The Debutante Is Mine

by Vivienne Lorret

  Jack tipped back his glass and downed the scotch in one swallow. “Have you ever seen him otherwise?”

  “No. Pembroke is still as useless as ever. Though I did hear a rumor that he has called upon Lady Granworth.”

  Jack knew that already. Pembroke’s carriage had been in front of Lady Cosgrove’s house the day before yesterday. There had been no carriages today. When Jack had called, he’d been informed by the butler that Lady Granworth was not at home. Jack corrected his assumption by asking for Miss Appleton. The butler blinked as if Jack had made the request in Latin before showing him to the study. Shortly thereafter, he was informed that Miss Appleton was not at home either. But Jack knew that she would have received any other visitor, just not him. “Perhaps Pembroke was there to court Miss Appleton instead.”

  “Who?” Wolford’s brow knitted for a moment and then lifted. “Ah, yes. She’s a cousin or niece or something of Lady Granworth and Lady Cosgrove. Come to think of it, she might be a friend of Vale’s bride. Do you imagine Pembroke is courting this Miss . . . Miss . . . ”

  “Appleton.”

  Wolford snapped his fingers. “Right. She must come from money, then, because Pembroke is as broke as a twig.”

  “As far as I know, she has nothing. Her father’s estate was entailed to his nephew, Lord Haggerty.” Jack had made a few inquiries on his own earlier today. The more he learned about Haggerty and his reputation, the more concerned Jack became for Lilah.

  Wolford’s countenance flashed disgust. “Tragic. There likely won’t be an estate at all for much longer. The blighter is as dissolute as they come. I’ve no idea why Stapleton invited him.”

  “Haggerty is here?” Jack looked around the room, searching for a face he didn’t know. “I’ve never met him.” And, after Wolford’s reaction, Jack wanted to learn more about the baron. Not to mention, more about the reason behind Lilah’s bold declaration and willingness to transform.

  “I saw him milling about, near the stairs above the foyer. You’ll recognize him by the waves of superiority flowing from his greasy head.”

  Lilah’s talent for worry had failed her this evening. Otherwise, she would have been prepared for the carriage to hit a rut, breaking the wheel, and causing them to arrive at Lord Stapleton’s party late.

  Aunt Zinnia was not pleased.

  Juliet, on the other hand, still hoped for Lilah to make a grand entrance into the ballroom. “And when your name is announced, be sure to look straight ahead. Pretend that you are bored and could care nothing for their opinions. The ton will take notice if you are ignoring them.”

  “If that is true, then it is no wonder that I’ve had little success. I’m surprised anyone with a sense of decorum would.” Lessons on how to act with perfect manners in society had been ingrained in Lilah since birth.

  When a maid came up behind her, Lilah slipped off her redingote and adjusted the white satin sash beneath her breasts. As she stood in the foyer, she gradually felt a sense of being watched. A cold shiver slithered over the exposed flesh of her shoulders, throat, and modest décolletage. That was when she looked up and spotted Cousin Winthrop lurking near the minstrel gallery overlooking the foyer. With pursed lips and holding a quizzing glass to his eye, he surveyed her as one would livestock at the market.

  Juliet made a sound and quickly pulled her into a room just off the hall. “That horrid man,” she said, cringing. “And the way he looks at you . . . I can’t bear it. I wish I could convince your mother of his true nature.”

  There were reasons why Cousin Winthrop had not found a bride on his own. First of all, while he’d inherited a barony, he also acquired barren lands, a crumbling estate, tenants who could not afford to pay rent, and absolutely no fortune.

  Second was the man himself. He paraded around with a sense of self-importance, as if he was next in line to the throne. The few strands of hair remaining on Winthrop’s round head were long and tended to hang limply over his brow. His fleshy face possessed a constant sheen of perspiration that no amount of patting with a handkerchief could remedy. He had a habit of licking his lips, which caused a buildup of froth at the corners of his mouth. Even worse than that, however, was the way Winthrop leered at her, that fiendish gleam ever present. The idea of being forced to marry such a man both sickened and terrified her.

