Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (Love By Numbers #2)(7)

Nick turned at the tentative, feminine voice, to find two young women standing nearby, watching him eagerly. Nick spoke, wary. “Yes? ”

“We—” one of them began to speak, then stopped, uncertain. The other nudged her toward him.

“Yes?”

“We are fans.”

Nick blinked. “Of?”

“Of yours.” “Of mine.”

“Indeed!” The second girl smiled broadly and stepped closer, holding out what looked suspiciously like—

Nick swore under his breath.

“Would you be willing to autograph our magazine? ”

Nick held up a hand. “I would, girls, but you’ve got the wrong brother.” He pointed to Gabriel. “That is Lord Nicholas.”

Rock snorted as the two shifted their attention to the Marquess of Ralston, a dazzlingly handsome copy of their prey, and tittered their excitement.

Gabriel instantly eased into his role, turning a brilliant smile on the girls. “I would be happy to autograph your magazine.” He took the journal and the pen they proffered and said, “You know, I must confess, this is the first time I’ve ever drawn the attention of ladies when in the company of my brother. Ralston has always been considered the more handsome of us.”

“No!” the girls protested.

Nick rolled his eyes.

“Indeed. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you it’s the marquess who is the best specimen. Surely you’ve heard that.” He looked up at them with a winning smile. “You can admit it, girls. My feelings shan’t be hurt.”

Gabriel held up the magazine, displaying the cover, which boasted: Inside! London’s Lords to Land! “Yes … there’s no question that this is going to do wonders for my reputation. I’m so happy to see that it’s getting around that I’m on the hunt for a wife!”

The girls nearly expired from delight.

Unamused, Nick looked to Leighton, “North, you said?”

“Yes.”

“North is an enormous place. It could take us weeks to find her,” Rock warned.

Nick looked to the pair of females waiting excitedly at Gabriel’s elbow, then back to the men at the table.

“I find myself willing to make the trek.”

Two

Townsend Park

Dunscroft, Yorkshire

Isabel considered the pale, exhausted girl who sat before her on a low, narrow cot. She was barely old enough to be out, let alone old enough to have traveled four days by mail coach to arrive on a strange doorstep in the dead of night.

Eyes wide with fear, the young woman stood, clutching a small traveling bag to her.

Isabel smiled. “You are Georgiana.”

The girl did not move. Her expression did not change.

“I am Isabel.”

Recognition flared in Georgiana’s blue eyes. “Lady Isabel?”

Isabel came closer, warm and welcoming. “The very same.”

“I thought …”

The smile turned into a grin. “Let me guess. You thought I would be old? Wizened?”

The girl half smiled. A good sign. “Perhaps.”

“In that case, I shall take your surprise as a great compliment.”

The girl set down her bag and dropped into a curtsy.

Isabel stopped her. “Oh, please don’t. That will make me feel old and wizened. Sit.” Isabel pulled over a small wooden stool to join her. “We don’t stand on ceremony here. And if we did, I would be the one deferring to you. After all, I am a mere earl’s daughter and you …”

Georgiana shook her head, sadness in her expression. “Not anymore.”

The girl missed home.

Not many girls who landed at Townsend Park missed where they came from.

“How did you find us?”

“My … a friend. She said you took in girls. Said you could help.” Isabel nodded, encouraging. “My brother. I couldn’t tell him …” Her voice cracked, making speech impossible.

Isabel leaned forward, taking the girl’s cold, shaking hands in her own. “You don’t need to tell me, either. Not until you are ready.”

I know that sometimes it is easier not to tell.

Georgiana looked up, eyes wide and filled with tears. “My friend … she said you would take care of us.”

Isabel nodded. “And we shall.” The girl slumped with relief. “I think you have come a long way. May I suggest that you try to sleep? We shall have breakfast in the morning, and you can tell me anything you wish.”

Within minutes, Georgiana had slipped between the crisp, clean sheets of the narrow bed, a bed Isabel imagined was likely far less grand than any in which the sister of the Duke of Leighton previously had slept. Isabel watched for a few long moments to ensure that the girl was, indeed, asleep, and slipped from the room.

To find a collection of curious onlookers had assembled in the hallway beyond.

“Is she asleep?” Isabel’s cousin and closest friend, Lara, asked in a whisper.

Isabel nodded, waiting for the latch to click before turning back to her audience. “Why isn’t this hallway properly lit?”

“Because you cannot afford the candles.”

Of course.

“The sister of a duke, Isabel?” Jane whispered the rhetorical question.