by Deb Marlowe
“Too bad we couldn’t just make a trade between us,” she said with a smile. “But here we are instead, on the verge of a perilous pretense.”
“Perilous?” Hart frowned. Why did he feel slightly bewildered every time she spoke? “Daunting perhaps. It will be quite a bit of work, especially for you. But perilous?”
“Daunting for me, perhaps you are right.” Her gaze unfocused as if she were thinking. “There are obstacles. I don’t have the right wardrobe, for one.”
“I’ll see to that,” he said easily.
“And will I not need a sponsor, if you wish me to go about in Society?” She frowned. “I assume you do wish me to make public appearances, otherwise why bother?”
“My mother will be your sponsor.”
She blinked. “Truly? Well, that will solve a whole host of difficulties, I should think. But still, this is a perilous business for you, my lord.”
“For me?” She’d stumped him again.
“Yes, for you will be quite at my mercy, won’t you?” She shook her head. “Hestia Wright was wrong about one thing—I’m not a gentlewoman, not really.”
He had no idea how to respond to that.
“I have ties to your beau monde, if I am to be truthful.”
“Truthful would be best,” he agreed ironically.
“Actually, my mother has ties—to some of the highest blood in the land. But they are not recognized ties, if you know what I mean.”
Did he? She was illegitimately connected to Society? And would it interfere?
Frowning greatly, she appeared to be considering the same question. “But my situation is not likely to change and I do not have to use my real name—which likely means nothing to anyone, anyway.” She nodded, as if she’d solved the puzzle to her satisfaction. “There now. We can forge ahead. And you can rest assured that you are in good hands, my lord. There are a great many unscrupulous girls in every class of society. I can imagine any one of them who would go along with your scheme, just for a chance to cry foul and compromise later—and force your hand. Never mind that the betrothal was false, the marriage would be real enough—or your honor destroyed.”
Hart stilled, but she merely smiled and forged on. “It’s a good thing you found me, then, isn’t it? I’ll never play you false like that, sir. I’ll stick strictly to the terms of our agreement.”
She raised her brows expectantly.
He was still reeling from her little speech. What a fascinating conundrum she was. Clearly she’d had a little experience with the wicked ways of the world, but next to none with persons in his position. If he toyed with a girl of his own class, he would be caught, as she said. But with her—a girl with no family, no protection? She was in more danger from him than the reverse. Did she not know that he could have her jailed with a word? He could easily crush her future, and the future of anyone else who lived with her in Cheapside.
But he would not. He was a man of his word—and a man a bit unbalanced by her charming mix of worldliness and naïveté.
Or perhaps the sensation was caused by the odd motion of her brows, still dancing up and down as she gazed at him, waiting.
For what? “Errr...?’ Thank God there was no one here to witness the utter defeat of his sangfroid.
“The terms?” she repeated. “Of our agreement?”
“Oh, yes. Much of the groundwork is laid,” he told her. “I’d been expecting my cousin to play the role, you see. A distant cousin, from America.”
“Ah, that’s where the Americans come in.” She frowned. “Do they dance?”
He gaped at her. “I don’t know.” But the thought struck him. “Do you?”
“Barely,” she admitted.
“Well, we can have a dancing instructor in. I’ve no doubt you will pick it up quickly.” He cast a dark look at her ensemble. “I assume you are sound, under all of that.”
She laughed. “Sound enough to dance at a few balls. And you may laugh if you like, but this outfit is as good as armor.”
“Armor?”
“Yes. I am making deliveries later today. Ironic, that I’m delivering articles meant to enhance and bring attention to a girl’s looks—but the safest bet is to downplay my own. It’s best to be invisible, out here on my own. But I’m tall, and that makes it difficult. So I go for dowdy, harried, and hurried.”
“I see.” He did not like to think of her wandering the streets unprotected. Fortunate again, then, that her waggling eyebrows distracted him again.
“Sir?” she asked. “Can we please address the terms?”
