An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) (11 page)

She’d long ago given up praying for relief. Considering God was the one who’d given her the curse in the first place, she didn’t hold out much hope of Him fixing it.

As she squinted her eyes, struggling to pick out individual words she’d already memorized, the prick of pain started directly behind her left eye. “Not tonight, Harriette. I’m too tired.”

Tired, yes, but also restless. She yanked her dressing gown from the wardrobe, finding comfort in the colorful streaks and smudges that mottled the white silk. Once the sash was yanked tight, she plopped a sketchbook into the circle of candlelight on the dressing table.

Harriette picked up Georgina’s slippers and dress but remained standing where she was, her lip caught between her teeth.

Georgina narrowed her eyes at her friend. Twelve years together, fooling the world, perpetuating the lie that Georgina could do what every other normal young lady of wealth and breeding could do, meant they’d gotten close. There was no one Georgina trusted more or knew better.

And a bit lip meant there was something worse than Lady Jane’s poetry recitation.

“You’ll make your lips craggy and flaky doing that, Harriette.” Georgina pretended she wasn’t preparing for forthcoming doom, hoping her apparent ease would help Harriette vocalize the problem.

“It’s your mother, my lady.”

Georgina’s eyebrows shot up as she looked up from her box of pastels. Her mother? She’d been managing her mother for years. It was amazing how little people expected of you when you cultivated an air of arrogant disdain for everything around you.

Harriette shifted her weight. “She wants you to help with the invitations.”

“I know. We’ve been taking care of them in the mornings.” Georgina turned back to her pastels and danced her fingers along the soft, oily edges. She selected a medium brown and slid it across the paper, mollified a bit by the bold stroke of color.

“No, not those, my lady. The ones for your ball. She wants you to help address them.”

Georgina paused in the act of trading the brown pastel stick for a red one. “When?”

Harriette shrugged. “Your ball isn’t for seven more weeks. You have a few weeks to prepare, I would imagine.”

“We’ll have to do them beforehand. She’ll be amazed at my initiative.” The bitter words were soothed by the swirls of red mingling with the strokes of brown.

A nod was Harriette’s only response. Likely she’d already formed a plan for getting her hands on the invitations. Georgina would have to take care of her own toilette for a few days to allow Harriette time to do the actual addressing, but it was nothing they hadn’t done before.

Smudging the colors with her fingers, Georgina grimaced at more than the feeling of gooey pastel on her skin. “We’ll have to make sure we have a complete list of invitees.” She speared Harriette with her gaze. “I can’t afford to have her ask me to add someone else at the last minute.”

“You can get out of it.”

“True.” Georgina had mastered the art of getting out of things. Occasionally it was something she actually wanted to do, but if she didn’t maintain an air of bored selfishness, she could get caught.

Harriette nodded and disappeared into the dressing room.

Georgina looked down at her drawing, expecting to see the face of the duke, the man she’d set her cap for as the best candidate for the role of social savior. He was an even better alliance than the marquis would have been.

Instead of the startling grey eyes and dark hair of His Grace, she saw the red-tinged curls and laughing blue eyes of Mr. McCrae.

With an angry growl she crumpled the picture and hurled it into the cold fireplace. That man was hindering her focus. It was insupportable.

She crossed to the wash basin and scrubbed the pastel residue from her hands. The colors bled into the basin, swirling and crashing against each other like the dancers at a ball, before blending into a murky mess. That was her life these days. A beautiful, well-thought-out plan with a thousand moving pieces, and it could all come crashing down in an instant.

Sleep. She needed sleep. Everything looked better with sleep.

Dropping the stained dressing robe on a nearby chair, she crawled into bed.

And proceeded to stare at the ceiling, reliving every humiliating moment since she’d met the infernal Scotsman.

It was painfully obvious she was going to have to add a new swirl to her life, because one thing was certain—she had to avoid another encounter with Mr. Colin McCrae.

A strange feeling overtook Colin’s limbs as he strolled down St. James’s Street toward his club. His heart was beating just the slightest bit faster. A sensation that fell somewhere short of an actual itch ran across his skin. There was an almost overwhelming urge to hurry. He nearly broke into a jog as the doors of Boodle’s came into view.

So he stopped where he was, on a public street awash with afternoon sunlight. He refused to walk into a situation with an unknown quantity. Especially if that unknown was his own self.

The feeling wasn’t completely foreign, but it had certainly been a long time since he’d felt it.

Anticipation.

He was excited to go in those doors today. Despite the fact that his routine brought him by the club no fewer than three times a week and frequently as many as six, he was anticipating today’s visit in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. Today there was nothing more pressing to do than shoot billiards with Lord Trent.

And it was making him behave like a young lady waiting for a caller.

Had his life become so much about plans and agendas that he’d stopped doing things for simple enjoyment?

Yes. Yes it had.

He shook his head as he entered the building. Even though he’d been spending a great deal of time with Ryland since his return, the visits had been with purpose. They’d been visiting Hawthorne House, trying to ascertain Lady Miranda’s social schedule, or trying to tie the last loose string on Ryland’s final case.

