Rules for a Fake Fiancé (Rogues Gambit #1)

Chapter Twelve

Ruination is a game of rigid appearance and flexible mind-set. Do not confuse thetwo.

M elinda felt the slow creep of icy stone as it expanded through her body. It was the only way she could face Trevor’s abandonment.

She knew it wasn’t really abandonment. She understood why he had to leave. His gentleman’s code wouldn’t allow what they’d done last night. Or what she wanted to do in the future.

So he was leaving, probably at Lady Eleanor’s insistence. Mellie understood his reasons, but she could not help feeling abandoned. It wasn’t like her, this emotional upheaval despite the logic. But that was how she felt, and so she locked herself down. Soon she would be watching the world again as it passed her by. Indeed, that was exactly what was happening as she sat in the carriage with three women discussing fashion.

“No, no!” Lady Redhill was saying. She was the clothing designer, and even in the carriage, she was sketching a dress for Mellie’s come-out. “I will not give her wings.”

Lady Eleanor huffed. “But crickets have wings, and she’s the Cricket Princess. Do you not understand the plan?”

“I understand it completely, but I will not make her or my dress look ridiculous. Unless she’s going to a masquerade, she will not wear anything with wings.”

Oh good! Mellie tried to thank her with a silent look, but Lady Redhill had her head down as she sketched something new. The duchess was peering over her shoulder and nodded approvingly.

“That might work.”

Lady Eleanor leaned forward. “What? I can’t see in this dratted carriage.” She was seated with Mellie facing the other two. Worse, Lady Redhill pulled the pad close to her chest.

“You can’t see. Not yet.”

“But—”

“I want Miss Smithson’s opinion first.”

Eleanor dropped back with a huff. “Very well.” She might as well have said, whatever for? Meanwhile, it took Mellie a moment to realize that they were all looking at her.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lady Redhill passed her the pad. “These are just rough ideas, but they are vastly different. Eleanor said you wanted Russian—”

“No. Not Russian.”

Beside her, Eleanor released a snort of disgust as she tried to peer over Mellie’s shoulder at the designs.

Lady Redhill raised her brows but agreed. “No more Russian influence.”

“Good,” inserted the duchess. “We don’t have time to outfit her properly, and all that fanciness would take too much.”

Then again, everyone looked at Melinda. It was ridiculous. She knew nothing about clothing or fashion. But she did know insects. “Crickets aren’t fancy. Their wings are simple and clean.”

Eleanor leaned back. “But they do have wings, don’t they?”

“Yes. Two pairs. A forewing and a hind wing.”

Silence again while Mellie squirmed in discomfort. Good Lord, she already knew she was odd. Did they need to stare at her like that? But a moment later, Lady Redhill reached for her sketchbook.

“Two wings,” she murmured.

“Two skirts,” the duchess echoed.

“Both green, but one lighter, the other—”

“Darker. Trimmed in veins of gold perhaps?”

“Just a hint,” Lady Redhill said, her fingers flying as she rapidly drew more designs. “Do you know the fabric I mean?”

“I don’t know that we’ve more than the one green silk,” the duchess returned. “Can’t fashion a dozen gowns out of one bolt of green.”

“Irene will manage. And there is more than one. We’ve got a green velvet for a cloak.”

The duchess clapped her hands. “That will be her signature! That dark green cloak with threads of gold shot through it like veins. Everyone will know it’s her. At least until everyone starts copying it.”

Melinda blinked. People would start copying her? What a silly thought. Except beside her, Lady Eleanor was nodding. “Excellent,” she said. “Could you fashion a tiara that looks like antennae?”

This time everyone stared at Eleanor, and to Melinda’s shock, they burst out laughing—Eleanor included.

“Fine,” the woman said ruefully. “A tiara is too much. But perhaps some stitching on the cloak’s hood?”

To which Lady Redhill once again looked at Melinda. “Miss Smithson, you must direct me. How much will you embrace this identity? You are a lovely woman. I cannot think that this game is necessary.”

