The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

He rubbed his beefy hands together. “Ah, James, she’s a fine girl, just look at that beautiful hair. Never noticed she even had hair before. And her, well, her other womanly parts look womanly, which is a vast relief, let me tell you.”

James took it all in good humor, just smiling and nodding.

Mrs. Blanchard wanted to exclaim her delight and her relief, but she was too in awe of the Duchess, this glorious English countess who surely could be a queen—filled with grace and charm and so achingly beautiful she knew all the gentlemen would fall over their feet to get near her. Not to mention that husband of hers—an earl!—and he was actually James’s cousin. They’d known about the English Wyndhams, of course, but actually to have them here in their own house in Baltimore—it was more than Mrs. Blanchard could stand, nearly. Her hands were over her bosom as she listened with rapt attention to the Duchess’s ever-so-refined voice, with all those clipped syllables and concise royal vowels. Mrs. Blanchard was filled to overflowing with sublime content, knowing that every matron in Baltimore and its environs would know of her brilliant accomplishment in hosting such fine guests. They’d worship at her feet. Which was of course the real reason they were giving the party for James and his new bride.

Mrs. Blanchard prayed that Wilhelmina Wyndham would be late. Indeed, she sent one brief, heartfelt prayer that Wilhelmina just might sprain her ankle as she stepped into her carriage. Maybe even break it.

No such luck, she thought, hearing Wilhelmina’s ringing voice all the way from the front steps. It appeared she’d arrived at the same time as the Warfields. Surely Glenda wouldn’t be with them. Surely.

James wasn’t at all surprised to see Glenda standing stiffly beside her mama, wearing a gown that surely showed off too much cleavage. She looked very pretty, if the truth be told, not the kind of pretty that attracted him, for he’d discovered that Jessie’s looks appealed to him now. He drew a deep breath, tucked Jessie’s cold hand in the crook of his arm, and said, “Good evening, Oliver, Mrs. Warfield, Glenda.”

That was the most optimistic line that came out of his mouth for the next five minutes.

“We are here because your father insisted we come.”

“Actually,” Oliver said under his breath, but not enough under it for everyone present to hear, “I wanted to come alone. I knew I’d have a better time if I came alone.”

“You can come with me, Papa, and have some champagne punch.” Jessie took her father’s arm, and the two of them bolted toward the punch bowl. James grinned after her, then watched the Duchess reduce his mother-in-law and sister-in-law to stuttering supplicants. Glenda even curtsied. The Duchess gave her a gentle nod of approval.

It was excellently done. As for Marcus, he took care of James’s mother when she swept into the Blanchard house, passing Mrs. Blanchard with a mere nod, heading straight toward the Duchess.

Marcus said to her without pause, “Charm is a very useful tool, if one has sufficient intelligence to realize it. Don’t you agree, ma’am?”

Wilhelmina pulled up short, twitching her skirt away from the Duchess, who was standing six feet away from her, and smiled flirtatiously up at the earl. “My dear papa told me that I was endowed with more charm than anyone he knew.”

That, Marcus thought, staring at that still-handsome face that had some of the look of James in it, was a possibility that hadn’t occurred to him. It probably hadn’t occurred to any member of her acquaintance. “I trust to see it oozing out of you tonight, ma’am. If it is not oozing out of you I will question my ability ever to converse with you again.”

Wilhelmina felt put upon. She also believed the earl, whose threat was distressing. She’d wanted to preen in front of all her neighbors because she was actually a relative of this illustrious couple, but at the same time she’d wanted to dash the damned Duchess into the floor. It wasn’t to be. Also, all her neighbors believed themselves more fortunate than God to have that damned adventuress and the earl in their midst. She drew a deep breath. She resolved not to insult the Duchess tonight. She wouldn’t insult her son’s new wife either, though that would be difficult as well. She didn’t want to lose the charming earl and his charming conversation.

“We will waltz, my lord?” Wilhelmina asked, patting the fat little sausage curls in front of her ear.

“Certainly,” Marcus said smoothly. “But first, a gentleman must dance with his wife.”

“You’re a smooth-tongued devil,” the Duchess whispered to her husband as he whirled her around in his arms to the lively music played in strict three-quarter time by a small group of men at the far corner of the room.

“I will be disappointed in myself if she slips her harness tonight and allows her tongue to run riot,” he said, kissed his wife’s lovely ear, and whirled her around in wide, full circles. “I will have failed in my, er, mild threat. Pray that she doesn’t, Duchess. My image of myself as a great diplomat would suffer.” The Duchess choked as she laughed up at her husband. Neither of them was aware that all the guests were standing around in a huge circle staring at them.

“Well,” Mrs. Blanchard said complacently, “they are nearly royalty. Of course one would expect them to dance to perfection. Doesn’t the countess even laugh perfectly? Ah, and they are so beautiful, both of them. She in that dark blue silk and he in those splendid black evening clothes. I do wonder what is wrong with Wilhelmina. She has the amazing good fortune to be connected to them. She looks as if she’s swallowed a prune pit.”

“She always looks as though she’s swallowed something,” Mr. Blanchard said. “As for the earl, he’s a damned good man, despite his being English. I suppose a fellow can’t help his antecedents.”

Mrs. Blanchard looked at Mr. Blanchard as though he’d lost his mental faculties. She was more grateful than she could say that for whatever reason Wilhelmina Wyndham hadn’t held a ball for the English royalty and her new daughter-in-law. So that privilege was now hers. S

he turned to greet Compton Fielding and his mother, Eliza.

“Ah,” Fielding said once he’d greeted and been greeted by the Blanchards, “I see that James and Jessie are here. I’m delighted they’ve married. It’s quite a surprise, but a good thing.”

“I was very surprised as well,” Eliza Fielding said. “I believed James looked upon her as a little sister. Jessie is a delight. I remember I tried to talk her into taking violin lessons from me when she was young, but she was always horse mad. How lovely she’s become.”

James and Jessie danced sedately. James didn’t want to take the chance she’d turn green and end up in the Blanchards’ garden vomiting up her dinner. Nor did he want to see the infamous tree that spat Jessie out of its lower branches and onto him.

It was midway through the evening when James finally got to speak to his sister, Ursula, Giff, and Alice Belmonde. He hugged his sister, thwacked his brother-in-law on his broad shoulders, and said to Alice, “You’re looking well. How do you feel?”

Alice gave him a brave sweet smile. She was pleased he’d married Jessie and told him so. “Just look at her, James,” she said, pointing to Jessie, who was talking to Compton Fielding. “She’s beautiful, so very different than the way she used to be. It’s surprising that none of us realized what was beneath those old hats she used to wear. Or perhaps it all happened by magic when you put that wedding ring on her finger.”

“Jessie’s still the same, Alice, just the outward package is a bit different. She’s splendid, you know.”

Alice was surprised to hear James Wyndham speak of any woman, even his wife, with such pride. Jessie had been transformed, turned into a beauty. Alice hoped Jessie’s inner self was still the same.