While it seemed improbable the problems at her mission had anything to do with Strathford’s missing plans, it was strangely coincidental they’d all rained down on her at once.
And how did Cory fit in? Did he somehow get caught up in the maelstrom, or was he part of the problem?
One thing was for certain: Cory’s engagement to a harpy like Miss Lambert, and bringing a strange Russian woman into the country when England was officially at war with them, did not attest to any level of clear thinking.
Damen had finished going over the ledgers and felt fairly certain of Marbanks’ honesty. Granny and Sarah’s mission clients verified rents had increased substantially. Yet all the property managers reported the same percentage decline.
Too many coincidences.
There had to be collusion and he sensed the noose tightening. While chaos reigned, he couldn’t get traction. Every time he got close, a pack of villains emerged from the gutters to do him in.
He was a man of action and it was past time he got a few things done – clean house, as it were. As a pragmatist, he started at one end and worked his way to the other. While he continued to search for Strathford’s plans with Sarah, he would see to some much-needed changes.
***
The next day at three o’clock, as Miss Lambert’s note demanded, Damen climbed the steps to her magnificent townhouse. He handed Cory’s card to the butler. While he waited, he listened to the patter of the elaborate fountain in the marble and statue-lined vestibule.
A few moments later, the butler showed him into a grand parlor dominated by fine wooden furniture, a high ceiling adorned with frescos, lavish plaster moldings, and thick ropes of gilt. Landscapes and friezes circled the room. Anything soft, like upholstery or rugs, was curiously absent. A fire roared in the grate, heating the room well past his comfort, and smelled of something medicinal.
Miss Lambert stood when her butler showed Damen into the room. “Good afternoon, Mr Ravenhill.” She winced. Her skin stretched tight over her skull, emphasizing her rather pronounced proboscis and weak chin.
“Miss Lambert.” He bowed.
The woman did not fit his brother’s customary taste. Though, of late, Cory’s preferences had expanded to a more eclectic variety. He usually preferred his inamoratas in the bloom of health. Women with striking features – if not beautiful, at least interesting; thick hair – any bold color; large eyes – any bright hue; sensuous rouged lips; large… chest… preferably, or plenty of shape elsewhere.
Miss Lambert was the antithesis of his brother’s typical selection – a skinny, pale wisp of a woman with anemic blonde hair and apparently no eyebrows or eyelashes. Strings of tiny pearls laced her thin crown of braids. Her gown was of some lovely, pale, diaphanous material, no doubt made in one of London’s finest salons, completing the picture of a big-beaked arctic fairy.
“Join me.” She motioned for him to sit next to her on the intricately carved wooden settee. Her pinched lips hinted at her mood and the direction of today’s conversation.
“Tea, Mr Ravenhill?” Without waiting for his assent, she handed him a dainty cup and saucer as he took his seat. The spindly-legged table in front of them held a tray with a teapot and no cream or sugar. Once she’d poured herself a cup she sat back, pointedly stared at his face, and grimaced. “Will your bruises be healed by our wedding day?”
He shrugged.
“Does it hurt?”
“Only when I laugh,” he said dryly.
“Rest assured, our discussion should not hurt your face today.” Her voice had a nasal intonation, like she was about to sneeze. “I have rallied the troops and everything is ready to proceed as originally planned. In case you were wondering, my modiste began making my dress the day after you proposed. I instructed her to stop when your father informed us you’d been gravely injured. Once I discovered you were up and about, I told her to finish it.”
Not wanting to prolong this interview or somehow make her aware he was not Cory, he remained mute.
“I’m no schoolgirl and quite aware men have their dalliances. You being you, I expect you’re taking full advantage of the time you have left before our nuptials. After we’re married, however, I expect you not to flaunt them about town.”
Damen took a sip of his cold, weak tea.
“I know this is a marriage of convenience and don’t ask for much.” She sniffed. “But I jotted down a few expectations so there will be no misunderstandings later.” She pulled out a piece of paper from a small shelf in the table.
“Number one: I will continue to have the Ladies Auxiliary fundraiser at our home and you will be at my side lending assistance where needed.
“Two. You may continue to attend your clubs, but you are to be home at least four nights a week for dinner with me and our guests.”
She continued to lay out twelve more items. “And…” – she raised a bony finger – “you will buy me a handsome new carriage at least once every three years.” She’d worked herself into a wheeze and had to fortify herself with another cup of weak tea.
He took a sip of his and waited. Sure enough she began again.
“Do you know, I saw you at a few parties about ten years ago?”
Dear Lord, by the note in her voice this next bit was bound to be her list of Cory’s transgressions.
“You were tall, dark, handsome, the son of a lord, everything I ever wanted. You’d dance with the prettiest woman in the room, and then leave to play cards. I dreamed of being that woman, even though I was shy and gangly and knew I would never be the prettiest in the room. So I watched and plotted.
“Now, now, Miss Lambert, you’re—”
She held up her finger for silence. “I finally mustered the courage to maneuver near your group of young bucks in hopes that by some miracle we would be introduced.” She sipped her tea and let the unanswered question dangle between them.
“I wait on bated breath,” he drawled. “What happened?”
