The Princess and the Pea Page 9

  Now, however, she could see his grin from across the room. Good; he obviously liked the girl. And so far she met Olivia’s requirements. Jared’s mother narrowed her eyes.

  “We shall see,” she said under her breath.

  It was as if the next few moments happened in a dream, as if time slowed nearly to a standstill. She watched her son approach Cecily, saw the girl swivel to face him. Then Olivia spotted that clumsy oaf of a son of Lady Charleton’s stumble over his own overgrown feet on the dance floor. The idiot knocked into Lord Pemberly, who in turn tottered several steps out of the range of the dancers and into the oncoming path of a servant: a waiter bearing a very large, very full, crystal punch bowl.

  Olivia opened her mouth to cry a warning but could not seem to do more than stare in speechless horror. Pemberly sprawled in the path of the waiter, who then tripped headlong over the stout aristocrat splashing—no, flinging—every drop of punch in the bowl on which he still maintained a grip, over the closest innocent figure. And in a moment Cecily White stood dripping a champagne and fruit concoction.

  “My goodness,” Olivia murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “How will the child handle this?” She hurried to the scene of the disaster.

  A sticky pool puddled at Cecily’s feet. Her gown, obviously a Worth creation, was ruined. Her hair was a shambles, her evening destroyed. Olivia reached the girl and the crowd forming about her in time to hear the hapless servant stammering abject apologies.

  Cecily’s eyes snapped, but her demeanor remained calm, serene, even gracious. “It’s quite all right. A simple accident, nothing more.” She mustered a sincere smile and directed it at the panicked waiter. “Really, I shall dry.” She cast a regretful look at the ruined dress. “Eventually.”

  Olivia would have destroyed with a single glance anyone who even suggested she had a democratic bone in her body. And whether you chose to call it democracy or simply the responsibility of the upper classes to set an example, Olivia never could abide anyone who dressed down servants in public.

  On the mental list she carried in her head for the purpose of evaluating potential brides for her son, she placed a tiny check next to the lines marked grace and deportment. This child obviously knew how to carry herself in public. She was a young lady whose behavior one certainly would not have to worry about.

  “Lady Millicent,” Cecily said, apparently struggling to avoid any expression of discomfort. “If you could manage to find my parents, I should like to leave now.” She shrugged ruefully. “I’m beginning to get a bit chilled.”

  “Miss White…” Jared said quickly.

  Cecily turned eyes wide with disbelief toward him. “Do you wish to say anything further, your…lordship? This is perhaps not an appropriate moment.”

  Jared appeared to be conducting his own battle at stifling amusement. What on earth was the matter with the man? If he laughed at the girl she would never forgive him, and with good reason. Olivia would have to have a long chat with her son on public behavior, although she’d never noticed conduct like this before.

  Jared’s eyes twinkled. “I simply wished to ask if I might call on you?”

  Cecily’s composure remained unruffled, but the muscle around her jaw seemed to tense, as if she clenched her teeth. “I don’t think that would—”

  “Of course you may call on her, your lordship,” the girl’s younger sister said. What was her name? Oh, yes, Emily. She appeared nearly as well behaved as her sister.

  “Em…” Cecily said under her breath.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Millicent chimed in. “Cecily and her family are staying at my home while they are here in London. Jared, you know you are welcome any time.”

  “I was counting on that, Lady Millicent.” He lifted Millicent’s hand to his lips and dropped a charming kiss there. Millicent actually seemed to blush at the attention. He turned to Cecily and reached to take her hand, then abruptly drew back, as if he thought better of the action. “I do hope you suffer no ill effects from this drenching, Miss White. Although I daresay one gets used to being soaked, don’t you think?”

  “I shudder at the thought, your…lordship.” Was that a note of sarcasm in the girl’s voice? Was she referring to something other than this punch fiasco? Surely not. The young people had just met. They’d not spent nearly enough time together for their words to have hidden meanings.

