Trapped with the Duke by Annabelle Anders

One Month Later

“Ithought you were returning to Brier Manor after delivering Fiona to school.” Rowan’s black eyes glanced up from the architectural drawings he’d been examining. Addison had guessed correctly that he would find his brother here, working diligently for all the world as though his living depended on it.

The cot in the corner of the makeshift office proved his brother’s ceaseless dedication to this project.

Last winter, Rowan had purchased a broken-down townhouse from a poverty-stricken viscount. He’d wasted no time razing the entire structure in order to build something he swore would put every other Mayfair house to shame.

Addison did not doubt for an instant that Rowan would do precisely that.

“I did. Spent a fortnight with Mother before leaving her to her own devices.” Although he loved his mother, as all good sons did, being at home alone with her had proven to be stifling. “She wasn’t pleased at my departure.”

Addison reached down to rub a hand along Zeus’s back while Hera explored the floor around his brother’s boots. He’d only weathered his mother’s displeasure in order to collect his two most faithful companions to bring along with him to London.

Rowan crouched down and, rubbing her chin, addressed the dog rather than Addison. “Does the duchess have another candidate for your master, sweetheart? Are you excited to have a mother?” Construction dust stood out starkly on Rowan’s dark skin, making his brother’s eyes appear even blacker than normal.

More than a dozen years had passed since Addison’s brother lived as a part of their family, and yet Rowan Stewart, the bastard son of the former Duke of Bedwell, kept well abreast of their affairs.

“Six of them,” Addison answered. But for the lack of a marriage certificate between his mother and their father, Rowan would be the one evading such manipulations.

But, unfortunately the pressure for Addison to marry fell squarely on his own shoulders—from both external as well as internal sources. He fully intended to fill a nursery with all sorts of little Briertons—both male and female. But he would do so at his own inclination. Perhaps he’d meet an appropriate lady in the coming spring.

His mother, however, had other ideas. In fact, she had very particular ideas about whom he ought to take as his bride. The very moment she’d handed him a list of names, of ladies listed in order of suitability, he’d made up an excuse to leave for London. He’d allow her to explain his absence when they arrived at Brier Manor, along with their parents, the following week.

Brier Manor was located near the small village of Bedwellshire, just off the southeast coast of England, making it a few days’ drive from London. If he was present when they arrived, he wouldn’t have been able to extricate himself without appearing ill-mannered.

Not being there to begin with had eliminated the necessity of such unpleasantness altogether.

Pleasant.

He grimaced at the root of the word, wondering when he could hear it or think it without being reminded of her refusal.

“Their loss is London’s gain.” Rowan rose and, after a quick glance at his papers, swept his gaze around the makeshift office and then back to Addison. “Care for a tour?”

“I’d feel slighted if you didn’t offer.” And then asked, “any more problems with vandals?” Trouble had begun shortly after residents of Mayfair became aware of the sale.

His brother ran a hand over his smooth-shaven, brown head. “It ceased for a while but seems to have ramped up again.”

“Have you considered posting a guard at night?”

“If it gets any worse, I’ll have no choice but to do just that.”

One would have thought that in such an exclusive neighborhood, vandals wouldn’t be a problem. Unfortunately, Addison realized the vandalism was a result of the very exclusive nature of the neighborhood itself. If the trouble persisted, Addison would hire his own investigator to look into it.

Rowan brushed his hands, as though to dismiss the subject, and then proceeded to lead Addison around a structure that, if the bones were an accurate representation of the end result, was going to be about twice the size of his own townhouse—one that had been built for his grandfather, the Third Duke of Bedwell, nearly a century before.

“Good God, Row, you’re building a bloody castle.” Addison drifted through an unfinished door onto a terrace balcony. Across the street, trees in Hyde Park dotted the horizon.

Hopefully keeping out of trouble.

