Love in the Bargain (Women of Worth, #1)

by Stockton, Kasey

  “Young lady,” she began, settling herself into her chair again. “Many young women come to London saying silly things like you just did with the hope that the right man will prove them wrong and sweep them from their feet. But life is not a gothic novel, and highwaymen do not turn out to be handsome earls in need of a wife. You can build a satisfying life with a number of the boring young men you dance with every night.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I reiterated, “You misunderstand. I made a decision at a young age to never sign over my life to another man. Aside from humoring my mother and yielding to a fondness for dancing, the only thing I wish to acquire in London this Season is a decent set of freckles.”

  She sat back in her chair, spinning her quizzing glass around her finger. “You are in earnest.”

  I let my gaze speak for itself, trying to infuse it with strength and dignity. The tea arrived and Aunt Georgina poured. I took a moment to recover from my outburst, restored after a gulp of tea.

  “Do you wish to remain alone forever?”

  “No,” I answered. “I will probably settle down with a few close friends in a quiet country cottage where we can become the eccentric old ladies that everyone loves to gossip about.”

  “Like me,” she said.

  I flushed. “That is not what I meant.”

  “That does not make it less true. Now,” she stood, placing her teacup on the tray. “Come. I’ve something to show you.”

  Aunt Georgina walked to the door before shooting a look over her shoulder.

  I stood quickly, gulping the remainder of my tea before following her out into the hall and up the stairs. The wall was lined with gilded frames, men and women painted in a time well before our own. I trailed behind Aunt Georgina. She paused in front of a portrait of a young girl dressed in white, preparing for her debut.

  “This is your grandmother,” she said, her gaze locked on the young face. “You resemble her greatly, I believe.”

  I came to stand beside my aunt. It was a portrait I had never before seen, and the resemblance was striking. We shared the same honey hued hair, sloping nose and pointed chin. My eyes were not her bright blue ones, but my pale face and high cheekbones could have been a direct match otherwise.

  “My father’s mother,” I said.

  She nodded. “My sister.”

  We stood shoulder to shoulder for some time, our breathing falling into rhythm while we gazed at the woman I’d never met. She had died during Father’s birth, causing him to be an only child and me to not have any cousins on his side. From all accounts, she was a lovely person, but Father did not know her, and I had never had much of a relationship with anyone else who did. To be perfectly honest, I had never before considered her very much at all. Guilt fell onto me swiftly and I let it reign, for it was quite deserved. Without her, I would not be here. And I had never stopped to think of her.

  “Come,” she barked, moving down the hall to a door at the end. For all of her age, Aunt Georgina was a spry woman. She led me into her dressing room and pointed to a settee before the fire. I took her gesture to be a command and sat, watching her fiddle around in the bureau on the far wall.

  “This belonged to her,” she said quietly, coming to sit beside me. She held out a beautiful coral cameo on a gold filigree setting, the chain swinging beneath her hand.

  I took the necklace, marveling at its superior craftsmanship. “It is beautiful.”

  “So was she,” she said tenderly.

  I reached for her hand and took it in my own. “You miss her.”

  “Immensely. She was my dearest friend.” She laughed, sniffling in what I imagined to be a rare moment of vulnerability. “Dare I say, my only friend?”

  “That cannot be true,” I scoffed. “Your ballroom was filled when I graced it last.”

  “When you saw it for the first and only time, you would more honestly say.”

  Indeed, I had been correct. Aunt Georgina tolerated no nonsense.

  Her smile was warm when she turned it on me again. “I do not blame you, dear. The blame rests fully and completely on your mother.”

  Well, I had not been expecting that. “Oh?”

  “As you well know. Now, we best go and finish our tea. I will probably have callers soon.”

  I moved to return the necklace and Aunt Georgina’s hand came around my own, closing it instead. “You keep it. She would want for you to have it.”

