Chapter 5

J o woke up to a note from Sheff telling her that he'd tracked her father down at Lord Gerard's soiree, and that he had not yet given his approval for their marriage. That would come, Sheff had explained, after her father called on her today and ensured she wanted to wed.

Now Jo not only had to tell her mother about the betrothal scheme with Sheff, but also that her estranged husband would be calling. It was nearly enough to make Jo want to take the money Sheff had already given her and flee London.

Instead, she knocked on the study door, knowing her mother was inside working, having returned from Marcel's house a few hours earlier. Jo took a deep breath as her mother bade her enter.

Jo's mother sat in the chair at her desk with her eyes closed and waved a fan with considerable vigor over her face and chest. The windows had been thrown open, and the overall temperature of the room was quite cool. Jo concluded that her mother was having another one of her "heat intolerances," which had started a year or so ago.

Jo was especially sorry to bother her mother after she was already discomfited. "Pardon me for interrupting, Mama, but I've an important matter to discuss with you."

"I do hope Weston will be cooler in the summer than London," Jo's mother said, opening her eyes. "Marcel assures me there will be a lovely ocean breeze."

"That sounds restorative," Jo said, going to sit in the chair situated next to her mother's desk.

Her mother straightened in her chair, but continued to ply her fan as she addressed Jo. "What is your important matter?"

Jo had rehearsed what to say—she did this often when she wanted to discuss something important or when she wanted to remember certain points she wished to make—but at the moment, she was struggling to recall how to begin. "I'm going to accept a marriage proposal."

Brows drawing together tightly and lips pursing, Jo's mother stopped waving the fan as she spoke. "Who has proposed?"

"He hasn't yet, but he will be here shortly. There is a caveat, however." Jo smoothed her hands over her lap. "This will be a fake betrothal for the remainder of the Season."

Her mother employed the fan once more. "Explain."

"I'm going to assist Shefford. His parents won't let him alone with regard to taking a wife, so he'd like to put an end to their haranguing."

"Of course it would be Shefford," her mother muttered. "A temporary, fake betrothal will stop nothing. I credited him with being smarter than that."

"He thinks it could have a lasting effect, and anyway, that doesn't concern me. He's asked for my help and will be compensating my efforts."

Her mother's brown, sculpted brows now shot up. "You should have started with that part, for that is the most important and explains right away why you have agreed to such nonsense. How much?"

Jo was not surprised that her mother would want the financial details. She'd considered lying so that her mother wouldn't try to manage any of it, but she'd only ever lied to her mother once. She'd been nine years old, and she'd lied about taking in a kitten. Her mother had been furious and banished Jo to her room for a week. When Jo had been allowed out, she'd discovered that her mother had fallen in love with the kitten and so she'd stayed, a beloved member of their household until her passing two years ago.

"Five hundred pounds." Jo enjoyed the gleam of approval that entered her mother's gaze.

"Well done. I am impressed with your enterprising spirit. That is an excellent investment sum for your future. You needn't ever wed now, not that you needed to in the first place given the income from the club. But this provides you with even more security." She smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Liberated." Not only did Jo not have to wed, she didn't have to take over the Siren's Call if she didn't want to. It occurred to her that she was, in a way, lying to her mother by not discussing her reservations about assuming ownership of the club, but Jo hadn't firmly decided. Until then, there was no need to broach what would surely be a contentious conversation.

"Excellent." Her mother's smile broadened. "There is no better way for a woman to feel. Shefford is coming today to pretend to propose? Am I supposed to also pretend?"

"Yes, he is coming, and no, you needn't pretend—to him. He knows I've told you the truth. However, you are the only person who knows. Everyone else will think this is a real engagement and that we are in love."

Jo's mother laughed, her fan stopping in midair. "That anyone would believe either you or the Earl of Shefford would fall in love illustrates how gullible people can be. But I suppose we will see how it plays out. There will be speculation—and judgment—because of his reputation and your standing, or lack thereof. I'm sure you're prepared for that. Enduring it will be worth five hundred pounds."

"That is what I decided too," Jo said, though she still felt slightly uneasy. There was no predicting what would happen once she attended a ball. Perhaps she'd be given the cut direct. "There is one other thing." Jo braced herself. Her mother wouldn't be angry, but she would feel inconvenienced, and she disliked that intensely.

"From your tone, I can sense that I will not be enthused. I think I can surmise that this involves your father. It's only reasonable to think that the two of us will need to publicly endorse the betrothal, probably in person." She wrinkled her nose. "But he won't know the truth?"

"No. In fact, Sheff tracked him down last night and sought his approval for the betrothal."

