The Debutante Is Mine (6 page)

“We do not have the luxury of waiting a moment longer. Besides, now is the perfect time, my dear, for we have two handsome gentlemen in this very room who can offer their assistance.”

Oh, the mortification
! Lilah did not glance in Jack’s direction but felt his stare all the same. “I’m certain both Lord Thayne and Mr. Marlowe would rather adjourn to the study for an aperitif or even compete in a game of billiards.”

“No, indeed,” Jack said casually, moving deeper into the room. “Thayne has been too surly of late. I’ve no wish to spend any more time alone with him. The discussion and the company in this room are far more to my liking.”

“Jack, you flatter us,” Mrs. Harwick crooned, squeezing Jack’s forearm as he passed by her. Then, she pointed at her son. “Maxwell, you should take his example and butter our bread instead of toasting it.”

Thayne took the scolding well and bent down to buss his mother’s cheek. “Then by all means, I am here to offer my assistance. Marlowe, what say you?”

All the while, Lilah had a sense of Jack’s closing in on her. Moreover, she was all too aware of the lyre-backed chair nearest her, as if a beacon had been lit upon the empty seat.

“If Miss Appleton requires my assistance, then who am I to deny her?” Jack settled his hand atop the curve of that very chair. Taking the opportunity Thayne had provided, he sat down. Lilah had a feeling, however, that Jack would have done whatever he wanted to do, no matter what. Situating his muscular form, he flipped the tails of his coat out of the way. The process brought his thigh perilously close to her knee.

She shifted out of the path of danger—though why she assumed a mere brush of a limb would be dangerous, she did not know. There was no point in speculating, as it would never happen. “I do not require
your
assistance, Mr. Marlowe.”

“Quite right, Lilah,” Aunt Zinnia agreed with a nod before looking to Mrs. Harwick. “Mr. Marlowe does not exist in our circle and therefore can have little knowledge of our topic.”

Lilah winced at the unmistakable censure. Even though she was not overly acquainted with Jack or fond of him in the least, she felt the need to soften her aunt’s castigation. “It is somewhat of a private nature.”

“Nonsense. Jack is a gentleman like any other. He can just as easily offer his opinion,” Mrs. Harwick said absently, as she moved toward a footman waiting at the parlor door.

By the pursing of Aunt Zinnia’s mouth, it was clear that she was not pleased by this. Jack, however, looked entirely too pleased—
and
smug.

A gentleman like any other? Hardly
, Lilah mused.
A gentleman at all? Unlikely
.

“Zinnia,” Mrs. Harwick called from the hall. “Might I bother you for your opinion on our seating arrangements for dinner?”

Aunt Zinnia hesitated, casting her disapproval over the group at large. “Of course.”

As always, she took her time, perfectly poised in every movement as she rose and sauntered out of the room.

Thayne milled about, seemingly restless, picking up random figurines from tables as if to examine them. Yet his gaze often strayed to Juliet, a muscle ticking along his jaw each time. “The ways are innumerable to gain a gentleman’s attention,” he said absently to the room in general. “A glance. A laugh.”

“A
smile
,” Jack added, his voice low enough that only Lilah could hear.

The low hum vibrated through her once again. It was such a foreign, enthralling sensation that she didn’t know whether to hate him for causing it or beg him to do it again.

“Women have dropped their handkerchiefs at my feet,” Thayne continued, almost in a taunt. All the while, Juliet gave a good impression of ignoring him while she resumed her seat. “Or pretended to stumble into me.”

Unknowingly, he’d confirmed what Jack had said earlier in the garden.

Arrogant as ever, Jack arched his brow at her.

“But there is only one sure way to guarantee notice,” Juliet said. Gracefully perched on the edge of her cushion, she rested her clasped hands in her lap. “And that is by becoming this Season’s
Original
.”

Thayne laughed, the sound hollow and mocking. “I seem to recall that was a title you coveted at one time, Lady Granworth.”

