A Lot Like a Lady (2 page)

****

“It is
just
like Mother to want to send me off to London.” Twin spots of beet red stained Annabella’s cheeks, the color brilliant in the dim bedroom's candlelight as she loosened her hair and shook out the mass of gold.

Juliet squeezed her fingers around the tortoiseshell comb until the tines bit into the flesh of her palms. With Annabella having one of her tirades, it would be long hours before Juliet’s duties were finished for the night. She loved Annabella almost like a sister, but sometimes it hurt when the older girl seemed to show no concern for anyone but herself. Juliet didn’t think it sounded too bad… being sent to London.

Leaving the light of the candle behind, Annabella stomped across the dark wood floor to the window framed in delicate lace. Her white nightdress swirled around her feet as she passed the big four-poster bed, making each step look like she strode through the foamy waves that had washed along the shore at the seaside the previous summer. She halted, then whirled about and crossed back to where Juliet waited next to the dressing table.

“A Season in London sounds very exciting,” said Juliet softly with a pang of longing. If Annabella went to London, would she need her maid? Would Juliet be sent with her? The very thought made her heart beat faster.

“Mother wants nothing more than to marry me off with the best match possible.” Annabella sank gracefully onto her vanity chair, the folds of her nightgown settling around her legs. The golden glow from the candle limned her face and hair, giving her the look of a tragic angel. “It matters not one whit whether I’m happy with the match so long as he’s wealthy, popular, and a member of the nobility.”

Juliet pulled the comb through Annabella’s curtain of wavy blonde hair, pausing to work out a tangle with her fingers. “Your mother only wants the best for you, I’m sure.”

Annabella snorted indelicately. “My mother wants what is best for my mother. Ever since her husband died, that insufferable, arrogant beast she wants me to consider my brother has given us the cut. She sees my prospects for marrying well as our way back into polite society.” She heaved a sigh. “But only her dearest friends include her in their invitations. And she stopped going to Town lest his snub be made official and even her closest friends turn from her.”

You care about your mum’s feelings a lot more than you put on, you ninny.

Juliet smoothed down a wrinkle in the pale fabric on the shoulder of Annabella’s nightdress and then continued to draw the comb through the mass of yellow hair. She
had
noticed the young duke had not returned to Wyndham Green since his father’s death. And even after the year of mourning for the old duke had passed, invitations to social functions had been few. She’d never put it all together before this. Why, if one of her people took issue with another, they’d go at it until they dropped and then likely share a pint and put things to rights.

I’ll never understand what’s in the minds of the nobles.

“Maybe ‘tis all a mistake,” murmured Juliet, wishing Annabella would calm down. “After all, your mother was very in love with A — with the duke. Maybe they simply feel she is still mourning.”

Annabella crossed her arms beneath her breasts and looked along her nose at Juliet. “Mother had the good fortune to capture the heart of a duke. I fear she did not as well capture the hearts of his sons… or his friends. The manner in which Markwythe chooses to treat her is merely an example he sets that is well followed — first by his friends, and then by our neighbors. Only our closest friends have remained true.”

Juliet frowned, having no ready answer to that. The young Duke of Wyndham
had
been very reserved at his father’s funeral, barely speaking to the widowed duchess.

“And that weasel-faced Mr. Dawes!” Annabella gave an exaggerated shudder. “Have you noticed how he always manages to stop by at the most opportune time to remind Mother of yet another estate hosting a gathering to which she was not invited? Why, that only makes her more desperate to see me wed.” Annabella uncrossed her arms and pushed to her feet. “And now she seems to feel she’s found the perfect solution.”

“But if your mother doesn’t travel with you, how will she know the match is a good one?”

“Apparently, she’s charged my
stepbrother
with my future.” An edge of bitterness sharpened Annabella’s tone.

“What’s he like?” Juliet couldn’t stop herself from asking. “I saw him come to the stable once right after… after the old duke…”

Annabella’s face clouded. “My stepfather was very kind… but he wasn’t my father. His son is most certainly not my brother.” She puckered her face up as though she’d sucked on a particularly sour lemon. “And
Graeme Roland Dominick Markwythe, the Sixth Duke of Wyndham, is definitely
not
kind.”

A frisson raced through Juliet. “Is that his name, then?” It was an important-sounding name, to be sure.

Annabella rolled her eyes. “His father always called him Grey.”

Juliet giggled. “That’s a silly name.”

“A silly name for a pompous prig.” She sighed heavily. “And I have no doubt he’ll arrange something Mother will find suitable just to be rid of us.”

“Have you been to London?” Juliet couldn’t help asking.

