CHAPTER Five
“I say, old boy, I’m awfully grateful to you for getting into this book business,” said Ambrose, rubbing his hands together as he surveyed the breakfast offerings laid out by Maria’s staff.
“Glad to be of service,” said Felix with a bemused smile. “Is there any particular reason why you are suddenly impressed with my line of work?”
“Naturally,” said Ambrose as helped himself to bacon, eggs, some potatoes, and a few slices of toast. “It has introduced me to the Lady Cordelia.”
“Taken with her, are you?”
Ambrose grinned, knife and fork in hand. “She’s one of the richest heiresses in London, old chap! She’s also pretty, well bred, and apparently quite accomplished.”
Felix shook his head. “And I suspect above your touch, cousin. You’ve been cut off, remember?”
Ambrose shrugged although he looked irritated. “I’m also in line to inherit the title of Marquess of Godwin.”
“If your sister-in-law has a girl.”
“Or if the little blighter doesn’t survive,” muttered Ambrose.
Felix slammed his coffee cup down onto the table. “That’s outside of enough, Ambrose. It’s one thing to hope for another niece, but something else entirely to wish a nephew dead.”
Ambrose widened his eyes and looked hurt. “I wasn’t serious, Felix! Surely you know me better than that!”
“Aye, but I also thought you weren’t the type to hang out for a rich wife, either, and you’ve proved me wrong on that score.”
Ambrose pushed his loaded plate away from him. “It’s all well and good you criticising me, but you have no idea what it’s like to be cut off! Your father would rather you lived off his funds instead of dirtying your hands in a trade. Quite literally, in your case, since you still haven’t got the ink out from around your fingernails.”
Felix put his hands on his lap before he even thought about it. “It stains, and is the veritable devil to clean up.”
“So why not spend your life as a gentleman about the town?” asked Ambrose with a shake of his head. “Honestly, we were born to the wrong brothers. My father thinks very well of your industrious spirit, while my sense of fashion would be of great credit to my uncle!”
It did not seem the moment to inform Ambrose that his gold silk banyan, embroidered with bronze storks and trimmed with black fur, was as unlikely to receive praise from Felix’s father as the gold turban he had coupled it with.
“We each have our cross to bear,” he said solemnly and returned his attention to his breakfast.
“Good morning my dears,” said Maria as she drifted into the dining room. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Nothing,” said Ambrose, sounding sullen. “I may stop in to see if any of my friends are in town.”
Which meant that he was finding time in the city dashed uncomfortable on the small income he had from his own holdings, thought Felix.
Maria, however, looked delighted by this revelation. “Capital! I am going shopping today and could desperately use your advice on the purchase of some new muslins. Do say you’ll come, Ambrose! It will be such fun to have an expert eye to guide me.”
Felix couldn’t help but roll his eyes, although thankfully neither his cousin nor sister witnessed it. Ambrose, never immune to praise, visibly preened under Maria’s imploring gaze.
“Since you’ve been so good as to put me up while I stay in the city, the least I can do is help you look for something out of the common way,” he said with a gracious incline of his head. “Not that you don’t do the family credit already, my dear – unlike your ink-stained brother!”
“Felix prefers neat and plain and dull,” replied Maria, “although he is more than welcome to join us.”
“Thank you, but I am afraid I must decline such a treat,” replied Felix. “I have a meeting with Mr Lackington and Mr Allen that I cannot afford to miss.”
“The booksellers?” said Maria, looking pleased with this disclosure. “Are they interested in your works, then?”
“They were at our initial meeting, yes, but we disagreed on some of the finer points of the transaction. Such as price. However, they appear to have heard about some of our novels from their patrons, and wish to renew the discussion.”
“Abby’s friends, eh?” said Ambrose around a mouthful of bacon.
“I can only presume so.”
He did not mention that the message sent to him by Mr Lackington had explicitly mentioned interest in The London House, or that Miss Manning had practically begged him not to continue to publish it. That was impossible, of course; he had already sold a great many copies to his subscribers to his Bath bookshop – far more than he had led her to believe – and that there were already some copies in circulation through the lending libraries here in London.
“Knew she’d help you!” said Ambrose, looking for all the world as though it had been his idea to contact Abby, rather than him just tagging along for want of something better to do.
“I’m glad you approve.”
Ambrose tapped his cheek with his fork. “I tell you what, old chap, there’s a great way you could help me out with my quest.”
“Are you still trying to marry money?” said Maria with a shake of her head. “You’d be better off convincing your father to purchase you some colours, Ambrose. You’d look splendid in a Hussar’s uniform.”
“I would, wouldn’t I?” said Ambrose, momentarily struck by this observation. Eventually, he shook his head. “No, I’m not convinced it is for me. Prinny might decide to design the uniforms for all my luck, and then where would I be? No, Felix must help me out on my quest to marry Lady Cordelia!”
Maria, who had just raised her coffee cup to her lips, choked on the liquid. “Lord Delby’s daughter? Good grief, Ambrose! He’s chased off men with titles and fortunes ten times the size of yours!”
“Lady Cordelia wasn’t in love with any of them,” said Ambrose with a small shrug.
“And I suppose she is with you?” said Maria, her expression suggesting that she was more disposed to believe that the moon was a silver sixpence.
“Not yet, but she’s certainly indicated that she’s interested in furthering her acquaintance with me,” said Ambrose with considerable pride. “She even commented how glad she was that I was the only Greek statue that had come to life in her acquaintance.”
Felix frowned, not entirely sure that Lady Cordelia’s comment had been as complimentary as Ambrose supposed.
“Still, I think you are aiming awfully high,” said Maria. “Perhaps I could introduce you to the daughter of a friend of mine, Miss Juneberry. Delightful girl, with several thousand invested in funds.”
“Met her,” said Ambrose with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The parents are cits, and she is only passably attractive. I have to think of what is due to the title.”
Maria looked irritated. “The title that could as easily go to a newborn nephew?”
“In which case, I’ll definitely need a rich, well-connected wife,” said Ambrose, apparently immune to Maria’s scowl. “But I need Felix to help!”
“In what way?”
“Lady Cordelia’s cousin – the one you were walking with yesterday – fancies herself as something of a writer, and Abby seems fond of the girl, too. Publish some of her stories, will you? I daresay they are dreadful and will lose you money, but I’m sure that Lady Cordelia will be grateful in my helping her favourite relative.”
Felix closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly remembering why he usually avoided spending more than a few days in Ambrose’s company.
“I’ve already agreed to take a look at Miss Manning’s novels,” he said.
Ambrose beamed. “Capital! Maria, we shall call on Lady Cordelia after our shopping expedition and let them know that Felix has capitulated to our demands!”
“I think that may do more harm than good,” said Maria, looking at Felix with so thoughtful an expression that he was almost afraid she could read his thoughts.
“Not at all,” laughed Ambrose. “Allow me to be an expert when it comes to an understanding of how girls of marriageable age think!”
“Of course,” said Maria with a shake of her head. “Naturally I know nothing about how young ladies think at all.”
*
Trix couldn’t help but laugh as Cordelia sighed in happiness. The footman carried a large number of parcels out to the waiting carriage, each one stuffed with materials, embellishments or trinkets that were destined to be part of Cordy’s summer wardrobe for her stay at Lady Lexborough’s house party.
“I wish you would accept the invitation and come as well,” said Cordy as the last of the boxes were loaded to the carriage. “It would be much more fun if you were there as well.”
