Edmund nodded. “You need entry to Almack’s, a presentation at Court, and better lodgings.” He cast a critical gaze around the room. “This is fine for bachelor quarters, but it won’t do for a dinner party. Shouldn’t think you could get more than four, five couples in here at most. And the downstairs is much too small.”
Alec’s exasperation rose.
“Too small for what?”
“The new servants.”
It was suddenly difficult for him to swallow. “Why would I want more servants?”
The duke’s mouth twitched. “Though I know this will pain you, Edmund has a point. My aunt has no less than three personal servants just to keep her clothing in order and dress her hair. Your wife will need as many.”
Alec groaned.
“Perhaps you would have been better off with the lovely Therese,” Lucien said, a distinct challenge in his voice.
“Perhaps you would be better off in your own lodgings,” Alec retorted.
Lucien grinned. “This marriage will either make you or break you, my friend. Care to wager which it will be?”
Alec didn’t answer. With as much dignity as he could muster, he stood and crossed to the door, closing it behind him with a bang.
Lucien regarded the door thoughtfully. Alec was the one person he counted as friend. Life had dealt them both unfair hands, yet neither one had bowed. He only wished there was some way he could prevent Alec from making the same mistakes he had made—mistakes that had ruined more lives than his own. Lucien sighed and shook his head. While he knew the old duke’s determination to bring Alec to heel sprang from sincere concern, he had to deplore such heavy-handed methods.
“It’ll never work,” said Edmund into the silence. “If he doesn’t come out strong and do the thing right, he’ll be in the suds in no time.”
Lucien pulled his attention to the younger man. ‘Tell me, halfling, have you ever spoken with the Frant Dragon
?“
“No. Have you?”
“Once.
She was seated beside me at the Melroses’ dinner party last month. I spent three hours with her, and frankly, I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a conversation more. If she has a failing, it is that she is honest to a fault.”
Edmund brightened. “Perhaps it won’t be so hard for Alec, after all. I mean, if she’s as charming as that—”
“Oh, I think he’ll have his hands full. Julia Frant is a woman of great fortitude.”
Edmund grimaced. “No wonder Alec looked so ill at ease.”
“He is in for a perilous journey. He may have married by the deadline, but he still has a long year ahead.”
“He will need our assistance. God knows he’s helped me out of more scrapes than I can count.” Edmund leaned forward eagerly. “What can we do?”
Lucien flipped his cheroot into the fireplace. “We have to help the lovely Julia become society’s most dashing matron. It’s the only way to counteract whatever evil Therese and Nick cook up.”
A doubtful expression crossed the chubby face. “What do we know about married women?”
The duke lifted a brow. “Pray tell, did you not just leave the warm bed of the buxom Lady Chowerton?”
A dull red flush burned its way across Edmund’s cheeks. “Yes, but-—”
“And isn’t there a Lord Chowerton lurking somewhere in the distance?”
“Tare and hounds, Luce!”
Edmund exclaimed in a strangled tone. “Fanny is another matter altogether. Chowerton is twice her age and more. Besides, I shouldn’t think Alec would want us to teach Julia about… well, I mean, dash it, we couldn’t teach her how to—”
“Don’t be a gudgeon, Edmund. Of course we couldn’t. Now listen to me, stripling, for I will say this but once: we know the dressing, eating, and personal habits of at least half of the married women in the
ton
. All we need to do is teach those habits to Alec’s young wife. That, along with Lady Birlington’s sponsorship, will get our Julia in the door.”
Edmund bit his lip.
“If Maddie’ll do it.
I ain’t saying she won’t, mind you, for you never know what sort of an idea she might take to.” He shook his head. “I still can’t help but wonder if the women we know are the types Alec’d want his wife to emulate.”
Lucien rubbed his temple and wondered why he had adopted this young cub. Actually, it was more the other way around. One never invited Edmund; he just appeared. Impervious to snubs, the lad wormed his way into their company so
often,
Lucien had actually missed the silly youth when Edmund had escorted his long-suffering mother to the country.
Sighing, Lucien said patiently, “Edmund, where is Lady Chowerton this morning?”
