Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (3 page)

“St. John.”

All three gentlemen turned at the sound of Nick’s name to find the Duke of Leighton beside the table. Tall and broad, if Leighton hadn’t been a duke, the man would have made an excellent Viking—fair-haired and stone-faced, he rarely smiled. But today, Nick noted that the duke seemed even more stoic than usual.

“Leighton! Join us.” Nick used one foot to capture a nearby seat and drag it to the table. “Save me from these two.”

“I’m afraid I cannot stay.” The duke’s words were clipped. “I came looking for you.”

“You and the female population of London,” Gabriel said with a laugh.

The duke ignored him, folding his giant frame into the seat and setting his gloves on the scarred wooden table. Turning to face Nick, nearly blocking Rock and Gabriel from the conversation, he said, “I’m afraid that you are not going to like what it is I have to ask of you.”

Nick waved the barmaid over with a tumbler of whisky, keenly aware of the distress in his friend’s gaze.

“Does it involve marrying him off?” Gabriel asked dryly.

Leighton looked surprised. “No.”

“Then I would think that Nick would welcome your request.”

The duke took a large gulp of whisky and met Nick’s interest. “I’m not so sure. You see, I am not here for Nick. I am here for the
bulan.”

There was a long silence as the words sank in around the table. Rock and Gabriel stiffened, but did not speak, watching Nick carefully. Nick leaned forward, placed his forearms on the scarred wood, and tented his fingers. He spoke quietly, his eyes not leaving Leighton.

“I do not do that any longer.”

“I know. And I would not ask if I did not need you.”

“Who?”

“My sister. She’s gone.”

Nick sat back in his chair. “I don’t chase after runaways, Leighton. You should call Bow Street.”

Leighton’s frustration brought him forward in a rush of movement. “For Christ’s sake, St. John. You know I can’t do that. It will be in the papers yesterday. I need the
bulan.”

Nick recoiled from the word. He did not care for being the hunter once again. “I don’t do it any longer. You know that.”

“I’ll pay you whatever you ask.”

Ralston laughed at that, drawing a growl from the duke. “What’s so amusing about that?”

“Only the idea that my brother would take payment. I don’t imagine you’ve endeared him to your cause with that offer, Leighton.”

The duke scowled. “You know, Ralston, you were never the twin I preferred.”

“Most people feel that way,” Ralston said. “I assure you I am not overwrought at the idea. Indeed, I confess a modicum of surprise that you are even here, deigning to speak with us, what with our ‘questionable stock'—isn’t that how you refer to it?”

“Gabriel, enough.” Nick stopped his brother from going too far into the past.

Leighton at least had the grace to be embarrassed.

For many years, the St. John twins, though aristocracy themselves, had been a primary outlet for young Leighton’s disdain. The scandal that had fallen on the house of Ralston when the twins were young—their mother’s desertion of her husband and family—had made them ideal prey for the more pristine families of the
ton,
and Leighton, in their class at Eton, had never failed to remind them of their mother’s disreputable actions.

Until one day, Leighton went too far, and Nick had put him into a wall.

Pounding a duke was not something that the second son of a marquess could get away with at Eton; Nick would have almost certainly been dismissed had he not been a twin—and Gabriel had taken responsibility for the event. The future Marquess of Ralston had been sent home from term early, and Leighton and Nick had come to a tentative truce, no one the wiser.

The truce had become a friendship of sorts—one that had blossomed in the upper years of Eton, and withered during the years when Nick cut a swath across the Continent. Leighton had already ascended to the dukedom, and his fortune had, in no small part, funded Nick and Rock’s expeditions into the dark recesses of the Orient.

Leighton had played an important role in making the
bulan.

But Nick was not that man any longer.

“What do you know? ”

“Nick …” Rock spoke for the first time since the duke had arrived, but Nick raised one hand. “Mere curiosity.”

“I know she’s gone. I know she’s taken money and a handful of things she considers invaluable.” “Why did she leave? “ Leighton shook his head. “I don’t know.” “There’s always a reason.” “That may be … but I don’t know it.”

“When?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“And you only come to me now?”

“She had planned a trip to see a cousin in Bath. It was ten days before I realized she lied to me.”

“Her maid?”

