by Regina Scott
Ellie pursed her lips. “As Lord Hastings is an old friend of the family, I suppose it is permissible for him to suggest a change to your wardrobe.”
“If you clothed her better,” Lady Agnes put in, “he wouldn’t have to.”
“Be that as it may,” Ellie continued, eyes narrowing, “I hope that in the future, Cleo, you will consult Lady Agnes or one of us before making a purchase.”
“Really, Cleo,” Annie added with a sniff, “Lord Hastings must think you a complete muttonhead for accepting his money and then squandering it on some inappropriate mantua maker. I am amazed you haven’t given him a complete disgust of you.”
“Me!” Cleo could barely squeak the word she was so incensed. “He showers me with gold and sends me to shop with harlots and you question my intelligence?”
“Showers you with gold, is it?” Annie challenged. “Don’t you think he expected some kind of return on it?”
“I’ll have you know,” Cleo countered, “that I bought a perfectly delightful dress and had it fitted, with money to spare.”
“That wasn’t what she meant,” Lady Agnes muttered, leaning forward so that Annie was forced to lean back in defense.
“Never mind that now,” Ellie said with a sudden sweetness that sent chills up Cleo’s spine. “Lady Stevenson, you are being obstinate. Our sister has graciously invited us to play a round of cards with her. Even if it is Sunday, I do not see how we can refuse and still claim ourselves to be civil. Silverloo, is it? I might be persuaded. If you would join us, Lady Agnes?”
Lady Agnes frowned at her. “Do you cheat?”
Annie gasped again even as Cleo bit her lips to keep from laughing. Ellie merely regarded the old woman as if she might be a new form of fungus. “I have no need to cheat,” she replied. “For the simple reason that I always win.”
Lady Agnes cackled, rubbing her hands together. “Now, there is a statement I cannot allow to stand. Ring for Mr. Cowls, Cleo. We shall have a game right here.”
*
Cleo had to own that the afternoon had only been a partial success. Annie and Ellie had spent their bickering on the game, thus saving Lady Agnes from whatever scold they had been determined to provide. Unfortunately, even in gambling on the Lord’s Day, and doing it rather badly, Cleo had failed to shock them in the slightest. She had come off the worse in her confession about the dress, and Hector refused to help things along with further insults, watching their play silently with his beady black eyes.
Worse, Ellie’s words had proven true. She won nearly every hand and was obviously only too happy to divest Cleo of the rest of Leslie’s money and what was left of this quarter’s allowance from Mr. Carlisle. She also managed to pocket a considerable portion of Lady Agnes’ pin money, leaving Cleo’s godmother to complain about having to make do with last Season’s gloves for their next outing to Almack’s.
Even so obviously pleased with her winnings, Ellie could not resist a parting shot at Cleo’s expense.
“You appear to have captured Lord Hastings’ eye,” she said as she settled her bonnet on her tightly wound curls. “I expect an offer from him shortly, but see to it that he makes it a good one.”
“I understand his father left him rather well off,” Annie added as Cleo bristled. “He ought to be good for a tidy dower settlement. And a title to boot.” She sucked her teeth as if she had just eaten a tasty caramel.
“Not a penny,” Cleo started, but Lady Agnes put a hand on her arm in warning.
“What did you say?” Ellie demanded, pausing in the act of straightening her bonnet.
“She said you aren’t likely to see a penny,” Lady Agnes replied, “if you don’t let her get on with her courtship. Leave it to me. The boy will be brought up to snuff.”
“I certainly hope so,” Ellie replied, turning for the door. She paused again and looked back over her shoulder at Lady Agnes. “I know you have your own inheritance, Lady Agnes, and you certainly have been more than generous to Cleo. I’m sure Mr. Carlisle can make it worth your while to see Cleo well settled.”
She was offering a bribe! Cleo wanted to scream at her. Lady Agnes merely shook her head.
“Tell Mr. Carlisle to keep his blood money,” she told Ellie. “I understand what he expects. I will see Cleo well settled. Good afternoon, girls.”
