At these words, her daughter broke into a peel of laughter. “Oh, Mama. Are you asking for my approval?”
Was that it? “I don’t want to make a ninny of myself.” This was more embarrassing than she’d imagined. She was past the age of forty!
“Remember what you told me when I didn’t know what to do about the bet? Or about Justin?”
Eve remembered. Of course, she remembered. “I do.”
“You told me that we Mossant woman oughtn’t only to survive, but that we deserved to thrive.” Rhoda smiled as she spoke the words.
“I’ve wanted that for you and for Coleus and Hollyhock more than anything, all along.”
“And we want it for you.”
Eve simply stared into her daughter’s eyes. “I’m so very proud of you.”
“Of course, you are,” the little imp supplied. “But what of you? Are you going to allow yourself to thrive? Are you going to be able to live your life in faith that good things await you? Or are you going to allow the bad stuff to rule you?”
This daughter of mine. She knows me all too well.
Not waiting for an answer, Rhoda touched the side of her face with one finger as though contemplating something of great import. “Because there is a gentleman downstairs this very minute of whom, I’m certain, would like nothing better than to assure himself of your happiness and well-being.”
Eve bit her lower lip.
Rhoda would not relent. “Would you like to see him?”
But she must look a fright! Did it matter? Of course, it mattered!
“After you’ve done something with my hair.” She glanced down at the horrid black gown she’d been dressed in. “And anything but this atrocity. Something bright perhaps? My cerulean?”
Upon which, allowing Eve a glimpse of the tiny little girl she’d once been, her daughter grinned from ear to ear. “I’ll have Lucy press it as soon as she returns.”
Twenty minutes later, Eve sat in the small sitting area of her suite holding a book. She had no idea what it was about and doubted she ever would.
Rhoda had excused herself to go in search of Niles.
What if he didn’t wish to come? What if he was angry with her? From what she’d since learned, Eve had discovered she’d sat mute while Darius Mossant fired him! Her very efficient and most appreciated man of business.
Rhoda had assured her that Mr. Waverly did not hold a grudge.
But what if he did?
And what if he didn’t want—
A knock at the door interrupted her misgivings.
“Come in.” She set the book aside and smoothed her skirt in her lap. The air seemed to change the second he stepped inside — and the colors in the room — and the weight in her heart.
“I expected you’d remain abed.” His voice drew her gaze.
He did not look angry. He simply looked like… Niles. When had he come to mean so much to her? Truth be told, she’d always looked forward to their meetings with considerable anticipation.
“I’ve spent far too much time abed as of late.” At his hesitancy, she gestured beside her. “Won’t you sit down?”
Oh, but she felt like a gauche young girl suddenly.
The cushions sank as he lowered himself beside her. And then, instantly alleviating all her concerns, he reached over and covered her hand with one of his.
This wasn’t going to be excruciatingly hard, as she’d feared. She drew in a breath. “I—”
“Please, give me a moment first… I need to say something.” His voice prevented her from diving headlong into her own practiced speech.
She turned so that she could look him directly in the eye. And as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, she placed her other hand atop his.
“You will always have my assistance.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll do anything you need. But I can no longer remain in your employ. I’ll protect your assets. I’ll protect your daughters. God help me, I’ll do better to protect you. But not for payment.”
“Surely, you must require some sort of fee?”
His eyes flared at her question.
Oh, but this man. She’d always feel safe beside him. And protected. And desired.
He rubbed his chin. “The only payment I’m willing to accept may be beyond your budget.”
Eve could only smile at such foolishness. “I’m a very wealthy woman. That is, of course, unless you did, in fact, send my money to the bottom of the sea,” she teased, knowing of course, that he had not.
He waved the concern away. “Never.”
But he’d been about to tell her something of import. “Then what is it that I may not be able to afford?” Eve closed her eyes, afraid she’d gotten it all wrong.
“Marriage.”
