Mr. Woodson began wrapping the book. “That is unfortunate. I am not in the position myself, you understand, of locating a suitable translator. It would be altogether too precarious a position for me to be in.” He looked up again with a hopeful glance. “I don’t suppose you know anybody who speaks Italian?”
Alex shook his head. “Not anybody who could translate this for me with any kind of discretion.” His brother Bennett didn’t speak the language, and Bennett was the only person with whom Alex felt close enough to ask such a thing.
Although he would have enjoyed the conversation, his brother being the height of discretion while Alex was—was not.
“Well, thank you, my lord,” Mr. Woodson said, placing the book underneath the counter. “And I will send word ’round if I come across anything else. As you will, I assume?”
He and Mr. Woodson had a mutual agreement to let one another know about certain books that might have crossed their paths. Alex kept very few of them for his own collection, while Mr. Woodson relied on the sales of the books to keep the rest of his shop afloat.
It was Alex’s own peculiar brand of philanthropy, albeit of an obscene nature.
And he’d found he enjoyed having that purpose, odd and clandestine though it might be. Mr. Woodson was inordinately grateful, as well, which made Alexander feel . . . useful.
Alex left the shop and leapt into his brother’s curricle, feeling immediately stifled at the constraints. Of his position, of the curricle itself, of why he was here, and being tolerated by the rest of his family. Wishing he could just escape his responsibilities, but knowing he couldn’t leave Bennett on his own.
“You look unexceptionable,” Cotswold said, adjusting one of the ringlets that hung around Eleanor’s face.
I am sure I do, Eleanor thought. And that was the problem. She stared back at herself in the mirror. She was not overwhelmingly gorgeous. Not even whelmingly gorgeous. She was of average looks, heightened only because she was the eldest of the Duke of Marymount’s five daughters.
Four that were spoken of.
“I know that look,” her maid said. “It’s the look that means that you are grumbling about something in your head. You might as well share it. You know you can’t say anything in public, not without possibly causing a scandal.”
“If only I could cause a scandal,” Eleanor retorted. “Nobody expects me to do anything but what I am supposed to.” Even her list was remarkably staid.
Cotswold shrugged as she tugged on one of Eleanor’s sleeves. “I think you might want to consider causing a scandal. If only to get people’s minds off your sister.”
“You mean swap one scandalous daughter for another?” Eleanor chuckled. “Can you imagine Mother’s face if I did something like that? And what would I do anyway?” She grinned at Cotswold. “What if I decided to write lurid poetry and somehow people figured out it was me? Or if I stepped out onto the terrace with a handsome gentleman and kissed him?” She should definitely put some of those on her list. She smiled more broadly at the thought.
“Maybe you could run off with someone even more scandalous than a dancing instructor,” Cotswold said, her eyes twinkling. “Like your father’s second groom, the one with the”—and then she gestured to the sides of her head to indicate the man’s very large ears, giving him the distinctive nickname of “Pitcher.”
“Do you think Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar is his favorite play?” Cotswold shook her head to indicate she didn’t understand. “‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.’” She emphasized the last part with a waggle of her eyebrows. Her father would not approve of this use of eyebrow movement, certainly.
Cotswold groaned at the joke.
“Do you suppose I could have a word in someone’s ear about this whole scandal thing?” Eleanor said with a wink.
Cotswold snorted and shook her head. “I can’t keep up with you, my lady.” She gestured at Eleanor. “You’re done for now.”
Eleanor rose, her mood growing somber again. “Curse Della,” she muttered. Cotswold didn’t reply; there was nothing more to say on the subject. If her sister hadn’t been so foolish as to run off with someone so unsuitable, she wouldn’t have had to be shoring up the family’s reputation on her own seemingly average shoulders.
And even before Della had run off, the girls had all known they would have to be settled in marriage, since they were all only girls. When their father died, the title and all the holdings would go to their cousin Reginald, who was pleasant enough, but already had a wife and a brood of children. The only thing the Howlett ladies had in their favor were their substantial dowries.
It had been a distant prospect, back when they were all together. They’d each talked about finding a gentleman to marry, one who was kind, and handsome, and cared for them.
Not that Lord Carson was not a pleasant enough gentleman; he was very courteous, and had a respectable fortune, and was of moderate good looks.
It was only—well, he was average, like she. And she wasn’t being given a choice, not now when Della had made their reputations so precarious.
They would marry, and likely they would not argue. But neither would they spark together in passion, all outsized emotions, and she’d never feel what it would be like to practically vibrate with feelings, and wants, and pleasure.
For a moment, her mind drifted back to the gentleman from the bookshop. He certainly seemed outsized—literally, he’d been quite tall, as far as she could tell from his lounging position on the floor. And he had been passionate enough to find that book with those pictures and be looking at it in a bookshop. He was a gentleman—she’d been able to tell that from his clothing and manner of speaking. But he was an overwhelming gentleman. The kind that unmarried young ladies were not supposed to pay attention to, but did nonetheless. The kind that would ignite all sorts of feelings in a young woman’s breast.
The kind that was not even close to average.