“It’s an investment.” Rowan joined him at the railing, draping his clasped hands over the edge. “Why are you really here, Ad? Leaving the duchess in the lurch like that isn’t like you at all.”

“I told you.” Addison stretched his shoulders uncomfortably.

Rowan didn’t answer. When this mansion was completed, Addison surmised that this balcony would be a decent place for one to escape, to retreat from one’s duties if only for a few minutes.

But for now, the sounds of workers hammering and shouting instructions at one another made an odd sort of cacophony in the background.

The terrace might also lend itself to more relaxation if one’s older brother wasn’t staring at him with an all-too-knowing expression.

“Not that I am not always happy at the prospect of your unexpected company, but you’ve never been inclined to give into impulse. Furthermore, you told me you thought you ought to marry within the next few years and as much as I hate to admit it, your mother seems to only want to assist you in this endeavor.”

“She wants to do more than that.” Addison thrust aside an unwelcome image of his mother standing at his bedside instructing him on the dos and don’ts of consummation. It was a stretch but not much of one.

“Have you changed your mind altogether, then? You wish to put off marrying?”

“No.” Addison clenched and unclenched his fists. He wouldn’t put it off, but he would make the decision as to when. And more importantly, he, and only he, would decide who.

“Of course, you haven’t. You’ll be a good duke and provide no less than three strapping heirs—legitimate heirs—that is.” Rowan chuckled.

Addison watched Hera walk around in a few tight circles and then curl up to enjoy the sun. Zeus had already found a spot to lounge.

Relaxing, indeed.

“A young woman refused me a few weeks ago.” He surprised himself with the admission.

“Ah. Well then. I was unaware that you were courting anyone. Do I know her?”” His brother ran a hand over his head, which all but gleamed in the sunlight.

“I wasn’t courting her. I compromised her.”

Rowan raised his brows in disbelief. “Why, you devil. When did this happen?” He obviously found this morsal of information more amusing than Addison had.

“She’s one of the teachers at Fiona’s school. We were locked in a stairwell together for over an hour. Alone.” Saying it out loud made the incident sound even more tawdry than it did in his own mind.

“It’s about time you broke a few rules.” Rowan sounded quite impressed. “Who is she, some daughter of an earl playing at being a bluestocking?”

“One of Chaswick’s half-sisters.”

“You offered a teacher, an illegitimate woman, no less, the chance to be your duchess and she said no?”

“That rather sums it up nicely.” Addison shoved his hands in his pockets in frustration and paced to the opposite side of the terrace.

“She sounds… interesting.” Rowan turned his back on the view, propped his elbows on the railing and narrowed his eyes at Addison. “Do you fancy her, then?”

Did he? “We were alone for over an hour. Asking for her hand was the honorable thing to do.” Although if he wasn’t smitten, then why did he find himself dwelling on a single kiss weeks later? It was annoying. That’s what it was.

“Ah… So there was a scandal then. Why have I not heard about this?”

“There was no scandal.” Addison rubbed the back of his neck. “Our situation went undetected. No one knows but the two of us.” Which, as he’d told her, made no difference. Only an unscrupulous cad would have failed to offer for her.

“And you, being you, had no choice but to do the honorable thing. Wait… you were locked inside of a stairwell? Did you suffer one of your attacks?”

Of all those who knew him, Rowan was the only person who realized the full extent of Addison’s weakness.

Addison set his jaw. “I very nearly did. She… She managed to… divert my attention.” The memory of the subtle scent of vanilla and mint, along with delicate fingertips drawing lines on his hand was one that had plagued him far too often over the past month.

Rowan watched him, nodding slowly.

“I am considering meeting with Chaswick.”

“What do you hope to accomplish by doing this?” This was why Addison had come to Rowan. Because he would challenge him on any foolish ideas he might have.

“I was not only locked in that stairwell with her, I kissed her.” And he might have done more if given half the chance.

“You kissed one of Fi’s teachers? Is she a beauty then?” Of course, this was what Rowan would home in on.

