The Wedding Trap (2 page)

Violet slipped her eyeglasses back on, then reached out and patted the top of Eliza’s hand. “Now, do not let this discourage you. The Season has not even begun yet. There is no telling all the eligible bachelors who will be arriving in the city over the next few weeks. Men who would give their eyeteeth to have you for their wife.”

“Perhaps a single rotten molar but no more.” Eliza shook her head. “No, the facts must be faced. The sad truth is that no suitable gentlemen wanted me before my aunt died and none of them wants me now. Some days I wish my aunt had not gotten angry with Cousin Philip and cut him out of the will. Some days poverty seems a remarkably easier choice.”

“Poverty is never easy and do not spout such self-defeating nonsense. I know you would never wish to go back to that life. You lived under that old woman’s miserly thumb far too many years—forgive my harsh sentiments toward the dead—not to enjoy a little comfort now. If anyone deserves her fortune, it is you.”

“Maybe, but it does not seem to be doing me much good.”

“What you need is a mentor,” Violet said. “Someone who knows Society and could smooth your way. Teach you how to be easier in company, have more confidence so your shyness does not leave you tongue-tied and silent among others, unable to show what a lovely personality you possess.”

Violet paused, tapped a thumb against the knee of her elegant lavender merino wool day dress. “As you will recall, I once had the same problem as you. So shy in public I could barely string a pair of words together. Then during those insane months when I switched places with Jeannette and married Adrian in her stead, well, I had no choice but to change my ways. Why, if it had not been for Kit—” She broke off and stared at her brother-in-law for a long, pregnant moment. Suddenly a merry laugh bubbled from her lips. “Well, of course! Why did I not think of it before?”

“Think of what?” Eliza asked.

“Of you and Kit. Why, it is perfect. Kit will help you find a worthy husband.”

“I’ll do what!” Kit jerked upright in his seat, his cup rattling precariously on its saucer. Only his innate sense of balance kept him from spilling hot tea all over his fashionably tight buckskin pantaloons. In no mood to risk a burn, especially in so vulnerable an area of his anatomy, he steadied the china and set it onto a nearby side table.

Eliza Hammond, he noticed, looked as shocked as he felt, her pale lips parted, her slender jaw slack with obvious astonishment.

He straightened his waistcoat with a firm double-handed tug. “I must have misheard you. Sounded like you just suggested I play matchmaker for Miss Hammond here.”

“Not matchmaker, no. Eliza and I will be able to locate gentlemen aplenty, I suspect. Your role will be more in the way of mentor, just as I said. You can help vet her prospective suitors, but more importantly you can do for her what you did for me. Teach her how to be more confident in company. Give her techniques and ways of interacting in Society so she need not feel so reticent.”

“Well, I hardly think I’m the proper one to help,” he sputtered, anxious to put a stop to Violet’s wild notions before they had a chance to propagate any further.

“But of course you are,” his earnest-eyed sister-in-law stated. “You are the very best person to help. For one, you are family, so there will be no need to worry about you telling the world all the details of our little project. For another, you know absolutely everyone in the Ton. If you aren’t friends with them already, you know someone else who is. Plus, you hear all the best tidbits, as you have so eloquently demonstrated this afternoon.”

“I hardly know
everyone.
Been out of the country these many months past, I’ll remind you. Even now I am catching up.” His lids narrowed accusingly. “And I hope you are not implying that I am a gossip.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Violet assured. “You are just friendly and popular, that is all. People tell you things, things neither Eliza nor I will ever be in a position to find out. Which gives us a great advantage since you will be able to weed out the fortune hunters and blackguards and leave only decent gentlemen from which Eliza may choose. That way she will be able to concentrate on deciding if she feels genuine affection for any one particular man without having to worry that he might have unscrupulous motives. No, I cannot think of a person better suited to help our dear Eliza than you.”

Kit restrained the pained grimace that rose to his face. If he had known tossing out a few opinions about a couple of fellows would provoke such dire results, he would have kept his blasted mouth shut. Should have kept eating, that’s what he should have done. Kept eating and kept silent.

