The Genuine Article

by Patricia Rice

  “I apologize for any offense you might have taken in my cousin’s company. Miss Oglethorp,” Reginald offered as a sop to his conscience, “Mary’s friends tend to be a bit fast. I had forgotten that.”

  Jessica gave him a blank look before hastily returning her gaze to her plate. “I thought they seemed very nice, but I do not understand what they said about dark corners. It is very difficult to read in dark rooms. Marian always lights a lamp.”

  In another moment, Darley would be rolling on the floor with laughter, Reginald thought with disgust. Courting Jessica was going to make an ass out of him, proving Lady Marian’s roundly stated opinion. He would do better to court the lady herself.

  Even as he thought this, something inside him began to hum with anticipation. Reginald glanced toward the lady as she bit into a piece of marzipan and licked delicately at her lips. She wasn’t beautiful, but she exuded the sensuality of an experienced courtesan. He could see why Darley was smitten.

  It would give him a great deal more pleasure to seduce the Lady Marian than to smile pleasantly at the lovely Jes­sica.

  Then Darley would be forced to recognize the fickleness of his lady-love.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  “Mr. Montague seems to be quite a pleasant young man,” Lady Grace said absently as she made a neat slice through the seal of the next letter on the stack beside her. “I don’t know what you hold against him, Marian.”

  Marian sipped at her morning tea and frowned at the hideous hunting picture on the wall opposite. “He is not at all what he seems, Mama. I cannot fathom why he showed such particular attention to Jessica the other night. And the flowers are completely out of character.”

  “The flowers were addressed to all of us, dear. You mustn’t put much store in it. And what can you possibly know of the gentleman’s character? You have barely spo­ken with him.” She set one invitation aside in the accep­tance pile, discarded several pieces of mail, and started on the next.

  Marian couldn’t admit that she had more than spoken to the man. It would serve nothing to tell her mother that they had exchanged insults on several occasions, for that would not reflect any better on her than on him. And she preferred not to discuss her means of obtaining funds. Her mother was inclined to be hysterical, and she would worry fiercely if she knew the kinds of places Marian had been visiting in order to sell the books. So she couldn’t mention meeting the man at an antiquities emporium.

  She crumbled her toast instead. “I suppose I must be pleasant to him for Darley’s sake, but I cannot find it easy to like the man.”

  She also couldn’t say she didn’t like the way he made her feel when he looked at her. That didn’t seem at all the thing to be discussing over the breakfast table. But she remembered very well how Montague’s as­sessing gaze had rested on her, and how it had made her skin tingle and her stomach feel quivery. Despite his repu­tation, the man was no doubt a rake. No other gentleman looked at her like that.

  Her mother’s puzzled exclamation from the end of the table made Marian turn her thoughts back to the present. “What is it? Surely we have not been invited to another ducal ball? Those gowns we have ordered will cost the earth as it is.”

  “Do you think we can cancel the order?” Lady Grace asked in a low voice, staring at the letter.

  Growing alarmed, Marian put down her toast. “What is it? Do we need to return home? Has something happened to the house?”

  Her mother handed over the paper with a frown of puz­zlement. “I’m not at all certain, dear. What can this mean? I’m quite certain the squire said his man was all that was honest. Surely he would not be asking for such sums with­out reason. Perhaps he means they are debts that come due when the harvest comes in?”

  Marian scanned the letter once with dread, then began again to be certain she understood correctly. Squire Oglethorp had always handled the family business dealings. He had a steward to manage the farm. After he had died, the steward and the family solicitor had dealt with the bulk of the family finances, leaving Marian only to manage the day-to-day business of surviving on the meager allowance given them. She could see that had been a mistake. She should have made more inquiries about the family’s state of affairs.

  “It says the taxes have not been paid and there is interest coming due on the mortgage,” she murmured, more to her­self than as explanation to her mother.

  “We cannot possibly pay such a sum until the harvest comes in, can we? Why do they send this to us? It is their business to handle the farm, is it not?”

  “They say there are no funds for paying the debts. They have spent all on seeds and labor. We must borrow the money to pay the rest. If there is a good harvest, we can pay the loan then.”

  Lady Grace looked at her blankly. “How does one go about borrowing money? Isn’t that what we have the solici­tor to do?”

  Marian folded the letter slowly. “He has found no one willing to extend such a loan. He thinks we might have bet­ter luck among our friends here in London.”

  Lady Grace picked up her teacup and stared at it in be­wilderment. “We are to ask our friends for loans? That does not seem at all proper.”

  Crushing the letter in her hand, Marian pushed away from the table. “Do not worry about it just yet. Perhaps we can cancel the gowns, as you suggested. I will look into it.”

  Her mother looked relieved. “And I am certain Lord Darley is at the asking point. He will help us understand what to do once you are betrothed. We must wait until then.”

  Marian hurried out of the room and toward the study, her favorite hiding place since the town house did not possess a library. Canceling the ball gowns would accomplish little. Their cost was negligible compared to the sum quoted in the letter. She still had a goodly amount of the fifty pounds left after judicious negotiating over materials with the modiste, but even that sum wouldn’t come close to touch­ing the amount of taxes and interest due. Why hadn’t some­one informed them of the debt before? Perhaps if they had not come to London they could have scraped together enough to satisfy their creditors.

