Master of Love (21 page)

“Aesthetics are a legitimate realm of philosophy, you know.” Celeste couldn't resist dropping her façade to engage the girl on her own level. “Plato held beauty to be an eternal good in itself, worthy of pursuit and respect. Isn't there some anonymous philosopher writing about these things now—the Lover of Philosophy, I think he calls himself?”

“You make an excellent point, my lady. But I'm not sure either Amator Philosophiae or Plato had the pursuit of Italian tenors in mind.”

Celeste cackled. “I'm not entirely shallow, you know. Although it is part of my charm!”

“Was that the door?” Still smiling, Callista started to get up.

Celeste waved her back down. “Let the maid get it, dear. I want to hear Marie's philosophy of love. Frenchwomen are so wise on these matters.”

Marie shrugged expressively. “I'm afraid I haven't yet developed a
philosophie
of love, madame. Unless it's that a woman can best control and play the game of love in a perfectly put-together toilette complementary to her own natural charms.”

“But what if she's a little dumpling?” Beatrice asked with a sigh.

“Every woman is beautiful in her own way,” Marie replied with firm conviction. “Sometimes she just needs help learning how to bring out that beauty. When we design your ball gown, Lady Beatrice, I'll be happy to make suggestions to flatter your more petite height and paler coloring.”

Celeste patted Beatrice on the shoulder. She brushed her hand over the multiple rows of flounce adorning the girl's pouf sleeves with a discreet but meaningful glance at Marie. “You'd look ravishing in a very sleek and simple silhouette. And we'll certainly want to highlight
your
décolletage. You've a bosom to make a parson drool.”

“Lady Rexton!” Beatrice blushed but looked pleased nonetheless—and rather relieved, if Celeste didn't miss her guess—to be taken in hand by two women who knew their fashion.

Celeste continued, unperturbed. “Marie is entirely correct. So much in this world is run by men, but they're brought to heel easily enough if you sharpen the weapons nature puts at your disposal.”

Marie stood to start rolling up her scattered bolts of silk and velvet. “
Certainement.
A wise woman always looks her best.” She nodded with the certainty of one repeating an unshakable article of faith.

“You two have mastered that lesson well,” Callista said, inclining her head toward Celeste and Marie. “You both look flawless all the time.”

Celeste grinned. “Actually, I look a veritable fright in the morning. It takes my maid at least two hours to complete my toilette, longer if we're doing a hair treatment with golden henna or lemon juice.” She patted her still-blond hair, curled into an elaborate coiffure. “That's why I never let my lovers spend the night.”

Beatrice leaned forward. “Lady Rexton, do you truly have two lovers? The gossips say you're juggling both Lord Carrington and Mr. Weaver at once.”

“Indeed,” she purred like a self-satisfied cat. “I find a little variety and competition makes one's love life so much more interesting.”

Marie snapped a cut length of azure satin and folded it neatly. “And why shouldn't a beautiful widow of means take on young lovers and dress impeccably if it gives her pleasure?”

“My thoughts exactly!” Celeste twisted in her seat to face her favorite new modiste. Just see if she didn't make this talented young woman the sensation of the London fashion world! “Marie understands me implicitly.”

“Of course, madame! The French know that women become more beautiful as they age. Experience gives you a certain self-confidence and sophistication.”

“Except for the three of you,” Celeste retorted, leaning back in her chair in a most mellow and generous mood. “You're all gorgeous,
including
our prim librarian and this delectable morsel who pretends she's a dumpling. Now, tell me about your lovers, girls! Marie, is there some young man for whom you have a
tendre
?”

“Oh, Marie's all business,” Callista teased. “I've never seen her show any interest in a young man.”

“She's blushing now!” Beatrice squealed with delight.

Celeste pounced. “Marie! Do tell! I adore stories about a new beau, and if I'm not mistaken, you've recently taken one on.”

The modiste kept her head down, her attention apparently consumed in wrapping up three bolts of the finest jewel-toned woolens. “It's nothing like that, madame. We've only met on a few occasions.”

“But is he handsome and wonderful and sweet and it's only a matter of time? Come, dear, if I'm to be your new patroness, you mustn't hide anything from me.”

