TheWifeTrap (41 page)

“Well, I hardly think I’m the proper one to help,” he sputtered,
anxious to put a stop to Violet’s wild notions before they had a chance to
propagate any further.

“But of course you are,” his earnest-eyed sister-in-law stated.
“You are the very best person to help. For one, you are family, so there will
be no need to worry about your telling the world all the details of our little
project. For another, you know absolutely everyone in the Ton. If you aren’t
friends with them already, you know someone else who is. Plus, you hear all the
best tidbits, as you have so eloquently demonstrated this afternoon.”

“I hardly know
everyone
. Been out of the country these
many months past, I’ll remind you. Even now I am catching up.” His lids
narrowed accusingly. “And I hope you are not implying that I am a gossip.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Violet assured. “You are just friendly and
popular, that is all. People tell you things, things neither Eliza nor I will
ever be in a position to find out. Which gives us a great advantage since you
will be able to weed out the fortune hunters and blackguards and leave only
decent gentlemen from which Eliza may choose. That way she will be able to
concentrate on deciding if she feels genuine affection for any one particular
man without having to worry that he might have unscrupulous motives. No, I
cannot think of a person better suited to help our dear Eliza than you.”

Kit restrained the pained grimace that rose to his face. If he had
known tossing out a few opinions about a couple of fellows would provoke such
dire results, he would have kept his blasted mouth shut. Should have kept
eating, that’s what he should have done. Kept eating and kept silent.

Reminded of food and suddenly in need of sustenance, he plucked
another tart off the serving tray and popped it into his mouth, the delectable
flavors of raspberry and sweet cream taking the edge off his distress.

“I am not a project,” Eliza said in a low, stiff voice.

“What is that, dear?” Violet questioned, turning her head toward
her friend.

“I said I am not a project, as you referred to me earlier. Neither
of you need feel duty-bound to take pity upon me. I shall find some way to
manage for myself.” Short speech done, Eliza lowered her eyes to her lap,
fingers linked together, her knuckles squeezed tight enough to turn them white
around the edges.

Kit ate another tart, surprised at Eliza’s small burst of outraged
pride. He hadn’t realized she was capable of such fortitude, quiet little brown
wren that she was. In fact, she’d spoken more this afternoon than he was used to
hearing her say in an entire day, not that he ever really spent enough time
around her to be certain how much talking she normally did. Yet she had always
struck him as one of those plain, reserved women who tended to walk into a room
and fade from notice two minutes later. The quintessential wallflower. And a
bluestocking, to make matters worse. Only now she was a rich bluestocking
wallflower, and Violet expected him to make her over into a glorious swan.

Impossible.

Perhaps giving birth to her latest child four months before had
done something to disrupt Violet’s usual good sense. Maybe if he phrased his
arguments just right, she would see reason and back away from this ludicrous
plan.

Violet shifted toward Eliza. “Now, do not ruffle up so. You know I
meant no insult, and neither of us pities you. Do we, Kit?” She gave him a
stare that brooked no opposition.

“Of course not,” he chimed.

“I apologize if my choice of words was poor,” Violet went on. “But
Eliza, even you admit that you are shy and do not feel easy in Society. And
while there is no disgrace in such behavior, it does make it more difficult for
others to see your true beauty. Particularly gentlemen, who—let us be
frank—tend to be led by their eyes and other unmentionable portions of their
anatomy.”

“Their brains, do you mean?” Kit remarked, unable to restrain the
quip.

A tiny smile curved across the duchess’s youthful lips, her eyes
twinkling behind their lenses. “Hmm, just so, for we all know that is what men
use to think with when they are around an attractive female.”

And that
, Kit thought
, is precisely the problem.

Eliza Hammond was not what any man would describe as a stunner. It
wasn’t that she was homely—quite the opposite, if one took the trouble to look
closely enough—it was just that she did nothing to enhance what attributes she
did possess.

