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Page 7 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

A s precise as a clock, an hour after Caldwell’s exit, his aunt arrived in her carriage. As soon as the carriage stopped by the curb, Elise excitedly dragged Honoria out of the house.

“Aunt Claire!” Elise exclaimed the moment she entered the carriage, hugging the stern-looking woman elegantly dressed in deep purple, her silver hair arranged in an elaborate style that hadn’t been fashionable for at least a decade. “Apologies, I mean, Lady Somerville.”

It seemed Caldwell’s worries were all for nought. Elise didn’t seem at all shy around her great-aunt.

Honoria wondered if she’d be intruding and if perhaps she shouldn’t have come along.

“I will always be Aunt Claire to you, child.” Lady Somerville patted Elise on her arm.

“But Uncle Caldwell said to call you by your title when in company,” Elise protested, settling beside her great-aunt and arranging her skirts.

“We’re not in company, are we?” The old woman raised a brow.

Honoria swallowed. Of course, servants weren’t considered company. She might as well have been invisible.

“Lady Somerville.” She offered a perfect curtsy before ascending into the carriage.

The old woman brought a quizzing glass to her eye and unapologetically studied Honoria. “And you’re the miracle worker I’ve heard so much about. My nephew’s letters have been most complimentary of your management skills.”

Honoria was taken aback by praise from this harsh-looking woman with thin lips pressed into an even thinner line. The earl had written about her? What exactly had he said?

Her cheeks warming, Honoria kept her eyes appropriately lowered. “His Lordship is too kind.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Somerville waved dismissively. “Jacob is never too kind. If anything, he’s direct and honest.” She tapped her cane on the carriage ceiling, and they lurched into motion. “Now, we have much to accomplish. The children have been hidden away in the country far too long. It’s time to renew their wardrobes for their introduction into society.”

“Miss Elise is still quite young for a formal introduction,” Honoria ventured carefully.

“Pshaw! At seventeen, I was already married. Granted, I do not wish that for my dear Elise.” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “Neither does Caldwell. He insists she spend this season mostly tucked away in our townhouse. But the girl needs to observe proper society before her actual debut. I’ve arranged several suitable events where she might watch and learn—the park, museum, and theater. And she needs appropriate clothing. And you, too, my dear.” She smiled at Honoria before turning her sharp gaze to Elise. “Sit straight, my child. Who has been teaching you? A lady never slouches.”

Elise immediately straightened, and Honoria found herself sitting straighter as well after the sharp rebuke.

“Mrs. Winters is a wonderful governess,” Elise protested. “She doesn’t fail to remind me of my tendency to slouch, though that hasn’t seemed to help.”

Honoria smiled. Elise didn’t need help standing her ground against the stern marchioness. But Lady Somerville’s previous words made gooseflesh crawl on her skin. “Pardon me, madam, but what do you mean I need appropriate clothing as well?”

“You will accompany us to the outings this year,” Lady Somerville said confidently, her voice brooking no argument. Nevertheless, Honoria was going to argue.

“Really?” Elise’s face lit up. “Nory, that’s great, isn’t it? I’d love for you to be there with me!”

Honoria tried to keep a smile on her face, but her muscles twitched, and she was worried she was sporting a grimace instead. “That is very kind of you to say, but I do not believe I am the right person to accompany anyone to social outings. I am just a housekeeper.”

“Were you not specifically hired to look after the children’s needs? Did my nephew lie to me?” the stern marchioness asked.

“Of course not, but—” Honoria tried to argue, but Lady Somerville continued as though she hadn’t heard her.

“Elise needs a chaperone. I am too old, and I tire easily. Besides, I want to spend my last year with the ton gossiping with other dowagers. Even if I didn’t, I am not as vigilant as someone your age, whose job it already is to look after my great-niece.”

“Surely Mrs. Winters would be better suited—”

“Mrs. Winters,” Lady Somerville interrupted again with a scoff. “If I wanted Mrs. Winters to join us, I would have asked for her, don’t you think? I am choosing you, and you would not dare tell me that my choice is somehow wrong, would you?”

Clearly not expecting an answer to her questions, Lady Somerville turned toward Elise and cupped her cheek. “Look how much you’ve grown. How beautiful you are. You will be the most desirable debutante of the ton , just you wait.”

“Desirable?” Elise’s cheeks brightened, her demeanor suddenly shy.

“Yes, the gentlemen will flock to your door, begging your uncle for a chance to court you.”

“You really think so?” Elise suddenly perked up.

“Absolutely.”

Honoria stifled a grimace. “Lady Somerville is right, of course. But I hope you will not hurry to wed. The social season is the best time to meet new people, find friends, and enjoy oneself.”

Lady Somerville threw her a side-long glance. “It’s called the marriage-mart for a reason, young lady.”

“Of course. But even when going to the market, one shouldn’t buy the first fruit one is offered. It is better to look through all the aisles and make an informed decision afterward.”

“You younglings have a different perspective on marriage.” Lady Somerville paused, her gaze distant. “I envy you this.”

