A Man Above Reproach (23 page)

She would meet Sally at the modiste, and then make her plans when she returned to the Paper Garden. If she was quick, she would have enough of a head start that Elias would not be able to ascertain her departure in enough time to follow her. It was cruel, and he deserved better, but he had left her no choice.

She loved him. Truly.

This horrific revelation carried her through her morning, followed her to meet Sally. Her friend was already at the dressmaker’s, in high spirits and miles of fabric.

“Analise!” Sally exclaimed brightly, dropping a bolt of dazzling blue that would be far too daring for day wear. It was strange to hear her real name from the mouth of the woman who had known her the best over her years in Cheapside, though she had only known her as Josephine Grant. Analise’s eyes darted around involuntarily, thinking that Digby and Mother could be after her at any time. The footmen were standing just outside the door, much larger than normal servants, courtesy of the duke’s heavy hand. She was torn between feeling grateful and ashamed.

“You do not mind that I call you by your proper name, do you?” Sally said in a lower tone as she approached. “I would find it silly to continue on with a charade when I know it all now and you shall be the Duchess of Lennox soon.”

“Do keep your voice down.”

Analise pulled her friend to the side, lowering her own voice.

“I want to apologize to you—I should have told you long ago that I was not who I said I was. You do understand that I had to protect myself, don’t you?”

“No, not really,” Sally smiled. “I think you have a proclivity to make everything more difficult than it should be. But I do not love you any less. What do you think of this?”

Sally held up a pretty floral pattern that suited her perfectly. Analise nodded in a numb way.

“The proprietress of this establishment is quite attentive, as our beaus have instructed her, and we are to pay no attention to price. Do you see anything that may fit you? I am certain Lennox would love to see you in something fine this evening. I believe he has an important question to ask.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Oh, Sally,” she sighed. “I can never accept this kind of generosity, nor should you.”

“Speak for yourself, spoilsport. I mean to let my Nicholas lavish me with gifts.”

The dressmaker glided up to them with a welcoming smile.

“Miss Quail,” she bowed her head slightly. “It is good to meet you.”

Analise was distinctly uncomfortable with strangers uttering her surname.

“I am Amelie Lacroix, though you may know that.” Her lilt was a giveaway to her nationality even before she introduced herself. Her store was the very height of fashion and delectable French gowns were all the rage—for ladies. Analise did not consider herself one of the soft women who could lounge in those gowns. How would anyone get anything done, corseted and laced everywhere?

“His Grace has chosen a particular frock for you, my lady,” Miss Lacroix continued, “and I might add that his taste is impeccable.”

She led the way to the back, to the more expensive looking fare, leaving a trail of strong perfume in her wake.

“
Et voilà!
” Miss Lacroix said with a flourish, presenting a dress form. The gown on it was a stretch of the imagination—Analise thought it so beautiful that she was surely making it up, not seeing it in front of her. It was a deep burgundy color, ruching on the skirt, and elaborate beading—done by hand—featured on the bodice. It was a confection that would likely cost a year’s salary at the Dove.

“Heavens,” Sally murmured.

“His Grace thought it would be a perfect fit, but you must try it on. My girls will help you.”

“I—”

Analise only got out one syllable before the shopgirls had shuttled her behind a dressing curtain. She could feel Sally’s smirk radiating all the way through it. Miss Lacroix began chirping happily with Sally about her own gown orders and measurements, all the while the assistants fluttered around Analise, adjusting this and lacing that. Once again, the duke had placed her in a whirlwind without her permission. She wished she could flee.

The girls turned her to the looking glass and she was taken aback. She did not look like plain Josephine Grant at all anymore; she looked like Miss Analise Quail, respectable society daughter. But even more—she looked like she could stand next to the Duke of Lennox and make quite the pretty picture. It was tempting to let her fancies run wild. How would he react when he saw it? Would he like it on her?

Sally burst behind the curtain, her curiosity getting the best of her. She stopped in her tracks, her mouth open in a delicate “o.” It was an extremely odd expression.

“What?” Analise demanded.

“It’s just that… you look like…”

“What?”

“A duchess. You look like a duchess.”

Analise pursed her lips and examined her face in the looking glass. The worry lines that creased it, hovering above the outrageous expense of a dress, did not speak of a duchess. She looked the part, but inside…

She may have appeared a duchess, but she felt a fraud.

After Hyde Park, Elias returned to Ashworth. He said a silent prayer that Dryden had been able to get his mother out of the house. The entryway was free of people and he could hear servants bustling in the kitchen, probably preparing a light lunch. He handed his overcoat to a butler without a word and walked toward his study, staying on the carpet in case Sophia did happen to be about. He felt like a teenage boy, sneaking around, planning outrageous schemes. He smiled to himself.

Alessandra was waiting for him in the hallway, hand on her hip.

“Well?” she asked expectantly. “I know you didn’t actually feel ill at the party; I wheedled it out of Nicholas and Sebastian. They’re downstairs waiting for you, by the by.”

He sighed and continued past her.

“You three are the worst sort of hens—pecking and pecking.”

She followed him to the library. “You are grinning like an idiot,” she said, “so it must be good.”

