Mischief by Moonlight (9 page)

Josie's stomach lurched at these astonishing words.

“Oh, look,” Maria said, “the dance is over. Let's go over and greet him.”

“Let's wait,” Josie said. If she saw him, she'd likely say more than she should, because the thought that he was suddenly interested in beautiful widows was making her alternately sick with inappropriate jealousy and furious because he'd rejected her plan for him to court Edwina. Which was a little insane.

But Maria ignored her and linked their arms and began leading her toward where Colin was standing with a beautiful blond woman in a dazzling red gown. And then they were all standing together and Maria was presenting Josie to his beautiful blond companion.

Colin looked every inch the earl in his snug black breeches and midnight-blue satin tailcoat, with a gold brocade waistcoat underneath.

“Ah, Josie,” he said mildly, and she was annoyed to find that his calm demeanor made her feel as though he'd forgotten about her, as though she were some barely remembered little neighbor-girl. She was a little disgusted with herself.

She ground her teeth and reminded herself that she was the one who'd opened Pandora's box when she kissed him. Perhaps he'd already forgotten all about it. Apparently he'd been busy with numbers of very pretty ladies. Perhaps he'd kissed all of them too.

She was horribly jealous, and she knew this was wrong, but she couldn't seem to be reasonable.

“Colin,” she said, “it seems you are all the rage.”

Lady Denborough smirked, while Colin frowned.

“Lady Denborough,” Maria said cheerfully. “I had thought you were in Cornwall.”

The widow gave one of those fashionable smiles that did duty for a laugh. “I am unfortunately required to go to my estate there now and again. When his lordship was alive, of course I couldn't acknowledge its flaws, out of respect for his childhood home. Now that he is, sadly, gone, I mean to renovate the entire place. But I can only spend so much time there before I risk dying of boredom.”

This woman was Colin's idea of a future wife? Josie arched an eyebrow at him.

His frown deepened, but he turned toward his companion and said encouragingly, “No doubt you shall have it in fine shape in no time, Lady Denborough, and then you'll be besieged by guests.”

She gave a tinkling laugh and put her hand on Colin's forearm. “And
you
shall come to my very first party. I can hardly wait.”

Colin smiled at the lovely widow—Colin, who'd always behaved as though he preferred books to people. Josie felt a little furious.

A tall gentleman appeared then and reminded Lady Denborough that he'd reserved the next dance. With a longing look in Ivorwood's direction, she allowed herself to be led away.

Maria watched her go. “Shall we be hearing wedding bells soon, nephew?”

A dark look passed over his face. “Really, Maria,” he said. “Can a gentleman not escort a lady to an event or two without causing idle speculation?”

Maria laughed. “Of course he can. But when that gentleman is a sought-after bachelor earl who's never pursued
any
available lady, you may be certain it will be perceived as an indication of interest. Wouldn't you agree, Josie?”

She reminded herself that she'd been his friend, that he was a good man, and that she had absolutely no business being jealous if he chose to pursue women, because
of
course
he couldn't pursue her. In no way should she wish him to.

“I suppose Ivorwood does not care to be the subject of gossip,” she said.

“Exactly so, Josie,” he said, and she felt him looking at her as though he sought understanding in her eyes, but she refused to meet his gaze. It was his business if he wished to spend time with lovely, eligible women, and it was
better
for her if he did, no matter how much she hated watching it. But on Edwina's behalf, she felt angry with him because he'd insisted he didn't want to court her, insisted that he was uninterested in marriage. She knew she was being childish—he'd likely only been trying to be politic—but his lack of candor still stung.

“Don't be coy, Ivorwood, it doesn't suit you,” Maria said. “I'm your only female relative of consequence, and I think I can be said to have an interest in the matter if you are thinking of marrying. I might even wish to propose some candidates. Like a debutante. Why start with the widows?”

Colin seemed to be gnashing his teeth.
Good
. He deserved torment.

“I do not wish for interference in my private affairs,” he said.

“Private? Ha,” Maria said. “What could be of more public interest than an eligible earl's marriage prospects? Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't been overrun already by mamas trying to get your attention now that you finally seem to have taken note of the fairer sex.”

A flush spread up Colin's cheeks, and Josie guessed that the matchmaking mamas were already importuning him. Once, she might have felt bad for a poor, quiet man who just wanted to be left alone, but not now.

