‘Who are?’
‘Penhurst’s horrid friends.’ She felt her nose wrinkle in distaste as she listed them. Penhurst gallivanted about with a very dubious group of gentlemen who drank too much and disgraced their wives just as he did poor Penny. One or two made her flesh crawl, although thankfully they tended to hole up together with the host and do their own thing. ‘Acquaintances from town. Some family. He also likes to surprise us with an illustrious peer. He spends weeks courting them and then parades those daft enough to fall for his flattery around his house like a trophy, hoping to impress us and, no doubt, to soak up some of that power to inflate his own sense of worth. He’s foisted some dreadful bores on us whose only redeeming features are their ancient and impressive titles.’ Saying that made her fleetingly think of Westbridge before she uncomfortably quashed it. ‘If he has found another new friend to fawn over, then he will keep it a surprise until they arrive. It makes him feel superior. Thankfully, a great many of those men and the hyenas he surrounds himself with disappear swiftly to do who knows what with Penhurst, so we were spared the pleasure of their company for most of the week.’ Now that she considered it, there was every chance one of those awful men could be involved in something illegal. The vile viscount needed to choose better friends.
‘You do not approve of Penny’s husband?’
‘What is there to approve of? You are the spy. What are your impressions of him?’
‘Honestly...slimy. Cold. Selfish.’ In the absence of any other chairs, he tossed his hat on the mattress and sat down next to it, looking delightfully awkward still clutching the dreaded sheet of foolscap. ‘What specifically do you disapprove of?’
‘The way he treats Penny.’ Clarissa didn’t need to think about it. ‘I have long suspected he is violent towards her.’
She watched Seb’s jaw harden as he scowled and liked him more for that unguarded response. ‘Knowing that makes it harder to befriend him...but he serves his purpose.’ He seemed momentarily irritated with himself for saying that, but covered it quickly, yet the fact that he obviously disliked everything about Penny’s husband made Seb rise higher in her estimation. ‘Tell me more about his cronies.’
Clarissa reeled off what she knew. Being Seb, he had no need of notes and tucked each piece of information away in his clever mind, almost as if he was fully aware of the men and their backgrounds. His questions, when he rarely interrupted her to ask one, were very specific. As if he already knew most of the ‘usual crowd’ of debauched gentlemen, he asked her a few pertinent details about each one. Purported names of mistresses, rumoured vices and scandals. Debts. Topics she had never openly gossiped about with a man or with the ladies without a fan or a cup of tea strategically placed in front of her face. He apologised before broaching the subject of Penhurst’s many infidelities because he knew she loved Penny.
‘He has a new mistress, I believe. But then he has so many it’s hard to keep track. A French woman.’
Seb’s ears had pricked up at that. ‘French?’
‘Yes. She is apparently some sort of opera singer or actress. A woman involved in entertaining. I overheard him bragging about her a few weeks ago when I was last at Penhurst Hall.’ Along with an eye-opening and graphic account of what he had done to the poor woman when she had invited him into her bed. No matter how open she was being with Seb, there was no way she would be able to share those details. It was all too depraved.
‘None of my men has heard anything about it.’
‘That is good to know. I am hugely protective of poor Penny and would never cause her embarrassment by spreading such stories.’ Although why would Seb’s men be investigating Penhurst? ‘I am suffered at the house party because I am Penny’s only friend and I dare say the silly label ofIncomparablehelps, too—but while she has a friend with her he can stay at the card tables or do whatever it is that he does with the majority of his time till Lord knows when in the small hours. Penhurst prefers the company of his cronies. Even at home.’
‘Is that fool Westbridge one of his cronies, too?’
Whilst Seb had no regard for her friend’s odious husband, he obviously had a special well of deep loathing for her Duke. A loathing which sounded delightfully territorial. ‘Westbridge was at Oxford with Penhurst. Their acquaintance is old, but they are not particularly close any more.’ Her Duke held most people at arm’s length, including her. ‘He has little interest in gambling and drinking, thank goodness, therefore he doesn’t see Penhurst in quite the same depraved light as the rest of us.’ To do that he would have to take an interest in another person other than himself. Where had that disloyal thought come from? ‘But then as Westbridge isa duke, Penhurst is mindful not to show him the true extent of his debauchery either. He mostly flatters him. Having Westbridge as a friend enhances his own standing in thetonand Westbridge can be relied upon to attend regardless of who else has been invited. Everyone wantsa dukeon their guest list.’
