No Marriage of Convenience (7 page)

“I know you have doubts about my qualifications and I promise you I won’t teach your nieces anything but the most ladylike of manners and grace,” she said in a hasty rush. “In fact, I am so positive that I can enhance your nieces’ chances in the Marriage Mart that I’m willing to wager they’ll be betrothed within a week of opening night. If not, I’ll throw in my five percent of the first three weeks’ receipts.” Madame Fontaine stuck out her hand. “So, my lord, do we still have a deal?”

Before Mason could strike what he was sure was a deal with the devil, his eldest niece, Beatrice, burst into the study. She skidded to a dead halt in the middle of the room.

Looking back over her shoulder toward the still swinging door, she shouted at her youngest sister, “Lud, Louisa. ’Tis true. You have to take back calling Cousin Felicity a senile old hag. Uncle really does have some Haymarket bird in Father’s study.”

Mason stared at his eldest niece and saw what Madame Fontaine probably saw—a coltish and fair-haired girl of twenty and some odd years.

Then, to his horror, his middle niece, Margaret, barreled into the room with all the energy of a pack of hounds and half the grace.

Not having noticed her sister frozen in the middle of the room, nineteen-year-old Maggie plowed into Bea, sending her flying toward the settee and in the process tearing a large patch out of Bea’s already well-worn skirt.

“Lawks and the devil,” Bea cursed, with all the native inflection of a wharfside rat. She held out her ruined gown for her sister’s inspection. “Mags, can’t you enter a room for once and not act like a drunken sailor?”

Mags promptly burst into a loud cacophony of tears, turning her already ruddy face into a mottled mess. “I didn’t see you, Bea,” the girl sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, you are as blind as you are stupid,” her sister continued, adding a string of curses that would have made a battle-hardened marine blush.

“Uh, hum,” a third voice coughed.

Mason glanced up to find Louisa, his youngest niece, in the doorway, her toe tapping impatiently because no one had noticed her.

All of seventeen, Louisa stood poised, not unlike how her mother used to make her own dramatic entrances. But where Caro had been bright and glowing, Louisa’s look was one of utter disdain. With the stalking precision of a military officer and none of her mother’s sleek elegance, she tromped over the still prone Bea, giving Madame Fontaine a wide berth, as if their guest carried the plague.

The girl turned her haughty features toward him.

“My God, Uncle. Whatever is this vile whore doing in our house?” she said, pointing at Madame Fontaine.

He looked for only a second at his nieces and saw his future—one that featured this ill-mannered, uncivilized
trio as a permanent fixture in his household for the remainder of his days.

I love my nieces, I love my nieces
, he chanted like some strange Eastern prayer, hoping to convince himself, but the truth be told, they were the three most unappealing harridans who’d ever graced the face of the earth.

In that bleak moment his frantic gaze fell on Madame Fontaine and the contrast became only too clear.

The devil had never looked so much like an angel.

Before she could withdraw her hand, he grabbed it like a lifeline and sealed their bargain with an enthusiastic shake.

R
iley could only stare down at the Earl’s firm hand locked in an unholy promise with hers and ask, what had she gotten herself into?

She glanced up and found his sharp blue gaze cutting through her, piercing and demanding—and, she noted, with just a touch of desperation.

Eh, gads
, she realized.
He truly expects me to marry off these appalling minxes!
And minxes, she knew, was the only polite way of describing the St. Clair sisters.

While the Earl might be convinced she could save the day, or maybe he wasn’t, but she didn’t doubt he saw her as his last hope. Oh, she had an ominous feeling that her future could be summed up quite concisely in a few lines from Macbeth,

Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and caldron bubble.

And this unhappy trio, like their Shakespearean counterparts, appeared quite capable of brewing more than a potful of mischief.

Oh, the girls were pretty enough, and with a bit of co
operation on their part, she’d see their wretched manners ground away until they sparkled like a trio of diamonds.

No, it wasn’t that part of the deal that had her panicked.

It was the Earl of Ashlin and the look she spied behind his innocuous spectacles. For a moment she saw beyond the Oxford professor and spied a man she found disarmingly handsome.

And as his fingers continued to envelope hers, binding her to him, she realized she’d made a deal that went far beyond lessons in manners.

That was the devilish part.

Something told her that this Ashlin, for all his scholarly airs and orderly pretensions, had inherited his fair share of his family’s legendary charm.

Charm to which even the fabled Aphrodite would have found herself susceptible.

She struggled to pull her hand free and extract herself from this fool’s bargain, even as the strength underlying his touch crept up her arm and toward her sheltered heart.

She’d never met a man who hadn’t immediately fallen to her feet and declared his undying devotion, and perhaps that was what vexed her about this one.

It made no sense whatsoever. How could some bespectacled, badly dressed, and ill-mannered nobleman pique her curiosity so, when at the same time, he made her feel so ungainly, so ill favored, so wretchedly inadequate with only one dismissive phrase?

Tolerably pretty, indeed!

