“Very funny, Corny.” But Christian appreciated his friend’s attempt to cheer him up.
“I think ten in the morning is reasonable. Early enough that the chit will have to show some initiative but not so early as to force you out of bed at too ungodly of an hour.” He wrote some more before blowing on his handiwork and then dusting it with sand. “Here you go, Christian, the answer to all of your troubles.”
Christian accepted the mock advertisement and managed to read it through despite the crossed-out words and occasional ink droplets.
Wanted: Intelligent female between the ages of 25 and 32 in good health to perform task of a sensitive nature, in exchange for lifelong security. Present yourself for consideration at 312 Chesterfield Hill in Mayfair this Thursday morning at exactly ten in the morning. Squeamish ladies need not apply.
Christian folded the paper in quarters as he rose from his chair. Placing an advertisement in theDaily Gazettewas most definitely not the answer.
“It’s quite obvious I won’t find any help here.” Christian signaled to one of the club attendants who promptly retrieved the hat and coat Christian had checked earlier. “Come around to Master’s House if you come up with any rational suggestions.”
“What’s not rational about placing the ad?” Cornelius had the temerity to look hurt at Christian’s casual dismissal of his handiwork. “What can it hurt?”
Which gave Christian pause, if only for a fraction of a second. “If word got around that I’d resorted to something so desperate, I’d have even more troubles to contend with. Besides, it could harm Bernadette’s reputation if her brother did something so mercenary.”
Corny raised his brows and gave another of his impudent shrugs.
“Let this be the end of it.” As long as he’d known Cornelius, he’d had a tendency to act first and consider the consequences later.
Christian slipped the mock advertisement into his long coat and placed the tall hat atop his head. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He bowed mockingly before heading for the exit.
More liquor wasn’t going to solve any problems. He’d stroll on over to Bond Street instead and meet with his solicitors for the hundredth time this month. There had to be something he could do.
As he walked along the street, tipping his hat at a few acquaintances and swinging his cane with enthusiasm he didn’t feel, he searched his mind for any other solution to his troubles. Nearly everything he owned was entailed, but even if it wasn’t, Bernadette and any assets placed in trust for her would become the legal responsibility of the heir until she reached the age of five and twenty. Liverman could wreak all sorts of havoc in her life before she could claim her independence. Christian would have cursed out loud if he’d been alone.
But not ten feet ahead of him, a delightfully pretty blonde lady had stepped out of a storefront carrying several bags and hatboxes presumably filled with frivolous purchases. As she turned to make her way onto the sidewalk, she began juggling them somewhat precariously and, before Christian could reach her, sent her unstable pyramid of packages tumbling onto the pavement.
“Feck and fiddlesticks!” she muttered to herself. Grinning at her choice of words, Christian crouched down beside her as she hastily scooped a few lacy garments back into their boxes.
“Allow me to assist you, Madam.” He reached for a purple feathered… hat? And then a slip of material… a silk stocking.
A small, pale hand snatched it away and the lady damn neargrowled, “It’s not necessary, Sir. Thank you all the same.”
Coffee-colored eyes glanced over at him in exasperation.
“My apologies,” Christian responded. A crimson hue had flushed her cheeks, making it obvious she wasn’t only irritated but embarrassed. At the same time, slightly crooked but pearly white teeth worried her bottom lip…Cherry redlips that were quite plump and soft looking.
“I ought to have had them delivered. It’s just that my mother wanted them for this evening.” She’d stuffed the items back into the boxes, but she’d stacked the smallest of them on the bottom, and they would have toppled over again if Christian hadn’t reached out to prevent them from doing just that. He caught a subtle scent of lilacs as he did so—pleasantly feminine without being overpowering.
“Perhaps if we move this one…” He rearranged the order while she looked on, creating a more stable platform, placing the largest on the bottom and the second largest next, and so forth, until he topped them off with the smallest of the lot. “Are you going far, Madam? I’d be more than happy to assist you to your coach.”
She shook her head and, in doing so, dislodged a blond curl from beneath her jaunty hat. The silky golden curl managed to frame her heart-shaped face almost perfectly on one side.
“I’ve not far to walk. I’m quite capable.” Except when she rose to stand, the top box slid backward and tumbled over her shoulder, causing her to growl again.
Christian collected it, along with the newspaper they’d both missed, and jammed them into one of her bags, amused again at the choice words she breathed just loud enough for him to hear.
“Thank you, again.” She gathered herself enough to address him politely.
“You are quite certain?” He itched to reach out and take the packages from her, giving her no choice in the matter, rather than watch her struggle along the street to eventually injure herself or another pedestrian. If she was Bernadette, he would have done just that.
Christian brushed at his own jacket instead. She was no responsibility of his. He had more than his fair share without taking on even more.
“I will be fine.” And then she smiled sheepishly at him over the top of her packages. Although her hair partially covered her face, the apologetic glance she sent had something warm shooting through his veins. “Have a good day, Sir.” She dipped her chin and then turned and continued along her way.
“You as well.” He wanted to ask her name but before he could think of an appropriate reason for doing so, she was already carefully making her way along the walk.
Which, he reminded himself, was just as well. He had no business flirting. He straightened his jacket and continued toward his solicitor’s offices.
