Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

L azarus Rowe, the Viscount Somerton, had promised his mother two visits to Almack’s each Season, the first of which he’d completed this evening. And what an occasion it had been.

While his mother fervently hoped he would search for a wife, Lazarus went only to placate her and generally suffered through his evening there. Tonight, however, he’d helped a friend’s sister and he’d been glad to do it. However, his mother was not yet in London to see his good deeds as she was tending to his middle sister who had just welcomed another child a few weeks ago.

Poor Miss Price. He could not stop thinking of her sprawled on the floor of the ballroom, her skirts about her knees so that all and sundry could see her lower legs. She had rather marvelously shaped calves, not that he should note such things about his friend’s sister.

Having freed himself from the strictures of Almack’s, he made his way to Coventry Street where the Siren’s Call, a well-appointed gaming hell owned and run by women, was located. Stepping into the familiar interior with its lush purple-and-gold décor, Lazarus was immediately greeted by one of the women who worked there. Becky was a tall Scottish lass with bright red hair and a brogue as thick as an ancient tree.

“Evening, Somerton,” she said. “Sheff’s over at your regular table.” Becky inclined her head to the back of the main room.

“Thank you, Becky. You look lovely as ever,” he added with a grin, taking in her enticing emerald costume. The women of the Siren’s Call dressed seductively, but the patrons were not allowed to touch them. Their goal was to lure the men to the hell so they would gamble—a true siren’s call.

She curtseyed and gave him a saucy smile. “Thank you, my lord. You are always too kind.” She fluttered her lashes, and Somerton chuckled as he went to join his friend, the Earl of Shefford.

“How was Almack’s?” Shefford asked, his dark blue eyes lifting to meet Lazarus’s. Heir to a dukedom, Shefford held himself with the prestige and privilege owing to his rank, his shoulders pushed back, his square chin slightly jutting.

Lazarus slid into the chair next to Shefford. “Far more entertaining than usual.”

Arching a brow, Shefford regarded him with interest. “Don’t tell me you’ve found a bride. I can’t lose another friend to the parson’s trap.”

The trap had already claimed the Duke of Wellesbourne, the Baron Droxford, and the Earl of Banemore, three of their closest friends. Lazarus had no plans to fall as they had.

“Entertaining was perhaps not the best choice of word,” Lazarus said with a faint grimace. “Price’s sister was there, and there was a rather unfortunate incident.”

Shefford grimaced as well. “She’s prone to those, I’m afraid. What happened?”

“She spilled orgeat on that dandy Eberforce. He was none too kind about the mishap. I expect he’s maligning her at every opportunity.”

“Pompous idiot,” Shefford muttered before taking a drink of ale. “He’ll say anything to gain attention. Price will not be pleased.”

“You’re referring to Evan?” Lazarus asked. “Or their father?” He was a Lord Commissioner of the Treasury and a highly regarded member of Parliament.

“Both of them, I suppose,” Shefford replied. “Poor Miss Price. I imagine she’ll be shuffled back to Bath. Or perhaps home to Bristol. Evan told me her Season has not been going well and that her debut at Almack’s tonight was critical to her success.”

Lazarus hated to think of the charming Miss Price having to flee London in embarrassment. Was there no place in Society for someone who wasn’t entirely coordinated? “After she spilled her drink on Eberforce, she slipped into an ungainly mess on the floor. I rushed to help her up, then I took her to dance so she could hold her head up.”

Shefford fixed his gaze on Lazarus. “That was bloody heroic of you. Careful, or you’ll be seen as a suitor.”

Lazarus shrugged. “There are worse things, and anyway, I’m not.”

“How did the dance go?” Shefford looked at him with sympathy. “She is not the most…graceful.”

“She acquitted herself quite well,” Lazarus said. “I would dance with her again, in fact.”

“Listening to you talk, I would scarcely believe you to be the scoundrel I know you are.” Josephine Harker, the daughter of the owner of the Siren’s Call who oversaw the other ladies and who was dressed in a more conservative gown, sauntered closer to their table and deposited a tankard of ale in front of Lazarus.

Lazarus gripped the tankard. “Evening, Jo. Thank you.”

“Forgive me for eavesdropping,” she said. “I try not to, but it’s deuced difficult to avoid it in here, and I do find I like hearing what you lot have to say.” She laughed, her wide mouth spreading to reveal remarkably even, white teeth. Jo fixed her gaze on Lazarus. “That was most kind of you to help Miss Price in her moment of need.”

