She studied him for a long moment. “I do appreciate your efforts with this, you know.”
“It’s entirely my pleasure.”
“Why are you doing it?”
“Is that an official question?”
She laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“It seems the least I can do to help a friend in your situation.”
“Are we friends already, then?”
“Somewhat, I hope. In truth, Miss Fairchild, I have never had a woman—a woman aside from my sisters, that is—ask me for help in any sort of endeavor of this serious a nature. Which is precisely what you did when you asked me to marry you.” He met her gaze directly. “You were completely candid with me and I regret that I was not as forthright with you. Apologies alone do not seem sufficient to rectify my error in judgment. I feel a certain obligation to help you avoid the fate you so very much wish to avoid. You asked for rescue and I did not provide it. I have long thought of myself as an honorable man and I am not proud of my refusal.”
“I see.” Her gaze searched his. “And if my fate cannot be avoided? If we cannot earn the funding I require? If I see no other choice but to marry the man my father selected?”
“You won’t,” he said firmly.
“This all seems so very speculative to me.” She blew a long breath. “I have any number of doubts as to its success, whereas you are completely confident.”
“I am indeed.” He nodded. It was easy to be confident, since he knew precisely where her funds would come from. Not that she would ever know. “Rest assured, Miss Fairchild, with this endeavor you will be rescued.”
“I am fortunate, then, to have found a friend such as you.” She smiled and his stomach twisted.
“I am the fortunate one.” At once he realized he did indeed feel fortunate.
“Because you will at last see your work in print, even if anonymously?”
“Yes, of course,” he murmured. Surely there was no other reason to feel as if he had just won an impressive wager? An immense lottery? The world itself? “That’s it.”
“I thought so. Very well.” She drew a deep breath. “He should take her, now, as was his due.”
“Indeed.” His gaze slipped to her lips.
“And then?”
Her words wrapped around him and without thought he leaned closer to her. “And then?”
“What comes next?” Her voice was soft and so enticing.
“Next?” He was close enough to kiss her. Surely a kiss, to seal a friendship, would be permissible?
“The next line, my lord? We should get back to our work.” The corners of her lips tilted upward in a slight, vaguely smug smile, as if she knew precisely what he was thinking. She pointedly turned away from him and read from the page. “He should take her, now, as was his due.”
As well he should. Jonathon pushed the errant thought from his head and got to his feet. “Of course. The next line.” He paced a few steps, then paused to study her, and smiled slowly.
“And knew, in the manner in which all gods knew such things, she wished it as much as he.”
Eight
The following morning, not nearly as early as the day before, but still earlier than one would have preferred if one had one’s choice, but then on occasion, one doesn’t…
“There is nothing like a new gown to raise a girl’s spirits.” Aunt Edwina circled the stool Fiona stood on in her aunt’s parlor and studied the fabrics draped over the younger woman. She’d been in a tizzy of excitement ever since Lady Chester’s invitation for Fiona had arrived yesterday afternoon and had wasted no time in summoning her favorite dressmaker.
Aunt Edwina fingered a length of copper-colored silk and glanced at the seamstress. “This will do beautifully, I think.”
“I agree, madame.” Madame DuBois, a Frenchwoman and, according to Aunt Edwina, one of the best and costliest dressmakers in the city, scrutinized Fiona with an even more critical eye than her aunt. “It suits her coloring and complements both her hair and her eyes.”
Madame DuBois’s entourage, consisting of a young man with a somewhat haughty demeanor and two women of indeterminate age, murmured their assent.
“I really don’t need a new gown,” Fiona said halfheartedly, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Madame was right. The silk was beautiful in and of itself and it did look well on her. “I was scarcely at the Christmas ball for any time at all. I could certainly wear the gown I wore then, or I have any number of others that will suit.”
“Nonsense. One can never have too many gowns.” Aunt Edwina’s gaze met Fiona’s in the mirror and her eyes twinkled. “Besides, it’s much more fun to dress you properly than to dress myself.”
“Nonsense, my lady,” the Frenchwoman said staunchly. “You are a joy to dress. You have kept your figure and you do not look a day older than when we first met.”