Was Miss Jones a beauty? Addison hadn’t considered her anything more than pretty at first sight, but her looks had improved greatly over the course of their acquaintance.

“Yes.”

“What is this delightfully intriguing woman’s name?” Addison didn’t correct his brother because, for some damnable reason, that was precisely what she’d become to him.

A delightfully intriguing miss…

“Miss Jones.” Not for the first time, Addison wondered what her given name might be.

Rowan released a long slow whistle. “Not Delilah, or Medea, or Jezebel, but Miss Jones. By God, you must be besotted. I like her already. But as for meeting with the baron, I advise against it.”

“Why shouldn’t I meet with him?” Rowan’s advice was not what Addison wished to hear. Neither did he wish to hear that he was besotted or that Miss Jones was some sort of seductress.

“Meeting with her brother would be irrelevant.”

“But I compromised her.”

“And she refused your offer. You’ve fulfilled your duty. What would speaking with her brother accomplish? Force her hand? Do you think you’d enjoy marriage to a woman who wasn’t given a choice in the matter?”

His older brother was right, damn him. “I don’t mean to force her hand.” And he didn’t. But he couldn’t shed the feeling that he’d shirked his responsibility somehow.

“What reason did she provide for her refusal?”

Addison had examined her objections from all angles. “She wants to teach, she says. She doesn’t want to let the people around her down.” But she’d also mentioned that she didn’t fit in at the school. As a duchess, she would fit in wherever she wanted to.

Eventually.

“Surely, you of all people must understand this.” Rowan pressed.

And somehow, he did.

“Was it bad?” Rowan asked quietly. “The attack? Perhaps that’s what this is all about.”

Ever since their father had discovered Addison’s fears and ridiculed him for them, taking harsh measures to squash them, Rowan had been sympathetic.

Perhaps Rowan had the right of it. Miss Jones had helped him through the experience and something in him wished to hold onto that.

He nodded. “Likely, you’re right.” Of course, Rowan had the right of it.

Addison ran a hand through his hair. It was the only thing that made sense. He exhaled a shaky breath and, glancing back inside, eagerly dismissed the subject. “When will you be able to move in?”

Rowan seemed as happy to get past it as he was.

“I’ve yet to decide that I have any desire to reside in Mayfair.” Rowan, of course, thrived on being contrary despite most treating him as a prominent member of the Ton. Their father would have made life miserable for anyone who hadn’t provided his oldest son due respect, and six years after their father’s death, Addison would do the same.

But Rowan persisted in rebelling against the trappings that came with mingling amongst society.

Addison gestured around them. “Why bother then? Why not build an equally spectacular monstrosity in a location where you actually do want to live?”

“Because I was offended by the existence of the previous dwelling taking up space on such a magnificent lot.” He winked and then disappeared inside.

Addison didn’t follow right away but crossed to the ledge and made a second assessment of the distant view as well as the lot itself.

Trees, lawns, and come evening, no doubt the sunset would prove rather spectacular.

Rowan had a point. He had a way of doing that—seeing things others did not. Addison pushed off from the railing and, after a few wrong turns, caught up with his brother who was inspecting one of the workman’s efforts. Addison was half-tempted to remove his jacket and go to work beside them but doubted his assistance would be welcomed. Instead, he convinced Rowan to join him at White’s the next day, rounded up his dogs, and took his leave.

Only later would he wonder at his decision to make his way back to Bedwell House on foot. Had it been a serendipitous one or merely ironic?

Because, having decided Rowan was correct in advising him to cease his pursuit of Miss Jones, the last person Addison expected to see was strolling along the opposite side of the street, tapping his cane and looking exceedingly satisfied with himself.

“I say, is that you, Bedwell?” Baron Chaswick tipped his hat and crossed to greet him, and Addison couldn’t help but recognize that the man had the same-colored eyes that his sister did. “A happy occasion indeed, stumbling upon you in London. Here for long?”

