Kathryn Caskie (27 page)

A scant three minutes later, over the swell of orchestral music, the patter of dancing slippers announced Grace Merriweather’s arrival.

Whatever the purpose of this meeting, it was startlingly clear that this was no sport to her. For as she came to stand before him, her cheeks were flushed a coral-hued red and her lower lip quivered.

“Oh, Lord Somerton. ‘Tis all my fault.
Everything.
I bade her to do it and now I fear I’ve lost Hawksmoor as a result,” she cried. “But I know you will help me right the cart I’ve overturned. You must, for I simply cannot reverse this jumble single-handedly.”

“Ye must calm yerself, Miss Grace.” Magnus told her. “For if ye continue to chatter at phaeton speed, I fear I’ll never know what ye’re on about.”

"Oh. Of course.” Grace sucked in a deep breath and expelled it gradually. “After your night with Eliza in the music room, I cautioned my sister against continuing any connection with you.”

Hardly a revelation. “Go on.”

Grace twisted her fan then looked up at him. “Before I continue you must understand how very sorry I am for interfering. I have learned my lesson well and only hope, after I finish my confession, you can find it within yourself to forgive me.”

What in the blue blazes has she done?
Just then, Lady Letitia’s jubilant laughter drifted into the vestibule. Magnus glanced at the open doors, then hurriedly back at Grace. “Ye best tell me what fashes ye so. Quickly, too, before we draw yer aunts’ attention.”

“You’re right.” Her eyes rounded as she nervously glanced through the open doorway into the assembly room before returning her attention to Magnus. “I suggested to Eliza that she marry you and put an end to the damage your
arrangement
has levied on this family.”

“But she would not agree to that.”

“No. She claimed marriage was impossible due to your brother’s debts.”

Grace bowed her head and peered up through her lashes. “So, I bade her to adhere to the terms of your
arrangement.
Find a suitable wife for Lord Somerton, I said, then be done with him.” She laid her gloved hand to his coat sleeve and peered timidly up at him. “I know you must think me most horrid.”

By God, I knew it.
Eliza didn’t turn him away because she didn’t love him. Nay, ‘twasna that at all.

So he’d been right all along. Eliza sought to be noble by releasing him so that he would be free to marry Miss Peacock and save Somerton.

It all made sense to him now. Except for one thing—why was Grace asking his help now? Magnus cast a suspicious gaze at Grace.

She looked back at him, her eyes filled with worry. “I know you have no reason to trust me, after the trouble I’ve caused you and Eliza. But I need your help. You see, for some reason, Eliza has begun to encourage Lord Hawksmoor’s attention. Why, at this very moment, they are dancing the quadrille together,
again
—to the notice of all!”

“Yer aunts will not allow it to continue. They have chosen Hawksmoor for ye, have they not?”

“That’s just it! My aunts are actively encouraging Reggie and Eliza’s pairing. They’ve even asked Lord Hawksmoor to join us as my sister’s guest on our riding excursion in Hyde Park on the morrow.
Eliza’s
guest—instead of mine!”

“Perhaps they are intent in marrying her off first. She is the eldest.”

“Ridiculous. My aunts couldn’t care a pickle which of us marries first. They told me as much, several times in fact. Heed my words, Lord Somerton, I fear Hawksmoor has redirected his affections after Eliza gifted him with her attention. But it’s
you
she truly cares for, I know it, no matter what she claims to the contrary.”

Beneath his coat, Magnus’s shoulders tightened uncomfortably. He recalled the sight of Eliza dancing in Hawksmoor’s arms only minutes ago. Remembered the fiery jealousy that coursed through his veins when she refused him on the dance floor. And that feeling plagued him still. Just the thought of her with Hawksmoor made his jaw muscles ache.

So, despite Eliza’s objections, he had not imagined Hawksmoor’s robust interest in her.

And now, instead of thwarting the cad’s attention, Eliza was stubbornly encouraging it. She didn’t love Hawksmoor, Magnus knew that much. Eliza was favoring the straw-haired country boy simply to drive Magnus into Miss Peacock’s cold arms.

Every muscle felt tied in square knots, but outwardly, he forced himself to remain cool as a sip of springwater on a summer day. “I own, Miss Grace, ye have come to me for a purpose. Now would be the time to share it.”

