Authors: Suzanne Enoch
The muffled answer he received didn’t sound very polite. Unruffled, he knocked again, louder.
“All right, damn it all,” a voice grunted. “The house had better be on fire.”
The knob turned and the door opened. Rubbing one eye, Mr. Mullins gazed blearily at his employer. Immediately he straightened, blanching. “My lord! I had no idea—”
“Mr. Mullins,” Lucien interrupted, “I have a task for you.”
“Now, my lord?”
“Yes, now. I want a list. A list of twelve—no, make that fifteen—single females, of noble family, good character, pleasant appearance, and aged somewhere between seventeen and twenty-two.”
He intentionally cut off the age at two years younger than Miss Gallant. If a female hadn’t found a husband by twenty-two, she was obviously possessed of some deficiency, mental or otherwise. He hadn’t discovered Miss Gallant’s fault, yet, but he was sure to do so posthaste.
“Females. Yes, my lord. But…for what purpose?”
“For the purpose of marriage, Mr. Mullins. Have the list ready for me first thing in the morning, so we may begin eliminating prospects.”
As the solicitor stared at him, Lucien turned on his heel and headed back upstairs. Wimbole had retired for the evening, and the hallways were dark and quiet. Lucien entered his private quarters, dismissed his valet, and stripped out of most of his clothes. Pouring himself a brandy and downing the majority of it at one go, he sat in the dark looking out at the moonlight, and seeing a pair of turquoise-colored eyes.
He spent most of the night there. When in the morning Bartlett scratched at the door and then entered the master bedchamber, unbidden, Lucien had just managed his first consecutive twenty minutes of sleep all night.
“Damnation. What time is it?” he grumbled, reaching over the side of the chair and throwing a boot at his valet.
Bartlett caught it and made his way over to the east window, cloaked by heavy blue curtains. “Seven in the morning, my lord. Mr. Mullins has gone out, but he wished me to inform you that he will be back by eight, in time for your meeting.” He pushed the curtains open, and bright yellow daylight flooded the room.
Lucien groaned and threw an arm across his eyes.
“Do you wish Wimbole to make up something for your head this morning?” the valet asked, picking up his scattered clothing.
“No. I’m not drunk. Just tired. Have the harpies or Miss Gallant risen?”
“Miss Gallant and Sally left for Hyde Park some fifteen minutes ago. Penny and Marie were summoned to Mrs. Delacroix’s bedchamber as I left the kitchen.”
Bartlett’s cool efficiency was often irritating, but the valet kept his mouth shut, and he had impeccable timing and taste, which compensated for his occasional stodg
iness. “Bring me some coffee,” Lucien ordered.
“Yes, my lord.”
Lucien rose and pulled on the shirt and breeches Bartlett had laid out for him the night before. Thank God he and Robert had already planned to attend the boat races on the Thames today. Otherwise, he had a very good idea that he would spend the entire day mooning after his blasted cousin’s blasted governess.
He’d been turned down before, albeit rarely, and it hadn’t bothered him. He knew from experience there were a multitude of ladies he could seek to ease his frustration. And he knew just as surely that he would not be visiting any of them today—or until he’d resolved this damned annoying little standoff with Miss Gallant.
Being the proper, etiquette-minded lady that she was, she would spend breakfast lecturing Rose on how one conquered one’s baser emotions in favor of propriety, and he would be forced to listen to every word and know she meant it to apply to him. He didn’t want to hear it, and he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of saying it in his presence. Therefore, he finished his coffee upstairs and then went to find Mr. Mullins.
“This is what you came up with?” he asked, tossing the list back onto his desk.
“You did give me rather short notice, my lord,” the solicitor said, looking hurt. “And there are fifteen names, and they all fit the requirements you stated to me last night.”
“Fine. At least two of them can be counted on to attend the Howards’ party tomorrow evening.”
“My lord, is it truly your intention to marry—”
“Eliminate Charlotte Bradshaw immediately, though,” he interrupted. “Her brother is addicted to making poor wagers, and if I become his relation-in-law, he’ll expect
me to make good on them. In fact, review the entire list. The fewer familial connections any of them have, the better.”
“But you wanted them to be of good family.”
“Good,
dead
family would be preferable.”
“My lord, this is not an easy task you’ve—”
“I want a list of fifteen
acceptable
females by Friday morning. Is that clear?”
