Never Borrow a Baronet Page 3

  Her thoughts matched his own, but, as usual, she had failed to consider the consequences. “And when, after some months pass, we never wed, what of Miss Ramsey’s reputation? Having been introduced as my bride-to-be, what else is she to do?”

  “Move to Bath,” Gussie answered readily. “We have friends there. Surely, we can convince one of them to take her in, establish her in the town.”

  Harry frowned. “Has she no income of her own?”

  “Not at all. I take it she was an orphan who found a place with the Carroltons, where she served as the countess’ companion for several years.”

  Small wonder she wasn’t easily upset. Lady Carrolton’s incessant illnesses and nagging needs were legendary.

  “Then how is she to support herself in Bath?” he asked.

  Gussie fidgeted. “Perhaps we could offer her a fee.”

  Now his head was starting to throb with his arm. “You would bribe a put-upon orphan to pretend a false engagement, bartering her only possession, her reputation?”

  Gussie refused to meet his gaze. “That sounds unkind and manipulative. I know how you feel about reputations, Harry, but we have a greater need at the moment.”

  Harry leaned back. “Not that I can see. I wonder that Miss Ramsey agreed.”

  “It required some persuasion,” Gussie admitted. “But when Miss Thorn took my side, Miss Ramsey gave quarter.”

  Patience had mentioned the name as well. “Miss Thorn. Another charity case?”

  Gussie finally looked up, smile once more in place. “No, indeed. She has a Fortune.” She giggled, and he wasn’t sure why the fact that Miss Thorn was an heiress amused her so. “Besides, I knew her mother—delightful woman. Miss Thorn apparently doesn’t remember me, but I certainly remember her. She now runs an employment agency. She found Patience for me. I invited her to stay for Easter.”

  He must be wearier than he’d thought, for he could not follow his aunt’s logic. An heiress who ran an employment agency, making herself at home at the manor? That made as little sense as Gussie’s mad idea to have Miss Ramsey pose as his bride.

  “We’ll straighten this out in the morning,” Harry said. “I understand my things were moved. Where?”

  She made a face. “Sorry. We’re all full at the moment. It had to be the master suite.”

  The master suite. His father’s rooms. Something inside him recoiled. By the look on Gussie’s face, she commiserated.

  “It’s all right,” he said, rising. “At the rate I’m fading, I won’t even notice whose bed I’m in.” At least, he hoped so, for if he spent too long thinking about his father, he would be in no mood to make a decision regarding Patience Ramsey and their so-called engagement.

  Chapter Three

  “I just think it’s wonderful that Harry is betrothed,” Miss Villers gushed as she and Meredith Thorn headed for their bedchambers, having left Gussie at her door. “Miss Ramsey seems like such a dear. How are you related again?”

  Meredith managed a smile, arms secure around Fortune. Miss Villers had been trying to learn more about Patience since the moment Gussie had announced the betrothal. Instead of decamping as Gussie had hoped, the brother and sister had merely declared they must stay a while longer to help celebrate. By the hints she had been dropping all evening, Gussie was still trying to convince them to leave in the next day or so.

  “Miss Ramsey is my client,” Meredith replied, stroking Fortune’s fur with one finger. “I own the Fortune Employment Agency.”

  She waited for the younger lady to protest, at least draw herself up in disdain. Patience had agreed to further the ruse Gussie had started, but Meredith saw no need to hide her own status. Many in the aristocracy and gentry would have found it appalling a woman in trade would be allowed to mix with them as an equal.

  But Miss Villers was more focused on Fortune, gaze soft and wistful. “How commendable that you named the endeavor after your cat.” Her voice turned into a coo. “Sweet kitty, pretty kitty.”

  The sugary comments, also of a repetition Meredith found tiring, had not endeared the girl to Fortune. Her cat turned her face away now, tail twitching.

  Her own face falling, Miss Villers stopped by the paneled door to her room. “Have I offended her?”

