Reforming a Rake (6 page)

Robert replaced the cards onto the deck. Lifting an eyebrow, Lucien leaned forward and took the top card. Without looking, he flipped it onto the table.

“Jack of spades.” The viscount glared at him, then sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I should’ve saved myself the trouble and just given in.”

“You shouldn’t have taken the wager. Out with it.”

“Damn blast it,” Belton snarled. “All right. I’m thinking of marrying.”

For a long moment Lucien looked at him. “Why?”

“I am twenty-six. And…I’ve just been thinking about it. All right?”

“Familial obligation and all that,” Lucien supplied. No wonder Robert had been reluctant to discuss the subject with him. He, and the
ton
, had long ago declared himself
completely unmarriageable. Only the direst of circumstances had conspired to change that, and he had no intention of discussing his own musings about marriage with Robert Ellis. Not this evening, and not until he’d netted a female.

“Yes, familial obligation.” Robert eyed him like a cat sizing up a very large and very ferocious dog. “So? Don’t you have anything devastatingly insulting to say about it?”

Lucien sipped his port. “What are you looking for in a female?”

“Nothing you’ve been seen with. Don’t worry, Kilcairn, I can find someone without your assistance.”

“You mistake me. I’m merely curious as to what sort of female, in your opinion, would make an acceptable Viscountess of Belton.”

“You’re merely curious.”

“Yes.” Alexandra hadn’t appreciated the specifications he’d named to her, and she seemed fairly sensible for a female. Perhaps Robert had some better ones in mind.

“Well, I’m…I’m not really sure. I’ll know when I see her.”

“Don’t you have some general requirements?”

“General requirements,” Robert grumbled, glaring at him. “Of course I do. I want her to be attractive, and of good background and wealthy family, and reasonably intelligent.”

“Why intelligent?”

“You’re impossible!” the viscount burst out, startling the nearest patrons. “Marriage is a lifelong commitment.”

Another softheaded idealist
. “Marriage is a business commitment.”

“Good God. Whether it is or not, wouldn’t you at least like to be able to converse with your chosen partner?”

“One doesn’t marry to gain a partner,” Lucien argued. “One marries to gain an appropriately well-bred vessel on which to get an heir. And, if circumstances require it, one also marries to gain enough wealth to continue maintaining one’s estate.”

Robert narrowed his eyes. “Look. Just because your father—”

“My father was a whoremonger who married to beget a legitimate heir. Other than those few necessary moments of marital coitus, he didn’t allow it to interfere with his life.”

The viscount stood. “I pity any woman who might end up with you.”

“So do I.” Lucien made a show of yawning. “Sit down and play piquet with me, Robert. And talk of something more pleasant, will you?”

Belton obviously had nowhere else to go this evening, because after a show of reluctance, he seated himself again. “Deal the damned cards, then.”

Lucien obliged. “How was Calvert’s affair?”

“Deathly boring. You’re practically the only bad
ton
in London now. Once the Season begins and the rest of the nefarious nobility arrives, though, I’m certain I’ll hardly miss your presence at all.”

The earl stifled a grin. “Once the Season begins, I’ll join you in the debauchery.”

“Are you certain of that? King of diamonds.”

“King of hearts, seventeen pips. What are you talking about now?”

“Your point. I heard that you’re going to attend the Howards’ dinner party on Thursday.”

Damnation
. “Ill news travels fast. Yes, I am. What of it?”

“If Calvert’s is too boring for you, an hour in Lord Howard’s company will kill you, Lucien.”

“If I’m to marry off the devil spawn, I can’t very well do it at Calvert’s.” Lucien gave Robert a speculative look. “Why don’t you join us at the Howards’?”

“What?”

“You want to get married, and so does my adorable cousin. What could be better?”

“Your adorable cousin, ‘the incarnation of hell on earth’? I thought we were friends, Kilcairn.”

“Even sight unseen, you have to admit she meets most of your requirements.”

“Other than being of good family, which requirements were those, precisely?”

“You’ll have to join us at the Howards’ to find out.”

Robert regarded him speculatively. “All right, Kilcairn. I’ll attempt to get myself invited. But you’d best not disappoint me.”

Feeling that he’d boxed himself into a corner, Lucien nevertheless managed a dark smile. “I never disappoint.”

“How did you find the park this morning, Miss Gallant?”