  My eyes pricked with emotion and I nodded simply, afraid opening my mouth would let out a squeak. Moving to the mirror over the bureau I unclasped the hook and slid the necklace into place. Touching it with the tips of my fingers where it sat over my breastbone, a warm, instant connection to the woman in the portrait wound through my heart.

  “Will you tell me about her?” I asked when we moved down the stairs.

  Aunt Georgina eyed me. Evidently, I passed the test, because she gave me a large grin before leading me back into the Egyptian drawing room and to the settee. She began weaving tales of two young girls growing up on an orchard in the countryside, getting into scrapes when they could sneak free of their governess and staying up late designing tales fit for a spook house.

  “I do that, too,” I said, excited to find common ground with my grandmother. “It is an odd sort of pastime for me, but I enjoy creating stories.”

  “Do you write them down?” Aunt Georgina asked, taking a biscuit from the tray.

  “No, I haven’t the patience for it. But my stories are entertainment for me so they serve their purpose.”

  “I always believed Charlotte would write a novel one day, her stories were so rich. They would have me laughing one moment, terrified the next, and crying by the end.”

  The door opened and the butler stepped inside. “Are you home for visitors, Ma’am?”

  Letting out a sigh, Aunt Georgina looked to me.

  “I really should be getting home. I need to prepare for Almack’s tonight.”

  “Very well. Let them in, Jackson.” To me, she said, “Do come to my soiree on Friday. I should love to show you off again.”

  “You are holding another ball?”

  “A little card party, dear. And don’t seem so shocked. I needn’t answer to anyone but myself, and I enjoy entertaining.”

  “I wish I could introduce you to my friends,” I said wistfully. Aunt Georgina was precisely the sort of strong, independent woman we all hoped to become someday. “They would like you immensely.”

  “Bring them.”

  My face flooded with color. The cheek! Had I really begged an invitation for Rosalynn and Freya? “I couldn’t!”

  “Are these the friends you shall settle with in the countryside to become eccentric old ladies together?”

  “Yes,” I said quietly, embarrassed I’d been so bold.

  “Bring them. I should love to meet them as well.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Your eyes are like stars, dusting the night sky. Your nose, like a hill in the sweet summer breeze.”

  A hill? Was that meant to be alluring? I looked along the back wall but saw no one from which I could beg rescue. Before me, Mr. Howe continued to make up for his faux pas at the last assembly by sprinkling words of affection all over me. When he begged a dance and I feared for my toes, requesting we sit out the set instead, I had not realized I would be submitting my ears to an assault in their stead.

  “And your hair, like soft grass blowing in the wind...”

  “Mr. Howe,” I said suddenly. “I find myself in need of refreshment.”

  “But the supper just—”

  “Yes, we recently had supper, but I was not quite so hungry then. Now I feel like I shall expire without a bite to eat.”

  He stood, bowing. “Allow me.”

  I relaxed, wondering how we let the dancing go on for so long. It was unfair. No, that was untrue. It was my fault for trying to come on too strong at the beginning of our conversation. I had hoped it would scare Mr. Howe away like it did Lord McGregor. But al
as, it appeared to have only encouraged him instead.

  He returned shortly with a plate of cake. I took a bite, and it was nearly inedible. Ignoring Mr. Howe and his soft puppy eyes, I set it down on the bench beside me.

  “Now,” I said, pasting a smile on my face. “Tell me about your estate. You are from Derbyshire, yes?”

  His eyes lit up and he delved into a monologue about the latest features of his home and the superior shooting to be had. When he began making comments about the size of the nursery and school room, I saw the mistake of my words. I had only encouraged the poor man even more.

  Swallowing, I searched my mind for a suitable set down. I simply had to say something that would throw him off of my scent. But he was so nice, I didn’t want to hurt him.

  “And I cannot have the dogs inside the house, for I am terribly allergic. But we have a good breed trained and ready to go in the stables at any time.”

  I latched on. “Allergic, you say?”

  “Oh yes, horribly so. My throat begins to close and breathing becomes difficult.”

