Authors: Lorraine Heath
“Oh, come, come. Every woman fantasizes. Who would be your ideal mate?”
“Oh, Mama, surely you are aware that the man a woman fantasizes about is not necessarily the one who would make an ideal mate,” Jenny said.
Louisa was stunned that the young lady had spoken exactly what she had been thinking. An image of Hawkhurst—dark, roguish, dangerous—flashed unexpectedly through her mind. An odd thing really, as he was neither fantasy nor ideal…well, perhaps he was a bit of fantasy, if she was honest with herself, and hadn’t she just claimed to be honest?
Adding to that honesty was the admittance that he was partly responsible for her present situation. Whenever he visited her brother, he ignored her as easily as any other man. If she couldn’t even snag the attention of her brother’s most trusted friend, then what hope was left to her? None.
“Why, Lady Louisa, you’re blushing,” Jenny said.
“I’m simply not accustomed to being bombarded with such personal inquiries. We English are a bit more circumspect when it comes to hiring someone to do a specific job. Who would be ideal for me, Mrs. Rose, has no bearing upon who might be ideal for your daughters. If it is your fear that I will offer some competition, I assure you I will not.” A painful admission, but again a truthful one. “All my efforts and energy shall go toward fulfilling your expectations.”
“I admit I have not found your answers satisfactory—”
Louisa’s stomach knotted as disappointment swelled through her. Did she graciously accept defeat or did she make one last, valiant effort—
“Were you to hire me to serve as a social chaperone for your daughters, I shall do all in my power to see that you are not disappointed in the outcome of our association. We would all benefit, and is that not the measure of a successful partnership?”
“Do you often interrupt your elders?” Mrs. Rose asked.
“No, I hardly ever interrupt anyone, and I apologize for my rudeness. I simply wished to make my final”—plea made her sound as though she were begging, and she refused to stoop that low and acknowledge that was exactly what she was doing—“to address what I consider strong points in my favor before you said anything we might both wish you hadn’t.”
“What I’d planned to say was that I’ve grown
quite weary of our going in circles, but have decided you will do. You’re hired.” She came to her feet, with a rush of movement that had her skirts rustling. “My husband will work out the vulgar details of payment with you. You may move in tomorrow. A room will be readied near my daughters so you are available to them at all times. Don’t disappoint me, Lady Louisa. I’m not someone you want to disappoint. I can make your life miserable—”
“Yes, yes, I think you’ve made your position quite clear, my dear,” Mr. Rose said, speaking for the first time since Louisa had come into the room and introductions had been made. He was sitting in a chair off to the side by the window as though he were merely an afterthought.
Mrs. Rose gave him a pointed glare, and Louisa couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made his life miserable. It seemed to be her purpose: to overwhelm and intimidate.
“Very well,” Mrs. Rose said. “I shall leave you and the girls to get acquainted. I have other pressing matters that require my attention.”
And with that she swept from the room as though a strong gale blew at her back. Louisa found herself sinking against the chair, an equal mixture of relief and dread swirling through her. What had she fought so incredibly hard to get herself into, and how soon before she began having regrets?
“Not to worry. My wife is more bark than bite,” Mr. Rose said, as he moved to the chair his wife
had vacated. He was well fed, well dressed, and well-mannered.
Louisa felt some sort of response was required, and she had no wish to insult her new employer. While she had little doubt Mr. Rose brought the money into the household, she suspected Mrs. Rose oversaw its departure. “She seems to know her own mind and what she wants.”
“We’re new money. My lovely wife believes that our daughters’ marrying English lords will give us the prestige of
old
money.” He repeatedly stroked his thumb and forefinger over his graying mustache. He had kind eyes, not quite brown, not quite green, and a shy sort of smile that seemed out of place on a man who was reputed to be as wealthy, successful, and determined to leave his mark on the world as he was.
Louisa had liked him immediately upon introduction. She wished she could say the same of the formidable Mrs. Rose.
“My wife referred to the vulgar details of your payment. Nothing vulgar in honest work. You aristocrats need to accept that if you’re to survive.”
“We’ve done quite well for ourselves for several centuries, thank you very much,” Louisa said, grimacing at the haughty tone of her voice, not to mention the audacity of her remark. Was she not practically begging for this position? “My apologies—”
“No need to apologize, my dear. I was once where you are now. Didn’t have two pennies to
rub together, and I was willing to do what had to be done to survive. So let’s talk vulgarities, shall we?”
