“It is lovely.” Nina ran her finger over the edge of the page.
“It will draw a man’s regard but do nothing more than tease his eyes. It is what one wishes to do, oui?” Madame LeFleur grinned as she pulled out her measuring tape. “Please, if you will . . .” She motioned to a small dais. “I will recheck your measurements, my lady.”
“Nina, while you are being measured, I’m going to visit the bookshop next door. I will be back in a few minutes.”
Nina nodded, and Caroline exited the fitting room.
A few minutes later, Amelia’s shrill voice filtered in from across the hall. “You stupid cow. Get me Madame LeFleur this instant!”
The modiste’s assistant stepped into the fitting room. “Excusez-moi, Madame LeFleur.” The woman strode over to where they were and whispered, “That mégère is insistent I change the figure I wrote for her waist. She says it should be two inches less. I have measured it three times.”
Nina tried not to smile at the French woman calling Amelia a shrew. She could add a few less charitable words.
Amelia’s grumbling could still be heard. “Madame should be attending me. Not Nina Trent. Doesn’t she know she was jilted by my cousin? There must be something terribly wrong with the girl because my cousin is the sweetest man. No man will want her now.”
Nina balled her fingers into a fist and fought the urge to confront the other woman. She was sure the gossipmonger knew Nina had ended the relationship. Most likely it was Amelia spreading the lies about her.
Thank goodness Caroline hadn’t heard. Her sister-in-law would have marched over to the other fitting room and said something. Words that would only cause someone like Amelia to behave more viciously. Nina would take care of this in her own way.
She would show both Amelia Hampton and her cousin Avalon that she could snag the most sought-after man of rank. She was now more determined than ever to get to know the Duke of Fernbridge and see if they would be a good match. And she knew just the scoundrel to help her.
Lord Elliot Ralston.
Chapter Five
Like the morning before, and the one before that, etcetera, etcetera, Elliot woke up with Zeb’s warm breath puffing against his nape. Without opening his eyes, he shifted away and landed on the floor with a loud thump.
Damnation! He rubbed the back of his head. He should have realized the dog had once again taken over nearly the whole mattress, leaving him a small fraction. This was like a bloody nightmare that kept repeating itself. Naked except for his drawers, Elliot stared at the ceiling and the cracks that spread across the surface like the branches of a deciduous tree.
Yesterday, he’d bought the ingredients to make the plaster compound to attempt to fix the drawing room ceiling. If successful, he’d work on this ceiling next.
Zeb made a noise and peered over the edge of the mattress. The bloodhound cocked one of his drooping brows as if to say, What an odd human you are, lying on the floor.
How had his life come to this? “Must you stare at me during this moment of disgrace?”
Zeb made a grunting noise, and his massive head disappeared from Elliot’s view.
Hell and fire. The hound was probably drooling on the pillows.
The door opened, and his valet slowly shuffled into the bedchamber. Wilson wore the thickest eyeglasses Elliot had ever seen. He also looked older than the Parthenon and moved at a pace comparable to Zeb’s.
“Good morning, my lord. A missive has arrived.” The valet offered the note to the dog lying in the bed.
Elliot sat up. “I’m here, Wilson. That is Zeb you are handing the note to.”
“Really?” The man’s eyes blinked behind his thick lenses.
Releasing an exhausted breath, Elliot stood and took the note. The flowery script indicated a woman had written it. He opened the envelope.
Dear Lord Ralston,
I’ve changed my mind about your offer. I’ll be attending Lady Clifton’s musical this afternoon at two o’clock. I would be so very grateful if you could meet me there.
Yours sincerely,
Nina Trent
Elliot grinned. Under normal circumstances, he’d rather swallow a flame thrower’s sword than attend a musical and listen to an endless list of debutantes perform.
“Should a reply be sent, my lord? The messenger who dropped off the note didn’t wait for one.”
