“So you were turned out without a reference because of a lying, whey-faced little toad?”
“Quite so,” she agreed with a nod. “And my friend who helps with placements for those who have graduated from her academy suggested that being a companion, specifically to someone of an age where there were unlikely to be young men in the house, might be better suited to someone of my appea—to me,”
He eyed her speculatively. “You started to say your appearance, did you not?”
“I did,” she admitted.
“But you did not. Why?”
“I didn’t wish to appear vain, my lord.”
He nodded at that, another smile tugging at his lips. “Are you vain, Miss Burkhart?”
There really was no point in lying, Lilly thought. They’d never see one another again, so what did it matter if he knew another of her horrid character flaws? “Terribly. And I detest this hideous bonnet as much as you do. But your grandmother insists upon it. She says I need to look as dowdy as possible to prevent men from noticing me.”
His steps slowed and he looked at her with his slashing black brows arching upward in shock and amusement. “My grandmother is a dunderhead, Miss Burkhart. Trust me when I say that it would take far more than just an ugly bonnet to render you invisible to the opposite sex.”
That sounded suspiciously like a compliment and Lilly found that she rather liked the notion of getting such a compliment from him, even if it was terribly unwise. “What would it take, then, my lord?” She didn’t mean to sound flirtatious, not really. Nor did she mean to look up at him through her lashes in such a way that he might believe flirtation was her intent. But she did anyway.
He looked at her and then shook his head with something akin to resignation. “Quite simply, Miss Burkhart, the Lord Almighty would have to strike us all blind.”
*
And even then he would be able to smell her—all sunshine, lemons and honeysuckle.
It had not escaped Val’s notice that they were flirting. Well, he was flirting. She, simply, was flirtation. With her heavy-lidded eyes, full lips and lushly-curved figure, everything about her screamed flirtation. It also screamed other things that, as a gentleman, he should not listen to at all. She could sit stone silent before him and it would still seem an invitation, primarily because—like all men—he’d want it to be one. The difference, of course, was that if she ever told him she did not wish his flirtations, he would cease. Unlike the arrogant pup of her former employers. Val made a mental note to find out who it was and exact a bit of revenge for Miss Burkhart.
“Your friend’s academy helps with job placement for young women?” he queried, hoping to get them onto a different topic that didn’t require him thinking of just how pretty she was.
“I’m a graduate of the Darrow School, my lord.”
The words were uttered with no small amount of pride. It was something easily understood. The Darrow School had an excellent reputation. It was also an open secret that the majority of students enrolled there were the illegitimate daughters of the aristocracy. So, Miss Burkhart might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The question was, who was the owner of that blanket?
“The Hellion Club,” he said.
She shrugged. “Some call it that. We’re not hellions… well, most of us aren’t. It’s funny the names men call women simply because they dare to make their own way in the world rather than be dependent on the male species. And most of the women who attend or who have graduated from the Hellion Club, as you put it, have little enough reason to put their faith in a man’s ability to care for them.”
It was impossible to miss the bitterness in her voice. “Many men call themselves gentlemen, Miss Burkhart, and fail to behave as such. I’m sorry you’ve encountered so many in your short life.”
Her eyes narrowed and she fixed him with a surprisingly shrewd gaze. “You’re not one of them, are you? I’ve heard of you, you know? Haunting the gaming hells and bawdy houses to watch for the sharps that would take advantage of country mice with more money than sense. Is that why you do it? To be a gentleman?”
He did it because if a man was so lacking in honor that he’d cheat at cards, he often engaged in other nefarious activities. Including treason. “That’s certainly one reason.”
She stiffened in his arms immediately. “That’s the first lie you’ve actually told me.”
“It isn’t a lie,” he protested.
“But neither is it the entire truth… omission is worse than an outright lie. People lie impulsively, they fear consequences and rattle off some half-cocked story to avoid them. A lie of omission is one of calculation,” she pointed out. “You lied to me and you’ve lied to others in the same manner and it was premeditated.”
“I’ve told you all the truth on that score that I am permitted to,” he answered. That was as honest with her as he could be on the subject. “There are people to whom I answer that limit the amount of information I can divulge.”
They’d reached the main gate, and he’d been so caught up in speaking to her that he didn’t even notice the curious stares of those around them until he settled her on a small bench. Luckily, it was not a fashionable hour for riding or driving in the park and most of those present appeared to be nursemaids and governesses with their charges in tow. Rising to his full height, he doffed his hat to her. “Please wait here and I will obtain transportation for us. It isn’t so very far to my grandmother’s home from here, but I think we’ve created enough of a stir.”
“Hopefully not such a stir that it reaches your grandmother’s ears,” she said. “Else your carefully concocted story will be for naught.”
That was a complication. “We’ll work out the particulars on our way there.”
Chapter Three
The hansom cab rolled over the cobbled street, a luxury for residents of Mayfair that much of London lacked. “Tell me, Miss Burkhart, what had you in the park today? And so deeply in thought?” Val asked.
“I had requested the morning off because I had an appointment of a personal nature. And I was alone in the park, deep in thought, because I was trying to determine what I ought to do about the information I learned during my appointment.”
