Sally MacKenzie Bundle (230 page)

“Cousin Clorinda? You couldn’t be so shabby as to stick us with her!” George said. “She’d probably lock us in the library. Phil might survive, but you know I ain’t bookish. I’d cock up my toes from boredom in a trice.”

Anne frowned. “A little reading would do you good, George.”

“You saw her try to get me to read that damned—”

“George!”

“—deuced book on some stupid bird last night.”

“And I saw how you gave her palpitations when you told her the only good bird was one turning on a spit,” Evie said, laughing.

“Yes, well, I did say I couldn’t see relying on Clorinda,” Anne said. “I suppose I could send you and Philip about with a footman, but I can’t like that, either. I wouldn’t put it past you to bamboozle the poor man into letting you do any hare-brained thing that occurred to you.”

“Let me talk to Nicholas,” Mr. Parker-Roth said. “He’s not in Town yet, but I expect him any day. If he can’t ride herd on these fellows, I’m sure he’ll know someone who can.”

“That would be very kind of you.” Anne glanced at the clock on the mantel and blushed. Oh dear, it would have to go, too. The male and female figures entwined around the timepiece were misbehaving in a shocking manner.
Who
had been in charge of decorating this room? “Look at the time—or well, don’t look. But I’m afraid Evie and I need to get ready to go shopping.”

Mr. Parker-Roth’s eyebrows went up. “You sound as if you’re contemplating a trip to Newgate Prison rather than a pleasant excursion to Bond Street.”

“There’s nothing pleasant about shopping.” Anne could feel her stomach clenching already. She hated going to the mantua-maker. She was too tall and too thin and had red hair—Mrs. Waddingly’s face always fell when Anne came through her door. She’d taken to urging Evie to precede her; the anticipation of dressing her beautiful sister helped keep the poor woman from complete despair.

“Mama mentioned Miss Lamont as a dressmaker, Mr. Parker-Roth,” Evie was saying, “but Mama is not much for fashion either. Nor is Cousin Clorinda—she just shrugged and said one place was as good as another when I asked her.”

Mr. Parker-Roth’s eyes widened and he deftly turned a laugh into a cough. The man was the King of Hearts. He must be very familiar—
intimately
familiar—with ladies’ clothing makers.

“I’m afraid I can’t agree with your cousin,” he said. “Nor can I advise visiting Miss Lamont. Do you know where her shop is? I’ve not heard of it.”

“No-o.” Evie looked at Anne. “Do you know, Anne?”

“Of course not. I assumed Clorinda would.”

“Then I think Miss Lamont,” Mr. Parker-Roth said, “as estimable as she may be, must be eliminated.”

“I suppose you are right.” Evie bit her lip. “But then what are we to do?”

Anne knew what she would like to do—forget the whole thing, but even she realized she and Evie couldn’t attend the Season’s entertainments dressed in their country clothes.

“I will be happy to help. I happen to know a few of the more fashionable shops.” Mr. Parker-Roth didn’t even have the grace to blush. “I’d be delighted to accompany you and act as your guide.”

“You don’t need to—” Anne started to say.

“That would be wonderful—” Evie said at the same time.

They stopped and stared at each other, and then Anne looked at Mr. Parker-Roth. “People will remark on it if you escort us to the dressmaker’s.”

He grinned and his damnably attractive dimples appeared. “No, they won’t. I’m sure it is unexceptional for a man to help his betrothed and her sister find their way when they are so newly arrived in Town. It would be more remarked upon if I deserted you in your hour of need.”

“Well . . .”

“Mr. Parker-Roth must be correct, Anne,” Evie said. “He certainly wouldn’t do anything to put you in a bad light.” She laughed, shaking her head. “I still find it difficult to comprehend you’re betrothed.” She gave the fellow a sly look. “Not that I didn’t notice how you paid particular attention to any mention of Mr. Parker-Roth in the gossip columns, Anne.”

Mr. Parker-Roth’s eyebrows shot up.

She was going to strangle Evie, if she didn’t die of mortification before she could wrap her hands around her sister’s neck.

“But where did you meet Anne, sir?” Philip asked, looking up from rubbing Harry’s belly. “She’s not been to London—she’s not been anywhere.”

“And you haven’t been to Crane House,” George said.

Anne’s stomach dropped. Dear God! Trust the boys to ask the obvious question. She and Mr. Parker-Roth had not yet concocted a plausible story—they hadn’t had time.

