The Archaeologist's Daughter (Regency Rendezvous Book 3) Read online

  “And friend,” Lanora said firmly.

  Grace nodded. “Certainly, we’re friends. My mama raised you with me, in that giant fortress your papa calls a house. Why he never got you a proper nanny after your grandfather died, or even before, I’ll never know.”

  “I daresay he simply forgot.” Lanora’s tone was wistful. “Who would remind him? I don’t believe he even read my letters when I was a child, he missed Mama so much. Not that I could write very well, or had anything to say.” Not that he seemed to read most of them now, though she wrote almost weekly.

  Lanora could see Grace’s pursed lips in the mirror. She knew her friend was trying to contain one of her most worn rants. For all Grace claimed they were practically sisters, she still saw a difference in their station. She resented Lanora being raised more as a member of the staff than as a duke’s daughter. In Grace’s view, it simply wasn’t right.

  Lanora didn’t resent it one bit. What need had she for needlepoint or water colors? She could play and sing to brighten their days and evenings. She’d learned from her father’s books, as well. She could read and write in Latin, Greek, French and Italian, though she didn’t speak any of the four. She knew her figures well enough to get by. Her knowledge of geography, history and politics was excellent.

  She’d also learned to ride, shoot and pick locks. She’d attempted Egyptian, but fell short. In her younger mind, she’d believed her father would appreciate her efforts and send for her. She wanted to be the perfect addition to his archeological team. Then, he would keep her by his side and they would be a family.

  Lanora suppressed a sigh. She knew now he would never send for her, no matter how much she learned. So here she was, not possessing all the skills she should to be a lady, though she’d never admit as much to the world. No one would ever know, of course, that she couldn’t paint, stitch prettily or draw, so the skills mattered little.

  Dancing was a greater difficulty. Lanora was accomplished at the country reels she and the staff enjoyed. London dances were more complex, though. Most, she could pick up from watching, for they were adaptations on what she knew. The new dance, the waltz, was confounding. Fortunately, one frosty glance and an easily spread rumor of her disdain for the scandalous activity kept any gentleman from daring to waltz with her.

  “Arms out,” Grace said.

  Lanora complied, and Grace fitted another layer over her. “It really would be nice to have you with me to talk to.”

  “You’ll have your aunt.”

  Lanora groaned. “Aunt Edith will only talk about one thing.”

  “You love her terriers.”

  “I do, but there’s the carriage ride over, the whole evening, and the ride back. How many hours would you want to speak about who treed a squirrel, or the upcoming litter, or the arguments for and opposed to letting their hair grow down over their eyes, based on breed, of course?”

  “I thought dogs had fur, not hair, and why would you allow it to grow down over their eyes?”

  Lanora closed hers. “No. I am not permitting the discussion of terriers to commence already.”

  “You began it.”

  She popped her eyes open and narrowed them at Grace.

  “Well, you did.” Grace tugged at Lanora’s pale sage green gown to ensure it draped properly. “Now get your slippers, the matching ones this time. I’ll go see if your aunt is ready. No sense you lingering in the foyer while she kisses two dozen pups goodbye.”

  Lanora went to dig in her wardrobe as Grace departed. She pulled out cream slippers that would go perfectly well, and a pair that seemed more blue than green. Pale pink, light yellow and lavender followed. Her eyes went back to the cream, discarded on the floor beside her. Grace would never know.

  “For goodness sake, Lanora, they’re on the upper shelf with the other new sets. Remember?” Grace appeared around the wardrobe door, reaching to lift down slippers that matched the gown to perfection.

  Lanora took them to the bed to sit while she put them on. “This is silly. All that money on slippers that are worn what, a handful of times at most? Think of all the people that would feed.”

  “Think of all the people they did feed, to bring the materials and fashion them into footwear for you.”

  Lanora stood and wiggled her toes in the slippers. “A cream pair would match most every gown here.” She gestured to the pastel montage. “It isn’t as if I’m permitted to wear any interesting colors.” None that would actually look good with her unrelentingly black hair.