  Cecily nodded sharply and, accompanied by her sister and Millicent, made her way to the door. Jared stared after her, a satisfied grin growing on his face. Dripping with punch or not, apparently the boy liked what he saw.

  This Miss White had made a favorable first impression, but futures were built on more than one night. And more than one test. Olivia glanced from her son to Cecily’s retreating figure and back. The man still had that silly smile on his face. Olivia shook her head in disbelief.

  One sometimes wondered if the question should be whether a young lady was good enough for her son, or if he was good enough for her.

  Chapter Five

  “You told me she was a bloody butcher’s daughter!” Jared paced the length of the modest library, for once refusing to be soothed by the vague scent of leather and tobacco and all things solid and male.

  “I thought she was.” Quentin lounged in a wing chair in the well-appointed room that had obviously seen better days and idly swirled the brandy in the snifter in his hands. “Something like that, anyway.”

  Jared glared at his partner. “‘Something like that’? Her father has a meatpacking empire. A virtual kingdom of cattle. That’s a far cry from a butcher shop on the corner.”

  Quentin shrugged. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”

  “I believe the difference can be measured in millions,” Jared said dryly.

  “Congratulations.” Quentin lifted his glass in a toast. “That solves all your problems.”

  “My problems are just beginning,” Jared muttered.

  “Really?” Quentin raised a curious brow. “I thought you needed an heiress. And you obviously like the girl.”

  “Like her?” He downed the last swallow of the liquor in his glass and strode to his desk, where the decanter beckoned like an amber light house. Quickly he poured a second healthy draught of the pungent spirits and pulled another long draw. The brandy burned rich and satisfying, and he reveled in the strong, hard taste of it. “I more than like her.”

  Quentin jerked upright and stared. “Surely you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?”

  Jared met his friend’s gaze solemnly. “Love, Quent. I am bloody in love.”

  “The world, as we know it, is at an end.” Quentin laughed. “I never thought I would hear you utter that blasphemous word.”

  Jared smiled wryly. “Neither did I.”

  “Wait.” Quentin cupped his ear with his hand. “Do you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “That sound.” Quentin clasped his hand over his heart in an exaggerated gesture of dismay. “The sound of hearts breaking all over London. Perhaps throughout all of En gland itself.” He slumped back in his chair and peered over the rim of his glass. “They’ll be crying in their sherry when word of this gets out.”

  Jared snorted in derision and sank into the chair behind the mahogany desk. “I think, my friend, you overestimate my impact on the fair sex.”

  It was Quentin’s turn to snort. “Hardly. Through the years, you’ve cut a rather wide swath through the ladies of this city and elsewhere. Both the sweet, young daughters of the best families as well as those, shall we say, somewhat less innocent but no less enchanting creatures of a more worldly persuasion.”

  Jared couldn’t suppress an acknowledging grin. “I have had a good time of it.”

  Quentin nodded pointedly. “You clearly enjoyed being the second son with no expectations and fewer obligations.”

  Jared chuckled. “Ah, it was a difficult reputation to live up to, but I did my best. And, I must admit, it was not at all unpleasant. No
w, however, I am the bearer of the title, with all the headaches that go along with it.” He settled back in his chair and considered his friend thoughtfully. “You’ve never seemed particularly bothered by that position, and you’re the lone son and heir of your family.”

  “Don’t forget, old man, my father is a mere knight. There is no title involved here; all he can pass on to me is money.” Quentin grinned. “Besides, we have an excellent arrangement. He expects very little from me and in return I do not sully the family name with scandal and disgrace.”

  “I can’t help but envy you.” Jared tilted his glass to his lips, as if the sheer potency of the brandy alone would dissolve his difficulties. “I now find myself charged with responsibilities I never before realized existed. Prime among them, putting this family’s financial affairs back in order.”

  “As I said before, your problems are solved. You love the girl and she has money.”

  Jared shook his head slowly. “It’s not that simple. When we were together in Paris—”

  “Paris?” Admiration swept over Quentin’s expression. “Excellent. You never told me you saw her in Paris. That’s the perfect place to press your suit.”

