Page 12 of Unmasked by the Marquess
“Tell me about your mother’s salon,” Charity said later that afternoon. “What does one have to do to get an invitation?” Seeing the girl flush, she hastily added, “That’s likely crass of me, angling for an invitation so shamelessly. But after being marooned in Northumberland I have no conduct at all.”
Miss Allenby tittered nervously. “You don’t need an invitation. But I’m not sure my... Lord Pembroke, that is, would approve... ah.” She cast her gaze desperately around the room, looking anywhere other than at Charity. “It’s a delicate situation, you see.”
“You mean that your brother is very stuffy and might not like it if his protégés associated with his father’s mistress,” Charity offered. “Oh no. Now you’re blushing. I told you I have a sad lack of conduct.”
“It’s not that,” she protested immediately. “Your conduct is simply lovely. But I don’t wish to displease Lord Pembroke.”
Charity dismissed this concern with a wave of her hand. “My attending Mrs. Allenby’s salon can be of no importance to him. I won’t bring Louisa, not out of any benighted notions of propriety but because she’d be bored silly. Besides, Pembroke can’t object to my knowing your mother, when his own brother is so open about the connection.”
They both turned their heads to look at the gentleman in question, who was at that moment deep in conversation with Louisa. Snippets of conversation drifted their way.
“The issue is thequalityof the manure,” Louisa was saying.
“What do you know about drainage?” asked Lord Gilbert. He was writing in a small notebook he had withdrawn from his coat pocket.
Miss Allenby shot Charity an incredulous glance. “Are they discussing agriculture?”
“Likely so. Louisa’s had the running of the home farm for years.” Even before Robbie died, Louisa, still in pinafores and braids, had implemented improvements and economies. “I’d have left it all up to the steward but she has definite opinions on these things.”
“How admirable,” Miss Allenby murmured, and seemed to mean it.
“Now that Lord Gilbert has asked about drainage she’ll go on for hours. She has a passion for it.” Perhaps if Louisa hadn’t been such a beauty, she would have stayed in Northumberland and eventually married a farmer, and spent her days bossing him about regarding turnips and guano. Charity dismissed that thought as lunacy. The girl was going to make a brilliant match and lead a life free of worry.
“I’m not entirely clear what drainage even is,” Miss Allenby confessed, “and I’d like to keep it that way.”
They both giggled at this, and only stopped when they were interrupted by the butler announcing the arrival of Lord Pembroke.
Every time she saw him, she was struck anew by how imposing he was, but here in their shabby little rented house, he seemed grander still. He was like a crystal goblet on a table filled with clay jugs. Too fine for everyday use.
He had never visited them before. For a moment, he stood at the threshold of the room, presumably surveying the arrangements and finding them lacking. Charity watched as the briefest flicker of assessment crossed his face. The room suddenly revealed itself to Charity as being too small, the furniture too worn, everything a bit too dirty and sad-looking. She felt the inadequacy of everything she had worked for, the madness of the gamble she was taking. She had wagered her entire identity, her safety, her future, and come up with a few hundred pounds, a leased house, and some faded upholstery.
But then his gaze met hers and he crossed the cramped room in two strides. All her concerns were swept away by the force of his nearness.
After giving a desultory bow to Miss Allenby, he turned to Charity. “I had to see what the fuss was about,” he said in his customary haughty drawl. “It seems that half the ton has already visited. I thought I ought to make an appearance lest you think me remiss.”
“As if such a thing were possible.” She snorted. “I’m sure you’ve never been remiss in your life.”
“Well,” he said with a shrug, but didn’t deny it.
She smiled at that show of arrogance. “Come see Louisa.”
If he were dismayed to find his brother tête-à-tête with Louisa, he didn’t show it, but Charity had to guess that he wouldn’t want to see his brother make calf eyes at a nearly penniless girl from an unknown family. And Charity was confident that sensible, practical Louisa would allow her head to be turned only by someone with a bit more money and stability than Lord Gilbert.
Louisa was perfectly, blandly civil, but Charity could tell that she did not like Lord Pembroke. So after Louisa had poured out tea, Charity took him by the arm. “Now come meet your actual hostess.”
“Oh—it can’t be.” He had a wicked gleam in his eye. “Am I finally to meet the aunt?” He had several times now asked where the Selbys were keeping the aunt who served as their nominal chaperone.
“Yes.” She squeezed his arm in reproof. And if she enjoyed the feel of his muscles rippling under her touch, then what of it? “Try to contain your delight.”
“This reminds me of the first time I met the king. Do I look all right?” he teased, making a great show of smoothing his lapels.
“Oh, shut up.” She led him to the corner of the drawing room, where Aunt Agatha was dozing behind a potted plant. Agatha Cavendish, Louisa’s great aunt from her mother’s side, was of course in on their deception. When told about the entail, she had responded that entails were precisely the sort of thing she’d expect men to come up with, Selby men in particular, and had promptly gone back to sleep. She was exactly the chaperone they needed for this trip: she paid no attention to anything that happened in the house and scarcely ever ventured outside it.
“Aunt Agatha, may I present Lord Pembroke?” Charity spoke loud enough to wake the old lady.
“Eh?” Aunt Agatha answered, momentarily startled. “Oh, so you’re the marquess. How nice for you.” And then she closed her eyes.
Charity looked up at Pembroke’s face to gauge his reaction, but his face was impassive.
