One year later . . .
“Come, Aurelia. Must you dawdle? Usually you are the one urging me to make haste, but here you sit staring into space with half our guests gathered belowstairs.”
Aurelia feigned an innocent expression and met her mother’s blue-eyed gaze through the dressing table mirror. She had been lost in one of her drawings—a depiction of Lord Edderton with the body of an octopus manhandling several young girls whilst munching iced biscuits. She had been on the receiving end of his attentions once, during her first season out, and decided to make him the subject of one of her caricatures when she spotted him up to his old tricks a few evenings ago.
Edderton would not be the first to find himself featured in one of her notorious caricatures. What happened all those years ago with Camden, however accidental, had led her to this vocation. Cockless Camden. She winced, knowing she was to blame. His caricature had started it all, however inadvertent. It was talked about for years and had earned her his eternal enmity.
True, she did the drawing in a fit of impulse, but she had not meant it to be discovered. She couldn’t change that day, but she hoped using her talent for good, to give those without a voice a voice . . . perhaps it was atonement of some sort. Now her sketches appeared all over London. They turned up at balls, the opera, the dressmaker’s shop. She deliberately deposited them in the most public place. For the edification and titillation of the ton.
She adjusted her weight on the bench in front of her dressing table, hoping her skirts hid the pad from view. She’d barely had time enough to shove her sketch pad beneath her before Mama stormed into the chamber. It wouldn’t do for the Earl of Merlton’s sister to be unveiled as the artist responsible for the ribald cartoons that poked fun at so many members of the ton.
“Go on without me, Mama. I’ll be down directly.”
Mama gave her a lingering look before nodding. “Very well.” In a whisper of amber-gold skirts, she turned and left Aurelia alone in her chamber.
Aurelia returned her gaze to her reflection. Her dark eyes stared back at her pensively. She looked nothing like her fair-haired mother. Or her brother, for that matter. With her dark eyes and hair and skin, she looked more like a foundling her family had adopted into its fold. The bloodlines of her Spanish grandmother ran strong and true within her—a fact that did not win her much favor among the ton. Even her mother bemoaned her swarthy looks, though she had never been so unkind to voice such criticisms openly. No, she was more discreet than that. Instead she constantly supplied Aurelia with various powders to help dim her countenance.
Smiling wryly, she reached for a beaded bracelet and then set it back down with a sigh. A bracelet would make no difference to the night’s outcome. Another dinner party filled with empty chatter. And tomorrow morning she would wake to yet another day of activities planned by her mother. Luncheon with the ladies from one of Mama’s many charitable societies. Teas. Shopping. A ball or the opera or a dinner party in the evening. Her days stretched out before her in familiarity. All planned in the hopes that she would make a good match for herself. For the family. Even if she had not succeeded yet, it was expected she would.
Without her drawings, she would go mad. Her work gave her more than comfort. It gave her purpose.
Aurelia turned from her mirror and stood up from the dressing table, smoothing out her pale yellow skirts and trying not to think how poorly the color complemented her. Mama still tried to pretend she was a pale English rose who looked ethereal in all things pastel.
At least they needn’t travel from home tonight. If she grew weary of it all, she could simply escape upstairs to her chamber, change into her nightgown, climb into bed with her sketch pad. There was solace in that.
She glanced at her bedchamber window. Rain sluiced down the mullioned glass. Abysmal weather plagued London this season—even more than usual. Another advantage for staying in tonight.
Squaring her shoulders, she departed her chamber before Mama sent someone to drag her down to dinner like a recalcitrant child and not a woman full grown. Lifting her skirts, she descended the staircase. Voices and laughter floated up from the drawing room. Hopefully, she was not the last to arrive. It would make her goal of slipping inside and finding a chair in the corner to observe the guests Mama had seen fit to invite all the more difficult. She liked watching people, listening to them, memorizing their characteristics to later catch on paper.
It was a safe assumption that Mama had selected the guests. Her brother was a married man now. His wife was the new countess and, thereby, the new hostess over all events taking place beneath this roof. Only Mama sometimes forgot that fact.
