The Debutante Is Mine

by Vivienne Lorret

  “No!” Lilah hadn’t meant to shout, but it was more a matter of reflex. It took every bit of decorum to stand still and not rush out to greet him and drag him inside. “Please, Aunt. I would like to see him.”

  Aunt Zinnia looked at her as if a stranger stood before her. “Is Mr. Marlowe the reason you refused Lord Ellery?”

  “Come, Cousin,” Juliet said softly to Zinnia, taking her arm. “Let us wait across the hall until this matter is sorted, once and for all.”

  As they left, Lilah waited, facing the parlor door, shifting from one foot to the other. The thumping of her heart matched the ticking of the clock in the corner. Then, at last, he appeared.

  Jack, wearing a dark blue coat with a crisp white cravat and silver satin waistcoat, looked unusually formal for a morning call. He paused in the doorway, his gaze searching her face.

  This wasn’t like him. He never stopped and surveyed. He always walked with purpose, striding directly to battle or to stake his claim.

  “Why are you hesitating?” she asked, her hands cold with trepidation.

  “I have some news I wish to discuss, and I am not certain how to proceed.” Then, as if he’d made his decision, he entered the room. Slowly. “The first of which concerns that favor to Vale that I mentioned the first day we met.”

  What an odd way to begin a conversation after they’d been apart. Confused, she frowned. “When he asked you to send me flowers?”

  Jack nodded. “I have recently discovered that this errand did, indeed, have something to do with his Marriage Formula.”

  “I remember that you suspected as much.” She knew it. All along, Jack was her perfect match. Grinning now, she stepped forward.

  Jack shook his head. “Vale compared the results of your equation and came up with a match. The reason he asked me to send you flowers was in an effort for this man to take notice of you, which he did.”

  She was so happy that she could leap out of her own skin, but Jack, on the other hand, did not look pleased at all. “Did this news not appeal to you?”

  “It did not . . . because you were matched with Lord Ellery.” He raked a hand through his hair and frowned. “From what I have heard, he is planning to make an offer for you.”

  Was that the reason for Jack’s chilly greeting? Did the news matter so much to him? Or was it that it mattered so little? “Ellery was already here.”

  “And?”

  “He did make an offer.”

  Jack’s hands clenched to fists. “I had hoped to arrive before him.”

  “Why?” she asked, holding her breath.

  “Because I”—he stared at her, hard—“have found another match for you.”

  The tension building inside of her came out on an exhale. “You have?”

  “Yes.” Jack began to pace the room. “Viscount Locke. Have you heard of him?”

  “Viscount Locke?” Her brow knitted in puzzlement and then swiftly in anger. She’d been waiting for days to see him, and all their time apart, he’d been trying to find a man who was willing to marry her? “I don’t want to marry Viscount Locke. I don’t want to marry Lord Ellery either.”

  Jack stopped pacing. “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  Then, abruptly, he looked more like himself. One corner of his mouth arced upward. “Well, that’s hardly fair to Locke. You haven’t even met him.”

  Her anger faded under a wave of hurt so deep that she couldn’t see clearly. “I thought you loved me, Jack.”

  His smirk faded. He crossed the room to her, his hands on her arms, pulling her close—almost into his embrace. “I do, Lilah. More than my own life. I just want you to have the freedom to choose the life you want.”

  “Then I would marry you.” Didn’t he know this by now?

  He released a deep breath and smiled genuinely at her. “I was hoping you would say that. Though I must admit, I feel sorry for Locke. He’s . . . here, you know, and eager to make your acquaintance.”

  Confused by all this, she wondered why—if he was so pleased—he wasn’t holding her closer and making plans to marry. The faint twinge of a headache started to form above the bridge of her nose. “Here? And you still want me to meet him?”

  He nodded. “Only if you agree to marry me. Then I’ll introduce you.”

  She felt her cheeks lift and her lips spread into a smile before his statement hit her. When it did, she leapt toward him and twined her hands around his neck. “I agree. In fact, I am nearly ready to march you out that door and drive you to Gretna Green myself.”

