Flirting With Fortune (5 page)

She allowed her eyes to close, putting a hand to the side of her neck, feeling the pounding of her own pulse. She could spend ages trying to get the color of his eyes just right on canvas. Not gray, not brown, not dark or light. Like smoke rising from wood still too green to be burned. His face—now that, she could get exactly right. Bold slashes for his dark eyebrows, sharp angles for his high cheekbones, a decisive brushstroke for the perfect line of his jaw.

Now, if only there were a way to translate that accent to paints. She shivered just thinking about it. Even Sir Frederick couldn’t have captured that particular delight, talented as he was. She really, really did hope Colin came to call on her tomorrow.

Blowing out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh, she pushed away from the door and made her way to one of the mirrors hung above a large bureau. It was a pleasant space, with golden light shimmering from the low lamps interspersed along the floral-papered walls. The air was warm and lavender scented, helping to calm her nerves after her little escape.

A sniffle behind one of the screens brought her up short. With three sisters, Beatrice knew the watery sound of someone in tears. She held still, listening carefully over the low strains of music filtering through the closed door. There, from the very back of the room, came the soft hitching of someone trying not to sob. She put her hand to her heart—she hated when others were hurting.

Softly, so not to startle the poor girl, Beatrice whispered, “Is everything all right?”

The cessation of noise was so abrupt, Beatrice suspected the girl had stopped breathing altogether. She turned and stepped closer to the screen. “Can I get you something to drink, perhaps? Or a cool cloth for your face?”

“Beatrice? Is that you?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Yes. Who is that?”

Fabric rustled before a woman with silky brown curls peeked around the partition. Beatrice blinked in surprise. “Diana! Whatever is the matter?” She instinctively held out her arms, and Diana stepped into them. She pressed her wet cheeks against Bea’s shoulder and shook with a quiet sob.

At a loss for what to say, Bea patted her back awkwardly, making the soft, soothing sounds she used to quiet her niece when Emma was fussy. She had barely seen Diana, the new Mrs. Rochester, since her marriage last summer. They had debuted together and had become fast friends, but they had lost touch by the end of the Season, after Bea’s father had become ill. Beatrice hadn’t even attended the wedding, since it was the same week as her brother, Richard’s.

At last Diana pulled away, sheepishly wiping her tears with her already damp gloves. Beatrice leaned forward to retrieve a linen from the bureau and handed it to the soggy Diana.

“Thank you.” She sniffled, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose.

“Of course. Here now, let us sit down and be comfortable.” She led her to the plush pink settee pushed against the back wall. Once they were seated, Bea patted Diana’s arm. “Now, then, what on earth has you so upset?”

“I’m just such an idiot,” she said, twisting the square of linen in her hand. “I’m only coming to realize exactly how much of a fool I truly am.”

Bea clenched her jaw. She hated to hear someone speak so poorly of herself. She raised her eyebrows and said with great firmness, “You are not a fool, Diana Dow— I mean Rochester. You are a sweet, intelligent woman. I won’t have you saying such things.”

Diana flopped back against the cushions, expelling a humorless laugh. “What else would you call a girl who fell in love with a man who pretended to love her back, all in the name of obtaining her dowry?”

“Wronged, that’s what.” As she looked down at her friend’s pained expression, a fury started to build within Beatrice’s chest, pushing against her lungs and constricting her heart. Another lamb, fooled by a clever wolf. “Heinously so.”

Diana pressed her lips together and nodded. “That too. I wish I hadn’t been so terribly blind. And it’s too late now. . . .” She trailed off, lifting the handkerchief to her nose as she sniffled.

Blowing out a helpless breath, Beatrice dropped back against the settee as well. Between the tears and the rumpled skirts, it hardly mattered at this point if she failed to maintain proper posture. How on earth had her night degraded from the excitement of earlier to sitting on a tufted settee in Lady Churly’s retiring room, comforting a heartbroken newlywed?

She pursed her lips. It was a good question, actually. “So, did you only just discover the state of things tonight?”

Diana’s sudden laugh bordered on hysterical. “That’s one way to put it. It was fairly apparent before the honeymoon was even over, but it took me discovering him in . . . in the arms of another tonight for my humiliation to be complete.”

Beatrice gasped, her hand flying to her lips. “Good heavens! Oh, Diana, I’m so very sorry. Are you”—she looked for a delicate way to put it—“er, certain it was your husband?”

“Well,” she said, choking on fresh tears for a moment, “I was fairly certain it was him when he called me a silly cow and told me to go home without him—and for me not to expect him until sometime tomorrow.”

Beatrice saw red at her friend’s suffering. It didn’t matter that the horrible words weren’t directed to her. The fact that they were uttered at all, to any woman, made her furious enough to spit. “How dare he? Good Lord, the man doesn’t deserve the air he breathes, let alone having someone as lovely as you for his wife.”

