by Renée Dahlia
Helga stabbed in a couple of pins and moved to open the door to pass on Josephine’s message. Nicholas burst through with Betsy on his heels.
‘You can’t come in here. It’s improper,’ said Betsy.
‘It is fine,’ said Josephine, dismissing Betsy’s concerns with a small shrug. ‘We need to talk. Both you and Helga are here.’
‘Miss, it’s not decent to allow a man into your dressing room.’
‘I’m her fiancé,’ stated Nicholas. Josephine snorted. As if that made everything fine.
‘You are not my real fiancé …’ Josephine paused and was about to launch into her thoughts on the dinner tonight when Nicholas interrupted her train of thinking.
‘On that note, we may have a problem. I met Professor Van Percy this afternoon,’ said Nicholas. ‘He asked me how much you were paying me to pretend to be your fiancé.’
‘What?’
‘Settle your feathers,’ he replied smoothly. He pulled a chair over and sat near her. Her already shaky nerves went into overdrive as he sat with his knees almost touching hers. A small part of her brain registered his elegance. How could the simple act of sitting down look so enticing?
‘We can deal …’
‘We need a back-story,’ she said at the same time.
‘Ahh, yes, that’s what I was going to say. We need to arrive tonight prepared for everyone’s curiosity about us. It won’t be only Professor Van Percy that asks about us.’
‘What do you mean everyone?’ Josephine sighed. This was becoming far too complicated.
‘I’m not sure I can do this. I’m not very good at pretence.’ Because Helga held her head in place, she had no option but to stare directly at him. He smiled and she yearned to understand how he could appear so knowledgeable and calm. It didn’t seem, well, fair. She was a mess of nerves. Her leg started to bounce again.
‘All the best lies are almost the truth. We met because I work for your father who is a … um … businessman. No-one will ask you what type of business, and if they do, you can claim that you are just a female and it’s not your concern.’
‘Are you trying to upset me? Just a female!’ Josephine spluttered at him.
‘I don’t think that. I’m saying that other people won’t ask you about your father’s business. Sometimes it’s convenient to act ignorant in the moment to gain the long term win,’ he said. She took a deep breath and pressed her hands into her leg to keep it still.
‘Rationally, I understand that, but I probably won’t be able to act hopeless if that is required of me. Anyway, if I am to be useless and know nothing about my father’s business, how did we meet?’ she said.
‘At a dinner?’ Nicholas shrugged.
‘Yes, yes, of course. Claire says that her father holds wonderful Christmas parties each year for all his employees. If my father ran a traditional business, he would do that too and I would be bound to attend them.’
‘Perfect. We met at a Christmas party several years ago. I was so taken with you that I took every opportunity to meet with you. Your father gave me permission to write to you while you were here studying. Obviously, he wants the political connection with the Dukedom, so he has encouraged the match between us.’
‘Dukedom?’ Josephine leant back. The motion earned her another stab in the skull with a hair pin. Her mouth hung open, and she was sure her jaw wasn’t attached to her face anymore. Nicholas stood in a smooth motion and bowed low. He winked as he straightened.
‘Lord St. George, second son of the Duke of Tulloch, at your service.’
‘No. That’s outrageous. I can’t pull off a lie of that substance.’
‘Seriously. My father actually is His Grace, the Duke of Tulloch.’ He winked, and a dimple flashed in his cheek as he grinned. ‘As a mere second son, I am forced to make my own way in life and have a career. Especially as His Grace is doing his diligent best to bankrupt the Dukedom in his efforts to breed a Derby winner. His neighbour in Newmarket won last year with Ormonde and the jealousy has only increased his expenditure.’
Josephine laughed, amused at his description of the foibles of the upper class.
‘No wonder my father sent you. It’s completely true that he would want the political influence of a Duke in the family. Claire’s mad idea has just gifted my father the perfect opportunity for further advancement.’ She gasped, a sharp intake of breath. ‘A second son. When you said “Call me Nicholas” you meant Lord Nicholas, not Lord St. George.’
