by Regina Scott
“Whatever is the matter, Uncle?” she asked, making her eyes as wide as possible. A shame that her grey eyes were not nearly as vapid and innocent as Constance’s blue eyes or her heavy auburn tresses as light and curly as her stepsister’s blond mane. But her dainty stepsister would be far more convincing in the role Katherine had given her to play. Constance could never confront anyone, even to save the family from social ruin. In the Collins’ house, Katherine was the managing female.
“Stand aside, Katherine,” her uncle blustered, though she was thankful that he was not so far gone as to touch her on the stair lest she fall. “The editor of The Morning Chronicle has gone too far this time. How dare he malign Wellington’s strategies?”
Katherine refused to give way. “I am certain Mr. Perry means no disrespect for the valiant general, Uncle. Perhaps if you read the piece on the Peninsular War again…”
“Again!” Her uncle glared down at her, brown eyes surprisingly heated. “I couldn’t stand to finish it once, let alone twice. Now move out of my way, or I’ll have Bixby confine you to your room for a week.”
She was fairly sure Bix would never follow through on such an order. He knew which way the wind blew in their house. Besides, he was more grandfather than butler and just as likely to spoil her. Unfortunately, she was even more sure her uncle would not be swayed by logic. Sighing dramatically, she moved out of his way and watched as Bixby flawlessly executed the second phase of their plan.
“Will you be wanting a carriage then, Sir Richard?” the elderly retainer asked as he handed her uncle his top hat. He was so diffident that Katherine wondered whether Sir Richard would notice. Bixby and her uncle had been campaigners together. At times neither remembered who was master and who servant. She shook her head sharply behind her uncle’s back to warn Bix not to play it too brown, but Sir Richard was already blustering ahead.
“Of course I want a carriage,” he raged as she came down the stairs to help. “Do you expect me to walk? I took a ball for Britain, blast you. Must I do everything else as well?”
Bixby’s blue gaze met hers, and she was pleased that he did not deign to answer the question. He’d been there when her uncle had been wounded. Sir Richard would never have returned home without him. Most days, Sir Richard remembered that and was grateful.
Bixby straightened his thin shoulders and looked down his long nose. “If you’ll be so good as to wait in the library, then, sir,” he said in his best imitation of a stiff-rumped butler, “I shall fetch you a hack.”
“Wait?” Sir Richard’s look was so apoplectic that Katherine thought Bix had given away the game. But her uncle merely snatched the ebony cane from Bixby’s long-fingered grip. “Oh, very well. But be quick about it. And this isn’t my sword cane.”
“No, sir,” Bixby replied, carefully snagging the offending implement as Sir Richard waved it angrily about. “I shall do my best to locate it.”
“I believe I saw it upstairs in my brother’s room, Bixby,” Katherine offered. “Eric is rather fond of playing adventurer.”
The butler nodded and started for the stairs. Sir Richard ripped the cane from his hands as he passed.
“Never mind! I’ll use this one. Mad as I am, I can likely kill him with my bare hands. And you can forget about that carriage. My indignation will carry me.”
Bixby and Katherine exchanged glances. So much for phase two. Her butler pulled down the front of his brown wool coat in resignation and raised his voice to start the third phase.
“Will that be all then, sir?”
Before Sir Richard could answer, there came a crash from the stair to the kitchen and a blood-curdling scream. Emma burst out the door, large hands wringing before her frilly white apron, white-streaked blond hair flying. Her jowls quivered on either side of her rosebud mouth.
“Oh, mercy on us! Miss Constance be fallen! Help her, Sir Richard, do!”
Her uncle blanched. Leaning heavily on his cane, he hurried down the short corridor for the servant’s stair. Katherine and Bixby fell into step behind him. Emma held open the door, and Katherine peered down around her uncle.
