by Georgie Lee
Mrs Rathbone tapped a finger to her chin. ‘I understand it was a most peculiar proposal.’
Justin matched her sideways smile with one of his own. ‘It wouldn’t be the first in this house now, would it?’
‘Certainly not.’ Mrs Rathbone laughed, the cheerful sound driving away the curses still ringing in his ears and making the baby let out a small cry before he settled back to sleep. ‘I only hope Jane doesn’t surprise us like that some day.’
‘If our examples are anything to judge by, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.’ Jane, Philip’s fourteen-year-old sister whom he had raised since their mother’s death, was too precocious and sure of herself for her own good, just like her brother.
Philip stepped into the room, dressed in his redingote and carrying his walking stick. ‘Shall we be off?’
‘We shall.’ A vintner had fled back to France to avoid repaying a loan. They were going to seize his stock, the wine which Justin would purchase from Philip and use to establish the business his father and Helena had so callously dismissed.
‘Be careful,’ Mrs Rathbone cautioned, squeezing Philip’s arm.
‘I always am.’ Philip laid a kiss on his son’s little forehead. Then he pressed his lips to his wife’s, in no obligatory peck, but a deep meaningful kiss. Philip, the most rational man Justin knew, had raced headlong into his union and all had been well. Hopefully, Justin would enjoy the same luck in his hastily negotiated engagement.
Chesterton handed Justin his gloves and he tugged them on. He flexed his fingers beneath the supple leather and pushed away the memory of Miss Lambert’s hand in his. She’d transfixed him as much with her ability to bargain as with her presence and the faint catch of her breath when they’d touched. As much as he enjoyed the charms of women, they usually didn’t have such power to sway him. If they had, he’d have failed to seize half the collateral from Philip’s clients. Yet with a few glances from beneath her dark eyelashes, and a walk to mesmerise him, she’d wrangled him into one of the most binding contracts he’d ever entered into. He looked forward to discovering more of her hidden charms.
He tapped the pistol in the leather holster beneath his coat, the agitation biting at him fuelled by more than the task facing him and Philip. He didn’t usually relish the physical aspects of his position as Philip’s assistant, but today he wouldn’t mind if a man took a swing at him and he could swing back. It would take a row, or an hour at his pugilist club, to work off the frustration from his encounter with his father, and the more pleasant tension roused by Miss Lambert.
He followed Philip to the waiting carriage, ready to be done with business and enjoy his drive with Miss Lambert. He wished to discuss with her tonight the vintner’s inventory and his plans for it. She’d wrestled a duke for his support of Justin’s venture while his own father and previous paramour had dismissed it. If nothing else, it was a positive omen for what their future life together might entail. She’d share his success and he would succeed, despite what anyone else believed.
* * *
‘I think French silk would be beautiful for the dress,’ Mrs Fairley, the young modiste, suggested as she draped a sample of the fine cream-coloured fabric over Susanna’s shoulder.
‘English silk will do,’ Lady Rockland barked from her place on the sofa where she watched the fitting. Lady Rockland had grudgingly summoned the modiste at Lord Rockland’s command to discuss Susanna’s wedding dress and a suitable costume for the masked ball. If only he’d ordered her to be pleasant. ‘The future wife of a merchant won’t need such an expensive gown.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Mrs Fairley folded the sample and laid it with the others in her case. Lady Rockland hired Mrs Fairley to dress Susanna while she and Edwina patronised a much more fashionable and expensive French modiste.
Susanna exchanged an awkward glance with the comely Mrs Fairley, who blushed on her behalf. It wasn’t the first time the kind young woman had witnessed this sort of conversation, but it would be the last. Even if Susanna’s desire for freedom had made her misjudge Mr Connor, surely the life of a merchant’s wife must be better than a duke’s unwanted bastard daughter.
‘I don’t see why you’re buying her a new dress for her marriage when one of her old ones will do for a wine merchant.’ Edwina, Susanna’s half-sister, selected another sweet from the box on her lap and popped it into her round mouth.