“But that is the point, isn’t it?” she said, her voice starting out weak but growing stronger with each word. “My Season, the fashion, the way we preen about ourselves, it is all a game. Even in animals and insects, there are elaborate rituals in the hopes of mating, though it is usually the male who does the preening.”

“Oh, never fear about that,” drawled Lady Eleanor. “You will witness a great deal of male preening.”

“But you must decide,” pushed Lady Redhill. “How much are you willing to play ?”

“It is all about confidence, Melinda,” inserted Lady Eleanor. “It will never work if you do not completely embrace the role.”

Confident? In being a prancing cricket princess?

Then the duchess spoke, her voice kind but no less assured. “They’re right, Miss Smithson. You cannot sit like a bump on a log in these dresses. You must play with the role—”

“Play with us ,” stressed Lady Redhill.

“Play with them ,” corrected Lady Eleanor. “The men, the society women, the whole of the ton . Play, Melinda, and be pleased that you are smarter than all of them combined.”

Melinda looked at each of them in turn, her mind slowly clearing.

Each of these women, in her own way, was asking her to join a game. Just as when her father asked her to help with his experiments, he’d truly believed he was offering her a fun experience. He’d been playing with science and inviting her to join. These ladies were playing with society and wanted her to participate like a child joining a game of marbles.

She gaped at them as understanding dropped like water between cracks into her mind. “London is a most peculiar place,” she said.

All three ladies burst out laughing. And shockingly, Melinda joined them.

“I can play,” she said, shocked to realize she would. And she might even enjoy it.

“Excellent,” Eleanor crowed. “Now do we add antennae or not?”

She thought about it seriously, considering all the different types of sensory equipment on insects. Strict adherence to science was out. This game was fun, not fact.

“Many species of cricket have long antennae that sweep wide or drape elegantly down their backs.” She gestured for the paper and was immediately offered pad and pencil. “Perhaps this?” She drew a pair of curving lines down the back of the cloak, vaguely suggestive of a woman’s form.

“Perfect!” cried Eleanor.

“I know just how to do it,” added the duchess.

But it was Lady Redhill who summarized things. “This is going to be so much fun!”

They discussed their plans in earnest until the carriage arrived at A Lady’s Favor dress shop. Mellie was feeling significantly better as she disembarked and looked around the most fashionable shopping district of London. It was not that she hadn’t shopped before. In London even. But she’d never felt at ease among the elite until now. Heavens, right now, a duchess and two ladies surrounded her!

The moment that the duchess opened the shop door, they heard an argument. In truth, it could be heard from the street, but Mellie hadn’t paid much attention. But once inside, they all realized the shrill voices were coming from the shop’s back room.

“What the devil?” Lady Redhill murmured as she headed straight through the welcoming parlor. The duchess followed, barely a step behind, which left Mellie and Eleanor to trail behind.

They entered what was obviously the work area. Mellie saw tables throughout the room, each set up as a workstation. Fabric was everywhere, as were dresses in various states of completion, along with buttons, pins, thread, and other baubles. It was so chaotic that Mellie had trouble finding the source of the commotion. Then she stepped farther into the room and saw a second doorway, one that led to an alley.

It was the workers’ entrance, except that it was barred by a furious young woman who stood with her arms crossed and glasses perched on the end of her nose. She was glaring at a man attempting to enter. He was thick set with brown hair and broad shoulders. She supposed he was handsome in a rugged way, especially as he hadn’t shaved yet this morning, so his skin cast a shadow on his clenched jaw.

But it was his eyes that made her wary. They were a pale brown, as if an inner light softened the darkness. They were narrowed in a sleepy kind of fury. And worse, his hands were clenched into fists where they perched on his hips.

Melinda had plenty of knowledge of large, dumb men. Brutes were dangerous in a raw, powerful way, but this man was large and smart—a dangerous combination—especially since he was angry.

“Bernard?” asked the duchess. “What are you doing here?”

“Exactly what you asked me to, sis.”

