Chapter 7

I t was just after ten when Sheff arrived at the Siren's Call. He'd barely stayed at the ball to which he'd conveyed his mother, Min, and Ellis because he'd been immediately besieged by people asking if he was really betrothed. His mother had appeared downcast, which was frustrating. The ton would be buzzing loud enough about him choosing Jo as his wife. And now his mother was going to fuel the blaze with her obvious disapproval.

Before leaving, he'd asked her to please act as if she were happy, that to do otherwise would invite gossip. That had provoked a response, and she'd summoned an expression that could, perhaps, be mistaken for smiling.

He now knew that his happiness didn't figure into any of this. His parents' insistence that he wed had never had anything to do with Sheff finding the other half of his soul or a joy that would brighten all the days of his life. No, there was no discussion of romantic claptrap or even contentment. Ever.

Marriage was a business transaction, and Sheff had invested poorly, according to his mother. His father hadn't been terribly pleased either, but he'd at least accepted it. Probably only because he preferred to focus on his own enjoyments.

Perhaps this love-deprived environment had fed Sheff's belief that he wasn't capable of the emotion. How would he even know?

Becky, the jovial Scottish serving maid with blazing red hair, greeted Sheff with a tankard of ale as he sat at his usual table. "You're here early tonight. If you're looking for Jo, I think she's hiding."

Sheff had lifted his mug to take a drink, but stopped before doing so. "Why?"

"After the sixth or seventh guest asked her about your betrothal, she must have decided she'd had enough. I think she's organizing chips or perhaps cards in the storage cupboard."

"Where can I find that?" Sheff stood, ale still in hand.

"Er, I don't think that's a place you can go," Becky said, her brow creasing as she appeared somewhat confused.

"Nonsense. I'm Jo's betrothed, and I must speak with her. I don't want her to come out here if she's uncomfortable." Though she was going to have to tolerate people's questions and stares—and murmured judgments.

Sheff should be telling himself that. Hadn't he just fled a ball for the same reason Jo was hiding in a closet?

"Please, Becky," he tried again with a smile. "Where can I find her?"

Becky directed him to a door behind the stairs. "Don't tell her I told you where she is."

Sheff nodded before hastening from the common room and finding the cupboard. He knocked once before opening the door and stepping inside.

The small space was lit with two lanterns that allowed him to easily peruse the contents. Shelves crammed with decks of cards, bins of dice and chips, tablecloths and other linens lined three of the walls. There were also glasses and other serving items. A small table sat in the center. Jo stood on the other side of it, organizing decks of cards.

She'd looked up when he walked in and now her gaze burned into his. Or perhaps it only felt that way because they seemed oddly bright.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"I guessed."

She made a noise in her throat. "Becky must have told you. It's fine. I was expecting you, though not this early. Did something happen?"

"I deposited my mother, sister, and Ellis at the ball and came here." He sipped his ale.

"You didn't stay at all?"

Sheff set his tankard on the table. "For a few minutes. Now that I am betrothed, there is no reason for me to linger."

Her eyes lit even brighter as her lips curved up. "Does that mean we don't have to attend any Society events?"

"Er, no. I'm afraid we must." But why, really? Someday when he was the duke, he'd have to use social events to forge important relationships, and some would argue he ought to do that now. But Sheff hadn't ever bothered to do that. He didn't serve in Parliament, and he hadn't been looking for an advantageous marriage.

"Min called on me this afternoon," Jo said as she continued to sort the cards on the table. "She was not convinced we were making a love match."

Sheff recalled Min's reaction to learning of their betrothal. "No, I didn't think she was. How did you respond?"

"I decided there was no point in trying to persuade her we'd fallen madly in love during the span of a waltz. She asked if we were marrying for convenience, and I thought that was as good an explanation as any." She gave him a tentative look. "I hope that's all right."

"I had contemplated whether to let Min in on the scheme." Sheff blew out a breath. "I just worry that my mother will find out—not because Min will tell her on purpose, but perhaps something would slip." He picked up his ale and took a long drink.

Jo went back to sorting the cards, and Sheff watched her stack them by number and face. "Can I assume your mother didn't respond well to your news?"

"She did not. My father wasn't terribly enthused either, but he accepted my choice." Sheff saw that Jo's brow was still dimpled. Was that due to concentrating on the sorting, which likely didn't require much concentration, or distress from this situation he'd created?

