by Julia Quinn
“Pretend we’re French,” Elizabeth snapped. “I’m telling you, Mr. Siddons is not a good choice.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with him?” Elizabeth’s voice rose with frustration. “There’s nothing wrong with him. Everything is wrong with him.”
Susan scratched her head. “Perhaps it is my tender years, or perhaps my brain is not as fully developed as yours—”
“Oh, please, Susan.”
“—but I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about. If there is nothing wrong with the man—”
“The man is dangerous. He was playing games with me.”
“Are you certain?”
“He has seduced hundreds of women. I’m sure of it.”
“An estate manager?” Susan asked dubiously. “Aren’t they usually short and fat?”
“This one is handsome as sin. He—”
“Handsome as sin? Really?” Susan’s eyes grew wide. “What does he look like?”
Elizabeth paused, trying not to blush as Mr. Siddons’s face floated in her mind. What was it about that man that was so compelling? Something about his mouth, perhaps. His finely molded lips had the tendency to curve ever so slightly, as if they held the key to a secret joke. But then again, maybe it was his eyes. They were a rather regular shade of brown, the same color as his hair, actually, and should have seemed ordinary, but they were so deep, and when he looked at her, she felt…
“Elizabeth?”
Hot. She felt hot.
“Elizabeth?”
“What?” she asked distractedly.
“What does he look like?”
“Oh. He—oh, goodness, how am I supposed to describe him? He looks like a man.”
“How descriptive,” Susan said in a droll tone. “Remind me never to advise you to seek work as a novelist.”
“I couldn’t possibly make up a story any more ridiculous than the one I’m living right now.”
Susan sobered. “Is it really as bad as that?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said with a sigh that was two parts frustration and one part irritation, “it is. We are almost completely out of the money Father left, and my wages from Lady Danbury are not nearly enough to support us—especially once the lease on the cottage runs out. I have to marry, but the only available man in the district besides Squire Nevins is Lady D’s new estate manager, and he, aside from being far too handsome and dangerous and thinking that I am completely insane, couldn’t possibly earn enough to qualify as a suitable candidate. So I ask you,” she added, her voice rising in pitch and volume, “since you’ve already pointed out that I am not going to make a fortune publishing my letters, what do you propose I do?”
She crossed her arms, rather pleased with her speech.
Susan merely blinked and asked, “Why does he think you’re insane?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elizabeth ground. “What matters is that I am in a complete bind.”
“As it happens,” Susan said with a slow, deep smile, “I have the answer.”
Elizabeth saw her sister reach behind her back for something and felt anger explode within her. “Oh, no, don’t you even dare to pull that book out again.”
But Susan already had the little red book open. “Listen to this,” she said excitedly. “‘Edict Number Seventeen—’”
“We’re already up to seventeen?”
“Be quiet. ‘Edict Number Seventeen: Life is a rehearsal until you meet the man you marry.’” Susan nodded enthusiastically. “See?”
Silence.
“Elizabeth?”
“You’re joking, aren’t you?”
Susan looked at the book, then looked back up at her sister. “Noooo,” she said slowly, “I—”
“Give me that!” Elizabeth snatched up the book and looked down.
LIFE IS A MERE REHEARSAL UNTIL YOU MEET THE MAN YOU MARRY. THUS YOU MUST PRACTICE THESE EDICTS AT ALL TIMES, ON EVERY MAN YOU MEET. IT DOES NOT MATTER IF YOU HAVE NO INTENTION OF MARRYING A CERTAIN MAN; HE MUST BE DEALT WITH AS YOU WOULD A MARQUIS. FOR IF YOU SLIP OUT OF THE HABIT OF FOLLOWING MY EDICTS, YOU WILL FORGET WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT WHEN YOU DO MEET A MARRIAGE PROSPECT. HONE YOUR SKILLS. BE READY. YOUR MARQUIS MAY BE RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER.
“Has she gone completely mad?” Elizabeth demanded. “This is not a fairy tale. There are no marquises around the corner. And frankly, I find this all rather insulting.”
“What part?”
“All of it. To listen to this woman say it, I don’t even exist until I find a husband. It’s preposterous. If I’m so unimportant, then what have I been doing these past five years? How have I managed to keep this family together? Not by twiddling my thumbs and hoping some kind gentleman will deign to marry me!”
Susan’s mouth parted in silent surprise. Finally she said, “I don’t think she meant—”
“I know she didn’t—” Elizabeth broke off her words, a little ashamed by the violence of her outburst. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—Please forget I said anything.”
“Are you certain?” Susan asked, her voice quiet.
“It’s nothing,” Elizabeth said quickly, turning away and looking out the window. Lucas and Jane were playing in the garden. They’d devised some game involving a piece of blue fabric tied to a stick and were squealing with glee.
Elizabeth swallowed, love and pride brimming within her. She ran her hand through her hair, her fingers stopping in place when she reached the top of her braid. “I’m sorry,” she said to Susan. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”
“I don’t mind,” Susan said sympathetically. “You’ve been under a great deal of strain. I know that.”
