While McCalpin always had a voracious appetite in the morning, today was outside of the ordinary. He generously spread the delicate elderberry jam across his toast and inhaled the sweetness that rose to greet him. He couldn’t seem to get enough to eat. Every flavor enhanced, and every bite sweeter, fresher, and better seasoned.
He glanced at William across the table. “Does the food taste any differently to you?”
William sliced another bite of ham. “No.”
McCalpin shook his head in wonderment and stared at his empty plate. “For some reason, everything tastes more delectable.”
His brother smirked. Before he could reply, their sister, Emma, arrived for their weekly breakfast meeting. The siblings had started this ritual shortly after Emma married Nick. They gathered at McCalpin’s townhouse to discuss what was going on in their lives without any interference from parents or spouses. Their cousin Claire always attended as well. More like a sister than a cousin, she grew up beside the three of them. As the sole survivor of the tragic carriage accident that claimed the lives of her parents, the previous Duke and Duchess of Langham, Claire had come to live with them when she was ten. Since she’d just delivered her third child a month ago, she’d chosen to stay away the last several times they’d met.
Dressed to the nines in a light green velvet morning gown with black satin ribbon trim that set off her brilliant-green eyes, Emma gracefully maneuvered her body into the seat beside McCalpin.
One side of Will’s mouth twitched up. “Any problems escaping from Somerton?”
With a smile, she arched one eyebrow and leaned close as if divulging a secret. “I always tell him I plan to sleep late on the days of our breakfast morning gatherings. He’s been in his study all day.”
“Naughty girl, Em.” Will resumed eating his ham. “Exactly what I would do.”
“Does he mind that you come without him?” McCalpin had always had a soft spot for his high-spirited sister. “I’d hate to cause any disagreement between the two of you.”
Emma snorted in that delicate way of hers. “Please. It’s all a game between us. He stood by the window and waved good-bye as I entered the carriage. He knows nothing would keep me away from our mornings together.”
A footman delivered a plate filled with fresh fruits, cheese, eggs, ham, and toast for Emma. She sipped her tea and addressed a question to Will.
The white of the linen table covering caught McCalpin’s attention. His mind drifted to the creamy softness of March’s neck. Last night, when he’d nuzzled the delicate skin between her neck and shoulder, it had been heaven—one he wanted to taste again.
She’d bewitched him in that dress, but there had been more. Her scent had him panting like a wild animal desperate for its mate. Her lips had practically caused him to come undone. Soft, sweet, and wet, her mouth was a masterpiece of sensual delights, one he could have studied and tasted for hours.
However, she’d devastated him beyond all reason with the sadness in her eyes when he’d first seen her. Something last night had caused her to shy away until he’d practically begged her for a dance. For the life of him, he had no earthly idea what he’d done. That was what had driven him to take her into the alcove and kiss her until neither of them could remember that the rest of the world existed.
A sheepish smile tickled his lips. It would be his pleasure to beg forgiveness again and again if she’d reward him with her little moans of desire.
“Did you enjoy your supper waltz with March?” Emma asked before popping a slice of apple into her mouth.
“Did I?” Will drawled. He placed his fork and knife on the edge of his plate. “Never has a woman felt so perfect”—he bit one lip and narrowed his eyes in concentration—“and heavenly in my arms.”
Emma nodded as if it was nothing out of the ordinary that they were discussing March as if she was William’s heart’s desire. “Every man there had eyes only for her. Moreover, that dress? It was the perfect statement for her introduction last night. Simple, elegant, but up close that velvet practically begged for a gentleman’s touch.”
Will wiped his mouth with his serviette and stared at his plate.
Emma buttered another piece of toast. “This morning, Daphne sent me a note. She read in The Midnight Cryer that Lord Paul Barstowe had tried to find March for a dance, but she’d disappeared. What if he sets his sights on her? Once he’s a duke, she’d make him a perfect duchess.”