"Do you want to call it off?" he asked.

Jo snapped her gaze to his. "I didn't say that. This is just more challenging than I anticipated. I'm sorry that I told your sister this is a marriage of convenience, but I dislike lying to her. And to Ellis. And to my other friends. Don't worry, though; they won't reveal the truth."

"It's fine that they think that—good, even." Sheff crossed his arms over his chest. "This seemed like such a brilliant plan. My parents would leave me alone. Marriage-minded mamas and their daughters would move on from me. When you cry off, people would be inclined to avoid me for quite some time. I failed to think deeply enough about the present ramifications, particularly to you. Perhaps I should double your fee."

Her eyes rounded. "That would be excessive. Especially with the wardrobe." Her forehead smoothed. "Is it really that terrible? Putting up with the demands? Why don't you just remove yourself to the far reaches of Scotland or somewhere?"

He chuckled. "That has occurred to me. I do like Edinburgh. Have you ever been?"

She shook her head.

"You'd like it, I think. There is Society, of course, but it's much smaller and it seems easier to move between classes. There are so many wonderful pubs and gathering places. And the countryside is ruggedly beautiful. It's unlike anything you can imagine."

"Sounds intriguing." She stacked a five on the pile of fives.

"Draw a card," he said. "If it's an odd number, we'll call this off. If it's even, we'll continue."

"What if it's a face card?"

He smiled. "I'll double your fee."

Jo arched a brow and drew the next card, turning it over on the table in front of him as if she were the dealer in the cardroom. His grandmother's sapphire sparkled on her finger, and the sight of it there gave him a shocking rush of possession. It was a delectable sensation, though he had no real claim to her.

There was also something undeniably seductive about the stretch of her arm and the play of her finger against the card. Perhaps he imagined her reaching for him. The notion was rather enticing.

The number eight looked back at them from the table.

"We continue," Jo said.

"Are you sure we should leave it up to a card?" He wanted to be sure she was all right with moving forward, even if they had already agreed on it.

She shrugged. "Why not? It's as good at decision making as anything."

He laughed. "I'm not sure you really believe that, but if you're comfortable continuing as we are, then I shan't complain."

She plucked up the eight she'd laid down in front of him and deposited it on the pile of eights. "Tell me more about the meeting with your parents. They were unhappy, and then what happened?"

"My mother stalked out, but she was…calmer when we left for the ball. She informed me that the betrothal ball will be next Saturday."

Her lashes fluttered. "So soon?"

"I was surprised too. It's probably for the best since it seems the news is spreading quickly." He picked up his tankard and took a sip of ale. "You will need a new ball gown before then. Will that be a problem?"

"Min is setting an appointment with Madame Demarest on Monday afternoon and will come along. I suppose it will depend on if the modiste can make one that quickly."

"She definitely can, and Min will make sure of it. Is my mother accompanying you?" Sheff hoped not, but wasn't sure it was avoidable. The duchess might be upset about his choice, but she'd want to be involved in things—why else would she plan a betrothal ball so quickly? She'd also want to ensure Jo was appropriately attired.

"Min wasn't sure. She assumed your mother would be disappointed in your choice of bride and couldn't determine how she might react."

"I'm sorry, Jo." Sheff held her gaze. "I won't allow her to be rude to you."

"I appreciate that." She finished sorting the cards in her hand, then picked up the stack of twos and began to sort them by suit. "I think it's best if we just minimize our interactions. I should like to keep my attendance at Society events to no more than two per week."

"Including walks in the park? We should endeavor to be seen there perhaps once a week. In fact, we should go one day this week before the ball." Sheff couldn't stop staring at Jo's hands as she moved the cards. She had elegant fingers, long and slender. He imagined them touching him in a variety of ways and began to grow hard. Clearing his throat—and his mind of salacious thoughts—he went back to the thread of their conversation. "Perhaps Wednesday?"

"I would prefer for those two events to include walks in the park," she said. "Would that be acceptable?"

"It may not be, but after the first couple of weeks, I'm sure we can do less."

"I suppose that makes sense," Jo replied as she continued her sorting. She was currently separating the fours by suit. "Wednesday should be fine, though I don't know if I'll have a fancy new walking dress by then."

"You'll be surprised at the wonders Madame Demarest can work." He fell silent as he watched her sort the cards, easily enchanted by the flick of her fingers and the arc of her narrow wrists. He imagined clasping her there and pressing his lips to the inner part, where her pulse beat strong. Would it speed for him?