Honoria raised her brows in surprise. She had expected a fight or reprimand from this thistle of a woman, as Caldwell had aptly called her.

“You do?” Elise asked, turning fully to face her aunt.

“I was married four times, my dear. Not all those marriages were happy, though they got progressively better with each attempt. I wouldn’t wish you to follow my example, but Miss Hart is correct. Better not to rush such permanent things as marriage. With time, you might make a better decision.”

“Permanent?” Elise gave an unladylike snort. “Didn’t you just say you’ve been married four times?”

Lady Somerville dismissed the question with her fan. “It’s not my fault my husbands were all ill of health. But not everyone gets as lucky as I.”

Honoria couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. She immediately covered her mouth while Elise laughed unapologetically, her melodic voice filling the carriage.

Lady Somerville’s features betrayed no hint of humor, though a devilish glint sparkled in her eyes.

* * *

“The improvements Chaos has made to the steam carriage are remarkable,” the Duke of Tyrone, a dark-haired Irish nobleman, better known among his friends as the Mad Duke, said as he put down the coffee cup before him. Caldwell sat among three of his long-time friends in the private room at their favorite gentlemen’s club, discussing their investments that he often advised upon. “The steering mechanism is far more responsive now and the speed it can reach is remarkable. No other word for it.”

It was surprising to see the Mad Duke looking tidy, composed, and—most astonishing of all—sober.

The last time Caldwell had seen the duke, he had been spiraling into a drunken abyss. Until he’d met his wife, that was. Now, people gossiped, he hadn’t touched a drink in over a year. And as far as Caldwell could see, it was true.

“You should invest in that,” Caldwell remarked, directing his comment to Viscount St. Clare, the golden-haired devil, as he accepted a cigar from his silver case. “It will make us profoundly rich.”

The viscount exhaled a plume of smoke with a rueful smile. “I would have, had I not spent a considerable amount of money renovating my dear wife’s estate at the time.” He paused, then added with a chuckle, “Or perhaps I wouldn’t have, after hearing how the new boiler nearly blew a hole through his garden wall.”

“To be fair,” the Mad Duke said with a laugh, “he fixed it. Built a self-regulating valve. The thing actually works. I’ve seen it.”

Lucien Drake, the only untitled gentleman among the group, leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “Until the next explosion, no doubt.”

“That’s progress,” Caldwell said, unfazed. “Chaos learns from every failure and comes up with a better version each time. He will prevail.”

“Right, but don’t you think our money is better spent on the railway?” St. Clare asked.

Caldwell shrugged. “I have already told you which companies are better investments in that regard. Steam-powered engines in every iteration are the future of transport in my opinion. Carrying loads, people, and using them for agricultural purposes, all the uses are worth investing in.”

“Speaking of inventions,” St. Clare said, tapping ash from his cigar, “did you hear about the shower bath he installed at his own house?”

Drake chuckled. “A shower bath? What is that?”

Sutton shrugged. “You pull a lever and a cascade of water falls over you from above. Simple enough. Don’t see the point in it when you have a perfectly functioning bath, though.”

The Mad Duke laughed. “It is remarkably refreshing, I assure you. I have one installed in my house. There is no need to heat water for hours. Ten seconds, and all the sleep is gone. You’re all ready for the day to come. The bath is still needed, of course, but this is a rather quick and refreshing way to start the day.”

Lucien Drake frowned. “Seems a strange thing. Why would one wish to stand under a bucket of water like a stable lad? Far better to take one’s time and bathe properly.”

Caldwell sat a little straighter, thoughtful. A shower bath. Of course. How had he not thought of it before? He’d read about the idea once but had never seen it in person. “You have one installed?” he asked. “I should like to see it.”

“Absolutely,” the Mad Duke said, pleased. “I’ll show it to you after we are finished here.”

“Worth investing in?” St. Clare raised a brow.

“No. The patent already belongs to someone else,” Caldwell dismissed offhandedly. “I read about it ages ago. But with a few tweaks, it might just be what my nephew needs. He refuses to sit in a steaming bath. One needs to drag him kicking and screaming.”

“Talking about investments, are you?” A gentleman poked his head in without a knock or invitation. He stepped inside, exchanging handshakes with the men at the table. “Caldwell, I thought I heard your voice. A pleasure to see you join society once more.”

“Right.” Caldwell cleared his throat, finally recognizing the man. The Earl of Bradshaw. They’d met only a few times before. “Good to see you, Bradshaw.”

“I hear you are hosting a ball soon. Haven’t received my invitation yet,” he said pointedly.

Caldwell leaned back in his chair. Bradshaw was not someone he associated with. The earl was about a decade and a half older than every man in the room; therefore, a slightly different generation. He was not truly interested in science either and was against many bills Caldwell advocated for. They were not friendly, yet cordial.

Caldwell shrugged. “My great-aunt is in charge of invitations. But it’s an intimate affair. Only the closest circle is invited. I am sure once my household gets more accustomed to hosting, the next ball will include the entire ton .”