Mr. Mullins sighed and crumpled his piece of paper. “Yes, my lord. Very clear. I shall see to it at once.”
Alexandra barely set eyes on Lord Kilcairn over the next day and a half. She would have said that he was avoiding her, except that he didn’t seem the type. It was more likely that he was avoiding his cousin and his aunt. As she was almost constantly in Rose’s company, his absence made more sense when explained that way. She told herself she was thankful, because preparing for the dinner party was going to be difficult enough without his sharp-edged commentary.
Even so, she couldn’t help feeling a bit…disturbed. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could feel his lips on hers, his hands running down her back, and the tall, solid strength of him. His absence gave her time to think and consider what drew her to him.
What it didn’t do, though, was give her a chance to tell him exactly what she thought of his forward behavior—as if she knew what to say, anyway. The proper thing would be to inform him of her displeasure, and to let him know that from this point on she expected him to behave like a gentleman. That, however, would preclude him from ever kissing her again—a thought that didn’t please her one bit.
The door connecting her room and Rose’s rattled and opened. “Lex? May I come in?”
“Of course, Rose. Let me take a look at you.”
The girl hesitated in the doorway, then stepped into Alexandra’s bedchamber. Madame Charbonne had selected a light blue silk gown for Rose’s first public outing tonight. Seeing her charge, her blond hair piled atop her head and a thin strand of pearls kissing her throat, Alexandra could only agree. “You look splendid.”
Rose blushed. “Oh, thank you. I’m so nervous.”
“Just don’t let it show.” Alexandra finished tying her own hair back in a green ribbon that matched the scattering of flowers across her gown. The creation looked decidedly ungovernesslike, but it was the most lovely thing she’d ever owned.
“You look so pretty,” Rose said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Thank goodness cousin Lucien let you stay up here, instead of putting you down in the servants’ quarters. If he’d done that, we’d never have been able to chat like this.”
Alexandra paused. “Your previous governesses didn’t stay in this bedchamber?”
“Oh, no. Lucien said he didn’t want them cluttering up the place. They stayed downstairs where Wimbole and Mr. Mullins and the other servants have their quarters. They’re very good rooms, but too small to keep a decent wardrobe in. And Shakespeare wouldn’t have liked it at all, either.” She petted the terrier napping on Alexandra’s pillow.
“No, I imagine not.”
At the Welkins’ estate she’d had servants’ quarters, though at other country manors she’d been given larger or smaller accommodations, depending on the houses’ size. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to her that her
quarters here were unusual, though now she couldn’t believe she’d been so naive. She wondered what Lord Kilcairn’s other employees must think of her, and what they said to their fellows at other houses.
“Are you feeling well?” Rose asked into the silence.
She started. “Yes, quite.”
“Good. Because I think I should faint dead away if I had to go to the Howards’ without you to help me.”
Alexandra went over to sit beside the girl. “Don’t worry, Rose. It’s going to be a small party, as Lord Kilcairn said. And everyone will expect you to be a little nervous. If you get confused about something, just look at me. I’ll be close by, and we’ll manage splendidly.”
She didn’t voice her concern over one very significant item: Mrs. Fiona Delacroix. The earl had promised to see to her, but his comments tended to aggravate rather than quiet his aunt. Rose didn’t need an additional cause to fret, though, so Alexandra kept her silence and hoped that Lord Kilcairn would keep his word.
He was down in the foyer when she and Rose descended the stairs, and abruptly she realized how nervous
she
was at spending any length of time in his company. She still had no idea what to say to him about their kiss, and he was sure to bring it up at the first opportunity.
She sent up a quick prayer that he wouldn’t mention her folly in front of his relations—or in front of anyone else. She couldn’t bear it if the rumors were to start again. She hadn’t precisely encouraged Lord Kilcairn, though she hadn’t resisted him as strenuously as she had Lord Welkins, either. She hadn’t resisted Lucien at all, really.
The earl watched her approach, his eyes hooded in
the half darkness of the foyer. “Good evening ladies,” he said in his low drawl, coming forward.
“My lord.”
“Mama will be down any moment now,” Rose said, curtsying and still looking extremely nervous. “I’m afraid she…wasn’t very happy with Madame Charbonne’s gown.”
Alexandra didn’t blame the girl’s hesitation in speaking, given her cousin’s typical reaction to her. She readied a soothing comment in case he answered in his usual caustic fashion.