So that was why his eyes looked familiar. He had the exact same eyes as his sister. Meanwhile, Eleanor whispered an explanation into Mellie’s ear.

“That’s Bernard Drew, the duchess’s brother. He’s running the businesses.”

Mellie frowned. “I thought the duchess and Lady Redhill ran A Lady’s Favor.”

“They do,” Eleanor said. “He’s running the other businesses. The ones where men go.”

That didn’t explain a thing. Men frequented lots of other establishments from haberdasheries to whorehouses.

“I will not let whores and thieves in here!” cried the bespectacled woman.

Ah. Whorehouses then. And perhaps a thieving ring. Goodness, did the duchess own such establishments?

Meanwhile Bernard gestured behind him to a man and woman just now coming into view. “It’s only one whore and one thief.”

“Bernard!” the duchess groaned. “Don’t antagonize her. And Tabitha, you have no idea what these people have done. We discussed this. We need the help. Orders are piling up.”

“You heard him. A whore and a thief.”

“Yes,” Bernard growled. “But he’s the whore, and she’s the thief!”

To which the man cried, “I am not!” and the woman shook her head. “Not anymore, gov. And only for me bread.”

It would have been funny if not for the desperation hidden behind the words. Both thief and whore—for lack of better words—were gaunt and hungry with sunken eyes and sallow skin. Their clothing was threadbare, but clean. There were also patches that could not be disguised no matter the skill of the seamstress.

The duchess gestured the woman forward, then tugged at the sleeve of the woman’s dress. She held it up to the sunlight, tilting it one way then another. Mellie couldn’t guess why she did it. That appeared to be the one place on the dress that had no damage. Or so she thought.

“Did you mend this?” the duchess asked.

“I did, Yer Grace. The other bits weren’t my work.” She pointed to the patches that Mellie had seen. “It’s not my dress, you see. But I had time to mend the tear here.”

“Good work,” she said as she tilted the sleeve toward Tabitha. The blond woman adjusted her spectacles then peered closer.

“But she’s a thief.”

“No, miss. I had some hard times, is all.” Then she swallowed. “Please, Your Grace. Without this work, I will have to turn to… To become…”

She clearly couldn’t say the word, but Bernard could. “It’s this or the workhouse. But she’s got a weak chest. She’d have a better chance as a whore. Or an excellent chance as a seamstress.” Bernard’s voice was hard, but his eyes stayed kind and sad. At least until his gaze settled on Tabitha, who naturally bristled in anger.

“We can’t have a thief or whore here! It’ll dry up the orders quicker than snip.” She clipped her two fingers together like a pair of scissors cutting.

“They’ll dry up anyway if we don’t get help,” Lady Redhill said. “We’re behind on every order.”

Tabitha grimaced. “Then hire some girls, but not from his place. Plenty of good girls out there looking for work.”

“But they’ll still need training,” the duchess said. “And she does have a fine hand.”

“Every thief does.”

Eleanor clearly agreed as she said, “Listen to the girl. You’re running a business, not a charity house.” She spoke in an undertone, the words meant for Melinda and no one else. But Eleanor’s voice had a way of carrying, and everyone turned to look at them—Eleanor and Melinda—where they stood witness to their private debate.

“I—I beg your pardon,” stammered Melinda. “Perhaps Eleanor and I should look at the pattern books in the front parlor.”

“Unless you enjoy blood sport,” returned Bernard in a dry voice.

“Bernard!” the duchess cried. “Stop being crude! And don’t threaten Tabitha. She’s worth her weight in gold, and I’d be loathe to lose her.”

“Thank you, Your Grace—”

“And I would be sad to see you go over something this trivial. This woman sets a fine stitch. If she cuts as well as she sews, then—”

“Er, that’s my job,” said the man who wasn’t a whore. “I cut, she sews. We’ll make a fine team.”

“No!” cried Tabitha.

Beside her, Eleanor heartily agreed as she whispered, “Don’t. Just…don’t.” Again, Eleanor’s words were overheard. Lady Redhill shot them a glare, emphasizing to Melinda that they should not be here. So she took Eleanor’s arm and began backing away.

