Beguiled. Susan Paul Spencer
of Almack’s. “A woman without a voice. What does Cardemore expect of me? She’ll be accepted only so far in society, to the point where her muteness doesn’t make those around her uncomfortable, but beyond that…”
“I don’t know why she should have any trouble,” Daltry put in. “A beautiful woman who can’t chatter a man half to death sounds like the ideal female to me. I should think every unmarried man in Christendom would want to wed her.” He grinned at his somber friend, who didn’t share his attempt at humor.
“It’s a damned shame,” Graydon said, “for a remarkable beauty to be cursed with such a frailty.”
“You make too much of it,” Daltry argued. “So she hasn’t got a voice. That doesn’t mean she can’t make herself understood, perhaps even well enough to manage a house and be a hostess and raise a herd of children. A man doesn’t want more than that in a wife, does he? And who needs a voice to listen to when you’ve got a face like that to gaze at across the breakfast table?”
“Would you marry a woman who couldn’t speak, Matthew?”
“Me?” Lord Daltry sounded as shocked as he looked.
“I thought not,” Graydon said. “You see how it is. And that’s not the worst of it. You know what people think of the deaf and mute. She’ll be labeled a lackwit, or demonpossessed.”
“I suppose that’s so,” Daltry put in more thoughtfully. “I’ve read Sir Benjamin Hatton’s treatise on deaf-mutes. He claims they’re essentially amoral, and under a curse from God. Born that way, they are. But Lady Lillian isn’t deaf, you said.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’ll still be labeled as more animal than human. Only those of us blessed with voices evidently possess souls. Sir Benjamin’s been quite influential in spreading such opinions. Lady Lillian will have far more than her lack of speech to combat if she wishes to make her way in polite society.”
“You’re going to tell Cardemore that what he wants is impossible, then?”
“Not at all. I’m going to do exactly what he asked of me. His sister wants to enjoy her stay in London, and enjoy it she shall. I doubt she knows what she’s asking for, but for the next three months I intend to make certain that Lady Lillian Walford has the time of her life.”
The Earl of Cardemore disliked change, especially when it involved his own home. He disliked having the place lit up so that even the least used hallway was as bright as day in the middle of the night, and having more servants about than he required for his lone care, with maids and footmen constantly cleaning and scrubbing and carrying and fetching.
He felt exposed in the light. The scars on his face were more readily visible and it was impossible to hide his overlarge, bulky self. Even when dressed in the most elegant and gentlemanly of fashions, he felt society’s eyes upon him, staring with the kind of revulsion that made him feel more like a beast than a man. Not that he gave a damn about what society thought, but there were a few people whom he didn’t care to distress with his ugliness, and having the most significant among them residing in his home for several months was, for Cardemore, an acutely unpleasant sensation. Every time Lady Margaret looked at him with one of her steady gazes he wanted to put a hand up and cover his face. She was the only woman—the only person—who had the power to make him wish he was something other than what he was.
He had left his home at the age of fourteen and hadn’t returned until the day of his brother’s funeral. He’d had news of his family over the years, and had been aware that George had married, but he’d never actually seen Lady Margaret until that day. There, standing at George’s graveside, he had set eyes on a woman so perfect that his knees had nearly given way from the shock. The remainder of the service passed as something of a blur; he’d been too busy trying to force the workings of his brain into some semblance of order to pay much attention to the proceedings. But it had been of little use. Whatever spell had befallen him at setting sight on Margaret Walford had taken hold, and had maintained its iron grip since. Every time he saw her the passion he felt seized him anew, as if it were the first time all over again. Even now, as she reclined before the warmth of the library fire, her head tilted lazily against the heavily cushioned chair, her eyes closed with weary languor, he stood in the shadows, watching, his heart pounding more frantically than it would ever do for any spectacle that his mistress, or any other woman, might perform for his pleasure. In her sleepy, slightly disheveled contentment, Margaret Walford wielded more power to stun than an avalanche.
“You had a pleasant evening, then?” he asked, wishing that he knew how to be comfortable with her, how to sit near her and converse the way another man might do. “Lily seemed happy enough.”
Opening her eyes, she smiled. “She did, didn’t she? I was so relieved when she finally danced. Before Lord Graydon arrived I thought the evening would be a complete disaster.” More thoughtfully, she added, “It wasn’t what she’d been hoping for, just as we knew it wouldn’t be, but she was so happy afterward. Having the handsomest man in the room for a partner in her first waltz must have been exactly like one of the dreams she’s so often told me about.” Lady Margaret’s smile grew wistful. “Like the dreams every girl has, I imagine. I only wish you had seen them together, Aaron. They made an enchanting couple, and Lily danced with perfection. You would have been so proud.”
“I’m always proud of Lily,” he replied, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey he held. “Graydon observed the proprieties?”
“Oh, yes. He’s everything that a young lord should be, quite perfect in every detail. I doubt there was a girl at Almack’s who wasn’t eaten alive with envy at his asking Lily—and only Lily—to dance.”
The sadness in her tone caused Cardemore to stiffen instinctively. “You disliked him, Margaret?”
“Of course not, Aaron. I hardly know the boy enough to disapprove of him. But I worry about Lily. I don’t want to be such a dismal naysayer, but—I know you’ll understand what I mean when I say this—I almost wish we could have gotten it all over with tonight instead of giving her a reason for hope. Even if Lord Graydon should follow through on his promise to take her driving, I’m afraid she’ll still be terribly hurt, perhaps during our next outing. Not one man who was introduced to her tonight would ask her to dance before Lord Graydon did. And then she was so afraid to dance with him that I had to make her do so.”
“She seems to have come through the experience well enough.”
Lady Margaret suddenly sat forward. “Yes, but—”
“We have to give her this chance, Margaret,” he said firmly. “We warned her and she didn’t want to listen, but experience is a far better teacher. After tonight she knows what she’s up against, and it’s her decision if she wants to go on or go home. Lily’s not a quitter. Or a weakling. If she were, I’d never have let her leave Cardemore Hall.”
Lady Margaret pinned him with the sort of tightly angry expression that always made him want to kiss the breath out of her. “Lily isn’t you, Aaron, or even remotely like you. She’s a naive, sheltered young woman. She wouldn’t be able to go through the kind of ‘experiences’ you’ve had and come out intact.”
Cardemore couldn’t repress the laughter her words caused. “My dear Lady Margaret, I hardly think you can compare a season in society to spending fifteen years in the company of pirates, thieves and murderers. I admit there are some daunting similarities among the main actors, but at least Lily need never worry that Mrs. Drummond-Burrell might stick a dagger between her shoulders if she doesn’t make a proper curtsy.”
“Words and deeds, Aaron, can be just as painful as a physical attack. In the hands of a Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, perhaps even more so.”
“Mrs. Drummond-Burrell,” remarked Cardemore, “attacks Lily