  But the amounts would only come due again next year, and if the harvest failed again, they would be out of a home. They had to come to London to find husbands who could support them. Somehow, she must stall for time until she was safely wed. She had to bring Darley up to scratch soon.

  Had she been a man, she could have gone down to her club and found a drinking buddy who would gladly extend a loan for a few months. Women did not have that alterna­tive. She could not very well ask Darley for a loan. Perhaps when they were betrothed she could act helpless and ask his advice, but not before then. It might be weeks or months before Darley summoned the nerve to ask for her hand. This letter seemed to indicate that they didn’t have that long.

  Marian sat down in the massive chair behind the desk and stared helplessly at her trunk of books. She was certain Mr. Jacobs would be delighted to buy every one of them. If he gave her twice what she had been quoted previously, she might manage most of the sum needed, but she rather thought Mr. Montague was responsible for the earlier ex­travagant sum. Mr. Jacobs would surely not be so foolish a second time, without the wealthy gentleman looking on.

  Thinking of Mr. Montague stirred the germ of another thought, one she wished she could shove aside. He had said the necklace was very valuable, and that there were ways of making copies, that many people did it. Would it be so very awful if her mother possessed only a copy of her precious necklace? It would still look the same, and she would still have the memory of her husband giving it to her. At the same time, they would have the money to save their home.

  She didn’t know if she could make herself do it. She got up and paced the room, from the glass-encased bookcase of musty tomes to the heavily draped window overlooking the mews. If she should ever be wealthy enough to have a study of her own, she would have it built with windows everywhere and draperies on nary a one. That was a fine thought, she realized, when she was about to los
e the one study she occupied.

  Her mother had no desire to marry again, yet she needed a home of her own. With the proper care, the farm could produce again. It had made Squire Oglethorp wealthy once. It just hadn’t made him wealthy enough for extravagance. By living carefully, her mother could be comfortable in a short time—if she still had the farm to live on. It would provide her an income for the rest of her life. Selling it would leave her subject to the whims of any husbands her daughters might acquire. That did not seem at all a satisfac­tory solution given the nature of men and the vicissitudes of life.

  Perhaps it would be possible to just pawn the necklace for a little while. She had heard of such things. It would be like borrowing money with the necklace as collateral. If it brought enough to pay off the debt and have a copy made, no one would know what she had done. Then when the har­vest came in, she could retrieve the original.

  That thought brightened the situation considerably. Had the stone been entirely hers, she would have had no qualms about selling it outright in order to ensure her mother’s fu­ture. She held no sympathy for a father who had left her a mere pittance and a single heirloom to survive on. She was not in the least sentimental about the wretched rock. But her mother was.

  She would have to ask Mr. Montague how to go about pawning the necklace and getting a copy made. She hated the thought of speaking to him at all, but he was already aware of their desperate need of funds. He had apparently said nothing to Lord Darley, and for that she had to be grateful. She simply could not lower herself in the vis­count’s eyes by admitting their financial desperation. She must seem sweet and unconcerned about such things until she had Darley’s ring on her finger. She would have to work at making that sooner rather than later. In the mean­time, she needed to deal with the obnoxious—but perhaps useful—Mr. Montague.

  She wasn’t at all certain how to go about it, however. She couldn’t very well send a note around to his house ex­plaining the problem, and she couldn’t count on finding him at the emporium. She must somehow wait until they met again and find a way to get him alone.

  The thought of being alone with Reginald Montague was enough to give her the shivers. He was a tall man of consid­erable strength, she wagered. She had read enough stories of what happened to foolish young women who trusted themselves alone with such men. She would have to rely on the fact that he despised her. Surely men did not molest women whom they despised?

  Fortune smiled on her for a change the very next day. While her mother and Jessica were out making calls, Mar­ian chose to stay at home and read. She knew Darley had been called out of town this morning on some estate busi­ness, so she grabbed this opportunity to be alone. She found the social whirl of London quite fatiguing after a lifetime of rural serenity. Her sanity survived on these moments of solitude.

  When their manservant announced a gentleman caller, she almost had him say she was not at home. But glancing at the card presented, she took back that hasty thought. Montague.

  He had never presented himself here before. She could not imagine why he was doing so now other than out of friendship to Darley. If she were to have him brought up, she ought to have Lily with her. She shouldn’t entertain him alone.

  But she needed to speak with him alone. She couldn’t very well ask him about pawning the ruby in front of Lily. Fortune had been kind enough to grant her this opportunity. She had to have the courage to grasp it.

  “Very well, Simmons, have him brought up, then bring us some tea. I am certain Mama will be home shortly and will wish to see him.” She hoped that placated the stiff and proper London servant’s disapproval.

  Montague looked surprised when he entered to find only Marian present. He hid his momentary consternation well when he accepted the seat offered.

  “This is a pleasure, Lady Marian. I did not expect to find you alone. Darley told me he was being called out of town and asked that I look in on all of you upon occasion. Are you already mourning his absence?”