Grace folded her arms and looked him in the eye for a moment, taking his measure. “I need you to join us in Hyde Park tomorrow as my guest.”

Magnus simply stared at her.

“Can you not see the logic of my plan?” she asked. “Though you would join our party as
my
guest, it will be your mission to usurp Hawksmoor by resuming your courtship of my sister.”

“Leaving Hawksmoor—”

“In my capable hands.” Grace smiled brightly.

He had to chuckle at that. “So, when ye thought I would jeopardize yer marital prospects, ye did everything in yer power to rid me from Eliza’s life. But now that
she
threatens yer happiness, even though nothing of my circumstances has changed, I am now worthy to resume my courtship of yer sister.”

Grace gaped at him.

“Do I have this right so far?”

She gave a long sigh. “I know I must seem perfectly odious to you. Though you must own, what I am asking is in your interest too, if you truly love my sister. And I know you do, else you would not have met me here.”

Magnus peered down at Grace, considering everything she proposed. Aside from her selfish motivations, there was a great deal of truth in what she said.

“So you will join us as my guest tomorrow? If so, you must arrive at Hanover Square no later than three o’clock tomorrow. Can you be there?”

Magnus evaluated her plan. He had nothing to lose, and by Jove, everything to gain by this adventure. Actually, ‘twas heaven sent, since he had yet to devise a better course of action himself.

“While I am still unsure that yer strategy has any chance of working, as ye have assessed, my feelings for yer sister have rendered me a desperate man.” Magnus paused a moment, then raised his hands in surrender. “Ye may count on my assistance, Miss Grace,” he said, punctuating his words with a snicker.

Grace narrowed her brilliant blue eyes at him. “Might I ask what you find so amusing? I am quite serious about this.”

“Oh, I dinna doubt that, Miss Grace,” Magnus replied. “ ‘Tis just, until now, I had thought ye and yer sister were as different as morn and eve. I can see now that I was quite mistaken.”

Grace screwed up her nose at that comment. “I daresay we are
nothing
alike. I know I mightn’t be held in your greatest esteem at the moment, but there is no need for insults, my lord.”

Magnus grinned at that. “None was intended, I assure ye. Indeed, my statement was purely complimentary.” Just then, over Grace’s head, Magnus noticed her two matchmaking aunts standing just inside the doorway, beckoning a clutch of gentlemen to them.

He narrowed his eyes and focused on the small crimson-edged cards in their hands. Then he blinked, quite unable to believe what he was seeing. Both Lady Letitia and Lady Viola were handing the cards to every bachelor who approached.

“I will join ye tomorrow at three.” He glanced up in the direction of her aunts once more. “But if ye will excuse me, I have another matter to attend to just now.”

In response to his bow, Grace dropped a quick curtsey, then preceded him into the assembly room. Magnus cut to the left, to avoid being seen in her company, but as he did so he caught notice of Grace exchanging meaningful glances with each of her aunts as she passed them by. Perhaps Grace was not to be trusted after all. Could it be she was in league with her aunts in this scheme?

His curiosity aroused, Magnus pressed stealthily through the crush of gentlemen hovering like a dark cloud about Letitia and Viola. As he neared the nucleus of the group, he saw two pairs of lavender-gloved hands slapping the crimson-edge cards into a score of awaiting palms.

Sidling up to Lady Viola, Magnus opened his palm, and hurriedly closed it the moment a card was set into it.

Lady Viola glanced up. “Oh dear. That card was not meant for you, Lord Somerton.”

“Wasn’t it?” He grinned. “But it was meant for every other gentleman in attendance this evening?”

“Why yes. With the season coming to a close, we thought it prudent to step up our matchmaking efforts since you and our Eliza are no longer a pair,” Lady Viola explained. “So, if you would just return the card—”

“And here I thought we’d become close,” he teased.

Lady Viola softened, taking his words in all seriousness. “My lord, be assured my sister and I hold you in the highest fondness.” She nudged her sister. “Isn’t that right, Letitia?”

Lady Letitia looked up and her eyes alighted on Magnus and the card in his hand. Her eyes went wide. “My, my. Silly Viola, Lord Somerton does not require a card. He is well acquainted with our Eliza already.” Her hand shot out and just missed the edge of the purloined card. She pulled back her empty hand with a pronounced frown.

