Cole Herrington, the Earl of Hartford, accepted the coat his footman held out. “Tell them not to wait dinner on me, Williams. The lecture is all the way out at Hampstead. I’ll be late getting back.”
“A moment, before you leave, my lord?”
Hart’s head was full of weights, bushels, and triple yield barley. Most of his fellow peers would be bored witless at the thought of attending a session on the development of disease-resistant, higher-yield grain, but Hart was eager to implement new strains and practices. Impatient, he paused. “Yes? What is it?”
“Ah, well . . .” Williams cleared his throat. “A young person has been dawdling outside, just up the street. I thought you might wish to ah, take precautions.”
“I understand.” Damn it all! He’d scarcely been in Town but a few days. Was last Season’s circus to start up again, and so soon? “Very well, Williams,” he said curtly. “Alert my mother, if you please. And you come out with me to the street. It will be just as we practiced.”
“Yes, sir.” Williams gestured for a maid to run for the countess, then he put his hand on the door latch and took a deep breath. “Ready, sir?”
“No. But open it anyway.”
Hart went out, feeling the footman’s presence right on his heel. He spotted the young lady. She’d stepped out smartly when the door opened. She began to fumble with her reticule, but Hart saw her glance up once, and again, gauging her steps.
As she’d obviously planned, they reached the pavement in front of Herrington House at the same time. As he’d suspected, her arms flew up, right on cue. She stumbled toward him—
And he stepped back and aside even as Williams slid into his place and caught the girl as she fell.
“Oh!” she cried as the servant lowered her to the ground. “My ankle!” She cast a distressed gaze up—and looked blatantly surprised to find herself in the arms of the footman. “Oh.”
The front door flew open. Hart looked over and beckoned his mother. “Do you see?” he demanded, pointing at the girl.
“Oh, I can feel my ankle swelling,” she moaned. “If someone could just help me up . . .?”
No one answered her.
“Oh, dear.” Hart’s mother bit her lip. “I did hope you were wrong, darling.”
“As did I,” he said grimly. “But clearly I am not to be given a moment’s peace.”
“Excuse me?” The girl was getting frustrated now. Clearly she’d expected a more receptive audience. “My ankle?”
“Yes, yes. We’ll get you taken care of in a moment.” His mother turned back to him. “You tried to fix the situation, but I don’t know what we can do, now that . . . it hasn’t worked out.”
“I know what we can do,” he said shortly. “Take her inside, Williams.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord.” The girl lifted a hand to him. “If you could just help me rise?”
He ignored her. “I’m going to put a stop to this before it gets out of hand.”
“I’ll see to her, but what about you, darling?” His mother sounded a little alarmed.
“Keep her. As long as you like. Nurse her, call her family, but warn them to leave the special license at home. I won’t be back. Not until I have this matter in hand.”
* * *
Not quite an hour later Hart strode up to the house on Craven Street. The famous half moon and stars, carved out of the fanlight and replaced with crystal, sparkled as the door swung open.
The woman emerging must be Hestia Wright. Surely there were not two such stunning women running about London. He stepped up. “Miss Wright? Forgive my bad manners, but may I detain you for a moment?”
The beautiful blonde smiled up at him. “Only for a moment. And please, call me Hestia. Mr.—?”
He bowed. “Lord Hartford, at your service, ma’am.”
“My lord, I am ever so pleased to meet you, but I am in a bit of a hurry. If you would care to come back, or to step inside to make an appointment?”
“I do apologize. I am in a rush, myself.” Desperate, he raked his hand through his hair and looked down toward the Strand. “Look, allow me to get you a hackney, then perhaps we can talk on the way?”
“No need.” She gestured toward the coach ambling toward them. “Here is my carriage, but if you are in dire straits, then, of course, you may ride with me—as long as you promise not to interfere when I reach my destination.”
Startled, he promised, then saw her into the coach and climbed in after her. “Many thanks to you, ma’am—”
“Just Hestia, please.” She smiled at him and he lost a moment to the dazzle of it.