“When Father was alive.” Annabella sighed a bit impatiently. “My
real
father. I was a child, but I recall the splendor, the fun. All those beautiful ladies and dashing gentlemen.”

A smile tugged on Juliet’s lips. “It sounds truly wonderful. And now you can be one of those beautiful ladies.” She piled Annabella’s golden locks loosely on top of her head and held them there with one hand. “And maybe the Duke of Wyndham will match you with one of those dashing noblemen.”

Annabella laughed without mirth. “He’ll more likely see me wed to a rag-mannered rake and expect me to swoon in the man’s arms.” She placed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Or perhaps he’ll match me with some fop who cares more about his appearance than his finances.” She shuddered. “The choices are all dreadful if I cannot marry for love.”

“For love?” Juliet pulled the comb away from Annabella’s hair and stood still.
That’s about as likely t’happen as a queer little imp spinnin’ straw into gold.
Juliet almost laughed out loud. The idea of a member of the peerage marrying solely for love was even more laughable than Regina’s plan to gain a husband for her only child.

Annabella stiffened. “Yes, for love.”

“Maybe you
will
find love… in London.” Juliet gazed at Annabella’s reflection in the mirror. “It all sounds so wonderful and exciting, I wish—” She sank her teeth into her lower lip.

Annabella’s dark green eyes flashed as they met Juliet’s in the mirror. “What do you wish, Juliet?”

Heat suffused Juliet’s cheeks. She tried to look away, but Annabella’s sharp gaze held her enthralled. So she shrugged. “Nothing. It’s silly, really.”

“Of course it’s not silly.” Annabella laughed. “Just tell me. What were you going to say?”

Juliet set the comb on the vanity tray with a sigh and stepped away. Annabella wouldn’t be put off now. “It’s simply… if I had the opportunity to go to London, to see all the magnificence I’ve only heard about… I’d want to go.”

Annabella’s eyes widened. Her lips parted and a slow smile pulled them gently upward. “Would you?”

Juliet shivered. When the young mistress wore that look, it usually meant she was contriving some foolhardy scheme.

“Annabella…” Juliet backed away and found herself up against the bedroom door. “What willy-nilly plan are you hatching in that chicken brain of yours?”

One Month Later
April 1813
London, England

“I’m sure I didn’t understand you
, Higgins
. Did you say my father’s
coach
is here?” Grey glanced up from the ledger opened before him with a frown.

His heart clenched and his throat tightened at the thought of the beautiful town coach his father had personally designed being used by someone else. Let alone by a virtual stranger. Burning irritation flooded Grey’s veins at the thought. He should have had the ducal carriage removed from the country home and brought to London. But it had been a source of distress to think of seeing the coach his late father had loved so much every day. Even now, four years later, it was still too much to bear.

Four years. Had it really been that long since his father had died? Since he’d seen his brother…

Grey raked his hands over his face to dislodge the direction his thoughts were taking and breathed deeply. The arrival could only mean one thing. His
stepmother
had deemed it necessary to come for a visit. No doubt to ask for more money, if the condition of the country estate’s finances was correct.

“Yes, your grace.” The butler stood straight-backed in the doorway of the study, neatly attired in black and unruffled as usual, his long, gaunt face devoid of any expression. Behind him, daylight flooded the normally dim foyer.

Distaste crowded Grey’s throat. “Inform Mrs. Markwythe that I am indisposed and send her on her way.”

”I beg your pardon. I wasn’t clear, your grace. This appears to be more than a social call. The footman who accompanied the carriage is unpacking it—”

Grey stared in disbelief at his manservant and nearly choked before he found his voice. “Why the deuce would he do that?”

His secretary cleared his throat, drawing Grey’s attention toward the slight man behind the mahogany writing desk across the room. Petry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The heavy damask draperies behind him had been pulled back, leaving his face in shadow. As if gathering his wits, he hastily pushed to his feet.

“What is it, Petry?”

“If I may, your grace? Mayhap the letter you received from the Duchess of Wyndham a few weeks ago discussed the visit.”

Grey’s hand tightened around his quill.
The note.
The blasted note from his stepmother. He had forgotten about it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he struggled to recall what Regina had said in the message. Something about Annabella needing a season in London.
Whyever for?

Gently, Grey set the pen down, struggling for a modicum of composure. He stole one more look at the figures that weren’t quite adding up and decided they would have to wait in view of more pressing circumstances. Such as uninvited company. With a sigh, he slammed the book shut and tapped the cover with the tips of his fingers. Impatience tugged a breath from his chest and he stood. “Send the Duchess of Wyndham in.”

“I-I beg your pardon, your grace. The duchess isn’t with her daughter.”

“Not with—” Grey broke off and let out a curse.