  Aunt Zinnia joined them, a frown upon her lips. “Haggerty’s presence is quite unexpected. According to the maid with whom I just spoke, the only reason he’d garnered an invitation was because he told Lord Stapleton that an . . . arrangement had been settled with you, dear Lilah.”

  Lilah gasped. “How many others has he told?”

  “There is no way of knowing.” Aunt Zinnia shook her head and exhaled her displeasure. “However, I will speak to Lord Stapleton straight away and correct the misunderstanding. Then, Juliet, you and I must set about doing the same with the other guests. We cannot allow Lilah’s name to be tainted by such an association. Not many know about the codicil.”

  Juliet agreed with a nod. “If he approaches me at all, I will give him the cut direct.”

  There was so much at stake. Lilah felt a headache starting. She pressed her gloved fingertips to her temples. “He’s waiting above the stairs. The moment we ascend, he will invite himself, unbidden, into our party. There will be no way to avoid the association. Then everyone will know.” And all of her hopes of freeing herself from this dire fate would be for naught.

  Thank goodness Aunt Zinnia was made of sterner stuff, for she adamantly refused to accept this outcome. “I know another way into the ballroom. It will be unseemly to traverse the servants’ stairs, but we shall do what we must.”

  The moment Jack neared the arch leading to the gallery, he caught sight of a man who fit Haggerty’s description. There was no doubt of his sense of self-importance. He stood—or posed, rather—near the rail, with one foot turned out, one hand on his hip, and holding a lens to his eye.

  From the archway, Jack glanced down to the foyer to find the object of Haggerty’s study. At once, Jack’s gaze settled on Lilah. She was a vision in blue, her face radiant beneath the glow of the chandelier. Yet after a glance up toward the balcony, she grimaced. Before Jack could blink, Lady Granworth pulled her out of view, which was for the best because Jack didn’t like the way Haggerty was looking at her.

  “Pardon me,” Jack said, pleased that he’d startled the man into turning away from the rail. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, be Lord Haggerty?”

  The man’s lip curled as he looked Jack over. “The one and only. And you are?”

  “Jack Marlowe.”

  “Ah yes, Dovermere’s by-blow,” he sneered, turning away.

  Jack had heard all the insults. Such a cut no longer gained a reaction from him. This was a way for the nobility to indicate their superiority, snubbing their noses at him. That was . . . until they needed money.

  Haggerty’s head came up with a snap, like a man who’d just remembered something important. “Marlowe . . . rumor has it that you’ve amassed a rather vulgar fortune.”

  And there it was, the beginning of the beggary. Jack had heard it all. Some chose inane flattery. Some bragged about their standing in society, dropping the names of the people in their intimate circle, speaking as if it would be an honor to give a loan to a person with such high connections. Some made promises about repaying the loan tenfold. Some threatened him, making it known that they employed ruffians who would bring him harm if Jack did not concede. And some even offered the use of their own mistresses. Which was distasteful on many levels.

  Jack wondered which method Haggerty would use. “Vulgar is an interesting word for this moment.”

  “Mmm . . . yes.” Haggerty chortled. “You’re a rather sharp fellow. I can see why Stapleton invited you. One must always have the best people at these parties, you know.”

  Flattery, Jack mused. Though not clever flattery.

  “Of course, I was invited because of my close connection to Lady Cosgrove,” the b
aron continued, tossing another component into the mix. “Her ladyship and I are related through marriage—my upcoming marriage.”

  The skin and sinew tightened over Jack’s bones, a sense of dread washing over him, even before he was certain. When Lilah had spoken of this, it sounded as if she’d wished to avoid being forced into marriage, not that the matter had already been settled.

  Needing clarification, he said, “My congratulations to you and . . . ”

  “My cousin, Miss Appleton. I inherited her father’s paltry estate. Her welfare and her mother’s reside squarely on my shoulders. Though it isn’t too much of a hardship,” he added with a wink. “My cousin, while having a poor showing at first, is now a ripe plum, just waiting to be picked.”

  The man was vile. Jack was sickened once more by the aristocracy. His disgust, however, had begun long ago, upon first learning how his own mother had suffered.