"We could have an actual marriage of convenience."

Had he said that out loud?

Jo's hands stopped moving, and he realized he had indeed spoken. Raising his focus to her face, he saw her arrested expression.

"You aren't serious," she said, her tone low and incredibly arousing. What the devil was wrong with him? He was barely even flirting with her, and he was overcome with desire.

"Both our parents seem to have that," he managed to reply. "Marriages of convenience."

Her lips pressed together into a faint frown. "I would argue their marriages are highly inconvenient for all involved. Why would you want that?" A shudder moved over her shoulders. "I don't. I'd much rather remain unwed, thank you."

Right. How could Sheff have forgotten why he'd avoided marriage for so long? He didn't want what his parents had, and he'd no reason to expect he was capable of anything different. He enjoyed women and freedom too much and would not expect his wife to endure what his mother did.

Sheff had become carried away by his surprisingly persistent attraction to his partner in this scheme. While also contemplating if this entire plan was worth the effort. "You are right, of course. I was only thinking of what you told my sister, and wondered if you might want a true marriage of convenience."

"I do not." Jo paused her sorting and cocked her head. "Min was surprised to learn that I would agree to that. I explained that I was planning for my future, which—thanks to your generous fee—I am actually doing."

"I'm sorry you can't be completely honest with your friends. I imagine that is difficult."

"I worry they'll be angry with me," she said quietly.

Sheff moved around the table to stand next to her. She pivoted to face him. "I won't let them. Blame me entirely."

"Except I am a party to this. I agreed to your scheme, and I'm even accepting money to play my role." She shook her head. "I don't think I can blame you."

"Tell me what I can do to ease your concern." He searched her face, hating that he was causing lines between her brows.

"Nothing at the moment. Keeping our social engagements to a minimum will be most welcome."

"You have my word that I'll only drag you to what is absolutely necessary. The park and the betrothal ball this week, and the park again and probably two events next week. I think Sir Alfred Hightooth is hosting a rout, and he always displays the most fascinating objects."

Her features lit with excitement. "The botanist? I should actually love to attend that. My father took me to one of his routs perhaps five years ago. He's been to South America since then, I believe."

"He has. Just last year. This is the first time he is displaying what he brought back."

"I am incredibly interested in seeing his specimens."

Sheff chuckled. "I'm glad to know what sort of Society event thrills you. I'll find more of the same."

She blushed, and he found it surprising. He'd never met a more confident or forthright woman, except perhaps his sister. "I do like scholarly lectures and literary salons."

"Noted."

The door opened then, and Becky stuck her head into the cupboard. "Oh, I didn't realize his lordship was in here."

Resisting the urge to laugh since Jo had already determined that Becky had told him where to find her, Sheff moved back toward his tankard and picked it up.

"Do you need something, Becky?" Jo asked.

"Things have picked up, and we could use a hand," Becky replied. "If you're free." She glanced at Sheff.

"I will come out directly." Jo set the cards down on the table as Becky retreated. "I'm afraid I must return to the common room."

"Pity, for I was enjoying our conversation," he said, meaning every word. He could have stayed in the cupboard with her all night. But would he have kept his hands to himself?

He would have had to, for that was their agreement, and he would not breach it again.

"I was too," she murmured before preceding him from the cupboard.

Once they were in the common room, he could see how much busier the club had become. He realized he'd never paid much attention before. He watched Jo move into action, greeting gentlemen with her characteristic smile and charm. And wit—though he couldn't hear her, he knew that to be true.

Sheff found himself trailing her like a lovelorn puppy, attempting to overhear snippets of whatever she was saying as he nursed his ale.

"Can't believe you're betrothed," one man said to her.

Another looked at Sheff. "And to a blackguard like him." The man winked at Sheff and roared with laughter.

"Well, now he's my blackguard," Jo replied, directing a saucy smile toward Sheff that made his knees weak.

This went on for several minutes as she half flirted with the men ribbing her about being engaged to a reprobate like Sheff. He began to grow uncomfortable. No, Sheff was becoming angry. Not because of what they said about him, but because Jo was batting her lashes at them and laughing and being altogether too enticing.

That wasn't anger. That was jealousy.

