An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) (13 page)

Colin nodded his head at Lord Ashcombe as the man made his way down the steps. “Good day, my lord.”

Ashcombe looked over the conveyance, a half sneer on his lips that was probably intended to be something of a smile. “Mr. McCrae, I had no idea your taste in horses was so fine.”

Colin stroked the horse’s hindquarters. “Horses are an investment like any other. It is important to get a good return.”

Ashcombe glanced at the house and then back to Colin. “One can surmise what payoff you hope to obtain.”

“Not everyone has the same objectives in life.” Five years of working with aristocrats in addition to twenty years living with a stubborn father had given Colin the ability to keep the stiffness and distaste he felt out of his voice. He even managed a natural-feeling smile.

“You’ve directed me well in the past, Mr. McCrae. Allow me to return the favor.” Ashcombe pulled his gloves on, seeming completely at ease with the conversation.

Colin grew increasingly nervous. If the man insulted Lady Miranda . . . Well, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Nothing if he was feeling charitable. Inform Ryland if he took a more vindictive line.

Ashcombe nodded his head back toward Hawthorne House. “She isn’t worth the work. You’re a man of business, as I am. If your wife is not an asset to your dealings, she will be the millstone that sinks your wealth. Lady Miranda is too uncertain. ’Tis best to look elsewhere.”

Ashcombe tipped his hat and walked down the street.

Colin shook his head as he gave the horse one last pat on the neck. He’d keep quiet for now. With any luck, Ashcombe’s presence at Hawthorne House meant Lady Georgina had changed her matrimonial target. She and Lord Ashcombe deserved each other.

Miranda’s stomps echoed through the hall and up the stairs. As much as Georgina wanted Miranda to marry, she was quite glad the outing with Mr. McCrae had gone poorly. If Georgina were forced to welcome that man into the family, she’d marry Napoleon just to get away from him.

Well, perhaps not Napoleon, but someone who would take her far, far away from Mr. McCrae and the temptation to upend a punch bowl over his head.

Fortunately, Miranda’s initial interest in Mr. McCrae seemed to have waned, and things with Lord Ashcombe were coming along very nicely. Georgina hated having to put so much effort into her alternative plan, but her first choices weren’t turning out the way she’d hoped, and the earl was so easy to bring to heel. Feign a bit of interest in his plans for his sheep and the man would do almost anything.

Georgina crept to the window to peek around the curtain. Lord Ashcombe was just now walking away from the steps of Hawthorne House where Mr. McCrae was still standing. Whatever the men had been discussing had pulled a small smile from Mr. McCrae. It brought a warmness to his handsome face that made Georgina’s stomach whirl into a waltz with her heart.

No. No. No.
No one was going to give Georgina those ridiculous sensations her friends were always going on and on about.
Especially not a man who wasn’t even on her list of possibilities. Georgina wasn’t averse to love, she knew it existed, but she wasn’t going to let such a mind-numbing emotion cloud her judgment. Colin McCrae provided nothing but a handsome face and sharp conversation. If things were different, she might consider those beneficial qualities.

But things weren’t different, and that made him a mere nuisance. And a distraction. She should be thinking of Lord Ashcombe, not admiring the fit of Mr. McCrae’s coat.

Why wasn’t the man leaving?

She looked back to his face and froze. He was looking right at her, the amused grin spreading into a full-blown smile.

The lacy white curtain fluttered back into place as Georgina stepped away from the window.

Ashcombe.
She was going to focus her efforts on Ashcombe and get him to propose as soon as may be.

She couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

Georgina felt more than a little guilty at how happy she was to see Jane’s bright red nose Thursday morning. Her efforts to secure Ashcombe’s attention over the past three days had been less successful than she wished. Now that Jane was too ill to host her gathering, Georgina would be free to attend the opera with her mother and sister, an opera she’d heard Ashcombe discuss attending as well. The potential benefit added to her guilt, making it easier to keep her face and voice contrite. “How awful to catch a head cold so early in the Season. You’ll have to cancel your poetry reading.”

Jane sniffled and burrowed deeper into the pillows on the settee in her family parlor. “I know. Mama’s sending out rescheduled invitations as we speak. We can’t do it next Friday, though, because Father has some important dinner scheduled.”

She punctuated her sentence with a ghastly blow into her handkerchief.

“We’ll have to push it out two weeks, then.” Georgina tried not to be disgusted by her friend’s illness, but really, what was she doing here? Jane’s missive had said it was urgent that she see Georgina as soon as possible. Knowing Jane, an urgent message could have meant anything from difficulty choosing new wallpaper for the drawing room to having the maid singe off her curls. Apparently it had been a horrible late-season cold and the wonderful news that Georgina wouldn’t have to recite a poem tomorrow night.

A two-week postponement was even more delightful. Jane had been known to forget the name of her cat in a two-week span. With a little help from Georgina she could certainly be made to forget a poetry reading.