“Yes, of course. I’m afraid I must seem absurd to you, but I fear I’m in the midst of a situation that has descended to the level of a farce. I am indeed growing desperate.”
“Normally I’d scoff, hearing such drama from a man like you, but I do remember a bit of what happened to you last Season.” She regarded him steadily. “I take it you fear a repeat?”
“Yes, exactly!” He was relieved to find her so easy to talk with—and to find an air of understanding and steely competence under all of that ethereal beauty. He hoped like hell that she would put it to use for him.
“Tell me,” she said simply.
“Well, what went on last Season was a disgrace,” Hart said bitterly. “I never expected to inherit. My brother was the perfect heir. I was the perfect spare—little to be seen.”
She chuckled.
“It was such a blow, losing him so young and so unexpectedly,” he continued. “We were all still in shock. My brother’s body was barely cold. I’d just been ceremoniously introduced into the House of Lords. I wasn’t going about in Society, which apparently frustrated the young ladies of the ton.”
“They can be an excitable lot,” Hestia murmured.
“So I’ve learned. I was still trying to catch my breath, recover from having all of my plans yanked out from under me, and I’d barely begun learning all that my brother had been in training for all of his life. The last thing I wished to consider was marriage.”
“Ah, but marriage is the only thing so many of these young ladies have to consider.”
“Yes,” he agreed darkly, “and apparently it caused a few of them to lose their minds.”
She laughed.
“It was no laughing matter, I assure you. It started innocently enough. I wasn’t attending parties or balls, so the young ladies tried to meet me in the street. They hung about my tailor’s shop. They gathered in the gallery to watch sessions in the House and lingered in the halls. They dropped handkerchiefs and poems and invitations.”
“And one, I recall, threw herself in front of your horse.”
“That was only the beginning. Another threw herself from her horse into my arms. And one dropped from a tree right in front of me.”
“Good heavens. How inventive.”
“I gave up and left Town for Hartsworth Park—before somebody got killed.”
“Yes, well.” Hestia looked at him with a frank expression. “You are certainly an attractive young man, my lord. And your family is respectable, your title old, and your bank accounts are reportedly healthy. And yet, with all of that to recommend you, I think you must realize that none of it was what excited such a level of frenzy.”
“I do know that, Hestia. None of these lunatic girls are truly interested in me. They all want to be mistress of Hartsworth.”
“Everyone wants to be mistress of Hartsworth, sir. It is an irresistible notion. The most celebrated home in England, in a beautiful setting—”
“And immortalized by that damned poem.”
“That wonderfully romantic, tragic poem, full of thwarted lovers and sacrifice and happily ever afters. Every girl in England sighs over that tale, dreams of a love so daring and bold, yearns to live out her own happiness, as is promised to all those who hold Hartsworth. They cut their teeth on the idea before they are out of the school room—and never lose the taste of the dream.”
“Nicholas thwarted them all by engaging himself to a local girl at quite a young age.”
“He cheated them of their chance. And then you appeared, unattached and uninterested. Clearly they were driven to extremes.”
“Yes, well. I’m afraid extreme is not a trait I would ever look for in a bride.”
She tilted her head. “Some would, you know. But you do seem remarkably even tempered, my lord.”
“My mother says I’m as even keeled as a becalmed ship. I suppose all of those chits would find me boring, did they bother to get to know me. I’m far more interested in making Hartsworth pay for itself than in the romance associated with it.”
“Yes, many would find that a disappointment,” she agreed.
“Nor would they be interested in the amount of work needed to keep the old place going. Someone should tell them to forget the long list of lovers and think of the ancient plumbing that needs replaced and the glass that must be custom crafted to fit all of those arrow slits.”
“What are plumbing and drafts next to thrills of the heart, my lord?” she asked with a smile. “So, you fear that the drama from last year will be repeated. It’s a wonder that you came to Town at all.”
