Improper

by Darcy Burke

  “Yes, she’s just being dramatic,” Fiona whispered. “She does that.”

  “Oh. Then I daresay it’s wise that I’ve procured a chaperone and a sponsor for you. You’ll meet the former shortly and the latter tomorrow.”

  “Did I hear you say you’ve hired a chaperone for my Fiona?” Mrs. Tucket sounded aghast. She pursed her lips most strenuously. “I am her chaperone.”

  The earl smiled affably. “Certainly, but I thought she might benefit from an additional chaperone. Someone acquainted with London and Society.” He darted an uncertain look at Fiona as if he were looking for support.

  “An excellent idea, my lord,” Fiona said as she went to sit in another chair near the hearth. She reached over and patted Mrs. Tucket’s hand. “How can I not prosper with two chaperones?”

  “Harumph.” Mrs. Tucket narrowed her eyes at the fire.

  Fiona looked up at the earl. He was frowning, one hand on his hip and the other stroking his chin.

  The butler arrived with a tray bearing tea and a glass of sherry. The earl scooped up the latter item and brought it directly to Mrs. Tucket. “Your sherry, ma’am.”

  She took the glass and downed half the contents without a word. Holding the sherry to her chest, she settled back against the chair and closed her eyes.

  Fiona slowly rose and tiptoed back to the center of the room where the earl stood staring at her maid. “She’ll likely fall asleep in a moment. The key will be to catch the glass before it falls.”

  The earl’s dark brows climbed just before he nodded. Turning, he gestured for the butler to move the tray to a table in front of the windows that looked out to Brook Street.

  A snore rattled the air, and Fiona dashed to catch the glass of sherry as Mrs. Tucket’s grip slackened. Just one small drop of the contents splashed over the side onto her skirt. Fiona considered that a victory.

  When she joined the earl at the table near the window, he inclined his head with appreciation. “Well done.”

  She set the wineglass on the table. “It is not my first rescue.”

  The earl held her chair as she sat. “I see, and here I thought you had someone taking care of you.”

  “She does take care of me, but it’s true that I also take care of her. More in the last year or so. She’s quite tired, I think. She all but ran our household the past six years after my father died and then later when my mother became ill.”

  The earl, seated across the round table, handed her a cup of tea the butler had prepared before leaving. The entire activity—the delivery of the tea, organizing it and a selection of food on the table, and his departure had occurred with such ease and precision that Fiona wondered how the butler had done it all without her really noticing.

  “How long since she’s been gone?” Overton asked before sipping his tea.

  “Not quite two years. She’d hoped to come to London with me for my Season, but, ah, your father didn’t extend the invitation until just before she died. And then, well…” She didn’t need to tell him about how things had happened. “I didn’t mean to imply anything by that.”

  “Of course not,” he said benignly, reaching for a biscuit. “You need never fear voicing an opinion about my father. You’ll find I have many, and few of them are good.”

  “Oh.” Fiona didn’t know what to say to that, so she decided to find another topic. It wasn’t hard, for she had a thousand questions. And that was before she’d learned she was to be presented to the queen or that she would have a new chaperone and a…sponsor? “What does a sponsor do?”

  He finished chewing and waved his hand, still holding the biscuit. “An excellent question. You are quite fortunate to be sponsored by one of Society’s most influential ladies, Lady Pickering.” He waggled his brows. “She will come tomorrow, and you’ll discuss all things of import, including your presentation to court, your wardrobe, and, of course, invitations.”

  Fiona had just picked up a biscuit and promptly dropped it into her teacup. “I already have invitations?”

  “Not yet. No one knows who you are, and the Season has barely begun. Lady Pickering will see that you receive invitations. Once you’re presented, there will likely be a flood.”

  Fiona picked up her teacup and frowned into the contents where the edge of the biscuit was visible just above the liquid.

  “Let’s pour you a new cup.” He reached for the third cup that was likely for Mrs. Tucket, who wouldn’t be needing it. After pouring the tea, he added milk and sugar, then swapped it with her cup with an efficiency and care she would not have expected from an earl.