“The more fashionably late we are, the better,” was all he said, though, and Alexandra relaxed a little. Perhaps the devil meant to behave himself this evening, after all. If that was the case, it would be the first time he’d done so, but after that kiss she was certainly willing to give him the benefit of her wavering doubt.
L
ucien considered riding his horse to the Howard soiree and leaving the females to follow in the coach: Not having to listen to the Delacroix ladies prattle for half an hour was tempting. Even more appealing, though, was the notion of Miss Gallant cooped in the small passengers’ compartment with him—two additional relations present or not.
And so he sat beside Aunt Fiona as the coach rumbled toward Clifford Street and Howard House. With Mrs. Delacroix’s orange hair hidden beneath a beige hat and her rotund figure disguised inside a stylish rust and beige evening gown, she could almost pass for an aristocratic matriarch—as long as she didn’t open her mouth.
Once he’d dumped Rose and Fiona into the care of Miss Gallant and their hosts, Lucien intended to busy himself elsewhere. Not gaming, drinking, or slipping away for a smoke, though—he’d save those pleasures for later in the Season, after he’d secured a bride.
At an event this deathly boring, several respectable females were likely to be present, and Lady Howard had
invited at least two of the prospective brides from Mr. Mullins’s list. A little tête-à-tête with a proper female should prove—to him and to Miss Gallant—that once a woman scented money and a title, she would happily marry a crooked old fence post, much less him.
Across from him, Rose and Alexandra talked in low voices, no doubt going through one last rehearsal before they arrived. He didn’t envy Alexandra her task, though she seemed to have more than enough fortitude to see it through. Thank Lucifer they weren’t trying to marry Aunt Fiona off again. He doubted he had enough money to convince the governess to see to that job.
Though he hated to admit it, Miss Gallant had been correct on at least one count—he should never have encouraged her to wear a Madame Charbonne gown. It had nothing to do with her complaint that she didn’t look like a governess, though she didn’t. It was simply that he couldn’t keep his eyes, or his overheated imagination, off her.
“Is there anyone in particular to whom you wish to present Rose this evening?” Alexandra asked, meeting his gaze.
“My friend Robert Ellis, the Viscount of Belton, will likely be attending. He’s been curious to meet cousin Rose.”
Alexandra’s gaze sharpened. “And why is he so curious?”
From her expression, she had guessed the answer to that, or at least she thought she had. “Why should he not be?” he returned coolly, daring her to accuse him of something improper. “Wouldn’t you be curious to meet the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey’s only living relations?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she answered grudgingly.
“Though you don’t seem to encourage discussion of that topic.”
Lucien narrowed his eyes. “Don’t I?”
“No, you d—”
“Why shouldn’t this Lord Belton be curious about my daughter?” Fiona cut in. “She’s an angel. You should be happy to show her off to your friends.”
“Is the Viscount of Belton unmarried?” Rose asked, chewing her lower lip.
At least she seemed to want to be married and out of his care as much as he wanted her to be. “Unmarried and looking for just the right female to change that circumstance,” he answered.
“Of course, that is not the purpose of this evening, is it, Lord Kilcairn?” Alexandra said stoutly.
“Do we have another purpose?” he asked, giving her a skeptical glance. “I know this isn’t for my health.”
“Yes, we do have another purpose. Rose,” Miss Gallant said, turning to his cousin, “please remember that tonight is just to get you comfortable with gatherings of the
ton
. One thing at a time. It will be a small, informal party, as Lord Kilcairn has told us. You will have time for chatting, but you mustn’t let any one person—male or female—monopolize your attention.”
Lucien hid a slight grin. “Do I get to monopolize anyone’s attention?”
“I’m sure you may do as you please, my lord.”
“I’ll remember you said that.”
Alexandra blushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, I’m so nervous I doubt I’ll be able to say a word,” Rose put in.
“We can only hope the occasion will equally affect your mother.” He slouched, annoyed. He should have
had Rose and Fiona ride horses, so he and Alexandra could converse undisturbed.
“My Rose will show herself very well,” Fiona stated, “and everyone will know how proud we are of her.” She adjusted her elbow-length gloves. “Though I do wish that Charbonne woman had thought to add feathers to her ensemble. Feathers in the hair add such a touch of elegance, you know.”