“If I could have skipped it, I would have, believe me,” he said fervently. “But although I never wished for the earldom, it’s been thrust upon me—and I’ll damned well do my best with it. I’m here to take my seat in the Lords. Not only because it is a duty, but also because I hope to address some issues that will affect Hartsworth and several of the other estates I must look after.”
“I’m sure you’ll make a splendid earl. But now, why don’t you tell me what has brought you to me in a state of desperation?”
“It’s begun already. I’ve been in Town but a few days, and already two carriages have mysteriously broken down in our street. And today!” He told her the tale and fervently appreciated the fact that she didn’t laugh.
“Oh, you are in a quandary,” she sighed.
“Yes, and it’s doubly bitter because I thought I’d found a solution.”
Her eyebrows raised. “How is that?”
He couldn’t suppress a sigh. “I have a cousin two years younger than I. She’s American. She grew up in Boston, but not in the same . . . comfortable circumstances my brother and I grew up with. I wrote and made her an offer. I would provide a substantial dowry, if she would come and masquerade as my betrothed for the season.”
Surprise lit Hestia’s lovely face. “How . . . logical of you.”
“It’s the perfect idea,” he insisted. “A few months spent here, then she could return home to attract a whole different class of suitor with an appropriate dowry behind her. And in the meantime, I would feel . . . free.”
“Free to do what?” Hestia asked gently.
He thought about it. “Free to move about Town without constant tension. Free to continue to find my way into this role. And yes, free to meet people without worrying about their motives. I know my duty, Hestia. I will marry someday, but it will be a day of my own choosing, and not to someone who hunts me down like a dog with a bone, only so that she can live in a fairy tale castle.”
“I gather, since you are here, that your cousin did not agree?”
“On the contrary, she did agree. I booked her passage here and thought to meet her ship yesterday.” He sighed again. “But she was not aboard and the captain only had a letter saying that a beau stepped up at the last minute and convinced her that she didn’t need a dowry or a voyage to England.”
“And now?”
“You know what I mean to ask. I can see it in your face. I want to find a young lady to take my cousin’s place.”
“Good heavens.”
“Yes, I know.”
Hestia looked thoughtful. “It will take a very particular sort of girl to fill this position.”
“I’m aware of that. She must be a gentlewoman—or be able to pass as one.”
“She must be somewhat desperate herself, to agree to such a thing,” Hestia added.
“True. And she cannot wish to mix in Society after this Season, because once we have finished with this masquerade, I will put it about that my cousin decided that we did not suit and returned to America.”
Hestia tapped her fingertips together. “Where will this paragon stay while she pretends to be your cousin?”
“At Herrington House—with my mother. I won’t be staying there. Hell and damnation, at this point I’d be safer in Seven Dials. But I’ll find bachelor’s rooms or put up at a hotel.”
“Your mother has agreed to go along with this scheme?”
“She had already agreed to go along with Emmaline’s masquerade. I rather think she meant to promote the match and make it a reality. But after this morning, she will go along with whatever I put into motion.”
“Well, then. You’ve everything in hand, do you not?”
“Except for finding the right girl.”
“Do you know, my lord, there is a chance that she might be closer than you think.” She leaned forward and reached up, opening a small panel that allowed her to speak to the coachman. “Slow down, just a bit, will you please?” she called. “Traffic is light enough, it should not cause a problem. Have you caught sight of the girl? She’s just ahead, moving toward the Cumberland gate.”
Hart didn’t hear the driver answer, but Hestia must have been satisfied. She sat back and watched out the window. “Now, you just sit back and let me work, my lord.” She met his gaze directly. “And kindly recall your promise. Do not interfere, unless I ask you to.”
***
Emily watched the family ahead closely. Her brothers and sister romped around Miss Carmichael, excited to be so close to the freedom of the park. The girl laughed with them and with their nurse. She was dressed in another overdone gown. Emily looked forward to seeing her in something that would highlight her fresh looks instead of burying them.
She would instigate a meeting with the girl even if she had to trip over one of her frightful flounces. She would instigate a conversation about fashions and offer to introduce her to a talented modiste, one still largely undiscovered and therefore economical. Madame Lalbert was ready, armed with a nearly complete day dress for the girl to try, and a selection of simple and elegant designs that would make her stand out in the right way . . . and Emily would receive a percentage of the profits from the order.
