Rosamunde quirked a grin and issued an offhand shrug, the gesture only now familiar to Ainsley. Why hadn’t she noticed the similarity before?
“Well, I was tired of waiting for something to happen. When it came to Miss Bourne, you were always so—”
“Now isn’t the time,” Reed interrupted his mother.
Mrs. Teasdale’s grin went wide and she held up a finger. “But I have one more surprise for you . . .”
She bustled out of the room, and returned with a basket. Then, lifting the paisley blanket from the top, she slowly revealed the contents.
Ainsley’s hand flew to her mouth on a happy sob as she spotted the white-and-gray fur and heard a plaintiff meow. She turned her wet eyes to Reed and saw that he was smiling with tender affection as he walked around the table toward his cat.
“Careful now, she’s still hurt. Doesn’t move around very much. But a friend of mine who owed me a favor stitched her up and gave me laudanum to keep her calm.”
Reed gently stroked her fur and received a sleepy lick on the hand in return. “I knew she was a fighter.”
“Yes, your Seymour certainly was. Mr. Finch found her behind Sterling’s and took good care of her until I came.”
“Finch did that?” Reed arched his brows and issued a disbelieving laugh.
“Seymour?” Jacinda asked, her brow puckered as she looked from the cat to Ainsley. “Isn’t that the name you called Mr. Fluffington? That’s a peculiar coincidence.”
Ainsley’s gaze met Reed’s, a warm current traveling between them.
He shifted from one foot to the other and issued an offhand shrug. “That was the only name she liked.”
Ainsley hardly knew what to think.
Briar laughed with a cheerful hiccup. “Oh dear! Ainsley, you know what this means, don’t you? If Mrs. Teasdale hired us to find a bride for her son, then . . .”
Jacinda laughed next. “Oh, this is too much! You railed at us and yet you did precisely what you said you’d never do—you married a client!”
Chapter 31
“. . . this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults . . .”
Jane Austen, Emma
Once the others left the breakfast room, Reed was alone with his mother, the food cold on the buffet and on his untended plate.
At least Ainsley had eaten something before she’d left. She and her sisters had taken Seymour and the basket up to her office. And after good-natured ribbing from his new brothers-in-law about his matchmaking mother, they also left.
Reed stared at his mum, incredulous. “All along, you’ve been sneaking in here and I never knew.”
“A mother will resort to any means to see to her son’s happiness. Oh, and I had a time of it, to be sure,” she said around a mouthful of scone, then a quick sip of tea. “At first, I waited until I knew you weren’t watching through your windows to catch a glimpse of Ainsley. Only when you decided to sleep would I come in through the front door. But as time grew on, and you kept to your vigil—”
“I was not keeping a vigil,” he muttered, embarrassed at having been spotted.
“—longer and longer each morning, I had to resort to coming in through the kitchen. And a fortnight ago, I nearly ran headlong into you and Mr. Finch, which would have upset the entire applecart. But I shimmied up the servants’ stairs just in time.”
“You plotted against me.”
“Against you?” She laughed affectionately and touched the tip of his nose. “It was all for your benefit. You should be thanking me for my interference, goading her into war. Though frankly, it was less my doing and more yours, with the things you said to her.”
“Trust me, Ainsley can give back as good as she gets, all on her own.”
His mum absently brushed crumbs from her lap. “If you ask me, you’ve always been too patient for your own good. No doubt you would have waited for her forever and I wouldn’t have any hope for grandchildren.”
Reed didn’t bother to tell her that the prospects weren’t favorable in that regard. The last thing he wanted was her scheming again. Knowing his mother, she would board up the doors of every bedchamber but one, forcing Ainsley and Reed to sleep in the same room. Which wasn’t a terrible idea, come to think of it.
He had missed his wife last night, already accustomed to her soft warm body fitting perfectly against his. He missed her scent, too. Every breath that wasn’t rosehips and almond blossoms was wasted. Lying in the dark, he’d invented thirty-seven excuses to knock on her door and enter her room, but he’d used none of them.
Perhaps he was too patient for his own good. Because all he wished to do right this instant was dash up the stairs, pull her into his arms, and kiss her until he tasted her sigh of surrender.
Then he’d lock the office door and do every wicked thing he could to make her love him.
“Your father would have liked her,” his mum said, staring into her cup. “He was fond of anyone with a lion’s share of determination. I believe he instilled that in you as well.”
“Aye. Dad always said to do whatever I could to make my biggest dream come true.”
His mum looked up and smiled, looking years younger in the golden morning light. “He was right. But dreams are about more than finally achieving them. It’s what you do to keep them alive that matters most.”
Reed knew she wasn’t talking about Sterling’s. “Some things are a bit more complicated.”
“Not when it comes to love.”
The instant she said the words, Viscount Eggleston appeared in the doorway. He took one look at her, pivoted on his heel, and strode back out. Then somewhere, further down the corridor, he sneezed.
“That man is a nuisance on the entire female population,” she said, her voice raised as if she hoped to be heard by the object of her ire.
