They were different from each other in personality, but in looks they had all inherited their father’s fairness and elegant bone structure. Given his dark skin and ebony hair, he could hardly believe that he and the three of them shared a common parent
There was also more that separated them. And he wasn’t referring to their two very different continents. They were English ladies. He was hardly an aristocrat by any standard except that of his birth.
Yet they were irrevocably tied together. He could care less about estates and wills and monetary gain, but when he’d received the letter informing him of his father’s death, he did care about his half sisters enough to cross the Atlantic to make sure he saw to their futures. He could have entrusted solicitors to deal with the details, but quite frankly, his mother’s people instilled in every member of the tribe a sense of responsibility for the welfare of them all. Family was everything.
This
was why he’d come to England.
It was no surprise that Lily spoke first. “We’re here,” she said rigidly, as if he couldn’t see them clearly. At twenty-two, she was the oldest. Looking at her he wasn’t sure why she hadn’t married yet. Her hair was a glossy chestnut brown, her skin flawless and pale, and her eyes a clear blue. He wouldn’t describe her as a raving beauty, but she was certainly very pretty, and he knew from his meetings with his father’s solicitors that she had a generous dowry.
James had described her as far too independent by nature, and maybe it was true. She certainly made no secret of her lack of desire to come to London, but Jonathan had insisted, since he could hardly supervise new wardrobes and the other—to him a mystery—nuances of what it took to launch a young lady into London society on his own. They had one aunt who was a possibility as a chaperone, but she suffered from a disease of the joints and was currently still in Essex, unable to make the journey.
So it was up to him. At least Lillian had been through a launch into society before. He needed help of some kind, and if she wasn’t willing to do it for him, she needed to do it for their two younger sisters.
“Your arrival is duly noted.” He strolled in and headed for the brandy decanter. When dealing with three females who were virtually strangers and not necessarily friendly, a little fortitude was not a bad idea. “How was the journey?” he inquired politely.
“Tolerable.”
He picked up a glass, dashed some of the amber liquid into it from the decanter, and took a healthy sip. It allowed him a moment to decide how to respond. After all, he didn’t know his half sisters well, and culturally they were an ocean apart from him. “Glad to hear it.”
Three pairs of blue eyes regarded him with what was probably well-deserved disparagement for such an innocuous comment.
His smile was crooked. “Let me rephrase. I am delighted that all three of you have decided to join me here in London, for without you I am uncertain that I will behave myself with the decorum associated with the earls of Augustine.”
“Word has it,” Lily said with frosty propriety, “you have already failed there, my lord.”
Chapter 3
I
t was very difficult to live a lie, and more so when facing down her older brother, his dark inquiring gaze seeming to go right through her.
She was
such
a fraud.
Lily sat up so straight her spine ached and with effort controlled the inner desire to burst into tears. Jonathan, the new Earl of Augustine, looked at her in question, and truly, she wasn’t even sure why she’d brought the challenge up.
She didn’t hate him. How could you hate someone you didn’t know? She did despise what he represented, which was their father’s desire to marry a heathen in America. And always, always, in her mind was how her mother had not been the love of his life but second-best, the match arranged by their families upon his return to England after the death of his first wife, Jonathan’s mother.
It was a hard task to come to terms with the fact that her mother and father had never loved each other. She hadn’t ever quite mastered it. It was ironic to realize that it had always bothered Lily far more than it bothered her mother, who had enjoyed her role as countess and freely spent her husband’s fortune.
They were both gone now, dead within days of each other from the same virulent fever, and she and her sisters were utterly dependent on this half brother that none of them knew. In her memory, Jonathan had come to England only once. Their father had preferred to visit his son in America.
She resented her brother for that too. Those long absences had been difficult. Though her mother hadn’t seemed to care overmuch, Lily had missed her beloved father terribly as a child.
Along those same lines, Jonathan had blithely brought his bastard along, as if it wasn’t going to stir up scandal. The man clearly had no sense of propriety.
At the moment, though, she’d already spoken up, so there was no use for it but to brazen it out. She cleared her throat. “You are the subject of much gossip, my lord.”
As if
she
had the right to condemn him. Her sordid mistake had kept the gossip sheets full for weeks, maybe even months.
He had the nerve to look amused. “Am I?”
“Indeed.”
There. It was said. His past indiscretion aside, she didn’t have to point out how he’d been seen publicly touching the bosom of the Duke of Eddington’s daughter. What good would that do? It was enough to level an accusing stare in his direction and wait.
After all, she was not in charge.
He
was.
A damnable truth.
They looked nothing alike. He was dark—in every way. Dark hair, dark eyes, bronze skin. Handsome . . . she supposed he was, with their father’s fine bones and his mother’s barbaric coloring. Tall, wide-shouldered, with his hair currently constrained neatly but obviously much too long to be fashionable. Society had already dubbed him “Earl Savage.”
He took another sip of the brandy and simply shrugged. “I cannot imagine why anyone would listen to common gossip.”
She wasn’t altogether surprised he dismissed society’s strictures, given his general air of disregard for convention.
But, a voice in her head pointed out with annoying logic, he wasn’t raised in England, and for that matter, he was wealthy and privileged and
male
, which meant he could do as he damn well pleased as long as it didn’t bother him to be the target of censure and avid interest. Which, it needed to be noted, he already was.
“They do,” she said acerbically.
“I see.” Maybe—just maybe—there was a small flicker of reaction in his eyes. “Do I somehow owe you all an apology?”
It was Carole who said, “No. Gentlemen are allowed to behave as they wish.”
Ever the peacemaker. Actually, both Betsy and Carole were remarkably even-tempered and well mannered.
She
was the impulsive one. Lily debated for a moment whether or not she should point out that he might owe the Duke of Eddington’s daughter an apology, but decided not to pursue an argumentative course. Jonathan would have to handle that on his own.