  I shook my head slowly, conjuring a sad look to accompany it. “I am so very sad for you. How do you keep your feet warm at night? I vow if my dog is not curled over my toes I’d surely never fall asleep.”

  Mr. Howe blinked a few times, his face still. “But surely you do not require a dog in your room.”

  “No.”

  He visibly relaxed. I continued. “Not just any dog. My dog, Coco.” He tensed again, I pressed forward. “She is the sweetest little terrier, with fur the color of chocolate.”

  “Chocolate, you say?” he ran a finger around his collar, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Yes, and she is just as divine.”

  The set came to a close, finally, and Mr. Howe stood. “Shall I escort you to your mother?”

  “She is unwell this evening. You may escort me to Mrs. Hurst,” I supplied. I would have felt bad for the man if I was not enjoying an overwhelming sense of relief.

  Mr. Howe deposited me by Mrs. Hurst’s side and beelined for the opposite side of the room. I was hoping he wouldn’t lick his wounds too long. It seemed I could not let an assembly at Almack’s pass without utterly offending or embarrassing him somehow.

  Freya returned to us flushed and happy, on the arm of Mr. Fenway. He bowed his departure and she grinned, sidling up to me, unbothered by a few loose curls falling from their pins. “You shall never guess what I just heard.”

  “Then you may as well tell me.”

  She pouted. “Boo, you are no fun. Very well.” She leaned in to impart her secret. “The Author of The Green Door is not only a woman, but she is a high society matron herself!”

  “Do you think she is the high society matron? The one belonging to the actual green door?” I asked.

  “That would be my guess. Now how shall we discover who she is?”

  We both considered the matrons lining the edge of the ballroom as if one of them would jump out and proclaim herself the authoress.

  “You are either looking for someone or avoiding someone, and I cannot tell which.”

  I turned to face Lord Cameron, a smirk on his lips while he nodded his head politely. He wore a navy jacket and buff breeches. His hands clasped casually behind his back.

  “How do you know we are not admiring the varying gowns?”

  “Are you?”

  “No,” Freya said. “We are trying to discover the matron who wrote the book.”

  He nodded, seeming to know what she meant despite her cryptic explanation. “Are you having any luck?”

  I sighed. “No, of course not. If she wanted everyone to know who she is, she would not have signed it anonymously.”

  “Unless she was waiting for the book to become popular before taking the credit.”

  I eyed him, but he glanced indifferently at the dancers.

  “I doubt she will ever make herself known,” I said, watching his face for a reaction. “She has made plenty of enemies, has she not?”

  He turned, unable to hide the annoyance on his brow. “Because she has invaded their privacy?”

  I could not fathom why this was a constant argument between us. “Because she has laid bare their most guarded secrets for the world to mock. Do you not think these people are affected by the book, whether their identity is obvious or not?”

  “I think they should not have these secrets if they do want them made known.”

  “How very rational of you.”

  “How, Miss Cox,” he said, stepping closer, “do you make that sound like an insult?”

  My head tilted back to look him in his dark eyes. “Perhaps because I meant it to be.”

  I turned to Freya but she was gone. Somehow she had stepped away and was lining up for the next dance, and I had been unaware.

  “Dance with me?” he asked, his breath sending a shiver down my neck.

  I jumped at the closeness of the words, stepping back with a light chuckle to offset my embarrassment.

  “I didn't mean to frighten you,” Lord Cameron said, holding out his hand expectantly. I wanted nothing more than to refuse him on principle alone, but I could not devise an excuse that would not be breaking the bargain. Instead, I placed my hand on his arm and followed him to the dance floor. When the musicians began to play a waltz, I was shocked. Lord Cameron delivered a rakish grin and slid his hand into mine, gripping it.

  He glanced to my arm, the bandage underneath causing my long glove to look stuffed and puckered. “How is your injury?”

  “It is healing. The ointment left by the doctor has done wonders to soothe it.”

