Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1)

by Sara Ramsey

  Callie drew herself up. “The company was respectable enough for my father, and he was the son of an earl. I can manage it just as well.”

  “An exiled son of an earl is a world apart from an unmarried granddaughter of an earl,” Anthony shot back.

  Thorington intervened. “Anthony, go to your room if you are incapable of being civil to Miss Briarley. Miss Briarley, a word?”

  “Do you plan to explain to me what you meant when you claimed your brother is willing to marry me?” she asked sweetly. “Because I begin to believe that he was not entirely informed.”

  Thorington looked behind him, through the open door to the hallway beyond. “No. But if you don’t wish to be rescued, I shall leave you here. A fortune-hunter would be happy to find you alone, I’m sure.”

  Callie thought of a number of setdowns for him — thus far, he was the only fortune-hunter who had found her alone. But Anthony didn’t let her talk.

  “If she disgraces me, I shall never forgive you,” he said to Thorington.

  She switched to thinking of setdowns for Anthony instead. But Thorington’s steady, assessing gaze drew her attention back to him — and she wasn’t sure she liked the direction her thoughts took as she considered the crystalline brilliance of his green eyes.

  “She won’t disgrace anyone,” Thorington said. “I will make sure of it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  He had retrieved her from the breakfast room before she’d clawed Anthony’s eyes out, but it was a near thing. The boy would have deserved it — even if he didn’t want to marry her, he could at least be charming — but Thorington wanted to leave him unmaimed.

  They had walked outside for five minutes — two minutes longer than he expected — before Callista finally balked. “Say what you wish to say,” she said. “I’ll go no farther. And if you need a reminder of how business is conducted, sirrah, know that even though we have an agreement, it does not give you leave to treat me like a child who must be contained.”

  They were somewhere in Maidenstone’s vast ornamental gardens, which were large enough that it was easy to find a spot where they could talk without being overheard. Callista’s maid, whom he’d forced her to call as a chaperone, walked behind them, out of earshot but adding a thin veneer of respectability in case anyone saw them from the windows of the house. He glanced around the vicinity and pointed to a nearby bench. “You may be assured that I do not see you as a child. Please, be comfortable, Miss Briarley.”

  She stayed standing. “You have one minute, sirrah.”

  “Am I keeping you from something more important?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin. “My correspondence is very important.”

  “I’m sure your needlework is as well,” he said drily. “But humor me for a moment while we discuss the more mundane topic of your future.”

  She walked to the bench, holding her hands behind her back as though she was being walked to the gallows. When she sat, her shoulders rounded — not quite a slump, but not the fortified posture he was accustomed to seeing from her.

  “Are you feeling well, Miss Briarley?” he asked.

  Callista nodded. “What do you wish to tell me?”

  He sat beside her. The stone bench was still cool, although the morning sun had burned away the worst of the dew. “Are you warm enough?”

  She waved her hand impatiently. “If you are going to go back on your word, please do not keep me waiting. Say what you came to say.”

  Thorington shook his head. “That is not what I came to say. I take my vows seriously.”

  “Is that so?” she asked. She lifted her head, and he sensed the moment when her fire came back to her. “Then if you intend to uphold our bargain, you should be talking to Anthony, not me. He is the one who is likely to put everything at risk.”

  He should have talked to Anthony as soon as he’d left her room the night before, even if it had meant waking his brother up. He hadn’t anticipated that the chit would reach the breakfast room before him — he hadn’t anticipated that she would be there at all, since the women of the party would take trays in their rooms. And so he had indulged his rare desire to avoid a confrontation and chosen to delay his conversation with Anthony until morning.

  His self-indulgence had cost him, as it always did. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  And so even though there was a disused part of him that wanted to see Callista remain exactly as she was — an impulse he refused to examine — he crushed that desire and replaced it with determination. “I will talk to Anthony. But the boy has a valid concern. You must develop your social graces if you are to survive the ton.”

  “If this is because I have refused to call you ‘your grace,’ do not fret. I will behave myself with other dukes.”

  “What will your title be if you marry my brother?” he asked.

  She looked at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Excuse me. What will your title be when you marry my brother?”

  He had slipped, just a bit. But that wasn’t what she had taken issue with. “It is your question that surprises me, not how you phrased it.”

  “Do you know the answer?” he asked.

  Callista frowned. “I don’t see how it signifies.”

  Her hesitation told him all he needed to know. “I will give you three choices. Will you be Mrs. Anthony Emmerson-Fairhurst, Lady Callista Emmerson-Fairhurst, or Lady Emmerson-Fairhurst?”

  She watched his face carefully as he said all three, as though she might be able to read the answer there. “Lady Emmerson-Fairhurst?”

  Her voice tilted up at the end, questioning. He smiled. “You need me, Miss Briarley. I will teach you all you need to know.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’d have patience to play the governess,” she said.

  “I have infinite patience when it suits the situation.”

  She nipped at her bottom lip with her teeth. He thought, briefly, that he might be able to have infinite patience for her. But he stabbed that thought in the heart and laid it to rest with all his other inconvenient emotions.

