by Julia Quinn
“Then that’s what it is,” she shot back. “Now please give it back. I have to return this to Lady Danbury.”
“This belongs to my—to Lady Danbury?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes! Now give it back.”
James shook his head, looking back up at the book, then returning his gaze to Elizabeth. “But why would she need a book like this?”
“I don’t know,” she nearly wailed. “It’s old. Maybe she purchased it before she married Lord Danbury. But please, let me just put it back on the shelf before she comes back from breakfast.”
“In a moment.” He turned another page and read:
YOU MUST NEVER SEPARATE YOUR LIPS WHEN YOU SMILE. A CLOSE-LIPPED SMILE IS INFINITELY MORE MYSTERIOUS, AND YOUR JOB IS TO FASCINATE YOUR MARQUIS.
“Is that why they always do that?” he murmured. He glanced over at Elizabeth. “Edict Number Twelve explains a lot.”
“The book,” she growled, holding out her hand.
“Just in case you’re interested,” he said with an expansive wave of his hand, “I myself prefer a woman who knows how to smile. This”—he stretched his lips out in a tight mockery of a smile—“is really quite unbecoming.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Seeton meant for you to do this.” She returned his strained expression with one of her own. “I think you’re supposed to do this.” This time she curved her lips into a delicate half-smile, one that sent a shiver down his spine right to his—
“Yes,” he said with a cough, “that’s considerably more effective.”
“I cannot believe I’m discussing this with you,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Can we please just put the book back?”
“We’ve at least ten more minutes before Lady Danbury finishes her breakfast. Don’t worry.” He returned his attention to the little red book. “I’m finding this fascinating.”
“I’m not,” she ground out.
James turned his attention back to Elizabeth. She was standing as stiff as a board, her hands fisted at her side. Her cheeks were stained with two angry splotches of red. “You’re angry with me,” he said.
“Your perceptiveness is astounding.”
“But I was only poking fun at you. You must know it was never meant to be insulting.”
Her eyes grew a little harder. “Do you see me laughing?”
“Elizabeth,” he said placatingly, “it was all in good fun. Surely you don’t take this book seriously.”
She didn’t answer. The silence in the room grew thick, and James saw a flash of pain in those sapphire eyes of hers. The corners of her lips quivered, then tightened, and then she looked away. “Oh, God,” he breathed, little knives of guilt stabbing at his midsection. “I’m so sorry.”
She lifted her chin, but he could see her face working with suppressed emotion as she said, “Can we stop this now?”
Silently, he lowered his arms and handed her the book. She didn’t thank him, just took it back and held it close to her chest.
“I didn’t realize you were looking for a husband,” he said softly.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
He gestured awkwardly at the book. “Has it been helpful?”
“No.”
The flatness in her voice was a punch to his gut. Somehow, James suddenly realized, he was going to have to make this better. He had to take away the dead expression in her eyes, return the lilt to her voice. He had to hear her laugh, to hear himself laugh at some little joke of hers.
He didn’t know why. He just knew it was something he had to do.
He cleared his throat and asked, “Is there any way I might be of assistance?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Can I help you in any way?”
She looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
James’s lips parted slightly as he tried to figure out how the devil to reply. “Just that…well, I happen to know a thing or two about finding a husband—or rather, in my case, a wife.”
Her eyes bugged out. “You’re married?!”
“No!” he said, surprising even himself with the force of his reply.
She relaxed visibly. “Oh, thank goodness. Because you…you…”
“Because I kissed you?”
“Yes,” she muttered, her cheeks turning pink around the already present red splotches.
He reached out and tucked his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “If I were married, Elizabeth, you can be certain I would not dally with another female.”
“How…thoughtful of you.”
“All I meant to say was that if you are truly looking for a husband, I would be happy to assist you in any way possible.”
Elizabeth just stared at him, unable to believe the irony of the moment. Here she was, standing before the man she’d spent the entire previous night crying over, and he was offering to help her find another man to marry? “This can’t be happening,” she said to herself. “This just can’t be happening.”
“I don’t see why not,” he said smoothly. “I consider you a friend, and—”
“How on earth could you possibly help me?” she asked, wondering what devil was possessing her to even pursue the subject. “You’re new to the district. You couldn’t possibly introduce me to any suitable candidates. And,” she added, gesturing toward him, “you clearly are not well-versed in the art of fashion.”
He lurched backward. “I beg your pardon!”
“They’re perfectly nice clothes, but they are several years past their prime.”
“So are yours,” he said with a smirk.
“I know,” she shot back. “That’s why I need help from someone who knows what he’s talking about.”
James tilted his head tensely to the side and then brought it back up, trying to suppress a retort. The impertinent chit ought to see his closet in London. Clothing galore, all in the first stare of fashion, and none of those ridiculous dandified stripes and frills. “Why are you so keen to marry?” he asked, deciding that it was more important to assess her situation than it was to defend his attire.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“I disagree. If I’m to aid you, it must be my concern.”
“I haven’t agreed to allow you to help me,” she retorted.