“Callie, do you know the young man?” Beatrice turned to ask. “Who could it be?”

Their hostess looked blank for a moment and then lifted her brows as a mischievous smile curled her lips. “Mr. Danvers?” she guessed.

“It is!” Beatrice clapped her hands, not unkindly. “Look, she's turned quite pink!”

“Of course!” Celeste crowed. “That's why he's always hanging about here. And to think he told me it was because we needed to go over my quarterly investment records and he could only find me at your shop!”

“Dear me, Marie, I'm not sure I've ever seen you blush.” Callista reached across the sofa to clasp Marie's hand reassuringly. “I think Mr. Danvers is a very fine young man.”

Marie looked up, dark eyes twinkling and her impish smile back in place. “He is that. And, of course, he has those broad shoulders and strapping chest to respect as well.”

The women collapsed in another fit of laughter.

“He certainly does,” Celeste agreed, chortling. “Do you know, I tried to seduce him myself once?”

“
Vraiment?
”

“Oh, don't worry, dear, he had no interest.” Celeste waved away Marie's startled look. “He refused most gallantly, said he feared for his position and his life were he to dare dally with his employer's mother. He was clearly saving himself for you, Marie.”

The sound of masculine throat-clearing turned the ladies' heads to the door.

“Well, speak of the devils!” Celeste's smile broadened to a gloating grin. “Gentlemen, do come in!”

Danvers ran a finger under his collar. “Um, we don't wish to intrude, ladies.”

“Yes.” Dom cleared his throat again. “I'm here to pick you up, Mother, for our dinner at Jane's this evening.”

“Oh, it's too early to leave for Belgravia, darling. Jane won't be finished with the boys in the nursery. Much as I adore Jason and Henry, their grubby fingers quite ruined my last gown. I'm not heading over until they're safely tucked into bed.”

Callista walked over to the men standing awkwardly in the doorway. Celeste hadn't missed how the girl's eyes lit up at the sight of her son. Nor how Marie blushed again at the arrival of Danvers. Another romance to plot! How absolutely delicious—although she reproached herself for not seeing that one brewing.

“Please do join us, Lord Rexton, Mr. Danvers, and have a seat,” Callista said, bringing them into the room.

“Marie,” said Celeste, “offer the poor boys some of that excellent claret Danvers favors. Or perhaps they'd prefer a brandy? They look a bit peaked.”

Marie stood to fetch glasses from the sideboard and Danvers went over to help. The two of them lingered in the corner in a low but animated conversation.

Judging them to be satisfactorily engaged, Celeste turned her attention to her other quarry. Her son took the chair beside her amidst renewed introductions to Lady Beatrice and polite chitchat.

“I'm delighted to see you all looking so well—you in particular, Miss Higginbotham.” Dom smiled ruefully, gazing around at the gay company. “So much for my concern you might be pining away at home alone.”

“Why would you think such a thing, darling?” Celeste scoffed. “A brave and resilient girl like Callista? Goodness, she dealt with that little worm Garforth”—she flicked a perfectly manicured hand—“just as she should have and has put it quite behind her. We've moved on to more important matters, like wardrobe planning, haven't we, dear?” She leaned over to pat Callista's knee. It wasn't that she was insensitive to the trauma the girl had suffered; she simply had her own ideas about how a woman best recovered from life's rocky patches. New clothes and a new lover always did the trick for her.

“Your mother's kept us quite busy and entertained,” Callista replied with a smile.

“I can see that,” her son muttered, casting Celeste a quelling look she returned with wide and innocent eyes.

“And where is Lady Mildred this evening?” asked Danvers, approaching with Marie and glasses for himself and his employer.

Callista moved to an empty chair and waved the pair down to the sofa she'd been occupying. “Sir George called for her earlier with a picnic basket and an invitation to ride out to Richmond. Lady Rexton seems to think they're courting.”

“If that's what the young people call it these days,” Celeste said, sniggering into her sherry.

“Mother! You shouldn't say such things! George is your brother, and Lady Mildred is Callista's great-aunt.”