  About to pass for her own room, Meredith hesitated. She generally relied on Fortune’s opinion of people’s character to guide her. Meredith’s opinion had certainly proved faulty over the years, particularly with those who should have loved and protected her. Look at what had happened with Julian Mayes, the man she had been set to marry. He’d abandoned her when she’d needed him most. Just the thought of how he’d try to insinuate himself back into her life recently sent a shudder through her. She’d made it her goal to ensure any gentlewoman fallen on hard times had greater opportunity.

  She had attempted to introduce Fortune to both Miss Villers and her brother at various points that evening, but Fortune had been strangely reticent to make their acquaintance. It wasn’t the unusual surroundings; Fortune traveled everywhere with her and never evinced the least concern. She had begun to think the feline’s behavior indicative of the Villers themselves. She had not been impressed with Miss Villers’ brother Beauford, a dark-haired fellow with a perpetual curl to his lip and too many platitudes on his tongue. And she hadn’t much liked the way he’d excused himself early, as if the company of three woman and a cat could never be sufficiently entertaining.

  Now she glanced down into Fortune’s copper-colored eyes. “What do you think? Are you willing to befriend Miss Villers?”

  Miss Villers pasted on a bright smile and leaned forward. The very fact that she did not question Meredith’s conversation with the cat boded well for the young lady’s character, but then again, perhaps the young lady was the sort to speak to inanimate objects like dolls as well.

  Fortune swiveled in Meredith’s arms to regard Miss Villers. The cat’s little ears moved forward, back, as if she was listening for the young lady’s thoughts. The blonde drew in a breath, hope vibrating through her very being.

  Fortune arched her neck, giving Miss Villers access to her pearly throat.

  The young lady reached out and touched the fur. “I am honored. I promise to be the very best friend you could want, Fortune.”

  Excessive even in this, it seemed. Meredith could only be glad the young lady wasn’t one of those who thought a cat required rigorous rubbing instead of a gentle touch.

  “I expect you and your brother will be leaving shortly,” Meredith said, watching Fortune turn her head from side to side to allow Miss Villers to stroke behind her ears as well. “But you are welcome to pet her again before you go.”

  Miss Villers glanced up, eyes wide. “Oh, Beau says we aren’t leaving until after Easter. But thank you.” She pulled back and wiggled her fingers at the cat. “Good night, dear Fortune.” Still beaming, she slipped into her room.

