The Courtesan's Wager (3 page)

Amelia knew enough of the world to know very well that when a woman was
that
polite it was nothing but cruelty dressed in lace. She didn’t care. There simply was no one else who could manage things of this nature as well as Sophia Dalby.

“I mean to say,” Amelia continued, raising her voice slightly and stiffening her spine, “what I mean, Lady Dalby, is that I would very much like to marry a duke and I would very much like your help in acquiring one.”

There. She had said it as plainly as it could be said. Let Sophia try and pretend ignorance
now
.

“Why, darling,” Sophia said, leaning forward and taking Amelia by the hand, “that sounds positively riveting. I’m quite sure that, between the two of us, we can manage to snare one duke, don’t you agree?”

“You truly think so?” Amelia said, her breath escaping her in a rush of pure relief, nay, exultation. Here was the answer to all her problems in attracting a duke. She should have come to Sophia two years ago.

“I have no doubt of it whatsoever,” Sophia said, patting her hand and leaning back in her chair, her dark eyes considering Amelia with a scrutiny that was blatant and unsettling. “If I may speak plainly?”

“Of course,” Amelia said, not at all certain that speaking plainly was ever desirable, but what choice did she have?

“You are, as I am quite certain you know, a very beautiful woman in the precise style of beauty that is so fashionable at the moment.”

Amelia wasn’t entirely certain that Sophia’s observation ranked as a compliment, but not knowing what else to say, she said, “Thank you, Lady Dalby.”

Lady Dalby smiled and said, “Lady Amelia, if you will allow? ”

Amelia had no idea what Sophia was asking permission to do, but she nodded her assent. What could she do? Had she not just this moment asked for Sophia’s help?

“You must never thank someone for complimenting you, particularly when the compliment is merely a statement of the obvious. And most particularly when dealing with dukes.”

“I must not?”

“You absolutely must not,” Sophia said. “You accept the compliment as your due and see where that leads. You must know your worth first before you can require anyone else to recommend you for it.”

“Require?” Amelia said, well aware that she was repeating, but what was she to do? She found every word out of Sophia’s mouth to be singularly strange and unique and, she hated to admit it, useless. Of what possible use could this odd advice on the receipt of the most ordinary of compliments be in the pursuit of a man?

“Yes, of course require,” Sophia said on a sigh of frustration. “Naturally, I am aware that your mother died many years past, perhaps at the most crucial stage of your training, and you, through no fault of your own, have certain gaps in your knowledge of . . . things.”

Things.
That meant men. Ridiculous. She understood men very well.

“I am quite certain I understand
things
as well as any woman of my station,” Amelia said a bit stiffly.

“I have no doubt that’s true,” Sophia said, smiling in what could only be termed a
calculated
fashion. “However, when a woman wants a duke for a husband, a bit more is required. You are quite certain you want a duke?”

“Completely certain,” Amelia said.

“Naturally, your reasons are your own,” Sophia said silkily, “and you are very fortunate that there are two dukes who are without wife this Season. You have met them, I suppose?”

“The Dukes Edenham and Calbourne?” Amelia said. “I have been introduced to the Duke of Calbourne only. I have not been formally introduced to the Duke of Edenham, though I know of him, naturally.”

“You know the rumors of him, you mean to say,” Sophia said, taking a sip from her cup. “Just because a man has had three wives die under him is no reason to think he is at fault. Some women are not entirely . . . sturdy,” Sophia said thoughtfully.

Sturdy
. Oh, dear. She did not see any need to discuss
that
.

“You do not mention the Duke of Hyde’s heir apparent, the Marquis Iveston, Lady Dalby?”

“Oh, are you as broad-minded as to consider heir apparents? I do applaud you for your foresight. Hyde may well live for years, and naturally I do hope he does as I am quite fond of him, but he could die tomorrow of a fever and then there you are, a duchess overnight. Of course, that’s assuming you’ve married Iveston.”

Sophia smiled sweetly, as if she had not just said the most tawdry and obvious thing, even if Amelia and every other marriageable girl had been thinking it for years. One did not go about saying outright what one was ashamed to have thought. Unless one were keeping company with the Countess of Dalby. In her company, all rules of deportment had to be . . . readjusted.