“Do you know her?” Lazarus asked. Jo had many friends in Society even if she wasn’t actually a member herself.

Jo shook her head. “I only know what her brother has mentioned of her. I have the impression she struggles to meet Society’s expectations, which, to me, recommends her most brilliantly.”

Shefford laughed. “Because you refuse to meet them, much to your father’s chagrin.”

While Jo’s mother owned the Siren’s Call, Jo’s father was an artist and man of science who’d been taken up by certain members of Society for his intelligence and wit. As far as Lazarus knew, Jo’s parents were estranged, having chosen different paths for themselves.

Jo gave him an impassive stare. “Because Society’s rules are ridiculous. And don’t pretend you follow them either. If you did, you’d be married with an heir and a spare.”

Shefford twitched as a shadow of revulsion passed over his features. “You know me too well, Jo.”

A faint smile teased Jo’s full lips. “I’m just glad to hear you aren’t making fun of Miss Price. That would be too easy to do. Instead, you’re championing her.” She returned her gaze to Lazarus. “Perhaps she’s captured your attention. Or something.” She laughed softly before taking herself off to mingle about the room.

“Has that happened?” Shefford asked, a touch of apprehension in his tone.

“No,” Lazarus assured him. “I’ve not developed a tendre for Evan’s sister. But I do consider her one of our set—by relation—and I couldn’t stand by and watch her flounder.”

“You’re an excellent friend,” Shefford said. “But that has never been in question.” He lifted his tankard in a silent toast, and Lazarus did the same.

“Evening, gents.” Evan Price took the empty chair beside Lazarus. Lean and muscular, Evan was regarded as a sportsman. He was a superior rider, swordsman, marksman, and pugilist. His skill was almost embarrassing. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and the gold flecks in his brown eyes seemed to glitter in the lamplight. He had an intense look about him.

“Evening, Price,” Lazarus said. “Is all well?”

Angling himself toward Lazarus, Evan said, “I understand I’ve you to thank for saving my sister from complete ruin, though I daresay she’s nearly there.” He frowned briefly. “I feel quite badly for her.”

“It wasn’t as bad as all that.” At least Lazarus hoped it wasn’t, but he feared Evan was right.

“I arrived at Almack’s just after she and my mother left,” Evan said. “Upon learning they’d departed, I didn’t bother staying.”

“We must have missed each other in the crush,” Lazarus noted. “I departed a while after.”

“Unsurprising since I was overcome with people asking about my sister and warning me to stay clear of Eberforce, who was still wandering the ballroom ranting about his ruined waistcoat.” Evan scowled.

“Damn, that’s as good as any of Droxford’s scowls,” Shefford said, referring to their friend the baron, who was well known for his sober nature. However, he seemed to have lightened up a great deal since marrying more than six months earlier. It seemed marriage agreed with him most heartily.

Evan grunted. “People should have been warning Eberforce to stay clear of me .”

Shefford sipped his ale. “Since you did not encounter him, I think you can assume that likely happened. Or that Eberforce is not as foolish as we take him to be. He can’t be stupid enough to pick a fight with you.”

“Eberforce is all bluster,” Lazarus said. He looked to Evan. “I’m just sorry he was the recipient of your sister’s drink since he’s such a nincompoop. I wish it had been me, for I would have laughed it off.”

Evan’s gaze remained intense. “You danced with her after. I can’t thank you enough. I’m sure that lessened the impact of what happened. People were talking about that almost as much as her mishap. Or perhaps that’s just my wishful thinking,” he muttered.

Becky brought a tankard of ale for Evan, but didn’t linger. Lazarus inclined his head at her as she moved away.

“I was happy to be of assistance,” Lazarus said. “Your sister’s a good sort. Hopefully, she will recover from this incident.”

“It isn’t just tonight, though.” Evan took a long pull from his ale and set the tankard back on the table. “She’s had a rough go of it this Season. I’m fairly certain our mother is already making plans to withdraw to Bath. I suspect our father may even suggest they go home to Bristol and perhaps try again next year.” Evan sighed. “Though, I’m not sure what good that will do. Gwen is just abysmal at playing Society’s game. She’s a terrible dancer, which I’m sure you discovered, Somerton.”

“She wasn’t that bad.” But then it had been the easiest of dances. “Not everyone needs to possess the grace of a swan.”