Her mother interrupted. "At Lord Gerard's Friday soiree?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Some people seem to think I want to know what your father is doing," Jo's mother replied with a shrug. "But even if they didn't, Gerard's soirees are precisely where I would expect to find him on the first Friday evening of the month."

"I see," Jo said, more curious than ever about Lord Gerard's soirees. Perhaps Sheff would enlighten her. "Papa did not immediately offer his endorsement. He is coming here to ensure it is what I want before he grants it."

Her mother had started fanning herself again, but now stopped and frowned. "Your father is coming here. Today?"

"Shortly, I would imagine."

Blowing out a breath, Jo's mother began to fan herself zealously. "This is a great deal of effort for a fake engagement. Why is Shefford even bothering to come?"

"I suppose he thought he should be seen calling the day after we danced at the Phoenix Club." Jo hadn't asked. This was his scheme, and she would do what he planned. Though, she'd let him know if there was anything that troubled her. She'd retained the right to set rules, after all.

Laughing again, her mother slowed the movement of the fan. " Seen calling here? We don't live in Grosvenor Square. I won't quibble over the details of this farce, not when he's paying you that much. I'll set an appointment for you with the solicitor so you can discuss investment options."

"Er, thank you." Jo appreciated the help, but she also wouldn't mind doing things for herself. The word liberated had been her true feeling, and it meant something for her to be independent.

Her mother frowned. "I do want to make sure this ruse doesn't interfere with your responsibilities at the club. You will be doing more, not less, over the next few months, and you can't be gadding about town most nights of the week."

"Nor do I want to." Jo would prefer to keep her temporary involvement in the upper echelon of Society to a minimum.

Her mother scrutinized her for a moment. "Is that true? I understand you enjoy your Monday literary salons, but of late, you've been gone other nights of the week with your new set of friends, which includes Sheff's sister. You can't very well run the Siren's Call and commit to such events."

No, she could not. In the long term, anyway. Jo would have to choose. Though, she noticed her mother did not say so. She, of course, would assume that Jo would run the Siren's Call. That was the expectation.

Voices carried from the sitting room, and Jo recognized her father's as one of them. The other was their housekeeper, Mrs. Rand.

Jo stood, feeling slightly nervous as she couldn't exactly recall the last time her parents had been together.

Rising from her chair, Jo's mother snapped her fan closed. "You are smart not to tell your father the truth," she whispered. "The secret would be all over London by tomorrow."

She preceded Jo from the study into the sitting room. Jo's father stood near one of the front windows. Turning to face them, he bowed.

"Julia, you are stunning as always," he said to Jo's mother, using her given name, which Jo thought only Marcel used to address her. Hearing her father say it was strange, but then so was this entire meeting.

"You never change, Rowland," Jo's mother said. She looked to Mrs. Rand and quietly said, "No tea, thank you." The housekeeper departed into the entrance hall.

Jo went to buss her father's cheek. "It's good to see you, Papa."

"You don't seem surprised to see me," he noted with a wry expression.

"Sheff wrote to me that you were coming," Jo replied. "I informed Mama."

Her father lifted his hands. He used them often when he spoke. It was part of his enthusiastic animation. "Perhaps I should have sent word ahead. My apologies." He shifted his attention to Jo and smiled. "Now, tell me about you and the Earl of Shefford. I had no idea he was courting you." He ushered her to join him on the settee.

Jo glanced toward her mother, who was watching them with mild amusement. She did not move to sit.

"I am surprised you would marry Shefford, of all people," her father said.

Knowing she would hear this sentiment a great deal, Jo had prepared for it. "We've been friends for a while now—from the Siren's Call. Sometimes friendships bloom into something more."

"That is so true," her father replied with a nod. "And sometimes the opposite happens. Love cools to friendship." He sent a wistful smile toward Jo's mother, who'd crossed her arms. She didn't look impatient, exactly, but she did not look as though she wanted to linger.

Jo wanted to ask if her parents were actually friends. She hadn't thought so. If they were, why did they avoid one another? Couldn't they have spent holidays together if they were friendly? Or at least Jo's birthday?

Sadness wasn't something Jo felt with regard to her parents, but at the moment, a shocking melancholy swept over her.

"You're in love with one another, then?" Jo's father asked, thankfully yanking her from maudlin thoughts.

"Yes," Jo said with a bright smile. She hoped that would convince him as opposed to her gushing effusively about her fake betrothed.

"When is the wedding?" he asked.

"We haven't discussed specific dates, but not until the autumn or winter."

Her father frowned. "Why not sooner? A June wedding would be lovely, even if this spring has been positively miserable. The sun must come out eventually!" He laughed.

