“I haven’t seen her for three full days, Marcus. Not since Lady Puget’s ball. We don’t even seem to be frequenting the same social events.” Reggie paced the width of the library. “She’s avoiding me, I’m certain of it.”
“I thought she was decorating your house?” Marcus sat in one of the oversized leather wing chairs that had been comfortable fixtures in the Berkley House library since Reggie’s father was a boy. He watched his friend with unconcealed amusement. “As long as you stay firmly planted within said house, she can’t possibly avoid you.”
“She hasn’t been here since the day we made our wager.” Reggie heaved a heartfelt sigh. Overly dramatic perhaps, but he was feeling rather dramatic at the moment. “I have had no communication with her at all save a note telling me she would need some time to complete her drawings and would meet with me next week.” He stopped and glared at his friend. “Next week? How am I supposed to wait until next week to see her again?”
“You could fill your time pursuing Miss Bellingham.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Reggie brushed aside the suggestion. “I have no interest in Miss Bellingham, nor does she have any interest in me.” He brightened. “Although she is a good sort. Lady St. Stephens wrote to say Miss Bellingham thinks our plan is quite amusing and she’d be delighted to do her part.” He drew his brows together. “Am I the only one who doesn’t see the amusement in this situation?”
“Yes.” Marcus grinned.
“Actually, I can understand the possibility of humor.” Reggie blew a long breath. “Or perhaps I will someday.” He resumed his pacing. “For the immediate future, I must determine a way to spend more time with Miss Effington. I could insist she finish her drawings here in the house I suppose, or request that she hurry this process along. Say my mother has taken a turn for the worse or something like that. I would think once there are painters and craftsmen and whatever else working here in the house, Miss Effington will certainly wish to—”
“You could pay a call on her,” Marcus said casually. “That’s what men in your position usually do.”
“Absolutely not.” Reggie shook his head firmly. “I will not go to her with my heart in my hand until I am confident my feelings are returned, and I can’t believe you, of all people, would encourage me to do so.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say—”
“Regardless of my feelings I will practice restraint and patience and all those other blasted qualities I’ve never been especially gifted with.” Reggie met his friend’s gaze. “You have no idea how difficult it was to hold her in my arms, to look into her eyes and not tell her how I feel.”
“And you have so little experience with curbing such impulses.” Marcus studied him thoughtfully. “The fact that you were able to do so now is extremely significant.”
“That’s what I thought.” Reggie paused for a moment to find the right words. “It’s the oddest thing, Marcus. God knows, I’ve fallen in love before—”
“I have certainly lost count,” Marcus murmured.
Reggie ignored him. “But this is entirely different. Miss Effington is the woman I will marry. I know it as I have known nothing else in my life.”
“You simply need to convince her.”
“And she’s a stubborn creature. Besides, at this point she no doubt believes that everything she’s heard about me is true. That I am the kind of man who would take liberties, who would steal kisses in a darkened garden, without a second thought.” Reggie blew an exasperated breath. “I daresay by the time I manage to convince her I am well worth reforming and far more perfect for her than any Lord Perfect could ever be, we will both be in our dotage.”
“At least by then her punch won’t be quite so wicked.”
“That’s something, at any rate.”
A firm knock sounded at the open library door. Higgins stood in the entry bearing a tray with a decanter of brandy and three glasses.
“Do hurry in, Higgins,” Marcus said with a grin. “Lord Berkley and I are discussing matters of great importance, and his good brandy is a necessary ingredient for such talks.”
“As always, my lord.” Higgins’s tone was level but nonetheless carried a world of comment. Reggie bit back a grin. Higgins knew, as well as Marcus or Reggie himself, what impractical plans and plots had been launched in this very room through the years—assisted by brandy or, on those rare occasions when as boys they’d chanced to be in London at the same time, by sweets and pastries. Higgins placed the tray on the desk and poured two glasses.
“Higgins.” Reggie nodded at the third glass. “While we are planning strategy of a highly complicated nature, I doubt that either of us needs more than one glass.”
“My mistake, sir,” Higgins said smoothly.
Marcus got to his feet and crossed the room to take a glass. “Well, I’ll have you know I am doing my part.”
“Your part?” Reggie accepted a brandy from Higgins, who then promptly took his leave. Reggie noted he had forgotten the third glass and wondered if the old boy was at last succumbing to age, although in truth the butler wasn’t substantially older than Reggie’s mother. Of course, she still claimed to be on her deathbed. “And what precisely is your part?”