Well, she wasn’t about to fall prey to any foolish, misplaced sentiments. Not her. Not one wit…She’d seen too many actresses fall in love with the wrong man, or rather, nobleman.

Oh, they were kind enough—when it suited them. Even generous—when it suited them. But when they were done
with their actress
du jour
, they moved on, never looking back or making amends for the broken heart they left in their selfish wake.

Well, this was one nobleman who wasn’t about to leave her heart on the wayside.

So, with a deep breath and a wrenching pull, she freed herself from his grasp.

Brushing her hand against her skirt, she told herself that was enough to break his spell.

Yes, she could do this. Keep her promise. It wouldn’t be so hard. She just had to avoid touching him.

Mason watched the lady brushing her hand over her skirt and wondered how long he’d been clasping it like a moonstruck fool.

He probably should feel a bit guilty about having been less than forthcoming about the girls’ state of neglect.

The last thing he needed now was for her to flee or point out his dishonesty, so he tried to sound encouraging. “I think this will work to our mutual benefit, Madame. My nieces are eager to be wed.”

“Uncle!” Beatrice exclaimed, “we want no such thing.” She cast a scathing glance toward Cousin Felicity, who’d quietly sneaked into the room.

Mason could only wonder what this outburst was all about. Cousin Felicity had assured him the girls wanted husbands, and surely they must see for themselves they were ill fitted to undertake such a task.

Besides, he was only trying to help.

“If you think, Uncle, that we are going to take lessons from some petticoat merchant, you are sadly mistaken,” Louisa announced. “Mother would be appalled, and I am sure my father would call you out for the sheer insult of having
that
kind of woman in
our
house. Not to mention,” she said, jerking her thumb toward Hashim, who’d entered
the room behind Cousin Felicity, “this heathen she’s brought along. Why, I won’t be surprised if the watch finds us all with our throats slit and the silver missing before the day is out.”

She nodded to her elder siblings, and the threesome stuck their noses in the air and marched toward the door in sisterly unity. Their protest would have had some meaning if Maggie hadn’t tripped with her second step and bumped into Bea, who promptly lit into her sister with a litany of curses.

Louisa grabbed their arms and started to drag them from the room before they lent more damage to her cause.

Mason resisted the urge to berate his lot in life to the heavens.

For there was no doubt in his mind that if he let his nieces loose on society in their current state, they would write a chapter in the family history that twenty generations of Ashlins would be unable to repair.

Even worse was the rigid line of Madame Fontaine’s posture. Louisa’s insulting comments hadn’t sat well with the actress, and for that matter, they hadn’t gone over that well with him.

Freddie and Caro had been dead for all these months, and it was high time he put his foot down and made his own rules as to who was welcome in the house.

Madame Fontaine may be everything the girls and popular gossip claimed she was, but she was also a guest in
his
house, and as such, she would be given the due consideration that status conferred to a lady.

Louisa had yet to cease her very vocal tirade as to her uncle’s mismanagement of their lives. “I can’t believe, Uncle, that you would think we need this…this…
whor—”

“Enough!” Mason said, his booming order shaking his
errant nieces out of their circus antics and bringing them to shocked attention.

Even Cousin Felicity, he noticed, usually a whirl of perpetual motion and worries, froze in place at his uncommon outburst.

“But—” Louisa started again.

“I said enough!” And he meant it. If he was going to restore the family name, he’d have to start by taking control of his household. He looked over at the girls, teetering as they were between righting Maggie and trying to flee from this unexpected wrath. “Margaret, stand up straight and don’t move.”

“How dare you,” Beatrice said, coming to the defense of her sister. “Louisa has every right to call that woman a—”

Mason swung his gaze squarely on his eldest niece. “Beatrice, one more foul word from your lips and you shall spend the rest of your life in a convent so silent the only sound you’ll ever hear is your own heart beating until the day you die.”

Even Madame Fontaine took a step back from him at this point.

The only one who seemed unfazed by his uncharacteristic outburst was the lady’s servant, Hashim. The imposing man stood in the corner, grinning like an idiot. When he noticed Mason’s gaze on him, the man didn’t blanch but nodded for him to continue, as if he approved of the Earl’s finally having come to the defense of his mistress.

Mason had always had control of his classrooms, so a household of women shouldn’t be that much more difficult, he told himself, folding his hands behind his back and striking his most severe pose—the one he used on errant first-year students.

“Now that I have your attention, you will each listen to
me. I have retained Madame Fontaine’s services to assist you for the upcoming Season. All three of you will come out this year.”

Bea’s mouth opened—to protest, he assumed—but he cocked a brow and waited for her to speak as if he dared her to utter a word of contradiction.

Obviously he hadn’t lost his touch, for her lips remained gaping like a fish for a few moments and then snapped shut—either having realized her remarks were futile or fear of that convent had made an indelible impression.

“As I was saying, Madame Fontaine will start your lessons today.”

“Today!” all of them protested.

