“I cannot believe you are trying to tell me you and your family are trying to take London in homemade gowns.” His gaze dropped to the drab bit of brown cotton she was wearing now. He could believe that was homemade. And so was the one she had worn at the inn. But he had seen her in evening wear as fine as any he had ever seen anywhere. What hoax was she up to now?
Marian gave him a scathing look and when her maid did not dare offer explanation, she replied, “I do not much care what you believe. You and your ilk no doubt go about running up enormous debts at tailors and trust in luck or families to pay them. We prefer to live honestly. Lily is a very fine seamstress. With her talents and our helping hands, we do very well, thank you.”
The carriage was pulling to a halt in a less than fashionable but respectable residential side street some distance from the mansions of Mayfair. Reginald scarcely took note of his surroundings as he sought some means of resolving this situation peaceably.
He found it hard to believe any word out of the woman’s mouth, but then, he found it hard to believe that any impostor could sound so brutally honest. If he were to get to the bottom of her trickery, he would have to be more in her company. He could not do that unless he smoothed the feathers he had ruffled. Unfortunately, it was much more fun to ruffle them than smooth them.
“Then let me congratulate you on your fortune in finding such a paragon. I trust you pay her accordingly. Talent should be rewarded.” He climbed down from the carriage as the door opened, pulling the heavy satchel after him, leaving the lady to stare after him in open-mouthed dismay.
She was forced to take his hand to descend. When she stood before him, she glanced deliberately at the pocket containing her money. Reginald toyed with the idea of making her ask for it, but even he could not sink that low. He removed the purse and handed it to her.
“If you truly wish to keep the rest of your library, remember what I have said about the jewelry,” he reminded her in low tones as her maid waited a respectable distance away.
“I fail to see your interest in my jewelry, sir. In actuality, I fail to understand anything about you. My driver will return you to your destination.” Carefully clutching the purse, she turned away.
Reginald watched her go with a hint of admiration. She had the proud manner of a duchess when her temper was riled. She had just successfully dismissed him as if he were a footman rather than the son of an earl. Of course, she no doubt thought him closer to a footman than an earl. He had a suspicion Lady Marian and her family had not exactly acquired a coat of town bronze yet.
He gave the driver the address of his residence rather than returning to the shop. Wouldn’t it have delighted the lady to discover that he was owner of the shop and not a patron? She would have spread it all about the ton and forced him into permanent retreat.
But he had dealt with much more sophisticated members of society without any of them ever having guessed that he was more than an eccentric collector of antiquities. He didn’t think Lady Marian had any inkling that he wished to acquire her manuscript for resale, not for his own collection. He was quite annoyed with Jacobs for acquiring it as if he were bidding against him. It would be difficult to make a profit on fifty pounds. As much as the piece belonged in a museum, museums did not have that kind of money.
Maybe he ought to inform Darley that his beloved had an intellectual bent that included collecting rare medieval manuscripts. Darley had the funds to buy back the blasted piece and give it to her as a betrothal gift. Of course, once Darley realized the lady had real brains, he would turn into a rabbit and run. The viscount had been under his mother’s thumb too long to want to spend the rest of his life with a wife of the same ilk.
Reginald toyed with various possibilities as the carriage rolled sedately through the streets. He had already hired a man from Bow Street to investigate the lady’s background, but he was beginning to believe she was the genuine article.
Even a very good actress could not produce that air of hauteur with which he had been dismissed. It was bred into the bones, he believed. An actress would overdo it, making some gesture or grimace to emphasize her displeasure. Lady Marian had merely turned her back and said everything by saying nothing.
He ventured to say that she was really a lady, but a particularly bad-tempered one. She must be practicing restraint while on the hunt for a husband. He had managed to crack that restraint a time or two today, but she had only once given vent to her real feelings. It would be amusing to see how long she lasted if provoked in front of Darley.
As Reginald stepped down from the carriage and tipped the driver, he turned his thoughts with satisfaction in that direction. Perhaps he could accomplish his goals before Bow Street accomplished theirs. He need merely be in company with the lovely Lady Marian and Darley to the extent that he ultimately wore down her patience.
How better to do it than to court the shy Miss Jessica?
* * *
Chapter 6
“O’Toole, give back the watch!” Reginald looked in the mirror as he fiddled with his cravat and yelled at his wayward valet. His new hireling was not adept with cravats, but his hands were exceedingly deft in other ways.
The valet innocently polished the gold watch with a handkerchief before handing it back to his employer. “It was just in the need of a spot of polish, my lord. A fellow needs to keep his hand in, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t have a title, you needn’t ‘lord’ me, and you had better keep those blasted hands to yourself from now on if you don’t want to end up in Newgate. Thieving is a reprehensible habit for a valet.”
O’Toole gallantly brushed an invisible dust mote from his employer’s expensively tailored shoulders. The black swallow-tailed coat possessed not a wrinkle as it stretched over broad shoulders and narrowed to a taut waist. He was rather in sympathy with his employer on the matter of starched collars, but it was impossible to acquire the correct degree of elegance in the cravat otherwise.
