by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens
About the Author
Myretta Robens has been nominated for a RITA, and has won the Holt Medallion. Her most recent work is a contemporary short story in the anthology Jane Austen Made Me Do It. She was a founder of the Republic of Pemberley Jane Austen web site, which she continues to manage. Myretta lives near Boston with her giant Corgi and a clowder of geriatric cats. You can find her online at MyrettaRobens.com.
Also by Myretta Robens
Jane Austen Made Me Do It
Just Say Yes
Once Upon a Sofa
Chapter One
“Do you suppose it’s a good time to go in? I don’t want to seem as though I was waiting until he was there.”
Katherine suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “But you have been doing precisely that,” she said as she glanced at the watch, given to her by Effie’s mother, pinned to her dress. “For nearly two hours.” She tried to keep her tone as neutral as possible. Not easy when one had been enclosed in a carriage for so long. “So you might not wish for it to seem as though you were waiting, but you do have to acknowledge that you have been.”
Two hours of listening to her charge as she discussed each and every facet of Mr. Henry Dawkins, whom Katherine was beginning to wish had never been born. Not that she begrudged the man his ability to exist, she wasn’t that cruel, but she did wish he wasn’t the focus of Lady Euphemia Hammond’s usually flighty attention.
Apparently he was not only handsome and well-spoken, but more importantly, to Effie, at least, he was one of the very few not to have fallen sway to Effie’s charms which, Katherine had to admit, were many. That made him far more unusual than merely being blessed with looks and wit.
Effie was petite, nearly as short as Katherine, but without Katherine’s ample figure. Her hair was a lustrous gold, shining bright as the sun, many a suitor had told her—usually adding accolades for her sky-blue eyes, porcelain skin, and perfect nose.
Katherine had to wonder at times if there was a common vernacular amongst all of Effie’s admirers, since they tended to use the same words to describe her: an angel, a goddess, a delicate fairy.
Anything but a woman, which was what Katherine most definitely was. A curvaceous woman whose appearance seemed to cause a certain reaction in the opposite sex, one that made her wish she could just swath herself in fabric like one of those Egyptian mummies so that no one could see her.
But even if she could swath herself, it just wouldn’t be possible. In addition to being curvaceous she was also poor, so even though she was the daughter of a viscount, she had to make her way in the world. And since she was a lady, she wasn’t allowed to work in anything other than a capacity in which it would appear she was not working at all.
Even though being Euphemia’s companion in her first Season felt like work most of the time.
Effie could be very sweet when she wanted to, but she was also prone to temper tantrums, sulks, and the kind of self-absorption Katherine had found in the very wealthy and the very beautiful. Both of which Effie was.
Which meant that her parents, the far more sensible Earl and Countess of Kilchester, wanted to ensure their delightful slip of a daughter did not fall in love with one or more of the available men who were searching for a fortune, not a wife. So they hired Katherine, although the conceit was that Katherine was an old family friend merely visiting for a time. That way, honor could be maintained and Effie’s honor would be kept intact until the appropriate man was found who could relieve her of it. And if she suited, Katherine would be kept on to help launch the marriage journeys of Effie’s younger sisters.
As for Katherine’s own honor, she was grateful she hadn’t had to surrender it in order to survive. She was twenty-three years old and thus far had had six dishonorable offers, with none of marriage. She was on the brink of despair when Effie’s parents had contacted her with their offer, which she had gratefully accepted. All she had to do, they explained, was chaperone Effie through her first Season, since her parents recognized that their young and spirited daughter was too much for them to handle themselves. Since Effie’s sisters were, according to everyone but Effie, far less determined although just as pretty, Effie’s Season was Katherine’s baptism by fire. She was looking forward to the far less fiery girls. Only one Season, she kept repeating to herself. And then she would be launched on a career that wasn’t a career at all, since ladies didn’t work, it was understood, but it would keep her in food, clothes, and housing, so it was nearly as good as (if far more discreet than) actual work would be.
She would see to it that Effie only received honorable offers, and help guide her to making the decision as to who would be most appropriate to lavish adoration on Effie for the rest of her days.
This Mr. Henry Dawkins was not, as Katherine well knew, at all appropriate or seemly for Effie to consider, even if he seemed disposed to adore the girl. Which he wasn’t anyway. He was a mere mister, not even landed gentry; his father had been Effie’s grandfather’s solicitor, which is how the two had met. Mr. Dawkins’s sister was a businesswoman, proudly earning her living by owning a dress shop, while Mr. Dawkins was a bookkeeper.
Mr. Dawkins, Effie had heard, was working on the books in his sister’s shop, which was why Effie was here. It wasn’t enough for her to have captured the interest of most of the young men in her world; she seemed to feel a need to make certain that Mr. Dawkins recognized that he had, indeed, made an enormous mistake when he rebuffed her three years ago, when Effie was fifteen and just coming into her fairylike goddessness, or something like that.