Reminded of food and suddenly in need of sustenance, he plucked another tart off the serving tray and popped it into his mouth, the delectable flavors of raspberry and sweet cream taking the edge off his distress.

“I am not a project,” Eliza said in a low, stiff voice.

“What is that, dear?” Violet questioned, turning her head toward her friend.

“I said, I am not a project, as you referred to me earlier. Neither of you need feel duty-bound to take pity upon me. I shall find some way to manage for myself.” Short speech done, Eliza lowered her eyes to her lap, fingers linked together, her knuckles squeezed tight enough to turn them white around the edges.

Kit ate another tart, surprised at Eliza’s small burst of outraged pride. He hadn’t realized she was capable of such fortitude, quiet little brown wren that she was. In fact, she’d spoken more this afternoon than he was used to hearing her say in an entire day, not that he ever really spent enough time around her to be certain how much talking she normally did. Yet she had always struck him as one of those plain, reserved women who tended to walk into a room and fade from notice two minutes later. The quintessential wallflower. And a bluestocking, to make matters worse. Only now she was a rich bluestocking wallflower, and Violet expected him to make her over into a glorious swan.

Impossible.

Perhaps giving birth to her latest child four months before had done something to disrupt Violet’s usual good sense. Maybe if he phrased his arguments just right, she would see reason and back away from this ludicrous plan.

Violet shifted toward Eliza. “Now, do not ruffle up so. You know I meant no insult, and neither of us pities you. Do we, Kit?” She gave him a stare that brooked no opposition.

“Of course not,” he chimed.

“I apologize if my choice of words was poor,” Violet went on. “But Eliza, even you admit that you are shy and do not feel easy in Society. And while there is no disgrace in such behavior, it does make it more difficult for others to see your true beauty. Particularly gentlemen, who—let us be frank—tend to be led by their eyes and other unmentionable portions of their anatomy.”

“Their brains, do you mean?” Kit remarked, unable to restrain the quip.

A tiny smile curved across the duchess’s youthful lips; her eyes twinkled. “Hmm, just so, for we all know that is what men use to think with when they are around an attractive female.”

And that,
Kit thought
, is precisely the problem.

Eliza Hammond was not what any man would describe as a stunner. It wasn’t that she was homely—quite the opposite, if one took the trouble to look closely enough—it was just that she did nothing to enhance what attributes she did possess.

Instead of looking thick and lustrous, her brown hair appeared ordinary, yanked back into a boring knot at the nape of her neck. Although unblemished by the sun, her white skin often seemed sallow and wan. Quite likely she possessed a pleasant figure, but who could tell since she hid her slender body inside one shapeless, hideous dress after another—though he supposed her nip-cheese aunt could be blamed in large measure for the state of Eliza’s meager wardrobe, now dyed black for mourning.

She had good eyes, though, bright and luminous despite their soft, unremarkable gray color. And lovely bone structure, with a classical sweep to her jaw and a cute, finely bridged nose.

Still, turning Eliza from a frump into a fashion plate would be a truly monumental achievement. He nearly sighed aloud at the idea.

This scheme is doomed to fail.

This plan will never work,
Eliza railed inside her head.

What was Violet thinking to suggest such a ridiculous thing? Imagine wanting to toss her and Kit together as mentor and pupil? She could not do it.
Would
not do it, even if he had once helped Violet overcome her diffident nature and step comfortably into her role as wife to one of the most powerful aristocrats in England. Besides, Kit obviously did not wish to help her. She could see it in his eyes. The doubt. And yes, the pity, no matter that he said otherwise.

“Please, Violet,” she implored, “I am sure Lord Christopher has other, more important things to do with his time than spend it instructing me.”

“I cannot imagine what that might be. Kit was just telling me the other day how bored he is with the same old round of amusements and so few people yet in Town. Is that not so, Kit?”

“I believe I confessed to feeling a slight ennui, but that does not mean I have nothing to do. Somehow, I manage to fill my days quite admirably.”

“But only think how much more admirably your time would be employed assisting Eliza. With her residing here, it will be an easy thing for you to teach her.”

