The Perfect Lady Worthe (2 page)

“It’s all right,” Jane said a moment later, if for no other reason than to break the uncomfortable silence that was threatening to engulf and suffocate them all. “See, Charlotte, it’s for the best if I stay here. You go and have fun for me. I’ll be all right. This is for the best. It’s the way it should be.” She closed her mouth. She was babbling.

“No, it’s not.”

“Ye—”

“
Bath!”

“Bath?” Jane and Michael repeated in unison.

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, Bath.” She stepped away and began wearing another hole in the rug. “We’re only three hours from Bath. We could go to the assemblies there if London isn’t an option.”

“Three hours in each direction is a long time to be in the carriage,” Michael pointed out. Then as if to prove his point, he added, “Your gowns would be crushed and your hair will have already started to fall.”

“Then we shall have to rent a house in Bath—” Jane cupped her hand over her mouth. What had gotten into her? She couldn’t have a true Season. No gentlemen would be interested in her and all the young ladies would treat her as an outsider besides.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Charlotte chirped. “Just think, Michael, it will only cost you what you originally thought I was trying to spend on Olive and Daphne to have proper costumes.”

“I’m not worried about the money.” Michael’s voice was a mere whisper. He moved to stand on the other side of Jane. “Are you… Do you…” He ran his hand over his face and let out a deep breath.

“If you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you—”

“
No!”
Michael barked. He cleared his throat. “It’s not that. I just don’t want anything to hurt you.”

Jane released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding and without thinking reached for his arm. “Nothing will. I won’t let it.”

“You say that now, but if someone is unkind—”

“Then it’s no different than how I’ve been treated around here.”

Michael’s face darkened. “Who?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I won’t have my sister made into a fool.”

An uncontrollable burble of laughter passed Jane’s lips. “I haven’t been made into a fool.” She sobered. “And I won’t be.”

Michael looked unconvinced. “I just want to protect you.”

“I know.” And truth to tell, she wanted to protect herself. But she wouldn’t do that at the expense of Charlotte’s Season. The idea of going to London was daunting, but Bath was less intimidating. There would be far fewer people. Besides, a week or two in Bath and Charlotte would have a case of the doldrums like she’d never experienced before and would be easier to convince to go on to London and have a Season without Jane. “It’ll be all right.”

Michael offered her a resigned smile. “I hope so.”

And so did Jane.

~*~

Michael swallowed the hard lump that had formed in his throat at the latest change in events. Jane was different. She was delicate and needed protection. He couldn’t allow her to have a Season.
They’d eat her alive.
Sharp nails bit into his palms, alerting him to just how tightly he was now clenching his fists.

It’s only Bath. There won’t be very many people there and likely none of consequence.

That didn’t make him feel any better. There’d still be uppity gentlemen and waspish ladies. Not to mention the old harpies who thrived on gossip.

Mother had gone to great lengths to shield Jane from the cruelty of the world. Michael had vowed to her on her deathbed he’d provide the same protection. But that shield would evaporate in Bath.

“Are you… Do you…” He ran his hand over his face and let out a deep breath, unsure how to finish the rest of his sentence. He didn’t want to discourage her, and yet, he did.

“If you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you—”

“
No!”
Michael barked. Embarrass him? How would she possibly do that? He cleared his throat. “It’s not that. I just don’t want anything to hurt you.”

“Nothing will. I won’t let it.”

Michael could easily believe she’d like to think that, but it didn’t make it true. No matter what anyone else might say, words had a way of cutting to the quick. “You say that now, but if someone is unkind—”

“Then it’s no different than how I’ve been treated around here.”

Michael’s blood simmered in an instant. “Who?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I won’t have my sister made into a fool.”

A little laugh passed his sister’s lips. “I haven’t been made into a fool. And I won’t be.”

Yes, you will.
He bit back his words. They’d only serve to hurt her and that’d make him just as awful as those he wanted to protect her from. “I just want to protect you.”

“I know.” Jane paused and studied the tops of her slippers for a moment before offering him what he took to be the worst reassuring smile he’d ever seen. “It’ll be all right.”