They discussed her salary, or rather he told her what he planned to pay—five pounds a month plus a bonus on the day each girl married—and as it was an extremely generous arrangement with which only a fool would find fault—and Louisa did not consider herself a fool—she accepted the terms without argument or hesitation. He welcomed her into the household with a firm handshake and a promise to have the papers outlining their agreement ready for her signature when she arrived the following day.
After he walked from the room, all that remained was for her to put the young ladies at ease regarding how her duties would affect their lives. She had a sense, based on Jenny’s comments, that the lady enjoyed teasing and having fun. She had no idea what to expect of Kate. Louisa smiled brightly at Jenny since Kate was still absorbed by the contents of her novel. “So as I understand it this will be your first Season in London.”
“We were here in the spring, so the summer will be our second season in London,” Kate murmured.
Laughing, Jenny did what Louisa had been tempted to do: She snatched the book out of Kate’s grasp. With a shriek Kate lunged for it, and Jenny promptly shoved it beneath her bustled skirt, sitting on it and looking quite smug.
“Give me my book,” Kate demanded.
“Not until you stop being so rude to our new chaperone. Can’t you see she’s nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” Louisa protested. She grimaced at Jenny’s challenging look. “All right, I am a little.”
“You shouldn’t be, now that the dragon has left the lair,” Kate said, settling back in her chair as though resolved to the fact that her sister wouldn’t return her treasured possession.
“Kate is upset that Mother is handling the hunt for our husbands as though it were a business arrangement.”
“One should marry for love,” Kate said.
“I disagree. One should marry for passion, and love will follow.”
“You must have love
before
you can have passion,” Kate said.
Jenny looked at Louisa. “What do you think? Which comes first, love or passion?”
Shifting in her chair, Louisa felt acutely uncomfortable with the boldness of her question. “Having experienced neither, I fear I’m hardly in a position to advise.”
“Then what makes you think you are qualified to serve as our chaperone?” Kate asked.
“If you’d been listening, silly, you’d know. She gave all her qualifications to Mother.”
“I was listening, and I don’t care about any of the things she mentioned. I don’t want my marriage arranged—”
“Marriages are no longer arranged—”
“The hell they’re not. They’ve fancied up the
process, but it’s the same thing. As long as Mother approves of him, it doesn’t matter whether or not we love him.”
“Which is the very reason Lady Louisa is so important. She will guide us toward only men whom we can love. Isn’t that so?” Jenny asked.
Louisa took a deep, calming breath. “That is my hope.”
“Have you any candidates?”
“Well, I suppose to begin with, I should find out what you’re looking for in a man.”
“Splendid!” Jenny pulled the book from beneath her and tossed it into her sister’s lap. “There, you see, Lady Louisa is on our side, so victory is assured.”
“You make it sound as though you’re engaged in war,” Louisa said.
“Did you not just meet our mother?” Kate asked. “I could have sworn she was the reason your tummy rumbled.”
“Don’t be bothered by Kate’s sour disposition,” Jenny said quickly, before Louisa could respond to Kate’s rudeness. “Like Mother, she has her own ideas regarding how one should go about finding the love of her life.”
“You don’t have to find him. He should find you,” Kate said.
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Enough on this subject.” She sat up straighter, more attentively. Although neither sister was plump, Kate was considerably rounder, while Jenny was a bit taller, nearer to Louisa’s own height.
“Tell us about the prospects,” Jenny demanded.
Louisa laughed, a laugh fraught with insecurities as she sought to find a balance in this awkward arrangement: matchmaker-chaperone. It was an emerging position for ladies of quality. As far as she knew no books had been written to explain one’s exact duties or responsibilities.
“As I mentioned earlier, I think you should tell me what you are searching for in a husband. Then I can compare your desires against what I know of the available lords, and I hope we’ll find a suitable match.”
“You want my reality rather than my fantasy?” Jenny asked. “Because as you’ll recall, I don’t consider them to be the same at all.”
Louisa felt the heat of embarrassment warm her cheeks. Americans always spoke so brashly. “Perhaps a little of both would be in order,” she said.
