“Ambition, as well as love, had probably been mortified.”
Jane Austen, Emma
Later that evening, Ainsley found Briar in the small library, bringing with her a weighted stillness that seemed to make the room too confining. Even before her sister spoke, Briar knew what the topic of conversation would be—John Cartwright.
After her initial mention of her half brother, Uncle Ernest had been quiet throughout the jaunt with Nicholas and his cousins, but also watchful. It did not take any leap of imagination to guess that he would speak to Ainsley first.
“I understand that you met Mr. Cartwright this afternoon,” Ainsley said with a resigned exhale, not bothering to pretend she was here for reading.
Since Briar was still angry about being kept in the dark, she did not respond at first but continued to peruse her uncle’s shelves, dragging her finger along the spines. She’d come here to find a book on cravats in order to complete her disguise for her outing with Nicholas next week, and she wasn’t going to be distracted.
And yet, as she started to fume, she no longer saw the titles and could not keep silent. “He’s much older than I would have thought. Is that the reason you never wanted to talk about Father’s other children—because you didn’t think I was ready to deal with the full scope of his betrayal?”
“Partly,” Ainsley said after a minute. “But to tell you the truth, I don’t think I wanted to confront it either. I still have anger left over from all that has happened and it wouldn’t have been fair to talk to you about it.”
Why not? Intuition warned her not to ask that question, advising her that she already knew the answer.
Even so, Briar couldn’t subdue the impulse. She turned to face her sister. “Why not?”
She went still, waiting. Even the candle flames held steady, the candelabra on the chiffonier between them glowing in a harsh white-gold light.
Ainsley blinked, then averted her face toward a potted fern on a nearby pedestal. She moved toward it, beginning to pluck out the dead leaves as she spoke. “Because I prefer to deal with matters in my own way, without burdening anyone else.”
“Hmm . . .” Briar murmured, believing that was only part of it. But she did not push further. It didn’t seem now was the time to suggest sending an invitation to their half brother to get better acquainted either.
Instead, she decided to change the subject. “I’ve planned to host a gathering of potential matches for Temperance and her brother, here next week.”
Ainsley did not look surprised by the news, but her mouth was set in a line of discontent. In Briar’s opinion, her sister went far too many days with that same expression. If memory served, Ainsley had a stunning smile. It was a pity she was so miserly with it.
“Where did you find these potential matches, among our client list?”
“I put an advert in the Post,” Briar answered, but suspected that Ainsley already knew this, too. Nothing got past her.
She plucked at the poor fern more aggressively. “And did you bother to vet any of them?”
“No, I was hoping to fill the agency with cutpurses and murderers and introduce them all to my dearest friends.” Briar rolled her eyes. Of course she had taken the proper precautions. “During the week, I took the liberty of filling out an application for each of them and set those papers on Jacinda’s desk for investigation. When she did not find anything criminal, I decided to write invitations.”
Actually, she hadn’t yet sent the letters. She was still narrowing the lists down to the best prospects. However, she would mail them first thing in the morning and have everything settled.
“I wish you would have said something to me. I could have helped you find some other gentlemen from our client list for Miss Prescott to meet.”
It was on the tip of Briar’s tongue to say that she did not want Ainsley’s help, but when she saw the hurt look in her sister’s eyes, she swallowed it down. Her actions had already made that fact apparent. “I went through our list early this Season, and none of our clients appealed to Temperance.”
Ainsley nodded stiffly, then took the mess of brown fronds—and a few green—to toss into the hearth. But Briar felt guilty for going behind her sister’s back. She hadn’t wanted to risk her sister taking over. And more than that, she admitted, she wanted to prove herself, and make her own contribution to the agency.
Still, it wasn’t in her nature to leave matters in a state of discord between them. So she quickly thought up a solution. “I do have one problem, however. You see, Daniel is rather shy and wouldn’t attend if he thought there was going to be a group of women here to meet him. So, after he escorts Temperance, I thought perhaps you might take him on a tour of the house, along with a handful of potential female applicants, arriving by invitation.”
Her sister tilted her head, scrutinizing Briar. “And he will have no idea why he’s really here?”
“No. But he is of a romantic nature and would likely prefer to meet his bride by happenstance,” she said, parroting what Nicholas had told her in the beginning.
“Very well. But I cannot guarantee the results under such circumstances.”
Briar knew Ainsley wouldn’t embrace an idea that wasn’t her own, but at least she was willing to help. That was good enough for now.