Evan went on. “And she gets nervous if she has to talk to too many people she doesn’t already know. She’s more comfortable alone in a library. Indeed, she spends far too much time reading books, according to our father. She can read several books in a day. I forget how many.” He shook his head in disbelief.

Several books in a day? How had Lazarus not known that about her?

Because while he knew her somewhat, he didn’t know her well.

Lazarus couldn’t read a book in a week let alone several in a day. Oh, to be able to read with even a modicum of ease! It always took him so much time and effort to get through a single page of correspondence. His secretary believed Lazarus didn’t care to read—not that he struggled, however—and thankfully communicated the contents of written messages and other pertinent information verbally.

In a few short weeks, Lazarus was to give a speech in the Lords. He could memorize it—and planned to—but if he needed to refer to the written speech at all, he would be lost. Plus, he needed someone to help him memorize it by reading it aloud and having Lazarus repeat it back. That would be far easier than if he tried to read it and memorize it himself. The entire situation was giving him fits, and he was close to bowing out.

But he didn’t want to. His father would have been so proud to hear him speak. He’d been the one person who understood Lazarus’s deficiency and had done his best to help him overcome it. That Lazarus read at all was a credit to his father’s love and dedication. Lazarus had been just seventeen when his father had died in a riding accident, and the loss was the most painful thing he’d ever endured.

“Did we lose you, Somerton?” Shefford asked. “Or will you come to the Rogue’s Den with us?”

The Rogue’s Den was an invitation-only brothel, however the proprietress preferred the term “pleasure house.” Normally, Lazarus would join them, but at the moment, his mind was rife with ideas.

“I may stop in at the Phoenix Club,” Lazarus said. “That is more my interest this evening.”

Shefford nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Actually, that sounds more appealing to me as well,” Evan said to Lazarus. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” Lazarus could then potentially ascertain a little more information about Evan’s sister, for Lazarus had a plan involving her. He saw the potential for them to help each other. She could assist him with his reading, and he could bolster her chances for a successful Season. If his attention tonight had helped her, he could continue in that vein.

“Aren’t you both boring?” Shefford said with a grunt. “Fine. I’ll go to the Phoenix Club too. But let us finish our ale. The Siren’s Call has some of the finest.”

“That they do,” Evan agreed.

Lazarus hid his smile as he took another drink. Tomorrow, he would call on Miss Price and present his proposal. He was a bit surprised that he wasn’t nervous to reveal his shameful secret to her, but he just knew she wouldn’t find fault with him. On the contrary, he was confident she would be the soul of kindness and understanding.

They could help each other immensely. He hoped she would agree.

T he following afternoon, Gwen settled herself in the coziest chair—in her opinion—in the drawing room to reread one of her favorite novels. It would be a welcome escape after last night’s mishap and this morning’s discussions regarding what they would do next.

Two pages in, Gwen’s mother entered the drawing room, looking more elegant in her simple blue day dress than many women appeared in their evening finery. “Your father’s just left.”

Gwen closed her book and set it in her lap. “You’ve reached a decision, then?” They’d been discussing whether Gwen should remain in London and attempt a recovery from last night’s debacle or if she should flee to Bath or even home to Bristol. She tried not to fidget as she awaited her fate.

“Your father and I think it may be best if we repair to Bath. We know a great many people there, and things are just…less stringent.” Mama gave her a hopeful smile. “We also discussed whether you might be open to an arranged marriage. That way you can avoid the pressures of Society’s expectations. Your father and I would only attempt such an endeavor with your approval and input.”

An arranged marriage.

Gwen couldn’t say she was surprised to hear those words, but it was disheartening all the same. Because the realization that she couldn’t attract a groom on her own made her feel lacking. And she didn’t think she was lacking. But what did she know?

“You also don’t have to marry,” her mother said. “Your Aunt Araminta didn’t wed.”

Aunt Araminta was her father’s older sister, and while she seemed quite content as a spinster with a menagerie of animals, Gwen didn’t see herself living that life. She wanted a family of her own that was as close and loving as hers had been when she was growing up.

“I’d hoped to wed,” Gwen said softly. Even more, she’d hoped to fall in love, but that seemed an elusive dream. She’d never met a gentleman who put her at ease enough to even consider friendship, let alone love.

For some reason, she thought of Somerton and how he’d helped her last night. He had put her at ease, but then he’d rescued her when she’d needed it most. Anyway, he was not a potential suitor, let alone bridegroom.

