She raised her pointing finger, stopping him. His tutor used to do that when he was a boy.
“I accept the normal wages. However, since I will be filling two roles, those of governess and companion, I think I should receive both wages, especially since you will be spared the keep of a second person. Also, I would like the wages to be paid monthly. I will be wanting to send some to Rose and Irene. I do not want them to have to wait for the normal term to end in order to have some relief.”
She was two days from being homeless, but she was boldly haggling as if she could provide the best references in England instead of none at all. From her repeated mention of the Longworths’ predicament, she expected his guilt to give her an advantage in her negotiations.
Fascinated, he set his elbow on his chair’s arm and rested his chin on his fist. “I expect the monthly payment can be arranged. As to the wages, you will not spend all your time on each role. That is impossible, so full payment for each is not warranted.”
“One and a half, then. You must admit that is fair.”
He almost laughed. “Fair enough for you. Fine, one and a half.”
She made a little smoothing gesture over her skirt’s fine pomona wool. It was a nervous movement that revealed she was not nearly as composed as she appeared. The dress was far nicer than what he had seen her wear before. Very elegant, it displayed a broad panel of blue embroidery around the bottom, and her midnight-blue pelisse sported a thin edging of fur. He guessed these were not her own garments. Miss Longworth had probably lent them for this call at the home of the Marquess of Easterbrook.
“Regarding my relationship to your aunt and cousin,” she continued. “I have lived in that house as a family member, and it will be difficult for me to think of myself as a…well, otherwise. I should prefer if my primary position is understood to be that of a companion to your aunt, and my governess duties be secondary. I would educate your cousin the same either way.”
Her tone, her manner, the way she kept dropping reminders of her changed circumstances, which she assumed he had caused, should anger him. None of it did.
She had come here dressed as the lady she was born to be, but she would leave a servant. She knew that even if she choked on the word. She was not yet a woman who did not know her place, however. She was just a woman fighting to retain a few shreds of her dignity when she walked out the door a different person than when she had entered.
He would feel sorry for her, but that would be an insult to a woman like this.
“My aunt has a good heart, Miss Welbourne. The danger is not that you will be treated as a servant, but rather that she will be too quick to treat you as a sister. However, I will explain the subtle shift in how you want the position considered. I am sure she will be agreeable. Now, if that is all settled—”
The finger lifted again.
“There is more, Miss Welbourne?”
“A small matter.”
“I cannot imagine what it would be.”
Her lips pursed at his sardonic tone. Nice lips. Rather full. Her nose turned up just a bit, which drew attention to her mouth.
Mouth like a rose. Not a rosebud, however. Not small and bowed, even when that little purse narrowed it. Rather, it was a rose in full bloom, promising the nectar Ben had described.
“As we both know, my situation will be much changed even if I still dwell in the same house,” she said.
Her voice barely penetrated a wandering speculation about that nectar and its taste. The path aimed toward the kind of ruthless calculations that Christian had just warned about.
A fetching form that hints at hidden glories. He saw her again in the boring dress she had worn while she conducted the house tour. Its ivory color had yellowed from age and it had been stripped of decorations, probably to adorn other garments. The styles had changed a lot in the last few years, and its high waist announced her poor fortune. It had fit her breasts snugly, however, and revealed a lushness in shape and curves.
His mind latched on to the memory of her standing close to him in the upper corridor in that ivory dress. The sparks of anger in her eyes as she upbraided him jumped into his blood again and began a slow burn. His imagination began peeling that dress off to see what lay beneath—
“Are you agreeable, sir?”
Her question jolted him out of his erotic fantasy.
“Do you accept this last term?” she asked.
Hell if he knew whether he did or not. He had no idea what the term had been.
He fell back to the position he took in investment negotiations when something unexpected was proposed. “I want to think about this for a while before agreeing.”
Her eyebrows rose just enough to communicate what she thought of that. “I do not see why it requires long contemplation.”
“I am a very deliberate man.”
“How admirable. Do you expect your deliberations to last long? Will they be completed in two days, so I know whether to stay in the house?”
She used the careful, kind voice one might employ with an old uncle who was addle-brained. He was not accustomed to anyone—let alone a woman—implying he was stupid. “Why don’t you explain this request in more detail, and I can deliberate while you do.”
“I cannot think of any other way to explain it. It is simplicity itself. What part did you not understand?”
Did she guess where his mind had been? See it in his eyes? Was she letting him twist in the wind as punishment?
How bad could it be? She had hardly requested that she be allowed to sell all the household silver. “I think my aunt can be convinced to accommodate this, yes.”
“Then I would say we have reached an agreement.” Immensely satisfied with their conversation, suspiciously so, she slid the handle of her reticule over her arm. “I will take my leave now. I will be in the house when Lady Wallingford and your cousin arrive, to greet them.”
He escorted her in search of the girl. They found Irene in the gallery with the housekeeper. Christian was there too, pointing something out in the painting they faced. He had dressed for the day, finally, and aside from his primitive-looking long hair was turned out like a proper British lord.
“Christian, this is Miss Welbourne. This is my brother Christian, Marquess of Easterbrook.”
