by Carrie Lomax
“Probably. But the ‘worst man’ isn’t likely to let me linger in London for long either and I’ve no interest in being wed to a penniless husband. Unless it’s for true love,” Margaret sighed. “The kind I doubt I shall ever have an opportunity to experience considering the way my brother seeks to auction me off to the first bidder.”
At that moment, the butler interrupted their drawing-room tête-à-tête. “His Grace, the Duke of Havencrest, to see Miss Antonia Lowry.”
Antonia groaned. Couldn’t the man keep their arrangement quiet for a single moment? How many times did she have to remind him to be more circumspect?
An awful, brilliant idea popped into Antonia’s mind. “What about Havencrest?”
Margaret’s eyes widened.
“Why not? He is rich, powerful, and handsome.”
Margaret stared at her as if Antonia had said something peculiar. “Handsome? Him?”
In an intimidating sort of way. It hadn’t occurred to Antonia that others might find his appearance severe. The idea that her fascination with the man had blinded her to the stark planes of his features made her stomach drop out. Antonia clapped her hands to cover her discomfort. The butler regarded her warily. “Lady Margaret will be pleased to see his lordship. Show him in.”
“I wish I felt half so confident as you do, Toni. Perhaps if I did this season wouldn’t be such an incredible disast—” Margaret spoke in a rush. Her lips clamped closed as the tall man strode into the parlor. Instant annoyance shot through Antonia. Havencrest didn’t own the entire world. He just acted like it.
“Miss Lowry, forgive my intrusion, I have—”
Antonia sank into a deep curtsey. “I understand, your lordship.”
That brought him up short. “You do?”
“Indeed. Any man can be forgiven for seeking the company of a lovely woman like Lady Margaret.” Antonia grinned widely and curtsied again. Like all the best ideas, this one had popped into her head fully formed. All she needed was a few moments to tell him the details of his and Lady Margaret’s impending engagement.
Margaret’s wide eyes turned pleading. Antonia winked. Trust me. Always a terrible idea, but Antonia prided herself on possessing no shame whatsoever.
“I am not here for Lady Margaret,” Havencrest replied with a bewildered scowl.
Lady Evendaw arrived. “I hope I am not interrupting?”
“Not at all, my lady,” Antonia curtseyed and gave the countess a wide, winning grin. “I recall you have commented on the unseemly spate of communications between myself and the Duke over the past several weeks. I am pleased to inform you that I have played intermediary between your sister-in-law and Lord Havencrest. Today marks his first, formal visit.”
Three people regarded her with varying degrees of suspicion.
Antonia waited. Havencrest’s glower deepened. Margaret looked faint from shock. After moment however she recovered and edge closer to the tall man. They eyed one another warily. An unspoken pact passed between them.
“Is it true?” Lady Evendaw demanded. She looked to Havencrest for confirmation.
“Yes.” he said simply.
“You might have approached us directly,” the lady chided. “We do not bite.”
Antonia’s mind flickered with inappropriate images of sinking her teeth into Havencrest bottom lip just hard enough for him to feel it. She swallowed. Alternatively, nipping her way along the edge of his jaw as he hiked her skirts around her waist to explore—
Stop. It. She inhaled and rummage her mind for the right word to describe this twisty, sinking sensation. Jealousy, that was it. Antonia had not anticipated envying her friend’s fake courtship. It came out of nowhere, like the time a bird had flown out of the bush and briefly become tangled in her hair. Only this time Antonia could not scream and flail her hands until the creature escaped. She had to stand here and wallow in the strange hollowness of her feelings.
“I was unsure of my welcome. As Miss Lowry is an independent minded woman, I asked her to play intermediary. I do not wish to press my suit where it is not wanted. Whether by Lady Margaret or by you and the earl, Lady Evendaw.”
“I assure you it is most, utterly, welcome,” the countess replied with a breathy laugh. “Miss Lowry has been such a good companion to Margaret.”
Antonia recovered her composure for long enough to execute a curtsy. When she rose, Margaret had steel in her blue eyes. Later, Antonia mouthed. The countess was too busy fawning over Havencrest to do more than glare at her.
