by Meara Platt
“Your Grace,” Simmons mourned “Will you at the very least allow me to shave you before you go down?”
Christian had shunned the idea of keeping a man on staff to dress him for most of his life and it was taking a bit of getting used to. The valet looked quite pained.
“I’ll only be a moment. You can do what you like with me after I’ve had a word with my sister.”
“But, Your Grace—”
“Where are my damned boots?” Christian ran his fingers along the brown stubble that had grown overnight at the same time Horace, his average-sized mutt of undetermined pedigree, jumped up from the dog bed placed near the door and shook himself from head to toe before ambling over with one of Christian’s well-worn Hessians in his mouth.
“Jacket first, Your Grace.”
Christian worked his arms into the tightly fitted coat, bent down to rub the mutt’s head and then rose again, allowing Simmons to tie his cravat.
By the time Christian escaped his overzealous valet and was halfway down the stairs with Horace on his heels, he realized he’d left his spectacles on the bureau. No matter, he’d finish this errand quickly enough.
The butler, who’d worked at Master’s House as long as Christian could remember, stood clutching his hands as though he had been awaiting him. “You will meet with her then?” Mr. Crane’s voice met him before he’d reached the main floor.
Christian frowned. “Yes, is she taking breakfast?”
“No, Your Grace. I have placed her in the Gray room.”
What the devil? With a curious frown, Christian changed directions, nearly tripping over Horace in the process and proceeded toward the back of the house. “Sorry, old man,” he muttered apologetically. Why would Bernadette be waiting for him in the smallest, coldest, and most austere public room in the household?
When he opened the door, however, he realized there had been some sort of mix up. Although Christian couldn’t make out her features without his spectacles, he knew in an instant that the young woman awaiting him was most definitely not his sister. She rose nervously, and a sense of familiarity struck him.
“I’m here to apply for the position.” Her voice wavered somewhat as she handed over a slip of paper. Taking it from her, he held it inches from his face and immediately recognized the missive he’d misplaced two days ago.
The damn advertisement Cornelius had penned in jest.
Christian lowered the paper and tried to make out her face better. Perhaps she was some chit Corny was acquainted with. If the impertinent fellow had sent her over, Christian would be obligated to form a plan of revenge as repayment. He’d have to come up with something good, too, as Cornelius wasn’t easy to fool.
And if Cornelius hadn’t sent her?
Then he’d send her away.
He moved closer and caught a whiff of the perfume the lady wore… Again, that sense that he knew her from somewhere: sweet, subtle lilacs…
He’d known marriage was one route he could take in order to protect Bernadette, but that was just the beginning of it. He’d have to sire his heir.
It was a devil’s bargain, for certain. Wasn’t it?
He stared hard at the advertisement and then again at the slim shape of the lady standing before him.
He wasn’t willing to marry for such mercenary reason as this.
Was he?
Chapter Two
The Position
Lady Lillian Prentiss pressed her knees together as she waited to be interviewed. Although the townhouse was grand and imposing, this particular parlor was rather plain and the wooden chair hard and uncomfortable.
She couldn’t help but wonder what sort of person had written the advertisement she had discovered inside the broadsheet she’d purchased for her mother just a few days ago. When she’d first read the handwritten flyer, she’d dismissed it as a joke and even gone so far as to toss it into the waste bin. But what if it had not been? Unable to stifle her curiosity, no less than a minute had passed before she’d retrieved it to read over again. Upon contemplating back and forth numerous times, she convinced herself that even if she was lucky enough to win the position, she didn’t have to accept it.
Whatever the position might be.
Her mother would have apoplexy if she discovered her destination that morning—and the reason for it. No need to worry on that account unless something actually came of it all...
Lillian tugged at the flaps of the large bonnet she’d specifically chosen to wear that morning in order to partially conceal her face. She did not wish to be recognized if there was a chance the person who’d posted the ad knew her mother or stepbrother or any of her family. They would most definitely disapprove of her being here. Lillian was the responsible one, the mature one. Lillian only ever did that which was strictly proper.
But she was ready to change some of that, to make her own life decisions. She did not wish to live off of her stepbrother or her mother for the remainder of her life. She wanted independence, something unheard of for a young woman such as herself.
She glanced at a clock on the mantel. The stern-looking butler had given her a strange look when she’d announced why she’d come, and she’d been waiting nearly thirty minutes now.
She ought to leave. Lifelong security sounded too good to be true and, in all likelihood, it probably was. What she ought to do is go to the employment agency and inquire about a position as a governess somewhere.
Thinking to reassure herself, she read the advertisement again. Unfortunately, the last line did quite the opposite. The stipulation that Squeamish ladies need not apply sounded ominous indeed. Whatever did that mean?
The door opened, jarring her out of her thoughts and as she rose from her chair, she took her measure of the slim, tall gentleman who’d entered. His hair stood slightly on end, he appeared not to have shaved, and his clothing, although fashionable, was wrinkled and slightly askew—he appeared as though he’d just returned from a late night of carousing.