He glanced over at Hashim, whose grin seemed to say,
Put your foot down
.

“Yes, today. And from the behavior I have witnessed this morning, it isn’t a minute too soon.”

His firm stance was greeted with glum expressions but no further verbal protests.

Mason took a deep breath, feeling for the first time since Freddie’s death in command of his own destiny. He paced, taking a few tentative steps and then stronger strides around the corner of his desk.

“Uncle, if I may ask a question?” The inquiry came from Louisa, which didn’t surprise him, given her daring, but it was her soft tones and sweet smile that startled him.

“Yes?”

“I understand that you have hired Madame Fontaine with the best of intentions,” she said, smiling both at him and the lady in question. “But what if someone discovers her presence here? Discovers that you’ve hired a…”

“Common strumpet?” Bea offered, an equally sweet smile pasted on her face.

Louisa shot an annoyed glance at her sister, and then finished her own inquiry with a little more polite phrasing. “A lady, shall we say, of questionable qualifications to instruct us. Think how such a thing might be interpreted.” She shuddered delicately.

If Mason hadn’t lived with his nieces for all these months he might have been moved by Louisa’s demure protest, but he was past falling for their tricks.

Besides, the solution to her argument was quite simple.

“No one will know about Madame Fontaine’s engagement in our house, because we will not breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“But the servants,” Bea protested.

“I will instruct Belton to advise them that if they want to stay employed, they will keep this information confidential.”

Not that they had that many servants as it was. The only ones who’d remained had done so only out of loyalty to the family. “Not one word, or there will be no Season for any of you, no invitations to balls, or vouchers to Almack’s,” he told his nieces again.

“
Almack’s
,” Maggie whispered in reverent tones. “Do you really think we might get vouchers?”

Mason smiled at his niece, hopeful that perhaps at least one of them would see they had something to gain from Madame’s tutelage. “You will have to prove to the patronesses that you are worthy of gaining vouchers. From what your Cousin Felicity tells me, it can be quite difficult.”

“Not for us,” Louisa avowed. Her arms crossed over her chest. “Why, our mother was welcome everywhere. There is no reason to believe…” she paused and glanced at her sisters. “That at least one of us will be given vouchers.”

“But there are no guarantees,” Mason told her, “that any of you will be given such a rare distinction if
one
of you disgraces the family.” He let the impact of his words sink in.

The girls glanced at each other, obviously measuring their siblings’ social faults. From the trio of frowns which followed, they hadn’t liked the way their estimations tallied up.

“So, do I have your word?” he asked.

They nodded, albeit reluctantly, and then their glances swung toward Cousin Felicity.

Mason understood the aim of their concern. “This was your idea, Cousin. What do you have to say? Can you refrain from sharing any mention of Madame Fontaine’s presence in our home with your acquaintances?”

Cousin Felicity pursed her lips. Her worried brow told everyone in the room they were asking a high price of her.

“Not even your dressmaker,” Mason added.

“But Mason, not even Lady—” she started, the lace on her cap all aflutter.

“—No, Cousin. No one. This must be a secret.”

The poor woman looked as if they had asked her to attend a court levee in last year’s gown.

Madame Fontaine stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on his cousin’s arm. “Consider my poor servant’s fate. While I don’t know for certain, there were rumors in Paris that his tongue was torn from his mouth after he let some rather confidential information slip.” Madame Fontaine sighed. “It is never prudent to be indiscriminate.”

Mason nearly laughed as Cousin Felicity gulped and turned slightly to glance at Hashim, who stood in the corner glowering at his mistress.

She shrugged ever so slightly at her servant, as if to say,
Sorry, my friend.

Hashim’s glower did not soften, but his stance eased just a bit, giving one the distinct impression his reply was,
We will discuss it later.

“Well, what say you, Cousin Felicity? It seems you hold the girls’ future in your hands,” he said.

At this she let out a little sigh of defeat. “If you insist, Mason. While you might not believe it, many of my friends consider me to be the cornerstone of discretion.”

At this, Bea let out the most unladylike snort.

All gazes swung over at her.

“What?” she asked.

Mason shook his head. Madame Fontaine surely had her work cut out for her.

Folding his hands behind his back, he wondered at their apparent acceptance. He should have known better than to think his nieces would give up so easily.

Louisa spoke again. “All this is well and good, if we keep quiet, but what about
her
?” She pointed at Madame Fontaine as one might an unknown carcass at the side of the road. “And
him
,” she continued, tipping her nose over her shoulder in Hashim’s direction. “They don’t exactly fit into the usual crowd parading about Ashlin Square. Someone is bound to notice them coming and going, especially done up like that.” She paused. “In case you haven’t met all our neighbors, Uncle, believe me when I tell you there isn’t a one who possesses Cousin Felicity’s ‘cornerstone on discretion.’” She smiled at the elderly lady as if she meant her comment as a compliment.

While he didn’t like Louisa’s tone, he had to agree with her assessment.