“Any book portraying ‘true love’ as a reason for marriage should be given the same credence as the rantings of a bedlamite. It is termed ‘fiction’ for a reason.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Jane Huxley upon spying said lady’s fourth copy of Pride and Prejudice hidden inside an urn.
Six weeks earlier
Piccadilly, London
For Lady Jane Huxley, the little bell on the door of Norton’s Bookshop on Piccadilly sang a song of welcome unlike any other. She breathed deeply the beloved scent of paper, ink, and leather bindings, pulling it into her lungs as if she could make it part of herself. Ah, yes. Blissful.
“You are not planning to spend a lot of time here, are you?” The sullen question came from Eugenia Huxley, Jane’s second youngest sister.
Jane glanced over at the dark-haired girl. Genie had grown over the past year. Come autumn, she would be fourteen, and while she was more than six years younger than Jane, they were currently the same height: barely five feet. It was strange to think of her bratty little sister becoming a proper young lady who, in only a few short years, would be making her debut.
Sherry-brown eyes met her own. “Leave it to you to find the most boring place in London and trap me here for hours on end.” Genie’s face scrunched with disgust as she swept her gaze over the shelves crowding the small, dusty store’s main floor. “You promised me shopping. Books are not shopping.”
Jane sniffed and adjusted her spectacles. “Nonsense. One must buy books, just as one must buy ribbons. The fact that it is not something you wish to purchase does not change the definition, Genie.”
She felt Genie’s glare land on her cheek, but she ignored it to search for the proprietor of Norton’s Bookshop. He rushed in from the back room, a blur of thinning hair, woolen twill, and wire spectacles. “Mr. Higginbotham! G-good afternoon. I am looking for—” Jane began, only to be interrupted by an upraised finger.
“Not now, gel.” Bustling by, long wisps of his ever-sparser hair flying high, Mr. Higginbotham did what he usually did: ignored her in favor of a male customer.
“I don’t like him,” Genie commented, her narrowed eyes following the thin man to the front of the shop.
Jane sighed. “That is his way. He is looking after his interests.”
“He is rude. Does he realize who you are? At the very least, he should pay heed to how much you spend in his shop. To treat an earl’s daughter in such a way is simply boorish.”
At times like this, Jane was grateful to have sisters. Genie might seem a frivolous brat, but against outsiders, she was fierce in defense of Jane—or any of their siblings, really. Jane squeezed her arm and nudged her toward the back corner. “Come. If you behave, I will take you next door when I’m finished.” Next door was Genie’s favorite hat shop. But her fondness for bonnets must have dwindled, because she tugged Jane to a halt and gave her a look of queenly hauteur.
“Do not speak to me as if I am a child.”
Now Jane remembered why having sisters was a two-edged sword. “You don’t wish to go next door, then?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I wish to go.”
“Then what is the problem?”
Genie looked stymied for a moment. Inside, Jane smiled. Being twenty, as opposed to Genie’s almost-fourteen, gave her certain advantages—namely, the ability to win an argument with circular logic.
The queenly posture returned in due course, and Her Majesty peered down her royal nose at Jane. “I shall not wait longer than an hour. After that, you may find me next door.”
Giving her a placid look, Jane replied, “Don’t forget to take Teddy with you.”
Red bloomed on Genie’s cheeks, rising along her forehead and painting her throat in blotchy color. Teddy was the handsome new footman who had accompanied them on this excursion … and Genie’s latest impossible fancy. “Hmmph,” Genie grunted, turning on her heel and stomping toward a low shelf full of navigational references.
While her sister pretended a fascination with all things nautical, Jane hid a grin and made her way to the far back corner of the shop. It was a dark and quiet spot, as the shelves rose to very near the ceiling, forming a small room. Jane paused, simply breathing in silent anticipation. Her gloved fingers drifted slowly toward the neat row of spines, slid over their smooth surfaces. She knew what she had come for: A copy of Emma to send to her best friend, Victoria Lacey. Well, now Victoria Wyatt, Lady Atherbourne. Had it been only last year that their friendship began in earnest? Jane smiled and shook her head. It seemed longer.