If she’d never met a rogue before, she feared that she had now.
A long-haired mutt trailed closely behind the man. Only slightly larger than medium-sized, the dog’s coat was a mixture of browns and grays and, yes, whites and blacks as well. She had never seen a dog that looked quite like this one.
Her interviewer, however, seemed slightly familiar, although Lillian couldn’t place him.
“I’ve come to apply for the position.” She forced confidence into her voice. Not that she didn’t know how to comport herself around gentlemen of the ton, but this situation was somewhat new to her. When he furrowed his brows, she presented him with the advertisement.
He stared at the parchment, squinting his eyes.
“How, might I ask, did you come to be with this?” His voice made the words sound almost like an accusation.
She tilted her head back in order to meet his eyes. Something jolted inside of her. She had met him before. She searched her memory, while he frowned as though he too might be trying to place her.
“It was inside of the Daily Gazette.”
“Impossible. Please, tell me the truth. Did Cornelius White set you up with this?”
At her perplexed look, he continued, “A man about so high, darker hair than mine?”
“No one. It was in the paper…”
And then it hit her. Lord in heaven, this man before her was the same handsome gentleman who had helped her with the purchases she’d collected for her mother two days ago.
“It was you!” she burst out, the revelation spurring her to escape. He wasn’t wearing his spectacles or top hat this morning, but he most certainly was the same person and he seemed quite surprised to see her in possession of the note. “On the street two days ago. It must have been an accident.” Of course, with all the splotches and crossed-off words, she never should have taken it seriously. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
She chastised herself mentally as she went to step around the dog and toward the doo
r. Of course, the advertisement had not been real. “I’ll see myself out.” She ought to have known that something that seemed too good to be true most likely was.
“Wait.” His voice halted her, but she did not turn around. “You say I gave you the missive myself? Please, won’t you sit down a moment, Madam? That way we can perhaps unravel this mystery.”
His voice was kind, just as she remembered from that day on the street. When she turned around, she found him squatting beside the dog, one hand rubbing the coarse-looking hair, the other scratching its side. Both the gentleman and the dog stared up at her, but the man was tilting his head with a tentative smile.
“On the street, you were kind enough to assist me when I dropped my packages,” she reminded him.
His smile grew less tentative but then disappeared altogether. “The mistake is my own, then.” With one last pat, he rose to his full height. “I’d placed the missive in one of my pockets. It must have come out when I retrieved your paper.”
Looking at him now, she was surprised she’d not recalled him immediately. Eyes the color of a summer sky smiled back at her. And despite his unkempt appearance, he wasn’t roguish at all but rather adorably disheveled. She’d found him charming and attractive upon their initial meeting.
“Please?” He gestured toward the seat she’d just vacated.
Lillian fidgeted with the bonnet string below her chin. The wise, responsible course of action in this moment was to decline cordially and forget she’d ever set foot inside 312 Chesterfield Hill.
And yet… She did not wish to tie herself to any of the titled gentlemen her mother persisted in presenting her to, giving any one of them absolute control of her person for the remainder of her life. And neither did she relish the thought of being a governess, nor a companion, nor a teacher. She enjoyed children but was certain she would feel differently if the constant care of them were to become her occupation.
She walked slowly across the room and then lowered herself onto the wooden chair.
“Pardon me for failing to recognize you initially. I only meant to locate my sister this morning and forgot to don spectacles before coming downstairs. I’m afraid you are not much more than a blur at the moment.”
Lillian stared back into his eyes, feeling more comfortable than she had a few moments before. Perhaps if he didn’t remember what she looked like, they could both pretend this meeting never happened.
“I do thank you, for your assistance two days ago.”
He waved one hand through the air. “It was my pleasure.”
But then, turning somber, he ran his fingers through his unruly hair and pulled over another chair for himself to sit across from her. When he sat down, he began bouncing his foot up and down until the dog approached, sprawled on the floor and then rested his chin on the man’s boots.
“I trust you made it home safely with all of your packages then?”
“I did.” Oh, but she must offer some sort of explanation. “The notice, your advertisement… It fell out of the paper before I could give it to my mother. My inclination was to throw it away, initially, but it… intrigued me.”
His blue gaze never left her face. “If you are open,” he finally offered, “I’d like to discuss the position with you—in strict confidence, of course.”
“But of course.” She sat up straight.
He grimaced. “After you hear me out, if you still wish to make a quick exit, I’ll not mention a word of your visit to anyone.” Leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees now, he winced, almost as though he wasn’t certain he was doing the right thing.
She had wanted to leave a moment ago. The rational part of her still did. “There is an actual position, then?”
Again, that wince flashed across his face. For some reason, it made Lillian want to smile. Despite his unkempt clothing and hair, he was impossibly charming. And then she reconsidered. His rumpled appearance actually enhanced his appeal.