  She couldn’t help but smile at him. “You’re quite jovial.” She didn’t recall his father being so likeable. He’d been rather serious.

  “I try to be.” He finished the rest of his biscuit while Fiona sampled her new cup of tea.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Much, thank you.” She set her cup down just as he picked his up.

  “THE BLOODY QUEEN?”

  The outburst from Mrs. Tucket caused the earl to spill his tea right down the front of his cravat and waistcoat. His eyes widened with shock as he darted his gaze toward where Mrs. Tucket still slumped in her chair. “Is she all right?”

  “Oh, yes. She does that.” Fiona picked up her napkin and went to the earl, dabbing at the tea on his front without thinking.

  “Er.” His gaze met hers—they were rather close—and Fiona realized this was highly improper.

  “Sorry!” She dropped the now-soiled napkin in his lap and dashed back to her chair, heat rushing up her neck and cheeks.

  He plucked the napkin up and continued where she left off. “It’s fine. I appreciate your quick reaction. Mrs. Tucket often shouts in her sleep?” He looked toward her again, one brow arching. “She is still asleep?”

  “Most certainly. At this time of day, she typically naps an hour or two. And, yes, she is known to call out. Usually with a profanity.”

  His hand stopped wiping at his waistcoat as his gaze fixed on her. “Truly?” At her answering nod, he let out a wonderfully warm laugh. Fiona couldn’t help but join in.

  When their laughter subsided, he set the napkin on the edge of the table. “Well, it’s good that I’ve enlisted additional help. You will require a chaperone who does not fall asleep and make exclamations using inappropriate language.”

  Fiona leaned forward slightly. “You can’t dismiss her. I won’t allow it.”

  The earl studied her in silence a moment. “I’m afraid it’s not up to you to allow things,” he said with a subtle edge of steel. “However, it was never my plan to dismiss her. I understand she’s been with your family for some time. She will simply take on a new role.”

  His plan. It wasn’t up to her. Perhaps Overton wasn’t as likeable as she thought. “Thank you, my lord,” she said as sweetly as possible. “What role is that?”

  “Whatever you deem it to be. Just know she will not accompany you to Society events. That will be Miss Lancaster’s responsibility.”

  “Miss Lancaster?”

  He stood. “Come, I’ll introduce you now.” Looking toward Mrs. Tucket, he pressed his lips together. “Should we wake her? I can have Mrs. Smythe, the housekeeper, see her upstairs.”

  Fiona went to assess Mrs. Tucket’s situation. She didn’t look particularly comfortable, but Fiona knew that didn’t matter. What did matter was not interrupting this most important afternoon nap, particularly after their long, arduous journey over the past week. “She’ll sleep another hour at least. Would it be possible to have a maid check on her periodically so that she doesn’t startle when she awakens? She may not recall where she is.”

  The earl looked alarmed. “She’s forgetful?”

  “Occasionally, but so is anyone nearing seventy. This is a new place and we’ve only just arrived. I fear I might not recall where I was.”

  “Fair enough.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

  The tea had stained the folds of his cravat, and parts of h
is maroon waistcoat were darker than the rest because the fabric was wet. She would feel bad if his clothing were ruined, but then he could likely afford to replace both items without a second thought.

  He led her from the sitting room back into the foyer. A liveried footman stood near the door like a statue. They turned to the right, and there was an actual statue in the corner, a life-sized rendering of a muscular young man in a brimmed hat, winged sandals, and a cloth draped in an artful fashion covering his most intimate parts.

  “Is that Hermes?” she asked.

  “You know your Greek gods.” He sounded impressed. “My father liked Greek mythology in his youth. Or so my mother said.”

  He led her into a large hall in which a wide staircase climbed up the right side. Portraits lined the wall ascending to the first floor.

  “I seem to recall that about him when he visited my father. They discussed Greek philosophers too.” She looked at the paintings as they went up. “Are these your relatives?”

  “Yes.” He pointed to the one at the top. “That’s my grandmother. She lives at the dowager house at Deane Hall. She rarely comes to London anymore.”