  Jared stared at the brandy in his glass. “It did not end well.”

  Quentin studied him through narrowed eyes. “I see. That explains quite a bit. You’ve been extremely churlish ever since you returned. Exactly what happened?”

  Jared caught the other man’s apprehensive gaze and grimaced. “I’m afraid I severed our relationship.” He took another pull on the liquor. “With a note.”

  “A note? A note is something you give a discarded mistress.” Quentin shook his head in astonishment. “For a man who is practically a mechanical genius, with one of the cleverest minds it has ever been my plea sure to encounter, that sounds remarkably stupid.”

  “It was.” Jared sighed. “But that appears to be the least of it.” He smiled slightly at the thought. “She seems to have forgiven me that little error in judgment. Even admitted to night that she loves me.”

  “Well, then…”

  “Our problems go considerably beyond that.” He reached for an intricately carved wooden box, flicked open the top and selected a cigar. Picking up a small knife, he deftly clipped off the end. “It seems my beloved has a deep and abiding dislike of men who marry for money.”

  He flipped the cigar toward his partner, and Quentin caught it with his free hand. “Then don’t tell her.”

  Jared cast him a morose look. “She already knows.”

  Quentin stared in obvious amazement. “And to think I once admired your exploits with women.”

  “Those days are behind me.” Jared selected a second cigar and rolled the cylinder between his fingers. “Cece is all I ever dared to dream of and far more than I’d hoped for. I find I desire only her, with or without her fortune.” He eyed the tobacco ruefully. “I simply need to convince her of that.”

  “With your considerable skills”—Quentin got to his feet and ambled to the fireplace—“I shouldn’t think that would be overly difficult.” He thrust a long match into the blaze, then touched the flaming end to the cigar clamped between his lips. “Just do what you always do: flowers, expressions of devotion, an expensive, appropriate gift here and there.”

  Quentin stepped to the desk and offered his partner a light. Jared leaned forward and puffed until the cigar’s tip glowed cherry red. “You know, for a man whose finances aren’t what they once were, you certainly know how to live well.”

  “Thank you.” Jared blew wobbly rings of pungent smoke and watched them drift lazily upward. “Appearances, Quent; it all comes down to appearances.” He dipped the end of his cigar in his brandy and took an appreciative puff. “That and a little bit of credit. It makes all the difference. For example, I noticed in Paris several automobiles that look better than ours. Are their designs more sophisticated? Is their development more advanced? I suspect they simply seemed more impressive by virtue of their appearance.”

  Quentin dropped back in his chair. “That reminds me; have you noticed that no matter what kind of innovation we come up with, others seem to be no more than a step or two behind?”

  Jared nodded and leaned forward, punctuating his words with his cigar and puffs of blue-gray smoke. “I’ve had thoughts along the same lines myself, although it’s been months since I noticed anything specific. No doubt we’re a bit more suspicious than is warranted. Since we are all heading in the same general direction, it’s inevitable we should all come up with the same general ideas.”

  Quentin eyed the end of his cigar thoughtfully. “I wonder…”

  Silence settled over the room. Jared reluctantly admitted, at least to himself, that it was inordinately difficult these days to concentrate on the automobile. He suspected he would be unable to think of much of anything but Cece until he had resolved their conflicts and finally won her over.

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think traditional methods will sway Cece. She is far too clever to fall for a few pretty phrases, and I doubt even a garden full of flowers will set this right.”

  Quentin rested his head on the back of the chair and puffed in a contented manner. “I like the girl. You have excellent taste.”

  “I do, don’t I?” Jared smiled smugly.

  “I’ve gotten to know her a bit while her family’s been staying with my aunt.” Quentin paused for a sip of liquor and a puff on his cigar. “She’s quite unique. Very forward-thinking. Remarkably interested in progress—”

  “She believes women should work,” Jared said confidentially.

  “No!” Quentin stared in genuine shock.

  “It’s true.” Jared shook his head in disbelief.