“I’m not certain I understand. What is an
Original
?” Jack asked, shifting to direct his question to Lilah, as if she were the only one in the room. “Another bit of nonsense for the highborn?”

She stiffened as he draped one arm over the back of his chair. He sat in a sprawled manner that seemed to take up every inch of space in front of her. There was no way to look anywhere but at him. His thigh swept near hers again, but she held her ground. This time, his eyes appeared darker, as if his pupils were made of treacle that slowly seeped into the golden brown. Along his jaw, she noted the shadow of whiskers that hinted at a darker shade than his blonde mane. And his mouth—even that arrogant tilt at one corner—was beginning to intrigue her.

Obviously, she wasn’t thinking clearly. She was irritated, she reminded herself.

Taking the example of the women in her family, she attempted to gather her composure on a breath, and then she cleared her throat. “An
Original
is a person who possesses qualities that make her
or him
stand above all the rest. An anonymous committee of the
ton
’s elite selects this person at the conclusion of the Season’s first month.”

“If they are anonymous, then how can you be certain they are members
on high
and not some footman having a laugh?”

“The editor of the
Season Standard
would know. After all, the naming of the
Original
has been happening for decades.” Lilah huffed. “The point of the matter is that everyone takes notice. But most important, the
Original
would have a choice of whom she marries.”

“As long as he has a title,” Jack said, revealing that he’d been listening to her earlier.

Bothersome or not, it meant something to her that he remembered her name
and
their conversation. This was all new to Lilah. It felt so . . .
intimate
. She wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“In my case, yes.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his expression turning thoughtful. No smirk in sight. His eyebrows lowered, his gaze intent, as if he truly were contemplating ways to help her. “And you believe that this is your only avenue toward marriage.”

Lilah considered ignoring his question. After all, the answer could very well gain nothing more than his ridicule. And she’d had enough of that already. Yet for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she wanted him to understand that this wasn’t
nonsense
to her. This was her life, and there was a great deal at stake, should she fail.

Therefore, she decided to risk humiliation by being completely forthcoming. “Thus far, all other attempts have been wholly unsuccessful. You see, my father’s barony has been entailed to my cousin, Lord Haggerty. Many women in such circumstances would lose their homes and depend upon the generosity of their relations to see to their welfare. Yet because of a codicil in my father’s will, my mother and I have been allowed to remain in our home—but only until the end of this Season.”

“By which time, you’ll have secured your nobleman,” Jack said with more confidence than Lilah had ever felt.

“Yes. Either of my own choosing or . . . my father’s.” And this was the most terrifying aspect of all. “The codicil also states that should I fail to marry a titled gentleman, then he has consented that I should marry my cousin.”

Jack frowned. “You cannot be forced to marry your cousin if you do not wish it.”

Unfortunately, her wishes had never been taken into account. “I have not reached my majority. My mother is depending on me to restore our family’s honor. If I were to go against my father’s last wishes, she would disown me. In disowning me, I would cause a rift in the family, splitting apart my mother from her sister, because my aunt has offered for me to remain with her. Believe me, I have thought of every possibility.”

Jack’s expression hardened.

“Yet as the
Original
, Lilah could choose the man she desires,” Juliet interjected, before Jack could make further comment.

Thayne finally settled into a chair. However, it just happened to be the one Aunt Zinnia had vacated. The one directly beside Juliet. Although he appeared not to notice and faced Lilah across the table. “A surer path would be to enlist the Duke of Vale’s assistance. With his
Marriage Formula
, you will be assured a true match.”

Lilah glanced at Jack, recalling what he’d said about Vale’s favor and how he’d wondered if it had something to do with the formula. Lilah was certain that hadn’t been the reason the duke had asked Jack to bring her flowers. After all, the husband of her dearest friend would know about the codicil in Father’s will.

Yet a measure of doubt crept into her mind. Could Vale have come to the conclusion that Jack and Lilah were suited?

No
, she assured herself, all but shaking her head at Jack in the process. “With the Duke and Duchess of Vale away on their honeymoon, it would be impossible to calculate the formula.”