Gwen’s mother came toward her, sympathy softening her features. “I know, dear. I hope you’ll fall in love too, as I did with your father. It may happen yet—and it may not be during a London Season.”

While that was true, Gwen was twenty-two and it hadn’t happened yet. Not in Bristol, where she lived and spent most of her time, nor in Weston where she sojourned every August. Perhaps London was too overwhelming, and Bath would be a better place to find what she sought.

It wasn’t that she’d had no interest. She’d attended assemblies in Bristol and on two different occasions, overzealous gentlemen had tried to steal a kiss in the garden. But those men had not been interested in courtship, and Gwen had known it. They’d been rogues doing as rogues did.

Before Gwen could agree to remove to Bath, their butler, Lake, stepped over the threshold of the drawing room. “Lord Somerton has called. Is Miss Price receiving?” he asked Gwen’s mother, then glanced toward Gwen.

“I believe so.” Gwen’s mother looked at Gwen in question.

Gwen nodded. “Yes. I can receive him here.”

Inclining his head, the butler then turned and departed.

Instinctively, Gwen lifted her hand to her hair and hoped she looked presentable. But why wouldn’t she? The most strenuous thing she’d done was walk up and down stairs.

“You look lovely,” her mother said with a smile. “The viscount danced with you last night and now he’s calling. One must wonder at his motives,” she added with a wink.

Gwen should have told her mother the truth right then—that Somerton had only supported his friend’s sister at Almack’s to be kind. Although, why was he calling?

“I’ll move to the sitting room and leave the door open,” Mama said, nodding toward the doorway at the back of the drawing room.

Lake returned and announced the viscount. As soon as Somerton sauntered into the room, the air seemed to lift and brighten. Perhaps it was his brilliant smile or his effusive charm, which seemed to radiate from him, despite him not yet saying a word.

He bowed to them and addressed Gwen’s mother first. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Price.” Then he transferred his gaze to Gwen. “And you, Miss Price.”

“Good afternoon,” Gwen said, dipping into a curtsey.

“We’re so delighted you’ve called,” Gwen’s mother said. “Did you enjoy Almack’s last night?”

“As much as one ever does,” the viscount quipped.

Gwen’s mother laughed softly. “It is a necessary endurance. I’ll leave the two of you to visit.” She turned and glided to the sitting room, leaving the door open as she’d said she would.

Somerton arched a thick blond brow, then glanced toward the doorway to the sitting room. “Your mother is very trusting.”

“Do you plan to seduce me here in the drawing room with my mother next door?”

He put his hand to his chest with a faint grimace. “Is my reputation that poor? Don’t answer that.”

Gwen grinned. “I did ask the question, which means I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Don’t make me regret it. I’m already breaking a rogue rule being alone with you, though I can’t say we’re really alone .” They spoke in moderate tones, such that it was unlikely her mother would hear them, not that they needed to hide anything.

“I confess my roguish behavior does not stretch to seducing young ladies under their own roofs with their mother in the next room. What rogue rule are you referring to?”

While Gwen and her friends had never said the rules were private—they’d been embroidered by Pandora and given to the two who had married—she wasn’t sure she ought to share them with one of the roguiest among the rogues. “Er, just a few guidelines we young ladies follow to ensure we aren’t caught unawares.”

“There is more than one?” He smiled bemusedly. “What are the other rules?”

There were eight, but Gwen only mentioned a few. “Never flirt with a rogue and never give a rogue a chance.”

He fully winced now and put his hand to his forehead as if he might faint. “You wound me. I came here today hoping you would give me a chance.”

Gwen’s pulse sped. What sort of chance was he referring to? “To do what?” she asked.

“May we sit?” He looked toward a seating area near the windows that overlooked the street below. That would put them as far away from the sitting room—and her mother—as they could be.

“Certainly.” She walked to a compact settee covered in a floral pattern set against dark green. She sat and he joined her there, which made them rather cozy. Her heart continued its rapid pace.

“I hope you won’t think me too forward,” he began, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Forward. Gwen’s imagination began to leap.

Angling himself toward her, he went on, “I wondered if we might help one another. You seem as though you could benefit from some…support this Season, and I’m in need of someone to help me with a…delicate matter.” He flinched, his neck twitching as his head tipped slightly. It was a movement of unease. Whatever the matter, it bothered him.

“I can’t imagine what I could help you with,” she said with a light laugh. Somerton seemed…perfect.