Her eyes flew open at the word. Joy exploded inside her. She had to press her lips together to keep from smiling. “To you?”
“Yes.” He nodded in all seriousness. “To me.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” He didn’t move. “You’ll consent to becoming Mrs. Niles Waverly?”
“Aside from my unmarried daughters I’ve quite used up any goodwill I had for my current name. So, yes. Please.” She nodded. “I’d be more than happy to become Mrs. Niles Waverly.”
The dear man remained utterly sober. “I’m more than capable of taking care of you. All your funds will remain yours and your daughters’. Always.”
He spoke so earnestly. Of course, she knew this about him. “It needn’t, you know. I only have one requirement.”
“Indeed?” He cocked a rakish eyebrow. Because, yes indeed, her dear Mr. Waverly was quite capable of appearing rakish.
“I expect you to make love to me long and often. And I expect you to allow me to love you.”
His throat worked a few times as he swallowed hard. “I never hoped…” Another swallow. “Your love is all I’ve wanted, Eve. Since I met you. So self-assured you were. So absolutely beautiful. So devoted a mother. I’ve been in awe of you every day.”
“So, I’ve not been an annoying client?” She could tease him now. He loved her. He had said he loved her, hadn’t he?”
“In case you’ve any doubt, you should know that I retired eight months ago. You’re my only client.” And then he touched her face, almost in awe. “I love you.”
She would not cry. He’d seen her do enough of that for a lifetime. This was a time for laughing and loving and new beginnings.
A second chance for both of them. A second chance at love.
“Aren’t you supposed to kiss me now, Mr. Waverly?”
He leaned in and hovered his lips less than an inch from hers. “My dear Mrs. Mossant. I thought you’d never ask.
* * *
***The end***
* * *
Fall in Love with More Sassy Heroines and Dashing Heroes in the Devilish Debutantes Series…
* * *
Devilish Debutantes Series
Hell Hath No Fury
(Devilish Debutante’s, Book 1)
Forever a Wallflower... Miss Cecily Findlay practices proper etiquette, dances the waltz flawlessly, wears clothes of the latest fashion, and is a beauty in her own right. Even so, she'd never be received by the ton if not for her enormous dowry...which has attracted Flavion Nottingham, a spoiled and entitled earl. This so called gentleman has beggared his estate and sees Cecily as the answer to all his problems. Most dastardly of all, he doesn't care if he shatters her dreams while executing his devious scheme.
Forever the Spare... Mr. Stephen Nottingham, successful industrialist, is back in England to save his cousin's (ahem) assets, but may have arrived too late. The clean-up involves settling massive debts, dismissing a clinging mistress, and dealing with more than one irate papa. None of that matters, however, as much as saving the beautiful Cecily.
A Forever kind of Love... Cecily is trapped by Lord Kensington and Stephen is trapped by his honor. Happily ever after hangs in the balance. Will fate open the doors for their enduring
love?
* * *
Hell in a Hand Basket
(Devilish Debutante’s, Book 2)
Sophia Babineaux has landed a husband! And a good one at that!
Lord Harold, the second son of a duke, is kind, gentle, undemanding.
Perhaps a little too undemanding?
Because after one chance encounter with skilled rake, Captain Devlin Brooks, it is glaringly obvious that something is missing between Lord Harold and herself… pas-sion… sizzle… well… everything. And marriage is forever!
Will her parents allow her to reconsider? Absolutely not.
War hero, Devlin Brookes, is ready to marry and thinks Sophia Babineaux might be the one. One itsy bitsy problem: she’s engaged to his cousin, Harold.
But Devlin knows his cousin! and damned if Harold hasn’t been coerced into this betrothal by the Duke of Prescott, his father.
Prescott usually gets what he wants.
Devlin, Sophia and Harold conspire to thwart the duke’s wishes but fail to consider a few vital, unintended consequences.
Once set in motion, matters quickly spiral out of control!