At the mention of the word ‘duke’, Seb had become most belligerent. ‘Of course they do. The addition of a duke makes any gathering a resounding success, even if they are fools like yours.’
‘Westbridge isn’t a fool, he’s...’ Self-absorbed, fickle, nowhere near as broad, strong, considerate and impressive as the man sat on the bed in front of her. ‘He’s simply being a duke, Seb. He is actually rather pleasant when you get to know him.’
‘And you know him well?’
‘I do as a matter of fact. Westbridge is a renowned connoisseur. His collections of art and furniture are the finest in Europe. The Regent himself is envious of the Duke’s array of Old Masters.’ Something he informed her repeatedly.
‘Oh, he’s aconnoisseur. That is excellent news.’
‘There is nothing wrong with liking beautiful things. Not that you’d understand. But those of us who know him well appreciate his superior taste and faultless eye.’ Clarissa was relying on it because like his collection of Ancient Egyptian relics she was all style over substance.
‘I can see you know himfar betterthan most.’ His head tilted enquiringly and he folded his arms across the very chest she had just been contemplating. ‘I suppose that is why you do not have leave to call him by his Christian name.’
Her mouth opened and then closed. ‘His Christian name is Albert.’
‘Yet I have never heard you refer to him as anything other than Westbridge. The Duke oryour Grace.’
Because Seb was right, damn him, her Duke had never invited her to dispense with the formalities. ‘I’m not particularly fond of the name Albert.’
This appeared to amuse him. ‘Will you call him Westbridge after you are married as well?’
Probably. ‘That is none of your business.’
‘How romantic.’
Westbridge wasn’t romantic. He wasn’t the slightest bit affectionate or even humorous. Devoid of all passion aside from that of collecting the unattainable. ‘I am not looking for romance.’ She was looking for a well-fortified battlement to hide behind. They didn’t come much stronger than a dukedom.
‘Or love by the sounds of it. Duchesses clearly need neither. But they areduchesses.’
When he put it like that her future sounded miserable. Seb didn’t understand that being a duchess would be the single greatest accomplishment for the least accomplished lady ever born. The unique achievement onlyIncomparableshoped for. Not just an advantageous marriage and a secure future, but the most advantageous of marriages. The most secure future. An impenetrable layer of protection against the judgement of all which would render her dirty secret a secret for ever. Clarissa had been a slave to that goal for the last two Seasons. Something the intuitive man before her obviously thought was shallow—because it was shallow, but then so was she. Girls who couldn’t paint or embroider, girls who couldn’t play an instrument or spell or read a sentence without laboriously trailing her finger beneath it lacked hidden depths. She would be a good wife and a good mother, a flawless decoration, content to live in her illustrious husband’s protective shadow.
Her self-absorbed, formal, passionless and fickle husband’s illustrious shadow.
‘Thank goodness you are beautiful else theconnoisseurmight have missed you. What an asset you will be to his exemplary collection. Unless he decides to add that simpering Olivia to his display case instead. Which I suppose is why you are here. Are you trying to improve on perfection by outshining her from the second you arrive?’
‘I’m sure the simpering Lady Olivia is doing much the same thing in another inn close by.’
The overloud cough outside signalled the return of her maid and thankfully the end of this uncomfortable line of questioning. When he forgot to be shy, his astute and painful honesty could be brutal. Agnes marched through the door, carrying her mistress’s freshly pressed new travelling dress aloft, and scowled at the sight of Seb sat on the bed to such an extent he stood. ‘I’d best be on my way. Will you read this list and appraise me of any details we might have missed later?’ He was back to not meeting her eyes and that was just dandy because she would rather die than let him see how much his insightful observations had bothered her.
‘Yes.’ If she started to read it today she might reach the end of the list by tomorrow. Or the next day. Just thinking about it made the letters swim and dance before her eyes and her tummy churn with the constant fear of discovery. In case he saw it, Clarissa turned her back to him as he walked to the door, both miffed at him and miffed at herself because she knew the source of her irritation was merely his accurate assessment of her situation. This week now couldn’t pass quickly enough.
