Chapter 6

Anthony chose a table in the corner to take his afternoon refreshment, but even that did not save him from the glances of his fellow guests. Evidently, they had all seen the caricature.

He ignored the attention, focusing his mind on how to approach his visit to Miss Mandeville. He had gone after her when he had seen her leave the inn earlier, but it was obvious she had not wished to be found.

He would try his luck as soon as he could determine the best tactic to get her to bend to his will. Intimidation and threats? Kindness? Begging?

He was not confident he could manage the last two in a convincing way. Or a palatable one.

Miss Mandeville had tried to act as though she was unbothered by his threat of exposure, but he was highly skeptical. A revelation like that would put them firmly outside of Society circles, and if her family circumstances were what he understood them to be, that would be a grave blow indeed.

He took a last sip of ale, then rose from his seat and made his way out of the inn.

The village was less busy than it had been a few days prior, as most of those traveling to London had already passed through. Anthony did, however, see one acquaintance just outside the inn.

Mr. Jensen stood before the window, staring up at the caricature with an amused tilt to his mouth. He glanced over as the door to the inn closed, then bestowed a second, wide-eyed look at Anthony, as though he had been caught red-handed.

“A good likeness, is it not?” Anthony said.

Mr. Jensen mumbled an unintelligible response as Anthony tipped his hat and walked away. He had only passed the village baker when he spotted Miss Mandeville herself ahead, wearing a blue pelisse and the same straw bonnet she had worn earlier.

Her pace slowed briefly at the sight of Anthony, then she strode toward him more purposefully.

“Good day, Miss Mandeville,” he said, thankful he would not be obliged to pay her another visit at home.

“Mr. Yorke,” she said with a quick curtsy. “How fortunate. I was on my way to find you.”

Anthony raised his brows. “Oh?”

She nodded. There was no pencil smudge on her face today, and he wondered whether she had felt embarrassed when she had discovered it. Unlikely. The girl seemed immune to such emotions. “I have a proposition for you. Would you care to walk with me?”

Curiosity sparked within Anthony, and he offered his arm to her. “It would be my great honor.”

She hesitated—there was that streak of stubbornness—then took it.

“I have reconsidered the matter of the diary,” she said as they walked back toward the center of Stoneleigh.

Anthony didn’t speak for a moment. His heart was beating rapidly, but he had no intention of allowing her to see how relieved he was. At this precise moment, she held the reins, and if he didn’t act wisely, he might find himself agreeing to ridiculous terms—or degrading himself with kindness or begging.

It would be best not to appear too eager. She should be made to feel herself in his hands.

“You take for granted,” he said, “that I am still open to negotiating for it.”

Her head whipped around. “Are you not?”

“I find myself less so after seeing the caricature you so obligingly drew of me.”

She looked away quickly, but Anthony was almost certain it was to hide a smile rather than embarrassment. Impudent minx.

“In the future,” he said, “you might reconsider making a spectacle of anyone with whom you wish to do business.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“You may spare yourself, Miss Mandeville. I know you are the artist, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise, so let us waste no time on that. However, I am open to negotiating an exchange. As it turns out, I was on my way to see you and so happen to have the caricature on my person. And the thirty pounds.”

“I will take the caricature, but it is not thirty pounds I wish for.”

“I assure you, I do not have ten thousand pounds to offer.”

She shook her head. “I want something else.”

Anthony stole a glance at her profile. Her cheeks were tinged with pink, but her expression was determined. “And what is that?”

She stopped and faced him, meeting his gaze candidly. “I wish for you to introduce my sisters and me into Society.”

Anthony’s jaw slackened. “What?”

“I wish for you to introduce my sisters and me into Society.”

He let out a laugh of scoffing amusement.

“Very well, then.” She turned away. “Goodbye, Mr. Yo?—”

He grasped her gloved hand, detaining her.

She faced him again, her lips flattened as their hands bridged the space between them. Her eyes darted to the side, as though she was looking for some means of escape without drawing too much attention.

“Wait,” he said. “Surely you realize what you are asking. An unmarried and unrelated gentleman introducing three young women into Society? It would have the opposite effect you are seeking. And even if that were not the case, you have made abundantly clear that you have no high opinion of me. You think my sponsoring your sisters and you would do you credit?”