The weather had been cool and rainy, but that was, of course, not the reason for their delayed nuptials. "I'm not sure I want to marry in the midst of the Season, Papa." That seemed as good a reason as any. Certainly better than Sheff's—that she wanted a fur-trimmed cloak or whatever he'd said.

"I also asked if they could perchance wait," Jo's mother interjected, drawing Jo's attention. She gave Jo a slight nod, as if to communicate that she was there to help with the ruse.

"I'll be traveling to Weston for a good portion of the summer."

Except she wouldn't be leaving until July. Still, it was a lovely excuse, and Jo appreciated her mother offering it.

Jo's father angled his body toward his wife. "Weston? With Marcel?"

Her mother nodded. "He's taken a cottage there."

He goggled at her. "You're leaving London for more than a few days? I am flabbergasted."

"Sometimes change is good," Jo's mother said evenly. "Or even necessary." Her eyes narrowed just slightly as she looked at Jo's father, and Jo thought there must be some unspoken communication going on.

Jo's father turned his focus back to Jo. "For the remainder of the Season, we will do our best to support you. I know it won't be easy for you to be scrutinized as you absolutely will be." He gave her a sympathetic smile and patted her hand.

"There will be a betrothal ball," Jo said, looking from her father to her mother and back again. "It would be good if we could all arrive together—just that one time. You can leave whenever you like." She darted a glance toward her mother and caught the slight curl of her lip. Jo wasn't sure if her mother's distaste was due to having to spend time with her husband or that she'd have to attend a high society event. Not just attend, but be at the center of it.

Her father sucked in a breath. "Oh, this is going to require an entirely new wardrobe, my dear. Why did I not come to that conclusion much sooner?" He looked to his wife. "You must set an appointment with a modiste. Not any modiste—a French one. I can find out who is the most popular this Season."

"Marcel's sister will be more than adequate," Jo's mother said, referring to the woman who currently made their clothing. "She is French."

Shaking his head vehemently, Jo's father said, "Absolutely not. Jo must look like a future duchess, for she is one. I mean no offense to Marcel's sister, but Jo must be outfitted by someone the ton patronizes. She cannot afford to invite any more scorn than her position already will."

Jo flinched inwardly, though he wasn't wrong. Looking at her mother, Jo could see that she knew it too.

Exhaling, her mother said, "Then you find someone appropriate."

He moved his hands about in front of him as he slowly spoke. "Well…that is…I'm afraid I can't contribute much to a wardrobe." He sent a faint grimace toward Jo. She was not surprised to hear that he didn't have money. He never seemed to have much, but then he also never seemed to be struggling. How would Jo even know? She'd always lived with her mother.

"I wouldn't expect you to," her mother said. "We will manage." She sent Jo a pointed look, and Jo presumed her mother expected that Sheff's payment would cover the expense. Later, Jo would inform her that he was, in fact, paying for her new wardrobe outside of the five hundred pounds. Her mother would be even more impressed with how Jo would benefit from this arrangement.

The bell from the front door sounded, announcing the arrival of, presumably, Sheff. Mrs. Rand passed by the doorway and went down the stairs to the front door.

"That must be your groom," Jo's father said with a gleeful smile. "I must say, I am delighted to see you've done so well, my girl. I worried your mother had convinced you not to wed." He arched a brow at his wife, and Jo sensed a pulse of tension between them. She did not want them to do or say anything untoward while Sheff was here.

Voices drifted up the stairwell along with footfalls. Mrs. Rand appeared in the doorway and stepped aside for Sheff to move past her. "The Earl of Shefford," she announced before retreating.

"Good afternoon," Sheff said brightly, a dazzling smile lighting his features. He moved into the sitting room and bowed to Jo's mother. "Always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Harker."

"I confess I'm surprised to see you in this capacity, my lord," she said with a hint of bemusement.

"Yes, well, no one is more surprised than I to have been swept completely off my feet by your daughter." His gaze met Jo's with a heat that almost convinced her he was truly enamored of her.

"Absolutely splendid," Jo's father said, standing. "I must shake my future son-in-law's hand. I forgot to do that last night when you ran me to ground at Gerard's."

Jo caught her mother's slight grimace at the mention of Gerard. She watched as her father eagerly pumped Sheff's hand. Sheff had barely managed to remove his glove.

"We have your approval, then?" Sheff asked.

"Certainly. But you've yet to actually propose." Her father moved to the side and watched expectantly.

"You can't want Shefford to kneel down in front of us?" Jo's mother asked, incredulous.

