Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  She wanted to say she could not possibly accept such unthinkable generosity, yet how could she not? For Maggie’s sake. Maybe God was indeed answering her nightly prayers, working miracles through Simon Devere.

  At her momentary speechlessness, the earl simply looked amused.

  “Why would you do such a thing?” Jenny finally managed.

  “Not quite the statement of gratitude I had imagined.” He sat in his chair and crossed his legs, looking entirely relaxed, as if he hadn’t just changed the course of her sister’s life.

  This could mean a husband for Maggie and a completely different existence than the one Jenny had accepted as her own lot, that of a country spinster.

  “I would do it because I can,” the earl said, “and because you seem quite nice. You’ve certainly been kind to me. It seems that your family has fallen on difficult times through no fault of your own. Moreover, you are trying to help yourself, not wallowing in your situation.”

  All of that was quite true. What’s more, despite any appearance of impropriety in letting a stranger finance her sister’s Season, Jenny would not be an ungrateful fool.

  “I accept your offer on behalf of the Blackwood family.” After all, it was not unheard of for a family patron to do such a thing. Was that what the earl now was?

  “And you have a younger sister, do you not?” he asked.

  “Yes, Eleanor.”

  “A beauty in her own right, I’m sure.”

  Jenny considered. “I hadn’t thought of her yet in that way, my lord, as she is not yet fifteen. However, yes, I suppose she will be.” She held her breath, hardly daring to believe his generosity was going to be doubled.

  “As I recall, many girls are presented at court by age fifteen. In any case, whenever your family deems her ready, I shall provide for Eleanor in the same manner as Margaret, even if it is the same Season. Unless there is some rule about sisters and how many may be out at any given time. Of that, I am blissfully unaware.”

  Again, Jenny had no words. She knew she was gaping unattractively. Yet, how could she express her all-encompassing gratitude? How could he ever understand what this meant to her? Just like that, her worst fears had been alleviated. A terrible weight had suddenly lifted.

  She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Moreover, she had the insane urge to hug him.

  “And what about yourself, Miss Genevieve Blackwood? Would you like another Season in London’s ballrooms? Perhaps to find a replacement for your fickle viscount?”

  Like Perrault’s Cinderella, she was being offered a wonderful chance by the most unlikely of godmothers. However, she had only the smallest scrap of interest. Recalling the rounds, the silly, posturing people, the stuffy rooms, the endless worry over gowns, who would dance with whom, and whether one’s dance card was entirely filled, or if one might be left standing by the wall or the drapes. Not to mention the overarching dread of being left on the shelf.

  Far better to put oneself upon it and stay there!

  “God no,” she said emphatically, then at his shocked expression, she added, “Thank you, my lord. I am quite past the age at which a Season is seemly, particularly with a younger sister ready for her turn.”

  “How old are you?” he asked bluntly. “Thirty-four?”

  “Not quite,” she admitted, before laughing at his little joke. “I suppose I am not past the age precisely. I know ladies who went for five Seasons, and to be honest, I felt nothing except sympathy for them. I certainly have no intention of putting myself in that position.”

  Then, to lighten the moment, Jenny made her own little jest, “If I become desperate, there are always the matrimonial advertisements.”

  However, Simon didn’t laugh. He merely frowned with puzzlement. “I have never heard of these advertisements.”

  Realizing the matchmaking announcements had probably come to their height of popularity in London whilst Simon Devere was in Burma, she glanced at her feet. Not only that, they were rather vulgar for her to be reading, though somehow the advice columns had not seemed quite so scandalous. One could read those for amusement and sometimes even glean a nugget of good sense, whereas the adverts were positively base.

  “In such places as The London Journal, my lord, one can place an advertisement requesting a husband—or a wife, for that matter—though one must abandon all sense of modesty or humility and list one’s attributes both of appearance and abilities.”

  Simon looked rather taken aback. “Rather the way we discuss good horseflesh before purchase, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so, my lord.”