Living in the same house with her brother and his wife—no matter how much she liked Violet—was awkward. Under normal circumstances, she and Mama would have taken up residence at another property . . . a dowager estate or town house. Only her brother had sold the additional town house in London. He had, in fact, sold all properties that were not entailed, to help satisfy the nasty debts Papa had left behind after his death.
Papa had ruined them. It was a burden made only more onerous when Will fell in love with a woman who brought no dowry to the marriage. Aurelia couldn’t begrudge him, however. He was brilliantly, ridiculously, in love with Violet. Aurelia was happy for both of them. And when Will assured her that his investments would soon reap benefit, she pretended to believe him. Perhaps he was correct and not merely delusional.
In the meantime, they all lived under one roof. She and Mama guests in the home that had once been their own. Her mother was merely the Dowager Countess now. And she was the unwed, cheeky sister. One breath from spinsterhood. No one knew of her secret vocation. Nor did anyone know that she secretly longed for more. For adventure.
She’d had a taste of it with her friend Rosalie, before she went off and married Declan. Now Rosalie was no longer a fit companion for illicit activities. There would be no more sneaking out in the middle of the night together. No more visits to Sodom, where she engaged in scandalous card games. Her face heated as she recalled Max that night. The vile man with his vile words and his impossibly wicked body had made her feel achingly alive.
Aurelia stopped outside the drawing room, listening to the hum of voices and clink of glasses as libations were dispersed and consumed. With a bracing breath, she entered the room to find that it was, indeed, brimming full. Declan and Rosalie were present, as well as Violet’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Howard. Mama’s good friend, Lady Agatha, and her son, Lord Buckley—or Freddie to his familiars.
Aurelia fought a smile at the sight of Freddie’s expression. He always wore a grin even when he stared vacantly into space. As boys, Will, Declan, and Max had pranked him mercilessly—nothing mean-spirited, just foolishness. A hidden shoe. A frog in his bed. Freddie had smiled through it all. Now, Freddie’s gaze landed on her. He sat up straighter on the sofa and looked at her in that puppy dog manner of his, patting the space beside him for her to occupy. The fact that he resembled a hound dog with his long face and loose jowls only added to the visual. He would make an excellent subject for a caricature, but Aurelia wouldn’t dream of depicting him in a less than flattering fashion. He was a kind soul. Once upon a time, Mama and Lady Agatha had anticipated a match between Freddie and herself.
Aurelia’s lack of a dowry had put an end to that notion. Lady Agatha might be her mother’s best friend, but she was as mercenary as any other dame of the ton. At least one good thing resulted from their family’s indigence. As much as she liked Freddie, Aurelia could not imagine spending the rest of her life with him.
Sinking down upon a chaise opposite of him, she accepted a proffered drink from a tray that appeared before her. “Thank you, Cecily,” Aurelia murmured, lifting the cup to her lips.
Cecily winked. Only a year older than herself, the servant was like family. When they were forced to reduce the staff by half, Cecily had remained. Not only did she act in the capacity of her and Mama’s maid, she helped in the kitchens and lent a hand when entertaining guests. She did whatever was required with no complaints.
Cecily gave a slight nod at something beyond Aurelia’s shoulder and released a dreamy sigh. “Lord Camden is looking very fine tonight,” she whispered.
Sipping her punch, Aurelia frowned and resisted looking. She didn’t need to. She need only close her eyes and she could envision him perfectly standing naked in the middle of Sodom.
“Aurelia!” Rosalie cried, making her way across the drawing room with Violet at her side. “I did not see you arrive. You’re quiet as a church mouse tonight.”
Aurelia rose to her feet and returned Rosalie’s embrace. “I did not want anyone to notice that I was the last to arrive.”
“You? Not want to draw attention to yourself?” Rosalie leaned in close to whisper. “This coming from the female who challenged me to don a domino and sneak into Sodom?”
“Well, that was a year ago.” Heat crept over her face at the memory of their late night visit to Sodom. With a tight smile, Aurelia looked away.
Her gaze drifted over the room—and collided with Max’s gaze.
