She had almost three weeks left to prove herself to Mr. Woodsworth, not just as a maid but as an accomplice in his plan. He would be able to write a glowing recommendation for her brother to read. She had one slight mishap with Lord Bryant being at the Simpsons’ ball, but what were the chances he would be at their next social gathering? Slim to none. From now on, pretending to be a maid who was pretending to be a lady would be simple.
Chapter 10
Anthony shuffled closer to Miss Morgan while pretending to have an interest in the shelf full of gloves. He had received a note from her the day before, not long after he had finished helping Patience start her first fire.
Secret notes and clandestine meetings. Their courtship was most certainly taking a turn for the better.
The modiste shop was busy with only two months left before the Season started. Many of the ton were putting in orders for new gowns and hats. Miss Morgan’s aunt was busy examining a bolt of fabric on the other side of the crowded room, and with a wall of fabric between them, Anthony hoped they could converse without anyone noticing.
“I have discovered where Lord Bryant will be next.” Miss Morgan didn’t look at him but instead lifted a red ribbon high in the air and examined it in the sunlight shining through the window.
“How do you manage to find out these things?” He stepped to one side so he could examine a row of hats.
“Once you study the man a bit, he is easy to trace. His current passion is a young daughter of a vicar.”
“A vicar? Has the man no shame?”
“My only question is how long the young woman can resist him. He is quite charming.”
“And has he managed to charm you?” He snuck a quick glance at the woman he hoped to marry. The red ribbon was no longer being inspected. Instead she balled it up into her fist and clenched it hard enough that he would need to return and purchase it after she left. It would be terribly wrinkled.
“Not at all, as I’ve hardly had a chance to speak with him. He seems so intent on the young Miss Paynter. I don’t understand it. She isn’t pretty, and she hardly has a penny to her name. What could he see in her?”
“Is she perhaps an easy target?”
“You don’t know Lord Bryant very well if you would think that of him. I believe most of the fun is in the chase. He wouldn’t be interested in an easy target.”
And yet, Miss Morgan was practically throwing herself at him in order to be noticed.
He wasn’t about to give her advice on how to interest Lord Bryant though. He would rather the baron didn’t give her a second thought.
Anthony straightened a row of hats and then advanced to the shelf of gloves. There was only so far he could go and still remain out of Miss Morgan’s aunt’s vision. A cream-colored pair stood out from the rest, and he ran his fingers over them. They were smooth and supple. Patience could use a pair of gloves like these for their next outing. They would be soft against her irritated red hands.
He pulled them off the shelf.
“Oh, those are beautiful,” Miss Morgan said, reaching for them.
“Do they fit you?” Anthony asked. He assumed Patience’s hands would be a little bit larger than Miss Morgan’s, since Patience was at least three inches taller.
Miss Morgan pulled them on and frowned. “They are a little big. But I assume they could be ordered to fit. Would you like to know my size?”
“No. I’ll buy these.”
“But I just told you they were too lar—” Miss Morgan’s eyes widened. “Oh, you are going to buy them for that woman. Who is she, by the way?” Miss Morgan’s smile looked different, as if the edges were curled up more than he would have thought possible. “I don’t believe I have seen her before.”
“She is no one you know or will ever know.”
“She’s just visiting London? She dances very well, or at least she did when she was dancing with Mr. Fairchild.”
Anthony straightened his shoulders. He was nearly as good a dancer as Stewart. Anthony had taken his dance lessons very seriously. He knew he danced perfectly, but everyone always complimented Stewart. There was no question Patience had enjoyed dancing with Stewart more than with him. He couldn’t put a finger on exactly what went wrong during their polka, but she had been uncomfortable. Toward the end of the dance, she had relaxed and shown how graceful she could be, but after his lift, she went right back to being uncomfortable again. How was it he always managed to make the women around him uncomfortable? Perhaps he was trying too hard, just as Miss Morgan was trying too hard around Lord Bryant. He didn’t know how not to try hard though. His father had drilled into him early that anything worth doing must be done well.
“At the very least, you won’t see her during the Season,” he said, not truly answering her question. A half-truth. Last week he would have just responded “Yes” and been done with it. It was basically the truth. But not quite. When did he become such a stickler? He supposed the funny maid was wearing on him. No wonder society didn’t encourage fraternizing with the help.
“So you won’t be breaking her heart?”
“No, I found the one woman who understands exactly what I am doing.”
Miss Morgan made a hissing sound through her teeth. “You told her?”
Blast. There was no half-truth to that question. But no matter. This was the woman he was to marry. They were allies in the game of deceit. “I did.”
Miss Morgan had moved on to a deep-blue ribbon, and she bunched that one up as well. “What if she speaks of it?”
“She will not speak of it.”
“How can you be so certain?”
How was he certain? He thought of her face next to his as the wood ignited into its first hot flames, the warm light bouncing off her cheeks as that broad mouth of hers grinned in triumph. Augusta and Harry seemed to come alive when she was near them. There were a lot of things he didn’t understand about his strange maid, but she wasn’t going to inform anyone of their scheme. “I’m certain.”
Miss Morgan furrowed her brow. Her eyes slipped down and onto the gloves he still held in his hand. “I don’t like the look on your face as you are thinking about her. Are you falling for the woman?”
“No!” How could she think such a thing? His face was normal. It was always normal. He didn’t know what she was talking about. “Of course not. You know me better than that. I have a plan for my future, and you are the only woman in it.”
“Not everyone’s life goes according to plan.”
“Mine does.”
“Your father’s didn’t. You didn’t go into the army as he planned.”