Never Borrow a Baronet (Fortune's Brides Book 2)

by Regina Scott

  The lady in question eyed Harry. “That remains to be seen.”

  “In any regard,” Harry said breezily, “Miss Patience Ramsey, may I present Beauford Villers.”

  “Delighted,” Villers said, smile as shiny as the silver buttons on his paisley waistcoat. “But now that I see your lovely face, I’m certain we’ve met before. Were you at Lady Baminger’s musicale last week?”

  “Alas, I hadn’t the pleasure,” she said with a smile that wasn’t nearly as bright. “Though I understand Genevieve Munroe acquitted herself well.”

  “If you enjoy that sort of thing,” he acknowledged. His dark gaze roamed over her figure, today more evident even in the plain grey gown. If Harry had been engaged to the lady, he would have been highly tempted to plant Villers a facer.

  “But you, Miss Ramsey,” the fellow all but purred, “you must have exceptional talents to convince Harry to give up his bachelor state.”

  He had made it sound as if Miss Ramsey was some sort of seductress. Did the miscreant truly think Harry would allow such a slur?

  “I like to think any gentleman might welcome marriage to the right lady,” she said. Then she turned to Harry. “Didn’t you mention a stroll, Sir Harold?”

  “Indeed. One should never keep a lady waiting. Excuse us.” He hustled her from the room.

  “You can release me,” she said as they reached the entry hall. “There’s no one about.”

  Indeed, there wasn’t. Wilkins their manservant was likely helping in the kitchen, while Cuddlestone did duty in the dining room. Sally was no doubt scrambling to clean six bedchambers instead of the usual two. Still, the nice thing about the manor was its compact arrangement. One never needed to walk more than a few steps before returning to the entry hall.

  Yet even though none of his guests or staff was here to see his so-called devotion, letting go of Patience Ramsey proved surprisingly difficult. Harry settled on holding her hand. “Will you be warm enough if we go to the garden? We’re less likely to be interrupted there.”

  “I can manage for a time,” she said, and he led her out the back of the house.

  His great-grandfather had insisted on planting a formal garden behind the house, shrubs hacked into unnatural symmetrical shapes, flowers regimented into precise lines in separate boxes. His grandfather and father had left things to run naturally, mostly because not having to pay a gardening staff meant more money for things they found more interesting than a garden. Now tulips had invaded the daffodil beds, bright reds vying with yellow for supremacy, and Gussie’s pink tulips huddled together for safety against the encroaching grass. The once cone-shaped shrubs resembled fattened sheep grazing among the color.

  “You promised to settle matters this morning,” she reminded him as they moved along the narrowing paths. “Yet we appear to remain betrothed.”

  Harry bent and plucked a weed from the gravel. “Gussie explained her reasons, and I concurred with them.”

  She stopped, and he pulled up short beside her.

  “Are you certain?” she asked. “I will admit to having second thoughts that I agreed to this. I was easily swayed by her enthusiasm.”

  He chuckled, enjoying the sunlight on his face, the dew anointing flower and field. “Most people are. Gussie is a power unto herself. But her points were well taken. Miss Villers and her brother have been particularly attentive to me, with clear expectations of an offer that I have no interest in making. And being devoted to you should allow me to avoid other social obligations that have proven difficult.”

  “Too many husbands in attendance?” she asked.

  Before he could respond, she covered her mouth with her hand and stared at him over it as if shocked by her own boldness. “Forgive me. It is none of my concern how you spend your time, Sir Harold.”

  “True,” he allowed, kicking a rock back into place. “But you have every right to question your role in all this. Know that I will not abuse my so-called relationship with you, Patience. We are engaged in name only.”

  She lowered her hand. “Yet we will have to continue lying. It was one thing when we were protecting you from a cunning seductress, but I cannot see Miss Villers in such a role. And what of your loyal staff, your neighbors? People will think badly of you when you jilt me.”

  Harry clutched his chest. “Jilt you? Madam, how could I?”

  She shook her head. “Then you expect me to play the jilt. I must consider my reputation.”