He lifted his gaze heavenward. What had he done to deserve this?

Looking after his stepsister was the last thing he wanted to do, next to staying in town for another Season of mothers shoving their debutante daughters toward him at every social function. And now, not only would he have to worry about that, but he’d have to care for a debutante of his own. Bile threatened his embarrassment.

Grey ran his hand through his hair and let out a sigh, cursing himself for not dealing with this sooner. He’d made London his home these last four years, and the longing for his country estate had finally subsided as the comfort of his townhouse had begun to fit him like his favorite breeches. He caressed the top of the walnut and rosewood desk that had once been his father’s. Fulfilling the responsibilities that came with his father’s title hadn’t come easily, but moving the furniture from the country had made him feel like Alexander was still with him somehow, guiding him through his initial uncertainty.

“Your grace?” The butler’s soft query startled Grey from his reverie.

“Where is she, Higgins?” Irritation took root and his eye began to twitch.

“She is still outside, your grace. Shall I show her in?”

Grey wanted to tell the servant no, just send the girl away. But he knew that wasn’t an option. “Yes, show her in. Then send the coach to the livery for fresh horses.”

“Right away, your grace.” The butler gave a stiff bow and backed from the room.

Grey refused to spend the Season caring for the spoiled girl. It was bad enough his father’s second marriage had bound him to the chit and her mother. He provided them with a home — his beloved Wyndham Green no less — a generous allowance, and the protection of his title and status. His generosity was stretched to the limit, and he had no intention of inconveniencing himself any further. He would explain the misunderstanding to the girl, apologize, and send her back to the country.

Before he could put action to his thoughts, the gentle peace of his home was fractured by the clatter and scrape of nails against the wood floor of the foyer, approaching with the grace of a runaway horse. Grey groaned. The last thing he needed was his uncle’s bulldog attacking someone, even if it might get rid of his unwelcome guest. He hurried to the door and stepped into the hallway, but leapt back as the nasty brown and white animal pushed past him, racing straight for the surprised footman who held open the heavy front door.

“Blasted dog! Lucien, if that mongrel bites someone, so help me, I will shoot
you!
” Grey warned as the older man hurried by.

Lucien had the nerve to give him a disgruntled look. “Why, nephew, Lord Perceval Randolph Neville—”

“Stop calling him that or I shall have to pick my second with the
marquess
,” Grey snapped. Bad enough his uncle had named the fiendish dog after a neighbor; now it was running loose around London terrorizing an arriving guest. Unwanted though she may be.

Why did Lucien continually insist on shocking people? The man had once named his horse, a sorrel thoroughbred stud, after the vicar’s wife because, as Lucien had so graciously explained, “The horse was the spitting image of the woman.” Grey’s father had lined the coffers of the church well for almost a year to appease the insulted vicar and his wife.

“Be a dear boy and grab the leash,” Lucien said with a flick of his hand. Straightening his rotund form, he managed a majestic waddle as he followed the bulldog outside.

Grey gritted his teeth and turned to retrieve the leash from its undignified resting place wrapped around the iron umbrella stand. Before he’d gone two steps, a loud, shrill scream punctured the air, followed by the dog’s wheezing bark. Grey wheeled around. His great uncle stood as motionless as one of his stone statues just outside the front door, both hands clutching his chest.

“Lord Perceval, get off that woman this instant!” Lucien’s voice rose an octave and ended in a wheezing squeak as he regained his senses and hurried down the walk.

“I’m going to shoot that blasted dog!” Grey yelled as he stomped out the door. First he’d ensure the rotted beast hadn’t taken a hunk out of someone. After that, he’d send his unwanted guests on their way. Maybe then a return to his normal routine would restore peace to his home.

On the landing, Grey froze. His stomach performed a slow turn like a rabbit on a spit.

Lucien’s monstrosity stood growling on top of his victim, who lay sprawled half in and half out of the coach, her skirts up around her waist. The beast shook his head, sending spittle flying through the air.

“Oh my heavens!” Lucien approached the fallen victim. He raised his voice. “Madam! Madam, can you hear me? Have you been wounded?”

“Her ears were not injured, you old fool,” snapped a slender woman of middle years
wearing a black velvet pelisse. She proceeded to whack Lucien repeatedly with her reticule. “Get that wretched creature off my sister this instant.”

Lucien raised one arm against the attack while reaching for the irate lady’s reticule with the other. But she only changed hands and continued to lash out at him. The driver stepped between the prizefighters, receiving a thwack to his shoulders for his effort. The footman abandoned his task of unloading the coach and hastened to the lady’s side, placing a tentative hand on her arm, evidently trying to still her agitation.