  “And would you do this?”

  Oh, dear. What must he think of her?

  “No, certainly not. I was joking, my lord. I believe the advertisements are full of untruths and exaggerations. Moreover, it makes forming an attachment rather … ordinary.”

  He thought for a moment. “Yet, as a practical woman named Jenny, shouldn’t you find the enterprise of advertising for your mate comfortingly pragmatic, not to mention offering a far greater return on time invested than twirling about a ballroom hoping to be noticed? Think of the numbers and how many eyes in London might look at your advertisement versus the few hundred in a ballroom.”

  He sounded as if he were pushing her to place an advert, and the idea irked her.

  “I was only jesting at the outset, my lord. I prefer helping my mother to run our home, and frankly, I like the challenge of being a bookkeeper. In every way, I prefer Sheffield to being in London.”

  “You are a strange lady,” the earl said without a hint of rudeness. “Who will accompany your sisters for their Seasons if not you?”

  “Why, my mother, of course.” Lady Anne Blackwood enjoyed dressing her daughters and appearing with them in society.

  “Leaving you alone in your house?”

  Oh. That could be a problem.

  “There is a housemaid and our cook.”

  “And the hapless stable boy,” Simon reminded her.

  She nodded. “And Henry.”

  “Henry? Is that the man I saw accompany you here one day?”

  He had seen her arrive with Ned? Jenny preferred not to delve into her failed ruse.

  “No, Henry is my late father’s personal servant. My mother felt badly letting him go and, thus, did not. Having him puttering about seems as if my father is also present in some way. Henry earns his keep by being my ears and eyes regarding bookkeeping clients.”

  She closed her mouth at that. For goodness sake, she was chatting away like a magpie.

  His gaze was suddenly piercingly sharp. “You know as well as I that none of the servants counts as a chaperone. Not really, nor as suitable companions or as safe escorts for you when you are at home alone in the country for an extended period. Certainly not for an entire Season. Especially a male servant.”

  The earl was quite serious and, unfortunately, correct. Moreover, he was looking at her as if she were a delectable morsel that any man might want to snap up if given half a chance. It confused and thrilled her at the same time.

  “You are right, of course.” Servants could be ordered to leave one alone with a member of the opposite sex, and thus no one in polite society considered them as reliable attendants. What if Ned dropped in for another visit while her family was away?

  “Some might say that having the widow here without a proper chaperone is equally improper. More so even.”

  Obviously, Maude was in mourning, but what happened when she came out of it? Jenny couldn’t imagine living in close quarters with Simon and seeing him every day without yearning to become closer. He was by far the most interesting, plain-spoken man she’d ever met.

  However, the look of utter confusion on the earl’s face made her wish she could recall her words.

  “Maude?” he asked, his voice a little hesitant. “Tobias’s widow lives here?”

  Jenny realized her error. “I’m dreadfully sorry, my lord. I spoke out of turn.”

  “No, it’s all rig
ht. Tell me. For apparently, if you don’t, no one will.”

  “You have been indisposed until late,” she reminded him in defense of Mr. Binkley and his staff.

  Simon waved off that excuse.

  “Tell me,” he ordered again, sounding every bit an earl in command.

  “Lady Tobias Devere resides here at Belton in private apartments. With her children.”

  Simon’s eyes widened at the information. “That explains the loud noises, the shouting that I sometimes hear.” He rubbed a hand over his face, nodding slightly. “I actually thought I was going insane.”

  “Yes, my lord. Peter and Alice can be quite loud. My sister tutors them in French.”

  “I see.” He frowned. “No, actually, I don’t see at all. Why aren’t they all at Jonling Hall?”

  Was it really going to fall to her to break the news?

  “Perhaps I should get Mr. Binkley.” She glanced around the room as if the butler might pop up from behind the bed.

  “Jenny,” Simon Devere said, his tone pleading.

  She could not refuse.

