Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (11 page)

Tapping her chin, Fanny murmured, “What you really need is a tall helping of cognac.”

“I don’t imbibe…”

“Well, you’d better start.”

Straightening, Fanny’s eyes narrowed, and she reminded Edwina of a general on a mission. “The
Vaughns’ ball will be your first outing in Society. That gives us two days to work on easing your nerves and helping you to embrace the ‘new’ you. Then, the night of the ball, I will come to your house and help you dress. Prescott Devane and the rest of Society are going to be turned on their heads. Or my name isn’t Fanny Figbottom.”

“I thought you said it was a stage name…”

Rolling her eyes, Fanny groaned, “Oh, do I have my work cut out for me.”

“S
he’s late,” Prescott muttered to the empty chamber as he helped himself to his second glass of brandy that evening. “I hate when a lady keeps me waiting.”

Fanny sauntered into Edwina’s salon in a splash of olive ruffles on black lace. The heavy scent of rose perfume floated around her like a bouquet. “Oh she’s worth the delay, I assure you. She’ll be the belle of the ball tonight.”

“Not if we don’t ever get there,” Prescott replied, wondering at the nervous edge to his voice. He rarely suffered a bout of the nerves, since usually he didn’t care one whit what anyone thought of him. But tonight felt different. To the world he would be an engaged man. And betrothed to the Earl of Wootton-Barrett’s daughter.

He tossed back another swallow. What the hell had
he gotten himself into? Although he’d been out and about in Society, this was a whole new level of play. And if Edwina couldn’t discover the actress within her, well, it might well become a farce.

Edwina.

The lady was turning out to be more multifaceted than he’d originally assumed, like a diamond that’s held up in different lights exhibits new colors. No doubt she was as refined a lady as they came, but to also be hunting a blackmailer? A lady who was enamored of trade? President and founding member of a society which promoted the edification of females? Architect of charitable projects where the ladies actually met the beneficiaries of their work?

Janelle had waxed effusive on the society’s latest endeavor, a prisoner reform program where she and the members of the society provided clothing and financial assistance to women just out of debtors’ prison and helped them train for productive employ. The ladies of the society used their servants to conduct the training and oversaw the efforts themselves. Her success stories included seamstresses, dairymaids, scullery maids and the like. It was impressive, and reminded Prescott more than a bit of dear old Headmaster Dunn.

No doubt Dunn would have applauded Prescott for assisting Edwina in any way possible. For the first time in weeks, some of Prescott’s grief was tinged with a hint of gladness.

Fanny sashayed over to stand beside him, her rose perfume wafting around them. “Tonight might be a bit…challenging for you and Edwina.”

Setting his empty glass on the sideboard, he turned. “Just tonight?”

“We’re outsiders, you and I, so I will speak plainly.” Fanny tilted her head. “They’ll never embrace you.” She needn’t explain the “they” that made up English Society.

“Of course they won’t. But it won’t matter, since they’ll have to put up with me.”

“In that regard you’re wrong; it will matter. For all of Edwina’s distinctiveness, she is but a creature of Society, and more importantly, the daughter of the Earl of Wooten-Barrett. Although she pretends to be independent, the girl yearns for her father’s love and approval.”

“Doesn’t every child?” Prescott shrugged. “In my experience, respect and acceptance give love its legs.”

“So you understand.”

“Yes.” But Edwina’s relationship with her father wasn’t his problem; stopping the blackmailer was. And if Edwina’s scheme went as planned, he would never encounter the Earl of Wooten-Barrett. “I’m sure I can handle anything we come across tonight.”

“Of course you will. Michael tells me that your skin’s tougher than bear hide and you’ve a few sharp teeth of your own.”

“I
think
there’s a compliment in there…”

“Just remember that arrows that you can shrug off can pierce Edwina deeply.”

“Arrows piercing me?” Edwina’s voice floated across the room.

Prescott turned to the door. His heart skipped a beat.

Edwina stood in the entry, looking like an angel stepped out from a fresco to frolic with mere mortals. And like any angel’s, her attire was audacious in its simplicity.

She wore a gown of diaphanous virgin white with shiny white silk bands gathering at just the right points to draw the eye to her willowy hourglass figure. The first band showed off her swanlike neck as it dipped over her moon-pale shoulders. The next gathered just beneath her breasts, accentuating the bounty any man would beg to explore. The remaining bands accentuated the graceful curve of her small waist and the arcing slope of her luscious derriere.