A yelp came from beneath the dog as his victim flailed her legs.

Grey glanced about. Lady Rossington and her ridiculously giddy debutante daughter had halted their walk along Newport Street and stared enraptured at the sight. He bit off a curse.
The whole of London will be laughing about the scandalous scene by nightfall.

He stepped forward only to be stopped again when a young girl darted from the rear of the carriage. Presumably this was Annabella, though she’d grown some since their last encounter. Her yellow and cream traveling gown swirled about her legs with each step, and she tugged a short dark green jacket into place as she walked. Golden curls peeked from beneath a green bonnet decorated with flowers and cascaded over her shoulders.

With quick movements, she grasped the dog’s collar and gave it a yank, tugging against the massive brute. Grey’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. He’d soon have two injured people on his hands.

He opened his mouth to tell her to get back when the animal let out a high-pitched yelp and the girl stood, dragging the dog up with her.

“You naughty boy, that’s quite enough.” She spoke sharply, her tone brooking no argument.

The dog jerked its head around and snapped at her.

She simply thumped him on the nose and he let out a shocked yap. “You mind your manners.”

The dog growled and wheezed and showed his teeth; all the while the rest of his body wiggled and his tail wagged wildly.

I wonder if she could do that with Lucien
.

The girl shifted, presenting Grey with a view of her profile, and his breath caught in his throat. She crouched on the ground in front of
the beast, removing remnants of an ostrich feather from the corner of his mouth.
Instead of the creamy white skin most of the gentry favored, which, in Grey’s opinion, made the girls look like death, she had a slightly darker sheen that enhanced the golden locks framing her face. Her mouth curved upward in a gentle smile. Soft laughter bubbled from her lips and combined with the way she now stroked the dog’s head to send a shiver up Grey’s spine.

He shook his head. Where had such thoughts come from?

The reticule-wielding woman stopped mid-slap. “Oh, Charity! You poor dear
. Did that beast hurt you?”

She rushed forward and situated the other lady’s clothing then stepped back as the footman grabbed one arm while the driver hurried forward and took hold of the other. The woman sat up spitting and sputtering like a wet tabby cat, spewing out bits and pieces of white ostrich feathers from between her lips. Her face had gone as red as the cape she wore, which had twisted off her shoulders and around to hang from the front. The matching turban sat askew on her head with most of it falling down the left side of her face. Her one visible eye was wide.

The butler still stood beside him, slack-jawed, the scene on the street apparently as shocking to him as it was to Grey.

“Give the chit a hand with that horrid dog, Higgins,” snapped Grey. “Get him inside and secured somewhere so he cannot do any further harm.”

“Of course, your grace.” Higgins moved to the girl’s side and bent down. The blasted dog strained forward but the girl kept a firm grip on his collar.

“Stop that, you naughty boy,” she scolded. “Kind sir, I will hold his head if you can manage the rest of him.”

Higgins gave the girl a grateful nod. “Very good, m’lady.” He scooped the dog up and the two of them carried their burden toward the townhouse.

As they came abreast of Grey, the girl looked at him. It was no more than a fleeting glance as they hurried by, but the effect was powerful. Grey’s chest and stomach tightened as if he’d been punched in the gut and had all the air forced from his lungs. His heart alternated between stuttering, almost stopping, then thumping out an erratic beat that left him lightheaded. He had never seen such amazing, beautiful eyes in all his life. They were unusual in color; a bright golden brown that reminded him of the yellow-brown eyes of a cat. The black of her pupils combined with her long black eyelashes accentuated the unique color. Grey was taken aback at the beauty and tried to remember if her eyes had always been so alluring.

With a flash of what might have been irritation in her eyes, she scoured his face with her gaze and then turned her attention back to her task. In short order, she and Higgins vanished with the useless dog into the house.

Heat stirred from a place deep within Grey and moved outward like a slow growing vine as he wondered if he’d been a bit too hasty in his decision to send the chit away. Then he cursed under his breath. He had no business thinking about his stepsister in such a manner.

“Help! I’m stuck. I cannot get up.” The muffled voice floated through the air and snapped Grey from his mental lecture.

The whole carriage shook. The woman sprawled in the doorway kicked her feet, trying to stand. The footman and driver seemed to be having trouble dislodging her, although the poor servants were pulling with all their might as the scarlet-faced lady blustered for them to hurry. Lady Rossington caught Grey’s eye and smiled, then she moved off, urging her daughter to walk quickly. A movement in the window across the street caught Grey’s eye. He looked heavenward and let out a loud sigh. If he didn’t take charge, the entire
ton
would soon be presenting themselves for the best seats to view his embarrassment.