William’s shoulders had started to shake slightly. He could barely choke out, “I might seek her out at Lady Pitman’s—”
“Enough,” McCalpin roared as he slammed his coffee cup on its saucer. The black brew spilled across the pristine white linen. “You two are absolutely shameless, not to mention obtuse if you don’t think I know what’s going on here.”
William glanced at Emma. “We woke the lion.”
Emma nodded, but her gaze grew serious when she regarded McCalpin. “Now that we have your attention, there’s something we must discuss.”
McCalpin had lived with his sister long enough to know that her tone of voice meant a lecture was in his future. He took another sip of his coffee for fortitude and waited for the inevitable.
By then, Emma had started to twist her fingers together in the telltale sign she was bothered. “Last night, March was the happiest I’ve ever seen in my life. Radiant, I’d say.” She forced her palms flat on the table and stared at McCalpin, then took a deep breath and pursed her lips. “But when she saw you dance with Lady Miranda, it was as if her entire world fell apart. I tried to talk to her about it, but she refused.”
McCalpin blinked slowly. That was why she was so upset with him last night. “It meant nothing, Em. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”
She nodded gently. “But, McCalpin, she’s vulnerable beneath that hard exterior she likes to show everyone. If you have no interest in her, then I beg you to tell her before she … gets hurt.” Suddenly, Emma’s eyes glistened with tears.
“Please not the waterworks, Em.” William inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “You know I can’t stand it when my little sister cries.” He released the breath he’d been holding. “Anything but that.”
McCalpin reached for her hand. “I won’t do anything to harm her, I promise.”
As soon as the words slipped from his mouth, it was as if he’d had an epiphany. He’d never hurt March and would never allow another soul to hurt her either. She was vibrant, and to dim that brilliance would be a travesty. She provided him what no other woman had ever given him before. Peace, contentment, and a friendship he’d never thought possible with the fairer sex. Besides, she had experienced enough pain and heartache to last a lifetime. He’d be damned if he’d cause her any additional unhappiness.
One of the first things he’d do today was convince her how beautiful she was and give her some much-needed confidence with men—even if it was to his own detriment.
True, she wasn’t what most men appreciated as a typical beauty. Yet her bearing, stature, and intelligence enticed him like no other. Her warm brown eyes and thick luscious hair perfectly complimented her flawless ivory skin. How could any man resist kissing those full lips? Certainly not him. He just needed to ensure she never discovered his deficiencies.
“March is dear to me, and I’ll not see her hurt.” Emma swallowed and wiped her eyes. “This baby is playing havoc with my emotions.” She took a sip of tea. “I only want the best for both of you.”
“Thank you, Em. She’s my friend also. I’ll explain about Lady Miranda.”
The longcase clock in the hall chimed the hour.
“Excuse me.” Emma stood, and Buxton appeared with her black velvet cloak. “I have a meeting at the bank. March is stopping by this morning to discuss her schedule with Daphne and me.” She turned to Will. “I’ll see you at Langham Hall later.”
Both of them stood and watched her depart. Buxton followed and closed the door, leaving McCalpin alone with William.
“What are your intentions with March?” William’s low voice cut through the silence in the room. “I’m all ears.”
He cleared his throat in an effort to afford himself more time to come up with the appropriate answer. “Until this morning, I really hadn’t given it any thought.” It wasn’t an outright lie, but perhaps a shading of the truth. “She comes from a well-regarded family. I don’t believe anything she’s done has been for her own benefit. On the contrary, she’s proved herself loyal and determined when it comes to her family.”
William nodded in agreement.
“A match with her—”
“My God, you’re serious. We were teasing,” whispered William incredulously. “You’re thinking of marriage?”
“I’d not considered the bloody matter until you and Em brought it up.” The sharp words shot across the room like an explosion from a pistol. “Besides, it’s not your concern.”
Will elevated an eyebrow and stared at him. “She’s a forger, and who in hell knows what else. I’m just looking out for your interests.”
“What she’s done in the past has no bearing on the future.” McCalpin was well aware his voice was growing louder the more he defended her.
