The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(43)

“You seem quite taken with Mr. Marshall,” Genevieve Johnson said to Jane as they walked together.

They were passing an evergreen from China, branches laden with green needles drooping low to the ground.

“He’s amusing,” Jane said.

The twins exchanged glances.

“That is to say,” Jane tried again, “I am sure he is a dependable fellow.”

“I’m sure he is,” Geraldine agreed, taking Jane’s arm with an expression that would have been a smirk on another girl.

Jane should make a remark about his station, something to depress their interest. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“He’s a duke’s brother,” she finally said. “Surely that elevates him to the status of at least a marquess.”

The sisters exchanged a longer glance.

“No,” Geraldine finally said. “You might think of a duke’s brother, but I don’t think you should consider a marquess.”

There was something faintly off in their mannerisms, and the two of them were so rarely off. Genevieve’s lips pressed together; Geraldine looked somber. It took Jane a minute to understand. Of course. They knew a marquess. Good heavens. Geraldine was engaged to the Earl of Hapford, but his uncle was unattached. Had Genevieve set her sights on Bradenton?

She wished her joy of him. The girls were of excellent family—cousins to an earl—and had good dowries. But she’d long suspected that Bradenton needed far more than a dowry that was merely good by country standards.

“Under no circumstances a marquess,” Geraldine was saying. But her sister took her elbow and gave her a little tap—that, and the tilt of her head, no more, and Geraldine stopped talking and turned.

For there in the gardens, just beneath an awning covered with some creeping vine that had dropped most of its leaves for winter, stood the marquess himself.

Jane had never been particularly enamored of Bradenton, but she’d not thought he held any particular distaste for her. He was after all, too much enamored of himself to care about her. But Mr. Marshall had told her last night that the marquess wanted Jane humiliated and hurt.

Humiliated.

She felt a flush of fierce resentment at that. The marquess was watching her with cold, glittering eyes. She wanted to smack him, to let him know that he could not conquer her.

“Shall we greet him?” Geraldine said softly.

“No need,” Jane whispered. “He looks busy. We wouldn’t want to put him off with our forwardness.”

“Indeed,” Geraldine agreed, a little too swiftly. “Indeed, Miss Fairfield.”

“After all,” Genevieve said in too high a voice, “I should hate him to see me outside of my evening finery.”

“And in direct sun, no less. Oh my, he’ll see every flaw in my skin.”

They spoke swiftly atop each other, nodding the whole while. “Good,” Geraldine said, “it’s settled. Oh, da—drat, he’s seen us. He’s coming this way.”

“Jane,” Genevieve said urgently, “is my powder smudged? Tell me quickly.”

Jane peered into the other girl’s face. As usual, it was flawless. She didn’t even look as if she were wearing powder.

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Jane told her merrily. “It’s only smudged a little here.” She indicated her right cheek.

Genevieve whipped out a handkerchief, but it was too late.

“Miss Johnson. Miss Genevieve,” Bradenton said. “How lovely to encounter you. And Miss Fairfield, too.”

If Jane had been caught with a handkerchief in her hand, she would have done something dreadful with it—like drop it, or shove it into a pocket, leaving an unshapely lump in her skirts.

Genevieve simply smiled and treated the folded square of linen as if it were a bouquet, a perfectly natural thing for her to be holding. She used it to add a little flourish to the perfectly executed curtsy she made.

“My lord,” she said in unison with her sister.

Jane came in a few moments later with a lopsided curtsy of her own. “Bradenton.”

The marquess gave Jane an annoyed glance at that familiarity. “As it turns out, ladies,” Bradenton said, “there’s a new plant in one of the greenhouses. I had thought to show Miss Fairfield.”

The two ladies looked at one another. “Of course,” Geraldine said. “We should love to see it above all things.”

“Ah, that’s the thing.” Bradenton shook his head sadly. “It’s delicate. Very delicate. We could not all crowd about it without risking its demise.”

What claptrap. What was the man getting at?

“I propose we all walk to the greenhouses,” Bradenton said, “and I will conduct Miss Fairfield inside. You’ll be able to see her through the glass—there will be no chance of impropriety—and I’ll be done in a matter of minutes.”

There was a pause—a longer, more reluctant pause. If Genevieve had set her sights on Bradenton, she was probably thinking murderously jealous thoughts at the moment. But if she aspired so high, she did not let it show. After a moment, the twins simply nodded.

“But of course, my lord,” Genevieve said.

“Whatever you say, my lord,” Geraldine told him.

The word greenhouse called to mind a single structure of glass. The greenhouses here were actually a complex of glassed-in buildings, jutting out like spikes from a central hallway. They were made of heavy brick mortared over in gray from the ground up to waist level. Above that point, windows made up the walls and ceilings. On some, the top windows were open a few inches. Jane could feel the warm air tickling her face as they passed. Bradenton walked along a side path before opening a door.