  Quentin frowned. “You will have to squash that idea without hesitation. As to her other qualities, aside from her rather questionable taste in hats, I find her unusually intelligent. Witty. Far too impulsive for her own good. Stubborn—”

  Jared squinted through the smoky haze. “Are you listing her attributes or her character flaws?”

  Quentin ignored the interruption. “What I mean is, even as she seems to spurn tradition, she appears quite well bred. She does know how to behave properly.”

  “Well, naturally,” Jared huffed.

  Quentin waved his cigar absently. “Let me put this a different way. Take that unfortunate incident to night. Another woman would have no doubt thrown a fit; berated the servant and probably the hostess as well. Your Cece handled it like—”

  “A princess?” Jared smiled at the memory.

  “Well, at least a countess,” Quentin said wryly.

  Jared puffed on the cigar and gazed thoughtfully at the curls of aromatic mist. “Even my mother noticed. She wants to meet Cece. I believe she was impressed by her behavior.”

  “My point exactly.” Quentin nodded in obvious satisfaction.

  “What are you trying to say?” Jared peered at his nearly empty snifter and reached for the decanter.

  Quentin sighed in exasperation and pulled himself to his feet. He stepped the short distance to the desk and held out his glass. Jared obligingly refilled it. Quentin returned to his chair and settled in.

  “What I am trying to say, old chap, is Cece has a certain set of values that have nothing to do with any of her beliefs about modern life.” Quentin aimed his cigar like a weapon. “And therein lies your answer.”

  Jared stared in complete bewilderment. “I still haven’t the vaguest notion of your point.”

  “Seduction,” Quentin said in a solemn manner.

  “Seduction?” Had the brandy muddled his brain? Or Quentin’s?

  “Seduction.” Quentin nodded sagely. “It’s perfect. If you seduce her, she’ll have to marry you.”

  Jared glared at his partner in amazement. “I can’t casually seduce Cece. This isn’t some trollop we’re talking about, some doxy off the street. This is the woman I plan to marry. The future Countess of Graystone. The mother of my children.” He pulled his brow
s together in an annoyed frown. “The very idea is absurd. It’s insane. It’s—”

  “It’s brilliant.” Quentin’s grin was wicked. “Think about it for a moment. If indeed you get her in your bed, she’ll be obligated to marry you. For the sake of her honor and yours.”

  “But I love her,” Jared protested.

  Quentin’s eyes glinted in the lamplight. “Some people consider seduction much better when love is involved.”

  “Still…” Jared puffed thoughtfully on his cigar. Would it really be so wrong? “It’s not as if I plan to abandon her.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I do intend to make her my wife,” Jared said slowly.

  “No question there.”

  “It might just work…but only as a last resort,” Jared said firmly.

  “Indeed.” Quentin nodded. “A last resort.”

  “I must apologize, Quent. The more I consider this outrageous idea of yours, the more I agree with your original assessment.” He lifted his glass in an unsteady salute. “It is indeed brilliant.”

  “I thought so,” Quentin said modestly.

  The men drifted into a companionable silence. The thought of seducing Cece was not at all unappealing. In fact, the more he pondered the idea, the more he hoped, for the first time in his life, to have to face…

  …the last resort.

  “He’s a beast, I tell you, an absolute beast.” Cece stepped out of her sodden gown and kicked the ruined garment across the room allocated to her in Lady Millicent’s London mansion.

  “I thought he was intriguing, interesting.” Emily perched on the edge of a satin-covered chaise. “A man destined to make his mark on the world, I believe you said.”

  Cece glared. “He’ll make his mark, all right, but he wishes to do it with Father’s money.” She grabbed the silk wrapper laid out on the end of the bed. “I simply cannot tolerate a man who marries for money.”

  “Lots of men marry for money or property or power.” Emily shrugged. “History is full of marriages made to cement alliances between countries or to forge new relationships between warring parties. When you look at it that way, wedding simply for money seems positively minor, especially here in En gland.”