“It's funny,” she said, turning to Maria, “because I've heard him more than once insist he didn't wish to marry.”

“Perhaps he's changed his mind,” Maria said.

***

Colin had known that sooner or later Josie would discover that he was squiring ladies about. But after their kiss and the regret they'd admitted, how could she blame him?

She was angry with him. She wouldn't understand that their kiss had shown him he couldn't trust himself where she was concerned, that he had to make a future for himself, even if the thought of sharing it with any of the lovely widows he'd met inspired nothing beyond a sense of reasonable acceptance.

“Perhaps I've decided to marry sooner than I had previously thought,” he said. He flicked a glance at Josie, who was now examining a fingernail as though she couldn't have cared at all what words came out of his mouth. He clenched his teeth.

She looked so pretty and soft tonight in her pink silk ball gown, with its little embroidered roses that spoke of sweetness and innocence, and a darker rose bandeau tied around her tumble of sable curls. She looked like home, but she wasn't. She was going to be Nick's wife, and he, Colin, needed to make a home with someone else.

“I knew you'd come to your senses, Ivorwood,” Maria said. “For a handsome earl to scorn marriage is simply wasteful.” Her eyes shifted for the barest moment toward Josie, and he wondered if Maria had an inkling he was attracted to her. But she merely said, “You must allow me to hold a party for you. I'll invite all the most eligible young ladies.”

“That won't be necessary,” he said tightly. He'd focused his attentions on the widows because, unlike the debutantes, they had an experience of men and thus were not dreaming of a knight in shining armor to adore them. He was very leery of his capacity to adore any woman who wasn't Josie, and he didn't want to set up expectations.

Josie looked up then, and he was startled by the hard glint in her eyes. “Oh, but really, you ought to be thorough when looking for a wife. You won't want to settle for just anyone.”

She meant Edwina. She thought he'd told her he didn't want to marry because he was trying to fob her off about her sister. She thought he'd lied to her.

“I'm not in a rush to marry,” he said. “It was only after coming to London that I began to think it a good idea. Before then, I really hadn't thought to marry soon.”

Did she understand?

She gave him a smile that was formal and lacking all the liveliness and impishness that was Josie, and it made him furious that things had come to this.

“So London has changed your mind, then. And why not, when it is so full of beautiful, accomplished women? I wish you the best of luck finding the perfect wife.”

As the round of dinner parties and soirees continued, Josie tried to stay in the background while also helping Edwina shine as best she could. If she had to look away whenever Colin was present, dancing and talking with the beautiful women who now seemed always to surround him, that was just as well.

She still didn't understand why he'd altered course so abruptly since coming to London, but the truth was it didn't matter that he wasn't including Edwina among the women he was courting, because her sister had so many suitors of her own.

Increasingly, though, Josie was becoming concerned that, in her eagerness to find a wealthy, doting husband, Edwina was ready to make a bad match. One evening as they were preparing for another of Lady Stellan's parties, she decided to broach the subject.

“Do you really like Lady Stellan?” she asked as she watched Edwina pluck at a stray eyebrow hair.

Edwina, who'd just sent the maid away, looked ravishing in a ruffled ashes-of-roses gown that deepened the color of her lips and gave her a sensual look that played marvelously against the raven black of her hair. She tried out a pouting expression in the looking glass before pinching each cheek soundly.

“Lady Stellan plans the best parties.”

“But she's always saying cruel things about people.”

Edwina shrugged and pulled experimentally at one of the curls that framed her face. “It's what people do here. You have to go along with it or you can't be successful.”

“Successful at what?”

“At being sought after. What else is there for a woman?”

Edwina's words pushed against Josie's idea of marriage as the way for love to bloom. Despite the example of their parents' marriage, she'd always hoped there could so much more to it than two people who got along tolerably well. But what if her sister was right after all?

“Your perspective has shifted quite a bit since we left Jasmine House,” Josie said, “and of course I'm so happy you feel ready to consider new possibilities for your future. But the idea that your only option is being sought after…it sounds a little desperate.”

Edwina gave her a hard glance in the looking glass. “I'm being practical. I have a plan for my future—I have to, if I want to catch a suitable husband. You know that. And why do you look so leery? I thought I could speak plainly with you of all people.”

“Of course you can,” Josie said carefully, “but don't you think it's important to speak plainly with everyone?”