If only she could have a few moments of sparking passion and outsizedness and overwhelmingness—then, perhaps, she could enter this average marriage with more than average expectations.
Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:
Expect more.
Chapter 2
“Mother?” Alexander waited at the doorway to his mother’s room, its gloominess echoing her usual state of mind.
“Come in, dear,” her soft voice said, and he walked forward, squinting to avoid the clutter that littered the way to her bedside.
He reached the chair next to her bed and sat down, taking her hand which lay on the covers. “How do you feel today?” he asked, stroking the paper-thin skin.
She grimaced, her fingers fluttering in his grasp. “The same. It is just—if I could only get enough strength to get up, I am certain I would feel better.”
“The doctors will have you up in no time, Mother,” Alexander replied, almost by rote. It was a conversation they’d had numerous times, and each time, it hurt. Hurt to see his once-vibrant mother felled by whatever it was that made her so listless, made her need to dose herself with laudanum in order to sleep.
When he had been younger, she had spent all of her free time with him and his older brother, Bennett, playing with them, reading to them, and filling the gap left by their often-absent father. And then she had discovered why her husband was absent so often, and Alexander had lost one of the Raybourn houses through his own foolishness, and she had spiraled into this miasma of sadness and lethargy that nothing seemed to be able to get her out of.
She wasn’t the only reason Alex stayed living with the family, but he knew that if he left Bennett would be fine. She, however, would not. He rubbed her skin with his fingers, a soothing gesture that seemed to comfort her. She offered him a wan smile. “You are too good to visit your mother, dear.” Her eyelids flickered before he could respond, and he stood and pecked her on the forehead.
“You are too good in general, Mother,” he replied in a soft voice. Wishing that she would have
some sort of miracle cure, where she was fully alive and engaged, and not this sometimes-sentient person in a large bed placed in a dark room.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, her slowed breathing indicating she was falling asleep.
Alexander glanced over at one of his mother’s nurses, who regarded his mother calmly, her only task to administer more laudanum and quiet her when her nerves got too much for her. He didn’t envy the nurses their duties; his mother was likely a difficult patient, either because it was so dull to watch her sleep in this gloomy space, or because she was frantic, but lacked any energy to do anything about it.
“I’ll check in on her tomorrow,” he promised as he walked out.
“Alex!” His brother, Bennett, spoke his name from down the hallway, emerging from his bedroom looking perfectly immaculate, as always. Bennett had likely been up at dawn, dealing with things nobody else could even think of. Not their father, who spent time with his mistress and their children, nor Alex, who had been forbidden to deal with anything any longer.
“Bennett,” Alexander replied, nodding to his brother. “I’ve just come from seeing Mother.”
“I spoke with her this morning,” Bennett said in a low voice. “She seemed . . . better.” But judging from Bennett’s tone, he was just trying to make it sound that way. “I told her about Lady Eleanor Howlett. The lady that Father has arranged for me to marry.”
“And you are just telling me about now?” Alex said, his tone clipped. He grabbed Bennett’s arm and began walking him downstairs, shoving him into the room where Bennett conducted most of his business.
He pushed Bennett into a chair, then took one opposite, dragging it forward so the brothers were nearly knee to knee. “What is this about?”
Bennett’s expression was neutral, belying what Alex hoped his brother was feeling. “We are in financial trouble again, Alex,” he said after a long pause. “And the Duke of Marymount has reason to wish to have his eldest daughter married, so he and our father have come to an agreement. I am to propose before the end of the season.”
“But how do you feel about her?” Alex spoke as fiercely as he felt, causing his brother to start.
“It is a business proposition,” Bennett replied. “One where she gets the security and solidity of our family name and I get her money.” Which made it seem like it was just another transaction, Bennett’s emotions permanently put away because they weren’t needed.
“You mean the family gets the money,” Alex said in a growl. “When you marry yourself off for it.”
Bennett shrugged. Not for the first time, Alex wished his older brother would show a speck of anger about the situation their father’s fecklessness had placed them in. But that had always been the case; as soon as Alex had arrived, it seemed that all the emotions had devolved onto him, whereas Bennett had shouldered all of the family burdens.
Until that moment twelve years ago, a moment that made Alex wince whenever he thought about it. He’d tried to assist Bennett; he’d taken funds out from the bank to gamble on what seemed to be a sure thing, only to lose all of their ready money, plus a house that wasn’t entailed, and Alex to forever lose his father’s trust.
It had taken his father begging other family members for loans to rescue them. And Alex would never beg his father to forgive him. Not that his father would forgive him even if he did ask.
“But how do you feel about it?” Alex asked, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you like the lady? Do you even know her?”
Bennett gave him a sharp look. “Of course I know her.” He paused. “That is, I have seen her. We have conversed a few times. I am too busy now with business to spend any time working on a foregone conclusion.”
“That is all she is to you? A foregone conclusion?” How could his brother be so removed from what this all meant? Or perhaps it meant nothing to him. Maybe it was only Alex who cared that his brother was on the verge of changing his life irrevocably. Maybe it wouldn’t be an irrevocable change, after all.