“Besides, Lilah does not need to rely on an equation. That is something a cold and unfeeling man would want to do,” Juliet said to Thayne, her gaze brimming with contempt. Then, as if she’d realized what she said, she looked over to Lilah. “Of course, I meant no offense to your friend or her husband.”

Lilah reassured her with a smile. “None taken. Formula aside, Ivy is very much in love. I believe the duke is fond of her as well.”

“See?” Thayne’s hand swung out in a gesture of cocksureness. “Neither cold nor unfeeling. Simply precise. In a contest, I’d wager in favor of the
Marriage Formula
’s results against your notion of creating the Season’s
Original
. After all, anyone can become an
Original
.”

“Is that so?” Juliet’s chin inched higher. Knowing that she had not been named an
Original
, Lilah knew this wounded her.

“Take Marlowe, for instance—”

“Not if you value your teeth,” Jack interrupted Thayne smoothly.

Spoken like a true warrior. She could easily imagine his lithe body rising from the chair, shedding his coat, and issuing a challenge without saying a word. A man like him wouldn’t need to do. A man like him likely never had cause to raise his voice either. In fact, Jack cared so little about propriety that he would be more likely to laugh than to berate his children for making a mistake. More likely to scoop his little girl in his arms after she’d fallen than to scold her . . .

Lilah shook her head, freeing herself of these errant thoughts. Why was she thinking about Jack’s nonexistent children?

It must be because she was hungry. When her maid had brought up a tea tray earlier, Lilah hadn’t wanted to eat anything for fear of spilling something on her dress. Now, she realized the hazards of being near Jack Marlowe on an empty stomach. She could not let this happen again.

“All right then, take the Earl of Wolford,” Thayne continued. “Is there any man alive who spends more time in the gossip pages? Even with his fortune and title, matchmakers throughout the
ton
stay far afield of him. Yet it would take little effort to turn those scandals around and create one of the most sought-after gentlemen in society.”

Juliet laughed. “Are you saying that you can turn Wolford into this Season’s
Original
?”

“In my sleep.”

“Be careful, Thayne,” Jack warned. “You might have to prove it.”

The marquess narrowed his eyes at Juliet. “Are you challenging me, Lady Granworth?”

Lilah had had enough of Thayne’s overt intimidation tactics. It reminded her far too much of the verbal cruelty her father had unleashed. She stood and squared her shoulders in solidarity. “She is, my lord. In fact, she is going to transform me.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Lilah wanted to shove them back in, chew them up, and swallow, pretending that she’d never spoken. But she had. And now the words seemed like a dozen Destriers in the room, too intimidating to take back in one bite and too large to ignore.

Juliet’s gaze darted to hers and held. “Are you sure about this?”

“Irrefutably.” To her own credit, Lilah’s voice barely trembled.

Juliet stood in front of her chair and extended her gloved hand toward Thayne. “The winner claims the house.”

“The winner will keep
his
house,” Thayne said, standing as well. “The loser must leave town and find another home.”

“Agreed.”

Lilah watched the two of them shake hands and wondered what she’d gotten herself into.

“W
hat the devil are you doing here, Marlowe?” Thayne asked as the butler escorted him into Wolford’s bric-a-brac-crowded study. As of yet, Liam Cavanaugh, the Earl of Wolford, had yet to make an appearance.

Jack stood near the bay window that overlooked the street. Even before he’d spotted the carriage, he’d known Thayne would want to begin straight away. Apparently, however, they had both arrived too early for their friend to be awake. “I wanted to be present when you explained to Wolford that you were going to turn him into an
Original
.”

“Of course I’m not going to tell him,” Thayne replied with a dark scowl. “And I demand that you do not either.”

Demand?
Jack lifted his brows.

“All right then”—Thayne cleared his throat—“I’m
asking
you not to say anything.”

After a moment of consideration, Jack inclined his head and walked past the mahogany desk, sidestepping a pair of Egyptian urns. “If Wolford doesn’t know that he’s to reform, then how will you accomplish it?”