Now that she considered it, Katherine had to say that she admired the unknown Mr. Dawkins; most young men would have leapt at the chance to compromise an heiress. Even if he had been immune to her appearance. Not only had he not pressed his advantage, he had told Effie in no uncertain terms that she needed to be wary of young men in the future who might not be so circumspect when she approached them in that way. So instead of wishing Mr. Dawkins to the devil, especially after two hours of waiting outside the dress shop, perhaps she should thank the man for not taking advantage of the young girl.
“I’m going in,” Effie declared in the tone that meant that there was no arguing with her. In other words, her everyday tone of voice. She rapped on the door for the footman, alighting from the carriage, and barely paused to wait for Katherine’s own descent before walking to the door.
“Wait a moment,” Katherine said, tugging the edges of her cloak around her. Clothing tended to get disarranged when one had awkward things like bosoms and hips to contend with.
“What is it?” Effie spun around to face Katherine, her lovely face twisted into a grumpy pout. “You cannot convince me not to go in there, it is entirely proper for me to patronize Miss Felicity Dawkins’s shop, given our family connection.”
Katherine finished fussing with her cloak, taking a deep breath before she replied. “I was not going to try to dissuade you”—since that task was impossible, Katherine had found—“but I didn’t want you to enter on your own, since that is not proper.”
Effie’s expression eased, and Katherine suppressed a smile of triumph. Since becoming the young lady’s companion she’d learned to suppress many things, but at least she was surviving. That alone was worth enduring a spoilt debutante who, when it came down to it, had a good heart, even if it was buried under glorious golden tresses.
“That makes sense,” Effie admitted, nodding in accompaniment to her words.
“Excellent,” Katherine returned, grasping the handle and swinging the door open, allowing Effie to enter, then following her into the shop.
Katherine’s first impression was of vast femininity, a profusion of gorgeous fabrics everywhere, with ribbons and buttons and jaunty feathers in colors that had never actually appeared on a bird. Three dolls were arranged on the shelves, dressed impeccably. There were a handful of live women inside, all of whose clothing was far grander than Katherine’s shabby cloak and less shabby, but no less dull, dress underne
ath. She didn’t think she had ever owned a gown in any of the colors on display here, and she wished, not for the first time, that she was less poor, less curvaceous, and more able to wear whatever she liked.
“Can I help you, ladies?” A woman, speaking in a soft Welsh accent, stepped out of the cluster of females and glanced between Effie and Katherine, a pleasant smile on her face, wearing a garment in a wide variety of colors.
“I am an acquaintance of Miss Dawkins.” Effie was using her simpering voice, the one she employed when she wanted something. Again, one she used all too often. “Is she here?”
Katherine and Effie both knew perfectly well that Miss Dawkins was not here, since they had seen her leave a half hour prior.
The woman shook her head, a sincerely regretful expression on her face. “No, she has gone out. An acquaintance, you say?”
Effie nodded.
“Miss Dawkins’s brother is here, do you know him? Perhaps I can see if he can spare a few moments.”
Effie simpered even more. “I am acquainted with him, yes. That would be wonderful, thank you.”
It was hard to believe more people didn’t see through Euphemia’s machinations, but then again Katherine was often startled at how oblivious people could be. Maybe obliviousness was one of the better side effects of having wealth and position, or in this case, a gown that distracted your thought process—you seldom noticed individuals who had less of both. Katherine, having no wealth and only a tenuous position, was in the unfortunate circumstance of being forced to pay attention to everybody most of the time. That she found amusement in trying to discern motivation in others’ actions was perhaps her own welcome side effect. Even though it was terribly lonely.
“I will go ask him,” the woman replied, turning on her heel and walking quickly toward the back of the shop.
“Did you see how fast she went?” Euphemia said. “I can only imagine what the ladies here think of Mr. Dawkins,” she said, her tone indicating what she thought of the other ladies’ chances.
Katherine hadn’t noticed a change in the woman’s expression, but perhaps Mr. Dawkins had dazzled this lady as he had Effie. Katherine would have to be on her guard around him, then—she had no wish to be caught up in admiring someone who would not admire her back. She had learned, painfully learned, that the male of the species did not want her admiration. They usually wanted something else, something that had everything to do with how she looked and nothing to do with who she was.
“He’ll be out here in a minute,” Effie whispered, sounding less worldly than she did usually. “I can’t believe he is here!” she said, nearly hopping in her excitement.
“Of course he is, you made certain he would be,” Katherine whispered back.
Effie’s hopping stopped as she scowled. She did not appreciate it when Katherine reminded her of her own subterfuges. But since she was usually on to another subject within a few minutes, her ire did not last long.
“Well, he will be surprised to see me,” Effie said in a more subdued tone of voice as she patted her already flawlessly arranged hair.
That reminded Katherine that her hair was likely less flawless. Actually, she knew for certain it was; it was too boisterous, too unruly, and definitely too red. But since both she and Effie anticipated that Mr. Dawkins was going to be struck dumb by Effie’s beauty, she wouldn’t have to worry about how she looked. He would not notice her.
“Lady Euphemia?”
The voice was low and rumbly, the voice of a man, not a boy. Katherine looked to where the voice came from and felt as though her heart stuttered in her chest.
