A Lady of Letters (6 page)

Perhaps she was as guilty as he had been in pronouncing judgement on a stranger.

The last notes died away and the Earl escorted her back to her chair. He bowed over her hand with icy politeness, his eyes avoiding any contact with hers. "I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of the evening in more congenial company."

"Sir," she said quietly as he made to walk away.

He raised his brow in question.

"Now it is my turn to say I'm sorry."

His expression remained impassive. "Why, whatever for?"

"What I said was terribly rude—"

"No, my dear. What you said was the truth."

Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

"
I hope this clarification serves to answer some of the astute questions you raised concerning my essay on why an advanced society should grant certain rights to women. To that end, I must admit that although I am not entirely in agreement with your point of view on the subject, your deft wit and keen observation afforded me more than a few smiles. You say that you wonder why I favor rights for women when, in your experience, females have shown little capacity for rational thought, and still less for original ideas. However true your observations may be, you may be guilty of judging too harshly. Have you considered the restraints we impose on our females, especially those fresh from the schoolroom. Only think of it—anxious Mamas hover over them, ready to pounce on the slightest show of natural ebullience or guileless opinion lest it frighten away some eligible suitor. In public, under the watchful eye of spiteful gossips and straightlaced tabbies one misstep can result in ostracization, while rakes and fortunehunters think it a game to create ruined reputations. Why, it is a wonder girls dare open their mouths at all!

The Earl paused for a moment in reading, struck yet again by the insight and sensitivity his newfound correspondent showed. The fellow must have sisters, he mused, to show such compassionate understanding of the problems faced by ladies in Society. He rubbed at his chin. The letter pointed out a whole new perspective he had never considered. Taking another sip of his brandy, he sighed and continued on.

Now, I cannot argue that young ladies of a certain age can be silly indeed. But can we honestly say that young men are any better? Only look at the young cubs freshly arrived in Town who ape the design of a waistcoat or wear shirtpoints so high as to resemble some strange species of avian life, unable to move their heads more than a degree to the left or right. And then are the silly pranks, most of which a schoolboy would be rounded caned for, but which we dismiss as merely showing spirit. Add to that the excess of drinking, the gambling away of family fortunes and I daresay we cannot claim that men show a good deal more intelligence than the opposite sex....

Sheffield couldn't restrain a bark of laughter. Why, the fellow had hit the nail on the head. Men were wont to be as ridiculous as females, he admitted. And it was true that they were allowed a good deal more leeway in such silly behavior. Now that he thought about it, a man was allowed to mature from a child into an adult with no real consequences for making the normal mistakes along the way, whereas a lady was accorded no such freedom. One error and she was ruined for life. It was deuced unfair! His friend was right—he should try not to judge quite so harshly.

A rueful grimace stole across his lips as the letter and its discussion of females brought to mind his recent confrontations with a certain lady. He had been wrong to think her bird-witted and flighty. She was neither. Nor was she as clumsy as he had supposed at first. In his arms, she had moved with a sinuous silkiness that had both surprised and pleased him. Even now he could recall the sway of her gently rounded hips, the smooth rhythm of her long legs matching his own moves with ease. He had also been all too aware of the shapely swell of her breasts close to his chest, the arch of her neck, the feel of her slender fingers in his.

Damnation. He was growing aroused at the very thought of the maddening chit.

He took another gulp of brandy, reminding himself that it was absurd to dwell on her. It was clear she held him in nothing but contempt. And what did it matter that a rather shrewish young lady listened to gossip and rushed to make her own hasty judgements? There were plenty of ladies far more beautiful who did not look on him with such blazing dislike, who would welcome his attentions with far more than feisty words. Yet he didn't seem quite able to banish those flashing eyes from his thoughts. They hinted at an intensity and depth of spirit which, along with her willowy form and unusual looks, he found strangely compelling.

Or perhaps intriguing was a better word. She was, after all, hardly a typical young miss. When roused to anger, she did not shrink from displaying a quick tongue and firm opinions, as well as the courage to express them, even to gentleman. After a moment of reflection, he had to add that she was not lacking in more delicate sensibilities either. Not many people would have been perceptive enough to see the subtle change that had come over him. She had sensed that her words had found a chink in his armor of studied indifference, but rather than triumph in her eyes, there had been remorse, as if she had regretted causing him any pain.

His hand threaded through his long locks. He had never been bothered by attacks on his character before, but for some reason, it irked him that Edwin Hadley's sister had such a low opinion of him. Unfortunately her words were not without merit. Harsh though they may have been, there was more truth to their essence than he cared to admit. He may not be a real cad or a bounder, but he had been essentially a selfish man since his days at university. Of that she was right.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and re-read both letters he had received from Firebrand. His eyes then strayed to the pile of pamphlets and books on his desk. Whether goaded by Miss Hadley's stinging words or inspired by his new friend's bold ideas he wasn't sure, but he began to mull over a plan that had been in the back of head for some time.

