Christian wished he could dismiss them so easily as well.
As a result of the runaway coach incident, he’d not stepped out of the house even once since arriving home that evening. The event had been a harsh reminder of the fate he faced and although he knew he could just as easily be killed in a household accident, he’d felt some semblance of safety locked away inside of Master’s House.
He’d have to force himself outside today, however, as he’d promised Bernadette he’d escort her to a particular museum exhibition she was interested in. That was, unless he could persuade her to postpone the excursion.
He’d speak with her right away, before she was dressed and became too set on going out.
Lunging forward, he tossed back the counterpane. “Simmons!” he called out. “Has my sister taken breakfast yet?”
“Your Grace.” The short but stout valet entered as though he’d been standing at the ready. “I believe she is doing so this very moment. There is another matter—“
“I need to speak with her at once.” Christian hopped to the floor and reached for the linen shirt he’d worn yesterday, pulling it hastily over his head.
“I do have a new shirt and trousers laid out for you, Your Grace.” Simmons frowned and disappeared into the dressing room. “About the other matter—“
“I won’t be going out today, Simmons. I’ve estate reports to read and I’ve already put them off for far too long.” Christian had tucked the long garment into his breeches and was just fastening them when Simmons returned, clucking his tongue in disapproval.
Before Christian located the waistcoat he’d worn yesterday, his dedicated valet stood smoothing Christian’s shirt and holding out a newly pressed coat for Christian to slip his arms in.
“She will be most disappointed, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I know, Simmons.” He daren’t risk it, however. If there was nothing Christian could set up legally, perhaps he’d have to go another route. Oxley might be willing to steal her away until she was of age—set her up in one of his country estates.
The idea would have to be a last resort, as it would ensure she’d never have a season. Good lord, Society might consider her ruined. Unless either Ox or Cornelius consented to marry her.
But she would be safe.
“Oh…” Simmons mourned “Will you at the very least allow me to shave you before you go down, Your Grace?”
Christian had shunned the idea of keeping a man on staff to dress him for most of his life and it was taking a bit of getting used to. The valet looked quite pained.
“I’ll only be a moment. You can do what you like with me after I’ve had a word with my sister.”
“But, Your Grace—.”
“Where are my damned boots?” Christian ran his fingers along the brown stubble that had grown overnight at the same time Horace, his average-sized mutt of undetermined pedigree, jumped up from the dog bed placed near the door and shook himself from head to toe before ambling over with one of Christian’s well-worn hessians in his mouth.
“Jacket first, Your Grace.” Christian worked his arms into the tightly fitted coat, bent down to rub the mutt’s head and then rose again, allowing Simmons to tie his cravat.
It wasn’t until Christian had already escaped his overzealous valet and was halfway down the stairs with Horace on his heels, that he realized, in addition to having left his boots behind for polishing, he’d forgotten his glasses in his chamber as well.
No matter, he’d finish this errand quickly enough.
“You will meet with her then?” Mr. Crane’s voice met him before he’d reached the main floor. The butler, who’d worked at Master’s House as long as Christian could remember, stood clutching his hands as though he had been awaiting him.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? Is she taking breakfast now?
“No, Your Grace. I have placed her in the back drawing room.”
What the devil? With a curious frown, Christian changed directions, nearly tripping over Horace in the process, and proceeded toward the back of the house. “Sorry, old man,” he muttered apologetically. Why would Bernadette be waiting for him in the smallest, coldest, and most austere public room in the household?
When he opened the door, however, he realized there had been some sort of mix up. For the lady sitting patiently in the stark drawing room was not Bernadette. And although Christian couldn’t make out her features without his spectacles, he knew in an instant that this young woman most definitely was not his sister. She rose nervously, and a sense of familiarity struck him.
“I’m here to apply for the position.” Her voice wavered somewhat as she held out a slip of paper. Taking it from her, he held it inches from his face and immediately recognized the missive he’d misplaced two days ago.
The damn advertisement Cornelius had penned in jest.
Christian lowered the paper and squinted in an attempt to bring her into better focus. She kept her chin lowered, however, and what with her monstrosity of a bonnet, he barely got a glimpse of her face. Perhaps she was some chit Corny was acquainted with, one of his cousins. If the impertinent fellow had sent her over, Christian would be obligated to plan some form of revenge as repayment. He’d have to come up with something good, too, as Cornelius wasn’t easy to fool.
And if Cornelius hadn’t sent her?
Then he’d send her away.
He moved closer and caught a whiff of the perfume the lady wore… Again, that sense that he knew her from somewhere: sweet, subtle lilacs…
He’d known marriage was one route he could take in order to protect Bernadette, but that was just the beginning of it. He’d have to sire his heir.
It was a devil’s bargain, for certain. Wasn’t it?
He stared hard at the advertisement and then again at the slim shape of the lady standing before him.
He wasn’t willing to marry for such a mercenary reason as this.
Was he?
Chapter 2
The Position
Lady Lillian Prentiss pressed her knees together as she waited to be interviewed. Although the town house was grand and imposing, this particular parlor was rather plain and the wooden chair somewhat uncomfortable.
She couldn’t help but wonder what sort of person had written the advertisement she had discovered inside the broadsheet she’d purchased for her mother just a few days ago. When she’d first read through the handwritten flyer, she’d dismissed it as a joke and even gone so far as to toss it into the waste bin. But what if it had not been? Unable to stifle her curiosity, no less than a minute had passed before she’d retrieved it to read over again. Upon contemplating back and forth numerous times, she convinced herself that even if she was lucky enough to win the position, she didn’t have to accept it.
Whatever the position might be.
Her mother would have apoplexy if she discovered her destination that morning—and the reason for it. No need for her to worry on that account… unless, by slight chance, something actually came of it all.
Lillian tugged at the flaps of the large bonnet she’d specifically chosen to wear that morning in order to partially conceal her face. She did not wish to be recognized if there was a chance the person who’d posted the ad knew her mother or stepbrother or any of her family. They would most definitely disapprove of her being here. Lillian was the responsible one, the mature one. Lillian only ever did that which was strictly proper.