by Meara Platt
Graelem threw back his head and laughed. “A little touchy, aren’t you?”
He merely scowled.
Ian Markham, the Duke of Edgeware, joined them a moment later. “Ah, Graelem got to you first. I see by the frown with which I’m greeted that he told you what our wives are up to. Will you do it? For my sake, if not for yours. Dillie’s quite determined, you know. I’d hate to be shut out of the bedroom because of you.”
“Ass, that’s my niece you’re talking about. I don’t wish to hear the details of your marital activities.”
Ian shrugged. “So, will you do it? Eloise will help out, too. But Evie needs a man to protect her from the young bucks who will certainly come sniffing around once the sisters get their project underway.”
George sighed and shook his head. “I imagine Napoleon must have felt like this at Waterloo. Very well. I surrender. But I expect you gentlemen to keep your wives under control.”
Ian and Graelem thought that comment was a jolly good jest.
George closed his eyes. Damned meddlesome Farthingales. Of course, he was one of them. Still, it was disconcerting to have those Farthingale blue eyes pinned on him. “Have they told you anything about their plan?”
“No,” Graelem said with a shrug. “We’re just the husbands, which means we’re often the last to know. Escorting Evie seems harmless enough. You’re the natural choice since you know the girl best, what with visiting her ailing grandfather on a daily basis this past month.”
George clenched and unclenched his fists to calm himself. He knew marriage was the right thing for Evie, but he hadn’t quite accepted the possibility yet. He had better, for his nieces were going to make it happen whether or not he was ready for it.
More important, was Evie ready for it?
“You really don’t like this idea, do you?” Ian remarked, his grin fading and his expression now sober.
“The girl has been pushed around by her family since she was young. I don’t like that my own nieces are doing the same to her now, even though well-intentioned.” He punched the leather bag one last time to emphasize his point. “Evie’s not the sort to stand her ground and let you know what she wants. She’ll go along with their plan to avoid any discord. That’s why I’m reluctant to participate.”
Ian nodded. “All the more reason why you should be the one, George. Obviously, you’ll protect the girl’s interests better than any of us could. I’ll ask Dillie to reconsider, but once a Farthingale decides to meddle… Well, the sisters don’t know halfway measures when it comes to that. They’re all in. Only you can stop them.”
CHAPTER 4
GEORGE HAD A two o’clock appointment with the Duke of Lotheil at his London residence, Lotheil Court, but he purposely arrived early, for he knew the duke and Desmond were still at the Royal Society. He’d just seen them over there, going into a board of trustees meeting. He’d take advantage of their absence to spend a little time with Evie, make certain she was not being forced into doing something she did not wish to do.
Evie hurried into the visitors’ salon as soon as he was announced, her hair a lovely, wild mess and writing implements sticking out from the mass of curls piled atop her head. As ever, that one unruly curl dangled over her forehead. “Grandfather isn’t here yet,” she said, a little breathless from rushing in.
She moved briskly and gracefully, her simple gown of green velvet swirling about her ankles as she motioned for him to take a seat and settled into a chair across from him. Her cheeks were lightly pink and her eyes sparkled.
She was completely unaware of how beautiful she looked.
“I must look a mess,” she said, mistaking the reason for his stare. “Forgive me, but I was caught up in cataloguing the newer acquisitions for the Royal Society. Grandfather put me in charge of authenticating the relics since it appears I have a good eye for fakery.”
Does it extend to men as well?
“Then I’m the one who must beg your pardon for interrupting you.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise. “Oh, no, Dr. Farthingale… er, George. I’m pleased you stopped by. Like your niece, Lily, I sometimes get lost in musty books and ancient relics. It’s nice to chat with something—or someone—that actually talks back.”
He leaned forward in his chair, determined to get right to the point. “Have my nieces spoken to you about… I’m not quite certain how to phrase it? But it seems they’ve made you their next project.”