“Of course not.”

He dropped her hand once he was satisfied she would not leave.

“But you have the power to arrange such a thing,” she said.

“By riding roughshod over people with my carriage, for instance?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Something like that, no doubt. All it would require is an invitation to some exclusive party—and to make clear that you see us as deserving of acceptance by those in attendance.”

Anthony’s jaw shifted as he considered her words. His mind went immediately to Aunt Eugenia and the party she was hosting next week at her London house. He couldn’t deny the wisdom of Miss Mandeville’s request. It was far more valuable than thirty pounds. She was an enterprising young woman.

She watched him carefully. “I assure you my sisters and I would be a credit to you and to whoever extends the invitation. Despite what you may think, I can be very amiable when I choose to be—and when confronted with other amiable people.”

Anthony chuckled softly at the barbed comment.

“And Lillian and Tabitha are even more prettily behaved than I.”

“You set my mind at ease, Miss Mandeville.”

“Is that an agreement, then?”

Anthony hesitated, but why, he couldn’t say. This was an easy request—and one that wouldn’t cost him anything but a conversation with Aunt Eugenia.

“And the diary?” he asked.

“I will bring it to the party,” she said. “To ensure you have held up your end of things.”

He nodded, but his mind was exploring an unwelcome idea. “And can you assure me you will not make use of the diary’s contents in the meantime?”

Miss Mandeville hesitated for a moment. “You have my assurance,” she said firmly.

He studied her face, looking for any sign she might be lying. But he believed her. “We have an agreement, then.”

Her mouth drew into a smile. “Very good.”

“I will be in touch presently, Miss Mandeville.”

“And I will be waiting, Mr. Yorke.” She turned on her heel and walked away with that self-satisfied smile that he so detested—and that suited her so well.

“For the Mandevilles, you say?”

Anthony didn’t like the knowing look in Aunt Eugenia’s eye as she asked the question. He stood by the library fireplace in her London townhouse, while she sat in the sole wingback chair, a pot of steaming tea on the small mahogany table in front of her.

“Yes,” he said, willing his expression to remain neutral.

“The same Mandevilles you asked me about the other day.”

Blast. Until now, he had forgotten he had already broached their name.

The right side of Aunt Eugenia’s mouth tilted up at the edge. “And there are three daughters?”

Anthony let out a sigh and refrained from answering. He could practically see the wedding bells in her eyes.

“I shall gladly send them an invitation.” She arched a thin brow as she walked over to the large desk in the library and opened a drawer. “Or perhaps you would like to deliver it personally.”

Anthony traced the round face of the clock that adorned the mantel. “That will not be necessary.”

She kept her perceptive gaze on him as she pulled out an invitation. It was a testament to the strength of her hopes on his behalf that she saw anything but pure boredom as she watched him. “Very well. What are their names?” She took a seat and dipped her quill in the ink pot.

“Mrs. Mandeville, of course. Then Miss Charlotte Mandeville,” Anthony said, “And Miss ...” His brows pulled together. Confound it. What were the names of the two sisters?

Aunt Eugenia’s head came up, her brows raised. “Charlotte and ...”

It was no use, though. Anthony couldn’t remember. He was certain Charlotte had said the names. He had even met the older one, but his mind had been too taken up by the fact that she was not the Mandeville he had come to see to take proper note. “Can you not simply address the invitation to the Mandevilles?”

“Or perhaps I should address it to Miss Charlotte Mandeville and her alone? Do we need the other two?”

“Yes,” Anthony said, ignoring the implication in her tone and expression. “We decidedly do, dear aunt.”

She dipped the quill again with a sigh. “Very well. To the Mandevilles, then. If it were not for the mountain of preparations still to be made, I would be wishing the party were tomorrow so I could meet this Miss Charlotte Mandeville.”

“And her sisters.”

Aunt Eugenia smiled as she finished writing with a flourish. “And her sisters, of course.”

“And her mother.”

“And her mother,” Aunt Eugenia granted.

For Anthony’s part, the only thing he was looking forward to was getting that diary in his hands and his brother home.