“I suppose that means we shall see you at Almack’s Assembly rooms on Wednesday,” the lady was saying. Antonia bit back a smile at the pain look at crossed Havencrest’s features.
“I look forward to our first waltz,” Margaret said demurely. She, too, bobbed a curtsy. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I find myself still easily tired from my ague last week.”
Lady Evendaw appeared flustered by her sister-in-law’s abrupt departure. Antonia hoped it was a sign of rebellion to come. “I’ll be going as well,” she said, sidling toward the door.
“If you would wait just one moment. I thank you for your warm reception, Lady Evendaw. Might I speak privately with Miss Lowry for a few moments to express my appreciation for her assistance in bringing me and Margaret together?”
Uh-oh. Antonia halted mid-step. The countess looked taken aback, but her pleasure at prospect of getting her sister-in-law so admirably settled in life made her generous. “Certainly. I shall leave you.”
To Antonia’s great disappointment she even closed the door nearly all the way.
Chapter 8
“I wish to amend our agreement.” Antonia announced the moment they were alone.
“Agreement? You spend the better part of a thousand pounds in a single day!” Havencrest stalked up and down the three feet of the ornately carved mantelpiece over the fireplace. A carved stone lion supported each side, its mouth open in a ferocious roar. From him and he believed he had put Miss Lowery on her back foot. Yet the instant the Countess had left them, Antonia had launched right back into her tenacious and frankly exhausting vendetta to retain the upper hand in every situation.
“I told you the money was necessary for startup expenses.” A mutinous shadow passed over Miss Lowry’s lovely features and gave him the distinct sense that there was a lie embedded in her explanation somewhere. She did not like it when he questioned her judgment. Too damn bad. He was already regretting how much had had invested in this ridiculous scheme—the details of which Antonia had not yet bothered to explain to him.
“Like what, precisely? An entire wardrobe?” he seethed.
“Yes, essentially. I need to look the part.”
“What part? You already look the part of a well-to-do American.” He seethed. Antonia’s mouth screwed up in a grimace and her dark eyes shot daggers at him.
“If you would please refrain from giving away our plan before we have an opportunity to begin, I would be most grateful, your lordship.” Antonia spoke through clenched teeth though her voice was low. “I need you to court Margaret.”
“Lady Margaret,” he corrected automatically.
“Yes, of course. I must be more thoughtful about titles if I am to get close enough to your grandmother to earn her trust.” Antonia crossed one arm under her breasts and rested the elbow of her other arm on top. She tapped her lower lip with her forefinger and paced, as he had done until her speck of conciliation redirected his emotions, up and down the space between the sofa and the side table.
“Earn whose trust?”
“The Dowager Duchess of Summervale,” she shot back caustically. “Remember her? The wicked witch standing between you and the object of your every desire?”
Behind them, the door cracked open on well-oiled hinges. “Excuse me,” Margaret said as she poked her head around the door. “I was hoping you could enlighten me as to what the devil is going on?”
“At least I am not the only one in the dark,” Malcolm muttered. “What happened to re
sting?”
“This is far more interesting. I only wanted to avoid my sister-in-law’s gloating.” Margaret settled herself on to the sofa and tucked her feet up beneath her skirt. Her position reminded him of a cat watching birds out a window.
“You must trust me, if you wish for this to work,” Antonia chided mildly. “Margaret will release you from the understanding, if that is what you want in a few weeks.”
Malcolm felt his eyebrows stitch together over the bridge of his nose. Being rejected by a slip of a girl, one widely regarded as pretty enough but a bit daft, was not an entirely new experience for him. A decade ago, when he had been in his youth and still believed his father’s version of the world, Malcolm had fancied himself in love for several months. Women cannot be trusted, his father had warned. Not with your money, and never with your heart.
