Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(47)

He waved an arm widely. “Then where is he?”

“I insisted he call on you tomorrow. After you and I had spoken.”

He grunted and tugged his jacket down his barrel frame. “Very well. A Scottish lord isn’t what I’d hoped for you, but it’s something at least.”

Her lips twisted. Of course, she couldn’t forget her father’s mission was to see his daughters well wed. She and Marguerite might not have scored the best matches in his estimation, but at least Grier had not disappointed him.

He clapped his hands. “Come now. I’ve a surprise for you.”

He took her elbow and guided her to the drawing room. She followed, curious to meet the mysterious “she” he’d referred to.

He pushed open one of the double doors with a flourish. Immediately, Cleo’s gaze landed on the female knitting quietly on the sofa, her expression soft and serene, but with a lingering sadness.

She wore a drab dress of wool. It did nothing to compliment her rather pudgy shape—or the bland brown hair pulled back into an equally bland bun.

“Cleo, allow me to present Annalise.”

The young woman hastily dropped her needlework and rose to her feet, her expression hopeful and anxious as she gazed at Cleo. A faint awareness tingled at the back of her neck, tightening her skin as she stared at the girl. She almost felt as though she knew her . . . that perhaps they’d met before.

Annalise took a few steps in Cleo’s direction. As she did so, Cleo saw she moved with a slight limp. Annalise trained her large brown eyes on Cleo. Brown like the rest of her except that they were large and lovely, framed with remarkably long lashes. They were quite her best feature—extraordinary really.

“Hello,” Cleo greeted, looking to her father, uncertain who this stranger was and why he seemed so excited to have her here.

“Hello,” Annalise returned. “I’ve heard a great deal about you from Jack.” She wrung her small hands together in front of her.

Jack’s smile broadened. “I told Annalise all about you . . . how quickly you acclimated to Town life and had beaus courting you left and right.” He waved a hand like he was swatting flies.

Cleo stifled a snort. It hadn’t exactly happened like that. “Er, yes. And will you be in Town long?” She looked helplessly at Jack, unsure what to say to this strange girl and beginning to become annoyed that he wasn’t enlightening her as to her identity.

“I should think so,” Jack declared, smiling. “She has the bedchamber next to yours.”

Cleo looked from Jack to the girl, a sinking suspicion beginning to take hold. If possible, the girl’s hopeful expression only intensified, leaving Cleo with no doubt.

She was staring at her sister.





Chapter Nineteen

Another half sister.

Brushing her hair in long vigorous strokes, Cleo marveled at her father’s ability to produce offspring—and solely female offspring at that. Jack had certainly sown his oats across the country.

She set her brush down and stared at herself. “Four?” she asked her reflection, unperturbed that she was talking to herself.

That brought the total count to four. Jack had fathered four daughters, to date, with women he had not bothered to wed. Initially, this only angered her and fed her belief that men were takers, slaking their lusts with no thought to those it affected.

But then her anger dissipated with the knowledge that she had another sister. Her heart softened as she thought about Annalise. Just a few years younger than herself, she didn’t have any other family. No siblings. Her mother was gone. She’d thought herself alone and worked long hours as a seamstress apprentice when Jack’s man had located her. Now Annalise had Jack and Cleo. And although they were occupied with their new lives, she had Grier and Marguerite, too.

The callow girl was going to need all the help she could get navigating the ton. She looked so innocent with those brown eyes so full of hope and faith in all the promises Jack made. Wealth. The sparkling world of the ton. A gentleman husband. A titled man—the sort that would never have glanced at her before—was now hers to have.

Cleo shook her head, hoping Annalise wasn’t expecting all of that. Disillusionment only awaited her. The ton might let her in the door because of Jack’s money, but they’d never see her truly as one of them. In their eyes, she’d always be a bastard, one step from the gutters.

She wouldn’t be embraced. The wolves would circle, ready to use her, ready to tear her apart and take all that innocence she possessed and squash it underfoot.

Cleo contemplated this as she gazed at her reflection, wondering if she shouldn’t warn her . . . shouldn’t ask Jack to let her off the hook. Set her up in a nice cottage in some village where she might make genuine friends . . . perhaps one day meet a nice man who cared for her.

But something told her that Annalise wouldn’t agree to that. From their brief exchange, she could see that the girl bought into the fairy tale. She wanted everything Jack promised. She wanted her prince and her happily ever after. Jack had convinced her it could be hers.

Sighing, Cleo rose from her vanity table, hoping that her new sister didn’t end up hurt too badly.

Hopefully, Marguerite would help her find her way since she wouldn’t be here to do so.

Cleo didn’t imagine Logan wanted to remain long in London. He had family and duties awaiting him in Scotland. And honestly, she didn’t want to remain here either. There’d be a scandal, and she’d rather not be here to serve as fodder for it—even if it meant living with him on some faraway mountaintop.