Instead, Mr. Montague had to aspire to strikingly done rather than elegant. Spotless linen, a fashionably embroidered white waistcoat done in gold threads, and a hint of color in the gold watch fob added to the impression. Except for the cravat, his master was a credit to his valet.
“ ‘Tis not thievin’ if I give it back,” O’Toole replied insouciantly.
Reginald snorted, and picking up his walking stick and hat, started for the door. “You need not wait up. I am quite capable of undressing myself. Just leave the maids alone. I cannot keep Jasper from sacking you if you can’t keep your bloody hands to yourself.”
From behind a shock of thick auburn hair and a nose full of freckles, O’Toole grinned easily. “The lasses can’t leave a fella alone. You want I should spend the evenin’ readin’?”
Thoroughly exasperated with his insolent servant, Reginald slammed the door on him and started down the stairs. Why in the name of all that was sane he had taken on the petty thief, he could not fathom. If he had any wits left at all, he would throw O’Toole out on his ear in the morning.
But the man knew his trade. He had polished every boot and shoe in the closet, saw that all Reginald’s linen was bleached to a pristine white, and made certain every coat he owned was pressed and in good repair. And he had done it all at a minimum of expense. A man like O’Toole could be worth his weight in gold just in tailor and laundry bills. Reginald was not making such profits that he could afford not to take expenses into account.
He was well aware of this as he climbed into the carriage that he could only recently afford. It cost a great deal of money to keep up one’s reputation as a wealthy aristocrat, which he needed to do to keep his business profitable. He had to be accepted into the best of homes and rub shoulders with the best society so that he could direct them to his establishment at every opportunity. Because everyone considered him a collector of excellent taste, they took his recommendations when they wished to make a purchase or a sale. It allowed him to skim
the cream from the top and keep the best antiquities emporium in London. So far, no one had ever made the connection between the younger son of the Earl of Mellon and Aristotle’s Emporium, and that was the way he meant it to stay.
But the carriage and the town house and the showy string of horses at Newmarket had been hard won. His family had wished for him to marry an heiress, had even picked one out whom they considered eminently suitable, but Reginald had refused the honor. He had nothing in particular against women, except that most of them seemed to be empty-headed and frivolous. Mostly, he valued his independence. He did not wish to report to a wife every day, or to be accountable to her for every penny he spent. He thought better of himself than that. He thought far too highly of himself, in his father’s opinion. The earl had cut off Reginald’s allowance after the argument over the heiress.
That had forced him to recognize his predicament soon enough. If he wished to be independent, he had to be independent of his family, also. He could not accept his father’s money without accepting the strings attached. So he had taken what remained of his quarterly allowance, the funds he had invested in the market, and his gambling winnings, and set out to make his own way in London.
After all these years, he was finally on the way to being comfortable. He had run up excessive debts those first few years in his attempt to continue living as he had, but those debts were now paid. He had learned the difference between frugality and miserliness. It was not being tight-fisted to keep only one horse and carriage in town, but sensible, particularly at the high cost of upkeep in London.
With the money saved, he could afford to buy manuscripts like the one presented by Lady Marian. Larger profits could be made on larger purchases, and the amounts grew from there, turning a penny saved into a fortune earned. He rather enjoyed the game.
But he could not afford to let society know he was a shopkeeper. Only Darley knew, and that was because Reginald had had to borrow the funds from him to buy his first inventory. Darley had been repaid with interest since and kept the secret very well. For a friend like that, Reginald would move mountains. He would also do his utmost to save that friend from a disastrous marriage.
Arriving at the rout where he had been assured he would find Lady Marian and her family, Reginald gave up his hat and stick to a servant, greeted his gratified hostess, and began the hunt.
This was not a haut ton affair. The assemblage was small and less than glittering, but everyone present was extremely respectable. Reginald mentally stifled a yawn. He had long ago lost interest in the malicious gossip, the required flirting, and the lavish entertainments for which the bulk of society existed. But it was necessary to attend these occasions to keep his ear to the ground for valuable acquisitions and to drum up new customers. That was the challenge that kept him going.
Unfortunately, an entertainment such as this did not have the kind of recklessly wealthy guest that made his expensive inventory so profitable.
Reginald was here merely for Darley’s sake. He smiled gallantly as the shy Jessica noticed his approach first. He was a cynical two and thirty, and she was a naive seventeen, but ambitious mamas did not object to age differences. He had no real intention of fixing the chit’s interest though. He didn’t think she was capable of fixing any interest at all at this age. He merely needed to dance attendance on her occasionally so he had some excuse to be close enough to rile her sister’s temper in Darley’s presence. The task shouldn’t take as long as it would to light a candle, much less become romantically attached.
He bowed politely over Lady Grace’s hand, nodded briefly to a suspicious Lady Marian, and paused in front of the lovely Jessica. “Miss Oglethorp, might I say you look ravishing this evening? Have you been introduced to my cousin. Lady Mary? She is right over there.” He turned to her anxious mama. “Might I borrow your daughter for just a bit? Mary has been quite eager to meet her. I believe they are of an age.”