Michael wasn’t so sure, but if she wanted to go… He could banish her, he supposed, but then they’d both think him a monster. Sighing, he said. “I hope so.”

Doing his best to fight the turmoil raging within him, he took a step away from his two sisters who were now hugging and squealing in delight—well, at least one of them was, the other’s squeals were still yet unconvincing. He murmured his excuses and added something about needing to make arrangements.

That was true enough. He did need to make arrangements for their stay in, or rather
near
, Bath and he knew just who to ask.

“Worthe, I need another favor,” Michael said unceremoniously as he reentered his study.

His friend didn’t even open his eyes. “Hmmm?”

“Can we stay at Castlemoor for a few weeks this Season?”

“Of course. Come and stay as long as you want.”

Chapter Three

Castlemoor

Two Weeks Later

Gareth Lambert, Lord Worthe wanted nothing more than to cut out his own tongue.

Well, perhaps
that
was a little far reaching.

However, it’d do him well to give a little more thought to the repercussions of committing to things in the future, he chided himself when his gaze fell upon no less than twelve trunks in the entrance of the great hall. He scowled down at the note in his hand.

Worthe,

Please accept my apologies for such late notice. The ladies were eager to attend the Lange’s annual musicale. I’ll come join them shortly.

Holbrook

Gareth crumpled up the note in his hand and his mind drifted back to the day he’d gone to see his friend Holbrook a fortnight ago. He’d been tired when he’d arrived that day; he remembered that. He also remembered being flippant about Holbrook bringing his sister out for a Season. He even remembered suggesting his cousin, Mrs. Fairchilde, to be Charlotte’s chaperone. What he didn’t remember so well was agreeing to let them use
his
estate for their… festivities or whatever the hell it was they were doing here.

“Where shall we put Miss Cavanaugh, my lord?” Potter, his butler, asked.

Why the devil was Gareth being asked which bedchamber to assign the chit? He wasn’t on the staff. He just paid them. “Wherever you want,” he said with a shrug. “The drawing room, perhaps.”

Potter pressed his lips together and gave a stiff nod. “Yes, my lord.”

“Anything else?”

“No, my lord.” Potter offered a low bow, then clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to where an anxious Mrs. Boyles, the housekeeper, stood at the foot of the grand staircase twisting a lock of her black hair around her finger. Odd.

Gareth shrugged again and walked to his study. He didn’t know too much about Holbrook’s sisters. He’d seen them all a time or two in passing, but they usually stayed in the drawing room at Holbrook Hall or would occasionally go to the gardens if the day was nice. Truth to tell, if he were to see any of them walking down the lane, he wouldn’t recognize any of them. He didn’t mean to be unobservant— Actually, yes he did mean to be. Gentlemen such as himself, the ones with only a few friends to speak of, did not get involved with his friend’s sisters. Never. It wasn’t done.

Sighing, he took out his account ledgers. Numbers were a safe distraction.

Well, they would be if he didn’t hear a never-ending chorus of girlish giggles on the other side of the wall.

Gareth gripped his pen tighter and hummed to block out the offending noise.

It didn’t work.

For more than two hours Gareth sat rooted to his chair, staring down at the numbers scribbled on parchment in front of him and unable to add or subtract a single digit.
Blasted Holbrook!
He closed his ledger with a snap. The man could have at least had the decency to come stay for a while and keep Gareth company.

He’s probably enjoying the quiet,
Gareth reasoned to himself as he pushed to his feet. Well, Gareth would be doing the same as soon as he could get to the stable and get his horse saddled.

“…let’s add Lord Worthe to the list.”

Gareth had no idea if the voice he just heard belonged to his cousin Mrs. Jemma Fairchilde or her charge, Charlotte Cavanaugh; nor what
list
was being referenced, but chills ran up his spine. Perhaps he’d better poke his head in that room and let Mrs. Fairchilde and Charlotte both know right now his name was not to be put on
any
list. Ever.