“Thank you, madame, and never fear you have not lost me as a client.” Aunt Edwin laughed. “But even you must admit it has been a number of years since a fabric flattered me, or, I should say, I flattered a fabric in the way my niece does.”
All three women stared in the mirror.
“She is indeed lovely, my lady.” Madame DuBois nodded. “It will be a privilege to create a gown that will enhance her beauty.”
“There will be a great many eligible gentlemen at this ball.” Aunt Edwina and Madame DuBois exchanged meaningful glances in the mirror.
“And she is not growing younger,” Madame DuBois said under her breath.
“And she is standing right here,” Fiona muttered, not that anyone paid her any notice. She could be invisible, for all it mattered.
She was not the least bit used to being ignored by a dressmaker. Indeed, Fiona had been in full control of such matters since her stepmother’s death. Still, it was lovely to leave every decision in Aunt Edwina’s capable hands. An odd pang of regret mingled with gratitude stabbed her. In truth, it was rather nice to have a mother again.
“We only have a week.” Aunt Edwina frowned. “Will that be enough time?”
Madame sniffed. “But of course.”
Fiona suspected Madame could do just about anything she set her mind on if the price was right.
“This is just the beginning, you know.” An eager light shone in Aunt Edwina’s eye. “She has three sisters I plan to sponsor this season.”
Madame chuckled in a manner that would have been considered mercenary from anyone else. “I shall look forward to it. As for this one…” Madame circled Fiona slowly. “I think something to reveal the curve of the shoulders.” She paused and peered up at Fiona. “The freckles, are they everywhere?”
Fiona sighed. “Just my nose.”
“The sun, no doubt. She should take care.” Madame continued her perusal. “Pity the waist is not smaller, but a snug bodice will make it seem so and push up the bosom as well.” Madame glanced at Aunt Edwina. “She has a good bosom. We must show it to advantage. Gentlemen love a generous bosom.”
Aunt Edwina beamed as if she were somehow responsible for, and therefore proud of, the generous nature of Fiona’s bosom.
Madame stepped back and nodded. “She will be as a princess. Heads will turn, my lady.”
Aunt Edwina flashed Fiona a grin. “I do so love it when heads turn.”
Madame signaled to her minions and without a sound save the swishing of the fabrics, the two women unwrapped the lengths of material from around Fiona and the young man extended his hand to help her down from the stool.
Aunt Edwina accompanied the Frenchwoman to the door and Fiona heard snatches of conversation about designs and fittings and that sort of thing. She’d never noted before the endless details of arranging for things like the commission of a new gown. She’d simply taken care of it for herself and her sisters. It was delightful not to have to do so now. She already felt more than a little like a princess. Aunt Edwina swept back into the room. “Madame DuBois is a genius. You will indeed be exquisite. We shall find you a suitable husband in no time.”
Fiona held her breath. If her sisters had told their aunt about her predicament she would have to throttle them all, individually or as a group. “A suitable husband?”
“Yes, of course, my dear.” Aunt Edwina shook her head. “Why, even Madame Dubois noted that you are not quite as young as would be preferable for a quest of this nature. You’re what?” She cast her gaze over Fiona. “Six-and-twenty?”
“Five-and-twenty.”
“Oh, that’s much better.” Aunt Edwina breathed a sigh of relief. “There is something about five-and-twenty instead of six-and-twenty that does not sound nearly so…so…”
“Old?” Fiona raised a brow.
Aunt Edwina laughed. “I was going to say distressing. Not that you are distressed of course. I think you are carrying on bravely and I’m very proud.” She took Fiona’s hand and led her to a settee. “Come, my dear, and sit with me for a bit. We have not had the chance for a good chat since your arrival.”
Aunt Edwina settled herself on the settee and patted the place beside her. “I blame myself for all of this, you know.”
Fiona sat down and studied her aunt cautiously. “Blame yourself for all of what?”
“For your unwed state, of course.” She heaved a remorseful sigh. “When your stepmother died, I should have insisted Alfred send you and your sisters back here to live with me instead of dragging you all off to Italy.”
Fiona shook her head. “We never would have left Father.”
“Then I should have persuaded him to seek a way for you all to return. If you had been here these last years, you would have had a proper London season and would no doubt be happily wed by now with children of your own. No, I shirked my responsibility to my husband’s only sister, your poor dear mother, to see to your well-being, and I shall not shirk it any longer.