A matching glossy white band wove throughout her ebony curls, and her gloves each had a long strip of white silk traveling from wrist up her arm. She wore simple diamond cluster earrings, each arranged in the shape of a flower. She had no necklace or other adornment except a lacy white fan hanging closed at her wrist. All she needed were wings on her back and she’d be ready to fly to the heavens, or possibly carry a man there with her divine charms.

Notwithstanding Edwina’s innocent attire, there was knowledge gleaming in those onyx eyes. Not worldliness, but a flash of intelligence that belied the angelic air. That, along with her lovely arched brows, aristocratic nose, smooth lips and pointy chin, made for a less than oh-so-sweet air. Her face had character, so much so that one could not doubt that she was a flesh-and-blood woman.

It was the juxtaposition that fascinated, he realized. One that would be heightened by the fact that the angelically dressed widow would have a fiancé on her arm tonight, a fiancé who was less than saintly.

Shaking his head, he let out a long breath, not realizing that he’d been holding it. Prescott bowed. “You look lovely, my lady.”

“Thank you, Prescott.” Edwina’s voice was tight with tension.

He turned to Fanny and tilted his head. “My hat is off to you, Fanny Figbottom. You are a master.”

The actress’s smile was satisfied, like that of the cat who’d eaten the canary. “I was
inspired.
”

“No young lady at her coming-out ball could look so enticingly chaste.” Prescott grinned, suddenly looking forward to the rest of the evening; he was always up for a bit of a prank, especially when it was on the
ton.
“Eyes will bulge, tongues will wag. We’ll be the scandal of the moment, my lady.”

“What you will be,” Fanny corrected, “is the
envy
of the moment. At the change in Edwina, the ladies will wonder at your charms, and the men will all wish that they’d pursued Edwina more vigorously.” Her smile was wicked. “It will be glorious good fun.”

“Fun.” Edwina licked her pink-tinged lips. “That’s an interesting perspective.”

“It’s the only one that will get you through. That and some very strong tipple.” Fanny stepped over to the sideboard. “Now where did your servants put my…? Ah, here it is.” She opened the cabinet and removed a crystal decanter filled with burgundy liquid and placed it upon a tray beside the three cut-crystal glasses.

Looking up at Prescott, Edwina silently mouthed, “It seems a bit over the top.”

“Honestly?” he mouthed back.

Mutely, she nodded.

“It’s perfect,” Prescott spoke aloud. “You’ll be the loveliest lady at the Vaughns’ ball.”

Edwina’s brow seemed to lighten and her shoulders lifted. Timidly her gaze trailed from his low-heeled
black shoes, to his black pantaloons, iron gray waistcoat, ivory neckcloth and black coat. Her eyes met his with a gratifying glint of approval. “You look very nice as well.”

“Very nice?” Fanny rolled her eyes. “You’re about as flirtatious as a nun.”

“Edwina knows I prefer sincerity to disingenuous flattery,” Prescott reassured, pleased just the same. He’d chosen his ensemble with care, opting for a more conservative mien than his usual bright colors. He and Edwina would be attracting enough attention as it was. Seeing her costume made him all the more satisfied with his choice.

Walking over to the mahogany table, Fanny set down the tray, lifted the carafe and poured. “You can’t leave before we have a toast with my very special cognac.”

“Cognac…” Prescott murmured, intrigued. He’d never tasted the libation; its importation was banned because of the war with Napoleon.

“Isn’t this illegal?” Edwina asked. “I mean, this had to have been smuggled into the country, right?”

“The nun speaks again,” Fanny teased. She handed out the glasses. “You need this more than the rest of us, so please simply keep your opinions to yourself and enjoy.”

Poor Edwina, everyone was carping at her about being nervous.

Edwina stuck her nose into the glass and sniffed. “It smells smoky. Like burned oak.”

Prescott inhaled. “It smells
rich.
And not in the moneyed sense.”

Fanny raised her glass and Prescott and Edwina followed suit. “To your engagement.” Fanny’s hazel eyes
twinkled. “May you enjoy the bountiful rewards of procreation.”

Prescott’s eyes met Edwina’s and he couldn’t help but smile. “Hear, hear.”

She shot him a look of long-suffering.

He drank. Rich, yes, velvety fire.

Sipping the amber liquid, Edwina’s eyes widened with pleasure. “Hmmm.”