  Harry barked a laugh. “Too late. You were doomed the moment you linked your name with Orwell, a family considered black for three generations. My piddley indiscretions won’t even tip the scale.”

  She frowned at him. “Do you really think so little of your family?”

  “My father and his father? Certainly. They lived with no thought to anyone but themselves. Gussie would have been penniless if they both hadn’t died mercifully young.”

  “And yet you seem determined to follow in their footsteps,” she protested.

  “Never,” Harry spat. He realized his mistake even before her eyes widened. He made himself wink at her. “I gamble at love, not at cards.”

  “I fail to see the difference to your reputation,” she said, raising her chin. “You are still living to please yourself.”

  “As to that, you will have to ask the ladies. I have never had any complaints.”

  She took a step back. “You have one now. Forgive me, Sir Harold, but I cannot continue with this lie.”

  Harry sighed. “Very well. I see only one way out of this.” He went down on one knee and gazed up at her. “Patience Ramsey, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  Chapter Four

  Marriage? Was he mad? And Patience had thought Gussie mercurial!

  “You do not mean that,” she accused him.

  Sir Harry climbed to his feet. “Not in the slightest. But I proposed. You can call yourself betrothed without lying.”

  Her mother and father had taught her to be respectful, particularly of those in a station above her own. Living with Lady Carrolton had taught her the value of obedience as well. Neither trait seemed appropriate in the face of his audacity.

  “That paltry demonstration means nothing,” she told him. “I have no intention of marrying you. I will not claim otherwise.”

  He took her hand, cradled it in both of his, and pressed it against the green and gold of his waistcoat, blue eyes tilted up beseechingly. “Please, Miss Ramsey. I need your help. Think of what would happen to poor Lydia, married to such a rogue.”

  Miss Villers seemed as vivacious as a puppy and as harmless. Patience could not see her in a happy marriage with Sir Harry.

  He must have thought she was weakening, for he squeezed her hand. “Think of dear Gussie as well. She’ll be mortified to be caught in her harmless charade.”

  Patience bit her lip. She had only known Gussie a short time, but already she was eager to prolong the acquaintance. Gussie had only been trying to help her disreputable nephew.

  “I know you must find my deeds unpalatable,” he persisted as if he’d read her thoughts. “But I assure you I am trying to reform, for Gussie’s sake as well as to repair my family name. Think how your good example could further that end.”

  She certainly believed in being a good example, living her principles. Could something good come from this pretense?

  “I already promised to be the perfect gentleman,” he murmured, pressing her hands against his firm chest, fingers massaging her own. “All you need do is smile and accept the congratulations or commiserations offered you.”

  His touch was hypnotic. She could not seem to think.

  Patience pulled out of his grip. “It will not be so simple, sir. If you want to make people believe we are betrothed, you will have to play the part as well. Can you pretend yourself besotted?”

  That grin, so engaging, so charming, emerged like the sun from the clouds. “Oh, my dear Patience, I assure you I can.”

  When he gazed at her that way, e
ven she began to believe he had feelings for her. But that was silly! Everything he’d done so far indicated he had inherited every inch of his forefathers’ self-centeredness. If Sir Harold Orwell loved anyone, it was himself.

  “Well, I’m not certain I can look so delightfully in love,” she said. “Every discussion, every question, will lead to more lies, and we will be too easily caught in them. Where did we meet? How did we court? When did you propose?”

  He stuck out his lower lip as if impressed she’d thought things through. “I believe Gussie said you were companion to Lady Carrolton. We met on your day off.”

  “I never had a day off,” she informed him. “I had a half hour off every other week.”

  He frowned. “Truly?”

  “Truly. Lady Carrolton considered me indispensable.”

  “She considered you a slave,” he said with a shake of his head. “But I begin to see the problem. Very well. Try this for a story. I saw you when you attended Lady Carrolton at the opera in London and made it a point to learn everything about you. We engineered stolen moments in secret, becoming ever more attached. I encouraged Gussie to invite you to the estate, where I proposed in the garden on bended knee.”

