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

by Regina Scott

  “Sir Harry is a very fortunate fellow,” he murmured, dark gaze holding hers. “If you have any doubts as to his affections for you, please know you will find a ready ear in me. And, rest assured, there is at least one other gentleman who would be glad to pay you court.”

  Was he talking about himself? Surely no fellow with any sense could form such an attachment on so short an acquaintance. He was trying to turn her up sweet. Why?

  Her gaze darted to the preparations bubbling so merrily around her. Could Mr. Villers be even more interested than his sister?

  A noise made her glance toward the door to the house. Sir Harry was standing there, eyes narrowed to slits of blue lightning. Jealous? Impossible. Had every gentleman in the area gone mad? Or was even the scent of Gussie’s preparations more potent than she knew?

  ~~~

  Harry took one look at Beau Villers standing ridiculously close to Patience, hand possessively on her arm, and something tightened inside him. He wanted only to stalk across the space, pull them apart, and tell Villers never to touch what was his again.

  Jealous? Impossible! He might have convinced Patience to pretend an engagement, but he had no real claim on her affections. Until the war was over, and he reclaimed his reputation as a gentleman, he had no business thinking of marriage, with anyone.

  But he could play the concerned lover.

  He moved into the room, smile ready. “Have a care, Villers, or I might think you were trying to steal my beloved.”

  Villers immediately raised his hands and voice in protest, but color brightened Patience’s cheeks, and she stepped back from him. Had the fellow truly been imposing himself on her? Harry had to put his hands behind him to keep from accosting the impudent pup.

  As Villers sputtered to a stop, something else splattered and sizzled.

  “Entirely too many people in my laboratory,” Gussie complained. “Miss Villers and Miss Ramsey may stay. You two kindly take yourselves off.”

  Villers’ dark brows rose.

  “Actually,” Harry said, linking his arm with Patience’s, “I have need of my sweetheart. Wedding preparations, you know. Perhaps a game of billiards later, Villers?”

  As his aunt’s guest inclined his head, Patience removed the well-used apron, and Harry drew her out the door into the garden.

  She pulled her arm from his as soon as the door closed behind them. “As there is no wedding requiring preparations, perhaps you could tell me why you wanted to talk with me. Or was it merely an excuse to get out of the laboratory?”

  “Both,” Harry assured her, striding away from the house. She fell into step beside him, grey skirts swaying. She didn’t seem to realize that a green glob of Gussie’s preparation had affixed itself to her cheek.

  He stopped behind one of the bushy shrubs, glad for the cover from a day that was turning cloudier by the moment. “Was Beau Villers bothering you?”

  She made a face, and he nearly crowed in triumph.

  “A bit,” she admitted. “But I wonder whether his actions stem from boredom rather than any attachment to me. Still, even boredom cannot fully account for his behavior.”

  Had Villers tipped his hand? Patience could not know Harry’s suspicions, yet she had seen through the fellow’s superficial manner.

  “What’s troubling you?” Harry asked.

  Her gaze was on the trees edging the garden, where branches bobbed in the rising breeze. “I know Gussie hoped they would leave when they learned you were engaged, but they show no sign of decamping. In fact, Miss Villers doesn’t seem the least affected by the loss. She appears genuinely happy for us. I imagine they could find a more congenial place closer to London to spend the Easter holiday. Why remain at Foulness Manor?”

  Harry rubbed his chin. “You have a point.” He eyed her. “Why do you think they remain?”

  She glanced either way, as if making sure no one was close enough to overhear, then took a step closer, and he steeled himself to learn that Villers had mentioned something to do with the smuggling.

  “Is it possible,” she whispered, “that Mr. Villers and his sister are out to steal your aunt’s formulation?”

  Harry reared back. “What?”

  She rubbed her fingers, where now he saw more of the green globs had congregated. “Oh, forgive me. I must be as mad as the others to suggest it. It’s just that your aunt seemed to think Miss Villers dim, and her brother went out of his way to confirm it. Yet I have found her bright and inquisitive. And she seemed inordinately interested in the balm.”