“It’s just that I’m so worried.” Elizabeth moved her hand to her forehead and rubbed. Suddenly she felt so tired and so very old. “What good is practicing my wiles upon Mr. Siddons when there aren’t even any real marriage prospects to be found?”
“Lady Danbury invites visitors all the time,” Susan said in an encouraging voice. “Doesn’t she? And you told me that all her friends are rich and titled.”
“Yes, but she grants me my free days when she entertains. She says she has no need of my company when she has guests in residence.”
“You’ll just have to find a way around that. Concoct some reason why you need to visit. And what about this party at the end of the month? Didn’t you say she always invites you to such functions?”
“It’s to be a masquerade, actually. She informed me yesterday.”
“Even better! We might not know enough to sew you a fashionable ball gown, but we can certainly manage a costume. You don’t need to dress up as anyone fancy.”
Susan moved her hands animatedly as she spoke, and for one odd moment Elizabeth thought she was looking at herself at fourteen—back when she’d thought anything was possible. Before her father had died and left her with mountains of responsibility. Before he had died and taken the innocence of her childhood along with him.
“We look so alike, you and I,” she said in a small whisper.
Susan blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just…” Elizabeth paused and gave her sister a wistful smile. “It’s just that sometimes our similar looks remind me how like you I used to be.”
“And you’re not any longer?”
“No, not really. Sometimes, just for a little bit, though.” She leaned forward impulsively and kissed her sister’s cheek. “Those are my very favorite moments.”
Susan blinked back something that looked suspiciously like tears before assuming her usual businesslike mien. “We need to return to the matter at hand.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I’d quite forgotten what that was.”
“When,” Susan asked with an impatient sigh, “is Lady Danbury next entertaining visitors? Not the masquerade. Just visitors.”
“Oh, that,” Elizabeth said grimly. “She’s expecting people at the end of this week. I believe it is to be a small garden part
y. More of a gathering, really, than a formal party. I wrote out the invitations.”
“How many will be arriving?”
“No more than ten or twelve, I think. It is only for the afternoon. We are close enough to London, after all, that people can make the trip to and from in one day.”
“You must attend.”
“Susan, I am not invited!”
“Surely that is only because she does not think you will accept. If you tell her—”
“I am not going to angle for an invitation,” Elizabeth said hotly. “Even I have more pride than that.”
“Can’t you just leave something there by accident on Friday? Then you would have to return on Saturday to fetch it.” Susan made a face that was more hopeful than convincing. “Maybe you would be invited to join in the festivities.”
“And you don’t think Lady Danbury will find that a trifle odd?” Elizabeth scoffed. “I’ve been her companion for five years now, and I’ve never forgotten any of my belongings before.”
“Perhaps she will. Perhaps she won’t.” Susan shrugged. “But you won’t know until you try. And you certainly won’t find a husband if you hide yourself here all day.”
“Oh, very well,” Elizabeth said with great reluctance. “I shall do it. But only after I check the guest list, and then only if I can be certain that there will be an unmarried man in attendance. I’m not going to embarrass myself in front of Lady Danbury just to find that all of her guests are married.”
Susan clapped her hands together. “Excellent! And in the meantime, you shall have to practice upon this Mr.—”
“No!” Elizabeth said loudly. “I will not.”
“But—”
“I said no. I will not seek this man out.”
Susan raised her brows innocently. “Fine. There is no need for you to seek him out. Mrs. Seeton says one isn’t supposed to do that sort of thing anyway. But if you should just happen upon him…”
“That won’t be likely, since I plan to avoid him as if he carried the plague.”
“Just in case—”
“Susan!” Elizabeth leveled her sternest glare in her sister’s direction.
“Very well, but if you—”
Elizabeth held up her hand. “Not another word, Susan. I am going to Danbury House right now, where I will attend to Lady Danbury, and only Lady Danbury. Have I made myself clear?”
Susan nodded, but she clearly didn’t mean it.
“Good day, then. I am certain I shall have nothing to report when I return home.” Elizabeth tramped to the front door and wrenched it open. “Today shall be so dull. Utterly, blessedly dull. I am sure of it. In fact, I probably will not see Mr. Siddons even from afar.”
She was wrong. So very, very wrong. He was waiting for her at the front door.
“Miss Hotchkiss,” he said, his voice so amiable that Elizabeth couldn’t quite trust it, “it is a pleasure to see you again.”
Elizabeth found herself torn between the desire to flee into the house and the urge to wipe his confident smile right off of his face. Pride won out. She raised one of her blond brows in a supercilious gesture she’d learned from Lady Danbury and said, quite acidly, “Is it?”
One corner of his mouth tilted upward, but one couldn’t really call it a smile. “You don’t seem to believe me.”
Elizabeth let out a long breath between pursed lips. What the devil was she supposed to do now? She’d sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to practice any more HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS edicts on this man. He was clearly far too well versed in the art of flirting to be taken in by any of her pathetic attempts.
And after yesterday’s turnip debacle, he probably thought her a complete ninny. Which begged the question: What the devil did he want with her now?