Obviously they had, for Evie’s face immediately turned ever brighter shades of red. “What have they told you?”
“Not much, only that they’ve decided it is time for you to marry. I’m to act as a sort of guardian over you, escort you about town whenever your family is not available.”
“My escort?”
“Lady Eloise will help out as well. But I’m puzzled, Evie.”
She fidgeted with the sleeve of her gown and wouldn’t look him in the eye. “About what?”
“You’re a beautiful girl—”
Her eyes shot wide and mouth gaped open at the remark.
“It’s a fact,” he insisted, daring her to contradict him. “Why the sudden determination to marry? I simply wish to be sure it is your wish, not something you’re being forced into.”
She glanced down at her hands and spoke into them. “I do wish to be married, but I don’t quite know how to go about it. I’ve had several suitors, but I think they were really courting my grandfather, not me. I don’t know whom to trust.” She glanced up. “I don’t mean you, of course. I trust you completely.”
“Great,” he mumbled.
“What?” She shook her head and continued. “I do need help in sorting out the fakes from the genuine articles. While I’m good at sorting them in artifacts, I’m lost when it comes to men. That’s why your nieces are determined that you should help me. You’re an excellent judge of character. They think you’re brilliant. I must agree with them. I’ve never met a finer man than you.”
He laughed softly. “My nieces are blinded by the fact that I’m a Farthingale.”
“But I’m not. I came to that conclusion on my own. I’m so pleased you’ve agreed to help me out.” She hesitated, looked back at her hands and spoke into them again. “You are willing, aren’t you?”
He leaned forward and reached out to tip her chin upward, wanting her to look him in the eye. “I’m willing, so long as this marriage project is something you wish to pursue. You must promise to speak up if ever you change your mind.”
“I will. I give you my word of honor.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “We’ve made up a list of prospects. Your nieces are quite clever. I hadn’t considered most of these gentlemen, but they all have qualities I’m told will make for a good husband. Would you care to review the list with me? We have time before Desmond and my grandfather return. I’m so glad you’re willing to help. I’d never get this sort of cooperation from either of them.”
She rose abruptly and took his hand.
Hers felt soft and little in his.
Felt nice.
“The list is in my bedchamber, but I’ll bring it down to my grandfather’s study. We can speak privately in there. Oh, dear. Where are my manners? I’ll have refreshments brought in there as well so we may chat in comfort.” She removed her hand from his and placed it on his arm.
Still felt nice.
But he didn’t like the idea of a list. What were his nieces thinking? And why was Evie suddenly so eager to go along with their schemes? Had she done something to require a quick marriage? He slid her a glance and his heart caught for a moment. She was so obviously innocent, so lonely it made him ache.
He was quite familiar with Lotheil Court, having visited often, so he made his own way to the study while Evie hurried upstairs to fetch her damn list. He entered the room and glanced around the large expanse. The polished oak floor was almost completely covered by a large carpet of oriental design, a striking mix of bold maroon, blue, and gold. Atop the carpet stood a massive
desk which was neatly kept, but just beyond it, beside the row of windows, was a long table covered in ancient manuscripts, ledgers, and assorted artifacts.
This is where Evie works.
He strode to the table, pulled out one of the sturdy, cushioned chairs, and sank onto it to await Evie. Odd, he could feel her presence. Her excitement for her work was a palpable thing. Perhaps it was in the little details, the way her quill pens were neatly aligned and the manuscripts stacked in a purposeful order. He caught the light scent of lavender around those old books.
After a moment, he heard her light step.
She’d fixed her hair, he noted. No more quill feathers or pencils sticking out from her vibrant curls. All was in order except for that one stubborn curl that would not stay in place. It dangled over her forehead just above her dark gold eyebrow.
Evie handed him the scrap of paper in her hand. “Here it is. What do you think of these gentlemen?”