“Possibly,” he admitted. “And, as I consider speaking the words out loud, in this moment, I’m realizing how utterly preposterous it is going to sound.”
Lillian could no longer contain her smile. “Will you allow me to decide whether it is preposterous?” She did not know his name or anything about him, and yet his lack of affectation had her convinced he was a genuine gentleman in all that mattered.
“I—” He bared his teeth in an even more pronounced wince. “I am in need of an heir. Quickly.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t a great deal of time left to live.”
Lillian wasn’t certain she’d heard him correctly. “You are going to die?” He was a young man, possibly around her own age of three and twenty. And he appeared to be a vigorously healthy young man.
Her heart broke more than a little at his somber nod.
“I… I am so sorry.” She wasn’t certain what else one should say upon hearing such devastating news. “You are not married?”
He shook his head. “I considered betrothing myself to one of the ladies of my acquaintance, but any proper girl wishing to marry will want a husband for far longer than I anticipate being around.” He flicked his gaze down to the paper he still held in his hand. “I had considered the ad unseemly.”
And then he looked back up and met her eyes. “I hadn’t contemplated the possibility that a lady such as yourself, a lady of refinement and intelligence, would actually respond. May I ask what has compelled you to do so?”
The question was a fair one. The nature of the ad, itself, was improper, to say the least.
Lillian considered her words carefully. He’d been honest in what he wanted, what he needed. He deserved the same from her.
“I have been under substantial pressure to marry.” She frowned as she considered her odd predicament. “Not that they are turning me out. They’d never do that. But my mother refuses to allow my younger sisters to come out until I marry, and I have no wish to—ever. The idea of being an independent woman is an appealing one.” More than that—it was a spectacular one.
Upon Lillian’s father’s death, her mother had married a second time. The gentleman had not proven himself to be a decent husband. He had not proven himself to be a decent human. Lillian and her sisters had only worn black upon his death because their mother insisted.
They ought to have celebrated.
The gentleman sitting across from her watched closely as she spoke, as though he was weighing her words carefully.
She half expected the sound of her beating heart to cut through the silence that followed her admission.
“I have a sister.” His words surprised her. “If I don’t leave an heir, she will be… unprotected… upon my death.”
Again, she hated to think that this young man had only a few years to live. “What if… the child is not a male?” It would be tragic, really, to go to such lengths and meet with failure. “What if… the liaison fails to produce any offspring at all?”
“My family, my ancestors, have had no trouble siring males. Our difficulty comes from a lack of ability to keep them alive.” He lifted one side of his mouth in a sheepish smile that sent an odd warmth flowing through Lilian.
“How old is your sister?”
“Ten and seven.” He stared down at the dog at his feet. “I’ve wracked my brain to come up with some other legal recourse to ensure her security, to ensure she is safe.” And then he swallowed hard.
Was it possible Lillian was actually contemplating doing this? For the past few years, she’d felt rather useless. She loved her nephews something fierce, and yet they had several aunts and caretakers, not to mention loving parents.
“How long?” she couldn’t help but ask. “How long do you have?” His illness must be the reason for mentioning squeamishness in the ad. Would she be able to watch this kind gentleman weaken and eventually die? She barely remembered when her own father had died. When he’d returned from the war, he’d already begun to sicken. She remembered the scent of death. It had hovered in his room two weeks before
he’d actually passed.
Her throat thickened.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
The doctors had spared him such knowledge then, so that he could live out the remainder of his days without counting them one by one.
“I don’t imagine you’ve any wish to delay then.” It would be better for him to see his child before his death—to give him peace in the end but also because… he would be a father.
But there was something else she needed to know. “And once you’ve passed?”
“The mother of my son will retain all the benefits afforded to her before my death… without the burden of having a husband.” He met her gaze again. “I would only ask that you guide my sister through society.”
“And the child?” She could hardly believe she was considering this.
In that moment, he stared into her eyes. “I would rather not prolong this process… this insane search. You may have guessed that I had not intended on posting such an ad and doubt I would ever have actually resorted to doing so.” He shook his head. “But I am not in a position to delay.” Although he’d told her that he couldn’t see her clearly, he’d pinned his cobalt gaze upon her steadily. “I barely know you, but I would have to trust you. I would simply ask, simply hope, that you would raise the child to be honorable and of good character. Tutors will take over his teachings eventually, but you would always be his mother.”
Lillian nodded. He seemed trustworthy somehow. She didn’t understand it and yet her instincts didn’t usually fail her. She’d never liked her stepfather, even as a child. Nor had she any fond thoughts for the gentleman her stepfather had wanted her to marry, Lord Emery, the Earl of Rothberg’s heir. She’d since learned that Emery was an itinerate gambler who frequented brothels.
Her mother had married the Duke of Crawford after being assured by all of her friends that he would make an excellent husband and father. He’d been highly recommended by upstanding members of the ton.
She did not think she was exaggerating in that before long, she and her sisters had come to think of him as something of a monster.