‘Yes, a small point of etiquette that wasn’t lost on your father.’
‘Speaking of Father, I hope he hasn’t made this public knowledge yet.’
‘I’m sure you know that Lord Walstone is far too savvy to give strategic grounds without a concrete base. He may have chosen me for this task in part due to my connections, although I’d prefer to think it was due to my actual ability as a covert operator.’ As he spoke, he stood up and paced around the room.
‘Walstone will be waiting, and hoping, that we like each other before taking a further step. There is, of course, some risk that by making this engagement public in Amsterdam, it will also become public knowledge in England. And knowing Walstone, he will make the most of any rumour about us.’
Josephine took a deep breath and mulled over all that Nicholas had said. He started talking again but she waved her hand at him to stop. Helga continued to stab her skull with pins as her coiffure took shape. Betsy stood to the side of the room, her mouth hanging open. Betsy’s expression of awe mirrored the churn inside Josephine’s stomach.
‘Give me a moment,’ Josephine said. Her mind reeled at the idea that Father had selected Nicholas for his connections, but it also made complete sense. Did he expect that this would become real and he could capitalise on the connection? She couldn’t deny to herself that she found Nicholas fascinating. Helga murmured an apology as a pin jabbed her in the ear. The sharp prick reminded her—this was a fake romance to serve a purpose. It was time to refocus on the initial point.
‘We have to take the risk. A public outing as an engaged couple is not binding regardless of what Father might wish. Professor Van Percy must be put in his place, and this appears to be the best way to do it.’ This was the most practical decision to get rid of her biggest problem. Nicholas might be overwhelming, but in their brief dealings so far, he had respected her and kept his distance. Mostly. Although when she thought about it, even that kiss yesterday had made her feel protected. It was exciting, enthralling, and not threatening. Safe, even while it took her to new places. She could probably trust him. Unlike Professor Van Percy who made her skin crawl whenever he was near. They would stick to the plan and roust Van Percy from his perch.
As Helga finished her hair, they talked over various parts of their childhood to learn a few things about each other that people might ask. They discussed the contents of letters they had written to each other while she was studying. They talked about the sights of London, and invented days out together during Josephine’s winter semester breaks each year. None of it was real.
Yet it made Josephine yearn. She would love to see the Scottish Highlands with St. George, or His Grace’s horse farm in Newmarket. Imagine the paddocks covered in a dusting of snow, the barns full of horses breathing the cold air and stomping their feet. The foals in spring. All long legs galloping in groups together through the green grass, playing with each other and teasing their mothers. She wasn’t one to care overly for horses. They were just a mode of transport to her. A way to get from the train station to one’s destination. The way that Nicholas described the farm, and the foals, made her want to know more. It sounded beautiful with trees gracing the wide grassy slopes of the gallops. Horses in strings working together in the early morning mist. The noise of their hooves drumming against the ground. As much as he had scoffed at His Grace’s obsession with the Derby, it seemed obvious from his descriptions that Nicholas also loved the horses and the farm. He simply approached it with more circumspect than the Duke.
/> Eventually, Josephine’s hair was ready and Betsy herded St. George from the room so that she could dress. He promised to be back soon in the appropriate attire with a carriage to transport them to the event. Josephine nodded her dismissal to him and frowned at the unfairness of the difference in the time it would take him to get ready compared to the hours she had already wasted.
Chapter 8
Nicholas arrived back at the house at the requisite time to collect Josephine for the university dinner. He hesitated just before his hand touched the knocker. His mind was full of the image of her seated with a sheet around her shoulders as the maid hovered behind her head. Her hair—that he had previously thought was just brown—all gathered up on her head. A silky sable colour that shone in the light of the gas lamps that lit the room. Her eyes had glowed too. She obviously enjoyed the argument with him. He straightened his collar and rapped the knocker.