“McCalpin, I want you to be happy, but”—Will exhaled and then lowered his own voice as if soothing a petulant Arabian stallion—“I also want you to be careful. Emma may not want to see March hurt, but I’ll not see you lay to waste either.”
There it was—the stark and naked truth. One word of his stupidity with numbers, and he’d become a laughing stock throughout the kingdom. No one would ever take him seriously if he found himself elected to the House of Commons. He’d likely be arguing to an empty chamber.
With March’s ability to forge his name and his own lack of ability to run his investments and accounts, he was walking a narrow line. She could easily ruin him without much effort. With one misstep, he and the duchy might topple into an epic disaster, one without any hope of recovery.
He couldn’t allow such a disaster to happen. Granted, other peers and their heirs had men of affairs to handle their estates. However, his father had instilled within him a very different set of values. One day he would be responsible for the massive operation of the dukedom. It was a task he wouldn’t take lightly, ignore, or pass off to others. He would oversee and protect all of it—including the people who dedicated their lives and service to Falmont, the massive ancestral estate.
He released a tortured breath. This was March, a woman who was loyal to an extreme. She would deny herself happiness if it meant her family would prosper. He had to believe he meant something to her and that he’d have that same loyalty bestowed on him. She’d never hurt him.
“McCalpin, Cavensham men fall in love quickly and decidedly. Our father and late uncle are perfect examples. You’re in danger of doing just that with this woman. Please, take your time. That’s all I’m saying.” William carefully examined him. “You’re prickly and short of temper. Don’t do anything rash.”
“While I appreciate your concern, I’m well aware of what I’m doing.” McCalpin threw his napkin to the table, then stood as if issuing a challenge. “I’m going for a morning ride, then I plan to visit Langham Hall.”
The steady clip of his heels against the wood floor was the only sound in the room as McCalpin strode purposefully for the exit. For once, he’d rendered his brother speechless.
* * *
March descended the stairs of Langham Hall on her way to find Faith and break their fast. She couldn’t keep the memory of last night’s ball, but more importantly Michael’s kiss, out of her thoughts. All night she’d dreamed of his mouth against hers and his body embracing hers. With a small shimmy of her shoulders and a headshake, she tried to ward off her wayward thoughts.
“What are you doing to me?” Faith’s whisper dissolved into a soft fit of giggles.
The sound came from the salon to March’s left.
“I won’t hurt you. I just need to touch you there. How does that feel?” The male voice responded in the same hush tones.
“This is heaven. Please, do it again.” Faith’s breathless cry rent the stillness of the hallway. “I think I’m going—”
March finally woke from her stupor. Some reprobate was taking advantage of her sister in the Duke’s yellow salon. Without breaking stride, she stormed into the room determined to stop the cad from hurting Faith.
“What the bloody hell is going on in here?” she snapped.
On the gold settee, Faith reclined against one of the arms. Dr. Mark Kennett had his hands under her dress. The duchess and Dr. Wade Camden jumped from the ivory brocade chairs surrounding the settee.
“March, dearest,” the duchess cried. “Dr. Kennett is here to see if his therapy could possibly help Faith.”
Faith nodded in agreement. “It’s a miracle. The doctor is a certified genius. He knows exactly where to massage my legs and where to apply pressure on my feet and legs. This morning I woke up barely able to walk out of my room let alone tackle any steps. Now, I feel as if I could attend another dance tonight.”
March forced her earlier tension to ease. She’d never seen Faith so happy and pain-free in her life. It truly was a miracle if the doctor could actually change Faith’s circumstances.
“I apologize for my outburst,” she whispered. “I wasn’t aware—”
The duchess glided over and clasped March’s hands. “No need, dearest. However, it’s wonderful news, isn’t it? McCalpin approached Dr. Kennett last evening about coming by this morning to see if he could help Faith.”
“How thoughtful.” He’d arranged it all last night for her sister. March blinked as her traitorous heart fluttered in approval.
