Flirting With Fortune

Coming to her feet, Carolyn pulled aside the lacy drapes, revealing water-streaked windowpanes as she looked down on St. James’s Square. “I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t come. It’s raining buckets out there.”

“He’s Scottish, Carolyn—I doubt a little cold rain would get between him and his woman.”

“Jocelyn!” Beatrice tossed a pillow at her sister, who laughed and tossed it back. Even Jane chuckled at the audacious statement, though she had the decency to hide it behind her hand. “He is only half Scot, I am not his woman, and you are beyond outrageous.”

“Keeps things interesting,” she replied, completely unrepentant.

“I think that’s my cue for this old married lady to make her escape,” Jane said, shaking her head at the lot of them. “I do hope your gentleman comes to see you, Beatrice. And if he does, I expect a full report.”

As she left, Jocelyn picked up the discarded scandal sheet, flipping straight to the cartoons that always filled the back page. Beatrice did the same thing whenever she read one—there was something about the illustrations that begged for attention.

“Oh my,” Carolyn exclaimed, dropping the drape and jumping back from the window. “A carriage just arrived. It must be him!”

Jocelyn and Beatrice exchanged glances before jumping up from the sofa and hurrying to Carolyn’s side for a glimpse outside. Jocelyn started to lift the curtain, but Beatrice swatted at her hand. “No! Don’t be obvious—he’ll see you.”

“All right, all right. God forbid he look up into the pouring rain to our exact window and see the vague outline of a person within.”

Beatrice did not acknowledge her sister’s cheek. She was too busy trying to tamp down on the wave of nervousness that swept through her like a rolling fog, swift and thick. Yes, she was excited about the fact that Colin was Sir Frederick’s son, but it was so much more than that. Only the man himself could be responsible for the giddy unrest within her.

Taking a deep breath, she inched aside the edge of the curtain and peeked onto the street below. A shiny black carriage waited at the curb, its canopy pulled up against the rain. The matched pair of grays in front of it tossed their heads as a man emerged from within.

She squinted, but it was impossible to see his face from her vantage point. As a servant secured the horses, the man turned toward the house, one gloved hand holding the brim of his tall hat. Was it Colin? The build looked right, as did the— “Oh, blast.”

“What?” the twins asked in unison, diverting their attention to her.

“It’s not him.”

Carolyn’s face fell. “What? How can you be sure? All I can see is a wavy dark figure next to a wavy dark carriage. I’d be hard-pressed to tell you if the carriage is hooked to horses or elephants.”

Drat her dratted luck. “It’s in the way he moves.” She blew out an annoyed breath, turning away from the window and stalking back to the couch. Colin had a certain fluidity in the way he carried himself and a confidence that wasn’t conceited. Nothing showy, simply sure.

The man below was a peacock. Even in the rain, he sauntered toward the door, smugness wrapped around him like a cloak.

“I swear, Bea, you have gone daft.” Carolyn peeked outside once more before shaking her head. “There is no way to tell from two floors up who he is or isn’t.”

“Care to make a wager on that?” Beatrice’s voice was more sarcastic than she intended, but she suspected she knew exactly who was outside: Mr. Godfrey.

Jocelyn raised a pale brow, then turned her attention to her twin. “No, you wouldn’t, Caro. She’s got that look about her when she knows something the rest of us are too slow to catch on to.”

Why did he not simply give up the hunt? She didn’t want to be stuck with him now, not when Colin could come at any moment. Beatrice turned to her sisters suddenly, her eyes beseeching. “Oh please, please come with me when Mama calls me to the drawing room. I do not want to suffer that man alone, and I know Mama wouldn’t turn him away.” Why should she? Beatrice had never addressed her concerns about Godfrey with her mother. She had never thought it necessary—her cold shoulder with the man was practically frozen.

Carolyn regarded her with her wide, brilliant blue eyes. “Good heavens, don’t tell me you, of all people, are scared of a man. If that’s the case, then where’s the hope for the rest of us less stalwart females?”

“Oh, shush—being afraid of and being repelled by are two very different things. Now please, be sisterly and support me in my time of need.”

Jocelyn snorted. “Now look who’s being dramatic.”

“Think of it this way—you are always looking for all the gossip about the gentlemen of the ton. Well,” she said, putting her hands palm up, “here’s your chance.”

At least now she had their attention. The soft tap of approaching footsteps had her on her feet. “He’s the handsome third son of the Viscount Ashworth.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice, desperate to pique their interest. “I believe he has a secret gambling problem, mounting debts, and he is on the hunt for a wife wealthy enough to set him up for life. Gossip doesn’t get any better than this.”

The footsteps paused at the same moment someone scratched on the door.

“Well?” she whispered, looking back and forth between them. Surely they wouldn’t abandon her. Neither one of them was giving her any tells, their faces both impressively blank as they exchanged looks. Honestly, communicating without any outward signs would be so useful.

Jocelyn grinned and craned her neck toward the door. “Enter!”

A maid popped her head in and curtsied briefly. “Begging your pardon, my ladies. Lady Beatrice, Lady Granville wishes for you to join her in the drawing room to greet Mr. Godfrey.”

“Thank you, Emily. I’ll be right down.”

The girl bobbed another quick curtsy and started to close the door.

“Emily,” Jocelyn called, halting the maid in her tracks, “please let them know to bring enough tea for five.” She waited until Emily withdrew to turn to Beatrice, hands on hips. “Before you thank me, just remember that you owe us.”

Even so, Beatrice blew out a relieved breath. Holding her hands out to her sisters, she smiled. “Whatever you say, my dears, just so long as you don’t leave my side.”

Chapter Six

Well, of course—Granville House would be the largest house on the block.

Colin shook his head, sending raindrops flying from the brim of his hat. As if he needed a reminder that he had no business calling on someone like Lady Beatrice. But he was here now—practically at her invitation—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand around in the pouring rain and dither on the subject.

He dashed the last few yards and was lifting his hand toward the knocker when the door whooshed open. An austere, balding butler offered him a remarkably blank look. “Yes?”

Taken off guard, Colin fumbled inside his jacket for his calling card. “Good afternoon,” he said, locating the card at last and handing it over. “I’m Sir Colin Tate and—”

“Very good, sir,” the man said, interrupting him. Then he stepped back to allow Colin entrance. “If you will wait here, I will let her ladyship know you have arrived.”

Well, that went much more easily than anticipated. Had Beatrice warned the butler that Colin would make an appearance? She must have, because none of the other butlers today had made things nearly so simple. As the man headed up the great marble staircase, a footman stepped forward to help him out of his dripping-wet overcoat and take his hat.

Colin nodded his thanks before stomping his feet a few times to shake off the excess moisture from his boots. Duly relieved of as much rainwater as he could manage, he glanced around the entry hall, taking in the cavernous space. And here he had thought his aunt’s house grand. Opulence extended in every direction, from the black-and-white marble floors to the velvet-covered walls, and of course, the mural on the ceiling—all the hallmarks of a family with exceedingly good taste and a budget to match.