She could almost feel the comforting weight of the coins in her pocketbook. She would stop at a cook shop and purchase a thick, meaty stew for dinner—something to tempt Mama and fill Jasper up. Perhaps a loaf—
“Miss Carmichael is a lovely girl. I hope you intend to treat her in a kinder fashion than you did Miss Paxton.”
Emily froze—and turned to find a breathtakingly beautiful lady coming up behind her—amusement shining in her blue eyes.
“Excuse me?” Her heart was trying to pound right out of her chest.
‘I’ve no quarrel with how you duped Miss Paxton. That one deserves to be taken down a peg or two. But Miss Carmichael is by all reports a sweet, innocent girl.”
“She does seem so,” Emily agreed. She felt very queer indeed—and she could not tear her eyes from the woman who stared back at her with a mix of approval and curiosity. “Who are you? How did you know—”
“About Miss Paxton?” The woman smiled, cat-like. “I am Hestia Wright, my dear. I know a great deal of what happens in London, and I am able to find out the rest, when I am interested.” She reached out and linked her arm through Emily’s. “Come. Let us walk a bit, for I am very interested in you.”
“Why?” Then it struck her. Hestia Wright. The famed former courtesan, owner of Half Moon House, a safe place where any woman could come for help, with anything . . .
“Ah, there it is,” Hestia murmured. “I assume you are in a bind? In need of funds?”
Emily nodded, her mind working frantically.
“Did you not think to come to me?”
“No!” She should have. It hadn’t occurred to her. She’d thought the women who approached Hestia Wright were those in truly dire circumstances or mortal danger . . .
“Well, I can see the wheels turning now. And I may be in a position to help you, my dear, if you will but answer a few questions.”
Emily nodded, still not quite recovered from her shock.
“Your name is Emily Spencer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Just Hestia, if you please. “And what do you intend to do with Miss Carmichael?”
She explained.
Hestia looked pleased at the end of it. “Inventive. But I imagine her mother would be a blocking point. How will you convince her to consider the purchase of a new wardrobe?”
“I wrote her mother an anonymous note, stating that polite Society was not being so polite about her daughter’s overblown, outdated, countrified fashions.”
“Inventive,” Hestia said approvingly. “She won’t like that. And you have the good judgment to use a light touch.”
“Not so light,” Emily admitted. “I did make the arrangement with Madame ahead of time.”
“Good planning will not make me think any less of you, my dear. But tell me, do you not have any family? No one to turn to, instead of going to such efforts?”
“No.” Emily hesitated. “Not real family—and not anyone I would trust to have our best interests at heart.”
Hestia Wright regarded her thoughtfully, and the moment stretched out. The Carmichaels turned into the park, and Emily made the choice to continue strolling with Hestia while she mulled her situation over.
“Very well,” Hestia said at last. “The situation I have in mind is . . . peculiar. But you are the right age and well-spoken.” She paused. “You can read?”
“Of course!” She spoke dourly. “And my mathematics are up to par, as well.”
Hestia laughed. “Can you dance, by any chance?”
“Dance?” Now that one startled her. “Not really, beyond a few country dances.”
“Well, that could be explained away. Do Americans dance, after all? I don’t really know.”
“Americans?” Emily’s mind started to race. “Is this a position that you speak of? I’m not sure I could take a position . . . depending on the circumstances and definitely not if it required me to move away. I could not leave and abandon my . . . obligations.”
“It is a temporary position only, my dear, and right here in London. But it would require you to relocate for a few weeks. Do you think that your obligations could do without you for a few weeks? You would be well compensated for your trouble.”
Emily thought a moment. “Perhaps. If I could be advanced part of that compensation.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged.” Hestia leaned in close. “It is a strange situation, there is no doubt. But it might be just what you need. There is a peer of the realm, you see, and he is in dire circumstances . . .”