"So you are saying..?"

  Despite his rather apt analogy, Lady Eunice looked rather perplexed at the idea that one might compare a woman to food.

  "I am saying that if you want this man you covet to covet you," Aubyn replied with a sigh, "Let him see that you are coveted by another."

  "But I'm not," Lady Eunice was now completely pink, "Coveted by another, that is. I've never been coveted by anyone."

  Really? Aubyn raised an eyebrow, he found that hard to believe. A woman with Lady Eunice's figure had most certainly been fodder for at least one or two chaps' late night fantasies. Though, he reasoned, being a lady, the chaps had probably never revealed this to her. Being told one was the mental inspiration for an evening in with Madame Palm and her five charming daughters, was the type of thing that might give a lady a fit of the vapours.

  "If you can't find anyone to act as the coveter, just buy yourself a ring in Rundell and Bridge and invent some mysterious nabob," Aubyn suggested, now a little bored of the whole thing. He had few virtues and patience was not one of them.

  "No," Lady Eunice frowned thoughtfully. "He'd find out somehow that I was making it up, and I'd rather be ignored than humiliated. It would have to be somebody real..."

  Lady Eunice trailed off, eyeing Aubyn speculatively. He frowned back in reply, not liking the thoughtful way that she looked him up and down, as though he were a horse at Tattersalls.

  "You," she finally said, her eyes lighting up with excitement, "You could pretend to want me. If Theo thought that a duke wished to marry me, he'd certainly take notice of me then. It's perfect!"

  "Perfectly ludicrous," Aubyn replied with a sharp laugh, bemused by the very idea of it. "I've spent most of my life avoiding being linked with marriageable ladies, what makes you think I'll suddenly start parading around town with you?"

  He had not meant his tone to sound so condescending, but after three decades of being condescending to everyone he met, it was difficult to rein it in. Lady Eunice's large brown eyes blinked rapidly behind her spectacles and Aubyn had a horrible suspicion that she was blinking back tears.

  "Oh Lud, don't cry," he sighed, "I didn't mean for it to sound so insulting. I'm sure there's not a chap in London who wouldn't mind escorting you about the place given your—" he waved vaguely in the direction of Eunice's bodice. "And your—" another wave, this time in the vicinity of her bottom. "But I will not pretend to be your betrothed, m'dear. Not for love nor money, nor for your promise to keep our meeting a secret. I fear we shall have to agree that all you'll get from me is a solemn promise not to ruin you, as long as you keep your lips sealed...And to think, you could have had a parrot."

  Lady Eunice nodded mutely in reply, the bright excitement in her eyes having died at his words. It made Aubyn rather sad to see it, for her great-brown orbs had been flecked with gold when she smiled, and so he decided that he would offer her another word of advice, out of the kindness of his heart.

  "If you can't find a chap to prance about with," he said, casting a disdainful glance at her fussy, girlish garb, "Then at least find a modiste who knows how to accentuate your figure. Whoever told you that dress was flattering should be taken outside and shot. You're welcome."

  Aubyn did not wait for Lady Eunice's reaction to his sartorial summation of her gown. Instead, he gave a quick bow, before quickly exiting. He did not look back, as he closed the door behind him, for he wished to forget about Lady Eunice as soon as the door clicked shut.

  What a waste of a night, he thought dourly, as he slipped along the dark corridors of the house. Not only had he not found anything to incriminate Belhurst, but his clumsy attempts at sleuthing would surely earn him a drubbing down from St Claire.

  Aubyn sighed, bypassing the doors to the ballroom and making straight for the front door. At least it was still early--he still had time to make it to Crockford's and enjoy a gentle flirtation with one of the girls there over a glass or two of champagne.

  Perhaps one of them might even don a pair of spectacles, he thought, though the image of one of William Crockford's wenches dressed up as a bluestocking held little allure, so he pushed it to the back of his mind, along with the image of the bluestocking he had just left behind.

  Chapter Four

  In her twenty years on earth Eunice had suffered much humiliation—mostly at her mother's hands—but she had never been as mortified as she had been after her encounter with the Duke of Belmont.