“What a straitlaced stick-in-the-mud you've become, Dom! Aren't you supposed to be ‘Lord Adonis' or some such nonsense? Why shouldn't two unattached adults enjoy each other?” Celeste said. “You wouldn't know, but George had quite the crush on Lady Mildred when we were all much younger. If I had to predict, I'd say a carriage wheel is going to come dangerously loose. There are some lovely inns on the Richmond road!” she laughed.

Before her son could add another word of censure, she continued innocently. “Dom, dear, we've been making plans for Lady Beatrice's annual Society of Love Ball. I was about to ask the young ladies which of my two current beaus I should allow to escort me. Would you care to vote?”

Her son ignored that provocation with a dark look and bowed his head toward Beatrice instead. “Danvers gave me the invitation from this morning's post, Lady Beatrice. I'd be delighted to attend and make a donation to your cause.” He looked around, as if judging his moment, and then shifted in his seat to take a plunge. “In fact, Miss Higginbotham, I was hoping you'd allow me the honor of escorting you to the ball—unless my mother already has some young beau lined up for you.”

Celeste read the possessive warning in her son's hard glance and crowed inwardly with delight. Really, they were making this too easy for her.

Callista started her predictable demurrals. “I wasn't looking for an escort, my lord. I thought I'd simply accompany Lady Beatrice and assist her as needed.”

“Nonsense, Callie!” Beatrice protested. “Since you and your mother were among the founding members of the Society of Love, you'll stand with me in the receiving line, but you should enjoy yourself after that. Lord Rexton will be the perfect escort.”

It took all three of them to finally drag an agreement out of Callista. After more plans were made all around, Beatrice stood to take her leave with a promise to return tomorrow to begin her ball gown with Marie. The group drifted into the hall, where Margaret stood ready with cloaks and gloves and walking sticks.

Celeste penned a quick note at the writing desk before joining them. Time to put some plans into action.

She walked up to the family secretary. “Danvers, it occurs to me I haven't properly thanked you for finding me this brilliant young dressmaker, so you and Marie are going to do me a favor this evening.”

“You need us to do you a favor, my lady, so as to thank me?” Danvers inquired cautiously.

“Exactly,” Celeste answered. In her opinion, a bold offense was always best. “You're not coming to Belgravia for a boring Avery family meal. Instead, you'll escort Marie to Verrey's in Regent Street for dinner. I keep an account there, and this note to the maître d'hôtel will announce you as my guests for the evening.” She handed it over to the young man with a serene smile.

“A public room, madame?” Marie looked both scandalized and intrigued.

“No, no, Marie—it's a most respectable restaurant, with excellent French cuisine. I saw Lady Sawyer there with a party last week, and you know what a stickler that old harridan is. Establishments like Verrey's will be all the rage here soon, where ladies can dine out with gentlemen, just as they do in Paris's fine restaurants.”

“It sounds wonderful, madame, and your offer is most generous, but not at all necessary,” Marie said.

Celeste suppressed a sigh. Really, it was tiresome to constantly wade through these polite protests. If only people would do as she planned. It wasn't generosity motivating her, simply the certainty that she knew best. She went back on the attack, turning to the secretary. “Danvers, would you deprive Mademoiselle Beauvallon of such a perfect professional opportunity to study the fashionable evening wear of London ladies?”

The two young people looked at each other, tongue-tied, and then back at their mutual benefactor.

Danvers recovered first. “Of course not, Lady Rexton.” Although he still looked rather broadsided, his dancing eyes as he bowed toward her and Marie told Celeste all she needed to know. “It would be my greatest honor and pleasure to escort Mademoiselle Beauvallon to Verrey's this evening.”

Marie blushed again, and Danvers's eyes took on a hotter hue.

Yes, that affair would work out fine. “Good, that's all settled,” Celeste purred. “Now, Marie, go change for dinner whilst your young man fetches a cab. And, Danvers, make sure you get a hansom—so much more elegant than a tired old hackney.”

“But I'd need at least an hour to prepare for such an engagement!” the Frenchwoman sputtered.

“Nonsense! If you looked any more beautiful than you do right now, poor Danvers would expire on the spot and I'd have to ship you back to France for unfair competition. Just go!” She shooed Marie up the stairs and linked arms with Danvers to lead him down the hall.