Читать книгу The Rake's Proposal - Sarah Elliott - Страница 8

E arly the next morning, Kate was seated at her dressing table, her brow furrowed in concentration. An impossible tangle of threads was spread out in her lap, the result of her clumsy efforts at embroidering a handkerchief for her brother—not something to be attempted again. Her sewing skills, along with her skills in just about every other feminine art, were minimal.

“Is everything all right, Miss Kate?”

She pricked her finger as she looked up from her work. Her lady’s maid, Mary, had just entered the room, a large basket of clothes in her arms. No, she answered Mary silently, everything is quite wrong. Even after she’d dashed out of the study last night, she’d been kept awake by images of dark, golden skin and warm, amber eyes. She hadn’t fallen asleep until dawn had begun to break.

“I’m fine, Mary—just woolgathering.”

Mary lowered the basket onto the bed, where she proceeded to fold the clothes with efficiency. She was not, apparently, particularly interested in what Kate was woolgathering about, and opened her favorite topic instead. “So. Tonight’s your brother’s engagement party…and your first real excursion into society. It could hardly come too soon.”

Kate rolled her eyes. Since her mother had died when she was just a baby, in many ways Mary had taken her place. Bossy, she was, and far too familiar. “Oh, Mary, please let’s not broach this subject quite yet. I’ve only just arrived here.”

“I can’t help it, Miss Kate. I’m just pleased that one of you will finally marry, even though I never suspected Lord Robert would be the first. Lady Charlotte Bannister must be a rather forceful young woman to have encouraged such honorable behavior in your brother.”

Kate had met Charlotte for the first time yesterday, and thought forceful was an apt, if understated, description. “I suppose.”

“And his wedding couldn’t have come at a more convenient time. Now you’ll be able to enjoy the full season, dear, and have the proper coming out that you deserve.”

“I’m twenty-four, Mary—an age hardly conducive to a proper coming out.”

“Well, you weren’t much to look at when you were eighteen—”

Since that particular wound had been reopened by Benjamin Sinclair only the night before, Kate answered with unusual heat. “Thank you, Mary, for putting my nerves at ease.”

Mary looked heavenwards for patience. “What I was going to say, m’lady, is that it wasn’t until the past few years that you’ve really come into your own anyway. It’s most unfortunate that your father’s illness prevented you from coming out sooner, but sometimes waiting can work to one’s advantage.”

Kate grumbled inaudibly and rose from the dressing table. She couldn’t argue. Robert’s wedding really did come at a convenient time. The fact was, she’d been contemplating spending the season in London even before her brother had announced his plans—she hadn’t really much choice about it. She, too, needed to get married, and the sooner the better.

Kate abandoned that worrying stream of thought and sat back down, this time on her bed. She changed the subject slightly. “I suspect Robbie thinks I’ve been a bit depressed since our father’s death last year. I have been reclusive, and I haven’t made any attempt to visit him in town.”

Matter-of-fact as always, Mary nodded vigorously. “He’d be right if that’s what he thinks. You’ve been in mourning for over a year now, Miss Kate. It’s time to get on with your own life. Get married yourself.” She opened an overstuffed suitcase, still unpacked, and grimaced. “Goodness, we probably shouldn’t have brought all this. Most of it is unsuitable to wear in town anyway. You’ll need to go shopping first thing.”

Kate sighed elaborately as Mary began to move purposefully about the room. “I’m not a complete simpleton, you know. I realize I’ll have to buy a few new things.”

It was a long-standing argument. She spent little time or money on her appearance, and most of the clothes she bought were serviceable rather than fashionable. Little Brookings society was provincial at the best of times, and she’d always seen little point in worrying about her looks when there were so few to notice.

But try and convince someone who’d spent nearly her whole life as a lady’s maid. Mary believed in the importance of keeping up appearances. “Your clothes are fine at home, Miss Kate, but you know as well as I that London requires greater sophistication than, well…” she paused for delicacy, “that thing you’re wearing now, for instance.”

Kate looked down at her dress and tried to hide her grin. Thing was an accurate description. Thing was actually rather generous. Truth was, she only wore it for Mary’s benefit.

“What’s wrong, Mary? Do you not care for brown?”