He didn’t need to look at the list to know he’d hate them all. Of course, he couldn’t tell Evie that. She trusted him. Damn it. Which meant he couldn’t allow his feelings for the girl to stand in the way of her happiness.
Reluctantly, he began to peruse the paper. “Strike him off. And him.” He pointed to a viscount’s name and the name of the second son of a duke.
Evie rested her hip against the table as she stood beside him. “Why?”
“Viscount Hollingsworth treats his horses badly.”
She frowned lightly. “Oh, and you think he’ll treat his wife just as badly? I see. That does make sense. Thank you for pointing it out. What of the Duke of Ashburne’s son?”
“Lord Grantham walks like a duck.”
She let out a short, sweet laugh. “That’s ridiculous. I’m certain he doesn’t. I’ve never seen him waddle. He stays on the list for now. But I promise to strike him off it if he so much as quacks.”
Perhaps he was being a little hard on the gentlemen in question. “The rest of them won’t do, either.”
So much for sane, logical thinking.
Evie folded her arms across her chest, resting them on her nicely formed breasts. “Care to explain why?”
No, but he went down the list anyway. “His cravat is always on crooked.”
She rolled her eyes. “Indeed, can’t trust a man who can’t tie his own cravat.”
“Whose valet can’t tie it,” he corrected. “Which means your prospect is lax in his personal grooming, does not properly oversee his staff or properties, and is probably being cheated by all those around him.”
She coughed and put a hand to her lips to hide her smile. “Do go on.”
“This one is overly fond of cleaning his guns.”
“So?”
He wasn’t about to explain about men who enjoyed stroking the long barrels of their guns for hours on end. He continued down the list. “This one likes harp music.”
“Shocking,” she commented. “He ought to be flayed.”
“This one enjoys spending time with his mother.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? Shouldn’t one like one’s family?”
He gave a mock shudder. “Have you seen his mother?”
She didn’t answer.
Idiot. He’d made light of a sensitive subject for the girl. Her mother had died young and Evie had obviously missed the maternal touch in her life. “Forgive me, Evie.” He rose, wishing to take her in his arms, but knew it wasn’t possible. So he simply stood beside her and ran a hand roughly through his hair, silently cursing himself for his thoughtlessness. “I’m out of sorts today and took my ill humor out on you. The men on this list are a decent lot for the most part.”
They had no time for further conversation, for the butler carried in a tray of cakes and currant buns, and Evie’s grandfather and brother walked in soon after. Seeing the look of panic on her face when her brother glanced at the list she’d set down on the table atop one of the ancient manuscripts, George smoothly picked it up and placed it in his pocket. “Come, Your Grace. Let me check your lungs.”
“He said what?” Laurel asked a few days later.
Evie had just moved in with Eloise for the week and was not yet settled into her guest chamber before the Farthingale sisters stopped by for a visit. They were now seated in Eloise’s parlor, all present except for Lily, who was due to arrive next week. Evie took a deep breath and responded to Laurel’s question. “Your uncle compared him to a duck.”
Daisy grinned. “Good. The list has unsettled him.”
“Badly,” Dillie added.
“But it isn’t enough,” Rose said. “He’ll never admit his feelings unless drastic steps are taken.”
“Such as?” Evie wasn’t sure what steps Rose had in mind, probably didn’t want to know.
Eloise nodded. “Indeed, we need to act fast. Once Ewan and Lily arrive, Ewan will insist on taking over responsibility for Evie. We can’t let that happen.”
“She must be kissed,” Rose said.
Evie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Who’s to be kissed?”
“You, of course. Hopefully by Uncle George. But he has to think one of the young men on the list is about to kiss you. It will drive him mad. He’ll be intent on stopping the blackguard.”
“I don’t understand. How does that plan end up with him kissing me? Isn’t it enough that he stops the other gentleman from doing it?”
“It ought to be, but never is.” Rose smiled knowingly. “Have you ever been kissed before? Romantically, I mean. Not little pecks on the cheek by a friend or blood relation.”