  “And the dog?” he asked.

  “Coco.”

  “Bless you.”

  “No, her name is Coco.”

  His dark eyebrow hitched.

  “She plays a trick,” I explained. “Oh, nevermind. It is not such a silly name for a dog.”

  He spun me toward the center of the set, momentarily away from the gossipy women hiding behind their fans. I looked over his shoulder and saw Cecily dancing with Lord Fischer down the line, the dandy gazing at her with unabashed interest.

  “You are to keep her then?”

  It took a moment for me to realize he was referring to the dog. “Yes. I am fattening her up and giving her a place to sleep.”

  “And what do you receive from the bargain?”

  “She keeps my feet warm while I sleep.”

  His eyes darted to mine and a blush crept up my neck. Something which seemed so innocuous when speaking to Mr. Howe suddenly felt awfully forward and direct. I turned my head, watching Cecily deliver her charms to her partner like a parrot on a perch. Whyever was she so interested in him? Cecily was beautiful. She did not need to settle for a self-obsessed man with only a title and no fortune. If the gossiping matrons were to be believed.

  “You are concerned about something?”

  I whipped my head around, Lord Cameron’s gaze searching mine. “No. Only watching the other dancers.”

  “Perhaps one in particular? Have you a beau among the patrons tonight?”

  I glanced at him sharply. “Not that it is any of your concern.”

  He was all innocence. “There is nothing wrong with looking out for Rosie’s friends. Particularly those with no older brothers to fill that role.”

  I tossed him a wry smile. “No, indeed. There is nothing wrong with that.”

  The moment separated us in a flurry of twirls and I breathed deeply through the respite, gathering my wits about me as I returned to him. His eyes scanned my face while we moved. He did not need to watch where we were going, but knew innately. My hand was all too warm enveloped in his and I swallowed, grateful my glove would hide my perspiration.

  The instruments came to a stop and Lord Cameron’s hands dropped from mine. We turned and clapped for the musicians before he took me back to Mrs. Hurst.

  “Should you be free tomorrow, I would like to take you to the park.”

  I tried to cover my surpris
e. “To Hyde Park, sir?”

  “No, Berkeley Square. I have a mind to see Coco for myself.”

  My hesitation was futile, as I only had one answer I was allowed to give. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  My voice did not sound wooden and stiff then like it usually did in such situations. I chose not to wonder why.

  “Very good.” With a dip of his head, he was off.

  “Elsie, you will never guess what I just heard!” Freya said, pulling me away from her Mama and toward the relative privacy of the wall behind her.

  “I believe I have heard those words recently,” I said drily.

  I glanced up to see Rosalynn walk a straight line from the other side of the room toward us. I had not seen her since before supper. She had been dancing the entire evening without pause. She had a glint in her eye and a determination to her step.

  “You shall never guess—”

  “No, Rosie, I was already about to say it.”

  Rosalynn pouted. “Very well.”

  Freya turned to me, gripping my hand in both of hers. “You know the man in the book? The one left at the altar of his elopement when his bride took off with his valet and was never seen or heard from again? He was Lord Fischer!”

  “No,” I said, my jaw unable to pick itself back up. “That cannot be. He is the most self-concerned, self-aware man I know.”

  “And he was left at the church,” Rosalynn said, Freya nodding along.

  “How sad for him,” I said, searching the ballroom once more for his bright clothing and conceited smile. I finally caught sight of him speaking with a couple of men, Cecily still by his side.

  “It looks as though he has gotten past his heartache,” Rosalynn said. “I do not know if I could bear to be seen in public after such an embarrassing anecdote about me was passed around.”

  “What else could he do, go into hiding? That would simply confirm he was part of the book. At least this way he does not know that anyone has figured it out.” I hastily added, “If, indeed, it is true.”

  We watched while whispers passed behind fans around the room like a soft breeze. Eyes, widened in shock, darted to Lord Fischer as the gossip wound its way through the Fashionable World.