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

by Regina Scott

  Ridiculous to tell her the truth, that he had not liked the way Villers had looked at her and had been determined to protect her. That his heart had overruled his head and still fought for supremacy.

  “Of course,” he said. “Did you have an opportunity to speak to him about the shore?”

  She nodded. She seemed to be standing a little taller, as if as determined as he was to master the emotions the kiss had engendered. “Yes. I mentioned my concern about your disappearances, and he offered to follow you for me.”

  Harry smiled. “Perfect. Julian and I will be waiting. Thank you, Patience. You need not feel obliged to continue playing the aggrieved lover.”

  She frowned, brows gathering over her pert nose. “But we cannot retire from the field. We must make sure he sees I have a reason for my concerns. I think you should do something scandalous this evening.”

  Harry quirked a brow. “Strip to my small clothes and dance around the withdrawing room, perhaps? Or will drinking myself under the table suffice?”

  By the way her lips tightened, she was fighting a smile. And there he went looking at her lips again!

  “Neither, thank you,” she said. “But you might flirt with Meredith and Lydia, just to prove you are not entirely devoted to me.”

  Who was she hoping to convince, the others or herself? He certainly needed a little convincing in that area. “Very well. I’ll flirt with Lydia. I doubt she’ll be in the least affected. And I fear neither Meredith nor Julian will approve of me approaching your friend. Fortune might even withdraw her approval should I trouble her mistress.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest. “Well, we can’t have that. Just be careful, Harry. This all sounds rather dangerous.” She shivered, but he had the impression it was more for show. Excusing herself, she hurried up the stairs to freshen up before dinner. Such a lithe form, light, graceful, like sunlight dancing through the curtains on a cold winter’s day. He watched until she disappeared around the corner of the landing.

  Oh, but he had it bad, and to what effect? He was in no position to offer a wife anything of worth. And, unlike his forefathers, he refused to offer Patience something less than marriage. She deserved the best. If only there was a way to be that sort of man.

  He turned to find Gussie watching him from the doorway to her laboratory.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, striding to his side.

  Harry affixed a smile to his face. “Why, nothing, Aunt.”

  She shook her head. “That tone never worked on me, and you know it. I could hear the raised voices from my laboratory. What happened?”

  Harry shrugged. “Just a quick kiss. Nothing momentous.” Even though it felt rather earth-shaking.

  Gussie put her hands on her hips. “Just a kiss, a private conversation. From what I can see, you are disturbing my assistant. I thought you and Patience had an understanding.”

  So did everyone else. “It is perhaps more complicated than that,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why is that the answer to most questions about you?”

  He shrugged.

  Gussie lay a hand on his arm. “Be careful, Harry. Don’t lose yourself in the game. I raised you to be better than our ancestors.”

  He stiffened, and her hand fell. “I assure you, madam, I am not my father. Now, excuse me. I need to change for dinner.”

  He was just glad she did not call him back.

  He was positioned at the hearth, impeccable in his evening black, when Villers and his sister entered. He strode across the room as if drawn to her side.

  “My dear Lydia, that color becomes you,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

  She blushed prettily, cheeks as pink as her evening gown, while her brother regarded him coolly.

  “Allow me to steal you away a moment,” Harry said.

  Villers did not protest as Harry led her to the hearth.

  “How can I help you, Harry?” she asked, looking up at him through her golden lashes.

  Harry kept her hand tucked in his arm. “Must I need help to request a moment of your time?”

  She fluttered her lashes. “You don’t generally approach me voluntarily. I’ve noticed. I warn you, if you intend to ask me to intercede for you with Patience, I fear she won’t believe me.”

  “And why would I need you to intercede for me with Patience?” he asked, bending closer. “I am all innocence, I assure you.”

  Her lips curved up. Funny how they held no appeal. “Beau would have it otherwise. He was encouraging me to accept you if you offered, to encourage you to offer even. But he seems to have changed his mind.”

  He knew her brother wasn’t being thoughtful of the so-called engagement to Patience. “And why would he do that?” he murmured.