Malcolm had believed this wholeheartedly. In retrospect, he had been a thorough cad to the girl. It had not been easy to find his footing in society with a family reputation tainted by his mother’s death. The circumstances had rendered even a duke’s heir suspect. Then, he had been only a marquis. No one spoke of it directly but the taint carried on, borne by whispers of warning passed down from mother to daughter, from daughter to friend, from friend to enemy, until Havencrest had been made to understand that his mother’s depthless despair had deprived him of the future he might otherwise have expected, too.
“Do keep in mind, Antonia, that I have not actually agreed to be courted yet. I admit I was shocked into silence earlier, but now I find myself intrigued by the prospect.” Margaret interjected.
Antonia whirled in exasperation. “Maggie, please. If you will consider the idea for a few minutes.”
Havencrest took up his place near the mantel again like a scowling gargoyle. He examined one of the carved stone lions and pretended to growl back at it. The women spoke in whispers. Antonia relaxed upon the sofa, but Havencrest read the tension in her long neck. That silken column would be the perfect model on which to place the Heart’s Cry. He studied the curves and subtle movements of her throat while Miss Lowry spoke. Skin with the texture of silk velvet made heat flare in his midsection.
Indigestion, probably. Wasting five thousand pounds on a folly could cause that.
“All I am asking, Maggie, is that you entertain Havencrest’s courtship for a few weeks. Dance with him at parties. Dance with anyone you like, of course, but reserve two waltzes for him.”
“Why?” Lady Margaret blushed. Havencrest wondered idly what it would be like to hold Miss Lowry in his arms and lead her about the floor, now that she didn’t reek of corpse. A half-grin staged a takeover of his face at the memory, but Havencrest fought it down.
“If your brother and his countess believe you on the path to engagement, I believe you will find London far more enjoyable. Think about it. You will not need to entertain the attentions of every self-absorbed, pompous fop whom your brother thinks desperate enough to take a bride at any price.”
“Like Darby and the Cartwright woman,” Margaret added thoughtfully. “He’s a perfectly nice man, but so serious. He and Lady Briarcliff’s sister had an understanding before my brother intervened.” She shuddered delicately. “Many women would accept that as normal, but I cannot.”
“I know, my dear,” Antonia murmured comfortingly. What an actress. The stage had lost a fine performer the day Miss Lowry had taken to thievery. Perhaps Kemble could be persuaded to take her on.
“Darby was courting you for a short while last fall, was he not?” asked Malcolm. There had been whispers and rumors. He never paid them much mind, but he supposed he ought to know the details if he was going to agree to this outlandish scheme.
“Yes,” confirmed Margaret. “Until I told him I wanted nothing to do with marriage, that is.”
“Ever?” Havencrest asked.
“Until I decide upon a husband,” Margaret declared mulishly. “I am tired of how my brother brushes aside my wishes. I will marry in my own good time, preferably to the man of my choosing.”
“But not me,” Havencrest clarified.
“I highly doubt it,” said Lady Margaret, repressively. He tried not to feel hurt. A duke ought to be an appealing prospect, and he had enough pride to feel the sting of rejection.
“Agreed,” he said brusquely. “We have no actual desire for one another but will present a united front in pretending that you are entertaining my courtship.” Havencrest stopped mid-stride. He clasped his hands behind his back and sidled up to Miss Lowry. “Remind me why we are doing this?”
“If you court Maggie for a few weeks it gives us cover to speak freely and be seen together publicly while I get access to Lady Summervale’s orbit,” she said sotto voce. Margaret peered anxiously at them as if trying to overhear.
“Your friend doesn’t like me,” Havencrest murmured.
“Don’t pretend you’re pining for her, either,” Antonia shot back. She softened. “I’ll work on Margaret. Please. Just make the slightest bit of effort. It will go so much farther than money toward achieving your aims.” Antonia raised her chin and moved away.
Havencrest found himself tracing the ramrod-straight length of her spine with far too much interest for a man who was about to court her friend. At least, he thought they were friends. A woman who would abuse a corpse in an attempt to fake her own death struck him as an unlikely companion to a lady of means. The contrast amused him enough to tug at the corners of his mouth. Antonia Lowry confused, confounded and exasperated him at every step. Despite this, he would far rather court her than sweet, blonde, impossibly young-looking Margaret Evendaw. He inhaled.