His eyes fell on the book. “Does it have to be a marquis?”
She blinked, uncomprehending. “I beg your pardon?”
“Does it have to be a marquis?” he repeated. “Must you have a title? Is it so very important?”
She took a step back at his strident tone. “No.”
James felt his muscles relax. He hadn’t even realized how tense he’d been, or just how important her negative answer was to him. For his entire life, he’d been made painfully aware that it was his position that mattered, not his character. His father had never called him his son, only his heir. The previous marquis hadn’t known how to relate to a child; he’d treated James as a miniature adult. Any childhood transgression was viewed as an insult to the title, and James had quickly learned to keep his normally exuberant personality cloaked under a mask of serious obedience—at least when he was in his father’s compay.
At school he’d been popular—boys of his charm and athletic ability usually were—but it had taken some time to weed out the true friends from those who saw him as a means to a better life and position.
And then in London—good God! He could have had two heads and the trunk of an elephant for all those ladies cared. “The marquis, the marquis,” he’d heard whispered. “He’s a marquis. He has a fortune. He lives in a castle.” His looks and youth he’d heard referred to as a boon, but never once had he heard anyone make mention of his wit, his sense of humor, or even his smile.
When it came right down to it, Elizabeth Hotchkiss was the first woman he’d met in a long while who seemed to like him for himself.
He looked back at her. “No marquis?” he murmured. “Why, then, the book?”
Her fisted hands shook at her sides, and she looked as if she might stamp her foot at any moment. “Because it was here. Because it wasn’t called HOW TO MARRY AN UNTITLED GENTLEMAN OF SOME FORTUNE AND REASONABLE GOOD HUMOR. I don’t know.”
James had to smile at that.
“But I doubt I could attract a titled gentleman in the first place,” she added. “I have no dowry, and I’m certainly not a diamond of the first water.”
They disagreed there, but he suspected she wouldn’t believe him even if he said so. “Do you have any candidates in mind?” he asked.
She paused for a long, telling moment before saying, “No.”
“Then you do have a man in mind,” he said with a grin.
Again, she remained silent for several seconds before saying, in a tone that told him his life would be in danger if he pursued the topic further, “He isn’t suitable.”
“And what constitutes suitable?”
She sighed wearily. “I don’t want to be beaten, I’d rather not be abandoned—”
“My, my, we’re aiming high.”
“Forget I said anything,” she snapped. “I don’t know why I’m sharing this with you, anyway. You obviously have no idea how it feels to be desperate, to lack choices, to know that no matter what you do—”
“Elizabeth,” he said softly, reaching out and grasping her fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“He has to have money,” she said dully, staring down at her hand in his. “I need money.”
“I see.”
“I doubt you do, but it’s probably enough for you to know that I’m destitute.”
“Lady Danbury doesn’t pay you enough to support yourself?” he asked quietly.
“She does, but it isn’t enough to support my younger siblings. And Lucas must go to Eton.”
“Yes,” he said distractedly, “a boy should. He’s a baronet, you say?”
“No, I didn’t say, but yes, he is.”
“Lady Danbury must have told me.”
She shrugged and let out an exhale mixed with self-mocking laughter. “It’s common knowledge. We’re the district’s official example of impoverished gentry. So you see, I’m not precisely marriageable. All I have to offer is my family’s bloodlines. And even those aren’t terribly impressive. It’s not as if I spring from nobility.”
“No,” he mused, “but one would think that many a man would wish to marry into the local gentry, especially a titled branch. And you have the added bonus of being quite beautiful.”
She looked up sharply. “Please don’t patronize me.”
He smiled in disbelief. She clearly had no idea of her charms.
“I’ve been told I’m reasonably pretty—” she began.
Well, perhaps some idea.
“—but beautiful is quite a stretch.”
He waved his hand, dismissing her protest. “You’ll have to trust me on this measure. As I was saying, I’m certain there must be several men in the district who’d like to marry you.”
“There’s one,” she said distastefully. “A local squire. But he’s old, fat, and mean. My younger sister has already said that she will run away to a workhouse if I marry him.”
“I see.” James rubbed his chin, searching for a solution to her dilemma. It seemed a crime that she would have to marry some disgusting old squire twice her age. Perhaps there was something he could do. He had enough money to send her brother to Eton a thousand times over.
Or rather, the Marquis of Riverdale did. James Siddons, a Mere Mister, wasn’t supposed to have anything other than the clothes on his back.
But perhaps he could arrange for some sort of anonymous gift. Surely Elizabeth wouldn’t be so proud as to ignore an unexpected windfall. He didn’t doubt that she’d refuse a gift for her own sake, but not when the welfare of her family was at stake.
James made a mental note to contact his solicitor as soon as possible.
“So,” she said with an uncomfortable laugh, “unless you’ve a fortune tucked away, I really don’t see how you can help me.”
“Well,” he said, avoiding an outright lie, “I’d thought to aid you in a different manner.”
“What do you mean?”