  “Plausible,” Patience said, trying not to sound complimentary of his ingenuity. Surely it was wrong to admire someone’s ability to lie. “But you will have to find a reason why you would settle for a penniless nobody.”

  “Anyone with eyes could see the reason,” he said, and heat rushed to her cheeks.

  “Regardless, there are other women with more money and better connections,” she insisted. “What of Lydia Villers?”

  He shrugged. “Little money and questionable connections. Her brother is hunting a title. Because of my family history, he assumes mine must be for sale cheap.”

  She felt for Miss Villers, and, oddly, for Sir Harry. How frustrating it must be for everyone to always think the worst of you. “Still, she is lovely.”

  “Not nearly as lovely as you.”

  Once again, the warmth in his voice made her pause. The blue of his eyes seemed to deepen, drawing her closer. If she tipped up her chin, their lips might meet.

  As if he knew it as well, he released her and stepped back. “And that is what I will tell anyone who asks. So, what will it be, Patience? Will you pretend to be engaged to me for a time, after which I will show you my undying gratitude?”

  Patience narrowed her eyes. “Undying gratitude? What do you mean by that?”

  “Gussie and I discussed it. When the time comes for us to end our association, we will send you to friends in Bath, where you can start a new life with a small income of your own.”

  Yearning pressed against her chest, until she thought her heart would stop. An income of her own? No one to tell her when to rise, what to do, where to go? For the first time in her life, she could be her own person, make her own decisions. The enormity of it nearly knocked her off her feet.

  She must have swayed, for he put a hand to her arm. “Patience? Miss Ramsey? Are you all right?”

  No, she was surely mad to consider such a thing. Yet would it be so wrong? Was there truly anyone harmed? She might help Gussie and Sir Harry too. And when it was all over, she would finally be beholden to no one.

  “Very well,” she said. “I’ll pretend to be engaged to you.”