Betsy opened the door and he stepped through to see Josephine attired in a blue gown draped with lace. The simplicity of her attire was elegant and emphasised her presence as she stood quietly in the hallway. He didn’t see the deep pile carpet runner on top of solid wooden floors, the rich colours complemented by the light blue flocked wallpaper. He didn’t see the understated luxury in the hallway that continued throughout the inner city townhouse that Josephine rented.
He only saw Josephine in her dinner dress. The way it hung to her curves made his mouth dry. Her hair added more height to her statuesque figure. The height gave her power and his mind was incapable of any thought. A small part of him was smug in the knowledge that he was right. She was beautiful garbed in something good. Anything would have been better than her usual brown garb. This, well, this was something else. Gah, Nicholas couldn’t think. He was almost woozy as his arousal stole blood from his brain. He was in danger of becoming rather idiotically besotted.
He made an awkward noise, similar to a cough but not quite.
‘Good night, Betsy,’ said Josephine. She walked past him. Her skirts whispered past his legs and the sound conjured up images of the dress falling off her. Blindsided by her appearance, he was in danger of being left behind. He swallowed and tugged at his jacket. He bowed mechanically to Betsy and followed Josephine out into the carriage.
‘I am quite nervous,’ Josephine said. It was the first words they had said to each other since he had arrived to collect her, and they came out all breathy. Nicholas caught a note of mint in the air as she spoke. He pressed himself back in against the seat.
‘But you know all the people who will be there?’ he queried.
‘Yes and no. I have spent four years with them in class.’ She paused. He nearly spoke before she continued. Her words rushed out and he noticed that her whole body resonated with jerky movements. Her hands twisted together in her lap, her eyes blinked rapidly as she focused on the carriage door. She fiddled with the lace overskirt on her gown before she jammed her hands together again.
‘I’m just not very social and I find parties quite stressful. It’s why I started this journey of study … to avoid going to society dinners and balls.’
‘I see,’ he said, even though he didn’t really. He’d always found talking to people easy. It was why he was so well-suited to his job. He loved discussions with people. He loved the process of learning about them. About figuring out their motivations. People were an endlessly fascinating puzzle. There was always something new in every conversation.
‘Just stick by me, and together we will take the room by storm,’ he said.
Josephine just nodded and made a small humph noise. She turned away from him and continued to fuss with her dress.
The formal dinner and end of year ball was being held in the Oudemanhuispoort, an old market building dating back to 1601 that had gone through many changes of use in its long history. Acquired by the university only seven years ago, the building had been extensively renovated to update it for the modern era. A formal courtyard fronted the building with a circular garden. A bust of the Roman Goddess of Intelligence, Minerva, sat on a pillar in the centre of the courtyard garden. The brown brick building had a large white stone portico that opened into an entrance hall. It was a rather plain passageway for such a fine old building, and Nicholas walked beside Josephine towards the door to the ballroom. Just inside the door a butler made formal announcements. Nicholas whispered to him, and the butler called out, ‘Miss Tobinbury and Lord St. George.’
His chest puffed out as he entered the grand function room with Josephine on his arm. Most of the room swivelled towards them as they were announced. And no wonder their eyes bulged as he walked in with Josephine. He had been correct. His initial impression of her was that she would be sensational when gowned properly. Her height perfectly complemented his. She was regal in her blue silk gown. The lines of the gown ensured that the silk clung to her curves. The heart-shaped neckline with detailed beading emphasised her breasts. The rounded swells were mostly hidden by the gown, with just enough skin at the top to tempt every red-blooded male in the room. By the looks from the crowd, Nicholas wasn’t the only one who appreciated her lush charms. The gown hugged her neat waist. Her arms were exposed from the shoulder down to her elbow length gloves. From her waist, the silk skirts fell elegantly to the floor concealing her legs, yet her height engaged every male’s imagination. He alone would be the one to solve the mystery of her leg length. The contrast between this dress and her typically brown shapeless outfits was extreme. Nicholas could see the crowd’s thoughts as they tried to work out who this gracious, gorgeous woman was. He was amused to watch the whispers rush around the crowd as the male students realised just what they had ignored for the last four years. He had discovered her first, and now felt smug and possessive. He wanted her all to himself.
