Never Borrow a Baronet (Fortune's Brides Book 2)

by Regina Scott

  And if he didn’t, could she bear to learn he was truly a better actor than she’d thought?

  ~~~

  Harry left the breakfast room feeling more comfortable than when he’d arrived. It had been a long night. Though he and Julian had waited near the cove for hours, Villers had never materialized. Returning to the house, they’d found him safely abed, snoring. Now he refused to come downstairs, pleading an illness. Had the fellow been too sick to carry out the surveillance he’d promised Patience? Had he recognized the trap and refused to enter? Or had they mistaken him after all?

  And if their mysterious stalker wasn’t Villers, who else could it be?

  All in all, it was enough to put a fellow in a pucker. The only bright spot was Patience. She was levelheaded, practical, yet endlessly compassionate. Look at how she’d dealt with Lydia this morning.

  Just to be certain she was safe from Gussie’s blandishments, however, he checked the laboratory an hour later, after sending Julian to Undene to inquire about alternative landing spots given the trouble they’d encountered last time. Lydia was bent over a mortar, pestle cracking against whatever was inside. Patience stood over a pot resting on one of Gussie’s spirit lamps.

  “Tell me you won’t eat that,” he said, peering over her shoulder at the bubbling white substance.

  “Never,” Patience promised. “It’s my mother’s ointment. I’ve been going through my stock at an alarming rate. Gussie and Lydia were so busy I thought now might be a good time to make more. Gussie had all the ingredients, including dried roses for all she finds them boring.”

  “Finer,” Gussie said to Lydia, gazing down into the bowl. “It should be as tiny as the grains of face powder.”

  Lydia wiped her brow on her sleeve. “I’ll try, but the round shapes are hard to flatten.”

  Harry frowned. “What is she doing?”

  “Don’t ask,” Patience advised. “And stay away for the next couple of hours or you might find it on you.”

  Heeding her warning wasn’t as easy as it once might have been. Meredith had retired to her room again, Julian was still out, and Villers was moaning alone upstairs. Harry found himself strangely ill at ease in his own house. He’d never been one to take an active hand in running the estate—Gussie and Cuddlestone saw to that. Julian managed their holdings on the Exchange, so Harry had no investments to consider. His father and grandfather had spent nearly every extra penny, so there were no plantations on foreign shores to concern him. He refused to be so enamored of maintaining his wardrobe that he spent hours poring over waistcoats and the manner of tying his cravat, even if that would have delighted Cuddlestone. A shame he wasn’t the man the ton thought him—he had no assignations to arrange, no card games awaiting the influx of his funds. He was merely glad Julian returned before the morning was spent so he had something to take his mind off Patience.

  “The wisest move is to continue using the cove,” Julian said, pacing about Harry’s study. The space was more retreat than work area. The small desk was pushed under the windows, and two large leather-bound chairs faced the hearth. “With the water up all around, there isn’t another stretch that open and dry for miles. The revenue agents may realize that, of course.”

  “As will our enemy,” Harry pointed out. “Is your money still on Villers?”

  “Absolutely,” Julian said, navigating around the chairs. “First, he clung to you like a leech, then, just when he ought to think he has us backed into a corner, he stays abed, pleading a headache.”

  “He must have seen the trap,” Harry said. “It’s the only explanation if we discount his illness.”

  Julian humphed as he collapsed into the other leather-bound chair. “And what are we to do tonight? Give up our plan to rescue Lady de Maupassant?”

  “Never,” Harry vowed. “I’ve hated waiting this long. Every day puts her in more danger.”

  Julian eyed him. “I’ve been made privy to some of your reports. Rather colorful.”

  Harry shrugged. “You give me too much credit.”

  “Not at all.” Julian crossed his booted feet. “You make a passionate case for believing the lady’s reports. I had begun to wonder whether you intended to offer for her.”

  Harry grinned. “I did, last year, somewhat in jest. She answered in kind. She refuses to consider marriage until the tyrant has been put down. And I am not her sort. She prefers her gentlemen studious, dedicated, and French.”

