh…someone is attempting to get your attention. Over there,” she said, pointing with her chin—how he delighted in the way she did that.

“Tanner Blake, it has been too long. How good to see you again,” the man called out, waving his hand in the air as he approached on horseback. “It was one thing to be long-ago chums, and to crack a few bottles with you in Paris a few years ago, but now that you’re the duke, I suppose I should take great care to cultivate your newly esteemed self.”

Tanner quickly took in the finely set-up grey stallion and the even more perfectly set-up gentleman in the saddle, still doing his best not to appear shocked at his friend’s sudden appearance. “Justin. Nobody told me you were in town. Did Vienna finally pall on you?”

Baron Justin Wilde, who had worn many hats during the last years in the fight against Bonaparte—many of them not known to any but the most highly-placed in the War Office—eased his mount around so that he was now riding alongside the curricle. The two men shook hands, no mean feat as both curricle and horse were still on the move.

Justin Wilde was now, as Tanner always remembered him to be, dressed in the first stare of fashion, the cut of his jacket accentuating the natural breadth of his shoulders, the buckskins molded to his strong thighs above high, close-fitting black Hessian boots sporting natty leather tassels and shined within an inch of their lives. But it was the lace at collar and cuffs that most firmly lifted him above the ordinary, as well as a face too handsome to allow anyone to feel threatened by him and his considerable muscles.

In fact, many would at first blush of meeting the Baron think him a smooth-speaking, faintly air-headed fop. They would look into those laughing green eyes beneath brows as dark as his boots and his hair, be disarmed by the frequent smile, and believe themselves in the company of a none-too-bright jewel of the ton. Which would be their mistake.

“I escaped Vienna nearly a month ago, slowly making my way home. Diplomacy can be boring, even when we’re carving up empires like bakers cutting a cake.” He half-stood in the stirrups as he tipped his curly-brimmed beaver at Lydia. “Forgive him, ma’am. The boy never did learn his manners. I am Justin Wilde, and you are the most delightful creature I’ve ever been privileged to see. Please tell me this scoundrel is only squiring you, and has no prior claim to your affections now that my heart hangs in the balance on your answer.”

Tanner’s laugh brought a small, hesitant smile to Lydia’s face. “Lady Lydia Daughtry, please forgive me for being forced to introduce to you Baron Justin Wilde. Soldier and statesman, wit and fool. And he plays all of those roles better than most. I suggest you avoid him at all costs.”

“Oh, foul, Tanner. Foul. You’re twice the fool I am, and so I tell everyone. Lady Lydia, again, I implore you. Tell me your heart is not as yet bespoken, most especially to an unnamed rogue bearing a rather canny resemblance to the gentleman now looking so uncomfortable beside you, else mine own heart will surely break.”

Tanner waited for Lydia’s answer, realizing that he had no idea what she would say. Yesterday, he would have known she’d be polite, rather shy, and most definitely exceedingly proper. But today? He looked at her curiously, his heart jumping when she revealed a small, rather wry smile that made him see, perhaps for the first time, a resemblance to her mischievous twin.

“I most seriously doubt my words hold such power, sir,” she said after a moment, “but if it eases your endangered heart at all, I will say that his Grace and I are friends out merely to enjoy the air and, of course, the present foolish company.”

Wilde swiftly removed his hat and pressed it to his chest in mock admiration. “My God, Tanner, she speaks in complete sentences. And without simpering or stuttering or feigning light-headedness at my crude attempts at flattery.” Once again he leaned his head forward, to look around Tanner. “Lady Lydia, please be so kind as to picture me figuratively at your feet. I had no idea beauty such as yours could exist, most especially in concert with a functioning mind.”

Tanner put out his arm, pushing Wilde back on his saddle even as he maneuvered the reins and the curricle moved forward slowly, thanks to the crush of other vehicles. “You should take yourself back to Vienna, Justin, if your opinion of London ladies is so poor.”

“Nonsense, Tanner. My opinion of all ladies is that they are delightful creatures. As long as one isn’t so unfortunate as to have to engage them in conversation for more than a few minutes, of course. Which, fortunately, I usually don’t. But Lady Lydia seems to be a wonderful exception to the rule.”

Now it seemed to be Lydia’s turn to push—politely—Tanner back on his seat as she leaned forward to question the Baron. “Exception though you have deemed me, I feel I must now ask you a question. Are you then a misogynist, sir? Or perhaps a misanthrope, and your distaste extends to all creatures who are not you? Are you Alceste?”