  The likeness was of a woman past the blush of youth but not yet in middle age. Her gray-blue eyes were very similar to that of her grandson, including a certain sense of exuberance, as if she were ready to meet whatever came her way. “She looks lively.”

  “She has many opinions and will share them whether you want to hear them or not.” At the top of the stairs, he continued onto the next flight. “Your room is up one more.”

  The staircase up to the second floor was not quite as grand, and the paintings were of landscapes. There was also one of a bowl of fruit.

  “Just to the left here.” He led her to a doorway and stepped into a small, well-appointed sitting room decorated in pale pink and green. Once inside, he gestured to the right. “Your chamber is through there. And here is Miss Lancaster.”

  The woman who was to be Fiona’s companion walked into the sitting room from a door on the wall opposite the one to Fiona’s chamber. Miss Lancaster was taller than average with dark blonde hair and a narrow face. Her pale, gray-green eyes were wide, however, and fringed with long, dark lashes. There was a steel to her, perhaps in the way she stood or the manner in which she held her head with an air of resolve.

  Fiona moved toward her with a warm smile, wanting to start their relationship off well, even if she did feel a bit like the woman was edging Mrs. Tucket out. “Good afternoon, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Miss Lancaster dropped into an easy curtsey. “I have been eager to meet you, Miss Wingate. And to be of service.”

  “I will let the two of you become acquainted,” the earl said. “Dinner is at eight.”

  “So late?” Fiona asked. “Mrs. Tucket will be quite famished by then, I should think.”

  “We don’t keep country hours here in town,” Overton said. “But we’ll do our best to accommodate Mrs. Tucket. I’ll see she has whatever refreshments she desires. As soon as she wakes,” he added.

  “Where is her room?” Fiona glanced toward the door from which Miss Lancaster had emerged.

  “Across the gallery overlooking Brook Street. I’m sure she’ll find it more than acceptable. See you at dinner.” He turned and left before Fiona could ask any more questions.

  Instead, she addressed Miss Lancaster. “Is that your room there then?” Fiona inclined her head toward the door that didn’t lead to Fiona’s chamber.

  “Yes. His lordship thought we should share this sitting room so as to form our, er, bond.” Miss Lancaster shifted her weight, and Fiona saw the crack in the woman’s façade. She was nervous.

  Fiona relaxed, for she was nervous too, and it helped to know she wasn’t alone. It also helped that her new companion appeared to be just a few years older than her, rather than someone with several additional decades. Fiona loved Mrs. Tucket, but it would be nice to have someone young to talk to. “How old are you, Miss Lancaster?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Is that the age of most companions in London?”

  “Er, yes?” Miss Lancaster sounded uncertain.

  “You don’t know? I thought Lord Overton said you were an experienced chaperone.”

  “Oh, of course. Just not here in London.” Miss Lancaster abruptly turned. “Come, I’ll show you your room. I’m sure you’re anxious to see it.”

  “Thank you. I should like that very much, Miss Lancaster.”

  The taller woman looked back over her shoulder. “Please call me Prudence.”

  “All right, but you must call me Fiona then. Especially if we’re to be friends.” How she hoped they would be friends. Fiona hadn’t had one in a very long time. Not since Abigail Harding had moved to Ludlow after getting married four years ago.

  Prudence’s gaze softened and some of the tension seemed to leave her frame. “I would like that.”

  “Wonderful.” Fiona grinned and then gasped as she stepped into her bedchamber. It was more than twice as large as the one in their cottage in Bitterley on her cousin’s estate, perhaps three times, actually, and decorated in beautiful rose and gold. There was a large bed, a writing desk, a dressing table, and a grand armoire along with smaller dressers for her things. What she owned wouldn’t fill even a quarter of everything, but then she supposed her new wardrobe would.

  Turning to face Prudence, she clasped her hands together. “I have so many questions but let me start by asking when we can go to Bond Street.” There were so many things Fiona was eager to do and experience. Why not start with something close?

  “I’m not sure, but soon. His lordship said you would require a wardrobe for the Marriage Mart.”

  Halfway to the dressing table, Fiona stopped. If the earl thought she was a biddable young lady eager for the marital yoke, he was going to be quite shocked.

