Tempting a Proper Lady
Read Tempting a Proper Lady Online
Authors: Debra Mullins
Tempting a Proper Lady
For my awesome agent,
Lucienne Diver.
This is just the beginning.
Within the hour he would reclaim what was his.
Cilla opened the door to Virgil Bailey's study and waitedâ¦
John had turned the coach back toward the inn whereâ¦
“I should have stayed behind,” Cilla said as she regardedâ¦
Samuel found solace in the garden. He stood on theâ¦
The next morning Cilla joined Dolly and Annabelle in theâ¦
Lady Iften wasted no time in carrying tales to Lordâ¦
“John!” Samuel dropped to his knees beside his fallen friend.
Cilla stared, certain she had not heard aright. “Of courseâ¦
Samuel drove Cilla back to Nevarton Chase himself, playing coachmanâ¦
He had sent her three notes over the past threeâ¦
The note came late Wednesday, delivered by a young ladâ¦
Finally Friday came.
She lay where he left her as he got offâ¦
Annabelle ducked her head down behind the bushes, shutting herâ¦
Saturday morning found Samuel on the doorstep of Nevarton Chase.
Saturday passed into Sunday. Cilla was waiting when John Readyâ¦
The Archer affair on Wednesday night was an exercise inâ¦
Friday dawned bright and cheerful. Cilla glanced at the noteâ¦
Annabelle awoke in a carriage. She could tell from theâ¦
“Are you certain you are going to be all right?”
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May 1876
W
ithin the hour he would reclaim what was his.
Samuel Breedlove fisted his hands in impatience as the coach crept along behind the long line of vehicles waiting to reach the door of the country manor. Nineteen months he had waited, interminable nights when he had not expected to live through the next day. The goal to return to the life he had begun to build, and the fiancée who would help him do it, had kept him alive when he had been tempted to give up.
That, and the determination to thwart his enemy by surviving what should have been his murder.
The lights of the house beckoned; there was a celebration going on tonight. Would the lamps burn as brightly when Samuel darkened the doorway? Would Annabelle throw herself into his arms, blue eyes flooding with tears of joy? Or would Annabelle's father order the footmen to toss him out the door for disrupting the party?
He was betting on the first outcome. He and Annabelle had pledged to wed almost two years ago. She had wanted a husband, and he had needed a wife to help him realize his dreams of children and family. He was certain that once he explained where he had been all this time, she would be more than happy to acknowledge his prior claim for her hand. And certainly her parents, the closest thing he had ever known to family, would support him in the endeavor.
The coach came to a stop, and a glance out the window confirmed they were close enough for him to traverse the rest of the drive on foot. He jerked open the door and climbed out, the rasp of his shoe soles on the hard dirt grating against the edginess that had plagued him since he had made this decision.
“Are you certain about this, Samuel?”
He glanced up at his friend and ally, John Ready, who served as coachman tonight. “I made a promise, John. And you know I always keep my word.”
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The great hall of Nevarton Chase had never looked more spectacular.
Cilla Burke allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she surveyed the ambience she and twenty servants had created. The polished wooden floor gleamed beneath the light of the crystal chandelier, and cheerful garlands of flowers wrapped around the columns that encircled the room. The doors to the terrace had been left open so that the cool evening breeze could alleviate the heat from the crush of
bodies. At the moment the musicians played a lively country dance, and peals of laughter overrode the murmur of conversation as young ladies promenaded with their partners.
Once she, too, had been one of those carefree misses, fresh and innocent and longing for the day she would be married. Bittersweet regret seasoned the memories. If she had only knownâ¦
Rather than being the belle of the ball, she was now in charge of arranging the affairâa paid employee whose future depended on whether society considered Annabelle Bailey's wedding the ultimate social event of the Season. It was no longer shameful for a woman to earn a day's wage for a day's work, and her husband's death had left her with very few choices. Anyway, she had no desire to return to the life of a debutante whose survival depended on ensnaring the right husband. How could she possibly, when the disaster of her own marriage had proven her instincts to be flawed?
Sensing the imminent melancholy lurking behind her thoughts, she forced herself to focus on the present. She was determined that Annabelle's wedding would be a stunning successâboth for the bride and for Cilla's business reputation. Tonight's engagement party should set the tone.
“There you are, Cilla.” Dolly Bailey, her employer, huffed to a stop beside her. Dolly's buxom figure had been squeezed into a dress of creamy azure, showing off her blond hair, blue eyes, and generous bosom. Matching blue diamonds sparkled at her ears and
throat, glittering with every breath she took. “The butler has informed me that we may not have enough champagne for all the guests.”
