Seven Nights to Forever (21 page)

Their conversation had attracted the attention of all three assistants and the modiste, judging by the sudden lack of movement at the hem of her dress where the woman had been pinning. Even though she could feel the expectant stares, she kept her attention trained on Timothy, willing him to read the sincerity in her eyes. “Yes, I trust him. Absolutely.”

He studied her for a long moment. Just when she thought he would question her further, he shrugged. “You could certainly use a holiday,” he said pragmatically. “I hope you enjoy yourself.”

Anticipation bubbled within, light and airy, a wonderful effervescent sensation. She hadn’t genuinely looked forward to anything in years, since her father’s death. “It won’t be a true holiday. I will be working, after all. But I do believe it will turn out to be a pleasant week.”

He peppered her with a few more questions, all of them mundane, which she answered to the best of her limited knowledge as the modiste finished pinning the day dress and started on a traveling dress. Why Timothy believed she’d be aware of such details as the number of servants at James’s country house or its exact proximity to the village of Alton, she didn’t know. He was on the verge of testing her patience when another knock sounded on her door. This one brief, a mere tap of knuckles in prelude to the door swinging open.

Rubicon swept into the room clad in a lace-edged pink silk wrapper. Her hair was pulled up in an elaborate knot, her face painted with the usual rouge and kohl: a madam in deliberately arranged dishabille. Rose’s attention snapped to the bundle in the madam’s hand. A sheet of paper wrapped around what could only be a thick fold of pound notes. That bundle meant James had been here, at the house, sometime this morning. He had been a floor below her, yet he hadn’t asked to see her to even stop in for a quick good morning. She tamped down the little surge of disappointment. James was a busy man. Surely he had many responsibilities to tend to before leaving town.

“Good morning, Rose,” Rubicon said, not acknowledging Timothy’s presence. The smile curving her rouged lips took Rose aback as she murmured a greeting. She never looked this happy when not in view of clients. No doubt she was pleased at the unexpected income Rose had brought to the house.

Over the years, Rose had found the madam to be stern and shrewd but fair, at least to her. Not someone she would ever call friend, but a tolerable employer. She made no qualms about her expectations of her employees. The house was renowned for the quality of its merchandise. Heaven help anyone who caused even the slightest of smudges to that reputation. But as long as Rose’s clients left with a smile on their faces and a will to return, then she’d remain in the madam’s good graces. And herself, well . . . she would ever be grateful to the madam for acceding to her unique schedule and assuring her safety while under this roof.

“My dear Rose, you have outdone yourself. You have quite the admirer. So very generous. How ever did you manage it?”

Rose didn’t need to ask to know Rubicon was referring to half of the outrageous sum James had delivered that morning. She kept the truth to herself and merely gave a little shrug, as if the task hadn’t been any effort at all. Which it hadn’t. James had upped the sum until the sheer number had posed too heavy a lure. And the madam certainly did not need to know that James would have continued raising the number until she had agreed. Though it would be nice if someday she could spend time with a gentleman without the need for money to change hands.

Fanciful thinking. That day would never come, even after she left this house never to return. No decent man would want to sully himself with used goods.

“I’m assuming he spoke the truth and you have agreed to be his companion for the next week?” At Rose’s nod, she continued, “If I had known you were open to such arrangements, I would have seen to them for you long ago.”

“I don’t believe it will be something to make a habit of. I’m quite content with our current arrangement.” Unwilling to explain herself further, Rose flicked her fingers toward her bedchamber door. The modiste was on her knees, auburn head bowed as she adjusted the hem of the soft blue traveling dress. If she told Rubicon she had agreed only because of the money, then the madam would surely do her best in the future to lure gentlemen to match the sum, thus forcing Rose into the uncomfortable position of having to refuse an identical offer. If she gave James himself as the reason, then she would reveal herself as a fool. A whore knew better than to even allow herself to grow fond of a client, and Rose feared she had crossed that line nights ago. “Could I ask you to please put the package on the dresser? I’m a bit indisposed at the moment.”

“Of course, my dear.” Rubicon disappeared briefly into the bedchamber and then reappeared to wish her a pleasant holiday before leaving to tend to other matters within the house. The overall visit was not more than a handful of minutes and exactly the way Rose preferred it.

“Done,” the modiste declared. “This is the last one of the bunch. A few hours and the alterations will be complete.”

“Do you have plans for the afternoon?” Rose asked Timothy as she took off the dress.

“None,” Timothy replied.

“Brilliant. While I get dressed, could you go grab your coat? I need your help with some errands before I leave Town.” First the hells, and then Dash. Not a conversation she was looking forward to, but a necessity. James may have provided the means to quickly solve this round of problems, but he would not be there to solve the next, nor should he. Dash was not his responsibility, but hers. And she could not leave town without at least attempting to convince him to curb his gambling.

REBECCA
knocked on the door to her brother’s study and turned the knob, not waiting for a response. James was expecting her. A servant had relayed his message that he wished to speak to her. A message she had been surprised to receive. Not because of the request itself, but because of the time. It was early afternoon, and he was still at the house. She had assumed he’d left for his office directly after breakfast. The man worked himself to the bone, just like their father.

