by Lynne Barron
“And you’ll collect your fee for facilitating the introduction.”
“Voila! Food on the table and your wages caught up through Tuesday.”
“Voila, indeed. How you keep all the balls in the air is anyone’s guess.”
“Balls!” Harry darted across the room to the vanity and scooped up the watch that had once belonged to her grandfather. “And bollocks, half gone eight and I’m not yet dressed.”
“Eat your eggs,” Pru ordered as she turned and flounced out of the room. “I’ll see about finding you a hack.”
Twenty minutes later, Harry hurried from her bedchamber only come to a less than graceful halt, her stockinged feet sliding across the polished wood floors of the spacious room that had once been the setting for innumerable young ladies’ first quadrilles.
Kate stood on the other end of the open space perusing a shelf of books. “How is it I didn’t know you read lurid novels?”
“What are you doing here, Kate?” Harry asked, alarm skittering up her spine. “Is it Lilith? Has the babe come early?”
“Lil is fine, and the babe is still safely tucked away in her belly.”
“Did Madeline launch herself into scandal after I left the ball?” Harry continued across the room, her fingers clenching around the half boots in her left hand. “It was bound to happen and rather a mercy she got it out of the way, to my way of thinking.”
“Mad was on her very best behavior, but for a few too many trips to the punch bowl.” Kate pulled out a slim volume of erotic poetry Harry had pilfered from Lilith’s library the year previous, opened it long enough to quickly read the words scrawled across the first page and shoved it back into place. “Before you ask, Sissy lives on to quote her husband’s every utterance, and Annalise did not run off with Mr. Maxwell, more’s the pity.”
“Little William?”
“Dunaway’s heir was healthy and hale when last I snuck over the garden wall.”
“Auntie Alabaster?”
“Right as rain and expecting us for tea this afternoon.”
“Good gracious, you nearly gave me heart palpitations,” Harry muttered, dropping onto a chair and carefully setting her boots down before her on the floor. “What brings you around to Wellclose Square at this hour?”
Kate made no reply, simply stood framed by the floor-to-ceiling window at her back, rain streaming down the glass.
Harry shoved her right foot into the soft gray kid-skin boot, her fingers shaking as she set to work on the laces. An odd ringing filled her ears, muted and dull, but there just the same. Seconds ticked by, each marked by the soft tap of Kate’s foot on the wood floors, oddly in tune with the pelting of the rain and the beat of Harry’s heart.
“Will you not even ask me?”
“If you’ve something to say, by all means, say it,” Harry retorted more sharply than she’d intended. “I haven’t time to play guessing games.”
There followed a moment of silence, eerie and utterly devoid of falling rain, tapping toes or beating hearts, stretching Harry’s nerves to the breaking point.
“You are so bloody stubborn.” Kate’s voice was infinitely soft and sad. “Dunaway is fine.”
The relief Harry felt was instantaneous. And infuriating. “That man will live to debauch his way through every new crop of debutantes until he is ninety.”
“Speaking of crops—”
“We weren’t speaking of crops.” Harry tied off the laces in a big bow and went to work on the second boot.
“No, we were speaking of Dunaway, but seeing as you’ve nothing constructive to add to the conversation, we’ll discuss Lord Knighton. What was that business between the two of you last evening?”
“He was after an introduction. I was after three pounds.”
“For a new bonnet?”
“A bonnet I intend to purchase just as soon as Hathaway’s Emporium opens.”
“You sold my virtue for a new bonnet.”
“I brokered an introduction.” Harry finally looked up from her laces to find Kate watching her with amusement shining in her eyes. “If you chose to toss your virtue into the bargain, that’s your affair.”
“An interesting choice of words.”
“Did you?”
“Toss my virtue into the bargain?” Kate asked, drawing out the words in a truly aggravating manner. “I was wondering the same thing of you.”
“I left almost immediately after collecting my ill-gotten gains.”
