“Thank you. So do you. Are you finished with the contracts?”
He was likely not wrong about my appearance. I had run my fingers through my hair more than a few times today. And my spectacles were smudged beyond all measure.
“No, I mean it. You look even worse than you usually do,” I insisted, refusing to acknowledge the evening’s agenda.
He ignored the slight. “You’ve forgotten haven’t you?”
Tragically, I had not. I laced my fingers in front of me, pushing them away in an attempt to loosen the tension in my shoulders. “Would you leave me be if I said I wasn’t finished and I had forgotten?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then no, I am not finished. I will never be finished. Also no, I have not forgotten. In spite of my best efforts, I might add. Why do we need to attend this again?”
“Wayland’s is our best client by far. Wayland and Ainsley each invited both of us personally. And Katie begged.” All valid reasons. Except for Lady Grayson. The man could manage his sister’s meddling on his own.
“But if you’ll recall, it’s a masquerade. If we’re not there, who will know?” I bargained.
“Will, please don’t make me attend alone.” Kit often wore such a gloomy countenance. I’d quite forgotten the effectiveness of his whining when he feared the glower insufficient.
But the thought of attending this damned ball… “Think of all the ladies you’ll attract as an earl. Titled ones too. You won’t be alone for long.”
His scowl deepened. Reminders of his newly acquired earldom had a way of doing that. There was a fine line between teasing him and upsetting him, and I’d tripped over it.
“Fortune and title hunters who wouldn’t have looked at me twice months ago. And Katie has been in a matchmaking mood since lil’ Henry was born. Wants a cousin for him. And now she hasoptions.” He added a dramatic shudder to the last word.A reflection on the horrors he would face—gently bred young ladies chasing after him with ribbons twirling in their wake.
I sighed and rose from the scarred oak desk and stretched my back. When we were busy, I had a tendency to forget to move. It hadn’t been a bother when I was a lad of twentysomething, but now, in the midst of my thirties, my body protested.
“All right,” I grumbled. “Let me get my coat and we can be off. At least Mrs. Ainsley will have made something delicious.” It was easy to console myself with thoughts of baked goods. They might be enough to make this torture worthwhile.Perhaps. If she’d made the Shrewsbury cakes. Or the cardamom buns. Or those little cake things.
“No. We need to change first,” Kit insisted.
“What?” I glanced down at myself. I wore the same serviceable white shirt and brown, tweed waistcoat as always. In the afternoons, when the sun poured into the window along the side wall of my office, heating the air, I tossed my coat aside and worked in my shirtsleeves.
“Kate’s orders,” he added by way of explanation.
“You jest.”
“I never jest about Kate’s orders. Also, you have ink all up your sleeve. These are our patrons. We should probably pretend to be professionals.”
Damn, all the way to the elbow.
“My patrons,” I grumbled. Kit may loathe reminders of his new title, but it was only a matter of time before he was forced to accept the inevitable. And I would be forced to do the work of two solicitors—busy solicitors—while training up a new partner.
“Will…”
“Fine, but you’ll help with at least half of these tomorrow.” I gestured toward the precarious stack of financial documents on my desk.
“All right, but you have to wear this.” He tossed a scrap of black fabric my way and I caught it with ease. It was a scrap with two evenly spaced oval holes in the center.No.
“Absolutely not.”
“Kate insisted.”
“She’s notmysister.”
“I’ll tell her you’re looking for a wife,” he threatened.
“Won’t work. She doesn’t know a single lady who would look twice at me and you know it. The lack of fortune and title alone are enough of a deterrent. Then there is the temperament. And look, there’s someone with both title and fortune right here?—”