  Of course, their union would cause a scandal. Her father’s will guaranteed a great deal of complications as well. But she didn’t care about the consequences. She only wanted to be his.

  He kissed the tip of her nose and then removed her hands from his neck. “Wait here for just a moment.”

  He slipped out of the parlor, closing the door behind him. Lilah could hear the murmur of voices, Mr. Wick’s and Jack’s, in the foyer. Then, Aunt Zinnia and Juliet appeared, their faces mirroring Lilah’s confusion.

  “Mr. Marlowe has requested that we wait in here,” Aunt Zinnia said before her lips pursed in disapproval.

  A nervous, excited effervescence filled Lilah. She couldn’t wait to become Jack’s wife. She wasn’t certain, however, how her aunt or cousin would take the news. Aunt Zinnia would need time to adjust, and perhaps Juliet would as well. But Lilah knew in her heart that they loved her and would support her.

  While she could never have said the same about her mother, Lilah knew that she had all the family she would ever need in this very townhouse.

  Yet before she could prepare her aunt and cousin, Mr. Wick appeared at the parlor door.

  He bowed. “Viscount Locke to see you, miss. Are you at home?”

  “I am,” she said quickly, eager to end this introduction. “Please send him in.”

  “Viscount Locke?” Aunt Zinnia said, looking from Lilah to Juliet. “Why does that title sound so familiar?”

  Juliet shook her head. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it.”

  Neither had Lilah, and she knew she had never been introduced to him. At least, not yet.

  Then a figure filled the doorway. Instead of a stranger, however, it was Jack. He walked into the parlor and bowed first to Aunt Zinnia, then to Juliet, and finally to Lilah. Behind him, Mr. Wick cleared his throat. “May I present to you, Jack Marlowe, Viscount Locke.”

  Jack lifted his head and one corner of his mouth. “Now will you consider marrying Viscount Locke? I can vouch for his character. And I do believe he is already in possession of your heart.”

  What an arrogant man. And Lilah loved him far too much.

  EPILOGUE

  The Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence.

  It appears that the new Viscount L—’s first order of business was to procure a bride. A report from Gretna Green tells us that our Miss A— wore a single pearl on her dress.

  In related news, our Viscount E— has been spotted in his well-turned-out phaeton. Alone. Although with whispers (of the Original nature) circulating about E— (among others), we are hopeful for a viscountess in his near future.

  There is one pair, however, who are even more eager for the naming of this Season’s Original. Sources tell us that the rivalry between a certain Lady G— and the Marquess of Th— is fairly combustible when the two are in the same room.

  On the topic of combustion . . . an odd series of events brings our attention to Baron H—. After his recent bout of clumsiness—the sore-slipper debacle in Dame F—’s ballroom, the infamous quizzing glass incident at Sir G—’s garden party, and last evening’s flaming candelabra mishap in Lord R—’s dining room—one must wonder if H— should be dubbed Baron Catastrophe instead. Be on your guard, dear readers!

  And for our more daring curiosity-seekers, our Earl of W— has not changed his wolfish ways, as his most recent exploits have proven. One must wonder if such a man could ever be tamed.

  T
he end . . . for now.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to the amazing team of people at Avon/HarperCollins for giving this book a chance and making it sparkle. Sometimes all it takes to grab a new reader is one look at a great cover, and so my appreciation goes to Tom and the art department for making magic happen. But most of all, I am grateful to Chelsey Emmelhainz—editor extraordinaire—for her incomparable insight, support, and dedication.

  Also, thank you to Stefanie Lieberman for helping this first book in a new series find a home.

  And a special thank you to Heather and Shelly for the laughs and the advice. Both of you helped the word flow begin again. Wishing you much love.

  Want more from Vivienne Lorret?

  The Season’s Original series continues with

  THIS EARL IS ON FIRE

  Coming Summer 2016 from Avon Impulse

  Can’t wait?