  “Like her father, God rest his soul,” Julian murmured.

  Harry sobered. “Nasty business, that. I can’t imagine the pain of watching those you love killed and having to pretend to applaud the savagery.”

  “Another lady skilled at subterfuge, it seems.”

  His friend’s tone had turned darker. “Do you speak of Patience, or Meredith?” Harry asked.

  Julian kicked at the hearth. “Both. Is it too much to ask that a lady share her true thoughts openly?”

  “The ladies might ask the same of us,” Harry reminded him. “And given the choice of a woman who says whatever comes to mind with no thought of the consequences, I far prefer Patience’s diplomacy.”

  Julian smiled. “Yes, I noticed. You prefer a great many things about Miss Ramsey. Good thing she knows you’re merely playing a part, or she might fall in love with you.”

  “And I with her.”

  Julian sat straighter. “What’s this? The infamous Sir Harry Orwell, in love?”

  Harry shook his head at the teasing. “More than you know. There are moments this is no longer a game, Julian. I’m coming to care about her, and it scares me. What hope would I have of winning her?”

  “More than you think,” Julian assured him. “Even the indebtedness of the manor would be better than an eternity of serving.”

  Harry sagged. “Yet I would not have her marry me to improve her standing, however little linking herself to me does that. I want her heart, to give her mine, tarnished though it is.”

  “I find myself wanting the same,” Julian murmured. “Yet I begin to think my case more hopeless than yours.”

  He had never seen his friend so down. “A word of advice?” Harry offered.

  Julian nodded. “Please, for I am at my wit’s end.”

  “You want her to speak her mind. Perhaps you should start by speaking yours.”

  Julian threw up his hands. “She won’t even talk to me!”

  “Then talk to her,” Harry said. “And soon, for I have a feeling she will not stay much longer.”

  And neither would Patience, once this house party was over.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Meredith caught herself peering both ways as she came out of her bedchamber and straightened her spine. Draping Fortune along one arm, she brushed off her lavender skirts with her free hand. Why did she keep running? She had no reason to act like someone caught with her fingers in the cookie jar. She wasn’t that frightened adolescent who had been cruelly booted from her home. She had grown into someone stronger, wiser. She needn’t fear Julian Mayes.

  Even if dread gathered in her gut at the thought of speaking to him again.

  “You understand,” she murmured to Fortune, stroking the cat’s head as she started for the stairs with the idea of convincing one of the other ladies to join her in the withdrawing room for cards. “There are predators and prey, and I dislike being the latter.”

  Fortune offered a supportive meow, then stiffened in Meredith’s arms.

  Julian was climbing the stairs.

  Too late to retreat. Keeping her head high, she descended past him as if he were no more than a portrait on the wall.

  “Mary,” he chided, turning easily to follow her down.

  Meredith reached the floor and stalked across the entry hall. Mr. Cuddlestone was inspecting the hearth as if determining whether the downstairs maid had done her job sufficiently.

  “My first name is Meredith, sir,” she told Julian, hurrying to the butler’s side, “and I do not recall giving you leave to use it.�
��

  Julian’s handsome face sagged. “Nor do you recall agreeing to marry me, it seems.”

  Mr. Cuddlestone glanced between the two of them. “May I be of assistance Miss Thorn, Mr. Mayes?”

  “Yes,” Meredith said, holding Fortune close. “Please inform Mr. Mayes that I have nothing to say to him.”

  Mr. Cuddlestone’s mouth opened, but Julian spoke first. “And you may tell Miss Thorn that I have a great many things to say to her.”

  The butler looked from Meredith to Julian, then moved closer to her. “Miss Thorn, you have always struck me as a lady of excellent sense, if you don’t mind my saying so. Might you be persuaded to speak to Mr. Mayes, who has always been welcome in this house?”

  Meredith raised her chin. “No.”

  She could hear the butler’s sigh as he turned to Julian. “Might I interest you in a nice cup of tea, sir?”

  Julian’s mouth was so tight the word barely slipped past. “No.”

