The Debutante Is Mine (7 page)

“Lilah, if you don’t face the mirror this instant, I’m going to drag you out of this chamber and not even permit you to glance at your own reflection all night.” Juliet failed to intimidate with her reprimand when she laughed.

Lilah’s legs wobbled a bit as she stood. And then she turned.

She might have gasped if she could have drawn a breath. Her face was still her face. Her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears all in the same location. Only now, there was nothing to hide them. Had she been
hiding
them all this time? Hmm . . . she wasn’t quite certain, but she felt a little more than exposed. Was this truly her face?

She took a tentative step closer. Even after all that brushing, some of her curl remained. With her hair parted down the center, the fringe that once covered her entire forehead now framed it in a soft wave of brown on either side. And strangely enough, instead of seeing the vastness of her forehead, Lilah saw her eyes, dark and bright at the same time. Her brows, too, were dark, but arched slightly where they tapered off to a soft point. This was a familiar face and yet new.

But was it enough to transform her into an
Original
?

Lilah began to worry, conjuring the most ludicrous scenarios for this evening.

“Well, what do you think?” Juliet asked, unknowingly putting a halt to a terrible, imagined disaster involving an apple, a wayward arrow, and a collective gasp from the entire list of attendants.

“To be completely truthful, I’m not entirely sure. It is as if another version of me is looking at me from the other side of the mirror.”

Juliet reached down and squeezed her hand. “If that is true, then you are both going to be late for Lord Stapleton’s party if we do not hurry.”

In that same moment, a breathless Myrtle appeared at the doorway. “Pardon me, but her ladyship wishes me to tell you that
time is not
—”

“Our ally?”
Lilah supplied with a grin, feeling a measure of relief in her aunt’s predictability.

Juliet turned to Lilah. “I forgot my fan. I shan’t be more than a minute.”

Her cousin disappeared through the doorway. With Myrtle nervously shifting from foot to foot in the hall, Lilah didn’t dally. Just before she left, however, she looked over her shoulder. “Thank you, Nellie. You were splendid this evening.”

“Thank you, miss. So were you.” Her maid’s eyes turned liquid instantly as she bobbed a curtsy. Not wanting to be afflicted in the same manner, Lilah slipped away.

Downstairs in the foyer, Aunt Zinnia offered a rare smile. “My dear, you look beautiful. I knew your eyes were somewhere beneath that fringe.”

With Juliet upstairs, Lilah was alone with her aunt. She gave into her fears. “I don’t want to disappoint her, Aunt Zinnia. If I fail—”

“You are uncommonly brave.” Her aunt touched a gloved fingertip beneath Lilah’s chin and lifted her face, as if for inspection. Then she nodded. “I’ve no doubt that you will cause a stir this evening.”

With so much riding on the outcome of this Season, Lilah was sure that any failure would be all the more catastrophic.

“M
arlowe, be a chap and spot me a hundred quid,” Pembroke whispered, his voice slipping down through his hawkish nose in a high squeak. The man was all nose, arms, and legs, with an overblown cravat to hold him together. “Remember that time at Eton when I warned you about those blighters who were set on a tussle with you?”

Standing just outside Stapleton’s game room, Jack looked at Pembroke with disgust. Not for the man’s appearance—after all, that couldn’t be helped—but because this viscount mistakenly believed he was entitled to
Jack’s
hard-earned money. Pembroke hadn’t even bothered to ask for it. Although the response would have been the same. An unequivocal
no
. “Your memory is faulty. I distinctly recall
you
leading the charge.”

Pembroke averted his gaze as he withdrew a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped his nose. “Yes . . . er . . . well, I did alert you nonetheless. And as I recall, you were successful in fending them off. Which might not have been the case, if it weren’t for me.”

“If anything,” Jack began with a wry laugh, “you should be paying me for not pummeling you, as I did the others. Then again, I recall you were a rather fast runner. And you scream like a little girl.”

Pembroke sniffed, then stormed away, leaving Jack with his memories. Those years at Eton had been difficult, but not because of the weekly threats of death and dismemberment. Having grown up doing odd jobs, from chimney sweep—until he’d grown too large—to errand runner and hawker, he’d become a scrapper. Ready and able in any situation.

Shortly into his stint at school, Jack had learned that he could use his skills to earn money. Some of that money had been earned through brawling and wagers, though most of it was in developing an enterprise. He’d started a small business, employing the village boys to shine shoes and buckles, before selling them at a higher price back to his fellow students. The aristocratic requirement to uphold appearances at all times was quite profitable, as well as educational.

By the time Jack left Eton, he’d begun other enterprises outside of school. It turned out that he was born with a knack for trade and investments.

And he’d be damned if—after all his hard work—he was going to
give
his money away to ignorant fools like Pembroke, who chose not to think for themselves.

“Tell me something, Marlowe. If you didn’t come to play, then why are you here? You’re as surly as Thayne this evening,” Wolford said with a grin as he handed Jack a short glass of amber liquor. “I think Pembroke is off somewhere, cowering in a corner and biting his fingernails.”