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Vivienne Lorret’s Season’s Original novella

  “The Duke’s Christmas Wish”

  in

  ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS A DUKE

  Available now from Avon Impulse

  An excerpt from

  “The Duke’s Christmas Wish”

  The Christmas Eve Ball at Castle Vale had begun. As usual, Ivy was running late. This time, however, she was not looking for her slippers. She was looking for the duke’s study instead.

  She hadn’t passed a single servant here in the east wing, but when she saw that the hall was lined with paintings of scientists at their worktables, she knew she was on the right track. Hesitating at an open pair of glossy walnut doors, she smoothed her hands over her skirts.

  This evening, she wore layers of silvery gray silk organza with little puffed sleeves that rested at the very crests of her shoulders. Her pale, straight hair had been curled, coiffed, and secured by silver combs. Unfortunately, the small oval mirror in the hallway reflected that a few strands had unwound and now lay limply against her temples. Not only that, but her cheeks were flushed as well.

  She made a face and shrugged. At least when she arrived later to the ball, her unrefined appearance would only corroborate the story she’d told Lilah about feeling a trifle ill.

  Now was not the time to be worried about her appearance, however. Ivy needed to decline the duke’s offer for the first dance. What business did she have dancing with him, when she needed to help Lilah win him?

  Stepping over the threshold of the study, she prepared to do just that. Yet after a glance about the room, she realized the duke was not here. Disappointed, she was about to turn around when she saw him emerge from a narrow doorway on the far side of the room near the fireplace. For a moment, he stilled and blinked at her, as if he was as surprised as she. Then those creases appeared on the side of his mouth.

  He crossed the room, leaving the narrow door behind him ajar. “Miss Sutherland, what brings you to the east wing? Shouldn’t you be patiently waiting for the first dance?”

  At the word patiently, she knew he was teasing her. Yet as he neared, she felt a tremor of apprehension. What if her plan worked too well? Could Ivy’s heart bear to see North marry her friend? “Actually, I was hoping to speak with you about that.”

  “Oh?” He stepped past her and peered into the hallway before closing the door.

  Ivy knew that being alone with him, again, wasn’t at all proper. His closing the door was even less proper. Perhaps she should mention it. Perhaps they should hold their conversation in the open doorway . . . yet when he gestured for her to accompany him into the other room, she forgot to mention it.

  “It was Lilah,” she began along the way, “Miss Appleton’s idea to take the puddings to your tenants, though I’m certain Miss Leeds would like to take the credit.” If Ivy had to endure the sight of him marrying anyone, she would rather it be Lilah than that dreadful Miss Leeds. Though neither thought made her happy.

  A smirk appeared, looking perfectly at home on his lips. And when she drew close enough to pass through the narrow doorway, something hot and pleased shone in his eyes. “Actually, Mrs. Thorogood told me that the idea was yours.”

  “Well . . . it was Lilah who whispered it to me,” Ivy said quickly, forgetting all about the cook being present for her idea. Drat! Continuing, she tried to make up for all the times she’d missed the opportunity to bring Lilah to his notice. The way she should have been doing all along. “As you might have guessed, I have the propensity to say whatever idea is on my mind, even if the idea isn’t mine in the first place. Lilah is incredibly kind and generous. Not only that, but—like you—she is fond of numbers and equations.”

  “Is she?” He grinned in earnest now as he closed this second door as well.

  Most assuredly, this was not at all proper. Yet Ivy said nothing to reproach him. She wanted to be here. It was a cozy space, cast in the glow of firelight. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the semicircular walls. Unevenly stacked papers and leather books with worn bindings poked out in complete disarray. A few jars were tucked in here and there, along with assorted sizes of microscopes and other scientific paraphernalia. Yet all the clutter appeared to have function and order. There were no plates with half-eaten dinners. There were no forgotten teacups. The room was not a dirty mess. It was a sort of organized chaos. It felt like stepping into the mind of a genius. His mind. She realized quite suddenly that this room was an extension of him. “Do you often bring your guests here?”

  “Never,” he said as he moved toward his desk and leaned back against the one place that wouldn’t cause papers to topple. “My aunt has invited herself on few occasions, and Mr. Graves is permitted at my request.”