She had her sisters to protect. Antagonizing the current Earl of Augustine was counterproductive to her purposes. She would have stayed in the country if possible, but as much as she might be loath to admit it, he was right. She had ruined her chances for a good match, but she wanted to see both Betsy and Carole settled with suitable gentlemen. Not just because of sisterly duty but because she truly loved them and they deserved it. In the end, she said merely, “I wasn’t aware if you realized under how much scrutiny your every move will be.”
Her brother propped a shoulder against the mantel and smiled with a lazy quirk of his lips, the snifter of brandy cupped in his long fingers. “I think I’m learning. If my sisters in Essex have heard something about me, I must have committed some atrocious blunder. I don’t suppose this has to do with the lovely Lady Cecily?”
Well, at least he wasn’t
completely
unaware.
“Yes, it does. Perhaps you should keep your handkerchief to yourself,” she suggested wryly, relenting a little, because truthfully, his response was surprisingly gracious.
“My intentions were chivalrous, I assure you.”
“The problem seems to be with the execution.” Lily was acutely aware of both Betsy and Carole listening to the exchange with rapt attention. They were young, the former nineteen and the latter eighteen . . . so elaboration in their presence was not appropriate. “That aside, and since we are here, do you have any idea of how you wish to proceed with the season, my lord?”
“You are my sister, Lillian. I am sure there is no need for you to address me in such a formal manner.”
He was rather infuriatingly right, but on the other side of the coin, she had no idea of his intentions when it came to her sisters. Would he provide a proper coming out for them or would he be parsimonious about it? She didn’t know him well enough to judge. Stiffly, she said, “We do not have a close acquaintance. Formality seems appropriate.”
And safe. She liked safety. Forming attachments had always presented a problem. Look at the aching loss she’d suffered after what had happened to her parents. Look at what had happened with Arthur. There was no choice with her sisters—she loved them already. No one could dictate that she had to love
him
just because they had the same father.
“So fierce. It reminds me of the strong women of my people.”
She flushed at the undercurrent of soft mockery in his tone. Though, to be fair, she wasn’t exactly welcoming her older brother with open arms either. He sensed it, and she didn’t blame him particularly if he resented her lack of enthusiasm over his presence.
“Your people?” she asked with clipped inquiry. “May I remind you that you are an Englishman as well as a member of the aristocracy? Our family has ties back to William of Normandy.”
“I suppose I should have phrased it differently. The part of my heritage that I understand better. And for your information, my mother’s family was in America thousands of years before William of Normandy was even born. She was the daughter of a chieftain, and I am more aristocratic through her than through our father.”
That small speech, carefully modulated, stopped her, especially since he didn’t seem antagonistic as much as he was simply stating a fact. Lillian sat with her hands folded in her lap and wondered if he’d often had to defend his unusual lineage. There was something about him that said he didn’t usually bother.
The room was suddenly much too civilized, especially with him standing there, courteous and yet, despite how he was dressed, still less than English, with his different coloring and dark, uncompromising stare. He wasn’t from her world, but now he controlled it.
Unfair
.
“I’m not trying to be judgmental.” She summoned a reasonable tone. “I’m merely pointing out the repercussions of committing what could be viewed as a serious lapse in etiquette by the
ton.
”
He didn’t care. He didn’t even have to say it. It was evident in the nonchalant pose of his lean body, and the irreverent laughter in his eyes. “And what might that be?”
Ooh, he was exasperating. It was also clear that he was a free spirit, and his disregard for social criticism—if she was willing to admit it—was something they shared with their father. Papa had married extremely unconventionally, and God alone knew she’d thumbed her nose at the gossip and taken her own road. It was hypocritical for her to fault her brother for having the same flaw.
The road to ruin.
And the cost . . . dear heavens, the cost . . .
Primly, she said, “My lord, can we discuss this alone?”
“My study?” Jonathan couldn’t decide if he should be amused or annoyed as he made the suggestion. Obviously, Lily didn’t want their younger sisters to hear what she wanted to say, but he was not certain he wanted to hear it either.
“I suppose Father’s study would be acceptable.” Lily rose immediately. There was a steely glint in her eye that gave him pause, and she walked past him in a whisper of light blue muslin.
James had been a bit evasive on the subject of Lady Lillian, other than saying she was on the independent side, and Jonathan was wondering if that might not just be the understatement of the year. She was too young to be so grave, and maybe expecting her to help oversee their sisters’ debut was asking too much, but this was not familiar territory for him either. If he’d already blundered, God alone knew it just might happen again. Because he didn’t care for himself, it was difficult to understand how desperately important social status might be to his family. In his world, it was insignificant, but in theirs . . . well, someone had to teach him the rules. Adela had to be considered also. She was too young now to feel the ramifications of ostracism, but one day she might.
Both Carole and Betsy, mirror images of each other with their shining curls and blue eyes, watched them leave, neither one of them making a comment.
Of course Lillian knew the way to the study, he mused as he politely followed her decisive footsteps down the marble hallway. She had been raised between the London town house and the country estate.
He had not
. Father’s study
. Maybe in truth it belonged more to her than it did to him.
It put him in his place as the usurper—never mind that he had never wanted the title in the first place. She didn’t accept him as earl, and quite frankly, he wasn’t sure he could blame her.
That was only one of the many differences between them.
Lily immediately took a chair by the fireplace, unlit at this time of year. The window was open to the late-afternoon breeze, and the light wind blew a loose, shining curl across her cheek. She said succinctly, “We need to speak plainly.”
“My preference, always.” Jonathan folded his arms across his chest and sat casually on the edge of the desk. “Please do so, for I am in the dark as to the need for this conversation.”