Undressed by the Earl (3 page)

It was possible, but Amelia still didn’t think it was practical. Someone needed to remain in London, and it wasn’t going to be her. She knew that Viscount Lisford’s lands lay to the east, and by this time next year, she hoped to be his wife.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Margaret moving toward the door silently. Her sister was quite upset, but gave no indication of why. Victoria and Juliette were busy with their children, and Amelia followed Margaret into the hall. Her sister was walking quickly toward her own bedroom, and Amelia had to hurry to catch up.

The door closed before she could reach her. Amelia pressed her hand to the wood and asked gently, “Is something the matter, Margaret?”

“Go away and leave me alone.”

Amelia strongly suspected her sister was crying. “Let me in, and we’ll talk about whatever it is.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

Of course she didn’t. But Amelia had a feeling she knew what this was about. Margaret was the second born of the four sisters, and now that she was five-and-twenty—almost six—she was confronted with a very strong possibility of spinsterhood. For a woman who had been planning her wedding since the age of ten, this wasn’t good.

“Let me in or I’ll keep questioning you through the door,” she said. “The servants will hear about it, and so will Juliette and Victoria.” When her sister didn’t move, Amelia added, “You might as well give in. I’m going to find out anyway.”

The door jerked open, and it was immediately clear that Margaret had been crying. Her eyes were wet, and she demanded, “Why can’t you stop being such a busybody?”

“Because I’m your sister.” Amelia stepped inside and closed the door, locking it behind her. “Now tell me everything.”

Margaret walked over to the window, staring outside at the street. “I feel as if I’m going to be a spinster for the rest of my life. I’m never going to have children of my own, and there won’t be anyone for me.” She crossed her arms around her waist as if trying to hold back the tears. “It’s so hard to see Victoria and Juliette with their babies.”

The heartbreak in her sister’s voice was wrenching. Amelia knew how much it meant to Margaret to have a family of her own. Season after Season, she’d tried her best to find a suitable gentleman. But after Lord Lisford had spurned her, most men had kept their distance. Although her sister wasn’t truly ruined, Margaret had been publicly humiliated. And her sharp tongue hadn’t made matters any easier in the forthcoming years.

Amelia’s eyes welled up as she went to stand beside her sister. “I’m certain there’s someone for you. We’ll find him.”

And she truly did mean that. She wanted Margaret to be happy and have a softhearted husband she could manage. Possibly the earl, if she could arrange it. The man
did
have a daughter already. Margaret could be a wife and a stepmother in one day, if Lord Castledon suited her.

“No one wants me anymore,” her sister said, wiping her eyes. “It’s been too long.”

“The viscount wanted you a few years ago,” Amelia pointed out. “He
did
ask you to marry him.” The twinge in her conscience poked again, that the man of her dreams was the man who had destroyed Margaret’s hopes.

“He said it was a wager,” her sister whispered. “He offered to wed me because a friend dared him to ask. For one hundred pounds, he pretended he wanted my hand in marriage, when the truth was, he never cared a whit for me.”

Amelia had never known about any sort of wager, and it bothered her to hear it. Was that true? Or had Lord Lisford simply made up the story as a way of crying off? This was treacherous ground, splitting sides between her sister and the man she cared about.

“I don’t think the two of you were suited,” she said slowly. “It was probably for the best.”

“But you believe
you
are meant for him?” Her sister looked incredulous. “He plays on women’s feelings, Amelia. He knows what to say and how to say it, to get what he wants. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

A tingling sensation caught at the back of her neck, but Amelia refused to believe that the viscount could be lying. She’d seen the warmth in his eyes, and he’d never failed to make her smile. “I don’t want this to come between us,” she said to Margaret. “I want you to find the right man.”

“A boring man, you mean,” Margaret countered. “An old man who doesn’t care who he weds, so long as she will lie still beneath him and bear him a son.”

She’d never heard her sister speak of such things, and it shocked her that Margaret had even thought about what went on between a husband and a wife. “You deserve better than that.”

“What man will have me now?” Margaret wept. “I’m old.” She fumbled for a handkerchief and faced Amelia. “Do you know how it feels to have followed all the society rules? I never once did anything I shouldn’t. I never went anywhere unchaperoned, I never gossiped or did anything to embarrass our parents. And what did it get me? Nothing but spinsterhood.”

The wild look in Margaret’s eyes was making Amelia uneasy. Her sister looked desperate, as if she were about to do something rash.

“Why don’t you make a new list?” Amelia suggested. “You used to do that when you were thinking about husband possibilities.”

“What good is a list when none of the men are interested in anything but my dowry?” Margaret took her handkerchief and blew her nose. “I’ve heard them talking behind my back, Amelia. I know what they say about how priggish I am.”

“You’re not. You’re just…very proper.”

Her sister leaned against the window. “I thought if I obeyed all the rules, I would find the best husband. But I was wrong.”

“There
was
one man who was interested in you,” Amelia reminded her, thinking of Cain Sinclair. “But you never wanted him.”

Margaret turned sober. “He wasn’t appropriate. He’s not a nobleman.”

“No, but Mr. Sinclair liked you. You were different around him. Not quite so proper.”

Margaret stared off into the distance. “It doesn’t matter. That was years ago, and I told him that I could never marry a man like him. He hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“He asked you to
marry him
?” Now here was a bit of delicious news she’d never heard before. Her sister…and a Scot? Her mind started to put them together, but it wouldn’t fit. Mr. Sinclair might have been ruggedly handsome and wicked, but he was also a man who couldn’t care less about society rules. Not to mention, he lived in utter poverty.

But when Margaret had been hurt a few years ago, Sinclair had carried her home. Even the mention of it made her sister blush, making Amelia wonder exactly what had happened that day.