  He was twitting her, she was certain. She held her tongue as a maid carried in the tea tray. When the girl was gone, she attempted a pleasant expression. “You are refining upon nothing, sir. Lord Darley is free to come and go as he pleases, as am I. It would be presumptuous of me to mourn his absence under those circumstances.”

  He nodded approvingly as he sipped his tea. “You do not count your eggs before they are hatched, I see. A wise woman, indeed. Do you set your sights on the duke then?”

  Marian’s lips tightened and she set her cup carefully on the table. “If you have come to be insulting, sir, I would thank you to leave now.”

  Montague held his hand up in a gesture of peace. “I thought only to speak with you honestly as we have done previously. If you wish the usual drivel, so be it. Is not the weather very fine for this time of year? Would you care to go driving this afternoon?”

  Marian scowled and handed him a plate of scones. “I cannot fathom what Darley sees in you, sir, but as we are on the subject of honesty, I will admit that there is a reason I allowed you up here unattended.”

  His expressive eyebrows raised. “I had wondered,” he murmured. “I had not thought it was because you wished to seduce me.”

  She flung a pillow at him. He cleverly managed to divert the pillow while keeping a precarious hold on his teacup, thereby preventing a disastrous spill on his stockinette breeches.

  “That could have been uncomfortable,” he mur­mured, carefully setting the china back on the tray. “Do you often indulge in these fits of pique? Is Darley aware of it?”

  “You deliberately provoke the worst in me, Mr. Mon­tague. If you tell Lord Darley about this visit, I shall have to inform him of your insult. I thought we were to call a truce.”

  “Why is it that ladies must turn jests into insults? Is it be­cause they possess no sense of humor?”

  “It is because their sense of humor does not rely on the vulgar, sir. I find nothing humorous in being accused of se­duction, even if I had any knowledge of such things, which I don’t. Your assumption that I do is insulting.”

  “The fact that you speak of such things with anger in­stead of fainting dead away tells me you know a great deal more than most ladies about these subjects. Let us cut the pretense. Lady Marian. You are no young innocent to wear white and pale at the mention of a man’s inexpressibles. You are well-read and have a brain behind that pretty face. We will get on vastly better if you admit to it instead of playing the part of sweetness and light as you do with Dar­ley.”

  So that was it. Entwining her fingers in vexation, Marian sent him a venomous glare. “I try very hard to be what is expected of me, sir. You do me no favors by encouraging me otherwise. But for the moment, let us set aside our dif­ferences. I need your help.”

  Montague looked interested at that. He even dared to re­trieve his teacup. “Please go on, my lady. I am at your ser­vice.”

  She had a good reply to make to that, but she held her tongue. She needed his help, not his anger. “My mother re­ceived a rather distressing letter from her solicitor today. It seems we are in need of borrowing a rather serious sum to keep our home. It can be paid back immediately upon the harvest, but apparently the man has been unable to find a lender.”

  She spoke succinctly, if with considerable distaste at revealing such matters to a relative stranger. She has­tened to continue speaking before he could interrupt. “I might conceivably obtain much of it by selling the remains of the library, but you once mentioned the worth of my necklace. Is it possible to in some way use it as collateral for a small loan?” She breathed easier once she had the words out.

  Montague considered the question carefully, swirling the tea in his cup. “You would wish to make a copy of it so your mother does not find out?”

  Biting her lip, Marian nodded.

  “And you do not wish to sell it outright?”

  She shook her head. “I feel enough of a thief to consider even this. I know the stone is to come to me, but it is all my
mother has.”

  “It suits your coloring more than hers,” he said thought­fully. “Your father must have been dark.”

  “I believe so. I was very young when he died. His por­trait stayed with the estate, so I have not seen it since we left.” She continued to watch him anxiously.

  He took another sip of tea and watched her over the edge of the cup. “The current marquess cannot be called upon for help? Perhaps he would be interested in acquiring the jewel if it is an heirloom.”

  He wasn’t going to help. Trying to hide her despair, Mar­ian glanced at the mantel clock. Perhaps her mother and sister would be home soon to put an end to this distressing conversation.

  “I do not know the gentleman. He was in the Americas when my father died, and as I said, I was very young. The solicitors arranged for our removal, I believe. From something the squire once said, I don’t believe the es­tate was much in funds at the time. Apparently much of the unentailed land had been sold off for generations. I do not know the details. I just know I could not ask a total stranger for help.”

  Montague understood pride. He had too much of it him­self. He nodded absently, then returned the cup to the table. “You cannot expect to obtain as great a sum by pawning it as by selling it outright. May I ask how much you need?”

  The sum she quoted wasn’t unreasonable, but it would take every penny of cash he could scrape together.

  Montague sighed and stood up. “Go get the necklace. I think it is time we went for a drive.”

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  “Where are we going?” Marian murmured as Mr. Montague wheeled his fashionable curricle toward the park. She had already noted with a great amount of nervousness that he had no groom in the seat behind.

  “We shall show ourselves in the park as is expected, then make a slight detour to a jeweler. I shall have you back in your parlor in good time.”