Mary harrumphed. “What I care for is getting you married, like you ought to be. Brown, if you can even call it that, certainly won’t help—” Her lecture was interrupted by Kate’s powder puff landing squarely in her face.

“Take that, sweet maid. I hereby declare thee the most beautiful in all the land.” She giggled at the comical mixture of surprise and grudging good humor on her maid’s powder-covered face and gave a mock swoon, falling backward onto her bed. “Oh, Mary, I fear my constitution is too delicate even to consider a husband.”

“Delicate, my foot,” Mary snorted while Kate blinked her eyes in feigned shock at her maid’s not-so-unusual breach of maid-to-mistress decorum. “I’m just thankful that something will finally motivate you to get out of your rut…and if it takes a kick in the…you know what…to get you to do something about it, well, that’s fine by me.”

“A kick in the…? Is that what you call it?”

Mary ignored her question and continued. “I know we’ve had this discussion before, but you should have been married ages ago.”

“Mary, I know. You know I know. I was planning to go to London even before I heard from Robert.”

“Yesss…only you have yet to seem happy about it.”

“Well, I am. Happy. About it.”

“I see.”

Mary continued to unpack and fold clothes, and Kate walked over to the window. The morning was gray, and it suitably reflected her mood. People in dark clothes moved their way slowly up the damp street. After a minute she heard Mary leave, closing the door quietly behind her.

Kate returned to her bed, enjoying for the moment the restored tranquility that always followed in Mary’s wake. They’d had this discussion many times before, and although Kate hated to admit it, Mary was right. As each year passed, it would only become harder for her to wed, and she was fast realizing that a husband was a necessity. Not that she didn’t cherish her independence, for she valued it more than anything. The fact was, however, that marrying was the only way for her to maintain that independence.

Oh, was she ever in a pickle. Her life would definitely be simpler if she’d been born a man.

It was all her grandfather’s fault. When, many years ago, he’d turned his gentlemanly interest in boats into a lucrative shipbuilding company, he never could have dreamed of the trouble this decision would cause his then-unborn granddaughter.

She lay back into the deep cushion of her down quilt and sighed, letting her mind wander back through her family history.

Her grandfather had called his business Alfred and Sons. He’d always chuckled about this name—there wasn’t a soul in their family named Alfred. He’d actually named the company after his late Pekinese, figuring that although he might have to sully his hands in trade, he didn’t have to sully the family name by advertising that fact.

Luckily, he proved an able businessman and reinvigorated the Sutcliffs’ old and ill-managed money. He’d even earned the title of first Baron Gordon for supplying the Crown with ships during the Seven Years’ War, thus elevating their family to the peerage for the first time. Indeed, a knack for business seemed to be a family trait, and with her grandfather’s death, Kate’s father not only inherited his title, but the company as well. In turn, he’d shared his knowledge with his two children…or at least, he’d tried. The fact was, though, only one of them really took to it: his skinny, freckled daughter. And that would have been perfectly fine if only she’d been a skinny, freckled son.

Kate’s father had indulged her anyway. He let her tag along to the boatyard to inspect the account books with him, and she’d paid attention, absorbing everything she could. As she grew older, she’d frequently been her father’s sole companion—by the age of ten, Robert had left for Eton, followed by Oxford. He’d learned Latin and ancient Greek and how to be a member of the ruling class…but never, alas, how to tie a decent knot.

But Kate was different. From a very young age, hardly a day had passed in which she didn’t visit her father’s boatyard. Over the years, this habit raised quite a few eyebrows around the village, and it was rumored that the new baron was terribly eccentric, if not completely mad, for allowing his daughter such free rein. Eventually, however, her cheerful smile, bony elbows and abundant freckles endeared her to even the oldest of the old salts. Although she had since grown into her elbows and lessened her freckles with Dr. Calloway’s Lemon Complexion Balm, her presence was still grudgingly accepted—and secretly enjoyed.

Of course, this acceptance hinged on the fact that very few people really knew the true extent of her involvement in the company. Kate’s father sensibly feared that even the most loyal employee would balk at the idea of taking orders from a young, pretty female. But the truth was that once he became too ill to head the company himself, Kate had stepped fully into his shoes. Out of necessity, Alfred and Sons’ longtime clerk, Andrew Hilton, was named the company’s director—after all, what self-respecting businessman would agree to deal with a mere slip of a twenty-odd-year-old girl? But Kate knew every detail of every meeting, and not a single decision was made without her approval.

