Kathryn Caskie (5 page)

“How so?”

Garnet’s eyes were twinkling as he relayed the coincidence of being flattened by the Featherton ladies’ carriage and the distinct pleasure he had of finally meeting the spirited blue-eyed miss whom Griffin had encountered on the cliffs above Kennymare Cove.

What a lark it was, he admitted, allowing the women to believe he was Griffin, the astronomer, the man they had met that day.

Griffin’s own spirits sank. He’d thought, and spoken, of little else other than the amazing Miss Chillton since the day he’d met her. And, since he was to journey to Bath anyway for the study of the comet, he’d hoped to court Miss Chillton. But now Garnet, the Seducer of Cornwall, had her in his sights. Griffin knew he hadn’t a chance to win her affections now.

No chance at all, especially when Garnet the Charmer could simply ring the young lady’s finger and claim the earldom he so desired in only a matter of days.

He removed a hatbox from the wardrobe, then turned to Garnet. “I . . . I have her new bonnet. The milliner in London even added a peacock feather, as Miss Chillton had requested.” Try as he might, he could not sift the disappointment from his voice. “You might as well give it to her.”

Garnet laughed at that. “What sort of brother do you think I am, sir? You, and no other, will present Miss Chillton with the bonnet.”

“W-what do you mean? I thought you—”

“Why? Because I pretended I was you?” Garnet shoved a dangling lock of hair back from his eyes. “I am deeply wounded to think you would believe I would ever seek to steal away the lady of your dreams.”

“But why did you take up residence with the Featherton ladies if you did not wish to woo Miss Chillton?”

“Well, you are right there. I did wish to woo her. But for you, Griffin. For
you
.” Then, as if something had belatedly occurred to him, Garnet stood abruptly and left the chamber to retrieve a parcel he’d evidently left outside the doorway.

When he tossed it upon the bedstead, his eyes held that familiar glint, the sort that always told Griffin his dear brother was deep into no good. “Go on, open it. I know you want to.”

“Unless it’s a new aperture dial for my telescope, I tell you, I am not interested.” Still, Griffin could not prevent his gaze from flitting over the package.

Garnet exhaled. “Then I shall open it for you, for we haven’t much time. Damned balls start far too early in Bath—end early, too. For the good of the attendees’ health, they claim.
Bah
.”

“A ball?” Now that caught Griffin’s attention. “I have no intention of attending a ball. You know I cannot abide the things.”

“You only claim as much because you doubt your dancing ability, but you needn’t fear. I have seen to all contingencies. A simple waltz, a dance at which even you excel, shall be the only time you must take to the floor.” Garnet grinned. “Agreed?”

“Of course, I do
not
agree to something unknown to me!”

Garnet did not say another word as he dutifully unwrapped the large parcel. From it, he withdrew a dark cutaway coat, gray breeches, a silver-shot waistcoat, and a fine pair of ebony shoes.

“Here you are,” he said proudly. “I am in possession of an identical ensemble. I had the haberdasher create two of everything, though I had him add more width in the shoulders, sleeves, and thighs—given your . . . less-elegant form.” Garnet lifted the coat. “Do try this on. As I said, we have little time. I must still return to Royal Crescent to dress.”

Griffin shrugged his shoulders into the coat without so much as a glance into the cheval mirror propped in the corner. “I still do not understand what you have in that wicked mind of yours.”

Garnet tugged on Griffin’s sleeves and circled around him, checking the fit. “Ah,
perfect
.” He turned his gaze to Griffin’s. “You still do not understand? Have I not made myself clear?”

“
No,
you have not.”

“Well, it’s really very simple. I will be escorting the Featherton ladies, and Miss Chillton, to the Upper Assembly Rooms this eve.”

Griffin straightened at the mention of the women. “Miss Chillton will be in attendance?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Garnet huffed, then continued, “Now, sometime during the first hour, I will dance with her, converse with her . . . and do my damnedest to attract her, make my interest known.”

“Your interest?” Griffin felt the blood in his veins grow ever hot.

“How can you not grasp this idea? Your brain is far superior to mine, what with all those numbers rolling around inside.” Garnet exhaled hard.

“Explain it to me then. I own it is difficult for me to follow your logic at times . . . especially when you are being illogical.”