As usual, Constance was the weak link in their plan. She either balked at playing a role or played it far beyond the limits of normality. Today, she lay on the landing, skirts tastefully draped about her sprawled limbs, golden curls fanning out behind her head. Unfortunately, her head was cocked at such a convincingly horrid angle that she wrung a gasp from her uncle. Her creamy completion was so pale that if it hadn’t been for the rise and fall of her well-molded bosom, Katherine might have thought her gravely injured as well. The fact that Eric had returned from his task for the day and was staring at her wide-eyed only completed the ghastly picture.
Sir Richard scrambled down the stairs. “What happened?”
“I didn’t do it,” Eric declared, sidling around his uncle, who knelt to touch the girl’s cheek.
Constance’s eyes fluttered open, and Katherine mouthed a warning behind her uncle’s back for her stepsister to behave. Before she could see the effect of her caution, her brother flew up the steps, and she caught him to her.
“Of course you didn’t do anything to harm Constance, Eric,” she said, giving him a look of warning as well. “You only just returned from the errands I commissioned. Good thing you are home early. We can send you for the carriage so Uncle can visit the office of The Chronicle.”
Emma put a plump hand on Katherine’s shoulder as if in agreement. The boy’s mouth widened in an O, and she knew he understood them. He should have been as relieved as her uncle to hear Constance moan theatrically. Instead, he paled and tugged on her hand to lead her away from Emma and out of the stairwell. She didn’t like missing the next act of their little play, but she did want to hear what he had to say. She could only hope her stepsister wouldn’t overplay her hand while Katherine was gone.
“I didn’t know Uncle would be up so soon,” her brother said when they were out of earshot of the drama in the stair. “I thought he’d sleep to all hours after drinking so much last night.”
Katherine shook her head. “Even with the drink his wound troubles him too much to lay abed for long, I fear. He threatened to kill Mr. Perry again. But our latest plan seems to be working. Constance will get him safely upstairs and keep him at her bedside until we are assured the offices are closed for the day.”
Eric pulled off the cap and ran a hand back through hair as thick and auburn as her own. “Are you sure this will work?”
She smiled down at him, watching his button nose wrinkle his freckles into a solid mass of cinnamon. “It will work. Do my plans ever fail?”
A sharp rap at the door belied her confidence.
Eric grabbed her hand. “It’s him! I knew I could get him to follow me home.”
“Him?” A chill ran through her. “Oh, Eric, no! Is that Lord Borin?”
Her brother nodded, tugging her toward the door. “Yes, it must be. You said it was time for him to meet Constance again. I got him here for you.”
Katherine resisted him even as the rap sounded again. “I said we were nearly ready. There is still much we do not know about him. And this is the worst possible time. I jolly well can’t have him meet Constance when she’s supposed to be gravely injured!”
Eric paused. “Oh, yes, there is that. Well, maybe if we ignore him, he’ll go away.”
The third rap was far too determined to make her think their visitor planned go away any time soon. Katherine frowned. They had worked too hard to identify and attract Viscount Borin to simply let him slip through their fingers now. He might not be able to meet Constance, but she couldn’t let him leave without furthering their cause. She grabbed Eric and pushed him toward the servant’s stair. “Keep them busy until I send him away. Then tell Bix what’s happened.”
With a nod, Eric hurried off.
Katherine dashed to the front door and snatched it open. The gentleman standing there was obviously expecting trouble. His eyes were narrowed, and his shoulde
rs were so tense that she wondered he didn’t rip free from the close-fitting grey coat. She had to admit, however, that his air of expectancy in no way detracted from his charm. His hair was nearly as golden as her stepsister’s, though not as wavy, being modestly cut around his oval face. He had high cheekbones and a determined chin. It was a manly face, a face a sculptor would love, with well-shaped angles and planes. But by far his best feature was his deep-set vivid blue eyes ringed by golden lashes. No woman could resist him, she was certain. What an excellent choice she’d made for Constance.
She nearly sighed aloud with pleasure, but realizing that would ruin all, she merely hid her delight beneath a deep curtsey. “Good afternoon, sir. Our servants are busy at the moment. I am the lady of the house. How might I assist you?”