“Look,” Faith demanded. When she walked without a cane, the usual morning stiffness was absent. “I actually believe I could walk the entire length of Langham Hall and the adjoining park and still be able to dance this evening.”
March cleared the thickness that had roosted in her voice. “Faith, I’m thrilled for you.” She turned her attention to Dr. Kennett who had made his way to her side. “Thank you. This is nothing short of amazing.”
He dipped his head at her praise, but she could still see that his neck and face had colored into a deep red. “She’s barely had thirty minutes of my attention. With regular treatment, your sister will see remarkable improvement. She has a wonderful attitude.” His gaze settled on Faith. “Besides a lovely and warm personality.”
“That’s very kind of you to say,” March answered.
Dr. Kennett narrowed his eyes, any embarrassment long forgotten as he once again returned to professional demeanor. “If I might, Miss Lawson, I’d like to continue to treat your sister.”
Elated, all March could do was nod. Then she remembered she was no longer responsible for Faith. “While it’s my sister’s decision, perhaps we should discuss this with Lord McCalpin first before making a final decision. He’s her guardian.”
A smile tugged at the doctor’s lips. The effect transformed him into a handsome man, one who knew how to sway a woman’s opinion. “He informed me the decision was yours, and he’d support you.”
Surprised at the announcement, she brought her hand to her heart to stop the infernal pounding. Michael had actually considered her wishes to be involved in all of the decisions that affected her family.
“I promise she’ll receive the very best care,” he added softly. “Now, Miss Lawson, will you allow me to attend to Faith—I mean Miss Faith?”
March nodded. London had certainly been the right place to come. Now Faith would finally receive the care she deserved. Inside, the clump of guilt that March had carried since childhood cracked a little, and a large sliver fell away. Her sister might have a chance to escape from her daily pain. “How much are you asking for the treatment and what are the terms of payment, if I might ask?”
Dr. Kennett shook his head. “Nothing, but if you’ll allow, I’d like for Miss Faith to accompany me to the Royal Society of Physicians one day. I’d like to demonstrate the effectiveness of my treatment with someone who has suffered the effects of a severe injury for years. Miss Faith is intelligent and articulate. My fellow members will learn a great deal from her. They’ll want to know how her improvement has impacted her life.”
“Yes, that’s acceptable to me, but only if Faith agrees.” She let out a sigh of relief mixed with a huff of consternation at her own attitude. Would she ever escape the haunting need to discover what everything cost? All the years scraping and examining every minute purchase in detail had become a bothersome habit, one she needed to break.
“I think that is a wise decision, Miss Lawson. Both you and Miss Faith will be very pleased with the results. I’m confident,” Dr. Camden added.
“I agree,” the duchess added softly. Her gaze drifted to Faith. “This lovely girl is radiant.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Faith answered. The sudden blush against her cheeks did make her seem to glow.
“You have my gratitude also, Your Grace,” March added. “I appreciate you staying here with her this morning. I’m certain you had better things to do.”
“Nonsense, March,” she chided. “Your siblings are everything lovely. Both the duke and I were commenting how much we enjoy your family’s company. I should be the one thanking you.”
Pitts entered and nodded his head at the duchess.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.” Without waiting for a reply, she glided from the room with a solemn Pitts following in her wake.
“Miss Lawson…” Dr. Kennett studied his boots as if finding the sight fascinating. Whatever held his attention apparently lost his interest as he suddenly focused on her. “Might I call on Miss Faith one day soon? Of course, with you as chaperone.”
She bit her lower lip to keep from jumping for joy. “I think we’d both like that very much.”
* * *
March pushed the familiar door open. This time there wasn’t the dread that typically accompanied her when she entered the bank. Emma had provided money, but more importantly, friendship when March had needed it most over the past several months.
At strict attention, a liveried footman nodded as she entered. Daphne Hallworth, the Marquess of Pembrooke’s sister, and Emma were huddled over something and looked up when she entered.