“’Tis very simple, and it makes a great deal of sense given our differing natural propensities. Follow me now. For one hour, I will do my best to charm Miss Chillton, priming her for you. Then I shall excuse myself to request a waltz. That is when you will take my place with Miss Chillton.”

“This is madness.”

“Hardly.” A broad grin skimmed Garnet’s lips. “We are identical. Our clothing will be indistinguishable. She will never realize the switch that has transpired. And you, dear brother, will be free to make the woman of your dreams fall in love with you.”

Griffin dropped his gaze to his feet. “This is never going to work.”

Garnet laughed at that. “My dear brother, I have lived with the family for a sennight already. I have not spent my time in vain.”

“What do you mean? What have you done?”

“Nothing that need concern you, Griff. Nothing to compromise your lady. Suffice it to say, I have a suspicion that Miss Chillton is already falling in love with me . . . er . . .
you
.”

Griffin allowed himself a shallow smile. Was it possible this could actually work? He glanced back up at Garnet. “Are you sure of her interest?”

“Of course. I know women. When have I ever misread a miss?”

Griffin nodded slowly. “Never.”

Garnet’s lips drew up smugly. “Well then. You best don your attire. It wouldn’t do to keep the ladies—and your future bride—waiting.”

Goose bumps rose on Hannah’s arms and she shivered as she stood half-dressed in her chilly bedchamber, being dressed for the ball. Though the sun had already found its resting place, the upstairs maid had not yet come to refill the coal in the grate and to stoke the fire to coax a bit of warmth into the room. Hannah would have done it herself, but at the moment, her ribs seemed to be cracking.

“Let out all of the air in your lungs, Miss Hannah,” her lady’s maid told her.

Hannah expelled her breath as Annie laced her into a tight silk corset, when her comfortable linen would have done just fine.

Just another indignity she would have to endure this eve to please the matchmaking Featherton sisters.

“Well, they can matchmake all they like, but I will not dance with him,” Hannah told the maid matter-of-factly. “Lud, the man is so ridiculously self-assured, so full of his own imagined worth. I cannot bear to be in a room with him for more than a quarter hour at a time.”

Annie clucked at that. “The ladies claim that man you met on the cliffs in Cornwall is your match—and they ain’t never wrong, Miss Hannah. Never!”

Hannah hated to be one who ruined the Featherton sisters’ successful matchmaking record, but there was no help for it. She was not the least attracted to Mr. St. Albans . . . though she’d recently met someone who was—the lovely Miss Howard. Miss Howard, who was perhaps a few years older than she, but certainly not in her dotage, had approached Hannah with a shiny guinea in hand and had requested an introduction to Mr. St. Albans. And who was Hannah to deny the woman a chance at happiness?

Besides, she’d spent the money already, so she had no choice but to instigate the fateful meeting.

As Annie tied off the corset, Hannah tested her lung capacity. She sucked in a deep breath, or rather it might have been a well-drawn breath had the corset not been so snug. “Annie, it’s too binding. Please, will you loosen it a bit? You know I despise tight corsets.”

“If I let the ribbon out a bit, your middle will follow suit, and how will you catch Mr. St. Albans’s eye?” Annie shook her head. “No, I am sure to hear all about it from the ladies if I allow you another pinkie width.” The lady’s maid went to retrieve Hannah’s ball gown. “Don’t tell me that you have never thought about a life with Mr. St. Albans. He’s handsome, that one.”

“Yes, he is. I do not deny that. And, for but a day after we met, I might have even entertained a courtship. But now, after seeing the real man, learning his true nature, no more. The man is little more than a rake.”

“But the Featherton sisters are so sure Mr. St. Albans is your match, miss—”

Hannah laughed. “Believe me, in this instance, the ladies
are
wrong. Completely in error. Why, I’d be far more likely to marry . . . Edgar, than Mr. St. Albans.”

“Mr. Edgar? Fancy him, do you? Never would have guessed that.”

“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong. That’s not what I meant at all—”

“Besides, Mr. Edgar is nine-and-seventy, miss, and, well,
he’s taken.
For if I’m not out of my place for sayin’ so, I know for a fact that Lady Viola has a soft place in her heart for him.”