“You said you needed to spend more time with her.” Marcus raised his glass in a triumphant salute. “I have arranged it.”
“Have you indeed?” Reggie grinned. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t allow me to flounder on my own.”
“I never have.”
Reggie knew Marcus far too well to doubt that he had come up with something clever. Through their long friendship, Reggie might well have been the instigator of any number of questionable schemes, but as often as not Marcus had found a way to smooth over the ruts in whatever road Reggie had been barreling along.
“Dare I ask what exactly have you arranged?”
“My wife wants to have a country party at Holcroft Hall. One of those things that goes on for several days with all manner of out-of-doors activities during the day and convivial gatherings at night. The kind of thing that’s either great fun or deadly.”
“Ah yes.” Reggie sipped his brandy. “Like last year’s debacle at Gifford Court.”
Marcus shuddered. “We shall endeavor to avoid anything of that nature. Gwen is handling all the details, of course, but I am envisioning a few days of country life, a respite from the city, for some of our closest friends. A dozen or so, I think. Invitations are already being delivered. It will be the perfect opportunity for you to get closer to Miss Effington. She is invited, of course, as are Lord and Lady St. Stephens, as well as Miss Bellingham and her mother.” Marcus smiled smugly. “You can thank me now, or later, if you’d prefer.”
“I think it’s rather amazing Gwen could arrange all this on such short notice. Perhaps I should thank her.”
“You can if you wish.” Marcus shrugged. “However, she was already planning it for next month. It was my idea to move it to four days hence.”
Reggie’s brow raised. “And she agreed?”
“Agreed is perhaps too mild a term.” Marcus grimaced. “Let’s just say, when I explained my reasons, and she is as eager to see you wed as you are yourself, you know, she was amenable to the idea.”
“Amenable?”
“Admittedly with a few promises on my part.” Marcus grinned. “Most of them quite pleasant.”
“Four days to wait to see Miss Effington is not substantially shorter than a full week. Still, the surroundings will be much more conducive to…”
“Working your way into her affections?”
“Exactly.” Reggie laughed. “Well done, Marcus.”
At once his spirits lifted. A moment ago he wasn’t sure what he would do next in his effort to win Cassandra’s heart. He couldn’t simply drag her from her house and force her into his company, as tempting as that might be. Now he had the opportunity to spend a great deal of time with her in the very near future. And at Marcus’s estate, no less, which marched beside Reggie’s own. There might even be the possibility of showing her Berkley Park.
“You do indeed have my thanks, as does your wife.” Reggie sipped his brandy and thought for a moment. “The only thing left is to arrange for a Lord Perfect. I have given it a great deal of thought, and more and more I think an actor would serve the purpose. Of course, should Miss Effington ever find out —”
“She would shoot you,” Marcus said firmly. “She is an Effington after all, and an independent female member of that family as well. She wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you for something like this. And, given the reputation we have managed to wrap around you, she’d no doubt get away with it.”
Reggie winced. “That could be awkward.”
“Awkward?” Marcus snorted. “That’s not the worst of it. She could shoot me too.”
“Oh, yes, that would be worse,” Reggie said wryly.
“Are you absolutely certain about this?” Marcus eyed him with a great deal of skepticism. “Pursuing the eccentric Miss Effington, that is? Certainly, the woman is lovely, but given her outspoken, obstinate, independent nature and the fact that she has already declared you will not suit—”
“She’s wrong.”
“And don’t you think the vehemence with which her brother tried to peddle her to you is, well, a bad sign? The man seemed somewhat desperate.”
“I wouldn’t call him desperate.”
“I would.”
“Admittedly, I would certainly not want a female with Miss Effington’s unique charms as a sister, and I imagine I, too, would be a bit desperate to get her wed. But as a wife, Marcus.” The very idea brought a grin to his face. “The spirit one would prefer not to have in a sister is exactly what one wants in a wife.”
“If you’re certain.”
“Never more so than now.”
“Very well then.” Marcus glanced at the clock positioned on the fireplace mantel. “Once again I have arranged to come to your assistance, even if the method of doing so is late.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, well, I had invited—”
A discreet cough sounded from the doorway.
Reggie glanced at the butler. “Yes, Higgins?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but there is a gentleman who wishes to see you.” Higgins paused. “Both of you.”
“Both of us?” Reggie frowned. “Who is it?”