“It was awfully kind of the Lexboroughs to invite me, but I find that I’m missing my parents terribly.”
“I suppose they do have a claim on your time,” said Cordy with a sigh. “What am I to do without you?”
“Find a rich husband!” laughed Trix. “Do we have time to stop by the Temple of the Muses before we head home?”
“Capital idea!” grinned Cordy. “And on the way, we can make a list of all the people who have a copy of your book.”
The drive to Finsbury Square was a short one, but thankfully so was the list, allowing them time to consider who could have misplaced or shared Trix’s book with the thief.”
“Mama got the earliest copy of course, and although she would have allowed Father to read it, I find it hard to believe she would have shared it with any of his parishioners.”
“But what about with the Squire’s wife? And doesn’t Lady Seraphinia Harden live near your village?”
“It’s possible that she allowed Mrs Austin to read it,” conceded Trix, “but Lady Harden prefers to spend her time in Bath, and I don’t think she has been back to her Manor for over a year.”
“Did you give a copy to my mother in the end?”
Trix shook her head. “No. I planned to after I had rewritten Eugenia out of it.”
“She would not have shared it anyway,” replied Cordelia. “She has very mixed feelings about women who write.”
“Thanks to my mother,” laughed Trix. “I own that I do, too!”
“Well naturally I didn’t share it with anyone,” sighed Cordelia. “Even if I had wanted to, I read it from your original notes so you would know had I stolen them, or borrowed them to copy from.”
“Which leaves only Lady Devenish,” said Trix, leaning back into the carriage seat. “For the life of me, I cannot imagine her sharing it without my permission.”
“It seems to me that your only option is to write to the Duchess and to your mother explaining what has happened,” said Cordy with a shrug. “I am sure they will be just as horrified as us at the idea that someone has betrayed their confidence, too.”
“I suppose I have to – especially since Mr Drake informed me that Lord Devenish had collected a copy of The London House for his mother.”
“Well if nothing else, Mr Drake will have to believe the Duchess that you wrote the book. Then he can stop printing it, and we will have avoided the scandal.”
Trix sighed. “About that…”
Cordy turned to face her, looking troubled. “I do not think I am going to enjoy this.”
“Printing is frightfully expensive, and it appears that Mr Drake had already sent copies of The London House to some subscription libraries in the City and beyond. The best I can hope for is that he will provide payment to me rather than to the thief, but even if he refrains from printing another single copy, the book is already out there.”
“I suppose it was too much to hope for otherwise,” said Cordy. She took a deep breath and then smiled. “At least we had a plan for that eventuality! When he hears some of your other stories at the Gathering, he will no doubt publish them – and will do so under your actual name so that we can draw attention away from the other book.”
“And if there are not too many copies available, then perhaps it will not be read by a lot of people either,” said Trix, trying her best to be as cheerful about the situation as her cousin. “And I hardly think that people outside of London will even know who Eugenia is, so I am not too worried about the books that have gone to the smaller towns and cities.”
“Precisely! And then you will become a devilishly famous author thanks to your other stories, and we can forget about his whole ghastly episode.”
It was with something akin to hope in her breast that Trix alighted from the carriage outside of The Temple of the Muses, the excellent book shop located in Finsbury Square. As much as it pained her to let go of the best book she’d ever written, it was for the best that it sunk without recognition.
And if Mr Drake did like her silly stories (although probably not the one about the Pirate King, even if it was shaping up to be a cracking tale), then perhaps she would have the opportunity to meet with him, even after she returned home to her parents.
“Isn’t this shop simply glorious?” said Cordy as they entered, and Trix nodded her agreement on reflex.
The Temple, located on the corner of Finsbury Square, was a gigantic repository of all things literary. It had once been several houses that the owners had knocked together, and was popularly believed to be the largest booksellers in the world. The walls were lined with books on every floor, and the large, circular desk in front of the entrance staffed with intelligent-looking men ready to help them find anything they were looking for.
For Trix, however, her favourite part of the store were the upstairs reading rooms. Customers were encouraged to lounge in comfortable chairs and peruse the latest offerings from the shelves, or just talk with their companions while surrounded by literary works of art.
Just as she was anticipating the wondrous treat in store for her, however, Cordy suddenly gripped her arm tight.
“Good grief, is that Mr Drake?”
Trix looked in the direction Cordy was pointing, just in time to see Mr Drake shaking hands with two well-dressed men before the group parted ways.
“Yes, I believe it is,” she replied, glad at how calm she managed to sound.
“Then for heaven’s sake, let’s go talk to him,” said Cordy, practically dragging her across the room. “Mr Drake! How lovely to see you again!”
Mr Drake turned in surprise as he heard his name called, but the evident happiness in his expression as his eyes fell onto Cordy made Trix’s joy at seeing him dull just a little.
It was to be expected, of course. Every man smiled when they looked at her cousin.
“Lady Cordelia! How lovely to see you!” he said, executing a perfect bow. His expression changed somehow when it rested on Trix, although she could not quite understand what it was she could see in his face. “Miss Manning, I had hoped to see you again, but confess I had not expected to do so again so soon.”
“This is Trix’s favourite place in the whole of London,” said Cordy in a stage whisper. “Who knew she would feel at home surrounded by so much literary genius.”
“Who indeed?” he replied with a laughing smile. “One could almost imagine that she enjoyed books and literature.”
“Almost as much as she enjoys the theatre and the arts,” said Cordy. “Do you attend the theatre often, Mr Drake?”
“It is a rare pleasure, Lady Cordelia, but I have escorted my sister there during my stay in London.”
“Perhaps we will see you there,” said Cordy, apparently having left all sense of decorum in the carriage. “We will be at Drury Lane on Thursday.”
“Cordy,” Trix hissed, wondering if it were possible to die of mortification.
Mr Drake, in his defence, only allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk up in a grin. “Do you know, Lady Cordelia, I think that we shall be at the theatre as well on Thursday.”
Cordy grinned, resolutely ignoring the elbow that Trix was ramming hard into her side. “Capital! I do love coincidences!”
“Yes, wonderful aren’t they,” said Trix. “It was good to see you, Mr Drake, but you must not let us take up any more of your time. I’m sure you are very busy.”
“Pooh! He doesn’t look busy at all,” said Cordy, evidently enjoying herself. “He obviously already concluded his business.”
Mr Drake could no longer keep a straight face and began to laugh, drawing the eyes of various other customers toward them.
Trix wondered if there was a market for stories featuring gruesome deaths and whether she could practice on Cordy.
“It seems that I am free to peruse the shelves of the Temple with you fine ladies,” he said with a smile. “Perhaps you would be so good as to share your opinions on some of the novels on sale.”
“I’m sure Trix would be utterly delighted to do so,” said Cordy as she deftly sidestepped before Trix’s foot connected with the back of her shin. “I’m afraid I must decline, however, for I have just this moment spied Miss Hemsworth and I have a question I particularly want to ask her. She’s a lovely girl but frightfully skittish, so it’s best I speak with her alone. I’ll only be ten paces away, I promise!”
Mr Drake coughed heavily into his sleeve while Trix could do nothing but glare at her cousin as the unrepentant girl skipped away.
“I am going to murder her,” she said, not caring who heard.
“I believe she has your best interests at heart, Miss Manning,” said Mr Drake.
