The Pursuit Of Marriage (6 page)

“I daresay, I would hope anyone I chose to marry would not care about such things,” Reggie said wryly.

“I know I would care about such things,” Lucy said under her breath.

“My dear heart, you know so little about women.” His mother smiled up at him affectionately.

“Apparently.” As ridiculous as his mother’s request seemed, it also seemed innocuous. Besides, he wasn’t sure, but she did look a shade better. Perhaps the doctor was right about humoring such absurd requests. He got to his feet. “I shall see to it at once, although I must admit I haven’t even a vague notion where to begin such an endeavor.”

“Darling boy, I would never thrust such decisions upon you.” Lady Berkley’s eyes widened, as if she could scarce dream of such a thing.

“I know I cannot imagine leaving the selection of furnishings to Reggie, let alone paint or paper.” Lucy snorted. “He can barely tell the difference between a chiffonier or a commode, or an emerald green from a sky blue.”

“I have no difficulty determining one color from another—I have simply never particularly cared.”

Reggie cast his sister a quelling glance. “Nor do I care as to the difference between one piece of furniture and another.”

“Of course you don’t, nor should you. And it will not be necessary.” Even his mother’s smile seemed stronger. This was obviously a good idea. “The daughter of an old friend of mine has exquisite taste and has guided the refurbishment of the houses of several ladies I know with excellent results. Oh, certainly, it’s a bit eccentric of her, as she is from a good family and she charges an exorbitant amount to do so, yet she is well worth it.”

Reggie narrowed his eyes. “How exorbitant?”

“Mother said she was well worth the cost.” Lucy frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Surely you can’t begrudge her this, regardless of the expense? It is, after all, a dying wish.”

“Now, now, Lucy.” Lady Berkley smiled in the resigned way of a martyr on the road to the coliseum and collapsed back against the pillows like a sail bereft of wind. “If Reggie thinks it’s too much—”

“No, not at all,” Reggie said quickly. “If this is what you want—”

“Excellent. I have instructed Higgins to send a request for her to call later this afternoon. I leave it all in her hands.” She cast him a frail smile. “And yours.”

“Of course.” Reggie forced a pleasant smile to his face and struggled to keep a note of reluctance from his voice.

The last thing he wanted to do was waste his time listening to an eccentric lady’s musings about sofas and fabrics. Still, if it helped improve his mother’s health, he could endure an afternoon with some woman who was no doubt past her prime and filling her empty hours by refurbishing other people’s houses. He would approve whatever plans she had, but beyond that, he would keep as much distance as possible between himself and this eccentric.

“Now then, children, you may run along.” Lady Berkley sighed, as if their conversation had quite sapped her strength. “I have a few items I need to discuss with Higgins.”

Reggie frowned. “Is that wise? Surely any instructions for Higgins can wait until you have rested?”

“It will take but a moment and will ease my mind. I find it difficult to rest easily knowing the household is not in order.” She waved weakly toward the door. “Go on now, and do close the door behind you.”

“Very well.” Reggie caught Higgins’s gaze. “See to it she does not overtax herself.”

“I would never permit that, my lord,” Higgins said staunchly. Reggie stepped to the door, paused to allow his sister to exit before him, then pulled the door closed behind him.

“Reggie.” Lucy gazed up at him, her gray eyes wide with concern. “What do you think?”

“About Mother’s illness?”

Lucy nodded.

“I don’t know what to think.” Reggie shook his head. “She is not the type of woman to take to her bed without due cause. I cannot recall her ever being indisposed or ever claiming to be. I fear she may well at least believe she is indeed on her deathbed.”

“Perhaps she simply wants the house refurbished and is reluctant to spend the necessary funds?” A hopeful note sounded in Lucy’s voice.

“Perhaps.” Reggie considered the idea aloud. “Although I have never noticed Mother to so much as hesitate when it comes to expenditures. Indeed, she has always rather relished spending money, and the more immense the sums the greater her enjoyment. In addition, she has never used anything as serious as the state of her health to get what she wants. That alone gives her illness a certain level of veracity.”