  His look eased into a smile. And she was glad he did not question her sudden capitulation, for she could not fully account for it, even to herself.

  ~~~

  Gussie, Miss Villers, and her brother had left the dining room when Patience and Sir Harry reentered, and Mr. Cuddlestone was not in evidence, so at least no one had no opportunity to comment on her cheeks, which felt suspiciously warm. The food had been cleared away, the table tidied of all save a rose-patterned tea service and matching cups.

  As if she had been waiting for them, Miss Thorn sat sipping tea, one hand stroking Fortune in her lap.

  “A pity you returned sooner than expected, Sir Harry,” she remarked. “Most inconvenient.”

  Sir Harry raised his brows, even as Patience bit back a smile.

  “I believe you two met this morning before I came down to breakfast,” Patience said, going to sit beside her benefactress and still feeling a little wobbly after her conversation with Sir Harry. “Miss Thorn introduced me to your aunt.”

  “Then I must be forever in her debt,” Sir Harry said, moving to return to his seat at the head of the table and pour himself a fresh cup of tea.

  “My aunt mentioned you operate an employment agency,” he said to Miss Thorn as he dropped three lumps of sugar into the brew. “What made you think of my dear Patience for Foulness Manor?”

  Foulness Manor? Up until now, she hadn’t thought to ask the name of the place, assuming the manor Gussie and Miss Thorn kept mentioning was called after the Orwell family. Now she fought not to wrinkle her nose at the unkind appellation. Why hadn’t Sir Harry changed it? Or did he take pride in the fact that even his home heralded his family’s disgrace?

  Miss Thorn smiled fondly at Patience. “I chose her because she is perfectly suited to assist your aunt in her studies, having learned stillroom craft from her mother. She developed a number of her own treatments for her previous employer, Lady Carrolton. But as her devoted groom-to-be, I’m sure you were aware of that.”

  He couldn’t have been, but Sir Harry merely smiled. “I am constantly amazed by what I learn of her.”

  Very likely.

  Miss Thorn set down her cup. “And I am never amazed by the stories I hear of you, Sir Harry.”

  His smile slipped just the slightest. “Then I must redouble my efforts to earn your good opinion, madam.”

  “My good opinion is immaterial.” Miss Thorn nodded to Fortune, who climbed from her lap to balance on the white damask. A cat on the table? No, no. Patience reached for her, but Miss Thorn raised a hand to stop her from taking Fortune down.

  Fortune stood a moment, licking the fur on her shoulder as if she had nothing whatsoever to concern her. Glancing up, she seemed to notice Sir Harry for the first time. She aimed her great copper eyes at him.

  Sir Harry stared back.

  Fortune strolled down the table, turned in front of him, eyed him from the right, then turned again to walk past and eye him on the left. Then she returned to her owner.

  “Inconclusive?” Miss Thorn asked.

  Patience frowned. Was this a test of some sort? Fortune had risen to greet her when she’d first met Miss Thorn, in a coffee shop no less, but she had reached out to offer the cat her hand to sniff. Sir Harry had made no such overture.

  As if in response to her mistress’ question, Fortune looked over her shoulder to regard him again. This time when she walked toward him and reached his side, she bent her head and rubbed it against his hand on the table. Sir Harry raised his other hand and stroked the fur.

  Even as Patience let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, Miss Thorn sat back.

  “Well.” She smiled at Patience. “It seems the situation is nicely suited to you, just as I’d hoped. Perhaps I’ll continue on my way.”

  She was going? Though Patience had only known Miss Thorn and Fortune a short time, the thought of them leaving her behind made her breath catch anew.

  She seized the lady’s hand. “So soon? I was sure Gussie said you would stay through Easter. Or is there someone waiting for you?”

  Something flickered in those lavender-blue eyes. “No. No one I care to associate with. Very well, since you are concerned, I’ll stay for a time. After all, you might need help entertaining.”

  As Patience released her, Harry chuckled into his tea. “That is an understatement. Gussie prefers to stay up late and wake up later, and I’d wager you’ll find her in her laboratory about now and for the better part of the day.”

  Patience frowned. “But her guests.”

  “Will be left to their own devices, if I know my aunt.” Harry drained the cup and rose. “I must be off. Corresponden
ce waits for no man.” With a bow to them both, he strode from the room.

  “Surely he’s mistaken,” Patience said to Miss Thorn.

  She merely smiled. “Correspondence could very likely wait. But I think you’ll find he’s correct about Gussie.”

  Quite right, Patience quickly saw as they left the dining room for the entry hall where Mr. Cuddlestone was directing a maid to her work. When they looked at him askance, the butler was happy to inform them of the disposition of the other inhabitants of Foulness Manor.

  “Sir Harry has gone to his study,” he reported, balding head shining as he inclined it toward the door beside the massive marble fireplace that took up much of the farthest wall in the entry hall. “The mistress is in her laboratory and expecting you shortly, Miss Ramsey. Mr. Villers expressed interest in going out for a ride. I believe he is changing into his riding clothes. And Miss Villers is enjoying a scientific treatise in the withdrawing room.”

  He turned to look at Miss Thorn, his head on a level with Patience’s. He was, most likely, one of the shortest butlers in England.

  “Might I suggest a stroll about the gardens, Miss Thorn, in this lovely sunshine?” He smiled helpfully.

  Miss Thorn’s gaze met Patience’s frown. “Miss Villers first, I think, and then Gussie. Thank you, Cuddlestone.”

  “My pleasure, madam,” he said with a courtly bow.

  “Does she intend to ignore them into leaving?” Patience whispered as she and Miss Thorn crossed the entry hall for the withdrawing room, their heels clicking against the hard wood floor.

  “Rude behavior has been known to have that effect,” Miss Thorn said, hand on the door latch. “But not, I think, with the Villers.”

  She opened the door, and they peered inside.

  “Oh, there you are,” Miss Villers proclaimed. She abandoned the book she had been reading before Patience could confirm whether it was a scientific treatise or the latest gothic novel and hurried toward them. “Is Harry with you?”