Thayne paused in his study of an Oriental scroll under glass. “Since when have behaviors of those in society held your interest?”

“I don’t know what you mean. The actions of your people are filled with such inane purpose that I find it tirelessly amusing.” Yet honestly, Jack had been wondering the same thing. Why had he made a point of rescheduling his appointments so that he could be at Wolford’s this morning? Curiosity, perhaps?

“My people?”
Thayne mocked, shaking his head. “I’m not biting on your hook this time. The next thing I know, we would be in a brawl—”

“If you intend to brawl, please adjourn to the ballroom,” Wolford said in a bored tone, his voice gravelly, as if he’d just woken. When he stepped into the room, his disheveled dark hair and heavily whiskered jaw confirmed it. He squinted his green eyes, either at the two of them or at the scant rays of morning light coming in through the window. “I would not want your clumsy skirmish to endanger my collection.”

“Is that what you call all of this?” Jack asked with a chuckle. “I thought you were preparing an exhibition for a museum.”

“Just a few things I’ve picked up over the years.” Wearing a paisley banyan over his shirt, cravat, and trousers, Wolford trudged to the window and closed the curtains. Once the room was immersed in shadow, he released an exhale and opened his eyes fully. Then he poured a cup of tea from the service waiting on his desk, drained it, and poured another.

Thayne executed a chuckle and swept a hand through the air. “You have enough in this room to begin furnishing a new house.”

“My other houses are equally full,” Wolford remarked, as if the matter were mere happenstance. He had been born into a fortune and never wanted for anything in his life. While that fact had once irked Jack when they were schoolmates, the truth was that Wolford wasn’t arrogant about it. He’d never once been a prig, flaunting his possessions. Moreover, neither Wolford, Thayne, nor Vale had labeled Jack a bastard and dismissed him, like most of the others had done.

“There are many elite who would enjoy a tour of your houses,” Thayne continued. “I’m certain it would go a long way in improving your standing. Especially to those who disapprove of your hedonistic display of wealth.”

Jack scrubbed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw, hiding a laugh. If this was Thayne’s method for transforming Wolford, Jack needn’t worry for Lilah’s sake.

Abruptly, he frowned, distracted. He wasn’t
worried
for Lilah Appleton. The outcome of her venture made no difference to him whatsoever. His being here was a means of satisfying a mere curiosity. Nothing more.

“And there is a salver piled high with invitations from those who thoroughly enjoy my hedonism, in every aspect. I am more of a mind to take pleasure in
their
company,” Wolford said with a familiar, wicked gleam. His reputation for extravagance encompassed more than a steady acquisition of objects. Rumors of the salacious parties he attended kept his name from being spoken too loudly by those in society.

Leaning back against his desk, Wolford crossed his arms over his chest and looked from Jack to Thayne. “Have you come to admire my latest acquisitions or merely to scold me, as my housekeeper does?”

When Wolford looked to him, Jack jerked a chin in Thayne’s direction. “I believe the
marquess
has something of a business proposition for you.”

“I . . .
yes
. I do.” Thayne shot Jack a look of warning before regarding Wolford once more. “I’ve recently acquired a new property, and I am in need of furnishings.”

“I heard all about it at Lady Reynolds’s party last evening. Your dealings with Lady Granworth have become infamous.”

Thayne coughed. “You’ve heard?”

“By now, I’m certain everyone in town is aware that you practically stole the Widow Granworth’s house right from under her nose.” Wolford tsked.

“Oh, that,” Thayne said on an exhale. “There was no thievery involved. I merely made a more handsome offer. I’m certain that is something you both can understand.”

“There is nothing wrong with being a man of action, but I’ve never procured an object on which another person has laid claim,” Wolford added, clearly to antagonize their friend. “Have you, Marlowe?”