Prescott shifted, feeling that little hum a bit more than he should.

“Isn’t there an interesting legend about cognac?” Edwina enquired, licking her lips. Prescott couldn’t help but recall their soft feel and could just imagine the taste of the rich cognac on that sweet ripe mouth…

Edwina tilted her head. “It had something to do with infidelity, if I recall?”

Fanny’s face became serious as if she recalled something unhappy. “Yes. There is.” Seemingly collecting herself, Fanny’s features lightened and she was all smiles and effusive charm once more. “Of infidelity or murder, which would you choose?”

“Oh, I would choose murder,” Prescott sipped, tearing his mind from thoughts of Edwina’s lips. “It’s a more straightforward business.”

“Must we select one at all?” Edwina inquired, moving over to stand by the hearth. The delicate scent of lily of the valley perfume filled the air.

“Well, the myth surrounding cognac has both,” Fanny began in a singsong voice that accompanied all the best tales. “Legend has it a knight in the sixteenth century thought he would burn in hell once for murdering his unfaithful wife, and a second time for killing her lover.”

“So he ‘burned his wine’ twice.” Prescott nodded, trying to keep his mind on the story. “I’d heard that one.”

“Yes, and put it in the far corner of the cellar. Whereupon he promptly forgot about it.”

“Did he repent?” Edwina turned, her cheeks glowing with a pink flush. Somehow, the nose that had seemed too prominent and the chin that had seemed too pointy “fit” her face now and gave character to her countenance. But it was more than a change of hairstyle; it was likely knowing her as a person that made the difference.

In Prescott’s experience, a visage rarely corresponded with the disposition of its wearer, but in this instance, it did. Edwina Ross had character and was unlike anyone he’d ever encountered before. With her do-good society, her zeal for justice, her passion for business and, he hoped, for other things…She was certainly more interesting than any ladies of his recent acquaintance. Yes, she was turning out to be a fine distraction, indeed.

“No, just the opposite.” Fanny grinned wickedly. “Years later, upon finding the burned wine, he partook. And enjoyed.”

Tearing his gaze from Edwina’s features, Prescott shrugged. “I suppose the idea of a good nip overcame any fear of burning in hell.”

“Yes.” Fanny gestured to the glass in her hand. “And supposedly, that’s how acidic poor wine was reborn as cognac.”

Edwina smiled. “The story is completely untrue, of course. As all myths tend to be.”

“As false as Lady Horton’s pedigree,” Fanny declared,
referring to the former opera singer who’d landed herself an aristocratic husband and thus a title for herself.

“And the truth?” Edwina tilted her head as interest gleamed in those striking onyx eyes.

“The wine was burned to gain cargo space for transport.” Fanny sniffed. “And someone had the good sense to figure out that the longer it ages, the better it tastes.”

Raising the glass to the candelabra on the table, Edwina stared at the amber liquid as it shimmered in the light. “How old is this cognac?”

“Aged twenty-five years.”

Prescott let out a low whistle. “This is some
very
fine tipple.”

“Yes,” Fanny cooed. “Only the best to celebrate such a fortuitous match.”

Edwina’s eyes met his and he saw a twinkle of mischief within. She raised her glass. “To my betrothed, Prescott Devane. May he sire many sons.”

Shaking his head, Prescott withheld his smile. It was an old toast, one that no doubt irked the president of The Society for the Enrichment and Learning of Females.

He lifted his glass in salute. “I look forward to siring those many sons, my dear. Was it nine or ten that you mentioned wanting?”

Edwina choked on her cognac. Two high spots of color infused her cheeks as her eyes widened with horror. “Uh…ten?”

“I’m wrong, it was only seven boys that you’d promised me. And given that you’re not fresh out of the schoolroom, I suppose that we’d best get started on that right away.”

Stepping closer, Edwina pasted on a smile. “We’d also agreed not until after we’re married,
my dear.
”

“Oh the trials of marrying an upstanding lady.” He grinned. “I need to request that special license right away.”

“You’re unconscionable, you know that, don’t you?”

He pressed his hand to his heart. “Oh, how you flatter me, my lady.”

Fanny was watching them, a curious look in her eye.

Setting aside his glass, Prescott offered his arm to Edwina. “Shall we go, my dear? It’s time for the world to meet Prescott Devane’s fiancée.”

Edwina tossed back the last of her cognac. “Heaven help us.”