Instead of looking thick and lustrous, her brown hair appeared
ordinary, yanked back into a boring knot at the nape of her neck. Although
unblemished by the sun, her white skin often seemed sallow and wan. Quite
likely she possessed a pleasant figure, but who could tell since she hid her
slender body inside one shapeless, hideous dress after another—though he
supposed her nip-cheese aunt could be blamed in large measure for the state of
Eliza’s meager wardrobe, now dyed black for mourning.

She had good eyes, though, bright and luminous despite their soft,
unremarkable gray color. And lovely bone structure, with a classical sweep to
her jaw and a cute, finely bridged nose.

Still, turning Eliza from a frump into a fashion plate would be a
truly monumental achievement. He nearly sighed aloud at the idea.

This scheme is doomed to fail
.

This plan will never work,
Eliza railed inside her head.

What was Violet thinking to suggest such a ridiculous thing?
Imagine wanting to toss her and Kit together as mentor and pupil? She could not
do it.
Would
not do it, even if he had once helped Violet overcome her
diffident nature and step comfortably into her role as wife to one of the most
powerful aristocrats in England. Besides, Kit obviously did not wish to help
her. She could see it in his eyes. The doubt. And yes, the pity, no matter that
he said otherwise.

“Please, Violet,” she implored, “I am sure Lord Christopher has
other, more important things to do with his time than spend it instructing me.”

“I cannot imagine what that might be. Kit was just telling me the
other day how bored he is with the same old round of amusements and so few
people yet in Town. Is that not so, Kit?”

“I believe I confessed to feeling a slight ennui, but that does
not mean I have nothing to do. Somehow, I manage to fill my days quite
admirably.”

“But only think how much more admirably your time would be
employed assisting Eliza. With her residing here, it will be an easy thing for
you to teach her.”

He wiped his fingers on a linen napkin, dusting off crumbs. “If you’ll
remember, I’m in the process of locating bachelor’s quarters and moving my
things in there. If I don’t find something soon, there’ll be nothing decent
left to rent.”

“Maybe you could put that plan on hold for a while. I mean, would
it really be so dreadful if you stayed here with the family for a little while
longer? You mentioned that you’ve nearly gone through your quarterly allowance
again, and I know how you detest applying to Adrian for additional funds.”

“Remind me in future to stop telling you things, Vi. You remember
far too much, far too well.”

Violet sent him a sympathetic smile. “I also remember that you
will be coming into your own money on your birthday this August when you
receive your grandfather’s bequest. Until then, why don’t you simply remain
here at Raeburn House and economize a bit? Only think how easy it will be for
you and Eliza to work together. A few hours in the morning, then you can each
go about your usual routine. You’ll scarcely notice the difference.”

She
would notice the difference, Eliza thought. Until
now, living in the same abode with Kit had been tolerable due in great measure
to the sheer enormity of the townhouse. Her and Kit’s paths rarely crossed
except for the occasional meal
en famille
and the infrequent afternoon
visit with Violet, such as now. But to be daily in his company? To have Kit, of
all people, coaching her on ways to overcome her shyness…well, it seemed too
intimate, far too personal.

Despite realizing that her infatuation for him had waned, she
didn’t know if she would feel comfortable being so near him so often. Yet would
she not be a fool to refuse his help? Assuming, of course, that he agreed to
help. Assuming she even wished him to.

He sat back again in his chair, obviously wrestling with his
thoughts as he rubbed a knuckle against his expressive lips. “I suppose I could
stay and assist Miss Hammond.”

Violet clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, I knew you would see the
merit of my idea.”

“But only if she wishes me to do so, that is,” Kit added.

Eliza and Kit’s eyes met, his clear hazel irises appearing more
green than gold today, the shade enhanced by the elegantly tailored bottle
green cutaway coat he wore.

Her pulse skipped at such scrutiny. What could she say? How could
she refuse under the circumstances? She lowered her gaze. “At your pleasure, my
lord.”

