Page 18 of Venus in Disguise

Smoothing her skirts over her knees to give herself a moment, Narcissa gathered her wits. She had long ago perfected the talent of listening to the duke with half an ear whilst wandering off with her own thoughts. It was a survival tactic honed over many years and one, thankfully, at which she was adept.

“You said that you will receive several gentlemen in the following weeks. Those who have contacted you, asking to court me,” she replied softly, eyes down, the picture of the demure daughter.

The duke grunted. “Don’t give me that butter wouldn’t melt look, you little wretch. We both know you’re a wicked creature, but I prefer it when you don’t dissemble to me. Wrap them about your finger as tight as you like, but don’t try to play me, child. However, I’m pleased with you. I’ll say that. You’ve done well. Some very flattering offers so far; you should be proud of yourself.”

Despite knowing better, Narcissa’s heart leapt as she looked up at her father. As a child, she had held him in awe, so desperate for any tiny shred of his attention, his regard, that she had been willing to behave dreadfully to get it, just so she might be sent to him to be reprimanded.

“Thank you,” she said, hardly daring to believe the words.

By some miracle, he had not heard about her walking down Bond Street on Mr Ashton’s arm. Not that it meant she was out of danger; someone might yet mention it. She wondered if what Fidelia had done to get herself banished to Hardacre was worse than what Narcissa herself had done last night, and her stomach twisted into a knot of terror. That his grace might discover it made her palms grow clammy. Yet though she knew the stakes were impossibly high, and her fears were well-founded, it was not enough to make her behave as she ought.

Mr Anson had warned her off too, telling her she was attempting to play a game that was forbidden to unmarried ladies, unless they courted ruination. Yet it was all she could think of, the temptation to see him again, to demand he take her in his arms and kiss her… good heavens, Narcissa. Heat prickled up her spine at her own audacity. She would not demand he kiss her again. She was not that bold. She wasn’t, she told herself. Lord, now she was lying to herself as well as the rest of the world.

“—the Earl of Wishen.”

“What?” Narcissa’s attention snagged on the title of the man she feared his grace would choose to accept as her husband.

“I beg your pardon?” the duke said coldly, glaring at her as he stood leaning against the mantelpiece.

“Forgive me, your grace. I’m afraid I— Did you say you would accept the earl’s offer for me?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady as revulsion rose in her guts.

The duke regarded her steadily. He was a large man, an imposing presence, and one used to dominating every encounter. He had stood during the whole interview, forcing her to look up at him from her lowly position on the chair.

“If you had been paying proper attention, which one might suppose you could trouble yourself to do, as it is your own future we discuss, then you would have heard me correctly. I said that so far, the earl’s offer is the only one I have received in detail, and generous he has been too. He holds you in the highest regard, and the earldom is an ancient title, a respected one. However, I have not yet accepted his offer. I’m willing to give you time, providing you behave yourself. Perhaps you can bag yourself a greater prize, you’re pretty enough to manage it, though I’d be more than content with the earl. Wishen is a fool, I’ll grant you, but that ought to suit you well enough. You’ll rule the roost and his vast wealth within a matter of days, which ought to please your mercenary little heart.”

Narcissa swallowed, forcing a smile to her face, which felt stiff and unnatural. She had long ago allowed her father to believe she was motivated by money, often using an apparent desire for a new gown, horse, jewels or what have you to give her an excuse to seek him out, to annoy him and badger him into giving her a few moments of his time. He always gave her whatever she wished—after a clash of tempers. It seemed to please him when she wrangled whatever it was she wanted from his tight-fisted clutches, and he was far more generous with her than with her siblings… but then they never dared ask him for anything.

“Well, that’s all for now. I’ll be staying at my club, but I shall call on you again in a few days to update you on how your list of beaus is coming along,” he said dryly. “Run along now, child. You may tell Mrs Chandler that I won’t be staying for dinner.”

Narcissa got to her feet, dropped a respectful curtsy, and left the room. Her stomach churned as she considered the earl. Not a monster, she reminded herself. He was a decent man, one who would not beat her or ill-treat her, and yet… He was sixty if he was a day, and she remembered how the spittle had gathered at the corners of his thick mouth as he’d spoken, how his sweaty hand had patted hers fondly as he’d called her a sweet little dove.

“Oh, God,” she murmured, and sucked in a breath.

