Mrs. Harris eyed him narrowly. "On that subject, we certainly agree."
"Let me give our companions a simple test." He nodded to Miss Bancroft. "Who is more likely to be a fortune hunter— an army captain or an enlisted man?"
Miss Bancroft frowned in thought. "Since an enlisted man has less money, it would be him, I should think."
Before he could refute that, Mrs. Harris sighed. "Not necessarily. Enlisted men don't aspire to high society— it isn't a world where they feel comfortable. Army captains, on the other hand, are generally second sons with a taste for champagne and an income for ale. They need to secure an heiress, if only as a means for escaping the army."
"I could have told you
that,
" Miss Seton said with a superior smile. "Officers are always looking for a rich wife. The army doesn't pay well at all."
"Very good, Miss Seton," Anthony said. "I'm sure you'll know this answer, too. Who's more likely to overindulge in liquor while in your presence at a family dinner— a fortune hunter or a wealthy squire enamored of you?"
"The fortune hunter, of course. The squire will want to impress me."
"Actually, if the squire is truly in love with you, he'll be so nervous that he'll drink to bolster his courage. But the fortune hunter must keep his wits about him when discussing your future with your father. Unless he's an utter fool, he won't drink at all."
Frowning, Miss Seton sat back against the squabs. "I hadn't thought of that."
Mrs. Harris gave a rueful smile. "I'm not certain whether to be impressed or appalled, Lord Norcourt. You have an uncanny insight into how a fortune hunter's mind works. If I didn't know better, I'd think
you
sought to marry an heiress."
"Me?" He gave an unsteady laugh. "Not on your life. Why marry a green girl, with so many lovely and experienced widows around to…er…dine with? I can send a widow home afterward and enjoy the rest of my night in peace. Can't do that with a wife, no matter how rich she is."
And with the widows
he
chose, there was never any fear that he'd want them too much, pursue them too much…give them too much of himself. Nor any risk that they'd unleash the beast, and he'd frighten them out of their wits.
The way he'd probably frightened Madeline.
He shook off the unsettling thought. If she was the schemer he believed, she wouldn't frighten that easily.
"But what about children?" Miss Seton cried. "Don't you want children?"
"I have a niece. That's enough."
Liar.
He did indeed want children, but not at the expense of his sanity. What kind of father could he possibly be? He'd scarcely known his own father, and he certainly couldn't look to the Bickhams for an example since they'd wielded discipline with all the care and subtlety of a sledgehammer. What if he were too lax? Not lax enough?
Better not to attempt it than to rue his mistakes the rest of his days— as Father had, with a simpleton for an heir and a rogue for a spare.
"What about when you're old?" Miss Bancroft asked. "Surely you'll want companionship then. You don't want to be a crotchety old bachelor."
He shoved that unsettling image from his mind. "I needn't worry about that anytime soon. If I get lonely, I can always find a crotchety old widow to marry me." He shot Mrs. Harris a smooth smile. "Do you know any, madam?"
She eyed him askance. "I do hope you're not speaking of me, Lord Norcourt. While I freely admit to being crotchety at times, I am in no respect 'old.'"
"I didn't think you were. You can't be more than thirty-five."
"I just turned thirty-six, as a matter of fact." A perplexed expression crossed her face. "How did you guess? Most people assume I'm older."
"I have a talent for assessing women's ages accurately," he said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.
"How old do you think
I
am?" Miss Bancroft asked.
"Eighteen. And Miss Seton is nearly nineteen."
"That isn't hard to guess," the colonel's daughter protested. "We're in school and will be coming out soon."
Mischief lit Miss Bancroft's face. "Guess how old Miss Prescott is."
Old enough to make his mouth water whenever he looked at her. "Twenty-nine. Perhaps thirty."
"Actually, she's twenty-five," Mrs. Harris said. "Though I'm not surprised you misjudged
her
age. Miss Prescott always thwarts people's expectations."
Twenty-five! He sat back, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Good God, she was younger than any of his mistresses. No wonder she looked ripe and fresh enough to eat.
And no wonder his caresses had taken her off guard. Perhaps she really wasn't experienced in the bedchamber, after all.
He scowled. No, he couldn't believe that. The first time he'd mentioned additional enticements, she hadn't blushed or pulled away. She'd started talking about bargains, of all things. What virgin did that?
"Miss Prescott is very attractive," Miss Bancroft said, her young face alight with matchmaking fervor. "Wouldn't you agree, Lord Norcourt?"
Aware of Mrs. Harris's interest in his answer, he chose his words carefully. "Every woman has some attractive features, Miss Prescott included."
"Oh, she's uncommonly pretty," Miss Seton chimed in, "don't you think?"
He smiled. "I
think
you girls are bent upon finding me a wife. But you do your teacher a disservice to assume she can do no better than a scoundrel like me. I'm sure Miss Prescott has far more deserving suitors."
"She has no suitors at all," Miss Seton protested.
"None?" he couldn't resist saying. "But surely she's had some in the past."
"Not since she's been at the school."
"And how long is that?" he asked.
"Six months," Miss Bancroft said. "She'll never have a suitor if she keeps spending all her time at home with her papa. She won't even go to our assemblies."
"That's enough." Mrs. Harris frowned at her charges. "I doubt Miss Prescott would appreciate our speculating about her marital prospects behind her back."
So Madeline had managed to make herself invaluable to her employer in only six months. Astonishing. She really was a very clever woman. And she'd lied about being required to attend the assemblies too. He'd been right— her reasons for wanting the party soon had
nothing
to do with scheduling her life.
