Wickedly Ever After Read online

  The duchess stared at Athena with her cold, dark eyes, increasing Athena’s discomfort. “Mason, would you kindly give us a few moments to talk in private?”

  “By all means.” He rose and walked away from the tense exchange, and closed the parlor door behind him. Athena keenly felt his absence. It was like being left in a room with a growling lion.

  “Miss McAllister, let us speak candidly. The prospects you offer as a wife are severely compromised. You’re well beyond a desirable age, insubordinate, podgy, and redheaded. You’ve no title of your own—oh, I know your father was a viscount, but he was a Scottish viscount, which in this country is almost a strike against you. Moreover, your grandfather isn’t exactly in the best financial circumstances, leaving even a healthy dowry past your ability to produce. Miss McAllister, let us face facts. You have absolutely nothing to offer a prospective husband.”

  Athena cast her eyes to the floor, her chin jutting in impotent defiance. She knew all these things, and had said these hurtful words to herself many times. But to hear them come out of a stranger’s mouth stung far more.

  “And to further complicate matters,” the duchess continued, “your grandfather has told me that you have cultivated the romantic notion that you would only marry for love. Now, while I do not disparage this concept, like all ideals, it is elusive and unpragmatic.”

  Athena was about to argue, but the duchess halted her.

  “Nevertheless, it has come to my attention that you have developed feelings for a certain man named Calvin Bretherton.”

  Athena’s eyes widened. “How did you—”

  The duchess waved her question away. “You will find that there is little that is left undiscovered when one frequents Almack’s.”

  Athena’s face colored in humiliation. While true that she had harbored a secret passion for Calvin these many weeks, she suffered to think it was common knowledge. The more she had learned about Calvin, the more she desired him. He was everything she ever wanted in a man—clever, witty, modern in his thinking, and as beautiful a man as she had ever laid eyes on. But the truth was she didn’t know how to entice his suit. Her parents died when she was ten, and she had grown up in the company of her grandfather, so the feminine art of seduction was never taught to her. If, indeed, it was something to be learned.

  “I know that you have been stunted in your development as a woman,” the duchess continued rather astutely, “but this book will show you how to acquire what you lack. I stand in favor of your encouraging Bretherton’s advances. But I must warn you that if you wish to endeavor to turn this calf love for Bretherton into a proposal of marriage, you will have some work to do on improving your chances. The competition this Season shall be stiff. I have it on good authority that Bretherton is being targeted by no less than five different ladies of my acquaintance for their daughters.” The duchess picked up the book from the table. “Nevertheless, with my personal sponsorship, I think his parents will look favorably upon you, as will he. But only if you can offer him the prospect of a proper wife.”

  Athena took the book from the duchess’s silk-gloved hand. Her confidence was in tatters, and this book promised only more frustrated hopes. “If I am up against all these other more qualified women, why would Calvin even consider me?”

  “Because unlike them, you will have me to champion your cause.”

  Athena turned the book over in her hand. She knew that men were after more than sparkling, intelligent conversation. She knew she was at fault for doing and thinking things a proper lady mustn’t. She knew she was guilty of being herself.

  Maybe there was something to be gained after all from Countess Cavendish’s instruction. Maybe the reason it all didn’t make sense was because she just had never learned the language of artifice and coquetry.

  She would give anything to become the wife of Calvin Bretherton. And if all it cost her was the reading of a book, then it was certainly a price she’d be willing to pay.

  Page one.

  THREE

  My dear Lord Stockdale,

  Now that you have had the opportunity to meet Athena McAllister on a number of occasions, I trust that you have formed a kind opinion of her. She is a charming companion with many fine qualities to recommend her as your bride. Moreover, you need do nothing more to win her heart—it is already yours.

  As for your parents, I have done my part in influencing them. They are prepared to accept your announcement of engagement to Miss McAllister. The path is illuminated for you. It only remains for you to walk down it.