Her friend’s sigh was deep and long. When she looked up, her red-rimmed eyes held defeat. “I have no one to blame but myself. If I had paid more attention, then maybe I would have realized that his regard was for my dowry, not the woman attached to it.”

Poor Diana. Her mother had passed away several years earlier, and her father seemed to have little regard for his only daughter. He had offered a fantastic dowry with the hope of marrying her off as quickly as possible. It was heartbreaking to think that some of the young ladies entering society as innocents had no true champion for them. Love for her own family welled in Bea’s chest. They may be annoying sometimes, but she could always count on them to have her best interests at heart.

“What can I do to help? Do you want to stay in one of our guest chambers tonight? I’m certain Mama wouldn’t mind.”

Diana shook her head. “No, but thank you. Mercy, I feel fool enough to have even told you in the first place. What must you think of me?”

“I think nothing different of you, my dear. Your husband’s sins are not your own.”

They both were quiet for a moment, two young ladies whose lives had diverged drastically after starting their first Seasons in nearly the exact same way. Beatrice thought of Mr. Godfrey and how another woman might not be as aware of his motives as she. If only someone could have warned Diana. What if someone had told her what to look for? It was just so heartbreaking that nobody was on her side when she needed it most.

Pushing off the cushions, Beatrice came to her feet, extending a hand to Diana. “Come, my dear. Let us get you tidied up.”

As she watched her friend wet her cloth and press it to her eyes to try to wipe away the evidence of her devastation, Bea clenched her teeth against the desire to find Diana’s cur of a husband and give him a piece of her mind. But it wouldn’t help. There was little she could do to help Diana now.

Bea’s gaze flicked away from Diana’s reflection and settled on her own. Would she have recognized Mr. Rochester for what he was if things had been different? She liked to think so. She was blessed with the ability to see things others overlooked. It’s what made her a good painter, as well as a good spy.

She sighed, giving Diana a little squeeze. What was done was done—the only thing she could do now was be extra diligent for herself and those she loved.

And perhaps have Richard invite Mr. Rochester for a friendly match at Gentleman Jackson’s. For the first time since hearing Diana’s sniffle, Beatrice had to bite back a smile.

“I
’m fairly certain there is nothing in those tomes that will help you secure a wife.”

“Yes,” Colin said, craning his neck to smile at his aunt, “but there is plenty here to help me
maintain
one.”

Aunt Constance’s petite form floated through the library in a cloud of fine muslin and French perfume, distinctly out of place among the austere furniture and towering bookshelves. “Whatever do you mean, darling? The point of a well-dowered wife is to have one’s financial situation taken care of.”

He loved his aunt and was very grateful to her, but that was exactly the sort of attitude that drove him mad. “On the contrary. A well-dowered wife will save the estate—it is up to me to see to the financial security of the rest of my life. I chose my profession with exactly that in mind.”

He’d always known of his father’s ineptitude when it came to money. He pushed back against the memories from his childhood of hungry bellies and cold rooms. He’d lived it once—and no matter what, he wouldn’t let that be his future. More important, he wouldn’t let that be his siblings’ future.

Constance waved a bejeweled hand through the air. “Oh, pish—why toil the rest of your life away? I’m affording you exactly the opportunity to avoid all that.” She paused at his chair and tilted her head critically. “You’ve very fine features. Not at all as rugged as your Scottish father, thanks to your mother. And her tempering effect on your accent works in your favor as well.”

Colin allowed her the inspection, holding his tongue. She had liked his father well enough, but it was certainly in spite of his Scottish origins. She never could quite understand why her sister had fallen for the thick-brogued, penniless artist from Edinburgh. Yes, he had risen quite astonishingly and had certainly made a name for himself, but Constance wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn the state of things upon his death.

Oddly, as much as his father had wronged him, Colin hated for others to think poorly of him. Closing the law book, he leaned back in his chair and offered a long-suffering smile. “Was there something you wanted, dear Aunt?”

“A good lesson for you, Colin: A woman always wants something.” She winked and made her way to the opposite chair. “I’m merely here to impart some practical advice. Do strike while the iron is hot, my dear, and be sure to call on all of the lovely young prospects you met last night. We mustn’t give them a chance to forget you, especially with the fleeting advantage of novelty on your side.”

“Sound advice. You’ll be happy to know that I have planned exactly that. Time is of the essence, after all.”

“Indeed. Whom do you plan to visit?”

“Miss Briggs, Miss Graves, and Miss Paddington. Perhaps Miss Trenton, if there’s time.”

“Mmm, I suggest you make time. There’s enough blunt between the four of them to save a struggling country, let alone a single estate.” Aunt Constance straightened the glittering rings on her fingers before regarding him once more. “Of course, if you’d like to take your chances, there is always the Granville chit, with whom I saw you disappear outside last night.”

