“Of course.”
“Yes!” The girl shrieked. “Wait until I tell the other girls!”
Chuckling, Polly held out her hand. “Excellent. Then let’s find Madame Rousseau, shall we? We’ll need her to measure you for a dress for the occasion.”
Maisie’s hand shot out, her fingers gripping Polly’s very tightly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sinjin inspected his image in the chevalier glass. His shave was precise, the dark waves of his hair gleaming, his attire the epitome of Corinthian perfection. Strickley, his valet, was a genius with the restrained style; he’d wager even Brummell couldn’t find a single fault.
Seeing the valet’s habitually impassive expression, however, Sinjin couldn’t resist trying to get a rise out of the other. It was an old game between them, one he never tired of.
“I was thinking of adding a few accessories, Strickley,” he said innocently. “A pair of gold fobs, perhaps. What do you think?”
“Might as well carry coals to Newcastle,” came the valet’s succinct reply.
Sinjin turned this way and that, pretending to study the folds of his neck cloth. “But the cravat—don’t you think it needs a pin of some sort?”
“Like one needs a blow to the head.”
“Maybe jeweled cufflinks?”
“When pigs fly,” Strickley returned calmly. “Is there anything else, my lord?”
Sinjin couldn’t hide his grin. “You win, my good fellow. That’ll be all.”
After the valet departed, Sinjin went to look out the window. Carriages passed on the street below, parasols and fashionable hats in abundance upon the paved walk. The day was bright and filled with promise. He’d awoken this morning feeling refreshed, brimming with good cheer. He was certain it was because of Polly—because she now wore his ring on her finger.
In eight weeks—what seemed an interminable amount of time—she was officially going to be his. Personally, he would have happy with a trip to Gretna, but of course he wanted Polly to have the wedding of her dreams. She’d make a beautiful bride…hisbride.
The thought filled him with elation. He’d be meeting her at some charity ball this evening, the first time they would be out together in Society as an engaged couple. He didn’t give a farthing what the tossers of thetonthought, but her family would be there, and he wanted to make a good impression on his in-laws to be. To reassure them that their trust in him was not unwarranted: he would be a good husband to Polly. The best. No less than she deserved.
By God, it had been a long time since he’d had something to look forward to in his future. He descended the stairs two at a time. Finding that he wasn’t hungry, he eschewed breakfast for a pot of tea in his study. He idly sorted through the mounting pile of calling cards on his desk, noting the names of his former companions without enthusiasm.
The last month had changed him. The near-disastrous affair with Nicoletta was a sign of just how contemptible his existence had become. He’d been made a target, a pigeon, because his behavior had been reckless and out of control, even by his own standards. He had invited disaster into his life.
Well, no longer. He was no longer going to be that aimless fellow. He wanted nothing more to do with his previous existence and the debauchery that had never brought him any true satisfaction. Although he didn’t know yet what to do with his life, he did know that he wanted to live better... to accomplish something. To be a man deserving of a woman like Polly.
Thinking of her, he looked around his study: like the rest of the house, it was a decidedly masculine space designed to suit a bachelor’s lifestyle. After he and Polly were married, they would find a new place to live, he decided. He’d let her choose whatever she wanted because the Countess of Revelstoke would have only the very best. Besides, they would need more space as a couple—and a family, if it came to that. The notion of Polly growing ripe with his child stirred a hot, primal satisfaction. At the same time, uncertainty niggled at him.
What kind of a father would he make? What kind of husband?
With his spirits so buoyant today, however, he was able to cast those doubts aside. He and Polly had agreed upon their terms of privacy. As long as he kept to his plan of retreating to an apartment when the devils took over—of never letting her see him in a sorry state—he would be fine.
Filled with restless energy, he was about to call for his carriage and start hunting for an apartment when the doorbell rang. Harvey, his butler, brought in the visitor’s card, and Sinjin’s eyebrows snapped together.
What the devil does Andrew Corbett want?
Sinjin hadn’t seen the proprietor since that fateful night in the other’s club. Kent had informed Corbett about Nicoletta’s death, handling matters on Sinjin’s behalf. Per the investigator, Corbett had appeared genuinely stunned when shown the blackmail note written in Nicoletta’s hand. Apparently, he’d had no idea that he’d been used as a dupe, that Nicoletta had played on his sympathies in order to extort Sinjin.
Sinjin rose as Corbett entered the study. Strangely, it was almost like looking into a mirror. The other man shared his height and build, and they might have shared a tailor as well given their similar taste in fashion. The main difference between them was coloring. Corbett’s hair was a lighter shade mixed with bronze, and he had a swarthier complexion. The fine lines on his countenance suggested that he had a few years on Sinjin.
It was rumored that the man had once been a stud for hire for the ladies—not only that, but he’d made a bloody fortune at it. Yet nothing about Corbett betrayed his past as a prostitute or, indeed, his present as a procurer. His accent and manner were polished. From the precise cut of his tobacco brown coat down to his polished Hessians, he appeared, outwardly at least, every inch the gentleman.
“Thank you for seeing me, my lord,” Corbett said.
Finding it difficult to ignore that this man had believed him a brute, Sinjin said coolly, “This is an unexpected visit.”