“Lovely. Thank you, Wimbole.” Alexandra tried to hide her subtle glance down the hallway past the butler, and her resulting disappointment, as she handed him her shawl. The earl hadn’t returned home by the time she went to bed last evening, and she had hoped to see him this morning.

She didn’t miss him, of course—neither his arrogance nor his inappropriate conversation nor his knowing gray eyes—but she needed clarification on several instruc
tional points for Rose. That was the only reason she wanted to see him. Alexandra turned to her walking companion. “Marie, thank you for venturing out with me.”

The maid curtsied. “My pleasure. His lordship said Sally or I should go with you whenever you wanted to go walking.”

“That was thoughtful of him, but I’m sure you must have more pressing duties elsewhere.”

“Not when you wish to go walking, miss.”

From Rose’s description, Lord Kilcairn hadn’t been nearly as accommodating toward the household’s previous governesses. Alexandra glanced at Wimbole. “Has the earl risen yet this morning?”

“Yes, Miss Gallant. He rode out just after you left. I don’t expect him back until this evening.”

Blast it
. “I see. Thank you.”

“He did leave you a note, Miss Gallant.” The butler produced a silver tray from the hall table, the missive lying neatly across it.

With effort she refrained from snatching it off the salver. “Thank you, Wimbole.”

Opening the note as she and Shakespeare climbed the stairs, Alexandra noted that Kilcairn’s handwriting reflected her view of him to perfection: dark, elegant, and scrawling. She could hear his deep, cynical voice as she read the words. “‘My line of credit is open with Madame Charbonne. She is expecting you. Be certain she knows the first set of gowns is to be ready by Thursday. I expect you to be adequately attired, as well. Kilcairn.’”

“Hm,” Alexandra said. “It just drips with warmth, don’t you think, Shakes?”

The terrier
wumph
ed. She took that as agreement, and with a chuckle hurried to change into suitable shopping
attire. Both of the Delacroix ladies were waiting in the foyer as she returned downstairs.

“I will not tolerate it!” Fiona snapped at Wimbole.

Unless Alexandra was mistaken, the butler looked relieved to see her approach. “Miss Gallant, the coach is waiting to take you to Bond Street.”

“Do you hear that? He means for us to take the closed-up coach, when the day is perfectly fine. It’s just cruel. Cruel and heartless.”

“I’m certain Lord Kilcairn has his reasons, Mrs. Delacroix,” Alexandra said in a soothing voice, gesturing Rose toward the front door.

“Yes, he’s a tyrant. His father’s entire side of the family—nothing but tyrants. Thank God most of them are dead!”

“Mama, I want a new gown,” Rose said plaintively. “Please let’s go, before cousin Lucien returns and changes his mind.”

“By all means,” Alexandra seconded, and led the way out to the coach.

Closed up or not, it was magnificent, and she settled inside with a small sigh. The last time she’d used Kilcairn’s transportation, she’d been too nervous to notice anything but the uneasy fluttering of her stomach. She noticed more now, though. Not even the finest transport she’d ever ridden in could compare with this. Mrs. Delacroix climbed in opposite her, still complaining about being a helpless prisoner never meant to see the light of day. Rose took the seat beside Alexandra and clasped her hand.

“Do you know of this Madame Charbonne?” Rose asked, her eyes bright with excitement.

“I have heard of her, yes. She’s rumored to be the finest dressmaker in all England. I don’t even know how
Lord Kilcairn was able to make an appointment for you to see her.”

“Because he’s a tyrant,” Mrs. Delacroix cut in, peering out through the open crack of one curtained window. “Oh, such finery. And to think I’ll never be allowed out to see it up close.”

“I’m certain that’s not true,” Alexandra countered. “Lord Kilcairn is only waiting for the right moment, so that you and Miss Delacroix will make the most favorable impression on his peers.”

Fiona sniffed at that, and turned to fanning her face with a handkerchief. She was going to be a problem, and Alexandra doubted that the earl’s threats would have much effect on his aunt when he wasn’t present to enforce them. Rose could shine as the brightest diamond of the Season, but as soon as anyone set eyes—or ears—on her mother, they would run away, aghast.

In her various employments she’d come across jealous siblings, but never a parent who actively, if unconsciously, worked to sabotage her daughter’s debut into society. Rose, practically vibrating with excitement and nervousness, looked out her own window. Alexandra hid a scowl. She would do what she could, but Lord Kilcairn could only expect so much.

