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Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick. Deb Marlowe
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Автор произведения Deb Marlowe
Издательство HarperCollins
The marquess mumbled something incoherent.
‘You’ll recall the matter we discussed,’ his sister said brightly. She turned to Mrs Goodmond. ‘I’m happy to say that the solution will lead to a large project of my own. You see, my husband’s birthday approaches.’ The countess caught Chloe’s eye. ‘Growing up, he’s mentioned that such occasions were never marked. But this year I intend that it should be.’
Understanding dawned. The secret, the regret that she had mentioned as a way back to intimacy with the earl. She nodded.
‘I’d like to make it a grand event. An occasion suited to his particular tastes. A celebration of every masculine delight.’
From Sir Thomas came a great guffaw. The countess turned a saucy eye on him. ‘Nearly every masculine delight, then.’ Her smile faded. ‘It shall be a great deal of work. I suspect I must find an assistant of my own, when I return to Town. I can only hope to find someone half so competent as Miss Hardwick.’
Chloe straightened, lightning-struck by the obvious notion. She caught Lord Marland’s eye, but he quickly glanced away. No, she thought, staring hard at him. She had not made a mistake. She hadn’t been wrong to pursue this position when she’d had such a great need of it, and she wasn’t wrong to heed her changing needs now. But perhaps she had tried the wrong tack. Perhaps, now that she had delivered the marquess such a shock, she should let him taste her absence.
‘Oh, but you’ve given me a lovely idea, Lady Ashton!’ she said. ‘I’m due some time away from my position, as you pointed out earlier. So why do I not come to London to help you?’
The countess grasped her hand and gasped in delight. The Goodmonds exchanged a glance. The marquess, however, gave a snort of derision that echoed around the room.
‘Oh, would you?’ Lady Ashton cried. ‘It would be just the thing! You are a model of organisation and efficiency—with your help I’m sure I could not fail to please my husband.’
Lord Marland eyed his sister with obvious irritation. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mairead.’ He turned to Chloe with the same hostility. She fought back a shiver as he raked a critical eye over her. ‘I know I asked you to find some way to keep busy, but I never meant for you to turn Hardwick into a pet project.’
Chloe stiffened. Now she was becoming agitated.
‘You are the one being ridiculous, Braedon,’ Lady Ashton responded. ‘Miss Hardwick is a person, not a project. A young woman with hopes, dreams and feelings.’
‘And responsibilities. I need her here. The collection—’
‘Will be fine in your capable hands,’ Chloe said smoothly. ‘The wing is in the last stages of construction. Most of the collection is ready, or waiting on the completion of our custom-built display cases. Surely I could be spared for a few weeks?’
‘Famous!’ the countess exclaimed, with a clap of her hands. ‘I’m so relieved!’ She squeezed Chloe’s hand again. ‘I promise that it won’t be all work and no play. We shall have plenty of time to shop and meet new people, to go to the theatre and the parks. It will be a grand time all around. What do you think?’
Chloe’s heart leapt. Underneath the table, her free hand gripped her napkin until her knuckles were surely whitened. It sounded terrifying—and divine.
‘Now that is the outside of enough,’ Lord Marland scoffed. ‘You mean to take Hardwick to Town and thrust her amongst the ton?’
His mockery made Chloe blanch.
‘It would be nothing but an unmitigated disaster.’
Lady Ashton clenched her jaw. ‘I think that you underestimate Miss Hardwick.’
‘No, I believe that you overestimate the fashionable set. Hardwick is no empty-headed society chit. What does she care for fashion and furbelows?’ He gestured in her direction. ‘Hardwick can estimate mortar to the last brick. She deals in stone blocks and steel blades, not crowds and gowns and gossip.’
Chloe stilled. The marquess surely didn’t intend to be cruel.
‘I know your tricks, in any case, Mairead.’ Lord Marland’s voice had gone heavy with warning. ‘You won’t leave it at a party and be done with it. You’ll turn this jaunt into a husband-hunting expedition—and what will that gain Hardwick? She’s not that sort of woman. She’ll be left with naught but dashed hopes and broken dreams.’
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