“You don’t reme-me-member?” She put her hand to her mouth to cover a hiccup.
“I don’t know what I did last month, much less ten years ago.”
“We were introduced.” Her eyes bore into him. “You frowned and turned to whisper something to your friend. He laughed, and both of you left for the card room without acknowledging me.”
“Truly?” Cory had given her the cut direct, and she still pined for him after all these years. His brother was so full of charm and hubris, even when he acted like a total shite women loved him for it. No doubt he’d broken more hearts than Miss Lambert’s.
“Your cut made me feel like the silliest kind of fool. Still does to this day.”
“And you want to marry me because of what, exactly?”
She made an ‘ung’… ‘ung’ sound and curved her lips at an angle to blow a whistling breath out the side of her mouth. What was she doing? He’d seen men blow cigar smoke out the sides of their mouths the same way.
Damen pulled on his ear. “Well, I, I don’t know what to say other than it sounds like something I’d do. I’m very sorry I…” Damen was about to apologize and caught himself. What was he doing? He didn’t want this woman to like him. He needed her to call off the wedding as soon as possible.
The family finances must have been in dire straits for his brother to hitch himself to this woman who was obviously obsessed with him, or had a score to settle, or something else definitely not healthy. Damen made a mental note: get to the bottom of the family’s financial troubles.
Eugenia gazed at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish the sentence he’d begun.
“Well… I... I…” he stammered. “I have certain responsibilities that take precedence over your expectations.”
She held out the paper to him. “Here, I made you a copy.”
He let it hang in the air and wanted to tell her to put it under her pillow, with the rest of her fantasies. Instead, he flicked a clump of dog hair off his sleeve. An imperceptible updraft lifted it into the air.
He watched Miss Lambert’s expression wrinkle in distaste as she followed the fluff float lazily above them, drift down, and finally alight on the shiny surface of the settee next to her.
“What is this?” Her face twisted as if the clump of hair were a menacing beast.
“That?” It’s only dog hair, Miss Lambert. Rufus crawled into my lap earlier. He’s a great fellow, and his heavy coat sheds this time of year.”
“I thought we agreed you would get rid of that hound.”
“Did we? Are you sure?” Damen scratched his head. “There must be some misunderstanding. I don’t know why I would agree to something that would be impossible. We have kennels, you see. We breed several lines of prize hunting dogs.”
Her nose wrinkled.
“I brought a few of them with me so you could get to know the family. Come.”
Before she could protest he launched to his feet and marched to the front door. When she finally caught up with him he was halfway down the steps.
Twelve dogs bounded up on the sides of the large landau, barking and wagging their tails.
“Aren’t they handsome, Miss Lambert?” He walked over and vigorously jostled the jowls and ears of a pony-sized hound.
Rufus grinned, his tongue lolling out.
Damen petted the next dog while Rufus shook himself out, launching long strings of drool into the air. They landed on the sides of the carriage, Damen’s jacket, and Eugenia’s shoulder.
“Get it off me. Get it off,” she screeched.
“It’s all right, it’s just a little dog spit.” Damen grinned and patted Rufus on the head. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he did his best to smear the drool across Miss Lambert’s shoulder and down the sleeve of her elegant gown.
She pushed his hand away, her top lip rising over little spiked teeth. “I thought I made myself clear. I cannot abide dog fur, cat dander, or anything else about them. It causes me great distress.” She made that strange ‘ung’ sound in her throat again.
“Mr Ravenhill, this is ‘ung’ ‘ung’ acceptable. I will not have my home polluted with the mange and filth of those animals. You can keep your kennels at your estate. I will not allow furry beasts into the sanctity of our home.”
Damen injected a note of sorrow into his voice. “But Miss Lambert. We have always had dogs. They are a part of my life. I can’t imagine a home without them. They are very useful – they catch rats, alert us to intruders. Matter of fact, had they been with me, I doubt my attackers would have bothered. My hounds would have chased them off.”
She crossed bony arms over the plane of her chest. “I will not have them, Mr Ravenhill, and that is final!”
“Oh,” he sighed. “I don’t know if you can understand this, but after I was set upon, I decided to take them with me. Everywhere.”
“Why don’t you take a footman?”
He lowered his voice to a solemn register. “I did and my attackers killed him.”
“I didn’t know.” She wheezed and pinched her nose. “My condolences.”
“It could very well have been me.”
She made a squeaky, ear-splitting sneeze, and sniffed, “When you proposed, you were all accommodations. Now that my father has advanced you part of my dowry, you don’t even try to hide your selfishness or greed. You couldn’t maintain the ruse until the wedding day? I am no longer some silly, lovelorn miss. My father will hear about this.”
***
An hour later, Damen walked into Cory’s room with Rufus at his heels. He’d grown rather attached to the hound, and he didn’t deserve to be banished to the stables. Having Cory’s best friend about might even help speed his brother’s recovery. True, the dog was practically as big as a small horse, but he was smart and lovable.
Damen crossed to the bed and gazed down at his brother. His bruises were almost healed. He could swallow water and soups, and the turban of bandages had been removed. Stitch marks over one temple and several on his head appeared to be on the mend, yet he still hadn’t awakened.
