“Has Papa questioned you about a Mr. Wright?” Charlotte asked, just to be sure. The maid was in Charlotte’s bedchamber, putting away some freshly laundered clothes.
“No, miss. I’ve not seen your father today.” Daisy frowned. “Who’s Mr. Wright?”
Charlotte took a deep breath. “You may want to sit for a moment while I explain.”
Ten minutes later, Daisy was gaping at Charlotte as if she’d materialized from thin air. “Are you mad?”
“No. Just desperate.”
“This plan of yours is destined to fail, miss, and then what’ll you do?” The maid had been with Charlotte for so many years the two were more like friends than mistress and servant. As such, Daisy often spoke her mind, which was something Charlotte valued.
“Not marry Mr. Cooper,” Charlotte muttered. “I’ll fight with whatever weapons I have at my disposal.”
“Which clearly includes an overactive imagination,” Daisy said. Her eyes softened as she regarded Charlotte. “You haven’t even met Mr. Cooper. Maybe he’s not so bad. From what I hear, Americans can be more relaxed when it comes to the freedom of women than we Brits tend to be. Maybe he’ll support you in your endeavors?”
“Maybe. But how will I find the time to pursue them if I’m to be a wife and mother? There will be a home to manage and children to see to. If Mr. Cooper is indeed the wealthy businessman Papa professes him to be, he’ll probably have a large mansion with dozens of staff awaiting attention from their future mistress. It will be exhausting – a full job in and of itself. And that is without considering social functions I’ll no doubt have to attend and dinner parties I’ll need to host. Honestly, Daisy. All I want to do is write.”
“Well then.” Daisy pressed her lips firmly together. “In that case we’d better prepare.”
“Mr. MacNeil will be here within half an hour if he’s punctual.”
“Then I should go and see about those flowers so he fits the part you’ve created for him.”
“What if he refuses to play along?” The details had been easy enough to come up with when she’d been desperate to ruin her father’s plans. Now, it seemed unlikely any sane man would willingly let himself get tangled up in her mess.
“No sense in worrying over that before it’s happened.” Daisy went to the door. “I’m sure it’ll all work out exactly how it’s supposed to.”
Charlotte had her doubts but chose not to argue. Instead she offered a smile and a nod while Daisy slipped from the room. How on earth had it come to this? Yesterday, when she’d hired Mr. MacNeil, she’d felt like she was in control of her destiny. Now, she found herself at his mercy. All she could do was pray he’d be more forgiving and kind than his reputation suggested. Because if he wasn’t, there would be hell to pay for her deception, not just from her father, but from a notorious St. Giles criminal.
3
Since he’d made up his mind to cut ties with Miss Russell, Blayne didn’t bother much with his appearance before heading over to Number Two Berkley Square. Unshaved and with a thick mass of dark brown hair falling in haphazard locks around his face, he ignored the knocker. Instead he gave the front door a succession of hard thumps with his fist.
What he expected was for a condescending butler to open the door and question his purpose, upon which he’d simply tell the man to give Miss Russell his regrets and then leave. Instead, the door was opened by the lady herself.
Blayne stared, his intention to quit her presence with immediate haste abandoning him on account of her hair which was now completely visible since she wasn’t wearing a bonnet. He’d known it would be black and glossy, but judging from the voluminous pile at the nape of her neck, it was also unfashionably long and thick. Dazed, he took a step forward, following her into the foyer. The door closed with a gentle thud, prompting Blayne to blink.
Hell and damnation, she’d managed to get him inside.
He cleared his throat, more determined than ever to set things straight.
“Mr. MacNeil.” The welcoming smile she’d initially worn when she’d greeted him had been transformed into a flat line. “I appreciate you keeping our appointment although I had thought you’d make a bit more effort with your appearance when keeping in mind the nature of your job. After all, you shall be escorting me around Town.”
“About that—”
“But you’re here now and that’s what truly matters.” She frowned at him, not with displeasure but with a calculated degree of thoughtfulness that instantly put him on edge.
“Miss Russell, I really dinnae—”
“Don’t what?”
“Er…” Somehow, she’d made his mind go completely blank.
She huffed a small breath and quickly glanced about as if to ensure they were quite alone before saying, “Unfortunately, there’s been a bit of a snag.”
Instinct tightened his muscles. “What sort of snag?”
And why was he even asking when his intention was to quit the job before he began?
“One that requires you to add faux fiancé to your job description.”
“What?” The word was more of a croak.
“There really isn’t a choice. It’s completely out of my hands.”
“Out of yer hands?” Good God, he was starting to sound like an imbecile. He cleared his throat. “Miss Russell, I came to inform ye that I’ve changed my mind about accepting the job ye offered. And that was before ye added this new stipulation.”
“Naturally, the salary shall be increased according to the extra requirement,” she said as if she were deaf to his protest. “I’ll add another five pounds per week for the inconvenience.”
Ten pounds per week for however long Miss Russell required his help would be a splendid addition to what he’d managed to stow away so far, but playing fiancé to an upper-crust lady was further than he was willing to go for any amount.
Not because he didn’t think himself capable of pulling it off. Not even because the people he’d have to mingle with intimidated him in some way. Rather, it was because the very last thing he needed after keeping his head down for nineteen years to avoid a good hanging was making the headlines in every paper published within the British realm. No matter what, his height, looks, and Scottish heritage would be noted and that alone might prompt his uncle to hunt him down.
Blayne shuddered. He could not under any circumstance let that happen.
“Your imposing size and handsome features are an excellent start and…” She waved her hand as if hoping to grab the necessary words from the air around her. “I’ll simply have to think of a good excuse as to why you haven’t managed to groom yourself lately. Come along.”
She marched off, disappearing through an open doorway and leaving Blayne with little choice but to follow. Which he finally managed to do once his brain had finished processing what she’d just said about him being handsome. Christ above, it almost felt like he’d been clubbed on the head. Hell, no woman had ever told him any such thing. They just commented on his size and the pleasure he gave them in bed. And since he’d never entertained the sort of woman with whom he’d consider building a future, he hadn’t cared what they thought of his looks as long as they satisfied him in return.