‘He won’t even be a merchant until he’s received your father’s money,’ Lady Rockland was kind enough to point out, looking down her nose at a man she hadn’t even met who probably had more honour in his right hand than she possessed in her entire stick-thin body.
‘Then why are they coming to the masque?’ Edwina whined, her exasperation as annoying as the way she chewed her sweet. ‘We’ve invited no other common people.’
‘It doesn’t matter if they come. Everyone will be wearing masks—no one will recognise them anyway,’ Lady Rockland explained, as though Susanna were not standing in her suddenly too-tight stays and chemise right in front of them.
‘I hear Cynthia Colchester is going to have the finest French silk gown and a ceremony in St George’s in Hanover Square.’ Edwina licked the tips of her fingers with a smacking noise before smiling smugly at Susanna.
‘She’s having it because her family can afford it, unlike her husband-to-be. Lord Howsham is up to his neck in gambling debts and on the verge of losing his estate.’ Susanna bit down on her irritation at her half-sister. It was she and not Lord Howsham who’d gained the most from him breaking his promise. He’d wanted her money; now he had someone else’s.
‘He still has his title, as does his wife, which is more than some people possess.’ Edwina smirked, her pudgy face squishing up with her arrogance.
‘Edwina, leave us,’ Lady Rockland commanded.
‘Whatever for?’ Edwina rubbed a bit of marchpane from her cheek.
‘Don’t question me,’ the duchess snapped.
Edwina, who was only one year younger than Susanna’s twenty, stomped from the room like a toddler.
Lady Rockland didn’t dismiss Mrs Fairley, who knelt on the floor packing up her box. The woman was too far beneath Lady Rockland’s notice for her to believe whatever she was about to say needed to be kept from her.
Susanna prepared herself, imagining this exchange would be no more pleasant than any of their previous encounters. Her expectations weren’t disappointed.
‘Given your behaviour with Lord Howsham, I assume I needn’t tell you what will pass between you and your husband on your wedding night,’ Lady Rockland blurted out with all the concern of a fish.
Mrs Fairley paused in her packing before returning to her work.
‘My mother was kind enough to explain it to me when I was thirteen, before she died,’ Susanna answered, the idea of this woman acting in any kind of motherly way as revolting as her haughty attitude.
‘Yet another of the many mistakes she made in regards to you, mistakes others are now forced to endure.’ Lady Rockland screwed up her face as if smelling something foul. ‘When you and Mr Connor are wed, and after the masque, don’t think you’ll be allowed back into this house. I’ve endured the shadow of Lord Rockland’s marital weakness and been forced to parade it in front of all of society for the past seven years. I won’t do it any longer.’
‘You needn’t worry. I won’t pollute myself with the taint of society by coming back here as a married woman.’
The duchess’s lips drew back across her teeth. ‘Oh, you’ll come crawling back eventually. Men of Mr Connor’s class never forget where they can obtain money, but you’ve both got all you’re going to get out of Lord Rockland. I’ll see to it you don’t get a shilling more.’
Her imperious dictate given, Lady Rockland gathered up the hem of her skirt and swept from the room.
Susanna let out a low, frustrated sigh. If she could pack up her things and make for Scotland tonight. she would, but Mr Connor had been guaranteed her father’s help and she’d mak
e sure the duke kept his word. Then she’d do everything she could to help Mr Connor succeed and prove Lady Rockland’s nasty prediction wrong. She only needed to bear this a little while longer, then she’d be free of the woman for good.
‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ Mrs Fairley offered as she rose. ‘Did Lady Rockland say you were to marry a Mr Connor?’
‘I am.’
‘Is he the associate of Mr Rathbone, the moneylender?’
‘I believe so.’ They hadn’t discussed many details of their lives and, in fact, she knew very little about him except for his ambition in the wine trade and his willingness to accept a deal on which both of their futures hinged.
‘I’m familiar with the man and his employer and they’re both very honourable gentlemen.’ She picked up her case, holding it in front of her. ‘You’ll be very happy with him.’