She waved as Mr. Cowls hobbled forward to open the door for them. As he closed the door, he peered back at Lady Agnes.
“Steps need sweeping, mum,” he murmured.
Lady Agnes cackled. “Right you are, Mr. Cowls. That’s what happens when I let trash accumulate.”
Mr. Cowls let out a chuckle before lowering his gaze and shuffling back toward the kitchen. Cleo shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Lady Agnes,” she said, following her godmother back to the withdrawing room. “I seem to come with some rather shocking baggage for sisters.”
“Everyone has a flaw,” Lady Agnes replied, moving around the card table. “Your sisters are yours. Insufferable, pompous popinjays. I can’t wait for the day when you can spit in their faces.”
“Lady Agnes!” Cleo scolded, but she could not help but spoil it with a giggle. “I would settle right now for picking their pockets.”
“You will have to do better than you did today,” Lady Agnes predicted. “Whatever was Leslie thinking to teach you to play so badly?” She ambled up to Hector’s cage and poked her finger at him. “But at least he taught my baby to talk when in company. Say something, clever boy!”
Hector cocked his head and eyed her.
“About his language,” Cleo started, but Lady Agnes waved her off.
“I am certain his diction will improve,” she said. “The more he speaks, the better we will be able to understand him.” She turned back to Cleo. “Leslie will visit tomorrow to continue the lessons, won’t he?”
Cleo shrugged. “I suppose so.”
Lady Agnes peered at her, looking suspiciously like Hector. “You don’t sound enthusiastic. Did you and Leslie have a falling out?”
“No,” Cleo replied, trying to brighten. “You must have seen how devoted we were to each other last night.”
Lady Agnes snorted. “What I saw were two people who were too busy preening to talk to each other. You’ll be married a long time, girl. You should be making sure you are getting a good bargain.”
“I thought you wanted me to marry Leslie,” Cleo accused.
“I do,” Lady Agnes retorted. “Make no mistake about it. But I am not an ogre like your sisters. If I thought you truly hated the boy, I would call it off.”
Cleo smiled. “Really?”
Lady Agnes scowled. “Don’t you get ideas, young lady. I can spot insincerity a mile away. You’ve known Leslie far too long to take him in sudden dislike. Much as I hate to say it, Cleo, I agree with Electra. The sooner you marry Leslie, the better. He will suit you well.”
“Dunce,” Hector squawked.
Chapter Ten
L
eslie arrived for Hector’s insult lessons the next afternoon full of righteous determination. Playing the martyr was at least a new experience for him, and he was surprised to find how easily his spirits conformed to the role. He had fully convinced himself that Cleo was an impressionable young lady, for whom he bore some responsibility to serve and protect. Such was the proper role of a gentleman. He fully intended to start by convincing her to safeguard her reputation. He did not expect to find her in a towering rage.
“What’s happened?” he demanded as soon as Mr. Cowls had shown him into the withdrawing room.
Cleo was pacing and muttering, the skirts of her pink muslin gown hissing about her legs. Her agitation was such that even Hector was affected. He shuffled back and forth on his perch and clicked his beak against either side of the cage.
“They are determined that I marry you,” she said by way of explanation. “I will not be forced, Les. They cannot run my life.”
“Certainly not,” he agreed in his new role of protector of the i
nnocent. “Don’t concern yourself, Cleo. I refuse to offer, so you cannot be forced into marrying me.”
“Do you think it will be that easy?” she challenged, pausing to glare at him. “They shall find some way to have you, they are that determined. I have tried everything to sway their opinions, and all they can see is the size of your estate and the height of your position.”
He shook his head. “They have a rather dismal opinion of you if I’m the best for which they can hope.”
That drew her up short. “Nonsense, Leslie. You’re a prime candidate, make no mistake.”
He felt absurdly pleased, but she continued as if she hadn’t noticed. “I completely understand why they are so determined to settle me on you. You are well liked and well heeled. You have a very nice title and are favorable on the eyes, when you take the trouble to dress properly.”