  Mr. Cuddlestone stepped back, face bunching. “I regret that I am at a loss.”

  Meredith took pity on him. “It’s all right, Cuddlestone. You may go.”

  He promptly scampered through one of the many doors that circled the entry hall.

  She started for the door to the withdrawing room, but Julian darted in front of her. “Please, Meredith, let me explain.”

  If she could not flee, there was only one response left to her. Meredith rounded on Julian, Fortune positioned between them. “Why? You accuse me of forgetting our engagement. How easily the members of the Society you love forget things. Things like loyalty, constancy, keeping a promise.”

  He took a step closer, eyes narrowing as if he would see inside her. She refused to flinch.

  “By the time I learned your cousin had thrown you out,” he said, “you were gone. He disclaimed all knowledge of where.”

  Likely story. “The letters I wrote gave you no insight?” she asked sweetly. “I would have thought a solicitor better informed.”

  He frowned. “Letters? I received nothing from you, no word, no note. It was as if I’d fabricated you from whole cloth.”

  Meredith started. “That cannot be. I delivered them to the footman’s hand to deliver to the post myself.”

  “Then perhaps,” he said gently, “your quarrel is with the footman, not me.”

  Could it be? Could her vile cousin have arranged for the letters to perish before delivery to the post? She could well believe him that manipulative. Yet she could also believe the man before her now was equally devious. He was a solicitor after all. They excelled in honeyed words, pleasing tones.

  Right before driving the knife home.

  His mentor had been the same, claiming to want to help her settle the estate before denouncing her as a murderer.

  “And you heard nothing from your mentor Mr. Prentice about my case?”

  He frowned. “Your case? Were you forced to bring suit against your cousin?”

  She peered closer. The confusion seemed to be genuine, his reddish brows drawn down over his nose. Had he truly heard nothing about the trouble with Lady Winhaven’s estate?

  Don’t educate him.

  The voice inside was insistent. She drew a breath and focused on the larger issue.

  “No,” she answered. “I was in no position to contest my cousin’s inheritance. That matter is settled. What concerns me now is this. You have distinguished yourself as a man able to solve problems. My employer even remarked on it, with great glee, when she learned you had once courted me. You will pardon me for thinking that you might have tried harder to find me.”

  He inclined his head. “You have every right. It is a matter I regret deeply. All I can say in my own defense is that I was younger then, less well versed in the ways of the world. By the time I had amassed the income and connections to conduct a thorough search, the scent had washed clean. It was only when Wey asked me to locate a Miss Thorn and described you to me that I began to wonder, to hope.”

  He moved closer still, gaze devouring hers. “Have I any reason for hope, Meredith?”

  None! The word trembled on her lips yet refused to come out. What was wrong with her? He’d proven himself lacking in love, finding excuses for why he had failed her, never tried to find her. She should send him away just as surely. She would not allow her heart to be stolen again.

  She must have been squeezing Fortune too hard, for her pet wiggled in her arms. She loosened her hold with an apologetic smile to the one being who had never disappointed her.

  Fortune regarded her a moment with her copper eyes, then twisted and slid down to the polished wood floor of the entry hall. She righted herself and gazed up at Julian, who gazed back, unblinking. Oh, but he was in for it now. Would Fortune hiss? Sink her claws into his boots?

  Fortune arched her back and rubbed herself against the black leather.

  “Sweet kitty,” Julian said with a surprisingly endearing tone and besotted smile she should not want so much to be directed her way instead. “Pretty kitty.”

  “That’s quite enough,” Meredith said, bending to scoop up her pet. Fortune’s gaze leveled accusingly at her. Something constricted inside her.

  “Well, at least your cat likes me,” Julian said.

  Unaccountable. Ridiculous. Betrayed too often, so many times she’d relied on Fortune’s uncanny insights to tell friend from foe. What did it mean that her cat liked Julian? Had she mistaken him again?