  “I will admit that my education wasn’t designed to make me a lady,” she said.

  “I’m sure you were educated to foment revolt and lead rebellions, not waltz and pour tea.”

  She laughed. “Is that what you think of American educations?”

  “I’ve no idea. But I would not be surprised if you told me that you’d only learned how to shoot muskets and skin rabbits.”

  Callista pursed her lips in mock reproof. “I learned to shoot a handgun, not a musket. It is more difficult to hide a musket in one’s reticule.”

  “And the rabbits?” he asked.

  “I prefer to clean fish,” she said.

  “My little colonial,” Thorington said. “So skilled, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not a colonial,” Callista retorted. “I am an American.”

  She didn’t dispute that she was his, though. That thought hung over his head like a noose. If he let it drop another inch, he’d be caught by it.

  “I’m sure your skills are perfectly suited to your old life,” he said smoothly. “But if you wish to have a chance at winning Maidenstone, you must learn to live in this world.”

  “Do you have any character references?” she asked.

  Thorington snorted. “There isn’t a man alive who would give me one.”

  “Then how am I to know whether I should hire you as my governess?” she said.

  He laughed. She’d tricked the sound out of him again. “If you aren’t paying me, I do not think it should be considered employment. Not that I’d dirty my hands with work. Consider it a favor.”

  “But you aren’t doing it for me, are you?” she asked. “You’re doing it for your dynastic ambitions.”

  “Everything is for my ambitions.”

  Her eyes held a hint of judgment — the same judgment others may have felt for him in the past, but everyone else was better at feigning respect for a man of hi
s means. “That is a sad reflection, sirrah.”

  “First lesson: do not say ‘sirrah’ again unless you wish me to rap your knuckles for it. And my ambitions are not so different than yours.”

  “I’m not wholly focused on what I need to get from others,” she said.

  “Possibly not. But you accepted this arrangement with as much avarice as I did. Now, if you want to keep what you’re trying so hard to win, you’ll allow me to instruct you on how to behave.”

  Her jaw clenched in a decidedly unladylike way. But eventually she nodded. “Teach me whatever you feel you must teach me. But if your brother continues to see me as a pariah rather than a possible partner, I will find someone who will appreciate me as I am.”

  “You cannot go back on your word,” he said.

  “I never do. But I won’t have to. Your brother isn’t as willing as you led me to believe last night. I will do my best to win him over — it’s in all our best interests. But if I cannot entice him with the prospect of gaining Maidenstone in exchange for giving me my freedom, he may break the deal despite our efforts.”

  “I will take care of Anthony. Let me escort you back to the house. You should change into something more appropriate for this morning’s activities.”

  She looked down at her blue cotton dress. “What is wrong with my gown?”

  “It’s more suited for working in a garden than sitting in a drawing room sparring with your cousins. And that sapphire pendant is wholly inappropriate for daytime. Wear something white — you want to look as pure and unattainable as possible.”

  “I don’t have any white day dresses,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “They are difficult for the laundress,” Callista said defensively. “And anyway, I prefer color.”

  “Of course you do.” She would look stunning in something jewel-toned — something meant for seduction and sin. Something that matched her necklace, not something designed for a debutante.

  He shook his head and regained his focus. “White is required. You are approximately the same height and shape as Lady Portia. She will make a loan of her dresses until we can buy you a better wardrobe.”

  Callista frowned. “I don’t want to waste my money on clothing.”

  “And I don’t want to waste my time on arguments. I’ll have one of her dresses sent to you within fifteen minutes of our return to the house. Then you must go through her wardrobe and take whatever you need. I sent a messenger to London — a modiste should arrive within the week.”

  He’d also asked the messenger to learn what he could of Callista’s shipping endeavors before returning to Maidenstone. Her desire to run the company herself was no concern of his — but she was rather more eager for the task than anyone, man or woman, of their social circle should have been when given the option of living an idle life in the country.

  In the past, with his old luck, Thorington wouldn’t have considered the risks. Risks always came out in his favor. But he couldn’t forget that his investment in Callista — in choosing her, training her, and convincing Anthony to accept her — could go as sour as everything else he’d touched recently. Investigating Tiberius Shipping and what it meant to her was prudent. Perhaps the most prudent decision he’d made in an age.

  He knew better than to tell her that, though.

  “Willful duke,” she muttered.

  Thorington smiled. “Only because the world runs more smoothly if I arrange it.”

  Callista stood. He stood with her, offering his arm. She knew better than to spurn it, but she couldn’t seem to resist digging into him. “I will learn so fast that I shan’t have to spend more than a few hours in your company.”

  “Of course, Lady Anthony.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

  “Lady Anthony. Your title after you marry my brother will be Lady Anthony.”

  “That wasn’t one of the choices you gave me.”

  “It was a test. I couldn’t risk you guessing correctly and not telling me it was a guess.”

  “Then if I am Lady Anthony, no one will call me by my own name again, will they?” she asked.

  “No. Not unless they are very close companions and you invite them to.”

