Page 10 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
“Meantime, my boy,” Mr. Kilburn said to Dom, “you’re to move back home. The decision to allow you to room withthem”—he shot a sour glance at Kieran and Finn—“was the worst of my life.”
Dom muttered, his jaw jutting forward belligerently, but he didn’t argue with his father.
“Areweto return to the nest, as well?” Kieran asked acidly.
The earl gave an undignified snort. “This is your sister’s home, too. She’d stay away indefinitely if she had to share a roof with you reprobates again. You can remain on Henrietta Street—for the time being.”
Sour regret churned in Kieran’s stomach. He’d truly believed that liberating Willa from marrying Dom had been to her benefit, sparing her their parents’ fate, but clearly, she didn’t share his opinion. Was it worth writing her, knowing that she’d likely consign his letter to the fire without even reading it?
“What are the chronological parameters of this edict?” Finn asked. “Assuming that your largesse can only last so long, what’s it to be? Two years, three?”
“Twelve months from today,” their father answered.
Kieran shot to his feet. “Madness. You expect us to go from social pariahs to upstanding husbands in one goddamned year?”
“Time constraints will provide necessary motivation,” his mother said, tapping her fingers on the inlaid tabletop beside her.
Kieran glanced at Finn, who lifted his eyebrows slightly, signifying his resignation. When Kieran threw a look at Dom, his friend curled his lip as if to say,What the fuck can we do?
Burning cold fury coalesced in Kieran’s chest as he turned back to his parents and Mr. Kilburn. They stared back at him, their expressions implacable. He could rail, he could tear the Green Parlor apart, but it wouldn’t make a difference.
He had to face the icy, brutal truth. There truly was no alternative. He, Finn, and Dom would have to find respectable brides, or lose everything.
Trouble was, the only respectable young woman he could think of was Dom’s sister, the extremely decorous Miss Celeste Kilburn. Aside from theirtransitory encounter at the disastrous and abortive wedding, he hadn’t seen her andwould notsee her. She moved in dreadfully polite circles, and meeting with her would require a goodly amount of strategy and subterfuge.
It was a fortunate thing, though, that when it came to behavior, he possessed almost no scruples.
Chapter 3
Another day, another bloody shopping excursion.
Celeste Kilburn ought to be grateful, she truly should. She still had memories of the early years when the family had lived in Ratcliff, and the many nights when she’d gone to bed still hungry because supper had been one small pie divided amongst four people. She could still feel the cold of the floor on her bare feet because there hadn’t been enough money to afford new shoes for herandDom. Because Dom had been the one to work alongside Da, and Celeste remained at home helping with the piecework Ma took in, Dom had required the shoes more than she had.
Eleven years since they’d left that grinding poverty behind, Celeste owned so many pairs of shoes—including soft kidskin boots and delicate dancing slippers adorned with satin ribbons that could only be worn once before falling apart—she couldn’t keep count of them all.
Da insisted she needed to be seen making purchases in Pall Mall at least twice a week, so here shewas, standing at the counter of a shop, waiting for her unwanted shoes to be packed up.
“What acquisitions have you made today, Miss Kilburn?” a genteel female voice behind her asked.
“Nothing of consequence, Lady Jarrett.” Tacking a polite smile onto her face, Celeste turned to face the baron’s wife.
“Do satisfy my curiosity.” Though her words sounded pleasant, the older woman’s eyes were sharp and calculating.
Celeste forcibly relaxed her jaw rather than give in to the urge to clench it. “Please show Lady Jarrett what I’ve purchased,” she said to the shopkeeper.
The man removed her slippers from their boxes and held them up for Lady Jarrett’s inspection.
Removing a lorgnette from her reticule, the baroness studied Celeste’s purchases. Celeste made herself breathe steadily in and out, as if she was perfectly calm and not at all afraid that her choices would be ridiculed by one of the ton’s most discerning—nay, judgmental—figures.
“Quite satisfactory, and the blue satin with the cream ribbons are especially elegant,” Lady Jarrett finally pronounced as Celeste silently exhaled. “I commend you for your use of such a restrained color palette. You should have seen the garish footwear Miss Findlay wore last week to the Earl of Ashford’s ball.” She shuddered.
The implication was clear: Miss Findlay’s family had made their fortune in wall coverings. They, like the Kilburns, were not part of the aristocratic elite, and, as such, their every action was thoroughly scrutinized, down to the color of Eliza Findlay’s shoes.
Celestehadwanted to pair the blue satin of her new slippers with persimmon ribbons, but thankfully, she’d gone with the more muted cream instead.
“I hope they will continue to meet your approval when I wear them at Lord Hempnall’s musical recital,” she answered.
“So long as they’re paired with a suitably harmonious gown,” the baroness answered with a cool little smile. She glanced at the shopkeeper. “I believe I have my own order to review.”
