Lorelie Brown (10 page)

“Yes. We’d hoped to bring her to town after her mourning. Etta is the kind of woman who really
needs
to be married. She deserves a family of her own.”

“Then your answer is simple. Incredibly so.” She spread her hands wide, a pleased openness on her face. “You’re going about this all wrong.”

“I suppose you know exactly what I need?”

That smile stopped this side of angelic. “Of course I do, Ian. You’re going to learn to trust me whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I doubt it’s advisable.”

Her mouth set in a pout that shouldn’t have been adorable. He wanted to take that plump lip between his teeth. “You haven’t given me a chance.”

“By all means. Please have out your idea before I tell you no.”

“What would happen if Patricia made known the facts about this marriage in your village?”

He had to think about that for a moment. A few people had known, though they hadn’t spoken widely of the truth. The household servants chattered when Archie moved into the manor house for the end of his illness. There’d been whispers. Baroness Esterby had failed to invite them for her annual dinner.

“Little, actually.”

“Good,” she said with no small measure of satisfaction.

“What does that matter?”

Her grin was something magical. He wanted it. He wanted to fold it up and tuck it in his pocket, keep that smile for the days of duty stretching out before him. “It means she’s well liked. Which means that she’s a pleasant girl and our task will be easier.”

“What task would that be?”

Initially, she hadn’t seemed steady enough for the office he’d found her in. A certain lack of organization perhaps, but it was an office well used, not for show. Lottie spent little time on the frivolous in this place. She picked around a piled-over basket of fabric samples and reached for the doorknob. “Come along. We’ll have a lot to get done.”

He popped the door shut against her exit. “A lot to get done for
what
?”

“Hmm?” She blinked at him in a slightly protracted manner, as if he’d disappeared and she magically saw him again. “You’re going to send for your sister to come to Town. We’ll launch her.”

“Launch her?” He didn’t appreciate feeling like an idiot. “You’re mad if you think I’m bringing her to London when there’s so much at stake.”

Her chin jerked back with the same sharpness as if she’d taken a blow. Her eyes went flat and dark. Her mouth curved in an eerie smile the entire time, and her voice stayed spookily airy. “Don’t call me mad. It’s in particularly bad taste, all things considered. Wouldn’t you agree?”

How did she fool the world so well? Did she even? Or perhaps everyone knew how frightened and damaged she was. Maybe she was the only one who thought she hid the truth. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. “My apologies.”

The air thickened and turned heavy. If she didn’t want to forgive him, he’d understand. She must deal with a thousand petty, poorly chosen words. He’d make sure none came from him.

Finally she nodded. Her smile turned into a shining force he wanted to believe.

“But you see? You prove my point for me.”

“How so?”

“My mother really is insane, and yet I’m invited to the Duchess of Marvell’s ball several weekends hence.”

They stood too close together. What a bad habit this was, this giving into impulses to touch. For now, it got his hands folded around her slender upper arm. “And we country bumpkins know duchesses are all the rage.”

“They can’t help it. That whole second-only-to-royalty thing.”

He laughed. She was so cheekily perfect. “Is that their problem?”

She made a small sound of agreement, and he wanted to curl his fingers around her throat to feel the buzz. “You’ll see. You’re about to meet a duke’s daughter. I assure you Lady Victoria is as high in the instep as any you’ve ever met.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” He stepped back from the door then, giving her room to open it. “I may not be quite the country man of leisure you seem to think me, and when I come to town, it’s usually for business.”

“Oh?” She led the way upstairs. “Business? The times are certainly changing, aren’t they?”

“I’m rather thankful, personally,” he said. Taking advantage of the narrow, steep stairs, he set a protective hand at the small of her back. Under his touch would be her shift and corset. Would she be embroidered through there as well? She was the sort. “Otherwise I’d be stuck on a very small piece of land, with hardly any chance of improving my circumstances.”

“How very terrible for you. You sound positively feminine. Most of us are stuck where we are, despite the changing times or not.”

“Hence the reason for your charity?”

“Hence the reason for my school, yes.” They arrived on the second floor, where a small gaggle of women milled about. Lottie clapped her hands sharply, but her smile rang true. “Have you somewhere to be?”

“Not especially, Miss Vale,” chirruped one with a minxish wink. She let her gaze wander head to toe over Ian. “If you’re to be a new instructor, sir, please allow me to be the first to welcome you.”

The small gathering of women giggled and tittered, with a few hiding bright red blushes. One swatted the speaker’s shoulder.

“Hush, you,” Lottie chided, but she didn’t seem particularly fashed. “He’s a visitor.”

“Will he be at the event this quarter?”

Her nose wrinkled on a cheeky grin. “He will, but not for the reasons you presume. On with you.” With a little wave of her hands, she dismissed them.

“What event would that be?” Ian stepped alongside Lottie. Her profile was delicate.

“We hold quarterly soirees where the women get the chance to meet certain subscribers. Men of good background and status who can enable them to move up in the world—through marriage only—should they like.”

“And you believe I need to attend this?”

“I do,” she said with a decisive nod. “If only because Patricia wouldn’t miss it for the world. She’s always been quite popular with the men. Finna says Patricia flirted with a certain gentleman at the last event. He might have even slipped her a few bobs. She’ll wish to continue, secure his interest and more funds.”

The sewing room was the likes of which he hadn’t quite seen before. Sewing machines ringed the entire room, and in the center were wide tables with bolts of cloth of every color one could imagine—if all colors were dark.

In the center stood a regal woman. Her pale pink dress stood out among the ocean of dark cloth, her hair piled at the back of her head in a shining blonde twist.