  She’d been born into the aristocracy, with high expectations of marrying well. Even though she’d had no dowry, her parents had been certain her beauty would secure a fine husband. When a neighboring lord had asked for her hand, it had seemed her parents’ dreams had come true. They had not known he was a dissolute cad.

  Then, only a short time after her marriage, tragedy struck. Fever took the lives of her parents. Debts and a hanging took the life of her husband, leaving her without a farthing to her name. In her world, a young woman in such circumstances had limited options—find work as a paid companion, or find a protector. She’d chosen the latter and had become Dovermere’s mistress.

  At the time, Dovermere had been a young man—not an earl yet, but Viscount Locke. Then, a few years later, when he inherited, he’d had every intention of marrying his mistress—or so Jack had been told. Yet with the demands of an earldom came the need to marry an heiress instead. Dovermere had accepted this fate. Heartbroken, Jack’s mother had chosen to end their arrangement, not knowing at the time that she’d been carrying Dovermere’s son. His only son, as it turned out.

  It had taken the earl years to find a wealthy bride and years to produce his first child. A girl. Now, eight girls in all. Jack was ten before his mother wrote to Dovermere, not asking for anything for herself but merely for an education for her beloved son.

  Leaving her for Eton all those years ago, with nothing but the money she’d earned from sewing to keep her fed, had been the hardest day of Jack’s life.

  Standing in Haggerty’s presence, it was impossible not to think of what Lilah faced for her future. It took Jack a moment to swallow down his bitterness. “And when is the happy event?”

  “Well, there is a matter of her father’s will,” he hedged, adjusting his lace cuffs. “A codicil states that I should wait until the end of this Season; however, I may press my suit at any time. Though if you ask me, the delay only whets the appetite. Likely, I’ll have an heir right off—legitimate, of course.”

  A final dig to make certain that Jack knew his place. But it didn’t matter. Jack was too busy thinking about Lilah. It all became clear. No wonder she was willing to do anything to avoid marriage to Haggerty, subjecting herself to transforming into this Season’s Original.

  She didn’t even realize that she needn’t alter a thing. All she needed was a little more time to find the right man who would see her. The only problem was, her time was running out, and Haggerty made it all too clear.

  “And while we’re having this friendly chat, I may as well confess that I have all this land. More than I need,” the baron continued with a grandiose chuckle. “Since the tenants aren’t making good use of it, I could be persuaded to sell off a good portion. For the right price, of course.”

  Instead of taking a direct route, Lilah, Aunt Zinnia, and Juliet skirted through the private rooms of the family wing and made their way through a shadowed ingress at the far side of the ballroom. Thankfully, the Grecian design of the room provided an alcove concealed by a large column and ivory drapes, hanging from the vaulted ceiling and pooling on the mosaic stone floor.

  “There is Lord Stapleton, near the gaming room doors,” Aunt Zinnia said, still perfectly poised, as if taking the narrow servants’ stairs was commonplace for her.

  Decorum demanded they greet their host immediately. Yet after the disturbing news regarding Winthrop, Lilah didn’t trust her legs to carry her across the room or her lungs to draw in enough air. She preferred to linger here. She was nervous and worried—without a ludicrous notion, this time—that all of Juliet’s efforts would come to nothing. She might very well fail.

  This fear resided far too close to the surface. She could feel it on her skin, making her so cold she shivered with it.

  “Aunt,” Lilah began, her voice breaking around the edges, “might I linger here for a moment or two?”

  “Juliet and I cannot leave you here alone. And it would be unseemly for me to cross the room toward a gentleman unaccompanied,” Aunt Zinnia replied automatically. Then she turned to Lilah and the sternness in her countenance softened. She must have seen Lilah’s dread. “Very well, my dear. Juliet and I will greet him, clear up matters, and return to you shortly.”

  Juliet squeezed her hand. “In the meantime, take a deep breath and know that you are lovely.”

  Lilah followed her cousin’s advice and drew in a deep breath as she took a step back. She wanted to stay out of the line of sight from the ballroom doors to avoid seeing Winthrop again. Or worse, letting him see her.

