Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(15)

“Yes. He was in his study. I’m afraid I interrupted his work.”

“Oh dear,” Jo said, while at the same time the marchioness made a sound perilously close to a snort.

Lady Angrove rushed into speech. “Naturally my husband is a busy man, but that doesn’t mean he’s not happy that you’ve been found, Cecilia.”

Lady Angrove was a nice woman, but Mary rather doubted her words after having met the earl. She knew better than to voice her thoughts on the matter, however.

“You look very pretty, dear,” Lady Angrove continued.

“Lady Cecilia’s beauty takes a man’s breath away,” said a deep voice from behind Mary.

She turned slowly, aware that her heart had begun to beat faster.

Lord Blackwell stood in the doorway to the sitting room, his bright blue eyes studying her from the top of her precisely curled hair to the embroidered tips of her toes.

Mary fought not to glance away under his scrutiny. The viscount’s gaze was searing. He examined her as if he could see through the silk of her bodice, through the whalebone of her stays, to all her vulnerable places underneath.

She felt her nipples tighten almost painfully as he watched her, and she wondered wildly: did he know what his examination did to her?

Did he know that her center was melting because of his eyes?

Holding his blue gaze was an almost-unbearable torture.

Just a corner of his mouth curled up as he stared into her eyes, and she had her answer.

Oh, he knew all right.

The realization should’ve sent her running from the room in embarrassment. It didn’t.

Instead she raised her chin in challenge.

The curl of his lips widened into a true smile.

The marchioness humphed, bringing Mary abruptly back to the room.

“The gel is pretty enough,” the old lady said. “Put a flowered hat on a donkey and it would look grand as well. The test is if we can instill in her all the rules of society and gentle manners.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. She didn’t much like being talked about as if she were a doll to be dressed in whatever gown took their fancy. “Thank you for your kindness, my lady.”

“’Tisn’t kindness,” the marchioness said bluntly. “It’s duty is what it is.”

“Mother…,” Lady Angrove murmured. “Can’t we simply enjoy Cecilia for the day? I have so much I want to talk about with her, and I’m sure it’s been quite wearying for her already, moving into Angrove House.”

“Oh, and I was going to take her on a carriage ride around the park.” Jo pouted.

The old woman shook her head. “Coddling the gel won’t help her, Martha.” She caught Mary in her eagle-eyed glare. “You must be an asset to your family, my dear. There is no other choice. We cannot have you shaming this house by inadvertent gaucheness. To that end Angrove will hire all the tutors you need to achieve complete competency in your role as daughter of the Earl of Angrove. But you—you and no one else—must be determined to learn everything you need. Do you understand, gel?”

Mary answered without hesitation. “I do, my lady.”

The marchioness didn’t smile, but something in her face softened a little, and she gave an approving nod. “Good. Now. Let’s begin.”



Lady Cecilia had a determined spark in her eye that Henry had never seen on her sister’s face, and that pretty chin was at a stubborn angle. He’d been prepared to take her to wife as she was—a woman of intelligence, hampered by her lack of knowledge of sometimes-ridiculous society manners. But if anyone could learn in weeks what a lady usually acquired over years of tutoring, Lady Cecilia could.

He studied her as the marchioness waved her to the settee opposite her and Lady Angrove and began her regime. Lady Cecilia had been nervous when he’d first entered the room, but now she sat straight and calm across from her mother and grandmother. They couldn’t fault her for her posture, at least. She had the bearing of a countess already.

His countess, Henry reminded himself, feeling almost possessive. Lady Cecilia would be his bride within the month. Would warm his bed and bear his children. And beyond that? He might have something he’d never thought to have with Joanna: a commonality of mind. A possibility of real companionship, in intellect, wit, and interests.

Lady Cecilia could be the wife he’d never hoped to have.

Lady Joanna had reseated herself next to her sister, and the similarity between the two of them was striking.

Yet he could tell them apart easily.

Lady Cecilia held herself differently, was more calm and reserved—and her biting wit was revealed in the small twist of her mouth as she listened to the marchioness.

His own lips twitched. Cecilia might have learned to tamp down her fire and to feign meekness, but he well knew she was a prickly little thing.

He looked forward to navigating her thorns to find the rose within.

She answered the ladies’ questions with a serene air and was untroubled by the lecturing tone of voice the marchioness was using. She was open and polite, but her expression didn’t give anything away.

Henry sat back, watching her. On the whole he preferred the snappish miss he’d met in the bookstore. This solemn facade was too hard to read.

What did she think of her change of fortune?

More importantly, what did she think of suddenly gaining a future husband? Of being affianced to him?