“Good morning, March,” Emma called out.
“You’re just in time for tea. I brought apple tarts.” Daphne scooted another mahogany chair to the table.
March smiled and took her seat. The smell of sweet fruit and a strong cup of tea wafted toward her. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I got a whiff of the tarts.”
Emma served the tea, and Daphne handed March a plate with two tarts. She picked up one and bit into the delicate pastry crust.
Emma smiled and slid the morning copy of The Midnight Cryer in March’s direction. “Did you see this?”
March gently placed her cup back on to the saucer and read the headline: THE LUCK OF THE LAWSON SISTERS. She quickly skimmed the article. An unidentified source stated that he saw her and McCalpin steal away to a hidden alcove where they didn’t emerge for ten minutes and appeared disheveled.
A scalding heat assaulted her face. She clenched her hands together in a desperate attempt to manage her mortification. The effort failed miserably as she scrambled to find something to say.
“Don’t.” Daphne reached over and squeezed her hands. “Everyone knows that gossip rag loves to stir up trouble. Just hold your head up high and ignore it. That’s the best way to confront this.”
Emma didn’t say a word but examined her. The emerald green of her eyes shown brighter and more brilliant than any jewel. Finally, she broke her silence. “Oh, my heavens, March. It’s true. You kissed him.”
There was no use trying to deny what had happened, particularly with the two women before her. Repeatedly, they’d extended their hearts and their friendship to her. She relaxed a little in her chair as a sense of calm returned. The paper had gotten the information correct. She was a lucky Lawson sister, one whom Emma and Daphne had accepted countless times without judgment.
March lifted her head. “Actually, he’s the one who kissed me.”
Emma squealed, and Daphne burst out into laughter.
“I knew it,” Emma exclaimed. “When I saw McCalpin this morning, I could tell something was different.”
“But there’s nothing to it. After you and Lord Somerton left with Bennett, Michael—I mean Lord McCalpin—needed to discuss a few things in private.”
“Well, McCalpin allows no hints of impropriety to soil his reputation. So he must think there’s something to it or he wouldn’t have taken such a risk,” Emma announced.
Daphne nodded her head in agreement. The sheen of her blue-black curls caught the light.
The question that begged an answer was whether her two friends would keep the information to themselves or discuss it with their families. She didn’t want Michael upset, or more importantly, hurt by his actions, intentional or not. She’d be devastated if their friendship suffered because of a passionate moment that swept them both away.
“I’d hate for this to cause him any embarrassment,” she whispered, unsure if the footman could be trusted. She’d probably divulged too much already.
Emma shook her head, sending a couple of loose blond curls cascading around her face as she pulled out several bookkeeping journals. “Nothing ever really affects his demeanor. He’s most level-headed.” Emma flipped one of the journals open. “I hate bookkeeping. Your turn, Daphne.”
Daphne sighed. “I did it last week. It’s your turn to go through that torture.”
“Let me do it,” March offered. They both stared as if she’d grown another head and it was speaking. “I’ve been doing bookkeeping for years as a way of bartering for goods and services in Leyton. Besides, I love the figures and calculations.”
As if the books were poisonous, Emma pushed them toward her with the tip of her index finger. “March, you don’t have to do it. Daphne’s right. It’s my turn, but if you want to take a look at how I prefer to keep the books, please be my guest.”
March opened the first book. Neat columns of numbers with precise totals loomed before her. At the top, the familiar concepts of debits and credits were clearly marked. Listed down the pages were the clients’ names. Overall, it would take her perhaps an hour to finish the task. The bank’s own bookkeeping for rents, coal, and stationary needs were in the second book. That task would take no more than fifteen minutes.
Without waiting for any encouragement, March took the books to the desk nearby, sharpened the quill, and dipped it in the iron gall ink. She found scratch paper and proceeded to her work. Forty-five minutes later, she stretched. After carefully checking that the ink was dry, she handed the books to Emma.