“Oh. Yes. I had offered my cousin a respectable dowry in return for her help. I will offer you the same amount, of course.”
“A dowry.” He rather thought she was holding her breath. “How much?”
“Two thousand pounds.”
It was her turn to gape. “Two . . . thousand . . . pounds?” she repeated weakly.
He nodded.
She went boneless and leaned back against the seat.
He laughed. “Satisfactory, then? Good. In return, you will stay with my mother through the Season. We’d already decided that we would keep it a quiet stay. No court presentation or large, fancy betrothal ball. We’ve put it out that Emmaline was not used to going about in Society much, but you will be expected to go along with many of the other usual activities—teas, calls, the occasional ball or night at the theatre, walks in the park, etc.”
She stared at him for a moment, then sat straight again. “And us, my lord?”
“Us?”
“What will we do together? As a newly betrothed couple?”
“Oh. Well, I suppose I shall take you for a ride in the park, send you a posy or two. Dance with you when it cannot be helped. That sort of thing. Fortunately it’s not fashionable for engaged couples to live in each other’s pockets.”
“Fortunately,” she repeated wryly.
“I daresay you won’t see much of me at all.”
“If that is what you wish, then it will be as you say,” she promised with the air of someone making a vow.
He thought about it. “I suppose I just want you to keep your head down,” he mused. “I wish you to be seen but to move quietly through the next few weeks, and I shall do the same, if there is any justice in the world.”
She thrust her hand out. “Shall we shake on it, then, my lord?”
He took her small, white hand in his—and was dismayed to feel the calluses on her gloveless fingers.
Oblivious, she continued. “Now, when and how shall I arrive at your home?”
He shook himself back into the present. “I’d like to maintain the illusion that you’ve come from America, even with the servants. If you could, get yourself to this shipping company’s address at ten o’clock tomorrow morning . . .”
Emily lifted her chin and allowed Madame Lalbert to fuss with the buttons of her new pelisse. The hackney swayed horribly as they navigated the narrow streets of Wapping, but the modiste and her needle persisted. “There,” she said at last. “You are ready, and a fine job of it I did too, in just a few hours.”
“Thank you, Madame,” Emily said fervently.
“It will be well worth it when you come in to order your new wardrobe.”
“I will, I promise. And thank you so much for taking Mama in. I’ll be so much easier knowing that you are looking out for her and Jasper.”
“It will be quite a nice change,” her mother piped in. “Madame has asked me to look over her books and help out in the showroom. You know how much I’ve missed running the shop, my dear. It will be as if I’m having an adventure as you are having yours.”
“Yes—and I will be able to see you when I come for selections and fittings—but most importantly, at the end of it we’ll have enough money to do as we please.” She reached for her hand. “How does a little ribbon shop in Edinburgh sound, Mama? You’ve talked of going home again. You could have the run of a smaller enterprise—and only embroider when you wished to.”
“Oh!” Her mother’s eyes shone. “Isn’t that a fine idea?”
“Don’t s’pose you’ll need a delivery boy?” Jasper interjected.
“Oh, no.” Meeting her mother’s eye, Emily shook her head. “We’ll be looking for a fine young apprentice, though, to learn the running of the business.”
“Me?”
“Who else?”
Jasper swelled with pride.
“Emily, it sounds grand, but are you sure—”
“I’m sure, Mama.” Emily refused to think otherwise.
“I want you to be careful,” her mother said, her tone going low and urgent. “Enjoy yourself as you can, but remember that this is only temporary. I don’t want you to grow too used to such a fine lifestyle—or for such company—and pine for it when it’s gone.”
Her heart softened. Emily knew what went unspoken beneath her mother’s words. Quiet longing for someone who was never coming—Emily knew what that looked like, because she’d seen it in her mother’s face over the years. “Don’t fret,” she reassured her. “Lord Hartsford is a gentleman and will treat me fairly. And I am harboring no girlish dreams of becoming a countess. I have promised to adhere to the letter of our agreement and so I shall.” She smiled gently. “It’s a business arrangement, nothing more.”