  Meredith frowned as the door closed. If Miss Villers was only here to ensnare Sir Harold, why insist on staying when she thought him engaged? Or had she and her brother another reason for visiting the manor?

  ~~~

  It was some time before Patience fell asleep that night. She’d made sure Sir Harold had found his way down the corridor to Gussie’s rooms, then closed the door. As she’d started back for the bed, her bare feet had stepped in a damp patch on the deep carpet. For a moment, she’d recoiled, thinking it blood. But how could there be blood by the door when she’d bandaged him by the fire? Peering closer at the carpet, she could trace the dark spots back to the window. Had he tracked in water?

  How? It hadn’t rained today, and the dew wouldn’t rise until morning. Had his escape from the jealous husband taken him through a stream?

  Just the idea of his midnight antics made her shoulders bunch. Her father had been a faithful man, loving her mother until the day they’d both died, lying beside each other on their bed. But not all words of love were true. She knew from experience that some men were very good at saying one th
ing and doing another.

  She crawled into the great bed and lay staring at the pleated satin that made up the inside of the canopy. She hadn’t thought of Robert in years. They’d grown up together, children of neighboring families. She’d been certain he was meant to be her husband. Her parents and his had encouraged the match. He’d told her often enough he longed to call her his. But he’d gone off to war and come home with a Spanish bride whose dark eyes only looked at Patience with pity. Better than what she saw in Robert’s eyes—regrets that he’d ever spoken so lovingly to her.

  She sighed as she rolled over on the soft pillow. She had more than enough reasons for melancholy and as many reasons for contentment. Yes, she was alone, yet Gussie had made her feel welcomed. Mr. Cuddlestone had inspected the room and insisted that everything be to her liking. Emma, the lady’s maid who had helped her undress tonight, had unpacked the rest of her trunk with loving care. She suspected their support stemmed largely from the story Gussie had concocted. They wanted to embrace the woman who was marrying the master. How would they feel when Sir Harold revealed the truth tomorrow?

  She wiggled deeper under the covers, feeling as if the fine linens weighed her down. She had no reason to feel so guilty. She hadn’t meant any harm. Sir Harold was supposed to be away. Miss Villers and her brother were apparently scheming opportunists, though Lydia had been nothing but happy for her. Gussie and Miss Thorn had encouraged Patience to go along with the ruse. Surely, they had her best interests at heart. And the matter had been so important to Gussie. Patience had always believed in supporting her employer’s goals, even at the expense of her own at times.

  She must have fallen asleep, for she woke to the sound of movement. She sat up, reaching for the shawl. “So sorry, your ladyship. Do you need the eye drops or the vinaigrette?”

  In the act of taking out Patience’s corset from the dresser drawer, the diminutive, dark-haired maid blinked. “Miss Ramsey?”

  Patience’s face heated. She was no longer sleeping in the dressing room next to Lady Carrolton’s bedchamber. She was a lady of the manor, Sir Harold Orwell’s betrothed.

  At least for a few more moments.

  “Good morning, Emma,” she said, sliding off the big bed onto the soft carpet.

  “What would you have to wear today, miss?” Emma asked politely, laying the corset on the bed and heading for the wardrobe.

  “The grey poplin with the diamond pattern along the hem,” Patience advised. Might as well look her best for whatever would happen this morning. She might have to tender her resignation. Surely Miss Thorn would help her find another position. She could only hope Miss Villers and her brother did not move in exalted circles, for their testimony of her perfidy could prevent her from landing with another aristocratic family.

  “It’s very nice to have a young lady to do for,” Emma chatted as she helped Patience dress. “Miss Villers is very sweet, of course, but she’s not part of the family.”

  Neither was Patience, nor would she ever be. “Have you worked at the manor long?” she asked, hoping to nudge the subject away from her.

  Emma was happy to answer. “My mother was Miss Gussie’s nursemaid and became her lady’s maid. I took her place when her hands started to shake. Miss Gussie didn’t care, mind you, but Mum did. Would you like me to do your hair?”

  Patience had managed her own hair since she was a girl. But Emma looked so eager, Patience didn’t have the heart to say no. Or perhaps she was merely delaying the moment she had to face Sir Harold and the others again.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, seating herself on the bed.

  “It’s good you’re to marry the master,” Emma continued, deft strokes making Patience relax a little. “Such a sweet boy he was. Used to bring us wildflowers from the marshes for the kitchen table. And fish! Oh, but he was a wonder at catching the things. Why, some days, he’d bring back enough for the whole house. He can’t do that now, of course, not with…” She stepped back, face florid. “There now, I shouldn’t be talking so, but it’s that nice to have a lady who listens. You look marvelous. I best check on Miss Villers. She tends to lay abed until the morning’s half past.” She bobbed a curtsey and hurried out.

  So, even little Emma knew of Sir Harold’s nighttime activities. Patience wasn’t sure why that made her sad. It wasn’t as if she’d met the little boy who’d thought enough of his staff to bring them flowers and fish. Perhaps it was the way Emma felt comfortable confiding in her. At the Carrolton household, she’d been considered above the other servants and considerably below the family. Any talk in the servants’ hall had quickly ceased the moment they caught sight of her approaching.

  The same manservant who had met them the day before led her to the dining room, where the others had assembled for breakfast. Mr. Cuddlestone smiled at her as she entered. She hated to think of that smile being replaced with dismay. She made herself look at the walls instead. Very likely they were terracotta colored, but it was hard to tell because every inch of space was filled with massive paintings.

  The first Orwell to rise to the title had apparently liked to see himself, for she recognized his handsome features in at least three of the paintings, on horseback, sword raised; hunting with a pack of hounds; and standing at the helm of a sailing ship. Other paintings might depict places he had visited—the countryside of Spain, the pyramids of Egypt, and the shore of some exotic island. The long table, which could easily seat twenty in the elaborately scrolled, high-backed chairs, seemed almost small beside all that grandeur.

  Sir Harold was seated at the head, dressed today in a bottle green coat and green-and-gold striped waistcoat. By the way he held his cup, his arm was giving him no trouble. Gussie, on his right, wore a handsome blue gown that fastened under her bosom with a gold clasp. Miss Thorn beside her looked her usual polished self in lavender stripes. Fortune, who was exploring the carpet as if determined to find something of interest, sported a matching purple bow on her collar. Miss Villers was in white again, all frills and furbelows. The saturnine fellow beside her with the long nose and thin lips must be her brother. Odd that they looked so little alike.

  Patience forced a smile. “Good morning.”

  Everyone looked up, but Sir Harold rose and came down the table toward her. Perhaps he’d already exposed her. Very likely he’d tell her the coach was waiting to return her to London. Surely, they’d allow her that dignity.

  He smiled as he took her hand, blue eyes twinkling. “Good morning, Patience, darling. Come join us for breakfast. Nothing but the best for my bride.”