  “Lady Devere relinquished ownership of Jonling Hall while you were away.”

  Simon stood slowly. “Relinquished it? She sold the hall? Out of my family?”

  Jenny shrugged. “Before you ask me, my lord, no one seems to know who bought it, and no one has, as yet, taken up residence.”

  With agitation, he crossed the room to the window, then strode back to the chair, repeating the short journey three times. It made the large chamber seem very small.

  “I am utterly confounded,” he said at last.

  What if this triggered another incident?

  “Should I fetch Mr. Binkley, or your valet?”

  But he latched onto her arm as he had before. “Are there other nasty surprises?”

  Only the very real possibility that his cousin had been stealing from the family. Or perhaps the math tutor had.

  “I must be going, my lord. My family will begin to wonder at my lateness for dinner.”

  “We haven’t discussed the ledgers.”

  Anyone would be foolish to think this man did not have all his mental faculties.

  “You will return soon,” he added, then remembered what she’d told him before. “Please.”

  “Yes.” She gazed at his large hand still gripping her arm.

  Swiftly letting her go, his tone was lighter when he spoke again. “And you will let your mother know that her daughters will not rot in the country next Season?”

  Her heart soared once again and she nodded.

  “And you will agree to go with them to London rather than stay alone in the country?”

  It would be a humiliation for her, attending a third Season but only as a chaperone.

  “My mother and I will cross that bridge when we come to it. However, I cannot let the threat of having to escort my sisters to London dampen my utter relief at what you have so generously given us.” She felt how large the smile was upon her face. Undoubtedly like a beaming idiot.

  “I honestly don’t know what to say or how I can ever repay you.”

  Her words were met with silence.

  It dragged on until it became uncomfortable, and all the while, he stared at her, his face neutral, his thoughts a mystery. The earl’s glance eventually drifted from her eyes to her lips, causing an unexpected frisson of excitement to rush through her.

  Then his gaze dropped lower, to her bosom.

  Unexpectedly, her nipples began to tingle, causing her to be extremely aware of precisely where her shift brushed over them. At the same time, to Jenny’s extreme embarrassment, she knew her cheeks must be bright red.

  The very air around her crackled with tension. Did Lord Lindsey feel it, too?

  When Simon’s eyes caught her gaze once more, something flickered in their depths. Not a demon after all, but still, something quite uncivilized, just as she’d seen before. Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, Jenny prepared herself for his kiss.

  Instead, he glanced away. “No repayment is necessary.” The earl’s voice sounded rough, and he cleared his throat. “It is time for you to go.”

  She took a step back, realizing she’d been leaning toward him. What a fool she had made of herself. He’d been waiting for her to simply thank him and leave. Instead, she’d stared silently at him like a ninny.

  “I apologize for overstaying, my lord.”

  He nodded, looking for all the world like a dignified nobleman and not at all like a broken soul who’d once sobbed on her shoulder.

  “Do not trouble yourself,” he added. “I meant only that you had wasted enough of your day on me.”

  She was already backing toward the door, eager to escape from the scene of her mortification.

  “Jenny.”

  She halted.

  “I appreciated your company today.”

  The man was a puzzlement.

  “Thank you again, my lord.” She slipped out the door before she could ruin the moment. Before she did or said something else entirely inappropriate.

  As soon as she stepped out of his chamber, though, she wanted to yell with pure joy. A Season for both her sisters! Dear God in Heaven. What a miracle!

  Running carelessly as Eleanor might, Jenny was halfway along the corridor before she noticed the admiral. She nearly tripped as she abruptly slowed to a normal pace.

  Mr. Binkley stood ramrod straight, at the top of the stairs and had clearly seen from whence she had come.

  The impropriety of the situation dawned on her once more. Alone with the earl in his bedroom. Again. Only this time, she was wearing a delighted grin!

