“Bless you, Lady Clerkenwell,” the grey-haired lady said, beaming as though Bianca were an angel. “You sure have been a boon to this community.”
As soon as the two ladies moved on, Bianca slid closer to Bea and Diana. “Can you imagine what the likes of Claudia Denbigh would say if they heard how much of an angel I am?” she laughed.
Bea laughed along with her, knowing full well that Bianca had made more enemies than friends among the ranks of the aristocracy because of her wild ways. Bea was secretly in awe of Bianca herself, particularly Bianca’s amazing ability to get along with people of all classes and to treat everyone as though they were equals. Then again, Bianca had married a man who had been born in a brothel, even if he was a lord now. That had been entirely Lord Malcolm Campbell’s doing. Lord Malcolm, as everyone knew him, whether it was the proper form of address or not, had married Bianca’s mother just the year before, but he had been a friend of the Marlowe family for decades, and he was one of the most powerful men in England. Which made it even more astonishing that Bianca could move so freely in middle-class circles as well as higher ones.
“I saw the way you drooped like a blossom in the frost when Harrison dashed out of here,” Bianca said, jolting Bea out of her thoughts.
“Oh,” Bea said, using the excuse of reaching for wire to tie the bow she was making to lower her eyes. Bianca was likely to see the truth in her expression if she didn’t. “It’s nothing. I was just….” She couldn’t think of a way to finish her sentence.
“Patience, ducky, that’s all you need,” Bianca said with a wink. “Just a little patience.”
“Bea has no patience,” Diana laughed. “She is consumed by love, and if it remains unrequired, she’ll expire, like a maiden in some medieval tale.”
They all shared a laugh, though Bea had to admit there was a certain degree of truth to the joking accusation. She was veering closer and closer to desperation with every day that passed.
Bianca seemed to notice. Her expression changed from teasing to contemplative, and she studied Bea with a calculating look.
“Mama and Lord Malcolm were dead-set against me marrying Jack,” she said, as though speaking her thoughts aloud. “But I won that battle in the end. And do you know how I did it?”
“I can’t imagine,” Bea said, her face flaring hot, unable to meet Bianca’s eyes. In fact, Bea—and everyone else in society—knew exactly how Bianca had won the right to marry Jack Craig. He’d gotten her with child, and Bianca had been too stubborn for a lightning-fast marriage to a more suitable groom to cover the fact.
“Determination,” Bianca answered, a light in her eyes that said she knew full well what Bea had been thinking. “You may think it was the other thing,” she went on, looking extraordinarily proud of herself when most people would have said she should feel ashamed, “but no, it was determination. I wanted Jack, so I stepped up and had him.”
Diana let out a snorting laugh at the double-entendre, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“No, I mean that too,” Bianca said in a confiding voice, glancing between Diana and Bea. “And that’s where you have the advantage over me.”
Bianca leaned in, and Bea couldn’t help but crowd closer to her. She, Bianca, and Diana formed a secretive circle beside the table.
“Seduction is a tool that can be used by women just as easily as men have always used it,” Bianca said. “And aren’t we always saying that women should have equal rights to men?”
“We are,” Diana agreed, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
“So use your best assets,” Bianca went on, glancing to Bea. “Harrison is too much of a gentleman to refuse to marry you if he’s compromised you in any way.”
“But I couldn’t lure him into that sort of a situation,” Bea whispered, then blinked. “Could I?” In fact, the prospect of seducing Harrison was as appealing to her as it was shocking.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Bianca said, straightening. “I believe you are perfectly capable of proving too much for Harrison to resist. All you have to do is arrange the right situation, and, as the French say, voila!” She took a step back, spreading her hands as though she’d completed a magic trick, victory in her eyes.
“I suppose I could invite him over for supper tonight, though it’s painfully short notice,” Bea said, shocked that she was actually entertaining the idea.
“Short notice or no notice at all, I’d wager Harrison would fly to your doorstep if you so much as crooked your finger,” Bianca said.
Bea hoped she was right. “Papa and Evelyn will be dining at Uncle Gregory’s house tonight,” she went on, a plan forming in her mind. “I was going to have supper with Diana—”
“But I would gladly cede the evening to your nefarious plots, if that’s what would make you happy,” Diana finished her sentence for her. “Just because I don’t care for the company Harrison keeps doesn’t mean I’m not all in favor of you getting what you want.”
Bianca made a sound as though she didn’t believe a word of Diana’s protest against John, but she was wise enough not to voice her opinions. “It’s settled, then,” she said instead. “You’ll invite Harrison over for a private supper tonight, and if things progress beyond the dining room and into the bedroom—” She shrugged, grinning. “Well, all is fair in love and war, is it not?”
“I suppose it is,” Bea said, excitement swirling through her. She was the last woman in London who was capable of planning and executing a seduction, but if it was the only way to prompt Harrison into making a declaration he should have made months ago, she would do it.
Chapter 3
By that evening, Bea was convinced that her plan was a terrible idea.
She paced the front parlor, dressed in her most gossamer, low-cut gown of pale green in a shade that complimented her unique hair color, wringing her hands. The house was empty, but for Cook and one of the footmen. After her father and younger sister had left for their supper engagement, Bea had given the rest of the upstairs staff the night off, though whether she had the authority to do that, she wasn’t sure. The remaining footman had set the dining room table for two, a clever spark in his eyes that said he knew precisely what Bea was up to but wasn’t going to tell a soul, and retreated back to the butler’s pantry to wait until he was needed.
The clock on the mantle in the parlor ticked away, seeming as loud as a cannon with no other sound in the house and nothing to distract Bea. It was half seven. The note she’d sent to Harrison, begging him to come quickly as she needed his assistance with a delicate matter, had been sent at five o’clock. He should have been there by now. Even if the lad who had been dispatched with the letter had had a difficult time locating Harrison, he should have arrived. Perhaps she was wrong after all and Harrison didn’t care for her the way she—
The grand doorbell that her father had insisted on installing several years ago gonged loudly, and Bea’s heart leapt in her chest. She started toward the front hall, paused as she neared a mirror and veered off to the side to check her reflection, patted her hair, pinched her cheeks to give them color—not that she needed any more than anxiety had already given her—and skittered to the large front door to open it.