“It’s extremely personal,” he said quietly. “Indeed, no one is aware of this…problem. At least not the extent of it.”

Concern and sympathy overtook everything else in Gwen’s mind as she inched closer to the viscount. “How can I help?”

He seemed to relax, his shoulders settling—but only briefly. As he started to speak again, the tension returned and he did not meet her gaze. “I am not a good reader.” He exhaled, and his pulse worked along his throat as if he were upset. He flicked his eyes toward hers, but only briefly. “That was difficult to confess aloud.”

Gwen could see that, and she felt an instant and necessary urge to comfort him. And help him, if she could. “It is very brave of you to do so,” she murmured. She also had questions. “What does that mean exactly? Can you read?”

“Yes, but it is laborious. I’m appallingly slow. I usually have my secretary read everything and give me a verbal summation. He believes I just don’t care to read, as does everyone else.” Gentle lines formed across Somerton’s brow. “And no one questions that, given my reputation.”

Gwen wasn’t certain of the entirety of that reputation, just that he was a rogue. Perhaps he had a different reputation among his peers. “Does that go beyond your roguish tendencies?”

He looked out the window but didn’t appear to focus on anything. “I’m generally regarded as an unserious member of the House of Lords, more intent on my wardrobe or what horse I’m riding or vehicle I’m driving.” His gaze moved back to her, and she could see he was anything but unserious. “I should like to be a more active member in the Lords, but it’s difficult.”

“Because you read slowly,” she said. “And you’re hiding that fact.”

An expression of alarm passed over his features. “Can you imagine what people would say if they knew?”

Gwen knew that people talked about her…deficiencies. Would they do the same to a viscount? Probably. People could be cruel.

“No one needs to know.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “But I’m not sure I can really help you.”

“Your brother said you can read multiple books in a day. I was hoping you might be able to help. Or at least try.” He sounded hopeful, but there was a measured quality to his gaze, as if he were preparing himself for disappointment.

“Of course, I can try. I’d be delighted.” And she meant it. “I would have gladly extended whatever help I can offer without your assistance in return.”

“That is most kind of you,” he said softly. “I’m sure I don’t need to say this, but this arrangement must stay between us.”

She cocked her head. “How do you plan to help me exactly? By swooping in and saving me from future disasters? By dancing with me?”

He rested his arm on the back of the settee. “By paying you attention and showing the ton that you are a highly desirable young lady.”

Gwen was aware of his bare hand so near to her head. He’d obviously left his hat with a footman and apparently his gloves too. From the corner of her eye, she saw that his hands were large, his fingers long and slender. They would surely fly over the keys of a pianoforte. Unlike hers, which never moved as agilely as she wanted them to. At least not with the musical instrument. With a paintbrush, she was able to create art. Or something resembling it.

Clasping her hands in her lap, she said, “As it happens, my mother was just informing me that we are going to Bath for the remainder of the Season.”

His eyes rounded and his nostrils flared. “Then how can you agree to help me?”

“I will convince my mother that we should stay, that all is not lost.” Gwen glanced toward the sitting room and recalled her mother’s curiosity regarding Somerton’s call. “My mother likely wonders if you wish to court me since you came calling. And danced with me last night.”

“I see.” He looked toward the window again, his expression contemplative. “I could court you, but I would hate to cause any ill will when we do not wed. Though, my goal is to ensure you are in high demand, that you will have many suitors. You will have your choice of husband.”

“I don’t share your confidence, particularly since I plan to be discerning. I won’t accept just anyone.”

His hand moved from the settee to her jaw, where he lightly grazed his fingertips against her. “Nor should you, Miss Price. Do not sell yourself short. You are beautiful, witty, and I have it on great authority that your dancing is quite passable.”

Though Gwen was distracted by his touch—in a lovely and somewhat confusing way since this was her brother’s friend who had no romantic interest in her whatsoever—she laughed at his description of her. “You flatter me. Or tease me. None of what you said is true.”

He gasped in mock distress. “It’s all true, and I am offended you would think otherwise.”

Now Gwen couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I can’t decide if you are a terrible tease or a rogue.”

“I can be both, I’m afraid, but I am serious about how I see you. You are beautiful and witty, and my sole experience dancing with you indicated you are passable. That you cannot see those things in yourself is perhaps why you continue to falter.” He grimaced faintly. “I mean no offense.”

