Page 38 of West End Earl
“And recite poetry,” he teased with a smile, taking a seat.
With a hesitant nod, she agreed. “It would be better if he wrote his own verse, but I’ll accept a man who quotes Byron. You don’t quote Byron, do you?”
“Not a word. Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry.
The most efficient way to matchmake would be to gather several potential suitors in one place. Miss Cuthbert must have been making the rounds of Season events, but if she hadn’t felt that spark with anyone, she might need extended exposure to form an attachment. A house party, perhaps? The idea caused the familiar stir of excitement he felt when he found the solution to a problem.
A house party meant Phee would be out of Town and far from her murderous uncle, which would mean everyone could breathe easier. It would also get Emma away from Roxbury for a few weeks, since the rat clearly wasn’t honoring their agreement. Perhaps Emma would find a match for herself while he found an appropriate husband for his not-exactly fiancée.
Rising once more, this time with an exit in mind, he made a bow and said, “I’ll be in touch within a couple days. But I’m thinking a house party full of eligible bachelors might be in order.”
With a pert smile, she offered her hand for a kiss, and he played the part.
Her hand smelled of rose water, which made his nose itch. Sandalwood might have ruined rose water for him forever.
A sneeze escaped as soon as the Cuthberts’ butler closed the door behind him. Maybe it was the rose water. Then again, it could have been dust from the sarcophagus in the corner. Was the décor moreen vogueif the dead guy was still inside? Had he just sneezed dead-man dust?
He didn’t want to know.
Chapter Twelve
Charles, the footman, accompanied Phee to visit her old employer, the secondhand-clothes seller. As they rode through the streets in a hired hack, she flinched at every unexpected noise. By the time they arrived at the clothing stall, her hands were clammy and sweat pooled along her spine. She glanced at Charles. “I’m jumping at shadows. This entire business is unnerving. Thank you for being here.”
“Anyone would be nervous, Mr. Hardwick. There’s no harm in being careful,” he said.
She forced herself to leave the hack and pretend that she wasn’t as twitchy as a horse ready to bolt. Straightening her shoulders, Phee surveyed the crowded street to get her bearings. Milton had made her cower in the past. Giving him that power in the present was unconscionable. It wouldn’t help anyone if she took unneeded risks, though, so Charles monitored the entrance to the stall while she made her purchases.
The stall provided enough of the wardrobe basics to get her through. Even though she knew she’d gotten a fair price, her gut twisted as each coin left her palm. There were a few lovely pieces in the bundle under her arm. If nothing else, the alterations would keep her occupied.
Back in her room, Jenny the maid cleaned out the grate in the fireplace, sweeping the ashes into a bucket. “Good morning, Mr. Hardwick. I’ll finish in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Lady Emma didn’t want to be disturbed, but perhaps she will let me in once I’m done here.”
Glancing at the clock on the mantel, Phee frowned at the late hour. “When does Lady Emma usually rise for the day?”
“Oh, she’s been up. Ate breakfast and so on, but she’s resting now. Her maid asked that no one disturb the poor thing,” Jenny chattered. “We’re worried about her downstairs. She’s been spending more days than usual in her room with headaches. The rigorous schedule of a Season might be too much for her delicate constitution.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Being an employee in the house meant the servants spoke freely in front of her. At times like this, it meant Phee heard information Cal might not. A warning instinct buzzed at her nape. Since when did Emma have a delicate constitution? Clearly, Cal wasn’t aware of these headaches, otherwise he’d be hovering over his sister and not flirting with Phee in the breakfast room.
After setting the bundle of clothing on the bench at the foot of her bed, Phee left the room. A simple inquiry to another maid in the hall led her to the correct door. Emma’s lady’s maid answered her knock.
Phee donned an innocent smile. “I’ve been asked to fetch gloves for Lady Emma.”
If Emma was within, Phee would claim she’d misunderstood her task, then bid the maid good day. But within moments, she stood in the hallway, holding a pair of kidskin gloves trimmed with a row of fine silver and mother-of-pearl buttons.
Emma wasn’t inside the room. She’d sneaked out, lied to the staff, and left her maid at home to cover for her. No doubt this wasn’t the first time either, if the servants had noticed a pattern. Slapping the gloves against her thigh, Phee returned to her room. She tossed the gloves on a small table by the door, then opened the curtains to let the light in.
Emma’s determined focus on misbehavior would worry anyone. Why wouldn’t the girl see sense? Everyone knew Roxbury’s reputation. Cal was throwing everything he had toward ensuring the success of his sister’s debut. A million girls in this country would kill to have the opportunities Emma took for granted. That silly chit threw it all away.
But then, Cal might have stumbled upon this information himself if not for Phee’s circumstances distracting him. Lord, what a muddle.
Pulling the first waistcoat from the bundle of clothes, she sank into the chair, opened the sewing kit, and got to work while her brain spun.
The changes of the last few days were happening so fast, it made her feel as if she were continually catching her breath.
The threat of Uncle Milton had Phee twitching at shadows and on edge.
Cal suddenly knew her secrets, and she wasn’t used toanyoneknowing her business. Damn the man. After over a decade of successfully pretending to be Adam, a wooden dick had felled her charade. Dicks ruined everything.
Even Nelson’s new position in the house made her wary. What if he found proof of her secret like Cal had? Nelson’s job meant spying for them and passing along Milton’s plans for her. But what if Milton got to Nelson too? It might not be hard to flip a turncoat for the other side. Nelson was a good kid; she firmly believed that. But he’d already participated in the wrong plans once, so it would be unwise to trust blindly. With loyalty for sale, there was no guarantee Cal offered the highest price. Nelson was their closest tie to information on Milton’s next move. Cal was her closest tie to Nelson, thanks to his decision to employ the lad.
