“I suppose he knows about your venture. I suppose they all do.”
“We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“You’re fortunate in that regard, Finn. You’re accepted for who you are. My family has always strived to shape me into something I’m not.” Turning away from him, she placed a sheaf of parchment before her and dipped her pen into the inkwell. “Perhaps after our grand soiree I shall go have a word with them. I shouldn’t like to miss it should matters go awry.”
He wanted to reassure her, but fate had worked like a bloody devil in the past to prove to them that they weren’t meant to be together. Even knowing neither was to blame, she seemed hesitant to accept they could have a future. He needed to show her that they could. “Have dinner with me this evening,” he said. “In the dining room. We’ll close it off. It’ll only be us. We’ll sample the fare we’ll be offering, make certain it meets with your approval.”
She glanced over at him. “That’s a smashing idea, to make certain that aspect of the business is fit for ladies of quality.”
“Wear the rose gown.”
The gray was serviceable and as the dinner was more about business than pleasure, it would suffice. She told herself that for the remainder of the afternoon as she finished up the last of the invitations and divided them into the ones Robin could deliver in London and those that would need to be dispatched to the country. In spite of her leaving Society behind, she’d kept up with the gossip sheets and knew who was in Town and who wasn’t. The amount of ink given to covering the aristocracy was quite telling. It would have been better spent writing about the impoverished, the orphaned children who roamed the streets, the practice of baby farming.
With that thought in mind, she pulled out the article she’d written. For it to carry any weight, she would need to claim her heritage, sign it as Lady Lavinia Kent, use her family name to do good in the world. She was beginning to feel she no longer needed to hide who she was. Being separated from her family these many months had allowed her to become her own woman. Perhaps very soon she would confront them, allow them to see that they no longer had any sway over her.
By early evening, as she was leaving the office, she was feeling quite buoyant regarding her prospects for the future, and when she walked into her chambers, the froth of rose silk beckoned like an errant lover who had returned after being away for too many years. It was silly to dress up for Finn, and yet he’d asked it of her when he’d asked for little else. And he’d given her so much.
She enlisted the assistance of two of the women she spotted walking around with feather dusters. They prepared a bath for her. She might have lingered in the warm water longer if she weren’t suddenly anxious to see the pleasure on Finn’s face when he caught sight of her in the rose. One of the girls, Meg, turned out to be rather skilled with hair, sweeping Lavinia’s tresses back from her face but securing them so they dangled in waves down her back. It was a simple style, requiring few pins, but she found herself wishing she hadn’t sold her combs, the ones she’d worn in her hair on the day she was to wed. But she’d kept nothing, determined to leave her old life and any reminders of it behind.
“I was wondering, Meg, if you’d care to be my personal maid?” Lavinia asked the young woman now.
“If it please you, Miss Kent.” Her eyes were wide as she bobbed a quick curtsy.
“Yes, it would, thank you. I’ll let Mr. Trewlove know your duties will be changing.”
“Thank you, miss.”
After the servants left, she studied her reflection in the mirror for several long minutes. It had been a good long while since she’d truly given herself a thorough looking over. She was all of twenty-five and yet she couldn’t deny that she appeared considerably older. Worry, grief, and sadness had taken a toll. Yet Finn still kissed her, wanted her.
With one last lingering gaze at the reflection, she walked out of her rooms, wondering at the gladness that swept through her at the sight of Finn, partly bent with his forearms resting on the railing, looking out over his domain. He’d changed his clothing as well, his jacket a dark blue, his trousers black, his boots polished to a shine. While only his profile was visible to her, she could make out the flow of a perfectly knotted cravat.
Turning his head, seeing her, he smiled, pleasure darkening his eyes, and every womanly aspect of her reacted as though he’d just skimmed his hands up the entire length of her person. She’d seen him not less than two hours earlier. How could it be that gladness swept through her as though she’d not seen him in ages?
“I knew the color would suit you,” he said, straightening and facing her completely. He’d taken a razor to his face, which made him appear more civilized, more polished. Yet she couldn’t deny she rather fancied the rough and dangerous way he looked when his whiskers began making themselves known. He was more handsome than he’d been in his youth, in a rugged sort of way. There was strength and character in his features.
“You went to a lot of bother to dress up for the evening,” she said.
“Thought we’d celebrate.”
“We celebrated last night at the Mermaid.”
His grin spread, and she could see he was well aware she was striving to ensure tonight’s dinner was nothing special. “We can celebrate more than once.”
He offered his arm, and against all her better judgments, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He guided her toward the rear stairs and down into a small warren of hallways that eventually led into the dining room. The dark dining room.
She knew chandeliers were in this room, but they weren’t glowing. Instead the only light was provided by the three tapered candles burning on one of the cloth-covered tables. “Finn—”
“It’s just a bit of atmosphere, to determine if we want the ambiance of candles or gaslights.”
“Ambiance? I’ve always been impressed with your vocabulary.”
He pulled out a chair for her. “Amazing what you can learn from reading. Although I sometimes have to ask the fellow at the lending library how to pronounce the word or exactly what it means.” He took the seat next to hers. “My siblings and I used to compete, tossing words out at each other, having to identify what each meant. Gillie was always the best at stumping us, but I came in a close second, throwing her off her game on occasion.”
She could hear the pride and the love in his voice as he spoke about that time. It had been a friendly competition. She had no memory of ever playing any sort of game with her brother. However, she didn’t blame Neville; it was simply the way it was.
A footman came over and poured a burgundy into their glasses. Finn lifted his. “To an evening of discovering what works best.”
She had a feeling he might not be referring to what worked best for the club, but what worked best when it came to seduction.