“No,” Jane said, her voice thick and rough. “Mother is going to move it to next Wednesday. At first I thought that a silly idea, but it’s actually quite genius. Since Parliament won’t be meeting that day, more men will be available to attend.”

Georgina hoped her feigned excitement was convincing. Moving it to a Wednesday was perfect. Now it was a special event and their Friday salons could return to normal. After Jane got better, of course.

Jane flopped one hand through the air. “That’s not why I brought you here, though.”

There was more urgent news than the postponement of Jane’s pet project? Georgina couldn’t think of a single thing Jane had talked about more over the past two weeks.

“He wrote me,” Jane whispered excitedly, pulling a piece of paper from the tray on the table next to her. “Look.”

Georgina allowed her distaste for the extended piece of paper show clearly on her face. She wouldn’t want to take the paper on a normal day, but particularly not from an infirm Jane. “I’d rather not get that close if you don’t mind.”

Jane frowned and then sniffled. “Oh, I understand.” Her fever-bright eyes brightened further with excitement. “It’s from him.”

“Who?” Georgina kept up with every piece of gossip, every
morsel of information, and she had no idea who would be causing this much excitement in Jane’s life.

“
Him
. The man from the masquerade. I told you I was going to marry him.”

The answer to the one question only served to raise many others. “You found out who he was?”

“Well, no.” Jane’s face grew a bit sheepish as she looked back down at her note. “But he mentioned our conversation at the ball and that he was looking forward to my poetry gathering. That means, despite your concerns, he’s a properly eligible man because he received an invitation.”

Georgina was fairly certain every single man with a connection to someone of higher rank than baron had been invited. “He wrote you but didn’t sign it?”

It didn’t sound as if this man had much going for him other than a potentially respectable rank. Shouldn’t Jane require more than that?

A niggling voice at the edge of her mind tried to point out that she wasn’t requiring anything more for herself, so why should Jane?

Georgina shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Fortunately Jane fell into a fit of coughs at the same time, making her oblivious to her friend’s sudden discomfort.

After taking a long drink of tea, Jane waved the letter in the air once more. “He signed it
H
. Isn’t that romantic? He’s keeping the mystery alive for a while longer.”

Romantic? Was she serious? Georgina sputtered, trying to find the right words. This wasn’t romantic, it was disturbing. This man could be anyone.

“Do you think I should write him back?”

Georgina sighed. “You wouldn’t know where to send it.”

Jane sighed. “That’s true.”

“Has no other gentleman caught your eye?” Georgina could recommend several. As the daughter of an earl, Jane was a very respectable match and could afford to be selective in whom she married. Foolishness was, for better or worse, not much of a li
ability when it came to marriage. Jane would have no shortcomings to hide from a potential suitor.

Jane frowned. “Mr. Givendale has been by a time or two. He’s second in line to a viscountcy, you know, and likely to inherit, given how sickly his brother is. But he only brings roses.”

Georgina frowned as well. “What’s wrong with roses?”

“They’re predictable, Georgina!” Jane flopped over the arm of the settee. “Where’s the romance in roses?”

This cold had obviously addled Jane’s mind. “I think you should rest, Jane. We can revisit this discussion when you’re feeling better.”

Jane yawned and stretched out across the many pillows. “I want romance, Georgina, like in books.”

Yet another reason not to read. “I know you do.”

“It’s like you’ve always said, Georgina,” Jane mumbled. “Marriage cannot be left up to chance. I have to make it happen.”

Struggling with an even stronger sense of guilt, Georgina stayed until Jane had fallen asleep. Jane was, in her own way, following Georgina’s example when it came to finding a husband. The problem was, what made so much sense when she and Harriette discussed it sounded so wrong when Jane said it. At least Jane’s romance scale wasn’t as cold as Georgina’s popularity and power requirements.

For the first time, Georgina wondered if she was truly doing the right thing.

Colin strolled into the kitchens of Ryland’s house as casually as if he always entered that way. The cook lifted her brow and shook a knife in his direction. Her threatening motions were betrayed by the laughter in her eyes and small smile at the corner of her lips. “You know better than to sneak through my kitchens, Mr. McCrae.”

“Where else could I get the best biscuits in London?” Colin winked and snagged a sugar-dusted biscuit from the plate on the
worktable before jogging up the servant stairs to the main part of the house.

Price was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over his massive chest. “Didn’t he send you a message?”

“Yes.” In a move that was fast becoming tradition for the two of them, Colin pushed his way right past the enormous butler. “A very cryptic message that said only ‘Stay away.’ Obviously I took that to mean I should come straightaway.”

Price sighed. “He’s in the ballroom.”

In the ballroom? What could Ryland be doing in the ballroom? Colin nodded and headed for the main stairs.

“Oh, Mr. McCrae . . . ” Price called.

Colin turned.

“Your hat and coat?”

After relinquishing the items to the butler, Colin took the main stairs two at a time. What could possibly have put Ryland in such a mood that he felt the need to tell Colin to stay away? Had Lady Miranda decided she couldn’t forgive him after all?