* * *
When the day arrived, Temperance cajoled her brother into lingering for the event, bidding him to stay in the house in case she would prefer a quick escape. Ever the dutiful brother, Daniel agreed to accompany Ainsley on a tour of the house and their small garden, where—coincidentally—four young women were having tea.
In the parlor, Uncle Ernest was busy making the introductions, and Temperance looked positively lovely in her yellow-striped frock. The four gentlemen milling about the room were each a bit on the odd side. Then again, what could one expect from a gentleman who answered an advert for a bride? Though perhaps one of them would turn out to be a diamond in the rough.
Briar still had every hope that the day would be a smashing success.
Regrettably, those hopes were destined to meet a terrible end. Her first clue came when she sidled up to Temperance, who was valiantly attempting to chat with Lord Fortescue.
He had a tall wiry build and something of a restless nature, with the tendency to shift from one foot to the other while glancing around the room at all the other occupants. It was as if he expected a formulated attack at any given moment.
And when Temperance asked if his journey here was uneventful, Lord Shifty’s response was rather odd. “Are you always overly curious? I find that people with curious natures are those with the most to hide. Is there something you aren’t telling us, Miss Prescott?”
“Since we have not been acquainted above thirty seconds, I suspect there are a great many things, my lord,” Temperance said. She tried to feign a laugh but it came out in more of a whinny.
Briar used the moment as an excuse to extricate her friend. She patted her gently on the shoulder. “Dear me, it sounds as if Miss Prescott needs a spot of tea for her throat. Please excuse us, Lord Shif—Fortescue.”
Stepping away from him, Temperance clenched her teeth together in a semblance of a polite smile and uttered, “Do not leave my side. At all.”
Briar stifled a laugh, pressing her lips together. “Not for a single instant.”
They encountered Sweet William next. Of course, that wasn’t his real name but, after their encounter, Briar would never think of him any other way.
Mr. Dougherty was a round-faced, quiet man, nearly bald but with a forelock of wispy butter-colored hair. And only a few minutes into the conversation, he gazed adoringly up at Temperance—she was a good five or six inches taller—and said, “You remind me of my mother.”
Temperance shot an alarmed glance to Briar, eyes wide as poached eggs. “Um . . . thank you, Mr. Dougherty?”
“She used to call me William,” he said with a shy smile. “It would be fine if you did that as well.”
“I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mr.—Oh, very well, William.”
And then poor, Sweet William burst out crying. Briar was quick to hand him a handkerchief as she linked arms with Temperance and they moved on to the next disaster.
Uncle Ernest was sitting with the robust Captain Cantrell in the chairs flanking the tray of lemonade and biscuits on the low table. The latter was speaking on the importance of keeping a sportsman on staff in order to stay in optimal health. Her uncle, who enjoyed meandering walks in the park and rarely lifted anything heavier than a lady’s hand to kiss it, merely nodded.
Undeterred, the captain continued, clearly enjoying sporting and the sound of his own voice. He did, however, pause his conversation briefly to engage with Temperance, a neatly manicured blond brow arched in disdain. “That’s your second biscuit, Miss Prescott.”
Temperance turned a gimlet-eyed glare on Captain Control and popped the rest of the biscuit in her mouth. “Actually, it is my third.”
Briar nearly applauded. Temperance even articulated every syllable and didn’t lose a single crumb. Brava!
Uncle Ernest cleared his throat, his expression turning to stone. “Gentlemen in this house are always expected to act and speak with decorum.”
Captain Control fixed a smile on his face that made him look as if he were in the midst of a stomach ailment. “Though, for such a large girl, you move with surprising grace.”
Briar, who was seated nearest to him, stood up suddenly and accidentally spilled her lemonade on his lap.
Uncle Ernest pointed him toward the kitchens. With any luck, Mrs. Darden would throw the captain in the rubbish bin.
Their fourth gentleman was a bit of a rube, with dust on his boots and the not-so-faint aroma of pigs wafting from his clothes. He stood with thumbs tucked into the slitted pockets of his waistcoat. “You’re not one of them bluestockin’s, are you?”
Briar swallowed down a bubble of laughter at the enormous tragedy this entire afternoon had turned into, then offered him a sad shake of her head. “I’m afraid Miss Prescott is highly educated.”