For a horrible moment Trix thought he was aware at just how much she desperately wanted to just talk to him again, but before she could blurt out something deeply embarrassing, she remembered that her cousin was trying to help her get her stories published.
“Yes, she is my biggest supporter when it comes to my writing,” she replied.
Cordy, true to her word, was chatting to the terrified-looking Miss Hemsworth only a few feet away from them. She glanced over, pulled a face at Trix that Mr Drake obviously saw as well, and then returned to her conversation.
“Families can be a little smothering in that way,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement.
She found that she liked him better for that honesty.
“Are yours as passionate about your career?”
He laughed out loud at that pronouncement. “Not precisely! My siblings – I have an older brother as well as my sister – are devilish proud of my work. My Uncle thinks it an odd business but so long as it makes money he thinks it a going concern.”
“Lord Ambrose?”
Mr Drake chuckled. “He thinks I am quite mad to choose to work for a living. You see my parents take it as quite the insult that I refuse to live off of their largesse and dedicate myself to becoming a fop of the first order.”
Trix quirked her head to the side as a new plot regarding her Pirate King dressed up as a macaroni occurred to her.
“I’m not sure you would look quite the thing as a fop,” she admitted, which seemed to entertain him greatly.
“And so I told my father! But Lord Philip has a reputation to uphold in Bath, and both his sons are poor heirs in that regard. He is quite beautiful, you know, and my mother a handsome creature. Their children are a sad trial.”
“I suppose you have tried to convince them that ink-stained hands are all the crack?” she said, then felt her cheeks burn at the look of astonishment on his face. “Oh dear, I did not mean that offensively at all! Only that I noticed the ink on your fingers when we first met, faded but not gone, and I assumed you must like to work your own press rather than paying someone else to do it. Which is entirely up to you, of course, and not a bad choice in the least, in fact, it is admirable and… and… I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
The expression in his eyes had melted into something almost tender. The flames in her cheeks burned even more fiercely, and she was afraid that she had turned quite the shade of beetroot.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are something out of the common way, Miss Manning?”
“I don’t think that they have,” she replied carefully. “Oh look, there are some books we should consider!”
“Well we are in a bookshop,” he said, and Trix was certain that he was still laughing at her. She picked a volume at random from the shelf and began to flick through it. She cast an imploring glance over at Cordy’s back, hoping her cousin would come to her aid, but no such luck.
“Who were the gentlemen you were talking to?” she asked. “I hope it is not impertinent of me to ask.”
“Not at all. That was Mr Lackington and Mr Allen.”
She slammed the book shut as her eyes flicked up to his. “The proprietors?”
“Yes. They’ve bought several of my titles over the years. They asked me to come and see them today.”
A sense of dread began to work its way through her bones. “How wonderful. Did they wish to purchase more stock from you?”
“Originally I refused their offer,” he replied with a slight smile. “Mr Lackington drives a hard bargain, but then so can I. Luckily for me it seems that several notable ladies and gentlemen have visited this fine establishment requesting a particular title.”
“The London House,” she replied morosely.
“I hope you understand that this is not an opportunity I can say no to, Miss Manning. There are plenty of copies of the book in circulation already, but with Mr Lackington’s support, my press will be able to grow in the next year. As soon as you provide me evidence that you are the novel’s author – evidence I can present to the lawyers, you understand – then I will happily pay you the royalties owed.”
“It’s not that… but you know all this,” replied Trix, feeling her shoulders slump. “I never thought I would pity Eugenia, but she will be devastated if people mock her over the book. And what will happen if the Ton realises that I wrote the book? Lord, they’ll roast me alive!”
“But the book is published anonymously, Miss Manning, and I swear to you that I am not about to reveal the identity of any writer without their consent. No one need know if you do not tell them.”
She realised he had taken hold of her hand in his, the pressure from his fingers reassuring in a strange way.
A Fairy King, said her heart. Not a pirate, despite appearances.
“I hope so,” she said, forcing herself to smile and straighten her back. “for it will be devilish uncomfortable if word gets out. Perhaps I should just let this other woman take credit for my story; it will keep my secret safe at least.”
“Could you?” he asked, looking curious. “Could you really just walk away from something you’d written like that?”
Trix felt her shoulders slump again. “No, I don’t suppose that I could. For better or worse, it is my story.”
Mr Drake looked as though he was going to say something important, but Cordy chose just that moment to come bounding back over, Miss Hemsworth having somehow escaped.
“Are you talking about Trix’s clever stories?” she said with a beaming smile. “Ask her to tell you about the one she’s currently writing! It’s about a pirate king.”
“How the devil do you know that?” exclaimed Trix, shock causing her to lose all vestiges of refinement as she resorted to vulgar language.
Mr Drake was having another coughing fit into his sleeve, while Cordy smiled at her with serene innocence. “Because I read it, stupid. Was I supposed to wait until you finished? Because you left it on your side table inside a folder, and I thought that meant I could read it.”
“I should love to read this story along with all of your others,” said Mr Drake before Trix was able to test her theory about the best way to choke her cousin to death in public. “But I’m afraid that it will have to wait for the Literary Gathering. I have another meeting that I must attend to.”
“Please, don’t let us keep you,” said Trix, aware of a small, sad sense of longing deep in her chest. “I look forward to seeing you at the Gathering.”
“And the theatre!” added Cordy.
Mr Drake simply smiled and then took his leave.
“I say, I think that went rather well,” said Cordy. “Although… Trix, why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m plotting all the ways I can kill you and get away with it.”
Cordy shuddered. “Ugh, that would be a simply awful novel to read. Although possibly interesting.”
Trix shook her head. “How on earth did I get lumbered with you for a cousin?”
“The angels smiled on you, naturally. Now, tell me everything that Mr Drake said – and leave nothing out!”
CHAPTER SIX
Trix had stayed angry at her for about three hours in the end. A pretty apology for reading the Pirate King story did much to mollify her cousin, and before long they had drafted up letters to both Aunt Lucy and Lady Devenish explaining what had happened. With luck, they would be able to track down the wretched thief who had stolen Trix’s book and start to put this horrid mess behind them.
“Do you think this trick will work again?” asked Trix dubiously as Cordy threaded bronze ribbons through her cousin’s auburn curls.
“It’s not the same trick as we pulled with Henrietta if that’s what you mean,” said Cordy. “For a start, there were three of us then, and we wore matching outfits. This time there is just us two, and we are merely dressing in complimentary styles.”
“It’s the same dress,” said Trix. “just because mine has a bronze trim and yours in gold doesn’t alter the fact that it is the exact same dress.”
“Don’t be such a goose, it can hardly be identical if there are differences, now can they?”
Trix stared at her for a moment before bursting out laughing. “I’d have more luck arguing with a cow than I do with you.”
“I’m going to assume that was a compliment. There! Now your hair is perfect! But do let’s hurry, darling, for my parents must be tired of waiting for us by now!”
“If my Aunt is ready then I’ll eat my ribbons,” declared Trix, and they skipped down the stairs together, laughing.
Her cousin, however, proved to be wrong on this occasion. Cordy’s mother and father were both waiting for them in the library; her father looking severe but handsome as always, and her mother like a turban-wearing goddess of old in a wine-red opera dress that did much for her complexion.
“You both look very becoming, girls,” said Cordy’s father as they entered the room. His smile was as invisible as always, but Cordy had long ago learned that he demonstrated his affection in a reserved manner.
“We would not dare to let the Delby name down,” she replied, keeping her expression solemn.