  “I thought we agreed you know nothing about fashion and it should be left to me.” Grace’s gaze took in the scattered slippers. “I’ll give the old pairs to the poor, if you like, but now you must go. Your aunt is waiting in the carriage.”

  Lanora squared her shoulders and smoothed all expression from her face. “Hopefully, we won’t be late.”

  “Hopefully, you will. Have a lovely time. Steal a kiss with a charming gentleman for me.”

  That cracked Lanora’s façade. She laughed as she headed for the staircase, but regained composure by the time she reached the bottom. Steal a kiss indeed. Even if she encountered a gentleman who inspired the notion, she was much too reasonable to do any such thing.

  The night was cool as she descended the steps and let a footman hand her into the carriage. She settled across from her aunt, who wore a billowing gown that was older than Lanora. Two terriers sprawled on the floor of the carriage. They would make nice foot warmers on the ride home. A third sat beside Aunt Edith, nose turned toward the outside world.

  “You look pretty tonight, dear,” Aunt Edith said.

  “Thank you, Aunt. You do as well.”

  Her aunt cackled. “Do you hear that, Fetcher, my niece just called me pretty.” She patted the rough coat of the terrier beside her. “I’m no prettier than Fetcher here, but you’re kind to say it.”

  “Fetcher is adorable.” Lanora smiled at the scruffy blond dog. “You know, in a flea-bitten, grubby, unkempt sort of way.”

  Aunt Edith laughed anew. She slapped her knee, releasing a puff of dust from the gown. “You find a gentleman who appreciates you calling your old aunt flea-bitten and you’ll have a winner, girl.”

  Lanora’s smile vanished. “I don’t wish to find a gentleman. Surely you’ve gathered that? I will be like you. You had a husband for only a day, and you’re the happiest woman I know.”

  Aunt Edith shook her grey head. “I was fortunate enough to wed a dying man, and to have a brother. You have no one. The world knows your father’s left everything to you but his title and the one entailed estate. Think of your home and all your love, girl. Who will care for the tenants when your father and you are gone? You’ve got to get yourself with child, then raise that child to love those things you love. Otherwise, the Solworth properties will fall into bits and pieces and who knows what will become of all those beholden to you?”

  Lanora leaned back in her seat, dismayed. She’d never thought of her life in those terms. Was that the sort of thing a man said to his son, to cause him to marry? It was a compelling argument.

  “It’s not fair,” she whispered.

  “I daresay it isn’t.” Aunt Edith patted Fetcher on the head. “Not fair you haven’t a brother, or lost your mama, or never see your father, but you’ve a good head on you, girl. You’ll see it all come right.”

  “But I don’t want a gentleman,” Lanora said. “Someone to own what is mine, order me about and tell me who my friends may be. I want to be free, like you, or Queen Elizabeth.”

  “You hear that, Fletcher? Now I’m akin to the Virgin Queen.” Aunt Edith chuckled. “Give it some thought, girl. This is your first season and you’ve hardly eighteen years to your name. You may find, if you don’t glower at them so, a gentleman worth marrying. Perhaps he’s one of the handful who still dares dance with you. You can hope so, since you’ve scared the others away.”

  Lanora made the rest of the journey in silence, contemplating her aunt’s words. She knew only a
small portion of the Solworth estate must be passed to a male heir, in this case, a cousin. She knew she would receive the remainder. Her aunt was correct, though. Lanora had never thought about what would happen to everyone she cared for once she was gone. Her father never spoke of such things. Should she write to him for his thoughts? It seemed the sort of letter he would conveniently claim never reached him in Egypt.

  The carriage turned down a wide cobbled drive. They were late enough to have avoided the initial press, and in short order came to a halt before a splendidly lit home. It was a new construction, large by London standards, near the edge of town. Statues adorned the corners, and lurked on the roof high above, over the vast entry door.

  Lanora allowed their footman to hand her down. She offered him a murmur of thanks before firming her expression into frostiness. Her aunt may be correct, but the issue required lengthier contemplation than a carriage ride. Lanora would need to appear approachable but once to ruin months of work. Before she permitted that to happen, she must think longer on the dilemma Aunt Edith had set before her.