Jane’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Berne, had been friends with Victoria’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore, before the latter couple died tragically in a North Sea shipwreck. Two years ago, Jane’s mother became Victoria’s sponsor and chaperone in London, and last year, after a disastrous scandal forced Victoria to marry Lucien Wyatt, Viscount Atherbourne, Jane had been recruited into the effort to restore Victoria’s reputation. Only then did Jane and Victoria converse regularly enough to become friends. In fact, they’d found a rapport Jane hadn’t felt with anyone apart from her sisters—perhaps not even them.
Recalling Victoria’s most recent letter, Jane’s mouth curved upward again. Thankfully, while her friend’s marriage had begun in scandal, it had quickly grown into a true love match, and they were now settled at Lucien’s Derbyshire estate awaiting the arrival of their first child. That was what had brought Jane to Norton’s Bookshop today: Unquestionably, a woman in confinement needed a good book to pass the time.
Jane moved to her right, examining the titles: Mansfield Park, several copies of Waverley and Robinson Crusoe, some volumes of poetry by a man she had never heard of. But no Emma. Dash it all, it was the most delightful novel, a rival for Jane’s all-time favorite, Pride and Prejudice. She had written Victoria glowing descriptions of its many charms, had promised she would send a copy along with her very next letter. It would be such a shame to disappoint her.
Jane adjusted her spectacles and glanced at the upper shelves, hoping to spot the book. On her third sweep, she thought she might have found it, but there was only one volume—Emma came in three.
“Blast,” she muttered under her breath. Not only was two-thirds of the book missing, but the third that remained was located on the highest shelf. This called for much stronger language. “Bloody hell,” she whispered, just to try it out. There. That was more satisfying.
“My, my. I had no idea cursing restrictions had loosened this dramatically. How marvelous.” The teasing, masculine voice came from mere feet behind her, slightly to the left.
Frozen in place, Jane prayed he was speaking to someone else. Although, in this little alcove, there was no one else. Perhaps he was addressing one of the shelves. Or talking to himself. Perhaps if she did not move or respond, he would not notice her. Perhaps …
“Lady Jane, isn’t it? Lady Jane Huxley?”
Bloody hell. Inside her head, the curse did not have the same impact. But, then, she suspected nothing short of being divinely transported to another location would make her feel better about this moment. In truth, Jane was shy. Not the ordinary sort of shy—more the sort that tied her tongue, causing her to stumble and bumble over her words, to be stricken with paralysis every time someone unfamiliar spoke to her. Replying to even the most banal expressions of polite inquiry was an exercise in fortitude, but knowing that a stranger had overheard her uttering profanity and apparently knew her name … well. That was mortifying.
It took her a full minute to face him. He waited patiently. Blast. She’d hoped he might leave. But, no. When she finally turned around, he was there, tall, lean, and amused. Golden-blond curls tumbled above sky-blue eyes. A small, straight nose and refined features gave him a youthful, almost feminine beauty—a beauty that was familiar.
Her embarrassment receded in favor of surprise. She knew him. He was Lord Colin Lacey, the younger of Victoria’s two brothers. (The older one was the Duke of Blackmore, but Jane preferred not to think about him.) Lord Lacey, to Jane’s knowledge, was a hopeless drunkard, a wastrel with few redeeming qualities apart from boyish good looks. At least, that was her impression from the one occasion when she’d been close enough to form a judgment—she had been seated next to him at Victoria’s wedding breakfast. Deep in his cups a full hour before the meal was served, he had behaved with all the decorum one might expect from such a condition—none at all. The event had come to an abrupt end, in fact, when Lord Lacey had made a dreadfully inappropriate comment to an entire table full of guests.
What was he doing here in a dusty corner of Norton’s? She would not have thought him much of a reader. And yet, here he was, upright, sober, and rather smartly attired in a light-gray tailcoat and striped lavender waistcoat. Quite puzzling, given that Victoria had recently despaired, “Colin is so far from the shores of dignity, I fear he shall never find his way back again.” Today at least, he appeared quite … well, dashing, she supposed.
“Are you not going to reply, Lady Jane?” He flashed a grin that was both boyish and endearing, like a cherub offering a wink. A handsome cherub. “I was hoping to hear more epithets to add to my collection.”