  Callista’s hand tightened on his arm. “This marriage business isn’t very fair, is it?”

  Ariana’s claws had dug into his arm like that on many occasions. Then, it had felt like a trap — one he walked into again, and again, in some self-loathing desire to fulfill his vows to the wife he hadn’t wanted.

  Now, with Callista, it felt like she was trying to anchor herself to him — trying to find safe harbor in the treacherous seas of the ton.

  He shook his head. He was ascribing feelings to her that she likely didn’t have. And he was letting himself imagine things that might only torture him.

  “No, it’s not fair. But the ton is like a game of chance. If you learn the rules, you have a better chance of beating the odds.”

  They walked around a hedge and onto the lawn, approaching the house from the side, with Callista’s maid still trailing behind them. Maidenstone loomed ahead of them. In the morning light, with a breeze blowing in from the sea, it looked more mystical than it was. The vaults and arches of the mostly abandoned Gothic wing, off to the side but never demolished, were magical, not a looming architectural disaster. The Tudor wing, remade from the abbey, looked ready to house a queen, not a passel of fortune-hunters. The Palladian rooms, built in the 1600s by Inigo Jones, still showed off their grandly symmetrical loggias and porticoes. Light streamed into the modern rooms of the Georgian wing, airing out the haunted corners.

  The Briarleys may have spent centuries killing each other, but they couldn’t seem to let go of the rooms their ancestors had built. Any other owner with their wealth would have torn it all down and rebuilt in the latest style. But he had to admit the abbey had a certain charm, even if it made no attempt to blend harmoniously with its surroundings.

  “Is your house as magnificent as this?” Callista asked.

  “Fairhurst is a manor house. It was all rebuilt in the last decade. It’s more commodious, but less interesting.”

  It also had suddenly developed a leaking roof and a bad case of rot in the basements, according to the latest letter from his land steward. But Callista didn’t need to know that.

  “It must be nice to have so much history around you,” she said. “I like my house in Baltimore, but it isn’t the same.”

  “If you want history, I should take you to Bath. It has been used for its waters since Roman times.”

  “I think I shall be quite content exploring Maidenstone for the moment. From my father’s stories, it must hold any number of secrets.”

  “Then you will have to learn your lessons well so that you may win it. Unmarried ladies cannot go exploring alone.”

  She tilted her face up to him. “What if you went exploring with me?”

  A dark moment of tension hung between them, at odds with the brilliant morning sunshine. They were both talking of the future — of a future in which they sought out amusements together — that could never happen.

  “You wouldn’t want to go on an adventure with me, Miss Briarley,” he said lightly. “With my luck, we’d find a dragon instead of a treasure.”

  “Dragons are more interesting than treasure,” Callista said.

  He let himself wonder whether she’d find him more interesting. But then she laughed a little, as though she were joking, and he knew it could not be.

  He had a week, perhaps two, to teach her everything she needed to know to be a good wife for Anthony. And he had the same time to convince his brother that she was the most delightful woman he would ever meet. Surely once Anthony had spent a few hours with her, he would see how lovely she could be.

  Once they were settled, Thorington would return to London and complete the messy business of dealing with his creditors. Better for Anthony and Callista both if they were on their honeymoon — preferably some
place far removed from the City — when that happened.

  And better for Thorington if the marriage happened as quickly as possible. The cemetery where he buried all his inconvenient emotions was filling up too fast for comfort.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “The dress suits you,” Thorington said to her two hours later.

  Callie smoothed her gloved hands over the stark white muslin, feeling self-conscious in Portia’s borrowed dress. “This is entirely impractical for a walk along the cliffs.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, offering her his arm. “If you fall into the sea, your body will be perfectly dramatic.”

  They were setting off on an expedition to explore the cliffs with Rafe and his sisters. If Anthony had been invited, he had refused. No one else would come with them — after the first suitor had expressed an overly-jovial interest in joining them and been skewered by Thorington for it, the rest had kept their distance.

  “I am not afraid of heights,” Callie warned. “So if I faint or fall to my death, it will only be because you pushed me.”

  “There has not yet been a rumor of me killing a woman. I would prefer to keep it that way.”

  “We could have our first lesson in the library,” she pointed out. “It is less likely that either of us would die there.”

  He ushered her through the front door instead, out into the brilliant sunshine. “Wouldn’t want the servants to overhear me quizzing you on the titles and estates of everyone in attendance,” he said as soon as they were out of earshot of the footmen. “They would take word to Lucretia, and she would use it against you at the first opportunity.”

  Portia had been trailing behind with Rafe and Serena, but she caught up to them before they reached the edge of the lawn. “Hold a moment, Miss Briarley,” she commanded.

  “What is it?” Callie asked. “Have I already ruined your dress?”

  Portia came around to face Callie, untying the green ribbon on the poke bonnet that she had included in the loan of the dress. “It’s the fashion to tie the bow on the side, not directly under the chin,” Portia said, making a quick adjustment. “Tell your maid to talk to my maid about how to dress your hair. It would be better with a bit of curl.”