Her mother chuckled. “As if either of you would, my dears, and even though our darling Trix is not a Delby by name, she certainly is by affection.”
“Certainly,” said father, looking solemn. “However, if we wish to charm the gentlemen at the theatre with your beauty, we should be on our way.”
“Oh I don’t want to charm anyone,” said Trix, and then coloured up delightfully.
“Do you not?” said Cordy’s father, raising one expert eyebrow. “Perhaps my Lord Pocklington was mistaken when he told me that a certain publisher was quite taken with you at the Literary Gathering.”
Cordy couldn’t help but laugh at the gasp from her mother. “Never say you have attracted an eligible admirer, my darling?”
Trix threw one look of helpless entreaty at Cordy, but to no avail. Cordy’s mother, scenting a possible match, had bundled her niece into her arms as they walked out to the carriage, demanding to know everything there was about the gentleman in question without letting the poor girl so much as speak.
Cordy took her father’s arm.
“Is he a suitable match then, father?” she asked quietly. “I own he seems very charming and is related to the Marquess of Godwin.”
Her father gave a bark of laughter. “The Godwins! A ramshackle bunch that vacillate between tight-fisted and gamesters!”
“Oh,” said Cordy, her hope deflating. “I assumed since they were titled…”
“Irish peerage, hardly a penny to their name,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Godwin has always been a loose screw, and although I’ve heard tell that his heir has some redeeming qualities, I’d not waste my time with any of his progeny.”
“You may be forced to this evening,” she admitted.
“Yes, I heard Lord Ambrose was making up to you,” replied her father, patting her hand gently. “However, since you did not so much as mention his name to either your mother or myself, I rather supposed he had not made an impression on you.”
“He did initially,” she replied with perfect truth. “He looks rather like a Grecian statue come to life. I was rather taken with him. Unfortunately, he then spoke. It quite ruined everything.”
Her father, chuckling, pulled her against him for a quick hug in a move that was as rare as it was appreciated.
“That’s my girl! I have no fear of you running off with a gazetted fortune hunter just because he looks fine in a scarlet coat!”
“Oh Lord Ambrose isn’t in uniform, Father. If he had been, my feelings for him would be quite a different matter.”
He chucked her chin affectionately. “Don’t bam me, my girl.”
She smiled up at him, glad that they had begun to build a relationship since her come-out. For the longest time he had been a kind but remote figure in her life, but now that she was in London alongside him, she’d discovered that not only was he inordinately proud of all his children, he had a reserved but delicious sense of humour.
She finally understood why her mother adored him so.
“If you do not like Lord Godwin, father, are you sure that his nephew will be good enough for Trix?”
“Not until I’ve met him, my dear, but I have no reason to think otherwise. There was only ever one good thing to come out of that family, and that was Lord Philip – Mr Drake’s father. The gentleman is an unrepentant dandy, but an excellent fellow despite that. His eldest son, too, works for the diplomatic core, and is well thought of there.”
“And Lord Pock likes him,” added Cordy.
“Yes, and as I’ve told you before, you can always trust in Pocklington’s judgement.”
“What did he think of Lord Ambrose, then?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Much the same as you, although I think he was less impressed by Lord Ambrose’s resemblance to Greek statuary. Now, shall we go rescue your cousin from your mother?”
“I rather think we should join in the fun,” she replied and was rewarded with a broad smile.
*
Felix wondered idly if anyone ever went to Drury Lane to watch the performance. The box which he had acquired for the evening (Abby being so good as to loan it to them), gave them an excellent view of all the other boxes and their inhabitants, but not especially of the stage.
Although he could see a few eyes riveted to the performers, he strongly suspected that everyone else was busy eyeing up their fellow attendees, and was aware of many a head turning toward them during the evening.
“We’re just a novelty,” laughed his sister Maria. “They are probably dazzled by the beauty of Ambrose.”
If his cousin realised he was being mocked, he gave no sign of it. He leant back in his chair as though basking in glory that he felt he deserved.
“We have indeed caused a stir,” he acknowledged with what could only be described as complacent pride.
“I feel like a trussed-up pigeon in a menagerie of rare birds,” Felix said, resisting the urge to tug hard at his neckcloth.
Ambrose – whose shirt points were so high he had to turn his whole body to look at Felix – flashed a pitying smile.
“No so bad as that, cousin. A sparrow at the very least.”
“I’m so lucky to be your relation,” sighed Felix, even as his sister laughed.
“The Delby’s are in the box almost opposite us,” she said. “Try not to slouch, Ambrose.”
“I am not slouching!” he said, sounding indignant. “I am sprawling romantically to demonstrate my fashionable ennui.”
“To my eyes, it looks like sprawling – and from the expression on Lord Delby’s face, he is not too impressed, either.”
Ambrose immediately sat up. “He is looking over at us?”
“Of course not,” laughed Maria, “but now I know for sure that you have your sights set on Lady Cordelia!”
Ambrose forgot himself for a moment as he rolled his eyes. “She is beautiful, refined and accomplished. Naturally, I am enchanted by her.”
“She’s also an heiress of considerable fortune,” replied Maria.
“Which would make her eminently more suitable in my father’s eyes,” he shot back.
“Are you even sure that she is interested in your suit?” asked Felix. “She has a throng of admirers, including Lord Standish.”
“An honorary title of Baron,” scoffed Ambrose, apparently forgetting that his own was no better. “And heir only to a Viscount. I suspect that Lord Delby will be looking higher than that for his eldest daughter.”
“Well you won’t be any higher than Lord Standish if Ann has a son,” said Maria, quite tartly.
Felix wondered if Ambrose even realised that he’d offended her. Captain Raven might not have a title, but he was an excellent man who worked hard to support Maria and their children.
“I doubt it after the girls,” said Ambrose with a lazy shrug. “Ah, I believe that the clapping indicates an intermission. Come on Felix, Maria; let us go pay our respects to the Delbys.”
It took a surprisingly long time to make it to Lord Delby’s box. Every few feet they were stopped by someone who either knew Maria or who had been at the Literary Gathering. Ambrose looked irritated that very little of the attention landed on him, but he remained polite and friendly to everyone who acknowledged them.
“Mr Drake, I just have to tell you that I finished that delightful book, The London House,” said Lady Pocklington as they passed her and her husband.
“I hope that you enjoyed it, my Lady.”
She let out a peal of laughter. “Enjoyed it? I adored it! But I have to say the authoress is quite naughty. I swear I came across ten of my acquaintances in the pages – including my husband here! I have naturally told everyone I know that they simply must read it. I dare say it shall be all the crack before the Season is out!”
Mr Drake bowed, aware of a sensation of dismay growing deep in his stomach. Despite his happiness that one of his books looked set to be a hit, he could not help but worry about Miss Manning’s reputation if she truly was the author.
“I confess, that would make me immensely happy.”
“But you simply must tell me who the authoress is,” said Lady Pocklington in a loud whisper. “I swear that I won’t tell a soul.”
Her husband chuckled. “Other than your daughter, your sister, and every lady in your acquaintance.”
Lady Pocklington hushed her husband, which only made him laugh more.
“I’m afraid that it is impossible to claw that information out of my brother,” said Maria with a shake of her head. “I’ve tried desperately to find it out myself, and all he says is that he doesn’t know, either.”
“A mystery! How exciting!” said Lady Pocklington, clapping her hands together. “I do hope she writes a second novel soon.”
