The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne (6 page)

“Mr. Laughton.”

Laughton sprang to his feet, smoothed his coat, and walked forward. He followed Cassandra into the library and the door closed.

Laughton had left behind a newspaper. Darius noticed that the page showing had been marked. He picked it up and read the advertisement that been worthy of John Laughton’s attention.

It was a peculiar and somewhat startling notice. Someone clearly sought something other than a footman or secretary.

Darius looked at the very amiable and fashionable young men lounging in the drawing room. Presumably they had all been sent here when they visited Mr. Weatherby.

Evidently there was much more to Miss Fairbourne than he had surmised. Her judgment left much to be desired, however. What was the woman thinking? Maurice must be turning over in his grave.

He strode from the drawing room, to go and find Riggles. Out on the landing a sound made him pause in his tracks. Clear as could be, he heard two women speaking around the corner.

“He is definitely the best of the lot so far, and we should ensure he will pass muster, Emma.”

“We can do that while he remains dressed.”

“I only asked him to remove his coats so his physique would be visible. Much is obscured by coats, and strong shoulders can become quite narrow once a man is in his shirtsleeves and nothing more.”

“He will be wearing coats all the time, so that does not signify.”

Silence then. Long enough that Darius assumed the ladies had returned to the library.

“Emma, I fear that you do not comprehend the practicalities,” Cassandra Vernham spoke again. “Do you really think that men forever remain in their coats when they charm and flatter to the extent you expect?”

Darius turned on his heel and returned to the drawing room. Standing at the door, he eyed the young men waiting to impress Miss Fairbourne with just how charming they could be.

“I
say that you hire Mr. Laughton, and we send the others away,” Cassandra said. “He was the best so far.”

“He was, wasn’t he? That is not the same as saying he
was superior, of course. I had no idea that so many conceited, self-absorbed, but somewhat stupid young men lived in London. I never guessed that my advertisement would be so successful when it came to the quantity of applicants, but so disappointing on the matter of quality.”

Most of the ones Emma had thus far met looked the part she needed played. It was when they opened their mouths that she knew they would not do. They appeared incapable of talking about anything except themselves, no matter how much she and Cassandra prompted them.

They had shown a disconcerting tendency to flirt too. She supposed that men finding themselves facing female interrogators might conclude flirting would help. Mr. Laughton had at least been more subtle about that, and had known a thing or two about art as well. The others had not revealed familiarity with even the most famous old masters.

“I wish I could blame their youth or their class, Emma. I regret to say that most men of the ton are no more impressive. Less so, perhaps, since so many younger sons lack any purpose. And people wonder why I am in no rush to marry.” Cassandra folded her arms. “So, will Mr. Laughton do?”

Emma weighed the decision. “I will give him credit that he even removed his coats with a certain aplomb, and hid his embarrassment well.”

“That was because he was not embarrassed. He found it amusing.”

So had Cassandra. That left only one person in the library suffering embarrassment. Her.

Mr. Laughton had not even found the request odd. Perhaps potential employers demanded disrobing with regularity, to assess whether a prospect was in good health.

“I believe that I should see any who respond to the advertisement today or tomorrow. If Mr. Laughton is still the best after that, and if Obediah finds him acceptable, he will have to do.”

“Very well,” Cassandra said. “Five minutes each. No more, unless one of them impresses us immediately as potentially more suitable than Mr. Laughton.”

Cassandra picked up her journal, into which she had been listing names off the calling cards that Obediah kept stacking on a table just inside the door to the servants’ corridor. She opened the door to the library.

She immediately closed it again. Her color rose. She appeared startled.

“They are all gone,” she said.

“Gone?”

“Disappeared. There were at least ten prospects when I brought in Mr. Laughton, and now there are none.”

“The drawing room is empty?”

“One man is waiting to be received, but he is not seeking your situation.”

“How can you be sure? Obediah may have forgotten to bring us his card.”

Cassandra marched to the table near the side door where a few cards still waited for entry on her list. “His card is here. For heaven’s sake, Mr. Riggles should have warned us, and not merely stuck this with the others. Better to have used Maitland today. He would never have been so careless.”

“I wanted Obediah to at least see these young men so he could consult with us. We agreed he would contribute nothing if he sat here with us, so having him at the door was an alternative.” Emma held out her hand for the card. “Who is it?”

Cassandra gave it over.

Emma peered at the card. “The Earl of Southwaite? What an inconvenient nuisance for him to intrude today of all days.”

“I did not realize you knew him.”

“My father knew him. He has taken an interest in my welfare.”

“He appears a little…stormy.”

“That is probably because I have kept him waiting. I should not delay any longer, although I wish I could.” Emma smoothed her black dress and brushed off some lint. “Will you join me? You probably know him better than I do, since I barely know him at all.”

“I will leave unobserved, if you do not mind,” Cassandra said. “Southwaite and I do not rub well together, and my presence will not make his humor improve.”

“Is he a saint who thinks you are a sinner?” Emma teased.

“He is no saint. Nor do I believe he cares if I sin or not. He objects to the way society speculates about me, however. I am too notorious for him, and he is too arrogant for me.” She gave Emma a kiss, picked up her reticule, and aimed for the side door. “I will return in the morning, so we can continue our great project.”

T
he drawing room dwarfed most men. The Earl of Southwaite managed to make the chamber’s proportions suit him instead. A tall man, with shoulders that did not look as if they would narrow much at all when he removed his coats, he wore the drawing room like it had been constructed to the measurements of his lean strength.

