The Perfect Lady Worthe (5 page)

He really shouldn’t be in here with her. She dismissed that thought. Where she was concerned the rules had always been different. Many thought of her as nothing more than a piece of furniture and didn’t pay her any notice. It hurt, to be sure, but it was the way of it. She’d been left alone with more gentlemen who’d come to visit Michael than she could count. None of them would dare do anything he shouldn’t. Not only would it be considered the blackest sin conceivable to even think of taking advantage or forcing themselves upon her, but there was nothing about her that could possibly spark such attention. That small ache in her chest she’d felt only a moment ago returned, but it was stronger this time. She ignored it. She knew her lot in life and had accepted it.

“Besides,” he continued. “Don’t you think that those with the ague find themselves in less-than-dignified circumstances during their illness?”

“Of course. But that just proves my point.” She turned her head to the side to see where Lord Worthe was going. “Their illness only lasts a few weeks, then nobody remembers anything except what a wonderful person they were.”

“Would you stop being so morbid and tell me how to raise the back on this thing?” Lord Worthe said, dropping to his knees beside her chair.

“Wh—what?”

Without an answer, Lord Worthe’s hand reached under the back of her chair.

Jane gripped her blanket tighter as if it’d actually offer her any sort of protection. “What are you doing?” she hissed when he all but crawled under the back of her chair.

“Trying to puzzle out how this thing raises.” He ran his hand over the section where the back met the seat. “It’d go a lot faster if you’d just tell me.”

“There’s a release lever to pull up,” she squeaked. “But why—”

Pop.

“Found it.” The triumph in his voice was both amusing and annoying. “Clutch your blanket as if it were a lifeline, I’m going to set you up and I’d hate for you to have to avoid me for the remainder of your life for fear of dying of humiliation.”

She’d hate to have to avoid him for the rest of her life too. She blushed, thankful for the dimly lit room and the perfectly logical excuse—him raising her chair—for such a blush.
He’s just being kind to you because you’re Michael’s sister and he feels sorry for you.
As if a bucket of icy water from the pond at Holbrook Hall had just rained down on her, her blush was gone. He was just being kind. Nothing more. Which really was a good thing because as she’d suspected earlier, he’d make a wonderful husband.

Lord Worthe pushed her backrest into place then took a step back as if to admire his work and congratulate himself. “What has you smiling like a cat who’s spotted the cream?”

“You.”

He jabbed a finger at his chest. “Me?”

“Mmmhmm.” She idly straightened her lap blanket. “Your name is most definitely staying on
The List
.”

Chapter Six

Gareth bit his tongue to keep from responding to her last statement. Quite honestly, he had no desire to hold a coveted spot on the list of
Potential Husbands for Charlotte
. Jane’s? Perhaps. Still not a good idea, however.

From the hall he could hear a commotion of footmen moving furniture. Good. Soon her room would be ready and he could put some much-needed distance between the two of them.

“Miss Cavanaugh’s bedchamber is ready, my lord,” Potter intoned from where he stood flanked by two footmen in the doorway of the drawing room.

“Thank you,” Gareth said, moving aside the ottoman she’d been using as a footrest moments before.

The two footmen started toward them and in the low light of the room, Gareth saw Jane’s face tense.

“No need, Cecil. Ramsey.” Gareth gripped the wooden bar that crossed the top of the back of her chair. “I’ll do this part. Wouldn’t want the lady to think I was ungentlemanly, after all.”

He couldn’t be sure but it sounded as if Jane said a soft “thank you.”

Not wanting to question her about it, and not daring to question his own sanity at the moment, he guided her chair toward the door, careful not to hit her legs or feet on any of the furniture.

Avoiding the curious stares of his staff, Gareth pushed her surprisingly heavy chair to the library and froze.

A bed was set up near the fireplace just as he’d requested. But how was she going to get into it?

He peeked down at her from beneath his lashes. “Would you mind if…”

“Please do,” she said tucking the edges of her lap blanket securely around her legs.

Not allowing himself a chance to mull over the severe consequences of what he was about to do, he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, snaked his left arm under her knees, then lifted her and carefully set her down on the bed.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Gareth said, moving her chair.

~*~

Michael was going to kill her. She was certain of it.

First, she’d been far too forward and disrespectful to his lordship and then he had to order his whole household about to make a room ready for her at half-past dark-as-death o’clock. Surely he’d write to her brother as soon as the sun came up and demand he come retrieve them.

Charlotte.

Charlotte didn’t deserve such a fate. No matter. Michael could explain to her why it was best she just go straight onto London to have a real Season. It’d be for the best.
But what of a match between Charlotte and Lord Worthe?