  Her eyes widened. “Why, because you are besotted, of course. It’s quite evident, sir. You love Patience Ramsey.”

  He could not allow her to be correct. “We have an agreement. Marriage would benefit us both.”

  She cocked her head, firelight setting the silver bobs at her ears to sparkling. “I see the advantages for her. It is the same as what Beau wanted for me. Marry you, and she becomes Lady Orwell. But she has even less fortune and family name than I have. What do you gain?”

  Love. Companionship. Someone who believed in him, despite what others said. Someone who would help him become the man he wanted to be. But he could say none of that aloud. He was afraid how much he was coming to want it.

  “I gain a biddable wife,” he replied, “willing to overlook my peccadillos.”

  She giggled. “Oh, Harry, I doubt that’s Patience. She coats her criticism with honey, but she’s no milk-and-water miss. She’ll argue with you.”

  Harry chuckled. “She might at that. Frequently.”

  Lydia smiled. “Not too frequently, I think. By the ways she looks at you, she loves you too.”

  Hope surged up. As if she saw it, Lydia laughed again as she patted his arm. “It’s all right, Harry. Love can be very pleasant, I hear. You should enjoy it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to talk to Gussie about that latest preparation. I think we should add strawberries.” Mouth wiggling as if she chewed on the idea, she wandered off.

  Harry turned to find Patience standing in the doorway. The yearning on her face cut through him. She’d told him to flirt with Lydia. Did she regret it now?

  Was Lydia right, and Patience felt something for him after all?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Why was it so painful to see Harry with Lydia? Even though the girl had joined Gussie on the other side of the room, the picture of her with Harry, heads together, Lydia’s lashes fluttering, had seared itself into Patience’s mind. She’d been the one to suggest the assignation. She should not have such regrets now. She made herself smile and went to engage Mr. Mayes in conversation. At least that was useful. It kept him away from Meredith, who had latched onto Lydia’s brother, much to the fellow’s consternation.

  Somehow, Patience made it through dinner. Though she was seated to Harry’s left as his betrothed, she spent most of the meal conversing with Julian Mayes on her other side. She was supposed to be angry with Harry, after all. She must play the aggrieved betrothed until Harry had caught Mr. Villers or proven his innocence. To her surprise, Mr. Mayes was pleasant, even witty. But then again, scoundrels should be good at that sort of thing.

  After dinner, she partnered Meredith on a game of whist with Gussie and Lydia. The three men stood apart, eyeing each other. A shame her ruse prevented her from intervening. She accompanied Meredith to the bedchambers early as if just as loath to remain in their company.

  Her friend looked weary, her steps slow as they approached the room they now shared. Even her fashionable purple skirts seemed to sag. Patience felt for her.

  “Mr. Mayes shows no sign of giving up his pursuit,” she ventured. “Perhaps if you spoke to him…”

  “Never,” Meredith vowed. She swept into the room and bent to see to
Fortune as if dismissing Patience as well.

  Patience sighed. So many hopes for romance, from Lydia, from her brother, from Julian Mayes, and from her, and none likely to come true.

  After Emma helped her and Meredith change for bed, Patience turned down the lamp and sat by the window for a while, gazing out at the darkness. She’d claimed to have seen Harry from her window, but in truth she could see little with clouds covering the moon. Were Harry and his friend lying in wait for Lydia’s brother? Had the fellow been caught? Had he confessed some dark secret for following Harry? She likely wouldn’t know until morning, which was an inordinately long time coming.

  She was the first one down to breakfast. Mr. Cuddlestone smiled at her as he poured her a cup of tea. He then offered toast and various pots of jam and honey before requesting to know what else he might bring her.

  “Nothing,” Patience assured him. Then she lowered her voice, mindful of Wilkins bringing in more toast. “Have you seen anything worth reporting?”

  Mr. Cuddlestone sighed. “Precious little, miss. Yesterday was that valet’s half day off. He didn’t return to the house until late. I smelled alcohol about his person.” He wrinkled his nose.

  “And Harry returned safely?” she whispered.