“A Mr. Effington, sir.”
“Show him in, Higgins,” Marcus said and nodded at Reggie. “I asked him to come.”
“You did?” Reggie pulled his brows together in confusion. “Why?”
“Because I have an idea,” Marcus smirked. “And a brilliant one at that.”
“Dare I ask—”
“Good day, Lord Berkley.” Christian Effington strolled into the room. “Lord Pennington.”
“Effington.” Berkley greeted the man. What was Marcus up to? “I must say, I’m surprised to see you here.”
Effington chuckled. “No more so than I am to be here. But I received a note from Pennington requesting my presence, and I know my sister is decorating your house.” He sobered. “There isn’t a problem with that, is there? Not much I could do anyway, I suppose, she certainly doesn’t listen to anything I say. Still, as much as I think this business of hers is absurd, I understand she does a bang-up job.”
“No, there’s no problem at all.” Reggie shook his head. “She’s quite gifted.”
“Excellent.” Effington breathed a sigh of relief and looked around the library curiously. “I must say, she’s done a good job in here.”
“She’s not doing this particular room.”
“Oh.” Effington’s brow furrowed, then his expression cleared. “Good thing, too. You wouldn’t want a female dabbling about in a room like this. This is a place for gentlemen and cigars and,” his gaze dropped to the glass in Reggie’s hand, “brandy.”
“Would you care for a glass?” Reggie gestured at the tray on the desk.
“If it’s good.” Effington grinned.
“It is.” Marcus filled the remaining glass and handed it to Effington, who promptly took a deep swallow.
“That is good,” Effington said. “My compliments.” He took another drink, then met Reggie’s gaze. “I’ve been meaning to call on you. Regarding the money I owe you. I’m afraid I’m still a bit short. If you could see your way clear—”
“Actually, Effington,” Marcus said, “Berkley here is ready to forgive the debt entirely.”
Effington brightened. “He is?”
Reggie frowned. “I am?”
“Indeed you are,” Marcus nodded.
Effington grinned. “Damned decent of you, old man.”
“Think nothing of it,” Reggie muttered and hoped whatever Marcus’s brilliant idea was, it was worth one hundred and fifty pounds. He settled into a chair and waved the others to a seat. Effington swirled the brandy in his glass and glanced from one man to the next. “So, gentlemen, what’s the condition? There must be something.”
“Indeed there is.” Marcus leaned forward in his chair. “Berkley needs a favor in return.”
“Very well.” Effington nodded. “I am completely at your service.”
“Good to know,” Reggie murmured.
“What exactly is this favor?” Effington’s gaze again shifted from one man to the other. “And why do I suspect I might be better off remaining in Berkley’s debt?”
“This particular favor is in your best interest as well. Berkley and your sister are engaged in a wager of their own.” Marcus quickly explained the terms of the bet. “And we want you to find us a Lord Perfect.”
Effington shook his head. “It can’t be done. Quite frankly, we’ve been trying for years to find Cassandra a Lord Perfect, although we haven’t referred to him as such, as appropriate as the title is. Her standards are entirely too high.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Reggie sighed. “But we don’t need a real Lord Perfect. Just someone to pass as Lord Perfect. An actor, perhaps.”
Effington frowned in confusion. “If the object is simply to win your wager, why can’t you find someone to pass as Lord Perfect?”
“Because if she were ever to find out the truth,” Reggie grimaced, “she might well shoot me.”
Effington snorted. “If you’re lucky.”
“But you are her brother, and therefore she’d have to forgive you,” Marcus added. “Eventually.”
“If I’m lucky.” Effington took another drink and thought for a moment. “I still don’t understand.”
“You see, Effington, the idea is that once your sister is presented with a Lord Perfect, preferably a fraudulent one, she’ll realize that’s not what she wants at all. What she really wants,” Marcus gestured at Reggie with a grand flourish, “is Berkley. Or Lord As-Far-From-Perfect-As-One-Can-Get.”
“Thank you,” Reggie muttered.
Effington’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because,” Reggie rolled his gaze toward the ceiling, “I wish to marry her.”
“Cassandra?” Effington stared in disbelief. “Why?”
“Why?” Reggie downed the rest of his glass. “For all the usual reasons, I suppose. As much as she is certain we do not suit, I am certain that we do.”
“She drives him mad.” Marcus grinned.
Reggie shrugged. “And I can’t imagine living the rest of my days without her, nor do I wish to.”