Jane had a hard time believing Lord Worthe was the dishonorable scoundrel he’d have her to believe, thus making him the perfect match for her sister. But if she wasn’t there to help push that match… Mrs. Fairchilde. She smiled. Of course, Mrs. Fairchilde was his cousin; she’d ensure that Charlotte and Lord Worthe saw more of each other once he got to London.

Relieved to have that important matter settled, she could go to her death tomorrow satisfied that Charlotte would have her very own happily-ever-after.

“I’m just going to hang this over here…” He paused. “I think it’ll be a perfect reach.”

Jane’s eyes flew open. Why was Lord Worthe still in her room? And what was he hanging and where?

She craned her neck to see a shadowed man with a billow of loose fabric surrounding him standing at the tall poster at the head of her bed.

“What did you say you’re doing?”

As if he’d just used up his daily allotment of words, his warm hand found hers and he lifted it up toward the poster until her fingers collided with what could only be described as soft silken strap.

Chills ran down her spine. “Wh—what is this?”

“A bell pull,” he said simply, releasing his hold on her wrist and gripping the fabric of the middle of his dressing robe. “The velvet chord by the door wouldn’t reach so I tied the sash to my dressing robe to the end to make it longer.”

Had he just confessed having removed the only thing that kept his dressing robe closed, thus concealing his likely unclothed body, to any other lady, she’d have been scandalized.

Not Jane.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she tightened her grip on the cool fabric. Never had she slept so close to a bell pull. She and Charlotte had always had adjacent rooms. Ever the dutiful sister, Charlotte would frequently check in on her in the night and if Jane really needed help, all she had to do was holler and Charlotte was there to ring for help. She hated to rely so heavily on her sister though; almost as much as she hated the helpless feeling that followed her around everywhere she went. “Thank you,” she choked around the tears clogging her throat.

“You’re welcome. Shall we test it?”

“No, we’d better not.” She ran her thumb over the smooth fabric once more then returned her hand to her side. “It could cause a scandal, wouldn’t you know. With you being improperly dressed and all.”

“Indeed.” He chuckled. “Then you’d certainly have to remove me from Charlotte’s list.”

“I think not, Lord Worthe. You’ll have your Lady Worthe by the end of this Season. I’ll make certain of it.” And she would, too. Any gentleman who was as thoughtful as he was tonight deserved a good and faithful wife. She could be that to him.

Her heart stopped. No,
she
couldn’t be that. His touch might excite her and she might crave to spend more time with him, but it could not be. He’d never return the feeling. That familiar ache returned—but this time she could place it.

With a hard swallow, she pushed away her own foolishness and reminded herself of the reason she was here: Charlotte.

Lord Worthe could never come to care for Jane the way she was beginning to feel for him, but he could for Charlotte. He’d make her a good husband and she’d be a good wife. It was the only way—the perfect way.

Jane repositioned the pillow under her head and pulled her blankets a little higher. “Thank you again for all the trouble you went through for me tonight.” She could only pray he’d know how sincere she was.

“You’re welcome.” He snuffed the candles on the nightstand beside her bed. “Goodnight.”

Chapter Seven

If Gareth had thought his masculinity had been stripped away the day before, he had no real idea what being unmanned was until the moment he opened the door to the drawing room intent to make his daily chess move after lunch…

Measuring tapes.

Fashion plates.

Scissors.

Muslin.

Satin.

Silk.

Velvet.

Organza.

A dais.

A dressing screen.

Giggling.

An unnerving amount of girlish giggling coming from behind that blasted screen, to be exact.

He couldn’t tell Jemma’s from Charlotte’s but he picked out Jane’s unadulterated giggles instantly.

Around him, the room spun. Never in his life had he seen such… such… a mess. Yes, a mess. That was exactly what it was. A mess of feminine fripperies, complete with enough peels of giggles to send a man to a madhouse.

“I see my sisters are keeping you occupied. Or at least your staff,” Holbrook said, clapping him on the back.

Gareth turned toward the man he’d once thought of as his only true friend. “How could you?”

“You said they could come stay,” Holbrook said with a shrug.

The two men made their retreat from the room. “Shall we go to my study?” Gareth suggested. “It seems to be the only downstairs room not yet invaded by the females.”

“Give them time,” Holbrook said without a hint of remorse in his tone.

Gareth stared blankly at the man. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you honestly think I selected that stylish settee you enjoy napping on so much?” He followed Gareth into his study. “Jane picked it.”

“Jane?”

Holbrook’s lips formed a thin line. “She might not get to enjoy it overmuch, but she does have a knack for selecting comfortable furniture.”

“And for speaking her mind,” Gareth said without thinking.

“Has she caused trouble?”

“No, no,” Gareth was quick to assure him. “She’s going to be the most sought after debutante when you take her to London.”

“I’m not taking her to London.”