Apparently, that was enough information for Lord Porcine, for he offered a disdainful sniff and strode out of the parlor. Sweet William gave a tearful goodbye, promising to write Temperance. Lord Shifty skirted out of the room, pausing only to double-check the corridor before making his way to the foyer. Then, just as Uncle Ernest was about to close the door, another man entered.
With his five young children in tow.
Mr. Tittelwurst—sadly that was his actual name—quickly introduced himself, took one look at Temperance, and said, “You’ll do.”
Briar could not hold it in any longer. Her eyes began to water. She glanced at Temperance, who wore the same expression, and hiccupped.
Then they both burst into laughter.
Shortly thereafter, she learned that Daniel had chosen to linger alone in the library after enduring a quick introduction to the women in the garden.
“The advert-answering women were quite . . . eager,” Ainsley told her from the doorway as they watched Daniel and Temperance’s carriage trundle away.
Briar was afraid to ask. “How eager?”
“The words ravening horde come to mind.”
Oh dear. Perhaps adverts were not the way to go after all.
Briar hoped that Nicholas was having better luck with the list of names she’d given him.
* * *
Nicholas stood in the foyer, skimming through the letters on the salver, when his cousins strode in. One look at Daniel’s white complexion, crooked cravat, and disheveled hair, and Nicholas surmised that the afternoon at the agency had not gone to plan.
A sense of desperation rolled through him, guilt leaving a bitter taste on the back of his tongue and churning in the pit of his stomach. The Season was nearing a conclusion and, as of yet, none of the dinners Nicholas and Temperance had arranged, or even the few accidental encounters in the park, were working.
What more would it take to find Daniel a bride so that they could all forget the Miss Smithson episode for good?
“It is an utter madhouse over there.” Daniel puffed as if he’d just escaped an angry mob. “I don’t see how Miss Bourne can maintain her cheerful disposition, nor her sanity, when visited by such clients. Why, they’re practically wild creatures, London’s own form of cannibals.”
“You’re being dramatic. It couldn’t have been that bad. After all, you weren’t in the parlor with me,” Temperance chimed in, rolling her eyes.
Daniel raked a hand through his hair. “No. I am understating the event out of deference to your maidenly ears. Believe me when I say I would have rather dealt with a dozen Sweet Williams than the horror I faced. I’m covered in so much perfume and powder that I could open a shop. I need a change.” And without waiting another moment, he sulked off toward his rooms.
Nicholas was caught between confusion and disappointment. “Sweet William?”
“A long story, one which I’ll explain later.” Teense waved her hand dismissively, peering over his shoulder to the mail in his grasp. “Oh, that one’s for me, I’m sure.”
Nicholas looked down at it and saw that it was from none other than Mr. John Cartwright. He frowned, his thoughts on Briar.
Temperance took it and turned it over, her countenance changing from merriment to wonder as she, too, saw the sender’s name.
“It is from him.” She wasted no time in breaking the red wax seal and opening it, consuming every word in a flash, grinning, and then reading it all over again. “A very good letter. Such a splendid, bold hand.”
“A very good letter? There are no more than six lines.”
“Some men make brevity an art,” she all but sighed. “Indeed, a most excellent letter.”
“And what does Mr. Cartwright want?”
“To whisk me off to the Mediterranean and feed me olives.” She tucked the note behind her back when he reached out to snatch it, and grinned slyly. “He only wants an introduction to Lady Penrose, in case she would like to sell him one of her new puppies.”
“Ah.” He felt marginally better at this news. Still, he worried that the association had the potential to unsettle Briar’s spirits, and wanted to shield her from the pain she’d experienced the other day. “Since Lady Penrose is my own neighbor, perhaps I should pen a note in response.”
Teense tilted her head in puzzlement. “Whyever would you do that when you were not even introduced to him? He wrote the letter to me. Surely you cannot object to one simple exchange.”
“No, I cannot. I was merely thinking that you would require a few moments to change for dinner this evening. Your friend is coming, is she not?”
Nicholas already knew the answer. He’d been anticipating this evening with Briar all week, turning into a clock and calendar watcher. But he was apprehensive about the trip to the coffee house later as well, uncertain that any costume could make her resemble a man.
“She is, but Briar has been here dozens of times. Tonight is hardly any different, and Mother has already approved the menu and table settings.” She gave an absent shrug before gliding toward the staircase, the letter firmly in her grasp. “Therefore, I have plenty of time to send a missive to Mr. Cartwright.”
Nicholas had a sinking suspicion that this would be only the first of many to come. But he would not be the one to tell Briar. Especially not tonight.