Tanner now sat back on the bench seat all by himself, without further direction from either Wilde or Lydia. He figured it was safer.

“Alceste, you say? That woeful cynic? Then you are familiar with Molière and his masterpiece, Le Misanthrope? Tanner, did you hear that? Wait, wait, this can’t be. Lady Lydia, indulge me by completing this line. He’s a wonderful talker, who has the art…?”

Tanner laughed out loud. “God’s teeth, Justin, you’d quiz her?”

“No, no, it’s all right. Shall I?” Lydia looked to Tanner, who merely nodded. “Very well, then. He’s a wonderful talker, who has the art of telling you nothing in a great harangue.”

“Ha! I can see why that line is one of your favorites, Justin. Sounds just like you. Are we done now? I brought Lady Lydia here to see the sights, not to amuse you. Although I’ll admit to being quite well amused myself.”

“I’ll leave you now, yes,” Wilde said, his considering gaze still on Lydia, who seemed to have suddenly remembered that she was the shy twin, the one who never put herself forward. “But perhaps we can meet again later, Tanner? It has been too long.”

Tanner agreed, because he did truly enjoy Justin Wilde. He told him that he and Lydia would be attending Lady Chalfont’s ball later in the evening, and then finally watched as Wilde rode off, probably already planning on whom he would next harass with his perfect—and yet unexpected, almost bizarrely so—presence.

“What a strange man,” Lydia said as Tanner moved the curricle forward only a few feet, the crush of equipages now reaching a multitude on this rare sunny afternoon. “Does he really think women are so…useless?”

“I’d say I wouldn’t know, except that I like the man, and feel he may have made a rather odd first impression. Justin was once married to an extraordinarily beautiful young woman, Lydia, and it ended badly. He has told me that he chose her for her beauty, which, again, according to him, is a mistake made too often by vain and foolish gentlemen.”

“I believe that particular mistaken and short-sighted conclusion is shared by both genders.”

Tanner looked at her curiously. “Really?”

“You’re surprised?”

“I suppose not. And we men probably spend nearly as much time in front of the mirror or with our tailors as do women. Thank you for that insight.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, her smile once again shy. But, then, he treasured all of Lydia’s smiles, which had been far too infrequent since he’d first met her. “Now tell me the rest. I’m sure there’s more to the story.”

“Oh, there most definitely is. Justin was bored with his beauty within a fortnight, as her conversations veered from demands that he compliment her every outfit to reciting endless minutiae about the outfits of other women of their acquaintance. He said—and I remember it well because he was so very serious at the time, if a bit in his cups—that she could probably recite the names of every fabric, gee-gaw and thingamabob known to man with much more ease than she could the alphabet.”

“Poor man. Poor wife.”

“She found solace,” Tanner said, deciding it was time he took advantage of a break in the endless train of vehicles, and turned his curricle toward a nearby exit to the street. Seeing Justin again had been a shock, albeit a good one. “From what I’ve heard, not from Justin, who would never have allowed such an indiscretion, she found a variety of ways to comfort herself. Gowns, jewels…a long line of other men more than willing to keep reassuring her she was beautiful.”

“Was beautiful? Does that mean—?”

“Yes, it does, but not soon enough to save Justin, I’m afraid, even though that sounds callous. A month before Danielle met an unfortunate end tripping down a length of marble stairs at Carlton House after catching a heel on the outrageously flounced hem of her gown—the Prince of Wales had to take to his bed for a week after the accident—one of her lovers made the mistake of bragging about his latest conquest. Justin felt bound to call the man out, defending the honor of his dishonorable wife.”

“He killed the man?”

“He hadn’t planned to, but yes. I served as one of Justin’s seconds, so I saw it all. His fool opponent turned to fire on the count of two. We called out to warn Justin. He turned at once, and fired in self-defense. But the man was still dead, and Justin had to flee the country. It’s only his valuable service to the Crown, I imagine, and the passing of years that has allowed him to return to England. I wonder how he’ll be received now, eight long years later. The man he killed was the second son of an earl, you understand. There’s always a new bit of gossip to keep the ton happy, but that old gossip couldn’t be so far beneath the surface of many memories. Not with Justin showing himself so boldly in the Park. It’s as if he’s encouraging everyone to talk about him.”

“But you’ll stand by him.”

Tanner looked at her. She hadn’t framed her words as a question. “Yes, I will. Even though—no, especially because the old hurts don’t seem so far beneath Justin’s own surface now that he’s returned to England. He may have been teasing with you, but the wounds of his failed marriage and the consequences seem to have served to jade his opinion toward women.”