Kasey Michaels - A Reckless Promise

To be fair, he had been giving at least a cursory thought to setting up his nursery, as titled gentlemen were expected to do, as Gabe and Rigby and even Coop were in the process of doing—all but tumbling over one another to do, as a matter of fact. It did seem the next logical step.

But if he was going to one day be Uncle Nailbourne, it would be to his friends’ children, and if he were to take a wife, it certainly wouldn’t be— Lord, he needed a drink.

“Darby, there you are, you scamp. What a deliciously confusing message you sent me. We’re all agog to learn more.”

“Aunt Vivien,” he said as the petite woman and her usual filmy draperies and ruffles exited the drawing room, to meet him in the large first-floor foyer. He quickly motioned for Sadie and Marley to sit themselves down on a nearby ornate bench—hopefully out of earshot of whispers—while he dealt with Her Grace.

Within a moment he was engulfed in butter-yellow silk and tulle, kissing the top of the woman’s bouncy silver curls and inhaling her powdery scent. “You’ve saved my life.”

“I have? Well, isn’t that clever of me. How have I done that?”

“By inviting my ward and her aunt to reside with you until I can bloody well figure out what to do with both of them,” he whispered into her ear. “You know they can’t stay with me.”

She whispered right back at him: “They could, if you were in mind of creating a scandal, but I suppose you aren’t. Is that them, plopped down way over there on that uncomfortable bench the fourth duke dragged home from Lord only knows where, saying the elephant feet were all the mode? Pretty, the pair of them, definitely not the bench, which is horrid. Country mice, though, definitely not up to snuff for the Season. May I have the dressing of them, as well?”

“You, Aunt Vivien?” he asked, once again finding himself having to disengage from a clinging female. The woman, dear lady that she was, dressed like a confection suited to be displayed in a bakery shop window. “Only you?”

The duchess gave his chest a playful slap. “No, silly, all of us. Well, except for Coop’s mother. Minerva has the oddest taste. Perhaps we’ll allow her to choose gloves. Not a whacking great lot of damage one can do with gloves, isn’t that right? Now bring them inside. Have you no manners?”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll take them off my—that is, you’ll ask them to join you here until the end of the Season? I know I’m asking a lot, especially with the duke’s birthday fast approaching, but—”

“Must I cross my heart and swear, you scamp? It’s going to be the greatest fun, and give Basil something else to think about beyond discovering himself to be either horizontal or vertical come his birthday morn. Although what you’ll do with them afterward is a subject for delicious conjecture. We’ve already discussed it among us, you know. Clarice says—”

“Another time, Aunt Vivien,” Darby interrupted, well able to image what Rigby’s beloved said. He’d already been put to the blush, as it were, enough for one day, and he still had to face the rest of the ladies.

“Come say hello to your aunt Vivien, my dears,” the duchess trilled, and he watched as Marley leaped to her feet and ran straight up to the duchess, dropping a curtsy that nearly ended with her stepping on the duchess’s full skirts. Mrs. Boxer approached more cautiously, eyeing Darby, clearly in hope of some explanation for a very curious five minutes.

“Your Grace, may I present to you Mrs. Sadie Grace Boxer and my ward, Miss Marley Hamilton. Mrs. Boxer, Her Grace, Vivien Sinclair, Duchess of Cranbrook.”

Sadie’s mouth fell open—to her credit, only slightly, and she quickly recovered. “Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a perfectly respectable curtsy. “It is indeed an honor.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Everyone seems to say that, although I’m no different than I was before all this curtsying and bowing business became a part of our lives. Please, call me Aunt Vivien. Everyone does. And I shall call you Sadie and Marley. I had a cousin Sadie, years ago, but I’ve lost track of her since she ran off with her husband’s man of business. And far from penniless, as they took all of poor Robert’s funds with them.”

Darby cleared his throat. “We’re still standing here, Aunt Vivien. Perhaps we should introduce the ladies to the rest of the company?”

“Oh, fiddle, of course.” The duchess turned to reenter the drawing room, having taken Marley’s hand in her own, but Sadie stood her ground, refusing to budge when Darby offered her his arm.

“The duchess is your aunt?”

“A courtesy title only. My friend Gabe is the duke’s nephew and heir. She and the duke feel much more comfortable with informality. I’ll explain later.”

“Yes, you will. My imagination was running wild. For a moment I thought you’d brought us to a well-to-do brothel, and the duchess was the madam, or procuress, or whatever such people are called.”

Darby’s bark of laughter caused her to flinch slightly.

“It’s her gown,” she went on quickly. “I’ve never quite seen so many ruffles.”

“She wants the dressing of you,” Darby said, offering her his arm once more. “Apparently she and the other ladies have decided you and Marley are to move about in Society while you’re here.”

“You aren’t going to allow that, are you?”

He was actually becoming used to the idea, odd as that seemed to him. The sight of Sadie Grace Boxer in fine silk and pearls might prove interesting. In fact, the more he thought about how displeased that same Sadie Grace appeared to be, the more he approved the ladies’ plans.

“The dressing of you, no. I’m afraid the ladies are quite set on the rest of it. You could have remained at the cottage, not that I’d be so crass as to point that out to you.”

“No, you’d never be that, would you? And where will you be, my lord, once you’ve successfully dumped your responsibility in that sweet old lady’s lap?” she asked, taking his arm and forcing a smile to her face as they at last entered the enormous drawing room.

He had one thing to say for the woman. She could hold her own in a give-and-take of words. Of course, he wasn’t sure that could be listed as a compliment, not when she was also so clearly concealing something from him.

“Hiding in a cupboard under the stairs most quickly springs to mind, Mrs. Boxer, but I do believe that won’t be allowed. Shall we be on with it? I’ll introduce you to the ladies and be off about my business for a few days, giving you and my ward time to...settle in. You’ll be safe here. In every way.”

“Her name is Marley, and we’re both in mourning. It would be highly improper for us, me most especially, to go into Society.”

“I’m convinced John would understand, under the circumstances. Well, Mrs. Boxer? I don’t hear any argument coming from your direction, which is refreshing.”

“That’s only because you’re correct. John specifically asked that Marley not be subjected to a year of mourning.”

“And?”

“And I agreed,” she muttered before Clarice Goodfellow, never one to wait patiently for anything, came at them, all but cooing in pleasure over the smiling Marley she carried along with her, the child’s legs wrapped around her hip.

Darby quickly counted noses. Besides the duchess and Clarice, Minerva Townsend was present, along with Gabe’s Thea and Coop’s Dany. More than needed for a witches’ coven.

Five against one. Seven, if he counted Sadie and Marley.

Darby introduced, bowed, kissed hands and excused himself within five minutes, lamenting that he could no longer keep his cattle standing.

Marley, he was certain, was the only one who didn’t know he was lying through his teeth.