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Dash it to Hades.
She sounded like a fishwife or a harpy.
Swallowing, she composed herself.
“What would Gabriel say?” She touched his arm imploringly. “You know he’d never let you do such a thing. Surely you understand that I cannot either.”
“I appreciate you championing me, Vanessa.” The smile curving his mouth was sad and tender. His attention sank to her lips for a fraction before he brought it back up to her eyes.
Ah, so she wasn’t the only one obsessed with lips tonight.
“I have no other means to care for my siblings,” he confessed.
Lord, how much that must cost him to admit.
“Mother and father are dead, and unbeknownst to me, Father practically bankrupted the estate. The house and lands are well-nigh in ruins.”
He closed his eyes for a blink, and agony wrenched her heart at his obvious suffering and poignant chagrin. To have to humble himself in such a debasing manner was beyond the pale.
Kingston’s lashes fluttered, and he opened his gorgeous blue eyes.
Vanessa nearly cried out at the desolation in his gaze.
“There is no other way, Nessa.” Emotion and perhaps desperation thickened his voice. “Even if I were to find gainful employment, it would take me years to earn the funds I need. My siblings—”
He swallowed hard, and she desperately wanted to ease his pain.
He’d used her nickname. And God above, she believed at that moment, she’d do anything to veer him from the fate he’d set before himself.
“Oh, Kingston.” Vanessa shook her head, refusing to believe he’d been reduced to this. To groveling. To selling himself. Refusing to let him go through with this ludicrous endeavor. “There must be.”
Mrs. Dorrian-Lane took a slow sip from her glass.
What was she thinking?
Did she never remove that dratted veil?
“I have what I believe is the perfect solution,” she announced with such conviction that Vanessa and Kingston jerked their heads to look at her.
“You, Mr. Barclay,” she pointed a finger at him, then directed it to Vanessa, “should marry Miss Becket.”
“What?” They exploded in unison.
“Preposterous,” Kingston said, shaking his head. “She’s my best friend’s sister. Not an unsuitable woman desperate for a husband.”
Well, she might not be desperate for one, but…
“She, Mr. Barclay, is a woman alone in the world,” Mrs. Dorrian-Lane said. “Trust me when I tell you, that is not a comfortable place for any woman, rich or poor.”
That insight rather stunned Vanessa. In that way, she and The Wicked Widow of Whitechapel were similar. In truth, other than her devoted servants, Vanessa had no one.
No one to share her thoughts with.
No one to laugh with.
No one.
She’d actually been contemplating acquiring a pet to ease her persistent, aching loneliness. Her thoughts tumbling over one another, Vanessa sat straighter and bit the inside of her cheek.