“Perhaps on a more formal occasion,” Alexandra soothed.
“Or a trip to the London zoo.” Lucien brushed aside the window curtains and glanced out at the growing darkness. “No doubt the headgear would impress the baboons. You might want to stay clear of the ostrich pen, though. Bad form, to stare at an animal when you may be wearing one of its relations.”
The familiar pout appeared again. “Mama!”
Aunt Fiona gasped. “You are an awful, awful man, Lucien,” she sputtered. “If you weren’t my relation, I would positively hate you.”
“I assure you, the feeling is—”
“You shall be the prettiest young lady at dinner, Rose,” Alexandra interrupted. “Feathers, or not. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Is that so?” Lucien countered, annoyed at having several promising insults stifled.
Miss Gallant glared at him, looking every inch the offended governess despite her becoming gown. “Yes, it is. First impressions are lasting impressions, my lord, as you well know. All Rose needs to do is make a positive first impression.”
Her comment reminded him of his first impression of her, and returned him to the contemplation of how much he would like to slip her out of her gloves and her dainty
pearled shoes and her exquisite gown and run his hands along her soft, warm skin. A slow smile curved his lips.
The coach rocked to a halt, jarring Lucien out of his reverie. Bringing his lust back under control, he helped his aunt and his cousin to the ground. Miss Gallant came last, and he noted her hesitation before she accepted his hand and descended the steep carriage steps to the ground. He leaned closer, curling his fingers around hers. “You mesmerize me,” he murmured.
“You like to make trouble,” she returned, freeing her fingers—but not before he felt their trembling. Alexandra caught up to Rose at the front entry, wrapping her arm around the younger woman’s.
Her reaction to his touch distracted him from replying. Sweet Lucifer, he wanted her in his bed. As he had no intention of escorting his aunt, he followed the ladies inside. Again his gaze found Alexandra, straying to her green and white skirt as it swayed from side to side with the movement of her slender, rounded hips.
The butler, polite and hardly shocked at all to see the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey on his doorstep, led their group upstairs to the drawing room. They paused in the doorway, and Lucien stifled a curse.
Miss Gallant stirred at his elbow. “You said this was to be a
small
gathering,” she whispered.
“It is, by London standards,” he lied, and stepped forward to greet Lord and Lady Howard.
He didn’t like being outmaneuvered, but tonight that had obviously happened. Half a hundred guests, nearly twice what he’d anticipated, milled about in the Howard drawing room and spilled over into the adjoining music room and library. He hadn’t known so many of them were even in town this early in the Season. And he certainly wasn’t naive enough to pretend that he had no
idea about the cause of the sudden hush and then the excited chattering that filled the room as his party entered.
“Lord Howard, Lady Howard,” he said in a mild tone, though he would have been perfectly happy to strangle either or both of them, “I’d like to present Mrs. Delacroix, Miss Delacroix, and my cousin’s companion, Miss Gallant.”
“We are so pleased to meet you,” Lady Howard gushed, taking Rose’s hands and all but ignoring Aunt Fiona. “You must know, Miss Delacroix, everyone has been dying to set eyes on you.”
Rose curtsied, blushing, and with a heavy sigh Lucien waited for the stammering and the tears to begin. The lack of mortified embarrassment had been enjoyable for the short time it lasted.
“You have a lovely home,” his cousin said in an unsteady voice. “Thank you for having us here.”
Lucien stepped back beside Alexandra. “By God, she
can
be taught.”
“Hush. You might have warned me you were going to make a spectacle out of her presentation. Directly after dinner Mrs. Delacroix will have to claim a headache. Rose will never make it through twenty women chattering at her.”
The glance she sent him made it quite clear that she expected him to see to Aunt Fiona’s poor health. No one—and no woman, certainly—had ever ordered him to do anything. Nevertheless, he gave her a slight nod. “I have no wish to suffer through this, either. For God’s sake, I could be at White’s getting drunk right now.”
“Then this evening is a nice change for you, as well.”
“It’s a change,” he admitted darkly, wondering if she was a teetotaler as well as the most damnably proper
female he’d ever met. “I wouldn’t call it nice.”
Fortunately he’d timed their arrival late enough that it coincided with the beginning of dinner, and they were spared most of the introductions. Lady Howard had seated him between Lady DuPont and Lady Halverston. It was a wise decision on his hostess’s part, considering his reputation and the advanced age of the two matrons. When he spied Daubner moving to his designated place at a secondary table, though, a more practical arrangement occurred to him.