  Fiona would try not to be amused.

  Chapter 2

  Tobias climbed the stairs of the Phoenix Club with more speed than usual. Was he eager to join his friends in the members’ den or running from his obligations at home?

  Both.

  As soon as he entered the spacious room that occupied more than half of the first floor, he was greeted by Ruark Hannigan, the Earl of Wexford. Tall with a wiry frame, Wexford was an excellent pugilist with a slightly crooked nose from having it broken more than once. With his black hair, blue eyes, and devilish smile, he was extremely popular with the ladies. As far as his Irishness allowed, that was. He was acceptable enough to flirt with, but an English earl was preferable to an Irish one.

  “Overton, I wondered if you might not join us this evening because the arrival of your ward wore you out.”

  “I know you are in jest, but it was a distinct possibility. She is full of enthusiasm.” She’d bombarded him with questions at dinner, mostly about things to see and do in London. The poor chit had been horribly isolated in the country. He’d agreed to escort her to the British Museum on Monday.

  Tobias followed Wexford to the back corner of the room. A window nearby overlooked the spectacular garden below where lanterns flickered and a rectangular pool with a statue of Aphrodite in the center reflected the light. One of the six chairs at the round table was already occupied by Dougal McNair, another of their friends.

  Dark-haired MacNair was a pugilist like Wexford, but his shoulders were broader and his nose still straight. He greeted Tobias and signaled to a footman to bring drinks for the new arrivals.

  “Evening, MacNair.” Tobias dropped into one of the leather-cushioned chairs next to the Scotsman.

  Wexford took the other chair beside Tobias. “Tell us about the ward. Am I going to want to change my marriage plans?” He grinned, for he’d been clear about not taking a wife until he reached the age of thirty. Which meant he had a good three years left.

  Tobias narrowed one eye at him. “Could I tell you anything that would do that?”

  “No.” Wexford laughed. “But tell us abou
t her anyway.”

  The footman arrived with a decanter of brandy and two glasses, which he promptly filled before departing. MacNair already had one that was half full.

  Lifting his glass, Tobias took an eager sip. The activity in his house had been a tad overwhelming, particularly since he’d only just raced home right before his ward’s arrival. An uncomfortable quiet had settled over the household following his father’s death, but Miss Wingate’s presence had completely changed the atmosphere.

  “No Lucien?” Tobias asked, glancing around. Lord Lucien Westbrook was the owner of the club and his closest friend.

  “He hasn’t come down from his office yet,” Wexford said in his Irish lilt. “I take that back. He just came in.”

  Tobias’s back was to the door, so he swung around and saw the tall figure of his friend enter the members’ den, where he was immediately waylaid by a pair of gentlemen. People often sought his company, and not just because he was the owner of London’s most exclusive club. He was also well-known for granting favors to people in need, as he’d recently done for Tobias.

  “It’s a damn good thing he found a chaperone for Miss Wingate,” Tobias said, shaking his head. “The one she brought with her from Shropshire is worse than I expected.”

  “Worse how?” Wexford asked.

  “Well, she dozes off rather easily and, while sleeping, cries out, usually profanely.”

  Both of his tablemates laughed.

  “What is so amusing?” Lucien asked as he took the chair next to MacNair. The footman promptly delivered a fourth glass.

  “Overton was just telling us about his ward’s unfortunate chaperone.”

  Lucien’s dark eyes widened. “How can that be? Miss Lancaster is excellent.”

  “Not that chaperone,” Tobias clarified. “The one from Shropshire. It’s a very good thing you introduced me to Miss Lancaster. Mrs. Tucket would not have been acceptable here in London.”

  Lucien’s brows climbed. “I see. I look forward to hearing what Lady Pickering thinks of Mrs. Tucket.”

  Lady Pickering was the sponsor who would shepherd Miss Wingate through her Season. A close friend of Lucien’s family, she was a well-respected lady in Society with excellent connections. The only person Tobias could have asked—and did—was his grandmother and, as expected, she’d refused to come to London. Lucien had rushed to the rescue, as he often did.