Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)
Jenny stared hard out of the window, patently ignoring the sickening pitch of her stomach.
Cassandra cleared her throat. “You should be able to find someone to your liking, someone to meet all of your requirements. There is much more to a wife than a dowry.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Jenny muttered in disgust.
Miles chuckled, seeming pleased as if it had been his intention all along to rile her.
Cassandra laughed, too, as if it were all just a joke, and began to malign with gossip many of the girls who had been present at services. For once, Jenny was glad for her cousin’s wagging tongue, for it saved her having to participate in the conversation.
They came to a halt in front of the Mayfair residence of Lord and Lady Pierpont. Miles kicked down the step and alighted, reaching up to hand down the ladies. Iris positioned herself at the door. Cassandra slid into the seat beside Jenny.
She pressed her face close, her eyes wide, her lips curled and trembling, and spoke in a harsh whisper. “You are only making a laughingstock of yourself throwing yourself at Miles like this.”
The vehemence of her words left Jenny breathless. Cassandra pulled herself upright, smoothed the lines of her dress and straightened her bonnet, then turned and reached out of the carriage to take Miles’s hand.
Jenny was shaken, feeling betrayed. She had done nothing but put her cousin’s happiness ahead of her own since she’d come to live with them. With the earl, she had not done a single thing to “throw” herself at Miles, quite the opposite. It was he who seemed determined to pursue her.
A part of her rejoiced, but she knew this was not wise. If Miles’s interest was real, she could not repay the kindness of her family by taking the man her cousin most wanted.
Once inside the Pierpont home, she separated herself from the rest after seeing that her best friend, Amy Collins, was also present. She flew to her side, glad to be away from the confusing maelstrom around Miles and Cassandra.
Amy was a pretty, petite redhead with expressive eyes and a wide, infectious smile. “I demand an explanation,” she cried, trying to pretend she was angry. “You arrive at church with a dashing man whose appearance sets the entire congregation buzzing so loudly I couldn’t hear the sermon—which is a blessing, it is true. Now, give over. Who is he?”
It was difficult to keep her tone cool as she explained about Miles. She didn’t tell Amy, however, about their meeting in the library, or the strange interlude in the carriage just that morning. It was difficult to know why she held that information back.
“He is the awful earl who commanded your family to take him in?”
“It was not exactly like that, Amy,” Jenny replied. “He is not the arrogant beast Cassandra made him out to be.”
“Indeed. I thought she hated him,” Amy said, pointing to the settee where the beauty sat next to Miles in a circle headed by Lady Pierpont. “She has certainly warmed to him, I can see. And who can blame her?”
They watched with amusement as their hostess poured out expertly as she conducted a subtle interrogation of the earl, all the while seeming to be making only polite conversation. The others hung on every word, while Miles answered in an offhand manner to indicate he didn’t have any objection to the examination.
She felt a pang of sympathy for him, and admiration. If he had no taste for the duty he was bound to perform, he did not show it.
“You always see the best in people, but your cousin can be quite determined.” Amy had the look of someone who would like to say more. Jenny was glad she didn’t. She would not tolerate hearing bad about her family. “She will snare him, make no mistake. Look at the way she is leaning forward. Her bosoms are going to fall into his lap!”
Jenny forced herself to laugh. “Her charms are difficult to ignore. She will marry, whether the earl or another, and then I will be . . .”
She stopped. She’d been about to say “free.”
“Then you will marry as well. I do not know why you think you will not.”
“Yes, I would like to. If I find the right gentleman.” Jenny sighed. “But I am already twenty-two, Amy. Not so young when it comes to making a match.”
“Oh, the devil you say! There are plenty of men who like you. Even my brother said his friends often ask about you.”
“Amy, you are a dear, but need I remind you I am hardly in demand. Other than last month when Dr. Phillips came when I had a touch of the ague, I haven’t had a gentleman caller yet.” She had meant it to be a joke, but Amy refused to smile.
“There is Darlington . . .”
“Oh, please.”
“He likes you.”
“He is full of himself and has this romantic notion that he can save me from the terrible rumors circulating about me.”
“What nonsense. Oh, Jenny, I don’t understand it.” Amy stared wistfully into the distance. “There has to be someone for us. Someone who will like the way I smile, for instance, or notice that you have the most beautiful eyes. Someone wonderful for each of us—and smart and sweet and funny and who can make us laugh.”