  Those intense, magnetic eyes held hers in an unspoken communication that Ivy felt in the center of her heart. She hadn’t been imagining the uniqueness of their connection. He felt it too. Which made what she had to do all the more difficult.

  “Lilah has quite the head for figures, indeed. Since her brother and father passed away, she’s been overseeing her family’s estate ledgers,” Ivy said, drifting toward his desk, where an assortment of contraptions rested. The first one looked like a miniature ascending room, built out of wood. Picking it up, she toyed with the button-sized pulley and small ropes.

  “Hmm . . . and what other accomplishments does your friend possess?” As he spoke, North reached over and compressed the pulley. The action sent the miniature ascending room on a swift descent, slipping down a few inches until it suddenly caught and held. Then, flipping the contraption over, he brushed his fingertip over what looked like four diminutive clamps.

  Ivy beamed. Brakes. Somehow he’d come up with a design from her suggestion in only a matter of days.

  “That’s ingenious. However did you—” Lifting her gaze, she found him staring at her. Another moment passed in silent communication that made her want . . . everything. She wanted so much more than she could ever have.

  “I was inspired by a fascinating and brave young woman,” he said, setting aside the model to take her hand, drawing her to stand before him.

  She cleared her throat and went on with her task. “Lilah is brave. Do you know that I’ve never seen her flinch in the presence of a spider? She has other fine qualities too.”

  “I’m certain she does.” He expelled a rasp of air that was just shy of a laugh. “Miss Sutherland, I am not going to marry your friend.”

  “That isn’t what I—” Ivy stopped, already seeing in his perceptive expression how easily he’d read her intention. “Why ever not?”

  Something tender softened the flesh around his eyes and the creases around his mouth. “I suppose the simplest reason is that Miss Appleton and I are not in the same ledger.”

  Ledger? Before she could ask what he meant, he reached behind him to a stack of ledgers in three colors on his desk and held them up, one after the other. “You see, for my formula, there are certain people who automatically enter the black ledger—those with high-ranking titles, a good deal of property, and wea
lth. The brown ledger contains members of the lower-ranking aristocracy and the landed gentry.” He stopped then, his gaze fixed on the trio.

  “And what about those in the red ledger?”

  He shook his head. “They have little, if any, hope of marrying at all.”

  “Please do not tell me that Lilah is in the red ledger.”

  He blinked at her. “You needn’t worry. If my formula is correct, your friend would find her match among those in the brown ledger.”

  No. That couldn’t be right. Ivy wanted Lilah to be in the black ledger. After everything she’d been through, her friend deserved the very best. “Have you finished her equation? Isn’t it possible that her number would pair with yours?”

  “I have not, but I already know the answer. And I think you do, as well.” He set the ledgers back down. Gently, he took her other hand as well. “Now, tell me the real reason you want me to marry your friend.”

  She didn’t like thinking about the past, and she certainly never spoke of the life-altering incident, yet she found herself wanting to tell North. It would be better for him to understand.

  Ivy exhaled. “It’s because of Jasper, her brother.”

  North’s brow furrowed. “I don’t recall the mention of his name.”

  “He had an unfortunate . . . accident and died a couple of years ago.” Reluctantly, Ivy released North’s hands and turned away. “You see, since we were children, I’d always planned to marry Jasper.”

  “And he is the reason why you are not married now?”

  She nodded even though the answer was more complicated. She began to amble around the room, stopping at a bookshelf full of sideways stacked books and jars filled with all sorts of things. She picked up one that contained a green branch dotted with small white berries that looked suspiciously like mistletoe. “I’d always planned to take care of Lilah too. Her parents were not very kind. After Jasper died, they became worse.

  “Within the year, her father died as well, and for a while I thought she might have a reprieve from the demands put upon her. However, then came the reading of her father’s will. After Jasper’s death, Lilah’s father added a codicil, stating that the line had to be preserved. Lilah has to marry a man of noble blood, or she will essentially lose everything. Worse yet, if she doesn’t find a titled gentleman to marry by the end of this coming Season, she will be forced to marry her licentious cousin, who holds her father’s estate.”