Their gazes locked. She wondered how long he had been staring at her. His gray-blue eyes were brilliant and piercing even across the distance. Set deeply beneath the slash of brows a shade darker than his chestnut hair, those eyes of his looked her up and down. He was probably hoping she stayed far from him. They tread warily around each other these days. Ever since the night at Sodom things had been tense. Even more than before.
To everyone else in the world, Camden was all charm. Not a serious bone in his body as he stood flirting with Freddie’s sister. Aurelia considered the brunette. Henrietta was comely enough, and yet not to his precise taste. She knew he was fond of petite, golden-haired beauties.
Aurelia was neither dainty nor golden-haired.
She squeezed her eyes in a tight blink, reprimanding herself for caring how he might perceive her. Every once in a while it shocked her to remember that they had been friends. So many years had passed with each making war on the other.
She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Perhaps it would have been easier if he was not such a handsome package. His good looks had not lessened over the years. His hair had not thinned. Nor had his chin begun to disappear into his neck.
Rosalie and Violet laughed then. Aurelia turned and joined in, feigning awareness of their discourse.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Lady Agatha called Henrietta over to her side, beckoning her with sausagelike fingers. Max was momentarily alone. He cocked a dark eyebrow at Aurelia in silent challenge and executed an abbreviated bow that only seemed to show off his great height and strong physique. He was unlike other gentlemen of the ton who padded the shoulders of their jackets to distract from the bulge of their bellies.
Deciding to behave in a mature manner tonight, she squared her shoulders and strolled across the room toward him, her hem lightly brushing the Aubusson rug—an item she had overheard her brother mentioning must be sold.
She pushed aside thoughts of her family’s insolvency and stopped before Max. We will not quarrel tonight. I will don a smile and be all that is cordial and courteous.
“My lord, how good of you to come,” she greeted.
She rocked lightly on her slippered heels, hands folded demurely before her as she gazed up into his too handsome face. Unfortunately, even unsmiling he was bone-melting attractive.
“Lady Aurelia.” He inclined his head, eyeing her cagily. The way he stressed the word Lady emphasized precisely how unladylike he deemed her. “I would not miss an invitation to dine with the Merlton tribe. You should know as much . . . you are always remarking upon my excessive presence at your family’s gatherings.”
She held her smile, determined not to rise to his baiting. She had no wish for Mama or Will to spy her across the room and fuss at her for squabbling with Max. They disapproved of the rancor between them. Mama found it ill-mannered of her. Not Max. Mama doted on him like a son and blamed Aurelia for their discord. Will simply thought their sniping was annoying and something they should have outgrown by now.
With her smile pasted firmly in place, she cocked her head as though considering his words. “You do tend be underfoot a good deal, do you not?” She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and attempted an innocent expression.
Something sparked in his eyes. “A trial for you, I know. You prefer me six feet under, do you not? Then you might not have to tolerate my mien.”
She sighed. It didn’t matter if she tried to be nice. He was determined to keep things hostile between them. “I merely thought a gentleman such as yourself would have far more fascinating pursuits. Certainly we are beyond dull compared to your usual nighttime entertainments.” She held his gaze. So much for not rising to his baiting.
He shook his head. “You would know something of those nighttime pursuits, yes, my lady?”
The wretch would have to fling Sodom at her. She didn’t know what got into her that night. She had no plans to enter into that wager when she sat down at the table. He simply provoked her with his cocked eyebrow and sneering voice. Before she knew it, she had wagered her virtue.
A small, sardonic smile played about his lips as he surveyed her coldly. For a moment she thought his gaze lingered a trifle long on the demure display of her décolletage, but when his gaze returned to her face, there was nothing there. Her generous bosom, she had learned, proved a point of fascination for many gentlemen, and yet the only thing she read in his expression was his usual dispassion. When he looked at her, there was only ever impassivity.
“Much could be applied to your person, Lady Aurelia . . . but dull would not be an apt description. The words I would choose to describe you would not do to be uttered aloud in polite society.”
“Ah, you flatter,” she murmured, well aware that he did not mean to compliment her. Indeed not. She shoved aside the sting of his words and forced a bright smile on her face, knowing that her good cheer in the face of his jibes always irritated him, and irritating him was the only way she could hope to affect him. The only way at all.