Reed chuckled. But his thoughts were tucked inside a cozy cottage, where for two days he’d been lost in the best dream of his life.
“You have a faraway look about you,” his mum said, reaching over to pat the top of his hand. “You’re brooding over something.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “Aye.”
“Well, by the blush on Ainsley’s cheeks every time your eyes met this morning, I would say that you made some progress on your honeymoon.”
“Mum,” he warned.
She tutted. “I’m not asking for details, boy. All I want to know is, will it be enough to gain me grandchildren before next spring?”
He pretended not to hear her.
After handing his mum into a hackney, Reed was about to cross the street and check the books, to see how Sterling’s fared in his absence. But he couldn’t leave Ainsley alone. According to his latest report from Finch, there had been no sign of Mitchum.
Reed knew better. Vermin like Mitchum never went away voluntarily. They just crawled into a hole and waited for the right time to catch you unawares.
An uneasy shiver scratched down Reed’s spine at the thought.
Without delay, he went back inside the townhouse, strode up the stairs and directly to Ainsley’s office.
He peered inside and caught her fussing over Seymour, pressing a kiss to the top of the scraggly head. Leaning against the doorway, he half wondered if she’d let him linger in this spot all day. “I can take her, if you like.”
His wife looked up from the basket, eyes bright, lips almost curving in a smile. “I’d like to keep her, if that’s agreeable.”
“I wouldn’t want her to be in the way.”
“She won’t be. And besides, if Jacinda can be here with a babe on her hip, I can certainly manage . . . Seymour.” The last word was only a breath, but potent enough to tinge her cheeks with color.
It was the first sign of her defenses weakening.
Reed decided to see if he could gain a little more ground. “And if I’d like to check in on her throughout the day?”
Ainsley bit the corner of her lip. “Unless I’m with a client, I see no reason you
shouldn’t.”
It was as good as an invitation.
Reed was about to leave, with the promise of his return between them. But just as he turned away, he discovered he was not the only man at Ainsley’s door.
Lord Hullworth approached from the stairs and Reed planted his feet.
The ton considered the bronze-haired Hullworth to be London’s most elusive bachelor—a man with a triple threat of fortune, handsomeness, and title. He was also on the exclusive list at Sterling’s, though seldom came. But when he did, he was always reserved, playing only a few hands of faro before ending his evening early.
The instant the marquess’s pale gaze alighted on him, Hullworth inclined his head. “Sterling. I hear congratulations are in order. Please accept my best wishes for you and your bride.”
“Thank you, Hullworth,” Reed said, his brow furrowed. “Did you come here specifically to deliver this message?”
“Lord Hullworth is a client of ours,” Ainsley interjected. She crossed the room and shook hands with the marquess—the clasp lasting a bit too long for Reed’s tastes—then smiled up at him. A bit too brightly.
Hullworth grinned back. “I’ve been too absent, I fear. But with my sister’s social calendar, I’ve been hard-pressed to find a minute for myself.”
In other words, Hullworth—in the only apparent minute he had—came here to see Ainsley.
Reed stood beside his wife and slipped a hand to the small of her back. Ainsley slid him a look of warning, but he didn’t budge.
Issuing a huff of exasperation, she turned her attention to Hullworth. “I imagine Meg is quite popular in her first Season.”
“Yes, and much to my own dismay as well as to Daniel Prescott’s, I should think. But the besotted lad is determined to wait for her to sow her oats. I only hope she is quick about it,” Hullworth said. “Opportunity doesn’t always present itself when most convenient.”
Reed growled, earning glances from both parties.
Then Hullworth’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “I hope you do not mistake my meaning for a flirtation. I was referring to a girl I once knew in my youth. The one who got away, as it were.”
“Ah.” Realizing his error, Reed inclined his head. But to ensure there were no doubts left between them, he added, “Then I hope my wife will be able to assist you in finding one of your own.”
“Which would be a simpler task,” Ainsley began with a tight smile over clenched teeth and a nudge of her elbow into his ribs, “if you would leave my office . . . dearest.”
“I’ll return later to check on our Seymour,” Reed said, glad to note that the mere mention of the cat’s name thawed the frost from Ainsley’s eyes.
Now if only they could forget about all the obstacles between them.
Chapter 32
“The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, must certainly be lessened by his marriage.”
Jane Austen, Emma
Until today, Reed had no idea how much work Ainsley actually did.
She was never still for a single moment. A constant stream of new clients flooded in and out of her office. And in the few seconds she was by herself, she had a pen in her hand, marking papers and ledgers, scrutinizing applications, comparing lists, writing letters, and whatnot. She fielded questions from the new maids, settled a dispute between Mrs. Darden and the chandler over the price of candles, and spoke with each and every client with calm assurance, stating that she would do her utmost to find the perfect counterpart. She managed the house, paid the accounts, and did it all without faltering.
There weren’t many men—or perhaps not even a single one—who could accomplish so much.
She spied him watching her in the hall and crossed her arms. “What do you think of our ‘game,’ Mr. Sterling? Our ‘frivolous endeavor’?”
“It’s more involved than I imagined,” he said honestly.