She straightened to watch him and marveled at how easily she read his emotions from his face. The quirk of his firm lips told her he knew he was at a disadvantage. A puff of a sigh informed her he wasn’t sure what to do about it. She could understand his dilemma. The rules of polite Society dictated that a gentleman could not simply introduce himself to a lady. She decided to make it easy for him and achieve her own purposes in the process.
“Most likely you are here to see my stepsister Constance Templeman. Any number of gentlemen visit for that reason. When one is the belle of the Season, one must expect adulation, I suppose.”
His brow cleared. “Yes, that is exactly why I am here. Miss Templeman. Might I have a moment of her time?” He smiled.
My, what a charming smile. She fancied she even saw the beginnings of a dimple near one corner of his lips. Surely this was one suitor Constance wouldn’t refuse. Perhaps they might yet keep her stepsister’s fortune in hand. Six weeks remained until her twenty-first birthday, after all.
But the stunning gentleman on her front step must never know that he had been chosen for the role of husband to the fair Constance. He needed to think courting Constance was all his idea. Katherine had found that gentlemen preferred it that way. Indeed, they tended to become quite irrational if they thought they were being manipulated. Unfortunately, they weren’t tremendously rational even when they were in charge. Look at her uncle. Look at her father. Look at the toad who had inherited from her stepfather. Their sheer incapability to care for their families was one of the reasons she so often had to arrange matters herself.
Like now.
She gave him back what she hoped was a smile just as charming, though it would never match his for beauty. She was not her stepsister, after all. He’d have to make do with her plainer features, darker hair, and thinner body. But it did her heart good to see that he didn’t seem to mind. His smile deepened along with hers.
“I fear my stepsister is indisposed just now,” she replied. “If you would leave your card, I am certain she would be delighted to make your acquaintance another time.”
The thumps behind her told her Constance would shortly be making a rather unflattering appearance, if she was capable of doing anything in an unflattering manner. Still, Katherine could not take the chance. One of the things they had learned about Lord Borin was that he didn’t seem to like things to become too difficult. Constance must be a challenge but never a trial. Katherine held out her hand expectantly.
“Perhaps I might speak with Lord Templeman,” her paragon said with remarkable stubbornness. She’d have to add that to the wall. None of the data they’d gathered so far had indicated he was stubborn. Quite the contrary. Eric and Bix had been following him for several weeks and had made any number of inquiries. They had talked with his friends, his relations, even his old nurse. Katherine had carefully arranged all the data on the wall of a little-used room in the attic. According to that information, everyone thought him even-tempered and complacent, quite the polished London gentleman. That was one of the reasons she had chosen him over the other fellows they had considered. That and the fact that he was one of the few men for whom Constance had actually shown a fancy.
And he was so terribly adorable.
There was another thump and a squeal that sounded suspiciously like Eric. Her Adonis attempted to peer around her, and she stood on tiptoe to block his view, afraid that he still could look over her head. Her smile was becoming strained.
“Lord Templeman does not live here,” she explained. “My stepfather, the former Lord Templeman, died several years ago. My uncle, Sir Richard Collins, is our guardian.”
“Sir Richard then,” he said agreeably, but she heard the steel in his voice. She also heard the stair door bump open and the murmur of sympathetic voices.
“Indisposed,” she snapped. “Your card, sir?”
He also stood on tiptoe, ducking to the left. “Will he be available tomorrow?”
She pulled the door closed against her to prevent him from seeing more than the top of the stair. Behind her, she heard Bixby call a caution and her uncle’s voice answer sharply.
“Yes, fine,” she barked out. “Three o’clock. Good day, Lord Borin.”
And she snapped shut the door before he could argue.
Chapter Three
Alex blinked as the door snapped shut. Singular woman. He found himself intrigued, and he didn’t even know her name.
But she evidently knew his. Of course, he was a common fixture in social circles, so it wasn’t entirely surprising she would recognize him. What was more surprising was that he didn’t recognize her. He thought he knew every pretty girl who’d been out the last few Seasons, if only so he could avoid their matchmaking mamas.
