Leslie Lafoy (19 page)

“A few words of advice,” Aubrey countered ever so predictably, ever so irritatingly. “The duke needs to take the other two in hand and talk some sense into them. Lady Caroline’s an attractive woman, but the duke stands to gain far more financially in marrying a woman of lesser beauty and greater paternal aspiration.”

“As the duke is aware.”

“And the guardian should be focused entirely on seeing that Lady Caroline marries the deepest pockets and highest title cast at her dainty little feet. Her best interests and all that.”

“As the guardian is well aware,” he answered tightly. “And Haywood should be, too.”

Aubrey lifted his cup in acceptance of the pronouncement and then proceeded straight on to what Drayton sincerely hoped would be his final words on the subject. “The man . . . You need to keep your distance from her so that scandal doesn’t prevent either of you from making the most of your opportunities.”

“As I am very well aware, Aubrey.”

“Yes,” his friend allowed slowly. “From what I’ve seen, you’ve carefully abided by and acted in accordance with every proper social expectation.”

“But?” Drayton prodded. “I hear a ‘but’ waiting to be spoken.”

“I’m afraid that it’s obvious that you resent it. Mightily. That’s dangerous, Drayton. The cost of losing the battle with temptation would be incredibly hefty. You might want to consider coming along with me in the morning. A week away could do wonders for cooling your impulses.”

Running away wasn’t going to do a damn thing about cooling his impulses or his heels, much less do anything to ease his irritation. The thought of having to subject himself to a full week of not only Aubrey’s well-intentioned lectures, but those of his mother, too . . . God, trapped with the two of them in a carriage for hours on end? For
days
on end? He’d have to shoot himself.

“Mr. John Coleman, sir.”

He blinked at the butler standing in the open doorway and smiled in relief.
Impeccable timing.
“Thank you, Winfield.” He set aside his coffee cup and shot his cuffs, adding, “Please advise Lady Caroline and her sisters of Mr. Coleman’s arrival.”

The servant bowed, stepped back and to the side to clear the doorway for the young solicitor from London, and then disappeared without a sound.

Drayton’s natural instincts wanted him to stride forward to meet the solicitor halfway and offer a handshake. Aubrey’s soft “ahem” reminded him that dukes were supposed to wait while the world scampered to them. “Welcome to Ryland Castle, Mr. Coleman,” he said, compromising by taking a single step and sticking out his
hand. As Aubrey quietly growled, Drayton grinned and added, “I hope your journey was pleasantly uneventful.”

“It was, your grace. And my pleasure to undertake for the business at hand.”

Of course he would have enjoyed it. Coleman had struck him on their first meeting as being the sort who enjoyed solving the twists and turns of legal puzzles, but hated the leather-paneled walls that came with them. Thinking that the boy really should have considered a career in the foreign service, he half turned to Aubrey and undertook the tedium of the formal introductions. Both men slightly bowed to each other, exchanged the standard, boring pleasantries, and then looked back at him.

God, it was such a pain in the arse being a duke. So many damn rules, so many expectations. Most of them just patently pointless except to remind people that he was supposedly superior to them in every way. At least there was a command rationale for the restrictions the military placed on its personnel. “I assume,” he said, feeling very resentful, “that no problems developed since we last met?”

“No, your grace. I have all of the papers in order. If I may use your desk?”

“Of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing to the walnut slab. “Would you care for coffee and some pastry while we wait for my wards to grace us with their presence?”

He didn’t wait for the man’s assent, ignored Aubrey’s look of censure, and stepped to the sideboard.

“You are in very deep trouble,” Aubrey muttered.

“Then maybe viscounts should think about being hospitable,” he countered under his breath, pouring.

“Not that. Look.”