Gormley periodically groomed Cory. He’d said his brother’s eyes occasionally fluttered when he gave him a wash and shave. And, by the trail of women Cory had collected, it didn’t surprise Damen to hear that, while everything else seemed barely operational, his brother’s manhood made regular, hardy salutes.
He asked the nurse to give him a few minutes alone with his brother.
Damen sat in the chair next to Cory’s bed. “When you get a chance, you might want to thank me and Rufus for a fine bit of work.”
Sitting on his haunches at Damen’s side, Rufus looked up at the mention of his name.
“You did a fine job today, didn’t you, boy?” He gave him a good scratch, smoothed down his coat, and jostled his ears.
Rufus closed his eyes and lolled his tongue, his version of a humble smile.
While continuing to pet the hound, Damen added, “And why, you might ask, should you thank us? Because we got your bollocks out of the mangle, that’s why. I can see why the thought of having to spend the rest of your life with the likes of Miss Lambert would make you want to remain asleep.
“Rufus and I and a few of his friends have fixed the mess you got yourself into. Miss Eugenia Lambert now cannot countenance you or your hounds. I am in expectation of her formal declaration that the marriage is off.” He smiled and watched his brother’s face.
Nothing changed, only his slow inhale and exhale.
“You can wake up now.”
Rufus got to his feet and thrust his nose over the side of the bed. He sniffed Cory’s hand and gave it a long slobbery lick.
Cory’s fingers twitched.
Damen launched to his feet to gaze about his brother. “You’re so overcome with relief you’ve decided to wake up? Was that all you were waiting for? I expect Miss Lambert may be taking your name in vain at this very minute, but it’s a small price to pay.”
Rufus licked Cory’s hand again and, with infinite canine longing, gazed about his master.
Cory remained as still as a statue.
Finally, the dog returned to his haunches and gave a little whine.
“I know, boy. He’s being a laze-about. But he’s made progress. Before long he’ll be tossing you sticks and taking you for romps in the park.” He scratched behind one of the dog’s ears and turned to his brother.
“I must say, it disturbed me to hear Miss Lambert has been in love with you for the past decade. Yet even after you gave her the cut direct, she accepted your proposal. That didn’t sound like a strong basis for a marriage. She also presented me with a fearsome list of expectations. The woman apparently anticipates years of watching you grovel and do penance.” Damen shuddered.
“You should be relieved to know you are a free man again. You can wake up now and help me sort out the rest of this mess.”
CHAPTER 25
The day after the vandalism, Sarah and her workers began cleaning up the chaos in her mission. By the second day, the broken windows were replaced and the weather turned as stormy as her spirits.
A soft knock on the door jamb interrupted her thoughts. “The O’Flaretys, that young couple you helped with their landlord, dropped this envelope by earlier, my lady.”
Sarah placed more primers into a box. “Very good, Mrs Billings, could you please set it on the desk?”
“Of course, my lady. One of the workmen stopped by as well, to say they will be here tomorrow to paint the damaged rooms.” She pointed to a stack of crates. “Shall I have these moved upstairs?”
“Yes. Thank you.” When her mission manager left, Sarah pulled an elaborately printed card from her pocket. The very sight of it sent bile churning up her throat.
Her eyes burned across the embossed type. No matter how many times she reread the invitation, it still said the same thing.
In little more than a week, Mr Ravenhill would marry Eugenia Lambert.
The date confounded her. When had the marriage been arranged? He’d only been back in London a few weeks.
All kinds of demeaning, lowering thoughts now plagued her.
For the invitation to arrive today, he and Eugenia must have already been engaged when she and Ravenhill were intimate after Astley’s, three nights before. Though they’d done everything else, most of it uncharted territory for her, he’d seemed disinclined to take the final step. She’d been the one to instigate that ultimate, irrevocable joining.
She rubbed her forehead, pinching her eyes together.
How, after all these years of propriety and constraint, could she have been so foolish? She turned to gaze about the debris. If anyone could peer inside her heart, it would probably look as damaged as this ransacked room.
Her attention fell on the envelope Mrs Billings left on the desk. Sarah opened it. At first she didn’t understand what she was reading. Then the stilted information started to make sense. It was addressed to the O’Flaretys with today’s date. Sarah had discussed the rent increase with the property manager and he’d agreed not to raise it.
By this notice, it looked like a rent increase reminder.
She hastily folded the paper and jammed it into her pocket along with the invitation. The property manager had looked her in the eye and agreed to lower the rent. He’d lied to her face.
Now the O’Flaretys would be even more strapped for money. They didn’t want to move, so they’d have to go ahead with their first idea and find someone to help with the rent. How could they fit any more people into that tiny, dismal room?
Sarah kicked an empty crate in anger. She was sick of men lying to her. Did she look like a simpleton, a gullible woman? In her frustration, she yanked a box over to the shelf and shoved in a handful of small slate boards.
The tap of soft leather shoes and the swish of a silk gown approached her from behind.
Mrs Billings did not wear gowns that swished. Nor did anyone else at the mission.
The Trouble With Seduction Page 22