Colin nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “Lady Beatrice expressed a great love for my father’s work. She’s a bit above my reach, I should think.” It was the perfect opportunity to disclose to his aunt the fact that he had already decided to call on her. And yet he chose not to. Any good barrister knew that it was always best to hold one’s cards close to the chest.

“Yes, she is. But if she shows interest in you as opposed to the other way around, I wouldn’t rule it out entirely. With her father’s connection, you could make King’s Counsel in record time. Assuming, of course, you are dead set on carrying on with the business of becoming a barrister.”

“You know I am.”

“Well, then, as King’s Counsel, you’d have quite the respectable income.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. However, I doubt a marquis would wish to sully his grand lines with the likes of me. The ink is barely dry on the creation of the baronetcy, as far as the
ton
is concerned. I’m practically a cit to them.”

Aunt sat forward, a smug smile lifting the corners of her painted lips. “I very much doubt Granville would have a problem marrying his daughter off to a baronet after the wife his heir chose. They say she was a
baker
.” The last was said with the whispered delight of one imparting the most shocking of news.

“No!” he exclaimed in mock horror. “And they dinna burn her at the stake?”

She huffed, sitting up straight once more. “You have no idea of the scandal such a thing can produce.” She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against her lips, a tiny vee creasing the smooth skin of her brow. “And yet Raleigh has somehow managed to pull it off. Rather vexing, really. He has this devil-may-care attitude that simply leaches the venom from the vipers of the
ton
.”

“Quite a talent. Unfortunately, charming snakes has never been my forte. I’d best stick to those on the fringes of the beau monde. Those exactly like myself.”

“Don’t discount your charisma so easily. You’ve a bit of your father’s shameless charm about you. Yes, he was tremendously talented, but he’d have never taken London by storm without it, and it can serve you just as well.”

She was right about that. Father could have charmed the devil himself, if he put his mind to it. Too bad he hadn’t a lick of common sense to go along with it. Colin glanced at the tall clock situated between the two front-facing windows. Finally, it was after one and he could get on with the task of the day. He stood and set the heavy law book on the nearest table. “Well, I’d best get to storming then. Wish me luck, Aunt.”

A heady charge of anticipation rushed through him as he headed for the door. The only question was, should he call on Lady Beatrice first or last? He smiled.

Dessert must always come last.

•   •   •

“
Jane
—I never, ever thought to see you reading something like that.”

Beatrice laughed when her sister-in-law started, dropping the journal in question as her hand went to her heart. “Jam and splash, but you startled me. You do know that normal people actually make sound when they walk?”

“Of course,” Beatrice said, settling onto the opposite end of the sofa and reaching over to pull the paper into her own lap. “But I also know that the quieter the footsteps, the more information one can glean . . . like the fact that my very pragmatic sister-in-law has taken to reading the scandal sheets.”

Jane’s porcelain white skin tinged pink as she grinned sheepishly. “What? It’s the best way for me to learn more about the people of the
ton
. I’m quite behind, thank you very much.”

“Mmhmm. I rather think you’ve developed a taste for scandal these past few months.” Beatrice was teasing, of course. Jane was still finding her way as a new countess. Thankfully, she hadn’t given up on her former ways, for which Beatrice was exceedingly grateful—she had yet to taste biscuits more delicious than Jane’s.

“No, though it is nice to know that there is always another scandal greater than the last to turn gossips’ heads. Still, it’s so undignified for me to be reading such drivel. I should have known you’d ferret me out.”

“
Everyone
reads that drivel. And, yes, you should have known. Secrets are futile around me.”

Jane chuckled, putting a hand to her middle. “Of that, I’ll brook no argument. Behind Richard and my maid, you were the first to figure out our news.”

A huge grin came to Beatrice’s lips. “I kept it to myself though, didn’t I? I might be nosy, but I do have scruples.”

“For which I am grateful.” Jane’s lips relaxed into a soft, genuine smile as she leaned forward to retrieve her teacup from the sofa table. “Do tell me. What did your nosiness discover last night? I don’t know why I read that scandal sheet when I know you’ll always come home with the best gossip. I wish I had been feeling well enough to attend with you yesterday.”

Beatrice’s nosiness hadn’t so much discovered anything last night as get
her
discovered. Butterflies flitted through her stomach as she thought of Colin’s watchful eyes and mischievous grin when she emerged from the curtains. Would he come to see her today? She couldn’t have been plainer in her desires, but still, it was impossible to say whether he would follow through.

“Good heavens,
what
are you thinking about?” With her teacup frozen inches from her lips, Jane’s dark eyebrows lifted, a spark of interest lighting her hazel eyes.

Beatrice grinned, lifting her shoulders in feigned innocence. “Only about how lovely the evening was.”

Jane set her untouched tea back on its saucer. “I don’t believe you for one second, Beatrice Moore.”