Edwina turned to face Josie and crossed her arms. “No. Anyway, you've been encouraging me all along to hide my sharp ways.”

Josie pressed her lips unhappily. “Surely it's one thing to choose your words carefully, but another to make yourself into an entirely different person to catch a husband?”

“I don't care about such distinctions when there's so much at stake.”

“But do you want to end up in the kind of marriage our parents had?”

“Our parents had a poor marriage because Papa was a bully. I'm going to marry an easy man, someone who has
my
best interests at heart.”

“Like Mappleton. Do you really enjoy his company so much that you wish to see him morning, noon, and night?”

Josie ignored the little voice prodding her to consider whether she could say the same about Nicholas. Marriage
was
a gamble. But surely if the couple started out at least truly caring for each other, that would be the best chance for happiness. Surely six weeks of bliss in a man's company were enough to know that you'd suit. Weren't they?

Edwina cocked her head. “I like Mappleton well enough. And when did you turn so grim? You used to be so optimistic.”

“I just want the best for you.”

“That's exactly what I want,” Edwina said, making for the door. “The best possible match.”

As Josie followed Edwina downstairs, she thought glumly that Edwina hadn't heard her at all. The way Edwina had changed since they'd come to London worried her.

So did the way she couldn't stop thinking about Colin.

***

What
a
successful
evening
, Edwina thought as she stepped into Mappleton's luxurious barouche, to which were harnessed four of the most beautiful white horses she'd ever seen. Lady Stellan's dinner party had been sparkling, and Mappleton's attentiveness the whole night had made her feel as bubbly as the champagne that had been served with dessert. Life in London was amazing.

Of course she was sorry that Maria had developed a headache by dessert and had to leave. But Maria and Josie departing early had opened the way for Mappleton to take Edwina home in his carriage, with the top down for propriety. The moon was little but a murky yellowness hiding in the clouds, the only light it offered being a faint glow that picked out the gold paint trimming the carriage.

As they passed under the glow of a street lamp, its light caught a roll of flesh pushed up under Mappleton's chest, the unfortunate sign of a corset. But she reminded herself that he was a good listener, and
biddable
, and that those virtues were more important than physical perfection. Besides, his milieu was conversation and dining, not the kind of activities that produced taut muscles.

Her mind veered toward the memory of Whitby's hand, how it had given her such a sense of strength. There had been other details that were beneath her to notice: the way his sleeve caught on the well-defined muscles of his upper arm as he held her parasol out to her; the taut contours of his neck, visible since he wore no cravat.

Enough
, she told herself sternly. The carpenter was just a man, and an unimportant one, who was far too pleased with himself. She had no reason to be thinking of him while she sat across from Mappleton.

Her companion smiled. Surely she was imagining that his eyes lingered on her mouth? Was he thinking of stealing a kiss when no one was near? Should she allow him if he tried?

She had little notion. Mama, who was mortified by anything to do with bodies, had never offered any guidance about being with suitors.

He didn't lean closer. “It must be very different in London, compared to Upperton.”

She laughed. “Yes. The society here is more refined. No talk of cows.”

Mappleton laughed. “Cows, eh? Let's talk about you.
You
, my dear girl, are utterly delightful. And may I confess, Miss Cardworthy, that your loveliness makes me forget myself a bit? You really are the most exquisite creature.”

What wonderful words, just the sort she'd been hoping her whole life to hear. He was looking at her intently, and a frisson of something that, strangely, felt like revulsion ran through her.

Idiot
, she scolded herself. She was exactly where she'd wanted to be: in the company of a wealthy, important gentleman. Why should she feel anything but delight when he was complimenting her?

“You are too kind, my lord.”

The carriage was slowing down—they must be near Maria's—and he hesitantly reached for her hand. She accepted his overture, though she wished that he would be more sure of himself.

He gave her a regretful smile. “I must journey to one of my estates on a matter of business, and shall unfortunately be gone for a few weeks. But when I return, I hope, Miss Cardworthy, that you will be at home when I visit. There is something I should very much like to ask you.”

He meant to propose!

“I'm certain I would always be at home for you, my lord.”

He smiled wider at her words, and she thought they might have encouraged him to do something besides just grinning at her. But he merely waited until they stopped moving and got out to hand her down. He bent low to kiss the back of her hand and wished her good evening.