He glanced over his shoulder. And, just as it had as he’d stood on the drive at the inn yesterday morning, the world quivered under his feet. He winced and brought his attention back to the overfilled cup and saucer. Putting it down, he snatched up a napkin to dry his hand, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

His wits were only slightly more collected when he turned to face his advancing wards.
Deep trouble?
Aubrey didn’t have the vaguest notion of what kind of trouble loomed ahead. How Caroline could manage to look so angelic and so wanton in a demure, buttoned-to-the-throat teal green silk day dress and carrying a sizable stack of papers . . . But God help him, she did. Simone, in a similarly uncomplicated day dress of smoky blue damask, was nothing short of a premonition of London’s smoldering fate. Fiona . . . The child was a balm on his ravaged heart. Dressed in a sage green linen smock with a darker green as an underskirt, waist sash, and hair ribbon, cradling a sleeping black and white kitten in the crook of her arm, she was the sweetest, most innocent sight he’d ever beheld. He tilted his head and smiled in sudden realization; she wasn’t limping. Heaven only knew how Caroline had accomplished it, but Fiona’s grin said that the effort had made the child’s world infinitely wider, infinitely more hopeful.

“Ladies,” he said earnestly, as they came to a halt halfway to the desk, “a lovelier sight has never brightened this room.”

“Oh, stow it,” Simone muttered, shifting her shoulders and scowling.

Caroline sighed and Drayton reined in his smile to step closer and lean down. Scratching under the kitten’s chin, he asked, “And who is this, Fiona?”

“Beeps.”

Oh, such a beautiful, cloud-soft voice.

Simone looked down at the cat. “I thought his name was Mr. Whiskers.”

Fiona shrugged ever so slightly. “He says his name is Beeps.”

“That’s a stupid name for a cat.”

“He’s very smart,” Fiona assured him.

“I can see that,” Drayton said, standing straight again. “He has excellent taste in mistresses.” Fiona slid a triumphant gaze over at Simone—who rolled her eyes and shifted her shoulders again.

Drayton met Caroline’s gaze and blinked, stunned by the heaviness of her lids. The smile she gave him was valiant, but weak—as if every measure of her strength were required to simply stand there and hold on to her papers. He needed to get the business concluded as quickly as possible; she was going to collapse from exhaustion at any moment. “Good morning, Lady Caroline.”

“Good morning, your grace,” she replied softly. She looked past him to nod slightly and add, “Lord Aubrey.”

Drayton dealt with the introductions, presenting Coleman to each of them. When all the pleasantries had been exchanged, he extended his hands, saying, “If I may, Caroline?”

It took her a second to understand what he wanted her to hand him her papers. As he passed to Coleman what were actually detailed drawings and fabric scraps, he explained, “Lady Caroline has prepared a list of items she needs her assistant, Miss Jane . . . ”

“Durbin,” she supplied, saving him.

“To bring with her when she comes from London later this week,” he went on. “If we might impose on you to see
that these are delivered into her hands, we would be eternally in your debt.”

“It’s no imposition at all, your grace,” the solicitor assured him. He looked down at the papers in his hands and carefully fanned through the first few sheets. “May I say, Lady Caroline, that you are a very talented artist.”

“You’re too kind, Mr. Coleman,” she countered. “I can sketch to a degree sufficient for designing, but not much beyond that. You should be able to find Jane at my shop in Bloomsbury. It’s at Eastcastle and Brenners.”

He nodded. “I assume, just glancing through your instructions, that Miss Durbin will require a letter of credit. I’ll see that one is drafted for her immediate use.” He lifted his gaze to meet Drayton’s. “Do you have a general sum in mind for the purchases, your grace?”

Hell, he had no idea how much money he had or how much Caroline’s domestic fantasies would cost. And he didn’t care, either. Whatever it took to make her happy, he’d spend. “I assume that she’s Lady Caroline’s assistant because she’s proven herself both resourceful and trustworthy. Allow her access to whatever amount she needs.”

Caroline gave him the first easy smile he’d seen from her that morning, and he rewarded her by adding, “And please advise her that I’ll send my carriage for her on Friday. However, she’s to feel free to make whatever arrangements are necessary to transport the goods as soon as she acquires them.”

“Oh, yes,” Caroline said. “That’s brilliant, Drayton. I should have thought of that myself. The sooner we can begin work, the better chance we have of being ready for Lady Aubrey’s arrival.”

Brilliant? Well, she probably wouldn’t think so once she had some sleep, but for the moment he was willing to
let her think of him in all the glowingly heroic terms she wanted. He cocked a brow at Coleman and then down at the legal papers.

