The Husband Mission (The Spy Matchmaker Book 1) Page 3

  “Have you all considered what would happen if he disgraces himself outside this house?” she scolded. “He would be mortified when he came to his senses. He might even go deeper into this decline. Not to mention what effect his misfortune would have on Constance. She only has six weeks left. Do you wish her doomed?”

  Only Eric had the stomach to meet her gaze, and his eyes were wide.

  “I wish you would not remind me of the date,” Constance murmured. “The right man will come along, Katherine. Be content to let me wait for him.”

  Katherine grit her teeth. Waiting would get them all into trouble. “I do not wish you to feel pressured, love. But facts are facts. Your father, Eric’s and my stepfather, was certain you needed encouragement to wed. Your incentive was his fortune, which you will lose to your cousin if you are not married by your twenty-first birthday.”

  “That’s not very far from now,” Eric pointed out helpfully. “You better hurry, Constance.”

  She sighed. “I am trying, Eric, truly I am.”

  Emma patted her hand on the coverlet. “Of course ye are, Miss Constance. Ye be so lovely, I know some handsome bloke’ll snatch ye up, so he will.”

  As Bixby nodded, Constance offered them all a brave smile. “I pray you are right.”

  “I know they are right,” Katherine said with equal fervor. “Just think, Constance. The perfect gentleman may appear on our doorstep tomorrow.”

  “Or today,” Eric said with a grin and a wink to Katherine.

  Katherine laid a hand on his shoulder in warning lest he give away the game with his enthusiasm. “Precisely,” she said. “And with that in mind, Constance, I think you should dress in your very best tomorrow.”

  “And which dress would that be?” Constance asked with a teasing wink. “All my clothes are lovely. You should know, for you chose most of them.”

  Katherine felt a pang at her manipulations. In truth, it pleased her to dress Constance in pretty clothes. Of course, with Constance’s beauty, Katherine would have been hard pressed to find anything that failed to flatter the girl. Constance had no way of knowing that several of the more recent acquisitions had been chosen with a far more important goal in mind than the girl’s own delight.

  “What about that new dress I purchased for you?” Katherine asked her stepsister with a great deal more innocence than she felt.

  Bixby caught her eye and nodded encouragement. “And that pretty scent you wore the other day,” he said to Constance. “Like violets it was.”

  “Oh, that dress,” Eric said wisely, and Katherine had to pat him again.

  Constance frowned as if she had noticed their odd behavior, but she nodded. “Certainly I can do those things, if they please you.”

  Katherine smiled her thanks, although she knew it wasn’t so much their pleasure as Lord Borin’s they had in mind. Purple was his favorite color and violets his favorite flower, according to his old nurse, whom Bixby had found retired in London. If one was going to lay a trap, after all, one needed to use the proper enticement.

  Of course, she didn’t like thinking of it as a trap, so much as the logical solution to a problem. Katherine considered the matter as she finished up her duties that evening and settled herself into bed beside Constance. Even asleep her stepsister looked lovely. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, and her breath was as soft and quiet as a newborn kitten’s. Though they shared no blood, they were closer than many sisters Katherine had seen. She knew from experience that her stepsister was as lovely inside as she was out. Any man should be pleased to have Constance for a bride.

  Knowing that, she had not expected to have to work so hard at finding that man. Her mother and stepfather had been carried away by the influenza just before Katherine’s first Season. Society called for a mourning period of no less than six months, which would have effectively cancelled her Season, but she had her hands too full with seventeen-year-old Constance and five-year-old Eric to worry about what she was missing.

  Sir Richard had been home recovering from his wound for more than a year at that time and had assumed guardianship for them, with the help of his man Bixby. In the beginning, her uncle had been of some help to her, but it soon became clear he had no idea what to do with the three of them. His failure had only encouraged his retreat into the bottle.

  Katherine had been the one to find them a house when they lost her stepfather’s home to his heir, Weldon Amory. Katherine had begged Emma, her stepfather’s long-time cook, to come with them. Katherine had made sure Constance received tutoring so she could be received into Society. Katherine had inveigled an old friend of her mother’s to stand as Constance’s sponsor so her stepsister could be presented at court.