Supposedly Ryland was off the case, but leaving things undone had never sat well with him. Technically, Colin had never even been on the case, since he didn’t even work for the War Office.

The War Office was much more concerned with getting results than with being official.

Which was how Colin had gotten the required sponsors to join this club in the first place. The domain of the more business-minded gentlemen, a club such as Boodle’s was still considerably out of reach for a man of Colin’s social status. The men of the War Office liked the way Colin’s mind worked, though, and they wanted to provide him with access to enough people to connect the dots they might be missing.

If Colin made a profit from the same information, so be it. He invested money for more than one agent of the Crown. They would find themselves well off when they hung up their cloaks and pistols.

But today wasn’t about information or clandestine meetings. It was about something that had been missing in his life for far too long. Fun. He was going to an appointment without having anything on the line or even a secondary motive. A novel concept.

Lord Trent was already racking the billiard balls when Colin entered the back room.

“Have you seen? The betting book is already filling up for the Season.” Lord Trent slid the cue between his fingers and sent the balls scurrying across the felt.

“It’s more fun to bet early in the Season. Waiting until the matches are obvious doesn’t present the same challenge.” Colin gritted his teeth to keep from grinning at Lord Trent’s skill. He wouldn’t have to hold back for appearance’s sake. This was turning into a brilliant day.

They took turns knocking balls into the pockets. The club was quiet that afternoon. They were in fact the only men occupying the billiard tables, leaving them free to enjoy the simple sounds of the balls clacking against each other before they thunked into the pockets.

They’d each won a game and were setting up the third before Lord Trent spoke again.

“Do you know what I just realized?”

Colin raised a brow as he positioned his cue.

Lord Trent propped a hip against the billiard table. “I have nothing to attend this evening. No obligatory escorting of sisters.”

Once Colin had sent the balls rolling, Lord Trent spoke once more. “Have you any siblings, Mr. McCrae?”

It wasn’t surprising that Lord Trent had chosen Colin’s least favorite topic. The Hawthornes were a notoriously loyal family. They would never comprehend the idea that a man could consider gambling away his livelihood and his children’s future and well-being along with it. “I’ve a sister.”

“She married?”

“No.” At least not that he knew of. “She’s out this year, though.” And he wasn’t there to protect her. He placed his aim carefully but put too much force behind the cue, and the tip clanked against the ball, sending it careening into the bumpers. He should be there making sure she was courted by the right sort of man. But the scandal that had driven him from town in the first place still lurked in people’s memories, waiting to be recalled the moment he showed his face again. If he returned, it could ruin any chance she had at a decent match.

“Why don’t you bring her down to London? I’m sure Mother would love to take her around.” Lord Trent’s cue connected with a solid thump, and two balls dropped into the pocket.

The chaos that would cause brought a smile to Colin’s face as he imagined it. “My father doesn’t care for London.”

That was putting it lightly. Oh, his father didn’t mind the docks, though they were annoyingly overcrowded. It was the actual city
itself. The hustle and bustle that Colin had thrived on for the past five years made the old Scotsman grumble and grouse and look mad enough to chew nails for at least a week after each visit.

Lord Trent leaned on his cue, considering Colin for a long moment. Was he guessing that was the very reason Colin had settled in the city? Whatever his thoughts, Lord Trent didn’t voice them, just nodded and went back to the game.

Lord Howard stumbled through the room in worn and wrinkled evening clothes. Had the man not been home yet? It was early afternoon.

Lord Trent circled the table to stand beside Colin. “His name’s in the books at least three times. Hard to believe there are women out there who actually want to marry that man, isn’t it?”

Collin shrugged. “Most of the time he’s well put together. Now, of course, he’s a bit worse for wear.” Though his family had money, Lord Howard didn’t have a pence to his name. Some woman was going to wake up to a harsh reality when she discovered that.

“Praise God neither of my sisters have set their caps for him. Don’t think I could stomach him coming round that often.” Lord Trent sank the last ball, winning the game.

Colin stored his cue in disgust. He’d barely touched a ball that round.

The two men ordered drinks and dropped into two of the tufted burgundy leather chairs near one of the upper-floor windows. “What about you?”

Colin looked at Lord Trent with raised eyebrows. “What about me?”

“Any plans to marry soon?”

With a shrug, Colin took a large swallow of brandy to buy himself time. “I’m not opposed to the idea. But I’ve time yet.” Colin prayed that was enough to satisfy the man and that Lord Trent wouldn’t feel the need to bring up his sisters in relation to Colin’s matrimonial prospects.

Lord Trent nodded, apparently in agreement with Colin’s views
of pending matrimony. “It will be nice, though, once my sisters have married. Having both of them out is exhausting.”

Colin couldn’t have agreed more.

In the name of getting his life back to normal, Colin left the club and strolled farther down St. James’s Street in the direction of Ryland’s Pall Mall mansion. Perhaps it was the mellow mood he found himself in after spending a few hours relaxing instead of thinking, but Colin had almost convinced himself that Ryland was ready to discuss a reasonable, straight-forward progression for his courtship of Lady Miranda.