  “Now, you lot be good and help guard the carriage,” Aunt Edith said behind Lanora. “You know you can’t come with me. I’ll sneak you back some fancy fare.”

  While her aunt went through her goodbyes, Lanora amused herself by picturing the fun of bringing the scruffy little miscreants inside with them. They would steal the spread. They would trip dancers and leave fur imbedded in finely upholstered chairs, to end up on ladies’ gowns. It would be a delightful distraction from a tedious evening of staring down gentlemen until they gave up trying to persuade her to dance.

  Lanora waited while her aunt clambered down from the carriage unassisted, then followed her into the crowded, noise-and-light-filled home. Fine material and chatter abounded, the gentlemen clad in dark and the ladies in light. The high ceilings were alive with idyllic country scenes. The clamor of color that swam above nearly outshone the sea of black tailcoats and bouquet of gowns below.

  Proper greetings were exchanged with their hosts. Aunt Edith set a straight line toward the few old friends she had in London. As they pressed through the hot sea of guests, Lanora considered sneaking away. She wished to be alone with the thoughts her aunt’s words stirred in her head.

  As they drew near the flock of older women, Lanora realized there was a rooster among the hens, though an elegantly clad one. He stood at least a foot taller than the mamas and aunts clustered around him. His back was to her, but she recognized the unruly mane and the indolent stance. If those clues weren’t enough, the breathless quality to the giggles he was enticing spoke volumes. Lord William Greydrake, future Marquess of Westlock.

  Lanora’s steps faltered. The terrace or perhaps the library would be preferable to Lord William’s rakishness, so disappointingly at odds with her hopes for a man raised by her father’s friend, Mr. Darington, in the land her father inhabited. Lord William turned his head, looked over his shoulder, and caught her gaze. His mouth stretched in a lazy smile.

  She clenched her hands, but would not be seen to back away. Her face a mask, Lanora followed her aunt, who marched directly to Lord William. The circle of women gave way as he turned, stepped forward, and bowed.

  “Lady Edith.” He had a rich, deep voice. Experience told Lanora she could recognize it across a room. “I do not know if you recall, but we were introduced some time ago. I’m—”

  “Lord William.” Her aunt’s tone was impartial. “You have the look of your father about you.”

  Did Lanora imagine the shadow that darkened his eyes?

  “You will hold that against me, I take it?” His tone was light, but the shadow remained.

  Aunt Edith shook her head. “No, for you’re more your mother’s son, I think, and she was a good soul.”

  The surrounding women murmured, exchanging looks. Everyone must suspect Aunt Edith meant to insult the future marquess, accusing him of being like his mad, violent mother. Knowing her aunt, Lanora thought not.

  Lord William certainly seemed offended, though, all light leaving his eyes. Smile frozen in place, he looked past Aunt Edith and bowed to Lanora. “I’m afraid I have not had the pleasure of being introduced to your niece.”

  Chapter Seven

  William took Lady Lanora’s extended hand, bowing over it. Thus far, he’d maintained his distance, for she and her father could easily learn he’d never set foot in Egypt. Now, he found the cold perfection glimpsed from afar was nothing compared to the spark held deep in her emerald green eyes.

  “Lord William.” She annunciated with precision, but he’d heard her speaking as Mrs. Smith. He could tease from those short syllables the soft country lilt she kept hidden.

  “Lady Lanora. I have long wished to avail myself of your renowned beauty for the length of a set.”

  The aunt, frumpy and too-shrewd, gave a satisfied nod and turned away, effectively cutting them off from the gaggle of matrons at his back.

  “Is that your version of requesting a dance, my lord?”

  William couldn’t contain a smile as he permitted his gaze to roam over her. She was so very cool. Her façade was impeccable. If he didn’t know she donned dowdy garb and passed out bread in the poorest corner of London, he would have deemed her not worth his while. Her beauty was flawless, but William required something more than outward charms to stir his interest. At the least, a woman should have a notion of how they might enjoy themselves.