“Since time is of the essence,” the young man said, taking the hint smoothly, “let’s dispense with all the legal work.” He put Caroline’s papers aside, picked up a quill pen and held it out, saying, “Lady Caroline, if you’d be so kind as to sign above your printed name.”

She stepped forward, leaned down, signed, then backed away, handing the pen back to Coleman. “Thank you,” he said with a slight bow. “I sign here,” he went on, leaning over the paper and scribbling himself, “to attest that I have met the minor daughters of the late Lord Ryland and been satisfied as to their having been suitably brought under the care and protection of the new Lord Ryland.”

He straightened, dipped the pen, and handed it to Drayton. “Your signature, please, your grace.”

It occurred to him as he wrote his name that he was, legally, becoming Simone’s and Fiona’s father. And Caroline’s knight errant. With, if he were being honest about it, the accent on “errant.” Rationally, he knew that all of it was a burden he had absolutely no experience in bearing and was likely to bungle on a fairly regular basis for quite some time. Logically, he knew that it would be a heavy responsibility over the coming years and that there would be times when he wondered why the hell he hadn’t run for the hills to avoid it all. But as he handed the quill back to Coleman, he felt only the deep sense of satisfaction of having just made the world come right.

“Thank you,” Coleman said, dipping the pen again. “And yours, Lord Aubrey,” he said, handing it off, “as witness to all of it, please.”

Aubrey signed with a flourish and it was done except for the sanding and the folding.

“And with that completed,” Coleman announced, tucking the document back into his leather valise along with Caroline’s drawings. “I will be on my way back to London to see that the papers are properly recorded and that Miss Durbin receives her instructions.”

There was more bowing, more inane pleasantries, and then Coleman was at last on his way, heading for the front door and then northward to London.

“Can we go now?” Simone moaned, pulling at the sleeve of her dress.

“Yes, you
may,
” Caroline replied with a sigh. “Mrs. Miller is waiting for you.”

As they headed off, Drayton stepped to Caroline’s side, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her to a chair, saying, “For God’s sake, sit down before you fall down. Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“If I did,” she answered, stifling a yawn, “it was only by accident and for just a second or two. I simply couldn’t let the girls appear before Mr. Coleman in their rags.”

“I should have thought of buying them clothes before I collected them. That you’ve had to go through such torture is entirely my fault.”

“And how would you have known what sizes they wear?”

True. “Well, then I should have seen to it immediately afterward.”

“One does not walk into an establishment, point to clothing, and say, ‘I’ll have two of those and six of those. Wrap them up so I may be on my way.’ It takes time, Drayton, to make clothing.”

“And considerable effort and self-sacrifice,” he observed. “Thank you for giving so much of yourself so that Coleman didn’t leave here thinking of me as a thoughtless, stingy oaf. Have you had your breakfast yet?”

“No.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to cover another yawn. “There wasn’t time. We’d just finished the hems when we heard the carriage arrive.”

“Let me get you some coffee and a pastry.” She murmured something in reply, but he didn’t really hear it. Aubrey was leaning a hip against the sideboard and giving him the most disgusted sort of look. Damn, if he hadn’t forgotten the man was even there.

“If you don’t stop,” his friend said quietly as Drayton poured a cup of coffee, “I’m going to retch.”

“Do try to make it outside before you do,” he countered with a tight smile, picking up the entire plate of pastries with his free hand and walking away. To find Caroline sitting with her hands folded sweetly in her lap and her eyes closed.

“Caroline?” he whispered, setting the food and coffee on the corner of the desk.

“If you’re lucky, she won’t remember all your pathetic fawning.”

“I wasn’t fawning. I truly appreciate what she’s done.” He laid a hand gently on her shoulder. “Caroline?”

“I do believe the expression is dead to the world,” Aubrey drawled, chuckling.

Drayton wasn’t amused. In fact, a part of him wanted to put a fist squarely into Aubrey’s nose. Another part of him, though, simply wanted the world to go away for a while and leave him alone. Slipping one arm under Caroline’s legs and the other around her shoulders, he lifted her up and cradled her against his chest.

“Good God! What are you doing?”

“Carrying her upstairs,” he explained as she sighed and nestled her face into his neck. “And putting her to bed.”

“Do you have even the vaguest recollection of what I said about courting scandal?” Aubrey asked, trotting at his heels.