“Ah, that old hag. No wonder. She never liked me much—”

“Nobody likes you, Bradshaw,” the Mad Duke interjected.

“—didn’t approve of me courting her granddaughter,” he continued as though never having heard the duke speak. “How is Cecily?”

“Married to an Austrian count,” Caldwell said curtly.

“Worked out great then, didn’t it? For me as well and my dear Jane.” He smiled. “But I would love to beg your audience to discuss where to put my money. I see how you’ve made this lot rich. Would love to join in on some of the profits.”

“Absolutely.” Caldwell nodded. “I’m staying in London for the entire season. Call on me in the coming weeks.”

“I shall.” Bradshaw nodded briskly. “Gentlemen.” And with that, he slipped back out.

The Mad Duke wrinkled his nose. “I do not like that man.”

“You barely like anyone,” St. Clare noted drily.

“That is true. But I particularly don’t like him.” Tyrone raised a brow at Caldwell. “Any chance you could give him some poor advice?”

Caldwell gave a tight smile. “I could. But I’d rather have him sponsor something useful. Doesn’t matter who the money comes from so long as the railways get built.”

“I disagree,” the Mad Duke said. “I would choose pettiness every time.”

The men chuckled, then a pause followed.

“Are you coming to my ball, then?” Caldwell finally asked.

“Heavens, no!” Drake made a face as if the idea was torture. “Debutantes and matchmaking mamas? No, thank you. Especially with the Somerville dowager organizing it. I dread seeing that guest list. I am, however, going to the Hades masquerade next month. Are you?”

“Yes,” Tyrone replied.

“Absolutely,” St. Claire echoed, then turned to Caldwell. “How about you?”

“I hadn’t planned to attend, no.” He shifted uncomfortably. “With the children settling into London life and my aunt’s interference—”

“Nonsense!” Drake interrupted. “You must come. It’s the event of the season.”

“The children—” Caldwell began again.

“You have help, don’t you?” St. Claire cut in. “A nanny, a governess, that exceptionally competent housekeeper of yours?”

“Well, yes,” Caldwell admitted reluctantly.

“Then what are you afraid of?” Drake pressed, leaning forward. “One evening of entertainment won’t bring the household to ruin.”

Caldwell hesitated. The truth was, he hadn’t attended a proper society event since… Well, since he was a young lad. The idea of rejoining the social whirl of London filled him with a vague sense of dread. And the masquerade… It was a scandalous event that no man trying to set a good example for his children should ever attend—not that they would ever find out.

“They’re right, Caldwell,” Tyrone said. “You’ve isolated yourself too long. The children need you, yes, but they also need a guardian who hasn’t forgotten how to live. Besides, what better way to make social connections than by attending social events? Half of London will be there, and so should you.”

“Come,” Drake said, clapping him on the back. “The rest of these fools are married and chained to their wives. I need a proper scoundrel at my side to hunt down masked vixens to entertain.”

“You?” Tyrone barked a laugh. “Entertain?”

“Absolutely,” Drake said with a wicked grin. “For hours.”

“Then what the devil do you need Caldwell for?” St. Clare asked.

“Entertaining will be done solo. Hunting is better done in packs. Come now, you’ve been a bachelor. And the worst scoundrel of the lot.”

St. Clare just shrugged.

“Not certain I’d be any help in that regard,” Caldwell said honestly. “I’ve never been particularly good at… hunting.”

“I shall teach you,” Drake said eagerly. “We’ll find you a lady to entertain in no time.”

Caldwell grimaced. “Not sure I know how to do that either.”

A brief silence fell over the room.

“Christ alive,” the Mad Duke said, eyebrows shooting up. “You’re serious.”

“Wait—” St. Clare leaned forward, a confused frown between his brows. “Entertaining is a polite way of saying… rutting, is it not?”

“Exactly,” Drake drawled.

“Are you telling us—? You’ve never—?”

“Naturally, I have,” Caldwell feigned affront.

Well… he had, in a manner of speaking.

He remembered it well enough, fresh out of Cambridge, at a gathering not unlike this one, after too many drinks, his friends had paid for him to spend an hour with a harlot.

He stifled a grimace. He hadn’t felt comfortable then, and he still felt strange about the encounter now, after all those years.

The woman, seeing his discomfort, had not pressed him. She’d kissed his neck, stroked him a bit, then took him into her mouth until he spilled like a fool. It had been… odd. Awkward.

Pleasant, but also embarrassing. Definitely not the glorious experience he had been promised.

The clumsy fumbling he’d shared years later with a barmaid had felt far more intimate, although it didn’t progress farther than kisses and touches. And that was it… That was the extent of his experience in entertaining ladies.

He certainly wasn’t about to tell any of that to the men before him.

Instead, he lied. “It’s just… it’s been a while.” Well, not exactly a lie. It had been a while.

“The man has been hidden away in the country too long,” Tyrone said with a low whistle.

“We must rescue him at once,” St. Clare agreed.

“That settles it,” Drake said firmly. “You’re coming with us. And if you don’t know how to entertain the harlots, let me assure you, they will know how to entertain you.”