“I found a couple of mistakes that I corrected. Mrs. Brown had an additional two pounds credited to her account that should have been assigned to Mrs. Havers’ account.” March pointed to Mrs. Brown’s column and Mrs. Havers’ column where she’d found the mistake. “Miss Marshall’s account shows she has ten pounds, but she’s overdrawn. Someone should probably tell the poor lady.”
Emma scrutinized March’s work with lines across her delicate brow. “I can’t believe it took you less than an hour to have accomplished what would have taken me all afternoon.” She gazed at March. “Would you be willing to do this every time you’re here?”
Her chest swelled with pride. It pleased her to no end that she could help her friend make the bank more successful. With accurate books, Emma would know exactly her reserve funds and how much she’d loaned in total every week, every month, and every year.
“Emma, by the looks of things, you have an additional fifty pounds in reserves that hadn’t been recorded correctly. If you’d like, I could spend a day and review the books from the very beginning and catch the discrepancies, if there are any.”
“This is brilliant,” Emma declared. “If you could do that, then I could deliver this baby without any distractions except Somerton. I was going to ask my father if his auditor could look at the books. I’ve been concerned the figures weren’t correct.” She gracefully stood. “Now, let’s settle on payment, shall we?”
A flush of heat bludgeoned her cheeks. It was one thing to barter for her services, but another to be paid wages. “I can’t take your money. I want to help.”
“Nonsense,” Daphne added.
March turned to her. “May I ask if you receive payment for your services?”
Daphne’s brows drew together as she considered the question. “No. I’m family. Well, practically family,” she clarified. “Since Alex is married to Claire.”
“I wouldn’t feel right if I accepted money from you. Not after everything you and your family have done for mine.” March smiled and hoped that it would convince her friend to drop the subject.
Emma cocked her head and stared out the window, completely lost in thought for a second. “You’d be family too if you married—”
“It’s growing late. I should return to Langham Hall.” March gathered her things. It had been beyond the pale to interrupt her friend, but such nonsense would taint yesterday’s wonderful evening. It was her fondest memory, and she wanted it to stay as pure as a newly fallen snow. “The duchess thought Faith and Julia might have some visitors today.”
Emma walked to the vault and pulled out a navy velvet bag. She returned to March’s side and gently took her hand before placing the bag in her outstretched palm. “Here’s your payment. The loan I made three months ago is forgiven.”
“That’s too much for the little work I did,” March protested.
Emma arched one delicate blond brow. “You’ll have to do my books for as long as you’re in London.” A hint of steel reinforced her normal dulcet voice. “Agreed?”
March felt the familiar weight in the palm of her hand. To have the contents in her possession again was a sign she’d turned the tide in her quest to protect her family. Now, their lives were under their control again.
Daphne had joined them by the vault. “May I see what’s in the bag? Emma’s described them to me before, but I’ve never seen them in person.”
She gently upended the bag. Two earrings fell into her palm.
Emma’s breath caught. “I forgot how beautiful they are.”
Daphne’s eyes grew round. “Those are the largest sapphires I’ve ever seen in my life.”
A hint of tears clouded the outline of the earrings. Even though it was unladylike, March sniffed. The effort made her errant tears subside. “They were my mother’s.”
Daphne peered closer. “The pearls surrounding them appear pink in color.”
“They are,” she answered. “My father had them made for my mother when I was born. He said the sapphires matched my mother’s eyes while the tiny pearls matched my complexion.”
“There’s only one thing to do,” Emma announced. “We must go shopping for a dress that will set off these earrings.”
Daphne’s eyes widened. “Emma! You hate to shop.”
“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. We all suffer for the greater good. And whatever else generals say before leading the infantry into war.” Emma waved her hand as if dismissing the whole affair. “I want my brother to be spellbound when he sees you in those earrings.”
“That’s very kind.” March cleared her throat. “But I don’t want to waste my money on another gown.”
“Nonsense, March,” Emma commanded. “My brother will pay for it. Tell me, when is your next ball?”