“I see.” Effington studied him for a long moment. “Does she care for you?”
“I don’t know.” Reggie blew a long breath. “I’m not sure she’d admit it if she did. I think she likes me a bit. We’ve agreed to be friends at any rate. The truth of the matter is, if she doesn’t harbor some measure of affection for me, this scheme will fail. While I am certain that the kind of man she professes to want will not suit her at all, there is no guarantee she will then see me as anything but a friend. Ever. It’s a risk, I suppose.”
“And one you’re willing to take?” Effington said evenly.
Reggie nodded. “She’s not the kind of woman one can court by the usual methods.”
“No indeed she’s not,” Effington said slowly. “I would like to help, but I’m not—”
“Reggie!” Lucy burst into the library. “I hate to interrupt you but—” She pulled up short and stared at Effington.
The men leapt to their feet, Effington a bit slower than the others, his gaze firmly fixed on Reggie’s sister.
“I do apologize,” she said in a voice decidedly lower and distinctly more, well, seductive than her usual tone. Her words were directed at Reggie, but her gaze didn’t so much as waver from Effington. “I didn’t realize you had guests.”
Marcus snorted. “I scarcely count as a guest.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” she said under her breath and stepped toward Effington. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Lucy, this is Mr. Effington,” Reggie said slowly. “Mr. Effington, allow me to present my sister, Miss Berkley.”
“How delightful.” Lucy held out her hand.
“It is completely my honor, Miss Berkley.” Effington took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers.
At once Reggie saw what the younger man did, and a cold chill gripped his stomach. Lucy cocked her head prettily to one side and gazed up at Effington as if he were the only man in existence. Gone was the sweet, infuriating little sister, replaced by some vision of blossoming womanhood. Her dark hair billowed around her fair face, her eyes were wide and luminous, her lips were entirely too full and red, and a becoming blush tinted her cheeks. Her dress was demure yet still showed a figure far and away too inviting and positively lush. Who was this delectable creature? And where in the hell was his sister?
Reggie caught Marcus’s gaze; he looked every bit as shocked as Reggie. Of course, Marcus had known Lucy all her life and considered her as much a sister as if they were blood. Lucy and Effington continued to stare at each other as if they were alone in the room. Or in the world. It was most upsetting.
Marcus cleared his throat.
“Lucy,” Reggie said, a shade sharper than was necessary. “Did you want something?”
“Not really,” she said in that siren voice that came from God knew where. She drew her hand from Effington’s with obvious reluctance.
“Then why are you here?” Reggie’s voice was firm.
“Why?” She heaved a delicate sigh and pulled her gaze from Effington’s. “Why?”
Reggie grit his teeth. “That was the question.”
“Oh.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Mother wanted you to know she’s feeling much better. Quite her old self, actually.”
“She’s no longer dying then?” Marcus asked in an innocent manner.
“Apparently not.” Lucy’s brows drew together. “She claims it’s a miracle. She’s getting dressed even now. And she insists on traveling to Berkley Park tomorrow, to get her strength back she says, in advance of attending your house party.” She glanced at Marcus. “Your mother and another lady came by earlier today with an invitation for us all.”
Reggie raised a brow. “All of us?”
“All of us.” Lucy’s smile carried a hint of triumph. “Lady Pennington and Mother both agreed that even though I am not out yet, I should be allowed to come.”
“We’ll see,” Reggie said under his breath.
“Will you be there, Mr. Effington?” Lucy cast him a look far too flirtatious for a sixteen-year-old girl. And, good God, did she flutter her lashes?
Effington swallowed hard. “I don’t—”
“No,” Reggie snapped.
“Yes, of course,” Marcus said smoothly, slanting Reggie a quieting glance. “I suspect his invitation and those for his parents and his brothers are already waiting for him at his residence.”
“Oh, you have brothers?” Lucy’s eyes widened with interest.
“Two.” Effington nodded slowly, as if he had no idea as to the answer to this question—or indeed, no idea as to his very name. “But Drew is not in town at the moment.”
“What a pity. Well, I do look forward to meeting your other brother, and I shall quite count every minute until you and I meet again.” She beamed at Effington, nodded smugly at her brother, tossed Marcus a wicked grin, and sailed out of the room.
All three men stared after her.
“Who was that?” Marcus said under his breath.
“I have no idea.” Reggie’s voice was grim. “But that was the most terrifying thing I have ever witnessed.”