“I was explaining to your cousin that this is not an original Correggio but a copy of a painting in Parma, Miss Welbourne,” Christian said.
Miss Welbourne peered at the painting. It depicted a softly curved and sensually painted Io being borne aloft by Jupiter, who had transformed himself into a cloud. Since Io was nude, it was probably not a painting that Christian should have encouraged young Irene to study.
“It is lovely, even if it is a copy,” Miss Welbourne said, too self-possessed to reveal embarrassment at the subject.
Hayden thought it lovely too. Io’s body looked quite a bit like he had just imagined Miss Welbourne’s, now that he noticed it. Vaguely plump in the best way. Curves and softness waited.
Hayden sent the women off with the housekeeper. Irene began peppering Miss Welbourne with questions immediately, oblivious to the way her whispers carried through the gallery.
“Are you taking the situation?”
“Yes.”
“He accepted all your terms?”
“Yes. Now hush.”
“All of them? Even the free day and use of the carriage?”
Hayden wondered if he had heard correctly.
“Situation?” a low voice at his shoulder said.
He glanced over to see Christian also watching the two women retreat.
“She will be Aunt Henrietta’s companion and Caroline’s finishing governess.”
“Ah, I misunderstood. The only women who negotiate terms with me are my mistresses. Hence my confusion. She has lovely eyes. Unusual color.”
Hayden watched her hat’s ribbons bob and her hem sway and her slender ankles move. “She wanted to be sure she understood what was required of her in the household.
Our conversation concerned the normal sorts of things.”
“Such as a free day and use of the carriage, you mean.”
Hayden ignored the goad. Miss Welbourne turned to whisper something in Irene’s ear. Her profile showed beyond the edge of the hat. A violet eye and a little upturned nose and an expressive full mouth formed a colored silhouette against the housekeeper’s brown dress.
The door opened and the women disappeared.
Hayden glanced over to see Christian observing him.
Christian turned to go.
“Vigilance, Hayden. Vigilance.”
CHAPTER
FOUR
Alexia strolled beside Roselyn in a funereal march. They made a silent procession from room to room while Rose made sure nothing had been forgotten.
A hired carriage waited in the street. It would take the Longworths only as far as a coaching inn right outside London. There they would transfer to the sad wagon that had left under cover of darkness before dawn, hauling the meager property that they still owned.
Rose peered around the drawing room. “I daresay Rothwell’s aunt will find everything in order. I hope she and her daughter are happy here.”
The sentiment would have sounded generous if not for the bitter tone.
Alexia did not offer any comforting words. She had already poured out every reassurance she could muster. She had even promised Irene to do her best to give her a season next year, which was as close to bold-faced lying as she had ever come. Her heart was breaking for all of them. Rose and Irene, Timothy, and herself.
Rose turned on her. Eyes glistening, she allowed her anger to show. “You must promise not to love them. I do not care how good they are. You must promise not—”
Alexia embraced her. Rose’s body shook as she broke down and wept. It passed quickly. Rose swallowed her tears and found her composure, all with one long inhale.
“Oxfordshire is not far away,” Alexia said. That had been repeated by all of them so many times the last week. “We will see each other often, I am sure.”
She was not really sure, but perhaps it was possible. She had use of a carriage, didn’t she? She had a free day.
“Let us go above and collect Timothy,” Roselyn said.
They found Tim in his chamber, sprawled on his bed, ill. No, not ill, Alexia realized. She spied a chipped decanter beneath his washstand.
“The carriage waits, Timothy,” Rose said.
“To hell with the carriage.” Tim did not even move the arm draped over his forehead. “To hell with the bastards waiting to see it too. To hell with life.”
Rose looked stricken. She had effected most of the plans the last few days. Once he had sold what could be sold, Timothy had become worthless.
Alexia went over to the bed. “You have indulged your unhappiness too long, cousin. Your sisters need you to find yourself now. Allow them to walk out the door with dignity, not carrying their broken brother between them.”
He neither responded nor moved. She touched his arm. “Come, Tim. This was not of your making. Stand tall for Irene’s sake at least.”
After a long pause, he pushed himself up. Rose smoothed his coat and did her best to make his cravat presentable. Timothy looked so sad and helpless that Alexia wanted to weep.
“Did you get his things from the attic, Rose?” He spoke in a muttered slur. “Ben’s trunks and such?”
Rose’s face fell. “We were so rushed…How could I have been so remiss? There is no room now on the carriage and—”
“I will take care of whatever you left behind,” Alexia said. “I will be sure the trunks remain here while I do and take them with me when I leave. Eventually I will find a way to return everything to you.”
“You are so good, Alexia,” Rose said with visible relief.
Alexia did not mind taking responsibility for Ben’s property. Part of him would remain with her in this house this way. She might find some fortitude about the life she faced if she remembered those trunks in the attic.
“I hate leaving you here,” Tim said to the floor. “I hate that you will be beholden to him. That is the cruelest turn. That he should be able to see and enjoy your diminishment.”
Alexia did not think Lord Hayden would enjoy seeing it, since he apparently did not think twice about his actions. In a few days she would be the convenient servant and nothing more. He probably would forget her name.