  I hope that I have helped to make your obligation easier to bear. But make no mistake . . . Athena McAllister is the one.

  Until Vauxhall.

  Yours,

  Margaret, Dutchess of Twillingham

  “You remember all you’ve learned?”

  The carriage rolled over a rain-filled hole, jarring Athena inside the carriage. She almost let loose a stream of blue epithets, but remembered why she was there and with whom she was riding. And yes, all she had learned. “I remember, Your Grace.”

  “That new corset I purchased for you has done wonders for your figure. You look almost normal. I hope you can see how essential it is to suffer for one’s beauty.”

  Athena could scarcely breathe, but it was worth it to be able to fit into the glorious gown that the duchess had ordered for her—a long skirt in turquoise silk, with the scalloped sleeves and neckline festooned with tiny seed pearls. The matching satin slippers also had tiny pearls sewn upon them, echoing the dainty white flowers ornamenting her hair. Pristine white gloves snaked up her arms.

  “I suppose there was nothing to be done about that red hair of yours. I told you not to choose such an alarming color for your dress. Yellows and browns would have damped down that ginger coloring. Blues and greens only make it more pronounced.”

  Athena bit back a rude reply. “Grandfather says that my hair is part of my natural beauty.”

  The duchess harrumphed. “Natural beauty is what sheep and horses have. We women require more than that.” She looked out of the window. “Perhaps there’s still time for us to stop off at the milliner’s and purchase a turban to match that gown.”

  Athena resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “No, thank you, Your Grace. I think my hair shall be quite all right for today’s outing. Perhaps such an accessory will be unbefitting an evening spent out of doors.”

  “Hmm,” she agreed reluctantly as the coach came to a halt. “I daresay you’re right.”

  If the entrance to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens was intended to impress, then it worked its magic on Athena. As she walked through the entranceway, her eyes beheld what she could only describe as heaven on earth. Trees in bloom marched down the wide path like giant sentries. In the sinking daylight, nightingales trilled in the boughs. To Athena’s left wound a long, serpentine colonnade, with alcoves fitted into it for people to sit at table and eat. To her right, in the middle of a large courtyard, was an ornately festooned pavilion with a giant gilded cockleshell, under which an orchestra had just begun to play.

  She followed closely behind the duchess—no more than five feet in the wake of an older person, as Countess Cavendish’s book decreed—as the older woman led her to her very own supper box with a magnificent view of the orchestra. Hundreds of people—all persons of quality, from the look of their clothes—strolled about the gardens. Athena was desperate to explore the vast gardens, which she heard had a magnificent cascade, but was obliged to remain with the elder lady, who now took her seat.

  A warm breeze ruffled her skirts as she sat next to the duchess, and it waved the fragrance of roses and hyacinths into their alcove. A magnificent painting graced the inside of the supper box, and Athena found every one of her senses overwhelmed with divine delight. Athena hardly had time to check herself before a line of people came up to renew their acquaintance with the duchess. She was surprised by how many people were on nodding terms with her sponsor, and Her Grace was very gracious toward those i
n her circle. The duchess introduced Athena to each one of those peers and ladies, and Athena could sense her esteem among Society growing exponentially.

  But soon Athena grew weary of making polite discourse. As yet another ambitious woman sycophantically petitioned the duchess to implore her cause for a voucher with the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s, Athena stifled a yawn. So much of Society was about being admired for who one knows, rather than for what one has done. Athena looked out wistfully across the garden, wishing this part would be over and she could take a stroll among the fragrant roses before night fell altogether.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  Athena took no notice, except for the fact that her sponsor did not return the greeting. Puzzled, Athena turned to look at the woman who had spoken. She was a tall, bony person, with dark hair and modestly elegant clothes. The gown she wore was a strong shade of indigo, but it did not seem out of place on her. She was not an unlovely woman, but far from being handsome. Her sharp nose was very remarkable, and Athena imagined that every joint of her must be just as angular.

  The duchess stared beyond her, making no answer.