Magnus lifted his card in the air, well out of the ladies’ reach. “Ah, I believe I see my uncle. Perhaps we will find time to chat when ye both are no longer so occupied. Good eve, ladies.” With a tip of his head, Magnus was willingly absorbed by the burgeoning crowd.

When he emerged from the throng and was able to draw a breath, he leaned against a heavy pedestal and read the card.

The cards previously distributed by

Miss Merriweather contained an unfortunate error.

The message should have read:

Thank you for coming to call upon

Miss Merriweather. Mayfair, 17 Hanover Square.

Magnus stared down at the card with mounting jealousy. Why, the old ladies’ distribution of these cards would bring the city’s salacious bachelors in droves. He wondered if Eliza had the least notion of what her mischievous aunts were doing.

The next day, Hyde Park’s tree-dotted emerald lawns were generously littered with London’s ton. Like the Featherton’s party, whose carriage now cut ruts in the still damp earth of Rotten Row, they too had been drawn by the long-awaited fair weather and the soft breezes blowing in from the south.

Still, Eliza would not be here at all had her aunts not convinced her that Grace’s hold on Hawksmoor was slipping. In truth, while Hawksmoor had danced with her twice last eve, he never extended the same invitation to Grace. And though Eliza was deeply grateful for his company, for dancing with him made her difficult vow to avoid Magnus possible, Hawksmoor’s slight on her sister disturbed her.

It meant that her aunts were correct. Her assistance was needed to facilitate a quick and secure match between Grace and Hawksmoor.

Only then would she feel truly free to go to Italy, which she fully intended to do. For though she could no longer study with the masters, she could at least allow herself to be inspired by their work as she rebuilt her portfolio.

Eliza looked up at the Lord Hawksmoor, who guided his sleek new hunter into a bouncy trot alongside the carriage in which she, her two aunts, and Grace rode. “A new curricle
and
a landau? My, how grand,” she declared as enthusiastically as she could.

Hawksmoor’s lips parted, revealing straight white teeth. “Mother brought the landau to town. Arrived two weeks ago, you know. Asked her to come,” he panted, as he tugged back on the reins to restrain his bay’s boundless energy. “Told her all about your family.” He looked down at Grace then, who, quite pleased with the attention, beamed back at him.

“We shall be honored to invite your mother for tea,” Aunt Letitia told him. She exchanged approving glances with Aunt Viola, then excitedly reached out and squeezed Eliza’s hand.

Hawksmoor
and
his mother.
Oh, jolly good. Can’t wait.
Eliza closed her eyes and prayed desperately that she would survive the last days of this wretched season. This pretense of decorum was quite taxing.

Eliza leaned her head back against the buttery leather headrest. For the first time in days, the sun shone gloriously and the warm wind soothed her skin like a gentle caress. But an elbow in her side roused her. She lifted her heavy lids to see Grace twisted around beside her in the landau’s forward seat.

Grace was clearly preoccupied this afternoon, so much so that she didn’t even seem to care that she was rumpling her new walking gown—an oversight quite unlike her perfectly pressed sister.

With a huff, Grace turned around in her back-facing seat, tugging and twisting at her gloves.

“Does anyone have the time?” Grace asked, impatiently.

Hawksmoor, happy to oblige, drew his watch from his fob pocket. “Half past three,” he said. At that moment, his horse flung its head to the side, shaking the watch from his hand. He lunged for the gold timepiece, but his balance failed.

With a gasp, Hawksmoor lurched forward and clutched a fistful of the horse’s mane. But still, he slid from the animal’s back to the soft earth beneath.

The coachman pulled the reins, halting the landau. “May I assist, my lord?” he asked anxiously.

Hawksmoor’s face flamed. “No, no, no. I am quite unaffected,” he stammered while kicking free his ensnared foot from the stirrup before crawling to his feet. “Ill-trained beast. Did you see, he tried to throw me?”

“Did
throw you.” Eliza raised her hand to cover the grin overtaking her mouth. The horse was clearly more than the baron could handle.

Hawksmoor’s ears darkened to deepest garnet. “Yes, well…”

“My lord, I could be wrong,” Grace began, “but when you read the watch face, you leaned forward, and the horse likely misread your command.”

“I am well acquainted with horseflesh, Miss Grace—” Hawksmoor began.

Eliza broke in. “As is Grace, Lord Hawksmoor. She and I were raised around horses. And, I daresay, Grace has a better seat than most men I’ve seen.”