“Brilliant!” I snatched it from his hand. “Where do you keep the ink? I know it isn’t in your study.”
He gestured to the doorway of the sitting room, the same we had so recently occupied. “There’s a writing desk in the— Wait.” He frowned. “How do you know I don’t keep ink in the study?”
I shrugged as I turned down the corridor, sliding my thumbnail along the edge of the seal on the envelope to loosen it. “You keep plants in there.”
He followed close on my heels, bristling. “Have you been in there?”
“Why would I want to touch your plants, Edwin?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion. They’re very delicate.”
When Nancy had informed me that he didn’t shower women with romantic attention, she would have done better to remind me that he spoke of no one with such loving care as his plants. Biting my tongue, I stepped into the sitting room. This neat little room, the place where he presumably entertained what guests he received that did not possess roots, was done up in shades of blue, gray, and white. I spotted the writing desk instantly.
As I crossed to it, I answered over my shoulder. “You’ll weaken the structure of the house if you keep it so blasted humid in there.”
“I know. It’s only temporary. I’m in the midst of arranging to have them moved by the end of the month.”
Since he was so adamant to have a fiancée that he offered to pay a woman to fulfill that role, I was surprised he cared enough over the expense to fix his house to bother to change his habits. Couldn’t he throw quid at that problem, too?
I jerked open the drawer to the desk and located the ink, blotting sand, and pen. “I’d like to know why you didn’t turn one of the parlors into the library when you brought the plants into your house. Don’t you have estate business to which to attend? Or do you hand all that over to Nancy? I’m told she’s taken up work as your housekeeper when you can pry her out of the kitchen.”
Frowning, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to the desk as I used a letter opener to break the seal on the envelope. I slid the pages out onto the desk and smoothed them, settling in to read.
Difficult to do when Edwin seemed determined to fill the silence.
“Nancy helps, yes, but it’s truly none of your concern how I handle my estate.”
I ran my finger down the page to track my progress, making a non-committal noise under my breath.
“And honestly, how do you know I didn’t turn one the rooms upstairs into a library?”
“You would have directed me there.” I flipped the page and read halfway down, noting the substantial sum of two thousand pounds to be mine when I completed this little charade he’d dreamt up. How many women might I employ with that sum? I’d have to find a means of sustaining the shelter yearly, perhaps by collecting donations, however it would do very well as an initial investment. If I chose a modest building and took care not to reach above my means, I might be able to sustain the shelter for two or three years on that amount.
I continued reading, flipping the page before I recalled the halfhearted conversation. Absently, I added, “Not to mention, you moved your books into your bedchamber.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
I bit my lower lip to hide a smile as I glanced sidelong at my companion. Edwin ran his hand through his hair, distressed. He ought to realize by now that if he wanted to continue with this farce, I would make him as uneasy as pretending to be in love with him would make me.
“The servants talk.”
“About the books in my bedchamber?”
I shrugged and started reading the last page. “You’re a rather boring master, Edwin. They have nothing else about which to gossip. Not to mention, they hoped you would bring home a lady and offer to show her your book collection.”
The smug smirk that spread across Edwin’s face made me queasy. Where was the gentle boy I knew? Brandishing the pen, I cut him off before he spoke.
“Ask me up to see your books and I’ll stab you with this pen.”
His lips flattened, as did the satisfied look in his eye. “Sign the contract, Mary.”
I examined the nib of the pen. Did it need sharpening?
“Bloody hell! The servants keep the pen sharp. Sign the contract before we die of old age!”
I glared at him. “The servants?” Since when did he speak of other people that way, as if they were fixtures?
Meeting my gaze, he crossed his arms, forbidding. “Do you want me to name every single person who has access to the pens?”
I lifted my chin. “Frankly, I’d be surprised if you could.”
“I only keep a dozen servants. I know their names.”