She flushed. And the time they’d had, they’d not spent wisely.

“I’ll let Anne tell you our story,” she heard Mr. Parker-Roth say.

What?

Everyone looked expectantly at her. Her brain—the part that wasn’t cursing a certain society gentleman—froze. “I, ah, met Mr. Parker-Roth at, er, Baron Gedding’s house party.”

She closed her eyes briefly. Why the hell had she said that? She never wanted to consider that horrible gathering again.

“At Baron Gedding’s?” Philip naturally sounded confused. “When were you at Baron Gedding’s, Anne?”

“A long time ago.” Now she would really sound like an idiot. “Right around the time you were born.”

“I remember,” Evie said. “I haven’t thought about it in years—I was only seven when you went. You did come back different.” She frowned. “But I’d have said you were rather sad and quiet. You should have been happy if you’d fallen in love.”

What could she say? She hadn’t fallen in love of course; she’d been unceremoniously flung out of it—or at least her youthful dream of it.

The days after the house party had been terrible. Her view of the world and her place in it had undergone a sea-change; there was no going back to the innocent, trusting girl she’d been.

At least her courses had come right after she’d got home, so she hadn’t had to worry there’d be a child as the result of her wrong headed encounter with Brentwood.

“And, you know,” Evie was saying, “I think you’ve been sad ever since.”

Sad? She might not have been merry as a grig, but she hadn’t been constantly Friday faced either.

Mr. Parker-Roth finally came to the rescue, in a manner of speaking. “Ah, but you see, we were far too young to consider marriage then—or, at least I was—I was only nineteen.”

And probably well on your way to being crowned King of Hearts,
Anne thought—
and not for your card-playing prowess.

“So we had to part.” He took Anne’s hand again. “And, being only nineteen, I’m afraid I was somewhat cavalier in my leave-taking. I believe I may have wounded Anne.”

Anne cringed at the romantic nonsense. George, gagging dramatically, hands around his throat, flopped backward on the couch.

Evie, however, swallowed the story as if it had been published by the Minerva Press. She sighed as she looked at Anne. “So that’s why you never showed particular interest in any of the gentlemen at home. You’ve been pining for your true love.”

Philip looked doubtful. “But for ten years, Evie? That’s a long time.”

“Not for true love,” Evie said.

Anne thought she might join George, who was now rolling his eyes and making quite amazing faces of disgust.

“Did you never see each other again till now?” Evie asked, clearly hoping they had.

“Well, I was out of the country a lot, you know,” Mr. Parker-Roth said, “hunting plants for my brother. But I believe we did meet again, didn’t we, dear heart?”

Think. Had she ever been away from home another time?

Yes—when Grandpapa had died.

She’d gone to Cambridge in Papa’s carriage with only a maid as a companion. Papa had left for some antiquity-rich patch of ground in Yorkshire before they’d got word. The twins had been sick, so for once Georgiana had stayed with her children.

“We did manage to see each other two years ago in Cambridge when my mother’s father passed away.”

She shouldn’t try to maintain this fiction, but she didn’t have much choice. Evie and the boys could never keep a secret, and while the twins probably wouldn’t have occasion to let the cat out of the bag in a socially damaging situation, Evie would. She only hoped no one from that damn house party was in Town. Who had been there besides Baron Gedding and Lord Brentwood? She didn’t remember.

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Parker-Roth said. “We had those few sweet, stolen moments before I had to leave for the jungles of South America.”

Must he mouth so
much
romantic twaddle? She frowned at him.

He grinned and pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “If I’m going to escort you shopping, ladies, we’d best bestir ourselves.”

“You might wish to go home first, sir,” Philip said. “You’re rather muddy.”

Mr. Parker-Roth looked down at his spattered breeches and ruined shoes. “So I am—very good point, Philip. I’ll go back to my rooms to change, and then return for you ladies in”—he consulted his watch again—“an hour’s time, shall we say?” He looked at Philip and George. “And I’ll see you both once my duties to your sisters are completed.”

“Yes, sir,” Philip said.

“Huzza!” George cheered while Harry barked in support. “We’ll finally get out of this house.”

“You’ve only been here since yesterday, George,” Anne said. “You’ve hardly been imprisoned.”

Mr. Parker-Roth laughed. “Even a few hours can feel like a hundred to a ten-year-old boy, eh, George?”

“Yes, sir!”

Mr. Parker-Roth smiled and kissed Anne’s hand. “Till later then.”