“A few weeks.” The man’s question seemed friendly rather than nosey. And as Addison conversed with the baron, he couldn’t help but doubt his earlier resolve.

“Excellent. Then you must join my wife and me for dinner before you return to the country. Social pickings are slim this time of year.”

Addison had forgotten how charismatic Chaswick was. Apparently, that, in addition to impertinence, must be a family trait.

As they’d been walking in the same direction, the baron matched his steps to Addison’s and the two carried on in quiet agreement.

“Met one of your sisters a few weeks ago,” Addison offered.

“And how is my sister, the marchioness?” Chaswick slid a questioning glance in Addison’s direction.

“Marchioness?” Why would Chaswick think he was discussing Greystone?

“Of Greystone.” Chaswick clarified. “I thought they’d have returned to Greystone Manor by now.”

For a fraction of a second, Addison’s heart dropped. But then he realized Chaswick was referring to the other sister—the one who’d taken full advantage of her opportunity to enter society.

“Oh, no. You misunderstand. I met Miss Jones while establishing my sister at Miss Primm’s. Your sister is a teacher there, is she not?”

“Was.” Chaswick pounded his cane with more force than necessary onto the walk. “Until a fortnight ago. Apparently, a thousand-pound donation is insufficient to replace half a school of students.”

Addison halted and turned, startling Chaswick into stopping as well. “She’s no longer employed? What happened?”

“Mrs. Eunice Metcalf happened,” the baron all but growled. “The meddling blabbermouth decided my sister wasn’t proper enough to teach her frail-minded daughters. Suggested she was a bad influence and stirred up a handful of other parents into believing the same.”

“A bad influence?” Had someone, in fact, witnessed her hasty escape from the stairwell? Had word gotten out that he had not been trapped alone?

Damned busybody gossips. But… if that was the case, wouldn’t Chaswick have challenged him already?

Addison certainly would have if the tables had been turned. Unless he did not know the identity of the gentleman she’d been trapped with.

He scratched his chin. Would that not have been common knowledge? Perhaps he didn’t understand the machinations of women’s minds as well as he thought he did.

“It’s not as though Collette had any control over it,” Chaswick replied. Control over the situation in the stairwell?

“Dashed shame.” Addison murmured. A fortnight. That would mean she’d been sacked little over a week after he, himself had taken his leave.

“Of course, she’s innocent in all of it. But that Metcalf woman didn’t stop there. No, she insisted her primary concern was Collette’s lack of teaching experience—implied that she wasn’t capable of controlling her classroom. After only one week. By God, Bedwell, my sisters have not had an easy time of things, as I’m sure you’ll understand. But it wasn’t as though Collette had any designs on raising her social status. Trust me, if that Mrs. Metcalf deigns to show her face in London next spring, she’ll find her salver tray surprisingly empty.”

Chaswick exhaled a disgusted huff as he literally marched along the street beside him, Zeus and Hera dancing along in excitement.

Collette. French, meaning People of victory. The name was a strong one but also feminine. It suited her.

“Nothing could have hurt my sister more.” Chaswick’s words pricked Addison’s conscience—even if he had not been the reason for her dismissal. But why else would she have been considered a bad influence?

“What will she do now?” But of course, she’d been innocent. If she hadn’t been, she would have locked onto his proposal like a dog with a bone.

Even if she had been guilty of setting the trap, that wouldn’t have altered the fact that he’d taken advantage of her.

Addison ought to have remained in the area for a few days to assure himself of her well-being before he left. At the very least, he ought to have provided his directions so she could contact him if necessary. Or if she’d changed her mind.

But her refusal had been adamant.

“She’s back with us at Byrd House for now. Bethany—my baroness—has had some success consoling her. If anyone understands the weight of scandal, let me assure you, my wife does. Collette insists she still wants to teach and I’ve an offer of another post for her to consider, but I’m none too confident that it’s the sort of position she wants. Metcalf’s wagging tongue has all but assured no one within a hundred-mile radius wants to take her on. Blasted woman.”