The coach rumbled to a halt, and then rocked as the footman hopped down from his perch at the back of the vehicle. A moment later he pulled the door open and flipped down the steps to hand them out. Bond Street spread out on either side of them, crowded with shops dedicated to satisfying the whims of the rich. The sidewalks weren’t as busy as she expected, but the Season wouldn’t officially begin for another few days.

She turned to the shop beside them. A beautiful green silk gown stood draped over a headless mannequin in
the window, and a large sign on the door proclaimed that the shop was closed. Alexandra paused, surprised. “Oh, dear. There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake, ma’am,” the footman said, and knocked on the door. “Lord Kilcairn has it all arranged.”

The door opened to the accompanying tinkling of a little bell on the inner knob. “You are Lord Kilcairn’s party?” a young woman asked.

“Yes, we are,” Alexandra answered, surprised.

“Please, come in.” The woman curtsied and backed away from the entry.

Alexandra trailed into the shop behind the Delacroix ladies. It was small, neat, and very efficient looking. The same description fit the petite woman who approached them from the back room. “Good morning,” she said, in a heavy French accent. “I am Madame Charbonne.” She continued forward, stopping before Alexandra. “You are Miss Gallant, yes?”

“Yes.”

“
Bonne
. Lord Kilcairn said you would guide me in the ordering of gowns for Miss Delacroix and Mrs. Delacroix.”

Now,
that
was something Alexandra had never expected to hear—that she was to be instructing the country’s premier dressmaker. She smiled. “I’m certain your eye is more skilled than mine,
madame
.”

The dressmaker smiled back at her, then gestured at a short row of chairs set against a side wall, next to stacks and stacks of material. “Let us begin, then.”

With her assistants taking notes, Madame Charbonne painstakingly measured Rose and Fiona. Alexandra had the feeling that the dressmaker rarely took so personal an interest in the initial stages of gown creation, but nothing about this fitting was remotely similar to any
thing she’d ever experienced. Evidently the Delacroix ladies were a bit overwhelmed as well, because neither Rose nor Fiona—to Alexandra’s relief—had spoken more than two words since their arrival.

“And now you, Miss Gallant,
s’il vous plaît
?” the woman said, straightening.

“Me? Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Alexandra protested, flushing. If there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that Madame Charbonne did not make gowns for governesses.

“Lord Kilcairn said specifically that you were to be fitted, as well.”

She frowned. “Specifically?”

“
Oui, mademoiselle
.”

It was still ridiculous, but the very thought of wearing a Madame Charbonne gown made her want to grin in giddy delight. “Well, I suppose we should get on with it, then. I wouldn’t want to delay you any further today.”

The dressmaker unwound her measuring tape and smiled. “Do not worry about that. I am being well compensated for my time this morning.”

“I’m not surprised,” Alexandra said.

“What on earth are you two babbling about?” Fiona demanded, turning from her perusal of a bright yellow satin.

Belatedly Alexandra realized she and Madame Charbonne had been conversing in French. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Delacroix. Your nephew apparently wants me to have a new gown, as well.”

“Of course he does,” the older woman stated. “We can’t have you being seen with us in
those
shabby clothes.”

Madame Charbonne leaned closer to measure Alexandra’s shoulders. “If I thought she, rather than Lord
Kilcairn, would be paying for my services, I would charge quite a bit more money,” she murmured, though her discretion wasn’t necessary. Obviously neither of the Delacroix ladies spoke French.

Alexandra stifled a chuckle. “The best revenge would be to make her a gown to her own specifications,” she returned in the same low tone.

“Naughty, naughty,” a deep voice said in perfect French from behind her.

Rose shrieked, clutching a borrowed dressing gown tightly across her bosom. “Cousin Lucien!”

Alexandra whipped around, nearly strangling herself on the measuring tape. “My lord! You weren’t spying on us, were you? That would be…quite…inappropriate!”

Arms folded, he leaned against the wall beside the room’s back entry, his eyes twinkling and a slight, sensuous smile on his lips. She had no idea how long he’d been there, but he’d obviously overheard her conversation. “Very composed of you, Miss Gallant,” the earl drawled. “But you’re blushing.” Thankfully, he continued to speak French.