He descended the stair. Of course, she wasn’t in the common way. Her thick coil of auburn hair nearly dwarfed her elfin face. The dress she wore had been severe enough for a governess, but the clean lines somehow drew his attention to her slender curves. She was also petite, coming only to his collarbone if one counted the knot of hair on top of her head. She looked as insubstantial as eider down and far too young to be the lady of the house for her stepsister Miss Templeman. She did look old enough, however, to be ready for marriage. Yet there had been no wedding band on those slender fingers.
Unfortunately, for all she intrigued him, she hadn’t been very helpful. He knew little more about the household than when he had followed his shadow here. But he had twenty-four hours. What could an enterprising gentleman learn in that time? Setting his top hat at a jaunty angle, he set forth to find out.
–
It was evening before Katherine had a moment to consider the next steps in her plan for her stepsister. First, she made sure Sir Richard was busy with Constance as her stepsister rested from her “accident.”
“Why do I feel you had a hand in this, Colonel?” her uncle asked Katherine when she slipped into the bedroom she shared with her stepsister to check on them.
She smiled at his pet name for her. “Do you think I would trip my dearest stepsister down the stairs, Uncle? I was with you at the time, if you recall.”
“I recall. I also recall my intentions at the time. A simple word of warning would have been sufficient, girl. You need not cozen me into doing the right thing.”
She did not point out that she had tried to stop him with words. He had not been in a mood to recognize subtlety. Besides, she knew her attempts to manage things annoyed him. But if he wouldn’t take responsibility for the family, what else was she to do?
Now was no exception. She had thought Constance might keep him safely by her side. All too soon, however, he complained of the pain in his leg and hobbled off to his study. Certain of what her uncle intended, Katherine intercepted Bixby on his way up with a tray. She raised a brow at the crystal decanter.
“Watered down two to one, just as you ordered,” her man promised with a nod of his balding head. “And Emma has popovers in the oven, Sir Richard’s favorite.”
Katherine returned the nod. “Good. Perhaps if we can fill his stomach with food, he will have no room for the liquor.”
“Worth a try,” Bixby replied. “Don’t you give up on him, Miss Katherine. He’s just
fallen into a funk. Pride of the regiment, your uncle was once. Wasn’t a man in the unit who wouldn’t have traded places with him.”
“I know,” Katherine murmured. “Perhaps once Constance is safely wed we can turn our attentions to finding him something more worthwhile to pursue than the fastest way to empty a bottle. In the meantime, when you’re done with Sir Richard, and Emma is free, join me in our bedchamber, will you? We shall need several new plans if Mr. Perry continues his attacks on Wellington.”
“I wish Sir Richard would just read a different paper,” her man muttered, but he hurried off to complete his duties.
Katherine could not argue with him. Unfortunately, she’d already tried that tact. Her uncle insisted on The Chronicle. The few occasions when it had failed to appear on their doorstep he had stomped out to find a copy. They had to try something else to keep him from maiming the good editor.
But when they all gathered in the bedchamber, Katherine discovered that no one had any other ideas.
“Mayhap we should let him go to The Chronicle,” Emma suggested, absently twisting a piece of her coarse braided hair around one plump finger as she sat on the bed Katherine shared with her stepsister. “Seems like if that editor be so foolish as to bad-mouth General Wellington, he ought to be expecting a poke in the nose for his trouble.”
“Uncle doesn’t intend to punch him,” Eric told her from where he was curled up at the foot of the bed. “He wants to run him through.”
“Surely he couldn’t murder Mr. Perry,” Constance protested from the head of the bed, one hand clutching the gold cross she wore about her neck. “‘Let not the sun go down on your wrath,’ Ephesians 4:26.”
Bixby shook his head, leaning back against the wood-wrapped fireplace. “Sir Richard’s not a vengeful man, but he isn’t himself when he’s been drinking. Still, he is full-grown. Perhaps Emma has the right of it–we should stop interfering.”
Constance and Emma nodded sagely. Eric looked thoughtful. Perched beside him, Katherine stared at them.