  That the indignity she had suffered had been entirely of her own making only added to her pain. Though, the fact that she had revealed her inner soul to a complete stranger—telling him both of her love for Theo and her burning wish to be desired by him—also added fuel to the flames of her humiliation.

  The only consolation Eunice could take from the whole affair was that the Duke of Belmont was renowned for being a self-interested snoot and likely would forget about her soon enough. There wasn't room in his thick skull to think on anyone else, she thought darkly, though even she had to commend him for his sartorial advice.

  For years, she had acquiesced to her mother's taste in fashion, allowing Lady Cassius to dress her in soft pink pastels and satin ribbons, as though she were a doll. The dresses that Lady Cassius selected would be perfect on a slender and willowy young lady, with fair colouring like the countess, but they did nothing for Eunice, who was built more sturdily than fashion preferred. Eunice shivered a little, though it was warm inside the carriage, as she recalled Belmont's obvious appreciation of her curves. The dark look in his eyes as he had glanced down at her bodice still made Eunice's heart hammer with a delicious type of fear.

  "Nearly there," Eunice said brightly to Sarah, her lady's maid, in an attempt to distract herself from thoughts of Belmont. Sarah nodded mutely in reply, a look of sufferance upon her young face as she stared out the window of the carriage as it made its way through the city.

  The pair were on their way to Curzon Street, where the renowned modiste Madame Lloris kept a shop. Given that her mother would have insisted on coming along had she known their destination, Eunice had sworn the lady's maid to secrecy about their outing.

  "I once knew a girl who pretended to be going to the fishmonger's, when really she was going somewhere else," Sarah suddenly said, casting her morbid gaze upon Eunice.

  "And what happened?"

  Despite knowing exactly how this tale would end, good manners meant that Eunice could not help but reply to the maid.

  "She died," Sarah intoned in a bleak voice, causing Eunice to stifle a scream of annoyance. "Hit by a carriage and nobody knew where she was for a week, because they thought she was at the fishmonger's."

  Sarah had only recently assumed the position of lady's maid, after Eunice's previous maid had left to get married. Sarah had come highly recommended, though Eunice now thought that her previous employer's overly praising letter of recommendation had been a ruse to rid herself of the morbid maid. The girl was full of doom and gloom, and had it not been for the fact that she was otherwise highly accomplished at her job, Eunice would have tried to find a way to dismiss her. As it was, her conscience could not possibly tolerate the idea of making a perfectly good maid unemployed, so Eunice was forced to endure her and hope that Sarah might somehow find herself another position.

  "I'm sure that nothing quite so tragic will become us," Eunice replied brightly, determined to counter Sarah's macabre outlook with a sunny disposition.

  "Yes, my lady," Sarah replied, in a tone that dripped with disbelief. The girl saw death and danger at every corner—it was a wonder she had the courage to get out of bed in the morning.

  Thankfully, the carriage soon drew up outside Madame Lloris' shop, and any more talk of tragedy was halted. Eunice allowed the footman to open the carriage door and assist her down onto the footpath, then determinedly made her way inside—tailed by a miserable Sarah.

  "'Allo mademoiselle."

  A plump woman, with hair drawn into a severe bun, came out from behind the counter to greet Eunice as she entered the cave-like shop. A pair of beady, dark eyes quickly flicked over Eunice's entire outfit, and a slight, almost imperceptible quirk of her eyebrow let Eunice know that Madame Lloris was not impressed by what she saw.

  "I wish to purchase a dress," Eunice said, ignoring the nervous butterflies which fluttered in her stomach. "In fact, I wish to purchase an entire wardrobe. Can you help?"

  Madame Lloris' eyes lit up and she nodded, before placing an arm around Eunice's shoulder and guiding her toward a room at the back of the shop.

  "I will need to take measurements," she said in a throaty voice, which sounded so exotic to Eunice's ear. "Un moment."

  Madame Lloris left Eunice standing in the middle of the room—an Aladdin's cave filled to bursting with dresses of all colours—before returning with a small box in hand. From this she removed a measuring tape and pins, and busily began to measure every inch of Eunice's body. The Frenchwoman worked quickly, her eyebrows narrowed as she noted each measurement.