Understandable. Nina wouldn’t want him to send a note to her brother’s house. Elliot stood and tossed the parchment into the cooling embers in the grate. The paper smoldered and curled at the edges before it burst into flames. “No, but I need to send a note to Lord Talbot.”
* * *
Three hours later, Talbot knocked on Elliot’s bedchamber door. “What the bloody hell is taking you so long?”
Elliot jerked the door open. “I’m nearly ready.”
Talbot stepped into the room and frowned at the dog sprawled out on the bed. “Blimey. How often does that beast sleep there?”
“Lately? More often than he should.”
Zeb cracked open one eye, gave Talbot a disinterested look, then rolled over.
“You should give him away. What do you need a bloodhound for? You don’t even like hunting.”
If the animal had ever been a good hunting dog, those days were gone. “I told you, I promised my uncle on his deathbed I would keep the dog.”
“Well, he won’t know if you don’t keep your promise.” One side of Talbot’s mouth lifted in a sly, crooked grin.
“I gave my word. I’ll not go back on it.”
Talbot narrowed his eyes at Elliot’s valet as the ancient servant stepped out of the dressing room. Wilson’s feet shuffled slowly over the faded Aubusson carpet. The man held up two silk neckcloths, which were identical, and studied them through his thick glasses as if deciding the future of the English crown.
Talbot, obviously comprehending what was taking Elliot so long, let out an impatient gust of breath and flopped onto the upholstered chair in the corner of the room.
“I’ll wear this one,” Elliot said, pointing to the one closest to him, attempting to move the process along.
“You should wear this one, my lord,” Wilson said, draping the opposite one around Elliot’s collar. “The color is better suited to your waistcoat.”
Talbot opened his mouth as if intent on informing the valet the ties were the same.
Elliot shot him a scathing look, and his friend clapped his mouth closed.
After it took Wilson an ungodly amount of time to tie the neckcloth and assist him with his coat, Talbot and Elliot climbed into his friend’s carriage.
Talbot shot him a hard stare. “Why do you keep that fossil about? The man is as blind as a bat, and he’s atrocious at his job.”
“You know why.”
“A blind and slow-as-molasses manservant, a hard-of-hearing housekeeper, and an old bloodhound, along with two neglected residences. I’m starting to think your uncle didn’t like you much.”
His uncle had cared for him more than his own father had. He’d spent time with him, whereas Father had acted as if Elliot were an imposition thrust upon him. Father had shipped him off to boarding school as quickly as he could. It was his uncle who’d invited him to spend holidays with him on the Continent. They’d traveled to France and Italy and stayed at lavish hotels.
He’d never realized that Uncle Phillip had lived well beyond his means until his uncle’s solicitors had shown Elliot the debts the man had accrued. His uncle had preserved grand impressions while traveling on the Continent, but nothing else. Uncle Phillip had possessed a penchant for his mistresses, along with a kind heart to those who were loyal to him. Too bad he hadn’t possessed any sense of how to invest wisely.
As the carriage weaved through the busy London streets, Talbot released a long-suffering sigh. “Why do you wish to attend one of Lady Clifton’s tedious musicals?”
“Lady Nina will be there.”
A grin spread across his friend’s face.
“So, you are already attempting to woo her. You old dog.”
“I am, but she’s set her sights on the Duke of Fernbridge.”
“What? You mean she hasn’t fallen into your arms like a lovesick puppy?”
“No.”
“Which means she has good sense.” Talbot laughed.
“With friends like you, I’m not sure why I’d need any naysayers about.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt by the end of the season you will have charmed your way into the girl’s heart. Anyway, in school, Fernbridge was rather tedious, and he hasn’t changed much, but the man is a duke and as rich as the queen.”
That fact caused a tightness to wrap itself around Elliot’s chest. If Nina’s power-hungry, cantankerous grandmother wished for a marriage that would band two powerful families together, then marrying Fernbridge would be like grabbing the brass ring.