“Well, he must be handsome,” Jenny said. “Don’t you agree, Kate?”
“I care little about his appearance. I care only about how he makes me feel.”
“Well, if he’s hideous, he will make you feel quite ill.”
“He won’t be hideous.”
“He might be if you don’t give Lady Louisa some guidance.”
“Ladies,” Louisa said before their bickering could escalate further. She hadn’t expected her charges to be so vastly different in opinion or temperament. Finding them each a husband
would prove a challenge, a man approved by their mother almost impossible. “I think it would be best if you simply each told me what you require.”
“Passion,” Jenny said.
“Love,” Kate countered.
They then proceeded to return to their debate regarding which came first. Oh, the upcoming Season was going to be jolly good fun.
“I
didn’t think matters could get any worse.”
Randolph Selwyn, the fifth Duke of Hawkhurst, moved the glass of brandy from his lips and arched a brow at Alexander Wentworth, the sixth Earl of Ravensley, where he stood staring morosely into the fire, an arm resting on the marble mantel. “You always did lack imagination.”
In the plush chair beside him, Michael Tremayne, the fourth Marquess of Falconridge shook his dark head and chuckled.
Ravensley jerked around to face his two longtime friends, apparently appreciating neither the wryly delivered comment nor the subsequent chuckles. “I see no humor in our present situation.”
“Only because you see humor in nothing,”
Falconridge said. “So you lack humor and imagination.” He paused for emphasis, his green eyes sharp as he no doubt hit upon the crux of the problem. “And money.”
“The humor and imagination I can do without, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult to manage without the money. I’m having a time of it getting anyone to extend me credit. How are you managing?”
Falconridge held up his glass, swirled the liquid around and around, as though mesmerized by the flowing amber. “I’m not. My mistress walked out on me this week. Packed up her baubles and went. Apparently she found a gentleman who could purchase her the useless trinkets I was having difficulty providing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Not nearly as sorry as I am. She was incredible in bed. The best I’d ever had actually.”
Hawk knew they wouldn’t ask after the situation concerning his mistress, as they knew him well enough to know he’d never taken one. He grew too easily bored with women, had never met one who could hold his attention once the thrill of the chase was past. It was one of the reasons he’d never given serious contemplation to marriage. How did a man force himself to visit his wife’s bed, night after night, year after year, until she’d blessed him with an heir and a spare? The duty of procreation effectively removed any sense of enjoyment, any hope for spontaneity, as
did the familiar. He enjoyed new experiences. Marriage guaranteed boredom.
“We’ve all been in this difficult spot for some time now,” Hawk said. “Why, of a sudden, are you so bothered by it?”
Ravensley dropped into a chair as though he no longer had the strength to remain standing, as though the burden he carried had suddenly become too heavy. “Louisa.”
Hawk’s stomach tightened at the mere mention of the woman’s name—as irritating a female as he’d ever met. Eight years his junior, she’d been troublesome from the moment he, at the age of fourteen, had met her when he’d visited Ravensley’s estate for the first time. She’d caught him and her brother in the stables testing out the old man’s pipe. At fifteen, it had been the old man’s liquor.
At sixteen, it had been the daughter of the old man’s valet—a young woman six years Hawk’s senior who took extreme delight in initiating young lads to the joys of manhood when she wasn’t seeing after Lady Louisa. In a corner stall in the stables, with the woman and a mound of hay beneath him, Hawk had been lost in bliss until Lady Louisa had suddenly come upon them and shrieked that he was killing her nanny. She’d tried to pull him off, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him. He’d always been grateful that he’d been savoring the initiation and had been in no great hurry to unbutton his trousers, and was merely lying atop the woman, but her harsh
breathing at his earnest attentions no doubt did sound as though she was fighting for air. His subsequent yelling for Ravensley and Falconridge—both having experienced the woman’s talents earlier—had resulted in their ushering Lady Louisa away, her being none the wiser regarding his true circumstance that afternoon. Ever since that unfortunate encounter, he’d taken great care to avoid her.
“Your sister? What of her?” he asked.
“This morning she took a position as a social chaperone.” Ravensley drained the remainder of brandy from his glass. “She’s gone to work, for God’s sake.”
Falconridge shrugged. “It’s a reputable position for a lady of quality.”