  "Done," she declared, after a quarter of an hour of poking and prodding. "Now, tell me what it is that you would like me to do."

  "I want to look—" Eunice hesitated, but the expectant look in Madame Lloris' eyes forced her to continue, "I want to look ravishing."

  "As does every woman," Madame Lloris replied, giving a throaty laugh at Eunice's obvious embarrassment. "There is no need to blush. Come, I will show you some drawings."

  Madame Lloris produced a book of fashion plates for Eunice to peruse, pointing out the styles of dress which would best suit Eunice's figure. Simple gowns, in the Grecian style, with only the barest of trimmings were what the modiste sagely advised her to choose.

  "Won't I need a fichu?" Eunice questioned nervously, as she looked at a plate which showed a gown with a daring neckline.

  "A fichu? Mon dieu!" Madame Lloris shook her head in disbelief at the very idea of such a thing, "Zat dress is modest by today's standards—almost something a nun would wear!"

  "Men are simple creatures," the Frenchwoman continued, as she noted Eunice's dubious expression. "If they are going to eat dessert, they want to have a little—just a little!—peek at what it will taste like. You cannot hide your curves under acres of fabric, you must embrace them."

  Goodness; why did every analogy about courting reference women as foodstuff? Were the beaus of the ton secret cannibals, Eunice wondered with alarm. Still, she had vowed to embrace a new mode of style and Madame Lloris was the best modiste in town.

  "Wonderful," Eunice said, forcing a smile upon her face, "I'll take two."

  "I 'ave one made up already that will fit you. I will make some adjustments and 'ave it sent over to you zis evening, my lady."

  "Wonderful," Eunice said again, "I have a ball to attend this evening, so I shall be able to show off my new style at once!"

  With that, Eunice and Sarah took their leave of the tiny shop on Curzon Street, Eunice feeling buoyed by Madame Lloris' parting assertion that she would indeed look ravishing. Even Sarah's woeful tale of a woman who caught the flu and died after venturing out without a fichu, could not dampen Eunice's spirits.

  "Poor creature," Eunice replied brightly to the maid, "Still, if I am to die, at least you will have a day off."

  "True, my lady," Sarah replied, furrowing her brow in confusion at this news.

  "Every cloud and all that," Eunice chirped, her mind casting back to her meeting with Belmont, her own dark cloud. True, she still flushed with embarrassment at her brazen proposal, but if she was to meet him again, at least she would look ravishing whilst blushing with mortification.

  "Where did you get that dress?"

  Lady Cassius' eyebrows were raised so high, that they were in danger of disappearing into her hairline. Her blue eyes traversed Eunice from top to toe, taking in her hair, which had been styled à la Medusa, and the new gown, whose empire line clung at the bust, before falling in a delicate sweep to the floor.

  "From Madame Lloris," Eunice replied, bracing herself for the lie she was about to tell. "I was speaking with Miss Blythe last night and she informed me that Madame was the only modiste a lady should use, if she was marriage minded."

  "She did?" Lady Cassius blinked in confusion, "Are you?"

  Eunice was not certain if her mother was more shocked that Eunice had taken an independent interest in fashion, or her casual mention of the word marriage. For nearly four years, she had resisted her Mama's attempts at matchmaking, to the point that Lady Cassius had almost—but not completely—given up on her entirely.

  "Perhaps I am marriage minded, mother," Eunice replied with a slight smile, before quickly adding; "I told Madame to send father the bill, is that alright?"

  "Oh, yes, yes," her mother waved an impatient hand, for money was of little concern if it was spent in the pursuit of a husband. "I must say, it's not quite the gown I would have chosen for you, but you look most handsome in it."

  Handsome was probably the highest compliment that her mother had ever deigned to bestow upon her, and it was now Eunice's turn to feel shocked.

  "Perhaps," Lady Cassius suggested lightly, sidestepping toward her daughter, "Perhaps if we remove your spectacles—just for tonight—it might complete your look?"

  Eunice took a step backward, as her mother's hand reached out, as though she were about to pluck the spectacles from Eunice's nose.

  "Now, mother," she said, using her most reasonable tone, "Do you not recall the incident with the potted plant in Almack's?"