Edmund’s brow furrowed in thought.
“Visiting Lady Cowper.
Then, she’s off to the Winnifreds’ tea.”
“Where will she be tomorrow?”
“The theatre.
Said I might see her there. She’s wearing an atrocious gown the exact pattern of my mother’s window shades, gold with green stripes. I told her not to wear it, but—”
“Of course she will be at the theatre,” Lucien interrupted. “The whole world attends the new play. And then, on Thursday night, you can be assured the lovely Fanny will attend the Seftons’ rout. She is accepted everywhere. No breath of scandal has ever touched her name.” He shrugged. “So long as one is discreet, one may do as one pleases.”
Edmund bounded from his chair. “By Jove, you are right, Luce! I hadn’t thought of it like that. All Alec has to do is show Julia how to get on and teach her to be discreet. You and I can see to it that he does the thing in style.” He stood, wide-eyed and annoyingly eager. “Where shall we begin?
Tattersalls, to look for a carriage?
Or should we attempt to soften Lady Birlington?”
“First, you and I have an errand of a more delicate kind.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“We are about to start a rumor of our own.”
The solicitor examined the marriage license, his long nose flaring ever so slightly. Julia stared, fascinated, wondering if the little man could smell the ink.
Alec shifted impatiently in the hard chair. “When can you transfer the funds?”
Julia suppressed a sigh. Alec had been in a foul mood since this morning, no doubt regretting their hasty marriage. It was a great pity he felt that way, because once she had been revived by a hot bath and a swallow of rum, she’d felt only dreamlike wonder at her changed circumstances. Dreamlike
wonder,
and the tiniest bit of excitement.
Mr. Pratt’s gaze lifted over the rim of his glasses as he placed the marriage license back on the desk. “It appears the document is legal.”
“Of course it’s legal,” Alec growled. The chair creaked as he leaned forward. “The will does not specify which late Earl of Covington, so the conditions have been met. I expect the funds to be placed in my account by this afternoon.”
The first thing she needed to do, Julia decided, was work on improving Alec’s uncertain temper. She glanced at her impatient husband,
then
wished she hadn’t. He looked wildly handsome, a scowl darkening his brow, his eyes snapping
a frosty
silver. Her heart quickened and a hot prickle traveled slowly up her arms and came to rest on the nape of her neck. She had to fight the urge to shiver.
The solicitor rested his elbows on the desk and pressed his fingertips together. “My lord, this is a very delicate matter. Your grandfather’s instructions were explicit. I’m afraid it will take days, maybe even weeks, before the executors authorize the release of the funds.”
‘The executors
be
damned. I want the money transferred today
.“
“Just who are these executors?” Julia glanced from her scowling husband to Mr. Pratt. Thank goodness Alec had returned her spectacles. She wouldn’t have been able to see the condescension in the solicitor’s smile, and it was important to know just where one stood in matters like these.
“Lady Hunterston, the executors are men of value and worth, carefully selected by the late earl to oversee the distribution of his estate—”
“They are a bunch of prosy bores.” Alec glowered. “Where in the hell did my grandfather meet up with such cheese-paring fops, anyway?”
The solicitor’s nose flared in earnest. “I assure you, my lord, these sentiments don’t become you. Your grandfather had your best interests at heart in selecting such honorable men.”
Julia wished the man would just cease speaking. His pontificating was annoying Alec into a lather. Hands clenched around the arms of his chair, her husband tensed as if coiled to spring. Julia placed one of her hands over his and leaned toward the solicitor. “I’m sure the executors are exemplary men, Mr. Pratt.”
He appeared mollified. “Thank you, my lady. They are indeed.” The solicitor shot a sharp glance at Alec and sniffed. “I should remind you, my lord, that many an estate has been lost due to inexpert handling. There have even been cases where executors have lined their own pockets at the expense of others.”
“I wouldn’t mind sharing some of that blasted fortune if they would cease their warbling.”
Before the solicitor could respond, Julia interceded, “How long do you think it will be before the funds are released?”
“Two, perhaps three months, if—”
Alec started. “That is unacceptable! If Julia and I are to live within the confines of society for the specified time, we will need access to the funds.”