“I terrified her into confessing that Georgiana went north. She knew nothing else. My sister was very careful to cover her tracks.”

Nick sat back in his chair, mind racing, energy coursing through him. Someone had helped the girl. Was still helping her if she’d not given up and returned to her brother. It had been years since he had tracked someone—he’d forgotten the pleasure that came with a new search.

But this was no longer his life.

He met the duke’s worried gaze. “She’s my sister, Nick. You must know that I wouldn’t ask you if there were another way.”

The words struck Nick to his core. He had a sister, too. And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

Damn.

“My lord?”

Nick turned at the tentative, feminine voice, to find two young women standing nearby, watching him eagerly. Nick spoke, wary. “Yes? ”

“We—” one of them began to speak, then stopped, uncertain. The other nudged her toward him.

“Yes?”

“We are fans.”

Nick blinked. “Of?”

“Of yours.” “Of mine.”

“Indeed!” The second girl smiled broadly and stepped closer, holding out what looked suspiciously like—

Nick swore under his breath.

“Would you be willing to autograph our magazine? ”

Nick held up a hand. “I would, girls, but you’ve got the wrong brother.” He pointed to Gabriel.
“That
is Lord Nicholas.”

Rock snorted as the two shifted their attention to the Marquess of Ralston, a dazzlingly handsome copy of their prey, and tittered their excitement.

Gabriel instantly eased into his role, turning a brilliant smile on the girls. “I would be happy to autograph your magazine.” He took the journal and the pen they proffered and said, “You know, I must confess, this is the first time I’ve ever drawn the attention of ladies when in the company of my brother. Ralston has always been considered the more handsome of us.”

“No!” the girls protested.

Nick rolled his eyes.

“Indeed. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you it’s the marquess who is the best specimen. Surely you’ve heard that.” He looked up at them with a winning smile. “You can admit it, girls. My feelings shan’t be hurt.”

Gabriel held up the magazine, displaying the cover, which boasted:
Inside! London’s Lords to Land!
“Yes … there’s no question that this is going to do wonders for my reputation. I’m so happy to see that it’s getting around that I’m on the hunt for a wife!”

The girls nearly expired from delight.

Unamused, Nick looked to Leighton, “North, you said?”

“Yes.”

“North
is an enormous place. It could take us weeks to find her,” Rock warned.

Nick looked to the pair of females waiting excitedly at Gabriel’s elbow, then back to the men at the table.

“I find myself willing to make the trek.”

Dunscroft, Yorkshire

I
sabel considered the pale, exhausted girl who sat before her on a low, narrow cot. She was barely old enough to be out, let alone old enough to have traveled four days by mail coach to arrive on a strange doorstep in the dead of night.

Eyes wide with fear, the young woman stood, clutching a small traveling bag to her.

Isabel smiled. “You are Georgiana.”

The girl did not move. Her expression did not change.

“I am Isabel.”

Recognition flared in Georgiana’s blue eyes. “Lady Isabel?”

Isabel came closer, warm and welcoming. “The very same.”

“I thought …”

The smile turned into a grin. “Let me guess. You thought I would be old? Wizened?”

The girl half smiled. A good sign. “Perhaps.”

“In that case, I shall take your surprise as a great compliment.”

The girl set down her bag and dropped into a curtsy.

Isabel stopped her. “Oh, please don’t. That will make me feel old and wizened. Sit.” Isabel pulled over a small wooden stool to join her. “We don’t stand on ceremony here. And if we did, I would be the one deferring to you. After all, I am a mere earl’s daughter and you …”

Georgiana shook her head, sadness in her expression. “Not anymore.”

The girl missed home.

Not many girls who landed at Townsend Park missed where they came from.

“How did you find us?”

“My … a friend. She said you took in girls. Said you could help.” Isabel nodded, encouraging. “My brother. I couldn’t tell him …” Her voice cracked, making speech impossible.

Isabel leaned forward, taking the girl’s cold, shaking hands in her own. “You don’t need to tell me, either. Not until you are ready.”

I know that sometimes it is easier not to tell.

Georgiana looked up, eyes wide and filled with tears. “My friend … she said you would take care of us.”

Isabel nodded. “And we shall.” The girl slumped with relief. “I think you have come a long way. May I suggest that you try to sleep? We shall have breakfast in the morning, and you can tell me anything you wish.”