Giving a courtesy knock on the opened door of the drawing room, Gareth came to stand in the doorway. “Ladies—” he began, his eyes scanning the room.

Unlike Holbrook’s sister, he’d recognize Jemma Fairchilde on the horizon line by her hairstyle alone. While most ladies of the
ton
would spend extra time making sure their hair was perfectly coiffed before a ball, it was apparent that Mrs. Fairchilde went through all that trouble every morning. Her favorite, and dare he say only, style seemed to be having her hair piled as high atop her head as was possible for her maid to do, then curled.

Seated beside her on the settee was a young lady who he supposed was Charlotte or Miss Cavanaugh as he should likely style her. She was a pretty young lady with auburn hair and brown eyes that were a perfect compliment to her olive skin.

On the other side of her, sitting in a chair he didn’t recognize as one of his own was a third young lady. Her hair was the same shade as Miss Cavanaugh’s, but that’s where the similarity ended. Her skin was what many might term as porcelain, which was no disrespect as it fit her perfectly and her hazel eyes held a little gleam of something that he couldn’t place. She must have been cold for she sat with a large lap blanket draped over her that almost reached the floor. Who was this beautiful young lady and why was she in his drawing room? Was
she
Miss Cavanaugh? His heart slammed in his chest.
No!
Perhaps she was a friend of Miss Cavanaugh’s. Equal parts relief and excitement coursed through him.

He would not—
could
not—have any interest in Holbrook’s sister. Her friend, however… Well, there was no reason he couldn’t. Unless he found her disagreeable. And so far he had not.

She quirked a brow at him.

His face would have flushed at being caught staring so shamelessly at her if he were that sort.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Ladies—” he moved his eyes over all three, lingering for an extra moment on the lady in the green velvet chair with the lap blanket.

“Lord Worthe?” Jemma asked.

Gareth jerked his eyes to her. “Yes?”

“Was there a reason you came in here, dear cousin?”

“Actually, yes.” What it was he couldn’t remember at the moment.

“I think you were right, Jane. You should add him to the list.”

Jane. List.
Gareth’s mind spun. “Wait.” He held up a single hand. “No list.”

“Pardon?” Jemma asked as if she were naïve.

“My name will not be added to any list,” he clarified.
Unless the lady in the chair next to the settee is making a list of
her
potential suitors. Then my name can be on the list.
He gritted his teeth that—was a dangerous thought.

“Too late,” chirped the beauty in the green chair, who he now knew was Jane and not Charlotte. She held up a piece of parchment that had a few lines of writing. The top line read:
Potential Husbands for Charlotte
. Jane pointed to the last line. “You’re already on it.”

“Take me off.”

“I can’t,” she said without a hint of remorse. “Ink doesn’t erase.”

“Cross it off,” he ground out.

The right corner of her lips tipped up, sending a spark of desire firing straight to his groin. “No, I believe it shall stay. Anyone who expends this much energy protesting must be worth the catch.”

She had him there. “Very well. Leave my name on that list.” He crossed his arms. “But do so at your own risk. I’m not an honorable gentleman.”

The brave young lady didn’t even blink at his blunt statement. “Not to worry, my lord,” she said with far more calm and reserve than he’d have expected. “My sister will have a love match, or no match at all.”

“
Sister?”
He knew Holbrook was sending one, he didn’t realize there’d be two of them.

All three of the ladies exchanged confused looks.

“You did know we were coming?” Jemma’s tone was uncertain.

“Yes. Holbrook mentioned you and his sister Charlotte would be staying at my estate for a few weeks while attending assemblies in Bath.” That was true enough. Holbrook had actually asked, and Gareth had thoughtlessly agreed, but they didn’t need those details.

“I should go,” blurted Jane, jarring him from his wayward thoughts. She gathered up her lap blanket and her sister jumped to her feet and practically leapt to Jane’s side.

Jane ignored her and haphazardly threw her lap blanket toward the settee.

“Wait… No… What?” He blinked in confusion at the chaos that had just taken over his drawing room.

