A short time later, having demolished an entire plate of biscuits, three sandwiches and two cups of tea while listening to the horrible behavior of Arabella, Jordana was reclining against the arm of the sofa. Not properly of course, but at least she was no longer set on defiance. Her lips had even contorted into what could be considered a smile.
Marissa leaned forward. “You are very pretty when you cease frowning, Jordana.”
The high cheekbones, so like her father’s, pinked. “I’m not. The most that can be said is that I’m handsome. Even Mrs. Divet has inferred as much.”
Marissa cocked her head. “I disagree.” Jordana’s features were too bold for a young girl’s face, but once she matured, Jordana would be stunning. Not beautiful, exactly, but striking in a way few women were. “And you are in dire need of a new wardrobe.”
“I am?” Jordana looked down at the plain blue muslin day dress she wore.
“You are. That dress,” Marissa nodded, “is perfectly appropriate for traipsing about the moors but not for paying calls in London. Never fear, I am already creating a palette for you.” Marissa tapped her temple.
“A . . . palette?” Jordana swallowed, looking appropriately terrified.
It would do the girl some good to have a healthy bit of fear instilled in her instead of terrorizing everyone else. “Yes. A color scheme for your wardrobe.”
A sharp knock sounded before Greenhouse entered, a tiny grimace tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Marissa was beginning to think that his patent ‘butler’ look. “Yes, Greenhouse?”
“Mr. Tomkin has arrived, my lady. He claims you are expecting him.”
Oh Lord. She’d forgotten all about Tomkin. “Of course.”
Greenhouse didn’t budge.
Honestly, why must she pull information out of her own butler? It was becoming an annoyance. “Is there something else, Greenhouse?”
“Lord Haddon has arrived to fetch Miss Ives. His carriage has just pulled up.”
Poor timing. She was endlessly the victim of such a thing. The two portions of her life colliding in the drawing room were a bit more than Marissa had planned for today. “Please put Mr. Tomkin in my study, Greenhouse, and show in Lord Haddon.”
Greenhouse bowed. “Yes, my lady.”
“You have a study?” Jordana regarded her oddly. “I thought ladies only had parlors or sitting rooms.”
“Of course. Why should I not have a study? Do you think only gentlemen are capable of conducting business? There are a great many things which require my attention, Jordana. I need a place to work.”
“You do not just pay calls and—”
“Flit about? Take on young, stubborn girls?” Marissa stood and took Jordana’s hand. “No, my dear. There is no denying this is a man’s world, and we must live in it, but I find it much better to be underestimated. That is your first lesson.”
Jordana nodded slowly. “I will take heed, my lady.”
“Splendid. But don’t tell your father.”
“Don’t tell me what?” Haddon strolled in, hat in hand, handsome in fawn-colored riding breeches and a coat the color of burnt toast. He looked so beautiful, so incredibly male, a bolt of longing for him shot straight down between Marissa’s legs.
A recurring problem.
His eyes surveyed the remains of the tea tray before he went to Marissa. “Lady Cupps-Foster. I trust you and Jordana had a nice visit?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to chastise Haddon for his absence, but she declined to do so. Marissa didn’t want to appear jealous because he’d rather spend the afternoon with Lady Christina Sykes than herself. But she certainly felt the sharp sting of that horrible emotion. It wasn’t pleasant, curdling the tea in her stomach.
“Jordana and I had a lovely afternoon, didn’t we?” She smiled in Jordana’s direction. “And accomplished much. Although we will continue our discussion while walking in the park—a more preferred venue.”
Jordana nodded in agreement.
“I apologize—” Haddon started.
“There isn’t any need.” Marissa gave a wave of her hand effectively silencing him. “Jordana explained you had a prior engagement. As it turns out, I’ve another caller now, so I must beg my own apologies.”
Haddon’s gaze lingered over her, shuttered and polite. “Of course. Come, Jordana.”
Had he seen Tomkin? Marissa thought he very likely had. He would wonder what a man like Tomkin was doing calling on her.
Let him wonder. Perhaps he would think Tomkin her lover.
Jordana stood to take her leave. “Thank you for the tea, Lady Cupps-Foster.”
The girl did know how to behave, she just didn’t wish to. “I enjoyed our conversation very much today, Jordana.” This afternoon Marissa had learned quite a bit about Jordana, especially her story of trailing behind the lone physician close to Haddon’s estate as the older man called on patients. There was also a local midwife with whom she was friendly.
Most alarming.
“I look forward to our walk in the park together. I’ll send you a note.”
Jordana nodded. “I look forward to it, my lady.”
Haddon took his daughter’s arm to lead her out, his gaze remaining fixed on Marissa. He seemed about to speak, but then the line of his jaw tightened, and he departed, with only a nod of the head.
Marissa waited for the sound of Haddon’s carriage to pull away. Firmly pushing him out of her mind for the moment, she stood and made her way to greet Mr. Tomkin.
7
Mr. Tomkin stood stiffly in Marissa’s study, hat in hand as he cooled his heels. He was a rather rough looking man, coarse and hardened, befitting a person of his profession. Tomkin was nondescript in the way street urchins and thieves were, his features undistinguishable from dozens of other faces in London.
Her father had often told Marissa the best disguise was to hide in plain sight.
Tomkin’s cloak bore a thin line of mud at the edge, as did his boots. Bits of dirt fell from him as he approached her, bowing politely, a shock of graying hair spilling over his collar. The scar at his mouth wiggled as he greeted her.
Greenhouse, ever distressed, watched Tomkin with mounting disapproval, his eyes flickering to the specks of mud scattering across the expensive
