The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness

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Authors: Tamara Lejeune

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FLIRTING WITH THE BARONESS
 
Patience impulsively touched his arm. “You cannot kill him!” she protested. “His uncle is a rich and powerful man. Would you not hang for it?”
He covered her hand with his own. “No harm will come to
me,
I do assure you.”
Patience had no doubt that Mr. Broome would prove more than equal to the nefarious Mr. Purefoy. She felt as though a terrible weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She could almost pity Mr. Purefoy.
Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand. “If we don’t return soon, Mr. Broome, your cousin will think we’ve made off with his horses.”
“Nonsense,” he said lightly. “Freddie will think I am making love to you, that’s all.”
“Now why would he think that?”
“Having met you, how could he think otherwise?”
Books by Tamara Lejeune
 
SIMPLY SCANDALOUS
 
SURRENDER TO SIN
 
RULES FOR BEING A MISTRESS
 
THE HEIRESS IN HIS BED
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE DUCHESS
 
THE PLEASURE OF BEDDING A BARONESS
 
 
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
The Pleasure Of Bedding A Baroness
 
 
 
 
 
 
TAMARA LEJEUNE
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
 
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Chapter 1
 
No one who saw Miss Patience Waverly when she first came to London would ever have believed that, mere weeks before, she had been thought one of the prettiest girls in Philadelphia. Eight weeks at sea had been more than sufficient to reduce her from a vibrant young woman of twenty to a weak and bloodless bag of bones. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken, her skin was an unhealthy gray, and her body was lost in clothes that no longer fit her. For propriety’s sake, she had clapped a bonnet over her hair, which hung in thick black snakes down her back, but she was really too exhausted to care about her appearance. Only the ever-present nausea, which somehow seemed worse on land than it had been at sea, kept her from falling asleep in the yellow hackney as it made its way through the busy streets of the city of London.
Her sister had fared much better on the voyage from America. Miss Prudence Waverly’s eyes still sparkled like enormous emeralds. Her shiny, jet black hair was arranged in soft curls, and her skin was like milk and roses. In her royal blue cloak and silk-covered bonnet, she bore a striking resemblance to the Parisian fashion plate she had so meticulously copied.
Now no one would ever have guessed that Patience and Prudence were sisters, let alone identical twins.
Sleek and healthy, even a little on the plump side, Pru Waverly stretched her arms over her head in the yellow hackney coach and yawned ferociously. “Can’t you do this tomorrow, Pay?” she said plaintively. “There are some very nice hotels here in London. I’m sleepy!”
“Hotels are a waste of money,” Patience replied, sounding very brusque as she fought back another wave of nausea. “I asked the attorney to find us a small house in a quiet, respectable neighborhood, assuming there is such a neighborhood in London,” she added darkly.
One heard such unpleasant tales of the fleshpots of Europe.
“It’s only one night,” said Pru.
“No,” Patience said firmly. “It’s foolish to pay for a hotel room when we are renting a perfectly good house. At least, I hope it is a perfectly good house,” she added. “For what we are paying, it ought to be!”
Distracted by the view from her window as they passed a row of shops, Pru gave up the argument, and the chaise continued on to the offices of Bracegirdle, Bracegirdle, and Pym, in Chancery Lane.
Upon hearing that the Miss Waverlys had come to see him, Mr. Horace Bracegirdle first exclaimed, “At this hour?” for it was nine o’clock in the evening. While it was by no means unusual for attorneys to keep such late hours in the city, they did not usually receive clients—and most especially not
female
clients—after dark. Despite his misgivings, however, Mr. Bracegirdle tugged his best wig over his shaved skull and hurried out to the lobby to meet the two young ladies from America.
Pru greeted him, smiling, and swiftly introduced herself and her sister. To her surprise, the attorney gave all his attention to Patience.
“But you are ill, my lady,” he exclaimed in dismay, hurrying to support her frail body. “Smithers, fetch the brandy!”
