No Marriage of Convenience (15 page)

Mason doubted Mr. Pettibone would approve of the face Riley was currently making.

“The crowned heads of Europe,” the lady urged him.

“No, I think you were saying something about the second act,” Mason interrupted. “You had a moment of inspiration after a game of piquet.”

“Ah, yes, my excellent round of piquet. I was playing with the dullest of company, one man especially. Lord Childs? No, that isn’t it.” Mr. Pettibone scratched his chin. “Lord Chelden? Such a tiresome old fool. ’Tis any wonder I remember that much of the fellow’s name. Not that he is in the least important, other than the fact that his purse supported this fine repast. Better to fill our stomachs, I say, than collecting moths in his tight pockets.” He tipped his cup in mock salute to their unnamed benefactor. “As I was saying, this Chipper bloke was blithering on, and I suddenly realized that the second act needs a bit of comedy, something to break the strain of having to listen to that tiresome Geoffroi lament at great length about his lost Aveline.”

Riley had finished her breakfast and was carefully folding her napkin. “Aggie, I don’t think this is the time to discuss changes to the script. Besides, I think the second act is fine the way it is.”

“But Riley, my love,” he said between bites, “I tell you, the second act needs some comedy.”

She shook her head.

Mason recalled what he’d read of that part of the play and weighed in with his opinion. “I think Mr. Pettibone is correct. The scene with Geoffroi is overly long. Did you have something in mind?” he asked Aggie.

Riley shot him a scathing look. “How would you know? You haven’t even read it.”

Now it was Mason’s turn to have the upper hand. “That is where you are wrong. After you left me in the library last night, I discovered your copy and read it.”

All eyes turned on the pair, and Mason realized that
perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to let everyone know about their meeting in the library. “We were discussing the content and breadth of Madame Fontaine’s lessons, if you must know.”

Beatrice snorted.

“That seems nothing out of the ordinary,” Cousin Felicity rushed to add. “But I do wish you hadn’t left so early last night, Mason. Miss Pindar was in quite a state over your disappearance. She wanted to send for the watch, for she thought something might have happened to you.” Cousin Felicity turned to Riley. “I fear the girl is quite smitten.”

Smitten with the idea of being a countess, and leaving her cit origins far behind, Mason thought.

“You must be more considerate of Miss Pindar,” Cousin Felicity scolded.

“Miss Pindar, eh?” Del inquired from the doorway. “You certainly didn’t waste any time on that one.”

Without an invitation, Del strolled into the room and settled comfortably into the open seat next to Bea, which also happened to be directly across from Riley. He held out a bouquet of violets and offered them to her. “Of course, with your cousin otherwise occupied with Miss Pindar, that would leave you unescorted and in need of a protector, oh fairest flower of my heart.”

Riley accepted the flowers, but only nodded her appreciation.

Mason couldn’t say that he was surprised to see his friend arrive so early in the morning—but for now, he had to get him out of the house before someone slipped up. “Nice to see you, Del, but don’t you have business at Tattersall’s this morning?”

Del shook his head. “Sent my agent after that fine bit of cattle.” He turned to Bea. “A real handful. The kind of
beast you’d appreciate. I’ll let you take him for a turn in the park next week, if you’d like.”

“Perhaps we should ride down there and take a look,” Mason offered, hoping the bait of a ride would induce Del to leave. “In case the animal isn’t what it seemed the other day.”

Mason’s efforts were lost on Cousin Felicity.

“Why, Mason, you never go riding on Thursdays and you haven’t had a bite to eat,” she admonished. “And after Mr. Pettibone went to all the trouble of playing piquet last night so you could have almond rolls this morning. The least you could do is show some appreciation.” She then turned to Del. “Oh, where are my manners, Lord Delander? You must share in our good fortune, so kindly provided by our good friend, Mr. Pettibone.”

Del happily took the plate Cousin Felicity proceeded to heap with food for him. “Piquet, eh, Mr. Pettibone? I’ve been known to play a hand or two. Perhaps we could find a game later.”

“No!” Riley said, startling nearly everyone at the table with her outburst. She took a deep breath and then offered Lord Delander a small smile. “I mean, not today, my lord. Mr. Pettibone has pressing matters which won’t allow any time for idleness.”