  “You’re looking well,” the woman continued.

  Still no answer. Athena began to grow uncomfortable from the tense exchange. It was rude of the duchess not to speak, but Athena knew that a snub from someone like her was tantamount to a social execution.

  “Well, good evening to you, then,” the woman said to Athena.

  “Good evening,” Athena replied.

  The woman harrumphed. “At least one of you can lay claim to some manners.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

  The duchess’s face grew florid with rage. “Of all the impertinence! How dare she come and speak to me!”

  Athena’s brows drew together in bewilderment. “Who was that?”

  The duchess’s still-open fan slammed against the table. “That . . . creature . . . is a pestilence on this town. If I had known she’d be here, I never would have come!” She whirled on Athena, her eyes wide. “Let me make this perfectly plain to you. You are never to have contact with that woman.”

  “Of course not.”

  Her gloved finger stabbed the air in front of Athena’s face. “If I ever find out you that have entertained that woman, I shall withdraw my patronage of you immediately.”

  Whatever offense that woman had given, it was enough to make the otherwise undemonstrative duchess lose her composure. “Yes, I’m quite clear on that point, Your Grace. But don’t you think it would be easier to turn her away from my door if I were to know her name?”

  The duchess breathed a deep sigh, her face resuming its expression of marble. “That is Vera, Lady Ponsonby, though it pains me to use that form of address on her. Don’t be fooled . . . she is titled by marriage only. She is actually the daughter of a solicitor. But if you can believe it, it was her mother who was even more disgraceful. When the father passed away, her mother purchased and managed a house of ill repute!”

  Athena gasped at the scurrilous bit of gossip. “No!”

  “Her mother was a ghastly woman named Fynch who dedicated her life to manufacturing votaries of pleasure. The whole Fynch family was simply bad seed—I don’t know what Ponsonby was thinking when he married into it.” The duchess shook her head. “And now that woman is the owner of her mother’s den of iniquity. For all the good it does her. The building has lain vacant since the awful Fynch woman died, and I hear that they are unable to sell it. I can only express my supreme joy that the dead property is causing a severe drain on Ponsonby’s finances.”

  It surprised Athena that there was so much vitriol in the duchess against the Ponsonby woman, but she suspected there was more to the story than Her Grace was willing to confess. Her husband the duke was known to be a profligate, and Athena wondered if the duchess had lost him behind the doors of Mrs. Fynch’s house of prostitution. She looked around to locate the lady that could so disquiet the utterly unflappable duchess. That’s when she saw him, standing in a circle of men in the middle of a toast.

  Calvin Bretherton, Lord Stockdale.

  As handsome a man in person as he was in her memory—and fantasies. Dressed in a tan coat and gold-embroidered waistcoat, he radiated health, wealth, and style. She was unaware how her breathing quickened as she watched him speak animatedly to the group. He looked just as dashing as he had the week before, when the duchess had taken her to dinner at Calvin’s family’s London town house. The remembered thrill of their long talk hummed in her anew. And now, here he was again, looking every bit as delectable as he had the other night at dinner.

  “I can see the course of your thoughts.”

  By degrees, the duchess’s words penetrated her reverie. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me. Every lurid notion is printed upon your face. Remember Countess Cavendish’s admonitions.”

  Athena blushed hotly. A proper lady does not dwell on notions of the flesh. She who aspires to feminine excellence must not let herself be contaminated by corruption, in thought or in deed. Purity of thought is a proper lady’s hallmark.

  The duchess gave a curt nod to a well-dressed man. “I have enjoined the Duke of Sedgwick to bring Lord Stockdale to us. Do try to keep your mind from swerving in the direction of Lady Ponsonby’s domain.”

  Athena felt her face redden even more. She hated to blush, because it made her auburn hair appear that much redder. She fanned herself to cool the heat in her face. She took a deep breath, and prepared herself to receive him. Her gown was lovely, her hair was immaculate, and she was wearing the manners of a proper lady. She was no longer the unpolished hoyden that she was a month ago, before Countess Cavendish’s book elevated her to the realms of proper social conduct. Tonight she was a lady . . . and Calvin would take notice.

