Outwitting the Duke

by Deb Marlowe

  “I do know that, Hestia. None of these lunatic girls are truly interested in me. They all want to be mistress of Hartsworth.”

  “Everyone wants to be mistress of Hartsworth, sir. It is an irresistible notion. The most celebrated home in England, in a beautiful setting—”

  “And immortalized by that damned poem.”

  “That wonderfully romantic, tragic poem, full of thwarted lovers and sacrifice and happily ever afters. Every girl in England sighs over that tale, dreams of a love so daring and bold, yearns to live out her own happiness, as is promised to all those who hold Hartsworth. They cut their teeth on the idea before they are out of the school room—and never lose the taste of the dream.”

  “Nicholas thwarted them all by engaging himself to a local girl at quite a young age.”

  “He cheated them of their chance. And then you appeared, unattached and uninterested. Clearly they were driven to extremes.”

  “Yes, well. I’m afraid extreme is not a trait I would ever look for in a bride.”

  She tilted her head. “Some would, you know. But you do seem remarkably even tempered, my lord.”

  “My mother says I’m as even keeled as a becalmed ship. I suppose all of those chits would find me boring, did they bother to get to know me. I’m far more interested in making Hartsworth pay for itself than in the romance associated with it.”

  “Yes, many would find that a disappointment,” she agreed.

  “Nor would they be interested in the amount of work needed to keep the old place going. Someone should tell them to forget the long list of lovers and think of the ancient plumbing that needs replaced and the glass that must be custom crafted to fit all of those arrow slits.”

  “What are plumbing and drafts next to thrills of the heart, my lord?” she asked with a smile. “So, you fear that the drama from last year will be repeated. It’s a wonder that you came to Town at all.”

  “If I could have skipped it, I would have, believe me,” he said fervently. “But although I never wished for the earldom, it’s been thrust upon me—and I’ll damned well do my best with it. I’m here to take my seat in the Lords. Not only because it is a duty, but also because I hope to address some issues that will affect Hartsworth and several of the other estates I must look after.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make a splendid earl. But now, why don’t you tell me what has brought you to me in a state of desperation?”

  “It’s begun already. I’ve been in Town but a few days, and already two carriages have mysteriously broken down in our street. And today!” He told her the tale and fervently appreciated the fact that she didn’t laugh.

  “Oh, you are in a quandary,” she sighed.

  “Yes, and it’s doubly bitter because I thought I’d found a solution.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “How is that?”

  He couldn’t suppress a sigh. “I have a cousin two years younger than I. She’s American. She grew up in Boston, but not in the same . . . comfortable circumstances my brother and I grew up with. I wrote and made her an offer. I would provide a substantial dowry, if she would come and masquerade as my betrothed for the season.”

  Surprise lit Hestia’s lovely face. “How . . . logical of you.”

  “It’s the perfect idea,” he insisted. “A few months spent here, then she could return home to attract a whole different class of suitor with an appropriate dowry behind her. And in the meantime, I would feel . . . free.”

  “Free to do what?” Hestia asked gently.

  He thought about it. “Free to move about Town without constant tension. Free to continue to find my way into this role. And yes, free to meet people without worrying about their motives. I know my duty, Hestia. I will marry someday, but it will be a day of my own choosing, and not to someone who hunts me down like a dog with a bone, only so that she can live in a fairy tale castle.”

  “I gather, since you are here, that your cousin did not agree?”

  “On the contrary, she did agree. I booked her passage here and thought to meet her ship yesterday.” He sighed again. “But she was not aboard and the captain only had a letter saying that a beau stepped up at the last minute and convinced her that she didn’t need a dowry or a voyage to England.”

  “And now?”

  “You know what I mean to ask. I can see it in your face. I want to find a young lady to take my cousin’s place.”

  “Good heavens.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Hestia looked thoughtful. “It will take a very particular sort of girl to fill this position.”