The thick Aubusson rug silenced her footsteps as she crossed the study. The rich mahogany paneling lining the walls and the deep saturated color of the green leather wingback chairs lent the room a distinctly masculine feel, marking it in contrast to every other room in the house. Even the furniture was larger, more substantial, so much so that it muted the effect of James’s tall frame as he bustled about behind his oak desk, gathering papers and files and stuffing them into a leather bag.

“Good morning,” he said, briefly glancing up. “I wanted to inform you that I will be leaving town for a week. A short visit to the country.” He pulled open a drawer and grabbed a sheaf of papers. “I doubt you’ll even notice my absence, what with the excitement of the upcoming Season. But in the event you remembered you had a brother, I thought it wise to inform you now that you will not find me in the house over the next seven days.”

“James,” she admonished playfully. “You will have me taking offense. I could never forget you.”

“Of course not. I am your dearest brother, after all.” He chuckled as he shut the drawer. “Do you have any plans for the day?”

“Amelia mentioned a visit to Bond Street.”

“If anything catches your eye, simply—”

“. . . send the bill to you. Yes, I know.”

Goodness, he seemed . . . happy. Truly happy. She hadn’t seen him smile like this, so carefree and without a worry, in ages. It wasn’t that James was a melancholy fellow. But he was a rather serious sort, fully focused on his responsibilities, and had grown more so since his marriage. She tilted her head a bit to one side, studying him as he checked the contents of his leather bag. There was a bit of color to his cheeks, and it wasn’t due to exertion from his frantic movements. He appeared distracted, as though his mind was elsewhere. And that “elsewhere” was responsible for the smile fixed on his mouth.

She
had
seen that smile recently. The other day at the park, when he had introduced her to that beautiful woman. The one with the black hair and the stunning light blue eyes that hadn’t left her brother.

“Will Miss Rose be leaving town as well?” she asked, as casual as could be, just as he reached across his desk toward the silver inkwell and pen.

The pen clattered to the wooden floor.

She stooped down, picked up the pen, and held it out to him. “You’re taking her to Honey House, are you not?”

Eyes wide, he stared at her. One would think he was twelve and she had caught him stealing tarts from the kitchen. He snatched the pen from her hand, stuffing it into an inside pocket of his bag. “It is none of your concern, Rebecca.”

So she had guessed correctly. Honey House meant a lot to James. She had spent a few short summer holidays there with him. Idyllic sunny days filled with long walks about the countryside. At Honey House, it was almost as if he was once again the carefree adolescent boy who had wanted nothing more than to spend the day with his younger sister. Miss Rose must be very important to him if he was taking her there. “She seemed very pleasant.”

His lips thinned. “It is best you forget her.”

“Is she your—”

“Rebecca,” he said firmly, cutting her off before she could say the word
mistress
. “I am not going to discuss her with you.” He went back to gathering his things.

As if she would be intimidated by his stern frown . . . She wanted to give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him she was nothing but happy for him. He needn’t feel obligated to shelter her about such topics. It wasn’t as if she was an empty-headed miss with no knowledge of the way of things. This wasn’t her first visit to London. James and Amelia’s marriage was a typical one of the aristocracy, formed more as an alliance than out of any sort of fondness for one another. Though James bore it as best as any man could, it had been clear from the day of their wedding that he and Amelia did not suit. The fault did not lie with either of them; it was just their personalities. Amelia belonged at beautiful, glittering ton balls, whereas James was more at his ease in the country.

It hadn’t taken much to notice that Amelia had lovers. She was certain she had been introduced to the current one at the Marksons’ supper party. Amelia’s entire demeanor had changed when she had spoken to Lord Albert. A certain softness had lit up her face. And now James had found someone who made him smile. She would be ever grateful to Miss Rose for that.

“She is very pretty.”

He grunted, his mouth twitching at the corners. “She’s beyond beautiful.”

“Are you leaving now?”

A flip of the buckle and he closed his bag. “I need to stop by the office first, make arrangements for my absence, and see to one last errand. I’ve left a note for Amelia informing her I will be gone as well.” Something behind her caught his attention, his gaze snapping over her shoulder. “Hiller,” he called.

She glanced over her shoulder. Out in the corridor, one of the footmen was passing the study. The man halted and backed up a step to stand in the open door, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes, Mr. Archer?”

“Is the traveling carriage ready?”

“Yes, Mr. Archer,” the man said with a deferential tip of the head. “All is at the ready. Your valise has already been taken down to the carriage.”

“Thank you.” James grabbed his leather bag and rounded his desk, stopping at her side. “You will be all right if I leave for a week?” Concern touched his eyes.

“Of course.” She gave him a reassuring smile. She would miss him at the breakfast table, but the next week would be filled with shopping excursions, afternoon calls, and discussions over the merits of various invitations. The height of excitement for her, but nothing that would even pique James’s interest or require him to serve as escort.

“If you have need of anything, send a note. I’ll return posthaste if necessary.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead and left the study, practically running out the door in his haste to leave.