“Lady Victoria, allow me to present Sir Ian. He has a sister.”

“Bully for him,” said Lady Victoria with dry humor.

Ian tipped a small bow. “I generally do appreciate my good luck in having her for a sister.”

“Perhaps you have sense after all.” She set down the length of fabric she’d been holding and turned to Lottie. “How can I help you?”

“It depends. How quickly could we launch Sir Ian’s sister?”

Lady Victoria didn’t suffer any moment of confusion or distraction. She turned back to Ian with an inquiring look. “Is she comely?”

“She’s generally considered attractive, yes.”

Lottie reached out two fingers and touched the emerald-set cufflink at his wrist. She let her fingertips trace down to the sensitive base of his thumb. “And money? How much have we to work with?”

He ignored the taking, grasping impulse that insisted the nearest bolt of cloth would be plenty cushioning to push Lottie back into. He had bigger concerns and a family relying on him to improve their station. He couldn’t afford distractions from wild girls. “If you can promise me effectiveness and my sister’s acceptance into society, money is no object.”

Lottie’s smile turned into the glow of a thousand gaslights. “Exactly the words a girl loves to hear.”

Chapter Eight

Not three days later, Lottie stood on the step of a fine townhouse in the oh-so-proper Mayfair district as a carriage rolled up to the curb. Ian hopped out with a sure step. Lottie laced her fingers before her waist. He might be primarily a country gentleman, but that didn’t seem to impact the way he carried himself. He surveyed the entire street as if he owned it all. A man who knew who he wanted to be and how he wanted to live.

Half the time, she felt as if she were putting on a mummery show. Doing her best to distract everyone else from seeing the actuality of her life.

Like now. She smiled and pushed open the door behind her. “Sir Ian, welcome to your new home.”

He doffed his top hat as he followed her in. That air of inspection clung to him. The money she’d so freely spent over the past couple days had come from tin mines, he’d said. She could believe it. He had ruthless intentions.

She never would have expected it, but her nerves fluttered at the idea that maybe he wouldn’t be pleased with his investment. She looked around the entryway with her own inspecting aspect.

It was large, but not ostentatious. She, Victoria and Sera had conferred at length about the houses available to rent. As the city house of a baron who’d fallen on financial difficulties, the establishment struck a balance between available funds and seeming too nouveau riche. The foyer floor was tiled with black-and-white marble and the walls covered with gold-and-cream wallpaper.

To Lottie, the ebony stairs that curled down from the upper level were the loveliest touch. “What do you think? Will you be content here?”

He looked back over his shoulder and lifted a single eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the issue, is it?”

“True. But as they say, anything worth doing is worth doing well.”

She opened the doors to the front parlor, which was furnished. The decorations were overstuffed for her tastes, with tables and couches occupying most every inch of floor space. The floors themselves were layered with piled carpets worn soft by decades of foot traffic. Dark green wallpaper covered the top half of the walls, but she particularly liked the glowing shine of the wainscoted bottom half.

Ian tossed himself down to a low chaise, one arm hooked over the curled back. His smile was cheeky. Daring. “I suppose it’ll do, as long as the other rooms are approximately this standard.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are such the arbitrator. And what’s your home like in the country?”

“Drafty as can be. A bit small, especially when the snow piles up and we’re all in on top of each other. The decorations are from generations upon generations each adding their own bits, so they’re a mess. The gardens meander for acres all willy-nilly.”

Keen wistfulness wound under her breastbone. “Sounds lovely.”

“It rather is.”

“You’re an ass.”

He grinned. His ankles were crossed and his legs extended to their full length, heels on a faded Tudor rose in the carpet. “You really think this plan will work?”

“Did you increase the size of her dowry, as we suggested?”

“Tripled it.” His eyes went dark, and lines carved around his mouth. “I don’t simply wish her to be married off to the first person who asks.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

Confusion wrinkled his brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Many wouldn’t.” She shook her head and wandered away toward the far door. One finger hooked over her shoulder, she gestured for him to follow.

“Your family obviously would agree.”

She let a laugh burble up in an attempt to cover up the sharp spike of pain and regret that overtook her. “This is the formal dining room,” she said, throwing open doors. “But why would you assume anyone in my crazy family would agree?”

“I can’t imagine that you’ve had any less than a half dozen marriage offers. Yet here you are.” He pointed at the mahogany table in the center of the room. It could float a dozen cows across the Dover straights. “That is rather large for our purposes, isn’t it?”

“Better too large and impressive than have anyone doubt your place in society. Good rule of thumb in most things.” She led him up the stairway to the first floor, her fingertips trailing over the balustrade’s cool wood. “Here I am, indeed. Alone and unmarried and exploring an empty house with a strange man.”

“I might be a man, but I’m hardly strange. Is there a study or an office? I’ll still have work to do that can’t be ignored.”

She nodded and pointed toward the west. “That way.”

“Good.”

She liked his satisfied smile entirely too much. Inside her chest was painful hope. Her heart fluttered. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“I am.” He opened a door and found a bedroom. A white lace blanket covered a huge expanse of bed. There were likely other objects in the room, but Lottie suddenly couldn’t gather impressions of them.

All she could think of was that bed. The wide, large bed with the gold-trimmed and tassled pillows at the head dominated the room.

She imagined Ian stretched upon the full length.

Her body bloomed and awoke. She knew this. Knew this feeling, and the strange fantasies that were doing their damnedest to strip his clothing in her fevered brain. Unfortunately, never having seen a man in the flesh had her placing his handsome head on the white marble body of a statue. That wouldn’t do at all.