She wasn’t quite sure how it had come about, really. Perhaps it was simply because her father knew that there was none other as qualified as she, and Robert had little desire to be called away from London to slave over company ledgers. The reason didn’t really matter. Kate knew she had placed herself into a role that women weren’t allowed to play, and that she would become a social pariah if it were ever discovered.

This arrangement had worked well enough throughout her father’s illness but became a little tricky after his death. His title and nearly all of the family property—the house in St. James’s, the house in Little Brookings, another in Surrey—had passed on to Robert. Kate was given a dowry of four thousand pounds a year.

And Alfred and Sons?

In the strangest turn of events, it passed from father to daughter.

When her father wrote his will, he intended for his family to carry on as they always had, with none the wiser. He left the company and all its holdings to Kate…with a clause: she would inherit the company fully only after she wed. It was a purely practical consideration—lacking a father, she’d need a husband to ensure her legitimacy. Until she married, Andrew Hilton would continue to serve as nominal director. It should have been very simple.

But shortly after her father died, Hilton made it clear that he wanted more than nominal control. Although he’d never shown any interest in Kate as anything but the daughter of his employer, he suddenly began waging a serious war for her hand.

At first, she’d shrugged off his advances as harmless, but lately they’d become impossible to ignore. Most recently, he’d begun resorting to coercion, threatening to expose her role in the company and thus destroy everything her father had worked for.

Kate couldn’t allow that to happen, but as an unmarried woman she had little legal recourse, nor could she seek protection from the courts—to tell anyone would betray her role in the company. She couldn’t confide in her brother, either. Normally, he was completely disinterested in Alfred and Sons, but if he knew she was in any sort of danger he’d force her to give up all involvement with the company. He might even make her sell it. As the head of the family, he could do that.

The only solution she could come up with was to get married, and that was what she was determined to do: quickly and conveniently, romance not required.

There was nothing unusual about Ben’s impromptu overnight stay. He’d known Robert since they’d been at school together, and when the season was in full swing and the drinks flowed a little too freely, he frequently availed himself of his friend’s hospitality. Since Ben had been at sea for the past six months, however, his presence now was unexpected.

The two men were seated in Robert’s breakfast room. Robert was tucking in eagerly to a large plate of eggs and rashers while Ben pushed his helping more aimlessly around his plate. Occasionally, Robert looked up from his food and smiled, but gave up almost immediately upon seeing his friend’s dark countenance.

“So…how’s business?” Robert asked after several minutes, obviously trying to fill the silence. “You’ve been away for a while. Everything in order?”

A dull ache had invaded Ben’s brain that morning and he’d have been just as happy if they didn’t talk at all. “Speak quietly,” he whispered, “business is fine.”

“I thought this shipping business of yours was only a lark, Ben. It sounds suspiciously like work. You look exhausted.”

Ben ignored that. Unlike most ship owners, he liked to oversee many of the day-to-day operations of his business and often accompanied his crew on their voyages. He’d discovered his love of the sea during his Grand Tour, and once he’d returned to England he’d found that life on solid ground no longer satisfied him. He’d become involved in shipping as a diversion, really, hoping to find some way to alleviate the deadening boredom of high society. Somehow, though, he’d become completely caught up in the business. He found that he thrived on hard work, liked having a reason to get up in the morning and loved the thrill of traveling somewhere new. He kept this part of his personality largely concealed from his jaded friends, however.

And anyway, the reason for his current exhaustion had nothing to do with work.

Robert was still watching him. “Had a rough night, eh?”

Ben just grunted. Robert hadn’t any idea how rough, and Ben felt certain that he wouldn’t actually like to know the details of how his best friend had nearly seduced his sister. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it himself. Granted, he’d been slightly foxed when he’d arrived, having stopped at his club for a drink en route. Perhaps his judgment had been a bit flawed….

No. Best just to pretend it hadn’t happened. “Tell me again when the wedding is to be?”

