Chapter 27

“I don’t think this was a good idea,” Cordelia said frankly, wishing that Kathryn was at this particular ball. But Kathryn was resting. Resting because she was going to be a mother. Cordelia couldn’t have been happier for her friend and she refused to believe that the slight ache in her heart might be a touch of jealousy. No. She was made of much better stuff than that. Besides, if she was to take London by storm, a baby would have to wait. Perhaps for some time. Cordelia shook the sudden heart breaking thought away.

The Dowager Duchess of Hunt, Cordy’s infamous mother-in-law, snapped her fan shut and pursed her beautiful, rouged lips. Lips most women half her age would traipse over hot coals for. “Nonsense! You’ve spent enough time chasing after my son. You’ve made the right decision. You cannot allow him to behave like a total ass and get away with it. It was your idea to take London by storm and I shan’t let you retreat now.”

Cordelia laughed. She couldn’t help herself. The very best thing she’d ever done upon returning to London, and facing humiliating rejection after rejection on the part of her husband. . . For her chase of said husband had turned into a bloody French farce. . . Had been the acquaintance of her mother-in-law. Hyancinth Eversleigh was a gem of the first water and a breath of fresh air in the stagnate ton. She’d even managed to keep the old gorgon of Jack’s grandmama at bay. Something Cordelia was ridiculously thankful for, because given the notes she’d received, the old lady was bound and determined to have her way. It was complimentary in some ways, but she wasn’t going to stay Jack’s duchess if the dratted man didn’t want her. She had far too much self respect.

“Hyacinth,” Cordelia said in all seriousness, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

A slow grin pulled at the older woman’s lips. “You, dear girl? Why you would have simply chosen another plan of attack. I do not believe there is a single way in which you wouldn’t be the victor. I still think my son will fall to you and it would be the best thing for him.”

Cordelia sighed. There was no point arguing. After last night’s debacle at the club, she’d put any hope of Jack out of her thoughts. She’d acted the fool long enough. Eying the packed ballroom, she drew herself up. Desert tribes, marauding across the plain hadn’t swayed her, so why in the devil would a bunch of lords and ladies in starch cravats and winched waists? The English were unlike any other people in the world. It was the only explanation for it.

Speaking of winched waists hers seemed to be protesting her corset in sharper degrees these last few days. Waving her fan in front of her face, she forced herself to ask with cheer, “Well then, who shall you introduce me to first?”

Hyacinth waggled her brows. “Well, I do believe the Duke of Aston is to be here tonight and he is a delicious fellow. Plump purses for your digs, my dear.”

Just as they were about to begin making the rounds of the packed room, Lady Gemma scampered into sight, her full ivory skirts, teasing her ankles.

“Mama,” Lady Gemma scrambled to a halt her face glowing. “I’ve just been to the terrace—”

“With Lord Markham?” The duchess clasped her fan with delight. Not the usual response of a mama to a daughter who’d just been out to the terrace, and presumably not alone.

Gemma made a face. “Lord no.” She glanced askance at Cordelia, her cheeks blushing. “A gentleman unknown to you, mama.”

From the guilty look upon Gemma’s face when looking at her, Cordy had the distinct feeling that somehow she was involved in the terrace business. . . But she wasn’t so. . .

Cordy snapped her gaze back to the ballroom. James, towering above most of the men of the ton, his black hair gleaming under the candlelight, was making his way hastily towards the exit, a perplexed look of stunned mystification upon his face. A look quite uncommon to her skeptical, capable, and irascible brother.

“Gemma,” Cordelia began. James would not be a wise choice. Not even for a dalliance. He was completely absorbed by pots. Two thousand year old pots, she granted, but pots none the less and if he was kissing Gemma, she had little doubt that he’d been cornered. And cornering James was a very, very inadvisable proposition. “I must warn you—”

Gemma sniffed, tossing a longish curl behind her ear. “Really, Cordelia, variety is the spice of life, is it not mama?”

The dowager duchess smiled graciously, as if they were talking about the next shoot in Norfolk. “Indeed it is my darling, but I do not think Cordelia shares our desire to taste all the lips we may.”

Cordy swayed slightly. She’d had one pair of lips and that was quite enough, thank you very much. Look at the trouble such an endeavor had caused in her perfectly ordered life. “Taste? All the lips—”

Hyacinth snapped open her fan and waved it luxuriously before her face. “My dear, men would have us be flowers, immobile, whilst the bee moves from bloom to bloom. I’m sure you’ve already seen the folly of that. Even if it was with my dear son.”

“Most unfair,” Gemma contributed. “How shall we know which bee we prefer if we do not pluck up our roots and experiment?”

“Experimentation is essential,” Hyacinth exclaimed like an impassioned curator, “in life if we are to learn or grow.”

Cordy drew in a quick breath. Life with the Eversleighs was enough to send her head pounding. “From a logical point of view, I must agree. When excavating, we must experiment with new methods and—”

“Oh good!” Gemma gushed. “I should hate to think you disapprove of me. . .” Before she could continue, Gemma’s eyes flared before she swore sotto voce, “Hells bells.”

“Gemma,” her mother intoned, “whilst I too use invectives, there is a time and—”

Lady Gemma leaned forward and hissed, most unbecomingly “Lady Swinborne is upon us. . . in full sail.”