With only a few more interruptions, they finally made it to the Delby’s box – only to find it crowded with other members of the gentry, including Lord Standish and Mr Filey. Two of the Putney brothers were also chatting away to Lady Cordelia, who seemed to be revelling in the attention.
Ambrose did not look happy.
“Mr Drake, Mrs Raven, I did not see you there!” said Miss Manning as she noticed them. “Please, let me make you known to my Uncle and Aunt, Lord and Lady Delby.
“Delighted to meet you,” said Lady Delby with a welcoming smile. “I have heard much about you, Mr Drake. It seems your books have created quite a stir.”
“I hope that they have,” he replied as he bowed over her hand.
“Not sure that he’s at all the thing, Lady Delby,” said Lord Standish with a shake of his head. “He refuses to publish my limericks, you know. Even the one about the walking stick.”
Lady Delby’s mouth quirked up in a smile, and it was evident that she had a soft spot for the young lord.
Poor Ambrose; everything was stacked against him.
“I find that gives me a better regard for his sense of taste, William,” she said, which caused all the gentlemen present to laugh.
Lord Delby was regarding him through a monocle that made him appear quite monstrous.
“Lord Philip’s lad, aren’t you?” he said, his countenance severe. “The one with the daft name.”
“His youngest son, yes,” replied Felix. “I’m afraid that my mother was so happy to have a third child to add to the family, that she lumbered me with the awful name Felix.”
His sister gave a dramatic sigh. “She did not think to consult her other children about our levels of happiness at having him added to the family, but she has always been an optimistic creature.”
Lord Delby’s mouth quivered but did not blossom into a true smile.
“And your father approves of your business?”
“Not in the least,” replied Felix, unable to keep the smile from his face. “In fact, he regards it as a great insult that I refuse to live off his largesse. ‘Felix my darling boy,’ he says at least once a week, ‘what will people think about my son choosing to blacken his hands with ink? If you must work, can you not choose something more gentile, like architecture?’”
Lord Delby almost smiled. “That sounds like the Philip I remember from my Oxford days. Remember him to me, will you?”
“I shall indeed, my Lord.”
“Perhaps you are acquainted with my father, the Marquess of Godwin?” interjected Ambrose.
The look that Delby favoured him with was chilly at best.
“I believe I met him a few times before he retired up to his estates.”
For some reason, his cousin took this as an encouragement.
“Yes, a most excellent man! I’m thought to favour him in colouring, although I believe I take after my mother in appearance – much to my relief!”
He laughed at his own joke, apparently oblivious to the fact no one else joined in.
“Father, did you know that Mr Drake is considering some of Trix’s stories for his press?” said Lady Cordy loudly.
“Is he, indeed?” said Lord Delby, with a fond glance for both his daughter and his niece. “Well, his Press is known for publishing excellent works.”
Miss Manning blushed deeply, and the gaze she cast at Felix made him feel as though a hammer was pounding on his heart.
He may not have understood love, but he supposed it must feel something like a horse thundering across his chest.
“She’s to read them at the Gathering,” announced Cordy. “Lady Gloucester says it is only for the original members, but I think you and Mama should come too, don’t you think?”
Lady Delby smiled broadly. “Which story are you going to read, my darling? The one about the three sisters? Or the one about the highwayman?”
“Not the one about the Pirate King,” said Lady Cordelia with a solemnity that transcended Miss Manning digging a fan into her ribs.
“I don’t think you’ve read that one to me yet,” said Lady Delby.
“It’s a work in progress,” muttered Miss Manning.
Lady Delby seemed to accept this answer, for she turned her attention back to Mr Drake with a warm smile.
It struck him that Lady Delby, while all refinement, looked much more like her niece than she did her daughter, who took after her father in looks.
“I should tell you, Mr Drake, that I have just acquired a copy of that book of yours that everyone is talking about. The London House.”
Felix heard Miss Manning yelp in dismay, but her aunt did not appear to notice.
Lord Delby was another matter. He didn’t say anything, but he gave his niece a measuring look.
“I hope you enjoy it, my Lady.”
“It’s all the rage amongst my friends,” she told him. “It is quite impossible to get a copy at any of the subscription libraries, either. My dear husband purchased all three volumes from the Temple of the Muses just this morning, for he was sick of me complaining that I could not beg or borrow a copy from anyone!”
“Yes, my cousin is quite the genius,” said Ambrose, a bit in his tone that made both Felix and Maria frown at him. “It has only taken him a week to remove the ink from his fingers, so invested is he in his endeavours.”
“There is nothing wrong with being industrious,” said Lord Delby. “I believe that Philip is quite proud of all of his progeny, despite their refusal to – how did you put it, Mr Drake? – live upon his largesse.”
Ambrose looked like he was going to say something rash, but fate intervened in the form of the eldest Putney brother, who declared that they must all return to their boxes as the next act was about to start.
Ambrose turned his winning smile onto Lady Cordelia.
“I look forward to seeing you again soon,” he said.
She gave a cheerful grin in his general direction. “Of course, Lord Ambrose! Are you to attend the Putney’s soiree tomorrow? Mr Putney, please tell me that Lord Ambrose and his two cousins are upon your mother’s list?”
“If not I shall rectify immediately,” said Mr Putney. “Besides, I believe she is reading The London House even as we speak, and will no doubt relish the opportunity to grill Mr Drake about the authoress!”
“And we will most certainly be there,” declared Maria with a wide smile.
“Naturally,” said Ambrose, but he did not look particularly happy at all.
CHAPTER Seven
Trix reread the letter from the Duchess of Devonshire several times, but there was still no hint as to how her manuscript had ended up in the hands of the mystery woman who had sent it to Felix Drake.
Felix.
It even sounded more like the name of a fairy king rather than a pirate. He laughed so easily and seemed intent on seeing the best in life at all times.
It was quite ruining her latest story, dash the man.
“Mother wants to know if we should invite Mr Drake to dinner,” said Cordy, bursting into Trix’s room without so much as a knock. “She isn’t too happy about having to invite Lord Ambrose, although I don’t know why she’s taken him in dislike. He is very beautiful, and if we have a large dinner, then he will enhance the décor.”
Trix raised an eyebrow at her cousin. “Perhaps it was the way he was mooning over you at the theatre.”
“Nonsense. He didn’t even get close enough to me to moon. Besides, I was having a lovely conversation with Mr Putney.”
“Is that the direction your fickle heart is running now?”
Cordy jumped up onto Trix’s bed. “Terrible, aren’t I? I daresay I’ve been in love half a dozen times this Season.”
“Nine. I’ve been counting.”
Cordy frowned. “It can’t be that many, surely?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if Lord Ambrose counted.”
Cordy blinked a few times, and then let out a trill of laughter. “I suppose I was in love with him for all of twenty minutes! Very well, he should remain on the list.”
“He seems rather enamoured of you, dearest.”
“More likely he’s enamoured of my fortune,” snorted Cordy. “Father already put a word in my ear about him. He was not impressed at all – although he seems quite taken with Mr Drake.”
“He knows his father,” she said absently.
“So should Mother invite him, then?”
Trix turned her surprised eyes onto her cousin. “Why on earth would she ask me?”
“For your career of course,” said Cordy with an exasperated sigh. “That and you think of him as a Pirate King.”
“Fairy,” said Trix without thinking, and then felt her cheeks begin to burn as she realised what she had said.