Charlotte and Jemma were both speaking at once. Charlotte to Jane and Jemma to Gareth. Gareth couldn’t hear what either of them said, he was too fixated on Jane’s bright red face.

“Wait,” he said again, louder this time.

Jemma quieted, but Charlotte continued to talk to her sister as if she hadn’t heard him.

Jane dropped her head and it looked like her shoulders were tensing.

What an odd young lady.
Most would have just been on their feet and out the door in their attention-seeking way long before now. Surely this wasn’t her way of seeking attention: to sit and claim to be leaving but never actually get up. His mother used to do that and it infuriated him.

Gareth dropped his eyes a little lower and noticed her hands were clenched into fists wrapped around the outside of wooden wheels on the side of her chair. Realization took hold of him like a punch in the gut: she hadn’t left the room yet only because she couldn’t.

Holbrook had once mentioned that his sister had fallen off a horse on their father’s estate during their first term at Eton, thus confining her to a chair. That was it. It wasn’t that Holbrook was ashamed or embarrassed, mind you. That was just Holbrook’s way: he didn’t make chitchat and he certainly didn’t gossip.

But that didn’t solve Jane’s current situation which was that her chair, which had the back right corner pressed up against the window casing, was butted up against the end of the settee in such a way she couldn’t move forward no matter how she tried to maneuver herself. Likely it was placed that way so she could be close enough to her sister and Jemma to be part of their conversation, none of them considering this possible ending to their meeting. Neither Jemma nor Charlotte seemed too concerned with helping Jane with her efforts to leave or at the very least ring for help.

A flood of emotions overwhelmed him, the most prevalent being shock, uncertainty, and irritation for the two other females in the room. Couldn’t they see they were only making it worse for her by standing by and trying to argue?

“Enough.” Even he winced at the sharpness in his voice. Pretending not to notice either of their stares, he walked over to the settee and moved it over to allow her the room she needed to leave without causing her frustration or any more undue embarrassment.

Then he sat down, still allowing her enough room to get by, though he hoped she wouldn’t try to leave.

“Jane?”

She swallowed hard, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t blame her. He’d be uncomfortable if he’d been thrust in her situation, too.

He didn’t know what to say to her; all he knew was that he had to say something. This wasn’t her fault. It was his. Holbrook had probably told him that they were both coming; he just didn’t remember it. He blew out a deep breath. “You don’t have to go.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” he corrected. “You want to. There’s a difference.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He pursed his lips. “Actually, yes. I like to escape my own company as often as I can, too.”

The unmistakable sound of a suppressed giggle emanated from her throat.

“I need to warn all of you ladies that I’m not a very exciting gentleman. I like to ride horses and shoot. I play chess with myself by making one move each day.” He gestured to the half-played game of chess in the corner. “I’d prefer to take a walk through the woods than to stroll the streets of London. I’m terrible at conversations and unfortunately, I was sleeping off a week of fox hunting when Holbrook asked me about the use of my estate for your visit in Bath. I apologize.” He looked around at all of the ladies in the room. “I remember him telling me about how Charlotte had come of age now and wanted a Season and I suggested Jemma could act as her chaperone.” He met Jane’s eyes and swallowed. “I’m not very attentive to conversations with your brother. And he’s not always forthcoming with details. It’s why we get along so well. Likely he mentioned that you’d be coming, too, and I wasn’t being attentive enough to realize it. I’m sorry. You are welcome here just the same as your sister is.”

~*~

Jane stared at their host. He was far more handsome than she remembered. Then again, she’d only ever glimpsed him in darkened halls or seen his retreating back. He was her brother’s friend, which he’d made clear by never extending pleasantries to her or Charlotte.

She studied his green eyes. They were filled with uncertainty and perhaps a dose of embarrassment at the whole misunderstanding. She flushed with her own embarrassment at her earlier reaction. If she’d had any chance of him treating her like he would her sister or Mrs. Fairchilde it had evaporated now. No matter. It wasn’t as if she could hide it. Besides, Michael had spoken of Gareth, Lord Worthe, for as long as she could remember. Surely he already knew she was confined to a chair.