‘Thank you. I’d like to retain your services, if I can, when I leave here.’
‘I should like that.’ With a polite curtsy which made her light-gold curls bob, Mrs Fairley took her leave.
Susanna slipped on her banyan and began to pace. It boded well that Mrs Fairley thought highly of Mr Connor. During the fittings in which Lady Rockland had been absent, Susanna had shared many confidences with the young woman who understood as well as Susanna what it was like to be looked down on by a duchess. The modiste was the closest person to a friend Susanna possessed. Lady Rockland had seen to it there were no other people on whom Susanna could hang the title.
Despite the fact she’d lived with the Rocklands since her mother’s death, they’d only grudgingly treated her as a member of the family within their home. Outside of it, she was virtually ignored. At the few teas or country parties she’d been allowed to attend, the duchess had always given her strict instructions to keep her mouth shut and make herself as invisible as possible. It wasn’t the most ideal way to forge friendships with other young ladies, though most daughters of the other country families didn’t deign to talk to her. They were too afraid the taint of bastard would rub off on them to attempt so much as a discussion of the weather with Susanna.
She went to the wardrobe and began to rifle through her dresses, looking for one to wear for tonight’s ride, as eager to see Mr Connor as she was to escape this house for an hour or two. She’d thought of little besides him since he’d taken his leave this morning, and had eaten even less at nuncheon than she’d been able to choke down over the last two weeks. It wasn’t just his commanding presence or the deep roll of his voice, which was both powerful and playful, but what the agreement they’d entered into meant. She’d be his wife, his property as much as a helpmate in his business.
Her body would be his, though she doubted he’d fall on her as Lord Howsham had done in the forest at Rockland Place. There’d been something distasteful in Lord Howsham’s pressing need for intimacy and the speed with which he’d slaked his lust and left her confused and wanting. Mr Connor wouldn’t rush through the bedding; she’d felt it in the smooth slide of his hand beneath hers, the gentle pause when his lips had met the back of her hand and the drawing humour in his eyes which had invited her, instead of forcing her, to think of what was to come.
She clutched the dress to her chest, shivering at the idea of his broad chest and flat stomach against her skin, wondering what it would be like to linger with him in the dark, the sheets tangled around them as their bodies melded together. Though there was more to a marriage than the bedchamber to consider. The hours between rising and sleep were long ones in which a man could ignore his wife, much as Lord Rockland did to his, giving rise to a bitterness of spirit Susanna had felt the brunt of many times.
She sagged down onto the edge of her bed, releasing her tight grip on the muslin. With any luck, the isolation she’d known at Lady Rockland’s hands and the indifference of her father were about to end, assuming Susanna hadn’t made a grave mistake. Even if she’d chosen poorly and Mr Connor turned into a monster, she’d have to stand beside him at the altar or find herself penniless on the London streets.
Rising, she rang the bell for her lady’s maid, ready to dress and face her intended. This wasn’t a poor choice, but the best she could make. She’d have a home of her own and a respectable husband and at last a station in society where people couldn’t look down on her or whisper behind her back. She’d already proven to Mr Connor she could be useful to him and had gained something of his admiration. If he never grew to love her, or even cherish her, she’d at least earn his respect. It was the most a bastard like her could hope for in a marriage. If something more came of their union, it would be a gift of providence, although providence had never been so generous to her before.
Chapter Four
‘I believe you have no more business here with the family, sir.’ The balding butler looked down his crooked nose at Justin as though he’d been discovered sleeping on the Duke of Rockland’s front step. Apparently, between this morning and this afternoon, the family had failed to inform the man of Justin’s change in status or his appointment to ride with Miss Lambert.
‘Miss Lambert is expecting me.’ He tried to step around the lanky man who shuffled to stay in front of him. This wasn’t the first time a servant had tried to rebuff him at the front door. Usually it meant their master was slipping out the back with the best of his goods, where Justin’s men were sure to be waiting for him.
‘Let him in, Netley. Mr Connor and Miss Lambert are engaged.’ Lady Rockland’s voice slid out from behind her dedicated servant, the announcement made with as much enthusiasm as if Justin had arrived to clean the chimneys.