Hannah whirled around at that. “Really? Lady Viola and Edgar? Are you sure?”

“Oh, absolutely. Everyone, I mean everyone below stairs, knows all about it. You only have to look at their eyes when they’re in the same room together. Their feelin’s are as plain as the sun in the sky.”

Hannah giggled at the thought. “How long has this been going on?”

“Oh, forgive me, miss. I shouldn’t have said nothin’. I’ll just close my lips now. Won’t hear another word from me.” Annie lifted the silk gown she’d placed on the tester bed earlier and ballooned it over Hannah’s head.

When Hannah poked her head out the top of the mass of silk, it was evident that Annie had been impatiently waiting for her to emerge so that she might continue.

“ . . . But from what I’ve seen and heard, they’ve been in love for
years
.”

“
Years?
And they have never proclaimed it? Never acted upon it?”

“No, miss. Wouldn’t be right, would it, with him bein’ the butler and her bein’ a grand lady?”

“Oh, goodness. What has that got to do with the price of bread? Such societal rules carry no weight with the Featherton ladies. You should know that. No, there has to be some other explanation for Lady Viola’s reticence. There just has to be.”

Then, an idea burst into Hannah’s mind and she grew quiet.

Lady Viola and Edgar. Hmm.

She moved to the window and glanced down at the aviary where her falcon resided. As the tall case clock below stairs dinged the six o’clock hour, Hannah made firm her mind.

She would do it.

Noting the movement in the window above, the falcon looked up at Hannah.

“Such a clever bird,” she whispered. “You know already, don’t you, Cupid? We’ve got a job to do. Lady Viola and Edgar are in need of our services.”

“What was that, Miss Hannah?”

“Oh, nothing, Annie. Nothing at all.” Hannah grinned inwardly.

This is the perfect chance to prove to the Feathertons that I do know a thing or two about love and proper matches.

. . . And I won’t even charge this time.

Chapter Four

Upper Assembly Rooms, Bath

M
r. St. Albans, the handsome, yet impossibly egotistical buffoon, led the two Featherton sisters through the column-framed entrance of the elegant Upper Assembly Rooms, allowing Hannah to trail behind on her own.

She didn’t mind being without an escort this evening. In fact, being a bit of an independent sort anyway (or so her brother, Arthur, had oft claimed when Hannah was growing up), Hannah actually preferred it this way.

Mr. St. Albans was about as close to a rake as a man could be, and she was quite certain that were she to allow him to take her hand, she would feel his other brush her bottom. This, in her opinion, was just the sort of lecherous man he was. Hannah had read all about lechers and oglers in her friend Meredith’s guidebook.

As she reached the entrance hall, Hannah passed her silver-and-blue wrap to an awaiting footman, then followed her party through the tight crowd toward the ballroom.

At first, when they seemed to make no progress in their approach, Hannah had thought a rude throng had simply congregated before the doors, blocking entrance to everyone else. But once Mr. St. Albans, with his broad shoulders and commanding presence, had cleared a narrow path, and their small group was able to enter, Hannah realized she had been in error.

The glittering chandeliers above cast an almost magical golden glow on the heaving crowd below.

Though two hundred typically numbered the subscribers and guests who attended the dress balls held each Monday during the Bath season, the ballroom tonight seemed to hold no less than five times that number.

Though the room’s ceiling was high to allow for the proper circulation of air, the grand ballroom was stifling this eve. Within minutes the tiny wisps of hair at the back of her neck were sealed to her skin with perspiration.

Hannah plucked at the neckline of her gown, as unobtrusively as possible without being noticed, to separate her already heat-moistened chemise from her skin.

Perhaps she could feign illness. Or begin to swoon. If Hannah could have summoned an adequate reason to leave the Assembly Rooms at that very instant—one the Featherton sisters would accept—she would have done so at once.

But she knew better. No excuse would suffice this eve. The crafty old Featherton ladies knew every trick, she was sure, for they themselves had likely tried them all during their lifetimes.

There was no escape tonight. Besides, Miss Howard had promised she would try to convince her mother to attend the ball with her. Hannah sighed, resigned in the knowledge that there was nothing to do except wait to see if Miss Howard arrived, then fashion a way for her golden-haired beauty to meet and sufficiently charm Mr. St. Albans.