“As did Lord Knighton. It seems quite a coincidence, after witnessing the sparks flying about willy-nilly between you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry drawled. “I am the last woman on earth foolish enough to squander my virtue on a man entirely incapable of recognizing its value.”
Kate smiled sweetly, blushing just a tad.
“What?” Harry demanded.
“I love you, Hesperia Eris O’Connell.”
“Oh for goodness sake.” Harry bent over her laces once more. “If you are going to turn up sentimental, might you at least wait until noon time?”
“I mean it, Harry,” Kate replied with a chuckle. “I’d like to be just like you when I grow up.”
“Cold and calculating?”
“Independent and confident of my own worth.”
Harry smiled, warmed all the way to her toes now safely laced into lovely new boots that only pinched a tad. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“I thought we might spend the day together.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“Yes, and you’ve your visit to Mr. Withington this morning, though why you feel the need to call upon that wretched old man twice weekly I’ve no idea.”
“I like Withy.” Which wasn’t a lie precisely, more a withholding of all the pertinent facts. “I’ve got to stop off at Hathaway’s Emporium on the way, then pop in to see Charles afterward. I’ve my French lessons at noon and tea with Auntie at two of the clock. Madame Broussard at half three.”
“I thought it was fencing lessons with Giancarlo at half three on Thursdays?”
“I was forced to switch my modiste appointment when Madame Broussard took on Her Grace, the Duchess of Montclaire, Wednesday mornings. And I don’t mind telling you, it was beyond aggravating altering my schedule. Giancarlo hadn’t an open slot for me Wednesdays, so I was relegated to Monday morning, which meant moving my cello lessons to Tuesday afternoon and giving up on watercolors altogether.”
“It seems rather an odd coincidence, your sharing a modiste with your… What exactly is your connection to the duchess?”
“Exceedingly distant,” Harry replied. “And if I had to guess, Her Grace only chose Madame Broussard to irritate His Grace. They don’t get on, according to Charles.”
“Perhaps you ought to marry the Marquess of Marchant.”
“Charles and I are cousins. Second cousins twice removed, at any rate.”
“It needn’t be a true marriage.”
“It couldn’t possibly be a true marriage, seeing as Charles has a preference for slatterns and harlots of the lowest sort, and I’ll not risk my life to a man likely to contract the pox sooner or later.”
“Still, even a white marriage would make you Duchess of Montclaire one day.”
“I’ve no desire to be Duchess of Montclaire.”
“There would be a certain symmetry to it all, you the granddaughter to the former duke, coming into the title, as it were.”
“And spend my life in the fishbowl that is Society? Thank you kindly, but no.” Harry jumped to her feet when the clock on the mantle began to chime. “Oh, for goodness sake, it’s nine already!”
“Hack’s outside!” Pru bellowed from downstairs.
“I’ve got to go, Kate,” Harry said.
“Oh, well, then I suppose I’ll see you this afternoon.” Kate looked so lost, standing in the muted gray sunlight, her blue eyes huge in her sun-kissed face.
“Can I drop you at Lilith’s house?”
“
Would you mind terribly if I just stayed here?”
“Why on earth would you want to stay here alone?”
“You’re here alone all the time.”
“I’m rarely here, alone or otherwise.”
“Is that why you fill up every hour of every day with lessons and engagements and appointments?” Kate asked quietly. “So you’ll not be here all alone?”
“I’m a solitary creature by nature, Kate.”
“Do you never feel lonely?” Kate persisted gently. “Don’t you ever wish you had someone waiting here for you when you returned home?”
“Good Lord. Are you lonely, Kate?” Harry asked, unsettled by the notion. “Is that what this is all about? You’re lonely and perhaps a bit homesick?”
“Perhaps,” Kate agreed, her gaze falling away. “Just a bit.”
“Why did you not say so?” Harry demanded in exasperation, even as she recognized the difficulty of accomplishing the tasks before her with Kate at her side. Damn it all, sisters were the very devil. “Well, come along then, dearest. I’ve much to do this morning.”