“Thank you,“ he managed, even as he couldn’t help glancing down at his brown cutaway coat and tan trousers, wondering whether she found them acceptable. Shaking his head at his own vanity, he refocused on her harangue.
“As persnickety as they are about propriety,” she was saying, “I had thought a few misadventures would be enough to get them off your scent. I obviously underestimated their potential for greed.”
“So,” he mused, leaning one hip against the writing table near the door, “what do you suggest we do now?”
She frowned, and suddenly her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I’m completely out of ideas.”
His first instinct was to cross to her and take her in his arms to comfort her. It was the action of a lover, but certainly a protector might do the same. Yet he hesitated, unsure of his motives.
“Come now,” he tried joking. “You’ve outlined schemes all your life. Surely this is no different.”
She shook her head, and even her delightfully short hair looked dejected. “I’ve tried and tried, Leslie. I explained to them that you told me to cut off my hair, and they only scolded me for it. I told them you instigated the race and had to endure another ringing scold. I detailed how you gave me money for a dress, and they advised me how to spend the money wisely! To top it all off, Hector nearly insulted Ellie and Annie out of the house yesterday, and Lady Agnes refused to believe he’d said anything the least offensive.”
Leslie eyed the parrot, who rocked back and forth on his perch before turning his back on him. “Hector insulted them?”
“Beautifully. At least, it was clear to me. Annie thought so too by the way she went on. Lady Agnes scolded her for thinking her precious Hector would be less than a gentleman.”
Leslie grinned. “Perhaps I should try some words with greater impact.”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Cleo said with a sigh. “You could teach him to curse in seven languages, and my sisters would only tell me I don’t deserve to marry such a clever fellow. Nothing seems to make them take you in dislike.”
“They should have dinner with me,” Leslie joked. “I assure you, I am quite capable of forgetting my manners. I might even be able to develop a disgustingly deep belch if called upon.”
She made a face. “That wouldn’t bother Annie. I’ve heard Lord Stephenson do the same the few times I’ve visited. I tell you, Leslie, I am sunk. I even tried to cheat at silverloo yesterday, thinking to blame you for teaching me, but I only succeeded in losing all my money and a considerable portion of Lady Agnes’. I am hopeless!”
She sounded so forlorn that his good intentions flew out the window. He crossed to her side and drew her into his arms. Her cinnamon curls rested against his chest. If he had bent his head, he could have pressed a kiss against her crown.
“Buck up, Sprout,” he murmured. His hands itched to stroke her slender back, his fingers to tease the curls in her hair. Instead, he held himself straight and proper and tried to ignore the scent of jasmine and fresh soap that tickled his nose. “We’ll think of something. You know I fully support your right to control your destiny.”
“I know,” she murmured against his waistcoat. “You have no idea how much comfort I take from that.” One hand came up to toy with the velvet collar of his coat, her fingers stroking the material. He set her away from him, swallowing his rising desire.
“I’m always glad to be of service,” he assured her. His voice cracked on the sentiment. He cleared his throat and continued more firmly. “Now we must focus on a strategy. What has Lady Agnes planned for you in the next few days?”
“We have tickets for Almack’s,” she replied, head cocked in thought. “Between now and then I believe we have been invited to a garden party at Mrs. Enwright’s and a musicale at Lady Monke’s. Do you see any opportunities there?”
“Doubtful,” he told her. Mrs. Enwright was a frail old lady whose conversation was as wispy as her hair. It would take little to shock her, but he’d have to risk giving the poor dear heart failure. Lady Monke, on the other hand, was of a more sturdier physique and an earthier mind. Somehow he doubted anything he and Cleo could do would shock her.
Cleo sighed. “What must I do to sway these people? Walk naked in Hyde Park while you play on the flute like some Indian snake charmer?”
Where did she get these images? Was she out to torture him, or was God trying to test his resolve? He straightened, determined to stay in his role of protector.