“Well, if the scandal sheets won’t tell you, then I’m certainly not going to.”

Jane narrowed her eyes at her as if attempting to divine her secrets. “This involves a man. Yes, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh? And what leads you to that conclusion?”

“There are certain looks that can be caused only by a devilishly handsome man and that, my dear, was one of them.”

There was no stopping the grin at that. Oh, how right she was. Before Beatrice could formulate a response, the soft murmur of voices arose from the corridor, and her younger twin sisters, Jocelyn and Carolyn, came in to join them.

“There you are, Beatrice,” Jocelyn said, pausing to bid Jane good afternoon before taking a seat on the sofa across from them. “We thought you might be in your studio today, but I suppose the grayness of the day isn’t the most inspiring thing in the world.”

“It’s useless to me. I didn’t even feel like sketching in this gloominess.” That, and the fact that she was so full of hopeful excitement about seeing Colin again, she couldn’t have concentrated on a painting to save her life.

“Good—the better to concentrate on telling us all about last night,
without
Mama around to tighten your lips.”

“You’re just in time,” Jane said, sending Beatrice a surprisingly wicked grin. “Beatrice was just about to tell us about a very special gentleman she met last night.”

And to think, Beatrice would have said her sister-in-law was the reserved one of the group. She rounded her eyes at Jane in admonishment, but Jane only grinned back, utterly unabashed. Clearly, she knew that Beatrice would tell them about the night anyway. Half the fun of having sisters was being able to share with them.

“Very well.” She proceeded to regale them with tidbits and gossip, saving the best part—full descriptions and commentary on Colin—for last. Of course, the version she told them started with the ballroom introduction; some things were too delicious to share.

The only other part of the evening she kept to herself was the encounter with Diana. For her friend’s sake, she didn’t share her humiliation. It was too private a moment, one she wouldn’t betray.

But looking at her sweet, innocent sisters now as they drank in the stories from the ballroom with the excitement of those so close to finally being able to experience it for themselves—their debuts were only a handful of months away—it made her blood boil to think of some depraved fortune hunter duping one of them.

Yes, she would be there to help guide them, but what of all the young debutants whose families weren’t as diligent? Or those whose parents wanted nothing more than to marry them off to the first bidder and be done with the hassle? The thought weighed heavy in her heart.

“Do you think he’ll come?”

Jocelyn’s question abruptly changed the direction of Beatrice’s thoughts. She glanced to the clock. They were square in the middle of the afternoon, the acceptable time for a gentleman to come calling. Swallowing back the rush of nerves, she raised her shoulders. “I’ve no idea, Jocelyn, but we’ll know soon enough.”

Coming to her feet, Carolyn pulled aside the lacy drapes, revealing water-streaked windowpanes as she looked down on St. James’s Square. “I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t come. It’s raining buckets out there.”

“He’s Scottish, Carolyn—I doubt a little cold rain would get between him and his woman.”

“Jocelyn!” Beatrice tossed a pillow at her sister, who laughed and tossed it back. Even Jane chuckled at the audacious statement, though she had the decency to hide it behind her hand. “He is only half Scot, I am not his woman, and you are beyond outrageous.”

“Keeps things interesting,” she replied, completely unrepentant.

“I think that’s my cue for this old married lady to make her escape,” Jane said, shaking her head at the lot of them. “I do hope your gentleman comes to see you, Beatrice. And if he does, I expect a full report.”

As she left, Jocelyn picked up the discarded scandal sheet, flipping straight to the cartoons that always filled the back page. Beatrice did the same thing whenever she read one—there was something about the illustrations that begged for attention.

“Oh my,” Carolyn exclaimed, dropping the drape and jumping back from the window. “A carriage just arrived. It must be him!”

Jocelyn and Beatrice exchanged glances before jumping up from the sofa and hurrying to Carolyn’s side for a glimpse outside. Jocelyn started to lift the curtain, but Beatrice swatted at her hand. “No! Don’t be obvious—he’ll see you.”

“All right, all right. God forbid he look up into the pouring rain to our exact window and see the vague outline of a person within.”

Beatrice did not acknowledge her sister’s cheek. She was too busy trying to tamp down on the wave of nervousness that swept through her like a rolling fog, swift and thick. Yes, she was excited about the fact that Colin was Sir Frederick’s son, but it was so much more than that. Only the man himself could be responsible for the giddy unrest within her.

Taking a deep breath, she inched aside the edge of the curtain and peeked onto the street below. A shiny black carriage waited at the curb, its canopy pulled up against the rain. The matched pair of grays in front of it tossed their heads as a man emerged from within.

She squinted, but it was impossible to see his face from her vantage point. As a servant secured the horses, the man turned toward the house, one gloved hand holding the brim of his tall hat. Was it Colin? The build looked right, as did the— “Oh, blast.”