He chose his words carefully. “I know a bit about the art of flirtation. Before I sought employment, I was…not precisely active, but I did participate in the social scene.”
“In London?” she asked dubiously. “With the ton?”
“I will never understand the complexities of a London season,” he said, quite emphatically.
“Oh. Well, that’s no matter, I suppose, as I lack the funds for a season.” She looked back up and offered him a rueful smile. “And even if I didn’t, it would all go toward Lucas’s education, anyway.”
He stared at her, taking in the sight of that delicate oval face and big blue eyes. She had to be the least selfish person he’d ever met. “You’re a good sister, Elizabeth Hotchkiss,” he said quietly.
“Not really,” she said in a sad voice. Sometimes I feel so resentful. If I were a better person I’d—”
“Nonsense,” he interrupted. “There is nothing wrong with anger over injustice.”
She laughed. “It’s not injustice, James, it’s just poverty. I’m sure you understand.”
In his entire life, James had never had to do without. When his father had been alive, he’d been granted a monstrously huge allowance. And then, upon gaining the title, he’d inherited an even more monstrously huge fortune.
Elizabeth titled her head and gazed out the window, where a soft breeze was ruffling the leaves of Lady Danbury’s favorite elm. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “I wish…”
“What do you wish?” James asked intently.
She gave her head a little shake. “It doesn’t matter. And I really do have to see to Lady Danbury. She’ll be arriving at the sitting room any minute now and is sure to need me.”
“Elizabeth!” came the loud bellow from across the hall.
“See? Do you see how well I know her?”
James inclined his head respectfully and murmured, “Most impressive.”
“ELIZABETH!”
“Heavens above,” Elizabeth said, “what can she possibly need?”
“Company,” James replied. “That’s all she really needs. Company.”
“Where is that ridiculous cat when I need it?” She turned and made to leave.
“Elizabeth!” James called out.
She turned back. “Yes?”
“The book.” He pointed at the small red volume, still tucked under her arm. “You don’t want to take that to the drawing room, do you?”
“Oh! No!” She shoved it into his hands. “Thank you. I’d completely forgotten that I was holding it.”
“I’ll put it back for you.”
“It goes on that shelf over there,” she said, pointing across the room. “Sideways. Facedown. You need to make sure you leave it exactly as I say.”
He smiled indulgently. “Would you feel better if you put it back yourself?”
She paused, then said, “Yes, actually, I would,” and grabbed the book back. James watched as she dashed across the room and carefully placed the book on the proper shelf. She inspected her handiwork for a moment, then tapped it on the bottom, moving it slightly to the left. Twisting her mouth in thought, she regarded it for another moment, then tapped it back to the right.
“I’m certain Lady Danbury won’t notice if the book is an inch or so off.”
But she ignored him, dashing across the room with only an “I’ll have to see you later” in his direction.
James poked his head out the door, watching as she disappeared into Agatha’s sitting room. Then he shut the library door, crossed the room, picked up the book, and began to read.
Chapter 9
“You want to do what?”
Elizabeth stood in front of Lady Danbury, her mouth hanging open in surprise.
“I told you, I’m going to take a nap.”
“But you nev
er take naps.”
Lady Danbury raised a brow. “I took one just two days ago.”
“But—but—”
“Close your mouth, Elizabeth. You’re beginning to resemble a fish.”
“But you have told me,” Elizabeth protested, “time and again, that the hallmark of civilization is routine.”
Lady D shrugged and made a fussy little chirping sound. “A lady cannot take it upon herself to occasionally change her routine? All routines need periodic readjustment.”
Elizabeth managed to shut her mouth, but she still couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“I may take a nap every day,” Lady Danbury stated, crossing her arms. “I say, what the devil are you looking for?”
Elizabeth, who had been tossing bewildered glances around the room, replied, “A ventriloquist. These words couldn’t possibly be coming from your mouth.”
“I assure you they are. I’m finding afternoon naps to be prodigiously refreshing.”
“But the one you took the other day—your single previous nap since childhood, I might add—was in the morning.”
“Hmmph. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.”
“It was.”
“It would have been better in the afternoon.”
Elizabeth had no idea how to argue against such illogic, so she just threw up her arms and said, “I’ll leave you to your sleep, then,”
“Yes. Do that. And shut the door behind you. I’m certain I’ll need absolute silence.”
“I can’t imagine you’d require anything less.”
“Sly girl. Where is all this cheek coming from?”
Elizabeth threw her employer a scolding look. “You know very well it comes from you, Lady Danbury.”
“Yes, I’m doing a rather good job of molding you, aren’t I?”
“God help me,” Elizabeth muttered.
“I heard that!”
“I don’t suppose there is any chance that your hearing will be the first of your senses to go.”
Lady Danbury laughed out loud at that one. “You do know how to entertain an old lady, Elizabeth Hotchkiss. Don’t think I don’t appreciate that. I do care for you a great deal.”
Elizabeth blinked in surprise at Lady D’s uncharacteristic show of sentimentality. “Why, thank you.”