He was thirty-six. If she was eighteen…Havencrest felt ill when he contemplated courting a woman half his age. He would crush the spirit out of winsome Lady Margaret without even trying. Then again, it was what the ton expected of a duke. Perhaps, it was time he did his duty to the title.
“Lady Evendaw,” he began formally. Antonia halted mid-step, irritation holding her shoulders in a tense line parallel to the Oriental carpet. Beyond her, Margaret brightened.
“Your lordship?”
Havencrest had no words. They fled his mind as the girl stared up at him in wary anticipation. “If you have no objections, I propose to…” He swallowed. “Court you,” he finished lamely.
“Agreed.” Margaret’s eyes widened. “But only for a few weeks, whilst you seek to restore your reputation and I evade my brother’s attempts to marry me off? And Antonia gets…whatever it is she is seeking. You should know that I don’t like fast carriage rides, as I am not a very brave woman. I do enjoy dancing.”
Havencrest closed his eyes. He despised prancing about a crowded ballroom, not that he was terrible at it. The prospect of meandering trots through Hyde Park bored him half to tears. But if he didn’t play along, he would never hold the red gem his mother had valued enough to gift to her mother before dying. He would never have the chance to sketch the intricate details of its setting and have the damaged miniature repaired. It had to be exact. He had a single chance to perfect the features and delicate setting, or the piece would be marred beyond restoration.
Reels and wheels it would be. He cast his gaze heavenward before saying, “Agreed. For three weeks.”
“Or longer, if we need more time,” Antonia interjected. Havencrest shuddered.
“Surely, three weeks of Wednesday evenings in knee breeches at Almacks is sufficient time to accomplish your goals?” He shot Antonia a narrow sidelong glare. A twitch of lace on her bodice indicated her suppressed laughter, the minx. Why couldn’t she shimmy up a trellis in the dead of night and make off with the damned Heart’s cry instead of tying him in knots?
“I don’t know. What is Almack’s?” she asked.
“You don’t know?” Margaret gasped, her eyes alight. “It’s the most exclusive social club in London. It is run by a group of six Lady Patronesses. Lady Jersey and Princess Esterhazy are the most influential, depending upon whom you ask.”
Hav
encrest sighed inwardly. Miss Lowry must enjoying herself immensely at his expense. After all, to her it was a game—one that could land her in prison or worse, but a game Antonia Lowry must have played many times. Still, if he and Margaret were the Trojan horses to smuggle Antonia into the highest echelons of society, where Americans were generally regarded as rebels of dubious repute, he supposed he must play along.
Antonia Lowry’s mind worked faster than anyone’s he had ever met. A subtle kick from Lady Margaret’s slipper against his shin brought Havencrest back to the moment.
“We must get her a voucher posthaste,” Margaret declared. “You, as well. I imagine it has been some years since you darkened the doors at Almack’s?”
“I can get a voucher.”
But it would cost him greatly to pursue one. Ten years ago, the scene of his final humiliation with his fiancé had sent Malcolm dashing from the scene like a scared rabbit. Her scathing words had scarred him deeply.
Why should I marry you when you offer nothing but harsh words and disdain? In that cruel moment Malcolm understood that he had absorbed his father’s lessons uncritically. It had marked a turning point in their relationship. Malcolm began to question his father’s influence. The duke did not deal in regret, though. He had gone to his grave refusing to admit his own caustic cruelty’s part in driving his mother to take drastic action. Only after his death had Malcolm discovered that his father’s regrets had been there all along. He may have destroyed every portrait of his wife by cutting them out of their frames and making a bonfire of her dresses and personal items, but he had saved one tiny square from the pyre of his devastation. Malcolm imagined the tongs grasping his mother’s miniature. The paint, already hot, had scraped away under the pressure. Or at least, he thought it had. Malcolm would never know with precision how the picture had been damaged.
He drew himself up to his full height—taking care to tower over Margaret, Antonia and Evendaw, before bowing subtly. “I must take my leave.”