Chapter Five
The rain had let up by the time the hired hack lurched to a stop on The Strand in front of a four-story baroque mansion complete with gargoyles and a wrought iron fence nearly hidden beneath ivy left to run rampant.
“It looks like something right out of a gothic novel,” Kate proclaimed, her face pressed to the window of the carriage. “Is Mr. Withington’s butler a decrepit old relic with gray skin, ice-cold eyes and sharp teeth?”
“Mr. Sturgis cannot be a day over five and twenty, his eyes are a lovely shade of brown and I cannot speak to his teeth as I don’t recall ever having seen him smile.” Harry reached for the door handle and gave it a turn. Cool air rushed in, damp and smelling of the river. “I won’t visit with Withy long, seeing as Mrs. Hathaway wasted twenty minutes of my morning with her haggling.”
“I thought I’d come in with you,” Kate protested. “I’ve never seen the inside of the house, and you’ve quite piqued my curiosity in regard to the butler. I’ll wager you two pounds I can make him smile.”
“I haven’t two pounds to lose just now,” Harry replied. “And there’s no sense in both of us getting wet.”
“It’s barely sprinkling. If your new bonnet can weather the rain, I’m sure I can do the same.” Kate’s smile was all teeth and dimples, her eyes alight with the knowledge that capitulation was close at hand. It was the same smile Dunaway used to seduce and beguile innocent young girls from Mayfair to the Marches of Scotland.
Harry gave in to the inevitable, pushing the door open and motioning her sister out ahead of her. “Hurry to the portico so you don’t get wetter than you must.”
The rain was little more than a fine mist, but the street was a two-inch-deep river of mud. A river, it turned out, they needn’t have bothered fording, as Sturgis was only too happy to explain when he finally answered Harry’s insistent knocking.
“What do you mean, your master is not at home?” Harry demanded, feeling the finely woven threads of her schedule fraying around the edges. “It’s Thursday.”
“So it is,” the insufferable servant replied with no measurable expression crossing his handsome features.
“I always visit with Withy on Thursdays at ten of the clock.”
“It is precisely seventeen minutes past at present.”
“Yes, well, the morning got away from me.” Why she felt the need to explain she couldn’t say, but explain she did. “It was the bonnet, you see. Mrs. Hathaway wanted five pounds, and I had only three on me. Or anywhere else for that matter.”
“Perhaps you ought to have chosen a different bonnet.”
“Never mind the bonnet. Just tell Withy I have arrived.”
Sturgis let out a long, beleaguered sigh. “Miss O’Connell, my master is not receiving callers.”
“Is Mr. Withington at home?” Kate asked, nudging Harry aside and beaming a smile up at the arrogant servant. “Not at home to callers, but actually in residence somewhere in this beautiful house?”
“Kate, you are wasting your charm on Mr. Sturgis,” Harry muttered.
“Charm is never wasted on a handsome man,” Kate replied, kicking up the smile two degrees. “Just as good manners are never wasted on a lady, isn’t that right, Mr. Sturgis?”
The butler’s lips actually twitched.
“Miss O’Connell is terribly determined,” Kate confided in a theatrical whisper. “She’ll not depart until she sees Mr. Withington. You don’t truly intend to leave two ladies standing on your front steps in the rain, do you?”
“You’re Lord Dunaway’s daughter, aren’t you?” Sturgis asked. “His lordship could fair charm the pants off the Pope.”
“Miss Mary Katherine Price, at your service.” Kate dipped a curtsy, lifting her skirts higher than was necessary, or even remotely proper. “Lord Dunaway’s fourth, and favorite, daughter.”
“That man’s favorite changes with the tides,” Harry said in exasperation.
“Be that as it may, it is currently high tide for me,” Kate retorted. “One day you ought to wade out beyond the shallows.”
“I’d sooner dive into shark-infested waters.”