“Wait a moment,” Hawk said. “I didn’t realize your sister was that old.”
“She’s not. She is but six-and-twenty, but she has determined no man will ever have her, and, therefore, her age is a moot issue.”
“Surely, someone—”
“No,” Ravensley interrupted. “No one. She has no dowry. And she is quite right. Without some financial gain to offer a man, her cause is hopeless. And I’m to blame. As head of the family, I should have taken action long ago to ensure that matters didn’t deteriorate this far.”
“What sort of action could you have taken?” Falconridge asked.
“Married one of these American heiresses who are so set on getting themselves a title.”
Hawk got to his feet and replaced Ravensley before the fire, his mood suddenly taking a plunge into the pit of despair at the thought of any proud English lady, especially one of his acquaintances, now serving at the pleasure of others—of wealthy Americans at that. “For whom is she working?”
“The Rose family.”
Hawk spun around. “Of New York?”
Ravensley grinned. “My reaction exactly. Wealthy with two very attractive daughters, from what I understand. I’ve decided the best thing I can do for Louisa is to see that these girls are quickly wed, and that one of them is quickly wed to me. Without charges to oversee, she will no longer be a chaperone, and I will then have the means to provide properly for her. Two birds with one stone, as it were.
“And with Louisa in the Rose household, I have an advantage. She can serve as my spy, offering me advice on how to effectively woo the lady of my choice while keeping me informed of other lords’ sad progress. I wondered if either of you wanted to have a go at the other sister.”
His gaze darted between Hawk and Falconridge, who was slowly shaking his head.
“You never were good with numbers,” Falconridge said. “Two of them and three of us. It doesn’t work, old man.”
“I’ll admit it’s not perfect, but it does offer a challenge, and I’ve found challenges sadly lacking of late. Are you gentlemen interested?”
“I’ll confess I’m intrigued by the possibilities,”
Hawk said. “No harm, I suppose, in at least hearing what Lady Louisa has to say about the ladies in question.”
Hell and damnation. A man without means was as trapped in an undesirable position as a woman without a dowry.
Hawk detested the shortsighted ancestors who’d come before him and refused to branch into anything beyond agriculture. His own father had failed to notice that tenants were leaving the land in order to work in city factories, and little was going into the family coffers while a good deal was going out. Hawk had nothing to offer a woman except his title, and so he was forced to make his selection based upon what a woman could offer him financially. It was a damned good thing he didn’t believe in love.
He’d been toying with the notion of seeking out an American heiress, and so Ravensley’s suggestion had some merit to it. And his friend was correct in his assessment: They would have an advantage with Lady Louisa sharing her insights and observations…
If only Hawk could focus on her words rather than the lengthy slope of her throat, which gave a man ample room for nibbling. When had her neck lengthened and become so enticing? He’d attended her coming-out ball, but had stayed true to his habit of avoiding her. A woman he could never possess was a tempting morsel he could scarce resist. God only knew what his trusted friend
would do to him if he knew the wayward path his thoughts were suddenly traversing.
Along with Falconridge and Ravensley, Hawk was sitting in Ravensley’s library where Lady Louisa had been selecting a favorite book to take with her when she moved into the Rose residence the following morning. Now she sat in a chair running her finger around the edge of the leather-bound book in her lap, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have her stroke that finger along his shoulder, down his chest, across his belly, down—
“—Your Grace?”
He snapped his gaze up to hers. Had she always had such incredibly blue eyes? So large, so round, so innocent? And her hair was as golden as the wheat that had once covered his land. If he could only spin every silken strand into gold, he wouldn’t have to endure the necessity of finding a woman with money to take to wife. And if money weren’t a requirement, the possibilities would become infinite.
He cleared his throat. “My apologies. I became distracted.”
“It wasn’t my intent to bore you.”
He’d been far from bored, but he certainly couldn’t reveal that bit of information without fear that she might inquire as to what was holding his attention if not her words. And then what would he say? That he’d been dreaming of sending his lips on a journey along her throat?
Not only would that declaration sit poorly with
her, but it might very well end his friendship with Ravensley.
“Again, I apologize. I’m a bit weary this afternoon.”
“The result of a late night?”
“Hawk’s sleeping habits are none of your concern, Louisa,” Ravensley said sternly. He turned to Hawk. “She was asking what you knew of the Rose family.”