And now, Miss Collette Jones had one less choice. Addison’s initial inclination was to accompany Chaswick back to Byrd House—offer for her again. It was, in fact, the honorable thing to do. And he was an honorable gentleman, above all else.

But she had laughed outright at his first proposal, and then run away and hidden when Miss Shipley discovered the stairwell was locked.

She’d described his kiss as pleasant.

She had not even entertained his offer nor had the courage to look him in the eye when she’d given him her answer.

“I have no wish to marry you…I give you leave to return to your ducal life knowing that you have done that which is honorable by me. But please… Please, I beg of you to keep this to yourself.”

She had adamantly insisted she knew what was best.

He and Chaswick arrived at a crossroads and the baron turned to walk in the opposite direction of Bedwell Place. “I apologize for exhorting you with my troubles.” He shrugged. “Every last male of my acquaintance, it seems, has retired to the country for the winter, and I am desperate for masculine company. Care to practice foils some afternoon? Billiards? Or, by god, even a good game of cards.”

Miss Jones, Collette, is here in London.

“Indeed,” Addison answered. “It’s been too long since I’ve sparred.”

“Say, what are you doing this evening? Unless you’ve other plans, my wife is hosting a dinner party. You’re more than welcome to join us. And later this week we’ll meet up at White’s.”

The dinner party wasn’t the visit Addison had in mind. But Rowan had been right in that it wouldn’t be fair of him to force her hand. He would speak with her tonight. Likely she’d all but beg him to renew his offer.

After that, he’d meet with Chaswick officially, tomorrow morning.

Collette.

“What time shall I come?”

“Eight o’clock.”

As her brother disappeared down the walk, Addison again wondered at the coincidence of running into him. And for the split second before he could dismiss such ridiculousness, entertained the notion that it could be fate.

“Woof!” Zeus checked Addison’s train of thought with a well-timed admonishment.

“Don’t look at me that way.” He scowled at his dog. “I was only joking.”

* * *

“If Chase doesn’t hear backfrom any of the schools he’s contacted by the end of the week, I believe I will join Sarah at Easter Park,” Collette admitted quietly. She knew it was not what Bethany wanted to hear but she’d been contemplating her future ever since her last meeting with Miss Primm.

“My preference, Miss Jones, would be to keep you on.” The headmistress removed her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “And I’ll admit I wish I could say ‘good riddance’ to the Metcalfs and everyone else raising such a stink. But I must consider all of my students, and my other teachers. It would be irresponsible of me to put the entire school at risk.”

“You’re letting me go?” Collette’s heart fell to her shoes. She could hardly believe it. This was her dream. Her students were just now beginning to engage with some enthusiasm.

“I’m sorry. I’ve arranged for your wages to go to you for the entire term, because none of this is fair… And I’ll have to speak with Chaswick, of course.” The woman donned her spectacles and stared at her with sympathetic eyes. “You have the makings of an excellent teacher. I do hope you won’t let this derail your aspirations.”

And later, when Miss Shipley had walked her out the front door. “This isn’t the end for you, Miss Jones. Would you believe me if I admitted to being jealous of you? You have a loyal family, and they esteem you greatly. Someday you’ll look back on this nasty business with your reputation and realize it only made you stronger.”

“Collette? Her sister-in-law’s voice jerked her out of the unpleasant memory—one she’d replayed in her mind several times since.

“Just… wool gathering.” Collette blinked away the stinging in her eyes. Because, of course, it had derailed her aspirations. How could it not have? And as of yet, she did not feel any stronger than she had before.

Quite the opposite, rather.

“You must know that we love having you here!” Bethany set her embroidery aside and frowned. After Diana’s excellent match last spring, Collette had labored under no misconception that her sister-in-law still held out hope for her. In fact, Collette was certain that’s what all of this new clothing and the visit from a stylist had been about.

