Ensnaring a Minx

 

“He’s a two-timer,” Rosalyn Beaumont announced with absolute conviction. She tightened her lips into a hard line as she adjusted the pearl comb in the artful array of dark brown ringlets that cascaded over her shoulders. “Hand him his hat and see him to the door. For heaven’s sake, Amelia, don’t marry the man. You can do much, much better.”

A round of sighs circled the young women seated in the drawing room around her. China cups rattled to their saucers. Fans snapped up.

“I knew it,” seemed to be the predominant theme.

At Amelia’s crestfallen expression, Rosalyn gave the girl’s hand a friendly squeeze. “I’m sorry, but at least you now know he’s a cad. Imagine how miserable your life would have become if you’d found out after the wedding?” Or before he’d managed to slip his way under her skirts, as had occurred in her case.

“So true, Rosalyn.” The young Amelia resolutely lifted her chin. “I shall tell Papa this very moment I shan’t wed the man. How can I ever repay you?”

“There’s no need, truly,” Rosalyn assured, relieved to have prevented a disaster. She watched Amelia jump to her feet and dash away with a decided sense of satisfaction.

“And who will you be investigating next?” Amelia’s sister, Anne, asked.

The young women leaned in for the answer.

Rosalyn gave her reticule strings a thoughtful tug. Investigate was too strong a word. She preferred to call herself a discreet observer of men’s habits, particularly those relating to manners, hygiene, and, of course, fidelity. She also sought to answer any personal curiosities a prospective bride might have. She was a lady’s defense, a lady’s eye, if one must name her.

This season, she’d begun to score men on an overall scale from one to ten. This season, the highest mark she’d bestowed was an eight and, thereafter, three sevens. She’d never yet observed a man worthy of a ten. Amelia’s suitor had scored a dismal zero. Lacking in fidelity was entirely unforgiveable. It firmly erased any other qualities a man might possess.

“Do tell us,” the young women urged. “Who is next?”

“You know I can’t,” Rosalyn replied primly. “Secrecy is key.”

Sighs of disappointment met her statement.

“How did she become so bold?” someone whispered in admiration.

Bold? Rosalyn suppressed a snort. She certainly hadn’t started that way.

“Is it Lady Meredith?” Anne pressed, determined to ferret out any salacious hint of gossip. “They say Lord Bramwell will propose to her within the week. Has she procured your services?”

Her services. If only someone had provided herself with such services when she’d arrived at her aunt’s London townhouse, a naive, slender debutante, dewy-eyed and filled with dreams. If only someone had warned her of George Hearne, the two-timing captain whose smooth-talking ways had charmed her into his bed.

We’re as good as married, sweeting.

Displeased to find where her thoughts had wandered, she stood. She’d had enough of Lady Preston’s May Spectacular.

“Good evening, ladies.” She ignored their pleas to remain, and left them to their devices, as she headed to the foyer to retrieve her wrap from the footman.

Again, thoughts of George Hearne popped up along the way. She huffed. Mercifully, her folly with the man had escaped society’s notice. She’d experienced bliss. She’d never known such delights of the flesh had existed. She was madly in love—until she’d caught him in bed with another gullible debutante, fresh from the country. George had leapt to his feet. Rosalyn’s temper had taken care of the rest. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she recalled the limping shuffle that plagued him in the days that followed. Ah yes, and his even limper explanation of blaming the cause on a fall from his horse.

The strains of the orchestra drifted from the ballroom as Rosalyn descended the grand staircase of Lady Preston’s London estate. After observing men for nearly three years, she knew enough about those dancing there to know a cup of hot tea and a good book were far superior. She smiled in anticipation. She’d yet to try the rose-and-lavender tea she’d purchased on St. James Street, and didn’t she still have two chapters left of that titillating novel? The one she’d hidden under her mattress at her aunt’s townhouse?

When she reached the landing, a voice called out behind her, “Lady Rosalyn!”

She turned to see a young maid dashing down the stairs. “Yes?”

The young woman bobbed a quick curtsey. “Lady Elana wishes to speak with you, my lady. If you’d be so kind as to follow me?”

Rosalyn paused. Lady Elana? It took her a moment to recall where she’d heard the name. Ah, yes. On occasion, her aunt had fondly spoken of her as a friend.

Rosalyn followed the maid back the way she’d come, past the drawing room and then down a side passage to a small, private study.

The maid opened the door and stood aside, revealing an elegant, dark-haired lady seated on the sofa near the fire. As Rosalyn entered, the lady rose in greeting. Her exquisite scarlet silk gown draped her slender figure in flattering folds, and her diamond pendant glittered at her neck like a small, captured star.

“Lady Elana.” Rosalyn dipped in respect.

The woman bestowed a gracious smile and sank back to her seat, then gave the cushion next to her an inviting pat. “Do join me, Rosalyn. I’ve just come from visiting your aunt, Lady Sarah and Sir Stirling James.”

Sir Stirling James. Rosalyn smiled. He’d married her cousin, Chastity. She’d always gotten along with the man famously well. “And how is Sir Stirling? It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” She took her place and arranged her skirts.