Jack had learned at an early age that he had to fight for everything he wanted. The lesson had begun with a need to use his fists until he was old enough to learn that money and intellect held more power. Still, a man ought to know how to use his fists, especially when dealing with dockside merchants. “I enjoy a good challenge. Even so, I still have something of a code of honor.”

“Sod off, the two of you. I’m making no apologies,” Thayne sneered. “Both of you take what you want and never bother yourselves with what you don’t. I merely wanted that townhouse.”

“Hmm,” Wolford mused with a sly grin. Then his gaze drifted back to Jack. “Though the statement makes me wonder why you are here, Marlowe, and not frittering away your day at the toil and strife you seem to enjoy. What has piqued your interest enough to bring you here, to an address that is at the very heart of the
haute ton
you so despise?”

The muscles along Jack’s neck, shoulders, and arms flexed with tension. He wasn’t overly interested in Thayne’s bargain with Lady Granworth. All the same, he felt a need to be aware of the happenings surrounding Lilah Appleton. It was, he supposed, the aftereffects of carrying her card with him each day for so many weeks. His promise to Vale had been to send her flowers in order—he presumed—to assist her matrimonial endeavors. So how could he abandon his task without seeing it to completion? Clearly, Jack would have to stay in her life until she found a husband.

Satisfied with the answer, he relaxed and addressed Wolford. “I was wondering if you’d heard from Vale. Your cousin has been on his honeymoon for months.”

“As a matter of fact,” Wolford said. “I received a missive from him yesterday. I’ll spare the two of you his lengthy sermon on the ideal marriage and how he acquired it. I will tell you, however, that he plans to return in a fortnight. And, no doubt, is prepared to encourage us all to find our own brides.”

Jack couldn’t help but notice how Wolford’s comment landed neatly in Thayne’s lap.

“For you to marry, you will need to learn how to please the
ton
’s matrons first,” Thayne said to Wolford.

Wolford’s harsh laugh ricocheted off of a nymph statue and reverberated inside a tall blue vase. “Now you truly sound like my housekeeper. As I have told her, I will marry when I am one and sixty, after I have lived a full life, just as my father did. And I need no one to nag me about my duties before that time.”

Jack smirked. Wolford was not going to make this easy. Then again, helping Lilah might not be a simple task either. Already she’d stated a desire to marry one man in particular.
Lord Ellery
. Jack knew little about him. As of yet, there’d been no reason for him to find out more. Now, however, there was a reason.

“What about nagging you about a solid night of card play? It’s been an age since the lot of us sat at a table,” Jack said, needing an excuse to glean information from his friends on Ellery.

Thayne appeared to be waiting for Wolford’s response.

Wolford shook his head. “Sorry, old chap. I’ve already given my word to Stapleton. He’s hosting a soiree and a card game.”

As Jack recalled, Stapleton had been a relative of Lilah’s late uncle. Therefore, it seemed likely that she would attend this party. Perhaps Ellery would as well. In addition, Jack knew that Stapleton and Dovermere weren’t particular friends. Which meant that Dovermere wouldn’t attend. Which also meant that Jack
could
and without the risk of an encounter.

“I could procure an invitation for you, and we could have that game after all,” Wolford offered.

“Though it may surprise you, I already have an invitation.” It was true that Jack did not attend society gatherings. Yet that didn’t mean he never received invitations. Quite the contrary. Jack received a slew of them every day. He supposed it was because, as Dovermere’s bastard, Jack was a curiosity. Never before had he thought that it would work in his favor. “Gentlemen, it appears our game is on.”

L
ilah stared in the vanity mirror as Nellie finished curling the fringe that framed her face. The same face that had failed to tempt even one man to call on her in the past two Seasons. The same face deemed
forgettable
. And now, she’d promised to use this face to ensure that Juliet gained her home?

In fact, she is going to transform me . . .

“Nellie, what possessed me to make such a claim?”

Her maid’s response was a shake of the head in the mirror. “I’m sure I couldn’t say, miss.”