Cilla frowned. “How can that be? I made certain that we had enough for fifty peopleâ”
“Fifty? No, no, dear. Seventy. I told you I sent out a few invitations of my own.”
Cold dread seeped into her stomach. “No, you did not tell me that.”
“Of course I did.” Dolly smiled, her dimples flashing as her gaze followed the dancers. “I remember discussing the matter with you yesterday while we were at the Archer picnic.”
Cilla let out a slow, quiet breath. “Dolly, I did not attend the Archer picnic. I stayed behind, do you not recall? To help the housekeeper count the linens that had just arrived.”
“Oh.” Dolly's brows beetled. “Then who did I tell? Oh, perhaps it was Annabelle.”
“Perhaps it was.” Cilla made herself smile with calm assurance even while a voice inside her head screamed in frustration. Annabelle would never have thought to pass on the messageânot unless it affected herself, that is. “I will go discuss the matter with Evers.”
“Bless you, Cilla. That's a wonderful idea.” Dolly's eyes grew misty as Annabelle danced by in the arms of her fiancé, the Earl of Raventhorpe. “My baby is getting married, and to an earl of all things. She's going to be a countess.” Dolly withdrew a delicate lace handkerchief from inside her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Who could have imagined such a thing
when I gave birth to her so many years ago in a one-room farmhouse in Virginia?”
“You can be very proud of your daughter.” Cilla patted Dolly's arm. “No mother could ask for more.”
“If her pa hadn't discovered that huge coal mine under the south field, none of this would have happened.” Dolly sniffed into the hankie, then blew her nose rather loudly.
Cilla managed to keep her polite smile in place. No amount of lessons about English society had succeeded in tempering the Baileys' casual comportment.
The orchestra came to the end of a waltz. Then instead of continuing, the musicians remained silent as Virgil Bailey climbed the two steps leading to the terrace and stood on the landing before the open doors. He held up his hands to silence the buzz of conversation.
“Good evening, my friends, and welcome.” He sent a genial smile around the room. “Tonight we celebrate a very special occasion. If my dear wife would come up here, and my daughter, Annabelle? And you too, Lord Raventhorpe.”
“It's time!” Dolly fluffed her hair and tugged at her dress. “Do I look all right?”
“You look wonderful.”
Dolly's radiant smile faded. “Oh, dear. The champagne⦔
“We will use wine if necessary and tell everyone it is an American custom.” Cilla shooed Dolly toward the steps where her husband awaited. “Go on now. They're waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” Dolly whispered, gratitude shining
in her eyes. Then she hurried across the expanse of the hall.
Cilla quickly turned away and headed for the double doors leading to the hallway. She had worked so hard to make Annabelle's engagement party the premier event of the Season. Nothing could ruin it, not if she hoped to earn the reputation she craved. She had no idea if there was enough wine in the cellar for twenty additional people, but she would consult with Evers and come up with a solution. Efficiency was what the Baileys paid her for, and she always made certain they got their money's worth.
Servants balancing trays with glasses of champagne streamed into the great hall from the servants' stairs as Cilla headed for the main doors. She started to step out into the hallway and found her path blocked by a stranger.
Though he wore sophisticated evening black, something about him read
untamed
. Was it his ink black hair, slightly too long for fashion? The sun-browned skin of his face and hands? His powerful build, made more impressive by the elegant cut of his clothing? Or maybe it was the go-to-the-devil look in his dark eyes?
A dart of pure feminine appreciation shot through her. Thrilled her. Annoyed her.
“Pardon me.” He brushed past her with a brusque nod of his head, the contact brief but potent. She could not look away as he swept a glass of champagne from the tray of a nearby servant and continued to make his way to the front of the crowd.
Who was he? The accent might have been American. A friend of the Baileys?
Evers appeared in the doorway, two footmen at his side, breaking her focus on the mysterious man.
“Ah, Evers, Mrs. Bailey is concerned about the champagne.”
“Where is he?” the butler asked, scanning the room.
“Who?”
“The American. He pushed past Thomas before we could stop him. Knocked the poor boy down.”
“What?” She whipped her head around, searching for that tall, dark form. Men clad in evening black thronged the room from wall to wall, making it impossible to spot just one.
“He has no invitation,” Thomas said, rubbing his swollen lip.