  “Hale and hearty. You needn’t worry about him, miss. He can take care of himself.”

  She wished she believed that.

  Gussie arrived just then, and Mr. Cuddlestone hurried off to relay her requests to the cook. “Have I missed the others?” she asked, taking her seat.

  “No,” Patience told her. “Everyone seems to have slept late.”

  Meredith came in next, looking heavy-eyed and walking quickly, as if trying to outdistance Mr. Mayes, a few steps behind her. Even he looked as if he’d been up late, with shadows under his eyes and a yawn hidden behind his hand.

  “Did you and Harry stay up playing cards?” Gussie asked.

  He nodded as he sank onto a seat. “Though neither of us had much luck.” He glanced to Patience.

  No luck? Had Mr. Villers not followed them after all? She was certain she’d convinced him.

  Harry arrived with Mr. Cuddlestone and most of the food. She thought many people would be fooled by the pleased smile Harry wore. She was more concerned that worry sat behind his eyes.

  “Good morning,” he said to the room at large. “I regret to inform you that Beau Villers is unwell. His valet let me know. Apparently, something he ate disagreed with him. He’ll be staying in bed today.”

  “I will send up a tisane,” Gussie offered. “And perhaps the newest formulation.”

  “I’d advise against that,” Lydia said from the doorway. “At least on the formulation.”

  Harry turned and stumbled back from her. Patience pressed a hand to her lips. Lydia’s usual creamy complexion was blotched red and speckled with large white bumps.

  “I don’t think strawberries were the missing ingredient after all,” she said. “That may have been what sickened Beau. But I do think we should keep trying.”

  As Mr. Mayes stood with all propriety and Meredith held Fortune close, Patience hurried forward and took Lydia’s hand. “Have you a fever? An upset stomach?”

  “No,” Lydia replied cheerfully. “It’s just my face. No harm done.”

  Patience glanced at Gussie. “A great deal of harm done if we damage your complexion.”

  Gussie rose. “What is damaged can be repaired. Come, Lydia. We’ll try the ground chicken feathers next.”

  “Perhaps breakfast first,” Patience suggested, surprised to feel the heat of temper rising inside. “Mr. Cuddlestone can make sure the room is ready for us.” She glanced to the butler, who nodded his understanding.

  “It will only take a few moments, madam,” he assured Gussie before bowing himself out.

  Gussie dropped back onto her chair. “Oh, very well. I could stand some tea.” She raised her cup, and Wilkins hurried to fill it.

  “Allow me, Lydia,” Harry said, holding out a chair next to Patience’s.

  Lydia sat with a smile to them both. “Thank you.”

  Harry dropped his voice and bent closer as he pushed in the chair. “Allow me to apologize for my aunt. Her enthusiasm for her work is contagious, but we should not follow her against our better judgement.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Lydia assured him. “It wasn’t as if I was having any luck attracting a husband.”

  Harry frowned.

  “Nonsense,” Patience said, laying her hand on Lydia’s shoulder as she returned to her seat. “You are quick and good-natured. There is no reason you cannot make a match.”

  Harry nodded, straightening, and Patience could only be glad for his support. Mr. Mayes returned to his seat, and Meredith loosed Fortune, who scampered under the table.

  “I’m a penniless girl from an upstart family one generation away from trade,” Lydia said with no rancor in her tone as Wilkins approached hesitantly. “I’d much rather be useful than settle for a mess of porridge.” She selected two pieces of toast from the footman’s tray and requested a pot of chocolate.

  Patience could hardly argue, as the sentiment matched her own. Fortune rubbed against her skirts, and she bent to lift the cat into her lap. Fortune regarded Lydia as if trying to determine whether she approved of the new look.

  Mr. Mayes rose again. “Perhaps a stroll before breakfast, Harry?”

  Harry glanced at Patience. Seeking permission? Not her borrowed baronet. He was surely playing his part.

  “I’ll just sit with Lydia for a time,” she said.

  His smile acknowledged her decision. He turned to join his friend, and the two headed out the door. Meredith’s sigh of relief was audible.