He did appear stormy, Emma thought as she walked toward him. A scowl marred his brow above his deep-set eyes while he gazed at a painting by ter Brugghen on the wall. He stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, chin high, chiseled profile severe, looking very lordly. From his dark hair’s short, tousled cut to his impeccable blue frock coat, fawn breeches, and high boots, he exuded the kind of self-confidence that only breeding conferred on a man.

He did not uncross those arms right away when he saw Emma approach. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl called to task by her angry governess until he finally did.

He bowed while he greeted her, but his dark-eyed gaze never left her face and his expression appeared disapproving of something. The delay? Her uncovered hair while in
mourning? Perhaps he merely had bad digestion, and his expression had nothing to do with her at all.

“It is generous of you to condescend to call,” she said. She took a seat on a chair and he settled onto the nearby divan.

She noticed that one of the potential replacements for Mr. Nightingale had left his newspaper on a table right near Lord Southwaite’s arm. His gaze followed her own to that folded paper. One of his eyebrows arched a little higher.

“You appear to be bearing up very well,” he said. “First the auction, and now…an effort to move on with your life.”

If there had truly been storms, he had banished them, or at least their visibility. He spoke calmly, in a quiet baritone that soothed like warm water.

“Day by day it gets better, as is the way with these things.”

“We all find comfort as we can in such situations. Of course, as a mature woman of the world, you need less advice in doing so than a young girl might.”

He smiled. It was a rather nice smile. Not a big one. Just an appealing slight uplift at the ends of his mouth. She thought it more truly charming than Mr. Nightingale’s. Perhaps that was because warmth entered Lord Southwaite’s eyes, and a spark of almost intimate familiarity, as if their prior conversations had created a bond of sympathy.

That smile lightened her spirits in a most pleasant way. It seemed to bridge all kinds of distances between them, those of class and purpose, and even physical space. His favorable change in disposition led her to speak more plainly than she might have.

“When you arrived, were there other callers in this chamber, sir?”

“There were. An assortment of them.”

“May I ask how it is that they are all gone now?”

“I suggested that they leave.”

“I apologize if Mr. Riggles did not alert me to your presence, so I could receive you at once.”

“I insisted that Mr. Riggles not treat me differently, so do not blame him. I told him to present my card exactly as he did the others. Of course, when I told him that, I did not know your drawing room would be overflowing with young men.” He lifted the newspaper off the table and gave it a good look. “I could not imagine who they were and why they were here until I saw this marked advertisement.”

Her heart sank. She wished one of her callers had not left that paper behind. The earl had guessed that she was hiring someone. She had hoped to be further along on the new auction before he realized she was even planning another one, but advertising for staff made her intentions clear.

“You do not approve, I assume,” she said.

“I haven’t decided what I think of it, other than there are better, more discreet ways to handle such things.” He appeared somewhat amused by the advertisement. Considering their last conversation, that gave her encouragement.

“I am only being practical,” she said, gesturing to the paper. “I know that there are better ways to fill such a situation, but none that are as fast and which leave me as much choice. I want to move forward quickly.”

He rested his arm on the divan’s rolled end, and his chin on his fist, and looked at her. “That is understandable, I suppose. As I said, we all find comfort in our own ways when touched by grief.”

“How kind of you to understand. Doing this does offer comfort, and I anticipate more as I proceed. Even planning for it has been a distraction.” It relieved her that he was not going to complain and fight about her plan to continue Fairbourne’s auctions. “Since you are so sympathetic, I do not understand why you sent all my callers away.”

He did not respond immediately. Rather he subjected her to a penetrating, thoughtful gaze. One could almost hear his mind churning over his answer.

The longer he paused, the more uncomfortable she became. She did not sense anger in him, but something else just as powerful. His attention made the chamber rather
small suddenly, and demanded something of her in return that she could not name. The sensation of a pending s
omething
was not unpleasant—even exciting—but it did make the silence awkward.

“I sent them away because they did not suit the situation you propose. They were all too green.”

“How generous of you to worry for me. I wish you had not taken the burden upon yourself to do that, however. I am capable of making such a decision myself, and I had a dear friend’s help as well.”

“Ah, yes. Lady Cassandra. She has proven her expertise in such matters,” he said sardonically. “Her involvement explains much.”

She did not understand what he meant by that, but his tone indicated disapproval. Cassandra had been correct. Southwaite did not like her.

“Perhaps I also sent them away because I had an interest in the situation myself,” he said in a musing tone of voice, as if he had not really decided either way yet.

“Surely not. You are making fun of me now.”

“Not at all. The appeal is inexplicable, but I cannot deny the truth of its existence.”

How very odd. Gentlemen did not engage in such work. It was beneath them. However, he
had
invested in the auction house. He collected the very best art. Perhaps he thought taking Mr. Nightingale’s place would be fun? Rather like those lords who shed their coats to help with the sheep shearing on their estates?

Having him at Fairbourne’s would create complications, however. He would probably try to take charge of everything. He would be in the way. He might well attempt to unmask Obediah, and he had the expertise to do so.

“Lord Southwaite, while perhaps you think you would find the situation amusing for a while, in the end we both know you cannot do this. It would be scandalous and demeaning.”

“Discretion goes far in avoiding scandal, Miss Fairbourne, and I promise you that I am a master of it. Nor would
I be taking any pay, of course. I would not be an employee, such as you intended, so it would not be demeaning.”

“Then you see the situation differently than I do, and the difference cannot be countenanced by me. If you are not an employee, you will forget your place. I’ll not be having you whistle the tune, sir. It is my intention to manage things to my own way of thinking. Nor will discretion be possible, if you think about it.”

“Let me worry about both the discretion and the scandal. As for your own way of thinking, I believe I can convince you we are of like minds if you allow me to. We will both whistle, in harmony, as it were.”