“Did she say she was not out yet?” Effington stared at the doorway as if frozen. Reggie and Marcus traded glances.
“She’s not yet seventeen, Effington,” Reggie growled.
“And she has a very protective family,” Marcus added. “As well as friends of her family who would not take—”
“I’ll do it,” Effington said abruptly and turned toward them. “I’ll help you win my sister. I’ll find your Lord Perfect or anything else you need.”
Reggie narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“For one thing, I am still unable to pay my debt to you. I am not fond of being in debt, no one in the family is, even if we do find ourselves in dire straits on occasion, and unfortunately, I don’t know when the state of my finances will improve. For another,” he met Reggie’s gaze directly, “just as you obviously care for your sister, I have a great deal of affection for Cassandra. I want nothing more than to see her happy, and I fear the path she is on will not lead to that.
“She is exceeding stubborn and rarely admits to the possibility that she could be in error. I agree with you: I don’t believe the kind of man she claims to want will suit her. You may not be the right match for her, but no one will ever make her do what she doesn’t want to do. If your plan works, it will work only because you’ve won her heart. Furthermore,” Effington grinned, “I think this farce of yours sounds like great fun. It should be most amusing.”
“Everyone seems to think so,” Reggie muttered.
“Excellent.” Marcus beamed. “Now, for the details.”
“But first.” Effington got to his feet, stepped to the desk, and grabbed the brandy decanter. “I think a bit of a celebration is in order.” He filled the other men’s glasses and raised his glass. “Welcome to the family, my lord.”
“A bit premature, don’t you think?” Reggie asked.
“Not in the least,” Effington said firmly. “I think my sister may well have finally met her match. She is possibly the most stubborn and determined person I have ever known.” He grinned. “Until now.”
Marcus laughed.
Reggie grinned and raised his glass. “Now that, Effington, does indeed call for a celebration.”
A few hours and several glasses of brandy later, Effington took his leave.
“I daresay, that was a productive meeting.” Marcus stared at his empty glass.
“Most productive.” Reggie lounged in a wing chair and savored the feeling of accomplishment. A pleasant sense of satisfaction hovered in the air, aided by the brandy, no doubt, but more by the confidence induced by Reggie’s firm and fervent belief that the three men had considered every flaw in their plan, every potential disaster, every possibility for failure. And indeed there were any number of things that could go horribly wrong. Still, knowing what the pitfalls in this enterprise were at least took away the possibility of surprise.
They’d agreed that Effington would bring the counterfeit Lord Perfect with him to Holcroft Hall the day after Cassandra’s arrival, to allow Reggie time to cultivate seeds of doubt as to the paragon’s suitability for her. And, if necessary, to cultivate a bit of jealousy over Miss Bellingham as well. Reggie caught his friend’s gaze. “Do you think he can really find a Lord Perfect? In three days?”
“I have no idea.” Marcus’s brow furrowed. “But he seemed most determined.”
“Marcus.” Reggie stared at his now empty glass. “Did you hear what he said about his finances?”
“His finances?” Marcus thought for a moment. “You mean that business about dire straits?”
“Yes. He said his family was in dire straits.”
Marcus frowned. “I don’t think that’s exactly what he said.”
“Not specifically. He didn’t come right out and say it. Indeed, I wouldn’t if I were in his position. But it was definitely implied.”
“I think, once again, you’re jumping to conclusions on the basis of nothing more significant than an offhand comment.” Marcus heaved a long-suffering sigh. “You have always done exactly that, and I do think the next step in your ongoing effort to control the vagaries of your life is to work on that particular problem.”
“Perhaps, but his comment, coupled with his lack of funds and Miss Effington’s business endeavor, cannot be mere coincidence.” Reggie shook his head. “No, Marcus, I’m certain I was right all along. Miss Effington is doing what she does as much out of financial want as anything else. It’s quite noble of her.”
Marcus groaned. “Reggie, you can’t—”
“I can and I shall.”
“So once again, it’s Viscount Berkley to the rescue of a damsel in distress?”
“Indeed it is.” Reggie’s voice was resolute. “Cassandra needs me. And I will not fail her.”
“You can’t avoid him forever, you know.” Delia lounged on the settee in her parlor and watched her sister’s restless pacing with barely concealed amusement. “You have taken on the redecoration of his house, and unless you propose to do it without again stepping foot in the building, you will see him. He does live there, you know.”