  And now Katherine intended to see that her wonderful stepsister lived happily ever after.

  She wrinkled her nose as a feather from the down comforter tickled it. At some point, she supposed, she’d have to consider what “happily ever after” meant as well. Her twenty-third birthday would be in August. She was too old to have a Season of her own. In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted one. While she loved London with all its amusements and intrigues, she wasn’t particularly enamored of parading herself on the marriage mart. The only thing she had saved for a trousseau was her mother’s ruby engagement ring, a heavy, ornate piece that suited her no better than it had her gentle mother.

  Once Constance was safely wed and Eric enrolled in Eton, as was his due, she thought she would be quite content to keep a small house and cultivate a select circle of friends. She might even purchase herself a harp to replace the one Constance’s cousin had spitefully insisted on keeping when they had left the Templeman town house.

  But all that depended on Constance marrying in the next six weeks. Lord Borin was the favored candidate. Tomorrow, Katherine would take another step toward betrothing him to her stepsister.

  With the plan of attack she had in mind, the poor fellow didn’t stand a chance.

  Chapter Four

  By the time Alex arrived at the Collins’s house the following afternoon, he was well pleased with himself. He rather thought the Marquis of Hastings would be proud as well of his reconnaissance, had the man known.

  Of course, it hadn’t been easy. He had stopped first to question his friend Kevin Whattling, who shared Alex’s level of popularity among the ton. The Corinthian was also not above a bit of gossip. Unfortunately, Whattling was on the way to a prizefight. It simply would not do to let him go alone. Only after the roar of the crowd had ceased had Alex had a chance to learn anything from his friend.

  It seemed Whattling had already met the new Lord Templeman. The nephew of Constance Templeman’s father, he had inherited the title and estates on the death of the former Lord Templeman. Constance’s father had amassed his own fortune, however, which he had bequeathed to his only blood daughter. Alex found it surprising that a woman with Miss Templeman’s supposed beauty and fortune had not been snatched up for marriage. Giles Sloan, friend to both him and Whattling, pointed out the obvious over dinner at White’s that night with their crony Sir Nigel Dillingham.

  “She may be a beauty, but she is notoriously finicky.” The rotund Sloan nodded his red head sagely. “She even refused to dance with Viscount Darton.”

  Sir Nigel gave one of his horse-like snorts. “Nicely intelligent female, if you ask me. Darton is too high in the instep.”

  “But is Miss Templeman any lower?” Whattling mused, poking at his beef. He glanced up at Alex with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Something tells me she would lead even you a merry chase, Borin.”

  “Give me a plain girl who knows her worth,” Sir Nigel muttered, “over a beauty who thinks herself a goddess.”

  Alex had to agree.

  He also did not disagree when Sir Nigel offered to introduce him to some other gentlemen recently returned from the Peninsula. From them, Alex learned that Richard Collins had earned his knighthood after being wounded at Corunna. Collins had been part of the guard burying General Moore when t
hey had been hit by grape shot. Several of Sir Nigel’s acquaintances had served with Collins. All found him jovial and helpful. One, however, complained of Collins’ fondness for wine and women. Alex didn’t see that fondness as a weakness, for on occasion he shared it. He also couldn’t see why Collins could be interested in him, unless they had somehow become rivals over the same woman. The only woman he’d pursued recently was the delightful Lydia.

  As he left White’s, he almost stopped at her flat to ask her about Sir Richard Collins, but he wasn’t sure he was in the mood for her attentions. The fair Lydia had proven herself to have a rapacious appetite, which extended no further than his purse. If Collins wanted her, Alex was ready to hand her over.

  Of all he had learned, however, the most important piece of information was the name of the sprite at the door. Whattling had confirmed that Miss Katherine Collins was indeed the older stepsister of the lovely Miss Templeman. Her widowed mother had married the former Lord Templeman, himself a widow with child, nearly eight years ago. Miss Collins supposedly had a younger brother, but Alex had been unable to determine his age. It was possible he had been the lad following him, but Alex found it difficult to believe the stepson of a lord would be allowed to wander the city in costume.