“Perhaps we should try something else,” he suggested. “Perhaps we need only look for a gentleman who pleases you as much as he pleases your family.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I thought you were on my side! You promised to help me, Leslie. Don’t you dare try to back out now.”
Leslie sighed. So much for logic. Perhaps he could scare her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing himself to ignore the feel of her beneath his fingers. “I’m not backing out, Sprout. I am becoming concerned for you. I want you to be fully frank with me. You said at the beginning that our misadventures would cause no one harm. If you truly intend to go through with this plan of yours to shock your sisters, it looks as if we may have to cause a little harm.”
“I would not harm innocents,” she said with a frown.
“I would not advise harming anyone,” he replied. “But if you want to succeed, I’m afraid that’s exactly what we’ll have to do.”
“Do you mean my sisters?” she probed. “Much as I despise their methods, I would not want anything bad to happen to them. And I know you cannot mean hurting Lady Agnes.”
“Never,” he promised. He gazed at her until her eyes met his. How easy it would be to lose himself in those depths? He focused on his task. “I’m not talking about other people, Cleo. I’m talking about the two of us. If we go forward to meet the goal of your original plan, there is every chance that my reputation or yours will be damaged. I daresay mine will survive. I’m not sure yours will.”
She bit her lip before responding, and he hoped he had gotten through. “Even if I retire to the country, I suppose it would be better to do so with my reputation intact.”
“Agreed,” Leslie replied. “But you must understand how narrow is the path upon which we walk. There is a very fine line between shocking your sisters and scandalizing the ton.”
She shrugged out of his grip to resume her pacing. “What do you ask of me? If we don’t prevail, I’ll be trapped in a loveless marriage. If we do, the worst that might happen is that I will likely die an old maid.”
“There is far worse,” he intoned, intent that she understand the gravity of the situation. “Before you die you will have to live with being a shamed woman, ostracized by Society. No one will visit you. No one will be willing to employ you. If you have no money of your own, you will have to rely on the dubious charity of your sisters.”
She shuddered. “You paint a bleak future. But surely my true friends will not desert me.”
She was indeed innocent. He had no doubt they would not be able to wipe the dirt from their feet fast enough. “At the very least,” he joked, “you will discover who your true friends are.”
/>
She turned luminous eyes to him, stalking back to his side. He scuttled away until he fetched up sharply against Hector’s cage. The parrot spread his wings and squawked, but Cleo, as if sensing nothing wrong, pursued Leslie, turning her face up to his.
“You would not desert me, would you, Les?” she asked, lips parted.
“Never,” he vowed, wanting only to cover those upturned lips with kisses. “Whatever happens, Cleo, you can count on me.”
To his combined relief and regret, she stepped back, spreading her hands with a smile. “Then I have nothing to fear. I am clay in your capable hands. Mold me, shape me, do with me what you will.”
There she went again. His imagination seized on the analogy, and he was forced to face Hector instead of her so that she could not see the desire in his face. “You are determined to go through with your plan then? Even if it fails to win you the regards of Major Cutter?”
He did not have to see her to know her smile had faded. “What has Major Cutter to do with this?”
“I am not convinced he is a gentleman,” Leslie replied, feeling like a craven child for tattling.
“Why?” Her tone was puzzled.
How could he explain? What woman would want to hear that a man she admired saw only her bosom? But this wasn’t any woman, this was Cleo. “Didn’t you think he was a bit familiar the other night?” he asked.
“At the Baminger’s ball?” She moved around the cage so that she could peer at him around Hector’s watchful form. “I barely spoke above three words to him all night. How is that familiar?”
“Did he ever look you in the eye?” Leslie demanded.
She frowned. “Certainly, a few times. Is it not customary for a gentleman to refrain from staring into a woman’s eyes?”
“Certainly,” he agreed. “But it is no less polite to remain staring at her chest.”
Color flared to her cheeks, and she stalked around the cage to confront him. “Leslie, that is disgusting! How dare you malign Major Cutter in that way! I assure you, he never, he wouldn’t....” She stopped, breathing hard, staring up at him. “Did he really stare at my chest?”