“He sends his warm greetings.” Lady Elana nodded, then leaned closer. “I do beg your pardon, but I’ll come directly to the point. Sir James has recommended I speak with you on a most sensitive matter. I’m told you are the very soul of discretion, and I’ve come for your help.”

A ‘sensitive matter’ meant only one thing: an investigation. Rosalyn drew her brows in a faint frown. “I wasn’t aware Sir Stirling knew of my endeavors.”

The woman’s eyes widened, but she answered quickly enough, “Your reputation precedes you, my dear, and Lady Margot has personally recommended you, as well.”

Rosalyn’s frown vanished. Lady Margot. She’d had a much happier ending than Amelia. Margot’s intended had proven loyal and true. He’d rated a solid seven. Rosalyn smiled. “I would be absolutely delighted to assist you, my lady. Who is the gentleman in question?”

Lady Elana looked relieved. “Ethan Brodie of Brodie. Do you, by chance, know him?”

“My aunt has mentioned him a time or two.” Actually, her aunt spoke highly of the man, and often. “I believe he’s in London for the season, but I’ve yet to see him.”

“Indeed,” Lady Elana muttered in a sharp tone, but after clearing her throat, she sounded as cool and as calm as before, “I do so desperately need your services, Rosalyn.”

Rosalyn smiled politely. “And how long do we have? I do not mean to pry, but has he already asked for your hand?”

“Heavens, no.” Lady Elana drew back. “I do not ask for myself. I seek information on behalf of another.”

“I…see,” Rosalyn replied. “This is a rather unusual arrangement. Would it be possible to speak with the intended bride directly? While I do provide a reliable scoring of a man’s temperament, interests, hygiene, and ranking of fidelity, I also seek answers to any delicate questions a lady might have.”

“Delicate questions?”

Rosalyn eyed the woman. She was clearly a well-educated, sophisticated woman of the world, and as such, Rosalyn drove closer to the point than she otherwise would have. “My lady, many debutantes who come to me know very little of what might please a man, or the details of what to expect. I try my best to provide such advice, as much as I can.”

A gleam of what Rosalyn could swear was amusement flashed across Lady Elana’s face, but it vanished before she could be sure.

“Quite admirable.” The woman offered a warm smile, then leaned closer. “May I be blunt, my dear?”

“Please, do.”

“Ethan’s intended is a keen-witted, enchanting, and very lovely young woman who is not lacking in such knowledge—which is a boon, to be sure. Men such as Lord Brodie prefer experience in the boudoir, and they find nothing more seductive than a woman who is not, shall we say, inhibited.”

Rosalyn arched a brow. “I mean no offense, my lady, but while men may prefer experience, they most often do not marry it.”

The woman laughed, but didn’t appear offended in the slightest. “Lord Brodie does not suffer from such a mindset, my dear, but enough of him. It is the young lady that desperately requires your aid. Indeed, if you cannot help her, then I fear no one can.”

The twinkle in the woman’s eye seemed quite at odds with her words. Rosalyn drew her brows in a puzzled line. “I do not understand.”

Lady Elana cleared her throat and her expression lost its levity. “The match is perfect in every way, but the intended bride has, unfortunately, lost interest in men.”

Rosalyn suppressed a snort. She certainly understood that well enough. “I fear I am not in the business of making matches, Lady Elana.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Lady Elana smoothly replied. “But your evaluation is precisely what I need. I need your report to titillate the young lady. An investigation of hygiene, behaviors, and personal habits would doubtlessly pique her interest. Lord Brodie is, shall we say, a very interesting subject. A simple evaluation is all I require. The rest? Let us say, after that, fate shall take a hand—or not.”

“I understand.” Rosalyn nodded, somewhat mollified.

“Then you shall agree?”

Rosalyn hesitated. It smacked of matchmaking, but then, if the man was a cad, the intended bride would be well served knowing she should continue with the comfort of books and tea. Besides, Rosalyn hardly felt it polite to deny her aunt’s—and Stirling’s—friend. Still, there were obstacles. “I shall be happy to assist you, though it might prove difficult. The man is rarely seen.”

Lady Elana laughed and appeared to relax. “I can help you with that, my dear. Your aunt accepted my invitation for a holiday in Brighton, but I’ve encountered the most unexpected delay. Rather than cancel a trip that would prove so invigorating for her health, I’ve arranged for Ethan to host her in my stead. You may not know, but Ethan was a dear friend of your late uncle and thought of him as a father.”

Mention of her uncle threatened to bring tears to Rosalyn’s eyes. He’d died abroad only the previous year and she still missed him sorely. “I see,” she murmured with emotion.

Lady Elana gave her a sympathetic pat on the hand, then smiled brightly. “I do believe it’s a splendid plan for all involved.”

Rosalyn began to nod in agreement, but then something in Lady Elana’s tale caught her attention, and she raised a brow. “It sounds as if you know Lord Brodie more than well, Lady Elana. Why not write the report yourself?”

Lady Elana blinked and nodded several times, yet continued to smile all the while before finally answering, “I know him, yes, but it is your reputation for finding the secrets men hide that I need, my dear. The young lady in question would not simply take my word on the matter. Please trust me on that. You are very much required.”

It made sense. “Then how can I say no to a holiday in Brighton?” Rosalyn replied lightly. “I would be delighted to assist you.”