Bethany smiled conspiratorially. “And… I wasn’t going to mention anything yet, since it’s still early, but…” She settled her hand over her abdomen in an unmistakably protective manner.

“A baby?” Collette raised her brows. “You’re expecting a baby?”

Bethany nodded. “Yes!”

“But that’s wonderful!” Collette jumped out of her chair and all but leapt across the room so she was sitting beside the woman who’d embraced Chase’s second family so completely. “When? Does Chase know?”

Bethany shook her head and laughed. “My courses are only two weeks late, and I wanted to be sure. But I’ve felt queasy in the mornings and I just… I just know that I am. I was going to tell him this evening, but we have guests coming for dinner. I was thinking of going away for a few days, to Brighton, just the two of us, and I’d hoped you’d keep her ladyship occupied.”

Although not mad, exactly, Chase’s mother occasionally suffered states of mental confusion. And although she could recall memories from decades before, sometimes didn’t remember that her own husband had been dead for over six years now.

Chase provided the very best of nurses, but he and Bethany were reluctant to leave the dowager baroness alone for more than a day.

“Of course, I will,” Collette answered, wishing already that she wouldn’t have to wait until the following summer to become an aunt. “He is going to be so happy and make for the best father in the world. Besides that, you two could have some time alone.”

“But I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You never have! Even if you did, you’d have every right—what with all that you and Chase have done for Diana and Sarah and me—even for mother. I’m just so excited for both of you.”

Collette spent the next hour asking all sorts of questions about the changes she was going to experience, how Bethany would feel if the child was a girl or if it was a boy, and then both commiserated with one another for missing their sisters and their own mothers. So much had changed for all of them over the past year.

“Where will you spend the end of your confinement? Here? I’d think your mother will wish to be with you.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Bethany tapped each of her fingers onto her thumb, doing her counting thing that she did whenever she wasn’t completely comfortable. She was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Westerley, and her mother, the dowager countess, wasn’t the warmest of ladies. “But for now I need to finalize my plans for Chase. I imagine the weather will have cooled too much for us to bathe in the sea, but I’m looking forward to the fresh air.”

Embroidery all but forgotten, both ladies faced one another, feet propped on the settee between them and discussed every detail that popped into their minds.

When a contented silence fell, Collette smiled. She’d been devastated to be sent away from Miss Primm’s and today was the first time in nearly a month that she’d felt happy about anything.

Bethany leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “I am so glad to see you smile again. Your genuine smile, not the strained one you’ve had since you came back from Miss Primm’s. I’ll have to remember when you are feeling low, all I need to do is promise you a niece or nephew and you perk right up.” There were times her sister-in-law could practically read her mind.

“Is that Collette laughing, by chance?” Chase stepped inside, looking as handsome as ever, if not a little windblown. From the moment Collette had first met her brother, shortly after their father’s death, she’d been drawn to his charisma and warmth. Nothing had legally compelled him to even so much as acknowledge their relationship. In fact, he’d had every reason to ignore their very existence. But instead, he’d not only accepted them, but he’d eventually invited them into his life. Chase had brought sunshine in a time of mourning, and she would forever be grateful to him for that.

She owed him everything.

“I’m hopeful we hear that sound more often.” Bethany didn’t miss a beat as she tilted her head back for her husband’s kiss.

“It has been rather quiet around here now that Diana’s married,” Chase commented, absentmindedly clasping his wife’s hand in a way that allowed his fingertips to tap along hers. “You’ll be happy to hear, Collette, the father of an old friend from Eton has extended an offer for you to teach at the village school near his estate. It seems the woman who’d formerly held the position has run off with the local blacksmith and they’re willing to take almost anyone.”

“Not just anyone, of course.” Bethany corrected him, wincing. “Any school would be lucky to have Collette. Since she’s been here, I have an entirely new appreciation for Latin.”