  “I’m aware of that. She must be a gentlewoman—or be able to pass as one.”

  “She must be somewhat desperate herself, to agree to such a thing,” Hestia added.

  “True. And she cannot wish to mix in Society after this Season, because once we have finished with this masquerade, I will put it about that my cousin decided that we did not suit and returned to America.”

  Hestia tapped her fingertips together. “Where will this paragon stay while she pretends to be your cousin?”

  “At Herrington House—with my mother. I won’t be staying there. Hell and damnation, at this point I’d be safer in Seven Dials. But I’ll find bachelor’s rooms or put up at a hotel.”

  “Your mother has agreed to go along with this scheme?”

  “She had already agreed to go along with Emmaline’s masquerade. I rather think she meant to promote the match and make it a reality. But after this morning, she will go along with whatever I put into motion.”

  “Well, then. You’ve everything in hand, do you not?”

  “Except for finding the right girl.”

  “Do you know, my lord, there is a chance that she might be closer than you think.” She leaned forward and reached up, opening a small panel that allowed her to speak to the coachman. “Slow down, just a bit, will you please?” she called. “Traffic is light enough, it should not cause a problem. Have you caught sight of the girl? She’s just ahead, moving toward the Cumberland gate.”

  Hart didn’t hear the driver answer, but Hestia must have been satisfied. She sat back and watched out the window. “Now, you just sit back and let me work, my lord.” She met his gaze directly. “And kindly recall your promise. Do not interfere, unless I ask you to.”

  Emily watched the family ahead closely. Her brothers and sister romped around Miss Carmichael, excited to be so close to the freedom of the park. The girl laughed with them and with their nurse. She was dressed in another overdone gown. Emily looked forward to seeing her in something that would highlight her fresh looks instead of burying them.

  She would instigate a meeting with the girl even if she had to trip over one of her frightful flounces. She would instigate a conversation about fashions and offer to introduce her to a talented modiste, one still largely undiscovered and therefore economical. Madame Lalbert was ready, armed with a nearly complete day dress for the girl to try, and a selection of simple and elegant designs that would make her stand out in the right way . . . and Emily would receive a percentage of the profits from the order.

  She could almost feel the comforting weight of the coins in her pocketbook. She would stop at a cook shop and purchase a thick, meaty stew for dinner—something to tempt Mama and fill Jasper up. Perhaps a loaf—

  “Miss Carmichael is a lovely girl. I hope you intend to treat her in a kinder fashion than you did Miss Paxton.”

  Emily froze—and turned to find a breathtakingly beautiful lady coming up behind her—amusement shining in her blue eyes.

  “Excuse me?” Her heart was trying to pound right out of her chest.

  ‘I’ve no quarrel with how you duped Miss Paxton. That one deserves to be taken down a peg or two. But Miss Carmichael is by all reports a sweet, innocent girl.”

  “She does seem so,” Emily agreed. She felt very queer indeed—and she could not tear her eyes from the woman who stared back at her with a mix of approval and curiosity. “Who are you? How did you know—”
>
  “About Miss Paxton?” The woman smiled, cat-like. “I am Hestia Wright, my dear. I know a great deal of what happens in London, and I am able to find out the rest, when I am interested.” She reached out and linked her arm through Emily’s. “Come. Let us walk a bit, for I am very interested in you.”

  “Why?” Then it struck her. Hestia Wright. The famed former courtesan, owner of Half Moon House, a safe place where any woman could come for help, with anything . . .

  “Ah, there it is,” Hestia murmured. “I assume you are in a bind? In need of funds?”

  Emily nodded, her mind working frantically.

  “Did you not think to come to me?”

  “No!” She should have. It hadn’t occurred to her. She’d thought the women who approached Hestia Wright were those in truly dire circumstances or mortal danger . . .

  “Well, I can see the wheels turning now. And I may be in a position to help you, my dear, if you will but answer a few questions.”