  Harry shook his head. “So why not come up with her own? Why steal Gussie’s?”

  “Such recipes are kept within families,” she told him.

  He rubbed his arm. “Like the one you used on me. Your mother’s recipe, you said. It worked wonders.”

  “And Gussie’s might do more. Ladies will pay a pretty penny. Physicians as well. You said Mr. Villers and his sister had few funds. Why not find a way to augment them without marrying her off?”

  She was so intent, gazing up at him, that he could almost believe Villers had nothing more serious on his mind than women’s cosmetics. Harry took his thumb and wiped the green from her cheek. Her skin certainly needed no improvement, not that silk. Something in him urged him to bend closer, see if her lips were as soft.

  Voices echoed across the garden, and Harry’s head jerked up. What had he been thinking? He might play the rake, but he would never take advantage of a lady. Patience was his to protect, nothing more.

  Her gaze darted to where Gussie, Lydia, and Villers spilled into the yard.

  “I must apologize for my sister,” Villers was saying to Gussie. “I told her it was none of her affair.”

  Lydia spread her muslin skirt, where a bright green stain spread across the white. “It’s nothing, Beau. I can soak this out. I’m sorry I knocked over your pot, Gussie.”

  Patience sent Harry an arch look, then led him back toward the group. “Let me help, Miss Villers,” she offered. “I have some experience removing noxious stains.”

  Having spent three years with Lady Carrolton, Harry could imagine she did.

  Lydia gave her a grateful smile, and the two headed for the house.

  Villers rubbed his hands together. “What about that game of billiards, Harry, my lad?”

  “Go ahead,” Harry said with a nod toward the house. “I’d just like a word with my aunt.”

  Villers nodded and strode for the door.

  Harry closed the distance between him and Gussie. “What happened?”

  Gussie shook her head. “A minor mistake, a common occurrence, I assure you. Though I am sorry to have ruined Lydia’s dress. She can scarce afford to replace it.”

  “Your concern does you credit,” Harry said, “But I begin to wonder whether money doesn’t play a part in these incessant visits.”

  Gussie sighed. “You don’t have to marry her.”

  “I have no intention of marrying her. But there are other ways to profit from the association.”

  “Such as?” Gussie asked with a frown.

  Harry watched the door close behind Villers. “Patience thinks they are after your balm.”

  Gussie’s eyes widened. “Oh, the villains. I’ll throw them out immediately.”

  Harry caught her arm as she started past. “Easy. There’s another more likely reason. Villers may be here to discover what I’ve been up to.”

  That stopped her more surely than his hand. “You think he knows about your dealings with France?”

  “Someone shot at me,” Harry reminded her, “and he and his valet are the only strangers spotted in the area.”

  “All the more reason to send them packing,” Gussie insisted.

  “I’d rather keep Villers close,” Harry said. “Watch what he does, where he goes. I’ll need a day or two before I’m ready to cross the Channel in any event.”

  She paled. “You intend to go over?”

  “I must. Yvette de Maupassant may be in danger. She has serve
d England too well to be discarded.”

  She nodded. “You care about her.”

  “She is a stalwart ally,” Harry replied. “One I cherish. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should engage Villers in conversation.”

  Before he confessed that there was another lady who occupied his thoughts as much.

  Chapter Six

  Alas, nothing Patience or the estate laundress tried removed the stain from the white muslin. Miss Villers was surprisingly good about it.

  “It’s all right,” she told Patience as they returned from the laundry outbuilding. “I’ll simply have to put another piece over the spot, perhaps dye the gown. I look good in green.”

  Patience could only admire her practical nature. Still, the fact that she sought to repair rather than replace the gown suggested the rumors of their financial situation were true. Were Patience’s suspicions of their reason for remaining at Foulness Manor equally true?

  Harry had not been convinced. She’d seen the skepticism on his face. But the more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that Beau Villers had a deeper reason for visiting Gussie than trying to further a marriage between his sister and Harry.

