Regina Scott - The Wife Campaign

He’d changed into evening clothes. Had he been dressed like that when they’d met, she would have had no doubt he was a member of the aristocracy. The black coat and trousers emphasized his height; the tailoring called attention to his shoulders. Though he did not seem to know he was being observed, he held himself poised, as if posing for a portrait.

She hadn’t noticed him on the riverbank at first, she’d been so angry at her father’s betrayal. This time she didn’t think he saw her, and for a similar reason. His hands were clasped behind his back in tight fists, and he was gazing down the stairs as if he simply couldn’t force himself to descend.

She shared the feeling. But why was he so loath to start the house party he’d instigated? And why had he organized the house party at all? He’d said he only wanted to fish. She’d seen the other carriages being unloaded at the door. More people were attending this party than just her and her father. How would having a house full of people allow him time to fish? How would fishing allow him time to court a lady? Was he as big a liar as the other aristocrats she’d had the misfortune to know?

She considered tiptoeing behind him for the room her father had been given across the corridor, but she thought Lord Danning would probably notice. She wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. She disdained the white muslin gowns young ladies were expected to wear because they made her dark red hair look like some sort of fire beacon. Instead, her evening dress was a smoky gray, with long sleeves wrapped in white lace and a band of the same lace around her neckline and hem. The gown tended to rustle as she moved. So he would either see her or hear her, and she’d be stuck making polite conversation anyway.

So she decided to start the conversation herself. She walked up to him and nodded in greeting. “It appears I was mistaken, my lord. We meet again.”

He pulled himself out of his reverie and bowed. “Miss Hollingsford. A pleasure to see you again, particularly as you are not a dead body.”

Ruby couldn’t help chuckling. “I suppose I deserved that after my remark by the bridge. You may have noticed that I have a temper. I also tend to speak my mind.”

“Really?” he said, though she could see the twinkle in those purple-blue eyes.

“Surprising, isn’t it? And given that tendency, allow me to make something clear.” She leaned forward and met him gaze for gaze. “I meant what I said at the river. I’m not here for a proposal.”

“Excellent,” he replied, unflinching. “Neither am I.”

Ruby frowned as she leaned back, but her father came out of his room just then, and the earl excused himself to start down the stairs ahead of them.

“Ah, getting to know the fellow already,” her father said, rubbing his white-gloved hands together. Now that he was dressed for the evening, anyone looking at him, Ruby thought, would see a prosperous gentleman. His blue coat and knee breeches were of an older style but of fine material, his linen was a dazzling white and a sapphire winked from the fold of his cravat. They wouldn’t know where he’d come from, how hard he’d worked to rise to the enviable position of jeweler to the ton.

The earl must know. An aristocrat would certainly want to be sure of the family he was considering uniting with his own. Yet why would he invite the daughter of a jeweler to stay? Was he pockets to let, like the viscount her father had offered up?

Either way, Ruby could not encourage her father’s tendency to matchmaking. “I have no reason to get to know our host further,” she told him. “I have little interest in the Earl of Danning.”

He grinned. “A little is at least a start. Come on, my girl. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

With a shake of her head, Ruby accepted his arm, and they descended the stairs.

So her father would not change his mind. She considered appealing to the earl about her enforced stay at his lodge instead. If he was sincere in not wanting to propose, perhaps she could convince him to rescind his invitation. Whatever his reasons for inviting her, surely now that they’d met, he’d seen that they would not suit. She was far from being the sort of exquisite beauty whose genteel manners and biddable nature might make her low birth forgivable. They could have little in common, nothing on which to base a true marriage. But when she and her father entered the withdrawing room, she found the earl missing. Instead, others were waiting, five in all, arranged in two groupings.

Indeed, two groupings was about all the manly space would afford. The withdrawing room at Fern Lodge seemed designed to dominate. The warm wood paneling was set in precise squares. Each painting celebrated capture, from grouse to fish to bear. The polished brass wall sconces ended in spikes like spears. The stags in the relief over the massive gray stone fireplace at one end of the room looked ready to leap from the wall and dash away to safety.

So did at least one of the women in the room. Two had claimed the sofa before the fire, and by the similarities in the lines of the patrician faces, Ruby guessed that they were mother and daughter. The daughter had hair the color of platinum, perfectly coiled in a bun at the nape of her neck, and a figure just as perfect, as if carved from marble. The drape of her silk gown said it cost as much as one of Ruby’s father’s Blue John ornaments. Every angle of nose and cheek shouted aristocrat—just as every facet of her expression showed her wish to flee.

The other group, positioned on chairs by the glass-paned doors overlooking the veranda, appeared to comprise a mother and father in staid but costly evening wear. The young woman standing beside them was likely their daughter, though she didn’t resemble them with her dark hair worn back from an alabaster face. She had an enviable figure in a lustring gown the color of amethysts. Her movements were sharp and precise, as if each was calculated for effect.

Why were they here? If the earl truly meant to propose to Ruby as the invitation implied, could these be his relatives or close friends? But if they were family, surely they’d stand closer, perhaps reminisce? If friends, why were they mostly women?

“Evening, all!” her father announced, strolling into the room and pulling Ruby with him. “Let’s call the ceiling our host and get to know each other better.”

As Ruby dropped his arm in embarrassment, he went to the ladies on the sofa and stuck out his hand. “Mortimer Hollingsford and my daughter, Ruby.”

The mother eyed his hand as if he had thrust out a dagger. “Lady Wesworth,” she said without physically acknowledging his gesture. “And my daughter Lady Amelia.”

Wesworth? Ruby knew the name and fervently wished her father wouldn’t reveal the connection. Somehow she didn’t think the Marchioness of Wesworth would want the rest of the guests to know that her husband had recently exchanged the diamonds at her throat with paste copies.

But her father was too much the businessman to ever betray a client. “Your ladyship,” he said with a bow. “News of your daughter’s beauty and charm has spread far, but I see that the gossips neglected to mention how much she takes after you.”

The marchioness visibly thawed, her double chins relaxing, her impressive chest settling. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard any stories of you, Mr. Hollingsford,” she said in a voice that managed to be polished and commanding at the same time. “Are you related to Lord Danning?”

If she asked the question, she couldn’t be related either. Ruby wandered closer to hear the conversation. The matter apparently interested the others, for they rose and joined the group by the sofa, as well.

“Not me,” her father promised. “Not at the moment, leastwise.” He winked broadly at Ruby.