This was a man. A very large, very virile, very large—but she’d said that already, hadn’t she?—very attractive man. The only thing wrong with him, as far as Katherine could see, was that his eyes were behind spectacles, which perhaps explained why he hadn’t seen Effie’s beauty properly.
No wonder Effie was so determined to conquer him. Katherine wanted to at least storm his gates, and she hadn’t even been introduced to the gentleman in question.
He walked toward them, a puzzled expression on his face. As he moved closer, Katherine could see that his large form—had she thought he was large? He was huge—was testing the limits of fabric. His coat, although modest enough for the bookkeeper he apparently was, was fitted perfectly, his trousers encasing legs that were probably twice the size of hers, and she was not a small woman. In height, yes, but not in width.
She’d never had such a visceral reaction to a man before. It terrified her, albeit in a very pleasant way. Pleasantly terrified wasn’t something she was familiar with feeling, however, so she concentrated on keeping her breathing steady as he approached.
“Mr. Dawkins.” Effie held her hand out, and up, since he was so much taller than she. And since Effie had a few inches on Katherine, she felt as though she were standing at the foot of a tree staring up at the leaves. A tree she would very much like to climb.
“Lady Euphemia, of course it is a pleasure to see you, but—?” His eyebrows drew together above the spectacles, and then Katherine wanted to laugh, because how could he ask Effie what she was doing there without being rude?
It appeared he realized that himself, since he shook his head. “Never mind. It is a pleasure to see you.”
Katherine nudged Effie with her elbow. If she was going to stare at Mr. Dawkins, she at least wanted to give him the privilege of knowing the name of the woman who was transfixed by his massive self.
Because although he was large, it was clear that almost all of his size was muscle. Did he drag around trees that ladies stared up at or something? Perhaps he was a literal bookkeeper, in that he kept the books—all of them—and had to lug them around for people who wished to read them.
That, or he was just naturally muscular and large.
“This is my companion, Miss Katherine Grant.” Katherine thrust her hand out, for once not feeling as though she was too large herself. He could probably lug her and all the volumes of Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire without even breathing that hard.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Grant.” He gazed into her eyes as he spoke, and she felt her legs tremble. As in if she were not corseted up within an inch of her skin she would actually fall. His eyes were a dark, dark blue, so dark they almost appeared black, and his brow was furrowed as though he was concentrating very hard, and it felt almost as though he were concentrating on her.
My goodness. No wonder Effie was all aflutter. And no wonder that impetuous fifteen-year-old Effie had flung herself at this man, this handsome giant. Thank goodness he hadn’t reciprocated. Never mind the ensuing scandal, he might have crushed her under his weight.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Dawkins,” Katherine replied, not untruthfully.
It seemed as though he held her hand a fraction longer than was necessary, and Katherine felt the impact of that touch through her entire body. She wanted to shift, to relieve some of the pleasant discomfort—another oxymoron she’d have to pick apart at some time when she wasn’t quite so befuddled—to keep his hand in hers, to find out what his muscles felt like under her fingers.
Plainly put, she wanted. And she had never wanted like this in her life. Pleasantly terrified, indeed.
Chapter Two
Henry tried to keep his expression from revealing what he was feeling, mainly because if Lady Euphemia knew just how dismayed he was at seeing her here in his sister’s shop, she would likely redouble her efforts to capture his interest. And he knew precisely that that was why she was here—she hadn’t taken well to being rejected three years ago, when she was just coming into her beauty, and he knew her well enough to recognize the determined look in her eye as she regarded him.
If only Effie weren’t so piqued, he wouldn’t have been standing in this bastion of femininity feeling like he was a very large, very male intruder. Worried he was going to bump up against one or another of the ladies in the shop and cause them to faint or scream
or something. This was why he preferred to stay in the back with the books. A solid desk and door between himself and the customers.
He wished his mother and his sister had found an affinity for something less … frilly. Like books, or the piano, or, or—well, come to think of it, there were very few things a respectable woman could make a living at. And his sister needed to make a living, since his earnings, even though he was getting more clients, were not enough to support her. Not that she’d take money from him anyway. He just wished how she had decided to make money was less filled with women scurrying about, making him acutely aware of just how large he was in comparison. Although the chances of his having found anything else to do were unlikely, since he’d grown up—and up, and up again—in the shop.
He darted a glance at Effie’s companion, a woman who looked nearly as out-of-place as he did in the shop. Not that she wasn’t a woman—she most definitely was—but her clothing was as dark and plain as his, and she was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she glanced around, her hands doing some sort of unconscious fluttery movement by her skirts.
He understood uncomfortable people; most people were uncomfortable when confronted with his size. She didn’t seem to be bothered by him, more bothered by the place she found herself in, but that just meant he could try to put her at ease, as best as he could. And the bonus was that it meant he wouldn’t be paying as much attention to Effie, so perhaps she would get the hint.
“Miss Grant, is this your first time in London?” He tried to keep his voice low and measured, but its timbre still caused a few of the ladies in the shop to start in surprise. He suppressed a wince. He felt comfortable among numbers as he never felt comfortable with people. Numbers didn’t make him feel too large, too muscular, or too brutish. They accepted him as he was. Why couldn’t the rest of the world?