  She mentioned the matter to Miss Thorn when they regrouped later. Harry and Mr. Villers were off in the gaming room behind the withdrawing room. Gussie had felt badly enough about Miss Villers’ dress that she’d offered to take her shopping in the village. So, Patience and her benefactress found themselves alone in the withdrawing room, Fortune prowling about the room.

  “I would need to consult my sources to be certain,” Miss Thorn told Patience as they sat together on the elegant sofa. “But I believe Sir Harry is correct about their constrained circumstances and Mr. Villers’ avid desire to see his sister marry well. We haven’t heard the last of them, I fear.”

  She clucked her tongue to warn Fortune away from the upholstered chair, which the cat had shown every intention of using to sharpen her claws. As if nothing were further from her mind, Fortune stalked past and leaped up into Patience’s lap.

  Patience stroked the soft fur. “Then our best option would be to keep them busy. So much for my afternoon off, I suppose. What did you learn from the cook?”

  Miss Thorn shifted on the sofa, and Fortune perked up as if hoping they were leaving.

  “Not a great deal,” she confessed. “The cook has ordered a ham from the local farmer and planned a few special dishes to accompany it, but she would dearly love more inspiration.”

  The door opened just then, and Patience clung to Fortune to prevent her from dashing out. Mr. Cuddlestone came through with the tea cart, shutting the door carefully behind him.

  “I thought perhaps you ladies might enjoy some refreshment,” he said as he rolled the cart closer, china chiming.

  She could not get over the willingness of Harry’s staff to converse. Lady Carrolton had frowned on anyone speaking, except herself, of course.

  “Thank you,” Patience said. “That was very kind of you, Mr. Cuddlestone.”

  He beamed at her as he righted the pieces. “Not at all, Miss Ramsey. Only the best for Sir Harry’s bride.”

  Guilt tugged at her.

  “Perhaps you can assist us in another matter, Cuddlestone,” Miss Thorn said.

  He turned to her eagerly. “Of course, madam. What do you need?”

  “Information, for one,” she said with a quick look to Patience. “What does one do for entertainment at Foulness Manor?”

  He drew himself up, round face turning surprisingly hard. “This is a proper household, madam. We are not in the habit of entertaining.”

  “Clearly,” Miss Thorn drawled.

  Patience kept her smile inside. “I believe what Miss Thorn is asking, Mr. Cuddlestone, is whether there are any proper activities available—archery, lawn bowling, and the sort. Something that would keep Miss Orwell’s guests happily occupied until Easter.”

  His stiffness eased. “Oh, indeed. Sir Harry was quite the busy lad. We have any number of games of that sort as well as fishing poles, kites, and rolling hoops.”

  She could imagine Harry running about the garden paths tugging on the string of a kite. “You knew Sir Harry when he was young, then.”

  His grey eyes warmed. “Oh, yes, miss. Such an active little fellow, always getting into mischief. Nothing serious, mind you,” he hurried to add. “Sir Harry is not his father.”

  He sounded thankful and very certain. She hadn’t the heart to suggest otherwise.

  “Given that you know Sir Harry so well,” Patience told the butler, “perhaps we could come up with a program. Would the estate have enough eggs for us to dye a few for Easter? I’m sure Gussie and I can come up with suitable dyes.”

  He drew himself up again, but the twinkle in his eyes belied the haughty look. “Of course, miss. Tell me what you want, and I’ll see it done.”

  Patience released Fortune, who twined about the tea cart for a time until she realized no one was going to pour for her. Patience, Miss Thorn, and Mr. Cuddlestone spent the next little while laying out a plan for the next week and a half before Easter. The butler promised to work with the cook and the rest of the staff to accomplish everything. By the way he bustled from the room, Patience couldn’t doubt him.

  “You’ve given him a purpose,” Miss Thorn said, rising to fetch Fortune from where she sat looking out the window, tail curling below the sill. “Now we need only make it through to Easter, and all will be well.”