“I’m perfectly all right,” Patience said faintly, fending off Smithers. “I was seasick on the journey—and no better now that I am on land, it seems. But I shall be all right in a day or two, I daresay.”
Murmuring his sympathies, Mr. Bracegirdle ushered Patience into his gloomy, paneled office, gently helping her to a chair of oxblood leather near the fireplace. Not at all pleased to be so completely ignored, Pru followed in consternation.
“Really, my lady! You are very pale,” Mr. Bracegirdle fussed, hovering over Patience like a devoted nurse. “If you will not take brandy, perhaps you will take a little water?”
“There’s nothing really wrong with me,” Patience insisted. “I was in excellent health when we left Philadelphia. I’m a little tired, that’s all.”
Pru, unused to being relegated to the background, said resentfully, “We’re both tired. It was a very long journey. You may have been sick, Patience, but
I
had to nurse you.”
“The sooner we take possession of our house, the sooner we can rest,” said Patience. “Shall we get down to business, Mr. Bracegirdle?”
The attorney seated himself at his desk. “Of course,” he said, taking up a document. “As you know, your uncle, Lord Waverly, died very suddenly six months ago.”
“You mean he committed suicide,” Patience said bluntly.
He blinked at her, surprised and a little offended.
Patience smiled briefly. “We Americans are deplorably forthright, I know. Never mind the spoonful of sugar, Mr. Bracegirdle. Just give us the medicine. My uncle committed suicide. Bankrupt and hounded by creditors, he jumped off a bridge and drowned himself.”
Mr. Bracegirdle looked shocked. “Quite,” he murmured in dismay.
“We don’t pretend to mourn his passing,” Patience went on. “We never even knew of his existence until we received your letter.”
“I think we
should
pretend to mourn him,” Pru protested. “After all, Pay, he was our father’s brother. Our father never spoke of his native land, Mr. Bracegirdle, but somehow I always knew, deep in my heart, that we were descended of royalty. Father had such an elegant profile.”
“Oh. Did he?” Mr. Bracegirdle said rather helplessly, venturing into the silence that followed Pru’s disclosure.
“I understand there is no will to be read,” Patience prompted him.
“His lordship does not appear to have had the time to make out his will before his unfortunate demise,” Mr. Bracegirdle said, stubbornly clinging to his euphemisms. “Your father, Mr. Arthur Waverly, being dead, the two of you represent his lordship’s only living relatives. As the eldest, Miss Patience Waverly is next in line. Therefore, she inherits. Congratulations, my lady.”
“You mean
Patience
gets everything?” Pru said, frowning. “I get nothing?”
“I’m afraid so, Miss Waverly.”
“Not fair!” Pru exclaimed. “When our grandfather died, we each got half of his money. I’m just as much Lord Waverly’s niece as
she
is.”
“The European system is inherently unfair and corrupt,” Patience explained. “That’s why we got rid of it in America. Don’t worry, Pru! I’ll sell off all the assets and split everything with you, fifty-fifty. Assuming there’s anything left after the debts are paid.”
“Split?” Mr. Bracegirdle repeated in astonishment. “I’m afraid you do not understand, my lady. One does not
split
a barony.”
“Of course not,” Patience said brusquely. “Try to keep up, Mr. Bracegirdle. I mean to sell the land, and split the
money
with my sister. I understand there’s an estate of about twenty-six thousand acres. I can sell those acres, can’t I?”
“The property is not entailed,” he admitted. “But, my lady! You would not sell Wildings, surely? It has been in your family for generations. I believe it was the prospect of having to sell his beloved home in order to pay his debts that drove Lord Waverly to despair.”
“Well, it won’t drive
me
to despair,” said Patience. “It’s only dirt, Mr. Bracegirdle. I’m not sentimental.”
“Well,
I
am,” said Pru. “I’m extremely sentimental. I’d like to
see
the place where our father was born. Then we can sell it.”
“Of course we must see it,” said Patience. “I’d be a fool to sell it before I know what it’s worth, and I won’t know
that
until I see it. Do you have any idea what it’s worth, Mr. Bracegirdle?”
“Some might say it is priceless, my lady,” he said, in a rather reproachful tone.
“Nothing is priceless,” Patience replied. “You must have some idea.”
“Perhaps ten thousand,” he said very reluctantly.
“Pounds or dollars?”
“Pounds, of course,” he said stiffly.
“So ... about forty thousand dollars?” Patience said, rubbing her temples. “I haven’t checked the rate of exchange since I left Philadelphia, but I don’t suppose it’s changed all that much in two months. And what is the debt against the estate?”