Val frowned. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Miss Burkhart?”
“No. Not as such, really. My mother died when I was very young and I didn’t know her family. She sent me to my father, William Satterly, who promptly put me in a terrible school. A few years later, my half-sister, Wilhelmina, was also placed there. And then together, we were discovered by Miss Euphemia Darrow and it was with us as her first pupils that the Darrow School was formed.”
“And this appointment had something to do with your mother’s family, I take it?” he asked. He couldn’t help but feel there was more to the story than she had offered, that perhaps she was glossing over the more damaging details of it. But he supposed she was entitled to her secrets.
She nodded. “It did. I have an aunt. My mother’s aunt, actually. She has left a bequest for me, but I can only claim this bequest as a marriage portion. Apparently, she was greatly concerned that my mother’s weakness of character and poor judgment might be inherited.”
“And you’ve no one to marry? No special beau who might persuade you to the altar?” he asked. He was far more invested in her answer than he wished to be. He was certainly more invested in it than was wise.
“No, there isn’t… but the truth is, I’m not sure I want to be married. I’m as terrible as an employee as I was at being a student. I find it very difficult to tolerate being told what to do, my lord. And as such, I’d make a terrible wife,” she admitted. There was something rather forlorn in her tone that indicated she might regret that opinion.
“Then we have a great deal in common, Miss Burkhart, as I have often considered that I would be the worst of husbands… for much the same reason,” he admitted, just as the carriage slowed and the horses drew to a halt.
They had arrived at Numbe
r Ten, South Audley Street. For his part, Val wished they might have circled the block a few times. He was not eager to face his grandmother, but he was less eager to see an end to his time with Miss Burkhart. Opening the door, he climbed down and then reached back in to aid her.
Helping Miss Burkhart out of the cab, he instructed footmen to see her up the stairs. It was a better option than him carrying her, not only because his grandmother would disapprove, but because holding her so closely had affected him in ways that made being in his grandmother’s presence very uncomfortable.
As Miss Burkhart disappeared from view, he returned the butler’s assessing gaze. “Is there something you wish to say, Netherford?”
“Only that it was remarkably good fortune that in Miss Burkhart’s hour of need, who should appear but the grandson of her employer. Most fortuitous for the young lady, my lord.”
He’d never liked Netherford and Netherford, for his part, had never especially liked Val. It seemed their enmity was to continue indefinitely. Pinning the man with a cold stare, Val said, “Hardly remarkable. We were both traveling to the same location, after all, making it quite likely that our paths would cross. I know you certainly didn’t intend to imply that perhaps Miss Burkhart or I engineered such a meeting for some nefarious purpose. Did you, Netherford?”
The butler, a stick of a man with a shock of white hair that defied any attempt to tame it, merely regarded him coolly. “I would never dream of making such an implication, my lord. But others might.”
“Then I can trust you to disabuse them of that notion. Can’t I, Netherford?” Val demanded as he stepped closer to the butler, towering over him.
Relenting, Netherford ducked his head. “Certainly, my lord. The dowager duchess awaits you in the drawing room. I shall have more tea sent in as the first pot has likely grown cold.”
Ignoring the implied censure, Val went in search of his grandmother. If he was going to get a dressing down, it would come from her and not from her lackey. Entering the drawing room, he noted that his grandmother looked at the ormolu clock on the mantel, her head tilted and an expression of disapproval on her face. Her thin lips pursed as she pressed them to the tea cup in her hand and took a long sip of the still steaming liquid.
“You are late, Valentine,” she said. “If this is how you treat all women, it is no wonder you are as yet unmarried.”
“There was a situation involving your companion, Miss Burkhart. She was injured by a careless coachman and required my assistance,” he said.
“What sort of coachman? Was that girl in a carriage with someone? Mark me, I hate to judge a book by its cover but, from the look of her, it’s impossible not to think her fast,” the dowager duchess said.
“She rode in a hack with me from the park to here because her ankle was sprained when a reckless driver nearly ran her down,” Val lied as he took his seat beside her and pressed a kiss to her lined cheek. “How wicked your mind is, Grandmother!”
“What on earth was she doing in the park?” his grandmother asked. “Meeting some man, I suppose. Likely a footman. They’re no good, I tell you! Footmen cannot be trusted, no matter how handsome they look in livery!”
Hoping to distract her, Val stated, “You say that as if speaking from experience! No, never mind. I don’t wish to know.”
She gasped, and then immediately slapped her closed fan on the back of his wrist. “Naughty, wretched boy! Enough about my companion and whatever unsavory characters she chooses to spend her half-day with—you included! What I want to know, Valentine Augustus Somers, is when you mean to marry and begin producing the next generation of the Somers line! You’re past your prime, you know!”
He arched his own brows at her, unaware of just how much alike they appeared in that moment. “Really? I’ve been assured by very well-informed sources that I’m quite firmly in my prime, Grandmama.”
“Wicked boy,” she hissed out. In a less scandalized tone, she continued, “Don’t think to distract me with being scandalous. You must marry, Valentine, and you must do so before the year is out! I’ve reached the end of my patience with you and my resolve in this matter is quite firm. You shall not charm me out of it.”