“Do you? Because you’re forgetting two. You have fourteen, including your grooms.” Turning away, I yanked the cork from the ink bottle and dipped in the pen. I scrawled my initials on each of the pages of both copies of the contract. At least he had had the foresight to make himself a copy as well.
After I signed the last pages and thrust the pen into his hand, he scowled and set about the same task. “Don’t lecture me about my staff. How I handle them is none of your concern.” He wiped the pen on a rag and blotted the pages with sand.
“No?” I raised my eyebrows. “Because you just signed a contract that states that should I be unable to make calf eyes at you for two weeks, it’ll very much become my concern, because I’ll be your wife.”
The word rang in the air between us, growing in potency the longer we remained silent. Edwin met my gaze, his face impassive. After he tested the ink to make certain the signatures wouldn’t smear, he stuffed one copy of the contract into the envelope and held it out to meet. He held it for a moment, our fingers brushing.
“This is a matter of convenience,” he told me, his voice soft. “Don’t turn it vicious.”
“Perhaps you haven’t been listening to our peers. These days, my sharp, vicious tongue is all I am.” I yanked the envelope from his hand and turned away.
I made it to the door before his words stopped me short.
“No, it isn’t. I have a mouser in the kitchen that proves otherwise, regardless of what you’d like people to believe.”
I didn’t want the men of the ton to believe anything about me, other than the fact that I and every other woman was their equal. Everyone, man or woman, deserved the same chances.
If I lost Edwin’s wager, I’d be no more than property to him in the eyes of the law. I wouldn’t let that happen.
Turning, I dipped in a polite curtsey, donning the role of obedient betrothed. “Goodbye, Edwin.”
He didn’t seem appeased. “We have a dinner engagement tonight with friends of mine. I’ll bring the carriage ’round for you at eight o’clock.”
I nodded my acknowledgment but couldn’t help but wonder what Nancy would think of this impromptu dinner when told. After all, she seemed set on preparing an elaborate meal for that evening.
How like an arrogant lord not to think of the concerns of the women who supported him. I didn’t need to wait the remaining thirteen days to know that however this arrangement turned out, our futures would be best spent apart. Edwin had changed—far too much.
Chapter Five
In Society, the prettiest girls were svelte, blond, and empty-headed. In other words, my polar opposite. But tonight I’d done my best to present myself as a worthy fiancée. I wore a peach-colored underdress and a gauze overdress embroidered with a damask pattern along the bottom, the waist cinched under my breasts with a white ribbon. Jane had threaded another ribbon through my hair. Powder paled my cheeks, rouge added color to my lips, and I’d dabbed a perfume smelling of lilacs beneath my ears and on my wrists. But, since Old Lady Gladstone wouldn’t be there, I wore my spectacles.
My accoutrements complete, I paused in the threshold of my bedchamber. With the candle doused, an uneasy sort of silence blanketed the room along with the shadows, broken only by the steady patter of rain. The beds rested alone. An
ocean might as well have resided between them. With Hariti’s belongings gone, the room looked achingly empty. I could scarcely breathe, standing there. I shut the door, closing off the sight.
Perhaps this charade with Edwin was a blessing. At the very least, it provided me with an excuse not to be home. Whenever Jane, Brutus, and Albert retired for the night, the empty house haunted my thoughts. Even the animals couldn’t banish my loneliness. I missed my friends.
Puck’s bark alerted me to the arrival of a carriage. I hurried out to meet it, keeping the sheepdog indoors by wedging my hip into the entrance as I left. He whined, but I kissed him on the snout and shut and locked the door.
The half-shuttered lamp on the front stoop shed a halo of soft orange light, illuminating the seal on the carriage door, the frond of a long leaf on a field of black and gold. The Sutton carriage.
I danced through the downpour, holding a shawl over my head to keep my intricate hairdo from wilting. The driver hurried to position the steps below the coach door. I accepted his help to mount the steps, thanking him as I paused in the threshold. The interior smelled of wet leather with the faint undertone of cedar. Edwin’s hulking shadow, his hat on his lap due to the low ceiling, was squished into the side of the carriage facing forward.