“I do think he should be . . .” Amelia had no idea how to say it.

“On your list?” Sophia clearly knew exactly how to say it.

“Yes, if we’re to call it that.”

“Darling, what else
should
we call it?”

Amelia kept her tongue behind her teeth and waited for Sophia to speak. There was simply no point in engaging in a verbal battle with her only ally in this effort over a mere choice of words. Amelia had always had and would continue to have her goals clearly before her, and nothing and no one would distract her from achieving them.

“So,” Sophia continued, “our list encompasses Iveston, Edenham, and Calbourne. They are, collectively, of a nice age, agreeable visage, and sufficiently wealthy. I have spent a delightful November at Edenham’s Sutton Hall and you would find no fault with it, I assure you. As to Calbourne’s estate, I shall have to ask Lord Ashdon; as they are quite close, he’s sure to have seen it and will give an accurate report.”

Amelia squirmed on her very pretty chair. She could not help it. It sounded entirely mercenary and unattractive to discuss her dukes this way, even if she had wondered about their estates and the state of their accounts. She certainly did not want to marry a man in need of a fortune, did she? Of course, she had her own fortune to contribute to their marriage, but would not find it at all attractive if her future husband were actually in dire need of it.

Very complicated business, this marrying for status and profit.

“That would be most kind of him,” Amelia said, trying to keep her squirming to a minimum.

“Now, tell me,” Sophia said, “do you have a preference or will one do as well as any other?”

There was simply no polite response to that. None.

“Come, come,” Sophia said with a cool smile, “now is not the time for timidity. We must have it out clearly between us so that we may acquire the best man for you. That’s what you desire, is it not? The best husband from the lot of them? I can assure you that I will think no less of you for being forthright; indeed, I will likely think the better of you. It is so delightful to meet a woman who knows exactly what she wants and pursues it with vigor. Yes, vigor is too often lacking in the young women of your generation.”

In all her life, no one had ever accused Amelia of displaying vigor. She thought it was quite the nicest compliment she’d ever received, not that she’d ever received a surfeit of compliments.

“I must confess to you, Lady Dalby,” Amelia said, leaning forward slightly, “that I do not know any of them well enough to have formed a preference.”

“Nothing at all?”

“There was,” Amelia said slowly, “the tiniest thought that it might be unwise to wed Lord Iveston. He is so very blond, you see, and I . . .” Amelia waved a hand in the direction of her own blond head.

“And you were nervous about the exact shading of your offspring,” Sophia finished. “Entirely right of you, darling. While blond hair and a generally fair coloration is quite appealing in the right degree, it is positively revolting when taken to extremes.”

“Exactly,” Amelia said, relaxing her shoulders. Perhaps she had been more than wise in coming to Sophia. Sophia did seem to grasp every nuance with exact precision and a minimal amount of tedious explanation. “But I am also afraid, I do confess, of the possible consequences of a union with the Duke of Edenham. Given his history, I do have some slight fears for my future.”

“But, darling, when one aims for a duke, there are always risks,” Sophia said. “You simply cannot allow the fragility and plain bad luck of his previous wives to hinder you. Where is that stunning vigor I remarked upon? Surely not an illusion? And, having relegated Iveston to the third position, can you afford to remove Edenham? There are only so many dukes in any Season and that there are as many as three . . .” Sophia shrugged delicately. “I do think it is somewhat risky to put all your matrimonial eggs in Calbourne’s basket. He’s a charming man, as I’m certain you know, but he is possibly the least
tamed
of the three. Naturally, it is your decision entirely.”

The least tamed
. There was a phrase to send tremors down a virgin’s spine. Calbourne was nearly a giant in size; though the fact that his clothes were perfectly tailored reduced the impact, nothing could hide the fact that he was always the tallest man in any room by a head, at the very least. Plain speaking was one thing, but she was not going to admit to Sophia that she was more than a little afraid that she couldn’t
accommodate
Calbourne in the precise way that men so needed to be accommodated. It wouldn’t do at all to have the marriage annulled for a failure of that sort.