Together they glided into the room, and he took two flutes of champagne from a footman in a practiced manoeuvre. They drifted together across the room to where Marie and Claire stood with Bertrand and a group of Claire’s ardent followers. They joined the group and after a round of introductions, chatted quietly until dinner was called.
***
The main hall, normally used for a general meeting place and canteen, had been transformed into a dining room with seating for over one hundred graduating students from all the different faculties. The medical faculty were all seated near each other at the front of the room. Josephine found herself seated between St. George and Professor Van Percy. St. George had stated that he could re-organise the seating plan to suit their requirements. She wrinkled her nose as she notched a mark of respect that he had achieved it. St. George held out her seat for her, performing the task typically done by a footman at a society dinner. There were not enough footmen at this dinner to allow for personal service, and Josephine quickly realised that it had been designed to make the students feel more comfortable. A more casual dining experience than in the haut ton to ensure everyone stayed relaxed, yet still formal enough that it gave that sense of occasion to those students who didn’t have her aristocratic background.
Josephine wanted to perch on the edge of the seat, ready to leave. She forced herself to sit correctly. The round tables seated ten and were covered in white cloth with shiny silverware. It promised to be a night to highlight the university’s ambitions whilst balancing the needs of the students and their wide variety of upbringings. A clever balance. Footmen came around and poured wine for everyone. The sound jolted her back to reality and Josephine pressed her hands against the empty pit in her stomach as St. George’s words filtered in.
‘I’ve always loved Josephine’s hair. It is that perfect shade of bay, almost black that reminds me of His Grace’s prized stallion Melton.’
‘You are not seriously comparing me to a horse, my Lord,’ she said. She raised her eyebrows and turned towards his voice.
‘A fantastic horse, a real athlete, with a shiny coat of the darkest bay. You recall, my dear Josephine, I wrote to you about Melton when His Grace purchased him after his Derby win,
’ said Nicholas.
‘Yes, something about how His Grace couldn’t win the Derby, but he could buy the winner,’ she replied. Thanks to their earlier conversation she had the basic data to extrapolate with. She hoped she sounded as if she knew something about racehorses. Nicholas grinned, and she let out a thin breath.
‘Thankfully, Melton returned the favour and won the July Cup soon after the purchase was completed. His Grace retired him to stud and has informed me at length as to the number and quality of mares he has in foal to him,’ he said.
‘Surely speaking of breeding at an occasion like this is not appropriate. For someone with your apparent background, you should know better than to speak of such things in mixed company,’ said Professor Van Percy. His pompous tone cut through her nerves and she tapped her toe under the table. She flicked a glance to St. George. He appeared relaxed in his chair with that charming grin plastered on his face. She took a sip of her wine to hide the sudden realisation. His charm was a mask. Her hand tightened around the stem of the glass. She wanted to see beneath the smile, behind those sparkly blue eyes.
‘Don’t be such a prig, Professor Van Percy. It is only natural to talk about one’s hobbies at a dinner like this. And as our education included human reproduction, it shouldn’t embarrass anyone to talk about breeding horses,’ she said, pleased to hear the note of confidence in her own voice.
‘Perhaps the professor isn’t upset by the improprieties so much, as he is by us discussing a topic that he has no experience of,’ said St. George. Josephine frowned into her wine. Reproduction? He’s a doctor. Blood rushed to her face and she gulped her wine. Oh, not that! St. George means horses. The gulp of sharp chardonnay slid down her throat. Acidity burnt her palate and she looked wildly around the table to see if anyone had noticed her embarrassment. All other eyes were focused on the professor. She placed her glass back on the table and wiped her palms with the napkin.
‘Not all of us can spend our lives swanning about with no sense of purpose, playing at life,’ said Van Percy. His voice rang out in clipped tones. ‘I’ve always felt more respect for people who build a life from nothing and create something worthwhile than for people born to privilege and who do their best to drift down from their lofty perch.’ Van Percy concluded his speech with a concise nod.