“Close the door, Allie.” When she did as he asked, he continued. “I believe I will be married by the end of the week, but not to a certain Miss Francis.”

Alessandra clapped her hands together happily.

“I positively knew it!” She kissed his cheek. “I am so very happy for you both.”

“No time for happiness just yet,” he said, settling down behind his desk. “Many loose ends, some of which I cannot go over with you.”

Her brows shot up in offense.

“However, there is something very important you can do for me.”

Elias leaned back to reach the nearest shelf, which held the copy of Ana’s book that he had first read. The book he had cursed, then accepted and understood, then cursed again as its author drove him to his limits—now there was an opportunity for the blasted thing to be used to his advantage.

“Can you see to it that mother reads this? I think that if she does, it will go a long way to convincing her that I have chosen a well-suited wife.”

“Josephine’s book?”

“Her name is actually Analise, but that is an unfinished story that I shall have to tell you later.”

“How am I to make mother read?” Allie nearly whined. “She values my opinion on nothing at all.”

“I have faith in you,” he smiled. “You are clever. I am sure you will find a way.”

She reached out for the book, but he pulled it back.

“On second thought, I shall give you a new copy next week. I have some edits that need to be made, and I shall write an introduction.”

“And I am to explain that to Mama… how?”

“Just say she is an author that was recommended to me and I admired her work so much that I offered to write the introduction for a new edition.” He waved a hand. “I do about a dozen of those kinds of introductions in a year, though neither of you are interested enough in my work to read them.”

She rolled her eyes. “How you suffer, dear brother.”

“Well? Will you help?”

“Of course I will.” She turned to leave, but turned back once more before her exit. “But you owe me,” she warned.

The accountant arrived just as Elias had said, in the midst of the chaos the Paper Garden had become that afternoon. Sapphire was doing her level best to direct the army of liveried footmen that had arrived in the duke’s carriage. The carriage—crest, shiny lacquer, and all—had the neighbors in a perfect tizzy trying to peek in the windows. For her part, Analise had drawn the curtains and hung the Closed sign, as much as it pained her to lose potential business. She could not accept customers in this state.

“Miss Quail?” The bespectacled accountant, stuffed into his suit, approached her with a notebook clutched to his chest. He looked decidedly uncomfortable with all the activity around him. “It is quite a busy day in your store.”

“Mr. Tavisham, yes?” She ducked a feather duster wielded by a tiny woman whose name she did not yet know. The accountant looked from side to side and then his eyes settled on Analise. They stared at each other for a beat and every passing moment, Analise became angrier and angrier with the duke. He had not even asked if she wanted to be invaded and now her store was overrun with people. She had not told Sapphire yet why these people were calling her by a different name and the horror was sinking in that she would not be able to hide any longer. How was she going to transition from being plain Josephine Grant back to Miss Analise Quail, who was evidently destined to be a duchess? All of this agitation, with a few minor strokes of Elias’s quill, and he still had not rightly asked her if she wanted any of it.

“Do you find His Grace to be annoying?” she asked Mr. Tavisham.

“My lady?”

“What about meddlesome? Infuriating?”

“I beg your pardon, madam?”

“Plainly, do you find the Duke of Lennox to be irksome?”

“Miss Quail,” he repeated her cursed name in a shocked manner. “I find His Grace to be an upright and fair-minded man.”

“He has you all fooled,” she said under her breath. “He is a rotter.”

“Did he not tell you that I am here to look at your ledgers?” The man’s eyebrows knitted together with confusion.

“Of course,” she said, shaking her head, which did nothing to clear it. Sapphire rushed passed her, sputtering something unintelligible, pursued by three footmen carrying wobbly stacks of books. “Please, Tavisham, follow me out of the pandemonium.”

Analise wound her way to the rare books room, which doubled as her office. It was the place where the first edition of her book had always been, until Elias had bought them all. He had invaded every area of her life. Even walking in the room made her think of the way his mouth had widened when he looked at her and said
“Blue”
in that drawl of his. It was the room where they had first looked at each other unmasked, where he had drawn his lips across her wrist. She remembered the way he looked at her then, the delighted trouble in his eyes.

“Miss Quail?” The accountant intruded into her reverie.

“It is cramped,” she apologized in a wisp of a voice. “But all of my records are on the corner shelf behind the desk, arranged by year.” She was shocked at herself that this was happening, that she was actually letting the man look at her finances. It was beyond a breach, but she was beyond resisting Elias’s pushiness any longer. In point of fact, she did not want to at all. Damn the persistent bastard, there was just no helping it.

“I am to specifically note the debts and their sources, so that we may start with a clean slate. Is there a bell here that I might employ to summon someone in case of questions?”

“Pardon?”

“Am I not being clear?” He arranged himself in front of the ledgers, speaking as if she was already supposed to be gone. “I will begin with the debts, as the duke has requested them closed, and I will ring if I have any questions.”

“The duke is paying my debts?”

Mr. Tavisham looked up, exasperated.

“My lady, he seems to consider them as his own debts as well. Are you not Analise Quail, his fiancée?”

Her stomach dropped. He was telling people this without even asking her. Would he ever bother? Did he just assume her compliance, like any of his other servants?