Talbot glanced out the window of the carriage, then at Elliot again. “I’ve noticed the way that American, Penny Granger, all but drools when you walk by. Perhaps you should try to win her instead. They say her father’s Second Avenue mansion in New York City has so much gilded furniture it blinds a man. Leave it to a nouveau riche American to live so ostentatiously.”
He’d noticed the woman’s glances as well, and she seemed pleasant, but for some stubborn reason, he wanted Nina. Perhaps it was nothing more than what he’d said—men enjoyed the chase along with the competition.
“You know I despise Lady Clifton’s musicals,” Talbot grumbled, breaking into Elliot’s thoughts. “I cannot believe I agreed to go with you.”
“I don’t care for them either.”
“Lady Clifton is a complete bore. She wishes to marry off her eldest daughter, Georgiana, this season, and I fear she hopes I’ll be the one snagged. Every time that mama sees me, I feel like I’m a rat being cornered by a Jack Russell.”
“Not the most favorable analogy for either you or her ladyship.”
Talbot grinned. “It isn’t, is it? Sometimes I regret I’m to inherit my father’s title and properties.”
Elliot blinked. Talbot’s father was a wealthy duke who, unlike Elliot’s uncle, had invested wisely. He hadn’t cared a whit that some members of the peerage still looked down on those in trade. The man had realized that living off one’s ancestors’ wealth was a thing of the past. And that the income at their country homes in this age of industry could not save them. Their grand homes were now weighty anchors about their necks. They needed to invest wisely or be dragged down like a ship with a hole in its hull.
He ran his hand over the damask curtains in the carriage and gave Talbot a sardonic look. “Quite terrible being wealthy.”
“I freely admit, I enjoy my family’s wealth, but one wants to eclipse the achievements of one’s father. I fear I shall never do so.”
Talbot’s father was a hard man to please. His overbearing personality was what had made him such a good businessman. He made all the decisions and had not allowed his son virtually any control. Perhaps it explained why Talbot, who’d been such a good student in school and admired by fellow students, now acted so frivolous.
“Talbot, have you ever thought about starting your own business?”
“Doing what?”
“Have you heard of Langford Teas?”
“I’ve seen their horse-drawn wagons with the name painted on the sides.”
“I overheard Samuel Langford, the proprietor, at the Reform Club saying he wishes to retire. If you purchase it, I’ll run the business for a share of the profits.”
“What do you know about tea?”
Two weeks ago, he’d known nothing, but since overhearing Langford talking to another man about the possibility of selling the business, Elliot had done extensive research. “I’ve looked into the man’s business. I visited the London Tea Auction and found out that Langford is set in his ways. He still purchases Chinese tea. But a new batch of growers is taking root in Ceylon. Their product is cheaper.”
The old exuberance that used to light up Talbot’s eyes returned. “What is the quality like?”
“Good. Also, Langford has never branched out past the lower counties. At one time, tea was the drink of the wealthy, but times have changed. Like pubs are for men to gather and talk, now tea houses are being built to cater to women. I forecast the number of tea houses popping up across Great Britain will increase. Langford hasn’t expanded his brand to them. He seems content with his small sliver of the pie.”
Talbot laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“My father just purchased Old Towne Teas. How I’d love to be his competition. To grow this business and surpass him in sales.”
A small flash of hope exploded in Elliot’s gut. “Then what do you say? Are you interested in purchasing it and letting me manage it for a cut in the profits?”
His friend held his gaze. “No.”
All the excitement in Elliot’s chest released on a heavy breath.
“I have a better idea. We can be partners.”
“You know I don’t have the funds. I’ve sunk nearly every dollar I own into my wretched properties, and I cannot spend what little I have left. I need it, and more than what I have, for my sister’s season and dowry.”
Talbot scratched at his chin. “Then I’ll help us secure a loan by providing the initial capital. The contract will stipulate that we both own the business equally, but you will take a smaller cut of the profits and manage the business until you have matched my investment.”
Elliot stared at his friend. He bloody well looked serious. “Do you have enough capital?”
