“Because she wished to enjoy the opera without being jostled in the pit.”
Jem glanced through the gossip sheets, wrestling down a flare of irritation at the usual fulsome, barbed praise of him. The reports wondered at Miss L—’s cleverness in beguiling the interest of that Exquisite fondly known to those of the besttonas Smart Jeremy. Every scandalmonger in town would be watching her next moves. And his.
That was what he had wanted, wasn’t it?
“Is it because they say she is coming into money?” Aunt Payne shook her head. “Cadmus would never have stooped to fortune hunting.”
Jem flinched. His own finances were sound and about to become sounder, but he couldn’t say the same for his wastrelfather, who was somehow managing to bleed the Arendale accounts even from halfway around the world. So said the marquess in querulous letters to Jem. His grandfather seemed to believe Jem should attempt to curb his father’s excesses. When he’d never had the power to gain his father’s notice or approval, much less lure him to sobriety, fidelity, or a sense of his responsibilities.
“Care to come with me to my shop, Bertie?” Jem asked casually. “I’ve just gotten in a new chintz from India. I’ll set aside a few yards for you if you like.”
It was a lovely, unusual pattern of red and brown flowers with hand-painted touches of blue, and the more Jem thought about it, the more convinced he was the fabric would make a flattering polonaise orrobe à la françaisefor Miss Lithwick. It would harmonize beautifully with her coloring, especially that enchanting red-gold she’d achieved for her hair.
“Bertie must be at home with me,” Aunt Payne said. “We will have more callers now that we are putting off mourning.” She threw Jem a warning glare. “And I will need her help to squash the gossip over your behavior.”
Bertie’s face fell, but she made no complaint, and Jem withdrew. He did not care to wage yet another battle over how he provided for his siblings. There was no amount of fortune, esteem, success, or social rank that would make him acceptable in his aunt’s eyes, for he was not Cadmus, and never could be.
The groom brought his calash around, and as he checked that the hood was secure against the chilly air and his pair were harnessed properly, Jem considered how much attention he might pay to Lucasta Lithwick before his motives were mistaken for courtship. He should be able to accomplish his goal in another day or two. A dance at another ball, or a walk through a pleasure garden of an evening. If he could find her. As hehad learned the night before, he couldn’t exactly expect Miss Lithwick to appear before him.
And yet, as he clucked the horses to walk on and emerged from the mews onto Great Russell Street, there she was, traversing the great expanse before Bedford House. Another girl lagged at her elbow, he guessed a servant who had been impressed into service as companion while Miss Lucasta Lithwick strolled around town. Or rather, marched at a sustained and determined pace, clearly to some desired destination, on an expedition that according to their expressions was highly anticipated by the maiden, but not the maid.
His shop could wait, Jem decided, and guided his horses alongside.
“Miss Lithwick! Good day. Have you business at Bedford House? I am surprised to find you in my neighborhood.”
He would have come up with a smoother opening, given the time, Jem told himself. But he doubted that Miss Lithwick heard a word past her name, given her look of complete astonishment.
“Milord Rudyard! You live hereabouts?” A riposte no cleverer than his sally.
“Yes, Arendale House is just there.” He pointed toward the Palladian exterior of a stately townhouse standing a little apart from its neighbors, a rare privilege in crowded London. He gave her a mischievous smile. “Were you coming to call?”
The first expression to cross her face was annoyance. Jem’s chest tightened. Miss Lithwick, annoyed to see him! She engaged in a short internal struggle, and then the turmoil ended in a mask of politeness.
“I am in fact on my way to the Foundling Hospital. It seems I have passed your home several times and never paid you the courtesy of a visit. How very rude of me.”
“Yes, excessively. Shall I drive you?”
She regarded the vehicle with a combination of longing and suspicion. The wind carried the bite of March, cooler than usual, and he was snug beneath a thick fur. Then she glanced at the horses with trepidation, as one not accustomed to the animals.
“We are content to walk,” she said firmly.
“Don’t be silly. There is a seat for your maid here.” Jem reached behind him and pulled down the folding bench.
“Ever so kind of you, milord,” the maid said, clambering into the hooded shelter.
The dubious look Miss Lithwick gave Jem made his every contrary impulse rise to the surface. “I mentioned we are visiting the Foundling Hospital,” she said, as if doubting he had ever harbored a useful notion in his life, much less a charitable one.
“I don’t go there nearly enough, but I can remedy that oversight at once. Come out of the chill, Miss Lithwick. I shall hack you about where you wish today, and you shall be glad of my blanket, if nothing else.”
His smile, without his planning it, turned slightly wicked. This was a perfect opportunity, as if the gods were smiling upon him. He would convey her to her errands, and then he might suggest squiring her to his shop. She was plainly in need of new gowns, particularly if she expected to be besieged by fortune-hunting suitors. He would undertake to be her advisor.
He reminded himself of the purpose for the fantasy. It was not to admire Miss Lithwick. Having more of thehaut tonpatronize his shop would forge an armor of protection around his name and status. And that armor could protect Judith, and his other siblings, when curious gossips like Lady Clara probed into his personal life.
Aunt Payne was right; it was impossible to expect he could keep his father’s doings a secret. The best he could do was build strong defenses for when the attacks came.
Miss Lithwick looked anxiously into his face, that internal struggle reasserting itself. Jem was touched again by the earnest if understated beauty of her broad, intelligent brow, that determined chin, those angular cheeks and long nose, the deliciously soft lips. Society’s admiration for her would not be false from those who were paying Miss Lithwick close attention.
Triumph rose in his chest as she clamped one hand on her bonnet and held out the other gloved hand to him. Winning a concession from Miss Lucasta Lithwick was no small victory.