“She is a fine enough young woman,” Bennett replied, sounding defensive. “I expect her to support me as my hostess, and other than that, she will be busy raising our children and doing whatever it is that wives do.” As though he had barely thought about it.
So it did mean nothing to him. It would be like adding another member to the household, and not even one who did something useful, like polish the silver or lay the fires in the morning.
If only Bennett didn’t have to sacrifice himself like this. If only Alex could do something to ease his brother’s burden.
“Well, let’s go to this polite event, then,” Alex said. “And I will have the chance to meet your fine-enough young woman myself.” And if she wasn’t worthy of his brother, he would have to do his damnedest to prevent the entire thing from taking place. No matter what it might mean.
“I suppose you will have to introduce me,” Alexander said to his brother, Bennett, glancing across the ballroom to where Bennett had pointed. From this distance, Alex couldn’t figure out which one she was, just that she was one of the ladies in white or off-white standing in a cluster of virginity. “If she is to be your wife and all.”
Bennett nodded and began to walk across the floor, the crowd parting as though he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. Or he was the heir to their father’s title and holdings and they were . . . not. It was Bennett’s job, according to their father, to ensure the Family Name continue as it Ought. Capitals inferred, if not stated outright. Alex had never been happier to be the second son. Even if he wasn’t happy to be here at this moment. And even if his father was determinedly and continually angry with Alex, who had given up years ago trying to please the man.
“Remind me—how long have you been acquainted with this Lady Eleanor?” Alex inquired as they marched down the path Bennett’s presence was creating.
“A month or so. Her father and ours are known to one another in the House of Lords.” Once again, Bennett’s tone was neutral. Mild, lacking any indication of what he might be feeling.
Unlike Alex’s usual tone; Alex was renowned among the gentlemen of London’s society for his blunt speaking and indifference to anyone’s response to it.
He was anything but blunt to the ladies of London society, but they always believed he spoke the unvarnished truth, especially when he extolled their glorious hair, or excellent figure, or anything that might gain him entrance to their bedchambers.
Alex squinted as they approached the ladies, one of whom had turned to them and had a hesitant smile on her face, matching her vague expression. Was it?
Oh no. It couldn’t be. Could it?
It could be. It was.
The lady from the bookshop, the one who’d fallen on him, the one whom he’d asked very inappropriate questions of, the one with the passion for mythology—that was Lady Eleanor.
Dear God.
Not just that. Damn. Blast. Fuck.
He felt his chest tighten as Bennett nodded to the young lady, who regarded his brother with a pleasant expression. Not as though she’d seen something entirely shocking just that afternoon, not as though she’d even recognized him.
How could she not recognize him? He wasn’t vain, but he did know he was striking. Godlike, some of his more fanciful ladies had told him. He had a better appreciation for the compliment, given what some gods got up to, according to his newly purchased book.
But never mind that, he was substantially taller than his brother, so even if she had just been looking at Bennett’s face, she would have seen his as well.
Was she just remarkably unobservant?
Bennett, meanwhile, was bowing, which meant Alex was even more in view.
No recognition whatsoever. Was it possible she was just not intelligent? Could he allow Bennett to marry a stupid woman?
Although perhaps Bennett didn’t care, since it seemed he just—didn’t care.
“Lady Eleanor, it is a pleasure to see you,” Bennett said as he straightened. A
lex drew alongside of him. Her expression still hadn’t changed.
“May I introduce my brother, Lord Alexander Raybourn?” Bennett gestured toward Alex.
For a moment, their eyes met. Her eyes were blue; he hadn’t been able to tell in the darkness of the bookshop. Plus, to be honest, he wasn’t focusing on her eyes, but other parts of her.
They were very pretty eyes, nearly as pretty as her other parts, even if her vaguely pleasant expression made her look rather—well, not very intelligent.
And then he did get the reaction he’d been both hoping for and dreading, those blue eyes widening, her eyebrows rising up her face, her mouth opening into an O of surprise.
Then snapping shut again. Even as her cheeks were currently the color of his mother’s chaise longue, a particularly bright cherry-red color that always hurt his eyes.
She opened and closed her mouth a few more times, long enough for Alex to wonder whether she was ever going to speak. And if she was going to denounce him when she did. Now was the time he hoped she was stupid, but he strongly suspected he was wrong.
“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, my lord,” Eleanor said, trying to catch her breath. She had to calm her whirling brain. She’d seen two figures approaching, one much taller than the other, and she’d eventually figured out that one of two was Lord Carson, while the other was, apparently, a tree Lord Carson had befriended along the way. At least that was what it looked like in her admittedly terrible vision.
Not for the first time she wished her parents would allow her to wear her spectacles. Being without them made everything so unclear. In so many ways.
Once they’d arrived, and she’d been able to focus properly, she’d realized the tree was, in fact, a human. And not just any human; it was the human she’d toppled onto only that afternoon. She couldn’t help but recognize him, bad eyesight or not. He was tall—she could confirm that—he stood at least six inches taller than Lord Carson. His tawny-colored hair looked much like a maple tree’s leaves in the fall—sun-streaked. And his eyes were a verdant green.
Lady Be Bad Page 2