  ~~~

  The lovely Miss Ramsey stared at him, and Harry could only hope she was quick enough to realize he wanted her to continue the role she’d agreed with his aunt. It had taken no more than awakening in his father’s room to make him realize the necessity of the deception. Though Sally the housemaid still dusted, the space was largely the same as when his father had been alive, down to the pack of playing cards sitting on the dressing table. Marked. Harry had looked at them once to confirm it. His father had been a fraud, a trickster, a man with no honor. How ironic that the only way to convince Society of Harry’s honor was to play the rogue.

  “Shouldn’t be too hard for you, my boy,” Lord Hastings had told him when he’d approached Harry with the possibility of being an intermediary between British supporters in France and the War Office. “Your family has had dealings with the French in the past. The smugglers should be glad to have use of your cove without fearing interference from you.”

  Harry had pushed deeper into the armchair at White’s, the exclusive gentleman’s club in London. His father had been banned from the premises. It had taken thirty years of right living and no less than eight gentlemen willing to stand as references to allow Harry entrance. Now this dapper gentleman, rumored to be the head of an elite force of aristocratic intelligence agents, wanted Harry to throw all that away by pretending to be no better than his forefathers?

  “Yet you ask me to lie, to risk
my family name,” Harry had pointed out. “To what purpose?”

  “The safety of every man, woman, and child in England,” Hastings had said solemnly, brown walrus mustache quivering. “We cannot lose this war. We cannot allow Napoleon to prevail.” He’d laid a hand on Harry’s arm. “I know you want to regain your family reputation, lad, but a true gentleman does what must be done, regardless of the cost to him.”

  And there lay the rub. To be the man he dreamed of being, he had to pretend to be less for a time. Which meant, unfortunately, that Miss Ramsey would also have to pretend.

  But once again her soft features hardened with obvious determination. “I am not—” she started.

  “Hungry,” Harry finished. “Understandable given all the excitement. Perhaps a stroll. I’m sure the others will excuse us.”

  Her lips tightened, as if she fought harsh words.

  “I cannot excuse you, Harry, old boy,” another male voice cut in, low and drawling. “First you tarry in London instead of entertaining us at your own house party, then you go and get yourself engaged. The least you could do is make me known to your charming bride.”

  Harry gritted his teeth. Now, there was a man who thought only of himself. Dark-haired and sloe-eyed, Beau Villers had spent a lifetime cozying up to any fortune or title that would have him. Now he positively oozed charm as he came up to Patience.

  Harry pasted on a smile, turning even as he slipped an arm around Patience’s waist and fit her against his side. “Forgive me, Villers. I understood you met last night.”

  “Beau was out for a stroll when Miss Ramsey arrived,” Lydia put in helpfully. “She didn’t feel well and retired before he returned.” She smiled prettily at Patience. “I do hope you’re feeling better this morning.”