Page 3 of Unmasked by the Marquess
For a moment they stood there, inches apart. Selby was ultimately the one to step back. “I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try.” He flashed Alistair another winning smile, more dangerous for being at close range, before bowing handsomely and showing himself out.
Alistair was left alone in a room that had grown darker still.
“What did he say?” Louisa asked as soon as Charity returned to the shabby-genteel house they had hired for the Season.
“It’s a nonstarter, Lou,” she replied, flinging herself onto a settee. She propped her boots up onto the table before her. One of the many, many advantages of posing as a man was the freedom afforded by men’s clothing.
“He turned you away, then?” Louisa asked, looking up from the tea she was pouring them.
“Oh, worse than that. He asked if his father had gotten your mother with child, then advised me that if I allowed you to stay in London, you’d end up prostituting yourself.”
Louisa colored, and Charity realized she had spoken too freely. Louisa had, after all, been raised a lady. “Oh, he didn’t say that last thing quite outright, but he dropped a strong hint.” She hooked an arm behind her head and settled comfortably back in her seat. “Besides, what does it matter if he thinks we’re beneath reproach? He’s never even heard of us before today. His opinion doesn’t matter a jot.”
“Maybe he’s right, though, and I shouldn’t stay in London.” Instead of looking at Charity, she was nervously lining up the teacups so their cracks and chips were out of sight.
“Nonsense. As soon as these nobs get a look at you, you’ll take off like a rocket.”
Louisa regarded her dubiously. But it really was absurd, how very pretty Robbie’s little sister had turned out to be. Her hair fell in perfect flaxen ringlets and her skin was flawless. Other than her blond hair she looked nothing like Robbie, thank God, because that would have been too hard for Charity to live with.
Charity shook her head in a futile attempt to dismiss that unwanted thought, and then blew an errant strand of hair off her forehead. “I only have to figure out how to make them notice you in the first place, and if that prig of a marquess isn’t willing to help, then we’ll find another way.”
“Was he really that bad?”
Charity put her hand over her heart, as if taking an oath. “I tell you, if he had a quizzing glass he would have examined me under it. He seemed so dreadfully bored and put upon, I nearly felt bad for him. But then I remembered all his money and got quite over it.”
That made Louisa laugh, and Charity was glad of it, because it wouldn’t do for the girl to worry. Charity was worried enough for both of them. Going to Pembroke had been a last resort; he was such a loose connection of the family, but he was the best Charity could come up with. Louisa needed a husband, and she needed one soon, because Charity wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to be able to keep up this charade. Dressing like a man didn’t bother her—quite the contrary. But pretending to be Robbie when the real Robbie was cold in his grave? That was too much. It was a daily reminder of what she had lost, of what she would never have.
Louisa put down her teacup and clasped her hands together. “I’d be glad to go to Bath for a few months. Remember that the Smythe girls found husbands there.”
Charity remembered all too well. One of them had married a country clergyman and the other had gotten engaged to an army officer on half pay. She’s be damned if Louisa threw herself away like that. Hell, if she had gone through with this farce for Louisa to wind up marrying a curate she’d be furious.
She had to forcibly remind herself that her feelings were immaterial. This was her chance to see Louisa settled in the way Robbie would have wanted. It was only because of the Selbys that Charity was here in the first place, clean and fed and educated, rather than... Well, none of that bore thinking of. She was grateful to the family, and this was her chance to take care of the last of them.
“Listen, Charity. When I think of the expense of this London trip—”
“You mustn’t call me that,” Charity whispered. “Servants might hear.” And if Charity knew anything about servants, which she most certainly did, it would only be a matter of time before one overheard. And then their ship would be quite sunk.
“Oh!” Louisa cried, clapping a hand over her mouth. “I keep forgetting. But it’s so strange to call you Robbie.”
Of course it was. Not everyone was as hardened to deceit as Charity had become. She had been assuming this role for years, from the point when the real Robert Selby had decided that he did not want to go to Cambridge and would send Charity in his stead. She, at least, was used to answering to his name. But since Robbie had died two years ago, she increasingly felt that she no longer had his permission to use his name. The deceit was weighing heavier on her with each passing day.
All the more reason to get Louisa set up splendidly. Then Robert Selby could fade gracefully out of existence, leaving his Northumberland estate free for the proper heir to eventually inherit, while Charity would... Her imagination failed her.
She would figure that out some other time. First, she’d take care of Louisa.
“If all else fails, we’ll go to Bath or a seaside resort. I promise.” And she flashed her pretend sister her most confident smile.
Chapter Two
“Keep a weather eye out for any of the aunts, Alistair.” Gilbert had a playful sparkle in his eye that Alistair was glad to see after their recent disagreements. “Half the ton is out and it’s too damned fine a day to have it ruined by the likes of Aunt Pettigrew.” The young scapegrace pushed his hat down low over his brow as if that would disguise him from any passing relations.
Alistair bit back a laugh. He shouldn’t encourage his brother in such foolishness. But he didn’t want to encounter his aunts any more than Gilbert did. Alas, they were likely lurking around here someplace, everyone in London having apparently decided as one to take advantage of weather that seemed to belong more to May than to March.
He slowed his horse to a walk when they approached a knot of carriages. “I’ve been avoiding the aunts since before you were born. Give me some credit.”
“Brace yourself, because Aunt Pettigrew is looking for you. Yesterday she summoned me to her house—”
“And you went?” He had known his brother was flighty, but a man had to be a confirmed bedlamite to willingly visit Lady Pettigrew.