Nellie had been her maid for over ten years but still harbored some skittishness from when Lilah’s father was alive and browbeating everyone within hearing. She never spoke unless spoken to and rarely offered her opinion. In that way, Nellie was like Lilah. It was as if she was still afraid of bellowed demands for perfection. Afraid to fail.

Lilah was too.

So what possessed her to think that she could become the
Original
? She more resembled the wilting primroses in the vase by her window seat than a fresh-faced debutante with
a certain flair
.

“Juliet would need magical powers to turn me into this Season’s
Original
.” Certain failure loomed. Lilah needed a moment to figure out how to gently ease out of this bargain. Yet before she could think of anything, her cousin walked into the bedchamber.

“Pale-blue satin suits you well,” Juliet said. Then, pressing her lips together, she tilted her head, as if in contemplation. “Though we must try something different with your hair.”

Lilah held up her hand, protecting every curl that the maid had painstakingly set in place. “It took Nellie nearly an hour to arrange my hair.” The maid in question said nothing but nodded.

Juliet displayed no concern over this news. “Do you want gentlemen to see
you
or to admire your maid’s skill with the tongs?”

“To see me, of course,” Lilah said, keeping her hand in place. “But as I mentioned, I have a rather
vast
forehead.”

“Nonsense.” Juliet picked up a brush, nudged Lilah’s hand aside, and proceeded to undo an hour’s worth of work.

When her hair fell across her eyes, Lilah began to panic. “Nellie shouldn’t have to witness the loss of her efforts.”

Juliet ignored her. “Nellie, please bring me a facecloth from the wash basin.”

Lilah could only hear the sound of footsteps shuffling across the carpet. She couldn’t see what was happening to her. Then, soon enough, she felt a slight dampness against her forehead.

“Now, Nellie, pull out the pins. We’re going to start all over.”

Start over
? Lilah gulped. “We don’t have time. Surely my aunt is already waiting for us in the foyer.”

“Zinnia is only now leaving her room. Her practice of pedestrianism should give us ten minutes. Plenty of time.” At that point, Juliet turned Lilah on the stool, away from the mirror, and brushed her hair forward and then back. “A simple twist this time, Nellie. We’ll try something more elaborate for the Corbett Ball.”

“Yes, my lady,” Nellie said, her voice possessing more confidence and volume than Lilah had ever heard.

When Lilah could finally see again, her cousin smiled down at her. “I don’t know why you had your hair styled in that fashion for so long. Why, your forehead is nicely sloped and adorned by the slight V of your hairline. With the way that your hair falls naturally, your face subtly resembles the shape of a heart.”

“My mother is always saying that there’s too much of my face”—Lilah tried to turn her head to see the results—“and that it would be difficult to find a girl with a larger head to stand beside.”

“Uh-uh. Not yet. There is one more thing.” Juliet clucked her tongue and then reached into a satchel. She withdrew an ornate brown jar with scroll work on the side, along with a round painter’s brush with a fat cluster of long bristles. Lifting the lid, she dipped the brush inside. “Now, close your eyes, dear.”

Lilah closed one eye. “What is it?”

“Pearl dust,” Juliet answered, her soft breath sending a small flurry of luminescent powder into the air, each particle winking in the light. Then she tapped Lilah’s nose with the brush. “Now, close both eyes.”

This time, Lilah complied.

“That is how I see you—a pearl,” Juliet said with the first stroke of the soft bristles. “Think of how they start as a grain of sand that, after a trial, becomes something beautiful.
Your
trials are behind you. You must emerge as nature intended. Now, look closely at your reflection, and see what is truly there.”

Lilah opened her eyes and grew nervous when greeted with Juliet’s and Nellie’s smiles. Suddenly, she was afraid to turn around and look into the mirror. What if they were just being kind? What if her forehead was peppered with freckles that formed the shape of a cow or something equally dreadful? Not that she wasn’t fond of cows. She actually enjoyed cheese quite a bit. And butter on her toast. And yes, she realized she was stalling, but it couldn’t be helped. After all, she might look hideous, and there was no time to warm the tongs and start over . . .
again
.