“But it’s not at all too late. With your looks you shall most certainly be considered a prize, especially given your inheritance. I have not asked, but I assume it is sizable.” She drew her brows together in concern. “Although Oliver did mention that he was consulting his solicitor about details of your father’s will. There isn’t a problem, is there?”
“No,” Fiona said weakly. Other than not receiving her inheritance or her sisters’ dowries until she wed, and an unknown American no doubt on his way to claim her as his bride this very moment, coupled with writing a book of an erotic nature with the man who had rejected her proposal of marriage, there was no problem at all. “None whatsoever.”
“Good. Fiona…” A troubled expression crossed her aunt’s face. “May I ask you something of a rather personal nature?”
Fiona braced herself. “Certainly, what is it?”
“You’re not one of those women who…well, I’m not quite sure how to say it.” Aunt Edwina’s brow furrowed. “Who prefer never to marry, are you? A reformer? A suffragist? Not that I don’t feel there is a great deal that needs reforming in this world. And between us, I think it’s a travesty that half of the population of this country has no say in its governance. Unfortunately, it is the way of the world in this day and age. But women have always wielded a great deal of power, albeit subtly and admittedly through their influence on men, primarily husbands.
“I can’t say that I understand if indeed you are a…a free thinker.” Aunt Edwina squared her shoulders.
“But you shall certainly still have my affection if for, whatever reason, you don’t wish to marry—”
“Oh, but I do wish to marry.” Fiona laughed with relief. She’d had no idea what her aunt was going to ask, but Fiona’s beliefs as to the rights of women and any desire she might have to solve the ills of the world were not high on the list of possibilities.
“Thank goodness.” Aunt Edwina studied her niece. “Then you are waiting for the right man? For love, perhaps?”
Fiona wrinkled her nose. “Is that silly?”
“No, darling, not at all.” Aunt Edwina leaned toward her in a confidential manner. “I have noticed Lord Helmsley here a number of times of late.”
“His lordship is Oliver’s friend. He and I have simply discovered that we share…” Fiona struggled for the right word. Lust? Desire? “Common interests. Yes, that’s it. Common interests. In art and literature.”
“Really?” A speculative light gleamed in Aunt Edwina’s eyes. “He is extremely eligible, you know. Is there a possibility—”
“I don’t think so,” Fiona said firmly. The last thing she needed was her aunt trying to make a match for her with Jonathon. “I suspect Lord Helmsley and I are destined to be nothing more than friends.”
“It’s not at all uncommon for friendship to turn to something more.”
“I doubt that will be the case here. Lord Helmsley is pleasant enough, but…” Fiona shrugged.
“What a shame.” Disappointment sounded in Aunt Edwina’s voice. “Well, I suppose there is something to be said for friendship.”
“One can never have too many friends,” Fiona said brightly, and groaned to herself. She hated deceiving her aunt, but it could not be helped. One simply didn’t tell a woman like Aunt Edwina that Jonathon had suggested friendship as a way to keep their relationship from becoming more improper than it already was.
Friendship between them was an excellent idea if, of course, Fiona could keep from throwing herself into his arms.
Jonathon was not the only one having a difficult time keeping himself in check while concocting tales of ribald gods trying to seduce provocative nymphs. It was necessary for the proper telling of the story to use words likeache andneed andwant, and Jonathon used them far better than he gave himself credit for, but she was not unaffected. Indeed, it was most difficult to remain cool and serene and an ongoing struggle for her not to let on that she was every bit as bothered as he. She had always thought women were made of sterner stuff when it came to controlling their prurient desires than men were. Fiona had certainly never lost control, never been swept off her feet or given in to desire, although admittedly there was the distinct possibility she had never been as sorely tempted before. Certainly she had been involved in flirtations and had been kissed any number of times. On occasion, she’d even kissed back. But nothing in her experience had ever been so intense, so overwhelming as these feelings she had for Jonathon. The man truly did make her ache with a heretofore unknown longing. Jonathon wasn’t the only thread stretched to the breaking point. Still, she had a great deal more to lose than he did. Her virtue as well as her heart.