“I knew you were taken with him! How perfect; a writer and a publisher, madly in love.”
“We are not madly in love. We’re not even a little bit in love. I’m not even a little bit in love!”
“Thou dost protest too much,” said Cordy, waggling her eyebrows. Trix regretted that she had nothing to hand to throw at her cousin.
“There are times when I could strangle you.”
“You say that a lot,” laughed Cordy. “Is that the letter from the Duchess? What did she say?”
Trix, appreciating the change of subject, was happy to answer.
“She was as surprised as anyone when she began to read The London House and recognised it as my story, and my letter arrived just before she could write to me about it. She says that the manuscript I sent her is safely tucked away in her private papers and that no one, not even Lord Devenish, has seen it.”
“Did you not allow him to read it? He was a member of the Gathering.”
Trix frowned. “I assumed that the Duchess would know I had no concerns about Lord Devenish reading it. But Cordy this gets so much more confusing. You only read my original copy that I have right here in this room, and the only other person to see it was my mother. I can’t believe she would have shared it with a neighbour, or been so careless as to leave it lying about.”
“And it is not as though a servant could have borrowed any of the manuscripts to copy,” said Cordy, shaking her head. “Has your mother replied yet?”
“No, but I’m not expecting a letter from her for a few more days anyway. I think my only hope is to share the Duchess’s letter and my original copy with Mr Drake to convince him to take them to the imposter’s lawyer.”
“Which still leaves us with the job of making sure that no one ever connects the book to you,” said Cordy. “Although I suspect Mr Drake will do anything for you. Make sure you are wearing something divine when taking a stroll on the terrace with him during the soiree tonight!”
“Run, before I murder you,” said Trix, and her cousin laughed as she skipped out of the room.
Trix stared at the letter again and then sighed as she put it back down on her dressing table. Her mind wandered to the soiree, and whether there would be the opportunity for some private conversation with Mr Drake.
Felix.
She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment, contemplating the dress she intended to wear. Stylish, yes, but not divine.
Of course, there was the bronze over-robe that Cordy had given her after deciding that it would suit Trix better. She had not yet worn it for fear that her Aunt and Uncle would believe her to be taking advantage of her generous cousin. Not that they had ever given her cause to believe any such thing.
It would look simply marvellous with her simple muslin gown and the bronze ribbon that Cordy had threaded through her hair for the theatre.
She wondered if any of her heroines would plot to take a stroll with a gentleman one summer evening, but quickly decided it would be too tame for any of them to contemplate.
A romantic conversation beneath a full moon with a fairy king, however, seemed quite the thing to do.
She laughed at herself – but decided she would wear the bronze robe.
*
Ambrose was sulking.
“How was I to know Lord Delby would prove to be as starched up as my father?” he said for about the third time in as many minutes.
The carriage trundled along through the streets toward the Putney’s home. Felix, pleased that he had thought to pack his evening clothes and aware he looked very fine in them, felt rather plain beside his resplendent cousin.
“Because we warned you?” said Maria.
Ambrose, however, wasn’t listening. He stared moodily out of the window, his arms crossed over his chest. Felix debated whether to tell him that he was creasing his grey satin coat.
He decided to let Ambrose work that out for himself.
“What do I do? I’ve invested so much time in making myself agreeable to Lady Cordelia,” muttered his cousin.
“We’ve been here a little over a week,” said Felix.
“Yes, and we plan to leave in another two.”
“Do we?” said Felix. “I had no idea you planned to return to Bath with me.”
“Well I can hardly trespass on Maria’s goodwill, can I?” said Ambrose.
It was on the tip of Felix’s tongue to point out that it was not fair to trespass on his goodwill, either, but the argument did not seem worth pursuing.
Maria simply smiled.
“Besides,” continued Ambrose, “I have it on good authority that the Delbys are retiring to the Duke of Lexborough’s seat for the summer. Lexborough. How can I compete with a Duke?”
“The Duke is married,” said Maria. “He’s hardly going to make up to Lady Cordelia.”
“He’s been married ten years with no heirs in sight. His brother, however, is supposed to be a Pink of the Ton and swimming in riches. It’s as plain as the nose on your face that Delby wants his daughter to be the future Duchess.”
“Ambrose, you have it all wrong. The Duke has been abroad for a great many years, but he and his wife have recently reconciled.”
“People don’t reconcile,” snorted Ambrose. “No, take my word for it. I have only two weeks to convince Lady Cordelia that she wishes to marry me, for I can hardly scratch up an invite to the Ducal Seat, now can I? Honestly, Maria, this would be much easier if you moved in fashionable circles.”
“I apologise for my lack of foresight,” said Maria, rolling her eyes as she spoke.
“Are you sure that Lady Cordelia is even favourable to your suit?” asked Felix, remembering how her regard for Ambrose at the theatre had been nothing remarkable.
“Why else would she have arranged for us to meet in Green Park? Or pushed you to invite us to the theatre? Or procured invitations to the Putney’s soiree tonight?”
Maria looked him up and down in surprise. “Ambrose, did it never occur to you that she is purposefully trying to throw her cousin in the way of Felix?”
Ambrose appeared to be dumbfounded for a moment, and then began to laugh.
“Good one, Maria! You almost had me there! No, I asked Felix to feign interest in the girl in order to help me spend a bit of time with Lady Cordelia. She’s quite fond of her poor relation, and I expect she’ll be grateful to me for intervening on her behalf.”
Maria just stared at him, her mouth gaping open. Even Felix couldn’t think of anything to say.
Luckily for the peace between them, they arrived at the Putney’s home at that moment. The usual rigmarole of removing their coats and cloaks, being greeted by the hosts in the receiving line, and making their way into their large but crowded parlour was quickly accomplished, and Felix was at leisure to look about him.
There was a string quartet at the far end of the room playing something slow but sweet that he did not recognise. Chairs were grouped about the room – most now occupied – for the Putney’s guests to freely engage in gossip and conversation. Everyone seemed to hold a flute of champagne or a delicate cake while they talked with their friends, and the whole atmosphere was one of conviviality.
“Felix!” cried out a familiar voice, and he turned to see Abby charging over toward him, her slightly-exasperated looking husband only a few steps behind. “I am so glad that you are here for I need you immediately! How do you do, Maria? And you, Ambrose? You remember my husband Gloucester, don’t you?”
Bows and Curtsies were performed, and polite “how do you do’s?” exchanged.
“Why do I fear something terrible is about to happen?” said Felix as Abby looped her arm through his.
“Don’t be silly, Felix. Nothing terrible ever happens to me. Isn’t that so, darling?” she said, this last question thrown at Gloucester.
The Earl smiled like a man trying to be brave before the gallows. “Your definition of terrible encompasses very little, my dear.”
“Exactly. Nothing terrible, for I am always right about such matters,” replied Abby, and started to bear Felix off toward the far end of the room. A glance over his shoulder told him that his sister was now on the arm of the Earl of Gloucester, and his cousin following behind.
“So why do you need me so desperately, Abby?” he asked.
“A dispute over that new novel of yours. It seems that some people have taken offence to the caricatures within it and have got it into their heads that the writer must be one of the Ton.”
“I see,” said Felix, his thoughts immediately flying toward Miss Manning.
Trix.
“I think it’s best you reassure them. I confess that one character is so like Eugenia it cannot be coincidence, but the rest do not seem to represent anyone in particular at all. I don’t believe the authoress is hiding amongst us, do you?”