"Why not?" Jo's father asked, sounding mildly affronted. "You know I am a romantic in my heart."

"Yes, I do." Jo's mother's tone held more than a bit of irony.

Sheff met Jo's gaze with a silent question. In response, Jo lifted a shoulder. They might as well become accustomed to performing.

She stood and moved away from the seating area. Sheff seemed to understand and joined her.

"We can pretend they aren't there," she said. Then, much more quietly so her parents couldn't hear: "We need to master the art of performance."

"Indeed," he murmured before taking her hand. His fingers were warm against hers.

He knelt before her and pulled something from his pocket. Something that sparkled. Did he have a ring ?

"My dearest Jo," he said, his lips curved into a seductive smile that, together with the touch of his hand in hers, sent heat curling through her. "You make me happier than I ever knew I could be. I cannot imagine the days of my life without you in them. Please be my wife, my countess, and someday my duchess."

"And the mother of your children!" Jo's father added, rather ruining what was a very lovely fake proposal.

"Yes, that too," Sheff said with a glint in his eye and a quirk of his lips that said he was trying not to laugh.

Jo had to press her lips together to contain her own humor. "Yes, I will marry you."

Sheff slid the ring onto her finger. A large, stunning sapphire shone up at Jo from her left hand. The weight of the ring was odd. Its beauty was breathtaking.

Rising, Sheff lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back.

"Don't be shy, my boy," Jo's father said. "You must seal an engagement with a kiss, and we won't even watch."

Jo darted a glance and saw that indeed her father had turned away from them. Her mother looked…bored. But she also turned her head.

"They aren't watching," Jo whispered. "You don't have to kiss me."

"I know that is our agreement. How about if I just barely touch your cheek." He looked askance, and the edge of his mouth ticked down. "Your father is, in fact, watching now."

Blast! "Fine. Kiss me." Her mother was right. This was too much effort for a fake engagement.

Sheff leaned his head toward hers and brushed his lips against her tightly closed mouth.

Dear God.

Jo was not prepared for the rush of heat that pulsed in her core, just from his merest touch. His lips were warm and firm. They moved gently over hers, coaxing her to relax. Her entire body had clenched in preparation for his kiss. Only for it be extraordinary.

She couldn't help kissing him back. Her body knew what to do when she was kissed, when she was…aroused.

Then he was gone, his head lifting from hers.

She dared to look into his eyes. She caught the barest flash of surprise. Had he been as moved as she was?

This would not do. The no-kissing rule would be reinstated forthwith, and it would be absolute.

"Let me see the ring!" Jo's father exclaimed, shattering the seductive aura Jo had found herself in—and none too soon.

Her father came toward them, and Jo held up her hand. "It's a sapphire," she said unnecessarily. "Isn't it?" she glanced at Sheff, but didn't want to look at him. Especially his lips. She could still feel them against hers.

"Yes. It belonged to my grandmother, the dowager duchess," Sheff said. "She died last year."

Jo would be very careful with it. Indeed, she was almost afraid to wear it, not when none of this was real.

"It's spectacular," Jo's father said, taking her hand. He gave her a squeeze before releasing her. "I'm delighted for you both. I shall look forward to the betrothal ball. Do let me know the details as soon as you can. I must make sure I look like the almost father-in-law of the heir to a dukedom." He laughed joyously. "And see what you can do about moving the wedding up. Jo would look so beautiful with summer flowers in her hair."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Sheff replied evenly.

"The wedding will be lovely whenever it is," Jo's mother said.

"Indeed, it will." Jo's father bid them all good day before bussing Jo's cheek and departing.

No one said anything until they heard the front door close at the base of the stairwell.

Jo's mother shook her head. "Your father is going to be devastated when this wedding doesn't happen." She directed her attention to Sheff. "This is a very odd scheme. I fail to see how it will help you in the end. You will still have to wed as dukes must."

Sheff smiled, his gaze sly. "Rules are only meant to be broken by you?"

"Saucy," Jo's mother said as she laughed. "Touché."

"We can count on your discretion?" Sheff asked.

"Yes, and I will help as I can—within reason." She turned to Jo, her features softening slightly. "Be gentle with your father when you tell him the truth. He possesses a sensitive nature."

Jo knew that, of course. She did not like having to deceive him, but there was simply no other choice.

"Mama, I forgot to mention that Sheff is also paying for my new wardrobe."

"And I'm happy to do it," Sheff said affably. "Jo is doing me a great favor."

Jo's mother speared him with a probing stare. "You will look after my daughter. I won't see her hurt in any way as a result of your roguery. I suggest you engage in a period of celibacy for the duration of this farce."