  Lady Cassius hesitated, before nodding her head.

  "And it would not make for a happy marriage, if I was to present myself as full-sighted, only to reveal that I was not after the papers had been signed, now would it?"

  Again, Lady Cassius replied mutely, shaking her head to indicate she had understood. Eunice stifled a sigh at her mother's half-petulant expression; it was tiresome having to treat one's own Mama with kid-gloves, as though she were a child.

  "I still cannot comprehend how you confused the Marquess of Appleby with a Camellia," Lady Cassius said with a sigh, after a moment's tense silence.

  "It happened because I cannot see without my glasses, Mama," Eunice replied primly, not liking to think back on the disastrous incident.

  "And your grandmother blamed me for the whole affair," Lady Cassius wore a momentary look of sufferance, though it had been she who had insisted that Eunice forgo her spectacles during her first season.

  Not wishing to start an argument, Eunice kept her silence and ushered her Mama downstairs, where Lord Cassius was patiently waiting for them.

  "You look...taller," her father said, as he took in the sight of the new Eunice.

  Another might think that he had plucked the compliment from midair, but Eunice did feel taller in her new attire. It was amazing what wearing a dress that made one feel like a woman and not a blancmange could do for one's confidence.

  The ball they were attending was being thrown by Lord and Lady Farnell, the parents of the much esteemed Miss Blythe. Their home—a stucco fronted townhouse in Mayfair—was filled to bursting when Eunice and her parents arrived, rather late due to the endless line of carriages which had been waiting to deposit their passengers at the front door.

  "Faith, I had not expected such a crowd," Lady Cassius whispered to her daughter, as they made their way into the ballroom.

  "You did say that Miss Blythe was this season's most beautiful bloom," Eunice replied mildly, "All of the ton are here to witness her blossom."

  See her blossom before she withers and dies in their eyes, Eunice thought dryly to herself, for society was a fickle beast. She could list off the girls who had been feted during each of her seasons for their beauty and allure, only to be cast aside the next spring, as a new crop of flowers bloomed. It was far better to be a wallflower and return each year, than to be a shining rose that is plucked for its beauty, and dies soon after.

  Heavens, Eunice gave herself a shake, she was becoming as morbid as poor Sarah.

  She allowed herself to be guided farther into the ballroom by her Mama—Papa having quickly disappeared in the direction of the card room—all the while, smiling at people she recognised. For a moment she wondered had she something on her face, so many people glanced her, but then she realised—thanks to the open-mouthed leering of one florid gentleman—that it was her new dress which was attracting all the attention.

  I should have worn a fichu, Eunice thought, nervously bringing a gloved hand up to her neckline. Was the bodice too daring in its design? She cast a glance around the room at the other ladies and saw that her own gown was cut much the same as many others, and far more modestly than many others again.

  Eunice dropped her hand back down to her side, telling herself that no one was whispering maliciously about her. Unfortunately, not a moment after she had forced herself to calm down, a familiar face emerged from the crowd.

  "Ouch," Eunice whispered, as her mother stomped on her slippered foot.

  "The duke," Lady Cassius hissed, nodding not-too-subtly to the approaching peer.

  "I see him, Mama," Eunice replied, adopting a composed tone completely at odds with the inner disarray she felt. "No need to point. I suspect he'll walk straight past us."

  Belmont did nothing of the sort, much to Eunice's chagrin. The dashing duke, looking almost regal in a dark coat, worn over a pristine white shirt and skin tight black trousers, like those made fashionable by Brummel. He looked, in short, devastatingly handsome, and even had he not been the sole witness to Eunice's self-inflicted humiliation, she would still have felt nervous in his presence.

  "Lady Eunice," the duke gave an elaborate bow, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "How lovely to see you again."

  "You are acquainted, your Grace?" Lady Cassius asked, glaring at Eunice for having omitted this news.

  "Only through our—ah—charity works, my lady," Belmont replied, the word charity laced with disdain.

  If Lady Cassius thought it odd that the legendarily recalcitrant Duke of Belmont partook in charity work, she did not show it. Nor did she seem to notice that his tone and general demeanour was not that of a polite gentleman, but rather one who was seeking to make mischief.

 

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