“But…” Daubner stammered, as Lucien strolled over and switched place cards with him.
“No need to thank me. I know how you dislike these drafty windows.”
“But…”
Lucien heroically took the seat beside Aunt Fiona. Cousin Rose and Miss Gallant took their own places at the first table, luckily side by side. The view was better than he would have had from his original seat, and he caught Alexandra’s eye as she sat.
“Comfortable?” he mouthed, just loud enough for her to hear.
“Most assuredly, my lord,” she responded, and returned her attention to Rose.
Lucien glanced at his aunt. “Your daughter looks passable,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Of course she does. Half the young men about Birling have been calling on her, with her not even out yet. But I know what’s proper, and just who she should be saving herself for.”
“I hadn’t realized you’d left Dorsetshire so bereft. We should never have removed her from her natural element.”
“Rose will
not
be marrying a farmer, or a vicar, or a squire.”
When Miss Georgina Croft arrived at her place on his other side, Lucien decided perhaps the evening wouldn’t be a complete waste of time, after all. She had placed number six on Mullins’s preliminary list.
“Good evening,” he said, standing and holding her chair out for her.
She blushed to the roots of her dark brunette hair and looked vainly about for her place card to be other than where it was. The small placard remained exactly where he had discovered it, though, between himself and half-deaf Lord Blakely. “Good evening, my lord,” she finally said, curtsying.
“Good evening,” he repeated, sitting after her. Belatedly he realized he had no notion how to speak to a virginal debutante without frightening her to death. Hmmm. Having Alexandra tutor him didn’t seem quite so absurd now.
Miss Croft swallowed. “It’s quite cool tonight, isn’t it?”
Ah, standard innocuous conversation
. Disappointing, but at least he wouldn’t be overtaxed this evening—not unless Miss Gallant joined in. “Not surprisingly so, considering how early in the Season it is.”
“Indeed. We have been blessed with a mild winter.”
At that same moment, the nearly identical bit of conversation echoed a table away. Lucien glanced up as Rose finished commenting on the mildness of the winter to her table mate. Alexandra met his gaze, and he lifted an eyebrow. Her lips curved in the beginnings of an amused smile before she looked away.
Abruptly he wondered if she found this mindless silliness as absurd as he did. That would be extremely in
triguing, considering that she taught the nonsense for a living. With renewed enthusiasm he turned back to Miss Croft. “What brings you into London so early?”
She glanced at her mother, seated at the far end of the table. “My father had some business affairs to attend to. What brings you here, my lord?”
“Familial obligations.”
“‘Familial obligations?’ You’ve never even bothered to notice us before.”
Lucien flinched as Aunt Fiona’s grating voice rose above the chattering. Damnation, he’d forgotten about her. “What was that, my dear?” he asked, favoring her with a brief, unamused smile.
She apparently realized from his expression that he wouldn’t allow the conversation to continue in that vein, because she blanched. “Oh, you know,” she tittered, and reached for her glass of Madeira.
By the time the ladies rose to excuse themselves at the end of the meal, Lucien had the headache that Fiona was about to claim. With Georgina Croft taking a swig of wine every time he asked her a question, she was at least two sheets to the wind—which served to relax her conversation, but not to improve her wits.
He stood as Aunt Fiona withdrew from the table to join the other ladies regrouping in the drawing room. Before he could take more than a step to head her off, Miss Gallant materialized beside him. Lucien read her glare, and with stifled amusement took his aunt by the arm.
“Miss Gallant,” he announced, “I’m afraid my aunt is feeling unwell.”
Aunt Fiona stared up at him. “I am n—”
“Oh, poor dear, she had a headache this morning,” Alexandra cut in with masterful timing, swooping in to
take Fiona’s other plump arm. “She did so want to come tonight, though.”
“What in the—”
“Come, Aunt,” he commanded. “We’ll get you home and to bed at once. I’m sure Lord and Lady Howard will understand.”
“Yes, a good night’s rest is all you need, Mrs. Delacroix. It will be just the thing.”
Miss Gallant took Rose in tow as well, and they swept through the crowd for the door. With a few swift good-byes and apologies, they made it outside and plunked Aunt Fiona into the waiting coach.