“Other than parish vicars, there really isn’t another service like ours.” Even now, she was in motion, turning on her heel and disappearing into her office.
Apparently knowing that he would follow, she continued. “After my mother’s experience, I knew it was necessary.”
“You’ve never told me of that. All I know is she died when you were young.”
Ainsley faced the escritoire, pouring two cups of tea. “Yes, of a broken heart. Our father had been instructed to marry a young woman from a respectable family. Any woman would do. Mother, on the other hand, had married for love, too blinded to see the truth. Or to accept the fact that he was never going to be the man she thought he was. On her deathbed, she asked me to look after my sisters and to ensure that they didn’t make the same mistake.”
“And you were just sixteen?”
When she nodded, he thought of the heavy burden she’d carried all this time. It was a large responsibility to take care of two younger siblings and manage a house when she’d been practically a child herself.
He should have known that everything Finch tried to tell him had been true. Yet Reed had stubbornly wanted to believe she’d led a privileged life, even after witnessing evidence to the contrary on their honeymoon. Ainsley had dived right in to making the cottage a home, cleaning, making beds, washing their laundry at night and hanging it by the fire. And a spoiled debutante wouldn’t have tried so hard to cook something edible.
Now he wished he’d eaten every burnt morsel.
“What about your father . . .”
“If you’re asking if Lord Frawley suddenly swept back into our lives, the answer is no. Oh, he’d returned briefly before Mother fell ill—long enough to lift her hopes—then left again, taking our dog with him.”
Reed darted an incredulous glance to the basket holding their sleeping cat and then back to her. “He took your Seymour?”
“You needn’t sound so shocked, it was a long time ago, after all.”
“There should have been someone to step in to take care of you.”
“We took care of ourselves, which made us all the stronger. We also have Uncle Ernest, who dotes on us exceedingly.” She paused, glancing to the red leather book on the table near him. “And our mother never truly left us.”
Reed laid his hand on the book, turning it to see that fringe of vellum peeking out. He was more honored than he could express that his nicked flower was tucked between the pages.
“I think,” he said quietly, “our mothers would have liked each other.”
Her mouth curved in a wistful smile. “Indisputably. They were both romantics, cut from the same cloth—or stitched from the same skein, as your mother would put it.”
Hearing voices in the hall, he knew they were about to be interrupted. But there was one more thing he had to say before he left.
“I was wrong, you know.”
“Of course you were,” she said with that teasing rasp he loved so much. “But which specific instance do you mean?”
He stepped closer, holding her gaze. “This matrimonial agency is not a frivolous endeavor. What you do is essential for many people.”
He leaned in and stole a kiss from her stunned lips, then left her to do her work.
* * *
It was nearing half past four when Ainsley lifted her head to see Reed stride into her office, carrying a tray. He frowned when he looked down at the plate of cheese and fruit he’d brought earlier.
“You said you’d eat something.”
Her heart quickened at his show of surly concern. “I didn’t realize the hour had grown so late. Why aren’t you at Sterling’s this evening?”
She was eager for him to leave, but only because she had a plan in place to make amends for ruining his business.
This morning, before her brothers-in-law had left, she’d pulled them both aside and begged a favor. Abashed, she’d explained to Crispin and Nicholas what she had done to ruin Sterling’s reputation, and how unforgivably successful she’d been.
Of course, her plan wasn’t all for Sterling’s sake. She had selfish
reasons, too. Knowing that Reed intended to fight again, she wanted to offer another option. The idea of seeing him hurt tied her stomach in knots. And if it was because of something she had done, she could never forgive herself.
Thankfully, her brothers-in-law both agreed to send missives to their acquaintances. Tonight, she would discover if it helped.
“I am, but I wanted to ask you something,” Reed answered, still frowning with disapproval at her untouched plate.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Then, rising from her chair, she came around to the side of her desk and picked a plump grape off the vine. Popping it into her mouth, she chewed slowly, relishing the sweet burst. A droplet escaped and she darted her tongue out to capture it.
Mismatched indigo eyes watched her fixedly, heating by degree. He took a step closer. “You are forever distracting me.”
Ainsley was tempted to eat another grape. She would eat them all if he continued to look at her like she was his feast.
In that moment, she nearly forgot the reason they’d left Knightsbury and returned to London. At least, until he spoke again.
He cleared his throat. “If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?”
Love, she thought instantly. Unconditional, soul-searing love. To matter to you. To be your first thought in the morning and last thought at night.
But just thinking the words brought a prickle of tears to the outer corner of her eyes. So instead of saying that, she looked down to the tray again and pretended absorption with the cheese, cutting a slice with the slender knife. “For the agency to be a roaring success, of course.”
He nodded, but looked strangely disappointed and pensive. “I thought that’s what you’d say.”
“Why?” She put down the knife, her appetite vanishing again. “What would it be for you?”
He stared at her lips, then her eyes. “To give you whatever you want.”
Then he left her, making her wish she would have told him the truth instead. What might have been his answer, then?
The Rogue to Ruin EPB Page 32