Tears welled up in Lucy’s eyes. “Then she’s really—”

“Don’t be absurd,” he said sharply and put a comforting arm around his sister’s shoulder. “I am confident Mother will be with us for many years to come. We simply have to weather this situation and follow the doctor’s advice in regards to humoring her requests. I am sure she’ll be completely back to normal in no time.”

Lucy sniffed. “Do you think so?”

“Most certainly.” Reggie’s voice held a conviction he did not entirely feel. “Besides, Mother’s main purpose in life in recent years has been to see me married.” He cast Lucy an encouraging grin. “She would never permit herself to die until she has seen me safely wed.”

“I see.” Lucy pulled out of his embrace and studied him for a moment. “Thank you, Reggie. I must say you have made me feel much better.”

“Have I indeed?” He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Why? Because given your astounding success thus far in finding a wife,” Lucy smirked, “Mother may well live forever.”

Cassie perched on the edge of a settee in the grand drawing room at Berkley House and cast an assessing eye around the chamber and its decor. The overall impression at the moment was one of an aging lady with her best days behind her, although the room was of good proportions with a great deal of potential and lovely ornamentation, even if some repair was in order. The tingling sense of excitement Cassie had come to expect upon beginning a new project welled within her, even if it was tempered today by a distinct touch of unease. As much as she prided herself on patience when it came to dealing with the ladies she accepted as clients, it was next to impossible to sit here, where the Berkley butler had deposited her, in a collected manner and wait for whomever it was she waited for. She surrendered to the restlessness that gripped her, stood and crossed the room, as much to ease her nerves as to better examine a carved marble Adam’s fireplace. It was the height of irony that after her rude behavior toward Lord Berkley she now found herself in his home, soon to be in his employ, at the request of his mother, no less. And odder still, at the insistence of her own.

Her immediate impulse upon receiving Lady Berkley’s note when she’d arrived home from the race and Lord Warren’s accompanying fete was to turn down the commission. She certainly didn’t need the money; she had several other equally stimulating projects currently under consideration, and she did not relish the thought of continual encounters with Lord Berkley. While her mother was not as scandalized by Cassie’s work as her brothers were, Lady William had never been overly enthusiastic, either.

Nevertheless, her mother had been quite adamant about Cassie accepting this particular project, claiming Lady Berkley had not been feeling at all well of late and a refurbishment of her house might improve the state of her health.

She also said she considered Lady Berkley a dear, dear friend and Cassie should take on this project as a personal favor. That too was a bit odd. Cassie had had no idea her mother had ever even made Lady Berkley’s acquaintance. Still, London society was in many ways like a village, where nearly everyone was well aware of nearly everyone else, and it was not at all unexpected that her mother and his would know each other.

“It’s you.” An amused chuckle sounded from the doorway.

Cassie drew a deep breath and turned, forcing a light note to her voice. “I did not expect to meet you again so soon, my lord.”

“And yet here you are in my own home.” Lord Berkley strode to her, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. “I must admit I am surprised, but I suppose I shouldn’t be.”

“You expected me, then?” She gazed into his gray eyes and, for the second time today, resisted the urge to yank her hand from his. And ignored as well the odd desire to keep it enfolded in the warmth of his touch forever. “Your mother must have mentioned our appointment.”

A shadow of concern crossed his face, then vanished. “My mother said only the lady she wished to engage was…eccentric.”

She pulled her hand free and drew her brows together. “And therefore you thought of me?”

He grinned. “You were described to me just this morning as eccentric.”

“By my brother, no doubt.” She knew she should be annoyed, and she would certainly let Christian know of her displeasure, but Berkley’s amusement was irresistible. Besides, she suspected the impression she’d left him with earlier today was not overly favorable, eccentric being the least objectionable adjective he could use for her, and she much preferred that he not think of her as a complete shrew. She smiled wryly. “It could have been worse, I suppose. He could have said I was daft.”

Appreciation sparked in Berkley’s eyes. “Or mad.”

“Even insane.”