I liked to face forward. I waited, rain trickling down the back of my neck, but he didn’t move.
Inching forward, I lingered long enough for him to scoot to the side to make room for me to pass, then squeezed myself in next to him.
We pressed together from thigh to shoulder. Well, my shoulder. I only reached midway up his arm.
Shadows decorated the carriage, but I heard the scowl in his voice when he exclaimed, “Bloody hell, Mary. Take the other seat.”
“No. I like to face forward.”
“Well, so do I.”
Our gazes met, sparking light in the darkness as the driver shut the door. The shutters were pulled tight over the window to keep out the rain. Droplets splattered the carriage. The air inside grew thick. Edwin sat so close to me, his breath fanned my forehead.
The carriage lurched into motion.
“You won’t back down from this, will you?”
“Do I ever?”
With a grumble emphasizing his reluctance, Edwin shifted in his spot. He used the motion of the conveyance to propel him to the other side.
Now only our knees brushed. Cooler air washed my right side, a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. He’d given up far too easily. With a sigh, I settled back into the squabs.
“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly.
My back stiffened. “How can you tell? It’s black as night in here.”
“I saw you when you entered. You look a fright.”
I raised my hand to brush my cheek, then my hair. Had I erred? “A fine thing for a man to say to his future wife.”
He groaned. “Don’t remind me. We still have an entire evening ahead.”
“Then you’d best make an effort to dote upon me or else no one will believe we’re to be married.”
Edwin chuckled. “I’m fairly certain if any man tried to dote on you, you’d punch him in the face.”
A smile teased the corners of my mouth, but I didn’t let it out. “I promise not to do you physical harm tonight. Though you might start off on a better foot by complimenting what I’m wearing.”
“How can I? You’re smothered in ribbons!”
“I have one.” Come to think of it, I shared his aversion.
“And one in your hair. And, who knows where else, probably on your stockings, too.”
I laughed. “Why would I put ribbons on my stockings? You aren’t going to see them there.”
“Please tell me this isn’t for my benefit.”
My smile slipped. “Certainly not. I wore the ribbons for me.”
“But you hate ribbons. And most other feminine frippery. Are you wearing rouge tonight?”
My stomach flipped. He remembered? I used to rage about the dresses I had to wear as a child. I swallowed, trying to maintain a cool mien.
“I am. I can look feminine too, sometimes. It’s not against the law.”
For a long moment, the silence stretched thin. What was he thinking? Perhaps he agreed with the gossips of the ton, who whispered that no man would ever find me attractive because I refused to act demure.
I don’t care either way. But my stomach swished with every jolt of the carriage, waiting for his answer.
Finally, he said, “No. It’s not. But I prefer you as you are, without artifice.”
My chest warmed. Was that a compliment? I couldn’t be sure, so I said nothing.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the rattle of the wheels on the cobblestones and the drum of rain on the coach roof. When the tension threatened to choke me, I broke the silence.
“Where are we dining tonight?”
“We’re invited to Viscount Rosebery’s Mayfair townhouse.”
I frowned. “Isn’t he out of town?” If memory served, the gentleman in question had been out of the country for so long that the gossips now speculated over his demise.
“He is,” Edwin answered, his voice stiff. “His brothers are in residence.”
“They’re inviting us to his home without his knowledge?”
“They have leave.”
I bristled at Edwin’s hostile, snipped answer to the simple question. It sounded rather unorthodox if you asked me.
In a slightly less brittle tone, he added, “Rosebery and his brothers own a greenhouse together, though Rosebery’s contribution lies in supplying the plants by way of his expeditions. He’s rarely at home.”