He wiped his fingers on a linen napkin, dusting off crumbs. “If you’ll remember, I’m in the process of locating bachelor’s quarters and moving my things in there. If I don’t find something soon, they’ll be nothing decent left to rent.”

“Maybe you could put that plan on hold for a while. I mean, would it really be so dreadful if you stayed here with the family for a little while longer? You mentioned that you’ve nearly gone through your quarterly allowance again, and I know how you detest applying to Adrian for additional funds.”

“Remind me in future to stop telling you things, Vi. You remember far too much, far too well.”

Violet sent him a sympathetic smile. “I also remember that you will be coming into your own money on your birthday this August when you receive your grandfather’s bequest. Until then, why don’t you simply remain here at Raeburn House and economize a bit? Only think how easy it will be for you and Eliza to work together. A few hours in the morning, then you can each go about your usual routine. You’ll scarcely notice the difference.”

She
would notice the difference, Eliza thought. Until now, living in the same abode with Kit had been tolerable due in great measure to the sheer enormity of the townhouse. Her and Kit’s paths rarely crossed except for the occasional meal
en famille
and the infrequent afternoon visit with Violet, such as now. But to be daily in his company? To have Kit, of all people, coaching her on ways to overcome her shyness…well, it seemed too intimate, far too personal.

Despite knowing that her infatuation for him had waned, she wasn’t certain she would feel comfortable being so near him so often. Yet would she not be a fool to refuse his help? Assuming, of course, that he agreed to help. Assuming she even wished him to.

He sat back again in his chair, obviously wrestling with his thoughts as he rubbed a knuckle against his expressive lips. “I suppose I could stay and assist Miss Hammond.”

Violet clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, I knew you would see the merit of my idea.”

“But only if she wishes me to do so, that is,” Kit added.

Eliza and Kit’s eyes met, his clear hazel irises appearing more green than gold today, the shade enhanced by the elegantly tailored bottle green cutaway coat he wore.

Her pulse skipped at such scrutiny. What could she say? How could she refuse under the circumstances? She lowered her gaze. “At your pleasure, my lord.”

“Very well, then. But if we are to proceed with this plan, I must be blunt and tell you both that it will take more than a few lessons in social comportment and style to turn the trick. Miss Hammond must put herself entirely in my hands and do as she is instructed, and that includes making an adjustment to her appearance.”

Her head came up. “M-my appearance?” She was fully aware she was not the most beautiful of women. Nevertheless it hurt to hear him discuss such matters aloud.

“Hmm. If you want men who are more than fortune hunters and rogues to offer you marriage, then half measures will not do.”

“Of what precisely are you thinking?” Violet questioned.

“A complete makeover from head to foot. Hair and clothes to start—”

“But I am still in mourning,” Eliza protested. Defensively, she plucked at her black skirts, knowing how severe they were. Even so, they were more becoming than most of the unsightly shades her aunt had been in the habit of choosing for her. When duty had required her to dye all her old dresses black, it had come as no great loss.

“Well,” he said, “you shan’t be in mourning forever, and when you are not you will need a new wardrobe. You’ve plenty of blunt for it now, what with the inheritance you received from your aunt.”

He was right about that, she mused. Although even now, weeks later, she had still not gotten used to the realization that her aunt Doris—who had never shown her anything but scorn and disapproval in her whole life—had made Eliza the sole beneficiary of a vast fortune.

All two hundred thousand pounds of it!

Eliza had not had so much as an inkling that her aunt possessed such great wealth. Why would she when the woman had forced them to live like virtual paupers? Spending the winters, no matter how harsh, bundled into layer upon layer of thick wool rather than pay to burn a few extra logs in the fireplace. Refusing to let Eliza buy new handkerchiefs or fresh gloves until the old ones were so worn through they were just a few threads shy of resembling Swiss cheese. Scoffing at the notion of purchasing a reliable team of horses, maintaining that a pair of tired, old rented hacks could do the job satisfactorily enough.

Apparently even Aunt Doris’s son, Philip Pettigrew, had not realized the size of his mother’s estate. At the reading of the will, he had looked as stunned as Eliza had felt, clearly reeling as much from learning the amount of his mother’s fortune as by the fact that he had just been cut off from it.