“Very well.” He strolled over to the grouping of girls.
His sisters popped out of their chairs.
“Come and sit here, Charlotte.” Cassandra patted the chair in which she’d been sitting.
“No thank you,” Miss Cartwright said.
Cassandra patted again, making eyes at her friend.
“No, thank you, Cassandra.” In spite of the room’s chill, Miss Cartwright’s pink forehead glowed.
“Then you sit here, George.”
The sweet smile signaled danger, the kind a man regularly encountered with so many younger siblings. The chair itself appeared safe—the cushions were undisturbed, no frogs, pine cones, or knitting needles.
And she’d offered it first to her friend…
He glanced up. Cassandra had been sitting right under a kissing bough.
Nudging Nancy aside, he took her seat. Miss Cartwright let out a breath and bit back a smile.
“While you chat, Nancy and I will fetch more tea,” Cassandra said and led Nancy away.
George laughed. “Those two nodcocks must have had you at odds with the schoolmistress at every turn.”
She colored, smiled, and pressed her hand to her mouth.
“It’s quite all right for you to laugh in our drawing room,” he teased.
She nodded.
“Perhaps the ton will expect gravity, but at Loughton Manor, we suffer the reign of mischief and mayhem.”
“And mistletoe as well, I suppose.” She grinned. “It wasn’t my idea.”
Behind them, the music stopped.
“I don’t doubt Cassandra and Nancy are responsible. But in any case, we can’t let all this mistletoe go for naught. I shall persuade my mother into hosting the neighbors. Especially all the single young gentlemen.”
A shadow appeared next to him, bringing a whisper of muslin and the scent of lavender. He jumped to his feet.
Chapter Four
Lady Glanford had joined them, her face so sedate it stirred the devil in him again.
“Miss Cartwright and I have just been discussing the Yuletide decorations,” he said.
“Lady Glanford helped us with them,” the girl said.
The lady bestowed a fond look on Miss Cartwright. “Only in the gathering of greens and tying of ribbons. The girls have done all the rest.”
He slid a smile toward the younger lady, winked, and swept a hand at Cassandra’s abandoned chair. “Won’t you be seated, my lady?”
When she perched on the edge of the chair, Miss Cartwright pressed a hand down on another laugh.
“Come and play for us, Charlotte,” Mother called.
“You might as well practice on us, Miss Cartwright.” George turned in his seat. “Cassandra and Nancy, sing a duet for us, if you please. Miss Cartwright will accompany you.”
Lady Glanford turned her chair to watch the performance, and he studied her profile, remembering. Mere days into her first season, Glanford had drummed up a scandal. Their marriage had spared the girl’s reputation and Glanford’s creditors. After, there’d not been one whiff of gossip about her, though her husband’s antics had kept the scandal sheets aflame, at least in those early days of their marriage.
Glanford had been dead over a year, yet she still wore a somber gray, the gown simply-styled, the waist higher than current fashion. A thick bun at her neck tamed waves that glimmered in the candle light, dark blonde without a trace of white, and her only jewelry was a gold cross embedded with garnets. Her wealth—whatever was left of it—was not on display here at Loughton Manor.
“So, you are to be Miss Cartwright’s chaperone?” he asked. “I doubt your services will be needed for the entire season.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s a comely girl. A friend of my sisters, so she must be…lively. And I’ve been given to understand she’s well-dowered.”
Her gaze narrowed on him. “If I do this, I intend for her to take her time choosing.”
He caught his breath. There’d been ferocity in that statement.
Miss Cartwright would be allowed a choice? How would Lady Glanford manage it? She wasn’t often in London, and certainly didn’t move in the highest circles.
“I intend for her to have every opportunity to meet worthy young men.”
Ah. She didn’t want the men of the highest circles. Men like the group in the Townsends’ garden. Like her late husband, and Fitz.
And himself?
“Worthy?”
She nodded.
“And young?” He scoffed. “I’m not sure you’ll find those two qualities combined in the gentlemen of the ton.” He smiled. “Present company excluded.”
Color rose in her cheeks and her lips moved up in an answering smile that didn’t reach her lovely eyes. “Perhaps. In any case, I’ve a good eye for fortune hunters of any age.”
“Her dowry will certainly draw interest.” He recalled Fitz’s belief that Mother was matchmaking, and this lady’s sharp gaze at dinner when his arm brushed Miss Cartwright’s. “Do you think I’m a danger to her?” He drawled the question like one of the rakes who frequented White’s.
“I don’t know you well enough to say. However, you are engaged in a business endeavor, and business endeavors always require capital. You are undoubtedly looking for more funds to invest.”
“Or, the project may be fully vested.”
The gray gaze pinned him, intelligent and challenging, stirring him. This lady was not just a beautiful widow. She might be a sharp businesswoman, if she was ever allowed to engage in trade.
“So, you and your partners foresee no problems? No cost overruns? No unexpected expenses?”
There were always unforeseen matters arising. The solving of them was part of the fun. Crossing swords with this lady was fun as well.
One slim finger tapped the arm of her chair. “Building a railway is not like commissioning a shipload of goods, where a gentleman, on the expectation of great profits, might sink a fixed amount, perhaps all of his wealth and then some, and learn it has been lost to the Barbary pirates with every hand, every bottle, and every crate.” The tapping accelerated. The steady gaze darkened. “In such a case, one loses in one fell swoop. For example, as one might have, if one invested in the Matilda Rose.”
The Matilda Rose? Why bring that up? The ship had been lost years ago. Plenty of fellows had lost money, but not him. On his father’s advice, he’d withdrawn from the risky investment, and so had Fitz.
He shoved down a nagging unease, gave into annoyance, and forced a laugh. “My dear Lady Glanford. It’s rare to meet a woman so well versed in business.” He leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “Perhaps I’ll be a danger to you. Do you know, you are seated under the mistletoe?”
Her finger stilled. She stood and extended her hand.
No rings, no bracelets, no other adornments. He bent over white fingers and brought them firmly against his lips.
Her shiver shook him down to the soles of his boots.
“There.” Under the steady gray gaze, the pulse in her neck ticked. “I shall be more careful in the future, Mr. Lovelace.”
“I’m going up,” Mother announced. “George, you’ll escort me. Girls, don’t keep Lady Glanford up late.”