“No, not at all,” Amelia said. “I’m not so particular in my requirements. Merely a duke, that is all I require.”

“Merely a duke,” Sophia said, smiling. “If I may say so, your requirements in a husband have not gone unnoticed.”

“I beg your pardon?” Amelia said, her voice barely above a mortified whisper.

Sophia put down her cup and leaned back slightly in her chair, considering Amelia more closely than was quite polite.

“Lady Amelia, you have hardly been discreet. Surely you were aware of that?” Sophia said.

“I’m quite certain I don’t know—”

“Then allow me to make it clear to you,” Sophia interrupted pleasantly. “You have been very singular in your interests and it has not gone unnoticed. Indeed, it has not gone unremarked upon, at least in certain circles.”

Amelia put down her cup. It rattled against the wood, announcing her distress.

“Naturally, the men you have targeted are the most aware of your interest, as indeed they should be as they are the targets of every mama of every woman of the proper age and rank in Town. Men in that particular situation, which only a man would be so foolish as to find onerous, are very attuned to plans such as yours. How else to remain unmarried for more than a sennight? The fox does become wary whenever dogs are in the vicinity, does it not? Perfectly natural, though what a dog plans to enact upon a fox breaks the metaphor entirely.”

Sophia was speaking in the most casual, most conversational tone possible. Amelia was quite sure of this even as her stomach was heaving up toward her mouth. She was going to be sick. There was nowhere to be sick in this room, if one discounted that very expensive-looking green porcelain vase. She thought she should discount it, at least for as long as she could.

“Lady Dalby,” Amelia said, “I cannot think you are correct. Surely, you overstate it?”

“Darling, I never overstate anything. Are you feeling quite the thing? You look rather more pale than when you entered. Shall I ring for food?”

The thought of food at the moment did very unpleasant things to her stomach. She pushed the idea away with that mental vigor Sophia so prized.

“No. I’m fine,” Amelia said, well aware that her upper lip was covered in sweat.

“I shall continue then, shall I?” Sophia said. “Of course, the thing to do, and you have begun it so well, is to continue on as you have done, only more so, naturally.”

Amelia, of course, had her own plans in place for what this meeting with Sophia Dalby should have done, but this was rather more than she had intended. Quite a bit more, actually. She found that what she most wanted to do at present was to run from the room and demand that Hawksworth carry her home in his arms. Only he wouldn’t because he was as lazy as a cat.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia said softly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” In all truth, she was very much afraid that she understood all too well.

Sophia blinked and then smiled in exquisite patience. “The thing to do, Lady Amelia, is to
continue on
. You have a preference for dukes. It is not unknown. Let us only make it more known. Let us, indeed, require these three delicious men to interview for the post of husband. A most satisfactory solution and so very to the point, do you not agree? Lady Amelia, are you quite certain that you’re feeling well?”

Amelia thought that, for the first time in her life, she might actually be on the verge of a faint. She did hope so.

“
W
ITH Blakes married now, perhaps Mother will let you slip a while longer,” George Blakesley said in the least hopeful tone imaginable.

“Optimist,” Iveston said from his slouch on the sofa in the second floor sitting room.

“Worse,” Cranleigh said in a mumble of ill humor. “Liar.”

It was the family sitting room, closed to all but those closest to the family, which meant a paltry fifty or so persons had ever seen it. In a house such as Hyde House, which took up a sizeable portion of Piccadilly Street and was therefore open to frequent large gatherings during the Season, the rooms in a house that were not under the public gaze were few indeed. The boys, that is to say, the sons of the fourth Duke of Hyde, spent considerable time in the family sitting room. In consequence, the room had a more than shabby appearance that their mother commented upon at every opportunity, yet she had relinquished the space to them fully, if not gracefully.

The room, large enough to be comfortable for the five of them and yet small enough to encourage intimacy, had the benefit of a southern exposure and a fireplace that drew cleanly and evenly. In all, it was a comfortable place to complain about their lot in life, which meant that they were more often silently companionable than not. As the beloved sons of a very reasonable duke, they had very little to complain about. As the sons of a very pragmatic duchess, they knew it.