Seduction (15 page)

happens, I have a solution to the dilemma your inexperience presents. I am going

to provide you with a professional guide to see you through the wilderness of

the social world here."

"A guide?"

"My aunt, Lady Frances Sinclair. Feel free to call her

Fanny. Everyone else does, including the Prince. I think you'll find her

interesting. Fancies herself something of a bluestocking, I believe. She and her

companion are fond of conducting a small salon of intellectually minded ladies

on Wednesday afternoons. She'll probably invite you to join her little club."

Sophy heard the amused condescension in his voice and smiled serenely. "Is her

little club anything like a gentlemen's club in which one may drink and bet and

entertain oneself until all hours?"

Julian eyed her grimly. "Definitely not."

"How disappointing. But be that as it may, I am sure I shall like your aunt."

"You'll have a chance to find out shortly." Julian glanced at the library clock.

"She should be here any minute."

Sophy was stunned. "She's going to be calling this morning?"

"I'm afraid so. She sent word around an hour ago that she was to be expected.

She'll undoubtedly be accompanied by her companion, Harriett Rattenbury. The two

are inseparable." Julian's mouth crooked faintly. "My aunt is most anxious to

meet you."

"But how did she know I was in town?"

"That's one of the things you must learn about Society, Sophy. Gossip travels on

the air itself here in the city. You will do well to keep that in mind because

the last thing I want to hear is gossip about my wife. Is that very clear?"

"Yes, Julian."

SIX

"I do apologize for being late but I know you will all forgive me when I tell

you I have got the second installment. Here it is, fresh from the presses. I

assure you I had to risk life and limb to obtain it. I haven't seen that sort of

mob in the streets since the riot after the last fireworks display at Covent

Garden."

Sophy and the other ten guests seated in the gold-and-white Egyptian-style

drawing room turned to gaze at the young, red-haired woman who had just burst

through the door. She was clutching a slender, unbound volume in her hands and

her eyes were alight with excitement.

"Pray, seat yourself, Anne. You must know we are all about to expire with

curiosity." Lady Frances Sinclair, perched gracefully on a gold-and-white

striped settee that was adorned with small, carved sphinxes, waved her late

guest to a nearby chair. "But first allow me to present my nephew's wife, Lady

Ravenwood. She arrived in town a week ago and has expressed an interest in

joining our little Wednesday afternoon salon. Sophy, this is Miss Anne

Silverthorne. You two will undoubtedly run into each other again this evening at

the Yelverton Ball."

Sophy smiled warmly as the introductions were completed. She was thoroughly

enjoying herself and had been since Fanny Sinclair and her friend Harriett

Rattenbury had swept into her life the previous week.

Julian had been right about his aunt and her companion. They were obviously the

greatest of friends, although to look at them, one was struck first by the

differences, rather than the similarities between the two women.

Fanny Sinclair was tall, patrician featured, and had been endowed with the black

hair and brilliant emerald eyes that appeared to be a trademark of the Sinclair

clan. She was in her early fifties, a vivacious, charming creature who was

clearly at ease amid the wealth and trappings of the ton.

She was also delightfully optimistic, keenly interested in everything that went

on around her and remarkably free thinking. Full of witty schemes and plans, she

fairly bubbled with enthusiasm for any new idea that crossed her path. The

exotic Egyptian style of her townhouse suited her well. Even the odd wallpaper,

which had a border of tiny mummies and sphinxes, looked appropriate as a

backdrop for Lady Fanny.

As much as Sophy enjoyed the bizarre Egyptian motifs in Lady Fanny's home, she

was somewhat relieved to discover that when it came to clothing fashions,

Julian's aunt had an instinctive and unfailing sense of style. She had employed

it often on Sophy's behalf during the past week. Sophy's wardrobe was now

crammed with the latest and most flattering designs and more gowns were on

order. When Sophy had been so bold as to question the excessive expenditures,

Fanny had laughed gaily and waved the entire issue aside.

"Julian can afford to keep his wife in style and he shall do so if I have

anything to say about it. Do not worry about the bills, my dear. Just pay them

out of your allowance and request more money from Julian when you need it."

Sophy had been horrified. "I could not possibly ask him to increase my

allowance. He is already being extremely generous with me."

"Nonsense. I will tell you a secret about my nephew. He is not by nature

closefisted or stingy but unfortunately he has little interest in spending money

on anything except land improvement, sheep, and horses. You will have to remind

him from time to time that there are certain necessities a woman needs."

Just as she would have to remind him occasionally that he had a wife, Sophy had

told herself. She had not seen a great deal of her husband lately.

Harry, as Fanny's companion was called, was quite opposite in looks and manners,

although she appeared to be about the same age. She was short, round, and

possessed of an unflappable calm that nothing seemed to shake. Her serenity was

the perfect foil for Fanny's enthusiasms. She favored imposing turbans, a

monocle on a black ribbon, and the color purple, which she felt complimented her

eyes. Thus far Sophy had never seen Harriett Rattenbury dressed in any other

shade. The eccentricity suited her in some indefinable fashion.

Sophy had liked both women on sight and it was a fortunate circumstance because

Julian had more or less abandoned her to their company. Sophy had seen very

little of her husband for the past week and nothing at all of him in her

bedchamber. She was not quite certain what to make of that situation but she had

been too busy, thanks to Fanny and Harry, to brood over the matter.

"Now then,' Fanny said as Anne began to cut open the pages of the small book,

"you must not keep us in suspense any longer than is absolutely necessary, Anne.

Start reading at once."

Sophy looked at her hostesses. "Are these Memoirs actually written by a woman of

the demimonde?"