“Ah. Not much actually. That they are well-off and have two daughters in want of titled husbands.” He held Lady Louisa’s gaze. Her eyes were the same blue hue as her brother’s, and yet they were far more intriguing, far more enticing. “I thought our reason for coming here was so you might tell us what
you
knew of the family.”
“So you might court the daughters?”
Was that disappointment he heard in her voice, saw reflected in her eyes?
“So I might contemplate the possibilities, determine the probabilities that one of the ladies might make an agreeable match, and perhaps have you put in a good word for me—for us. For your brother, Falconridge, and me.”
Falconridge was sitting on the other side of Ravensley, but he seemed to be paying no more attention than Hawk was. Did any of them wish to marry?
“Rather calculating on your part,” she said, not bothering to mask the censure in her voice.
“On all our parts, I would say. It behooves a gentleman not to take the matter of matrimony
lightly. So what do you know of the Rose sisters?” Hawk asked.
She opened the book, closed it. “Their mother has charged me with finding them suitable husbands.”
“There! See!” Ravensley slapped his hand on an arm of the chair. “You will help us, Louisa, and in so doing, you’ll help yourself. We are quite the catch, don’t you know. So tell us everything you’ve learned about the daughters and leave nothing out. We shall sift through the information for pertinent details.”
Her gaze darted between the three men, and Hawk wondered at her hesitation, as though she feared disappointing someone.
“Jenny is the older. She is two-and-twenty, while Kate is twenty,” she finally said with as much enthusiasm as one reciting memorized passages from a work of literature.
“Are they beauties?” Falconridge asked.
“I can’t answer that for you. As I’m sure you are well aware, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
That statement didn’t bode well. Unlike Ravensley, Hawk did not lack imagination. As a matter of fact, at times, it was far too vivid. Her words conjured up visions of women with absurdly large noses, pointed teeth, and coarse hair growing out of warts on their chins. “Would
you
classify them as beautiful?” he asked.
She glanced down at the book. “Yes.”
“Charming?”
She lifted her gaze. “They are two very different ladies. It does them a disservice to apply the same description to each of them.”
He fought to rein in his impatience. “Then describe each of them separately, which I believe is what your brother asked of you to begin with.”
She picked up the book, set it in her lap, and he wondered if she’d been tempted to bonk him on the head with it. Why was she not more forthcoming with the information? What was it about the ladies she had no desire for them to know? If he did learn something unsavory, would it alter his plans? He wasn’t certain it would.
Again, she lifted the book, set it down, looked at each of them, and said, “They defy description. They must be met to be understood, to be known, to be adequately appreciated.”
“For pity’s sake, Louisa, you spent the morning with the ladies, did you not?” Ravensley snapped. “Surely you can provide us with less cryptic information.”
“Alex, I have been charged with finding them suitable husbands,” she repeated.
“Three candidates have willingly strolled into your library, lambs before the slaughter. I fail to understand why you are not more forthcoming,” Hawk said.
“It appears you have a very low opinion of marriage,” she said.
“Name me one gentleman who has a high opinion of it. Men marry when their backs are to the wall, and they have no other recourse.”
“Are you implying your back is to the wall?”
Damnation! How had this conversation turned to a discourse on him and his views of marriage?
“I believe we have strayed from our purpose,” he said. “You are charged with finding them suitable husbands, and here we are.”
She took a deep breath, angled her chin slightly, and folded her hands around the book as though she needed it to gain strength. “Yes, well, unfortunately, I do not find the three of you suitable.”
Falconridge scoffed; Ravensley shook his head. Hawk could do little more than stare at her in stunned disbelief. He was a duke, had been a duke since the age of twelve. Of course he was suitable.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” she said quietly, “but it is not my place to convince you that the ladies are worthy of you, rather you must convince me that you are worthy of an introduction.”
“I am your brother!”
“I’m well aware of that fact, and it pains me greatly that I can’t recommend you without hesitation.” She sighed. “But I can’t.”
“This is damned ridiculous,” Falconridge stated, coming to his feet. “I will not grovel—”
“Sit down,” Ravensley said. “She is merely being temperamental.”
“I refuse to stoop so low as to have to prove myself worthy to anyone, least of all a foreigner.” Falconridge sneered. “Or a chaperone.”