“Now the girl may be as foolish as her father, I would not know, having never conversed with her, but the consideration signifies little. My son believes the sun rises and sets on the chit’s existence and has ignored my advisement he end the relationship and set his cap at another. Impetuous romantic heart of his. A curse from his mother’s side of the family. Women are plentiful in London. Leonard will be happier with someone else. Are you following, Dashwood?”
“Yes.” It seemed the right thing to say though Valerian’s mind reeled with the ridiculous logic constituting the marquess’ objection. The man would deny his son a future of happiness for his selfish unwillingness to associate with the proposed father-in-law.
Not that true love existed.
Valerian believed it as tangible as a unicorn.
Caroline proved that true years ago.
For less than a breath, his heart ached with the memory.
“Man of few words, are you?” Rigby approached, his eyebrows drawn, his forehead furrowed. “You do perceive the undertaking? I need my son disentangled from Lady Fiona with haste. Any further delay and Leonard may do something rash or worse, Parliament may begin to see reason in Nobles’ blather. I can’t take the chance.” A frown puckered his brow. “Lord Nobles is mad as hops if he believes he can convince the House of Lords to pursue financial reduction on the subject of taxation. He is brash and loud spoken and I will not have my name associated with such weak-minded theory.”
“Understood.” Rigby didn’t seem to mind the pithy answer, too engrossed in his own objective.
“Indeed.” The marquess nodded his head in affirmation. “Leonard will escort Fiona to the Collingsworth gathering tomorrow evening. I’ve already secured your invitation.” He reached into his left breast pocket and produced a letter written on ivory paper. “Your service comes highly recommended. A resourceful endeavor, if I may say, and of course, there is the matter of your price.” Rigby’s eyes flared, as if he wished to communicate everything left unsaid. “While an extraordinary amount, I’ll stop at nothing to see this through. Your associate explained the delicate nature of your finances and the oddity of circumstance.”
Rigby paused and a flash of conflicted sympathy colored his eyes.
Val’s right brow climbed. Delicate nature? Oddity of circumstance? The very devil. What did Jasper suggest to the man?
“When our business is completed, you’ll be richer by five thousand pounds.”
Rigby’s last three words yanked Val from his Jasperian considerations, and this time he remained silent, any final comment dissolved by the prospect of financial recovery.
Wilhelmina lowered the brim of her bonnet a full two inches before darting a glance beyond the overstocked shelves of McMulberry’s Literary Emporium. In a stroke of pure serendipity she’d visited Bond Street Millinery two days previous and found herself unwittingly involved in a conversation debating the intricacies of tatted blonde lace. Lady Rigby insisted the finest fripperies were imported from Belgium, while her companion, a formidable dowager with silver hair, insisted the most delicate creations originated in Spain. Wilhelmina, having entered the shop to purchase an agreeable muslin befitting a matchmaker’s gown, was drawn into the argument by fault of proximity and asked to settle the issue. She had no opportunity to object as a swath of each trimming was forced into her hands. Wilhelmina had chosen Belgium lace much to the overt disagreement of the silver-haired dowager who stormed off mumbling her discontent. In turn, she’d won the allegiance of Lady Rigby, who’d come to the millinery to purchase a gift for her son to offer the lady who’d caught his eye. Without pause, Lady Rigby launched into a lengthy dissertation on her yearning for grandchildren, thus presenting Wilhelmina the ideal opportunity to extend her matchmaking services. With alacrity, Lady Rigby accepted.
Now, awaiting an assignation with a woman she hardly knew, Wilhelmina hoped the marchioness proved the answer to her prayers. If things went well, Lady Rigby might inform other exacting mothers, anxious to see their sons and daughters settled, and Wilhelmina’s temporary foray into the business world could flourish.
She huffed a small breath to steel her courage. It all equaled money for Livie’s treatments. This solitary reason eased Wilhelmina’s anxiety and smoothed her far ruffled feathers touting she should not be in public unescorted nor keeping secrets from her aunt. The clock on the wall showed half past noon. She would need to craft a solid excuse for having stayed away so long. Since coming to live with Aunt Kate, life had proceeded with a predictable and simplistic pattern. She occasionally joined the tea social, favored morning walks to take the air, and often read a book in the modest garden behind the town house. She could never be labeled a social butterfly, her range of activities fairly conservative.
Much to her relief, Lady Rigby entered a heartbeat later. They made eye contact and together melted into the back shelves of the biography section, guaranteeing a modicum of privacy away from the Palladian glass windows decorated with literary enticements aimed to lure customers.
“Thank you for meeting me under such unusual circumstances, but if there is one place I know my husband would never enter, it’s a bookshop. Never mind the biography section. He’s too interested in his own point of view to expand his mind with ideas from others.”
“I see.” Wilhelmina thought it best not to remark further. The sooner she concluded their agreement, the better. “As I explained, it is vital my identity and purpose be kept secret, so your subterfuge serves us well. Do not give it another consideration. Now how may I help you?”
Lady Rigby darted her eyes left and right and lowered her head, her voice a conspiratorial tone. “My son is very interested in Lady Fiona. He speaks of her ad infinitum, and I can tell from the twinkle in his eyes, she is firmly planted in his heart. Yet for an unidentifiable reason, the lady appears reluctant. Leonard couldn’t be more dashing, his cravat is always freshly starched and his manners impeccable. He epitomizes the proper gentleman.” Her face displayed unconcealed worry. “I would despair were he heartbroken, but with your assistance, perhaps the lady may come to recognize the fine prospect my son represents.”
Wilhelmina considered the situation, despising her need to manipulate the truth and interfere in love’s path, but in truth, she would merely encourage the couple. Notwithstanding her reservations, matchmaking was a common practice among the ton and this effort was purely for Livie’s benefit. Were Wilhelmina to achieve success with this scheme, his mother’s recommendation would reach far within social circles ensuring more funds for her sister’s care. Her conscious inched closer to assuagement.
“Of course, I’m prepared to pay you handsomely if you accomplish this goal.”
The mention of money was the very incentive to snap Wilhelmina’s attention to the forefront. The ladies finalized the remaining details and Lady Rigby strode away, mixing with the other shoppers exiting the bookshop as if planning her son’s future composed a daily occurrence.
Not so for Wilhelmina.
Her heart pounded a fierce beat at the thought of entering society under false pretenses, conversing with strangers, and encouraging their advances. Her reserved, quiet nature was never challenged in the country and as of yet, her experiences in London had been limited to Aunt Kate’s weekly tea social. Attending large-scale engagements reached beyond her comfort, but she’d manage for Livie. For both of them, truly.
Head bowed for fear of being recognized by an acquaintance, Wilhelmina concentrated on the tips of her slippers as she swept from the bookshop and pushed forward into the crowded London walkway. Anxiety took a stronger hold with each step on the pavement, echoed in the rattle of carriage traffic and vendors hawking their wares. A newspaper boy’s call for customers was accompanied by the steady bark of a dog near his feet. The crack of a leather whip, a horse’s whinny, the sudden laughter of shoppers