Jack tipped back his glass and downed the scotch in one swallow. “Have you ever seen him otherwise?”

“No. Pembroke is still as useless as ever. Though I did hear a rumor that he has called upon Lady Granworth.”

Jack knew that already. Pembroke’s carriage had been in front of Lady Cosgrove’s house the day before yesterday. There had been no carriages today. When Jack had called, he’d been informed by the butler that Lady Granworth was not at home. Jack corrected his assumption by asking for Miss Appleton. The butler blinked as if Jack had made the request in Latin before showing him to the study. Shortly thereafter, he was informed that Miss Appleton was
not at home
either. But Jack knew that she would have received any other visitor, just not him. “Perhaps Pembroke was there to court Miss Appleton instead.”

“Who?” Wolford’s brow knitted for a moment and then lifted. “Ah, yes. She’s a cousin or niece or something of Lady Granworth and Lady Cosgrove. Come to think of it, she might be a friend of Vale’s bride. Do you imagine Pembroke is courting this Miss . . .
Miss
. . . ”

“Appleton.”

Wolford snapped his fingers. “Right. She must come from money, then, because Pembroke is as broke as a twig.”

“As far as I know, she has nothing. Her father’s estate was entailed to his nephew, Lord Haggerty.” Jack had made a few inquiries on his own earlier today. The more he learned about Haggerty and his reputation, the more concerned Jack became for Lilah.

Wolford’s countenance flashed disgust. “Tragic. There likely won’t be an estate at all for much longer. The blighter is as dissolute as they come. I’ve no idea why Stapleton invited him.”

“Haggerty is here?” Jack looked around the room, searching for a face he didn’t know. “I’ve never met him.” And, after Wolford’s reaction, Jack wanted to learn more about the baron. Not to mention, more about the reason behind Lilah’s bold declaration and willingness to transform.

“I saw him milling about, near the stairs above the foyer. You’ll recognize him by the waves of superiority flowing from his greasy head.”

L
ilah’s talent for worry had failed her this evening. Otherwise, she would have been prepared for the carriage to hit a rut, breaking the wheel, and causing them to arrive at Lord Stapleton’s party late.

Aunt Zinnia was not pleased.

Juliet, on the other hand, still hoped for Lilah to make a grand entrance into the ballroom. “And when your name is announced, be sure to look straight ahead. Pretend that you are bored and could care nothing for their opinions. The
ton
will take notice if you are ignoring them.”

“If that is true, then it is no wonder that I’ve had little success. I’m surprised anyone with a sense of decorum would.” Lessons on how to act with perfect manners in society had been ingrained in Lilah since birth.

When a maid came up behind her, Lilah slipped off her redingote and adjusted the white satin sash beneath her breasts. As she stood in the foyer, she gradually felt a sense of being watched. A cold shiver slithered over the exposed flesh of her shoulders, throat, and modest décolletage. That was when she looked up and spotted Cousin Winthrop lurking near the minstrel gallery overlooking the foyer. With pursed lips and holding a quizzing glass to his eye, he surveyed her as one would livestock at the market.

Juliet made a sound and quickly pulled her into a room just off the hall. “That
horrid
man,” she said, cringing. “And the way he looks at you . . . I can’t bear it. I wish I could convince your mother of his
true
nature.”

There were reasons why Cousin Winthrop had not found a bride on his own. First of all, while he’d inherited a barony, he also acquired barren lands, a crumbling estate, tenants who could not afford to pay rent, and absolutely no fortune.

Second was the man himself. He paraded around with a sense of self-importance, as if he was next in line to the throne. The few strands of hair remaining on Winthrop’s round head were long and tended to hang limply over his brow. His fleshy face possessed a constant sheen of perspiration that no amount of patting with a handkerchief could remedy. He had a habit of licking his lips, which caused a buildup of froth at the corners of his mouth. Even worse than that, however, was the way Winthrop leered at her, that fiendish gleam ever present. The idea of being forced to marry such a man both sickened and terrified her.

Aunt Zinnia joined them, a frown upon her lips. “Haggerty’s presence is quite unexpected. According to the maid with whom I just spoke, the only reason he’d garnered an invitation was because he told Lord Stapleton that an . . . arrangement had been settled with you, dear Lilah.”

Lilah gasped. “How many others has he told?”

“There is no way of knowing.” Aunt Zinnia shook her head and exhaled her displeasure. “However, I will speak to Lord Stapleton straight away and correct the misunderstanding. Then, Juliet, you and I must set about doing the same with the other guests. We cannot allow Lilah’s name to be tainted by such an association. Not many know about the codicil.”

Juliet agreed with a nod. “If he approaches me at all, I will give him the
cut direct
.”

There was so much at stake. Lilah felt a headache starting. She pressed her gloved fingertips to her temples. “He’s waiting above the stairs. The moment we ascend, he will invite himself, unbidden, into our party. There will be no way to avoid the association. Then everyone will know.” And all of her hopes of freeing herself from this dire fate would be for naught.