“Some other day, then,” Del offered. Between bites, he kept glancing over at Mr. Pettibone. “You look vaguely familiar, sir. Have we met?”

“Well, since you asked,” Mr. Pettibone began, “I am known in many circles, but most recently—”

“—He’s been in the country,” Riley interjected.

“The country?” Mr. Pettibone shook his head most decisively. “Riley, that is most unkind of you. I haven’t played the country since I was a green lad cast—”

“—Casting around the Continent on your Grand Tour,”
Mason said, struggling to save the conversation, let alone the entire morning.

“Ah, yes, my tour of Europe. All the great houses welcomed me.” Mr. Pettibone sat back, his hands crossing over his chest. “I remember once in Vienna, I had the lead in—”

“In a story that is best not repeated in front of a young audience,” Riley warned him, tipping her head toward Del and not the girls. “Didn’t you just mention that you had some very pressing
business
matters to attend to this morning?”

Mr. Pettibone frowned but obviously took the hint, rising from his seat. “Yes, I believe I did. Well, as they say in the City, business never waits, does it, gentlemen?”

“Never does,” Del lamented. “Pressing matters of business, eh? That must be it. We’ve talked investments over papers and port at White’s or Brooks’s, haven’t we?”

“I doubt it,” Riley said, jumping in before her partner had a chance to open his mouth. “Lord Delander, Mr. Pettibone is just arrived from the country. He’s…he’s…”

She looked to Mason to fill in, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of a logical occupation for the old Corinthian.

As luck would have it, Bea did. “Mr. Pettibone is Riley’s guardian.”

Guardian?
Mason swung around and stared at his niece. He didn’t know whether to congratulate her for her brilliance or cringe.

“Yes, my guardian,” Riley said. “And as my guardian, you had best go see to those matters so they all go on schedule.”

Mr. Pettibone smiled at her. “You are a girl for regiment
and order.” He glanced over at Mason. “You two would make quite a pair of martinets.”

With this said, a red-faced Riley led Aggie out of the dining room, propelling him toward the door. “Aggie, I told you not to call on me before eleven,” she whispered, once they’d gained the front foyer.

“You would make me wait? To visit my best girl?” Aggie scoffed at the very notion. “Besides, I was worried sick about you. It was too quiet last night in my room without that walking Persian carpet of yours snoring away in his corner.”

“Aggie! You promised to take rooms elsewhere,” she scolded. She lowered her voice. “You know it is too dangerous for you to stay at the theatre. Especially alone.”

“Danger,” he said, stabbing his hand at the imaginary foe as if he held a silver blade. “I am immune to danger.”

“You are not immune to any such thing. Now, please take the room at the Pen and Pig, as we discussed.”

“If you insist.” He scuffed his boot at the carpet like a small child caught stealing tarts.

“I insist,” she told him.

The door to the dining room swung open and Cousin Felicity came out, her head held like a duchess. “Mr. Pettibone, you will be coming by later to check on your dear ward, won’t you?” She nodded her head back at the dining room and smiled, as if she were doing an excellent job perpetuating this latest lie to surface in the Ashlin House. She leaned forward and whispered, “I mean, once your practice is complete, you should have plenty of time to take tea with us, say half past four?” She held out her hand to him.

Aggie, the eager gallant, stepped forward. “I would be honored to—
oof
,” he gasped, as Riley wedged her elbow
into his stomach and stepped between him and his unwitting victim.

“I’m afraid, Cousin Felicity,” Riley told the lady, “Aggie will be unable to stay for tea, as he has theatre responsibilities that will keep him occupied for the entire afternoon.” She smiled at her. “Would you mind terribly seeing the girls upstairs for their lessons? You have such a way with them. I know with you in charge, they won’t get lost like they did yesterday.”

“Oh, certainly,” Cousin Felicity said. She leaned around Riley. “Until our next meeting, Agamemnon.” She tittered and waved her handkerchief at him, before retreating to the dining room to fetch the girls.

Riley paused for a moment. “What is this great flirtation with the Earl’s cousin all about? I tell you, the woman hasn’t a crown to her name. She’s as poor as the rest of this lot. You’ll not be getting any silk robes or specially blended snuff out of her.”