“People might think me a useless popinjay, but I’ve been speculating. And I’m damn good at it. I’ve been waiting for an investment, but we need to form a company. If we purchase the business, I don’t want my father to find out that I’m one of the owners.” Talbot rubbed his hands together. “If this works out, I’m going to best my sire and prove to him I’m his equal.”
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Elliot’s heart was beating fast.
“Definitely!” Talbot thrust out his hand for Elliot to shake.
For the first time in weeks, a sense of hope settled in Elliot’s chest. But unless he grew Langford Teas profits quickly, most of his share would initially go to paying off Talbot. Which meant he still needed to try to win Nina’s hand to give his sister a proper season and repair his neglected properties.
The rumbling of the carriage’s wheels slowed as the vehicle pulled before Lady Clifton’s town house.
Talbot moaned.
Elliot smiled. Inside, Nina waited for him.
Chapter Six
After handing their hats and gloves to the servant in the entry hall, Elliot and Talbot stepped into Lady Clifton’s music room.
Their hostess rushed toward them.
“Here comes the Jack Russell,” Talbot mumbled.
“Lord Talbot, Lord Ralston,” Lady Clifton said. “How utterly pleased I am you both could attend.”
As Talbot could do when he wished to, he turned on the charm and greeted the woman. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Even highwaymen could not have waylaid us.”
She tittered and glanced around the room. “Where is my eldest daughter, Georgiana?”
Elliot could almost hear Talbot’s teeth gritting. As his friend chatted with the woman, Elliot searched the room for Nina. She sat in the front row of chairs, facing the Bösendorfer grand piano. Her yellow dress set off the dark color of her hair, which was loosely pinned up and accented with a glistening silver hair comb. Nina turned slightly to talk to the gray-haired matron sitting beside her.
Good Lord. The Dowager of Huntington, Nina’s grandmother, sat next to her. Elliot released a silent sigh. He had hoped Nina’s sister-in-law would accompany her. It would be beyond beneficial if he could win the woman’s approval if he was to get anywhere with Lord Huntington.
After making small talk with Lady Clifton, Elliot said, “If you will excuse me.”
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Talbot looked like he wanted to strangle Elliot for abandoning him.
“Lady Huntington, Lady Nina,” Elliot said, stepping up to them. “How wonderful to see you here.”
The Dowager of Huntington lifted her lorgnette and scrutinized him with her steely gray eyes. “Goodness, Lord Ralston, what is a rascal like you doing here?”
Nina smiled. “I’m sure he is here for the same reason everyone else is in attendance. To enjoy the music.”
“Pish. I doubt that.”
He brought the old woman’s gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. “I take great pleasure in listening to music.”
“Humph. You take great pleasure in widows,” the Trent family matriarch said. “Which must mean your newest friend is attending.” She pointed at the young widow Eliza Finston. “She’s most likely the reason.”
“Actually, my lady I was hoping to claim the seat next to your lovely granddaughter.”
The dragoness’s hand tensed around the knob of her cane as if she was contemplating lifting it to smash it over his head.
“That would be nice.” Nina placed her hand over her grandmother’s white-knuckled grip, apparently fearing the matriarch might cause him bodily harm.
“Thank you.” He bowed his head and sat.
“Will you be performing?” Elliot asked Nina, realizing he couldn’t ask her about her missive, since her grandmother was listing toward them like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and might overhear every word spoken between them.
Nina’s pink cheeks deepened. “No. I’m not accomplished at the piano.”
“But I remember you and my cousin playing a duet.”
“You remember?” Her stunning brown eyes with their specks of gold widened.
“Of course, I thought you played quite well.”
“I fear your memory is faulty. Victoria is the pianist. My playing is average at best.”
“Will you be singing instead?”
“No one would wish that. My singing is worse than my piano playing. My brother Georgie’s dog at our home in Essex howls when I sing. Then he retreats to under the nearest table and places his paws over his ears.”
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 4