Within minutes, Georgiana had slipped between the crisp, clean sheets of the narrow bed, a bed Isabel imagined was likely far less grand than any in which the sister of the Duke of Leighton previously had slept. Isabel watched for a few long moments to ensure that the girl was, indeed, asleep, and slipped from the room.

To find a collection of curious onlookers had assembled in the hallway beyond.

“Is she asleep?” Isabel’s cousin and closest friend, Lara, asked in a whisper.

Isabel nodded, waiting for the latch to click before turning back to her audience. “Why isn’t this hallway properly lit?”

“Because you cannot afford the candles.”

Of course.

“The sister of a duke, Isabel?” Jane whispered the rhetorical question.

“It shouldn’t matter who she is,” Gwen, the cook, argued. “She needs us! We take in girls who need us.”

“She cannot stay,” Kate announced flatly, looking to the others for support.

“Perhaps we could move this conversation away from the poor girl?” Isabel whispered, motioning the whole group back down the hallway.

“She cannot stay!” Kate whispered again as they walked.

“Yes, I believe you’ve made your position clear on the subject,” Isabel said dryly.

“It’s an enormous risk, Isabel,” Jane said when they were back at the top of the stairs, as though Isabel had not thought of it herself.

As though her heart were not pounding with dread.

Of course, it was a risk.
One did not simply open one’s doors and offer board to the sister of a duke—one of the most powerful men in England—without his knowledge.

This could end James.

Her brother was only ten years old, a new earl, and he would struggle to escape their father’s reputation. If the Duke of Leighton discovered his sister here—discovered the women who were hidden here under the protection of the Earl of Reddich—James would never survive the scandal.

The others were right. She should turn the girl out. It would be the responsible thing to do. It would protect them all.

She looked from one woman to the next, each of whom had come to Townsend Park under similar circumstances to the young woman she had just left. She could have turned them all away. But she hadn’t. Settling on her cousin, she asked, “Lara?”

There was a beat, as Lara considered her words. “I know the rules, Isabel. I know what we say. But … a duke. It will bring suspicion upon all of us. She … What if someone comes looking for her? What if we are found? ”

Isabel looked in the direction of the room where she had left the sleeping girl. “I imagine that it is more a question of what shall happen
when
someone comes looking for her. Sisters of dukes are not often allowed to go missing.” She paused, then, “She is increasing.”

Jane let out a low whistle.

“Did she tell you that?” Gwen asked.

“She did not have to.”

“Well,” Lara said, “obviously we cannot turn her out, then.”

Kate disagreed. “She’s no merchant’s daughter. No barkeep’s wife. Not even from landed gentry. She’s an aristocrat, for heaven’s sake. She could be two aristocrats! We should send the girl home to her aristocratic family.”

“An aristocratic family is not always the solution, Kate. I know that better than anyone.” Isabel thought of the deep, dark circles beneath the frail girl’s closed eyes, the hollow cheeks that spoke volumes of this small, mysterious woman.

This girl who was lost and alone.

It was enough for Isabel.

“I’ve never turned a girl away. I shan’t start now. She has a place here for as long as she needs one. We shall put her to work. James is in need of a new governess. I am certain that she will do quite well.”

Kate snorted. “Did you see her? I’d wager she’s never done a day’s work in her life.”

Isabel smiled then. “Neither had you when I took you in. And now you’re the finest stable master this side of London.”

Kate looked away, wiping one hand down her breeches. “Sister to a duke,” she whispered.

Isabel looked at the women crowded around her—to Jane, her butler, who ran a house with the ease of any male servant trained for years; to Gwen, a cook who could have been trained in the best kitchens in London for the pride she took in her work; to Kate, who had a way with horses that rivaled that of the jockeys at Ascot. Each of them had come to Townsend Park under similar circumstances to that of the sleeping girl, each of them had been given room, board, and a chance for a future.

And they had believed that Isabel could face any challenge.

Little did they know.

She was just as scared. Just as uncertain.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and when she spoke, she did her best to infuse her tone with confidence—prayed that the others would believe it. “She needs Minerva House. And Minerva House shall rise to this challenge.”

I hope.