Aggie tapped his nose. “This is never wrong. If it smells money, then she’s got a king’s ransom hidden somewhere. And if she hasn’t, then I’m not a direct descendant of…”

“Kings and queens,” she said, repeating his favorite line about his alleged noble heritage. “Yes, I know. And you aren’t, and she hasn’t got any.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never been wrong, not when it comes to money. And I am just the man to help the dear lady find her lost riches and spend them.”

“You mean cheat her out of them.”

“Cheat? Riley, you wound me. I fear my heart is broken.”

“You have no heart, you old fraud. The only reason you like women such as Cousin Felicity is that they are easier to part from their money than your usual paramours.”

“Not always,” he said, patting his breast pocket where she knew he always kept a deck of cards.

“Oh, and speaking of that, no more piquet,” she told him. “One of these days it is going to be your downfall.”

He grinned, hardly the penitent reaction she wanted. “Shot in the act, perhaps,” he suggested. “Pistols at dawn. I’ve always wanted to do a dueling scene.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have, but when gentlemen duel in the park they use real pistols, which fire rather fatal lead bullets.”

He frowned. “How vulgar. Someone might get hurt.”

It was her turn to shake her head. “That is why I don’t want you playing any more card games, you wretched cheat.”

“Tsk, tsk. You are a scold this morning. I can see the rarified air of Ashlin Square hasn’t done anything to improve your sense of fun.” He caught her chin with his fingers and turned her face so he could study her. “There is something different about you, though. Give me a minute and I’ll have it.”

Riley blanched. If her night in the library with Mason remained so evident on her face, she had no doubts why—every moment seemed emblazoned in her memory.

She’d lain awake for hours recounting every detail and trying to tell herself she wasn’t listening for his footsteps. She’d retraced how he’d looked at her, every nuance of his voice, the touch of his lips to hers. And then this morning, she’d glanced half a dozen times in his direction, trying to see some hint, some idea that last night hadn’t been an “aberration,” yet he was back to business as usual, as if nothing had happened.

Oh, a pox and bother on the man! If that was what he wanted, then that was just fine with her.

Kissing the Earl, indeed! What had she been thinking?

Much to her relief, before Aggie could weasel the details out of her, Belton arrived.

“Belton!” She rushed over to the stony-faced butler, who looked as if he’d like nothing more than to pitch them both out on the streets. “Could you please show Mr. Pettibone up to the ballroom? We will be practicing up there later this morning.”

Belton peered down his nose at Aggie.

Always irrepressible, Aggie accepted Belton’s less than favorable scrutiny with his most winning smile. “Does he bite?” he asked her.

“Not unless provoked,” she told him.

“Might be fun to find out what that would take.” Aggie winked at Belton. “Never mind, Button, I’ll find the ballroom myself.”

Belton sputtered and choked as if he was going to have apoplexy. “That man is…”

“Incorrigible.” Riley thumped the mortified butler on the back. “There, there, Belton. Everyone grows to love Aggie. Even you one day.”

“A cold one it will be indeed, Madame. A very cold one,” he finally managed to say.

Having washed her hands of one problem, she started back toward the dining room when her next one, Lord Delander, came hurrying out, nearly colliding with her.

He glanced around the foyer and then out the window. “Oh, dash it! I’d hoped to catch your guardian.”

Mason was close on the Viscount’s heels. From behind Del he frantically shook his head, mouthing an emphatic “No!”

Riley certainly didn’t need to be told that.

Catching Lord Delander by the arm, Riley anchored the Viscount in place. “He was rather late for an appointment, my lord, so he took off at an amazing clip. Surely you
wouldn’t want to hold him up any further?”

“No, I can’t say that would be polite,” the man said, his gaze still scanning the street outside. “Perhaps you can give me the direction to where he is staying so I may call on him there.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid he didn’t say. Perhaps next time he is in town. I will pass your regards on to him.”

“I thought to give him more than my regards. I meant to speak of him of my suit.”

“What suit?” she asked, hoping her question sounded both demure and sincere.

“For your hand.” Del grinned at her. “You are an admirable girl to be so shy and reluctant, but I’m sure once I’ve spoken to your guardian, he’ll waste no time convincing you that I am the better man.” He shook a significant look over his shoulder at Mason. “Mr. Pettibone seems a right sensible fellow. Good taste in fashion as well. Such a dramatic air to him. When next you see him, could you also get the name of his tailor?”