  So, for all the information he had gained on the Collins’ household, he still wasn’t certain why any of them would be interested in following him. The only way to learn more was to play out the charade and visit.

  This time a butler met his knock. The fellow was dressed in a black coat and breeches. His balding head, ringed by a close-cropped fringe of silver-grey hair, was nearly as polished as his brass buttons. His narrow face was stern, reminding Alex of a master at Eton. All in all, he was as impressive a fellow as one could have wished. While Alex hadn’t been expecting depravity, he found himself disappointed that the fellow didn’t at least have sneaky eyes or a knowing smile.

  As Alex followed him upstairs to the withdrawing room, he thought perhaps he might spot something odd about the interior of the house. Unfortunately, everywhere he looked things appeared distressingly normal. The oak banister gleamed; the walls were a cheery yellow devoid of cobwebs. Portraits of smiling ladies in jewel-toned gowns from ages past brightened the space. The corridor smelled of lemon and beeswax, testimony that a diligent housekeeper had been busy there as well.

  The withdrawing room itself took up the entire back half of the upstairs, with three windows overlooking the little garden. The room was tastefully furnished with a settee and a matching quartet of armchairs upholstered in soft blue velvet with gilt spindles and arms. A small fire burned in the shiny brass grate. Pastoral watercolors glowed on the green-blue walls. It was a cozy, friendly scene with which he could find no fault.

  Neither could he find a single fault in Miss Templeman. She perched on the settee, hands folded in the lap of her fashionable silk gown. A prettier shade of purple he had never seen. As he stepped forward to take her hand in greeting, the scent of violets wafted over him, as soft as the welcoming light in her lovely blue eyes. He was instantly reminded of his childhood and the homey smell of violets and soap that had emanated from his Nana. He caught himself smiling at no one in particular and had to recall himself to the present.

  The lady before him was no aged nurse. Golden curls framed an angelic face with upturned nose and rosebud lips. The lavender gown swelled with womanly curves. Her smile was innocent, her demeanor sweet. In fact, he was hard-pressed to think of a more perfect specimen of womanhood currently on the marriage mart. The mystery of her single state deepened.

  The bigger surprise was that he found he far preferred his greeting with Miss Collins. No overwhelming sweetness there. Her impish grin was conspiratorial. Had their sexes been reversed, he thought he probably would have blushed at the gleam of appreciation in her warm grey eyes. He bowed to her, then took his seat across from her in one of the armchairs, smoothing down the front of his navy coat.

  A frown creased her brow. Before he could wonder at it, her gaze darted to the empty space beside her stepsister as if in a message. She would prefer that he sit next to Miss Templeman? What manner of woman encouraged a man to show his interests elsewhere? He perversely leaned back in the chair and crossed his booted legs.

  “My uncle is unexpectedly unavailable,” Miss Collins told him, but somehow she did not sound the least regretful. “Of course, you remember my stepsister Constance Templeman.”

  “Of course, Miss Collins,” Alex replied. “Miss Templeman, your servant.”

  He was rewarded to see her start. She apparently hadn’t thought he could learn her name. He wasn’t sure why her surprise pleased him. Her grin quickly returned, as if she were delighted to discover that he was clever. He ought to be insulted, but instead he grinned back.

  “How nice to see you again, Lord Borin,” Miss Templeman said, her voice soft and melodious, as perfect as the rest of her. “You will remember that we met at Lady Monk’s musicale last Season.”

  In truth, he had forgotten. Now that she mentioned it, however, he remembered seeing her there. She had been in the company of a large ponderous fellow. He somehow didn’t think it was Sir Richard. It must have been the new Lord Templeman. Alex nodded politely. “Yes, I remember. Do you enjoy music, Miss Templeman?”

  It was the most innocent of conversations, designed to put them at their ease. He was confident he could maneuver the discussion around to something more useful. Unfortunately, Miss Templeman was not particularly helpful.