“Of course.”
“Here is where we’ll stop,” Madame Lalbert said, looking out the window. “Jasper, you see her safely to the warehouse, then stay close and watch over her until his lordship arrives. Come straight back, then. We’ll wait for you.” She handed Emily her portmanteau. “We’ll expect you to be a frequent visitor at the shop.”
“I feel a veritable mania for fashion coming on,” Emily laughed. “Goodbye, Mama.” She kissed her soft cheek. “I will see you very soon.”
“Take care, my dear,” her mother whispered. “Please, take care.”
Emily kissed her again and descended from the coach. She had to fight back tears as she and Jasper set off, but it grew easier as they moved away. She could do this. She was happy to do this and secure a better future for them all.
“What if he sees you, Em?” Jasper looked worried. “The old gentleman? What if he sees you at one of them balls?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Jasper. Even if the old Duke spots me across a ballroom, he won’t see me. He’s looking for a girl in the street, not just another debutante. The girl he’s looking for dresses in shapeless sacks and covers her hair with a cheap scarf. Instead, I’ll be dressed in pastels, one more young miss in a sea of them. It’s the perfect place to hide!”
“If you say so.” He didn’t seem convinced. “He doesn’t seem like a dim one to me.”
“Well, he was never bright enough to wish to recognize Mama as one of his own, so I don’t set great store by his judgment.” And that was irrefutable, in her opinion. Anyone who ignored the chance to be a part of her mother’s life was foolish beyond redemption.
Jasper gave in as they grew near the shipping office. Emily gave his hand a quick squeeze, and entered. The clerk in the front room merely shrugged when she asked if she might wait for his lordship, before going back to his work. Emily took up a position at the window to wait—but it was only minutes before the earl drew up in a gorgeous, lacquered landeau.
She watched him climb down, mutely delighted that she could feast her eyes for a moment, unnoticed.
He was handsome. She’d discovered that in the carriage yesterday. She’d gone to her bed late and her last conscious thought had been of his brown eyes and how they had looked fathoms deep in the dim light, of the chiseled jaw and the proud nose, a shade too long—just long enough to be interesting, not enough to ruin his pleasing profile.
He looked different today, she noticed as he paused for a word with the servant who climbed down from behind. Polished.
Yesterday he’d been the slightest bit disheveled—his hair mussed and his neck cloth crooked and his eyebrows slightly wild and askew. Testimony, she supposed, to the level of agitation he’d been driven to.
Today, though, he looked . . . like an earl. Carved from years of privilege. Consequence and history stretched out behind him and eased his way ahead. He moved into the shop with smooth grace and utter confidence.
She must remember that.
The clerk scrambled to his feet. Hartford gave him a nod, but his gaze fixed on her . . . in surprise and pleasure.
She knew she looked good. Madame Lalbert and her mother had outdone themselves. Her white poplin was trimmed in the same deep smoky blue of her levantine pelisse. It brought out the color in her eyes. The single lace flounce at the bottom and the fancy silk trimming helped transform her from a plain seamstress and sometime delivery girl into someone who could be an elegant young miss.
“There you are, my dear, safely delivered at last.” He came forward and bowed low over her hand.
She gave a very creditable curtsy. “My lord. It is so good to see you again.”
He took up the portmanteau and handed it off to the servant, who had followed him in.
“I’ve only the one bag, you see—”
“It’s all right. I spoke with Captain Randolph already. He told me of the trouble you all experienced.” Playing off her blank look he continued. “I know, it’s shocking that he and the Liberty Belle made it into port before you, but they limped in yesterday. He had your trunk, but I’m afraid everything inside was quite spoilt.”
She did her best to look dismayed.
“Ah, well. It only means you must replenish your wardrobe here in London.” He bent a smile upon her. “Mother is already making lists and mapping out trips to modistes and glovers and milliners.”