Sheff tossed back a good portion of his ale, then set his tankard on the nearest table, uncaring that it was occupied. He'd been about to stalk out of the club when he realized that if he left without saying something to his betrothed, his behavior might be noted. And likely disdained. He wouldn't do anything to draw unpleasant gossip toward Jo.

He made his way to her and had a powerful urge to slide his arm around her waist as he moved close to her side. He wanted to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear that he would miss her and to have a good evening.

Clenching his hands, he took a breath, then straightened them before moving toward her. He did not touch her, but he leaned close and whispered, "I want them all to believe we are a true match, so I'm making this look as though we are one."

She turned her head, and the green in the depths of her hazel eyes was more vibrant than he'd ever seen. "I see."

"Have a good evening, my love," he said more loudly so those closest to them could hear.

"You too," she said, her gaze darting ever so briefly to his mouth.

With Herculean effort, Sheff turned from her despite wanting nothing more than to kiss her until they were both senseless.

Instead, he would make his way to the Rogue's Den and try to forget about his hazel-eyed, silver-tongued, fake bride. He couldn't help doubting that would be possible.

M in had sent a note to Jo on Sunday indicating that the duchess would, in fact, be joining them at the modiste on Monday. Jo had responded that she would meet them there at the appointed time. She did not want the duchess coming here, even if she would not leave her coach.

When Jo's mother had heard of the meeting and that the duchess would be there, she'd announced her intent to go too. Jo wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

On the one hand, she was glad to have her mother's support, especially since Sheff's mother would be present. On the other hand, she worried that the duchess and her mother would not get on well. Or that, perhaps, her mother would even provoke the duchess. There were occasions when Jewel Harker did not hide her disdain for the upper crust of Society, whereas Jo's father always sought to curry their favor.

Perhaps he should be accompanying her.

Jo and her mother rode in a hack to Madame Demarest's shop on Bond Street. As they arrived, her mother gave her an even stare. "We will not permit the duchess to control what you select."

"I want to make a good impression, Mama. If that means I allow my future mother-in-law to choose some of the designs, I am happy to do so."

Her mother's gaze softened on Jo. "That is smart of you. But do remember that she is your fake future mother-in-law, thank goodness."

Jo had thought a great deal about Sheff asking if they should, perchance, actually wed for convenience. Not that she was considering it, but she had wondered why he'd asked. Did he truly want that? She didn't think he would, which she'd communicated to him. "Would it be terrible if I married him? Not that I am, but I am curious why you would be against it."

"I am against marriage in general, unless you want to have a child. Since I don't believe you do, at least not at this point in your life, I would not want to see you wed. All that aside, marriage to someone like Shefford would be awful, and not just because of his terrible reputation. As a countess—and someday duchess—you'd have all manner of duties and responsibilities in Society." Her mother made a face. "Can you think of anything more tedious than hosting balls and striving to always be above reproach? And that means whatever people judge that to be on any given day. I much prefer mingling with people in a less formal environment at the Siren's Call. There, we see people as they are, for the most part, and I find that far more engaging, don't you?"

Jo didn't think it would be tedious to host Society events. Balls might be too much, but soirees or salons could be entertaining. Not everyone she'd met at the events her father had taken her to or the literary salons she'd attended had been insufferable. In fact, many were very pleasant, and she'd enjoyed their conversations about travel and books and other topics. To Jo, the interactions at the Siren's Call could, in fact, be tedious. However, she didn't say that. Now was not the time to broach the idea of not taking over the club.

The hack stopped in front of the modiste's shop, preventing Jo from answering her mother's query. They stepped out and went inside. There were other patrons, but not Min or the duchess, as far as Jo could see.

A moment later, the door opened, and in walked an exceptionally slender woman dressed impeccably, her brown-and-gray hair styled artfully beneath a fetching bonnet. Though Jo hadn't yet seen Min, she felt certain this was the Duchess of Henlow.

And then Min stepped from behind her. She smiled upon seeing Jo and came toward her. Her gaze flicked to Jo's mother.

"Min, this is my mother, Jewel Harker," Jo said.

Min's face flickered with concern. "Allow me to present my mother, Her Grace, the Duchess of Henlow."

Jo realized she'd likely done that incorrectly. She should not have introduced her mother first. Dipping into a curtsey, she addressed the duchess. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace."

"I'm sure." The duchess looked to Jo's mother, who did not curtsey.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace," Jo's mother said with a vague smile. There was a slight edge to her tone that seemed to carry some sort of context. Had they met before? Perhaps years ago?