He nodded. “Cracked.”

“Addlepated,” she shot back.

“Nicked in the nob.”

She grinned. “Around the bend.”

He raised a brow. “Not all there.”

She thought for a moment. “The walls don’t go all the way to the roof.”

“One brick short of a full load,” he said without pause.

“Half-witted.”

“Simpleminded.”

“Featherhead.”

“Noodle brained.”

She laughed. “Not the brightest star in the sky.”

“Oh, but you are.” His voice was cool, but there was a distinct gleam in his eye. “I cannot imagine any celestial being that could possibly outshine you.”

“Ah, the infamous and charming Lord Berkley makes his appearance,” she said in a lighthearted manner that belied the hammering of her heart. The change in their banter caught her off guard, as did the pleasure she took in his compliment. “You do know how to turn a phrase, and I must say I expected no less, given your reputation. However, I am impressed that you managed to restrain yourself until now.”

“Restraint, Miss Effington, is a virtue I have never been especially gifted with, nor have I ever seen its particular value.”

“Restraint, my lord, is what separates the civilized from the uncivilized,” she said, then tried not to wince at the sanctimonious tone of her voice.

“I have never particularly thought of myself as uncivilized, but then I had never thought of myself as infamous before meeting you, either.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the mantel.

“You, Miss Effington, are teaching me all sorts of interesting things about myself.”

“I should apologize.”

“Why?” He raised a brow. “Did you not mean it?”

“Oh, I meant it. I simply shouldn’t have said it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it was rude.” She sighed and shook her head. “You have been nothing but pleasant to me—”

“And charming?” He wagged his brows wickedly.

She laughed in spite of herself. “Most charming, and I have been nothing but disapproving and impolite. In truth, we have barely met, and I have already judged you.”

“And found me lacking.”

“Not lacking, exactly.” She thought for a moment. “Rather too much as opposed to not enough.”

“Too infamous?”

“Something like that,” she murmured and tried to ignore the heat that swept up her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she had blushed at all, yet this man had managed to get her to do just that—not once but twice in the same day. It was most unsettling.

“We have not started off on the right foot, you and I, have we?”

“It would not seem so.”

“Perhaps we can remedy that.” He thought for a moment. “All we need to do is begin again. Start fresh as it were.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean—start fresh?”

“My dear Miss Effington, I don’t believe we’ve met. Please, permit me to introduce myself.” He squared his shoulders and adopted a distinct air of formality. “I am Viscount Berkley, Reginald Berkley, Reggie to my closest friends, which I am not overly fond of because it sounds more like the name one would give a hound rather than a gentleman, yet I endure it nonetheless. The aforementioned closest friends, if questioned, would call me of relatively good character, often amusing, an excellent son and thoughtful brother, all in all a decent sort in spite of what anyone may have heard to the contrary. I pay my debts promptly, care deeply for those who are in my employ or under my protection, and am unfailingly pleasant to small children and domesticated animals.”

“You failed to mention infamous.”

“I failed to mention it because, until this very morning, I had never been called infamous.”

She studied him skeptically. “Never?”

He nodded. “Not once. However, I am at your service, Miss Effington.” He swept an exaggerated bow.

“My charm, my infamy, anything you may wish.”

“Anything?”

“Anything at all.”

Fora long moment she stared at him, and all manner of possibilities came to mind. Most of them highly improper, completely scandalous, and absolutely sinful. She firmly pushed each and every one out of her mind.

“And you are?” he prompted.

“Oh yes, of course.” She dropped a polite curtsey. “I am Miss Effington, Cassandra, Cassie to my dearest friends, which I rather like probably because it doesn’t sound at all like the name of a hound.”

He laughed and she grinned.

“My closest friend is also my twin sister, Lady St. Stephens. I am the daughter of Lord and Lady William, William and Georgina Effington, my uncle is the Duke of Roxborough, which means I have an endless number of Effington relations, including three brothers, all of whom have always believed I should be watched closely.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because they have always felt I would be the sister to tumble headlong into scandal,” she said without
thinking and at once wished she could take the words back. His eyes widened with curiosity. “Indeed. Dare I ask why?”