  ~~~

  By dinner time, Lydia’s blotches had subsided to mere shadows. Gussie claimed it was the new treatment infused with pearls, but Patience thought it had more to do with her mother’s ointment, which she’d slipped to the girl behind Gussie’s back. She was also glad to see Meredith looking more like herself and joining in the conversation in the withdrawing room before dinner, even if Mr. Mayes watched her with obvious interest.

  Lydia’s brother remained out of sorts. He had stayed abed most of the day. His pallor and humility assured Patience he had indeed been ill. He pecked at the salmon and asparagus that served as the main course and made desultory conversation in the withdrawing room afterward.

  “Julian and I intend to look at property near the river,” Harry announced to all. “With the flooding, it’s the perfect time to assess local stability. It should only take a few days. We’ll be back in time for Easter.”

  Gussie frowned, Lydia sagged, and Meredith raised a brow at the defection.

  “We had hoped you could accompany us, Villers,” Mr. Mayes added. “But you clearly need your rest.”

  Patience waited for the fellow’s reaction. If he was the spy they suspected, surely he’d brighten at the opportunity.

  Instead, he merely sighed. “Yes, it’s best I avoid travel for the time being. And, if you’ll excuse me now, I think I will head back to bed.”

  “I’ll send you up something,” Gussie promised, at which he turned rather green and politely declined.

  “Does this happen often?” Patience asked Lydia after he’d left.

  “No, never,” she replied with her ready smile. “Beau is generally the picture of health. But I’m sure whatever upset his stomach will pass shortly.”

  Patience wasn’t nearly so sure, but at least with him safely in his bedchamber Harry and his friend were free to make their appointed run to France unnoticed.

  As most of them settled back down following Mr. Villers’s exit, Mr. Mayes rose.

  “I understand you all shared talents with each other before I arrived,” he said.

  Lydia nodded, but Patience wondered who had informed him. She glanced at Mr. Cuddlestone to find him frowning.

  “Perhaps you would allow me to do the same,” Harry’s friend continued. “As a solicitor, I have some gift for declaiming.”

  Gussie twisted to face him fully. “I appreciate a fellow who can speak well. Impress us, Mr. Mayes.”

  The others looked interested as well, but Meredith dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap as if wishing Fortune were f
illing them.

  Her one-time swain struck a pose, head high, one foot forward, one hand behind his back.

  “Had we but world enough and time,

  This coyness, lady, were no crime.

  We would sit down, and think which way

  To walk, and pass our long love’s day.”

  His voice was warm, beguiling as he quoted Andrew Marvell’s famous words. Lydia sighed happily, Gussie beamed, and even Meredith raised her head as if willing to listen for once.

  Harry’s hand stole over Patience’s, cradling it.

  “Let us roll all our strength and all

  Our sweetness up into one ball,” Mr. Mayes continued, voice fervent.

  “And tear our pleasure with rough strife

  Through the iron gates of life:

  Thus, though we cannot make our sun

  Stand still, yet we will make him run.”

  Lydia burst into applause, and Gussie joined her. Patience sucked in a breath as Harry released her to follow suit.

  Mr. Mayes sketched a bow. “And may I hope it pleased you as well, Miss Ramsey, Miss Thorn?”

  He didn’t fool Patience. The only approval he sought was Meredith’s. Two spots of color stood out on her cheekbones, and her lavender eyes gleamed.

  “An excellent rendition, Mr. Mayes,” she allowed. “And something to consider.”

  He bowed again, but his smile remained on his face until they ended the evening.

  Harry asked Patience to stay behind as the others started for bed.

  Lydia hesitated. “Perhaps I should stay too, as chaperone.”

  Gussie caught Harry’s eye. “No need. I’ll remain with the pair. Check on your brother, Lydia.”

  With a nod, the girl left with Meredith.

  “Am I invited to this conclave?” Mr. Mayes asked, turning from watching them go.

  Harry slipped his hand over Patience’s once more, but his words disappointed her. “Of course. Watch the door.”

  With a shake of his head, Mr. Mayes went to station himself by the portal, where he could spot anyone approaching.