Julia nodded. They would, indeed. And she had no intention of sitting around for months doing nothing, when she could be assisting so many.
Mr. Pratt frowned. “I am sure, my lord, you understand how long these matters can take, but I assure you we will attempt to—”
“May I please see the will?” asked Julia. She’d had enough squabbling for one day. Her head was beginning to ache anew.
The solicitor lifted his thin brows. “It’s an impressive legal document. I sincerely doubt you would be able to decipher it.”
“I’ve read many legal documents, Mr. Pratt. Debtor’s court, you know.”
His mouth opened then closed. Finally, he managed to ask, “Debtor’s court?”
“Paupers.”
“P-paupers?”
The solicitor looked as if he could no longer swallow.
“Lady Hunterston is a great believer in charity work,” said Alec hastily, slicing a warning glance in her direction.
The solicitor’s brow cleared. “Oh,
charity work
! That’s very noble of you, Lady Hunterston, and quite a fitting occupation for a young lady of your station.”
“I’m not
noble,
I just do what is necessary.” She started to request the document once more, but Alec’s hand enveloped hers. Julia could only subside into the warmth of his grasp. She stared at his hand and noted how long and elegant his fingers were and wished she didn’t have gloves on.
“Mr. Pratt, the will, if you please,” Alec said.
The solicitor looked astounded. “You’ve seen the document several times, my lord. Surely you don’t—”
“Until today, I have been very happy with the services of Pratt, Pratt, and Son. I
had
intentions of retaining you as my personal solicitor to oversee the disbursement.”
The solicitor paled.
“Your lordship!
This firm has represented the Bridgeton family since—”
“If you insult Lady Hunterston, you will leave me no choice. She is my wife.” Alec lifted Julia’s hand in his and turned it over. With the care of a surgeon, he pushed the edge of her glove from her wrist and placed a lingering kiss on her bare skin. “You can understand why I would take offense at anyone who denies her such a simple request.”
Even though she knew it was only a show designed to fluster the solicitor, Julia forgot everything… where she was, what they were trying to accomplish, why she had even wanted to see the blasted will in the first place. She forgot everything, that is, but the surge of heat racing through her at the feel of Alec’s lips against her naked skin. Even after he released her, she couldn’t look away from the spot where his beautiful mouth had touched her.
Mr. Pratt swallowed noisily. “I never meant to imply… of course I wish to assist Lady Hunterston in any way possible.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a sheaf of papers, and slid them across the desk.
Alec glanced at the will indifferently before handing it to Julia. Silence settled in the room as she took the papers and began thumbing through them, so bemused by Alec’s sensuous kiss that it took her several minutes before she could even focus. Little by little, the complex wording drew her in.
She reached the final page and lifted her gaze to the solicitor. “It says here that if the will is contested, the executors must release the funds to Lord Hunterston on the arranged schedule until all issues are resolved.”
Mr. Pratt folded his hands together. “I am aware, Miss Frant—”
“Lady Hunterston,” corrected Alec in soft warning.
The solicitor had the grace to look shamefaced.
“Of course.
Lady Hunterston, I realize you think you understand this situation, but—”
“Read it yourself,” said Julia. She slid the document across the desk.
“This page, last paragraph.”
Mr. Pratt took the document. “I know the wording well. Lord Hunterston and I have gone over it many times.”
‘The executors must release the funds according to the schedule
.“
“Only in the event the will itself is contested.”
The solicitor’s superior smile raked along Julia’s nerves. “As I was saying—”
“Lord Hunterston and I contest the will.”
“
What?"
asked Alec and the solicitor in
unison.
“We have no choice.” Julia looked at Alec. “If we contest the will, they have to release the funds. If we don’t, they could debate the issue an entire year if they wished.”
Mr. Pratt flushed. “Lady Hunterston, I assure you the executors do not—”
“If we contest the will, it will be out of the executors’ hands.” She tilted her head toward the solicitor.
“Out of yours, too.”
His startled gaze slid from her to the will. Slowly, word by word, he read the place she had indicated. Then he read it again, his brow lowering more each time.