“As have I. Unfortunately, I doubt they’ll place much importance on that.” He held up a finger. “But it is a legitimate post, and they don’t care one wit about Collette’s position in society.”

Collette frowned. She’d felt like an utter nobody ever since returning to London, and that hadn’t bothered her, but… “Exactly where is this school, and when must I provide them with my answer?”

Now it was Chase’s turn to wince. “Dumbarton. He says they need an answer as soon as possible.

“Dumbarton? As in the far reaches of Scotland?” Bethany’s dismay echoed Collette’s.

If she accepted a post in Scotland, Collette would be several days’ drive from everyone she’d ever cared about and everything that was familiar to her. For the first time, and for very practical reasons only, she almost wished she’d accepted the Duke of Bedwell’s proposal.

Almost.

It seemed she was running out of options. Electio, optio. But she stopped such thoughts before allowing herself to fall into a bout of self-pity.

She was not completely without choices.

“It’s too far,” Bethany said, but Collette felt her brother’s watchful gaze.

“Is it too far, Cole? You don’t have to take it. You are always welcome here—you know that. We could try bringing you out again next spring.” She shot him a glare and he added, “Or not.”

She could not, however, depend on her brother forever.

But… Scotland? And not a town that was anywhere near the border—but very, very distant Scotland.

She’d miss everything—and everyone! She’d miss spending the holidays with Sarah and her mother. She’d miss the birth of her first niece or nephew! She might as well move to the Americas!

“He and his wife plan to leave London a week from tomorrow. They’re happy to take you back with them at that time.” Chase rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “To be perfectly honest, Cole, I’ll be disappointed if you take it. Not disappointed in you, but for myself, for us, as we would miss and worry about you every day. Perhaps you’ll see things differently after spending a pleasant evening entertaining our guests. No one will judge you if you change your mind about teaching. A night spent in the company of others might be just the diversion you need to gain a new perspective.”

Not likely. The prospect of several hours making polite conversation and avoiding Bethany’s matchmaking was not one Collette looked forward to.

“About that. I was thinking I’d make myself scarce in my chamber—”

“Are you ill?” Chase asked, brows raised. “Because if you are not, we would appreciate your participation to keep the numbers even.” Her brother moved farther into the room and then dropped onto a high-back chair, draping one leg over the other in the lazy manner that only aristocrats and scholars got away with.

“Since when have you cared about even numbers?” But Collette was already resigned. Because, truly, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her brother.

“Since my wife cares about such things.”

“I’m sorry, Collette.” Bethany had also become one of those people for whom Collette would do anything. And come next summer, there’d be yet another one—one who weighed less than a stone and would have the softest of skin and downy fine hair. She couldn’t help but grin when Bethany met her eyes.

“As it’s only one evening and since the two of you are in such dire need—” Collette dramatically raised the back of her hand to her forehead “—I will join you and your guests for dinner.” She dropped her hand and grinned. “It’s not as though I have nothing to wear.”

No doubt, one of their guests would be an impoverished, not-quite-repulsive baron or baronet who just happened to be in search of a wife. Collette didn’t even want to know the price her brother had put on her head.

Or dowry, rather.

Not that Chase would ever be called upon to pay it.

But if Bethany wished Collette to attend her dinner party, Collette would make her very best effort to be pleasant. It was the least she could do for the woman who was going to make her an aunt sometime late next spring.

Besides, it was only a dinner party.

* * *

As Collette bathedand then dressed for the evening, she changed her mind, and then changed her mind back at least a dozen times regarding the teaching position in Scotland.

Staring into the mirror as Bethany’s lady’s maid inserted a jeweled pin into her hair, she wondered at the ironies in life. Her brother could provide her with everything most ladies wanted—security, fineries, family—and yet one mean-spirited woman had been capable of crushing her dream. It wasn’t fair that simple spite from someone like Mrs. Metcalf could upend Collette’s life so completely.