“He demanded to see Miss Annabelle,” Evers added. “He was most adamant on the matter.”
“Find him,” she snapped at Thomas. The young man nodded and plunged into the morass of people. She looked at the butler. “Send for more help. The more people we have looking for this interloper, the more likely we are to find him. But for heaven's sake, keep it quiet. We do not want to ruin Annabelle's night.”
“I will rally the footmen belowstairs.”
A servant with an empty tray passed by them, reminding her of why she had come seeking him to begin with. “Also, Evers, send someone to see if we have enough wine in the cellar for twenty people. Apparently we will not have enough champagne.”
He gave a nod. “We will begin serving champagne, and if that runs out, we will begin serving white wine.”
“Yes.” With the matter delegated, Cilla turned her attention to this new crisis. Her blood ran cold at the notion of a man breaking into the Bailey household on such an important night. Not only was Annabelle Bailey beautiful, but she was the heiress to her parents' substantial coal mining fortune. What could this man want? Did he intend to abduct the girl? Something worse?
Whatever his nefarious plans, he must be stopped. It was not often an American with Annabelle's humble beginnings married a peer of the realm. Nothing must interfere with the girl's triumph.
She worked her way through the crush, nearly invisible in the plain gray satin that marked her as beneath notice. Though she had known some of these people since childhood, she was only a paid employee now. Those who did not know her looked right past her. Those who did politely glanced away, as if sparing her the embarrassment of acknowledging her fall from social grace.
Once their remoteness would have stung. Now she simply did not have time for such nonsense. If this wedding came off as the social success she anticipated, she would have the reputation to build a business assisting debutantes in planning their wedding celebrations. She would be financially independent, never again reliant on a man to provide for her welfare. Her late husband had taught her that harsh lesson.
And she certainly would not allow a
man
to ruin the engagement party she had so painstakingly planned.
Thomas said the trespasser had demanded to see Annabelle. The Baileys were even now standing before the garden doors, waiting for the servants to finish distributing the champagne. If she were the intruder, where would be the best possible spot to get near the prospective bride?
She directed her gaze toward the columns on either side of the steps. Ah, there he was, beside the left oneâhidden from some of the crowd but with a clear view of Annabelle. He watched the lovely blond with ferocious intensity, his fingers clenched around the delicate wineglass. He definitely looked like trouble.
But trouble was Cilla's specialty.
She headed toward the interloper, catching the eye of Thomas across the room. With a jerk of her head she indicated the stranger's hiding spot. Thomas nodded and signaled to another footman as he headed in the same direction.
Cilla was closer and got there first. She could tell her sudden appearance had startled the stranger, so intent had he been on Annabelle. Though he topped her height by more than a head, she stood in his path, folded her arms, and met his gaze squarely. “Good evening, sir. May I see your invitation?”
“I don't have it with me.”
American. She had been right. She would know the accent anywhere. “Perhaps you might tell me your name then? I will check it against the guest list.”
He scowled down at her, then leaned forward with graceful menace. “I don't think you want to do this.”
“Indeed?” From the corner of her eye, Cilla observed the two footmen closing in. “You forced your way in here. Why?”
“That is my concern.”
“No, it is
my
concern when you strike one of the servants and attempt to disrupt the evening.” She signaled to the footmen, who aligned themselves behind her.
His eyes narrowed. “Listen, Missâ”
“
Mrs.
Burke.”
“Mrs. Burke then.” He smiled at herâmuch, she thought, as a shark might smile at a floundering fish. “I've come a long way to see Annabelle, and nothing is going to stop me. Not these fellows and certainly not a pint-sized lady like yourself, no matter how much gumption you've got to stand on.”
Cilla narrowed her eyes, both flattered by his assessment of her and infuriated by it at the same time. “What do you want with Annabelle?”
Nearby, Virgil Bailey cleared his throat, preparing to make his toast. She was running out of time.
The intruder shot a hard look at the group on the steps. “Annabelle and I go way back.”
“What do you mean?” Cilla persisted. “Who are you?”
“Samuel Breedlove.”
“Am I supposed to know that name?”
His lips thinned. “Guess not.”
Virgil's voice rang out across the spacious room.
“If you would all quiet down nowâ¦My wife and I have waited for this day ever since our little girl was born.” Dolly sniffed loudly, and Virgil patted her arm in comfort without looking away from his audience. “So raise your glasses, everyone, and join me in offering best wishes to my daughter, Annabelle, on her engagement to the Earl of Raventhorpe.”