The duchess inclined her head as the edge of her lips appeared to curl in displeasure. "Mrs. Harker."

Jo's mother gave a proper smile to Min. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Minerva. Jo has told me about what a wonderful friend you've become. I'm always so glad when women form strong bonds."

"Come, let us inform Madame Demarest of our arrival," the duchess said stiffly, moving past them into the shop, where she addressed a young woman wearing an apron with a D stitched on the front.

"I'm sorry for ruining that introduction," Jo whispered to Min.

"Do not concern yourself. My mother will take time to accept you, but she will . She will see how lovely and capable you are."

"I hope so," Jo's mother said before turning and going to join the duchess.

"Let us pray this does not become awkward," Jo said, eyeing the two older women, who stood next to one another but did not speak.

Min chuckled. "I think it's too late for that. We shall simply have to keep it from becoming unpleasant."

Jo looked at her in horror. "You don't think it would?"

"I think we must steer things to ensure everything remains amenable. Shall we join them?"

They linked arms and stepped toward their mothers as Madame Demarest also approached. Tall, with dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes, the modiste was perhaps thirty years of age. She greeted them warmly, but her attention was primarily reserved for the duchess.

"Your Grace, let us adjourn to the private chamber to discuss your needs." Madame Demarest didn't sound French, which Jo had assumed, given her name. In fact, her voice almost carried a lilt of…Irish?

The duchess led their party through an arched doorway into a corridor. Turning left, she moved into a spacious sitting room with a tall, wide mirror as well as a dressing screen. A book sat on a table near the door. The duchess picked it up as she walked in and situated herself in a chair.

Jo's mother took another chair, opposite the duchess, while Jo and Min sat on a settee situated between the two mothers. Madame Demarest stood near another chair. "Would you care for tea?"

"Not today, thank you," the duchess replied without looking up from the book she was perusing.

"I would, thank you," Jo's mother said with a smile. She glanced toward Jo and Min.

Jo nodded. "Yes, please."

"Er, that would be lovely." Min sent a worried glance at her mother, who did not look up from the book.

"Is that a book of fashion plates?" Jo's mother asked. "We're here to outfit my daughter, Miss Harker, as she has just become engaged to the Earl of Shefford. I'm sure she would like to look at what you have to offer."

"Certainly," Madame Demarest said. "May I offer my congratulations, Miss Harker," she said to Jo with a warm smile. "I'll return directly with a book, and the tea will arrive shortly." She departed with a brisk stride.

The duchess made a slight sound in her throat, again not lifting her attention from the book. "I declined tea, because it will be best if we choose quickly so Madame Demarest will be able to begin as soon possible. There is a ball Thursday night and, of course, the betrothal ball on Saturday."

Jo wasn't aware of a ball besides the betrothal one at Henlow House. "I have not received an invitation to a ball on Thursday." Nor did she wish to attend.

"That is because I have just procured one for you this morning," Min's mother replied crisply as she glanced toward Jo. "It is likely being delivered as we speak."

"I'm afraid Jo isn't able to attend a ball on Thursday," Jo's mother said. "She is otherwise engaged. We did not think she would have social requirements until after the betrothal ball."

Jo hadn't been certain of how to respond and was grateful for her mother stepping in.

The duchess frowned, and judging from the lines on her face, Jo surmised she did that often. But that was perhaps due to her unhappy marriage. Jo couldn't help feeling sorry for the woman. Seeing her was a good reminder of why Jo eschewed marriage—and would continue to do so.

Lips pursed, the duchess looked at Jo's mother with disdain. "It would be best if she accepted the invitation. She will need to participate in such events when she is wed to my son."

"Perhaps, but she is not yet married to him," Jo's mother said evenly. "It would be best if you ascertained someone's availability before seeking to commit them to something. Perhaps you are accustomed to doing things without concern for others, but that is not our way."

The duchess's chest moved as she sucked a breath through her nose. Jo braced herself for further conflict, but Min's mother tipped her attention back to the book on her lap.

Jo exchanged a look of relief with Min. "Your Grace, Sheff and I do plan to promenade in the park this week." Perhaps that would soothe the duchess.

"While that is nice, it is not an invitation," Min's mother replied without looking up from the book. "Anyone can promenade in the park. Declining the invitation from one of Almack's patronesses is just not a good way to begin." She snapped the book closed. "I do hope your other engagement is something that is worthy of missing the ball." She looked at Jo expectantly.