Jane felt herself flush, knowing the ruddy color did her no favors. “L-Lord Lacey,” she rasped, quickly clearing her throat to cover her nervousness. “A pleasure to see you again.”
His grin widened, a sparkle entering his eyes. “And you, Lady Jane Huxley.” He sketched a deeper-than-necessary bow. It made her wonder if she was being mocked. Gentlemen rarely spoke to Jane, and when they did, they never smiled charmingly or engaged her in witty banter. Usually, if they did not ignore her entirely, they avoided her gaze, as she avoided theirs, saying as little as possible and departing for prettier pastures as swiftly as politeness would allow. But not Lord Lacey. Not today.
“It has been too long,” he said warmly. “Victoria’s wedding, if I am not mistaken.” He glanced around the small space enclosed by books. “Searching for your next favorite novel, I presume? Or perhaps a reference on the vulgar tongue?”
Normally, she would have assumed such a remark was intended to be derisive, but his tone suggested a jest shared between friends. Warily, she nodded, then changed her mind and shook her head.
Eyes crinkling at the corners, he chuckled, the sound as warming as a cup of chocolate. “Feeling contradictory, are we? I cannot blame you. Choosing between fiction and profanity is most challenging. As amusements go, each has its merits.”
“I—I am … neither, actually.” Her fingers automatically fussed with her spectacles. “I was searching for a gift. For Victoria.”
“For Tori? Really? Her birthday is not until July, you know. You have ample time. No need for cursing—unless it is simply for fun. In which case, I heartily endorse it.”
Feeling more at ease, Jane released a small laugh. “It is not for her birthday. I promised I would send her a copy of Emma, so she might read it during her confinement.”
For a moment, Lacey’s smile froze, something like surprise, then regret, moving through his eyes. Then it was gone. “Ah, yes, of course. And the babe will be coming … soon.”
It sounded almost like a question, so she found herself nodding, although he must surely know. Victoria was his sister, and this her first child, after all.
“Quite right,” he continued briskly, clapping his hands together. “Shall we find this Emma, then?”
“You—you intend to help me locate the book?”
His brows arched in surprise. “Naturally. You are a damsel in need of assistance. What sort of man do you take me for?”
Her mouth quirked. “I’m not certain you wish me to answer that.” The response escaped before caution could filter it. Immediately, she felt herself blush, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Too late for that, you ninny.
He laughed. “Well done, Lady Jane. Indeed, given my past misdeeds, you may be correct on that score.” For a moment, he appeared almost bashful. “I can only hope to improve your opinion of my character. Perhaps offering my assistance is a way to begin anew.”
Dropping her fingers, she hesitated before giving him a nod, then pointed to the top shelf. “I have managed to spy one of the volumes up there, but I have not seen the other two.”
He moved the few feet necessary to reach the book, close enough that his sleeve brushed her shoulder. Stretching a long arm up, he plucked a third of Emma from its hiding place with the enviable ease of a tall man. She took it from him, running her fingers over the cover, and marveled at the pleasantness of not being ignored. “Thank you, my lord.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Let us dispense with formalities, shall we? We are, for all practical purposes, family. Please call me Colin.”
She paused, considering his request. On one hand, he was right—their families were closely connected, and given her friendship with Victoria, formality did seem a bit, well, formal. On the other hand, she was an unmarried woman in her third season, and calling a gentleman by his given name implied a certain intimacy. That could lead to assumptions, which could lead to scandal. Hmm.
On the other hand (drat, she was running out of hands) who would possibly care? Jane was hardly a diamond of the first water—more like a stone at the bottom of a river: round, plain, and utterly unremarkable. In some ways, it allowed her greater freedom than many other young ladies, as she escaped the scrutiny assigned to those with better prospects.
Lord Lacey tucked in his chin and gave her a questioning smile. “Still thinking about it?”
She pressed her lips together. He really was rather charming. “I shall call you Colin when we are alone,” she decided aloud. “But amongst company, you shall be Lord Lacey, as is proper. Fair?”
“Perfectly so. And I will continue to address you as Lady Jane.” He tilted his head toward her. “Perhaps one day, I may earn the right to call you simply Jane.”