Augusta crossed another name off of her list. Marianne had learned from one of her dance partners that Viscount Mansfield had sailed for his family's estate in Barbados over four months ago. Such information, she decided, ruled him out as a likely candidate. Her eyes scanned over the page as she drummed her fingers on the tooled leather blotter.

That left six.

She was well aware that narrowing down the rest was going to be extremely difficult.. The information gathered from Baron Ashford and several other old friends from home had allowed her to progress this far, but now inquiries into the character and habits of the remaining suspects became a good deal trickier. A way must be found to delve into their private affairs, but discreetly, so as not to raise any suspicion. It would be much easier, she thought with an exasperated sigh, if she were a man. What she needed to hear were the sorts of things men bandied about over a bottle of port at their clubs.

Marianne had suggested taking Ashford into her confidences, but she had rejected the idea out of hand. Jamie was a stalwart friend, entirely trustworthy and not without a certain intelligence, but his judgement was not as sharp as she might have wished. Bluff and honest himself, he failed to grasp the need for circumspection in certain situations. In this case, an unguarded word at the wrong moment might turn all her careful plans to naught. Besides, the person she sought might well prove to be a friend of his, and gentlemen could have the oddest notions about honor and that sort of thing. No, he was best left unaware of the entire matter.

With a sigh, Augusta snapped her journal shut and locked it in the top drawer. Perhaps she would think of something later, while trying to ignore the warbling soprano screeches emitting from the oldest of six Dulcett daughters at the upcoming evening musicale orchestrated by girl's mother. If she did not know better, she might have suspected the lady of possessing a wickedly sly sense of humor to think of revealing that Miss Dulcett's tones were anything but. However, it was unlikely there would be any but the most boring of conversations and music at the gathering.

At least it was not a ball, she thought. She wouldn't have to worry about being pestered from her normal routine of sitting quietly off to one side, choosing to let her thoughts and ideas do the lively capering instead of her feet. Though she enjoyed dancing, there were precious few gentlemen who moved her in any interesting way.

A faint color rose to her cheeks as she recalled the firm grip of Sheffield's long fingers, the solid breadth of his chest, the effortless grace of his steps in swirling her across the floor. There was no denying that man moved in interesting ways. That he possessed a dry sense of humor and a devastating smile was a more surprising discovery, especially as he had not been wont to display either in their previous meetings. More than that, his eyes, when not clouded with anger, revealed a depth of emotion she wouldn't have guessed at either. Contrary to her first opinion, the Earl did not appear to be as shallow as she had thought. He may be selfish, arrogant and quick to anger, but he was also witty, charming and more vulnerable than he cared to admit.

The clock on her mantel chimed to remind her that it was time to start dressing for the evening, but still she sat staring into the flickering logs. Well, it hardly mattered what sort of man he was. Her stinging set down had made quite certain that she was not likely to find herself waltzing in his arms again anytime soon.

Now why did such a thought leave her feeling far from gratified?

The evening proved to be even worse than she had imagined. The young lady had chosen a difficult aria that only served to highlight her woefully inadequate range. She plunged into the notes with nary a care for the crescendos or adagios of the piece, drawing a pained wince from those who had even a cursory interest in music. Augusta let her eyes fall shut for a moment, wishing such action might block out the sound as well as the sight of the unfortunate girl laboring away beside the piano.

An elbow nudged into her side. "How can you even think of nodding off?" whispered Marianne.

"Rest assured that if I had any such intention, I should soon find myself disabused of the notion. Why, Gideon may dispense with his trumpet and merely take Miss Dulcett along as his companion in order to wake the dead."

Her sister stifled a giggle, drawing a stern look from their mother.

"Do not fidget, child. Men do not like such hoydenish behavior."

"Yes, Mama," murmured Marianne.

Lady Farnum turned her attention to her eldest daughter. "And you Augusta, I should hope you would not encourage her in such unladylike ways," she said with a sniff. "Just because you do not choose to make yourself agreeable with —

A high note cut off the rest of the sentence. It hardly mattered. Augusta knew it all by heart. Her mother could not understand what interest books or ideas held for a female, especially when said female had not yet attended to the infinitely more important matter of attaching a suitable husband. She gave an inward sigh, knowing what a sad disappointment she had proved to be in the eyes of at least one parent. Well, her mother need have no such laments concerning her youngest child. Marianne's stunning looks and sunny disposition had attracted a swarm of eligible suitors and she would have only to choose which one she favored to ensure there would be an engagement by the end of the Season.

Augusta shifted uncomfortably in her seat, drawing another glare from Lady Farnum. Her father did not seem as upset that she chose to spend her time in the library reading and studying. Nor had Edwin. Her brother had encouraged her to use her mind, sharing his books and his tutor's ideas with her. She found she had to blink back a tear on recalling the countless hours they had spent discussing Voltaire or the radical notions of Mr. Jefferson. And it was not as if he was some dull dog, without a spark of mischief to leaven his keen intellect. He had possessed a wicked sense of humor—his comments on the hapless Miss Dulcett would no doubt have had her drawing even more censure from her mother.