Caught up in tragedy, regret, and deceit Sophia and Devlin’s love be-comes tainted. If they cannot cope with their choices they may never find their way back once embarking on their journey… To Hell in a Hand Basket…
* * *
Hell’s Belle
(Devilish Debutante’s, Book 3)
There comes a time in a lady’s life when she needs to take matters into her own hands…
A Scheming Minx
Emily Goodnight, a curiously smart bluestocking – who cannot see a thing without her blasted spectacles – is raising the art of meddling to new heights. Why leave her future in the hands of fate when she’s perfectly capable of managing it herself?
An Apathetic Rake
The Earl of Blakely, London’s most unattainable bachelor, finds Miss Goodnight’s schemes nearly as intriguing as the curves hidden beneath her frumpy gowns. Secure in his independence, he’s focussed on one thing only: evading this father’s manipulating ways. In doing so, ironically, he fails to evade the mischief of Emily’s managing ploys.
Hell’s Bell Indeed
What with all the cheating at parlor games, trysts in dark closets, and nighttime flights to Gretna Green, complications arise. Because fate has limits. And when it comes to love and the secrets of the past, there’s only so much twisting one English Miss can get away with…
* * *
Hell of a Lady
(Devilish Debutante’s, Book 4)
Regency Romance between an angelic vicar and a devilish debutante: A must read if you love sweet and sizzle with an abundance of heart.
The Last Devilish Debutante
Miss Rhododendron Mossant has given up on men, love, and worst of all, herself. Once a flirtatious beauty, the nightmares of her past have frozen her in fear. Ruined and ready to call it quits, all she can hope for is divine intervention.
The Angelic Vicar
Justin White, Vicar turned Earl, has the looks of an angel but the heart of a rake. He isn’t prepared to marry and yet honor won’t allow anything less. Which poses something of a problem… because, by God, when it comes to this vixen, a war is is waging between his body and his soul.
Scandal’s Sweet Sizzle
She’s hopeless and he’s hopelessly devoted. Together they must conquer the ton, her disgrace, and his empty pockets. With a little deviousness, and a miracle or two, is it possible this devilish match was really made in heaven?
* * *
Hell Hath Frozen Over
(Devilish Debutantes, Novella)
The Duchess of Prescott, now a widow, fears she’s experienced all life has to offer. Thomas Findlay, a wealthy industrialist, knows she has not. Can he convince her she has love and passion in her future? And if he does, cans she convince herself to embrace it?
Chapter 16
A Sample from
Hell of a Lady
A Most Outrageous Wager
White’s Betting Book: 1824, April 7th
Betts placed below naming whom Miss R.M. will next bestow S. favors upon.
Minimum. Bett L 1000
Proof must be provided. Wager open until confirmed.
- April 7th Ld. Mimms, L 1000 on FN (Ld. K)
-April 8th L 2000 Ld. FN (Ld. K)
-April 8th RS (Ld. Q) L 1000 on DB (Ld. W)
-April 8th Ld. Bn.L 1000 on … RY Ld T,
And so forth… And so on…
CHAPTER ONE
Crabtree Ball
“I don’t understand it, Emily! It’s not as though I’m any different this year. I’m the same person I’ve always been. Heaven knows my dowry’s as small as it ever was.” Normally, Rhoda wasn’t one to question good fortune, but the past year had turned her into something of a skeptic.
For upon her wrist, attached to the string her mother had tied earlier, Miss Rhododendron Mossant possessed a full dance card for the first time in all of her ten and nine years. Not once since coming out two years ago had she ever had more than a third accounted for.
Tonight, a masculine name was scribbled onto every single line.
“Likely something to do with you garnering Lord St. John’s notice last year. If a marquess finds you interesting…” Her friend and fellow wallflower, Emily, scrunched her nose and twisted her lips into a wry grimace.