There was no engagement, however. Jo was simply…working at the club. That would not be seen as worthy at all, even if there wasn't a ball. She was saved from having to respond by the return of Madame Demarest carrying a slender book.

"Here is my latest collection of designs." She handed it to Jo. "The tea will arrive in a moment. For now, let me make a list of what items you require and when." The modiste whipped a small notebook from the pocket of her apron along with a pencil and took one of the two remaining empty chairs—the one closest to the duchess.

Jo opened her mouth to respond, but the duchess began listing what was needed, starting with the betrothal ball grown. She went so far as to detail how it would look and what color it should be.

Frustration boiled inside Jo, and she opened the book the modiste had given her to distract herself from the duchess's cavalier behavior. The very first plate was a gorgeous blue ball gown. It was simple and elegant, precisely the sort of style that appealed to Jo. She held it up toward Madame Demarest.

"I'd like this for the betrothal ball." Jo didn't care that she was interrupting the duchess. In fact, she took pleasure in doing so. She glanced toward her mother, who was watching her with rampant approval.

Madame Demarest smiled with glee. "I just sketched that yesterday, and you are the first to see it."

"Then you shall retire the design," the duchess said. "She must have a unique and original gown."

"Of course," Madame Demarest said, making notes.

"The other item I need right away is a walking costume," Jo said. "I'll be promenading in the park on Wednesday. I do realize that is very soon, so if that's not possible, I understand."

The duchess sent Jo a perturbed look. "She will have it ready by Wednesday morning."

"Of course," Madame Demarest said with a nod. "What else can I provide?"

Jo flipped through the rest of the book with Min at her side. Together, they selected several items. Jo was grateful for her friend's presence.

Min pivoted toward her mother. "Mama, I think you'll find our choices meet with your satisfaction." She handed the book to her mother and pointed out which ones they'd chosen while Madame Demarest made notes.

The duchess looked over at Jo's mother. "Don't you want to share your opinion?"

"Not at all. It does not signify. Only Jo's matters."

Walnut-colored brows climbing, the duchess appeared unimpressed with that declaration. "Then it is very good that I have come. Will you also be joining us at the cobbler and milliner?"

Jo watched the shadow that passed briefly over her mother's features. Min and her mother likely hadn't caught it.

"I know you are busy, Mama," Jo said. "I can meet you at home later."

Madame Demarest stood. "I just need to take your measurements, Miss Harker."

Jo rose, as did her mother, who moved toward Jo. "I can see that you are able to handle yourself with the duchess. Are you sure you don't want me to continue on to the cobbler with you?"

"No, I'll be fine. I can manage things. Perhaps later, you can tell me how you know the duchess," she added with an arched brow.

Her mother lifted a shoulder. "It is not an interesting tale. I'll see you later, my darling." She kissed Jo's cheek before bidding good day to the modiste, the duchess, and Min—in that order. Jo was not at all surprised that her mother would give precedence to the working woman, regardless of what was socially correct.

After Madame Demarest measured every part of Jo, they departed. When they were settled in the coach, the duchess settled her gaze on Jo. "You chose a lovely gown for the betrothal ball. And your other selections were indeed satisfactory. It seems Min has had a good influence on you."

"Actually, Mama, Jo had excellent taste before she knew me," Min said. "It just so happens our preferences are aligned. I'm sure that's one of the many reasons we are such good friends."

Jo had never had a female ally outside of her household. Min's support was both surprising and incredibly welcome.

"It is good that you are friends," the duchess said, her gloved hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Minerva, your guidance will be critical to Josephine's success."

Jo bristled at the duchess's use of her full name. She did not wish to correct her, however. More accurately, she did not want to provoke the woman, not when there were still shoes and accessories to grapple over.

The duchess pinned Jo with an unnerving stare. "I do hope you know that after Saturday, invitations will arrive at your door in large quantities. While you do not have to accept every single one, you must accept a great many. I shall send word to you daily of what you need to accept."

Must.

Need.

There was absolutely nothing she must accept or anywhere she needed to go. But Jo would not quarrel with her about the matter. She would leave that to Sheff.

After spending even a short time with the duchess, Jo could understand why Sheff was so desperate to deflect her attention away from him. Desperate enough to fabricate a betrothal and suffer the disappointment when it disintegrated.

She hoped he knew what he was inviting.