“Why not?”

Holbrook removed his grey felt hat and tossed it in an empty chair. “Why would I?”

“For the Season.” Was Holbrook addled? “That’s all they’ve spoken about since they arrived.”

“Charlotte is going to London for a Season. Jane will stay behind when Charlotte is ready to go,” he said as if that explained everything.

“You can’t leave her here.” The words were out before Gareth could think better of it. But it didn’t make them any less true. Excitement coursed through his blood at the very thought of being alone with her. Leaving Jane with him was a bad idea. A
very
bad idea. The way he was drawn to her, they’d find themselves in trouble in no time. His excitement slowed down. Was she drawn to him, too? He honestly didn’t know. If she wasn’t, that would only make it worse if she were left to stay with him… No. He wouldn’t even think it.

“Never fear, I wouldn’t just leave her here. She’ll come back to Holbrook Hall and Charlotte and Mrs. Fairchilde will come with me to London. Just indulge them a little longer, please.”

“Remind me again why I am indulging them.”

Holbrook rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Charlotte has taken it into her head that she cannot go to London without her sister. She’s created some disillusion in her mind that the two of them will have a grand time searching for husbands together.” He swallowed audibly. “She just doesn’t understand yet.” With a shake of his head, he cleared his throat. “This is the best way for Charlotte to understand her dreams aren’t plausible without Jane getting hurt. Just give them time.”

“I didn’t ask you to come collect them,” Gareth pointed out, carelessly tapping the end of his quill against the side of the inkpot. Though he should ask for that very thing and be done with it all.

“And I thank you for it.” Holbrook leaned back in his chair as he was prone to doing and chuckled. “That’s why I came so early today. I thought you might be ready to throttle them.”

“No, they’ve been…” Gareth dropped his pen. “Ladies, I suppose.”

Holbrook laughed. “Indeed. And now you get a little sampling of the hell I’ve had to endure my whole life.”

“I wouldn’t call it hell.”

Holbrook lifted a brow. “You haven’t spent enough time in their company, then.”

“I’d argue that,” he muttered. “Luncheon and dinner yesterday, breakfast this morning, and no less than two drawing room conversations.” Best leave it at that and not explain too much about the one that took place in the wee hours of the morning. “I think I’ve spent plenty of time with them.”

“Learn anything interesting?”

Gareth grinned. “Actually, I have.” He schooled his features to look impassive. “They’ve created a list.”

“A list?”

“Mmm, a list of potential suitors.” He interlocked his fingers and put his hands behind his head to act as a headrest. “
Potential Husbands for Charlotte
is what it’s oft been referred to.”

Holbrook gulped and Gareth bit his lip to keep from smiling.

“Ah, it gets better.”

“I’m sure you think it does,” Holbrook muttered.

Straining to retain a straight face, Gareth said, “Every scoundrel whose name has been mentioned in the scandal sheets from the last year has been awarded a coveted position on this list.”

“The devil he has,” Holbrook growled.

Gareth flashed him an unapologetic grin. “’Fraid so.”

Holbrook groaned and brought his front two chair legs back to the floor. “Did you discourage this?”

“Tried to.”

“Tried to? Why didn’t you?”

Gareth’s smile vanished. “Because they then decided to put my name on the list.”

Now it was Holbrook’s turn to laugh. “I’m sure you liked that.”

“No.”

His response made Holbrook laugh harder. “You’ll have to marry sometime, old chap.”

“You’d allow me to marry your sister?” Gareth asked, dumbfounded.

“Sure, why not?” Holbrook shrugged. “You’re not a drunkard and you don’t gamble more than you can afford.”

“You make me sound like the finest catch.”

“Sarcasm and all, you would be a perfect catch for my sister.”

“Which one?”

“Charlotte.” Holbrook narrowed his eyes on Gareth in a way that made the tension in the room seem almost palpable. “Olive and Daphne won’t be coming out for a while yet and I will not be one of those brothers who marries them off to the highest bidder before they’ve had a chance to choose.” He sighed then muttered, “No matter how much I might like to at times. But—” his voice returned to normal— “if you still haven’t found your countess by the time they come of age and there’s an interest…” He tipped his right shoulder up as if that were a perfect way to end his sentence.

“And Jane?”

“What about Jane?”

“What about who she marries?” Realizing how that sounded, he added, “Not that I’m asking. I just find it curious you’ve allowed her to stay here so she can attend local assemblies in Bath, but you ultimately plan to send her back to your estate. Why allow her to come at all?”

“For Charlotte. Well, for them both,” he amended. “They’ve always been stuck together, like mud on a carriage wheel. They need each other for support. Charlotte will soon realize if she wishes to get married, she’ll have to leave her sister behind and this gives Jane a chance to spend a little more time with her sister and accept her future.”

