Silk Is For Seduction - Loretta Chase [2]
She passed the report to Leonie, who read, “ ‘Should the gentleman fail to keep his appointment, the lady will consider their ‘understanding’ a misunderstanding.’ ” She laughed. “Then follow some interesting surmises regarding which gentleman will be favored in his place.”
She pushed the periodical toward Sophia, who was shaking her head. “She’d be a fool to give him up,” she said. “A dukedom, for heaven’s sake. How many are there? And an unmarried duke who’s young, handsome, and healthy? I can count them on one finger.” She stabbed her index finger at the column. “Him.”
“I wonder what the hurry is about,” Marcelline said. “She’s only one and twenty.”
“And what’s she got to do but go to plays, operas, balls, dinners, routs, and so on?” said Leonie. “An aristocratic girl who’s got looks, rank, and a respectable dowry wouldn’t ever have to worry about attracting suitors. This girl . . .”
She didn’t have to complete the sentence.
They’d seen Lady Clara Fairfax on several occasions. She was stunningly beautiful: fair-haired and blue-eyed in the classic English rose mode. Since her numerous endowments included high rank, impeccable lineage, and a splendid dowry, men threw themselves at her, right and left.
“Never again in her life will that girl wield so much power over men,” Marcelline said. “I say she might wait until her late twenties to settle down.”
“I reckon Lord Warford never expected the duke to stay away for so long,” said Sophy.
“He always was under the marquess’s thumb, they say,” Leonie said. “Ever since his father drank himself to death. One can’t blame his grace for bolting.”
“I wonder if Lady Clara was growing restless,” Sophy said. “No one seemed worried about Clevedon’s absence, even when Longmore came home without him.”
“Why worry?” said Marcelline. “To all intents and purposes, they’re betrothed. Breaking with Lady Clara would mean breaking with the whole family.”
“Maybe another beau appeared on the scene—one Lord Warford doesn’t care for,” said Leonie.
“More likely Lady Warford doesn’t care for other beaux,” said Sophy. “She wouldn’t want to let a dukedom slip through her hands.”
“I wonder what threat Longmore used,” Sophy said. “They’re both reputed to be wild and violent. He couldn’t have threatened pistols at dawn. Killing the duke would be antithetical to his purpose. Maybe he simply offered to pummel his grace into oblivion.”
“That I should like to see,” Marcelline said.
“And I,” said Sophy.
“And I,” said Leonie.
“A pair of good-looking aristocratic men fighting,” Marcelline said, grinning. Since Clevedon had left London several weeks before she and her sisters had arrived from Paris, they hadn’t, to date, clapped eyes on him. They were aware, though, that all the world deemed him a handsome man. “There’s a sight not to be missed. Too bad we shan’t see it.”
“On the other hand, a duke’s wedding doesn’t happen every day—and I’d begun to think this one wouldn’t happen in our lifetime,” Sophy said.
“It’ll be the wedding of the year, if not the decade,” Leonie said. “The bridal dress is only the beginning. She’ll want a trousseau and a completely new wardrobe befitting her position. Everything will be of superior quality. Reams of blond lace. The finest silks. Muslin as light as air. She’ll spend thousands upon thousands.”
For a moment, the three sisters sat quietly contemplating this vision, in the way pious souls contemplated Paradise.
Marcelline knew Leonie was calculating those thousands down to the last farthing. Under the untamable mane of red hair was a hardheaded businesswoman. She had a fierce love of money and all the machinations involving it. She labored lovingly over her ledgers and accounts and such. Marcelline would rather clean privies than look at a column of figures.
But each sister had her strengths. Marcelline, the eldest, was the only one who physically resembled her father. For all she knew, she was the only one of them