"Forgive my manners. This is my friend, the Marchioness of Harteford."
Helena inclined her head. "Good day, Mr. Black."
"Harteford, eh? Met your husband once. Not a bad sort for a nob," their host said. "Well, since you're both 'ere, pull up a seat. Plenty o' food to go 'round."
Perching upon a chair, Helena began, "Thank you, we have breakfasted—"
"Woman in your condition ought to keep 'er energy up." Black forked up some eggs. "Eatin' for two, ain't you?"
Helena's jaw dropped. Cheeks pink, she looked helplessly at Marianne.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Black. We shan't be staying long. I have come with only one purpose in mind," Marianne said. "The matter of my debt to you."
Black slurped from his cup. "What about it?"
"I've come to discuss the terms."
"The terms are for me to decide, not the other way 'round."
Taking a breath for courage, Marianne sat up very straight. "I will not share your bed, sir."
Black choked on a mouthful of food. Bits sprayed out as he thundered, "You won't sharemy bed, you say?"
"No." Though she trembled inside, she said firmly, "Circumstances have changed for me, Mr. Black. I cannot betray the man I love. You will have to think of some other way that I may repay you."
"What the bloody 'ell gave you the idea I wanted to tup you in the first place?" Glaring at her, Black swiped his mouth with the sleeve of his banyan.
"Oh. Well. I just assumed… that is, most men…" Marianne faltered.
"Got a 'igh opinion o' yourself, don't you? Little hussy!" Pushing from the table, Black stalked to the sideboard, muttering to himself as he filled another plate. "Me—a cradle-robbin' lecher! Imagine that!"
Marianne exchanged an uneasy glance with Helena.
"Sir," Helena said, "if an… intimate favor doesn't interest you, whatwouldyou like?"
Black's plate thumped onto the table. He scowled at them both. "I ne'er said I didn't want an intimate favor."
Marianne swallowed. "I already said, I will not—"
"Oh, get your guts out o' the gutter. I'm not talkin' 'bout bed sport." Black's eyes rolled toward his turban. "Is that all you fillies can think about?"
Marianne blushed. "Then byintimateyou're referring to…?"
"My daughter Mavis is gettin' hitched. After all she went through with 'er last 'usband—may the bastard rot in 'ell—I want to send 'er off in style. A weddin' fit for a princess."
Marianne looked at him blankly. "And how can I help?"
"Well, look at you." Black gestured at her with his fork. "Got style in spades, don't you? Practically drippin' from your pores. You know where to get the best—and that's what I want for my Mavis. The best."
"You want me to… take your daughtershopping?"
Black frowned. "Bit more involved than that. I want you to plan the whole bloody thing from top to bottom. Got to 'ave the best food, best guests, best music—I want it to be the best damn weddin' this town 'as ever laid eyes on."
Relief and joy bubbled through Marianne. Giddily, she got to her feet and crossed to Black. "It'll be the most stylish affair of the Season, I can promise you that." Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, sir!"
"There'll be none o' that—told you I weren't no lecher." Though Black shooed her away, his jowls reddened. "My Mavis, she's a good girl. Could use some females o' quality in 'er circle."
"We'll be pleased to make her acquaintance," Helena said, smiling.