A grim smile touched his lips. He was tired of her evasions. He wanted the truth out of her. And he meant to get it…one way or another.
The carriage turned down a familiar lane, and he frowned. They were supposed to be visiting the menagerie of a friend of Mrs. Harris's. But the only person of quality he knew who lived near here
and
owned a menagerie was Charles Godwin.
He groaned. Surely not. It couldn't happen. Not today. Not to him.
But even as they reached Godwin's drive, he knew he was in trouble when he saw Godwin and a woman standing on the steps.
His fingers curled into fists. No wonder Mrs. Harris had suggested he come along. Glancing over, he saw the headmistress watching him with a smug expression. Was this another of her tests? Probably.
Which meant he was in for a day of pure misery. Because the woman on the steps was not only Godwin's sister; she'd also shared Anthony's bed for a few annoying nights.
Damn it all to hell.
Chapter Ten
Dear Cousin,
What a capital idea, suggesting that I speak to Mr. Godwin's sister. How odd that I never knew of her connection to Lord Norcourt, despite my years of friendship with Mr. Godwin. You really do have quite extensive sources of information. I wonder why that is.
Your curious friend,
Charlotte
A
s they reached Mr. Godwin's estate, Madeline congratulated herself for having kept her emotions successfully in check throughout the ride. The girls' questions about what they were to see had helped distract her.
But not enough. Anthony seemed determined to find out the truth about her party, and he mustn't until it was over. She had to watch her step. Allowing him to play with her was one thing. Allowing that to lower her guard was quite another.
With any luck, Mrs. Harris had used the ride to bedevil him about his past. The man deserved to be taken down a peg, and the sharp-tongued widow was the woman to do it. Madeline almost wished she could have seen it.
But that would have been disastrous, since every glance he gave Madeline turned her knees to putty. Mrs. Harris would have noticed the wobbly-knee thing; she was quite observant of her teachers and girls. And since Madeline had never had such a ridiculous reaction to any other man, the widow was sure to make something of it.
Thank heaven Mr. Godwin was enamored of the widow. If Madeline was lucky, her employer would have her own romantic entanglement to distract her.
Madeline's carriage hadn't even lurched to a stop before Mr. Godwin was striding down the stairs of his manor to greet Mrs. Harris. And right on his heels was his sister, Lady Tarley.
Madeline had met the woman once, long enough to discover that Lady Tarley's bosoms vastly outweighed her brain. Unlike her brother, the publisher of a radical newspaper, Lady Tarley moved in lofty circles. Her first husband, a barrister, had died of an apoplexy, probably brought on by her twittering nonsense. Her second husband was an earl of some consequence.
But Lord Tarley wasn't around, and as Madeline's group descended from the carriage, she realized why. Apparently the Tarleys had a "fashionable" marriage, judging from her ladyship's manner toward Lord Norcourt as he disembarked.
"Why, Tony," she gushed, "what a wonderful surprise! When Charles asked me to serve as his hostess today, I had no idea you would be here, too."
Tony? She called him
Tony
?
"Good morning, madam," Anthony said in a decidedly cool voice. "How nice to see you again." Then he turned rather pointedly to help the girls down.
Lady Tarley slid her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Now, Tony, surely you won't be so formal with an old friend."
The vicious stab of jealousy that shot through Madeline caught her off guard. What did she care if Lady Tarley knew Anthony? Even if it
had
been an intimate connection, it was of no matter as long as it didn't interfere with her plans.
In fact, it might work in her favor to have Lady Tarley drawing his attention. Then Madeline wouldn't have to worry about him trying to get her alone, trying to find out the truth about the party.
Yes, it was a good thing— a very good thing— that Lady Tarley had come.
Madeline gritted her teeth as the buxom brunette draped herself over his arm and minced along beside him with a tinkling laugh.
Mr. Godwin, who'd helped Mrs. Harris to disembark, turned to Anthony now, chagrin written across his handsome features. "Norcourt."
"Godwin."
Madeline brightened. If the two men knew each other, too, the connection might be a familial one and not the unsavory connection Lady Tarley seemed to imply. Not that it mattered. It didn't. Not one whit.
Apparently it mattered to Mr. Godwin, for he shot his sister a dark look. "See here, Kitty, we should welcome
all
our guests." He bowed to Mrs. Harris. "I'm so pleased you took me up on my offer to show off my menagerie. I trust that you and your pupils will find it interesting."
"If we don't," Mrs. Harris said, "Miss Prescott will surely chastise us."
"Ah, yes, your resident naturalist." Mr. Godwin smiled at Madeline. "So glad you could come, Miss Prescott. I'm counting on you to fill in the gaps in my knowledge for your students." Offering one arm to Mrs. Harris and the other to Madeline, he proceeded to lead them toward his gardens.
That left Anthony to follow behind with Lady Tarley, the girls, and the other teachers. Madeline tried not to glance back and see how he fared with "Kitty."
What sort of name was Kitty anyway? It sounded like something you'd call an opera dancer with a penchant for gaudy jewelry and giggling.
Not that she cared.
Mr. Godwin dropped his voice to a murmur. "Charlotte, why on earth is Norcourt here? Or is that why your note last night asked me to include my sister?"
"That's precisely why," Mrs. Harris said. "It's an experiment."
Madeline tensed. "What sort of experiment?"
Mrs. Harris glanced at her, eyes speculative. "To see just how discreet he can be around young ladies."
"I do not want my sister taking up with Norcourt again, damn it," Mr. Godwin grumbled. "He's a bad influence on her."
A sick feeling settled into Madeline's belly.
That
certainly clarified the woman's relationship with Anthony, didn't it?