“I don’t know who the authoress is, Abby,” Felix reminded her. “It was all arranged through her lawyer.”
Abby stuck out her bottom lip. “That’s no fun. I just thought you were holding out on me.”
She led him to a cluster of chairs at the far end of the room, where a lively debate was in progress. One look at Miss Manning, who sat silently between her Aunt and her cousin, was enough to tell him what it was about, even as he approached.
“I just don’t take kindly to that type of mockery, that’s all,” said Lady Loughcroft. “It’s one thing to say the odd unkind thing about Eugenia, but quite another to set it in a book for everyone to read.”
“We don’t know that it is about Eugenia,” said Lady Cordelia. If anyone noticed that she was gripping the hand of Miss Manning, they did not comment.
“It seems likely that it is,” said Lady Colbourne. “The description of the outfits alone had me cringing.”
“The puce!” laughed Abby, and most of the people present joined in. “Let’s ask Felix what he thinks. He is the only one of us to have had contact with the author, after all; even if it has only been through letters.”
“I’m afraid I have little to offer in the way of help,” he said to the sea of expectant faces, “but what little I know of the authoress, I doubt there was any harm intended. It has long been my experience that as readers we tend to look for the familiar in the characters of novels until we have convinced ourselves that they are based on people we know.”
“Which I could have believed that were it not for the description of the pewter cherub buttons,” said Lady Loughcroft. “That is a detail so exact I cannot believe it was a coincidence!”
“The buttons were not made exclusively for Eugenia,” said Lady Cordelia. “I own a set myself!”
“What on earth possessed you to buy them?” asked Abby, her mouth dropping open.
Lady Cordelia grinned. “I was going to give them to Mother as a gift on her birthday, but Trix convinced me that it might not be the best of ideas.”
“Not if you want another Season,” said Lord Delby, which provoked another bubble of laughter.
“I say, can you describe these buttons to me, Lady Cordelia?” said Ambrose, seizing the opportunity to put himself back into her notice. “They sound frightful.”
“Hideous,” laughed Lady Cordelia, smiling up at him. “I shall have to bring them to the Gathering to show you, my Lord, for they defy my ability to describe their awfulness.”
“Well the writer of The London House certainly managed it,” said Lady Loughcroft before pursing her lips into a straight line.
“Perhaps you were the author, Lady Cordelia,” joked Ambrose.
Lady Cordelia blanched for a second but rallied so quickly Felix doubted anyone else noticed.
“Had you heard my contributions to the Literary Gathering, Lord Ambrose, you would not make such a joke. I should be very glad to have half of the talent that the authoress of The London House has, I should be a very happy person indeed. However, as I do not, I shall follow Trix’s advice and stick to painting instead.”
“Your paintings are very beautiful,” said Abby with a kind smile. “Will you ever forgive us for laughing at your dramatic play?”
“Possibly,” conceded Lady Cordelia. “It depends on whether you are all willing to exhibit your paintings as well so that I can feel smug about my superior talents.”
In anyone else, her comment could have been construed as vanity, but her self-deprecating smile, coupled with the way she was holding tightly onto her cousin’s hand, convinced Felix that the girl was doing her best to deflect attention away from the fallout from The London House.
For a while, she succeeded. Talk turned to the various talents and skills that each of the people had, and Maria was quickly drawn into a conversation about sailing with Lord and Lady Gloucester – which was all the more amusing for she knew very little about boats, beyond the fact her husband was the Captain of one.
Ambrose tried to capture Lady Cordelia’s attention all to himself but was forced to share it with Mr Filey. Lady Delby, declaring the need to take a turn about the room, stood gracefully and demanded that Lord Loughcroft keep her company as she went in search of a cooler spot in the room.
“Mr Drake, you may take my seat, for my husband is quite keen to hear more about your family after all these years.”
“Happily,” replied Felix, although it was all he could do to keep from laughing as the reserved Lord Delby murmured into his ear.
“Meddling women are the bane of my existence. Talk to that niece of mine, will you? The weight of the world is an unnecessary burden for one so young.”
Felix, of course, was glad to comply.
“Are you enjoying the evening, Miss Manning?” he asked. She turned her large eyes toward him, and he could see the trouble lurking behind her smile.
“Very much so. Lady Putney and Sir Joseph always hire such excellent musicians.”
Felix, who would be hard pressed to tell a trombone from a violin, merely smiled at her assessment. “Yes, they are very good.”
“Do you know everyone here this evening?” asked Miss Manning, casting a look over her shoulder toward the rest of the crowded room. “There are a great number of very influential people here, as well as many entertaining ones.”
“Can they not be the same thing?”
She pretended to consider this. “On rare occasions, I suppose! See the lady with the walking sticks? That is the Countess of Bessborough, and the extraordinarily pretty girl with her is her daughter, Lady Caroline. Doesn’t she look like a fairy?”
“She certainly has that look about her,” said Felix, his eyes never leaving Miss Manning’s face.
“Obviously you have met my Aunt and Lord Loughcroft. Do you know, he is the most graceful dancer I have ever had the fortune to partner? He is the epitome of a gentleman!”
“Then I shall model my behaviour after him from this moment forth,” said Felix, but she seemed oblivious to his meaning.
“You would do well to do so,” she replied with an enthusiastic nod. “Everyone likes him, I think! It is such a pity that the Lexboroughs left before you could meet them, you know. Lord Arthur is quite the Pink of the Ton, and in some circles, he is thought to rival Mr Brummell – although perhaps not after the incident at the Lexborough’s ball. He lost a bet, I believe.”
“Do you think I shall have a chance of seeing the Beau himself this evening?”
“Not at all,” said Miss Manning with a surprisingly cheerful laugh. “Sir Joseph and Lady Putney are far too uncouth for his tastes, you know.”
Felix blinked at this assessment, and Trix smiled even wider.
“You think I am being rude to my hosts? I promise that I am not! In fact, Sir Joseph is quite proud of it, and has openly stated that if any of his sons choose to align themselves with the Bow Window set, then he will disinherit them all.”
“A smart business move,” said Felix, for even his father had warned him sternly not to become involved with those particular gentlemen.
“Oh, see that lady over there? That is Lady Hester Stanhope! She is very influential in political circles, and extremely intelligent. I shall ask my Aunt to make introductions for you – unless you are already known to her?”
“I fear she dislikes my family for the Drakes have never been friends of the Pitts or the Grenvilles.”
She glanced at him and then blushed. “Forgive me; I forget that your family must be very well connected.”
“Not as well as you’d expect,” he replied with a wide smile. “My mother’s health is not strong, and so they relocated to Bath not long after I first went to school. They planned to come back to London for Maria to have one or two full Seasons, but she took a liking to a handsome Naval Lieutenant of good birth and breeding that she met at the Pump Room, and there was no other for her after that.”
“How romantic!” she breathed, and he could practically see her filling in the blanks of his sister’s story.
“You should ask her about it sometime, it is a lovely tale,” he said. “And now he’s a Captain, so her faith in him has been vindicated.”
“I haven’t ever written a story about a naval officer,” she admitted.
“Then you shall have to meet with Captain Raven when he is next on dry land.”
“I won’t be in London after the end of this Season,” she said.
Felix smiled. “I don’t think such trivialities should get in the way of your writing career.”
She looked adorably confused, and he knew the urge to press his lips to her forehead. He sat back in his chair, forcing himself to look anywhere but at her face.