"Not just any woman of that world but the woman of that world," Fanny assured

her with satisfaction. "It is no secret that Charlotte Featherstone has been the

queen of London's courtesans for the past ten years. Men of the highest rank

have fought duels for the honor of being her protector. She is retiring at the

peak of her career and has decided to set Society on its ear with her Memoirs."

"The first installment came out a week ago and we have all been eagerly awaiting

the second," one of the other ladies announced gleefully. "Anne was dispatched

to fetch it for us."

"Makes an interesting change from the sort of thing we usually study and discuss

on Wednesday afternoons, doesn't it?" Harriett observed blandly. "One can get a

little tired of trying to muddle through those rather strange poems of Blake's

and I must say there are times when it is difficult to tell the difference

between Coleridge's literary visions and his opium visions."

"Let us get to the heart of the matter," Fanny declared. "Who does the Grand

Featherstone name this time?"

Anne was already scanning the pages she had opened. "I see Lords Morgan and

Crandon named and, oh, good heavens, there's a royal Duke here, too."

"A royal Duke? This Miss Featherstone appears to have fancy tastes," Sophy

observed, intrigued.

"That she does," Jane Morland, the dark-haired, serious-eyed young woman who was

sitting next to Sophy, remarked. "Just imagine, as one of the Fashionable

Impures, she's met people I could never even aspire to meet. She's mingled with

men from the highest levels of Society."

"She's done a fair bit more than just mingle with them, if you ask me," Harriett

murmured, adjusting her monocle.

"But where did she come from? Who is she?" Sophy demanded.

"I've heard she was nothing more than the illegitimate daughter of a common

streetwalker," one of the older women observed with an air of amused disgust.

"No common streetwalker could have caught the attention of all of London the way

Featherstone has," Jane announced firmly. "Her admirers have included a good

portion of the peers of the realm. She is obviously a cut above the ordinary."

Sophy nodded slowly. "Just think of all she must have been obliged to overcome

in her life in order to have obtained her present position."

"I would imagine her present position is flat on her back," Fanny said.

"But she must have cultivated a great deal of wit and style to attract so many

influential lovers," Sophy pointed out.

"I'm sure she has," Jane Morland agreed. "It is quite interesting to note how

certain people possessed only of flair and intelligence seem to be able to

convince others of their social superiority. Take Brummell or Byron's friend,

Scrope Davies, for example."

"I would imagine Miss Featherstone must be very beautiful to have become so

successful in her, uh, chosen profession," Anne said thoughtfully.

"She's not actually a great beauty," Fanny announced.

The other women all glanced at her in surprise.

Fanny smiled. "It's true. I've seen her more than once, you know. From a

distance, of course. Harry and I noticed her just the other day, in fact,

shopping in Bond Street, didn't we, Harry?"

"Dear me, yes. Quite a sight."

"She was seated in the most incredible yellow curricle," Fanny explained to her

attentive audience. "She was wearing a deep blue gown and every finger was

ablaze with diamonds. Quite a stunning picture. She's fair and she's possessed

of passable looks and she certainly knows how to make the most of them, but I

assure you there are many women of the ton who are more beautiful."

"Then why are the gentlemen of the ton so taken with her?" Sophy asked.

"Gentlemen are very simple-minded creatures," Harriett explained serenely as she

lifted a teacup to her lips. "Easily dazzled by novelty and the expectation of

romantic adventure. I imagine the Grand Featherstone has a way of leading men to

expect both from her."

"It would be interesting to know her secret methods for bringing men to their

knees," a middle-aged matron in dove gray silk said with a sigh.

Fanny shook her head. "Never forget that for all her flash and glitter, she is

as chained in her world as we are in ours. She may be a prize for the men of the

ton but she cannot hold their attention forever and she must know it.

Furthermore, she cannot hope to marry any of her high-ranking admirers and thus

move into a more secure world."

"True enough," Harriett agreed, pursing her lips. "No matter how infatuated with

her he might be, no matter how many expensive necklaces he might bestow upon

her, no nobleman in his right mind is going to propose marriage to a woman of

the demimonde. Even if he forgot himself so far as to do so, his family would

quickly quash the notion."

"You are right, Fanny," Sophy said thoughtfully. "Miss Featherstone is trapped

in her world. And we are tied to ours. Still, if she managed the trick of

raising herself from the gutter to the level where she apparently is today, she

must be a very astute female. I believe she would make a very interesting

contribution to these afternoon salons of yours, Fanny."

A ripple of shock went through the small group. But Fanny chuckled. "Very

interesting, no doubt."

"Do you know something?" Sophy continued impulsively, "I believe I should like

to meet her."

Every other pair of eyes in the room swung toward her in startled disbelief.

"Meet her?" Jane exclaimed, looking both scandalized and fascinated. "You would

like an introduction to a woman of that sort?"

Anne Silverthorne smiled reluctantly. "It would be rather amusing, wouldn't it?"

"Hush, all three of you," one of the older woman snapped. "Introduce yourselves

to a professional courtesan? Have you lost all sense of propriety? Of all the

ridiculous notions."

Fanny gave Sophy an amused glance. "If Julian even suspected you of harboring

such a goal, he would have you back in the country within twenty-four hours."

"Do you think Julian has ever met her?" Sophy asked.

Fanny choked on her tea and quickly set down the cup and saucer. "Excuse me,"

she gasped as Harriett slapped her familiarly between the shoulder blades. "I do

beg your pardon."

"Are you all right, dear?" Harriett asked with mild concern as Fanny recovered.

"Yes, yes, fine, thank you, Harry." Fanny's vivacious smile swept the circle of

anxious faces. "I am perfectly all right now. I do beg everyone's pardon. Now

then, where were we? Oh, yes, you were about to start reading to us, Anne. Do

begin."

Anne plunged eagerly into the surprisingly lively prose and every woman in the