“My outspoken nature, I suspect.” It was pointless to avoid the subject now that she had foolishly brought it up. She drew a deep breath. “The attitude of my brothers has always been that a woman who refuses to curb the impulsive nature of her tongue will no doubt fail to curb other impulses as well.”

“I see.” He paused for a moment. “And are they right?”

“Not thus far. I have never strayed seriously beyond the bounds of proper behavior.” She thought for a moment. “Except of course, for this.” She gestured at the room. “My brothers view my work as not entirely scandalous but not especially proper, either. Indeed, they think it quite—”

“Eccentric?” He laughed.

“Exactly.” She grinned. “Not merely that I enjoy the redecoration of other people’s houses, but,” she lowered her voice and leaned toward him in a conspiratorial manner, “that I do it for payment, which puts it in the most scandalous category of business.”

He gasped and clasped his hand over his heart. “Not that.”

“It’s quite distressing, I know, but there you have it. Add to that the fact that I am as yet unmarried, and I suspect my brothers see my fate as nothing less than dire.” She shook her head in mock dismay. “I shall truly become the eccentric Miss Effington. The unwed aunt to their children who does the oddest things with her days and is talked about by the rest of the family only in whispers. They will nod their heads and say what a shame it all is. If only she’d kept her mouth shut, her life would have been so much different.” Cassie heaved a dramatic sigh and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Ah, but then it would not have been your life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that you are shaping your life so that it suits you rather than others. You are doing precisely what you wish to do. Not many women, or men either, for that matter, can say that.” Admiration sounded in his voice. “It takes a great deal of courage.”

“Some would call it stupidity rather than courage.”

“Perhaps, but I am not among them.” His gaze trapped hers. “I cannot see your fate as dire but rather filled with excitement and adventure. I should think the whispers of any nieces and nephews would be along the lines of what a wonderful life she has and I should hope to grow up to be just like her.”

“How very remarkable. Do you really think so?”

“Indeed I do, Miss Effington.”

“My brothers would not agree.”

“You are not living your life for your brothers but for yourself.”

“Of course,” she murmured. For a long moment she stared into his eyes, deep and gray and almost irresistible and could see reflected there this life that he predicted and wondered as well if that life would be lived alone. She could certainly see why he had the reputation he did. Why, the man wasn’t merely charming, he was intelligent and well spoken and even kind. And extremely dangerous. She must not forget that.

“Yes, well, we shall see about the future.” She cast him her brightest and most impersonal smile. “At the moment, my lord, I think we should attend to the business at hand.” She gestured at the drawing room.

“Is this the only room your mother wishes to have refurbished?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I believe she intends all the public rooms in this part of the house to be decorated. Both drawing rooms, the dining room, possibly the ballroom, perhaps even the library, although that is my own personal favorite and I quite like it just as it is.” His brows pulled together thoughtfully. “I must confess to you, Miss Effington, this is all rather new to me. It was no more than a scant few hours ago that I had any idea my mother viewed this house as being quite so—”

“Shabby?”

“Do you really think so?” He glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Perhaps it could do with a bit of…” He cast her a look of male helplessness and shrugged. “Something.”

“Precisely why I’m here, my lord. I am an expert at,” she grinned, “something. Now then.” She stepped to the settee, picked up her sketchpad, and took the pencil she kept attached to the book by a ribbon. “I am eager to speak with your mother about her thoughts for the house and what sorts of things she prefers, what styles she likes. Will she be joining us soon?”

“My mother is not feeling well at the moment. She has taken to her bed and…” He paused abruptly and stared, as if she were the answer to a puzzle.

She wasn’t at all sure she liked that look. “I do hope it is nothing serious.”

He considered her for a moment longer. “I should have known.”

“You should have known what?”

“Nothing, Miss Effington, nothing at all.” A slow grin spread across his face. “I am confident she will regain her health at any moment.”

“It might be best if I came back at another time.”