  Emily nodded, still not quite recovered from her shock.

  “Your name is Emily Spencer?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Just Hestia, if you please. “And what do you intend to do with Miss Carmichael?”

  She explained.

  Hestia looked pleased at the end of it. “Inventive. But I imagine her mother would be a blocking point. How will you convince her to consider the purchase of a new wardrobe?”

  “I wrote her mother an anonymous note, stating that polite Society was not being so polite about her daughter’s overblown, outdated, countrified fashions.”

  “Inventive,” Hestia said approvingly. “She won’t like that. And you have the good judgment to use a light touch.”

  “Not so light,” Emily admitted. “I did make the arrangement with Madame ahead of time.”

  “Good planning will not make me think any less of you, my dear. But tell me, do you not have any family? No one to turn to, instead of going to such efforts?”

  “No.” Emily hesitated. “Not real family—and not anyone I would trust to have our best interests at heart.”

  Hestia Wright regarded her thoughtfully, and the moment stretched out. The Carmichaels turned into the park, and Emily made the choice to continue strolling with Hestia while she mulled her situation over.

  “Very well,” Hestia said at last. “The situation I have in mind is . . . peculiar. But you are the right age and well-spoken.” She paused. “You can read?”

  “Of course!” She spoke dourly. “And my mathematics are up to par, as well.”

  Hestia laughed. “Can you dance, by any chance?”

  “Dance?” Now that one startled her. “Not really, beyond a few country dances.”

  “Well, that could be explained away. Do Americans dance, after all? I don’t really know.”

  “Americans?” Emily’s mind started to race. “Is this a position that you speak of? I’m not sure I could take a position . . . depending on the circumstances and definitely not if it required me to move away. I could not leave and abandon my . . . obligations.”

  “It is a temporary position only, my dear, and right here in London. But it would require you to relocate for a few weeks. Do you think that your obligations could do without you for a few weeks? You would be well compensated for your trouble.”

  Emily thought a moment. “Perhaps. If I could be advanced part of that compensation.”

  “I’m sure that could be arranged.” Hestia leaned in close. “It is a strange situation, there is no doubt. But it might be just what you need. There is a peer of the realm, you see, and he is in dire circumstances . . .”

  Chapter 3

  Was that the girl she had in mind? The one to play his betrothed? Hart did as Hestia bade him and stayed in the carriage, but he craned his neck, trying to see. He’d caught only a glimpse of the girl before Hestia moved her off ahead of the carriage. He’d noticed only an oversized pelisse and a smart little bonnet. Now, straining, he could only make out a plain gown peeking out from underneath her outerwear—and that she talked with great animation. They stayed, conversing for several minutes before Hestia turned and headed back toward the coach, bringing the girl with her.

  He sat back, on edge now that the moment was at hand. But he would find a way to be left in peace. And he was wild with curiosity to see the girl Hestia thought would do for his unusual request.

  The coachman climbed down and moved to open the door. Still talking over her shoulder to Hestia, the girl climbed in first. She sounded full of energy and anticipation, and then she turned her head. She caught sight of him, waiting there—and froze.

  His breath caught.

  She was . . . unexpected. The noise from the street, the hustle of pedestrians on the pavement, they all faded away. There was only a pair of large grey eyes in a sweet, heart-shaped face. Porcelain skin and a generous pink mouth. Pursed in mid-word, that wide mouth caught his attention and held him fast.

  “You’re it?” she rasped. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “You’re him, I mean?”

  “Please sit, my dear.” Hestia Wright sounded amused. “So that I may answer your question and address more than the back of your skirt.”

  Color rose over those intriguing cheekbones. She looked chagrined as she entered the rest of the way into the carriage and took the opposite seat. Another glance at him and she sent Hestia a disbelieving look. “That’s him? The peer that needs a pretend fiancé?”

  “It is he, indeed. My lord, may I present Miss Emily Spencer? Emily, the Earl of Hartford.”