“Very well, then. But if we are to proceed with this plan, I must
be blunt and tell you both that it will take more than a few lessons in social
comportment and style to turn the trick. Miss Hammond must put herself entirely
in my hands and do as she is instructed, and that includes making an adjustment
to her appearance.”

Her head came up. “M-my appearance?” She was fully aware she was
not the most beautiful of women. Nevertheless it hurt to hear him discuss such
matters aloud.

“Hmm. If you want men who are more than fortune hunters and rogues
to offer you marriage, then half measures will not do.”

“Of what precisely are you thinking?” Violet questioned.

“A complete makeover from head to foot. Hair and clothes to
start—”

“But I am still in mourning,” Eliza protested. Defensively, she
plucked at her black skirts, knowing how severe they were. Even so, they were
more becoming than most of the unsightly shades her aunt had been in the habit
of choosing for her. When duty had required her to dye all her old dresses
black, it had come as no great loss.

“Well,” he said, “you shan’t be in mourning forever, and when you
are not you will need a new wardrobe. You’ve plenty of blunt for it now, what
with the inheritance you received from your aunt.”

He was right about that, she mused. Although even now, weeks
later, she had still not gotten used to the realization that her aunt Doris—who
had never shown her anything but scorn and disapproval in her whole life—had
made Eliza the sole beneficiary of a vast fortune.

All two hundred thousand pounds of it!

Eliza had not had so much as an inkling that her aunt possessed
such great wealth. Why would she when the woman had forced them to live like
virtual paupers? Spending the winters, no matter how harsh, bundled into layer
upon layer of thick wool rather than pay to burn a few extra logs in the
fireplace. Refusing to let Eliza buy new handkerchiefs or fresh gloves until
the old ones were so worn through they were just a few threads shy of
resembling Swiss cheese. Scoffing at the notion of purchasing a reliable team
of horses, maintaining that a pair of tired, old rented hacks could do the job
satisfactorily enough.

Apparently even Aunt Doris’s son, Philip Pettigrew, had not
realized the size of his mother’s estate. At the reading of the will, he had
looked as stunned as Eliza had felt, clearly reeling as much from learning the
amount of his mother’s fortune as by the fact that he had just been cut off
from it.

Even now she remembered the sick cast to her cousin’s complexion
once the solicitor had finished that day. She also recalled the instant of
fierce hatred that had raged in her cousin’s cold black eyes before he had
willed the expression away.

She shivered at the memory, pushing it aside.

Since then she had spent very little of her new wealth, and
nothing on herself. She had given all of her aunt’s servants a healthy, and
long overdue, increase in wages. She had also instructed her aunt’s man of
business to pay for several much needed repairs to her aunt’s London townhouse.
Now
her
townhouse, since the abode had also been left to her in the
will. But as a single woman, living there alone would not have been proper. And
truth be told, she did not wish to live alone, not even with a hired companion.

Thank heaven for Violet and Adrian. Bless them, she thought, for
so graciously inviting her into their home.

She supposed under the circumstances it was her duty to spend some
of her inheritance. She gazed at Violet and knew her friend only had her
well-being at heart. And considering all of Violet’s many kindnesses, how could
she do anything but give way?

“A new wardrobe would not come amiss, I suppose,” she agreed.

“Good.” Kit nodded, flashing her a quick smile. He paused to draw
his gold watch out of his vest pocket, snapping open the case to check the
time. “As for the rest, why don’t we talk of it tomorrow? I have plans
scheduled this evening and if I don’t get ready now, I shall be late.”

He stood.

“Of course, go on.” Violet reached out her hands, clasped Kit’s to
give them a friendly parting squeeze. “You won’t regret agreeing to help.”

“Hmm. Only time shall tell,” he murmured. “Miss Hammond, until the
morrow.”

She nodded her head. “My lord.”

She waited until he was gone from the room. Only then did she
become aware of her fingers and how tightly she had them clasped together in
her lap. Pain shot through her hands, blood flowing normally again as she
loosened her grip. Abashed, she sighed.

Dear heavens, what have I done
?