Netley offered no congratulations, but grudgingly stepped aside to allow Justin entrance.
Justin dismissed the overly pompous fop whose pedigree was probably no better than his and approached the duchess. She stood on the landing in the middle of the grand marble staircase like a crow on a gable, her dark dress as thin as the risers were high. ‘Your Grace.’
He swept off his hat and bent into a deep, well-executed bow. When he straightened, she arched one eyebrow at him, betraying her surprise at his manners. More than likely she’d expected to find a lout with the grease of his cart and the smell of fish clinging to his coat. Ah, the better sort were such a charming lot. ‘I’ve come to take Miss Lambert for a drive.’
The woman’s gaze shifted from Justin to the large windows on either side of the door. Outside sat Philip’s curricle with the hood down, the chestnut horse pulling it held by a well-tipped boy. There was nothing about the vehicle to bring down the tone of the house or the occupants. Again Lady Rockland’s eyebrow twitched and Justin wondered if she’d swoon from the shock of having her lowered expectations so utterly confounded. An examination of the tall woman with the rigid back, square chin set in a long face and hair arranged in tight rows of curls against the front of her head told him she wasn’t a swooner, but a silent striker. Like a snake, this lady would take a quick bite, then slither off to let her wounded victim suffer a slow death. A most charming woman.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Connor.’ A more melodious voice carried over the crow’s stony silence as Miss Lambert came down the stairs. The pale blue muslin swung about her thighs as she moved and the pastel colour heightened the subtle hue kissing her cheeks. Pert breasts gave shape to the fitted bodice of a matching blue spencer which was cut away at the chest before dipping in to fasten just under those tantalisingly full mounds. Elegance marked her movements, but something of Lady Rockland’s lineage was missing, betraying a childhood spent among more humble people, her airs and graces learned too late to make them completely natural. Still they captivated Justin, weaving a spell around him which took away his speech and all awareness of Lady Rockland eyeing him as though he were a rat about to be smacked with a broom.
‘Miss Lambert.’ Justin bowed again, but more shallowly this time, unwilling to cease watching her.
She paused and reached for the banister as if to brace herself before she pulled back her hand and resumed h
er steady descent. With each drop to the next step, the curls along the arch of her neck just peeking out from beneath her bonnet shivered and he flexed his fingers, envious of the way the locks brushed her smooth skin.
Lady Rockland was not so enamoured of her ward’s regal entrance and scowled at her as Miss Lambert passed by on the way down. Miss Lambert met the woman’s contemptuous sneer with a challenging glance of her own. To Justin’s astonishment, it was the duchess who flinched first.
Justin nodded his silent congratulations to Miss Lambert. She lifted her chin a touch, taking on an air of confidence, but the shift of her green eyes betrayed the vulnerability he’d caught in his conversation with her earlier. In a flash, compassion rose up to overwhelm his desire. He’d been like her once, trying to appear brave while struggling to stand firm against those who wanted to tear him down, especially his father.
‘Shall we?’ Justin proffered his elbow when she reached him.
‘Please.’ Miss Lambert laid a gloved hand on his arm, the expectation in her wide eyes helping him to dismiss his sour memories. He’d learned long ago to laugh and not care what others thought.
‘Try not to embarrass the family while you’re out,’ Lady Rockland warned as she snatched up the edge of her skirt, flung it behind her and flitted off to whatever business consumed her day.
‘I’m sorry,’ Susanna mumbled, the excitement fading from her bright eyes as they left the house. The door nearly slammed shut behind them, Netley clearly as eager as his employer to see the back of them.
‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault her curls are too tight.’
Miss Lambert hid a subdued laugh behind one gloved hand and Justin was heartened by the return of her cheer. Whatever her treatment at the Rocklands’ hands, it hadn’t destroyed her spirit, or her sense of humour. It would be an interesting challenge to draw it out fully, as intriguing as the promise of her alluring curves beneath the straight dress.