Sturgis turned his dark gaze on Harry. And smiled. His teeth were almost blindingly white and perfectly straight, not a one of them the least bit sharp.
“What are you grinning about?” Harry demanded.
“I have two shillings riding on Lord Dunaway.”
Harry could not help the burst of high-pitched laughter that fell from her lips, even as she reached for Kate’s hand, lacing their fingers together and holding on tight. “I’m afraid you’ve lost two shillings.”
“And I’ve won two pounds on your smile, Mr. Sturgis.” Kate, bless her loyal soul, was already reaching for the reticule dangling beside their joined hands. “We’ll call it an even three pounds, in light of your recent losses.”
“Three pounds,” Harry repeated, giggling outright. “Three bloody quid.”
Kate squeezed Harry’s hand, in sympathy, in commiseration, or perhaps in warning. Whatever her intention, the gesture only brought on more laughter.
“It’s the…the blasted…bonnet,” Harry gasped. “No…no, it’s…”
“It’s nerves,” Kate said, clearly attempting to explain to the butler why her sister was laughing like a lunatic. “Some women swoon when beset by nerves. Harry giggles.”
“So I see,” Sturgis answered.
“It could be worse,” Kate said. “Our sister, Lilith, perspires.”
“Kate!” Harry howled around the laughter that simply would not quit.
“Right, sorry. Three pounds to forget this conversation entirely, Mr. Sturgis.”
The butler bowed in acknowledgment of a bribe well-offered.
“Shyster,” Harry chortled, reining in her nerves and wrestling them into some semblance of control. “Wait until I tell Withy you swindled his guests.”
“You might have a long wait,” Sturgis replied. “Seeing as I don’t expect him back any time soon.”
“Mr. Withington truly isn’t at home, then?” Kate asked.
“Departed this morning to attend to a matter of business,” Sturgis replied, all pomp and starch once more.
Harry released Kate’s hand to swipe at the moisture in her eyes. “And you could not have simply stated as much when we first arrived rather than wasting time with your silly games?”
“I don’t believe my time to have been wasted,” he retorted, pocketing the coins Kate held out to him. “In fact, I would say the last three minutes were exceedingly well spent.”
Harry turned away with a muttered curse and marched back the way they’d come, Kate hurrying to catch up with her.
“Winters Ship Works,” Harry called up to the driver. “On the corner of—”
“I know where it be, miss,” the old man replied with a wink.
Once inside the carriage, Harry stared out the window, juggling he
r schedule around in her head only to come to the conclusion she hadn’t time to call upon Charles, not if she had any hope of making her French lesson on time.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Harry.”
“Don’t give it another thought, dearest.” Perhaps she would have time to pop in on Charles between tea with Alabaster and her appointment with Madame Broussard.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Kate continued. “Wade out beyond the shallows with our perspiring sister, indeed. No wonder you didn’t want me coming along with you.”
“Of course I wanted you to come along with me.”
“Servants talk, most especially when there’s a shilling or two on the line.”
“There is no more a wager in regard to me below stairs in Withy’s shrine to all things grotesque than there is in the famed betting book at White’s gentlemen’s club.” Harry paid only marginal attention to the conversation while she considered the possibility of sending round a note asking Charles to stop off in Wellclose Square en route to whichever entertainment he’d decided upon for the night. “Sturgis only said as much in hopes of riling my temper, same as Lord Knighton last evening.”
“I don’t think it was your temper Lord Knighton was attempting to rile.”
“Rakes are no better than little boys, forever in need of attention,” Harry replied. “And like little boys, they are not opposed to yanking on a girl’s braids to get their due.”
“It seemed to me his lordship had garnered enough attention,” Kate protested. “Too much, in fact, what with a ballroom full of women, the six of us included, watching his every move.”
“For gentlemen of his ilk, there is no such thing as enough, let alone too much, feminine attention. They must gather up all there is to be had and hoard it away like so much treasure.”