Was any amount of control, or freedom, worth the sacrifice of marrying a man who physically repelled her? Yet she knew that’s what it would come down to. Of all the men she had cultivated, had encouraged the most, he was the one her father would approve. There were others she might catch, but she was far less certain of her ability to manage them, and she would not find herself in the keeping of a man who would bully and abuse her. Not that. Not ever.

So, short of Prince Charming falling from the heavens and madly in love with her in the next couple of months, her fate was sealed. Panic fluttered in her chest as she ran through the list of eligible bachelors still on the market in the vain hope she could think of an alternative. Leo Hunt was obviously out of the question; the duke would never consent to that match. Neither would he accept Lord Elsmere, who was handsome but feckless and not the kind of man she could manage in any case. He was far too enamoured of less than respectable ladies and spent most of his time among the demi-monde, spending money he didn’t have.

Lord Harry Adolphus would be quite a catch, even if he was a second son, but he was only seventeen. The Duke of Bedwin would never allow his son to marry so young. Who else? The Anderson brothers were no good, though their older brother was a viscount. Their mother had been in trade, and they were Scottish, which the duke would never approve. Lord Marlowe was still on the market, though rumour was he’d set his sights on Lady Rose Carmicheal. He was also rather intimidating: a brusque, no-nonsense fellow who had few social graces despite his title. Narcissa strongly doubted he would be a manageable husband. If the Earl of Ashburton ever deigned to come to town, he would be perfect. Not that she thought him manageable from what she’d heard of him, but having such a beautiful husband would be compensation enough. He was said to be a decent fellow too, not the kind to beat or mistreat a wife, but he’d become a recluse, for reasons which the ton delighted in speculating over. Some said he’d lost the woman he loved and mourned her still. Others said he’d lost his wits, or that his father had banished him for doing something terrible. Either way, he was no good if she could not get near him.

Mr Justin Ogilvy, she mused. He was young and handsome, from a good family, too. Though he had no title at present, he was next in line for an earldom through some tangled family connection. Narcissa doubted her father was patient enough to wait for that to come about, however. Nor did she know his financial situation, but there were no rumours about him having pockets to let or being an inveterate gambler, so… maybe if fate was kind?

Narcissa swallowed down a knot of misery that lodged in her throat. She had always known this was how it would be, and she had never allowed herself the fantasy that she might fall in love and live happily ever after. That was an impossibility, and something she would be a fool to imagine within her grasp. So, it was likely she would marry the Earl of Wishen. Well, it was hardly a surprise. It would not kill her. She would make a life for herself and, if all went well, she would have the consolation of children to love, though the getting of those children would require her to have a stronger stomach than she had at present. Perhaps when she had produced the requisite heir and spare, she could fall in love then, so long as she was discreet about her affair. It seemed a bleak future to look upon, but she would be financially secure. She would be a countess, and a title like that would bring her a deal of power and freedom.

It was certainly a far prettier fate than many young women faced, that much she knew. Yet tears pricked at her eyes all the same, regret for the kind of life she might have lived a weight in her chest. Mr Anson’s handsome face filled her mind, and, despite herself, she smiled. If she had been free to choose, she would have pursued him. He was without a doubt the least manageable man she had ever met, and yet she did not care. Mr Anson offered her a challenge of such magnitude it made her heart leap with anticipation. The temptation to win him, to capture his heart for herself was so irresistible she knew she would do something rash if ever she saw him again, no matter the risk.

And, if her future was already written, as it seemed increasingly to be, then she ought to take the chances offered to her now, before it was too late, and her fate was sealed.

Chapter 6

Dear Alex,

His grace arrived in town this morning and I have endured my interview with him. By some miracle, it appears he is pleased with me for having caught one of Fidelia’s old beaus. Lord Wishen. Aren’t I a lucky girl?

I am so glad to hear Fidelia is well, better even, than she has been. Not that it would have been hard, she has been so distant of late. Please hug her for me and tell her I look forward to seeing her again when the season is over, assuming I do not go directly to a husband, I suppose.

Mr De Beauvoir sounds splendid, and I shall be forever in his debt for rescuing Lia. Send him my deepest thanks for what he did. We must think of a way to repay him for his kindness. I am so glad he liked your plans too, Alex. Not that I am surprised, you have a marvellous talent for drawing and such a good imagination too. Well done. It is certainly a splendid achievement, and I don’t doubt, the first of many.

To answer your question, I am well enough. My feet hurt from dancing and my face aches from smiling but I am healthy as a horse as usual, if a little dispirited. Choosing a husband his grace approves of is not an especially fun prospect.