Fortunately, Eleanor did not fight her. But once out of the room, she wasted no time in expressing her opinion. “Good God, how could Wendy be so stupid?”

“To hire a woman who needs the work? And who would be good at it?”

Eleanor huffed out a breath. “I thought you were beginning to understand, but apparently, I was wrong.”

Melinda didn’t bother to respond. She knew that Eleanor would enlighten her soon enough. It took only a few more seconds for the woman to speak.

“Society is about appearances. It is all for show. That’s why we’re making you into the Cricket Princess.”

“Yes, I know, but what does that have to do with them?”

“People flock to this shop because they can then say a countess and a duchess stitched their gowns. It makes them feel special and allows this shop to charge exorbitant prices.”

Melinda frowned. “Perhaps they come because Lady Redhill designs beautiful clothing.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Of course she does, as do dozens of other designers throughout London. They come here because she is a countess, and Wendy is a duchess. People want them, not a whore.”

“But it is clothing.”

“It is about status. There is nothing elevating about wearing a dress stitched by a whore. Or a thief.”

Mellie thought about that, rapidly stacking up everything she had heard about London society. In the end, she made no comment. Instead, she picked up a pattern book and perused the sketches. But Eleanor, apparently, couldn’t leave it like that.

“You think I’m wrong.”

“No,” Melinda responded honestly. “I fear you may be right.”

“You do?” Clearly, she’d shocked Eleanor.

“I do,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I think it’s right. In fact…” she said as her gaze fell upon Lady Redhill’s sketchbook. The woman had set it here before rushing into the backroom. Grabbing the pencil, Mellie found a blank page and quickly wrote down an address as well as some detailed instructions. But before she did more, she looked at Eleanor.

“Do you find the duchess to be a smart woman?”

Eleanor frowned. “Of course I do. It is the only reason I have hope for my family name. Her problem is stubbornness, not idiocy.”

Mellie waved that aside. “What about her brother? Do you know anything of him? Can he judge a man or woman accurately?”

Eleanor took longer to decide on that, and Mellie was impatient by the time she finally spoke. “I have little knowledge of Bernard, but in the months that I have been guiding Their Graces, he has managed to quietly and consistently bring in money to the title.” Then she dipped her chin. “I’m not supposed to know that, and we should not be discussing money, but—”

“So you have no understanding of his character then?”

“On the contrary. I said he quietly brought in money. Which means he is not only smart, but discerning. Anything else would be noisy.”

Obviously, a grave sin. But that was enough of a reference for her. So she tore off the sheet and headed for the workroom. She wasn’t surprised when Eleanor followed. The woman might be discreet, but she was still nosy.

Apparently, Tabitha had lost the argument. She stood mutinously by as the two newcomers were shown about the room. But everyone paused as Melinda entered. She went directly to Bernard, who stood with his arms crossed in the doorway, his eyes on the furious Tabitha. But when she approached him, his expression shifted to bland neutrality that others might mistake as ox-like placidity.

“I have a solution,” she said to the room in general. “But it’s not ideal.” Tabitha looked up eagerly, but Bernard spoke, his voice rich in its low rumble.

“No solution needed. These two are settled here.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she said with her eyes on Tabitha. “But in case these two want another option, there is employment in the country. My father’s house needs a new maid who is handy with stitching. And my uncle owns a mill that could use a man with sharp cutting skills and brawny shoulders.” The man did not actually have broad shoulders, but with steady food he would grow stronger. “I have written down instructions on what to say to my father and uncle. They’re in different counties—”

“Leave London?” the man asked, his gaze going to Bernard.

“Different counties? How far apart?” asked the woman.

Bernard raised his hand for them to be silent. “That’s a generous offer, Miss…”

“Miss Smithson. And I’m counting on you to vouch for their honesty.”

“Oh, I do. I most certainly do,” he said, his gaze cutting hard to Tabitha. “But these two are needed here at my sister’s shop.”