Robert smiled. “Fifteenth of September. Charlotte had the devil of a time getting her mother to agree to it—not to her marrying me, of course, but to doing it so quickly. Told me it was scandalous, the old bag. Horse Face must have ceremony. But I held firm. A man can only wait so long. Six months it shall be. But it is a squeeze, I know. Reckon there’s a lot to do…dresses and flowers and such nonsense. I’ve elected to leave that business to the women, not that they’d want my help anyway. Charlotte has already begun to send out invitations like mad…on top of that, I have a host of bloody decorators to contend with because Horse Face says my home is entirely unsuitable.” He shook his head ruefully. “I’m not looking forward to it, I tell you, but I suppose it’s the price one pays. House has been full of bloody women, even now. My sister’s here, you know.”

Ben’s expression must have betrayed something, because Robert narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, “Do you remember meeting her?”

Only too well, Ben thought to himself. His headache, which had begun to subdue, sharpened considerably. With undue heat he answered, “Not with much fondness, Robbie. She threw a glass of water at me, I remember that much quite clearly.”

“I think you insulted her, Ben,” Robert reminded him.

“I never insult women.”

“Perhaps you called her scrawny. She was only eleven, you know. Always been a bit of a tomboy, though.”

Ben snorted in distaste. “Age is no excuse. I’d rather hoped to continue avoiding her.”

Robert nodded in agreement. “Can’t say I’d mind if you avoided my sister either, old boy, but there’s unlikely to be much choice unless you plan on leaving the country again. She’ll be here for the entire season. It’s her first, you know.”

That piqued Ben’s curiosity. “Not married, then? What, doesn’t she believe in it either?”

“Keep your mind out of the gutter, Ben. She never had a proper coming out. Once our father became ill she remained home to tend to him. He died just last year, as you know, and she’s been in mourning since. Anyway, for some reason she’s become set on the idea of matrimony all of the sudden.”

Ben merely grunted. “It happens to all women.”

“You’re being rather touchy this morning.”

Ben supposed he was, and it was all the fault of his irrational behavior the night before. He’d known countless beautiful women in his life and had never lost control quite like that. Oh, not much had happened, but for God’s sake, she was his best friend’s sister. He should have gone straight to bed, yet he’d been so reluctant to bring their conversation to its hasty and logical end, with both of them heading off to their respective rooms for a good night’s sleep. It was too much fun watching her blush, and he had simply poured himself another drink and all but forced her to join him.

Thinking of that blasted drink, Ben had to smile to himself. Served the chit right for choking on it. It softened the blow—literally—for that damn book she’d thrown at him. Lucky thing she kissed better than she threw or his head would be throbbing more than it already was.

But that kiss…

After she’d fled the room, he’d had another drink, trying to tame his rampant emotions. He was angry, but mainly with himself. Couldn’t really blame her for trying to brain him. He’d treated her quite cavalierly after that kiss, but it was the only way he could think of to get her out of the room before his tenuous control slipped once more.

If it were any other female, he’d simply bed her—no better way to get a woman out of one’s mind. But she was Robert’s sister and seduction was not an option.

Robert was saying something about lunch and Ben realized he hadn’t been listening. Robert was looking at him, clearly waiting for an answer.

Ben wasn’t sure what the question had been, but took a stab at an answer anyway. “Oh, no. I have to return home. Mrs. Davis should be in today, cleaning or whatever it is she does to ready the house for the season. Have a few things to do myself. You on for White’s tonight?”

“Tonight’s the old engagement party, lad…as I’ve been telling you. ’Fraid I’m obliged to make an appearance. You should come, though—I know you weren’t planning on being in town, but now that you’re here…”

“I’ll think about it. Right now I need to rest up and set my head to rights. Not quite myself yet this morning.”

“Noted,” Robert said dryly, “but I’ll be expecting you tonight anyway—besides, I’d get great satisfaction out of unbalancing Horse Face’s guest list.”

Ben glanced at his pocket watch. It was nearly eleven. He’d better leave Robert’s soon lest Kate make an appearance.

He nodded distractedly. “I’ll try to make it, Rob. But now I really must go. I have business of my own to attend to.” He pushed his uneaten breakfast back and rose from his seat. “Enjoy your lunch…who’d you say you were dining with?”

Robert sighed. “Charlotte and Kate.”

“Kate?”

“My sister, dunce. Did you hear anything I was saying?”

“Like I said, I’m not myself this early. But self shall return before this evening. You have my promise.”