Lady Grace gave her permission without a qualm. Everyone knew Reginald Montague. Although he was merely an “honorable,” he was considered quite a catch. He came from a wealthy family and dressed with the arrogance of wealth, so it was assumed he was well to grass. There wasn’t a hint of anything untoward to his reputation. He had been introduced by Lord Darley, who was the epitome of everything respectable himself. How could she possibly refuse Jessica this opportunity?
Knowing full well what was going through her mother’s mind, Marian fumed. She knew the cad a shade better than her mother. She suspected the devious devil had something up his sleeve, for a man like that had little interest in a green girl like Jessica. Marian looked up with relief as Darley returned to her side with a cup of punch.
“Your friend Mr. Montague has graciously offered to introduce Jessica to his cousin,” she mentioned with a small smile and a look of concern. “I do so hope she remembers her manners. She is very young yet.”
Darley looked in the direction of her gaze with some surprise. This was not the kind of affair Montague generally attended, and his friend seldom bothered even speaking to his relatives. To go out of his way to make an introduction was a curiosity indeed.
“Let us go keep an eye on her if that is what you wish,” he suggested, offering his arm. Not being entirely a fool, Darley knew his friend’s sterling character was thoroughly corroded by cynicism, and he felt a certain sense of responsibility for the shy Jessica, since he had made the introduction.
Marian accepted his arm and they were soon part of the circle to which Montague had introduced Jessica. Marian’s shy sister was listening with eyes alight at the quick badinage exchanged by these young people who had known each other all their lives, but Jessica was scarce offering a word herself.
Reginald easily made room for them beside him, giving Lady Marian a slight nod of acknowledgment. “You have joined us just in time to extol the merits of the Season’s leading beauties and to lay your wager on which one will win Devonshire. I am sure Lady Marian has an opinion on the subject.”
“Since I do not know the gentleman, I cannot judge what he prefers in a female, sir. Besides, I am not objective. I believe my sister is all that is perfection in a lady.”
Jessica turned red as all gazes turned to her. She had no witty words to say in reply, and Darley gallantly jumped in to assist her. “Miss Oglethorp is indeed a rare orchid in a hothouse full of beautiful flowers. Like many rare flowers, it would take a wise man to recognize her worth.”
Someone else laughed. “That leaves out Devonshire, then. Unless she is an expensive and gilded wall hanging, he will not notice that she exists.”
“He cannot look at all eligible females as wall hangings,” Montague protested. “He must choose among them some time. Perhaps we could present Lady Marian in a gilded halo and cloth of gold. What odds could we take then?”
Marian flashed him a look of irritation but responded sweetly, “The odds would be very good that I would trip and fall under the burden of a halo, I’m certain. I have no aspirations to be a duchess.”
Darley sent her an appreciative glance, and Montague hid a grimace. Round one, score one to naught. He turned to his young cousin. “Mary, you have been introduced to the gentleman. Do you think he would prefer a bookish female to a beautiful one?”
The young lady gave a trill of laughter. “Wherever did you mean to find a bookish female, Reginald? Do not look in my direction. I cannot remember seeing the inside of a book since I left the schoolroom.”
Jessica spoke hesitantly. “Marian reads. She is all the time in the library.”
A young gentleman eager to impress her with his wit leapt into the debate, “But what does she actually do there? The dark corners of libraries offer more interesting delights than books.”
This conversation was growing entirely too risqué for an innocent like Jessica. Marian sent Darley a glance, but Montague was the one to respond first.
“Harrington, there ought to be enough light in your pate from the h
oles in it that you never need a candle. Miss Oglethorp, would you care to accompany me to the buffet?”
Marian and Darley followed, leaving the more sophisticated young people to laugh and gossip behind their backs. Marian sent her escort a veiled look. How had Lord Darley taken the news of her literary bent?
He was frowning slightly, but she could not tell if it had to do with her or with the foolish remark of the young gentleman. She was terrified of saying anything that would make him think less of her. Drat Montague for introducing the subject of books. She desperately needed to bring Darley up to scratch soon.
As they reached the table, Montague turned and offered Marian a plate. “A bluestocking, Lady Marian? I never would have guessed it.”
He was deliberately provoking her. She could see it in the laughing challenge of his eyes. He wanted her to slap him or do something equally outrageous. Marian knew her temper and her sharp tongue were her worst weaknesses, and this man was aiming directly at them. She wasn’t certain why he was doing this, but she didn’t intend to play into his hands.
“I daresay there are a great number of things that you will never guess, Mr. Montague. It takes an open mind to see all possibilities.” She serenely took the plate offered and began to fill it with dainties from the table.
Darley chuckled and reached to help Jessica slice a piece of cake. “The lady is much too quick to bite at your bait, old boy. Leave off and let us enjoy the evening.”
If he continued to pick at her, he would only make a fool of himself, Reginald realized. Darley was so smitten that he could not see what was right before his face. The lady had all but admitted to being a bluestocking. Her quick wit and quicker tongue should have made him wary.
But his friend simply couldn’t see beyond a pleasant voice and a bosom too round for fashion. Admittedly, he was having some trouble looking beyond that enticing display himself. The lady’s maid/modiste had an eye for emphasizing the positive without disregarding propriety.
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