  Calvin came over, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. “Your Grace,” he said, tipping his hat. “How very nice to see you again. I hope you are well.”

  “Quite well, thank you, Lord Stockdale. You remember Miss McAllister.”

  “Of course,” he said, bestowing that charming smile upon Athena. “Miss McAllister, it is a joy to see you again. How ravishing you look.”

  There went her face again. Her only consolation was that at least when she blushed, her freckles disappeared. “Thank you, Lord Stockdale. Will you join us?”

  “Delighted.” He came round and took a seat on the duchess’s left.

  They chatted amiably about the beauty of the gardens and the persons that they had met. Each time they spoke, Athena came to know another exquisite level of happiness. Calvin’s charm drove all thought out of her head, and she found herself smiling more and talking less. Just as well, she thought—as Countess Cavendish pointed out, no man wants a parrot for a wife. A lady who speaks overmuch, or at least more than a man, shows a deficiency of character that points to a future as a shrew.

  Calvin glanced in her direction as the duchess spoke, and when those blue eyes met Athena’s, she couldn’t help but smile.

  “I must say I’m beguiled by Miss McAllister’s accent, slight though it is. Miss McAllister, how long have you been away from Scotland?”

  “Too long a time. I left Scotland when I was ten.” Athena stuttered when she realized she had inadvertently pointed to her advanced age. “My parents died then, and I came to live with my grandfather in England.”

  “I’ve never been to Scotland. I should like to see it.”

  “Oh, you would have loved Tigh na Coille. It means ‘House of the Woods.’ Oh, it was a bonnie house, with fields as far as the eye could see. A river coursed through the forest, and on Sundays we would go—” She was about to say “go fishing,” but the constraints of Countess Cavendish’s book schooled her. A proper lady does not participate in the leisurely pursuits of the male. Hunting, fishing, archery, horseracing, boxing matches, etc., should remain the exclusive purview of the man. It is considered most unbecoming behavior for a lady to join men in even conversations about these activities, l
et alone participate in them herself. “Go walking and look for songbirds.”

  “Sounds an enchanting place. We should take a drive up soon. Provided, of course, Her Grace is free to join us.”

  “Well, we no longer own it, I’m afraid. My father lost the property before he died.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. Have you nothing to call home in Scotland?”

  She jerked her head. “My father acquired a parcel of land for my dowry. I’d like to be able to brag about it, but it really isn’t much. Thirty acres of rough hills in the Highlands not far from the sea.”

  A dimple appeared in his cheek. “I should still like to see it. Perhaps one day you’ll take me there?”

  She shrugged shyly. “If you wish it.”

  “Perhaps we’ll picnic there . . . after we’re engaged.”

  Athena’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Did you say ‘engaged’?”

  His eyes blinked dreamily. “I shall speak to your grandfather to get his permission, of course, if you’ve no objection to becoming my wife.”

  The duchess turned to her, a triumphant look upon her face.

  Athena could hardly believe her ears. Married to Calvin Bretherton, the most handsome, charming, wealthy, noble, and desirable man in all England. If she wasn’t cinched in so tightly, her heart might have burst with happiness.

  “Why, no, Lord Stockdale. I have no objection whatsoever.”

  He mirrored her smile. “Then you’ve made me the happiest of men.”

  “Lord Stockdale,” remarked the duchess, distracting him from Athena’s furious blush, “will you be staying in London long?”

  “For a fortnight more, I think. I promised some friends in Cornwall I’d pay them a visit.”

  “Perhaps you’d be good enough to visit us at Almack’s next Wednesday. A ball has been organized in my honor. It shall be my last engagement in London, as upon Saturday, I shall be going abroad for the rest of the Season. You’re most welcome to join us for the party.”