He clasped his hands behind his back. "I will, ah, take that under advisement."

Jo didn't believe he would.

Her mother left the sitting room, going through the entrance hall, either to her suite or perhaps downstairs to the club.

A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over Jo. She drooped and wiped her hand over her brow. Forgetting there was now a ring on her finger, she scratched her skin with the raised jewel. "Ow."

"What did you do?" Sheff moved closer, which she didn't particularly want. She'd barely recovered from the shocking intimacy of their kiss.

"I forgot about this ring and scratched my forehead. Is it bleeding?"

He fixed his gaze on her brow, his expression intent. "No, it's just red." Lifting his hand, he rubbed his thumb over where her flesh stung. "I did not mean to provide you with a weapon. You don't have to wear it all the time. But I had to give you something."

"Couldn't you just have purchased a paste jewel? What if something happens to your grandmother's ring while it's in my possession?"

"Nothing is going to happen to it," he said with a faint smile. "I have complete faith in you. What self-respecting gentleman puts a paste betrothal ring on a lady's finger?"

She gave him a sardonic look. "What self-respecting gentleman pays that lady to pretend to be his betrothed?"

"This one," he said with a laugh.

Jo moved away from him, eager to put distance between them. Her pulse was still moving a little more quickly than she would like. Today had simply been a great deal to manage. Both her parents together and this faux proposal.

Not to mention a stirring kiss.

No, she didn't want to mention that at all. Not even in the confines of her own thoughts.

"Have you told your parents yet?" she asked, moving back toward the seating area, not that she had any intention of sitting. She didn't want him to stay, for she had work to do and she probably ought to visit a modiste. But whom?

Sheff followed her, but didn't come too close. "I haven't spoken to them, but I will in a short while. I've requested their presence for a meeting. I confess I'm a bit apprehensive about seeing them together, but I would rather share the news once. This also ensures that neither is upset that the other found out first." He rolled his eyes.

"Managing parents can be a challenge," Jo said with a commiserative nod. "I can't recall the last time mine were together. That made me anxious about today, though it seemed to have gone well."

"I should say so, at least from my perspective. Your father appears to be quite delighted, while your mother is more reserved. I suppose that is to be expected since she knows the truth of the matter, and he does not."

"Even if she didn't, she would still be more reserved than my father." Jo cocked her head. "How was your meeting with him last night? Did you manage to avoid debauchery?"

He laughed. "Yes, though there was plenty of opportunity. It was unlike any soiree I've ever attended."

"Do you plan to attend another in the future?" She assumed it was precisely the type of entertainment he enjoyed, especially since he didn't seem to want to discuss it with her.

"Not as long as my father is invited. Gerard said that is why I haven't ever received an invitation—he didn't think I'd want to come. And he was right. I suppose I must be on my way." He started to turn, then stopped himself. "Oh, if I may suggest a modiste—Madame Demarest is one of the most popular this Season. If you'd like, I can have my mother arrange for you to have a fitting on Monday."

"Your mother?"

"I am fairly certain she will want to accompany you." He grimaced, then gave her an apologetic look, his brow furrowing in a way that was actually quite endearing. "Is that all right? It didn't seem as though your mother wanted to go with you."

"My mother would likely say she is too busy. That does not bother me." Indeed, Jo had been managing her own clothing for nearly a decade. Having someone else help her decide would be awkward. "Will your mother hope to choose everything for me?"

"I honestly don't know. Perhaps Min should go too."

"It would be nice to have Min and Ellis there." Even if that meant more time lying to them. On second thought, perhaps Jo would be fine without them.

"Oh, not Ellis. My mother wouldn't invite her. But she'd be delighted to have Min along. Just tell me what you prefer."

Jo wanted to ask why Ellis, who was absolutely lovely, wouldn't be included, but she didn't want to pry. He also needed to be on his way to meet with his parents. "I will go along with whatever is easiest. You should probably get on. You've an appointment to keep."

He exhaled. "Yes. Wish me luck." He flashed her a smile. "I'll stop in at the Siren's Call this evening to let you know how it went."

"If you wish." Jo wanted to tell him not to bother, for she rather thought she'd seen quite enough of him for one day. They would be spending a great deal of time together in the coming weeks, and she didn't need to look at his mouth or recall his lips on hers any more than was necessary.

Sheff gave her a courtly bow. "Until later, my dearest." He chuckled before leaving.

Jo put her hand to her mouth, her fingertips pressing gently against her lips. Then she turned her hand and surveyed the oval sapphire weighted against her finger. For something that was entirely make-believe, today's charade had felt far too real.