Julia London - Regency Vows - A Gentleman 'Til Midnight / The Trouble with Honour / An Improper Arrangement / A Wedding By Dawn / The Devil Takes a Bride / A Promise by Daylight

“You’ve arrived just in time,” Honoria said.

“All the best people attend, and it will be the perfect place for you to make your grand debut.”

Honoria nodded. “I’ve already spoken to Lady Carroll. You and my brother should receive your invitations this morning.”

“But you’ll need the most fabulous gown ever created,” Phil said decisively, “and you’ll need it by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

Simultaneously, the pair assessed Katherine from head to toe. “It’s almost a shame to replace that outfit with something ordinary,” Honoria sighed.

At that moment, a tiny woman who could only be Madame Bouchard swept through the door behind a final wave of textiles. She took one look at Katherine and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Abominable!” she muttered. “Simplement incroyable!”

An unwise retort leaped to her tongue, but she bit it back. It was impossible to be an effective captain without a skilled boatswain, and it would be impossible to earn London’s favor without magnificent gowns.

“I think you look positively exotic,” Honoria confessed, and smiled wickedly. “James must have been undone with disapproval when he met you.”

Phil’s lips twitched. “Oh, is that what it was. I rather thought—”

“I have the impression your brother is undone with disapproval over any number of things,” Katherine said crossly, even as she watched in the glass while Madame Bouchard sorted through a pile of gowns that were already under construction. The last time she’d stood for a London dressmaker, she’d been fifteen and more than a little frightened about her debut. That same worry snaked in now, and nearly for the same reasons.

Honoria laughed. “La, you’ve pinned it precisely! Poor James.”

“Oh,” Phil said, “I don’t know that ‘poor James’ is exactly—”

“Bold colors for your complexion,” Madame Bouchard declared, circling Katherine and eyeing her critically. “Dark. I have just the thing!” She clapped, and a maid appeared at her side. “Lucy, find the dark red silk.”

“Dark red silk!” Honoria exclaimed. “You swore to me last week you had no such thing.”

Madame Bouchard regarded her with disdain. “Do you wish your skin to look like boiled fish?”

“Impertinent woman,” Honoria muttered.

“You’re going to look magnificent,” Phil said to Katherine. “There won’t be a man in London who will be able to keep his eyes off you,” she said meaningfully.

“Phil...”

“Phil?” Honoria chimed in. “Is that what they called you at sea? I love it. I only wish I had a masculine nickname, but what’s to be done with ‘Honoria’?”

Phil thought for a moment. “Horry?”

“Ugh! Leave it to you to think of that.” Honoria gave her a swat on the arm. “I haven’t charged a fee for my favors yet, you minx. But tell me, Katherine—may I call you Katherine?—it would seem our dear friend Phil has let the cat out of the bag. Could it be there is more between you and my brother than a dramatic rescue?”

* * *

AFTER TWO HOURS of fitting and pinning and tugging and draping and pulling, Katherine was ready to commit a dramatic mass murder as a result of Phil’s and Honoria’s relentless prodding and prying.

The whirlwind that was London picked up speed throughout the morning. While Katherine was being fitted into a dark green creation that threatened to push her breasts entirely free, an invitation arrived to dine with a Viscount and Lady Hathaway. Phil advised a polite refusal. While Madame Bouchard had her bundled into midnight-blue watered silk, Dodd came to inform her that Holliswell’s men had arrived but that he had not let them in and had instead sent them away with the rest of their boxed possessions. And while Madame Bouchard’s apprentice tried to pin together a downright-indecent copper creation, the solicitor arrived.

“So there is nothing I can do,” Katherine said half an hour later, pacing back and forth behind Papa’s desk in the library, dressed once again in her familiar tunic and trousers.

Mr. Allen watched her through keen, brown eyes that hadn’t aged a day in nearly eleven years. His wig sat perfectly straight, and his gaze was unnervingly steady. “Not of a legal nature, no. If they decide to hold another hearing on the matter, I can do my best to argue your case. Your father was the most well-liked Scottish representative member,” he added. “Very highly respected. His loss came as a blow to many. The bill may well fail, even under...these particular circumstances.”

These particular circumstances. Those, of course, included her tragic fall into shame and her subsequent rise to power and wealth, which, if she’d been a man, would have opened doors—not closed them. “It would seem my acquaintance with Captain Warre truly is my best hope.”

“Tactless as it may sound, his misfortune became your good luck. Had you returned without such a feather in your cap, so to speak, the picture would be very bleak indeed.”

“The picture is bleak now,” she snapped.

“Lord Croston is very powerful. Highly acclaimed.”

Lord Croston. Captain Warre. That she should need him, be dependent on his goodwill, was terrifying—never mind her plan to use him for exactly this purpose. Using him and needing him were two very different things.

“There is, I suppose, one other option,” Mr. Allen said.

Her heart leaped. “What is it?”

“You could marry.”

“Marry!”

“A strategic alliance. Doubtful the Lords would attaint you then, as they’d be unlikely to take another man’s rightful property. If you’ll forgive me, as highly esteemed as your father was and as vast as your estates are, it should be a simple matter to find an acquaintance of your father’s who’s willing.”

Her mind rejected the idea the way her body might reject a bit of rancid meat. “Absolutely not. Marriage is out of the question.” Even as she said it, Captain Warre’s face rose in her mind. “As you said, Father was well loved. Odds are against the bill passing.” The ball of rage and fear in her stomach testified otherwise. “And now that I’m here, I can work to curry favor among society.” To exploit her connection with Captain Warre, in other words.

“You can,” Mr. Allen said, too reasonably.

“I’ll not marry a stranger for convenience’s sake—someone who cares nothing for me, or worse, for Anne.”

“I was thinking Lord Deal might be an agreeable possibility. He is hardly a stranger.”

Lord Deal. Her memory conjured up a kindly old face and a ready smile. “He would be Father’s age. At least.”

Mr. Allen shrugged. “There are plenty of well-situated young dowagers who might tell you that’s not such a terrible thing.”

Good God. It was a sickening plan. She could never go through with it. Would never need to. Would she?

“Marriage is not the answer,” she said sternly. “At least, not until it becomes clear the only way to keep Dunscore is to take a husband.” And if that day ever came...well, she would marry an ancient bachelor with no backbone and learn how to administer hemlock.

She stared at Mr. Allen, and he observed her passively in return.

Just then, Dodd appeared in the doorway with a note on his silver tray. She met him halfway across the room. “Thank you.” She tore through the seal and quickly read the contents. “Speak of the devil,” she said to Mr. Allen, and read aloud.

“Your return to Britain brings me much joy. Of course, I will do all I can for you in your dear father’s memory. You must do me the honor of attending an intimate gathering at my home this evening—my annual Musicale and Confectionery Extravaganza. Indeed, this will be perfect.