  She remained silent, tamping down the urge to defend herself. Trying futilely to regain her dignity and look respectable, she merely nodded politely to the butler as she passed him and descended the stairs without haste.

  She was nearly at the side door when she realized she had left her bonnet, coat, and gloves in the second-floor library. Jenny retraced her steps, even being brave enough to pass by his lordship’s door, which was still ajar.

  “Yes, my lord, as you say, far more than a nuisance.” Mr. Binkley’s words came clearly through the opening. “I don’t think she belongs here.”

  “Of course she doesn’t belong here! But whose fault is that?”

  Silence greeted the earl’s terse question until he asked another one.

  “When will she be gone?” Simon’s voice sounded irritated.

  “My understanding, my lord, is that she’ll be gone soon enough.”

  “No, not soon enough. Too much damage can be done in the meanwhile.” His tone was sheer exasperation. “Her presence is highly irregular.”

  “Yes, my lord, and some may think that you should offer for her hand.”

  Jenny gasped, then clamped a hand over her mouth, hoping they hadn’t heard her. What was the butler thinking? Why would Lord Lindsey have to offer for her hand?

  Dear God, it was because she’d been alone in his room on more than one occasion. No doubt the staff was beginning to gossip. A female bookkeeper was abnormal, and who would believe she could really sort out the ledgers if she sauntered happily out of his lordship’s bedroom?

  As she tiptoed away, the earl’s words pursued her down the corridor, “Marry her? Are you mad? Not if she were the last woman on earth!”

  Jenny tried to ignore the pang of hurt. Of course, his sentiment was quite natural given the difference between their stations. Perhaps if she’d been a renowned beauty or had a fortune.

  Yet, she was simply Jenny Blackwood, a baron’s daughter. The last woman on earth he would marry.

  Chapter Nine

  “What do you mean you’re not going back? Mummy, what can she mean?”

  Maggie was persistent, but Jenny couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face the manor or Mr. Binkley, and definitely not the earl. Not today. Maybe the next day or the day after. Her emotions were in turmoil, and her feelings had been trifled with and tread upon, and a butler—a b
utler!—had disparaged her.

  Moreover, a peer of the realm had looked as though he might kiss her one moment yet insulted her the next. Or had she misinterpreted the expression on his face?

  “What if the earl withdraws his offer?” Maggie sounded worried.

  No, Jenny did not want to go back. Not ever. In fact, there was probably no need. She had completed her work. Someone at the manor needed to go upon an estate-wide tour and sort out the mess.

  Perhaps the earl should write to his uncle, James Devere, and ask him to carry out the charge if he was unable.

  “After what that man is doing for us,” her mother said, addressing her sternly, “I think you should finish your bookkeeping task for him in short order. And make the numbers look good so the earl doesn’t change his mind about his generous gift.”

  Jenny sighed. As if math could be manipulated to show something other than what was true.

  “Mummy, I have completed the task that Mr. Binkley set out for me.” Snatching a piece of toast from the silver toast wrack in the center of the table, she buttered it with ferocity until it crumbled into a pile on her plate.

  “Last night you said the earl invited you to return,” Maggie pointed out. “If not to finish the bookkeeping, then why?”

  All heads at the breakfast table turned to her. Ned was scowling fiercely, which made him look like an irritated ferret.

  “He wishes me to explain my findings.” Jenny kept her attention on the food before her and shoveled it into her mouth in an unladylike fashion.

  “And so you shall,” Anne Blackwood decreed.

  Jenny looked up at her mother, knowing she would have to obey. Tearing off a corner of her toast, she popped it between her lips. As she crunched loudly, crumbs went flying across the lace tablecloth around her plate.

  Seeing her mother raise a delicate and disapproving eyebrow, Jenny lowered her gaze again.

  What was the matter with her? Behaving like the unsuitable woman that both the butler and the earl seemed to have already judged her to be.

  “I left a summary in writing. There is nothing more I can do until they—” she gestured in the direction of Belton Park—“do something.”