“It’s October, Grandmama,” he replied indulgently. It was a familiar refrain from her. “Late October at that. How on Earth am I supposed to secure the hand of some deb by then?”
“Well, go and ask someone,” she replied, as if perhaps his faculties were in some way compromised. “It isn’t as if they’d say no! You’re to be a duke, for heaven’s sake! Heavens, put a notice in the Times that you need a suitable wife and they will line up around the block!”
“Really? Impending dukedom aside, being past my prime and all, it’s hard to be certain,” he replied, leaning indolently against the back of the settee. It was not the first conversation they’d had about her desire to see him leg-shackled. It would likely not be the last.
She whacked him with the fan once again, more firmly this time, as if she actually meant it. “I’ve already seen my solicitor, Valentine. I mean it. I’m quite serious this time, whether you choose to believe me or not. Your grandfather, God rest him, was ten kinds of a fool… until it mattered. He chose, against the protests of all who knew us, to leave me in charge of my own finances after his death and those of the rest of the family. Of course, he only did it because I’d been in charge of them while he lived. Had I not, we’d have all been paupered. I’ve trebled the family coffers in my lifetime, as well you know. And it will take Elsworth less than five years to spend through it like sand through an hourglass. But I will leave it to him. Mark my words, I will! The new will is drawn up and I have but to sign it. Present me with your viscountess by the stroke of the New Year, or be disinherited from all that is not entailed.”
Val took in the stubborn jut of his grandmother’s chin and the hardness of her gaze. She meant it, he realized. His grandmother was capable of doing anything, and she did not make idle threats.
“You don’t have to leave the money to me,” he said. “But for heaven’s sake, don’t leave it to Elsworth!”
“Why not Elsworth?” she demanded. “Next to you he’s the most entitled to it. He is blood after all. He’s a Somers, God knows. He certainly inherited all of their foolish tendencies. Thank heavens you got your intellect from me, Boy, or the future generations—assuming there are ever to be any—would have no hope at all. So Elsworth it is, unless you can give me some reason not to proceed. Hmmm?”
Because he is a traitor. Because he’s sold secrets to France to support his gambling debts. Because if you leave the money to him, it will all be seized by the Crown anyway. It was all there on the tip of his tongue, but as he looked at his grandmother, he saw something he hadn’t seen before. The slight tremor in her hand which wielded her fan like a club. Her cheeks were gaunt. And while her white hair was impeccably styled, it was thinner than it had been in the past. In short, she looked frail in a way he’d never seen before, in a way that wasn’t just a manipulative affectation but a true product of her age, which even her iron will could not stave off forever. His cousin’s treason would kill her.
“Because he’s an addlepated clod,” Val muttered finally.
“Well, of course, he is! He’s just like his wretched father. Your wastrel uncle was very nearly the death of me. We won’t even discuss the scandalous method in which he departed this world!” She paused then, taking a deep breath that hinted at attempts to battle back her own grief. Stupid as he’d been, Betrand had been her youngest child and a more stupid man had never lived. He’d died falling from the bedroom window of his married lover. He’d lost his balance trying to hastily don his trousers before his lover’s husband entered the room. The attempt to avoid scandal had instead mired the family in it for years. But she’d loved him regardless. That was his grandmother’s true weakness. Behind her hard shell, she had a soft and tender heart.
When she continued after that brief pause, her voice was firm again, any hint of emotion o
ther than disdain completely obliterated through sheer force of will and innate stoicism. “Though, I daresay your own father isn’t much better. Gallivanting all around the globe while you, his only son, run wild about the city like some sort of Robin Hood of the gaming hells! Where is he now? India? Egypt? Living like some heathen in a tent—as if he hadn’t been raised a proper Englishman!”
“Somewhere in China, I believe,” Val said. “And no doubt he’s still a proper Englishman no matter where he is.”
“He should be home tending to the estates instead of doing heaven knows what in heaven knows where! He’s another wicked, wretched boy!”
Val didn’t tell her that his father would never tend to the estates so long as she lived because he would never do so to her satisfaction. No one would. Her own supreme competence was also the root cause of her greatest disappointments. “He is, Grandmama. He is.”
“And you’ll move in here so I can monitor your progress in obtaining a wife,” she said. “None of that living in rented rooms like some impoverished second son. You’ll reside here like a proper gentleman.”
It would give him the ability to watch over Elsworth more readily. And Miss Burkhart.
“Fine. I shall send for my valet and a few things and have everything else sent over tomorrow. In the meantime, I find I’m a bit fatigued from my late evening at the card table.”
“Your late evening with that actress, you mean!” his grandmother said. “I know who you’ve been keeping company with.”
He had been keeping company with an actress, but they had parted ways. She’d become a bit too clinging, determined to envision a future for them where none existed. She’d been angry at him, accusing him of snobbery. But it hadn’t been the fact that she’d been treading the boards which caused his affections to wane. It was that he’d grown bored in her company. Oh, in bed, she’d been energetic and inventive. But conversation had been stilted and one dimensional. Even her rather remarkable figure and unmatched carnal skills could not combat that.
Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection Page 50