“How kind.” She stifled a shiver. She could do this, she knew she could—but his mother could make it easier or harder, depending on her inclination.
“Come. She’s anxiously awaiting you.”
He offered his arm and Emily took it, thrilling at the warmth of him—and reveling in his height. She couldn’t have been sure yesterday, seated as they had been in the carriage, but he stood several inches taller than her. She had to look up to meet his gaze as he pulled her close—and she found it unexpectedly thrilling.
He paused at the door and glanced at the clerk. “I’m sorry to have come when Mr. Wilsden was busy. Tell your employer that I greatly appreciate the use of his office, and the safe spot for my betrothed to await me.” He ignored the man’s surprise, cast a fond look down on her and ushered her outside.
He bent close. “Now, let the news begin to circulate—it will start here and soon be everywhere in Town,” he said with a smirk. He motioned for the footman to take a seat with the driver instead of behind, then handed her into the forward facing seat. “I thought you might wish to see the city,” he said. “So I had them open the carriage.”
He sat next to her and it felt . . . exotic and strange and warm. “Thank you,” she breathed. It wasn’t difficult for her to feign wide-eyed and intimidated. “It’s very large, isn’t it?”
“A good deal larger than Boston.” He lowered his tone. “We should be able to have some private conversation and allow the world to see you at the same time,” he said. “Two birds with one stone.”
“Admirably logical of you, my lord.”
“The sooner the females of the ton learn of your existence, the quicker I get my life back.” He let his gaze roam over her and she tried not to enjoy the approval he radiated. “I did not expect to find you looking so . . . well.”
It felt good to surprise him. “I’m not entirely without resources, sir.” Her mouth quirked. “Just mostly.”
From this angle, and from so close a vantage, she looked up into a marvelous visage of sun-hewn angles and shadowed valleys. It was quite as inspiring as the gorgeous vistas in her mother’s Highland home.
Playing his part, he raised his voice. He spoke of the wealth of a nation that made its way through this busy riverside district and eventually swept his hand toward the thoroughfare ahead. “We�
�re coming up to the Strand, cousin. I doubt you have such long and busy streets at home, eh?”
She shook her head, grateful for pretense their mission provided and for the noise of the increased traffic as they made their turn. “Perhaps this is a good time for you to tell me what I need to know about your cousin?”
“What do you need to know?” he asked.
His tone had gone absent-sounding and she glanced over to find his gaze was not on the traffic around them, but on the trim that chased the buttons down the front of her coat—and over her curves.
“Her name?” she suggested flatly. “You mentioned the name Emmaline yesterday? Do you think we could shorten it to Emily? It might make things easier.”
“I don’t see why not. She is Emmaline Latham.” He paused. “And I suppose you should call me Hart. Everyone who is close to me does.”
“I will too, then,” she said, trying to sound business-like. “What else can you tell me about her?”
“Let me think. She is—no, you are my first cousin. Your mother is my mother’s youngest sister. She fell in love with a Navy captain, and followed him to America when he sold out and went to Boston to build ships. My aunt, your mother, died of a fever years ago.”
“How old was I?”
“About ten, I believe.”
She nodded, absorbing the information. “Do I get along with my father?”
He grimaced. “I haven’t the foggiest notion.”
“I think that I do,” she decided. “Perhaps I will miss him dreadfully and long to return to him.”
“Oh, yes. Good thinking.”
“What are her passions and pursuits?”
He looked ashamed. “I don’t know that either.” His brows rose. “What are yours?”
She hesitated—and then decided to be candid. “To be honest, sir, my main pursuit is in search of rent money.”
“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry to be insensitive.”
“Not at all. I just wanted to be forthright with you. I am a seamstress, mainly. I take in piecework from modistes who are busy enough to hire out. My—” She paused, not sure just how open she needed to be. “I also help with and deliver fine embroidered pieces and ribbons.”