“I don’t take any.” She considered his argument and had to confess it had merit. Her self-doubt and continued mishaps had made her feel inadequate. Perhaps she was too focused on that. “You will bolster my confidence, then?”

He put his hand back on the settee, which was a relief, for his touch had been a terrible—or wonderful—distraction. “I will make you the most confident young lady in London and the most sought-after.”

“If I can find half your confidence, I’ll have more than enough.” She considered him a moment—his dashing looks and his air of authority. “Or is it arrogance?”

“You will have to decide that for yourself,” he said with a laugh.

“How do you do it?” she asked sincerely. “Your reading deficiency troubles you, and yet you swan about as if you haven’t a care in the world.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve hid that problem my entire life. Only my father was aware.” He abruptly stopped, and his gaze traveled to the window once more.

Gwen watched his throat work and suspected he was trying to hide the emotion he was feeling. “You and your father were close?”

Nodding, he swallowed. When he looked back at her, his expression was pleasant, and whatever he’d been feeling was gone. “When shall we begin? We could promenade this afternoon, if you’d like.”

“So soon?” Gwen blinked, her mind working.

“Shouldn’t we move quickly since your mother is planning to take you to Bath?” He made an excellent point.

“How are we going to conduct your lessons?” she asked. “I don’t think I can do it here without my mother finding out.”

He stroked his hand along his jaw while drumming the fingers of his other hand on the back of the settee. Snapping his gaze back to hers, she saw the light of an idea in his green eyes. “What about the Droxfords? You are close to my cousin Tamsin, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Gwen had become quite friendly with her during their time together in Weston the past two Augusts. Indeed, Gwen had attended her wedding in Cornwall in September.

“This will work well, I think,” he said with enthusiasm. “You will call on Tamsin, and I’ll visit Droxford at a prearranged time. We’ll just need to organize things with them—a private place for us to work.”

“That gives us both reason to be there,” she said. “But what will be our purpose? You don’t want them to know about your problem.”

“We’ll tell them you’re helping me with my speech. This will please Droxford greatly. He’s been harassing me to do more in the Lords and will gladly support anything to do with that.”

“Tamsin will want to help even without knowing the reason. She has the most generous heart of anyone I know.”

Somerton’s mouth spread in a wide, heart-stopping grin. Good heavens, he was so handsome Gwen wondered how she would stop herself from staring at him when they met. “I think we have a plan.”

“It seems we do. But let us start tomorrow. I need to spend time today thinking about how to approach your reading problem. I will tell my mother you’ve invited me to promenade tomorrow. That ought to stall our departure from London.”

“Excellent.”

“You’re way over there,” Gwen’s mother said as she walked into the drawing room. “It was so quiet, I had to see what you were doing.” There was no accusation or insinuation in her tone or expression, just a genuine curiosity.

Gwen stood. “Lord Somerton was about to take his leave, Mama.”

The viscount rose. “I’ll see you tomorrow in the park, then.” Another stunning smile curved his lips. He gave her a courtly bow, then offered one to her mother. “A pleasure, Mrs. Price.”

“Good afternoon, Lord Somerton.”

Mama watched as he left, and the moment he was out of sight, she hurried to Gwen, her eyes glowing with delight. “You must tell me everything.”

“There isn’t much to tell. He invited me to promenade tomorrow.”

“You must have a new hat.” Mama pressed her lips together, and Gwen could tell she was already planning Gwen’s costume.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“A viscount has called on you, Gwen. This is splendid.” Mama grinned. “I suppose we don’t need to go to Bath after all.”

Gwen hated that she wasn’t telling her mother the truth. Mama was going to be disappointed when she learned there wasn’t really a courtship, that her association with Somerton was entirely for show.

Perhaps Gwen should tell her a partial truth, that the viscount had offered to help his friend’s sister. But before she could, Mama had turned and was walking away. “We’ll need to go to Bond Street straightaway. Meet me in the foyer.”

There was no use protesting, so Gwen resigned herself to a shopping trip she didn’t need. She’d plenty of hats. As if a new bonnet would snare a viscount anyway. Or any other man.

No, Gwen was going to have to do that on her own. Except that wasn’t true anymore—she had help. With Somerton’s guidance and attention, could she really do as he predicted? Could she have her choice of husbands?

Wishing she could stay home and work out her plan for improving Somerton’s reading skill, she trudged from the drawing room. She would find a way to help him, regardless of whether his plan to make her desirable worked. Because the truth was that her task would probably be far easier than his.