Damn it all, Anne thought as she watched him go, she should not feel bereft at the King of Hearts’s departure.

Chapter 4

Stephen almost had to push Lady Anne through the door to Madam Celeste’s shop. He’d wager if he hadn’t been standing behind her like a wall, she would have fled. He’d never seen a female so skittish about dressmakers.

Evie wandered farther into the shop, looking around with wide eyes at all the bolts of fabric and pattern books, but Anne stopped stiffly right inside the door.

Celeste was at the counter with an older, very stylish white-haired woman—Lady Brentwood. Fortunately Lady Brentwood’s unpleasant son, the marquis, was not with her—not that the reprobate made a practice of hanging about his mother’s skirts. God, no. But Lady Brentwood’s were about the only skirts the blackguard didn’t frequent.

People might call Stephen the King of Hearts, but men called Brentwood the king of another female body part. More and more of society’s doors were closed to him. He was a
very
dirty dish—and a constant source of heartache for his mother.

Lady Brentwood was just completing her business. She turned and smiled at him, though her smile looked rather tired and sad. “Mr. Parker-Roth, how pleasant to see you.”

“Lady Brentwood.” Had he felt Anne stiffen even more? He glanced at her. Her face was ashen. He put his hand on her elbow in case she needed support. “May I present my companions Lady Anne Marston and her sister, Lady Evangeline?”

Evie smiled easily, but Anne stood like a broken puppet. What was the matter with her?

“Lord Crane’s daughters,” Lady Brentwood was saying. “So nice to meet you. Your cousin Clorinda is a particular friend of mine, so I knew you were expected in Town.”

“Ah,” Anne said. Her lovely voice sounded strangled, but Lady Brentwood seemed not to notice.

“I’m giving a card party this evening—just a small gathering. Perhaps you can attend?” Her smile flickered. “I will confess I’m not completely without ulterior motives. I’m hoping my son will be there. As you may discover some day, mothers never give up on their children’s happiness. I keep praying he will find a woman to marry.”

“Oh,” Evie said, obviously delighted at her first London invitation. “May we go, Anne?”

“I do not know our plans,” Anne said. “We have just arrived in London.” Her voice was tight now; clearly she’d gleaned Brentwood’s reputation from the gossip columns.

Lady Brentwood’s expression drooped. She’d noted Anne’s reserve—unfortunately, Stephen would wager she was all too familiar with that reaction. “I had hoped . . . Clorinda said . . . well, she happened to mention you were still unwed, Lady Anne.”

Something about Anne’s stillness made him fear she was going to explode at any moment. Poor Lady Brentwood did not merit that.

“Ah, but Miss Strange was missing a few facts, Lady Brentwood,” he said quickly. “Lady Anne isn’t wed, but she
is
betrothed . . . to me.”

He heard Celeste and her assistant, patiently waiting nearby for them to finish their conversation, suck in their breath. Lady Brentwood merely smiled, this time with genuine happiness.

“How wonderful. My sincere congratulations to you both. Your parents must be delighted.”

Mama certainly would be delighted . . . if she knew.

Evie was opening her mouth, probably to enlighten Lady Brentwood concerning the somewhat sudden nature of the betrothal announcement. He felt very sure they could leave that detail to the gossips.

“Indeed,” he said before Evie could speak. “And that is why—as you can see—I’m selfishly depriving Miss Strange of the pleasure of shopping with the ladies”—Anne snorted, but he felt it wisest to ignore that—“and have brought them to Celeste so she might work her magic on their wardrobes.”

“Very good.” Lady Brentwood’s eyes actually twinkled. “And I know Clorinda was delighted to cede this duty to you, sir, though I suspect she never intended to accompany the ladies in the first place.” She turned to Anne and Evie. “Don’t worry; I believe you can put your faith in Celeste. She is an excellent dressmaker”—she laughed—“and Mr. Parker-Roth will give you splendid advice. I do hope, once you consult your appointments, that I might see you tonight, even if my original hope will be unrealized.”

Evie made a credible curtsey and Anne managed to produce a polite murmur as Lady Brentwood departed.

What was the matter with Anne? He would have thought she’d have been a bit more gracious. Well, there was no time to consider the issue; Celeste was upon them.

“Ooo, Monsieur Parker-Roth!” Celeste said, hands outstretched. “Eet is tres magnifique to see you—and with two belles jeunes femmes aussi!”