  “An earl. An earl wants me to masquerade as his betrothed?”

  “I gave her only the barest details,” Hestia said to him. “The rest will better come from you.” She looked back and motioned the coachman back up into his perch. “Watkins, take them to . . .” She paused and looked at the girl. “It was Cheapside, was it not?”

  At her nod, she continued her orders to the driver. “Off to Cheapside with you, and leave Miss Spencer wherever she likes. Then drop his lordship at home before you return.”

  “Wait.” The girl looked suddenly panicked. “Are you not coming along?”

  “Is that wise?” Hart asked.

  “This is best hammered out privately, between the two of you.” She met Hart’s gaze directly. “I believe that Emily is just the girl to accomplish your task beautifully.” She turned to the girl. “Miss Spencer, Lord Hartford is a gentleman in every sense of the word. I put you into his hands knowing he will treat you like the gentlewoman you are.”

  She closed the door and smiled at them through the open window. “Now, I believe I will call on a friend. I will expect to hear from you this afternoon, my lord. You will let me know whether the pair of you can come to an agreement or not.”

  Hart agreed. Hestia signaled the driver, and they were off. He found himself sitting across from a stranger—and staring again.

  She stared right back, her face ablaze with nerves, curiosity—and skepticism. Oddly enough, it was that wariness that struck a chord of empathy in him. He knew how it felt to wonder if you could trust the company you found yourself in.

  Perhaps she was the right girl for the job.

  She sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. Slowly, she exhaled. “Well then. Let’s have the worst of it out first, shall we?” Meeting his gaze directly she asked, “What exactly, is wrong with you, my lord?”

  Then again, she might not be the one he was looking for.

  “What?” He recoiled slightly. “There is nothing wrong with me.”

  “Come now. A title, the money to go with it, I presume, and that face?” She gestured. “And still you need to hire a fiancée? Either there is something wrong with you or something has gone collectively wrong with the young ladies of the ton.”

  Indignation faded. “Ah. You’ve hit it on the head—but struck the wrong nail. I am fine. The young ladies of the ton, however, are a brassy lot. They are not reluctant to consider me, instead they are far too eager, too b
old and too numerous.”

  “Oh,” she sat back. “I’m to shield you from them, then?”

  She had a quick mind, at least. “Yes,” he said with relief.

  “You are under siege, so to speak.”

  “Exactly.”

  She gave a little laugh and shook her head.

  “It’s far from amusing, I assure you.”

  “I’m not laughing at you, I promise.” She shook her head. “I am only imagining what my Scottish grandmother would say at this.” Her grin stretched wide and he was caught, unused to a girl who showed real emotion instead of polite tittering and ennui. “She was full of those delightful old witticisms, like ‘a nod’s as good as a wink tae a blind horse!’”

  “My grandmother never said as much to me,” he said lightly, “but I suppose it’s true enough.”

  “She’d have plenty to say about this. She’d accuse you of trying to pass a sow’s ear off as a silk purse.”

  He bit back a laugh. “Miss Spencer, we may only have the shortest acquaintance, but I assure you, you have many more charms that a sow’s ear.”

  “I thank you,” she said with a nod. “Now me . . .” She sighed and grew more sober. “She might tell me that if you’ve something to hide, the safest place is under someone’s nose.”

  He stilled. “Are you hiding something, Miss Spencer?”

  She blinked at him, and then grinned again. “Only my nerves, I hope. I admit I find myself tempted by the job, my lord, and amused by the irony of fate, bringing us together. We could not be more opposite, you see. You have too much interest in your situation. I, on the other hand, would feel infinitely richer for the favorable interest of just one person.” Her mouth twitched. “I don’t count the interest of a landlord chasing me down for rent, you see, or a butcher who is only interested in trading favors for finer cuts of meat.”

  Good God. Well. At least she needed him as much as he needed her.