The gentlemen of the ton, usually oblivious to her presence, had pounced upon Rhoda the moment she set foot in the ballroom, vying to place their names upon her card. Once they’d procured a set, a few even requested sets with Emily, although with less enthusiasm.
Rhoda had not gone out of her way to flirt or fawn. She hadn’t been nearly as friendly as she’d been in the past. So, why now? The question niggled at her as she bent down to adjust her slipper.
The supper dance was next to commence, and her feet already ached. She hadn’t prepared to partake in such vigorous exercise this evening. Nor had her life prepared her to be the belle of the ball.
“Miss Mossant.”
Rhoda peeked up to identify the owner of the polished boots that appeared before her. The voice sounded familiar, but she didn’t immediately recognize the rather fine-looking gentleman executing a stiff and formal bow.
As she sat upright again, a flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Rhoda usually didn’t forget a handsome face. Blond hair, blue eyes, perhaps nearing the age of thirty. Ah, yes!
“Mr. White.” Mr. Justin White, the vicar. She stopped herself from gasping. She’d not met with him since the day Lord Harold died last summer at Priory Point, easily one of the worst days of her life.
Second only to the day she’d been informed of St. John’s tragic demise. She shivered as she pushed the thought aside.
“Please, sit down.” She indicated the chair Emily had vacated. Rhoda glanced around the room. Where had she gone?
Not much time presented itself for conversation as the next set was soon to begin. She’d promised this one to Flavion Nottingham, the Earl of Kensington, of all people. She could endure the vicar’s company until Kensington came to claim her. Mr. White was a vicar, after all. One could not simply ignore a vicar.
He smiled grimly and lowered himself to the seat. “I trust you are doing well.” He cleared his throat. If he felt as uncomfortable as she, then why had he approached her?
Likely, he felt the need to inquire as to her spiritual health. The collar he wore set him quite apart from the other more ornately dressed gentlemen.
And as for the condition of her spiritual health?
She would have laughed, but if she were to begin laughing, it might turn to hysteria. And quite possibly, she’d be unable to stop.
She wasn’t sure her soul would ever be well again. Not since that weekend Harold had fallen off the cliff. And less than a fortnight later, when a river of mud and rain had swept the steep narrow road near Priory Point into the sea, along with the Prescotts’ ducal
carriage. St. John, his father, and uncle had all been riding inside.
“I am well. And you, Mr. White?” She studied him from beneath her lashes. He’d been witness to Harold’s death that day, too. The men were all cousins, from what she remembered. Mr. White had nearly jumped into the sea to rescue poor Harold. He’d remained hopeful longer than anyone else. Even longer than Harold’s own brother.
Mr. White’s persistence might have had something to do with his faith.
“It has been a trying winter,” the vicar answered. “But with springtime always comes hope.” He spoke sincerely. No mockery in his words whatsoever.
Hope was something she’d given up on. The greater a person’s hope, the more pain one experienced when disappointment set in. No springtime for her, just one long, endless winter.
“Is it presumptuous of me to hope I might claim a set with you?”
Her heart fluttered ever so weakly. This handsome, kind, wholesome man showing interest in her… Laughable, really. She smothered any pleasure she’d normally have enjoyed upon his request.
Likely whatever had come over the rest of them affected him as well.
“I’m afraid, sir, they have all been spoken for.” When his eyebrows rose in surprise, she held out her wrist. She could hardly believe it herself. “I’m not fibbing, Mr. White! I wouldn’t lie to a vicar!”
He shook his head, not bothering to examine the card. Instead, he stared down at his hands, clasped together at the space between his knees. His blond hair, longer than was fashionable, fell forward, hiding his profile from her gaze.
“I am to be disappointed, then.” He spoke as though mocking himself but then sent her a sideways glance.
“Hope does that.” She couldn’t hold back her opinion. “Eventually.”
He held her stare solemnly. “I would not have taken you for such a cynic, Miss Mossant.”
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