Page 10 of Venus in Disguise

Ash let out a huff of laughter, admitting himself surprised by her boldness. He could not help but wonder just how bold she really was.

Chapter 3

Dear Diary,

What quirk of fate is it that the only man who piques my interest is one my father would disown me for even contemplating? It’s all well and good to spend one's time pretending to be a halfwit for the purpose of securing a matrimonial prize my father approves of, but to be such a reckless fool as to purposely court disaster shows true idiocy. My father will not be satisfied unless I do justice to the family name and marry someone he believes is worthy of the connection. Yet the temptation to provoke the dreadful man into speaking to me again is undeniable. But then I never did things by halves.

I must have a care though. His grace wrote to tell me he is coming to town for two weeks to see how I go on while he deals with some business affairs. What those affairs might be fills me with dread. Perhaps it is just as well, though. With the duke at my elbow, I shall have no choice but to be the perfect little puppet, with him pulling the strings. I know I am a spoiled little madam, but Lord, there are days when I hate my life.

―Excerpt of a diary entry by Lady Narcissa Ponsonby.

30th January 1850, Claridge’s, Bond Street, London.

Delia eyed the last cream cake wistfully and bit her lip.

“I want it but I’m afraid my corset will burst,” she said frankly.

Narcissa sighed. “I’ve eaten far too much. Still, at least I shan’t struggle to pretend to only eat enough to keep a sparrow alive at dinner tonight. It doesn’t do for a lady to enjoy her dinner too much, you know. Smacks of greed and self-indulgence.”

Delia grimaced. “Are you dining at Elsmere House tonight?”

Narcissa nodded. “The dowager is a bosom bow of Mrs Chandler. I’ll probably spend half the evening evading Lord Elsmere, though. Her son is one of my dowry’s most ardent admirers, though he’s a fool if he thinks my father would give him the time of day. He tried for my sister too, you know. Quite shameless.”

“He’s a charming rogue, though,” Delia said with a smile. “I rather like him.”

“Will you be going, then?”

Delia nodded. “Yes, I’m going with Lady Rose Carmichael. Do you know her?”

“Narcissa shook her head. No, we’ve not been introduced. She’s very pretty, though. Isn’t she Montagu’s granddaughter?”

“Yes, she is, and yes, she’s perfectly lovely,” Delia agreed. “And the nicest person, too. You’ll like her.”

Narcissa pulled a face. “Then do me a kindness and don’t introduce me. It pains me to act like a brainless twit in front of people I wish to like me.”

“Must you really act so?” Delia asked, darting another glance at the cream cake.

“If I want Mrs Chandler to tell his grace that I’ve been making every effort to secure a husband, yes, I do. He’ll be here in three days,” she added gloomily. “I have a horrid suspicion the business he is coming to deal with involves giving permission for men to offer for me.”

“Lud! Not really?” Delia asked, wide-eyed. “Already? But you’ve only been out five minutes.”

Narcissa shrugged, her spirits sinking. “The sooner the better, as far as his grace is concerned, I assure you. One of them is bound to be the Earl of Wishen,” she added, shuddering at the idea.

Delia gasped, her hand going to her throat. “But he’s old enough to be your father, not to mention being fat enough to crush you flat if he tried to embrace you, never mind anything else,” she added, pulling a face.

“Delia!” Narcissa exclaimed in horror, for she needed no help in conjuring the most revolting images of what marriage to such a man might look like. “Please don’t,” she begged, as the cream cakes and sandwiches they’d devoured stirred uneasily in her belly.

“Sorry.” Delia bit her lip. “He’s a very kind fellow,” she offered with a tentative smile.

Narcissa nodded grimly. “He is. The truth is, he’d be an excellent husband and I should want for nothing. If only I could bring myself to bear the idea of his hands on me.”

She closed her eyes against the revulsion that rose inside her at the idea. Don’t think of it, she told herself, and instead the image of Ashton Anson crushing her in his powerful arms illuminated mind’s eye. Heat surged through her at the idea, as she wondered how it would feel to be held so tightly, to feel that sinful mouth come down upon hers, and—

“For heaven’s sake, eat that cake, will you, Cissy? Before I do,” Delia exclaimed, startling Narcissa out of her wicked imaginings so violently she blushed.

Good Lord, whatever was wrong with her? Daydreaming about the wicked man whilst out in public now. She was out of her mind.

“W-What?”