Silence washed over us once more as he finished. After a moment, I asked, “Will I be dining with a table full of botanists tonight or can I look forward to some conversation that doesn’t have to do with plants? I don’t have your expertise on the subject.” Despite being fast friends with Francine since our come outs, who was as mad about plants as Edwin.
“Only Graham, Quentin, and myself. Their wives, Winifred and Annabel, will also be in attendance.”
I frowned. “You refer to them by their given names?”
“They have asked me to do so. It became rather confusing to address them by ‘Mrs. Craven,’ seeing as they both answer to that name.”
How close was he to these women? I bit my tongue to keep from asking. Not only were the pair married, but Edwin was an honorable sort. At least, he used to be. I supposed I didn’t know him well enough now to tell whether or not infidelity was a vice he embraced.
Don’t be absurd. Like Nancy had said, he didn’t shower women with romantic attention. The reason he wanted a wife of convenience was because he couldn’t be bothered.
I held my tongue for the remainder of the carriage ride. My stomach tightened as the silence wore on, punctuated only by the clomping horses’ hooves and squeak of the carriage. With every brush of my knees against Edwin’s, I became more aware of his presence. Watching me. Thinking. What crossed his mind?
The carriage started to slow. I traced the edges of my silk glove. The moment the carriage stopped, I popped out of my seat. Edwin leaned forward and caught me by the upper arms, anchoring me in place.
Unlike me, he hadn’t donned gloves tonight. His hands on my bare upper arms were slightly rough to the touch. A testament to his work with plants—he wasn’t the kind to watch as someone else did the repotting or the pruning or whatever it was he found fascinating about them.
The carriage door opened. The patter of rain grew louder. I tried to pull away, but Edwin held tight.
He caught my gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable in the long shadows stretching from the open door. His fingers curled around my arms, but not in a painful way. I stooped for the low ceiling in the carriage. The position brought our heads close. Close enough to kiss if we’d wanted.
Which I most certainly didn’t.
“Sit down, Mary,” he said. Although soft, his voice rumbled through the carr
iage. It vibrated through me.
I tried to cross my arms, but he held me firm. “Why?”
He sighed, dropping his hands from my arms. His calloused palms brushed over my skin as they fell, inducing a shiver.
“For once in your life, will you let me cater to you?”
“I don’t understand.”
For a moment, he examined me, a ponderous expression on his face. My neck ached from being unable to stand straight.
“You don’t, do you?”
He muttered his words half to himself. I didn’t deign to answer. His voice was calm and even. I couldn’t tell if he poked fun at me.
Louder, he added, “The servants, if no one else, will watch us disembark from the carriage. Will you let me help you down, please?”
He was right. Servants gossiped. If we looked like a happy couple for the ton but broke the façade when our peers left, the servants would notice. They would spread the news. Our little charade would be over. And, so too would my chance at winning this wager.
I dropped into the opposite seat.
“Thank you,” Edwin said, but his tone was so uncharitable I didn’t believe he meant it. He squeezed from the carriage, smashing his topper onto his head. I waited two beats before following.
He offered his hand. I slid my palm into his, our grips warring as he helped me descend the steps. When I would have dropped the contact, he tucked my hand into the crook of his arm instead.
Right. We were betrothed.
When had I last been escorted into a room? Normally, when a man offered, I steadfastly refused. This time, I didn’t have the choice. The hairs on my arms prickled like a hundred ghostly eyes leered at us from the Rosebery home.
The townhouse was a grand one, wider than Edwin’s, though it loomed just as tall. It matched a dozen other stone edifices along the street. A gray-haired butler with a bit of a paunch dressed in emerald green livery opened the front door as we drew near.
Edwin handed him a card. “Lord Sutton and Miss Babington-Smith.”
I wrinkled my nose at the moniker. People underestimated a Miss. Acting missish was the antithesis of everything I stood for. I forced a smile as the butler took Edwin’s hat. The butler also confiscated my damp shawl.
How to Fall for the Wrong Man (Ladies of Passion) Page 5