“You look stunning in blue—especially this shade.” Polly smoothed the sleeve of Collette’s gown and then added one last pin to secure her coiffure. “All my life I wished I had hair like yours—so light, like the sunshine.”

“My youngest sister once told me it reminded her of the morning sun on her face.” Collette had almost forgotten about that. Sarah had said Collette’s hair was softer, finer, and Diana’s, which was thicker and heavier, reminded her of night.

“From what her ladyship has told me, Miss Sarah is doing well with her new teacher.” Polly stepped back approvingly. “And such a relief to have Miss Diana married off. The rest of the staff and I were beyond pleased at such a happy occasion—to be certain.”

Collette agreed that Diana’s wedding had been a happy occasion but… a relief? The maid’s comment seemed odd. “The servants were concerned?”

Polly pulled out a pin and swirled a strand of Collette’s blondish hair in a different direction. “Even as a baron, his lordship was taking a risk by claiming… I mean, by bringing the two of you out…” The maid fell silent, seemingly reconsidering her words.

But Collette spun around, confused. “What do you mean?” She’d been under the impression that the only reason he’d not claimed them publicly before had been because of his mother’s sensibilities.

“My apologies, Miss, I’m speaking out of turn.” Polly finished Collette’s coiffure and went about fussing with some jewelry on the other side of the room. “Now where did those slippers go?”

Bethany’s guests were due to arrive shortly and although Collette would have liked to question the maid further, she hurriedly slipped on the shoes purchased to match her gown, took one last glance in the looking glass, and brushed at her skirts.

Unsettled by the idea that Chase had risked more than his mother’s peace, which had been considerable indeed, Collette entered the withdrawing room at the precise moment the knocker sounded from the front foyer. She would ask Bethany about it later.

“By God, Collette, you look stunning. What have you done with yourself?” Chase crossed to a side table. “Sherry?”

“Yes, please.” What had he risked for them? He’d never said a word. Had he had to pay to bring them into society, much as he’d paid in order for Miss Primm to hire her?

“Isn’t Cerulean a bold color for a debutante?” Chase handed her the glass with a wink. “It’s a shame we couldn’t invent a dead husband for you. I rather think you could make quite a splash as a widow, holding salons, poetry readings, and whatnot. Everyone in London would be smarter for knowing you. Don’t you agree, my love?” He addressed the last to his wife.

“I know of a few octogenarian bachelors.” Bethany leveled a thoughtful gaze in her direction, giving Collette pause to wonder if her sister-in-law was only half-joking.

“With my luck, he’d end up a centurion,” Collette muttered just as Chase’s attention focused on the doorway behind her.

“Hawthorne, good to see you. And you, My Lady. Welcome!” Her brother’s voice spurred Collette to turn around to share in welcoming the first guests to arrive. She’d met the high-ranking couple on a few occasions last spring and found the countess to be friendly and engaging, and her earl to be quiet, but with a kind look in his eyes. By the time Chase was pouring them drinks, a second couple arrived. The Marquess and Marchioness of Rockingham. Bethany had explained that the Marchioness, a very proper and distinguished lady, was involved in the funding of London’s largest foundling hospital. The woman was a few years older than Collette and Bethany and had an almost intimidating quality about her.

As more guests arrived, Collette edged toward the back of the room while Bethany made introductions, smiling and being the perfect hostess.

These people were so very different from Collette. They were pleasant enough, but she could never dismiss the awareness that these people were genuine members of society, whereas, she… was not. Collette dropped her gaze to study her hands when a shiver drifted down her spine.

“Bedwell. Good to see you could make it.”

“My pleasure, Chaswick.”

There was no mistaking that voice, even from across the room. Collette lifted her lashes and felt a zing of awareness when she found herself staring into his icy-blue gaze.

But if it was icy, why did it send bolts of flames coursing through her?