His eyes sparkled the way Victoria’s did when she gave someone a sincere compliment. It warmed the recipient right through, and Jane was not immune. Apparently, this sort of charm was a family trait. An image of their older brother, the Duke of Blackmore, sprang to mind, and immediately she revised her assessment. Clearly, charm neglected to land on some branches of the family tree.
She focused on Colin, who had returned to perusing the shelves for the other two parts of Emma. “Lord Lacey—Colin,” she began haltingly. “I must say, while I am grateful for your assistance, I cannot help wondering …”
He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Well, why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you bother?”
He sighed then was silent for a long while, his gaze falling to his feet. “Have you ever made a mistake, Lady Jane? I mean a mistake so grievous that you doubt redemption is possible?”
My, my, she thought. When did this conversation become so grave? She shook her head, but he wasn’t looking at her. Then he turned, and he was.
“I have. More than once. For far too long, I followed a path of darkness, realizing only recently that redemption shall never be possible if I do not pursue it. And to do that, I must change my course.”
“Are you intending to join the clergy, then?”
He reeled back and clutched his chest as if she had struck him. “Good God, no! What an appalling notion.”
She gave him a mischievous grin. “Well, all this talk of darkness and redemption. What else am I to surmise?”
Slowly, he laughed and wagged a finger at her. “You are a cheeky one, aren’t you? No, I only meant that, henceforth, I have resolved to behave as a gentleman, as I have not done in some time.”
“So, you are being kind to me as a gesture of good manners.”
“I am helping you because you deserve to be treated with kindness, and any gentleman worthy of the title should do the same.”
Her heart gave a little flutter. Apart from her brother and her father, no man even looked at her, much less thought she merited such generous courtesy. It felt like summer had come a month early—warm and unexpected.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Colin.”
He smiled gently and nodded. “It is my pleasure.”
By the time they located the two remaining volumes—inexplicably scattered on the bottom row of the rear shelf—they were chatting and laughing together as though they had been friends for ages. In some ways, he reminded her of Victoria, except he was a man, and a rather attractive one, at that.
“My lady, it appears our partnership in this endeavor has been a success,” he said, handing her the final volume. He glanced over her shoulder toward the front of the shop. “I fear I must take my leave. But perhaps we shall have occasion to talk again soon.”
“I would like that.”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling and twinkling. Giving her a tip of his nonexistent hat, he bowed gallantly and strode away.
She was sighing, watching the door close behind him, when Genie poked her head around one of the shelves. “Your time is up, Jane,” she hissed. “I can feel the dust of this dreadful place settling into my very soul.”
“A tad overdramatic, don’t you think?”
“No. I do not think.”
Jane sniffed and raised her chin. “Note that I am letting that pass without mockery. It is entirely too easy, and beneath my dignity.”
Genie refused to be distracted from her central complaint. “I am surrounded by boredom. Tedious, dusty, wordy boredom. We must go now, Jane. Now.” She stamped her foot on the last word, the whine in her voice reminding Jane that her sister was still quite young, indeed.
And thank goodness for that, she thought as they made their way to the counter where Mr. Higginbotham was sorting his stacks. Apparently, Genie had not noticed Jane’s long and chummy conversation with Lord Lacey. Jane would prefer not to answer questions about it, especially since she had few answers, herself. Better to keep this from her sisters. And her mother. Oh, dear, yes. Her mother would surely get the wrong idea.
“Sooo, Jane …” Genie’s voice was a casual inquiry.
“Mmm?”
Jane’s sister blinked at her innocently. “That gentleman you were speaking to. Is he your suitor, then?”
Jane froze.
“No. That’s silly. If you, of all people, had a suitor, surely Mama would know. She would have an apoplexy if she were not informed, considering she has despaired of you becoming a spinster.”
Jane’s eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. “What do you want?”
“A new hat; an expensive one. And your promise never to bring me to this wretched place again.”
“Done.” Thank goodness Genie was still young enough to be so easily bribed. Jane could not bear to hear her four sisters and her mother volleying this about like a lively game of cricket. It was too uncertain, too new. Too precious and fragile.
“Oh, that is just the beginning. Did you think to purchase my discretion so cheaply?”
For the third time that day, a vile curse entered Jane’s mind.
Bloody hell.
*~*~*