“I do not care what he sees or thinks, Tim. It is of no consequence to me.” That statement at least was a truth. She already knew that if one took a step down, it did not matter why. The blow to one’s pride was the same no matter what the cause. One either handled it with grace or with bitterness. She was struggling to do the former this time, as she had in the past.
Tim proved a little unsteady, but she and Roselyn got him down to the door. Irene waited glumly for their grand exit. No one doubted that the neighbors would watch from their windows to see the final curtain fall on the drama of ruin that had played on Hill Street the last two weeks.
“I hate him,” Irene said. “I don’t care if he is handsome and let me see the ballroom. I am sure his brother would be shocked to learn what has happened. I should have told Easterbrook everything while we were in the gallery.”
Alexia gave Irene a farewell kiss. “Do not waste your heart on hate, Irene.”
“No, do not,” Roselyn said. “I will hate Hayden Rothwell enough for all of us, darling.” Her face tightened into a mask of pride. She took her sister’s hand. “Let us go now.”
Timothy opened the door. He did not appreciate his sisters’ poise as they filed past. He was not really seeing them.
He turned to the open door and stood there slackly for a long count. His face reddened with emotion.
Alexia rested her hand on his arm. “You are the son of a gentleman, Timothy. Not even this can change that.”
His expression found composure and his posture some steel.
“Damn him,” he snarled. He stepped forward and followed Roselyn and Irene into obscurity.
Alexia closed the door before the carriage rolled. She wiped stinging tears from her eyes. She dared not succumb to the impulse to rave at the unfairness of life. She had to ready the house for the arrival of Lord Hayden’s aunt and cousin.
She also needed to prepare her pride for the moment those two women walked through the door.
“It was so good of you to escort us, Hayden, even if it is only a few streets from Easterbrook’s house that we travel. I am quite helpless at arranging such complicated changes.”
“I am glad to help. The situation requires a steady hand at the reins.”
“As always, your command of the ribbons gives me confidence and tranquillity. I do not know how we would manage without you.”
The reins in question were not those on the horses pulling Easterbrook’s coach through Mayfair. Nor were they the ones leashed to the myriad of details that Aunt Henrietta’s move to London created. Hayden had all of that well in hand.
Rather it was Henrietta, widow of Sir Nigel Wallingford, who needed firm guidance. She required more of his attention than his most complicated financial investments.
Upon learning after her husband’s death that her income would be much curtailed, she had nodded with understanding but had not altered her spending one bit. As trustee, Hayden dreaded the ritual of riding down to Surrey to scold her about the bills, scoldings that she always accepted with chagrin but then happily ignored.
He eyed her now as she sat with her daughter across from him in the coach. A gargantuan hat covered most of her very fair hair. Its broad, steeply angled brim kept hitting Caroline’s cheek. The largest red bow in the history of millinery dwarfed the high crown. An extravagant plume swept in a broad arch to brush Hen’s delicate jaw. With Henrietta’s slight figure, small face, and fine features, the hat looked like a weight about to bend her over.
No doubt Hen thought the hat just grand and worth every penny of its cost. She did not see how it aged
her. As the much younger sister of his dead mother, Aunt Henrietta, at thirty-six, still possessed a youthful countenance, but in that hat she could have been fifty.
“You are very sure this governess speaks impeccable French?” she asked. “Caroline requires a firm hand there.”
“Miss Welbourne is accomplished in all subjects required of her.” Actually, he did not know for certain Miss Welbourne knew her French. If she claimed to have the education for her new role, however, he did not doubt she would produce it. He suspected she could teach herself French in a fortnight if she still needed to learn it.
“I hope she is not like Mrs. Braxton,” Caroline muttered. A quiet, pale girl, Caroline rarely spoke. Hayden suspected the child he saw was not the real Caroline but one bleached and stifled by the presence of her mother.
“I am sure Miss Welbourne will be very different from your last governess,” Henrietta said. “Hayden had to promise her some unusual concessions to cajole her to aid us.” Her pale green eyes sparkled with a happy optimism that made her look dreamy and distracted all the time. “We are in town now, dear. It is a whole different world here. Mrs. Braxton would never do. That is why Hayden found us this house and the estimable Miss Welbourne.”
She bestowed on Hayden one of those smiles. One of the grateful, affectionate ones that said he was the strong anchor to her rudderless ship. She trusted him completely, depended on him too much, and expected his attendance at her whim. She created one disaster after another that she regretfully handed him to fix because he was so damned competent at doing so.
He did not doubt that his aunt dealt with him much as she had her late husband. Her adoring looks, her circular explanations, her attempts to soften him with flattery—they were the hallmarks of a woman handling a man. He was fond of Henrietta and even found her amusing. However, being her trustee for six years had taught him much about the kind of day-to-day dealings with a woman that came with marriage. None of it had encouraged him to seek a wife.
“There it is,” Henrietta announced when the carriage stopped on Hill Street. “I had the coachman drive me past yesterday. It is handsome enough, and of good size, don’t you agree, Caroline? Of course, it is not on a square. I had hoped—well, I daresay if Hayden thinks this will suit us, it undoubtedly will.”
The Rules of Seduction Page 5