  Gussie popped back up. “I simply cannot be still. I’ll help Cuddlestone. He may dispense with the wrong preparation.”

  And Gussie might prepare something worse. Patience smiled at her. “Mr. Cuddlestone has never harmed your experiments in the past. Besides, if you leave now, you won’t hear my suggestions to Lydia.”

  “Suggestions?” Gussie tiptoed closer, as if unable to bear the suspense. Meredith covered her smile with her napkin.

  Patience calmly sipped her tea before answering. “Yes. I have my doubts about chicken feathers.”

  “Indeed.” Gussie perched on the other side of her, eyes wide and encouraging.

  Patience nodded to Lydia to continue eating, then turned to Gussie. “The more I think about it, the more I dislike any association with fowl. Chickens, geese, pigeons—none of them have ever been associated with the improvement of the skin.”

  “More likely the plumping of pillows or comforters,” Meredith pointed out.

  Head resting against Patience’s chest, Fortune purred her agreement.

  Gussie pursed her lips as she took Harry’s seat. “True. But perhaps they have more efficacious properties unknown because no other apothecary has dared.”

  Whereas Gussie dared far too cheerfully.

  “Yet there are other things long associated with a clear complexion,” Patience persisted. “Cucumbers, lavender, roses.”

  “Cream,” Meredith suggested. “Apricots.”

  Gussie wrinkled her nose. “Prosaic, the lot of them.”

  There had to be something she could do to keep her from putting something poisonous onto or into Lydia. Unfortunately, the girl had other ideas.

  “Pearls!” she cried, shoving away the last of her toast. “Is that not why many a gentleman praises a lady? For her pearly skin.”

  Gussie pushed back her chair so quickly the footman had to catch it before it toppled over backward. “Of course! I have a strand in my room. We’ll grind them to a powder and mix them into the formulation. Brilliant!” She rushed from the room.

  Patience sighed. “I’m not sure ground pearls are any better for your skin then strawberries or eggs, Lydia, just costlier.”

  “Who knows?” Lydia said with a twinkle in her eyes. “That’s the fun of experimenting.” She started to
rise, but Patience caught her arm.

  “But at what price? Even if it works, what lady can afford to purchase skin ointment made from pearls?”

  “Lady Carrolton, I imagine,” Meredith put in, rising to come fetch Fortune. “The Duchess of Wey, the Duke of Emerson’s daughters.”

  “Anyone with sufficient funds and interest,” Lydia agreed. “Gussie could make a fortune.”

  Patience frowned at the dreamy tone. “Is that why you’re helping her? With the hope she’ll share the money?”

  Lydia studied her nails. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “So, you would trade your beauty for income?” Meredith demanded.

  Fortune raised her head, purr grinding to a halt.

  Lydia raised her chin. “Many girls do. I’m certainly not the sort men fall in love with. Beau’s been dangling me like a worm on a hook for years, and the only fellow to show interest decided against me. Harry was our best hope. Not that I mind you winning him.”

  Patience peered closer. Even through the blotches on the girl’s cheeks, there was no sign of a blush, no stiffening of her slender shoulders. Patience hadn’t been so calm when Robert had defected.

  “You really don’t care that he chose another?” she asked.

  Lydia smiled. “How could I when it’s clear you love each other?”

  Meredith frowned, holding Fortune closer as if she feared the emotion was contagious. But surely she knew there were no emotions involved. Even if Meredith could have forgotten their agreement, Patience and Harry hadn’t done all that great a job of acting.

  Still, she did not intend to lie to Lydia now.

  “I care about Harry,” she said, dropping her gaze to the pristine white tablecloth. “But I’m not sure he feels the same.”

  Lydia took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “He does. I see it in his eyes when he looks at you. All you need do is put yourself out a little, and you’ll find him living in your pocket.”

  Meredith shook her head, as if altogether unsure of the wisdom of that advice. Yet something stirred inside Patience. Could Lydia be right? Could it be that easy? If Patience told Harry she was coming to care for him, would she find he felt the same?