“Bloody tart,” Hyacinth huffed, glancing about, no doubt looking for said bloody tart.

Cordy found the insult most amusing given that many might describe Her Grace in such a fashion. But in any case, she turned her gaze to see what dragon might be heading their way. She fully expected a crone, warts upon her nose, and a stare which would wither them to stone.

For an inexplicable reason, she tensed. She didn’t know why but if she’d been a cat, her back would be arched and her tail would be in full puff.

The woman didn’t have the look of a shrew. Quite the opposite. A diminutive Kewpie doll came to mind. Cordy leaned towards her mother-in-law and whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Who is that?”

But before anyone could reply, the woman was before them, her violet eyes flashing with vicious amusement.

“Dowager Duchess,” the kewpie doll oozed.

Truly. Oozing. She did indeed ooze. Sensuality, point of fact. Cordelia perked up, her curiosity over-reigning her instant dislike. Why would such a woman head into territory that was clearly unwelcoming?

“Lady Swinborne, have you been taking the waters?” Hyacinth tilted her head to the side, a speculative gesture which let her gaze linger on the other woman’s rouged cheeks. “You look rather boiled.”

Lady Swinborne drew up for a moment, her perfect little nose pinching as she inhaled sharply, but then a rich, seductive laugh tumbled out of her mouth. Her blond curls, laced with emeralds and peacock feathers bounced. . . As did her considerable bosom, improved by a tight bodice of iridescent sapphire silk. “How droll, you are Duchess,” she sighed. “I do believe I am overheated by the excitement.”

If one could hate a woman for her looks alone, Cordelia would have done so. But she was above such things surely. It mattered not that she suddenly felt like a sunburnt bit of bacon next to a puffed up prancing bird.

“Ladies such as yourself are always in heat, so it would seem,” Hyacinth returned with a smile.

Cordy swung her gaze from one woman to the next then looked at Gemma. Were blades about to be drawn? Would blood spill upon the polished parquet floor? Given that she’d not brought her parasol for battle, she stepped forward, jabbing her hand out to shake the odious woman’s. “How do you do. We’ve not been introduced.”

Lady Swinburne gazed at her hand as if it were something dead the dog had rolled in and then brought in the house.

“Lady Swinburne,” Hyacinth said tightly, “Lady Cordelia Eversleigh.”

Lady Swinburne gave a low laugh. “Not for long, I hear.”

“No, not for long,” Cordy stated, refusing to be pulled into the mire. “The little time I’ve had has been positively trying.”

“Was it?” Lady Swinburne asked with a supercilious arch of her blond brow. “The time I had was delicious.”

Aha. Now, she knew why she’d instinctively disliked the woman. She was one of the many who had cavorted with her husband. “Did you? Well, you must have ruined him then for all other women.”

The three other ladies stared at her as if she had just produced a plucked chicken for their gratification.

“The Duke of Hunt?” Lady Swinburne gasped. “Ruined by me?”

Cordelia studied the other lady for a moment then decided to launch into her new tactic. Surely, compliments would divert her form her present vitriol. “Clearly a woman of your beauty and talent would be capable of such a thing, no?”

Lady Swinburne’s forehead puckered, clearly looking for the trap.

But there wasn’t one. Jack had been ruined for any woman that might love him. And so she said with utter honesty, “I don’t think he shall ever be capable of giving his heart to a woman. Do you?”

Lady Swinburne frowned. “Come to think of it, he never game me his heart.”

Lady Gemma and Hyacinth gaped.

Somehow, Lady Swinburne and Cordy had done the undone thing. They were openly discussing Lady’s S’s love affair with Jack.

“Well, you must know, he’s never actually been my husband. Otherwise how could I ask for an annulment. You are much more to his preference, I think.”

“Clearly not or. . .” Lady S bit her lower lip

“He wouldn’t have thrown you over,” drawled Gemma.

“Now, Gemma that is not fair,” Cordy protested, suddenly wishing to learn more about Jack, even if it was from a former mistress. “Jack is a most curious man. Perhaps we should discuss his propensities with his other women. If we did such a thing, we might discover who it was that did indeed ruin him for all others.”

“Cordelia,” Gemma ventured, “I think—”

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Lady Swinburne burst out. “I never knew what to make of it. I did all the things he liked. My friend, Lady Eden did the same thing. And he. . . Well. . .”

“He acted an ass, did he not?” Cordy asked, wondering what the deuce was driving her. But she had the utter clarity of knowing whatever it was, was the right thing. For some reason, she felt, if she could just make sense of Jack’s past, she’d be able to dismiss him from her thoughts. And never let her heart hurt over him again. Yes. The more evidence she could gather, the more she’d understand him. And the more she understood him, the less she would be curious.

“He did,” Lady Swinburne confessed. Yes.”

“Would you be so kind as to introduce me to Lady Eden?” Cordy inquired. “Is she here?”

“Cordy,” Gemma said through clamped teeth. “What are you doing?

Hyacinth arched a brow. “She’s being deuced clever. That’s what’s she doing.” She waved her fan in the direction of the ball. “Go. Meet them all, if you have the courage. I cannot wait to see the outcome.”

Lady Swinburne blinked. “I—I don’t know—”

“Come. We are of the same genus and gender, Lady Swinburne.” Cordy crooked her elbow, tempting the other woman to take her arm. “We must stick together.”