Perfect enough. Yes, he would do nicely.

He climbed back into the carriage, and one of Maria's footmen stepped forward and closed the door after him. It wasn't until the carriage took off and Edwina noticed that the footman was still standing there with her, watching it go, that she realized the footman was Jack Whitby.

In the glow of the lanterns hanging outside the house, she caught an insolent glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Just what is it that so amuses you?” she asked sharply.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to suggest that he wasn't amused at anything, and tipped his head in a sketch of servility that sat ill with the proud cast of his features, but he made no reply.

She lifted her chin. “So now you are filling in for the footmen,” she said.

“It seems the custard was very powerful.”

She let her eyes rest on him, a sort of weighing meant to remind him that she, as a guest of his mistress, was in a position of power over him. A hard look, she made no doubt, of the sort that she could never show to Mappleton lest he crumble. Whitby seemed not at all affected.

But the pause to look at him only gave her a better chance to notice the masculine lines of his face and the intelligence in his icy blue eyes. He was
handsome
, and something about him—a capable energy—held her interest when it should not.

She forced herself to ignore all that. The enormous gulf of social class stood between them, though he had an apparently unconquerable dignity that seemed to suggest such gulfs were irrelevant. He was wrong, and she would put him in his place.

“You are a carpenter,” she said in a bored tone, as if this information were so inconsequential she could hardly remember it.

He dipped his head, but predictably, the motion seemed more ironic than deferential. “A cabinetmaker, as I believe I mentioned before.”

He knew very well that he had, along with the fact that his father was a celebrated painter. She found herself wondering what it might have been like to grow up in such a family. Jack Whitby was certainly not lacking in pride, and something about the way he valued himself so highly tugged at her.

She gave him her haughtiest look, aware she was reaching for a mask but knowing she could not do otherwise. “So you are accustomed to working on fine pieces. Good. My jewel box broke during our travels. It will require very delicate work.”

His eyelids lowered, though she was certain it was in sly amusement and not meekness. His eyelashes were thick and dark, and they lent a note of beauty to the hard maleness of his face. If this man had been a lord like Mappleton, every woman in the
ton
would have been seeking his attention.

“I have built many such boxes,” he said. “I can easily repair yours.”

“I'll send it down to you,” she said and turned to go.

“I don't know that Mrs. Westin would like that,” he said, arresting her motion. “I'm here temporarily to do repairs on her furniture. And I've been happy to help during the servant crisis. But I'm not certain she'd care for me to use my time otherwise.”

Edwina stiffened. He knew she was asking a small thing that Maria wouldn't mind at all, but he wanted to push back.

“Of course I shall check with her before I send it to you.”

He inclined his head.

Edwina swept up the stairs, telling herself she'd already forgotten him.

***

Jack whistled as he walked through the kitchen, where Cook was tidying away the last of the day's things and making arrangements for the morning. He grabbed a biscuit from the tin kept for the servants, and Cook scowled at him, but she couldn't keep her features stern as a smile broke through.

“Ta, what a knave you are, Jack Whitby. That's at least the third biscuit you've taken today.”

He grinned, turning to walk backward as he made for the door that gave onto the mews. “Only because they're so good, ma'am. Sure, even a saint couldn't resist your biscuits.”

Cook was blushing as Jack passed through the doorway and made for the carriage house behind the town house, where he had set up his tools. He had his own shop in Cheapside where he did much of his work, but for jobs like Mrs. Westin's involving large, heavy pieces of furniture that would be difficult to move, he often came to work on-site.

So far he'd lost a little time filling in for the sick servants as Mrs. Westin had asked him to do, but he'd been offered a generous amount to help, and he'd agreed, planning to work later into the night. Things at home were sorted out, and he could afford to spend extra time here. And truthfully, Edwina Cardworthy was making him want to linger.

As he gathered a few things to bring up to the library, where he was repairing the damaged surface of a large mahogany desk, a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. With her stiff spine and intelligent, hard gaze, Edwina reminded him of a beautiful owl, one who would fiercely object to having her feathers ruffled.

He shook his head, chuckling a bit as he folded a work cloth and piled on the tools he'd collected. Edwina Cardworthy had doubtless never been properly ruffled in her life. But his next thought pushed the grin from his face, because he knew he wanted to be the man who ruffled her.