  Not a line marred Lady Lanora’s brow as she attempted to tug her fingers from his. “I can see you are confounded by a simple question. If you’ll excuse me, my lord.”

  Far from relinquishing her, William raised her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “My apologies. I was struck dumb by your beauty. That was, indeed, my attempt at inviting you to dance.”

  With an assertive pull, she drew her hand away. “I’m afraid, though my card is not yet filled out, my time is promised. I have existing arrangements.”

  “Oh? With someone special?” Which would ruin his plans. If he must be courting someone from Lethbridge’s list, Lady Lanora was the only remotely interesting option.

  She cast a quick look about at the growing ring of observers. “No one is special, my lord.”

  Did she truly mean no one was special, or was she simply trying to disparage the hungry looking fellows who edged nearer to overhear them? Fortune hunters. Bounders. Social climbers. She was correct. Not a one of them was worthy of her.

  “Surely you have a waltz free?” He hadn’t thought her frame could go any more rigid, but it did.

  “Only because, as you have must have observed, I do not approve of the dance.”

  So rumor had it. “I’ve never seen you attempt it, whether to approve or disapprove.” He added a touch of mockery to his tone.

  “Why should I attempt that which is scandalous?”

  He leaned near, lowering his voice. “If you agree to one waltz with me, I shall not make a scene here and now.”

  “Extortion, my lord?” Her eyes narrowed. “I should have thought, even with your reputation, such tactics would be beneath you.”

  William offered a lazy smile, one that served him well with all manner of women. “So you follow my reputation? Then you should know I am the worst sort of scoundrel. No tactic is beneath me when confronted with beauty such as yours.”

  “You seek to impress me with your infamy?”

  If not for the quickening of her pulse, discernable in her slender neck, he would have deemed her wholly unaffected. “Women love a bounder.” He held up a hand before she could speak. “You will deny it, but they do. Look to every parlor in London. You’ll find clippings of that rogue Lefthook, carefully gathered by trembling hands and oft clutched to heaving maidenly bosoms.”

  “From what I have heard, Lord Lefthook is not a rogue at all.” Her words were clipped. “Though obviously a man of little means, he risks himself to aid others.”

  “A man of little means, is he?” The idea amused William.
r />   “It can be deduced he knows the part of the city he roams rather well, as he’s not known to have failed in any of his feats. He apparently patrols it with ease.” She shrugged, the motion much more entrancing than when most women employed it. “Therefore, he lives there. How else could he be so familiar?”

  “And a man who lives in that borough must be poor.” Like all the ton, she would look down on one who didn’t reside in the proper part of London.

  Green eyes studied him. William realized he’d let a hint of bitterness touch his voice. He endeavored for another easy smile. It felt stale.

  “A poor man can be every inch as good as a wealthy man,” her words were soft. “An argument might be made that it’s more likely so.”

  William didn’t conceal his surprise. This was the hidden side of Lady Lanora. “Hardly a fitting philosophy for the daughter of a duke.”

  The coldness in her demeanor redoubled. “I daresay not. My point remains. Lefthook is obviously an honorable man.” She squared her shoulders. “Unlike you, my lord.”

  He raised his eyebrows, taken aback in spite of her reputation for putting men in their places. “If you were a man, I would challenge you for that.”

  “If I were a man, I would meet you at dawn,” she said without a hint of prevarication.

  How marvelous she was. He hadn’t dreamed the ice queen of the ton contained such fire. “I can think of a much more enjoyable way for us to be together come dawn.”

  He braced himself for a slap and the shock that would race through the room, confirming both their reputations. Instead, she looked down. Though the action concealed much, he could see her cheeks round. Was Lady Lanora smiling at his innuendo?

  Her lack of composure gave him the moments he required to regain his. “Agree to one waltz with me, my lady,” he pressed, now eager to experience the feel of her in his arms. “I can promise you the reason it’s scandalous is because it’s quite enjoyable.”