As hard as Ryland was working for the lady, Colin was beginning to suspect that Ryland was having to overcome more than simply lying about his identity. Which meant it was likely that Colin was about to witness the unfurling of another campaign scheme.

Which was almost as entertaining as engaging the younger Hawthorne sister in a battle of wits.

Where had that thought come from?

Yet more evidence that he needed Ryland to get married so Colin could stop thinking about anyone’s personal matters. He was becoming entirely too involved in them.

The butler opened Ryland’s door, replacing the wooden blockade with his own sizable bulk. His craggy face and nonexistent neck probably scared away the majority of callers.

The majority of callers didn’t know that the giant former smuggler was keeping an abandoned kitten in the kitchen and feeding drops of milk into its mouth every few hours.

Colin handed the butler his hat, praying Ryland’s next scheme was harebrained enough to engage Colin’s mind for the next several hours, if not a day or two. Anything to keep from thinking about Lady Georgina. Maybe he couldn’t shake her because Colin had just left her brother. The whole family bore a marked resemblance to each other. “Good afternoon, Price. Is he in?”

“Of course, Mr. McCrae.”

He took Colin’s coat and led the way down the hall to Ryland’s study. “Mr. McCrae is here to see you, sir.”

Colin clapped Price on the shoulder as he sidled around the man to get into the study. “You’ll have to start using
Your Grace
instead of
sir
if you want to be a proper butler, Price.”

Price grinned as he backed out of the room. It made his face look eerily boyish. “I think that’s the least of my problems, Mr. McCrae.”

Colin looked the other man up and down, taking in the muscles stretching the tailored coat, the cravat attempting to delineate some sort of neck, and the pale scar that slashed its way above the stiff collar. “You may have a point there.”

Price pulled the door closed as Colin threw himself into one of the Chippendale wing chairs that flanked the cold fireplace.

Ryland was rising from a desk sprawled with account books. Colin tried to gauge his mood, but despite the fading discoloration around the eye, his face was remarkably blank.

Colin stuck his booted feet out in front of himself and crossed them at the ankles. He was going to have to rattle the cage a bit. “Didn’t expect to see you at the card party last night.”

Ryland shrugged as he came around the desk to settle in the other chair. “I couldn’t bear to hide out in my room any longer.”

He looked calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that indicated he had a plan he felt certain of.

Colin’s prayers had been answered. Normally a master strategist, this whole business with Lady Miranda had knocked Ryland off course. It was entertaining to say the least.

Making him stew about it was even more so. Colin redirected the conversation as much to prolong Ryland’s agony as to tease him. “Is your aunt delighted you’re home?”

“Hardly. I think she coddled the eggs with her glare this morning.”

“And Mr. Montgomery?”

Ryland shrugged, apparently not interested in discussing his cousin.

Sweat formed beneath Colin’s collar. He was no longer amused
and now a bit anxious to hear the plan. If discussing the aunt and cousin who hated him wouldn’t distract Ryland, then his plan required Colin’s involvement. So much for being an entertained bystander.

“Have you found anything more about that mine investment inquiry?” Ryland asked.

Relief flooded Colin’s gut. It wasn’t anything to do with Lady Miranda, but about that fake investment Colin had given Ryland to use in a spy case.

Colin frowned. “I thought you were off the case. You said you turned everything you had over to another agent.”

Ryland dropped his head onto the back of the chair. “I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”

Silence stretched.

“You’re supposed to be moving on with your life,” Colin finally said.

Colin understood the unbearable itch of leaving things undone, but the man was in the middle of courting a lady who lived the epitome of a normal life. If Ryland continued to dabble in his old affairs, would Lady Miranda be dragged into it? How long could Ryland keep the two completely separate?

Colin gave in and told Ryland everything he knew about the doomed investment he had built the fake one on. There wasn’t much, but if it helped Ryland finish this case and leave the world of espionage behind, it was worth it.

Eventually Colin couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know if things were as bad with Lady Miranda as they appeared to be. “How fares your latest project?”

“I assume you refer to my courtship of Lady Miranda.”

When last Colin had seen them it more closely resembled the harassment of Lady Miranda, but
courtship
was probably still the most accurate word. “Aye. Unless you’ve decided the younger sister is more appealing after all.”

Simply joking that someone of intelligence would find Lady Georgina preferable to Lady Miranda left a sour taste in Colin’s mouth.

Ryland’s lips curved into a half smile. “Not at all. Are you intrigued by the younger?”

“Are you daft, man?” The sour taste crawled down his throat. “It takes only a moment to tell her head is filled with fashion and frippery. I’d rather court your parlor maid.”

“Jess is actually quite fetching. She likes to read Shakespeare.”

“Maybe I’ll take her for a drive.” Colin laughed. There were days when the idea of packing it all up and taking a simple maid and running to the country was appealing.