“No.” The response came in a whisper, for she was truly embarrassed about the topic of conversation. “It would be my first time.”
She heard their collective gasps and saw their eyes light up in approval.
“This is too, too perfect,” Daisy said.
“I almost feel sorry for Uncle George,” Dillie added with a groan. “He’s like a lamb being led to the slaughter.”
Laurel finally explained it to her. “A first kiss is special. Every man wants to be the first. Don’t ask me why, they just do. They’re like Lily’s baboons, marking their territory and staking claim to the best female. For Uncle George, that’s you.”
She nodded. “But what if it isn’t me? We don’t know that he cares for me at all. What am I to do if he allows the young man to kiss me? Then I’ll have wasted a precious moment.”
Eloise took her hand and patted it gently. “You will be kissed. George will be the one to do it. Quite properly and thoroughly, I expect. Feel free to kiss him back.”
CHAPTER 5
IT WAS DECIDED that the Duke of Ashburne’s son, Lord Grantham, now referred to as the “duck” lord by her little army of conspirators, should be the one to almost kiss her. Evie still wasn’t comfortable with the plan devised two days ago. Indeed, she quite dreaded it, and that dread mounted as she walked into Lord Margate’s glittering ballroom escorted by Eloise and George, saw the Duke of Ashburne’s son approaching her, and simply wanted to run home.
George took gentle hold of her elbow. “Something wrong, Evie?”
“Um… er… I thought I dropped my fan.” She held it up to his view, a plain ivory background dotted with pink roses. It matched her gown, a pale silk with light pink roses along the neckline. “But I was mistaken. Here it is.”
“Clutched tightly in your palm. You’ll break that thing if you hold it any tighter.” He studied her a long moment, one dark eyebrow raised and his assessing blue eyes seeming to penetrate the depths of her soul. “You’re as taut as a fully drawn bow string.”
She emitted a titter that offended even her ears. “Not at all. I’m looking forward to this evening. I’m quite at ease and cheerful.” Although the fact that she twice dropped her dance card before Lord Grantham’s name was finally inserted in it for the first and sixth dance, and then gulped down a glass of ghastly ratafia like a sailor who hadn’t had a drink in over a month, might have given her away.
Her dance c
ard filled up surprisingly quickly, the Farthingale sisters no doubt planting the idea in the minds of several men on the list they’d compiled. Lord Grantham, who would ever be thought of as her duck lord, had waddled over and been the first to claim his dance. Yes, he did waddle. George had been right about that.
The next dance was Lord Albright’s. They spoke of long-barreled guns the entire time and he went into far too much detail about his method of cleaning them. Her third and fourth partners were little better, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the fifth dance began for she’d left that one open on purpose in the hope that George might claim it.
He didn’t.
He was dancing with the scandalous Viscountess Mowbry. Was it proper etiquette to hate someone to whom you had never been introduced? Or to hate that person because she was beautiful?
Lord Grantham came up behind her and caught her by surprise. “Lady Evangeline, may I be of assistance? You seem to be searching for someone.”
Startled, she uttered a lame response punctuated with inane titters. “No. No one. Simply woolgathering. No one at all.”
He cast her a smile that she didn’t trust, for his eyes narrowed like that of a bird of prey. There were beads of sweat across his upper lip and brow, and a slightly unpleasant aroma wafted off his body. In truth, it was warm inside the ballroom—too many overly perfumed bodies packed into the room. The day had been surprisingly warm as well, and there wasn’t much of a breeze flowing through the open doors.
“I’ve lost sight of Lady Dayne,” she finally said, searching the crowd for Eloise, and straining for an excuse to be rid of the gentleman. He was to partner her in the sixth dance and that was quite enough of his company for her. He wasn’t a bad sort, truly. He just wasn’t George Farthingale.
“I noticed her on the terrace speaking to the Duchess of Edgeware.” He offered his arm. “May I escort you?”