  Patience thought so too. That is, until she refreshed herself before dinner and returned downstairs to the withdrawing room to find that Miss Villers had attached herself to Harry.

  She was leaning on his arm as they stood by the hearth, white silk evening dress draped against his breeches and stockings, face turned up as if she craved each word that fell from his lips. Lashes fluttered to such an extent Patience wondered Harry did not take a chill. Then again, Miss Villers was standing so closely he was probably quite warm.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured to Miss Thorn, with whom she’d come down, and she moved to join Harry by the hearth.

  Miss Villers did not look up at her approach, though Harry offered Patience a ready smile.

  “Miss Villers,” she said, “I’m so glad to see you took no lasting harm from this afternoon’s contretemps. How did the shopping go?”

  The girl turned as if surprised to find Patience at her side. “Oh, there you are. I’m fine, thank you. Shopping was delightful. We found the loveliest sky-blue wool. Gussie insisted on buying a length for you.”

  Patience stared at her. “For me? Why?”

  “Because it will compliment your coloring,” Miss Villers said as if anyone should realize that. “And you must call me Lydia. Harry does.” She transferred her gaze once more to his.

  Harry’s smile was all charm, but he shifted ever so slightly and suddenly Patience found herself pressed against him while she could count the inches of blue-painted wall between Harry and Lydia.

  “Very kind of you,” Patience said, feeling oddly more charitable toward the young lady. “Then I must be Patience.”

  “Better that than what I call you in private, eh, dearest?” Harry lowered his head as if to whisper something intimate in her ear. But what she heard was “Thank you.”

  She still blushed.

  Lydia beamed at them. “How utterly delightful. Beau was certain you were immune to marriage, Harry, yet there you stand, happy as a pair of larks.”

  He gave Patience a squeeze, and she felt warmer still. “All it takes is the right woman.”

  He was so attentive, so witty, through dinner that everyone perked up. By the time the strawberry trifle had been served, the ladies had all agreed to use first names with each other.

  “You two are certainly smelling of April and May,” Gussie remarked to Harry and Patience after they were all seated in the withdrawing room again.

  “And why not?” Harry asked with a smile to Patience. “Was ever any man so fortunate?”

>   Villers crossed his legs at the ankles. “Seldom have I seen anyone so happy.”

  There was an edge to his tone, but Patience couldn’t decide if he doubted their performance or was simply miffed he had lost Harry for Lydia.

  Lydia sighed, gaze going to the fire. “If only everyone was as happy.”

  Was that a bid for attention? Patience simply could not be sure of the woman. But at least she could assure her things need not be bleak.

  She sat taller in her chair next to Harry’s near the fire. “Meredith and I have been discussing Easter preparations and the remaining days of the house party.”

  As Patience had hoped, Lydia brightened, and her brother cocked his head as if willing to listen.

  “If the weather continues to hold fair,” Patience told them, “we hope to conduct activities outdoors. Archery, lawn bowling, and the like.”

  “Visits to the local antiquities?” Lydia suggested.

  Harry chuckled. “Sorry, but this part of Essex boasts nothing worth seeing.”

  “There’s a reason it’s called Foulness Manor,” her brother joked.

  Gussie scowled at him. “The name derives from a nest of waterfowl, sir, reference no doubt to the many nests in the hillside below the house.”

  He inclined in head, but his eyes glittered. “No doubt.”

  “Regardless,” Meredith put in, “between the outdoor activities and the Easter preparations, you should have no cause for ennui, sir.”

  Harry took Patience’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I am never bored in my Patience’s company.”

  The most delicious sensation skipped up her arm at the touch of his lips. If Patience hadn’t known better, she would have been convinced he loved her.

  Dangerous game. It made her feel things, wondrous things, that had no basis. She had come to Foulness Manor to find a purpose and following Sir Harry Orwell about with puppy-like adoration hardly sufficed.

  Particularly when he cheerfully bid them all goodnight early, leaving his guests with little excuse but to retire to their rooms as well.