“Miss Hotchkiss,” he began, after waiting in vain for her to make a comment, “I had merely hoped that we might develop a friendship of sorts. After all, we will be working together here at Danbury House for some time to come. And we both occupy those governesslike inbetween posts—a bit too well-bred to mingle with the servants, yet certainly not part of the family.”
She considered his words—or, to be more precise, his tone, which was suspiciously friendly. Then she regarded his face, which appeared to be equally kind and amiable.
Except for his eyes. There was something lurking in those chocolaty depths. Something…knowing.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she blurted out.
He started, letting out a little cough as he did so. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
She pointed her finger and wagged it slowly. “I know what you’re about, so don’t try to fool me.”
That caused him to raise a brow, which annoyed her, because he had obviously mastered the look better than she had. He said, “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re very charming, you know.”
His lips parted slightly, and then, after a brief moment of silence, he said, “I find myself with nothing to say but ‘thank you.’”
“It wasn’t necessarily a compliment.”
“But it might have been?” he asked teasingly.
She shook her head. “You want something from me.”
“Only your friendship.”
“No, you want something, and you’re trying to charm me into getting it.”
“Is it working?”
“No!”
He sighed. “Pity. It usually does.”
“You admit it, then?”
“I suppose I must.” He held up his hands in defeat. “But if you want me to answer your questions, you’re required to humor me and stroll the grounds with me for a few minutes.”
She shook her head. Going anywhere alone with this man was a huge mistake. “I can’t. Lady Danbury is expecting me.”
He flipped open his pocket watch. “Not for another quarter hour.”
“And how do you know that?” she demanded.
“Perhaps you recall that I was hired to manage her affairs?”
“But you’re not her secretary.” Elizabeth crossed her arms. “Estate managers don’t set schedules for their employers.”
Perhaps she was imagining it, but his eyes seemed to grow warmer and more intense. “I have always found,” he said, “that there is nothing so powerful as good information. Lady Danbury is an exacting woman. It seemed prudent to acquaint myself with her schedule so as not to disrupt it.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. He was right, drat the man! The very first thing she herself had done upon entering Lady D’s employ was memorize her schedule.
“I can see you agree with me, reluctant though you are to compliment me by admitting it.”
She glared at him. Really, this man was beyond arrogant.
“Come, now,” he said coaxingly. “Surely you can spare a few moments to help a newcomer to the area.”
“Very well,” Elizabeth replied, quite unable to refuse when he phrased his request as a plea for help. She had never been able to turn away from anyone in need. “I shall walk with you. But you may only have ten minutes of my time.”
“A most generous lady,” he murmured, and took her arm.
Elizabeth swallowed as his hand looped around the crook of her elbow. She felt it again—that odd, breathy awareness that enveloped her whenever he was near. And the worst part was that he looked as cool and composed as ever.
“Perhaps we could take a short turn through the rose garden?” he suggested.
She nodded, quite unable to say anything else. The heat from his hand had traveled up her arm, and she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
“Miss Hotchkiss?”
She swallowed and found her voice. “Yes?”
“I hope I am not making you uncomfortable by seeking you out.”
“Not at all,” she squeaked.
“Good,” James said with a smile. “It is merely that I did not know to whom else to turn.” He glanced over at her. Her cheeks were stained delightfully pink.
They said nothing as their steps took them through the stone arch that led into the rose garden. James steered her to the right, past Danbury House’s famous Scarlet Scotch Roses, which bloomed in a brilliant display of pink and yellow. He leaned down to smell one, stalling for time while he figured out how best to proceed from here.
He had thought about her all night and well into the morning. She was clever, and she was definitely up to something. He had spent enough time ferreting out secret plots to know when a person was acting suspiciously. And his every instinct told him that Miss Hotchkiss had been behaving out of character the day before.
At first it had seemed odd that she should be the blackmailer. After all, she couldn’t be very much older than twenty. She certainly wasn’t older than Melissa, who was nearly thirty-two. So she couldn’t have any firsthand knowledge of Lady Danbury’s extramarital affair.
But she had lived her entire life in the region; she had said so herself. Perhaps her parents had passed on a confidence. Secrets had a way of lingering in small towns for years.
Not to mention that Miss Hotchkiss had free run of Danbury House. If Aunt Agatha had left any incriminating evidence about, no one was more likely to come across it than her companion.
No matter which way he turned, he was led back to Miss Elizabeth Hotchkiss.
But if he wanted to learn her secrets, he had to make her trust him. Or at the very least, lower her guard enough so that she might let the occasional confidence slip through those delectable pink lips of hers. It seemed to him that the best way to do this was to ask for her assistance. Her sort of woman was polite to a fault. There was no way she would say no if he asked her to help him acquaint himself with the neighborhood. Even if she was the blackmailer—and thus selfish to the core—she had appearances to maintain. Miss Elizabeth Hotchkiss, companion to the Countess of Danbury, could not afford to be seen as anything less than gracious and kind.
“Perhaps you realize that I am new to the area,” he began.
She nodded slowly, her eyes wary.
“And you told me yesterday that you have lived in this village your entire life.”
“Yes…”
He smiled warmly. “I find myself in need of a guide of sorts. Someone to show me the sights. Or, at the very least, to tell me about them.”
