Page 39 of Unmasked by the Marquess
Gilbert de Lacey was not a man of influence and wealth, but his brother was, and that was close enough, if Alistair could be persuaded to dirty his hands.
Louisa was trying on her new bonnet, which did rather look like a sea creature. It was a frightful shade of green, and if one was in a grotesque frame of mind, one could detect a suggestion of seaweed and tentacles in the ribbons and netting. It would be properly hideous on anyone else, but over the last six weeks in London, Louisa had discovered that she could get away with wearing things that other women might not dare.
Robbie had still been alive when Charity first realized that Louisa would be a beauty. Charity and he had been huddled under the blankets in his bed when she asked if he had anything set aside for Louisa’s dowry. “No, but she has her face,” was his answer. He had not been a terribly responsible brother, but he had been so young, and his guardian—none other than Mr. Clifton—had been so far away. “We have time,” he told Charity, pulling her close against him. But they didn’t.
There was never time. Now Charity’s remaining time with Louisa could be measured in weeks instead of months.
Feeling abjectly sorry for herself, she went in search of the one person who could be counted on to snap her out of it. She found Keating in the tiny butler’s pantry, indifferently polishing silver.
“You’ll never get the spots off unless you twist the rag up like so,” she said, taking the spoon and cloth from him.
“Never said I wanted to be a proper butler,” he grumbled. “You lured me with promises of a life of crime.”
When Charity met Keating he had been working at Cambridge as a bedder—a servant who tended to students’ linens and washing water. She caught him sneaking out of another student’s rooms at an odd hour and supposed him to be a common thief, but in fact he was that student’s sometime lover. By that point she had been desperate for an accomplice, someone to pretend to shave her and to handle the laundry so she wouldn’t have to burn her monthly rags. And if Keating could keep the secret of his relationship with the other student, then surely he could keep her secret as well. She had not been disappointed.
“Lucky you,” she said, pushing her sleeves up in order to save them from the silver polish, “we only have another month or so left, and then we’ll go back to being penniless miscreants.”
“Hmph.” He eyed her carefully. “You don’t sound too cheerful about the prospect.”
“I think it’s only fair to warn you that I’m going to be very bad company at first.” Try as she might, she could not remember agreeing that Keating would accompany her. But it seemed he had made up his mind.
“I’m sure I’ll contrive a way to amuse myself.” He took the half-polished spoon back from Charity. “So. Are we to flee by land or by sea?”
“I don’t know yet. Clifton was here. He hinted that he might go to Fenshawe and ask questions.”
“Bad timing, with the pretty lordling almost on the hook.”
There was no point in taking issue with this characterization of Lord Gilbert’s courting of Louisa. “Exactly.”
“I’ll go to Fenshawe and make sure there’s no gossip.”
God, that would be a relief. “You’ll send word if it looks like he’s about to make trouble?” That would at least give her time to get away, time to make sure Louisa knew what she had to say.
And then she’d be gone.
She had recovered from losing Robbie and she’d recover from losing Louisa and Alistair and the rest of it. She had started this life with nothing and nobody, and it would be no great loss to start with nothing again. Being alone and nameless was practically her birthright, after all.
Chapter Twelve
Alistair called on her as soon as he returned to London. Well, as soon as he washed off the dust of the road and changed into something suitable. Although what attire was suitable for this errand he couldn’t rightly guess. He was doing what was correct, and that would have to sustain him. The entire week at Broughton he had spent turning this issue over in his mind, finally determining that there was only one acceptable course of action.
Checking once more that his cuffs were even and his collar straight, he entered the drawing room. It was crowded with the usual young bucks and whichever female relations they could persuade to accompany them. Miss Allenby was present and, after only an instant’s hesitation, he gave her a cordial half bow. Or perhaps not precisely cordial, but at least... Well, it was a bow. Robin couldn’t accuse him of treating his half sisters like lepers now, could she?
He didn’t see Robin anywhere, though. He caught Miss Selby’s eye—he made her a bow and in return she delivered her usual approximation of a smile. She didn’t like him in the least bit, and for all her pretty manners couldn’t quite feign civility to him. Gilbert had likely filled her ear with tales of Alistair’s stinginess and cruelty. It might have been more convenient to be on friendly terms with Robin’s pretend sister, but Alistair was rather used to a certain chilliness in his dealings with people, so he didn’t concern himself overmuch about Miss Selby.
Without even looking, he knew the minute Robin walked into the room. Maybe it was the way so many people smiled toward the door. Maybe it was her scent or some primal connection they had forged during their night together. Whatever the reason, he felt her presence with his entire body.
When he turned and she saw him, she smiled so brightly and started towards him so automatically that for a moment he thought she was going to launch herself into his arms.
The horrible thing was that he would hardly have minded, so lost was he to all sense of decorum and propriety where Robin was concerned. And that was why he had to go through with this.
Some of his unease must have shown on his face because she checked her progress toward him, adopting a more neutral expression, the bland politesse that was utterly proper in London drawing rooms.
He hated it. He wanted to grab her and kiss her until she gave him that smile again.
This was madness.
He schooled his expression into something decent. “Mr. Selby.” He spoke loudly and coolly enough for half the room to hear how utterly unmoved he was by seeing her. “Is there a place where we can discuss that matter I referenced at our last meeting?”