Melinda knew better than to argue. She could see the determination in Bernard’s eye. And though Tabitha sputtered and complained, Melinda saw the duchess study her brother in a long silence. And when Tabitha finally ceased with her litany of objections, it was the duchess whose voice slipped soft and quiet through the room.

“What aren’t you telling me, Bernard?”

“Nothing, sister. Only what you already know.”

“Which is?”

“That I swore to your husband that no harm would come to you or yours from the…the other businesses.”

The duchess rolled her eyes. “He’s overprotective.”

“No, Wendy, he’s not. And these two are here to make good on my promise.”

“But—”

And finally, his expression broke. The man snorted in frustration before running a hand through his badly shorn brown curls. “Damn it, Wendy, when will you trust me? Haven’t I earned that these last months?”

The duchess reared back, her eyes wide with shock. “Of course I trust you. I’ve always—”

“Then these two stay here. They’re honest workers, and they are best as a team.”

Tabitha drew breath to argue, but at a glare from the duchess, she wisely shut her lips. Meanwhile, Bernard turned to Melinda as he tugged the foolscap from her.

“There are others though, Miss Smithson. Others who would be happy for the work.”

She nodded slowly, wondering what kind of protection the duchess needed. And what this unlikely pair could do should the worst happen. But it wasn’t her business except to offer good work to another pair.

“It’s hard work, and as I said—”

“I’ll see that you get two good souls, Miss Smithson. They won’t turn on you, I swear.”

Tabitha still couldn’t keep silent. “And how would you know that, Mr. Drew? How can you be so sure—”

“Because they know better than to turn on me.” The words were spoken simply. A straightforward sentence that nonetheless sent chills through Mellie’s body. Despite his placid appearance, there was cold steel beneath Bernard’s words, and everyone heard it, including Tabitha.

Then suddenly, he was all smiles as he bowed to Mellie. “I grateful for the directions, Miss Smithson. Now if you’ll excuse me, I haven’t yet slept this night, and I’d like to seek my bed.”

“Haven’t slept?” said his sister. “But it’s nearly noon.”

“Even so.” With another bow, Bernard disappeared into the alley. For such a large man, he moved quickly and quietly. A moment later, he was gone as the workroom door clicked shut behind him.

And all was silent. Except for Lady Eleanor.

“If I may make a suggestion?”

Melinda stifled her groan. Eleanor’s opinion wasn’t needed in this taut situation, but no one had the wherewithal to silence her.

“If you must employ these two, then I suggest you give them simple names and call them…well, call them Miss Smithson’s friends from the country. At least that way, you have a hope of keeping their, um, previous occupations secret.”

To which the man replied, “There’s nothing complicated about our names. I’m Charles, and that’s Mary.” Everyone waited a moment, and eventually, he gave a charming smile. “Jones. Charles and Mary Jones.”

False names, obviously, but it hardly mattered.

“Excellent,” Eleanor said, as if she were in charade. “Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”

“No, no,” the man corrected. “Brother and sister.”

The two couldn’t look less alike. Whereas she had dark hair and an olive cast to her skin, he was sandy haired, somewhat tall, and sported freckles. They were definitely not brother and sister.

“Very well,” the duchess said slowly. “Brother and sister from the country. Friends of Miss Smithson.”

Eleanor nodded briskly. “Melinda, pray acquaint them with some details of your home life in case someone asks. Lady Redhill, I believe you mentioned a green silk? Duchess, you should have a conversation with your head seamstress. Though I agree with her sentiment, we have been overruled. Therefore, she must press on without a frown. Can’t have the wrinkles, you know.” Then she took a deep breath as she looked about the room. “Really,” she drawled, “it’s a good thing I’m of a flexible mindset. Otherwise, I would have gone mad when Radley first ascended to the title.”

And the startling thing was that absolutely everyone agreed with everything she said. Well, everything until she began pointing at some decidedly not green fabrics.

“Are you sure we can’t add a touch of Russian ornamentation?”