Mr. Bracegirdle consulted some figures. “Five thousand, seven hundred, sixty pounds, four shillings, and thruppence.”
Patience was obliged to rub her temples a bit longer. “Let’s see ... That’s about twenty-four thousand dollars. Forty thousand, less twenty-four thousand—that’s sixteen thousand dollars. Not bad, Pru.”
“No, indeed,” said Pru.
“But, surely, my lady,” Mr. Bracegirdle interposed, “with your maternal grandfather’s fortune at your disposal, there can be no need to sell Wildings.”
“But my grandfather’s fortune is not at my disposal,” Patience told him. “We are his heirs, of course, but I’m afraid the money has been placed in trust. We can’t touch the principal until we are thirty.”
“Thirty!” Pru repeated with bitter emphasis.
“I am aware of the terms of your grandfather’s will, my lady,” said Mr. Bracegirdle. “I have been in communication with your American trustee.”
“Oh, Mr. Gordon!” Pru exclaimed. “How I hate him! I once asked him for an advance on my allowance, and all he gave me was a very stern lecture. I desperately needed new stockings, but he would not budge!”
“You never learned to darn properly,” Patience said, shaking her head.
Pru rolled her eyes. “Darn! One does not darn silk stockings from Paris!”
“Er, yes,” said Mr. Bracegirdle, looking a little flustered. “Quite. However! Notwithstanding the excellent Mr. Gordon, there is nothing, my lady, in your grandfather’s will to prevent you from borrowing against your expectations.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Patience.
He smiled, showing his yellow teeth. “Indeed! I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up the papers for you. With a stroke of the pen, your uncle’s debt can be cleared away and, with it, all your embarrassment. So you see, my lady, there is no need to sell the estate. You can borrow as much as you like now, and pay it back in ten years, when you come into the fullness of your inheritance.”
“It is not my ambition to live beyond my means, sir,” Patience said coldly. “I prefer to sell the estate.”
“What does he mean, Pay?” Pru whispered to her. “Can he really get us as much money as we want? Give
me
the papers, Mr. Bracegirdle. I’ll sign!”
“I’m afraid we must have your sister’s signature,” Mr. Bracegirdle told her regretfully. “You are not yet twenty-one, Miss Prudence.”
“Neither is she!” Pru said indignantly. “We’re the same age.”
“Yes, but
she
is Baroness Waverly of Wildings,” Mr. Bracegirdle explained, “and, as such, she is your legal guardian, Miss Prudence.”
“What?” Pru gasped.
“It
is
unusual for a female to assume a peerage in her own right, and not at all desirable, to be sure, but, in this case, I’m afraid it could not be prevented,” Mr. Bracegirdle apologized. “Your uncle’s title is as ancient as it is noble, but, sadly, when the papers were drawn up in the twelfth century, no one thought to exclude the female line! A shocking oversight, it seems to us now, but, in those days, they did not perceive the danger, perhaps, of modern women putting themselves forward as the equals of men.”
“Never mind all that!” Pru cried impatiently. “What do you mean
she
is my guardian? We’re twins! We came into the world together.”
“As I said before, one cannot split a barony, Miss Prudence. My lady preceded you from the womb by some twenty-seven minutes.”
“My lady!” Pru exclaimed, outraged. “What is she? A duchess? I thought you were just being English with your ‘my lady’ this and your ‘my lady’ that. Are you telling me
she
is royalty?”
“Oh, no,” Mr. Bracegirdle assured her. “Some royalty
are
nobility, of course, but not all nobility are royalty, you understand.”
“No,” Pru said, frowning.
“Your sister is a baroness, Miss Prudence, a Peeress of the Realm. But she is not a member of the royal family.”
“What about me?” Pru demanded.
He smiled. “Rejoice, Miss Prudence, for you are the
younger sister
of a Peeress of the Realm.”
Pru scowled at him.
“The title is of no consequence, Pru,” Patience said quickly. “I didn’t come here to claim the title. I came here to claim the estate. The estate is what matters.”
“You
knew
about this!” Pru accused her. “Why didn’t you tell me? My lady!” she added spitefully.
“Pru, these silly European titles don’t mean anything,” Patience declared, oblivious to Mr. Bracegirdle’s reddening face. “There is no substance to them. They are obsolete, like the monarchy itself. People of sense and education are perfectly capable of ruling themselves. America has proved that to the world. We don’t need a rigid class system to maintain order.”

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