  “You’re late, Miss Appleton.”

  She jolted at the low, familiar sound of Jack Marlowe’s voice. It vibrated through her, even as she pivoted around to face him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Much the same as you, I suppose. I accepted an invitation.” He grinned, flashing those canines in challenge as he emerged from the narrow passage as well. “I could have warned you earlier if you’d been at home for my call.”

  When the butler, Mr. Wick, had presented Jack’s card on a salver, Lilah had been stunned at first. Since Juliet had been out shopping—and her potential suitors informed—there hadn’t been a single caller. Aunt Zinnia had abandoned the parlor in favor of counting the silver with Mrs. Wick, the housekeeper. This had left Lilah alone. But it was more pride than a matter of propriety that she’d refused his call. She didn’t want him to see the empty parlor and make the correct assumptions about her lack of desirability.

  Also, she was stubborn enough to keep her word. “I told you that I would not be at home. Although I suspect your visit was merely to test my resolve.”

  He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he took a moment to study her, his gaze seeming to miss nothing. “Lady Granworth was correct, you know. You are lovely this evening.”

  Another breath stuttered into her lungs, warm and unexpected. She was sure she didn’t need more air because now her stays felt too tight. She possessed a sudden urge to press his primroses between glass, so she could keep them forever.

  “Though I’d expected to find you altered this evening,” he continued, “given your declaration within Mrs. Harwick’s parlor last evening.”

  A deflating breath abruptly remedied the tightness of her stays. His primroses might meet an early demise instead.

  If the one man who had remembered her name did not notice the changes, then what hope did she have with the ones who had not? “I am very much altered. Can you not see? My hair has been brushed away from my face.”

  After spending her entire life with a thick fringe hiding her expansive forehead, this was quite a change for her. She felt vulnerable displaying—what she’d always thought was—her greatest physical flaw. And now, she had to endure an encounter that was doing nothing to settle her nerves.

  “I feared making such an observation would lead me to compliment your eyes.” His grin turned into a smirk. Then he leaned in marginally, his gaze dipping to her mouth before traversing her from head to hem and back up again. “And I’m not certain I’m supposed to know that you have eyes. Just like I’m not supposed to know that you
have a waist.”

  The man was exasperating!

  Even so, he smelled quite nice. Sandalwood and a certain spice—clove, perhaps? Argh! She shook her head. Distractions were not welcome at a time like this. She had to wonder at her misfortune this night. First Winthrop, and now him. Why, out of all the men in London, was Jack here? Was it merely to aggravate her? Clearly.

  “I have a waist, Mr. Marlowe,” she hissed. “There—are you satisfied?”

  He pursed his lips as if mulling over his answer. “No. I’m not certain I believe you. I might require proof. Perhaps, if we were to dance a waltz . . . ”

  A sudden wash of heat stung her cheeks. Her imagination was far too vivid. In an instant, her mind misused her talent for contriving catastrophes and showed her what it might be like to be held in his arms. Her mind, obviously, had forgotten how much she despised him.

  Refusing to let him see how he’d embarrassed her with his teasing, she turned around. “This is too small of a party for waltzing.”

  “Pity,” he said, his warm breath brushing her neck. “Though perhaps I could call on you again tomorrow, and we could meet in the garden for a waltz.”

  Instead of answering, she intended to walk away. There was no use in speaking to a man who obviously delighted in making fun of her. From where she stood, she saw that her aunt and Juliet were still conversing with Lord Stapleton. But in that same moment, she saw Cousin Winthrop enter the ballroom. He stood beneath the arch at the far side of the room.

  Without thinking, she stepped back—colliding with Jack Marlowe.

  “Careful.” He steadied her with a hand. A hand conveniently located at her waist. He made no move to extract it either. In fact, he settled it more securely against her, his palm resting above the flare of her hip. His splayed fingers went all the way to her navel and up beyond the edge of her ribs, scant inches from the underside her breast. All the while, his thumb moved in small, distracting circles at her back. “Hmm . . . I suppose that proves your claim.”