“Trix, my dearest, are you well?” said Lady Cordelia, turning to her cousin with a look of real concern. “You’ve gone quite red.”
“It’s so hot in here,” she murmured, clambering to her feet. “Perhaps some air on the terrace – no need to fuss!”
“I will escort you if Lord Delby does not object,” said Felix, feeling like her embarrassment was his fault, and that he needed to rectify it immediately.
“Yes of course – but no further than the Terrace, mind! I am sure there are plenty of other people out there.”
Miss Manning barely managed to curtsey as she stumbled to her feet, and practically fled toward the large French doors that led out to the patio beyond. If anyone noticed her sudden departure, they said nothing, but in truth, Felix wasn’t sure he would have noticed anyway.
Once outside, he discovered almost immediately that Lord Delby had been wrong. The night was cool and brisk, meaning no one else had currently ventured outside. Miss Manning stood with her hands resting again the balustrade, the light from the Putney’s hundreds of candles making her bronze dress shimmer in the dark.
He did not think he had ever fully appreciated how lovely she was.
“Miss Manning, have I offended you?” he said, approaching her carefully, as one might venture toward a wild deer.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide before she looked back down at her hands. “No, oh not in the least! I am so sorry, Mr Drake. My imagination runs away with me sometimes, and…”
She trailed off. He wondered if it was his imagination that saw tears glistening in her eyes.
This love thing still made no sense to him at all.
“Did your imagination weave a story about a young, beautiful authoress and a not-particularly-intelligent, but hopefully kind hearted and passably attractive book publisher? Mine did, you know.”
He leant onto the balustrade beside her, staring out into the dark garden beyond. She gave a soft laugh; so delicate that he wanted to catch it in his hands and keep it safe forever, for something so beautiful should undoubtedly be preserved forever.
“And what happened in this story?” she asked.
“It’s not a very interesting story, quite boring, in fact,” he said. He risked turning his head to look at her, only to find her gaze already upon him. “In my story, you see, they meet, fall madly in love, get married, and live happily ever after.”
She looked down for a moment, her breath catching. He remained still, afraid she would run away if he so much as moved an inch.
Finally, she raised her eyes back to his.
“I think it sounds like a marvellous story,” she said.
So there wasn’t anything for it but for Felix to dip his head, and kiss her.
*
Cordelia was surprised to learn that her tolerance had limits. She has always prided herself on her ability to be kind and thoughtful toward others, and in particular toward those gentlemen who sought her attention.
Lord Ambrose, however, seemed impervious to any snub or mild insult, and as she could not bring herself to deliver someone new in London a set down, no matter how well deserved, she was seriously considering proposing to Herbert Filey just to make an escape.
“My brother dotes on his daughters, of course, but it is unfortunate that my sister-in-law endures such differing health,” he said with an air that suggested he didn’t find it unfortunate in the least. “Naturally it keeps all of us in Cumberland, although we cut quite a dash in Carlisle, let me tell you! The Brothers Beau, they like to call us!”
Cordelia frowned, certain that was actually the nickname of the three adult sons of Sir Joseph and Lady Putney, but supposed it was possible that it was used to describe others as well.
“How interesting,” she said, trying not to yawn.
“I am quite devoted to the Godwin name and holdings. Not that I would be opposed to living in a less remote part of the world, but I am aware that as a future custodian of that Godwin Estates, it is in my blood to love that beautiful land.”
“Are you to be your brother’s steward, then?” she asked, thinking this was possibly the most interesting thing that he’d said in their entire acquaintance. “I confess that you didn’t strike me as the type to care about farming or land management.”
He stared at her blankly. Her father laughed, but when she glanced over, she found him looking in quite the other direction.
“I meant that as the heir to the title,” said Lord Ambrose.
“But Mrs Raven said your sister-in-law was in the family way.”
An odd expression settled onto his features, as though he had tasted something foul. “I can but hope she will deliver a healthy son and free me of this burden, but one can never be sure of these things, and so far she has only delivered girls.”
“No need to despair about that,” she said cheerfully. “I am the eldest of three girls, but my little brother followed along ten years after me, so it all came about right in the end.”
“How fortunate,” he said, looking stunned by her disclosure.
“Precisely, and then you would be free to pursue some gainful occupation, like your cousin,” she said with an encouraging smile. “You would look rather splendid in a Hussar’s uniform, don’t you think?”
He laughed, although it was more of a titter than a deep, guttural sound. How odd that she would find such a little thing so irritating! Lord Ambrose looked as though he should have a deep, engaging laugh that would animate his whole face, instead of a smirk that made his eyes look cruel.
“My cousin said the same thing, my dear Lady Cordelia, but although I don’t expect a genteel female to understand fully, there is more to a career than an attractive uniform.”
“How unexpected,” she replied, and wondered whether her father would reprimand her for dumping her champagne all over Lord Ambrose’s ridiculous silver coat.
Luckily for the nerves of that gentleman’s tailor, Herbert Filey unwittingly came to his rescue.
“Devilish hot in here, don’t you think? Miss Manning had the right idea – a stroll on the terrace is just the thing!”
“An excellent notion,” declared Cordelia, practically jumping to her feet. “My cousin left her shawl behind, and is no doubt wishing for it.”
Before she could take Herbert’s arm, however, Lord Ambrose was on his feet and offering to escort her. There was no polite way to refuse, although she put her hand onto his with the barest amount of civility.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“Your condescension toward your cousin does you great credit, Lady Cordelia. Was that shawl a gift to her? It is very fine quality.”
As it happened, it had been a birthday gift to Trix, but Cordelia found that she would rather bite her tongue in half that admit that. The Godwins were not precisely rich themselves, despite the title and lands, so who did he think he was to speak of Trix as though she were a penniless relation?
“No, she bought it with her own money of course,” said Cordelia, making her eyes go wide with what she hoped resembled surprised innocence.
“Own money?” he repeated.
“Didn’t you know? Her mother is a very famous writer, and she has a sizeable portion from her parents. Even without the success her novels will undoubtedly bring her,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie, either, for Trix would never be penniless. Just not particularly comfortable if forced to live on her own income.
“I was not aware of that,” said Lord Ambrose as he patted her hand. “I stand by my comment, however. You are very good to your cousin.”
“Oh look, there she is,” said Cordelia before they had ever walked through the French doors. “Trix! I’ve brought your shawl!”
“I don’t see her,” said Lord Ambrose, squinting into the darkness.
“She’s right there,” said Cordelia, glad that her loud hello had caused her cousin to begin walking toward them.
“How thoughtful!” said Trix, reaching out to receive her shawl. “Goodness, it looks like everyone is coming outside!”
“Cooler out here,” said Cordelia, but even in the darkness, she could tell her cousin was blushing. “Were you and Mr Drake having an interesting conversation?”
“Indeed we were,” answered Mr Drake as he approached. “Miss Manning and I were trading story ideas.”
“Ah, interested in reading her tales, are you?” said Lord Ambrose with a nod. “Told you that you should give them a try!”
Mr Drake looked as confused as Cordelia felt irritated.
“Trix, take a turn with me, will you?” she said, linking arms with her cousin. “I believe that my mother was looking for you.”
“She was? Whatever for?” asked Trix as Cordelia bore her away from Mr Drake and Lord Ambrose.
“I have no idea, let’s ask her,” said Cordelia, deciding the little white lie was excusable if only to get some peace.