  “I love music,” she replied fervently, though her smile was sad. “I must admit, however, that hearing it makes me regret that I never learned an instrument.”

  “You missed nothing,” Miss Collins put in quickly. “My mother had me take lessons on the harp for ten years, and my thumb still persists in pointing upward when I hold out my hands. Be thankful you have such a sweet singing voice.”

  A lovely voice was another accomplishment he should have expected from the beautiful Miss Templeman. He had a harder time envisioning Miss Collins at the harp. She looked far too earthy to play such a heavenly instrument.

  Her stepsister blushed becomingly. “Thank you, Katherine, but you know I do not like such attention as singing alone gives me. I quite prefer our duets.”

  Now that was something he’d like to see. “I imagine the two of you are delightful together. Perhaps you might favor me.”

  Miss Templeman immediately demurred, blush deepening. Miss Collins merely smiled. He watched her lips curling in satisfaction and wondered if they were as soft as they looked. Before he could chide himself for such wayward thoughts, her gaze darted once more to her stepsister, drawing his eyes there instead. Confound the woman! Why did she persist in throwing Miss Templeman at his head?

  “Did you have a particular purpose in calling on Sir Richard today?” her stepsister asked. “Perhaps we might be of assistance.”

  The question recalled him to his duty. He was here for information, after all. “I understand we may have mutual friends in the same regiment,” he offered. “Has he perchance been trying to make my acquaintance?”

  Miss Templeman frowned. Miss Collins’ eyes narrowed as if she were trying to see through the holes in his story.

  “We have heard nothing in that regard,” she answered for both of them. “But surely you are far too busy to spend time reminiscing with old soldiers. Did I not hear you recently purchased an impressive mount, my lord? The foal of an Ascot winner, I believe?”

  Before Alex knew it, he was prosing on about his stables, his horses, and their upcoming races. Miss Templeman was a rapt audience, but he gradually became aware that Miss Collins steadfastly refused to join the conversation unless it was to subtlety point out her stepsister’s finer characteristics. Try as he might, Alex could not get them to discuss their guardian or anything else of import.

  And he quickly found himself growing bored. The only thing he had managed to learn was that Miss Templeman was not the snob Giles Sloan had suggested.
Indeed, she was rather cloyingly sweet, unlike the interesting spice of her older stepsister.

  He would have to try Sir Richard directly if he wanted answers. That had been his intention all along, but Miss Collins was too good at diverting his attention, in more ways than one. He was about to find an excuse to take his leave when the butler hurried in to whisper in Miss Collins’s ear. She immediately jumped to her feet, forcing Alex to rise as well.

  “A small problem downstairs,” she explained. “If you will excuse me a moment.” She flew from the room. The butler took up sentinel at the door.

  Alex would have thought it a ploy to get him alone with Miss Templeman, except the girl seemed oblivious to the fact. Her conversation was no more pointed than before. In fact, without Miss Collins’s guiding influence, it seemed sadly lacking. Besides, with the butler in the background, Miss Templeman could hardly claim to be compromised. Before he could wonder further, Miss Collins returned with a rotund older gentleman at her heels. That she was less than pleased by the fact was evident in the tight set of her mouth.

  Alex rose again as she made the introductions. “Viscount Borin, may I present Weldon Amory, Lord Templeman.”

  “Miss Templeman’s cousin,” the man added with a heavy wheeze. He stuck out a meaty hand, which Alex accepted. “Good to meet you, Borin. I heard you had taken to visiting. It is best that we talk before matters go any further.”

  Alex frowned. How did the man know he had been visiting? He peered closer at the fellow, noting the narrowed blue eyes and the stubborn chin. Suspicion might have been forgiven. What was impossible to overlook, however, were the dabs of congealed gravy dotting the fellow’s rumpled cravat and dusty brown coat and trousers. Miss Collins saved him from an ungentlemanly response.

  “This is only Lord Borin’s second visit,” she pointed out to Templeman. “And he is here to see Sir Richard.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Lord Templeman replied with a sly wink at Alex. “And my lovely cousin has nothing to do with it.”