Page 366 of From Rakes to Riches

“Of course not. I need an heir,” he said bitterly. “And let’s not forget she’ll have to deal with my father.”

“It sounds like she’ll have a lot to do.” Simon lowered his voice. “Are you certain you can make her happy enough that she’ll want to help you?”

David frowned as he drained his glass. “She and I are helping each other. It will work out to both our satisfaction.”

Though he looked troubled, Simon raised his glass in a toast. “To your success in securing a wife.”

David clinked his glass. “At last.”

~oOo~

A week later, Victoria was waiting in the entrance hall for her betrothed. She would have chewed her lip incessantly if Mrs. Wayneflete had not caught her in the act.

“It will be all right, miss,” the housekeeper said kindly. “You’ll do fine.”

Victoria took a deep breath. “I tell myself that. I know I am not the same frightened girl I used to be when I attended these events, but…what if I embarrass him?” she finished with a whisper. “What if he realizes our engagement is a mistake, that I’ll be nothing to him but one scandal after another?”

Mrs. Wayneflete took her quivering hands. “You are perfect just the way you are, Miss Victoria. You found me a position, you saved your mother, and you’ve given your sisters a safe place to call home. Hold your head up and show him what it means to be a Shelby.”

Victoria gave her a tremulous smile.

Lord Thurlow arrived exactly on time, with the same maid sitting in the seat behind his bench. As he came up the front steps, Victoria waited as Mrs. Wayneflete insisted on opening the door. He stepped inside, bringing in the wind and the smell of the rain that clung to his broad shoulders and dripped from the top hat he put under his arm.

Though she had told herself to be prepared, Victoria was still shocked by the thoughts that chased each other through her mind as she stared at him.

He was going to be her husband. And Mama and Mrs. Wayneflete had just last night stumbled through a recitation of atypical wedding night, which even now left her cheeks aflame as she imagined herself and Lord Thurlow in such close proximity.

Once again, she expected his indifference—he had left her on the streets just last week!—but he surprised her, looking her over with an interest that made her glad she had worn the half-mourning color of lavender. When his gaze lingered briefly on her breasts, she wanted to whip the shawl around her immediately. Instead, Mrs. Wayneflete reached to help her until Lord Thurlow took the shawl away.

“Allow me,” he said, his voice perfectly polite.

Biting her lip, Victoria turned her back and waited with something approaching trepidation as the material settled around her. His hands reached over her shoulders to enfold the shawl about her, and she quickly stepped away.

“Thank you, my lord.”

As they walked through the doorway, he produced an umbrella and held it above her until she was safely under the hood of the carriage. She remembered to brace herself before he climbed up beside her.

He drove only several blocks away, then pulled up before a town house on Belgrave Square, an area of London not quite as fashionable as it used to be, though still filled with elegant town houses of the wealthy.

“My lord, who are we visiting?” she asked, when it was obvious he hadn’t thought to tell her.

He took her hand to help her down. “Mr. Lionel Hutton and his wife.”

She glanced up at the three-story home. “I know that name. I think my father did business with him.”

“Surely your father did business with most of the wealthy people in London, Miss Shelby.”

But she couldn’t stop frowning. It still unnerved her to meet people who had known her father. She was almost relieved when the maid followed behind them dutifully.

Once inside, they were greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Hutton, both smiling in a parental way, as if Lord Thurlow was their son.

“So good to meet you, Miss Shelby,” Mrs. Hutton said. “We were so pleased upon hearing of your engagement.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hutton,” Victoria said, trying to relax.

Mr. Hutton cleared his throat. “Are you the daughter of the late Mr. Rutherford Shelby?”

Her insides went tight with panic, and it took all her courage not to glance worriedly at Lord Thurlow.

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