“No, he didn’t ask me to marry him. Not exactly,” Margaret admitted. “It was more of a demand. He was trying to stop me from marrying the viscount. I…said some things I shouldn’t have.”

Amelia let out a heavy sigh. It was rather romantic to think that the Highlander had tried to stop the wedding. Perhaps he wanted Margaret for himself. But then again, a man like Mr. Sinclair wasn’t appropriate to marry. Even
she
knew that, no matter how interesting the idea was. “What about the Earl of Castledon?” she suggested. “You were dancing with him earlier.”

“No, he’s not for me. I’ve thought about it, but Lord Castledon isn’t over his wife’s death. You can see it in his eyes.”

“He still wants to remarry,” Amelia said. “I’m going to help him find someone.”

“Amelia,” Margaret warned, but she wasn’t listening to her older sister’s warning. If she wanted to help Lord Castledon, then that’s exactly what she would do.

“I really think you ought to consider him. He’s not so bad.” The longer she was around Lord Castledon, the more attractive he was. He might be far too serious for her, but there was something about his mysterious demeanor that drew her in.

It was his eyes, Amelia decided. They were such an honest deep blue, a woman could lose herself in them. And since he’d never openly pursued any young miss, it only added to the enigma.

She had to be cautious, however. If she continued to insist upon the match between Castledon and Margaret, her sister might protest all the more. Better to arrange things on her own. Subtlety was best when plotting to bring two people together.

“Well, if you don’t want to marry him, I can at least help him find someone,” Amelia said, pretending that she’d given up on the idea. “What about Lavinia Harrow? She made her debut last year.”

Margaret began to set forth arguments of why Amelia shouldn’t get involved, but she ignored her sister’s comments. She saw no harm at all in playing matchmaker. The earl clearly needed help, and she didn’t mind assisting him—especially if she brought him together with Margaret. Even so, she had to come up with other possibilities so it wouldn’t be too obvious.

She wrote Lavinia’s name down and a few others. As she thought of young women who might suit the earl, once again she thought of his brooding good looks. He needed someone tall, like himself. Someone who could breathe life into his melancholy and give him a bit of happiness again.

A soft tingle pressed down on the back of her neck as she remembered the way his hands had held her waist during the dancing. He was stronger than he appeared, and she suppressed a sigh, remembering those eyes. She could almost imagine him staring at her, before his mouth came down upon hers.

She shook away the thought. Where had
that
come from? The earl wasn’t that sort of man at all. He lurked on the edges of ballrooms and likely didn’t know how to kiss a woman. A few years ago, she’d made the teasing remark to her sisters that he had the personality of a handkerchief.

But that wasn’t true. Not really. Though he might seem boring on the surface, she couldn’t shake the thought that there was more beneath it all. Lord Castledon had come to speak with her on several occasions over the years, and his dry wit had made her laugh. A wall hedge, he’d called himself a few years ago, instead of a wallflower.

“Amelia, haven’t you been listening?” Margaret demanded.

She set down her pen and shook away the daydreams. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said that you have a fitting with Madame Benedict this afternoon. Would you like me to go with you?”

The so-called fitting wasn’t at all for a gown. Unbeknownst to her sisters, Amelia had begun working with the modiste to help bring in more sales for Aphrodite’s Unmentionables. She often pretended to be there for a fitting while singing the praises of the undergarments. In return, Madame Benedict gave her a significant reduction in price on anything Amelia wanted. It amused her to help with the sales, though it was highly improper.

But then, perhaps there
was
something she could do while she was there. Margaret could benefit from a new gown, one that would help her catch the eye of the unmarried gentlemen. Something with a very daring cut, just above the bosom—one that would make her feel young again. Though Margaret covered herself up too often, Amelia often thought that a good bosom was an excellent way to catch a man’s attention.

She smiled at Margaret. “Yes, I would like you to come with me.”

Sarah Carlisle crumpled the letter and tossed it into the hearth. Inwardly, her panic was rising so fast, she didn’t know what to do now. Her brother Brandon, the Earl of Strathland, had gone mad a few years ago, and a commission of lunacy had been issued, declaring him incompetent. All of his assets and entailed estates had gone under the control of their second cousin, a man whom Sarah despised. Lewis Barnabas had cut her pin money down to almost nothing, and beyond the basic necessities, she had little to call her own.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if she had a husband to rely on. But the one man she’d wanted, the Earl of Castledon, hadn’t cast her a second glance. Even her efforts to be alone with him had backfired, and idle gossip had labeled her as a desperate woman.

Her chances of finding a husband were next to nothing, but it was her only way of escaping Mr. Barnabas. Her skin crawled at the thought of that man. He was older, and on the single occasion she’d met him when he’d come to London, his eyes had rarely traveled past her bosom. She’d locked her door and slid the dresser in front of it to keep him out.

According to his letter, he intended to return within the month. Only this time, he planned to live here—which meant she had to find another place. He might allow her to live upon one of the other estates, but she had to find a means to escape him.

A husband was the only way.

She was honest enough to know that her age and lack of beauty made it difficult. But it was her brother Brandon’s deeds that had earned him powerful enemies, particularly the Duke of Worthingstone. The man had all but destroyed them, by way of vengeance, after Brandon had arranged for the duchess to be kidnapped a few years ago.

It wasn’t fair. Her brother’s rash behavior had tainted her own name, though Sarah had done nothing wrong. She wanted to flee London and never look back, she lacked the funds to do so. She had to find a way to save herself, no matter what the means.

Sarah walked across the room to the single pane of glass overlooking the hazy London streets.
I can’t do this alone.
There was no one in their family whom she could turn to. She pressed her cheek to the cold glass, praying to a god who had never before answered her prayers.