“In that case,John, I must decline.” She set her cup onto the table and leaned back. She cocked her elbow on the back of her chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Going about the ton acting like your trained monkey isn’t part of the terms of our arrangement. You wanted me for one distraction. One. A singular event.”
“I disagree on your understanding of our terms.” He tilted his head, and the afternoon sunlight gilded his blond crown of hair. He looked like he wore a halo, but Netta knew better. “In return for payment, a very large payment I might add, you agreed to assist me in unspecified ways. I am now specifying.”
Yes, and specifying something Netta wasn’t able to do. Agreeing to bait a man was one thing. Even if John’s target was a member of the ton, the chances were great she wouldn’t know him. Her father rarely had friends visit.
Women were another story. She’d joined her mother in receiving her friends’ calls. She’d escaped from Society for a reason. It wouldn’t do to waltz back in now with naught but a false name as protection.
She scraped her teeth against her lower lip. But could a new name protect her? She’d run away before coming out. And she’d changed much from the awkward girl she’d been. There weren’t many aside from family and close friends who would recognize her.
She turned to Lady Mary. “Who do you propose,” she said, stretching out each word as though each syllable posed a hardship, “to pay a visit to on the morrow?”
“I haven’t called on Caroline Brennan for ages.”
“Isn’t she a member of your club?” John interrupted. “You must see her frequently.”
“But I haven’tcalledon her for a good while.” Lady Mary adjusted her spectacles and peered over the rims at the earl. “There’s a difference.”
Netta tapped her thumb on her cup. Should she ask about this club they kept going on about? She wasn’t certain Netta Pickle would care.
“I also owe a visit to that wretchedly dull woman, Lady St. John.” Lady Mary pursed her lips. “Oh, and the Dowager Marchioness of Mallen, I would think.”
John jerked from his elegant sprawl. “No.” His voice was hard, flinty, his expression more so. “You will not visit that woman.”
Lady Mary gave him a pitying look. “My dear boy, do you think because you refuse to acknowledge her presence that others do, as well? Tosh. The dowager marchioness might be completely lacking in finer feelings, but she has a good head on her shoulders. And if you want Netta to practice her polish, no other woman in Society would do so well. A trial by fire, if you please.”
“I do not please,” he gritted out. “That woman is malicious and vile, and I don’t want her within fifty feet of anything of mine, including Netta.”
Netta ignored the absurd possessive in John’s comment. She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Who is the Dowager Marchioness of Mallen?” The name was familiar. The current marquess was reputed to be something of a rake, or at least that had been his reputation six years ago. In her new life, Netta was no longer privy to the ton’son dit.
“No one of import,” John said.
“His grandmother.” Lady Mary tutted. “I like holding a grudge as much as the next person, but you take your resentment to extremes. When is the last time you talked to her?”
John clenched then relaxed his hand. “It’s only been six and twenty years since last we spoke.”
A burst of laughter slipped past Netta’s lips, and John glared at her. She turned it into a gentle cough.
“People change,” Lady Mary said.
He looked away. “She hasn’t.”
A breeze shifted the gauze curtains at the open window, the rustling fabric sounding loud in the sudden silence.
“Well, it was only an idea.” Lady Mary gathered up her reticule. “We need not bother the dowager tomorrow. Two calls will be sufficient. Shall I pick you up at three?” she asked Netta.
She’d be more eager to agree if the Lady Mallen were still on the itinerary. What could a grandmother have done to her grandson to garner nearly three decades of neglect? If any man seemed least likely to hold a grudge, it was John with his nonchalance and careless disdain. She dearly wanted to meet the person who could incite such violent emotions in the earl.
But this was business, not her entertainment. Visiting with two women she didn’t know was a risk she was willing to take for four thousand pounds. Her heart beat a bit faster as she nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
John stood with Lady Mary. “She’ll be properly dressed and on time. Whether she will be ready remains to be seen.”
Irritation chased away her nerves. His lack of faith in her skills was most unjust. She was putting on the performance of a lifetime here and no one appreciated it. The fact that John didn’t know he was witnessing a dramatic interpretation of a street urchin becoming a lady was proof as to its excellence.
Four thousand pounds. Four thousand pounds.It was more than enough to repay a bruised ego. She brought the street back to her voice. “I’ll be ready. I’ll be the most right proper miss your lot has ever seen.”
He sighed. “Sometimes I despair of you.”
She smirked. Poor fool. His exasperation was almost enough to compensate for a lack of accolades on her performance. Almost. “Have no fears, kind sir,” she said her voice airy. “My behavior will be nothing but a credit to you and your teachings. Good day, Lady Mary.” She lowered into a curtsy fine enough to present to the king.