Thank goodness Aunt Zinnia was made of sterner stuff, for she adamantly refused to accept this outcome. “I know another way into the ballroom. It will be unseemly to traverse the servants’ stairs, but we shall do what we must.”

T
he moment Jack neared the arch leading to the gallery, he caught sight of a man who fit Haggerty’s description. There was no doubt of his sense of self-importance. He stood—or posed, rather—near the rail, with one foot turned out, one hand on his hip, and holding a lens to his eye.

From the archway, Jack glanced down to the foyer to find the object of Haggerty’s study. At once, Jack’s gaze settled on Lilah. She was a vision in blue, her face radiant beneath the glow of the chandelier. Yet after a glance up toward the balcony, she grimaced. Before Jack could blink, Lady Granworth pulled her out of view, which was for the best because Jack didn’t like the way Haggerty was looking at her.

“Pardon me,” Jack said, pleased that he’d startled the man into turning away from the rail. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, be Lord Haggerty?”

The man’s lip curled as he looked Jack over. “The one and only. And you are?”

“Jack Marlowe.”

“Ah yes, Dovermere’s by-blow,” he sneered, turning away.

Jack had heard all the insults. Such a
cut
no longer gained a reaction from him. This was a way for the nobility to indicate their superiority, snubbing their noses at him. That was . . . until they needed money.

Haggerty’s head came up with a snap, like a man who’d just remembered something important. “
Marlowe
. . . rumor has it that you’ve amassed a rather vulgar fortune.”

And there it was, the beginning of the beggary. Jack had heard it all. Some chose inane flattery. Some bragged about their standing in society, dropping the names of the people in their intimate circle, speaking as if it would be an honor to give a loan to a person with such high connections. Some made promises about repaying the loan tenfold. Some threatened him, making it known that they employed ruffians who would bring him harm if Jack did not concede. And some even offered the use of their own mistresses. Which was distasteful on many levels.

Jack wondered which method Haggerty would use. “
Vulgar
is an interesting word for this moment.”

“Mmm . . . yes.” Haggerty chortled. “You’re a rather sharp fellow. I can see why Stapleton invited you. One must always have the best people at these parties, you know.”

Flattery
, Jack mused. Though not clever flattery.

“Of course,
I
was invited because of my close connection to Lady Cosgrove,” the baron continued, tossing another component into the mix. “Her ladyship and I are related through marriage—my
upcoming
marriage.”

The skin and sinew tightened over Jack’s bones, a sense of dread washing over him, even before he was certain. When Lilah had spoken of this, it sounded as if she’d wished to avoid being forced into marriage, not that the matter had already been settled.

Needing clarification, he said, “My congratulations to you and . . . ”

“My cousin, Miss Appleton. I inherited her father’s paltry estate. Her welfare and her mother’s reside squarely on my shoulders. Though it isn’t too much of a hardship,” he added with a wink. “My cousin, while having a poor showing at first, is now a ripe plum, just waiting to be picked.”

The man was vile. Jack was sickened once more by the aristocracy. His disgust, however, had begun long ago, upon first learning how his own mother had suffered.

She’d been born into the aristocracy, with high expectations of marrying well. Even though she’d had no dowry, her parents had been certain her beauty would secure a fine husband. When a neighboring lord had asked for her hand, it had seemed her parents’ dreams had come true. They had not known he was a dissolute cad.

Then, only a short time after her marriage, tragedy struck. Fever took the lives of her parents. Debts and a hanging took the life of her husband, leaving her without a farthing to her name. In her world, a young woman in such circumstances had limited options—find work as a paid companion, or find a protector. She’d chosen the latter and had become Dovermere’s mistress.

At the time, Dovermere had been a young man—not an earl yet, but Viscount Locke. Then, a few years later, when he inherited, he’d had every intention of marrying his mistress—or so Jack had been told. Yet with the demands of an earldom came the need to marry an heiress instead. Dovermere had accepted this fate. Heartbroken, Jack’s mother had chosen to end their arrangement, not knowing at the time that she’d been carrying Dovermere’s son. His only son, as it turned out.

It had taken the earl years to find a wealthy bride and years to produce his first child.
A girl
. Now, eight girls in all. Jack was ten before his mother wrote to Dovermere, not asking for anything for herself but merely for an education for her beloved son.

Leaving her for Eton all those years ago, with nothing but the money she’d earned from sewing to keep her fed, had been the hardest day of Jack’s life.

Standing in Haggerty’s presence, it was impossible not to think of what Lilah faced for her future. It took Jack a moment to swallow down his bitterness. “And when is the happy event?”

“Well, there is a matter of her father’s will,” he hedged, adjusting his lace cuffs. “A codicil states that I should wait until the end of this Season; however, I may press my suit at any time. Though if you ask me, the delay only whets the appetite. Likely, I’ll have an heir right off—
legitimate
, of course.”

A final dig to make certain that Jack knew his place. But it didn’t matter. Jack was too busy thinking about Lilah. It all became clear. No wonder she was willing to do anything to avoid marriage to Haggerty, subjecting herself to transforming into this Season’s
Original
.