“Which is?”

“Spinsterhood,” Holbrook burst out. “You and I both know she won’t marry.”

“Then why let her come here?” If the man was trying to protect her, he was doing a miserable job of it. Letting her be courted, then taken away and sent into exile seemed the cruelest fate possible for any young lady.

“I let her come for Charlotte,” he snapped. “Do you ever listen?”

“I do. But only when those speaking are making sense.”

“How am I not making sense? The girls wanted to come together to have a Season. I don’t want Jane mocked or ridiculed in London. But we both know the selection of suitors in Bath won’t be enough for Charlotte to make a decision. She’ll want to go to London and when she does, they’ll have to make a decision.”

“That’s cruel.”

“What’s cruel?”

“Your plan,” Gareth said flatly. “If you’d already decided Jane couldn’t court, you should have said so from the beginning and not allowed her to come here.”

“Perhaps not,” Holbrook allowed quietly, a pained expression on his face. “I don’t want her hurt, but Charlotte was most insistent she wouldn’t have a Season at all if Jane didn’t join her.” He sighed. “For as much as I don’t relish the thought of playing guardian and chasing away suitors from slobbering about my sister’s skirts, it must be done. She needs to marry, therefore she must have a Season.”

“And she
needs
Jane for this?”

“She seems to think so.” Holbrook lifted his booted left foot and rested it across his right knee. “Sisters keep each other closer than a drunkard keeps his ale, I’m afraid.” He grinned. “Wait until you have a few daughters, then you’ll see.”

Gareth didn’t want to think about such. “Is risking Jane being hurt really worth keeping them together?”

“I don’t think so,” Holbrook conceded. “They do.”

“Even Jane?”

“She’s the one who agreed. But I don’t think it’s for the best.” Holbrook idly traced the edge of his boot with the tip of his finger. “Jane is fragile and delicate. Breakable.”

Gareth stared at the man. Were they even speaking of the same young lady Holbrook had sent to live with him? The one who spoke her mind—no matter who the audience. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It isn’t just her body that is frail.” He patted the side of his boot then dropped his boot to the floor with a
thud
. “She’s always garnered curious looks or questions. She acts as if she’s grown accustomed to them, but she hasn’t.”

Gareth highly doubted that. Any of it. Jane’s ever-ready retort, wide grin, and mischievous gleam in her eye spoke of an inner strength Holbrook wasn’t acknowledging. “So you let her come here because you thought people would be kinder to her,” Gareth asked for clarification, which he clearly needed because Holbrook made no sense.

“That’s what I already said.”

“And you think she won’t get hurt?”

“I didn’t say that.” Holbrook sent him a peeved look. “She will, but hopefully it’ll be far less painful here than in London.”

Gareth doubted that. Being hurt was the same no matter the locale. It might take longer and be witnessed by fewer people in Bath, but make no mistake; it’d still be painful. How unfortunate that Holbrook was too thickheaded to understand that.

“Do you think I should take her back to Holbrook Hall now?” Holbrook’s words were so quiet Gareth almost didn’t hear them—a telling sign of how much Holbrook did indeed care about Jane. He just didn’t know how better to protect her.

“That’s up to you,” Gareth said carefully. The few giggled words he’d heard from behind that blasted dressing screen resounded in his ears. “If you want to spare her heartbreak altogether you should certainly do so before going to the Lange’s tonight.”

Holbrook frowned. “Isn’t that the ‘most exciting thing that would ever happen to them’ they were prattling on about it in the drawing room?”

Gareth gave him a slow nod. Why the blazes did it feel as if his heart was constricting? He’d exercised only yesterday, perhaps he needed to ride longer today.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Take her back this afternoon. It’d crush her.”

“Are you addled?”

Holbrook blinked. “No. Are you?”

“I must be for having such an asinine conversation,” Gareth burst out, throwing his open hands into the air. “You don’t want her hurt, which you seemed convinced will eventually happen if she stays. Yet, you don’t want to take her home now, even though you just asked if I thought you should, because then
you’d
be the one to hurt her.” He lifted a hand to stop whatever Holbrook was about to spout next. “And yet, you’ve already determined she’ll either get hurt
or
Charlotte will decide she needs to go on to London without Jane. Do I have all this nonsense correct?”

Frowning, Holbrook said, “It’s not nonsense. One day you’ll understand.”

“I doubt that.” Gareth steepled his hands in front of his chin and strove for a calm presence. Truly it shouldn’t matter to him what Holbrook decided to do. In fact, it’d be in his own best interest if Holbrook took Jane away from him. But what was in his best interest wasn’t what was in question. Jane’s was. “Do you think it’d be better to crush her feelings this afternoon by calling off this whole charade, or wait until tomorrow?”